Closed The Huntsman

His cold gaze watched the first year, noting every detail. How he produced more bile, likely a result of his head wound. There were other signs; the pale sheen of his skin, the darting of his eyes as if searching for escape. He had seen fear like this before—raw, visceral, and unfiltered. It was the kind that crudely stripped away dignity and exposed humans for what they truly were; nothing more than animals desperate to survive. It was the moments before the end that always left their mark. He had seen it in the eyes of his victims as they pleaded for him to spare their lives, sitting in a pool of their own urine and tears.

Fear was always so messy.

Orion exhaled slowly, forcing himself back to the present. Aamon was a victim of Conner's; he had not struck him down by his own hand. A part of him was disappointed in how careless the Gryffindor had been in restraining his target. He clearly needed more practice.

Merlin, were these children really that inept that they were planning on using a blindfold to bandage a gushing wound? Why the hell did this school teach them how to set things on fire before teaching them how to put the damn fire out? Orion resisted the temptation to sigh, and listened as Conner stammered over his words. It was a desperate mix of justification and misplaced self-congratulation over his handling of the situation.

"He's not sickly," He interrupted the Gryffindor, his patience thinning, "He's likely concussed, because someone restrained him, causing a head injury, and another thought to use a blindfold as an adequate solution." He his doubts it was because of Conner, but he would keep up the facade.

The professor listened to Avis with a growing sense of unease. Dolls, possessive, hand cutting. Merlin, these were all things that pointed to the toys being cursed and yet it had taken them this long to approach the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor? Orion ran through several possible answers in his head, but they all pointed to something dark—too dark for children to be dealing with. They'd been cutting off parts of his body, telling him it wasn't just cursed behaviour; it was aggressive. Intelligent. Some items were bound through intentions, through spirits, sometimes even accidents. This was different, too intricate to be random. The dolls were made, perhaps just for Aamon.

Still kneeling next to the downed Slytherin, but leaned in slightly so his gaze could lock onto his own. "Mr. Athanatos, I will unfreeze you, but before I do I would like to remind you how unwise—deeply unwise—it would be to try and run from me."

Another wave of his hand. Finite Incantatem. Roll was 16+20=36 total. Orion watched as the boy's muscles started to loosen. "Take a moment to breathe, because you are going to tell me everything about these dolls, and you're not going to leave out a single detail."

To preserve some of the child's dignity, Orion would cast another quick spell. Scourgify. His robes and face were cleaned of any bile, though the puddle on the ground remained. “Don’t think about lying to me; you won’t like the outcome.”

The winter air nipped at his exposed neck where his scarf should have been. It was dead cold out and the rush of heat from all the running they'd done was starting to wear off.

His wand was still clutched tightly in his left hand, though he'd lowered it now that the Professor was here. The wood felt warm against his palm, it never failed him when it came to knocking over Slytherins, though he couldn't feel pleased for very long at the sight of Aamon. He looked pale and frightened, scared witless by all that had happened.

Professor Lecuyer's arrival had felt like a relief, but when the man spoke so harshly, Finnegan began to wonder for the first time if he had made a mistake. He hadn't meant to hurt Aamon, he had only meant to help and the boy's skittish nature and his insistence on denying the graveness of the situation he was in had led to all this.

"Finn asked me and I told him and he and I tried to convince Aamon to come to see you and Finn did not "apprehend" him because Aamon didn't do anything and then Finn petrified him for no reason"

"Not for no reason," he interjected. "I'm sorry it had to go this way, but it had to be done."

He glanced at Avis, annoyed yet grateful that she'd told the whole truth about the dolls. The girl might be stubborn as a mule, but at least she wasn't a liar.

"Sir," Finnegan ventured, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "There's something else you should know. Aamon was heading to meet his brother when we found him. Didn't say which one though."

“Don’t think about lying to me; you won’t like the outcome.”

"Perhaps it's best if we continue this in your office? If other students overhear... they might be frightened." he offered. "I can find Aamon's brother too, let him know what happened here," If Aamon was willing to give a name, of course. " I'm sure they'll be quite worried about Aamon's condition."

@Aamon Athanatos @Orion Lécuyer @Avis Marlong

Sorry it's a bit mid. Just trying to move things along.

"I'm sorry it had to go this way, but it had to be done." Avis didn't even look at him, much less acknowledge the interjection. It most certainly did not have to be done, he had just jumped to conclusions that were unnecessary and dangerous. She scoffed a moment at the absurdity. The third year was still insisting that attacking a first year was the best solution.

"He's likely concussed, because someone restrained him, causing a head injury, and another thought to use a blindfold as an adequate solution." Well, that seemed a bit exaggerated. The two of them did not share equal blame for the concussion Aamon certainly had. Avis had thought about using a blindfold, perhaps wrongly, but it hadn't caused Aamon's concussion. It hadn't even come to pass.

She knew it would be fruitless to mention the discrepancy, but Avis was nothing if not a debater, and tension never pacified anyone. She opened her mouth but was disrupted before she could speak.

"I would like to remind you how unwise—deeply unwise—it would be to try and run from me." The only thing that could distract Avis from her stubbornness was a separate point to be stubborn about. Was there no one at Hogwarts capable of looking at an 11-year-old and seeing a kid rather than a problem? Avis had always considered herself to be an (optimistic) skeptic, but the students and staff here made her look as gullible as a lamb. Avis bit her lip, hating to admit it, but if everyone around her was this suspicious, maybe she ought to be as well. No. she told herself. Someone's got to believe him.

"Perhaps it's best if we continue this in your office?... I can find Aamon's brother too, let him know what happened here" Avis gave a reluctant nod of agreement. As much as she didn't want to bind them within the castle, nor did she want to make a scene in the courtyard.

She did not, however, want Finn going off looking for Aamon's brother. If he had done this to Aamon, she didn't want to think about what might become of his brothers, especially considering Finn's bias toward the family. Her gaze flickered between the two, uncertainty flooding her already worry-filled mind.

Avis shivered a bit at the cold seeping through her tunic as Aamon began to unfreeze. No matter what he did, Avis would hover behind him, trying to convince him that she was on his side.

@Finnegan Connor, @Aamon Athanatos, @Orion Lécuyer

Aamon’s limbs slackened, and though the spell’s grip left his body, the terror remained—a suffocating weight pressing against his chest. His muscles screamed as he tried to move, but the dizziness hit him first, a nauseating wave that made his stomach churn again. He clenched his teeth, swallowing down bile as the professor’s words rang in his ears.

“Don’t think about lying to me; you won’t like the outcome.”

His breath hitched, his heart pounding painfully as his wide, glassy eyes snapped toward Orion. He couldn’t look away. The professor’s presence loomed over him like a shadow, deliberate and unyielding. Aamon’s fear wrapped tighter around him, his body trembling despite the warmth of the spell that had cleaned his robes. He wanted to speak, to defend himself, to explain—but his voice caught in his throat.

This was a mistake. A trap.

Everything—the forest, Finn’s attack, even Avis’s attempts to help—had led him here, bound and helpless before the man who ended things. Not fixed them. Ended them. His father had always spoken about men like Orion Lécuyer—hit wizards, enforcers. Wolves in the guise of protectors. They didn’t care about the reasons, the whys. They only cared about results and payment for deeds rendered.

And now Aamon was the loose thread that needed cutting.

His fingers twitched against the stone, seeking the wand Finn had taken from him. Gone. His body betrayed him again, weak and trembling, but he forced his voice out, sharp and cracked.

“I—I didn’t ask for this,” he rasped, his throat raw from the bile and the lingering panic. His words felt pitiful—small in the face of Orion’s looming gaze—but they spilled out anyway. “I didn’t want this!”

His breath hitched again as dizziness surged, but he pushed through it, clinging to the fraying edges of his control. He couldn’t fall apart now. Not in front of them.

“You—you think I could’ve just come to you?” he hissed, his voice shaking with fear and anger, both tangled so tightly he couldn’t tell them apart. “You think I don’t know who you are? What you do?” Of course he knew.

The words felt dangerous, sharp enough to cut him if he wasn’t careful. But he couldn’t stop. Not now.

“You fix problems by making them disappear. That’s what you do, isn’t it?” He lifted his head, the effort nearly toppling him, but his wild, tear-filled eyes locked onto Orion’s. “You think I didn’t know that if I came to you, I’d never leave this castle again?” That he was probably not going to leave the castle now.

His breathing was ragged now, the adrenaline keeping him upright beginning to fray. He turned, barely able to move, but enough to glance toward Avis. The girl who had tried to help—who had wanted to help—and now couldn’t do anything but hover behind him like a nervous shadow. He hated how much he wanted to trust her, how much he needed to trust her, even when everything screamed that he shouldn’t. She had proven that was folly.

And then there was Finn. The one who had done this. The one who thought knocking him to the ground and rifling through his pockets was help.

“You—” His voice cracked as his focus snapped back to Finn. “You think you’re saving me?” He coughed, his whole body trembling now as the cold dug deeper into his bones. “You did this. You didn’t help me—you humiliated me! You—you used me—just so you could look like a hero! So you could vent your misplaced frustrations against my family!” He was making the scene that they seemed to have no trouble starting but seemed more than happy to now avoid. The world about him swam and swayed, he rocked some.

The words burned as they came out, but so did the anger—white-hot and blinding, pushing back the fear just enough to keep him upright.

Aamon swayed, his vision swimming. He looked back at Orion, his voice quieter now but no less sharp.

“I don't know anything useful about anything,” he finally announced, the weight of his exhaustion pressing against every word. “They exist. They hurt people. Sometimes me if I get in their way.” He glanced around the courtyard, the shadows still heavy and oppressive.

Finn offered to find Aamon's brother. Aamon started to laugh but it hurt his head too much. His half laugh was punctuated by a sour grimace. He forced himself to sit up, grimacing at the pain that flared in his skull. “Vladimir Athanatos,” he glared at Finn. Famed legilimens, former heir to the Athanatos empire until his untimely death over a year ago. Papers quickly printed a retraction and Vladimir made a miraculous recovery but distanced himself from the empire. He lived at this present time in Hogsmeade. “Should mention, secrets are impossible to keep.” He was holding his head in his hand.

His gaze flicked back to Orion, wary and untrusting. “If you’re taking me anywhere, I—I want Avis there too.” His voice cracked again, but he didn’t care. “I need someone there who’s not waiting for me to slip up,” just sell me out.

Aamon braced himself for the professor’s response, his body still trembling from the cold and pain. But he kept his gaze locked forward. He was terrified—more than he’d ever been—but he wasn’t going break completely.

Orion's gaze softened as soon as the boy started to talk. It was clear to him that he wasn't going to harm Avis or Finnegan. He didn't push, didn't demand the kid to start talking. Instead, he lowered himself back down onto the ground next to Aamon. He reached a hand out, resting it on the young Slytherin's shoulder to give it a squeeze. His touch was firm, but not unkind, it was meant to soothe.

"Aamon," he started by calling him his first name, his voice soft, "You're scared, and that's understandable; you've been through a lot. I am not going to hurt you. You're my student and I care about your safety."

He didn't flinch when Aamon tossed accusations at him. Except the bit about wanting to make Aamon disappear, all of it was true. "I won't pretend I don't know what you're talking about. I have a dark history, and once upon a time I fixed problems the way you're describing."

He hesitated for a moment, his thoughts drifting to Galahad. He had not taken a life in over a year a half, not since his beloved had given him some semblance of peace, of normalcy. "I do not hunt dark wizards anymore, and you hardly fit the description of one, Aamon."

"I am not here as an Auror, I am not here as a hit wizard. I am here to teach you, I am here to protect you, but I can't do that if you don't let me." He paused, allowing his words to sink in, "I need you to help me understand what is happening. Dark magic does not discriminate. You don’t have to ask for trouble to find it, Aamon. Trouble doesn’t wait for permission.”

Orion pulled his hand away, digging it back into his coat pocket. He withdrew a chocolate frog box, it was a bit crumpled, but still sealed in its wrapping. "Take this." He said, passing it to Aamon, "There's a reason I always pass out sweets during my lessons; chocolate always helps me feel better. Perhaps it will do the same for you."

The professor watched his student with a quiet intensity, his brain racing as he tried to piece together possible answers for what the hell these 'dolls' were. "Avis mentioned they look like little versions of you. Can you tell me if they look more like a traditional doll—ceramic or cloth—or do they seem... perfect, like an exact copy of your face and body?"

Voodoo dolls were made to resemble victims, but the dolls themselves did not often attack. Some hags were known to make twisted effigies of planned victims, but as far as Orion knew he had murdered the bitches long ago. Still, the description of the dolls being 'possessive' struck a cord that made a deep sense of unease settle in his gut. The connection to the forest was undeniable too; it had been a favoured location.

"I think it is best if you stay within Hogwarts for now, Mr. Conner." Merlin only knew what the family was up to or if the dolls would follow him; he wasn't about to send a student into a lion's den. Especially if another coven of hags had taken up residence nearby. Finn was a bit older, but still probably an appealing meal.

He released a small breath when the Slytherin revealed his brother's name. Thank Merlin it was Vladimir and not Gideon or Mathias; those two gave even Orion the creeps. "I remember your brother; he was a bright student." Still, he'd rather avoid the boy if he could. Vladimir may have been the least concerning of the bunch, but his name still carried... shadows.

Relocating was not a bad idea, but he didn't plan on moving someone who was already shaken up to a new location if they were not willing to go. "If you feel more comfortable speaking about this in the open, we can remain here. Either way, you are welcome to bring whomever. If you need your brother, we can go get him, if you need a place to rest and heal, I'll protect you."

Avis wouldn't even look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on Aamon, like some sort of mother hen, all protective even as though she could do anything to help him. Why are you mad at me for? Stupid girl. She was being well childish about the whole thing, acting like he'd gone and murdered someone when really all he'd done was get Aamon the help he needed. What a thankless job this whole ordeal had been.

"I won't pretend I don't know what you're talking about. I have a dark history, and once upon a time I fixed problems the way you're describing."

So Aamon hadn't been lying then – Lécuyer really had been a hit wizard. The kind that made problems go away for good. Finn's mind drifted back to his Defense Against The Dark Arts classes, running through memories that suggested anything odd or dangerous about Professor Lécuyer. Why had he never heard anything about the man's past before? It seemed the kind of gossip that would spread like wildfire in Hogwarts. He glanced at Lécuyer, really looking at him for the first time. How many people had the professor "disappeared" before becoming a teacher? How many problems had he "fixed"?

"I—I didn't ask for this. I didn't want this!"

Looking at the younger boy now, trembling and small against the courtyard stones, Finn felt a twinge of regret, but that was of no use to anyone now. Of course Aamon hadn't asked for any of this, but what else was Finn supposed to have done? Let him wander about? "Oh I'm sorry, did you like getting dragged into the Forbidden Forest better?"

"You think you’re saving me? You did this. You didn’t help me—you humiliated me! You—you used me—just so you could look like a hero! So you could vent your misplaced frustrations against my family!"

Finn closed the distance to Aamon with a single big step and would have gotten even closer If Orion had not been there. "Like your family is so innocent!" His temper flared hot and fast and he blurted more than was wise. "Like your lot aren't killers!"

Orion would be right to fear a second fight to break out, one fought with fists and kicks, but a glance from Finnegan past Aamon's shoulder, down toward the ground, changed that prospect. Scowling, Finnegan retreated a pace again, muttering some vague apology to appease whatever concerns Orion might have. For a while he lingered at a safe distance, arms crossed over his chest, angrily observing the exchange between student and Professor.

While Lécuyer talked on about protection and chocolate frogs, Finn's eyes drifted back to the items scattered on the cobblestones beside Aamon. The flask caught some rays of sunlight, its clear contents showing no color at all. Beside it lay the mysterious box, small and tied shut with string that looked old and frayed. Aamon's wand was there too, along with a handful of coins that glinted dully in the winter light.

Somewhere in the castle, a bell tolled the hour, and it was under the cover of that sound that Finnegan moved behind Orion, knelt down, and quick as a fox tried to slip the flask, box, and coins into his pockets. The money would dull the pains he had gone through to help Aamon somewhat at least, and he was no longer sure if Orion was really the right person to study Aamon's artifacts. Not while he was treating Aamon purely like a victim, like the boy and his family weren't extremely dangerous.

Rolls: Finn's accuracy vs Orion's/Aamon's/Avis's wisdom (I've checked with Solomon Lear/Aamon and Orion that this is the correct contested roll to do.)

Finn's attempt to steal will be detected by Orion!

Reducio

@Avis Marlong - I'm sorry, but you will be unable to detect Finn's attempt to steal. Finn's roll resulted in 37. Avis' wisdom is 10. The highest possible number you could get to detect with Avis is 30 (a 20-sided die rolling 20 + 10 wisdom from Avis), which is 30 and is below 37. This is just the difference between higher/lower years and Finnegan having a very high accuracy, even for his year.

https://discord.com/channels/4105394207 ... 0203680799

“I didn’t want this!”

"Oh I'm sorry, did you like getting dragged into the Forbidden Forest better?" Avis regretted having to agree with Finn but similar to what she had thought that night, Aamon really wouldn't have been dragged into the forest if he hadn't gone for a midnight stroll directly next to it. He was certainly the victim here but he could have at least made it a bit harder for them. She was on his side and all, but she had to admit the kid could use a strong dose of common sense. Not that she was ever going to point that out out loud. Finn, presumably, was going to be doing that enough already.

Avis softly exhaled a relieved breath as Lécuyer tried to calm Aamon, even offering a crumpled-up bit of chocolate, but she wasn't about to trust him. She had learned her lesson with Finn. But she wasn't going to not trust him either. As in, she really, really wanted to be able to trust him. Restore some faith in humanity? It was a sad day when one looked at a (ex) hit wizard for affirmation. Maybe she really was gullible, but he seemed okay, especially since he was admitting his past, a point for which Avis held infinite respect for. Then again, Avis' judgment had been proven flawed, by the fact than any of this had happened. She had brought Finn here.

Finn, who had the temperament of a grizzly bear, and had now accused Aamon's entire family of basically being murderers. Avis straightened as he stepped forward. She had missed him last time, but if he were to do it again, she would, well, realistically miss him again. But optimism was always around, even when hope was lost. Thankfully, something seemed to scare him off, and he stomped off, sulking angrily. What he thought he had the right to be angry for was a mystery, but it was clearly personal.

“Vladimir Athanatos,” Ah. So it was the dead one. Finn had been right, then, in saying he wasn't quite dead. She cast a glance toward Finn, hoping to judge his reaction. After all, he had basically been stalking the guy, or at least the newspaper articles. Finn however, seemed content on being pouty. Avis was disliking him more and more as time went on, her list of negative adjectives she could use to describe him was growing by the minute.

Avis wasn't sure what to do next, so she stood there awkwardly. The adult was here, Aamon was capable of talking again, and there wasn't anything of real value for Avis to be doing. She stamped her foot and rubbed her hands together, trying to pull warmth back in.

"If you feel more comfortable speaking about this in the open, we can remain here. Either way, you are welcome to bring whomever."

Avis bit her lip, then raised a hesitant hand as bells tolled in the distance. "I vote we go inside. Finn forgot to mention I would need a winter cloak. And Aamon's shivering." Or maybe he was just trembling out of fear. But Avis wanted to go inside, so she chose to believe the former.

@Finnegan Connor,@Aamon Athanatos, @Orion Lécuyer

Aamon flinched when Professor Lécuyer’s hand landed on his shoulder. It wasn’t rough—it wasn’t even threatening—but it still sent a bolt of ice through him. His skin crawled beneath the touch, his muscles coiling as though expecting a trap. Even as the professor’s words softened, even as he offered the pathetic crumpled chocolate frog, Aamon couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being cornered all over again.

He couldn’t trust him.

He wanted to—some part of him clung to the calm tone, the reassurance that this wasn’t one of the hit wizards he’d grown up hearing stories about—but the rest of him screamed otherwise. The professor’s voice sounded too measured, too practiced, as though it had been honed in interrogation rooms and shadowed alleys. It reminded him of the way his father used to talk to clients when making deals—quiet, deliberate, masking the knife beneath the smile.

His breath came shallow, unsteady as he stared up at Orion, barely registering the chocolate in his hand. He was not allowed to eat it. He knew the rules. His fingers trembled too much to hold it properly, so it slipped into his lap like dead weight.

“I…” Aamon’s voice cracked, and he had to swallow hard to push past the dryness in his throat. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to give this man anything. But his options had run out. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t hide. He was not even sure he could walk with how his head swam and throbbed.

His words stumbled out in fragments.

“They… were a gift I got few weeks before classes started. The dolls.” His eyes darted toward Avis, as though grounding himself in the presence of someone who hadn’t just petrified him. “Were supposed to be companions. I was..." he hesitated and looked downward. "Alone. Always alone, unless you count staff. And I thought they were just playmates… toys maybe. I did not think much about it. I knew they moved, but only when I could not see them." He smiled painfully, "I saw them as a bridge between what I was and what I wanted to be."[/b]

His voice wavered. He felt sick again.

“But the play got rough. I knew they were protecting me, but sometimes they went too far. I started to get scared, but I was also ambitious," he tried to shake his head but his world rocked and he swayed. "I really did not even notice the changes, how they started as featureless dolls and slowly took form. And—and they started looking like me. Not all at once. Little changes first. My hair. My eyes. My hands.” He clenched his trembling fingers at the memory. “I thought I could I dunno, control them. Guide them, Block them. Stop them. Help..." He took a long breath. "But they got more aggressive. People started getting hurt. Accidents, falls down stairs, things falling, people slipping, not stopping. I tried to stop them, sometimes. When I knew. Maybe get in the way. I knew they were protecting me, just in excess. But when I tried, I got hurt too.”

Aamon’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to keep going. “They started whispering at night. I thought I was imagining it at first, but then… then they took my hand.” He didn’t look at his repaired hand, he didn’t let his gaze linger on the place where flesh and bone had been stolen from him.

“I tried to get rid of them. Toss them in the lake. Bury them in a locked box. Threw them in a crackling hearth. They kept coming back. They lured me to the forest,” he whispered. “I know better than to go to the forest at night. During the new moon, the full moon. That the monsters live there. But my feet ignored me. They pulled at me. I don’t even understand how I got there. Avis found me, and they were—pulling me. Like I belonged to them.”

His voice cracked again, and this time it stuck in his throat. He closed his eyes, trying to push down the panic clawing its way up his chest.

When he finally looked up, it was toward Avis, not Orion. His eyes shone with desperation. “You saw them. You saw them. But I did not choose to go there.” He shivered, feeling tired. Head trauma and hypothermia was never a healthy combination.

Aamon’s gaze flickered back to Orion, filled with barely contained panic. “I don’t know what they are! I don’t know what they want! I'm not lying, I...” He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

He was shivering now—whether from the cold, the fear, or the lingering effects of his injury, he couldn’t tell. He barely even noticed the bells tolling overhead, but Avis’s suggestion pulled him back to reality.

“I—inside. Yes.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and his body gave an involuntary shudder. “Please.”

Of course Aamon wouldn't trust the Frenchman so easily; his father would know exactly what kind of monster Lécuyer was, dark bedtime stories perhaps, tales of warning. He had been the one who ordered him to slaughter the hag coven. The weight of his past was a constant shadow, one that would often taunt him during restless nights.

Orion could almost hear the echo of the accusations—murderer, monster, executioner—in the silence of his mind. He could not deny those names. He believed he was above it all back then. Had once embraced the shadows as a part of him, working within them to dole out punishment for those deemed too dangerous to draw another breath.

If the boogeyman existed, it was Orion Lécuyer.

"A gift from who?" Orion's voice was soft, but heavy with concern. The pieces of the boy’s tale falling into place, the more Aamon told him about the dolls, the more the chilling revelation crept up on him. There were many people who wanted to cause harm to the Athanatos family; when one grew too ambitious it was common for your competitors to take notice and try and knock you down a peg or two... Or murder your youngest son. These dolls were far beyond the work of an innocent charm or hex. They were either the work of a hag or cursed with dark magic by someone who wanted to harm his family.

Orion hoped it was the latter.

Orion ran a hand through his hair as he listened, "They won't stop at just copying your features, Aamon." These weren't the dolls venders sold in Knockturn Alley. The prank dolls that punk kids often gifted their friends to freak them out. "... I think I know where this came from, but I have to check my books to be certain."

There was no need to start talking about hags, not out in the open. The horror stories of children gone missing, devoured during their first or second years, had finally started to fade into the past, like a mere bad dream.

As Orion stood, he heard a soft mewing sound behind him; Bijou had finally decided to join them and was sniffing Avis. "Come, lets get you out of the cold. I have some amulets that may be able to help keep you safe..." He started to usher all three children towards the castle.