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Cursed by bccaw [Reviews - 10]

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Chapter Eighteen: The Test

Hermione tried in vain not to think of Ron anymore. Ginny had left for the day, and at the moment her only distraction was the ever-hovering Madam Pomfrey, who kept popping in the room to see if Dumbledore's portrait was available to chat.

Though she had tried valiantly at first to keep up her initial attitude of detached acceptance, she found she was currently failing the endeavor. Now that Ginny had confirmed what she suspected about Ron and Padma, Hermione was newly heartbroken and consequently ashamed by it. She despised girls who made fools of themselves over boys.

Hermione had been blind to Ron’s faults, forgiving him for often being lazy, insensitive, and selfish, and overlooking the fact that he had never quite treated her with the same respect that he did Harry. He had used her to get grades he did not deserve, and he had been jealous when she talked to other guys, yet he had never asked her out himself.

At first, Hermione had told herself that he was just too awkward and immature to ask her out, and later that he was afraid of ruining their friendship. It was a lie. He had simply not liked her very much, though he must have thought that she would always be there waiting for him if he ever changed his mind.

Hermione’s biggest regret was that she had wasted so much time on Ron. She was especially sorry for all the essays she had ‘helped’ him write, and she would forever hold herself responsible for everything that Ron had not learned in school.

Hermione wallowed in her memories of Ron, alternately dwelling on their many fights, his nauseating displays with Lavender, and the numerous stolen moments that had kept her crush alive. Every other memory featured Ron looking into her eyes, pulling her into his warm, bone-crushing embrace, sitting as close to her as he dared in Harry's presence, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, planting an unexpected kiss on her neck outside the bathroom at The Burrow, sharing a conspiratorial look as they snuck out of the tent past a sleeping Harry... but the memories were punctuated by his sullen features as he sulked, an angry grimace after an argument, his smug satisfaction after snogging Lavender right in front of her for the twentieth time, and the jealous fight he started just before he ran away, when she told him they must stop messing around in order to keep clear heads, keep Harry safe, and find the rest of the Horcruxes before it was too late.

It was just after she had realized the Sword of Gryffindor was the key to the destruction of the Horcruxes that she knew that being so close, so constantly to Ron was distracting her to the point of endangering their lives and their mission. It should not have taken her so long to put it all together. When she had attempted to discuss her concerns, and asked him to wait until they were in a better situation to start a relationship, he had been furious.

The coldness that began to seep into her body went unnoticed until Hermione heard a familiar squawk. Fawkes landed on the bed beside her and began trilling gently, cocking his head to look her in the eye.

Hello, Fawkes, she thought, but the bird gave no indication that he could hear her. He had settled down on the bed and was resting his head on her icy hand. Hermione was glad that Madam Pomfrey had just checked on her and might not be back for a while. It would only make Hermione more anxious to have Pomfrey fussing over her again. Fawkes’ presence was much more comforting.

Snape must be away, thought Hermione. It had to be the first time he had left the castle without telling her, and Hermione was certain that he was testing the connection. However, it was strange that Fawkes had come to her this time. What if Snape was in trouble? Surely the phoenix would alert someone if that was the case.

Hermione did not have time to worry, because Snape walked into the room minutes later. He came immediately to the bed and put a hand on her arm. Fawkes scrambled up and perched on Snape’s shoulder, causing him to wince slightly.

“You are cold, Miss Granger,” he said. He had not moved his hand and his touch began to make the spot painfully warm.

You left, she thought with a hint of accusation.

Yes, he thought back, staring down at her with an intensity that rivaled the tingling warmth in her arm.

Could you – stop?

The feeling produced by the contrast between the stone cold of her body and the heat from his hand was like the most intense case of pins and needles Hermione could imagine. Snape jerked his hand away as if he had been stung.

Sorry, she thought. It’s just – such a shock – when the rest of my body is still so cold.

Snape did not reply, and Hermione was reminded of his strange behavior earlier that morning.

Are you – okay?

Snape blinked in response to her question.

“Certainly, Miss Granger – it is you who are unwell.”

I feel better already, she thought, and it was true. She could feel the cold fading.

Snape seemed about to say something when a muffled conversation from the hallway reached their ears. Fawkes dismounted from Snape’s shoulder and disappeared in a burst of flame.

“I know he’s here!”

“Don’t be silly! You can’t possibly know that.”

“I can sense it.”

“And to think, everybody says I’m the crazy one.”

Luna Lovegood appeared in the doorway, dragging Neville in by the hand. Snape had already turned to glare at them, and Neville immediately shrank two inches and stared at the floor.

“Miss Granger is not seeing visitors at this time,” said Snape harshly. “Come back tomorrow.”

No, please let them stay, thought Hermione. I want them to stay.

Snape glared at Hermione.

You are not yet recovered.

Let them stay, Hermione insisted. Just don't go far, and I will be fine.

Luna took advantage of Snape’s silence and pulled Neville farther into the room.

“Professor Snape,” she said. “We can’t come back tomorrow, as we will be searching for red-spotted pixie moths with Professor Mertwood from The Magical Creatures Institute.”

Snape seemed surprised by her boldness, but still managed to sneer at her.

“Martin Mertwood is an addled old fraud, and has been retired for thirty years. Furthermore, before becoming extinct, the red-spotted pixie moth was found only in Australia.”

Luna was unfazed. She smiled slightly.

“Yes, that's what most people would say,” she said, “but Professor Mertwood photographed a red-spotted moth only two months ago, and he’s determined to find another. You see, he’s a good friend of my father, and we’re all going to Australia to help him! So, we really can’t come back tomorrow.”

Please.

Snape folded his arms, still glaring at Luna and Neville.

“Ten minutes.”

Luna beamed.

“Thank you, Professor Snape.”

Snape swooped out of the room and Neville sighed in relief.

“How can you talk to him like that, Luna?”

“What do you mean, Nevvie?”

“No, Luna! I hate that name! Hermione, you must forget you ever heard it!”

Luna had dropped Neville’s hand and was now uncomfortably close to Hermione’s face.

“Okay, Neville,” said Luna airily. She poked Hermione’s arm.

“What’d you do that for? I bet she doesn’t like people poking her.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” said Luna. “Father said that you were probably just like a statue and I told him that he was wrong, but I had to be sure.”

Neville moved to stand behind Luna.

“I guess you’ve heard about the articles they’re writing about you and Snape,” he said apologetically.

“Some of them are interesting,” Luna admitted. “Although, they are rather ridiculous.”

“They’re creepy,” said Neville. “It’s Snape.”

“He’s not creepy,” said Luna. “You shouldn’t be scared of him anymore.”

“I’m not scared of him,” said Neville. “I just don’t like him and he hates me. So I think I can avoid him if I want.”

“Oh, Hermione!” said Luna suddenly. “I have to tell you that Ron and Padma seem to have started dating lately. I hope you are not very upset. I know that you liked him for years –”

“Merlin, Luna!”

“ – but I always thought you were too smart to go out with a Quidditch player. It is strange that it’s only Quidditch players you’ve ever dated…”

“Hey, you’re right,” said Neville, sounding surprised. “She’s right, Hermione. Forget about the Quidditch players.”

Luna giggled and turned to look at Neville.

“Of course I’m right, Nevvie.”

Neville groaned.

“Please, don’t call me that when other people might hear.”

Luna’s giggle was high-pitched and uninhibited, and Hermione imagined that it was just the sort of laugh that would irritate Snape. He had appeared again, a large black shape in the doorway.

Must she cackle like a hyena?

It’s not that bad, thought Hermione. Be nice!

I am not nice, Granger.

He had been looking at Hermione, but now he turned his attention to her visitors.

“It has been fifteen minutes, Miss Lovegood.”

Luna spun around and smiled at him.

“Yes, it has! I thought you might have forgotten about us after all. Well… goodbye, Hermione, we’re leaving for Australia this evening. I’ll send some pictures of the pixie moths, and perhaps Professor Snape will show them to you.”

Snape only glared at the young couple as they left and Neville mumbled a farewell.

“Longbottom has no mind of his own.”

Hermione decided not to comment on that remark. She was not in the mood to argue. He would probably tell her that it was all her fault Neville could not think for himself, because she had done so much thinking for him in class.

I hope they send pictures, thought Hermione, knowing it would nettle him. When, exactly, did the red-spotted pixie moth become extinct?

Snape smirked.

“Approximately forty years ago, Miss Granger.”

Hermione wondered how Neville felt about the excursion, but more significantly, how he and Luna had finally become an item.

I think I’ve heard of them before. They were used in potions, weren't they?

It would explain how Snape knew so much about them.

“The wings were ground into a fine powder, which was extremely effective in pain relief potions –”

And it was because of the red spots that it was so effective! The red is produced by the interaction of pixie magic and the type of leaves they eat –

“Ah. It seems you’ve already memorized the information. Do you ask such questions only to flaunt your knowledge?”

No! I am not – I mean, I do not – flaunt my knowledge!

Snape raised an eyebrow and sent Hermione a memory of her younger self raising her hand and bouncing in her seat next to a cauldron and copious notes, a determined expression on her face that turned to one of haughty annoyance when another student was called and answered incorrectly. She mentally cringed.

Okay, maybe I did – at times – appear – to be showing off in class – but that’s not what I’m doing now! I just remembered reading about those moths somewhere…

But Hermione could not remember when she had read about the red spotted pixie moth, which annoyed her more than Snape accusing her of showing off.

“I will leave you to rest,” said Snape. “You are still weak.”

Now that you’re back I’ll be fine, Hermione reminded him.

“Even so,” he said. “You would benefit from a few quiet hours.”

Fine, but –

Hermione hesitated, suddenly afraid to ask the question that was on her mind.

“Yes, Granger?”

I was wondering …I mean… well, you are nearly finished with the book.

She waited for him to answer the unspoken question.

“I will return after dinner... as usual. I expect to find you well-rested and recovered, Miss Granger.”

He would be back with the book, Hermione was certain.

Thank you, she said.

He only nodded, and reached down to close her eyes before he left. Hermione quickly drifted off into a dreamless sleep, and woke hours later to discover that Snape was sitting by her bed, lifting her eyelids with cool fingertips.

Hello, she said sleepily.

“Granger,” he greeted her.

I rested, she said unnecessarily.

“Well done, Granger. It seems you possess the ability to follow instructions. Normally I would not reward such a small accomplishment, but since I was the cause of your – weakened state – I will make an exception.”

He pulled out the Legilimency book and found his place. It was very near the end, and Hermione hoped that he would finish it that evening. The chapter was about the subtle ways an expert Legilimens could infiltrate a person’s mind.

Emotions are extremely easy to sense. Even at a moderate distance, a skilled Legilimens can sense emotions, especially fear and anger. Using emotions to break into a mind is the simplest method of infiltration. However, to enter undetected the Legilimens must ease into the thoughts, immediately searching for a more tenable hold on the mind than the emotions found on the surface. It is all too easy to be pulled along by the violent, unstable nature of emotions and be tossed too quickly into the mind, making one’s presence known immediately. It will not do to grasp at the emotions themselves, nor at the thoughts tied to them. Instead, use emotions as a guide and then slip past them, carefully searching for memories on the periphery, moments from the recent past, a dream from the night before, a stranger’s face in a crowd…

Since Snape had begun reading the book to her, Hermione's appreciation of his careful communication with her grew. He never pried in to her private thoughts and never tried to hide his presence from her. Now that she was experienced with Legilimency, she did not think that he would be able to infiltrate her mind unnoticed. She would recognize him immediately.

…and when the subject is not emotional, but guarded, or even when they are expecting a mental attack, the true Legilimens may still find a way into their mind. Each mind will require a different strategy. Each mind has its own weaknesses and strengths. That is why the Legilimens must get close to the target and begin to understand the workings of that specific mind before attempting undetected infiltration.

Hermione wondered just how skilled of a Legilimens Snape was. She wondered just how much practice he had at developing strategies to infiltrate the mind. She did not like to imagine how he might have practiced them. He must also be a superb Occlumens – the fact that he was still alive proved it. Hermione wondered if Voldemort had ever had the patience to use subtle Legilimency. Voldemort had an automatic ‘in’ to Harry’s mind, and the visions had been occasionally deceptive, but certainly not subtle.

“Miss Granger,” said Snape suddenly, startling Hermione. “If the material is disturbing to you, perhaps it is better to stop here.”

What do you mean? I’m perfectly fine!

Snape made an impatient noise and snapped the book shut.

Perhaps you would like to tell my why my mind was assaulted by an image of the Dark Lord just now. You are generally good about keeping your thoughts to yourself, which suggests that you are upset and not, in fact, ‘fine’.

Hermione was astounded and embarrassed that she had leaked her musings into Snape’s mind.

I am not upset, she said. I suppose I just let my thoughts get away from me.

You were thinking about the Dark Lord. Care to explain? he prompted.

Yes, Hermione sighed. I was thinking about Voldemort, but I was not upset. Surely, you would have noticed if I was – emotional. If I could not keep my thoughts from you, then certainly the emotions would have escaped as well.

Snape considered this for a moment, but was not willing to let it go.

Why were you thinking of the Dark Lord?

Hermione hesitated. He was strangely determined to know what she had been thinking.

Surely it is not surprising that I would think of him, since I’ve heard that he was a powerful and ruthless Legilimens, and you are currently reading a book on the subject.

Snape did not reply, and seemed to expect her to continue. She sighed mentally.

I was just – wondering – whether Voldemort was ever a truly skilled Legilimens. I would not think he would have bothered to take the time to be subtle.

Snape shifted slightly in his chair, and then in one movement he was seated on the bed looking directly into her eyes, perhaps to better sense if she was lying.

You would be correct, he said. Voldemort preferred power over subtlety. He did not bend minds so much as crush them.

Hermione hesitated again, hoping that he would not get angry when the conversation became personal.

Is that how you fooled him – making him think that you were like him, that you wanted power? If he had really known you, he would have found out the truth.

Much of what the Dark Lord knew about me was the truth, Granger.

Hermione was not sure what to say, but she wanted more than that cryptic answer.

But he underestimated you. If he had even suspected what you were capable of... surely you would not be alive right now.

Snape had folded his arms again, which he did whenever he was annoyed.

No, Granger. If not for you I would not be alive. The Dark Lord did find out what I was capable of and he tried to curse me to death – a slow, cold, soul-starving death. I would be as good as dead at this moment if you had not fallen in front of me.

I did not fall, I jumped! You make it sound like I tripped on my shoelace!

Snape pressed his lips together, and Hermione realized that he was amused by her comment.

And anyway, she thought, I wasn’t finished – don’t try to distract me.

By all means, continue.

Snape was still looking directly into her eyes.

Well, when my poor thoughts ‘assaulted’ you earlier, I was actually thinking of you more than Voldemort.

Snape waited for her to continue, and she knew he was curious.

I was thinking that you must be a truly incredible Occlumens, because you fooled him, and also a great Legilimens because of your subtlety.

Another short silence and Snape spoke.

“You realize, Granger, that outside of dark circles, it is not – desirable – to be known as a great Legilimens.”

I know – but you use it the way the book talks about – with subtlety and true skill. Besides, I am proof that Legilimency can be a good thing. You’re helping me.

And Miss Granger, how do you imagine that I came to be so – skilled?

There was a dangerous edge in Snape’s thoughts that Hermione did not like. She infused her thoughts with a bit of playfulness in hopes of lightening the mood.

Well, she thought, I imagine that either you are so good at it that I never notice you sneaking around in my head, or you have the restraint to give me space and still listen to me. Perhaps it is both, and I will never know!

Snape still sat on the bed with his arms folded, but now he was looking at the rose window.

I’m sorry, said Hermione. I didn’t mean to imply – that is, of course I don’t think you’re doing that – I trust you.

He turned back to look at her, and she saw something unfamiliar in his eyes before he shut her out of his mind and they became like hard, black glass.

“Don’t.”

Snape was out of the room before Hermione could think of a response. She was not even sure what ‘don’t’ meant. Don’t be impressed by Legilimency? Don’t compare him to Voldemort? Don’t trust him? Hermione did not know what had come over her, to say such things to Professor Snape.

The man was still a mystery to her, and yet she was the only person in the world who could hear his thoughts. His mind was always occluded, of course. She still did not know much more about him than she had right after the battle. The only thing she was sure of was that he was not as dangerous, nor as unpleasant, as he considered himself to be.

Hermione wanted to know more about Severus Snape. Like the rest of the wizarding world, she wanted to know who he really was. She felt like she had been cheated for seven years while he made everyone think that he was a nasty, vicious dungeon-bat. He had been playing a part, utterly alone; with the possible exception of Dumbledore, nobody could be allowed to know that it was an act.

Hermione wondered how close Snape had been to Dumbledore. He had been forced to kill the only person who knew the truth about him. Even though Hermione knew that Dumbledore would have had it no other way, it still sickened her to imagine Snape casting the Death Curse on the former headmaster, uttering the fatal words with conviction and force.

It was a long time before Hermione was able to fall asleep again. This time she began to dream that she was lying in her bed at home. She could hear her mother in the kitchen making breakfast. Her father had the news on, listening to the weather report. Then, there was a knock on her bedroom door. It was her father calling her name, but it was a whisper and his voice was all wrong. He must have a cold.

“Coming, Dad,” she said, sleepily rolling over, but she was twisted in her sheets and could not get up. Her arms were pinned to her sides and she struggled in vain to free them. Finally, she was able to slip one arm out. Her father called her name again, his voice cracking.

“Coming,” she said again, not wanting to admit defeat and ask for help getting out of her bedclothes like a small child. She could now hear bacon frying, the grease sizzling. Taking a deep breath, she began to work her other arm free, grimacing as her shoulder popped loudly. She was successful at last and she rolled onto her back, tugging at the sheets that held her body and legs hostage. Her arms were heavy, and it felt like she was moving in slow motion.

I hate dreams like this, thought Hermione, and it occurred to her that it was a very strange thought to have in a dream. She stopped struggling for a moment and closed her eyes.

I want to wake up. Please wake up, she told herself. Nothing happened. Hermione sighed loudly and used her arms to wrench her body up into a sitting position. Then, she opened her eyes again and found that she was blind. Everything was black, and she could no longer hear the bacon or the news anchor’s cheery voice coming from down the hall.

Faint shapes began to appear out of the darkness, though they did not belong to her bedroom. Hermione turned her head to the right with a loud crack, and found that she was staring at the rose window in Hogwarts infirmary. It was a dark, cloudy night.

Hermione looked dumbly down at her legs trapped in white bed sheets that glowed faintly in what little moonlight came in through the window. She held her hands in front of her, waved them, pinched her arms, and even slapped her own face. She was awake.

She was sitting in her bed, in the infirmary, awake, rolled up in her bedclothes, her face stinging from where she had just slapped it.

Hermione lay back down and rolled twice to her left, freeing her legs. She pushed herself back up and swung her feet over the side of the bed and down until they touched the cold stone floor.

She slid off the bed, hoping that her legs would support her weight. She took one step forward, then another, holding her hands in front of her. Shuffling over to the rose window, she stared numbly out at the rolling clouds that hid the moon. Something was wrong. She was nearly convinced that she was actually standing, walking and touching the cool glass in front of her, but the sense of foreboding she felt might soon crush her. She had to find Snape.

Hermione pulled a blanket off of her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, shivering even though she was not cold. She made her way to the door, but hesitated as she reached for the latch. She did not have her wand, and she did not want to leave the room without it. She searched everywhere but could not find it, and she could not remember anyone mentioning where it was. Perhaps it had been broken or stolen in battle.

Back at the door, with her hand on the latch, Hermione froze. She had an idea.

“Help!” she whispered hoarsely. “If there’s a house-elf that can hear me, please come help me!”

Nobody came and she leaned against the door for support.

“Hogwarts elf! I need a Hogwarts elf!” Hermione was close to tears.

“Winky!” she gasped. “Winky! Oh, I hope you’re still alive! Winky, I know you don’t answer to me but please come!”

There was a crack that reverberated painfully in the small room and suddenly a rather large house-elf, or else a very small something else, stood in front of her. Hermione nearly shrieked in shock.

“Who – who are you?” she asked, blinking furiously in an effort to make out its features. She could tell it was a house-elf by its ears.

“It is Truno, Miss Hermione,” it said in a gravely voice.

“Oh! Truno! I remember you now,” she said, a bit hysterically, hoping that Truno was really a house-elf. “Why are you here and not Winky?”

“Winky say she is not liking you, Miss,” said Truno apologetically. “She is not wanting to come all the way up here for the girl who make elf clothes. She ask Truno to come instead.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, feeling truly hurt that Winky would not help her.

“But Miss should not be feelin’ bad about what Winky say,” said Truno. “Winky still be half asleep when she say it. Truno decide that Winky need rest, ‘cus of the lilfie that be coming.”

“Lilfie?” wondered Hermione. “What is that?”

“Miss, is like a baby, only is house-elf.”

“Oh!” said Hermione. “Winky is pregnant!”

“You could be saying that!” exclaimed Truno proudly, leaving Hermione in no doubt as to who the father was.

“Well, that’s – that’s great Truno. Er – so the reason I called you was –”

“Miss need help,” said Truno patiently.

“Yes,” said Hermione. “I need you to get Professor Snape for me immediately.”

Truno frowned.

“He is not a nice wizard, Miss. He be very angry if Truno be waken’ him up.”

Hermione was briefly amazed that Truno had not popped off to do her bidding as soon the words left her mouth.

“Well, yes, I realize that he might be – angry – at first, but it’s very, very important. You see, I have been sick. I’m sure you remember. He’s been taking care of me and I need to see him right now.”

“Truno will go,” said the elf. “And will say Miss looks better now.”

He disappeared and Hermione slid to the floor in relief. She realized that her hands were shaking. She wrapped her blanket tightly around her shoulders and waited.

A few minutes passed before Truno returned.

“Miss!” Truno grabbed her hand. “Come, now!”

With that, they Apparated. Hermione could tell her mouth was open in a perfect ‘o’ of surprise. They arrived in another very dark room, Hermione falling to the floor. She was very glad to be in one piece. She stood unsteadily and looked around. Truno was behind her, and he grabbed her arm again.

“Over here,” he said, and guided her to a bed covered in dark fabric except for a ribbon of white where the sheets were turned over. Trembling, she drew closer, knowing whose unmoving form must be lying in front of her. Sure enough, she peered at the face of Severus Snape as he slept, his pale skin almost glowing in the dark, obscured only by the few strands of limp dark hair that fell across his sharp features.

“Truno!” she whispered. “Why didn’t you wake him?”

“Truno tried, Miss!”

“Okay... all right. Truno, how about you go back to sleep and I’ll call again if I need you?”

Truno nodded and left with another loud crack that amazingly did not wake Snape. He was lying on his back, his nose sticking in the air, breathing regularly. He was breathing. Hermione sighed in relief. Perhaps he was just a heavy sleeper, or perhaps Truno had not tried very hard to wake him.

“Professor?”

Hermione’s voice cracked. Snape did not stir. She licked her dry, painful lips and tried again.

“Professor Snape? Wake up! Please wake up!”

But Snape would not wake. Hermione’s feeling of dread intensified. She reached a hand out, found his shoulder under the blankets, and shook it, prepared to jerk her arm back in case he woke and attacked her.

“Hello! Professor? Professor Snape… Severus!”

Hermione slid her hand off of his shoulder. She pushed the blankets back and found his hand underneath. She covered the back of Snape’s hand with her own, feeling intense heat rise with the contact.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. She searched for his familiar presence.

Professor? Can you hear me? Are you there?

Hermione could not sense him at all. The room felt empty. She climbed onto the bed and leaned over him, hoping the proximity would help. She attempted to open his eyes using magic, as he had done so many times for her, happily surprised when a faint cool light welled up under her fingertips even without a wand to aid her.

Desperately, she stared into his eyes, searching for consciousness in his frozen stare.

I know you’re there, she thought hopefully.

I’m so sorry. “I’m so sorry!”

Hermione realized that she was saying it out loud as well, and realized it might be a better strategy if she wanted him to hear her.

“I’m trying, but I can’t hear you! Please, keep thinking to me, as loudly as you can!”

Hermione tried for what seemed like hours, but she was not able to connect with his mind. She had failed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered once more, tears beginning to run down her cheeks.

She rolled off the bed and lay on the floor, physically and mentally exhausted. The tears refused to stop. She had been so sure that she understood Legilimency, but even after sharing a mind connection with Snape for weeks she had failed to learn anything! He was trapped just as Voldemort had planned. Eventually, Hermione’s body gave in to a blessed, dreamless sleep.


Cursed by bccaw [Reviews - 10]

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