Disclaimer: Don't own, and never claimed to.

The general perception of time as a straightforward force is inaccurate. Time flows like a river: the main current goes in a single path, but individual eddies can ripple backwards or diverge around an obstacle before rejoining the main body. Time turners work by hitching a ride on these natural backflows. Prophecy is an instinctive ability to read the patterns of time, including, but not limited to, these backflows.

--Temporus Trelawney in his book Precognition Revealed, published 1776.

What has passed can never truly unpass. If one were to travel backwards through time, they would retain their memories and skills, because those events had happened in their past. Even if they began rewriting events, like an erasing charm on parchment, the overwritten events remain on some level. While there is no revealing charm to show the full text of the replaced timeline, magical folk and creatures can subconsciously pick up on pieces of the previous timeline.* This most often occurs as either intense déjà vu or unusually realistic dreams of events that never happened. Sometimes a wizard receives a flash of insight that allows him to learn faster or make wiser choices than the first time around.

Like a section of parchment that has suffered repeated erasing charms, it is theorized that repeatedly turning back a section of time can cause that section to disintegrate, thus destroying the whole. The validity of this theory has been questioned, as time appears to periodically jump back and overwrite itself. Still, the potential consequences are too great to test this theory. For this reason, time travel is strictly regulated. As the main stressor is the act of travel itself, only short-term trips, a few hours at most, are allowed. This minimizes disruptions, as these events are still highly fluid. Strict secrecy and restraints on the actions allowed in the past serve to discourage the unsophisticated from attempting such travel.

*Some anecdotes would suggest that Muggles have this capability as well. Aside from the fact not one of these accounts can offer a scrap of proof, such self-awareness is clearly beyond the limited capabilities of the magicless. Still, this belief persists among many otherwise intelligent Muggle-lovers.

--Purity Longbottom in her 1865 dissertation. Reprinted in The Well of Time, 1966.

And he had thought fifteen sucked the first time around.

Percy stared up at the clouds drifting by. The crisp autumn wind cut through his cloak and robes--He really should have layered up more before climbing to the top of the Astronomy tower. He glanced down at his Transfiguration essay. From McGonagall's red markings, she was disappointed that he only made Acceptable. It had been the same in all his classes over the past month. He had heard all his class lectures before, and found his attention drifting. But he had not used most of his school knowledge for four years. He needed some revising to make his previous top grades, but seemed to have left his motivation seven years in the future.

Further, between his 'prank' over his badge and his lack of rapt attention in the prefects' carriage, Percy had managed to alienate the few prefects he had previously been friends with. He had somehow managed to offend most of his other friends, as well. Only Oliver treated him normally--though the Quidditch-mad Scot tended to only register what affected either his grades or his precious game. He and Percy were only casual friends, anyway. So between the motions of taking notes and patrolling the halls, Percy spent most of his time in some isolated spot drawing. At this rate, he would exhaust his pads and pencils by Christmas. The summertime Galleons-to-Pounds exchange rate had expanded his manic buy-art-supplies-until-your-last-Knut-is-gone fit. Still, his shrunken stash only held so much.

At least the twins had not managed to find it. Wards and secrecy spells were one skill he had improved since Hogwarts.

Percy closed his eyes as the breeze picked up. What free time he did not spend drawing, he attempted to research the Orb of the Time Thief. The unrestricted section held more actual references to the damned thing than he had expected. Unfortunately, none of them told him anything more than he all ready knew:

Also called the Seer's Sphere, the orb had the power to rewrite history. Origins unknown, it was feared the artifact had the ability to permanently fracture time. The Ministry forbade its use. The Wizengamot immediately ordered the Dementor's Kiss on all who attempted to go near it. No exceptions.

But nothing to indicate how much someone who did go back could safely change, Percy grumbled. Or how much that person must change.

The Orb had reacted to Percy's wish to change things, after all. At the time, he had been thinking about his family. His relationship with them was minor compared to Voldemort. But...

Sometimes little acts had big effects. With dangerous events unfolding, Percy feared Ron or Ginny would die in the next couple of years instead being injured. And then there's the war...

Percy walked to the edge of the tower and leaned against the waist-high wall. Can I really just stand by and do nothing while Cedric and Mr. Crouch die, and he returns? But if I don't, he'd eventually return anyway. What if that results in higher casualties? Percy sighed and ran a hand through his loose hair. I wish somebody would come tell me what's best, he thought as he turned and walked to the stairs. He descended slowly into the tower, still pondering the puzzle.

Two feet, five inches on the use of the animus charm, outlined however you wish.

Percy sighed and stared at the precisely copied assignment. However I wish? he thought. I wonder what Flitwick would do if I turned the parchment sideways and turned in charmed illustrations of all possible uses...

"Staring won't salvage your marks, Weasley," a snide voice came from across the table.

Percy glared at the speaker. "Contrary to popular rumor, I've yet to fail a single test or assignment."

"That explains why we're here," Zane Taylor replied sarcastically.

"I thought it was because Vicki Smith decided that as prefects we had a responsibility to be seen studying as much as possible," Percy replied idly, opening a book on Charms that he had plucked from the library shelves.

"You know of any other fifth years paired with an older housemate?" the sixth-year asked as a pair of second year Hufflepuffs walked past.

"I'm not the one who set the schedule," Percy countered. He picked up his quill and began writing on a scrap of parchment:

Developed to animate Wizarding photographs. Also used for toys, models, sketches, and non-interactive portraits.

"Have you read it?" Taylor responded. "No other two prefects have been paired together consistently. Or assigned as many slots."

"So, any rumors about your grades?" Percy asked caustically as he scribbled down supporting points and began organizing them. He knew for a fact that Smith's scheme had nothing to do with McGonagall's well-known disappointment in Percy's current performance. However, he did not remember having so many mandated study sessions. Nor was he paired so regularly with Zane Taylor.

Not that he would have minded last time around.

The enforced study time would likely do him some good, though Percy's attention still tended to drift.

"I don't stare blankly at my assignments," Taylor said icily.

Percy ignored him and scribbled a few more points into his rough outline. He put stars next to points he needed to review. He flipped a page in the text and began reading on the first. Damn, he thought as he scratched the phrase from his outline and wrote a corrected version. I wasn't sure about it, but if I misremembered that badly, I should at least skim over all the points.

"Do you even open a book or read your notes outside of assignments?"

"If I need too," Percy replied, skipping ahead to the next paragraph.

Taylor snorted and turned to his own homework. Thankfully, he did not hassle Percy for the rest of the session.

See me after class. Percy sighed as he read Flitwick's note at the top of his essay. Great. Another teacher disappointed with his progress. Granted, his final draft had inexplicably turned out two inches shorter than it should have. Frustrated with the assignment--and the importance placed on the charm--Percy had hastily added a few sentences rather than recopy the whole thing. Even with docked points, the paper still should have been Acceptable quality.

Sighing, he skimmed down the scroll to see how badly he had done. He absently noted a few red comments in the margins. Red ink surrounded the final paragraph. Underneath the essay, Flitwick had written: The most original thought you've ever expressed in this class. O.

Percy blinked. Outstanding. While he may not have received any grades below Acceptable over the past six weeks, he had barely made anything over it--just a handful of Exceeds Expectations. Granted, most of those were in Charms.

Percy slowly gathered up his stuff as Flitwick dismissed the class. He waited until most of the students filed out of the room before he stood and approached the master's desk. "You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Yes," the short man gave Percy a small smile. "It's not often that I hear the animus charm described as 'overrated' and 'responsible for the decline of Wizarding artistry'. How did you reach that conclusion? Your essay didn't list any sources."

"Well, all the great Wizarding masterpieces either predate its discovery or were made just a decade or two afterward."

"That may be, but some of the great masters were not appreciated in their own time. Do you have anything else?"

"I..." Percy paused and frowned. "Compared to now, there was more focus on developing an artist's skill. The Ministry and wealthy families sponsored the studies of painters and sculptors. Sketches weren't worth procuring for their own sake, but the publishing industry recruited and trained illustrators. Those artists created detailed works that last. The animus charm is unique in that it can fill in details. Wizards began relying on that fact, so the charm has less to anchor to, and it fades faster than it otherwise would--if at all. If works today were created with the attention to detail afforded then, the charm should last as long--and you're left with something appreciable if the charm does fade."

"Interesting hypothesis," Flitwick commented. "But how can you be sure? Maybe the charm just fades faster than the older ones. After all, memorial portraits still last--the charms that allow interactive conversation preclude the use of animus."

"Again, other charms can't fill in detail. Most of today's portraits are either criticized for poor likeness or are just large photographs with brush stroke 'finishing' added," Percy retorted. "Further, do you ever hear complaints about old photographs losing their charm? Sure, the developing potions have differences from charmable inks and paints, but the basic brewing techniques and active ingredients are consistent. Still photographs are incredibly detailed. Dispersive Theory states that thousands of tiny anchors bond a spell closer and more securely than a handful of large ones. And a spell's longevity increases exponentially with stability and/or a decrease in the gap between a spell and its object."

Flitwick raised an eyebrow. "It's also not everyday you hear a fifth-year referring to late seventh-year Arithmancy studies," he remarked dryly.

Damn! Percy cursed to himself.

The diminutive professor smiled. "As much time as you spent trailing after those older brothers of yours, I'm not surprised you picked up a few things. Anyway, you have overlooked the fact that wizards had more interest in lasting art back then. Artists need to create for the market, if they want to earn a living. Even the wealthy families are not willing to invest in works that cannot be mass-produced quickly--New ones at any rate. Lucius Malfoy just spent all the galleons I'll ever see in my lifetime on a Clarence Prewitt."

And seven years from now, an ignorant Auror trainee will torch it in his zeal to destroy all the manor's dark artifacts.

Some of Percy's anger must have shown on his face, because Flitwick frowned. "Well, no use wishing for what'll never be."

"True," Percy answered automatically. Safer than wishing for things that shouldn't be, though.

"Anyway, I'll be setting a research essay next week," Flitwick plucked a slip of parchment off his desk and held it out to Percy. "Since you seem so interested in artistry, you might want to check out this book. For the essay's size, I'd advise a narrower topic than the differences between the animus and older charms. You're not exactly wrong in your assertions, but it's a more complex issue than what we've discussed here, and there are things you've overlooked.

"You are to be commended for thinking clearly enough to spot that there is a problem, though," Flitwick concluded as Percy accepted the slip of parchment. "Perhaps we can revisit it in the future."

"Thank you, sir," Percy looked at the slip. It was a permission form to check Bring Your Paintings to Life out of-- "The Restricted Section?" he blurted.

Flitwick smiled. "Current Ministry classifications prohibit the use of some of those old-time charms, but the book's rare and valuable enough that it would not sit on common-access shelves, anyway. Treat it with respect."

"Yes, sir."

Percy smiled as he went off to lunch. Flitwick may have just given him the key he needed...

Percy sighed as he leaned against the side of the restricted section's first shelf.

Careful examination of Flitwick's permission slip proved that alteration or duplication would be tricky--and likely detectable. He rather suspected that Madam Pince kept records and checked with the Professors anyway. Obliviating the old librarian's memory was within Percy's abilities, but not without risk.

Naturally, Pince had not allowed him to follow her down the aisle as she retrieved the book. From what he could see, though, she did not cast any charms before she pulled the book from the shelf. Whatever ward or alarm guarded the books recognized their tender. If he could only see how, perhaps--

A hand grasped his wrist and yanked him away from the shelves. Instantly, Percy twisted his arm free and pulled back. He over balanced and caught himself against the shelf. A couple books slid forward. What the hell? They should--Later. Percy hastily pushed them back into place as he stood to face his attacker. "What are you doing, Robinson?" he hissed, glancing to the left. Madam Pince walked calmly towards them, giving no sign of having seen anything. Her back must have still been turned.

"What am I doing?" the older prefect replied. "If you're going to wear that badge, you shouldn't lurk about the forbidden section where anyone can see you. You have a duty to set a proper example--"

"I know my duties," Percy said.

"Then--"

"Hem-hem."

Robinson jumped at the sound. "Madam Pince! I was just telling Weasley to--"

"He was just asking me about the permission slip Professor," Percy interjected smoothly. "He pointed out that just because we're prefects, we shouldn't overlook something that we'd otherwise question."

"I am quite capable of spotting forged slips," Pince replied frostily. "As you should remember."

Robinson turned an interesting shade of red. "Mark said it was real!"

"And I told you it wasn't. I suggest you go attend to your actual duties."

"Yes, ma'am." Robinson gave Percy a dark glare before stamping off.

"As for you," Pince locked her eyes with Percy's. "I didn't hear much, but what you told me seemed to take Robinson by surprise." She pursed her lips and waited for his reply.

"He accused me of trying to sneak into the section," Percy said. Pince's eyes narrowed. "I don't know why he thought that. Anyway, I was trying to tell him not to make assumptions."

"I see," Pince replied evenly. "In the future try to make your points without misleading the staff."

"Yes, ma'am." Percy replied evenly, waiting for her to continue her lecture. Yet another person I've offended...

Pince turned and walked towards her desk. After a few steps, she paused and looked over her shoulder. "Well?" she asked. "You do intend to check the book out, don't you?"

Percy blinked. "Yes, ma'am." He rushed to catch up with her. "I'm sorry. About earlier... with Robinson," he added at her questioning look.

Pince nodded as she wrote the book's name in her register. "Just don't do it again." She wrote Percy's name down next to the book. "It'll be due back in a month."

Pince filled out the reminder slip and charmed it to the inside cover before handing the book over to Percy.

"Thank you." He stowed the book in his bag, then walked over to the study table to await Taylor. He pulled his Arithmancy text out and stared at it's pages as he tried ignore Robinson's eyes on the back of his head. He periodically turned pages, but his thoughts were ten--three--years in the past...

Three months into Percy's second year, he and Oliver Wood were assigned to a team Herbology project. They had gone to the library to research their initial essay. Just as their attention drifted from Mandrakes to Quidditch stats, several dungbombs went off just outside the library. All eyes followed Madam Pince as she rushed out to lecture the culprits.

Until a blond forth year walked past their table. Oliver nudged Percy. "Isn't that the Restricted Section?"

"I think so." Percy kept his eyes glued to the Gryffindor girl. "Wasn't that her brother with the dungbombs?"

"Er..." As Oliver turned to look again at the Hufflepuff Pince had nabbed, the girl grabbed a book in front of her. As she pulled the book out, a loud, terrible, banshee-like wail filled the library. The girl dashed out of the section, book clutched to her chest. Her eyes widened and she tossed the book onto Percy and Oliver's table as she ran.

"Hey!" Percy and Oliver shouted after her as Pince summoned the book...

Percy tapped his quill against a piece of parchment as he absently turned another page. Then he frowned as he realized what he had done. When did I grab my quill? He sighed and turned another page. Never mind. It's not simply pulling the books that activate the wards. Intent? Occlumency could--No. I'd have to project a sense of accident.

Percy frowned and ran through his usual mind-clearing exercises before checking his existing shields. They remained as intact as when he erected them that morning. While Percy hardly qualified as an expert Occlumens, he had read up on the subject after Fudge brought him into his staff. They may have been wrong about who was trying to take over the Ministry--or missed a second threat, given Dumbledore's past--but they had clearly seen that someone was. Percy determined that he would not be the source of any leaks. Unfortunately, Percy did not trust any of the known Legilimens enough to ask that they attack his shields full strength. Instead, he had to settle for dismantling and rebuilding them daily, which took far longer to build his mental muscles. I may never get them as strong as I would with an outside push. But they are strong enough to prevent casual spillage, and any decent intent ward would alarm when it couldn't read me.

Percy looked up as Taylor sat across from him. He nodded, then reluctantly pulled out his actual Arithmancy assignment. If he skirted the wards once, he could do it again. He just needed to know the trigger. Whatever the hell it is.

Two weeks later, a possible answer hit him as he walked down to supper. Once a student was of age, no permission was required to browse the restricted section. A fact the professors did not advertise--Percy himself did not learn that until Fudge had him research Hogwarts for him. Physically, he was fifteen again. But his memories…

Percy spun around and dashed up the stairs, ignoring the startled protest of the nearby students. He dashed to the library, which had decided to place itself next to Flitwick's classroom. A quick search later, and he had pulled the best reference. A wizard's magical signature, sometimes called an aura, evolves constantly. Primarily the traits a wizard is born with, all life experiences are represented in the signature. These representations cannot be erased. Every gift, lesson, memory, trauma, triumph, mistake, humiliation…

"Oh, get to the point," Percy muttered under his breath, skimming the next two paragraphs.

…Experience representations cannot be erased, though they can fade over time as the aura grows and new experiences are wrapped over it. They can also be encouraged to migrate further away from the surface.

Percy frowned as he set the book down. So, I have seven years of memories represented in my magical signature? He sighed and set his arms down on the table, laying his face against his arms. Can it really be something as simple as an age-ward? And can I count on it staying confused? As much as Percy's experience had made him a more mature fifteen year-old this time around, his brain and body were not mature now. That had to impact how age-lines saw him. As much as he hated to admit it, he had been moodier the past few months than he had been for years.

Biting the corner of his lower lip, Percy stared at the desk. He remembered what happened, so, in a sense, he was a twenty-two year-old wizard. But, at the same time, he was a fifteen year-old. Percy gripped his hair as he allowed his forehead to land on the desk. Every time he tried to determine his age relevant to his past, his thoughts ran in circles until his brain hurt. And I'm assuming the bloody section doesn't just recognize her--Hang on.

Pince had him stay behind. Any ward that treated the books independently would not care where he stood…

Percy lifted his head up at that thought, then slammed his head into the desk. Stupid! He banged his head against the desk again. All that time wasted because you didn't see the obvious! "Bloody hell," he swore softly. "Of all the silly things to do…"

He sighed and sat up, running his hand through his hair. As he stared at the opposite wall, his stomach rumbled. Percy stood and grabbed his bookbag. He had no reason to remain, and the Halloween feasts were always delicious. Besides, any minute Quirrell would start babbling about the damned troll--Shit! How'd I let that slip my mind? Percy rushed toward the door. He should be there when Dumbledore sent everyone to the dorms. The minute he exited the library, a horrible stench assaulted his nose. Staring at a suit of armor, stood the troll itself, in all its hideous glory. Percy froze. The troll turned at looked straight at him.

"FUCK!" Percy cursed as he fumbled for his wand. He let his bookbag fall to the ground. As the troll made its way towards him, a bushy head stuck itself out of the door next to him. Hermione's eyes were teary and bloodshot. She squeaked loudly as she caught sight of the troll.

The troll smiled a predatory grin as it lifted up its club.

"RUN!" Percy ordered as he grabbed the first year's wrist with his left hand. He tugged her along with him as he conjured several marbles and banished them to the floor in front of the troll's feet. The floor shook as the troll crashed down onto the ground. The troll's roar of rage hurt Percy's ears. Beside him, Hermione stumbled and fell. Percy pulled her up, more roughly than he had intended. "Come on! That won't delay it long."

As the pair ran off again, a scream from behind them stopped Percy cold. "Ron!" A quick glance over his shoulder, confirmed that the troll had turned away from them. It lumbered after two small forms down the hall. "Find a professor!" Percy instructed, pushing Hermione down the hall before he rushed to his little brother's rescue. He barely remembered to deconjure his marbles before he stepped on them himself. Relieved over that near miss, Percy aimed at the troll's back. His blasting curse froze on the tip of his wand, as Percy found himself wondering if he had learned it yet.

During his moment of hesitation, the troll swung its club and he heard Ron and another boy--probably Harry--cry out. Cursing, Percy raced to the troll's side and blasted the troll as it swung around. Percy's curse impacted the troll's head as its club crashed into Percy's chest. The curse blasted the troll's head off, spraying troll blood across the hall and over the two first year boys. Percy felt his ribs crack. The force of the club strike threw him into the wall. Percy slid down to the floor and struggled to breathe.

Ron and Harry scrambled over to him. Ron squatted on his right side and Harry on Percy's left. Harry's black hair and glasses drew attention to his pale skin. On the other hand, Ron's face looked green, which clashed with his red freckles. "You guys all right?" Percy choked out as they pulled him to a sitting position.

Ron and Harry stared at him as if he had grown a second head. "Are we all right?" Ron blurted. "Bloody hell, Perce! You're spitting up blood!"

He was? Percy started at the revelation, but it would explain the metallic taste in his mouth. Percy lifted his hand to his mouth and wiped a thumb along his lip. "I guess I am," he replied as he studied the red smear. Then he noticed the wand in his hand. "I broke my wand." It was at that moment that McGonagall came racing down the hall, followed closely by Snape and Quirrell.

Quirrell took one look at Percy and started whimpering. Then he turned to the troll and fell to the ground. Why didn't we see through such horrible overacting? Percy wondered absently.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!?" McGonagall thundered at him. "YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED! HARRY AND YOUR BROTHER COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED! WHY AREN'T YOU IN YOUR DORMITORY!?"

"Dormitory?" Percy asked, as he should not know what she was talking about. "What--"

"THEY DIDN'T KNOW!" Ron blurted. "Hermione was crying in the girl's room all day, and we realized she didn't know about the troll--Percy was all ready up here. He must have been trying to talk her out."

"Is this true, Mr. Weasley?" McGonagall asked sternly, looking at Percy.

Percy shook his head. "Not quite. I was trying to finish something in the library. I thought I'd heard something from the lavatory next door, but when I walked into the hall, the troll--" Percy broke off as he started coughing again.

"And where is Miss Granger?" Snape asked as he leaned over and cast a diagnostic spell at Percy.

"Sent her to find a staff member," Percy responded.

Snape abruptly cast the Patronuscharm. "Poppy," he spoke to the silver mist, "I have a student with flail chest, one lung punctured and the other badly bruised. Second floor west, now." Snape completed the final wand gesture, and the mist coalesced into a silver doe that dashed away.

"What?" McGonagall asked startled.

"It looks like he took a club hit to the chest," Snape replied.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, as he blasted the troll."

"V-very imp-pressive bl-blasting hex," Quirrell said as he stood. "But it's best to c-cast from further away, as I'll c-cover next month."

Percy closed his eyes and gasped for breath. Without the threat of the troll, he had a better idea of what he should know. "I only ever read about it. I had to be sure Ron and Harry were well out of the spellpath if it went wrong. I tried to think of something else, but the troll closed on them, and I couldn't afford to wait any longer. Summoning," he realized. "I should have summoned its club, then--" I should have just thrown the spell while the shot was clear and worried about explanations later. Percy started coughing again. "Banished it at his head," he finished as the fit passed.

"Don't talk, Weasley," Snape instructed. "You need all the air you can get."

"Can't you do something Severus?" McGonagall asked.

"If his ribs hadn't punctured his lung, but there's a reason I'm only certified for first aid, not mediwizardry."

"But your potions--"

"Would fatally interfere with a couple critical spells if administered first."

"WHERE IS HE!?" Percy opened his eyes to see the plump mediwitch racing down the hall, faster that he would have thought possible. Hermione and Flitwick followed. "MOVE!" Madam Pomfrey ordered as she pushed Quirrell to the side. The stuttering professor fell back to the ground. Ron scooted away Percy without any prompting. Pomfrey cast her own diagnostic spell, then rapidly threw three more spells at him. The warm, healing energy flowed through him, irritating his injuries. "Severus, do you have a diur--Thanks." Pomfrey grabbed one of the two potion vials out of Snape's hands and poured it down Percy's throat. Then she cast a sleeping spell as she reached for the other potion.

Percy sighed as he leaned back in his hospital bed. Beside him, the last few issues of the Daily Prophet sat. The news coverage of the troll incident had been rather embellished, but managed to get the key points of the story across. The criticism of Hogwart's security surprised Percy as he could not recall the paper covering the incident the last time around. Of course, no Ministry employees were called off duty because their kid had suffered near-mortal injuries that time around. And given the way the Prophet bought Ministry gossip…

Percy frowned as he thought of his mother's tears and father's stony face. How much of what happened at Hogwarts did they really know? Perhaps if he had spent more time talking to them about those events instead of what was expected of him, he could have explained his position better. Percy rubbed his forehead. Did it even matter now? Those events were effectively overwritten, but he was not, and would not be the person he was then. He had grown.

Percy reached out and grabbed his bookbag. Ron and Harry had narrowly escaped injury--or death--because he was so worried about doing something wrong, that he had nearly failed to anything. History had changed, and the world had yet to collapse. He had to trust that it would continue on, and face the future as best he could.

But first, he would finish Bring Your Paintings to Life.

AN: I want to assure everyone who has previously read this story, that I will finish it. It will be slow going, but there should not be any more twenty-month update gaps. After Deathly Hallows and several post release interviews with the author, I needed a break from writing in the fandom. I believe I've replied to everyone who left reviews for the last chapter. If you had a question go unanswered, let me know and I'll get back to you.

--étienne