Gummy worms.

It might have been muggle candy, but it was the reason for the slight dark smudges beneath his eyes: Ginny had decided at two in the morning that she needed gummy words. Rolling over in bed, he’d wrapped an arm around and promised he’d get a bag tomorrow. But his pregnant –and lately very easily annoyed- wife had tossed his arm away, thrown the blankets off her body, and made a clumsy attempt to stand, deciding she’d just go get them herself if Harry wasn’t going to be helpful. The Auror wasn’t certain if it had been a bluff, or if she’d actually meant it, but he had rolled out of bed and hurried to make her desires come true. It also definitely did not help that, as soon as he’d returned home, James had woken up with a nightmare, and Albus had decided he was thirsty. Harry was unable to catch a single wink more of sleep –while Ginny snored contentedly, her belly full of sweets.

His appearance was half zombie, as he walked down Diagon Alley. People made way for him, perhaps because of the crimson robes or maybe just because they recognized his face –or, more likely, the pale scar on his forehead. Harry tried to smile, even if he felt half asleep and desired nothing more than a nap. But he had a job to do, and a case to close: Hector Harrison’s death had been nagging him for the past weeks, but despite his own doubts that the cause had been a heart attack, there had been little he could do to keep the case open. His only request had been to make one final round of questioning, in order to be certain they’d missed nothing –and the permission had came almost grudgingly. Even his the report from the Department Of Mysteries stating that the creature seen in the Leaky Cauldron had, most likely, not been a dementor did not help his case. But at least he’d gotten his chance.

Reaching Gringott’s, he stopped at the doors, green eyes glancing at the sign that warned off thieves. He needed a second to waken up, and to gather his thoughts. The interview he was here for would need to be handled to perfection, if he had any hopes of raising enough reasonable doubt to keep the case wide open. With a sigh, Harry stepped forwards and into the wizarding bank. He stepped towards the nearest goblin and produced his credentials. “I need to speak with a Miss Raizel Cohen, please,” He stated, matter of fact, not minding the goblin’s distrustful gaze –they hadn’t been his biggest fan since for a long time now. “She isn’t expecting me.” He had decided it would be best if the women had no time to potentially prepare herself.

Surprise would be his greatest weapon.

She'd heard the footsteps come up behind her, but it wasn't until she felt the beady eyes staring her down that Raizel deigned to look up from the account that she'd been working to inventory.

"There's an Auror to see you," Gropgruk informed her shortly.

For a moment, something inside her twisted, but it couldn't be that Auror.  Raizel stared at the goblin, not comprehending.  Someone from the Ministry, come here to see her?  In the middle of the work day, in full view of all the goblins at the bank?

Her heart felt as if it were suddenly beating very quickly.  Raizel swallowed involuntarily, setting her jaw as she eyed the pale-skinned creature warily.  Was it even a British Auror?  Surely the authorities here knew not to flaunt the fact that she had been cooperating with them.  There could be no possible reason why one of them would ever come to find her at Gringotts -- not unless something incredibly bad had happened, and that meant --

She gave a careless shrug of her shoulder, a fluttering wave of her hand.  In that instant, she couldn't say what she was dreading more -- that it was someone from far away, coming to press some charges, or that it was someone from Britain, come to tell her news that she suddenly felt very terrified and all too alone to hear.

"Send him in," she said, as if it didn't matter in all the world, but she might agree to talk to the Auror just as she had deigned to speak with this horrible goblin.  "I don't know what it could be about."

---

The next few minutes were as torturous as her life had ever been.  Raizel sat there, her stomach twisting, trying not to entertain the horrible, awful, crushing fears that were doing their best to force their way into her psyche.  When the door opened again, her eyes shot over immediately, and before she even knew it, she was on her feet, the fingers of her right hand pressed to the edge of her desk as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.

"You're not -- ... it isn't --"  She broke off.  The effort of trying to translate her thoughts into English was too much when her thoughts were racing.  This wasn't an Auror that she knew, but -- her eyes flicked to his forehead, to the zigzag scar that was just visible there, and if possible, she paled still further. 

Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, though she still looked as if she were about to take flight.

"What happened?"  The words came out short and curt.  She kept her eyes locked on the Auror's face, her jaw set uncertainly.  "What do you want?"

As the disgruntled goblin indicated that he should stay here and stand still –apparently some of them were rather more paranoid than the rest, and that was saying something- and then wobbled off to find Cohen, the Auror watched the creature leave through exhausted eyes. He only hoped the goblin would hurry up –and he simply rather not think of the fact that Hermione would wither him with her gaze if she knew she’d thought it; that, or she’d go on a rant that would last for hours, screaming and gesturing with wide arms as she tried to explain that goblins had the same rights as wizards did, and that they were extremely powerful creatures. Ron would then surely receive a telling off if he so little as decided simply not to comment –and even if he tried to establish he was on her side simply to calm the wrath, she’d smack him lightly over the head and yell a little more as she made clear her husband understood that she could defend herself. Standing there, in the entry to Gringotts, Harry found himself smiling widely at the train of thought. It had been a couple of days since he’d seen either of his two best mates, and he already found himself messing them –but, between a busy schedule at work, a pregnant wife and less than three hours of sleep every night, he would simply have to hope they understood his occasional absence. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t experienced it when their own kid had been born, anyways.

By the time the goblin returned, Harry had began to sway slightly on his feet and was quite more than ready to nod off –even if it had only been a few minutes. But as the tiny, yet rough, voice indicated that Cohen would see him inside, he awoke instantly. Making sure the crimson robes set right on his shoulders, he followed the goblin through a set of doors he’d never passed before. Taking a second to glance around –and finish making sure his senses were all back on alert-, he was somewhat surprised to see that this area somewhat resembled an office –or even, to a point, the Auror Headquarters. Pursing his lips together, he nodded in approval, before hearing as the goblin pointed towards Cohen. Green eyes following the uplifted finger, his gaze fell on a blonde that might have been just a bit older than him, or just a bit younger. Or the exact same age. He couldn’t quite tell for certain. Still, he nodded in gratitude to the small creature, and then strode through the area to Raizel Cohen’s desk.

She was standing, and at the same time as he felt her eyes drift towards the fading scar on his forehead, he took a quick first impression of her own presence: her knees might just be a tad bit wobbly, and her hand definitely seemed to be the one thing keeping her standing. In a word, she looked nervous. In a few words, she looked like she wanted to get the hell out of dodge. Harry’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “Were you expecting someone else, Miss Cohen?” He questioned at the words she stammered out. “Whether I am or I am not is hardly the matter. You’re stuck with me,” He stared at her, gaze hard for an instant, in complete Auror mode –a set of characteristics and mannerisms he used only when on the job, and had discovered he possessed only on his first case. But then, he lightened, remembering that the last thing he wanted was to scare the girl. He was the freaking Boy Who Lived, and for the first time in many years he’d try to flaunt that in order to get her to confide in him. Groaning inwardly, he lifted a hand and pulled back a strand of raven black hair to be entirely sure she saw the scar –as at the same time he tried not to slap himself.

“You seem nervous,” He stated not as an accusation, but in such a way that it seemed an observation, a friendly bit of preoccupation. With just enough vigor to be noticed, but not enough to seem overacted, he rolled his eyes. “You’re not in trouble for anything, Miss Cohen, if that’s what you think,” Of course, if she was worried he was here to arrest her that certainly meant she might have something to be arrested for. He saved the note at the back of his mind, ready to be used later if Raizel Cohen decided to be entirely unhelpful. “I’m Auror Potter, and I simply would like to ask you a couple of questions. So, if you wouldn’t mind sitting,” He gingerly took hold of a chair for himself and pulled it back, settling down lightly, as if this were all simply a conversation between friends. “Please?” He glanced up at her, placing a small smile on his face and wrinkling his nose to keep his glasses from falling down the bridge. “It’s about something you witnessed, that’s all. The bloke who died in the Leaky?” Somehow, his accent rang quite British all of the sudden –or perhaps it was simply that it sounded as such in contrast to her’s. “Hector Harrison? I’m just following up on the questions we’ve asked you previously, that is all.”

She had been preparing for the worst -- for that same, crushing feeling of helpless disaster -- but from the moment that he'd opened his mouth, it seemed as if this Auror hadn't come to deliver bad news.  The Cursebreaker stared at him for a moment, clearly confused; there was no doubt after viewing her expression that this moment was not what she had expected.  But just as quickly, she composed herself, shutting her mouth tightly, a much more wary look settling over her features as she reevaluated the situation.

"The Three Broomsticks," she corrected cautiously.  So.  It was not anything connected to Gringotts at all.  That explained why this Auror had come to visit her at the Bank.  Now that the dread had vanished, something else was quietly building -- even if this had nothing to do with Gringotts, why in the name of HaShem had he come to see her here? 

She slipped back into her chair, sweeping her hair back over her shoulder as she eyed the Auror warily.  So this was the famous Harry Potter.  Even growing up half a world away, she'd heard of him.  The last British Dark Lord had been defeated while she'd still been a student at Beit Gaddol, and though happening on the far side of Europe had hardly been standard discussion, she'd had friends with family back in England.  She would have had to be living in a strictly isolated bubble not to know who he was.

Which made her wonder why he, of all people, would come here to talk to her.  A man dying all alone in a tavern hardly seemed the sort of investigation that would be taken up by the British magical world's most famous celebrity; she would have imagined that someone like Harry Potter took on only the most serious cases, things of world-ending importance.  Had the Aurors finally decided that there was something more to Harrison's death?  Or was Potter here because he, like Harrison, was a war hero?  Perhaps she'd been naive to think that they'd dismiss the old wizard's death so quickly.

Either way, the Auror was here now, and she was going to have to run the gamut of questions again.  Raizel sniffed, and then drew her wand, tapping the cup that she usually kept by her desk.  It surged full of water.  Picking it up, she took a sip to calm the harsh, dusty feeling in her throat, and then turned her attention back on Auror Potter.

"You can ask your questions," she said simply.  She was watching him cautiously -- not resisting, but not set on fully cooperating yet either.  "I already told your friend everything that I saw."

As Cohen settled back down in her chair, she flipped her blonde hair over one shoulder, her eyes still wary as they met his face. On his side, Harry stayed silent, trying to appear friendly as she allowed her to gather her thoughts –even though that was actually the last thing he wanted her to do: the more unprepared she was, the more likely she might be to let something slip. Still, he smiled; head just slightly cocked to the left, and folded one leg over the opposite knee. He would do anything for a firewhiskey at the moment, for that warm jolt of alcohol to wake him –but drinking was not something he allowed himself while on the job, or he risked numbing his senses. He’d experienced enough times in his life –and two of those times had resulted in his second child and the one now in Ginny’s stomach. Although he loved his kids, he couldn’t say he relished being around his wife when she was pregnant.

He had ignored her correcting him –it was bad enough he’d made the vital mistake of naming the wrong place of the death, it would be worse if he addressed it. In his defense, he was tired –and, further in his defense, he hadn’t been on this case too long. He now ignored the impatience he felt as she took her time taking a sip of water. Harry was eager to get the answers he needed from her –but pressuring her was not yet the right course of action. Instead, he waited, and even stopped himself from tapping his feet as he did. Patience was one of the first things you learnt once you started having children, and Harry was certain he’d mastered it. When she spoke, she was alert, and that single fact left him even more certain that she had something to hide –whether it were related to the case or not was left to be seen.

“Of course, and I’m sorry to bother you again,” He said pleasantly, although he felt much more tempted to play the bad Auror today and start yelling out accusations. “It’s simply a matter of routine; we need to dot our I’s and all that,” He shrugged, settling back comfortably into his chair and acting as if this were nothing but a conversation between friends. “We always go through our witnesses twice, in case we missed something the first time,” Rubbing his throat, he tried a sympathetic smile. “I’m aware this might be an awkward time to do this for you, but I simply wanted to go ahead and get it out of the way the soonest possible,” It was entirely pivotal that he now keep all his senses alert, as he dived into the actual interview.

“So, Miss Cohen, would you mind going through that evening for me once again?” He reached into his robes and pulled out a notepad and quill, gesturing his muggle habit with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s easier for me this way,” He said, as he put the tip of the quill to parchment, but kept his eyes on her. “But, now, if you don’t mind,” he nudged his head, indicating that she should begin with her tale. “Please leave no detail out, no matter how trivial it might seem. Mention everything you remember.” And he would only hope he wasn’t about to get a tale about how many drinks she’d had that night.

Raizel's brows knitted as she examined the Auror.  For someone so famous, he did not seem to have many airs; the notepad that he pulled out seemed much more simple than she might have expected.  Even so, sitting here next to someone that up until now she'd only seen on the front page of the paper, with his scar and his strange green eyes, was far more disconcerting than she would have wanted to admit.

But retelling what had happened -- she could certainly do that.  Even if it felt that she'd already recited this story to the Aurors far more times than could possibly be helpful.

"It was the afternoon," she began, giving the Auror a brief, reproachful look.  "I was halfway through my rounds for the Bank -- I go to Hogsmeade once a week to deliver notices and collect deposits."  She gave a shrug; that information wasn't really relevant to the story, and she'd already shared as much as she cared to about Gringotts' business with the Leprechaun Auror.

"I stopped in at the Three Broomsticks for lunch.  It was not very crowded -- just me, and the bargirl, and the old man at the bar," she recited, frowning at the memory.  She'd barely paid attention to him, up until Hector Harrison had been laying dead on the ground and he'd suddenly become a part of such a big mystery.  What if she had struck up a conversation with him back then?  Would some of her questions now already be answered?

"I was talking to the bar girl a little -- not about very much, just getting ready to order -- when a shadow passed the window outside.  The old man got up from his chair and walked to the door.  He didn't look very well -- that was why I noticed -- but then someone came in from outside."  Raizel's jaw was set more firmly now.  The mysterious figure: wearing a cloak hadn't seemed so odd at the time, with such cold weather plaguing the village, but it felt so much more ominous looking back.  She wished that she had gotten a better look, both at him and at that strange glinting symbol that she'd seen around his neck.  "The old man went to meet him, and it looked as if they were talking.  But then all of a sudden, the bar maid shouted at the man in the cloak, and he apparated away.  And the next thing I knew, the old man collapsed to the ground."

The fact that he’d mistaken not only the venue, but the time of the incident was a clear indicator that not only was he on the verge of exhaustion, but taking on cases he hadn’t worked from the very start wasn’t the smartest idea to begin with. But this particular one had caught his interest, and nobody else in the Corps seemed willing to admit there was something darker than a heart attack going on here, so Harry found himself accepting the slight sense of reproach in her eyes as his hand busied scribbling notes on each word she spoke about that afternoon. He found himself doubting that the conversation Cohen had enjoyed with the bartend was of any relevance, although he was half tempted to inquiry just in case. There was always a chance, albeit a slim one –but he’d seen things with even less odds to their favor happen when he’d least expect.

She was talking about the man now, Hector Harrison, and his jaw actually perked in interest. This was what he was here about; Harrison and the dark figure, who, she claimed, had entered the pub just seconds later. As Harry scribbled down her tale in slanted handwriting, he also jotted down questions he needed to remember to ask her.  This figure was rumored to have been a dementor, but somehow he doubted the veracity of such an idea –if it truly had been, Cohen’s tale would be taking a different turn; hell, she’d probably not be sitting here today, but instead be nursing a body with no soul. Dementors were not known for pity, or to be denied a tasty, crisp little soul when presented to them. And they weren’t known for outright murder, either.

As Cohen finished her tale, Harry couldn’t help but feel like there had to be details missing. He’d have to impress on her the need to share every single small detail of that day. Tapping the tip of his quill against his notepad, he glanced up at her and gave an encouraging nod, a warm smile plastered on his face. “Thank you, Miss Cohen,” He glanced down to contemplate his notes for a second, before looking up at her again. “Just a few questions, if I may?” Not that her allowance really mattered –he’d be asking his questions whether she wished to answer them or not; if she refused, he’d just have to drag her down to the Ministry and into one of the Interrogation Rooms. “This dark figure, did it have any distinguishing marks? Could you tell if it was man or beast? Was there anything generally memorable about it?”

"The man in the cloak, you mean?"  Raizel frowned as she tried to remember.  It hadn't occurred to her that the mysterious visitor could be anything but a man.  He'd been pacing in the snow outside long before he'd come in, and nothing about him had screamed of anything otherworldly.  But it was impossible for her to say for certain that he was human.  There were plenty of creatures that looked just human enough, and nearly anyone could have been concealed under that dark cloak.

"I...think he was human," she said with a frown.  "But I don't know for sure.  It could have been a hag or a vampire, I guess.  But from what I saw, he moved normally.  There was nothing to make me think that he wasn't human."

She pressed her mouth shut as she considered his other question.  "He was wearing a dark cloak.  The hood was up, so I couldn't see his face.  He was maybe a little shorter than you."  Raizel eyed the Auror, as if judging his height in relation.  "There was something shiny around his neck, some necklace, but I didn't get a look at it -- it only glinted in the sun.  Other than that, I don't know.  It seemed like the old man knew him," she said, giving a shrug.  "When he got up to meet him at the door, it seemed like he was already nervous."

“That’s who I mean, yes,” He answered, and found himself hanging on her every word; whatever she said next would either confirm or deny his belief that this case was far from solved: apparently some bollocks MLE believed the cloaked figure had been a rogue dementor, and that Harrison had suffered a heart attack when facing his darkest fears. The entire theory seemed bloody implausible to Harry: he’d dealt with the creatures before, and he was still adamant on the point that it wouldn’t have settled on killing the bloke, but would have wanted to take his soul as well. Beyond that there was the fact of at least two witnesses present, who would probably not have gotten away unharmed. No, it was almost impossible for a dementor to be behind this –and Cohen was about to confirm or deny that.

As a matter of fact, her words went quite to the verge of confirming it –but she said nothing concrete, and Harry was tempted to rub his temples in annoyance: though every syllable that came from her lips made him further certain there was more here than met the eye, fact was there would be those who claimed there was no actual proof it hadn’t been a dementor. Which meant he was going to have to just toss caution to the wind. As she finished speaking, he nodded and finished scribbling her description in his notes, before smiling at her once again.

“Thank you, Miss Cohen,” He said, cocking his head sideways and letting his face darken somewhat. “I’m going to be quite straight with you, although I shouldn’t,” Pressing his quill to the corner of his lips, he was vaguely aware he must currently look like a reporter, but he ignored the notion. “There are some who believe the cloaked man might have been a rogue dementor –do you believe this is possible?” Harry shifted just slightly in his chair. “Did you feel any unnatural cold at its presence? Face any sudden fears?” That would do it for confirmation. “Also, was there anything else about that day? Anything at all? Are you sure you’re telling me everything?” He tried to look suspicious, and his eyes were pregnant with the implication that he knew much more than he was letting on –though he didn’t, and was simply hoping it’d make her confess to something she’d yet to admit.

"In the man's presence?"  Raizel looked bewildered.  Was this some sort of strange interrogation tactic?  Some plot on behalf of the Auror to get her to share something that she hadn't before?  "No.  As far as I know, he was only a man," she said, still wary as she eyed Auror Potter.  "It was after he left, that the creature came out.  Or maybe just as he was apparating."

All of the interrogations that she'd been a part of before had involved Aurors trying to intimidate her, whether by shouting or by making threats.  This was almost the exact opposite approach -- leaving out information, and thusly inviting her to fix misconceptions -- but Raizel was finding that she disliked it just as much.  To an Auror, it seemed as if the entire world could be divided into two: suspects and victims.  Dealing with potential suspects meant using trickery and fear; coercing them, rather than simply asking them.

To be fair, it had only been on rare occasions involving one particular Auror that she'd ever willingly cooperated with the Ministry as a person of interest, but even so, Raizel couldn't help but feel a profound dislike for the tactics.  It left a bad taste in her mouth, just as it did whenever the goblins tried to bully her into doing what they wanted.  In a lot of ways, Gringotts and the Aurors were too much alike; maybe they did deserve to have to deal with each other.

"That is what your other Auror thought was a Dementor.  The smoke creature."  She spoke briskly, in short, staccato sentences that hinted at her unhappiness.  "When it came out, all of the lights went out, and I felt afraid.  The girl too.  The Auror took it with him," she added, eyeing this Auror warily.  "Someone at your Ministry must have it, if you want to look at it again."

Oddly, Cohen looked somewhat confused at his line of questioning, and Harry found himself glancing down at his notes to check that he’d not missed anything. Chewing on the tip of his quill, the Auror couldn’t quite understand why Raizel Cohen’s face had reacted the way it had. It was true she confirmed the cloaked figure seemed to be nothing but human, yet her bewilderment left Harry himself quite thrown. It was almost as if she knew something that meant he’d just screwed up, and he couldn’t quite understand what…

Oh.

Harry felt like hitting himself in the forehead, or simply shrinking away in embarrassment. He had made the enormous mistake of being just downright wrong. Somewhere, somehow, he’d missed the fact that there had been two figures present that day –though, in his defense, nobody had thought to mention the fact that they currently had the supposed dementor in custody.  He would have to check that out in the Ministry –and wasn’t it a bit annoying that this interview was all for nothing, since he would have been able to find out whether the creature was or not one of Azkaban’s old jailers on his own.

“Good, good,” He muttered with a nod, as though he’d been aware all along, and had only been trying to trip her up. He made a mental note to get more sleep before conducting any other future interviews. “That would be correct –but the creature was have in holding does not appear to be a dementor,” He lied easily, and relaxed with the thought that it wasn’t as if he was certain he was incorrect. “Would you fathom any guesses as to what else it might be? You did have contact with it after all.” This interview was going to the dogs all too quickly, and his mood growing grim.

Raizel had already spent most of this conversation on guard, and the Auror's most recent question did nothing to make her lower her defenses.  Already, she'd been walking a fine line with the Ministry.  She had told Bethan what the creature was, and even if the bar girl was eager to take credit for its defeat, there was still a chance that someone somewhere might realize that the young Hogwarts graduate wasn't the one who had recognized it.

"I don't know for sure," she said carefully, giving a shrug.  This was the same fine line that she had walked with the Leprechaun Auror already.  "It could have been a dementor; I've never really seen one."  Also a lie, but not a really relevant one; the Ministry didn't need to know what she'd gotten up to in the Balkans.

She hesitated, eyeing the green-eyed Auror, and then decided to go for broke.  It wasn't as if they could suspect her of releasing the dybbuk.  She'd done nothing wrong.  And like Bethan, she could easily claim that she didn't know where the creature had come from, or how it had been summoned.  That was a mystery that the Aurors were going to have live with remaining unsolved.

"It looked a little like a creature that we studied at school.  It's called a dybbuk."  She paused, as if uncertain.  "It is like a demon from Jewish mythology, but not even mages know very much about them.  They make lights go out, and I've heard that when you see them, they make you afraid."

She shrugged again, and then gave this Auror Potter a curious look.  Raizel had gotten next to nowhere with the music box; despite her efforts, she couldn't make a wooden object open its maw and tell her where it had come from.  But she knew that it had to be intimately connected to the dybbuk.  The lead coating, the items inside for binding -- someone had intended for the small wooden box to be used as a prison, and judging by the age of the items, that imprisonment had happened a very long time before.  If the music box itself couldn't give her answers, maybe there was a way to get them from somewhere -- or something -- else.

"The Ministry still has it?" she asked, biting her lip.  "If it would help, I could try to take a look at it.  I don't know if I could say for certain if it is or not, but I could try."

She admitted it might have been a dementor –which was none all too comforting for the Auror who was trying to prove it wasn’t-, but there was something in her eyes that indicated she wasn’t sharing everything with him. A sense of hesitation that made him feel he’d have to bring out the big bluffs and hint that he knew about her past –and just hope to Merlin that there was something in her past to know about. Which was as possible as it wasn’t. Fifty-fifty. However, the lie proved unnecessary as she revealed what appeared to be on her mind, and Harry’s brow creased. He’d actually never heard of such a creature, as far as he could remember, but he nodded anyways, scribbling it on his notepad. “That’s an interesting lead to follow,” Was his way of thanking her.

Her next question, however, had him pausing. He’d been about to declare the interview over, considering it didn’t seem likely that there was anything left to learn from this girl, but her words caught him in the smallest of traps. His tired mind saw only flying snitches, while he tried to force himself to answer. Truth was, he didn’t know if the supposed dementor was still in custody, as every conversation he’d had on this case to date blurred in his mind. But if they did, and this woman knew what it actually was, having her check it out might be helpful. Harry stood with a nod. “That would be helpful, Miss Cohen,” He stated, as he put away his notepad and quill. “I’ll send you notice soon and arrange for you to come see what we have.” Stepping away from the chair, he forced himself to smile in her direction. “Thank you for your cooperation.” As he turned on her, he looked somewhat sour: the interview had been almost useless –although the follow up with her in the Ministry might provide some new insight. He’d have to set that up soon.

-Fin-