Distorted Reflections

CHAPTER FIVE

At six o' clock the following evening, Harry stood in front of the full-length mirror in Ron's bedroom, feeling rather foolish. He was dressed in fluid robes of a subtle bottle green, a color that he had been told many times corresponded well with his eyes. Ron, leaning on the back of a dark red armchair behind his friend, was looking energized and clean in spotless black robes trimmed with pale lime velvet.

Harry was fiddling with his hair, trying to tame it, but without success. Ron was watching with interest as Harry grew more and more aggravated. At last he sighed and collapsed into the chair he had been propped up against.

"Come off it, Harry, it'll never lie flat. We're going to be late," he said, not attempting to disguise the high level of amusement in his voice.

"Ron, we're Apparating there. How can we possibly be late?"

"Well, there's still the matter of Yvette and Clarice, and you know how long girls take to get ready for these things. Besides, women like messy hair. It has a certain sex appeal, so I've heard."

Neville, who had entered the room just as these words were spoken, made a peculiar noise and tried to suppress his laughter. Ron was less concerned with controlling his hilarity, however.

"Shut up, Ron," said Harry over his companion's snickers. "Besides, you look like Malfoy in all that black."

Ron stopped laughing abruptly and assumed an expression of disgust. "Ugh, do I really?" he asked, obviously revolted. Neville coughed hastily.

Harry grinned."No, Malfoy has less class," he reassured the other man.

Ron grew solemn. "What's he up to nowadays, anyway?" he wondered aloud.

"I don't know and, frankly, I don't care. Last I heard he was in Africa settling scores with a couple of merchants who recalled being cheated by a slimy Brit," Neville commented.

"Oh, that sounds like Malfoy, all right. Cheers to him for creating a bad name all over the world, not just in England. Stupid prat." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Well, now that You-Know-Who's dead as a doornail, you'd think he'd need to keep himself occupied with something devious. He'd grow bored, wouldn't he?"

Harry froze at the mention of his former archenemy. Looking at Ron's reflection in the glass, he asked, "Do you think Voldemort's really gone?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Blimey, Harry, even if he is dead, don't say the bloody name!" he hissed. "Anyway, he should be well on his way to Hell by now, Dumbledore blew him to bits, remember?"

Harry nodded. "Let's change the subject," he said.

"All right, here's a new one: when are you two going to be ready?" Neville interjected, looking annoyed.

"I thought you weren't coming," said Ron.

"I'm not, but watching you two doing nothing is making me nervous," Neville retorted, his agitated look dissolving into a smile. "Hurry up, or I'll be forced to do something drastic."

Ron and Harry grinned at each other, and Harry was surprised to find he wasn't at all queasy about attending the Candle Ball. He wasn't quite sure what, but something was preventing him from being nervous.

Finally acknowledging the fact that all this attention to his black locks was futile, Harry dug about in his pockets, finally eliciting an invitation, and waving it at Neville. "I'm ready. Let's go," he said.

Ron sprang from the chair, dusted his robes free of all nonexistent lint, and rearranged his hair. "All right, let's go find the girls," he said. "I'll lead the way."

Neville saluted them as they left the room and tramped down the hall to an engraved wooden door. Ron knocked four times, and waited. Harry stood behind him, twirling the wristband on his arm. It felt slick and warm to the touch. He hadn't taken it off since yesterday evening, though he couldn't exactly say why. It wasn't forgetfulness; he had been conscious of its existence every minute. But he -- it sounded queer to say so, but he was afraid that something awful would happen, should he remove it.

After a minute, Yvette's face peeked around the side. Through the crack in the door Harry could see blond curls spilling in waves down her back. Ron flushed a violent red and bobbed his head in a quick bow.

Yvette beamed. "My little prince," she said lovingly, and put her head back inside the room. "Clarice! The boys are here!" A muffled sound was the reply. Yvette, who was looking rather odd with her body behind the door, batted her eyelashes at Ron, who seemed elated to receive such treatment from so magnificent a girl.

At last Clarice appeared, and Harry felt impressed at how she had improved her appearance. Her hair was pulled back in a twist, with a few bits hanging down, framing her face. She wore no makeup, giving her an angelic, innocent air. She smiled when she saw Harry, showing more confidence than she had the day before, and smoothed her lavender satin skirt.

At that moment, Yvette stepped away from the door and closed it softly behind her. Her dark purple silk robes were narrow at the waist and laced up the back in the corset-like, Late Victorian fashion. The sleeves, swathed in black lace, puffed out stylishly. The bodice and train were embroidered with exquisite fringe and tiny seed pearls, and contrasted prettily with Ron's own garments. Her hair was piled on her head and secured in place with a colossal diamond. On her elegant neck was a delicate necklace of intricately woven silver, sprinkled with amethyst. Ron's face was euphoric. Swallowing, he smiled feebly at the object of radiance standing dignified before him.

"Shall we?" he offered his arm to Yvette, who blushed and took it. Harry, feeling obligated to do the same, stuck his elbow out at Clarice. She stood staring at it for a split second, then reluctantly placed her hand on his. She looked at him as she did so, and her face glowed red with embarrassment.

Ron cleared his throat. "Let's go then, before they end the ball without us," he said, and quickly glanced at Yvette for her reaction. Sure enough, Yvette laughed gaily, and tugged on the sleeve of his robes. They grinned at each other, and Apparated.

Harry straightened his collar, and turned to face Clarice, who was looking at him expectantly. "Right, then," he said. "Ready?"

Clarice nodded, and in the blink of an eye they were gone.

In a second, Harry and Clarice reappeared with a faint pop! next to Yvette and Ron. Harry rubbed his temples, trying to eliminate the dizziness that always accompanied Apparating. It definitely wasn't his favorite way to travel, although it certainly was the quickest.

After a moment, the lightheaded feeling faded, and Harry's vision focused. He found himself starting directly at an enormous cream-colored building. Low marble steps edged with small, spiky trees trailed up to the entrance. Several couples were chatting casually on the steps, resting elegantly on banisters that appeared to be crystal. The air was hung with thousands of little glinting lights, like fireflies, whose radiance danced on the gems and glossy fabrics of the other guests. Harry believed he had never been around such an aristocratic crowd. Then again, he had spent five years in solitude, so it wasn't exactly safe to draw conclusions.

Snatching a glance at Clarice, he saw she was beaming with delight. Craning his neck to see the object of her enchantment, he saw that she held one of the glowing lights in her palm. Noticing his stare, she turned toward him, showing him the creature in her hand. "It's a Lluminesce!" she cried, joy creeping into her tone.

"Sorry to sound stupid, but... what is a Lluminesce?" Harry asked, feeling like an idiot.

Clarice smiled blissfully, and plucked the creature from her hand, placing it on Harry's nose. "A Lluminesce is sort of a cross between a butterfly, and a lightning bug. Their wings glow when they're especially jubilant. They're quite hard to find, though, I'm surprised that there are so many here. Oh, look, it likes you!"

Harry laughed, and tried to look at the creature perched on his face, but all he could see was a dazzling spark, marring his vision. As though signaled, every Lluminesce within ten feet of Harry all swarmed towards him, settling on every inch of his clothing and peppering his hair. Every person near enough to witness this had now stopped to point and gawk at him. Harry reddened, but he was pleased to see that their expressions were affable. He moved his head to look at Clarice, causing several Lluminesces to shift their wings resentfully. Her features were not nearly so plain looking when she smiled, he thought.

"You must be very brave," Clarice said admiringly.

"Well, they aren't too bad, as long as they haven't got six-foot stingers or anything," Harry said, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Clarice giggled. "That's not what I meant," she said. "Lluminesces only land and stay on someone who is noble and courageous. Someone who won't give up, no matter what happens. Not on anything, or anyone." She looked meaningfully at Harry as she said this last sentence, and Harry suddenly realized that she knew exactly why he was attending the Candle ball.

"Clarice..." he began uncertainly.

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it," she told him. "It's understandable. I know Hermione, she's a wonderful person. You've made a good choice."

He nodded. "I'm sorry if I led you on at all, it's just that -- well, I didn't know how I was going to see her again if I didn't go to this ball --" he stopped short. "Wait a second, did you say you know Hermione?"

Clarice turned magenta. "Well, yes," she chewed her lip nervously and teased a Lluminesce that had settled on her shoulder. It flew away huffily. "I'm familiar with Hermione from when we worked at the Ministry together, a couple of years back. She held a much higher position, of course; I had a boring desk job. But we were friendly together, and I often met her for lunch in Diagon Alley. There was always a rumor about you in the office -- something about romance in your last year at Hogwarts. I would continuously ask her about those bits of gossip, and she would continuously deny them. I have a talent, though, to tell when there was something she was omitting, and it was at those times that I felt it strongest."

"So when Yvette met Ron and I, and told you about us, you immediately decided to take action." Harry finished, unsure of whether he should be impressed or perturbed.

"Right. It was I who offhandedly mentioned the Candle Ball to Neville the other day. I had heard that you were going to visit an old friend, who I guessed was Hermione, yesterday. I knew for a fact that Hermione would be attending the ball. I also knew that she wouldn't allow you to sweep her up and carry her away on the first try. So I put two and two together, and here we are."

Harry looked gravely at Clarice for a moment, before his face twitched into a smile. "You made a good choice," he said. "Otherwise I might have done something drastic, in order to see Hermione again."

Clarice patted him on the back, allowing a few Lluminesces to crawl over her fingers. "Well, you two are perfect for each other," she said. Harry noted that she looked sad, almost hurt. She lifted her face, and stared straight at him. "Why do you even bother?" she asked. "With Hermione, I mean."

Harry studied her. "Because I love her. There's no real point in deceiving myself; I love her and I'd give my life for her," he responded.

Clarice nodded, and smiled rather forcedly. "That's a fair reason," she remarked. "Hey, where did Yvette and Ron go?"

Harry scrutinized the people all around them, finally catching sight of a purple and black train, mingling with green-rimmed black, mashed together very tightly behind a quivering tree. "They appear to be occupied," he mused, chortling.

Clarice followed his gaze, and cleared her throat. "Yvette, hello!" Yvette peered through the leaves of the tree at Clarice. Harry couldn't help but notice that her dark lipstick was smeared in the corner, and that her curls were mussed on one side.

"What do you want?" Yvette snapped, causing several people to look up in alarm and wonder where the fire was.

"Just to tell you that we're leaving, to go inside the ball," said Clarice innocently. "Thought you ought to know, in case you needed to find us for any reason." Clarice's frail body was shaking with suppressed mirth. Yvette nodded briskly, and pulled her head back, just as Harry and his date doubled up with laughter. Finally straightening up, fully aware of the stares from the other guests around them, they rearranged themselves.

"Did you see her hair?" gasped Clarice, wiping a tear from her eye.

"I wonder how Ron does it," Harry said, dodging a swipe round the head from Clarice.

"None of that," she scolded playfully. "I don't think the rest of us really want to know," she added.

Harry grimaced. "Let's go in," he said, and tugged her up the steps and through the massive double doors.

The ballroom itself was vast and bright. Couples waltzed elegantly beneath dazzling chandeliers on its immaculately polished floors. A long table of refreshments stood in a corner, beckoning to those weary of dancing. Harry scouted the room for Hermione, finally noticing her in the corner, conversing with several witches and wizards. She looked fantastic in robes of rich fawn, with a modest neckline and flaring sleeves, a caramel ribbon securing her hair. He pointed her out to Clarice, who smiled dryly. "You don't waste any time, do you?" she asked sardonically, punching him gently in the arm.

"I suppose not," said Harry, gripping his shoulder where she had hit him and cringing good-humoredly.

"I assume you've written and memorized a compelling speech to recite to her," Clarice said, a hint of biting sarcasm prominent in her tone.

"Actually, no," Harry replied. "I've found that nothing really works out if I plan it."

"Good, because Hermione's not the kind of girl to accept tedious sermons about love and youth and all that," Clarice informed him. "You go get her, Harry!"

"I will," said Harry. "Thanks, Clarice, for understanding."

Clarice acknowledged this statement with a grin, and waved. Harry waved back, and moved swiftly over to Hermione. He slipped up behind her, mindful of the fact that she hadn't noticed him. The people in the cluster were all discussing something obscure and serious. Whatever it was Harry did not know, for he was consumed in thinking up a quick and intellectual opening sentence.

"So, due to the improper distribution of Heckleweed among the vicinities of Orbon, the population of the South-River Naiads has decreased to a sparse quantity since the Sawgrass Revolution of 1486 --" one wizard with square spectacles was saying.

"I agree completely," Harry said, stepping in towards the center of the huddle. Every face turned to his in blank confusion. All but Hermione's. She had ceased to move the second Harry's voice reached her ears, and was now gaping straight ahead, refusing to turn and meet his eyes. The main wizard with the funny spectacles strode up to Harry and inspected him carefully, peering straight into his eyes.

Harry met the wizard's gaze for a moment, then tore his eyes down to a necklace decorating the wizard's neck. It looked like a Time-Turner, except for the fact that the fine grains of sand inside it were red, and glowing eerily. Something about it didn't seem quite right.

Shuddering slightly, Harry looked back at the wizard's face. The man seemed to be drawing several unfair assumptions, when his eyes scraped Harry's forehead and he gasped. Suddenly Harry was having his arm pumped up and down vigorously. "Mister Potter, so pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Nathaniel Prang, head of the Ministry Control Force of Outer-Regional Rebellions," the wizard said, grinning toothily.

"Er -- yes," responded Harry. "Sorry to interrupt, but I overheard your discussion and I decided --"

"Not a problem, not a problem," said the wizard, whose friends had all gathered together, and were smiling at Harry. "I understand you haven't been quite in touch with the wizarding world for some time. Are you familiar with the Naiad Uprising in Orbon?"

"The what?" said Harry. "Oh -- yes. Yes I am."

"Excellent!" Nathaniel Prang cried animatedly. "Do tell us your opinion of Samuel Prickerson and his movements of the Naiads. Nearly everyone seems to think that his accusations are fair and simple, but Miss Granger here," Nathaniel jerked his head at Hermione, who seemed to be trying to inch away from the circle, "Seems to think that Prickerson is cruel and sadistic."

Harry stepped forward and grabbed Hermione's wrist. She made no move to twist away, so he led her back into the group. "How do you do, Miss Granger?" he asked politely, acting as though they had never met.

Puzzlement spread across Nathaniel Prang's features. "I thought you two were in the same year together, at Hogwarts," he said, his brow furrowing. "Rita Skeeter wrote articles..." he trailed off, looking at Harry pensively.

Harry smiled regretfully at Nathaniel. Now, after this next statement, Hermione might at least take notice of him. Sighing wistfully, he said: "Sadly, we were not so familiar as most people think. Rita Skeeter is known for bending the truth, I believe."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione look up in horror, and watched her eyes grow dewy and damp. Good, he thought. I'm getting to her.

"But -- never mind," Nathaniel muttered. "So tell me, what do you think of Prickerson's actions?"

"I agree with Miss Granger," said Harry, wondering exactly who Samuel Prickerson was. "Prickerson is not being just, and he should be stopped."

Nathaniel clapped his hands. "I suppose you do have a point. Prickerson isn't being tethered to integrity, and that could be dangerous -- sorry?" Prang turned to face a young and pretty witch with straight black-brown hair. "Ah, Delilah!"

Delilah laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "Having fun, Nathan?" she asked.

Nathaniel took her hand and led her up to Harry. "Mister Potter, please meet my wife, Delilah Prang."

Harry grasped her fingers and shook them, then, in abrupt inspiration, brought them to his lips.

Delilah bared her teeth in a perfect smile. "Good to meet you, Harry," she said.

Harry, who was still clutching Hermione by the arm, felt a sudden wrench and a tug, and whirled about to see a flash of light golden brown slipping out onto the verandah. "Please excuse me," he told the Prangs.

They smiled and nodded knowingly. "Of course."

"Thank you." Harry had barely finished his sentence before he had reached the glass doors to the balcony. He opened them and dashed outside and around the corner, stopping short when he reached the fountain. It was tall and made of scratchy gray stone. Several nymphs were poised in triumphant positions at the top of the fountain. Their mouths were open, and water poured over their cheeks. One nymph held a jug high above her head, towering over the others. Glittering liquid spouted from it and drizzled over the entire area in a faint rain, blurring the lights of several scattered Lluminesces. Beneath the fountain, sitting with her face in her hands, was Hermione.

Harry crossed the marble-paved space between them and laid a hand on her shoulder, feeling her shudder and shrink away from his touch. "Don't sit here, you'll get wet," he said quietly, but sat down next to her.

Hermione looked up, her face streaked with tears. Her jaw was trembling slightly, and strands of hair had come loose from its ribbon and were plastered to her face. She looked miserable, yet she said nothing.

"We need to talk," said Harry. Hermione was silent, so he continued. "Please, Hermione, I know I'm probably wasting my time by talking to you, but I need you to listen. Years have passed since I told you how I feel. I've been killing myself slowly over you, trying to forget you, and yet those feelings still haven't changed."

Harry stopped, and took a deep breath. "You might not want to hear this, but it's true. I still love you, Hermione Granger. I always have, and I always will."

Harry hesitated, resting his eyes on the young woman opposite him, and went on. "I came back here for another chance. And even if you turn me down, I'll come back again. I'm not giving up on you, even if it means I'll have to return every day for the rest of my life. I'm not going to let you go."

He finished speaking, and looked at her. Her dress was soaked from the fountain. Her eyes were bright and wet, her eyelashes pasted together on her damp cheeks. She stared at him. Harry braced himself for the tirade that was about to spill. He steadied himself for anger, insult, even physical violence -- but he was far from prepared for what came next.

Hermione was gaping at him, rendered fully speechless, and Harry began to anticipate her outburst. Then, suddenly, she flung her arms around his middle and hugged him so tightly he felt unable to breathe.

"Oh, Harry!" she whispered, clinging to him, her fingers digging into his back. "Harry, I'm so sorry."

Harry was knocked back by her embrace, and this time it was his turn to lose his voice. He slid his arms under hers and pulled her up against him, allowing her tears to stain his robes. He patted her head uneasily, and focused on a Lluminesce by his ear, which was buzzing soothingly, nearly drowning out Hermione's muffled sobs. At last, Hermione pulled back, and Harry released his hold on her.

"Oh, God, Harry, I hate myself. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Tears were pouring down her face in a steady flow now; they blended with the water of the fountain.

"It -- it's all right," Harry calmed her.

Hermione would not be pacified. "No, it isn't. I've been lying to myself all these years, just as you have! I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't. I couldn't do it!" With that, she hurled herself back into Harry's chest and wept heavily.

Harry was baffled. Lifting her face from his shoulder, he tugged at the ribbon in her hair until it fell away, allowing her curls to cascade into her face. "Hermione -- what are you talking about?" he asked her, pocketing the ribbon.

Hermione swallowed. "Oh, Harry, isn't it obvious?" she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him closer. "In seventh year, when you told me -- when you told me you were in love with me, I wanted to tell you then, but I hadn't the courage. Harry, I loved you then too. I love you now!" she moaned, wiping her eyes.

Harry's jaw dropped; he felt his head spinning, like a top, faster and faster. "What did you say?" he croaked.

"I said I loved you. And I do! But now you'll never have me. I'm not good enough!" she whimpered, and pushed him away.

Harry caught her and drew her back. "Were you listening to a word I said just now?" he inquired. She caught and held his gaze in astonishment. "What?"

Harry laughed. "I told you I loved you as well. See, now we're even," he informed her, watching as her eyes grew wide.

"No, Harry. You don't love me. Why do you think I turned you down, five years ago? Why do you think I hurt you again, just yesterday? Because I'm no good, that's why." Hermione began to cry again, but this time it sounded frantic. She stood and ran towards the wall to their left, breathing unevenly and sinking down onto an iron bench that stood up against it. Several Lluminesces buried themselves in her hair, but she took no heed of them.

Harry got up as well, brushed the drops of water from his robes, and crossed to sit down next to her on the bench. She turned from him, but he reached over and gently took her chin in his hand.

"Look at me," he said. She faced him. "I know you, Hermione. You're a fantastically rational being and this isn't like you. Tell me the truth, now, when I ask you. Why exactly did you refuse my affection, back in seventh year?"

Hermione bowed her head. "I'm ashamed," she said.

"I know, but I need to hear this." He placed his arm around her shoulders.

"I will tell you, then," she replied solemnly. "The truth is, you frightened me. I was young at the time, and I didn't understand what I thought of you. When you explained your devotion, I was scared to make a mistake, and tell you I felt the same way when I wasn't sure I did. So I took the coward's route out, and led you on to think I was in love with someone else, when really I wasn't. And don't think that every day you thought of me for the past five years, I wasn't thinking of you. But I figured you would hate me, after what I did to you."

"I tried that," Harry said thoughtfully. "You're not hateful, though, so it didn't work. Not for me, anyway. Ron and Sirius have formed their own opinions of you now."

Hermione's features twisted in dismay. "They can't stand me, can they?" she said, looking crestfallen. "Everyone hates me, don't they?"

"Don't worry -- we'll show them that you are as amazing as I remember you," Harry smiled at her, trying not to pity the dejected little being, curled up on the bench next to him, that he had just yesterday thought of as the strongest woman he knew. "But tell me, Hermione, why didn't you tell me this yesterday, when I came round to your house?"

Hermione sighed. "I was afraid. I wasn't expecting you, and I didn't know what to do. When Hedwig showed up a couple days ago, I was at a loss. I wrote that note to you because I was trying to forget how badly I treated you, and your face would remind me of how awful I was all over again."

Harry nodded. This made sense.

Hermione kept speaking, however. "But what you said back there, to Mister Prang, about not ever being acquainted with me, I nearly fell apart right then and there. The happiest memories I have were when you were with me, you know."

"Don't think about it," Harry said. "I only did it to catch your attention, and to see what you would do about it."

"I hope I did the right thing," said Hermione.

"You did," Harry answered honestly. They sat together in stillness for a second, then Hermione turned her body towards him.

"You know what we're supposed to do now, don't you?" she asked, smiling wryly through her tears.

"No, what?" Harry asked, though he really did know. Hermione brought her face closer to his.

"We're supposed to kiss," she said. The tips of their noses were now touching. "In order to make it romantic. It's in all the books."

"Really?" said Harry, struggling to remain calm. Hermione's brown eyes were now centimeters away from his green ones. "Trust you to talk about books at a time like this."

"There's nothing wrong with books," she answered, slipping his glasses off gently.

And then their lips touched, tentatively, softly, blindingly, and Harry's mind exploded in a whirling mass of color. He clung to her, fingers running through her hair, eyes squeezed tightly shut. A solitary tear - whether of thrill or of panic one cannot be sure - trickled slowly down his cheek, mingling with Hermione's own as they pressed their faces together desperately. Each poured into each other the despondency, the melancholy, the burning, agonizing longing they had felt for five years of separation, as well as unadulterated bliss at the prospect of such intense and consuming love. So many emotions were sizzling beneath Harry's flesh in those few seconds that he felt he could barely keep himself in one piece. He wanted to scream and laugh and sob simultaneously, but at that moment he lived solely for Hermione.

Hermione opened her eyes as she kissed Harry, watching him. She nearly screamed and fell off the bench when his own eyelids flipped back, revealing a blur of green and black. But the urge to remain in his arms was too strong, and she closed her eyes again, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

At last the two broke apart for air. Hermione glanced at Harry. "Was that your first kiss?" she wanted to know.

"Hermione!"

She broke out laughing. Uncontrollable, delighted bursts of laughter. "You had me worried," she said, rising from the bench, snatching the hair ribbon from Harry's pocket and retying her hair. The Lluminesces nestled in her thick curls trilled in displeasure.

"Not with anyone I'd really loved, anyway," He responded earnestly.

She laughed again, sat on his lap, and handed him his glasses, which he replaced. "That's good to know. Tie this for me, will you?" she handed him the ribbon and held her hair above the nape of her neck.

Harry stared at the ribbon for a moment, then at the bare skin of her neck, and said, "Marry me, Hermione."

Hermione dropped her hair and spun to face him. "What?" she said sharply.

"I said, marry me."

Hermione let her mouth part in surprise. "You're joking," she responded. "You must be joking."

"Why would I joke about this?" he asked, mystified.

Hermione slowly stood up, weaving her hands together nervously. Tears began to stream down her cheeks once more. "Why are you breaking this on me like that? What is wrong with you? I thought you cared about me."

Harry cocked his head in confusion. "Exactly what are you talking about, Hermione?" he asked.

Hermione faltered, then lifted her head high and looked at him out of wide, deer-like eyes, glazed with tears and damp around the edges. "I'm so sorry, Harry, but -- I can't."