The Slytherin boy who had started to give Harry a hard time at the beginning of Hagrid’s class was too out of breath to do more than glare at him as they headed back into the castle for lunch. Seeing where Harry was looking, Ron just shook his head and muttered, disgustedly, “Malfoy! What. A. Git.” He looked at Harry. “He’s been a right arse ever since First Year. His father was a Death Eater. Got off in the war by claiming he’d been imperiused the entire time. Thinks that because his father’s rich and important that he must be too!” He shook his head again.
Harry’d met similar in Canterlot. He just shrugged and decided he’d avoid the boy.
To Harry’s delight, a plate of ox eye daisy sandwiches appeared, which he was more than happy depopulate. Again, Luna Lovegood chose to sit beside him. And piled puddings on his plate. He didn’t mind. They were quite good. At least he didn’t have to worry about starving while he was here.
After lunch was Divination. He wondered if it would in any way be like the same subject in Equestria — difficult to understand until afterwards, and driven by Harmony.
When the bell rang to signal the end of lunch, Granger set off for Arithmancy, she said, while Harry and the others headed for the North Tower.
Ron told him that the room their classroom was in Professor Sybill Trelawney’s sitting room, which Harry found troubling. Who would want that many students in her sitting-room every day? It wasn’t as if there weren’t any classrooms available.
And it wasn’t like the Ponyville Tree-library, whose primary purpose had been as a library with living quarters added on. This was a castle, where rooms were specifically designated as classrooms and other rooms as living quarters! There was no need to combine their functions.
At the top of a tightly spiralling staircase, Harry was amazed to see a silver stepladder that led to a circular trapdoor in the ceiling. He shook his head. If the girls were so worried that boys might see them when they weren’t properly dressed, why have a ladder that let a boy look up their robes as they climbed into the classroom above?
An overpowering, cloying, sickly-sweet smell spread from the merrily burning fireplace as he followed the others into the room, making him sneeze several times. The windows were covered by curtains. Many lamps, all draped with scarves and shawls, were scattered among a cluttered mass of chintz chairs and poufs. The lamps, and fireplace, illuminated the circular room in a dim reddish light.
Most were already taken, Harry noticed, as he and Ron made their way. They sat down at a small circular table.
“Good day,” a misty voice behind Harry said, and made him jump in surprise. When he looked, he saw a very thin woman with enormous glasses that made her eyes look almost as big as his. She appeared to be wearing scarves instead of a traditional robe. She was peering down at him with a tragic expression. He saw that she wore a large amount of beads, chains, and bangles that glittered in the firelight.
“Oh, my dear,” she said mournfully to Harry. “My inner eye sees through to the troubled soul hidden behind your brave facade.” Her head shook sadly. “And, I’m sorry to say, your worries are not without foundation.” Her voice almost became a whisper. “Difficult and discordant times are ahead for you, I foresee, . . . most difficult.” She blinked owlishly. “The thing you fear will indeed come to pass . . . sooner than you think . . . maybe before the year closes . . . . perhaps even sooner.”
Harry stared at the woman, perplexed. When Harry looked at him, Ron rolled his eyes. Even a foal could see he was in for a difficult time in the future — what stranger in a strange land wouldn’t? And the only thing he dreaded at this point was that his mum might not find him for a long time, and that he really was stuck here for the duration. Neither were short term worries. So, if it came to pass soon, well then, all the better! But the discordant times? That made him shiver. He fervently hoped not.
Professor Trelawney smiled down at Ron and told him that he had received top marks for his homework. To his amusement — Harry could see him trying to conceal a smile while hiding a chuckle under a cough — she read out a few of his predictions. “I commend you for your unflinching acceptance of the horrors in store for you,” she concluded.
Harry stared at Ron in disbelief. Divination did not work that way! It was almost never so straight-forward. It might give hints, but usually in a way that was bound to be misunderstood. Twilight had told him how her attempt to warn herself by time-travelling to the past had backfired spectacularly. A pony in-the-future could not pass information of any importance to a pony in-the-past without one of them leaving either the past or the future. With no guarantee that they would have the same future when they returned to their origin.
Almost every true divination, made in the present and then studied, ended up with conclusions such as, “Well, it could mean this, or it could mean that. On the other hand it most certainly doesn’t mean this other thing, unless this part here means this and not that.” And usually ended up involving somepony nopony had ever expected or suspected would be involved, not even themselves.
True divinations made sense only in retrospect — and many times trying to avoid what they appeared to mean merely brought those things about. Unless it was a gentle hint of direction — such as “today will be busy” — usually you were better off ignoring them. A “bad” omen might mean anything from your friend is going to cancel for your joint appointment at the spa, to a manticore is going to rampage through your bedroom. Depending on the pony, both could be life-changingly dramatic events.
Then she swept past them in a flutter of scarves and started handing out the others’ homework, with occasional remarks. She finished and seated herself in a large winged armchair before the fire, facing the class.
“Mr. Sparkle, we are currently studying the stars and planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the steps of the celestial dance.” She said dramatically. “Ron will be able to help you catch up on that subject . . . .”
The Professor was obsessed with death. It seemed every conjunction of stars and planets that she mentioned involved a great misfortune for one or another of the people in the class — usually their demises. Which was silly. There couldn’t possibly be that many indications of death and disaster unless the whole class was about to take part in a great battle with thousands of others, in terrain that ranged from mountainous to swamp to desert to sea.
That didn’t mean the entire class couldn’t be wiped out in a single disaster! Just that soo many individual disasters were highly unlikely.
Just on those details, alone, he concluded, she was a fraud and this class a waste of time.
Never-mind that in Equestria Princess Luna controlled the planets and stars, and depending on them for metaphysical guidance was an exercise in futility. That horrible calamity that the stars seemed to predict might just be a bout of royal indigestion at work!
And, whatever she had burning in the fireplace made him sneeze several times during class. Which she seemed to find offensive, for some reason.
He would go with Hermione, next time. Whatever this class was really about, he could just as easily learn it from the textbook. Unless it was just more of this tripe. In which case, he wouldn’t bother.
۸-_-۸
Harry slowly munched his way through dinner, thinking. Clearly, the classes Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and Divination were complete wastes of time for him. He could do much better reading the textbooks, supplemented by a few others for different perspectives.
Magical History class did not seem any better. It had a ghost — an honest to Celestia ghost! — as an instructor, according to his friends. Unfortunately, he seemed focused entirely on wizard/goblin wars and didn’t even touch the events of the last hundred years. Not to mention that everyone agreed that he merely recited what was in their textbook — word for word. Scuttlebutt was that an enterprising Slytherin had simply compiled his lectures and printed the resulting book. Then used bribery to replace the old, required, textbook with the new.
And if Harry wanted to see ghosts, he only had to look around. There was always one of Sir Nicholas De Mimsy-Porpington, The Bloody Baron, The Grey Lady, or The Fat Friar drifting around. And there were probably others he didn’t know about scattered elsewhere in the castle.
That left only Astronomy, Charms, Transfigurations, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions as regular classes. He also needed to check out Arithmancy, Runes, and Muggle Studies. That last he had a few doubts about based on what Hermione, Seamus, and Dean had said.
So, for tonight, he would see how far he could get through the first of the Herbology/Potions texts, starting with One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Tomorrow, Tuesday, before and after breakfast, he would do the same for the companion text, Magical Drafts and Potions, to try to prepare for the potions class that afternoon. And in the afternoon and evening he would peruse the Charms text, The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) for the Wednesday, late-morning class. When he had covered those, he would start on Numerology and Grammatica for the Arithmancy class after Charms on Wednesday.
If he was lucky, he would have time to peruse Spellman’s Syllabary, for the mid-afternoon Runes class. If not, well, he would just have to go in blind.
Wednesday evening, after dinner, he would focus on Transfigurations with A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration. And the late evening? Defence Against the Dark Arts with Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. Which he could also read instead of attending the History of Magic class on Friday morning.
Unfortunately, Thursday was a full day of classes and that meant he would have to use the time in the evening to go over the Astronomy texts for the class at midnight instead of napping. Still, it should all be doable. It wouldn’t be the first time he skipped sleeping for studying.
That would give him the weekend to examine in better detail Spellman’s Syllabary, Runes, and Muggle Expectations and Notable Accomplishments, Muggle Studies. And, perhaps, a quick trot back through the other books to see what he had forgotten and where he needed to concentrate.
By Monday, he would have weeded out the useless classes and know where he needed to devote his time. And he suspected that D.A.D.A., Charms, and Transfigurations would end up taking his all his time. Those classes combined a lot of theory with practical exercises. Memorizing a wand movement was not the same as actually doing the wand movement. The same was true for incantations.
Although, for some reason he had a recurring sense of déjà vu every time he dug into the texts or tried to cast a spell. And the spells seemed rather easy for him to acquire proficiency. Perhaps it was because he had been immersed in a magical environment and using his horn to cast all kinds of spells for the last five years?
All the other classes were simply rote memorization. Except maybe Potions. But Zecora had taught him a bit about that. Unless you were an expert, it was mostly following a recipe as exactly as you could. No different from cooking, in that respect. Simple and easy. But with a lot more steps. Those were what tripped you up. Very unlike cooking where you had a rather large degree of latitude in substitutions and changes you could make, on the fly, so to say. Potions were much more finicky in that regard.
Plus, simply knowing something well enough to recite it exactly as it had been written was not the same thing as understanding what the theory meant that you were reciting! Truly understanding it meant taking the time to take it apart and put it back again in a way that was meaningful to you. Unless you were memorizing flat facts, i.e., such as this pony discovered this, while that pony discovered that. Those were strictly memorizing details.
Unless you were Sweetie Belle. For her, simply following cooking and potions instructions, either memorized or written down, didn’t work. She could start to boil water in Ponyville and end up blowing up a closet in Canterville. She had been banned from every kitchen in Equestria unless accompanied by certified professional. His mum had even placed a spell on the Ponyville Castle kitchen to prevent her entering it. And rearranged it so that prepared snacks and drinks were available outside the kitchen in a special cold-storage cabinet that was always kept full by the kitchen staff.
Even Pinkie Pie chased her away if she thought Sweetie Belle was about to enter a kitchen. The incident with the tentacled-cake-creature climbing out of the oven when it was time to remove the cake they had prepared had been the turning point for her.
Harry slowly got to his hooves and followed the others back to the Common Room. Luna stuck right beside him, nattering on about the remarkably low number of nargles she could see in Gryffindor. Not that there weren’t a few people who were seemed to attract them, but there weren’t nearly as many as in Ravenclaw. And she was more than happy to explain how her butterbeer-cork necklace kept the beasts at bay.
He thought he understood what she was seeing, but his magic sight wasn’t anywhere as developed as his mother’s, so it left him uncertain. Still, he found it entertaining. And if she wanted to give him a necklace to prevent the nargles from interfering with his thoughts, well he wouldn’t say no. And it certainly wouldn’t hurt anypony’s feeling to say yes.
Almost as soon as they had entered the Common Room, he was mobbed.
“Can I have wings?” was the oft repeated plea.
There was no way he had the magic to do everyone. He hardly had the magic to do just his dorm-mates for any decent length of time. Then he spotted the twins in one corner. He trotted straight for them, with a muttered, “In a minute,” to the countless requests he was getting.
“George, Fred,” he said as he approached their chair. “Can you do the wings spell? Have you tried doing it since yesterday?”
“We came close,” said George with a sour expression.
“A bit of a swirl.”
“But it didn’t work.”
Harry smiled. “Let’s try again.”
Both immediately stood and stripped off the robes, to some appreciative whistles from the girls. They were wearing trousers, but no shirts.
Harry shook his head. “Not yourselves, someone else.”
Katie Bell, nearby, jumped up and said, “Oh, ME!” and slipped out of her robes to show she was wearing another backless blouse with knee-high trousers. She got a few appreciative whistles from the boys. She grinned and bowed, and said, “Thank you, thank you.”
Harry motioned Fred closer. “Get out your wand.”
Fred pulled his wand from his robes.
“Point it at Miss Bell.”
He did so, looking at Harry inquisitively.
Harry frowned. “Lean down to me, but keep your wand pointed at her.” Harry stood up on his rear legs and pressed his horn against the wizard’s forehead. Once more he formed the matrix in Fred’s mind, then guided the boy’s magic into powering it, but not as much as last night. Now, he said, push it out your wand at Miss Bell!
There was a swirl of magic that temporarily hid the girl from sight, but when it dissipated, she had wings!
“Oy!” said Fred, looking at his wand. “That was a lot easier!”
“You’ve already done it once, it should get easier each time.”
Katie was already at the ceiling and giggling like mad. The rest in the Common Room were watching in awe.
“Don’t go too high, Miss Bell,” Harry called out. “We don’t know how long it will last.”
“I’ll catch her,” said a nearby Prefect, following her with his wand.
“Now,” Harry said to George, “It’s your turn.”
A moment later, Lee Jordan joined Katie.
Harry grinned at the two wizards. “Keep practicing!” he said as he waved closer a nearby Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, already stripped down to trousers and backless blouses. “The more frequently you do it, the better you can judge the power-to-wing-time ratio.”
There was a stampede of students headed to the dorms upstairs. Harry had no doubt that they were going to be pulling suitable clothes for flying out of their trunks. Or tearing the backs off shirts.
It took the twins more than one try to master the spell, but they did. He stepped over to Oliver. “Your turn,” he said, and motioned the boy to bend closer. After him coaching him through several successful attempts, Harry started working his way through the Prefects, next.
In less than twenty minutes, the Common Room more closely resembled an aviary with fifty students flitting about while an equal number were tasked as spotters. That still left the majority wingless, but it was a steadily decreasing number. The spotters would get a turn either later tonight or tomorrow, depending on if the casters could do the spell more than a few times before exhausting themselves.
His last students were Luna, Ginny, and Hermione. Luna simply lifted her blouse back and held the hem in her hands by her shoulders. Ginny copied her. “Teach me!” Hermione demanded. Harry shrugged, if he could teach her, it would be much easier than casting the spell himself. He ran her through the sequence for each of other two, and then for herself.
After that, Harry quickly headed up the stairs to his dorm room. He went on all fours and stayed close to the wall to evade the students flying up and down.
He made himself comfortable on his bed, pulled out his First Year Herbology text, opened it, and cast Hayscartes’ Method. He had had a lot of practice with that over the last year, and he could make it last almost half-an-hour at a time by now. Its limit was set by how dense the information was and how difficult a time his mind had in understanding and organizing it. Then he had to take a short break for his mind to sift through the new information. But, wow, did it ever leave him with a complete understanding of the subject! And a headache if he did it for too long. This was a case were a headache was the lesser of two evils.
He had just popped back for his first break when George and Fred burst in. They stared at him, wide-eyed, for a moment.
“Where were you?” Fred said.
“We’ve searched everywhere,” added George.
Harry smirked. “Right here, of course.”
“But we looked in here!” Fred protested.
“And you weren’t in here!”
“We even looked under the beds!”
Harry snorted and smirked. “I was using Hayscartes’ Method!” he said, knowing that wouldn’t explain anything to them.
“Did you find him?” Ron said, as he and Neville peeked around his brothers.
“You made yourself invisible?” Fred and George had crossed their arms and stared at him, as they frowned, puzzled.
Harry grinned and shook his head. “It’s a spell that lets you explore a book in detail.”
They continued to stare at him quizzically.
“Come closer,” he said, and smirked.
They crowded the edge of his bed.
“Watch!” And then he cast the spell to propel himself into the book. He looked out at their astonished expressions. “See,” he said, in what he knew from experience was a tinny voice. “You can actually explore the book without distractions. And you would be amazed at what you can learn inside a book. And everything is so much more organized, as a result. Makes it much easier to remember stuff, too.”
He popped out. “At first, you’ll only be able to do it for a minute or two. The limit is how much your mind can pick up at one time. With practice, your mind becomes better and better organized and you can make it much longer. My mum can do an entire book at a time, no matter how thick or that it takes hours.” He looked sadly at the book on his bed. “My limit is about half-an-hour, then I have to take a rest.” He sighed. “I’ll finish this book tonight.” He pointed the one open on his bed. “And start the next one.” He waved a hoof at the book to one side. “If I don’t fall asleep, first.”
Needless to say, he spent the next few minutes teaching the other four how to do the spell. Then he stared at nothing as he worked his way through what he had learned, reviewing and categorizing what he had read. After another fifteen minutes, he dove back into the book to cover the next section.
He finished the First Year Hebology book, and started on Magical Drafts and Potions. He didn’t get that far, unfortunately, as the second time he went to cast the spell he yawned so widely he heard his jaw crack. Casting those few wing-spells had taken more out of him than he had thought. Instead, he just set a wake-me-up spell to give himself an early start in the morning.
When he woke, well before breakfast, he quickly did his bathroom clean-up, then returned to the book from last night.
He went with his dorm-mates to History class just to verify his suspicions. He sat as far in the back as he could, between Dean and Ron. With the exception of Hermione, it seemed that everyone else treated the class as either a chance to get more sleep, like Ron and Seamus, a gossiping session, like Parvati and Lavender, or rarely, a chance to study their other classes. Hermione actually took notes. The ghost, Professor Binns, didn’t seem to notice.
After he felt himself starting to drift off, he pulled out his Potions book and dove in.
He was about to jump in for a third time when Dean leaned over and grabbed his foreleg. “Class is almost over,” he said conversationally. Harry looked over and saw that Dean had been practicing drawing.
He finished the book, later, sitting on his bed. He pulled out his The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) and then hesitated a moment. His room-mates said that Professor Snape was difficult. And he did seem to have an issue with Harry. He put the first book back and returned to Magical Drafts and Potions. It might be better to review the book in the time left before lunch. He spent lunch just leafing through the book.
Harry watched as the potion-wizard swept into the room from his office, robes swirling dramatically. He had to raise his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn’t expected the man to be such a drama-queen. After attending both Celestia’s and Luna’s open courts with his mum, he had quickly learned, with Blueblood’s guidance, that ponies frequently used their methods of dress to convey certain nuances of their character.
Some dressed simply, but in expensive clothes to show their station — usually the ones that came from noble families of long standing. Others dressed extravagantly, gaudily flaunting their bits and station — usually those who had only recently reached either of those positions and wanted to tell every onlooker, “Hey! Look at ME! I’m IMPORTANT!”
Professors wore robes and mortarboard hats, to show others they were knowledgeable far beyond the commoners. Nobles wore fancy clothes that the “commoners” couldn’t afford. Bureaucrats wore distinctive clothes of office to warn the common ponies that the ponies had better listen to them, or else. Business ponies dressed to show that they were successful and serious.
Blueblood had taught him that the cut and style of a pony’s clothes revealed far more than simply, “this pony has money and that one does not.”
The same went for stance and attitude. The important ponies knew they were important, and so did everypony else! They were treated as important because of their power — either influence or bits — or knowledge.
Other ponies thought themselves important. They tried to force others to agree with their personal assessments of their self-imposed value — usually by being bullies. They treated all the other ponies as beneath them in money and position.
A few, however, could command an intense audience merely by entering a room, no matter how drably they were dressed, or even not dressed as a commoner. Everypony knew that what they said, and did, impacted everypony in the room.
They might belittle his mum behind her back as an uppity commoner, but when she expressed an opinion or said something was true or not — everypony paid close attention! She was almost always correct and accurate. And she was a direct line to the Princesses and what they thought. Ponies ignored her opinions and statements at their own peril. And the nobles all knew that.
Professor Snape, Harry thought, belonged to the second group. He was a bully. He thought he was important. He tried to intimidate others with his attitude and stance. He would, Harry expected, abuse his position, as all bullies did. Of course, Harry had had a bit of warning from the Gryffindors. They all decried the professor as an unfair arbitrator of disputes, clearly biased towards his house and against all the others.
And he revealed that he was a bully as his gaze swept the classroom. “Ah,” he said, “Our newest celebrity has deigned to grace us with his presence.” He stared at Harry as the Slytherins in the room chuckled or snickered. The professor suddenly turned to face Harry. “Potter!” he demanded. “If I put powdered root of asphodel in an infusion of wormwood, what would I get?”
Silence descended on the room. Everyone waited to see what would happen. The Slytherins were grinning with anticipation, expecting the new student to be humiliated. The Gryffindors watched curiously, some angrily, and his dorm-mates were frowning.
Harry stared at the wizard silently for a moment. He had read through the book only once, completely, and details were still hazy. It would take several more reading before he would not only remember all the information by rote, but actually understand what he had read. After thinking on it a moment, all he could say was, “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t remember reading any potion that uses those ingredients in Magical Drafts and Potions.” He tilted his head questioningly, “Did I miss it?” He paused a bare second, then added, “And my name is Harry Sparkle, sir, not Potter.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. Harry not knowing the answer was not a surprise to them, he could tell. The Slytherins were staring, aghast that he had had the audacity to correct their Head of House. The Gryffindors didn’t know whether to laugh at the Slytherins or be impressed at that Harry had corrected their professor. One look at the Professor’s nasty expression, however, had most of them keeping their thoughts to themselves. And adopting blank expressions to avoid attracting his attention.
The Professor pursed his lips angrily, but didn’t answer him. “If I required you to find a bezoar, Potter, where would you look?” the wizard demanded, eyes narrowed to near slits.
That one was easy, it was in the Potions book in the section on Antidotes, which his dorm-mates had told him was supposed to be the focus for the year. He had paid special attention to that section. “There are three possibilities, sir. First, in nature, from the stomach of a goat. Second, it is a standard item in my Potions kit, and third, I would expect you to have many of them in your storeroom.”
The professor was not any happier at Harry’s polite, and correct, answer. In fact he seemed angrier. The whole class was so quiet Harry could hear Neville, seated at another table, breathing. Granger was giving him an intense, puzzled stare.
“Can you explain, Potter, the difference between aconite and monkshood?” the Professor growled out.
Another easy one, from the Herbs and Fungi book. “Monkshood and aconite are the same plant, sir, which also goes by the name of wolfsbane.” He hesitated, then said, “Is there a reason why you can’t seem to remember my name is now Sparkle and not Potter? I know you saw the results of the heredity test on Saturday.”
The Slytherins reacted en masse to the revelation that he had undergone a heredity test, and that it had declared Sparkle as his patronym. Most straightened their posture or otherwise shifted position as they exchanged looks. A few Gryffindors had also reacted, as well.
Oddly enough, none started whispered conversations as was common among the Gryffindors.
The professor looked furious for a moment, then his expression blanked and his stance relaxed. “Perhaps you aren’t as much of a useless dunderhead as I had thought,” he said in a silky voice. “Five points off for being cheeky, Sparkle, And another three, Longbottom, for breathing too loud.”
Harry shrugged. He didn’t belong to a House, so the points were meaningless. That the professor couldn’t seem to remember that detail, in addition to Harry’s correct name, illustrated that the man was just another foolish wizard. And one who was more interested in bullying his students than actually teaching them, as subtracting points for someone for merely breathing proved.
If Harry didn’t know that Zecora would love to hear about what the potions in this world entailed, he would simply ignore the class as he planned to do for Herbology, Divination, and Care of Magical Creatures.
His mum would be disappointed he didn’t put every effort into learning about this world while he was stuck here, but with this tournament looming over his head, and the first task only weeks away, he didn’t have time to waste on those clearly useless subjects.
With an obvious effort, Professor Snape turned his attention to the rest of the class. “Today’s potion is on the board. Get to it.” The board was suddenly filled with writing, the spell that had hidden it vanishing. It was a General Love Potion Antidote. He turned to his desk and sat, and stared at Harry, as the students started working.
Harry raised his hoof and waited, reading the instructions on the board several times to make sure he understood them.
Professor Snape ignored him at first. Once it was obvious Harry wasn’t going to give up, he rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mr. Sparkle,” he almost sneered at the pony, finally acknowledging him.
“How long after someone has been poisoned with a love potion will this antidote be effective?” he asked.
“Until the love potion has naturally lapsed in effectiveness, obviously” the wizard said dismissively, rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the question, and started to turn his attention to papers on his desk. “Two points for wasting my time.”
Harry tilted his head slightly. “But some love potions never really cease, do they? Their effects can linger for days, weeks, or months, can’t they?”
Professor Snape stopped and stood. He looked at the potion on the board before turning back to Harry. He studied the pony, looking for what, Harry couldn’t see. “Yes. There are love potions of that type, but only the most talented of potioneers can make those. And the ingredients are expensive and rare. An astute question, Mr. Sparkle, you surprise me.”
۸-_-۸