Just One Safe Place
"You wonder what he's thinking when he shivers like that. What can you tell me, what could you possibly tell me? Sure, it's good to feel things, and if it hurts, we're doing it to ourselves, or so the saying goes, but there should be a different music here. There should be just one safe place in the world, I mean this world." Road Music, Richard Siken
_
Draco was feeling restless.
He’d been trying to anger Granger into arguing with him for the past forty minutes, but she seemed to be in too good of a mood to indulge him. He watched her twirl a curl around her finger mindlessly while paying unwavering attention to whatever was spouting out of Theo’s mouth. Draco was tempted to throw a stinging hex in his friend’s direction -- it’d only serve him right.
“I do agree with it,” said Theo, one arm stretched over the back of his chair. “It might surprise you, Granger, but I really believe that the only way we can evolve is through knowledge.”
“I believe that too,” nodded Granger enthusiastically. “Once we truly understand something, how can we fear it? It’s why I’m so happy that Muggle Studies became a required class. Can you imagine how different your lives would’ve been if you had learned about Muggles from an early age?”
Draco looked back and forth between Granger and Theo, his lips curling into a sneer. “That is ridiculous,” he said.
“Yes, Malfoy?” said Granger mildly. “Do you have something to say?”
“Theo is bullshiting you,” he said. “The knowledge he swears is so important is actually baseless gossip. He keeps an arsenal of rumors about virtually everyone in the Wizarding community--”
“Excuse me?” said Theo. “How is that relevant to this meeting?”
“And no wizard should be obligated to take Muggle Studies,” continued Draco, ignoring Theo’s offended expression. “That’s a blatant attempt at brainwashing the students.”
“How so?” asked Granger, her voice still obnoxiously even. “The class will provide students with the information necessary to form their own opinions.”
“By forcing seven years of Muggle propaganda down their throats?” said Draco, leaning forward in his chair. “You’re not going to convince me that isn’t brainwashing.”
“That’s such a flawed logic, Malfoy,” said Granger, turning in his direction. “Your families have entire bibles of lies regarding the Muggle world, and you grow up listening to made-up stories you swear up and down are the truth without ever having had a respectful and unbiased conversation with a Muggle-born. But somehow taking a class with an actual professor in a renowned school is considered brainwashing?”
“No other school in Europe has Muggle Studies even as elective,” said Pansy before Draco could speak. “Why should Hogwarts be the special snowflake?”
“We should be glad wizarding Britain is pioneering progressive policies,” said Granger, dragging her eyes from him to Pansy. “Or do you measure your standards by what everyone else is doing?”
“Do you consider censorship a progressive policy?” asked Draco. “Politicians like Wizengamot Judge Jones are pushing for laws that would put even more restrictions on books about pureblood culture. That’s censorship in a nutshell.”
“Have you read the law?” asked Granger with a smile. “Judge Jones is just asking for racist discourse to be taken out of academic texts. She doesn’t want to censor all or even most books.”
“How would you feel if a book about Muggles was prohibited?” said Pansy.
“If it contained offensive language, I wouldn’t be upset,” said Granger. “Some Muggleborns have a problem with pureblood culture. But I personally believe that purebloods should be free to honor their traditions as you wish. It’s only a problem when pureblood ideals are the basis for a genocidal movement.”
Draco glanced around the room. Since Granger had followed his advice and waited instead of reporting Rookwood, he had been pretty silent during the meetings, scowling at Granger as if he could burn her to a crisp with the force of his stare. His agitation amused Draco as much as it provided him a relief from having to hear the sod’s voice.
“I know it might seem impossible,” continued Granger, “but if you really tried to set aside everything that you’ve been taught, even for just one conversation, maybe you would gain a different perspective on things.”
Granger sat silently for a moment, licking her lips. Draco knew that the particular look on her face meant that she was coming up with something that would inevitably inconvenience him. He sighed and turned to Theo, who gave him a smirk.
“I think I have a new assignment for you, then,” said Granger. “This next week, I want you to have a conversation with a Muggleborn.”
"I hate to burst your bubble,” said Pansy, “but how are we supposed to find a random Muggleborn and strike up a conversation? That’s impossible, Granger.”
“You could explain it was an assignment, but I’d advise you not to,” she shrugged. “You could owl someone you went to school with. There were plenty of Muggleborns in our year. Frankly, how you do isn’t really my concern. Just make sure it’s done by our next meeting.”
“She’s such a bloody bitch,” grumbled Pansy, quietly enough so that only Draco could hear.
“I’m going to ask you for the name of the person you talked to, and don’t try to make something up. I have no qualms about contacting them myself to verify your story,” said Granger, standing up from her chair. “You all can go now. I’ll see you Friday.”
Rookwood was the first to stand up and leave the Solarium. Pansy and Millicent walked behind him at a slower pace, complaining to each other in what they thought were whispers.
Draco lingered, slowly rising from his chair while he waited for the rest of the room to leave. He didn’t know why he wanted to talk to Granger, but he wasn’t used to denying himself what he wanted. It’s harmless , he told himself, and if I make her believe I’m changing my mind, I’m one step closer to getting out of the program .
Draco felt eyes on him. He turned to see Theo staring at him, a mischievous look in his eyes. “Do you need something, Theo?” he said irritably.
“The meeting is over, if you haven’t realized,” said Theo, waving a hand around the mostly empty room. “Let’s grab a pint of butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks, I’m stressed.”
“I can’t,” said Draco, feigning an apologetic expression, his mind searching for an believable excuse. “Granger actually asked me to stay behind. I think she wants to get my report on the Rookwood situation.”
“But she hasn’t asked anyone else to do that,” said Theo, looking suspicious, “so why would she ask you?”
“Don’t you remember you forcing me to go look for her? She’s probably getting my report first, then asking the rest of you,” lied Draco, meeting Theo’s stare with a blank expression. He kept still as he waited for his friend to call him out, but Theo only smirked, clapping him on the back.
“Alright, then. Good luck with that, owl me once you’re free.”
When Theo finally left the room, Draco turned towards Granger, who was picking up the chairs, shrinking them, and placing them inside of her bottomless bag.
Draco took a few steps closer to her, waiting for her to stop and acknowledge his presence in the room, but Granger continued as if he wasn’t there.
“Granger,” he said finally, his voice brimming with aggravation. “I need to talk to you.”
“Do you?” asked Granger, still not turning around.
“You just gave us an assignment,” said Draco, watching as she grabbed the chair closest to him and mumbled Reducio . “And I’m a very applied student.”
“This isn't a class,” huffed Granger. “What do you want, Malfoy?”
“We’re supposed to talk to a Muggleborn, aren’t we? So, I’m talking to you.”
“I obviously don’t count,” she said in an exasperated voice, her hands on her hips. “You might not take this seriously, Malfoy, but I do--”
“You do count,” he interrupted. “Why not? I’m going to have a conversation with you outside of our meetings. Actually, it’s better if we’re completely outside this building, and we won’t talk about anything related to the program.”
“That just feels like cheating,” said Granger.
“It’s not my fault they weren’t clever enough to think of it,” said Draco, crossing his arms. “But if you don’t want to, I’m not going to insist.”
Granger hesitated, looking from Draco to the door. He almost laughed. Just like the storage closet. Just like Muggle London. Just like the balcony. They always seemed to be in that situation -- one of them convincing the other to spend time together.
“What do you even want to do?” asked Granger suspiciously.
“We could go to that London Eye you keep talking about,” he said.
“You want to ride the London Eye?” asked Granger, her mouth slightly agape. “You do know that it was built by Muggles, right? Or did you forget?”
“I know that, Granger, do you think I’m stupid?” he snapped.
“I’m just making sure,” said Granger, her brow furrowed. “I’m just surprised you’d want to go to Muggle London, especially after the tantrum that you threw last time.”
“Every time we talk, you keep going on and on about it. I’m tired of it, Granger. And I’m actually not fully convinced they aren’t using magic to keep that thing turning.”
“Oh, of course,” she chuckled. “Of course you would believe magic was somehow behind it. Okay, then, Malfoy, if you insist--”
“I just said I’m not insisting--”
“If you insist,” she continued, “then we can go. I have to take these chairs back to the room, so you can meet me downstairs, if you want.”
“I’m not gonna wait around for you, Granger, how ridiculous would I look?”
Granger sighed heavily and shook her head.
“Come with me, then,” she said, leaving the room without waiting for him to agree.
Draco followed Granger in silence, conscious of the people walking around the busy corridors of the center. He walked a couple of steps behind her, watching her hair bounce up and down her shoulders as she marched down the corridor in quick, purposeful steps. She took them to the old meeting room, quickly unlocking the door, stepping inside, and starting to enlarge the chairs.
“Why do you do this every meeting? Why not just leave the chairs up there?” asked Draco, standing by the door.
Granger shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t answer, methodically enlarging and setting the chairs down on the floor.
“The goody-two-shoes isn’t so goody, then?” said Draco loudly. The corner of his lip curled up when he noticed the flush on Granger’s cheeks.
“Stop talking so loud,” hissed Granger. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about, Malfoy.” She stepped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Her eyes travelled nervously down the corridor as she locked the room up.
“I don’t why I’m surprised that you’re going behind Cartwell’s back,” said Draco in a lower voice, “but this seems a little ridiculous. Do you really think she’d care about us changing rooms?”
“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” snapped Granger. “Now shut up, let’s get out of here.”
Draco hid a smile as they turned the corner, stopping in an empty hallway. He wasn’t surprised when Granger lifted her wand to transfigure her own robes into a pair of dark jeans and an oversized jumper. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for his nod.
“You’re not fooling me, Granger,” he said, standing still as she transfigured his robes into jeans, a long-sleeved black shirt and a jacket. “You’re more sneaky than I give you credit for.”
“I’m going to talk to Cartwell eventually,” she finally gave in. “Soon, actually. But until then, shut up about it, okay?”
“Alright,” he said, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Shall we go?”
Granger looked at him as if there were a million questions going through her mind. Draco silently urged her to keep silent, to not ruin the weightless feeling around them. There was a tenuous thread strung between them; it’d easily break if stretched too far, too soon.
Maybe Granger felt it, too, because she didn’t say anything, only nodded. Then she grabbed his arm and apparated them out of the building.
_
There was an impossibly long line inside the Ticket Office. Draco tapped his foot against the floor, huffing impatiently as he watched Granger slowly read through a folder, like she wasn’t even the slightest bothered that they’d been waiting for the past fifteen minutes.
“Granger,” he muttered, nudging her with his elbow.
“What?” she grunted, keeping her eyes on the folder.
“How much time do you think I have to waste? Do something!”
“What are you, five?” she snapped. “What do you want me to do? Everyone has to wait their turn. This is an extremely popular tourist attraction.”
“Are you a witch or not?” he said quietly, bending his head closer to her ear, close enough to feel the shiver that ran through her body when his lips brushed against her hair. “There’s no reason we need to wait.”
“Don’t be rude,” said Granger, turning to face him. They were close enough that their shoulders brushed when she moved. “I’m not using magic to cut in a line just because you’re too much of a spoiled brat to wait for your turn.”
“Haven’t we already decided you’re not as high and mighty as you pretend to be? You’re fine with lying to your superiors, but using magic to save ourselves a bit of time is beneath you?”
“You’re not going to change my mind,” she said. Draco inhaled sharply when she raised her hand to pat him lightly on the cheek, giving him a sarcastic smile. She lowered her arm, as if it wasn’t strange that she had touched him. Draco quickly turned to face the line. He could feel Granger shift beside him, but he kept his eyes looking forward, nervous energy inside him fluttering uncomfortably. His neck felt impossibly hot.
They didn’t talk until their turn finally came up. Granger walked up to the cashier to buy their tickets, the payment process far too quick for the time they’d spent waiting. Wordlessly, the two of them started walking in the direction of the ride. After a moment, Draco said to her, “I could have paid for it.”
“Oh, do you just randomly carry around Muggle money now?” she asked. “Not to mention, this coming from a man who wouldn’t even buy me coffee--”
“Whatever, Granger,” said Draco. “I didn’t know you wanted to be pampered so badly--”
“What if I did?” she challenged. Draco’s eyes travelled up and down her face, noticing the faint freckles scattered around her nose. They were more pronounced in the sunlight.
“Well, I would’ve said the same thing,” he said. “You have a job, pay for yourself.”
“So frugal,” muttered Granger, rolling her eyes.
“But I’m the one who wanted to go on the London Eye,” he continued, “so I should’ve paid.”
“And I’m saying I don’t know where you would’ve gotten the money from. Maybe you should get a part-time job at a Muggle restaurant,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
“When hell freezes over,” scoffed Draco. “It’s ridiculously hot today, by the way.”
“It’s actually quite chilly,” said Granger, frowning at him. “Are you uncomfortable?”
“No,” said Draco. He didn’t know why he felt so heated, like there was a slow fire burning just beneath his skin. “Can we go already?”
“We have to wait for our turn.”
They stood behind a family in the queue. A heavily pregnant woman was holding the hand of a tall man next to her, who cradled a toddler in his arms. The child’s head lolled on his father’s shoulder. He looked from Draco to Hermione with wide, curious eyes.
“Why is he staring at us?” asked Draco.
“I don’t know, Malfoy, he’s just a baby,” said Granger, smiling at the child, who gave her a toothy grin. Draco watched her twist her face into a series of ridiculous expressions, poking her tongue out to make him giggle.
“You’re tormenting the child, Granger,” he mumbled, covering his mouth with his hand to hide his smile.
Just then, the toddler reached his tiny chubby arms to grab one of Granger’s curls. He yanked, and she let out a yelp, making the father turn around.
“Oh, damn, I’m so sorry,” said the man, lifting his hand to untangle his child’s fingers from Granger’s hair. Draco heard an American accent in his voice. “I swear we’ve taught him not to grab people. He’s usually very shy.”
“Don’t worry about it, it didn’t hurt,” Granger rushed to say. “Your son is adorable.”
“Thank you,” said the man. “I’m Julian, and this is my wife, Courtney.”
“Hello there,” said Courtney. “I apologize for my spawn,” she said solemnly, reaching out a hand that Granger shook without hesitation.
Draco grunted when Granger’s elbow sharpy nudged his side. He ignored it, but when she did it again, he raised his hand to shake the Muggle’s hand. Granger’s eyes were pinned on him, as if she expected him to suddenly combust.
“I would shake your hand, but my arms are a little full with this one,” said Julian.
“That’s okay,” said Granger. “I’m Hermione, and this is Draco. He’s a bit shy.”
Draco shot her a look, then turned in the family’s direction with a flat smile. He thought about what his father would say if he saw him now, standing next to Harry Potter’s best friend and fumbling his way through a casual conversation with Muggles. The thought made his stomach lurch.
As if sensing it, Granger lightly placed her hand on his bicep. She softly brushed her fingers up his arm, leaving a burning trail on his skin. As he watched her make small talk with the couple in front of them, Draco saw Granger’s cheek flush pink. He swallowed.
“Are you guys from London?” asked Courtney.
“I grew up around here,” said Granger. “But Draco here is from Wiltshire, it’s about two hours southwest.”
“Oh, did you like living around there?” Julian asked Draco.
When he didn’t respond immediately, Granger stepped in. “It’s pretty posh out there. He was raised very sheltered.”
“I am not sheltered,” snapped Draco. Granger just laughed.
“Don’t mind him, he gets a bit overwhelmed around new people. Oh look, it’s your turn to get in.” Granger ignored Draco’s glare and grabbed his arm, dragging him forward.
“It was nice meeting you both. I hope you enjoy London!” called Granger to the couple, who gave them slightly uncertain smiles.
Fortunately, Draco and Granger were pointed towards a different cabin. A large group of people followed them as they all stepped inside. Granger let go of his arm when the automatic door closed behind them.
Draco ignored her amused look and walked towards the huge glass windows. He felt his body jerk uncomfortably when the cabin started moving. Granger stepped to stand by his side.
“Look, you can see Buckingham Palace from here,” she said. “Oh, this is really pretty.”
“You’d get a better view on a broom,” said Draco. “And you wouldn’t be locked inside a metal capsule with a bunch of strangers.”
“I never learned to ride a broom,” said Granger, voice forcibly nonchalant.
“What?” His head snapped towards her. “We had that class in our first year, Granger.”
“I never got the hang of it,” said Granger, not looking at him. “Brooms don’t respond well to me. And I don’t like the feeling of just sitting on a twig, okay? It’s uncomfortable.”
“I can’t believe you’re comparing a broom to a twig, you’re mad,” chuckled Draco. “But it’s humbling to know Miss Know-It-All can’t ride a broom.”
“Whatever, that’s not the most valuable skill to have. There are much safer and more effective means of transportation in both the wizarding and the Muggle world,” she said defensively, keeping her voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard.
“There’s no better feeling than riding a broom, Granger. You have complete control of where you’re going. The wind on your face, the rush from the speed, it’s the best. I can’t believe you don’t like it.”
“Well,” said Granger, “if that’s what you like about a broom, I think you’d enjoy riding a Muggle motorcycle.”
“What?”
“It’s hard to explain. I could show you sometime, but I’m afraid that much Muggle would break you. You should’ve seen your face in line,” she chuckled.
Draco didn’t say anything to that, turning to look out of the window as they climbed even higher above the River Thames. All around them, people audibly gasped in wonder. He didn’t feel as dazzled, but there was something about Granger’s presence that kept him from feeling too uncomfortable. He liked the way the water reflected when he looked down, and how they weren’t so high the clouds obstructed his view of the city.
When he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, Draco caught a glance of Granger’s profile. It reminded him of how she stood beside him on the ballroom’s balcony. The lines in her face had smoothed; she looked peaceful. He hadn’t realized that she always seemed to be carrying around extra weight, until she seemed to have shed most of it.
“You made me look like an imbecile around those Muggles,” he muttered, after a while.
“You did that all yourself, you kept gaping,” said Granger, a giggle escaping her mouth. “But if you were so eager to talk to them, I would’ve let you.”
“Shut up, Granger,” said Draco, good-naturedly. “I’m just saying I don’t need you to speak for me.”
“Okay, I’ll make a note of that for next time.” Draco didn’t comment on the sure tone of her voice, as if there wasn’t any doubt there would be a next time.
“How long is this ride supposed to last, anyway?”
“It’s about thirty minutes total, so we have twenty more minutes to go,” said Granger, leaning against the side of the cabin. “Are you already bored, Malfoy?”
“Are we supposed to just stand here and watch?”
“Pretty much, and appreciate the view,” said Granger with a smile. “But if you’re bored, I could tell you some curiosities about the sights.”
Draco crossed his arms. “Well, you might as well.”
Granger pointed enthusiastically towards Buckingham Palace, her words stumbling over each other as she fired off random information about Muggle royalty. Draco settled, letting his body relax against one of the metal railings attached to the window.
Every so often, she glanced away from the view to make sure he was paying attention. As if Draco could do anything but exactly that.
_
By the time Hermione apparated home, the moon had risen high in the sky and the chilly weather had transformed into the type of cold that set deep in the bones. She waved her wand around the living room, mumbling a warming spell before placing her purse on top of the coffee table, bending down to take off her shoes.
“You’re home late,” said Harry, emerging from the kitchen with a mug in his right hand. He blew on the mug before taking a sip.
“Oh, hi,” said Hermione, taking off her socks as well. “A late night. I had some work to catch up to at the MRC.” The lie slipped effortlessly off her tongue.
“Do you want some coffee?” he asked, walking past her to sit on the sofa. “There’s a fresh pot in the kitchen.”
“No, thank you, I actually want to sleep tonight,” said Hermione. She thought of heading straight to her room, but the look on Harry’s face made her falter. Instead, Hermione sat beside him on the sofa. “What’s up with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Harry Potter,” said Hermione, grabbing a throw pillow so she could rest her arm. “I know when something’s up. What’s going on?”
Harry took another sip of his coffee. Hermione waited, trying to puzzle out his troubled expression.
“If I tell you about it, do you promise not to start with your conspiracy theories?”
“I promise,” said Hermione, biting back the thought of raising valid questions doesn't make me a conspiracy theorist.
Harry gave her a doubtful look, but seemed mollified enough. He turned his body fully towards her, raising a knee onto the couch and resting his weight against the cushion.
“I had a meeting with Robards and Kinglsey today--” started Harry.
“I thought Robards had already left the department?” asked Hermione. Harry shot her a pointed look. “Sorry, I was just curious.”
“He’s not working in the DMLE anymore, but he’s been at the Ministry almost every day, talking to a bunch of different people,” said Harry. “Anyway, Kinglsey called me up, and I went thinking I had managed to screw up my first week on the job.”
“Of course you haven’t!”
“Apparently I didn’t,” nodded Harry, “but they wanted to talk to me about some… concerns, I guess.” Hermione suppressed the urge to yell at him to spit it out. She refrained from saying anything, watching him struggle to find his words. “Robards said that while he trusts my ability to do the job, some people are worried that I’m too young to hold such a high position.”
“Shouldn’t they have asked those questions before they offered you the job?”
“I think they did,” said Harry, “but Robards went ahead anyway, and I think Kingsley supports him, even though he didn’t speak much in the meeting. Anyway, Robards said it was important that I made an effort to acknowledge these concerns. It’s important for me to have the support of the Wizengamont, as well as the other department heads. They’ve all been working in the Ministry way longer than I have.”
“That doesn’t seem unreasonable,” said Hermione, moving her legs so she could rest her feet up on the couch. “What’s bothering you so much?”
“He said something about making myself more reliable. I thought the best way to do that would be by showing people that I’m serious about the job, but he said all areas of my life affect how people see me.”
“Harry,” said Hermione slowly, “after everything you’ve sacrificed over the years, I don’t think you have to prove to anyone how serious you are about your role in the wizarding community.”
“I can’t be exempt from everything, Hermione.”
“But you’ve shown many times you’re capable of anything you set your mind to.” she said. “I mean, who else can say they brought down Voldemort?”
“You’re my friend, and I’m happy you think so highly of me. But I don’t mind having to prove myself.” Harry put his mug down on the coffee table.
“I’m sure with time you’ll be able to set any doubt to rest.”
“Maybe,” said Harry. “But until then I might get many of my initiatives blocked, or everything that I do questioned. Robards said I need to show how stable my life is.”
“What does that mean?” asked Hermione, her brow furrowed.
“He said it’d be a good idea for me to think of moving up my engagement to Ginny,” said Harry. “You know I’ve wanted to propose to her for a while, but my initial plan was to wait until we were both more settled in our careers. But apparently married men have more credibility than bachelors do.”
“Harry, I don’t really think a job should factor into a serious decision like that. It baffles my mind that Robards would even suggest it,” said Hermione, feeling unsettled. “He wants you to get married for what? To appear more grown up and serious to those old sods? What you do with your personal life doesn’t influence your ability to do your job properly.”
“But it’s not like I wasn’t going to propose to her, I might have to move our timeline up a little, but--”
“Harry, are you serious?” said Hermione. “I know you don’t like my so-called conspiracy theories, but Robards seems kind of--”
“Hermione,” he interrupted, “I need to be taken seriously by people inside the Ministry, people who have been there much longer than I have. I can’t be seen as unreliable, or unstable. Robards just cares about my career, he wants to help me.”
“If Robards is still so involved with the DMLE, it doesn’t sound like he ever really left,” said Hermione. “If he stepped down, I don’t understand why he would still have so much influence in the department.”
“He’s been an Auror for most of his life,” said Harry. “It’s not weird that he keeps in touch with the Ministry about how the department is doing. He just gave me something to think about, it’s all.”
Hermione sighed. Sometimes she felt like talking to Harry was like talking to a brick wall.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
Hermione digested Harry’s words, struggling to make sense of what was going on. After a moment, she said, “Can I ask you a question, Harry? You don’t have to answer it, and I won’t push if you don’t, I promise.”
“Of course you can, Hermione."
Hermione setted her legs back on the floor, then said, “It seems to me like Robards is grooming you. I don’t know for what, but why else would he be so involved with what’s going on at the Ministry? I’m not the only one who thinks he’s aiming for a political career.”
“Are you talking about that bloody magazine again?”
“Yes, I am. It gets a lot right,” said Hermione. “Even if I’m completely wrong, tell me this. Do you have any interest in working with politics?”
Harry seemed taken aback by her question. He pushed up the glasses sliding down his nose, then said, “I want to be an Auror, Hermione. You know this. When have I said anything else?”
Hermione studied his face, unsure if she truly believed him. Since when are you so suspicious of him? she asked herself.
“Then I don’t think you should let other people dictate your life, Harry. If you want to be a good Head of Department, then do that. Soon enough people will stop doubting you.”