Vanas Opportunis Chapter 1

3/17/11! I did not know at the time of writing this that there was another fic of the same title and a similar line (Seventh Year Itch) so I’ve changed my fic’s title to Vanas Opportunis, which is what I’ve decided to name the potion Snape uses on his unsuspecting victims. Vanas is Sanskrit for for ‘lust’ or ‘zest’ so there ya go.

A/N: Ok, this is DEFINITELY not my world (jkr, hbp, etc. all rights reserved for her blah blah I make no money blah blah) and DEFINITELY A/U! The storyline and “plot” (what there is of it) is mine and I don’t think anyone else wants to claim it. Hence the previous note and title change ;)

! Warning ! Adult content, NON-CONSENTUAL SEX, immorality, drugging, violence, and featuring Snape as a devious miscreant who will do anything to scratch an itch, so if you don’t want to read that, then GET OUT NOW!


Or…reap the rewards ;) My twisted mind offers you to continue:

For crying out loud, did the skirts have to be that short? And on fifth years no less! Stupid little girls had no idea what went through men’s minds…or maybe they did and hence the shortening charms but if they’d had an idea of which man’s mind perhaps they’d be more circumspect. He slapped his palm against the English walnut of the ancient door to the Potions classroom and slid it along the iron rivets to the thick edge, wrapping his jaundiced fingers about it to fling it closed behind him. It sunk into the stone archway with a resounding thud that never failed to deepen his sneer whenever the sound brought the room to silence. Yes, by the time they’d reach fifth year, they knew to fear him, if not respect him, and that was good enough for the control he constantly sought in the never-ending deosil spiral of his life.

He swept to the front of the classroom with as much flair as any stage actor, thinking of deBergerac, a fellow rhinoceros that shared his affliction of nothing to recommend him but words and panache.

He nearly snorted his offending protrusion. While he absolutely admired the strength and style of said literary character, the complete and utter…he shuddered…mawkishness of his regard for Roxane was disgusting.

Severus preferred his own debauched little secrets, and as the owners of the little short skirts crossed and uncrossed their lithe legs beneath the desk just to the right of the center in the second row, he began to feel that itch again.

Gritting his teeth in what the students knew to mean a particularly harsh lesson to come, he embarked on teaching yet another potion that perhaps two or three out of the fifteen or so in the class would actually retain knowledge of. Nevermind that each of them would probably have need of a Dreamless Sleep Potion someday in their tiny, ant-like lives.

Thank Merlin he kept his robes lined in silk or the wool would have his itch beyond control by the time his seventh year class came around. Even shorter skirts, silly bints, and teamed together with the twisting and stretching of ingredient preparation to reveal their brassieres between the button plackets. Honestly!

He shook his head, deepening the disapproving scowl that by seventh year, they chose to ignore…except perhaps a few. Longbottom gave him no end of delight when he tripped over that blundering Yorkshire tongue. That never ceased to be funny. Malfoy would toss unsure looks in his direction, waiting to see if Snape would praise him in public and rat on him to his father or not. Again, ceaseless entertainment.

And then there was Granger of the not-short-skirt. That insufferable bitch wouldn’t let him have a moment’s peace. Should I cut just so, sir? Shouldn’t I add this now instead of then, sir? What about such-and-such’s article on preparation published in last week’s journal of what-not? Constantly questioning…arrogant little bitch. As if he’d not been doing this longer than she’d been alive.

Hmm. His eyes narrowed as his itch grew a bit and focused. Yes. Granger needed to be taken down a peg. His right brow shot up, the only way he’d ever show a public semblance of a smile. Or perhaps she needed to be taken down ON a peg. Hah.


This needed careful planning. He turned to his workbench and checked on the potion he’d started earlier in the day during fifth year’s classes.

Three days later, on a Sunday, no less!

Hermione slipped out of the side entrance to Gryffindor Tower onto the sloping hill towards the Forbidden Forest. A quick reconnaissance spied Hagrid tending his abnormally huge pumpkins and waving off a gaggle of insistent crows, but no-one else.

Not wishing to be seen, and needing a bit of fresh air after too much Quidditch babble from the boys, she slipped around the rounded tower and headed down to the lake, away from Hagrid and his pumpkin patch.

Honestly, couldn’t they breathe about something else? Okay, that or the female population’s current fascination with shortening charms on their skirts? It was enough to give a good girl a very nasty complex, especially after failing so miserably at any kind of sexual interest from the three boys she might have ever wanted.

Thank God that’s water under the bridge, now. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, ducked her chin against the cold and started counting the huge buttresses and alcoves supporting the massive walls of the castle. So intent on counting, just to keep depression from setting in, she nearly didn’t hear it,


She stopped, blinked, but otherwise held perfectly still. Her wand was in her pocket, so she already had her hand on it. She’d walked by all the buttresses and looked in all the alcoves as she did so, keeping a running tally of each separately in her head (twelve and five, so far) and none had been occupied on this early Sunday morning.

So where had the— “Psst! Hey! Come here!”

Okay, now that needed investigation, obviously! She turned and rocked back on her heels to find Snape gesturing madly at her from alcove number five. “Professor?” She sped up to see what was wrong, what he could possibly be doing…up? Here? Asking for her help? Psst-ing her?

“What’s wrong?”

He did that thing with his eyes where they squinted a few different ways before his gigantic nostrils flared, then grabbed her arm and sprayed something from an atomizer into her face. She couldn’t help but breathe it in, it smelled like roses and cream and something else really, really yummy.

She looked at him funny, tried pulling away a bit, but her vision…why wouldn’t her eyes focus right? He was slipping into two people, then sliding against himselves as he advanced and she felt herself being pulled into alcove Fumber…number…


Snape breathed in the scent he’d long since inured himself to, an offshoot of Amortentia, something to create uninhibited desire if drank, but merely happy compliance and little memory if inhaled or absorbed. He pocketed the atomizer and estimated he had about thirty minutes before the potion wore off and she came back from the wizarding world’s contribution to a selection of roofies. He tested her pulse…elevated…her pupils, dilated. Nice. Yes, this will do. The best part of this was that the person affected by the potion lost reasoning function and short term memory, but kept motor functions and reactions. Ergo, she was an active partner.

He counted himself a miscreant, perhaps a rapist if you put a fine point on it, but pedophile never crossed his mind since he’d kept his victims to the seventh year, and even then, only a select few. He smiled, now the fun part. How much of an itch could she scratch?

Flipping back her robes and stroking down her sides, she giggled and reached for him, her eyes closed. Perhaps she thought this a dream. He quirked a brow and slid his hands upward, under her shirt just a bit to the warmth of her stomach and wrapped his hands there, enjoying the first foray into the forbidden. She gasped and turned up her head, slipping her hands up his robes, along the lapel to his neck and pulled. Hmph, he might have known Granger was a kisser.

With a smile – more a smirk – no one ever got to see, dark and evil and full of mal-intent, he dove forward and stole her kisses, taking what no one ever wanted to give him, slipping across the velvet of her lips, licking in between. She shivered. Hmm. It was a nice reaction, but not indicative of much experience. Her breath stole across his face for a brief moment before he banished the thought and submerged himself into the act of taking advantage of the situation…of her. His teeth scraped across her jaw on his way down to her neck, she crooned. He snarled at this evidence of innocence and bit her neck, right at the stabilizing muscle that ran diagonally from behind her ear to the collarbone, the one closest to the jugular. She cried out in ecstasy. Ah, Merlin, this little know-it-all didn’t know so much after all, did she?

His hands clawed their way up under her shirt to yank down the cups of her brassiere, scraping his nails against her nipples. Ah! She was so hot! Her hands fluttered, smoothed, settled in his hair and grasped, pulling not to pull away, but even better, just for the pleasure of it. Big handfuls of his hair and he growled his way down her neck to the triangular indention behind her collarbone and suckled, his hands now kneading the young breasts in his hands.

Damn it all to hell and back, she was delicious and he was running out of time.

Mercilessly, he kept his right hand on one breast as his left hand made quick work of her panties beneath the appropriate-length skirt she wore. Tiny, brunette curls shifted in front of him as she squirmed against the wall in their hidden alcove. The panties caught on her left shoe, she pouted a bit and stepped out of them, surprising him, but he hid that surprise from himself by rocking forward and nibbling on her hip. His left hand started back up from her knee and she was freely groaning pleasure now.

His thumb was the first of his blessed instruments to reach her hot core and it reveled in the wetness he found there. His right arm ached from reaching upward and dropped down to meet its brother between her legs, despite her pout of protest. Interesting.

It wasn’t often he got more than compliance from his little itches, so actual participation and enjoyment fed fuel to the fire. He had to know now. Locking his tongue over her clitoris, then lower and using his not-insignificant nose as well, she shrieked and snarled her hands in his hair again, but he slid a long finger up into her, searching for what was—or hopefully wasn’t—there.

His heart beat a pitch faster as he slid another finger in, searching…a third…Merlin, yes. The last three itches had still had their virginity, but this one didn’t!

He smiled and renewed his tonguing of her slick center, enjoying that much more her cries of abandon. She’d not had much experience, that was obvious, or very good experience, he’d probably bet on that…but thank whatever gods were listening that she had some experience so he could satisfy this infernal itching.

Robes off, trousers undone and dropped just enough to free himself, he gave her one more good lick – got a good scream out of her for it – and slipped his arms behind her legs, hooking them over his elbows as he rose up, lifting them both against the wall.

Her eyes. They opened just a crack. That didn’t happen! Maybe…he kissed her back into oblivion and drove into her, the excitement of getting caught hiking up his level of need that much more. Her eyes rolled fully open then. Fuck.

She bracketed his face with her hands and pulled him back for another searing kiss. He admitted to himself it made him harder just thinking that she wanted him anyway, but he knew it was just the potion, ithad to be. No one wanted him.

With that mantra rollicking through his angry mind, he bent himself to fucking her hard, as hard as he was never allowed to be. No one wanted him. No one sought his company, so every month he took it! With every ounce of pureblood arrogance he could muster, he pounded the skinny, know-it-all, bushy-haired, formerly buck-toothed, irritating, nosy, disgustingly-loyal-to-Potter MUDBLOOD into the wall!

And Merlin help him if it wasn’t the best fuck of his life.

Hermione woke with a headache and the sun alternately being blocked and blaring into her eyelids. She groaned…how did she end up on the ground?

Someone was talking but it was tinny and sounds were…weird…like they weren’t forming right. There was a hand on hers, holding it, then another slapping the top and it was like she surfaced water, coming up for air.

Sound hit her: “Miss Granger, are you alright?”


“I came round the corner and saw you on the ground. Did someone hurt you?”

She blinked, registering two images sliding together, forming into one person… “Professor Snape?”

He arched a brow and curled a lip but seemed less…snarky than he’d been over the past few days. “I see you’ve retained your powers of the obvious, but why did I find you lolling about on the ground unconscious?”

She looked down at her hand, still in his. He did that thing with his eyes, squinting a few different ways – and that seemed to trigger some kind of feeling but she couldn’t think of what – but he snatched his hands away and curled him into his robes. He stood, sighed, and muttered something about going to get Hagrid when she finally snapped to full senses.

“Wait! No! I’m fine.” He paused mid-stride, turned to her with an expectant sneer…almost a leer…why didn’t she shrink away from that? “Erm…I really have no idea why I fell…or fainted, or whatever, but I’m fine now.” Besides. Hagrid would tell Harry. And Ron. Then she’d never get a moment alone again.

He stared back with those nothing eyes and she rolled to her side to get up. She was surprised to feel…Oh, God, what was that feeling? Somewhere between “ouch” and “fantastic” and a whole lot of yum. She paused at the thought of the word “yum”, her brow crinkling in thought.

“Something else the matter, then?”

She blinked. Why was he still here? He usually absolved himself of student responsibility as soon as possible, but he was obviously making sure she was alright enough to stand on her own before leaving her. Weird.

It shocked her enough into the truth, or some of it: “I’m…a bit sore. I guess from the fall. I think I’ll go see Madame Pomfrey.”

There went the squinty thing with his eyes again. After a moment, he held out his hand to her.

Weirder and Weirder! But she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth! She took the hand and pulled herself up with his assistance. It brought her closer to him than she’d normally have said she’d have liked, but…he smelled good.

Roses and cream and something…yummy…

A few breaths passed as he glared down at her. Finally, he relented, stalking off and speaking over his shoulder, “See that you do.”

Every night she dreamed about him.

Every sheet-scratching, cold-shower, touch-sensitive, sound-sensitive, smell-sensitive night she dreamed about him.


It didn’t follow logic. Or reason. It’s not like he’d saved her from anything or paid her any compliments. He was simply walking by and saw her on the ground (the reason for which she still couldn’t fathom), then made sure she was okay and went on his way.

Nothing unusual.

Nothing had changed from their everyday lives.

So why did she find herself staring at him at meals and in class? If he caught her doing it, he did that (now adorable) squinty thing and looked away.

Honestly. What was wrong with her?

By the time a month had passed, she was ready to scratch some eyes out. It was getting colder and her wool tights here driving her crazy under her skirt, not to mention that she couldn’t sit through a single potions class anymore without serious distractions from the previous night’s dream invading what little practicum she could provide.

It finally came to a culmination when Snape became snarky again and she just…lost it. Her potion turned black, then started boiling and smoking from her out of control emotions. The Potions Master strode over to her desk with boot heels ringing in her ears and banished her shoddy work. “Detention, Granger. You’ll recreate it after class until you get it right.”

She opened her mouth to beg off for one day to get her emotions under control but his nothing eyes held no sympathy. She sat in her seat until everyone cleared out.

He swung the heavy door shut with a thud that jangled up her nerve endings and nearly made her want to scream.

“Alright, Granger, out with it.”

Her eyes widened and swung incredulously to him as he swept back towards her, finally crossing his arms and leaning his backside against her neighboring desk.

“Um…out with what…sir?” He couldn’t possibly…?

“Something’s keeping you from performing in class and you’re too much of a goody-two-shoes to accept such low standards as par for the course, so please enlighten me as to the sudden slide in your academia. I’m not the only faculty noticing, by the way.”

So why wasn’t this McGonagall? Why him? Her breathing sped up. Was this another dream? She reached under the desk and clawed her leg slightly through her tights and gritted her teeth on the little pain. Okay. No dream. She looked back up at him.


“I…” She couldn’t possibly tell him the truth, but she could tell him part of it. “I’ve been having really…strong dreams lately. They keep me awake at night. On nerve’s end.” She really couldn’t keep eye contact with him on that last bit.

“Dreams, mmm?”

She nodded.

“What about, I wonder?”

And there was something about the way he said it, the way he paused after every hard consonant that just trilled up her spine and flashed something from one of her dreams. She gasped quietly, but he must have heard it.

Why else did he shift forward and invade her mind, bracketing the desk in front of and behind her, bearing down on her, breathing on her, riffling through her…NO!

Her eyes flared and she sat helpless, crying as his nothing eyes bored into hers, stealing her dreams, every wanton desire and scream and orgasm she’d been denying her waking self for a month. She sat, trembling, tears flowing down her face as her darkest secret lay flat in his mind, ready to receive his attentions any which way he sought.

She bit her wet lips together, realizing that he was inches away. She could steal a kiss and run away, be punished for her perfidious thoughts and running out on detention later!

And God help her, but he saw that thought, too.

How could nothing eyes be so full?

He fisted the front of her robes in his hand and dragged her mouth to his. She wept with relief and release, understanding, for once, what a dementor wanted with eating someone’s soul. She devoured his mouth and wrapped her arms around his head, both of them inhaling…


Something god-awful yummy…

A wall in alcove number five…


HE was the one that beckoned her over…sprayed something…she hadn’t remembered but Oh. FUCK. She did now!



She used her hands in his hair to pull his mouth off of hers and looked equally at him as he knelt between her legs. His chin jutted out defiantly. So he was still in her mind.

There were several heartbeats that she thought of going to the headmaster. His eyes widened, then narrowed. His hands squeezed her thighs under her skirt, but through the woolen tights that were still driving her mad.

He saw his opening and slid his hands up her thighs, using that madness against her.

The message was clear: tell the headmaster and you won’t get that itch taken care of.

She deliberately thought about Harry and Ron, even Draco. He sneered and laughed a mirthless, hollow thing. They can’t give you what I have, now can they?

Anger boiled down her spine, her own sneer in place. Fine. She had the satisfaction of a moment’s surprise across his face as she yanked his hair in her fists to pull his mouth hard and biting back to hers. She punished him for his perfidy, scraped at his skin with her nails, bit him where she could, careful not to leave marks, just enough to feel.

He answered by standing up and yanking her to her feet, through the rest of the classroom to his office door. He drew her in and didn’t even give her a chance to see anything more than a blur of desk and not-color before he was on her against the door. The iron rivets dug into her head, her back, her rear. She shifted and pushed forward, the angry lioness ready to tread on the deceitful snake, but he read her again and swung her around to the desk, keeping their lips locked as he stripped her on the way.

He picked her up by placing both his hands on her rear and lifting, spreading her cheeks exquisitely and sliding her onto the mahogany monstrosity of his desk. He had her blouse off and was working her brassiere. She fiddled with the hundred buttons of his tunic-style frock coat. Sadistic bastard.

He breathed a light laugh and actually spoke into her ear, “That would technically make me a masochist, this makes me a sadist…” He bit her neck, AH! Just like before, only this time he sucked hard. She groaned with it. She’d have a nasty love bite but oh GOD that felt good. He chuckled evilly and dispensed with his jacket and shirt much more quickly than she could hope to in the distracted state he was achieving with her.

As soon as his hands were free of clothing, they both had their hands everywhere, testing, coursing, feeling. Somewhere along the way, she found he liked her to lick behind his ear, tease his abdomen with her fingernails. He growled at her discovery and started rolling off her tights.

“Merlin, I think I want to just rip them off of you.”

Her expression, her cry, her nails digging into his shoulders told him this might not be a bad idea. He grinned and slipped a hand into a desk drawer for one of his many, many knives. Carefully, he slit the elastic waistband on each side and replaced the knife in the drawer. She’d shivered at the cool metal and kept her eyes on him. Such trust. How misplaced.

He wrenched his smile into a grimace of animalistic pleasure as he ripped the woolen tights off of her.

Gods, her face was beautiful, full of sex and want and need and Oh. FUCK he needed her!

No wonder she didn’t mind the tights being ripped off. No panties. Slut! He yanked the rest of the mess down to the floor between them, she fumbled with his trousers, running one hand along his cock and trying the button with the other, irritation slowly creasing between her eyes.

He nearly laughed at that. He grabbed her face and pulled it in for a good, distracting kiss, then prepped her with his hands for where his mouth would follow, down to her breasts.

It struck him as absofuckinglutely wonderful to not be on a time restriction.

He kissed his way down, licking a path from her lips to her left areola and then her right, paying each prolonged attention until she was shivering and shuddering on the desk. And judging from the heat rolling off her, there was no fucking way she was cold.

He leaned her back, she put her hands back and held herself open to him…so beautifully open to him. He had to blink to remember this was real and not potion induced.

He was suddenly harder than ever and quickly undid his trousers, letting the silk lining be a precursor to the caress of her body he knew would be coming next. His hands topped her knees, slid up her thighs, brushed against her curls and slid up the sides of her stomach all the way up to fill themselves with her breasts. She rolled her head up and gave him the same look she’d given him before, back in the alcove when he’d first entered her…supreme want.

Eyes glittering, mouth open, cheeks flushed, hair disheveled…Merlin, he wanted nothing more than to fuck this little mudblood until the desk was splinters beneath them. He took a hold of himself and guided his cock to that hot, slick core and wrapped his free hand around her neck, pulling himself into her and up to kiss her at the same time.

He swallowed her cries as he fucked, had sex…Merlin forbid anyone should ever hear him say he made love, but oh gods, she was magnificent in her eagerness. She wrapped her legs and arms around him and held on for dear life, tilting up just so, angling now instead of then and oh gods, where did she learn to run her fingernails so lightly up between his arse cheeks?

He knew his hands had to be bruising her hips, but he needed more and deeper and now. Her sounds were getting louder and louder, her sheath tightening in waves…Merlin not yet, she’s almost there…

He couldn’t help it, she melted him, incinerated him, came so hard he yelled his own to the rafters and had to keep up with the desk shifting on the floor a few inches. He just stood there, in her, around her, marveling that he was still pulsing bit by bit as he kissed her mouth, her cheek, her neck, her breast, her shoulder…anything he could reach with his mouth on her.

They gasped for air into the cooling office, blowing inconvenient loose hair out of each other’s faces and wiping sweat from each other’s brows. He didn’t even want to think of the mess on his desk right now. He’d deal with it later. Right now, he picked her up, still wrapped around him, and sat down in his office chair with her straddling him. He’d slipped out in the process, but damn, she felt good against him like this.

She started kissing him again.



“I’m not ready to jump back in the saddle yet. Give it a few, please?”

“Shut up, I just want to kiss you.”

Astounded, he could do nothing but take what she offered. True to her word, she didn’t move except to kiss him and within a few short seconds, he was an active participant, despite misgivings.


“Mmm?” She backed off and pulled his lower lip with her, releasing it with a plopping wet sound.

“Why are you kissing me and not screaming your head off or running for the nearest exit?”

“Oh. Well, I guess it helps that I like kissing you.”

She kissed him, tongue delving deeply and twining with his. He made a sound of assent in the back of his throat, but broke off, “What do you mean, it helps? What else?”

She smirked, full of whatever power she felt she now had over him. “Greedy git, aren’t you?” She wrapped her arms around his neck and licked the tip of his nose, then wiped off the saliva by nuzzling the protrusion with her cheek.

He nearly gaped.

She’d just kissed—no—licked and nuzzled his nose. He narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment, feeling that itch coursing through his veins faster and harder than before…ever before. He kicked off the remains of his trousers, held her to him with arms and a devouring kiss and dumped her onto the office sofa. She squealed, he growled, she backed up, he descended.

Where he might have shown restraint or mercy before, he gave none now. She’d shown him desire, given him the gift of accepting his most hated appendage and that meant she got everything in return.

Every lick, every suck, every bite and nuzzle was intensified tenfold in his mind and he made damn well sure she could feel it by slipping back into her mind and showing it to her. She responded…amazingly. He’d not thought she’d have such passion in her, beyond what she’d already shown him, but here it was, served to him on a platter, his for the taking and with her consent.

By the time he was ready to enter her this time, he was able to take it slow enough to enjoy every insane strangle of pleasure drawn out of her. He played her like a dirge on a violin, slow, with agonizing texture and emotion. When she came that time, it was hard enough to nearly bruise him, but fuck the way her body responded could do nothing but excite him. He let go and spilled himself inside, kissing her foot, then her leg as he held it in the air by his head for a better angle.

He could do this every night.

Her breathing quietened enough to worry him as he finally calmed enough to come back to reality. He checked her eyes and her pulse, then smiled himself silly. He’d just fucked her unconscious. Without the aid of potions.

Yet again, Hermione woke with a headache and that ouch/wow feeling but this time, someone was with her…who—oh God. Oh, God what had she done? Wait, was she still dreaming? She looked at the tangled mass of oily hair ensnared in her fingers and felt the man’s hand gripping one of her breasts.

She closed her eyes and realized the rest of him was between her legs. Her very naked legs.

Looking around for some kind of something to orient herself on, she found herself in the Potion Master’s office.

Well, duh, you had mind-blowing sex with him how many times last night? Tonight? What time is it?

Everything swooped back in on her now that she knew she wasn’t just experiencing another frantic and incomplete dream. Her breathing intensified…Intensified. Like Snape.

God, was he intense.

She wrapped her arms and legs about him in memory of what they’d shared last night…? Tonight? What bloody time was it?

She looked about for a clock.

“What’s wrong, sweet?”

“How long have I been here?”

He looked over her shoulder. Well that explains why she couldn’t see a clock. “About an hour and a half. Your potion making skills are slipping, terribly.” He mocked her and squeezed her rear at the same time.

She melted a bit, enjoying all that had passed between them. “Well, it doesn’t help that I have this terrible distraction…this…itch, you might say.”

His lips quirked. “Itch? Funny, that’s what I call it.”

“I know, I saw.”

“Oh, you did, did you? Naughty thing, reversing a spell like that. What else did you find?”

“Enough to get you in trouble without incriminating me.”

He stiffened, surely wondering why she was still playing with his hair if she was going to betray him—

“So I’m thinking you need to keep me happy to keep that from happening.”

He did that squinty thing with his eyes again. “Oh?”


“And what would that take, you little harpy?”

She made sure to smile into his eyes and keep her mind open for him to read. She felt him slip in, “Fuck me like that every once in a while and leave the other seventh year girls alone. I want you all to myself.”

He quirked a brow and judged her words against her thoughts. Not a duplicitous thought crossed her mind except to keep him in her bed. Astounding. He felt his mouth slide into a smirk. “Deal.”

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