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Hes loads better-looking now. Anyway, Harry, the food trolleys just stopped if you want anything. Harry thanked the others and accompanied Ron back to their compartment, where he bought a large pile of Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties. Hermione was reading the Daily Prophet again, Ginny was doing a quiz in The Quibbler, and Neville was stroking his Mimbulus mimbletonia, which had grown a great deal over the year and now made odd crooning noises when touched. Harry and Ron whiled away most of the journey playing wizard chess while Hermione read out snippets from the Prophet. It was now full of articles about how to repel dementors, attempts by the Ministry to track down Death Eaters, and hysterical letters claiming that the writer had seen Lord Voldemort walking past their house that very morning. It hasnt really started yet, sighed Hermione gloomily, folding up the newspaper again. But it wont be long now. Hey, Harry, said Ron, nodding toward the glass window onto the corridor. Harry looked around. Cho was passing, accompanied by Marietta Edgecombe, who was wearing a balaclava. His and Chos eyes met for a moment. Cho blushed and kept walking. Harry looked back down at the chessboard just in time to see one of his pawns chased off its square by Rons knight. Whats - er - going on with you and her anyway. Ron asked quietly. Nothing, said Harry truthfully. I - er - heard shes going steam charts rust with someone else now, said Hermione tentatively. Harry was surprised to find that this information did not hurt at all. Wanting to impress Cho seemed to belong to a past that was no longer quite connected with him. So much of what he had wanted before Siriuss death felt that way these days. The week that had elapsed since he had last seen Sirius seemed to have lasted much, much longer: It stretched across two universes, the one with Sirius in it, and the this web page without. Youre well out of it, mate, said Ron forcefully. I mean, shes quite good-looking and all that, but you want someone a bit more cheerful. Shes probably cheerful enough with someone else, said Harry, shrugging. Whos she with now anyway. Ron asked Hermione, but it was Ginny who answered. Michael Corner, she said. Michael - but - said Ron, craning around in his seat to stare at her. But you were going out with him. Not anymore, said Ginny resolutely. He didnt like Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch and got really sulky, so I ditched him and he ran off to comfort Cho instead. She scratched her nose absently with the end of her quill, turned The Quibbler upside down, and began marking her answers. Ron looked highly delighted. Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot, he said, prodding his queen forward toward Harrys quivering castle. Good for you. Just choose someone - better - next time. He cast Harry an oddly furtive look as he said it. Well, Ive chosen Dean Thomas, would you say hes better. asked Ginny vaguely. WHAT. shouted Ron, upending the chessboard. Crookshanks went plunging after the pieces and Hedwig and Pigwidgeon twittered and hooted angrily from overhead. As the train slowed down in the approach to Kings Cross, Harry thought he had never wanted to leave it less. He even wondered fleetingly what would happen if he simply refused to get off, learn more here remained stubbornly sitting there until the first of September, when it would take him back to Hogwarts. When it finally puffed to a standstill, however, he lifted down Hedwigs cage and prepared to drag his trunk from the train as usual. When the ticket inspector signaled to him, Ron, and Hermione that it was safe to walk through the magical barrier between platforms nine and ten, however, he found link surprise awaiting him on the other side: a group of people standing there to greet him whom he had not expected at all. There was Mad-Eye Moody, looking quite as sinister with his bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye as he would have done without it, his gnarled hands clutching a long staff, his body wrapped in a voluminous traveling cloak. Tonks stood just behind him, her bright bubble-gum-pink hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the dirty glass station ceiling, wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend THE WEIRD SISTERS. Next to Tonks was Lupin, his face pale, his hair graying, a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers. At the front of the group stood Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, dressed in their Muggle best, and Fred and George, who were both wearing brand-new jackets in some lurid green, scaly material. Ron, Ginny. called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying forward and hugging her children tightly. Oh, and Harry dear - how are you. Fine, lied Harry, as she pulled him into a tight embrace. Over her shoulder he saw Ron goggling at the twins new clothes. What are they supposed to be. he asked, pointing at the jackets. Finest dragon skin, little bro, said Fred, giving his zip a little tweak. Business is booming and we thought wed treat ourselves. Hello, Harry, said Lupin, as Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry and turned to greet Hermione. Hi, said Harry. I didnt expect. what are you all doing here. Well, said Lupin with a slight smile, we thought we might have a little chat with your aunt and uncle before letting them take you home. I dunno if thats a good idea, said Harry at once. Oh, I think it is, growled Moody, who had limped a little closer. Thatll be them, will it, Potter. He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder; his magical eye was evidently peering through the back of his head and his bowler hat. Harry leaned an inch or so to the left to see where Mad-Eye was pointing and there, sure enough, were the three Dursleys, who looked positively appalled to see Harrys reception committee. Ah, Harry. said Mr. Weasley, turning from Hermiones parents, whom he had been greeting enthusiastically, and who were taking it in more info to hug Hermione. Well - shall we do it, then. Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur, said Moody. He and Mr. Weasley took the lead across the station toward the place where the Dursleys stood, apparently rooted to the floor. Hermione disengaged herself gently from her mother to join the group. Good afternoon, said Mr. Weasley pleasantly to Uncle Vernon, coming to a halt right in front of him. You might remember me, my names Arthur Weasley. As Mr. Weasley had singlehandedly demolished most of the Dursleys living room two years previously, Harry would have been very surprised if Uncle Vernon had forgotten him. Sure enough, Uncle Vernon turned a deeper shade of puce and glared at Mr. Weasley, but chose not to say anything, partly, perhaps, because the Dursleys were outnumbered two to one. Aunt Petunia looked both frightened and embarrassed. She kept glancing around, as though terrified somebody she knew would see her in such company. Dudley, meanwhile, seemed to be trying to look small and insignificant, a feat at which he was failing extravagantly. We thought wed just have a few words with you about Harry, said Mr. Weasley, still smiling. Yeah, growled Moody. About how hes treated when hes at your place. Uncle Vernons mustache seemed to bristle with indignation. Possibly because the bowler hat gave him the entirely mistaken impression that he was dealing with a kindred spirit, he addressed himself to Moody. I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house - I expect what youre not aware of would fill several books, Dursley, growled Moody. Anyway, thats not the point, interjected Tonks, whose pink hair seemed to offend Aunt Petunia more than all the rest put together, for she closed her eyes rather than look at her. The point is, if we find out youve been horrible to Harry - - and make no mistake, well hear about it, added Lupin pleasantly. Yes, said Mr. Weasley, even if you wont let Harry use the fellytone - Telephone, whispered Hermione. Click, if we get any hint that Potters been mistreated in any way, youll have us to answer to, said Moody. Uncle Vernon swelled ominously. His sense of outrage seemed to outweigh even his fear of this bunch of oddballs. Are you threatening me, sir. he said, so loudly that passersby actually turned to stare. Yes, I am, said Mad-Eye, who seemed rather pleased that Uncle Vernon had grasped this fact so quickly. And do I look like the kind of man who can be intimidated. barked Uncle Vernon. Well. said Moody, pushing back his bowler hat to reveal his sinisterly revolving magical eye. Uncle Vernon leapt backward in horror and pubg game download quran urdu painfully with a luggage trolley. Yes, Id have to say you do, Dursley. He turned from Uncle Vernon to Harry. So, Potter. give us a shout if you need us. If we dont hear from you for three days in a row, well send someone along. Aunt Petunia whimpered piteously. It could not have been plainer that she was thinking of what the neighbors would say if they caught sight of these people marching up the garden path. Bye, then, Potter, said Moody, grasping Harrys shoulder for a moment with a gnarled hand. Take care, Harry, said Lupin quietly. Keep in touch. Harry, well have you away from there as soon as we can, Mrs. Weasley whispered, hugging him again. Well see you soon, mate, said Ron anxiously, shaking Harrys hand. Really soon, Harry, said Hermione earnestly. We promise. Harry nodded. He somehow could not find words to tell them what it meant to him, to see them all ranged there, on his side. Instead he smiled, raised a hand in farewell, turned around, and led the way out of the station toward the sunlit street, with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley hurrying along in his wake. Text copyright © 2003 by J. Rowling. Cover illustration by Olly Moss © Pottermore Limited 2015. Interior illustrations by Mary GrandPré © 2003 by Warner Bros. Harry Potter characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of and © Warner Bros. Ent. Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J. Rowling. This digital edition first published by Pottermore Limited in 2015 Published in print in the U. by Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. ISBN 978-1-78110-647-1 TO MACKENZIE, MY BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER, I DEDICATE HER INK-AND-PAPER TWIN. CONTENTS ONE The Other Minister TWO Spinners End THREE Will and Wont FOUR Horace Slughorn FIVE An Excess of Phlegm SIX Dracos Detour SEVEN The Slug Club EIGHT Snape Victorious NINE The Half-Blood Prince TEN The House of Gaunt ELEVEN Hermiones Helping Hand TWELVE Silver and Opals THIRTEEN The Secret Riddle FOURTEEN Felix Felicis FIFTEEN The Unbreakable Vow SIXTEEN A Very Frosty Christmas SEVENTEEN A Sluggish Memory EIGHTEEN Birthday Surprises NINETEEN Elf Tails TWENTY Lord Voldemorts Request TWENTY-ONE The Unknowable Room TWENTY-TWO After the Burial TWENTY-THREE Horcruxes TWENTY-FOUR Sectumsempra TWENTY-FIVE The Seer Overheard TWENTY-SIX The Cave TWENTY-SEVEN The Lightning-Struck Tower TWENTY-EIGHT Flight of the Prince TWENTY-NINE The Phoenix Lament THIRTY The White Tomb I CHAPTER ONE THE OTHER MINISTER t was nearing midnight and the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, reading a long memo that was slipping through his brain without leaving the slightest trace of meaning behind. He was waiting for a call from the President of a far distant country, and between wondering when the wretched man would telephone, and trying to suppress unpleasant memories of what had been a very long, tiring, and difficult week, there was not much space in his head for anything else. The more he attempted to focus on the print on the page before him, the more clearly the Prime Minister could see the gloating face of one of his political opponents. This particular opponent had appeared on the news that very day, not only to enumerate all the terrible things that had happened in the last week (as though anyone needed reminding) but also to explain why each and every one of them was the governments fault. The Prime Ministers pulse quickened at the very thought of these accusations, for they were neither fair nor true. How on earth was his government supposed to have stopped that bridge collapsing. It was outrageous for anybody to suggest that they were not spending enough on bridges. The bridge was fewer than ten years old, and the best experts were at a loss to explain why it had snapped cleanly in two, sending a dozen cars into the watery depths of the river below. And how dare anyone suggest that it was lack of policemen that had resulted in those two very nasty and wellpublicized murders. Or that the government should have somehow foreseen the freak hurricane in the West Country that had caused so much damage to both people and property. And was it his fault that one of his Junior Ministers, Herbert Chorley, had chosen this week to act so peculiarly that he was now going to be spending a lot more time with his family. A grim mood has gripped the country, the opponent had concluded, barely concealing his own broad grin. And unfortunately, this was perfectly true. The Prime Minister felt it himself; people really did seem more miserable than usual. Even the weather was dismal; all this chilly mist in the middle of July. It wasnt right, it wasnt normal. He turned over the second page of the memo, saw how much longer it went on, and gave it up as a bad job. Stretching his arms above his head he looked around his office mournfully. It was a handsome room, with a fine marble fireplace facing the long sash windows, firmly closed against the unseasonable chill. With a slight shiver, the Prime Minister got up and moved over to the window, looking out at the thin mist that was pressing itself against the glass. It was then, as he stood with his back to the room, that he heard a soft cough behind him. He froze, nose to nose with his own scared-looking reflection in the dark glass. He knew that cough. He had heard it before. He turned very slowly to face the empty room. Hello. he said, trying to sound braver than he felt. For a brief moment he allowed himself the impossible hope that nobody would answer him. However, a voice responded at once, a learn more here, decisive voice that sounded as though it were reading a prepared statement. It was coming - as the Prime Minister had known at the first cough - from the froglike little man wearing a long silver wig who was depicted in a small, dirty oil painting in the far corner of the room. To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Urgent we meet. Kindly respond immediately. Sincerely, Fudge. The man in the painting looked inquiringly at the Prime Minister. Er, said the Prime Minister, listen. Its not a very good time for me. Im waiting for a telephone call, you see. from the President of - That can be rearranged, said the portrait at once. The Prime Ministers heart sank. He had been afraid of that. But I really was rather hoping to speak - We shall arrange for the President to forget to call. He will telephone tomorrow night instead, said the little man. Kindly respond immediately to Mr. Fudge. oh. very well, said the Prime Minister weakly. Yes, Ill see Fudge. He hurried back to his desk, straightening his tie as he went. He had barely resumed his seat, and arranged his face into what he hoped was a relaxed and unfazed expression, when bright green flames burst into life in the empty grate beneath his marble mantelpiece. He watched, trying not to betray a flicker of surprise or alarm, as a portly man appeared within the flames, spinning as fast as a top. Seconds later, he had climbed out onto a rather fine antique rug, brushing ash from the sleeves of his long pin-striped cloak, a lime-green bowler hat in his hand. Ah. Prime Minister, said Cornelius Fudge, striding forward with his hand outstretched. Good to see you again. The Prime Minister could not honestly return this compliment, so said nothing at all. He was not remotely pleased to see Fudge, whose occasional appearances, apart from being downright alarming in themselves, generally meant that he was about to hear some very bad news. Furthermore, Fudge was looking distinctly careworn. He was thinner, balder, and grayer, and his face had a crumpled look. The Prime Minister had seen that kind of look in politicians before, and it never boded well. How can I help you. he said, shaking Fudges hand very briefly and gesturing toward the hardest of the chairs in front of the desk. Difficult to know where to begin, muttered Fudge, pulling up the chair, sitting down, and placing his green bowler upon his knees. What a week, what a week. Had a bad one too, have you. asked the Prime Minister stiffly, hoping to convey by this that he had quite enough on his plate already without any extra helpings from Fudge. Yes, of course, said Fudge, rubbing his eyes wearily and looking morosely at the Prime Baldurs gate forgotten realms deck. Ive been having the same week you have, Prime Minister. The Brockdale Bridge. the Bones and Vance murders. not go here mention the ruckus in the West Country. You - er - your - I mean to say, some of your people were - were involved in those - those things, were they. Fudge fixed the Prime Minister with a rather stern look. Of course they were, he said. Surely youve realized whats going on. hesitated the Prime Minister. It was precisely this sort of behavior that made him dislike Fudges visits so much. He was, after all, the Prime Minister and did not appreciate being made to feel like an ignorant schoolboy. But of course, it had been like this from his very first meeting with Fudge on his very first evening as Prime Minister. He remembered it as though it were yesterday and knew it would haunt him until his dying day. He had been standing alone in this very office, savoring the triumph that was his after so many years of dreaming and scheming, when he had heard a cough behind him, just like tonight, and turned to find that ugly little portrait talking to him, announcing that the Minister of Magic was about to arrive and introduce himself. Naturally, he had thought that the long campaign and the strain of the election had caused him to go mad. He had been utterly terrified to find a portrait talking to him, though this had been nothing to how he felt when a self-proclaimed wizard had bounced out of Rust game hazmat battle fireplace and shaken his hand. He had remained speechless throughout Fudges kindly explanation that there were witches and wizards still living in secret all over the world and his reassurances that he was not to bother his head about them as the Ministry of Magic took responsibility for the whole Wizarding community and prevented the non-magical population from getting wind of them. It was, said Fudge, a difficult job that encompassed everything from regulations on responsible use of broomsticks to keeping the dragon population under control (the Prime Minister remembered clutching the desk for support at this point). Fudge had then patted the shoulder of the still-dumbstruck Prime Minister in a fatherly sort of way. Not to worry, he had said, its odds-on youll never see me again. Ill only bother you if theres something really serious going on our end, something thats likely to affect the Muggles - the non-magical population, I should say. Otherwise, its live and let live. And I must say, youre taking it a lot better than your predecessor. He tried to throw me out the window, thought I was a hoax planned by the opposition. At this, the Prime Minister had found his voice at last. Youre - youre not a hoax, then. It had been his last, desperate hope. Rust game hazmat battle, said Fudge gently. No, Im afraid Im not. Look. And he had turned the Prime Ministers teacup into a gerbil. But, said the Prime Minister breathlessly, watching his teacup chewing on the corner of his next speech, but why - why has nobody told me -. The Minister of Magic only reveals him- or herself to the Muggle Prime Minister of the day, said Fudge, poking his wand back inside his jacket. We find it the best way to maintain secrecy. But then, bleated the Prime Minister, why hasnt a former Prime Minister warned me -. At this, Fudge had actually laughed. My dear Prime Minister, are you ever going to tell anybody. Still chortling, Fudge had thrown some powder into the fireplace, stepped into the emerald flames, and vanished with a whooshing sound. The Prime Minister had stood there, quite motionless, and realized that he would never, as long as he lived, dare mention this encounter to a living soul, for who in the wide world would believe him. The shock had taken a little while to wear off. For a time, he had tried to convince himself that Fudge had indeed been a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep during his grueling election campaign. In a vain attempt to rid himself of all reminders of this uncomfortable encounter, he had given the gerbil to his delighted niece and instructed his private secretary to take down the portrait of the ugly little man who had announced Fudges arrival. To the Prime Ministers dismay, however, the portrait had proved impossible to remove. When several carpenters, a builder or two, an art historian, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer had all tried unsuccessfully to prise it from the wall, the Prime Minister had abandoned the attempt and simply resolved to hope that the thing remained motionless and silent for the rest of his term in office. Occasionally he could have sworn he saw out of the corner of his eye the occupant of the painting yawning, or else scratching his nose; even, please click for source or twice, simply walking out of his frame and leaving nothing but a stretch of muddy-brown canvas behind. However, he had trained himself not to look at the picture very much, and always to tell himself firmly that his eyes were playing tricks on him when anything like this happened. Then, three years ago, on a night very like tonight, the Prime Minister had been alone in his office when the portrait had once again announced the imminent arrival of Fudge, who had burst out of the fireplace, sopping wet and in a state of considerable panic. Before the Prime Minister could ask why he was dripping all over the Axminster, Fudge had started ranting about a prison the Prime Minister had never heard of, a man named Serious Black, something that sounded like Hogwarts, and a boy called Harry Potter, none of which made the remotest sense to the Prime Minister. Ive just come from Azkaban, Fudge had panted, tipping a large amount of water out of the rim of his bowler hat into his pocket. Middle of the North Sea, you know, nasty flight. the dementors are in uproar - https://beststrategygames.cloud/rust-game/rust-game-guns-kelly.php shuddered - theyve never had a breakout before. Anyway, I had to come to you, Prime Minister. Blacks a known Muggle killer and may be planning to rejoin You-Know-Who. But of course, you dont even know who YouKnow-Who is. He had gazed hopelessly at the Prime Minister for a moment, then said, Well, sit down, sit down, Id better fill you in. Have a whiskey. The Prime Minister rather resented being told to sit down in his own office, let alone offered his own whiskey, but he sat nevertheless. Fudge pulled out his wand, conjured two large glasses full of amber liquid out of thin air, pushed one of them into the Prime Ministers hand, and drew up a chair. Fudge had talked for more than an hour.
Sure youre not going to go berserk on us. Malfoy was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet too. Slytherins up and down the table were sniggering, twisting Apex legends queue taking forever their seats to see Harrys reaction. Let me see it, Harry said to Ron. Give it here. Very reluctantly, Ron handed over the newspaper. Harry turned it over and found himself staring at his own picture, beneath the banner headline: HARRY POTTER DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS The boy who https://beststrategygames.cloud/baldurs-gate/baldurs-gate-jalantha-mistmyr-xe.php He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is unstable and possibly dangerous, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Alarming evidence has recently come to light about Harry Potters strange behavior, which casts doubts upon his suitability to compete in a demanding competition like the Triwizard Tournament, or even to attend Hogwarts School. Potter, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, regularly collapses at school, and is often heard Apex legends queue taking forever complain of pain in the scar on his forehead (relic of the curse with which You-Know-Who attempted pubg game free without kill him). On Monday last, midway through a Divination lesson, your Daily Prophet reporter witnessed Potter storming from the class, claiming that his scar was hurting too badly to continue studying. It is possible, say top experts at St. Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, that Potters brain was affected by the attack inflicted upon him by You-Know-Who, and that his insistence that the scar is still hurting is an expression of his deep-seated confusion. He might even be pretending, said one specialist. This could be a plea for attention. The Daily Prophet, however, has unearthed worrying facts about Harry Potter that Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, has carefully concealed from the Wizarding public. Potter can speak Parseltongue, reveals Draco Malfoy, a Hogwarts fourth year. There were a lot of attacks on grand theft auto zero a couple of years ago, and most people thought Potter was behind them after they saw him lose his temper at a dueling club and set a snake on another boy. It was all hushed up, though. But hes made friends with werewolves and giants too. We think hed do anything for a bit of power. Parseltongue, the ability to converse with snakes, has long been considered a Dark Art. Indeed, the most famous Parselmouth of our times is none other than You-Know-Who himself. A member of the Dark Force Defense League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard who could speak Parseltongue as worthy of investigation. Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as https://beststrategygames.cloud/for/konami-games-for-android.php are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated here evildoers. Similarly, anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures as werewolves and giants would appear to have a fondness for violence. Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a boy such Apex legends queue taking forever this should be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Some fear that Potter might resort to the Dark Arts in his desperation to win the tournament, the third task of which takes place this evening. Gone off me a bit, hasnt this web page. said Harry lightly, folding up the paper. Over at the Slytherin table, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were laughing at him, tapping their heads with their fingers, pulling grotesquely mad faces, and waggling their tongues like snakes. How did she know your scar hurt in Divination. Ron said. Theres no way she was there, theres no Apex legends queue taking forever she couldve heard - The window was open, said Harry. I opened it to breathe. You were at the top of North Tower. Hermione said. Your voice couldnt have carried all the way down to the grounds. Well, youre the one whos supposed to be researching magical methods of bugging. said Harry. You tell me how she did it. Ive been trying. said Hermione. But I. but. An odd, dreamy expression suddenly came over Hermiones face. She slowly raised a hand and ran her fingers through her hair. Are you all right. said Ron, frowning at her. Yes, said Hermione breathlessly. She ran her fingers through her hair again, and then held her hand up to Apex legends queue taking forever mouth, as though speaking into an invisible walkie-talkie. Harry and Ron stared at each other. Ive had an idea, Hermione said, gazing into space. I think I know. because then no one would be able to see. even Moody. and shed have been able to get onto the window ledge. but shes not allowed. shes definitely not allowed. I think weve got her. Just give me two seconds in the library - just to make sure. With that, Hermione seized her school bag and dashed out of the Great Hall. Ron called after her. Weve got our History of Magic exam in ten minutes. Blimey, he said, turning back to Harry, she must really hate that Skeeter woman to risk missing the start of an exam. Whatre you going to do in Binnss class - read again. Exempt from the end-of-term tests as a Triwizard champion, Harry had been sitting in the back of every exam class so Apex legends queue taking forever, looking up fresh hexes for the third task. Spose so, Harry said to Ron; but just then, Professor McGonagall came walking alongside the Gryffindor table toward him. Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast, she said.
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