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Meeting Of The Minds by Helga Von Nutwimple [Reviews - 26]

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"Myrtle?" Hermione pushed open the door to the Girl's lavatory, fishing in her pocket to withdraw a small plastic bag. "Myrtle? I brought you something..."

She heard the familiar sound of soft sobs and sighed inwardly. "I brought you cookies... I've been letting them mold for a month..."

"Cookies?" exclaimed a shrill voice behind her, and Hermione whirled. Myrtle's eyes, hugely magnified behind her glasses, widened in greed as she saw the contents of Hermione's hands.

"Yes, I... Happy Deathday..." Hermione trailed off, her ear tuning to the far wall. The soft sobs continued unabated.

"It's not me crying," Myrtle hissed conspiratorially. "It's Dorcas Limbergh. She's been in there for hours."

Hermione took a few steps towards the stalls. "Dorcas?"

Dorcas was in her year, a sweet-faced, ginger-haired Hufflepuff so quiet Hermione had originally wondered if she was mute. "Dorcas, are you all right?"

"Don't make fun of me anymore, Myrtle," a sniffly voice moaned from behind a stall door. "I'm miserable enough as it is."

"It's Hermione Granger, Dorcas. Are you all right?"

"Would you be?"

A parchment rolled out from beneath the stall door, and Hermione took it, her heart sinking.

"Petition For Marriage", read the severe gothic letters at the top.

Hermione scanned down, past the legal jargon, past Dorcas' name...

"Goyle?" Hermione whispered in horror.

The sobs behind the door amplified.

"Dorcas, do you even know him?"

"O-our f-fathers w-were old f-friends..."

Hermione shook her head, imagining the gentle Hufflepuff with Malfoy's lead thug. "Dorcas, surely you..."

"It's the only one I've gotten." The stall door swung open, revealing Dorcas' tear-stained face. "And today's the last day."

"Couldn't you... couldn't you get a friend, or something..."

Dorcas' face twisted into the closest thing to anger Hermione had ever seen upon it. "Not all of us have a Weasley waiting in the wings to save us, Granger."

Dorcas snatched the parchment out of Hermione's hands and fled the bathroom.

"Touchy," Myrtle sighed, taking a bite of her fuzzy green cookie.

---

"Limbergh and Goyle?" Harry hissed, leaning over his plate to meet Hermione's eyes. "You can't be serious. He'll eat her for lunch!"

"And have room for dessert," Ron muttered.

"Can't somebody..." Harry's hands made anxious fists as the muscle under his jaw worked.

"It's so unfair," Ginny sighed.

Ron swallowed a mouthful of chicken. "I'll say. Can you imagine? Trapped under a heaving, panting Goyle for the rest of your life? I'd be going to live with Myrtle in the S-Bend."

"Well, that's the thing, isn't it?" Ginny snapped. "She'll want to be trapped under a heaving, panting Goyle for the rest of her life, once she's Bound. That's the most disgusting bit."

"Not all the time," Harry said quietly. "I talked to Remus about it. They're not even that kind. She'll hate him and he'll hurt her and she'll hate him more for it... and if she tries to stay away from him too long..."

Harry trailed off, poking his mashed potatoes glumly.

"Aw, c'mon, Harry," Ron drawled sarcastically. "The foundation of every good marriage is a couple of Unforgivables built into the marriage contract..."

"Yeah, it's just not love until your wife undergoes Cruciatus if she tries to take a solo mini-break," Ginny finished, then looked up at Hermione's paling face. "Sorry, Hermione."

"Neville, where are you going?" Ron leaned back, catching the hem of Neville's robes.

"I'll be right back." There was a curious shadow over his face.

Ron watched him go. "What's got into him?"

Ginny smiled a little Mona Lisa smile. "If I had to guess... I'd say he's gone to propose to Dorcas Limbergh."

"You mentioned the Cruciatus Curse built into the contract on purpose," Harry said.

"He's liked her since Fourth Year. Never had the guts to ask her out," Ginny replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "At the risk of sounding like Mum, I felt a little meddling was warranted."

"That's where it starts," Ron muttered.

---

"You really miss it, don't you," Hermione said quietly.

Harry's face was trained at the sky, his scarf fluttering as his eyes traced Ginny's flight for the Snitch. "Sorry, Hermione, what?"

"I said... you really miss it, don't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. I know you don't like to fly, Hermione, but... you know that feeling you get, when all the pieces of a puzzle come together for you? That's... that's what Quidditch was for me."

Hermione thought about that rush of savage joy, that urge to throw her hands into the air and scream in delight... and reached out for Harry's hand.

"I think it's utter crap that you were banned, Harry," she said, then lightened her tone. "Especially since Ginny can't seem to catch the Snitch at all tonight..."

"She's doing it on purpose."

"What?"

"She's doing it on purpose. I've been watching her. She's concentrating all her efforts on keeping Cho from getting it and not trying for it herself."

"Ginny's throwing the game?"

"No, we'll win." Harry turned to her and smiled. "There are scouts from the Chudley Cannons in the stands tonight. Ginny's giving Ron more time to shine."

"Ron... they're scouting Ron?"

"He's gotten really good. He's been fantastic tonight. I wouldn't be surprised if they sign him."

"Is..." Hermione bit her lip. "Is that why we're not in the stands?"

Harry had asked her to watch the game from the hillside with him, and Hermione had wondered why all night. They could hear the commentary, and see Ginny and Cho, but not much else.

"I didn't want to be... distracting," Harry sighed. "I wanted the focus on Ron."

Hermione squeezed his hand, yelping as movement in the air caused Harry to clamp down.

"Oh... she'll have to catch it now... to your left, Ginny! To your left! Your other left!"

Harry bellowed his approval as the Snitch landed in Ginny's palm, and Hermione clapped.

"We've got a few hours until Neville's wedding, and Ron will be in interviews... you want to go down and see Hagrid?"

"Aren't you hungry, Harry?"

"Not particularly. And I think I'd rather talk to you before Ron gets back."

Hermione stood, brushing the dirt off her skirt, and followed Harry down the hillside. "Why?"

"Well, I couldn't help but notice that you seemed... well... pretty aghast at the thought of Ron playing professional Quidditch."

"No! No, I think that's great, honestly. I mean, it's a dream come true for Ron, isn't it?"

"But you're going to be Bound to him."

"But... I'm going to be Bound to him."

"Hermione Granger, Quidditch Groupie."

"Exactly. Oh, Harry, it's just -- I'd rather thought he'd want to be an Auror, like you, I mean... I always had this idea of the three of us stomping around after Dark Wizards..."

"I'd kind of thought that too."

"And now I'm going to be panting after Ron, jumping for joy at the thought of darning his socks, and -- well, no, I won't be able to jump, I'll be massively pregnant all the time, and..."

Harry changed directions, heading for the sculpture garden. "C'mon, Hermione."

"It's just... I don't want to stop Ron from following his dream, I don't, and once I'm Bound, hell, Ron's dreams will be my dreams, I'm going to be practically perverted over Quidditch, I'll probably get the Chudley Cannons logo tattooed across my massive, stretch-marked belly..."

Harry sat down on a bench, pulling Hermione next to him. "C'mere."

She let herself be folded into his arms. "I know Ron's doing a great thing... I mean, he's saving me, isn't he? I'm sure he doesn't want to get married to me any more than I do to him... but I had... I have... dreams of my own, you know?"

Harry stroked her hair. "I know."

"And what was the point of it all, really? If I'd stayed a Muggle, I could have been a doctor or something, a teacher maybe, could have been free, at least. Instead I've worked my arse off for nearly seven years, trying to be someone, trying to excel, and it's all pointless."

"Are you seriously telling me that you could have gotten a Hogwarts letter and not done anything about it? I know your mind, you're far too curious for that."

"I might have done, if I'd known this was going to be the end result. Honestly, Harry, why am I even in class? Why am I studying for my NEWTS? Why am I taking them?"

"Because you're Hermione. And that's a pretty fantastic thing to be, if you ask me." Harry slid his thumb beneath her eyelashes, wiping away her tears.

"Harry, I'm just so... so angry, and so frustrated, it's like I'm seeing red all the time. I just want to... well, I want to rebel, you know? This stupid Dark Ages arranging and it doesn't matter at all what I want, I want to... streak the Quidditch pitch, or transfigure Snape into a bat, or... oh, I don't know, I just want to..."

"That's completely understandable, you know," Harry murmured, reaching up with his fingers to brush away a lock of frizz that had fallen in her eyes. "God knows I've felt that way loads of..."

Hermione leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

She felt Harry stiffen from shock, and reached up to curl her fingers through his dark hair, drawing him closer to her... but Harry pulled away, panting.

"Hermione, don't... it's weird, it's... you don't know..."

She drew his forehead down to hers, their noses almost touching. "I do know, Harry. Please."

Hermione kissed his cheek, his temple, pressed her lips lightly to his closed eyelid.

Harry trembled, and he would; since Sirius had been used as bait, Harry had never let himself be romantically involved with anyone. As far as Hermione knew... and she was quite sure this was correct... Harry hadn't even kissed anyone since Cho Chang, years ago.

A seventeen-year-old boy living the life of a monk, a stew of hormones... Hermione was hardly playing fair, and she knew it.

"Harry," Hermione whispered, trailing her fingers down the side of his neck, "Once, just once, I'd like to do this of my own free will. And I'm already attached to you, already a target..."

Hermione kissed the soft spot at the hinge of his jaw, and Harry let out a little moan.

"Please, Harry."

Harry threaded his fingers into her hair with a groan, capturing her mouth with his, their kisses growing frantic, desperate. They tumbled off the bench into the grass, Harry's hand behind her head to soften the fall, her school skirt sliding up beneath the warmth of his palm.

Panic and rage and confusion and hormones ground together in Hermione's head as she pressed herself against him, feeling him moan into her mouth.

"Hermione," he whispered, "I don't... I don't know how to do this..."

"I don't either... we'll figure it out..."

She pulled Harry's school robes open, reaching for his tie, struggling to get it unknotted. Harry put his hands over hers, undoing it for her, slinging it into the grass beside them. She yanked at his buttons, pressing kisses on his collarbone, feeling a surge of... what? Pride? at the near-insane look in Harry's eyes, the harshness of his breath, the evidence that she wasn't just a know-it-all pressing urgently into her inner thigh.

Harry's teeth scraped her neck, and Hermione threw her head back into the grass, her fingers clutching at his shoulders...

"Bloody. Hell."

Hermione's head snapped up at the same time Harry's did, both of them looking towards the sound of the voice...

Ron and Ginny Weasley stood in full Quidditch robes, gaping at them. The Marauder's Map trembled in Ron's fist.

Harry rolled off her and they scrambled up in the grass, staring at Ron, who was practically pulsating in fury.

"This is why you didn't come watch me play," Ron spat, "You wanted to go off and... snog my fiancee?"

"Looked like they were about to do a hell of a lot more than snog," Ginny muttered.

Hermione took a step back from the look of hate in Ginny's eyes.

Oh, God... I thought she didn't like Harry anymore...

"I guess my family isn't good enough for you, Granger?" Ginny's small hands were curled into fists. "And here I thought you didn't want children. I guess you just didn't want Weasleys."

"It's not like that..."

"Y'know, Harry," Ron said. "There were Scouts at the game tonight. This was pretty much the most important night of my whole life. And I wondered why my friends weren't there. I guess now I know, eh?"

"We watched you play," Harry panted. "From the hill... I didn't want to be in the stands, I didn't want to distract..."

"Oh, that's right. How could I forget. Mr. Famous, The Boy Who Lived, is such a sodding celebrity that were he to come watch his best friend play, everyone's eyes would be on him instead."

"Ron, Harry's telling the truth, and you know he's right..."

Ron's eyes met Hermione's and bored into them. "How long has this been going on?"

"It hasn't been going on, Ron..."

"We're about to be married, and you've never even let me kiss you! And now you're shagging my best friend?"

"I'm not shagging him! Honestly, Ron! And I never... I never thought you wanted to kiss me!"

"For a know-it-all, Granger, you're awfully thick," Ginny said coldly.

"Y'know, I could have dated lots of girls." Ron's face was nearly purple. "Lots of them. But oh no, I'd made a promise to you, my dear friend Hermione. Y'know, they haven't extended the law to half-bloods yet, this little trade-up isn't going to work out for you."

"T-t-trade-up?"

"I know how you look at my family!" Ron bellowed. "You think we're poor and shabby, not like Harry's family, oh no, they're rich..."

"Rich and dead," Harry countered, fury of his own growing. "Want to trade? I'd give my eyeteeth to be a Weasley and you know it."

"You practically are a Weasley! My mum's taken you in, taken care of you... and after all that..."

"Don't blame Harry, Ron!" Hermione pleaded. "It was all my fault, honestly!"

"It was not all your fault, Hermione," Harry sighed.

"Yes it was! Ron, he didn't want to, he really didn't, I practically jumped him, I begged him..."

"You begged him?" Far from calming down, Ron's face was more purple than ever. "I've never even really touched you, and you begged him?"

"Well, how sweet of you, Harry, to help a girl out like that," Ginny chimed in, quite purple herself.

"It's not like that!" Hermione's blood was throbbing. "Look, you can't understand, you're Purebloods, this law doesn't apply to you! You don't know what it's like to be forced to do something against your will..."

"Forced to marry me, eh? Horrible, disgusting punishment, that..."

"I'm not saying that, Ron! I'm not saying that at all! I'm saying I'm not going to have a choice! You're wonderful and I love you, but I don't want to be your house-elf! Surely you can understand the difference! I thought you didn't want this either!"

"Is that what you thought," Ron huffed. "Here I've been, waiting around for you to turn seventeen..."

"I'm already seventeen, Ron!"

"No you're not! Your birthday isn't until the nineteenth!"

"I'm months and months older than I used to be, Ron... the Time-Turner..."

"You're already seventeen." Ron looked about to explode. "You've been... procrastinating from marrying me."

"I didn't think... as long as... we didn't need to do it yet..."

"I hope you both rot," Ron said fiercely, his Quidditch robes billowing around him as he whirled. "C'mon, Ginny."

Ginny stood a moment, her mouth working, looking as if she were hunting for some horrible thing to say... and then she turned and followed her brother up the hill.

Hermione and Harry stood, aghast, staring after them.

"Harry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, oh my God..."

"Hermione, you didn't know. I didn't know, either." Harry sighed heavily. "Maybe we are thick."

"Incredibly thick," Hermione whispered.

God, the look in Ginny's eyes...

"I'm going to go after them," Harry said. "I can fix this, I've got to. Are you coming?"

Hermione hugged her arms around herself. "Maybe you should go without me, Harry, I think... I think they're both angrier at me than at you."

Then, in a small voice: "Are you? Are you angry at me?"

Harry grabbed her hand. "Hell no, Hermione. I know what it's like to feel trapped. I just hope I can make Ron understand that."

The corners of his mouth twisted into a grin. "And don't ever tell Ron this, but I'd have to say 'angry' is not at all how I'm feeling towards you at the moment."

He pulled her towards him, put a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Kinda wishing I was a Pureblood at the moment, actually. Don't worry, Hermione. Ron will understand, he's got to. I'm gonna go."

Harry pounded up the hillside towards school, and Hermione sank down onto the bench, staring numbly at her knees.

---

"Is Miss Hermione wanting anything else? Dobby has some lovely ham back in the kitchen..."

"No, Dobby, thank you. I really appreciate this, you know."

"Pardoning Dobby, Miss Hermione, but why isn't Miss Hermione wanting to be taking breakfast in the hall? Is Miss Hermione ill? Dobby could fetch Madame Pomfrey..."

"I'm not ill, Dobby," Hermione sighed. "Things are just... complicated."

Dobby laid his tiny hand on top of her own. "If Miss Hermione is needing anything else, she is calling Dobby?"

Well, Dobby, I need a lot of things. A Time-Turner would be a good start...

"I certainly will, Dobby. Thank you again."

Dobby disappeared with a pop, and Hermione plucked an orange slice off the platter Dobby had brought her, chewing it slowly.

Harry's attempt to pacify Ron had turned into a screaming match loud enough for everyone in Gryffindor Tower to hear.

Hell, Hagrid had probably heard it.

Lavender and Parvati's excited, gossipy whispers and Ginny's glaring had sent Hermione sprinting for the sanctuary of her Head Girl bedroom the minute she'd passed The Fat Lady, and her glance into the Common Room this morning showed her that things had only gotten worse.

Skipping breakfast only protected her for an hour, though. The rumors would be flying all over the school by now, Malfoy would have a field day. Worse, she had Double Advanced Potions, which meant twice as much Malfoy as usual.

A tap at her window caused Hermione's head to fly up, and she opened the window. Figured that The Daily Prophet owl would know how to find her anyway...

The owl surged in on powerful wings...

Followed by an avian avalanche, as owls of every color and size poured into her room. Her copy of the Prophet was dropped on her bed, followed by scroll after scroll of parchment. Hermione could only gape at the whirling mass of birds streaking through her room, a brown-and-white swirl around the ceiling and back out the window.

As she gasped, another owl flew directly to her, dropping an envelope right into her hands before hooting and following the rest of the pack out the window.

Hermione turned the envelope over and over in her hands. It was a violent shade of chartreuse, and looked for all the world like an ordinary Muggle greeting card.

She dragged her finger through the envelope, her heart thumping heavily against her chest.

It was a Muggle greeting card. A naughty one, at that. The still picture on the front showed a hideously unattractive woman, clad in lingerie, kissing the boot of a bandy-legged old man in saggy boxers and suspenders.

Revolting.

Hermione cracked it, bile rising in her throat.

"HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY FROM SLYTHERIN HOUSE!" was written in large block letters right before one of Malfoy's infamous moving cartoons.

"We're awfully sorry that we missed your birthday," the smaller message below continued. Hermione recognized the spindly writing as Malfoy's own. "As you can see, we've made it up to you!"

Hermione blinked, her mind whirling as her eyes fixed on the final sentence: "We're looking forward to seeing a lot more of you in the near future."

Every student in Slytherin House had signed it.

Hermione ran to the bed, throwing herself upon it, seizing the scroll closest to her fingers.

Oh, dear God. Marcus Flint. He was practically a Troll, how many years had he been held back?

She seized the next, and the next, her fingers breaking seals at blistering speed, a pile of parchment growing on the floor next to her bed.

Crabbe. Goyle. Malfoy himself. Waltham Bulstrode. And every other boy in Slytherin.

They knew. They'd heard. They knew Ron was furious at her, knew that her protection was gone... what the hell, what the hell was she going to...

Hermione's eyes flew wide.

She'd go see Snape before class.

That was it, that was perfect. Snape was in the Order and she knew it; more than anyone else, it would be dangerous for Snape to have her Bound to a Slytherin. Once she was Bound, she'd tell that Slytherin anything they wanted to know... Snape would be dead at Voldemort's hands before Christmas.

And Snape had power over the Slytherins, could bully them into retracting the bids. Hermione grabbed her cloak, tossing it over her shoulders, ripping her Transfiguration and Charms textbooks out of her bag and stuffing the scrolls in their stead.

---

"IDIOT BOY!!"

Hermione froze outside the Potions classroom as Snape's bellow of rage filled the hallway. Oh, God, he was already pissed off...

"Why? Why are you having this conversation with me instead of Dumbledore? I'll tell you why, you useless chit! BECAUSE I AM SCARIER!"

Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. She didn't want to talk to him after this...

"You will marry Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley. I don't care if you saw her snogging The Dark Lord in a broom closet! I don't care if you caught her in a threesome with Filch and Mrs. Norris! There is a war on, and your feeble fleck of what you think is pride has no place here!"

Oh my God. It was Ron on the receiving end of Snape's hellwrath. Hermione crept closer to the door, and now she could hear the murmur of Ron's voice as well.

"I thought the high-and-mighty Gryffindors were supposed to be loyal? Have you any idea what will happen to Miss Granger if you don't stop this?"

She tried to make out Ron's words, but Snape's heavy footfalls drowned them out.

"POTTER CAN'T, you little maggot! I wish you could see yourself, see the way petty jealousy has twisted your face, twisted your tiny little mind! You'd think you'd jump at a chance to save Granger when Potter is unable! LOOK AT ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU, BOY!"

Hermione felt her anger at Ron ebb. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be sitting in that room...

"There is only one other person in the Order who could possibly marry her, Weasley. And believe me when I say that you don't want that. This is not about you and your snivelly little feelings! Do you realize how many people could die for your obstinence? Is that what you want? The blood of Remus Lupin on your head? Of Albus Dumbledore? Of Harry Potter?"

Whatever Ron said in reply to that, it wasn't the right answer. Hermione heard a drawer bang, and crept closer to the doorframe.

"What -- what is that?" she heard Ron ask.

"It's a marriage bid, Mr. Weasley. A marriage bid that I am, right now, writing Miss Granger's name on. Sign it."

"I won't."

"Sign it."

"No!"

"Sign it, Weasley, or I will."

"What?" Ron gasped.

Snape's voice dropped into the purr that was somehow worse than his shout. "That's right, Weasley. I'm the only Pureblood unmarried member of the Order. I see by the horror on your face that you grasp the meaning of my words. Now sign the contract."

"You're bluffing... you hate Hermione..."

"I assure you, Mr. Weasley, I do not bluff. And I value my own life tremendously. Sign the contract."

"No."

"Very well."

Hermione's blood chilled at the sound of a quill scratching parchment.

"I've signed it, Weasley. You now have one week to rescue your friend from the clutches of me."

"You won't... you wouldn't..."

"I think you'll find that I will and would, Mr. Weasley. And allow me to add a little... extra encouragement to your predicament. You are aware, of course, that should you persist in this juvenile behavior, Miss Granger will be Bound to me?"

"She'd never do it!"

"Miss Granger is far more practical than you, Weasley. Miss Granger, at least, understands the importance of the work The Order is doing. Do you really think she'd let Harry die when she could stop it? Think about your answer."

"She might marry you, but she'd fight you tooth and nail..."

"She'd be Bound to me, Weasley. She'd want to make me happy. In... every way... I'll let you consider the implications of that."

"She would not."

"Do you forget, Mr. Weasley, that I am a Potions Master? Understand the ramifications of that."

Snape's voice became caressing, nearly seductive. "Just imagine it, Weasley. I could give her things that would leave her panting for me. Picture it in your mind. Your darling Hermione, writhing beneath me, screaming my name, clawing into my back, begging me to give it to her harder... faster... drowning in pleasure, drenched in sweat, my mouth traveling all over her young, virginal, innocent body..."

Hermione's heart kicked hard in her chest.

"Her hands tangling in my hair... my greasy hair... as she stares into my hideous face and sobs out her love for me... do you like that image, Weasley? Does it put the Potter incident into perspective for you? Or shall I go on? Perhaps you're enjoying this?"

"N-no," Ron gasped.

"Very well. One week, Mr. Weasley. I hope you will keep this conversation, and the images it has bestowed, at the forefront of your mind. Now get out of my sight."

"But..."

"Get out of my sight, Mr. Weasley, you repulse me. Twenty points from Gryffindor for every second you are still in this room. Twenty... forty... sixty... eighty..."

Hermione flattened herself against the wall as Ron stumbled out of Snape's classroom, his face a violent shade of green. Ron stumbled down the hall, his hand clasped over his mouth.

"Come in, Miss Granger."

Hermione's eyes goggled. He'd known she was out here?

"Come in, Miss Granger!"

She stumbled into Snape's classroom, unable to meet his eyes.

"Well," Snape said. "I see you're made of stronger stuff than Mr. Weasley; I rather expected you to be the same greenish hue. How disappointing."

"You... you bid on me," Hermione gasped.

"Don't fret, Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley will come to his senses. I think I've made certain of that."

"Would... but you..."

"I have no intention of marrying you, Miss Granger. Surely you recognize blackmail when you eavesdrop upon it. But that's not why you came down here to see me..."

"I thought... I thought you could persuade the Slytherins to retract their bids."

"The bids are not retractable, Miss Granger. If they were, I should not have been forced to summon up such a disgusting tableaux for Mr. Weasley's benefit. And on that topic... if you'll excuse me, I have some business with my Pensieve if I'm to make it through class without vomiting. Take your seat."

Hermione stumbled into her usual chair, the scrolls that filled her bag rattling -- like she needed the reminder.

For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger found herself completely unable to think.


Meeting Of The Minds by Helga Von Nutwimple [Reviews - 26]

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