emmagrant01 | FIC: Surrender the Grey (15/30)

NOTE: This is the first draft of this story. The final version can be read HERE.

Title: Surrender the Grey
Author: Emma Grant
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Draco Malfoy returns to London after five years of self-imposed exile to start a new life with Harry. But will the secrets of the past destroy everything they've worked for?
Sequel to: Left My Heart. This will make much more sense if you have read that first!
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no copyright violation intended.
Length: 150,000 words
Status: COMPLETED November 2, 2005 (Posted March 2 - November 2, 2005)
Notes:
1. Please don't archive this story yet! This is the first draft, and in the next few months, it will be revised and edited. I'll post the final version on my website and a few other select archives, but in the meantime, feel free to link to this post.
2. There aren't enough words to say THANK YOU to

jedirita,

hazelhawthorne, and

(15)

Monday, 8 March, 2004

Draco dreamed about Ron Weasley.

Weasley was glaring at him, pressing him against a damp brick wall, his large hand so tight against Draco's throat that it was difficult to breathe.

"This was your doing," Weasley hissed, voice sounding as if it came not from his body but from somewhere else entirely. "You must fix it."

Draco tried to speak but it was no use. He could only stare helplessly at Weasley. But I don't know how.

"We each had a key," Weasley continued. "Harry holds one. Find the others."

Draco was desperate to breathe, his lungs aching, but it was no use. He began to see stars, and then Weasley released him. Draco crumpled to the wet ground, gasping. He looked up to see Weasley staring down at him.

"I killed you, didn't I?" Draco panted.

Weasley didn't answer. He simply faded away.

Draco opened his eyes to see an ornate ceiling above him. He blinked several times, disoriented. It was only after he'd sat up that he remembered where he was.

He'd had the same dream the night before. Once again, the details faded away like wisps of smoke before he could grasp them. It was about Ron, that much he remembered. He wasn't sure if it meant something or not. He wasn't even certain he could trust his own mind anymore.

He crossed to the room's single window to see that the sky was lightening: the sun was beginning to rise. This was the second morning he'd awakened in this strange house, but he had yet to leave this room. The door had been locked all day yesterday. A house-elf had appeared to bring him food, but he'd refused to eat, demanding to see his father. Each time the elf had shrugged and vanished.

His stubbornness had only resulted in a rumbling stomach, unfortunately. Draco crossed to the door and examined its locking mechanism. Without his wand, there was only so much he could do. He'd tried a few spells yesterday, but he hadn't been able to cast anything useful. Alohomora was nearly impossible to cast without a wand, oddly. It was simple enough when one had a magical focus, but without it -- buggered. He concentrated now, realizing that a simple lifting spell might do the trick. It was an old-fashioned Muggle lock, the kind that simply had a lever in a groove holding the door in place, rather than a deadbolt.

He closed his eyes and pictured the mechanism in his mind, focusing on the lever. He only needed to lift it. He almost grinned, wondering why he hadn't thought of it before. He opened his eyes and raised his hand. "Wingardium leviosa." The lever moved up enough that turning the knob dislodged the lock with a click. The door was open.

Draco allowed himself a smug smile before straightening his clothes and stepping through. He was in a lavishly decorated corridor. A suit of armor stood at one end and the walls were lined with landscape paintings. He frowned at them, only realizing when he was halfway down the corridor why they seemed so odd: they didn't move.

He descended a staircase to find himself in yet another corridor, so he continued down until the staircase became ornate and wide, opening into a large parlor. He looked around, feeling that it should somehow look familiar to him. It didn't though; he couldn't remember ever seeing this place in his life. Why would he have been in such a large Muggle house before? And for that matter, why would his father be living here?

His nose and grumbling stomach led him to a dining room, where the remains of someone's breakfast lay on a large wooden table. He sniffed at an untouched piece of toast and continued on.

A door opened into a kitchen. He stepped forward, looking and listening.

"Sir is awake!" a voice chirped behind him. Draco spun around, startled. A house-elf stood before him, beaming. Draco didn't know if it was the same one he'd seen yesterday or not. For all he knew, there was only only house-elf here. They all looked alike to him.

"I am indeed," he replied. The creature seemed happy to see him, so perhaps he wasn't about to be imprisoned again.

"Sir would like some breakfast? Some tea?"

Draco nodded, still cautious. "Could you manage some coffee?"

Fifteen minutes later he was pleasantly full, and he decided to stroll about with his coffee and explore the place more. He headed back to the parlor he'd been in before and crossed it to find a doorway that led out to a terrace. He walked to the edge and looked down to see he was standing on the edge of a high cliff overlooking the ocean below. He had no idea where he was. Scotland, perhaps. Or Oregon, for all he knew.

He turned back to look at the building behind him and saw that it was an old castle, its crumbling spires unsettlingly familiar. Scotland, then.

"You must be Draco," a voice purred. Draco turned to see a young woman standing next to him, dressed smartly and holding a teacup. "You have your father's eyes." She smiled and slinked past him to sit on a lounge chair. She placed the teacup on a small table and turned a radiant smile to him. The woman was younger than he was, and extremely attractive. Her long blonde hair was rumpled and fell around her shoulders, almost overwhelming her petite form.

Draco frowned. He knew exactly what she was doing there. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a cold stare. "Where is my father?"

"Still in bed," she replied. "As you should be." Draco didn't miss the innuendo in her tone. "It's chilly this morning, after all." She sipped her tea.

Lucius had kept such playmates ever since Draco could remember. His mother had turned a blind eye to it, but Draco had hated every one of them. Simpering and beautiful, and usually Muggles, they would fall over themselves for a week or two in Lucius's bed, awed by this new exposure to magic and power. They would typically fawn over Draco as well, petting his hair and kissing his cheeks, saying what a darling child he was. He'd always gone back to his room to scrub his face clean, not wanting to think about where their mouths had been. Muggles were dirty, his mother had told him. As a child Draco had wondered how his father could bear to touch them.

His childhood bedroom had been near his father's, and he'd been awakened on many occasions by strange sounds from within. His only consolation was that Lucius tired of the girls quickly, and after a few weeks he would cast a memory charm on them and send them back where he'd found them, leaving them oblivious that they'd spent the previous few weeks with their ankles about their ears. A week or so later, another would show up, and the whole cycle would start again.

"I'm Heather," the woman said after a long silence. She smiled and patted the chair next to hers. "I won't bite, you know."

Draco snorted but bit his tongue. He contemplated Heather for a moment. She dressed like a Muggle, so she probably knew little more about this place and what went on here than what Lucius had told her. Though it was possible he had told her something Draco would find useful.

He crossed to the chair and stretched out on it, sipping his coffee. "How long have you been here?" he asked, not looking at her.

"A week," she replied. "Your father's castle is lovely."

Draco stifled a frown. He had no idea if this place belonged to his father or not, but if so it had been a fairly recent acquisition. "So it is," he said.

Heather shifted in her chair so that she was leaning closer. "He said you were here and I've been dying to meet you." Draco looked up to see her lick her lips. "He didn't tell me you were so handsome."

Draco stifled the urge to roll his eyes. "I suppose he didn't tell you I'm gay either?"

Heather blinked at him for a moment, as if she didn't know if he were serious. Draco raised an eyebrow, and a look of disappointment fell over her face.

"That he didn't," she said, fingering her teacup. "In fact, he implied quite the opposite."

"Did he?" Draco snorted. "Wishful thinking, then."

Heather smiled again. "Perhaps you'd like to give it a go anyway? If your eyes were closed, I bet you couldn't tell my arse from a boy's."

Draco choked on his coffee and looked away. It wasn't like he'd never thought of that before. He kept meaning to ask Harry about it, actually.

He felt his stomach sink. He had no idea where he stood with Harry, after all. He'd spent the entire day yesterday lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, alternately depressed, angry, and despondent. He'd even broken down in tears once at the thought that he'd never see Harry again. Or worse, that when he did see Harry there would only be contempt in his eyes.

"I have a boyfriend," he said at last. At least, he hoped he did.

Heather sighed. "They always do."

"Has my father been busy this week?" Draco asked, hoping he sounded casual.

"Oh, yes," Heather replied. "But you know more about that than I do, I'm sure. He keeps odd hours, doesn't he?"

"Even with you?" Draco gave her a pointed look.

Heather smiled. "I don't mind. I can sleep when he's not around."

"Careful you don't get bedsores," Draco muttered.

Heather laughed. "You don't think much of me, do you?"

Draco snorted. "There have been a hundred girls just like you, and there will be a hundred more. In another week when he's had you in every position he can think of, he'll get bored. He'll send you on your way and find a suitable replacement." Heather's eyes hardened, and Draco smirked. "So there's really no point in us getting to know each other, is there?"

Heather looked away and said nothing. Draco drained his coffee cup before letting it drop to the stone and shatter.

He returned to his room and crawled back into bed, thinking about Harry.

+++++

A house-elf appeared in Draco's room around 8:00 that evening. Draco had been practicing casting levitation spells on heavy objects, something he'd never given much thought to before. He had only ever learned the sort of wandless magic that had seemed most convenient when one's hands were occupied, like sex spells. He regretted it now, of course. He grabbed the chair he'd been levitating, hoping the elf would think he'd just been lifting it, for exercise, perhaps.

The elf gave him a long look. "Sir is requested for dinner with the Master."

It was on the tip of Draco's tongue to refuse. He ought to, but he'd just go hungry again. That wouldn't do him any good. Besides, he had questions. Perhaps Lucius would deign to answer them.

He set the chair down and nodded. The elf stared at him for a moment, as if it had been expecting him to refuse. It opened the door and walked out, without even indicating Draco should follow.

Draco trailed behind it, already knowing the way and not wanting to have to scramble to keep up with a house-elf. It soon disappeared from view, apparently satisfied to let him find his own way. Draco hadn't looked very closely at it and wondered if it was the same one that had made breakfast for him that morning. Probably not -- this one was rather grumpy.

He walked into the dining room to see his father sitting alone at the table, a glass of sherry before him. He turned when Draco entered, nodding at him in greeting.

"Good evening, Father," Draco said, looking away. What was it about Lucius that made him feel twelve years old again?

Lucius smiled. "I'm pleased you've decided to join me tonight. I trust you have found your accommodations suitable?"

Draco sat and a glass of sherry appeared on the table before him. "Was it necessary to lock me in?"

"You managed to unlock the door, didn't you?" Lucius replied.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Was it meant to be a test, then?"

Lucius shrugged and sipped his sherry. "It did take you a bit longer than I expected." He gave Draco a mock expression of disappointment. "Your reputation led me to believe you were quite capable of handling yourself in any situation, wand or no."

"I was rather comfortable. Have you considered that I didn't want to escape?" Draco sipped his own sherry, feeling himself slip back into the role he had always played with his father. Half-truths, sarcasm, veiled threats, bravado -- all part of the dinner conversation.

Lucius smiled and snapped his fingers; a small plate with an amuse-bouche appeared before each of them. "I am pleased to have you here, son. I was quite impressed with the work you've been doing on my behalf."

There was no sarcasm in his tone. Draco glanced sideways at his father, wondering if Lucius actually thought Draco was on his side.

"I had hoped you would be able to continue for a bit longer, of course. This arrest was most unfortunate."

Draco grimaced. He hadn't let himself think about it very much since he'd arrived. He would only beat himself up more for the mistakes he'd made that day, which would lead to thinking about Harry, which would only paralyze him all over again. He took a gulp of sherry to cover swallowing down the sudden emotion that rose in his throat.

"I can assure you that every step will be taken to punish those responsible," Lucius continued. "In the meantime, I have a task for you, one I hope you won't find wholly unpleasant."

Draco looked up, imagining the worst. "I won't be treated like a common whore."

"Don't be ridiculous," Lucius interrupted, giving him an amused look. "You are my son."

"I was your son five years ago as well," Draco retorted.

"You have proved yourself far more valuable than I ever imagined possible," Lucius replied. "Besides, I have found someone else for that position."

"I think I met her earlier," Draco snorted.

Lucius didn't take the bait. "Heather rather fancies you, you know. You could have her if you like. I'm growing tired of her."

"You know I'm not interested."

"You could at least try, Draco. You could have any girl you wanted, as many as you wanted."

"You've had enough of them for the both of us," Draco retorted. "Besides, why should I bother when I can have any boy I want?" Lucius's lips pressed into a thin line and Draco smirked. "And I've had many, I can assure you. I fuck boys and they fuck me, sometimes both at once if I can find two I fancy enough. And I give great head too, something I imagine your Muggle Uni girls can't manage."

Lucius's grimace turned into a glare. "I've been patient, son. It is time you outgrew these hedonistic pusuits and took your proper place in society."

Draco resisted the urge to argue. It would do no good. His father didn't believe homosexuality even existed. He'd thought Draco was just rebelling against him for years, and then he'd thought Draco was merely sick. It seemed he had progressed to thinking Draco was simply immature, which was a marginal improvement.

"What is it that you want me to do for you?" Draco asked. The small plate disappeared and a bowl of soup took its place.

Lucius was silent for a moment but seemed relieved for the change in subject. "I want you to continue what you have been doing. Meet with my supporters; assure them that all will be well. Intimidate them if you must."

Draco's stomach fluttered. He wasn't going to be held prisoner here after all. He might even be able to contact Harry. "What about my arrest and escape? Am I considered a fugitive?"

"Yes," Lucius replied. "As am I. But you have quite a reputation for working under the notice of authorities, so I trust you know how to take the necessary precautions." He continued eating his soup with a casualness that stunned Draco.

Lucius trusted him. Draco had no idea why. There was no reason for him to trust Draco. He frowned -- it couldn't be so simple. But he knew better than to press the issue. He would find out what his father really wanted soon enough.

"And how am I to reassure your supporters if I don't know what's really going on?" he asked. The main course appeared before them, though Draco had barely touched his soup.

"You will learn everything soon," Lucius replied. "As will I."

Draco stared at him in surprise, but his father said nothing more. They finished the meal in silence. Draco even stayed to drink a glass of brandy, hoping his father would say more, but he didn't. He drained his glass and bid Draco goodnight, and then disappeared.

Draco strolled back to his room, lost in thought. His father knew more than he had told Draco -- that much was certain -- but there was also something his father didn't know, and he seemed to believe Draco was the key to finding it out.

The word key drifted through his mind for a moment, oddly. Why was he thinking about keys? He was tired and a bit groggy from the alcohol at dinner. He'd think about it some more in the morning. And maybe have a shower and a wank, thinking about Harry.

The thought of Harry stirred something inside him, a feeling of simultaneous excitement and dread. He didn't know what Harry thought of him now, but he would likely have an opportunity to get a message to him soon. He could tell Harry everything. Maybe they could continue working together to learn what had happened, with Draco on the inside of Lucius's organization and Harry working for the Ministry.

Draco snorted at himself for that naïve thought. He must be drunk after all. He opened the door to his room and cast a spell to light the candles. A few of them flickered, but most just smoked a little. He scowled at himself. That was a spell he was usually proficient at, even when drunk.

And then he realized he wasn't alone. A figure was draped across his bed, and he had to squint to make out who it was. The figure stretched and then stood, still in shadow.

"I've been waiting for you."

Draco froze. "Heather?"

Heather stepped forward, smiling. Draco's mind whirled. Why was she here, in his room? He looked around to make certain he was indeed in his own room and not someone else's.

"Draco," she purred in return. She pulled the sash on the flimsy silk robe she was wearing and let it slip off her shoulders, pooling at her ankles. She was completely naked.

Some small part of Draco's brain found the situation humorous, but he managed not to laugh. "I'b shorry I…" He paused. His tongue wasn't working properly.

Heather seemed to glide forward and then her arms were around him. His hands found her back of their own accord, sliding down to the curve of her waist. He was surprised at how soft her skin was. His fingers tightened on her hips, trying to find purchase to push her away, but his body wasn't cooperating with his mind. It was as if his muscles were reacting seconds after he wanted them to.

He tried to speak again, and she kissed him. Her lips were so soft that it stunned him into immobility for a moment. A hand was around his cock stroking him, a small hand, smaller than Harry's hand but moving and… when had his trousers come off?

"Wha ba?" he mumbled. He tried to step away but the world was turning and he stumbled forward, into soft warm arms and… One of his hands was on a breast. He managed to pull it away. The world spun and he was on his back on the bed, not sure how he had got there. He was dimly aware of a mouth on his cock -- which seemed unaffected by the alcohol, oddly.

It all clicked just as everything began to grow dim -- he'd been drugged somehow, at dinner, probably. This had been a set-up. His father must be responsible for this.

This. Oh, god, this! He didn't want this -- he didn't. He knew where this was going and it was something he'd never done, had sworn he'd never ever do, as a matter of principle.

He pushed with his hands but could only clasp at her hair. He tried to form a word, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate. He felt her straddle him and his cock was engulfed by warm wetness, and then it was completely dark.

+++++

Tuesday, 9 March, 2004

The dream about Ron faded into the morning light, once again. As soon as Draco became aware that he was awake, he wondered when the lorry had run him over. He felt like utter shit. His first thought was to try to dampen the hangover with a spell, and then he remembered he didn't have his wand.

He opened his eyes. The events of the evening prior washed over him in a second, and he barely made it to the en-suite toilet in time. He pressed his forehead against the bowl, eyes squeezed shut and willing it all to have been a dream.

He stumbled back to the bedroom to see he was alone. Maybe it had been a dream after all. He sat on the bed and pressed a hand to his forehead.

Why am I naked? he thought. He didn't sleep in the nude as a matter of course. Not lately, at least. He glanced down at the sheets. They were the magical sort that banished stains and straightened themselves, so no hints there. His head pounded. He scratched his balls absently and came up with a long, blonde, sticky hair.

"Fuck," he whispered.

He was filled with a sense of anger he could barely contain. How could he have been so stupid? He knew better than to trust anyone, let alone his father. Lucius must have been behind the entire thing. He had probably smirked all the way back to his own suite, thinking about what was waiting for Draco.

He had never felt violated before, not like this. He'd never even been in a situation where he was uncomfortable or in danger of being… raped. Was that what had happened? He wasn't sure.

He stood under the spray of the shower for half an hour, water turned up as hot as he could bear, scrubbing at his genitals with soap several times. The Muggle hot water heater finally emptied and the stream grew cold, but he stood there still, shivering against the tile.

There probably hadn't even been a condom. He was certain Muggle women carried all sorts of horrible diseases. Or worse, she had probably got pregnant. That would serve Lucius right, Draco thought -- a half-blood grandchild. The thought made his stomach reel a bit more.

If only he had his wand. He felt helpless without it.

The water finally grew so cold his teeth began to chatter, so he turned it off. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was starting to get scruffy. He rubbed absently at the blond stubble on his chin.

He looked pathetic. He felt like shit. And a woman had fucked him last night. He hadn't even been able to fight her off, despite having a good stone on her.

He started to crawl back into bed, but that just reminded him of what had happened there. He pressed his palms against his temple again in an attempt to stifle the pounding.

And then he got dressed as quickly as he could and stormed out of his room.

He found Lucius in one of the chairs on the terrace, Heather squirming and giggling in his lap. Draco stalked across the terrace toward them. They looked up as he approached, Lucius smirking and Heather smiling quizzically. Draco didn't hesitate: he hit her so hard he knocked her off Lucius's lap.

Heather squealed and pressed a hand to her cheek, scrambling on the stone. Draco started after her again, and she climbed to her feet and ran behind Lucius, eyes wide with terror.

"Who the fuck is he?" she cried, tears welling up in her eyes. She looked completely bewildered. "What's going on?" Her gaze darted from Lucius to Draco and back to Lucius again.

Lucius laughed, a deep rumble that sent a chill down Draco's spine.

Draco glared at his father as realization dawned. "You bastard," he hissed, shaking his head. Heather had been obliviated. Draco bit back his frustration. It would do no good to take it out on someone who couldn't remember harming him.

"Leave us, darling," Lucius said to Heather, who was still cowering behind him and whimpering. A large bruise was blossoming on her cheek. She glanced at Draco once more before dashing away.

"Did you enjoy doing that?" Draco spat, looming over Lucius as best he could. "Maybe you even watched, you twisted fuck."

"Most sons would thank their fathers for such a favor," Lucius smiled, not intimidated in the least. "A beautiful blonde waiting in your bed is one of the pleasures in life, Draco."

Draco pressed his hands against his head again, barely able to remain standing. Lucius thought it was all a joke. It was probably best not to let him know how much harm he had really done. Draco hardly needed to expose any more weaknesses to the man.

He felt a wave of nausea and dashed for the edge of the terrace, vomiting spectacularly over the side.

"Oh dear," Lucius sighed. "Paksy overdid it, didn't she?"

"That fucking elf has always hated me," Draco moaned. That particular house-elf had been the bane of his childhood existence. His father had never intervened, saying Draco needed to learn to demand respect from servants. Apparently he hadn't succeeded. He'd have remember to give it a good kick next time it had the misfortune of crossing his path.

"I told her I wanted you relaxed, not comatose," Lucius said with a sigh. "I'll have one of the others beat her for it, of course. Come here." Draco climbed to his feet and stumbled towards him. "Sit," Lucius ordered, pulling out his wand. He cast a spell Draco had never heard before, and just like that, the pain was gone.

Draco's head spun from the sudden change. "I need to learn that spell," he muttered.

Lucius patted his head as if he were a small child with a bruised knee. "Better?"

"Yes." Draco felt oddly like a child for a moment. He had a sudden flash of scraping his arm when he was small, from falling out of a tree. His father had run to his side to heal it, and had then let Draco sit in his lap for the rest of the day, petting his hair and fussing over him. Draco remembered loving the attention and milking it for all it was worth.

He glanced up at his father now, feeling a bizarre mix of emotions. How could he still feel love for this man who had done nothing but make his life miserable for the last seven years?

Lucius smiled at him. Feeling awkward, Draco stood and ran a hand through his hair. "I'll be in my room."

"Sulking, I suppose?" Lucius snorted. The spell was broken. Draco glared at him and walked away.

+++++

The bed had remade itself when he returned, and he stretched out on top of it with a blanket he'd found in the wardrobe. He still felt angry and violated, but there was nothing he could about it, no reason to dwell on it.

Did this mean he had cheated on Harry? He pressed his face into the pillow.

It was a relief to have the hangover gone, at least. His mind was filled with the memory of stumbling around Haight Fair in San Francisco with Harry, looking for hangover potion. He'd been scared Manny would see him there that day and give him hell for going there after he'd been expressly forbidden to do so. When Manny was cross, he was a force to be reckoned with.

Draco winced. Manny hated him now too, which was probably what he deserved. He'd never meant to deceive Manny, though. He cared about him, loved him, even. Draco had gone from wanting a different boy every night to falling head over heels in the space of a week, it had seemed. One day he'd been commitment-phobic, and the next he wanted nothing more than to have a serious boyfriend.

Not that it mattered anymore. Manny had been sweet and wonderful, and Draco had really believed it was going to work. He'd been so heartbroken when it didn't that he buried himself in work, concentrating on making money instead. Two years later when Colby had found Draco and threatened to expose him, he'd run to Manny for help. He hadn't intended to deceive him, he'd just…

Draco rolled onto his back and forced it from his mind. No use dwelling on it now. He could only go forward. He had to find a way to get a message to Harry, and then hope Harry was willing to listen.

+++++

The house-elf that came to summon him for dinner was a different one than the night before, as far as he could tell. Draco suspected Paksy was the grumpy elf that had come for him last night. He hoped the damned creature was suffering tonight. It would do well to avoid him.

"Sir is requested for dinner," the elf said.

"I'll be along soon," Draco replied, annoyed at being ordered about with no notice. Why couldn't his father just send a message with the appropriate time to appear on it, preferably several hours in advance? He was treating Draco like a child.

"There is a guest waiting, and Master told Rolly to bring Sir right away."

"Fuck off," Draco hissed. "I'll come when I damn well please." The elf swallowed and disappeared.

Draco fumed for ten minutes before changing clothes for dinner. After escaping his Ministry cell with only the clothes on his back, he'd finally managed to get the house-elves to bring him some suitable items to wear. He'd sent back several shirts until they brought him exactly what he asked for. He assumed they'd just conjured it all and transfigured it to his specifications, as he doubted house elves had a clue who Versace was.

He finally made his way downstairs, letting his bad mood fester along the way. It would be easier to deal with his father. He'd make one of the elves taste his food tonight too, in case Lucius had any more tricks up his sleeve. Perhaps the guest was one of his father's cronies. At least it wouldn't be Heather -- Lucius's toys were generally confined to quarters and didn't eat with the family.

Draco pushed open the doors of the dining room, smirk fully in place, only to have it wiped from his face immediately.

Standing by the table, arms crossed over her chest and scowling, was Cho Chang.

+++++

Go to part 16