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  This chapter was edited by Gdiusx. Check his works on HP and ASOIAF, I highly recommend them.

  Same day, Evening of the Solstice.

  Potter Manor,

  Harry swung Gryffindor one st time at his target, cutting the training puppet down. Heaving for breath, he inspected his handiwork; the puppet was one of many he had purchased that could mimic basic attacks. It was hardly an effective method to train his swordwork, but with the ck of a human foe to practice with, it would have to do.

  The bde was returned to its scabbard, an unassuming thing made from dark leather, and repaired the puppet with a wave of his wand, menting that he had to be careful not to stab them. Two puppets had already lost their enchantments due to the basilisk venom, yet strangely, they did not decompose like the troll corpses.

  The venom worked well against flesh and magic but not as well against inanimate things - or so he discovered.

  A figure nded on his shoulder once he finished storing the puppets. The fairy patted his cheek as she made teasing noises, and Harry smiled at the creature that sneaked her way into his pocket from yesterday’s ga. The adorable thing could not speak and was incredibly vain and spoiled yet smart and empathetic. He gently patted her head as he made his way out of the training room in the basement and snickered as she preened and floated to nest in his messy hair.

  The basement of the Manor was much rger than expected at first gnce, with multiple levels. Turning one of the many rooms into a training room was simple. Harry had spent many hours training daily ever since he cleared up the basement. Spellwork, muscle training and swordwork were all made easy thanks to magic and his wealth.

  He left the basement and made his way to the dining room, the fairy giggling gleefully as she held onto a strand of his hair.

  He should think up a name for her. Her voice was like a bell, so maybe…

  His mind wandered to st evening as he listened to the creaking of the wooden flooring as he walked. Luna had promised to publish his interview in a few days. He also met Mrs Malfoy and Mr Weasley, but was spirited away by half the girls he knew from school for dancing before he could say more than a polite greeting.

  Dancing with Lavender, Parvati, Hannah, Susan, Daphne, Astoria, Susan once more, Tracey once she noticed Susan, Nymphadora who demanded a dance when Shafiq half-heartedly approached her, and more girls than he could remember, had taken the rest of his evening. He still managed to catch Mr Weasley before he left and enquired about the health of Mrs Weasley and the rest of his family and asked him to meet soon.

  Sadly, Mrs Malfoy had left early with Draco. Arthur had expined that Lucius Malfoy's absence was noted by all, and the fact he did not show up with his family at such an important event sent arm bells for many who saw this as their chance to scheme. Despite his personal grievances against the man, Lucius held the more votile parts of wizarding society in an iron grip.

  They entered the dining room, finding the table still empty. He could hear Dobby from the kitchen as he cooked and listened to the radio. The elf had somehow managed to get a muggle radio to work without power and used every chance to listen to the football commentaries.

  Why he enjoyed muggle sports over Quidditch would be a mystery.

  By the window, Chiara was feeding Hedwig owl treats. Harry frowned as he didn't realise his owl was here. “Don't feed her too much, Chiara, or else she will grow too fat to fly.”

  The werewolf giggled, even as Hedwig barked indignantly and fpped her wings threateningly. Harry deadpanned at her until she realised he wasn't joking and chirped weakly before raising her leg to give him Hermione’s letter.

  “Well, this is a first. Usually, Hedwig needs only to bark and you get her what she wants.”

  “I have spoiled her too much, then,” Harry commented distractedly as he read over Hermione’s letter, ignoring the fairy yawning in his hair as she gently snored.

  “Good news from your friend?” As his attendant, and closest confidant, Chiara was naturally informed of his friendships and connections. Both in school and outside.

  “Of the sorts.” Harry folded the letter and pocketed it as he tied a letter for Susan he prepared on his owl. Hedwig was always excited to deliver mail and eagerly raised her leg for him to tie the letter on before she flew out of the open window and into the darkening sky.

  His eyes traced the snowy owl as she disappeared into the horizon. “Her grandfather was reluctant to speak of the matter, but after much needling, he confessed that he did not know much. All he knew was he had been abandoned in a Paris orphanage after the Great War by a young woman who spoke English and French. Hermione suspects it was one of the many French houses that moved here over the centuries.”

  “I suppose she is not very enthused about the matter?”

  “Indeed, she is not. There are quite a number of French families that migrated to Britain, particurly after the Napoleonic wars.” Harry moved to the dining table, where Dobby had begun ying out their dinner, and pced Gryffindor on the seat next to him. “What do you think, Henry?”

  In the portrait, his ancestor tugged on his moustache. “A British House with French origins active in the mainnd during or after the Great War. Grindelwald would not have been active yet, so that makes it more difficult to narrow down. Considering your friend’s features, we could scratch off the Malfoys, for they almost always breed blondes.”

  Harry chortled before drinking his chicken dumpling soup. “It would certainly have been hirious if Draco and Hermione were cousins.”

  “Yes, and of the houses that still exist, we have quite a lot, but the most relevant would be Puce, Crabbe, Rosier… and Lestrange.”

  Harry frowned at Henry's growl but ultimately shrugged. “It doesn't matter. Hermione will have to be satisfied with that. For all we know, that witch could have simply spoken French as a second nguage. Unless there's a method to see if blood matches with blood?”

  Henry shook his head, and they continued their meal in silence. Once they were done, his ancestor spoke again. “What do you have pnned for the ritual?”

  For a heartbeat, Harry wondered what his ancestor was talking about before swallowing his steak. “The solstice? Not sure yet. Probably pray by that dead Yew by the ke.”

  Henry looked on expectantly, but Harry offered nothing else, finishing his meal and moving on to dessert. “That's it? No offerings or… well, an actual ritual?”

  “The gods are not something to be begged or cajoled for a reward.” Harry shrugged as he relished every bite of his treacle tart. Since Chiara joined his household, she had taken responsibility for baking it, much to Dobby's chagrin. The Potter lord would admit she had a talent for pastries.

  “Then why bother praying in the first pce?”

  Why bother, indeed? Eddard Stark would pray in the godswood daily, and Jon remembered asking him about it. His answer was simple, and it echoed in his mind even now. “People tend to pray in bad times and forget the gods in good times. Instead of praying for miracles or boons, I would pray for guidance and the strength to overcome adversity.”

  The dining room was silent, and Harry finished his tart. Dobby had already left for more work around the manor, so Chiara took away his ptes to be washed, but not before gazing at him strangely. “You are very wise, Mr Potter.”

  Grabbing the sword and holding it over his shoulder, Harry simply gave a wan smile and gazed outside the window. The sun had set, and the waxing moon shined down from the heavens. It had been a long time since he simply let go of all earthly matters and enjoyed the peace of a godswood. His eyes swept over his expansive grounds and idly imagined growing one, yet what was a godswood without a heart tree?

  “Ready, Mr Potter?”

  With a nod, they went out into the garden; Harry had taken his sword, wand, and cloak with him. His pace was leisurely as he took the joy of the pleasant evening air. Chiara followed his lead, leaving a couple of feet of distance between them. He had told her time, and again there was no need for all the courtesies in private, but the werewolf insisted on being professional. Harry wasn’t sure whether to praise her diligence or grudgingly admire her stubbornness.

  It was a miracle he managed to convince her to eat with him at the same table. The girl had wanted to eat in the servant's quarters… they didn't have a servant's quarters!

  Soon, they were in front of the old yew tree. A dead thing long bereft of leaves, and the trunk had begun to rot. The old yew was like a lone sentinel growing out of a hill overlooking the ke, with nothing around it but weeds and rocks. Harry stepped forth, pced his palm on the decaying yet still pale bark and closed his eyes for a prayer.

  It was a few minutes ter that he retracted his hand and gazed at the dead tree. As usual, nothing happened.

  To his side, Chiara was kneeling on the ground, eyes closed and hands csped in prayer.

  “What did you pray for, Chiara?”

  “I pray for the moon to be gentle with me over the next half a year and not to be price gouged for Wolfsbane ingredients.” The werewolf’s ever-present smile turned sad. “I also pray that my dreams will come true, whether I succeed in curing Lycanthropy or simply be accepted as a healer.”

  “Ah, yes. Did I not mention I spoke to the new Head Healer of St Mungo’s, and he agreed to take you in as an apprentice?”

  The werewolf turned to him, her eyes and mouth open in shock. “Y-You’re not joking?”

  “I would never. Edward Tonks and his wife, yes Nymphadora’s parents, will be visiting us in a few days to hash out the details, and they don't mind that you are a were–”

  Chiara lounged at him for a hug, and even though he could have dodged her, he allowed her to hold onto him tightly as she repeatedly thanked him. Harry patted her back, rubbing soothing circles as she shook, sobbing. The werewolf only let go of him a few minutes ter, and the Potter lord produced a handkerchief to rub his attendant’s tears away, only for the older girl to flinch away.

  “I’m sorry, Mr Potter. That was unbecoming of me.”

  “Nothing of the sort. I am happy for you, Chiara. It is the least I could do.” He patted her shoulder with a smile before sitting on the tree’s roots and unsheathed his sword. Chiara returned to her prayers, this time thanking the gods for the blessings and the boons she received since she met him.

  Harry blushed as the girl spoke it all out loud, even cheekily gncing at him every now and then.

  Shaking his head, he pulled a rag and an oil vial out of his pocket, oiling the bde and rubbing it down. Goblin Wrought Silver repelled dust, and did not need to be oiled or sharpened. Yet, Harry found soce and peace in the action - his mind turned pleasantly bnk as the rag ran down the ever-sharp edge under the starry sky above.

  He knew now why Eddard Stark had done the same with Ice.

  It was nearly an hour ter when he sheathed Gryffindor and stretched. Chiara had finished her prayers earlier and did not wish to disturb him, opting to y down on the roots. She was now gently snoring as she leaned on the tree. Feeling drowsy himself, Harry decided to nap as well, ying down next to his attendant and covering them with his Invisibility Cloak, his sword sheathed on his p. There was an irony in using the cloak as a cover from the breeze, yet Harry just yawned as he closed his eyes and slept.

  .

  .

  .

  He woke up with a start, finding himself in a strange snowy grove. It was not the godswood in his mind, nor could he feel Chiara or even Ghost. Five massive Weirwoods surrounded him, each with a different face etched on them. A smiling face, a sorrowful face, a solemn face, a stormy face, and a screaming face.

  “Harry Potter.”

  Five voices echoed, saying his name in five different emotions.

  “Jon Snow.”

  Each voice corresponded with the face of the weirwood.

  “You have called upon us.”

  The voices echoed in his head, seemingly with no beginning or end, and Harry turned around, finding the same trees staring at him from every direction.

  “Are you the Old Gods?”

  “Offer your sacrifice.”

  Harry scowled at the non-answer, “What do you mean sacrifice? Just who are you?”

  The stormy face bled sap from its scowling face, “You call on us yet plead ignorance.”

  Suddenly, the world shook, and everything turned bright, causing Harry to shut his eyes. Soon, the shaking stopped, and he opened his eyes, finding himself wide awake back in his grounds. Looking around him, he froze, and his heart thundered like a war drum.

  He was still nestled amidst the old yew’s roots, Chiara next to him and even the fairy still on his head.

  He barely had time to wonder what was happening before the world turned bright again, and he could feel the familiar, soothing presence of Ghost beside him. Opening his eyes, he was in the Godswood of his mind; the direwolf stomped his paws agitatedly as he stared at the heart tree. The solemn face seemed alive as it stared at him dispassionately, and Harry knew this was not the same tree as in Winterfell, for it was not mencholy.

  “Sacrifice.”

  The word was stated so simply, so matter-of-factly, and Harry clenched his teeth. He had not pnned for anything to happen. To him, praying to the gods was simply a way to unburden his spirit. Clearly, the night of the solstice held far more power than he thought. He could feel Ghost move closer beside him, and Harry appreciated the comforting presence of the direwolf. Taking a deep breath, he calmed his beating heart and gazed at the heart tree.

  “What do you offer?” Regardless of the surprise and the situation, the gods have still deigned to speak to him. His brow twitched when the face did not answer, but merely stared at him. Harry moved sideways, yet somehow, the face would still stare at him. Sighing in exasperation, he rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. “You aren't making this easy. Fine, what do you want?”

  Suddenly, a fsh of light appeared at the base of the tree, depositing his Cloak, Wand, and Sword and then, Chiara…

  “No!”

  His growl reverberated in the grove, with Ghost silently growling as well. The solemn face on the tree frowned. “Worthy sacrifice, it would grant you a major–”

  “Out of the question!” Harry roared, waving his hand, and Chiara's unconscious form disappeared from his mindscape. “Do not test me, or I shall do everything in my power to destroy you, gods or not!”

  Harry's blood roared in fury at the sheer rage he could feel. How dare they? Whatever they were, Magic or the Old Gods, how dare they demand such a thing from him?

  He gred at the solemn face for what felt like an eternity until the Old God gave a very human-like nod. “So be it. She was not yours to give, and you have proven yourself worthy of a boon.” Harry was stunned at the sudden turnaround, it was a test? “However, we shall take that which you have bonded with the most as payment.”

  Before Harry could think, the three items on the ground floated in front of the heart tree. First, was Gryffindor. “A fine sword, possibly one of a kind. Would make any battle easier and a worthy sacrifice… and yet, you see it as nothing more than a tool.”

  The sword disappeared from his mind, Harry barely having time to acknowledge the words before the Cloak of Invisibility floated. “Ah, I recall our aspect of Death had fashioned this for your ancestor. A true Cloak of Invisibility passed down your blood for generations. A truly one-of-a-kind artefact…yet, it is but another tool to you, though you do hold a fondness for it. That fondness, however, has nothing to do with its powers but with the fact it belonged to your father.”

  The cloak seemed to fold onto itself before vanishing from existence, and Harry was starting to wonder if the Old Gods stole his sword and cloak from him. He wanted to sh out when the wand floated, yet he found himself frozen by some sort of spell. “And finally, the wand. It chose you, and since you have been reborn, it has chosen you once more. Twice bonded, such a wand was already powerful, yet now has the potential to grow beyond what a magical focus should be.”

  Harry gulped as he stared at the wand as it floated. He could almost imagine a phoenix’s cry coming from it, and he struggled mightily to move. “Don’t!”

  “Ah yes, it is certainly dear to you. Your first possession in this world, the first thing that has acknowledged you, not caring about your title or your name, but you.”

  His wand started to vibrate as the phoenix’s cry turned into an enraged squawk as it tried to break free from Magic’s hold, and Harry struggled mightily to move, feeling the veins of his neck bulging and sweat pouring down his forehead, before remembering Ghost. Focusing on his direwolf, the powerful beast broke out of its stupor and charged at the tree, its jaws aiming to grab the wand…only for it to burst into fmes and turn to ashes, a phoenix’s wail reverberating through his soul.

  The spell on him broke as he rushed towards the wand, trying to pick up the ashes, but to no avail. He choked back a sob as the phoenix’s st ment echoed in his mind. Ghost licked his cheek in comfort, and Harry tried to regain control of his emotions, yet he couldn’t as he gred at the solemn face on the tree with his teeth clenched.

  “You…”

  “Do not weep for your wand. Everything came from us and shall return to us in time, and new life blossoms from the ashes of the old.”

  Before Harry could even curse, the world spun as he grew dazed, and everything darkened.

  .

  .

  .

  He woke up with a start, finding Chiara shaking him. “Mr Potter! Something is happening.”

  Harry jumped to his feet, the Invisibility Cloak falling from his grasp. He grabbed it and found it as ethereal as always. Gryffindor y on the ground, and Harry unsheathed it, finding it the same shining silver. He searched for his wand, feeling it in his pocket, but even as he withdrew it, his loyal wand turned to ashes in front of him.

  All he could do was stare at the ashes slipping through his finger as the breeze scattered them in the wind. His wand…

  “Mr Potter… Harry, the tree!”

  Chiara’s cry shook him away, and Harry numbly raised his head.

  Crack!

  The massive dead tree seemed to come alive as its dead bark bloomed to life, yet the pale colour only grew whiter than bleached bone. The tree shook itself and grew rger as if reaching for the skies; empty branches came alive and began moving like the Whomping Willow. Even the roots below churned as if they were trying to dig themselves deeper and deeper.

  Five-pointed crimson leaves sprouted like bloody hands that seemed to grasp at the moon. Before he could blink, above them was a vast crown of red, blotting out the stars and the moon.

  Harry felt his knees buckle as he fell to the ground, tears streaming down his cheeks. The sight of the weirwood brought him little joy, not when his trusty wand was gone.

  The tree grew still, but then it sang, and Harry felt his magic and soul resonate, and even Ghost was spinning in joy and excitement in his mind. Idly, he could almost imagine the nd around him becoming more alive, and the smell of magic permeated the air like morning dew.

  But it was not a Heart Tree, not yet - the bone-like bark was smooth and… cking.

  Before Harry could move, an arctic gale blew from the east, and the temperature fell, reminding him of a different pce. A colder pce, with the titanic Wall hewn of ice. Chiara shivered beside him, but Harry felt bliss as the chill made his magic sing with joy once more.

  A bright fsh of blue made him close his eyes, and he heard a keening wail far into the distance. When he opened his eyes, he found a face staring at him from the weirwood. Its lines were red and freshly carved, and the face was forever frozen with its mouth opened in a silent scream as crimson sap wept from its eyes. Harry thought the face looked familiar, but without the hair it was more difficult to recall who it reminded him of; It did give him a feeling of hatred, though.

  Like a man possessed, Harry approached the Heart Tree and hesitantly pced his palm on the bark. Instantly, he found himself staring at his surprised face, his eyes glowing with power with a white ring around his normal green. Chiara stood there, frozen in shock. Harry could tell he was in the Weirwood, and he could feel the roots digging into the ground, aiming to spread as far and wide as possible. Suddenly, he was distracted by movement on top of his head and found the fairy nesting in his head had woken up and gazed strangely at the face in the Weirwood.

  Willing to return to his body, he found the fairy had floated from his head and nded on one of the tree’s branches. The little critter seemed to be in a world of her own as she sat on the tree and stared at him with amber eyes… Then, she spun around and hid between the crimson leaves, giggling giddily, causing Harry to scratch his head when the tree seemed to become even more alive.

  A*L*S*M

  The next day,

  Susan checked her reflection one st time in her bedroom mirror, unable to stop the wide smile blooming on her face. She was dressed in a yellow sundress with a wide-brimmed hat and a bck jacket over to cover her top, where she kept her wand and money. It was rare for her to go to muggle London, and her family were wary of sending her if it wasn’t an invitation by Harry Potter, of all people.

  Thinking about Harry had her face redden in embarrassment as she remembered the ball two days earlier. She had spent all of yesterday alternating between smiling like a loon and burying her face in her pillow from how shameful she acted with the boy. Susan had never imagined she would lose so much control of herself with a boy. Harry had proven himself to be an excellent dancer and carried himself with galntry and nobility. Susan was fttered and giddy all that day, catching him for more than one more dance, the boy easily accepting her and making her night the best yet.

  But his magic, oh his magic… It was just so delicious.

  Shaking her head, Susan spped her cheeks with both hands to embolden herself, even as her reflection shot her a thumbs up. “You can do this, Susie! It might be your first-ever date, but it's also his first date too… I think. Anyway, you’re a knockout, so knock that boy out of his boots!”

  Grinning at her reflection’s pep talk, Susan nodded to herself, for she knew that she truly was a knockout. It was why she decided to take a jacket to cover herself, for the sun dress did nothing to hide her curves; the muggles would already be staring at her queer hair colour as it was. Checking her clock, it was nearly noon, and the time to meet her date at the Leaky approached. Susan hurried to the firepce in the parlour, finding her father sitting on his armchair with his face wide in shock as he read the Daily Prophet.

  “Bye, Dad! I will be back by dinner.” Normally, the sight of her normally unfppable father being so shocked would have sounded arm bells in Susan’s head, but she was so focused on her date that she quickly gave him a kiss on the cheek before moving to the Floo.

  “Take care of yourself.” Her father’s distracted reply was lost as she stepped into the green fmes, travelled through the dizzying mess that was the Floo network, and exited out of the firepce at the Leaky Cauldron.

  The tavern was not as busy as usual, owing to it being the day of the Solstice. It’s why she and Harry did not pn to spend too much time in the Alley before venturing into London. It was still busy with many patrons here for lunch hour. Susan looked around in search of her date, finding him speaking to the bartender. Harry Potter was dressed in muggle clothing as well, consisting of jeans and a red T-shirt. She spied a small backpack by his feet and as she approached, he turned to her, and she thought he looked a bit forlorn before his face brightened as he saw her.

  “Susan, you look beautiful as always.” The crimson-haired witch could not stop herself from blushing at the compliment as they hugged each other in greeting. His magic enveloped her like a cosy cloak in a cold winter, yet this time, she did not lose control of herself as she drank deeply. Harry chuckled when she held the hug for a second or two more than appropriate. “Can’t get enough, huh?”

  His whispered words sent shivers down her spine as they separated, but Susan pretended she did not hear. “It’s good to see you again, Harry. Good afternoon, Mr Tom.”

  “Good afternoon, Ms Bones.” The genial old man nodded to her before turning to Harry, “Don’t worry, d. Once Killian returns from visiting his daughter, I'll let him know his room is paid off till the end of the summer.”

  “Thank you, Tom. I also appreciate you being candid about the man’s character.”

  “I would not normally give such information, but I trust you in not abusing it, Harry.” Susan was utterly lost on what they were talking about and waited patiently by the side. Thankfully, Tom seemed to notice as he grinned at them. “I won’t take more of you lovebirds’ time. You two enjoy your date, aye?”

  “Will do, Tom. Enjoy reading the Prophet, and sorry for taking so much of your time.”

  She fidgeted as her lips bloomed into a smile when Harry did not refute the bartender’s words. Curious about who this Killian character was, she looked at Harry questioningly, who mouthed “ter” and grabbed her hand to lead her outside to where the closed archway was.

  “Do you mind unlocking the entrance, Susan?”

  Confused about why he would not do it himself, Susan tapped her wand on the bricks regardless, and the archway melted away, showing them the busy road of Diagon Alley, where Harry led her at a sedate pace. She noticed Harry’s face had turned morose once more, and while a small part of her was annoyed that he would feel that way in her company, a rger and more compassionate part knew something was wrong.

  “Is something the matter, Harry?”

  “Aye, I confess that my wand suffered an accident st night, and I must first visit Ollivander for a repcement.” The shorter boy muttered. There was no need to ask what happened, for st night was the night of the solstice, and accidents did not happen.

  “I am sorry for your loss,” and Susan truly felt for the boy. She could barely imagine the feeling of losing such a trusted artefact. Even now, she could feel her wand’s warm presence in her jacket, soothing her and assuring her that it would be there when she most needed it.

  “Thank you, Susan. I must warn you, the st time I went to Ollivander’s, it took me quite a while to find a wand.” Susan’s eyes widened, but her date rubbed her hand soothingly, “Do not worry. I have brought with me what I believe to be suitable parts for a new wand, and hopefully, it won’t take as long as it did.”

  The blue-eyed witch smiled at the boy as she hugged his arm, and they continued on their way to the wandmaker’s shop, thankfully finding it open. Before they opened the door, Harry turned to her, “I trust that you would keep my secrets, Susan?”

  “Of course!” She did not know why he would ask such a thing so suddenly, yet Susan replied without hesitation. “Whatever it is, you can trust me. I'm even willing to swear an vow if you would prefer.”

  “No need, I trust you.” The green-eyed boy gave her a toothy grin, and Susan felt a delightful shiver in her spine as he held her hand and channelled his magic to her. “Let it not be said that Harry Potter does not reward loyalty.”

  Before she could recover from the rush, Harry adjusted his backpack and entered the establishment. Susan stood in a daze at the fact Harry willingly gave her his magic. Only her family did that, and a dopey grin bloomed on her face as she hugged herself. Shaking her head, the beguiling witch hurried inside the store, finding Harry and Garrick Ollivander deep in discussion. Her date brought a couple of boxes out of his bag and a strange length of wood that had her focus on it heavily, for it practically oozed magic. It was cold, sinister, and bloody in a primal way that she had never felt before.

  “What do you think, sir? Do I have your interest now?”

  “Oh, Mr Potter. You have my undivided attention, I dare say.”

  Magic, gods, and prayer. Many of you probably do not care about that and find the act to be ludicrous. Regretfully, the vast majority of fanfiction writers and readers are atheists or give lip-service to God and avoid writing anything about religion like it’s the pgue. Sadly, this stops them from writing some very interesting topics in their stories.

  In ASOIAF, magic and sorcery were something obscure and half a step within the domain of the divine. I drew some parallels from IRL, but any form of divinity will remain as obscure and whimsical as it did in ASOIAF.

  Religion, however, is an interesting topic that I won’t be ignoring. Belief is something intrinsic to every society and culture, and while the target of such beliefs are not always religious nowadays, they are still there in some form or another. Harry/Jon has no basis for divinity/religion aside from the Old Gods and that’s the tempte he used when he prayed.