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The walk back to the castle felt like it took forever, though Harry supposed that was partly because Ron kept shooting worried glances at him and Fleur every few steps. His best friend's freckled face was practically radiating anxiety, and Harry could practically hear the questions building up behind Ron's lips like water behind a dam.
At least he's waiting until we're somewhere private, Harry thought gratefully. Last thing we need is half the school hearing about nightmare creatures in the Forbidden Forest.
The moment they stepped into the empty Gryffindor common room, Ron's restraint finally cracked.
"Right, that's it," Ron said, whirling around to face them with his arms crossed. "You've been gone for bloody hours, Harry. Hours. I was ready to march into that forest and drag you out myself, Aurors be damned. What the hell happened in there?"
Harry winced at the barely controlled panic in his friend's voice. Ron had clearly been imagining the worst—and honestly, given Harry's track record with life-threatening situations, that wasn't entirely unreasonable.
"We ran into something," Harry said carefully, settling into one of the worn armchairs by the dying fire. His legs still felt unsteady, and he was grateful to sit down. "Some kind of creature that attacks through... well, through nightmares."
"Nightmares?" Ron's eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. "What d'you mean, nightmares?"
Fleur had been standing quietly near the portrait hole, but now she moved closer to the fire, wrapping her arms around herself as if she were cold. "Zey trap you in your mind," she said softly. "Make you see... terrible things. Things zat feel completely real."
Things that cut right to the heart of everything you're afraid of, Harry added silently, though he wasn't about to share that particular insight. The memory of nightmare-Hermione's accusations still made his stomach twist unpleasantly.
"That's why we were unconscious for so long," he continued aloud. "Time moves differently when you're... trapped like that. It felt like hours in the nightmare, but apparently it was hours in reality too."
Ron's anger was visibly melting into concern as he took in their appearance properly for the first time. Harry caught a glimpse of himself in the darkened window and understood why—he looked like he'd been through a war. His hair was even messier than usual, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his hands had a slight tremor that he couldn't quite control.
Fleur looked even worse, if that was possible. Her usually perfect hair was disheveled, her face was pale as parchment, and there was something brittle in her posture that suggested she was holding herself together through sheer willpower.
"Bloody hell," Ron breathed. "Are you both alright? I mean, really alright?"
"We will be," Harry said, hoping it was true. The nightmare had left him feeling like someone had turned his emotional state inside out and given it a good shake. "But Ron, this is important. If these creatures are what they're planning to use for the first task..."
"Then the tournament just got a lot more dangerous than anyone expected," Ron finished grimly. "Right. We need to research this. Find out what they are, how to fight them, how to protect yourself."
"Exactly," Harry agreed. "We'll need to hit the library first thing tomorrow. Find everything we can about fear-based creatures, psychological attacks, mental defenses—anything that might help."
"And we keep this between us for now," Fleur added, her accent thicker than usual with exhaustion. "Until we know more about what we are facing."
Ron nodded seriously. "Agreed. Though I have to say, if this is what they're throwing at you lot for the first task, someone's seriously mental. Psychological torture isn't exactly what I'd call sporting competition."
No kidding. Harry rubbed his temples, trying to ease the persistent headache that had followed him out of the nightmare. Then again, when has the wizarding world ever been particularly concerned with what's safe or reasonable?
Fleur had been quiet throughout most of their research session, occasionally contributing a French text or a softly spoken observation, but otherwise keeping to herself. Now she stood from her chair.
"I should return to ze carriage," she said quietly, her accent thicker than usual with exhaustion. "Madame Maxime will be wondering where I 'ave been."
Harry looked up from the defensive spells manual he'd been half-heartedly reading. Fleur's face was still pale, and there was something fragile in her posture that made his chest tighten with concern. The nightmare had clearly affected her more deeply than she was letting on, and the thought of her walking back to the Beauxbatons carriage alone didn't sit right with him.
"I'll walk you back," he offered, closing his book and standing up. "It's getting dark, and after last night..."
He didn't need to finish the sentence. After encountering nightmare creatures in the Forbidden Forest, none of them were particularly eager to venture across the grounds alone after sunset.
"You do not 'ave to—" Fleur began, but Harry was already pulling on his cloak.
"I want to," he said simply, and something in his tone made her protests die on her lips.
Ron looked up from his own research. "Be careful, mate. And Fleur?" He gave her a surprisingly gentle smile. "Try to get some rest, yeah? You both look like you could use it."
The walk across the grounds was quiet at first, their footsteps muffled by the damp grass. The sun had long set, and the moon was painting the Hogwarts grounds in shades of dark and blue, which reminded him of his nightmare. He pushed the memory aside and focused instead on Fleur walking beside him, her silhouette graceful even in exhaustion.
"Are you alright?" he asked gently as they passed the lake, its surface reflecting the dying light like scattered coins.
Fleur's step faltered slightly, and for a moment Harry thought she might actually answer. But then her spine straightened, and she wrapped her arms more tightly around herself.
"I do not want to talk about it," she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the sound of their footsteps.
Fair enough, Harry thought, though part of him wished she would trust him enough to share whatever was troubling her. Not like I'm exactly eager to discuss my own nightmare either.
He didn't press the issue, instead letting the comfortable silence settle between them again. Sometimes, Harry had learned, the kindest thing you could do for someone was simply to be present without demanding explanations they weren't ready to give.
The Beauxbatons carriage came into view, its powder-blue paint gleaming softly in the twilight. The magnificent winged horses that pulled it were grazing peacefully nearby, their coat shimmering with an otherworldly beauty that never failed to capture Harry's attention.
Almost as beautiful as their owner, he thought, glancing sideways at Fleur. Even exhausted and shaken, she possessed an elegance that seemed entirely natural, as if grace were woven into her very bones.
There was no one outside the carriage, which struck Harry as slightly unusual. Normally there were at least a few Beauxbatons students visible near their temporary home, studying or chatting in the evening air. Tonight, however, the area was deserted except for the two of them.
They stopped a few feet from the carriage steps, and Harry found himself reluctant to say goodbye. Something about the way Fleur was holding herself—too straight, too controlled—suggested that she was barely keeping herself together, and the thought of leaving her alone with whatever demons the nightmare had unleashed felt wrong.
Fleur turned to face him, and in the fading light, her blue eyes looked almost silver. For a long moment, they simply stood there, and Harry could see her struggling with something—a question, maybe, or a confession she wasn't sure she wanted to make.
"What did you see?" she asked suddenly, the words tumbling out as if she couldn't hold them back any longer. "In your nightmare. What did zey show you?"
Harry felt his throat tighten.
"I saw my parents," he said finally, which was true, even if it wasn't the whole truth. "The night they..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
Fleur nodded slowly, understanding flickering in her eyes. She seemed to be wrestling with her own decision about what to share, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.
"I—" she began, then stopped, shaking her head slightly. "Non. I cannot... not yet."
Not yet. The words carried a promise that someday, maybe, she might be ready to trust him with whatever the nightmare had forced her to confront. For now, it was enough to know that the possibility existed.
They stood there in the growing darkness, and Harry became aware that Fleur was looking at him—really looking at him, as if she were trying to memorize his face or read something written in his expression. Her gaze was steady and searching, and he found himself holding perfectly still under the intensity of it.
A full minute passed this way, perhaps longer, before Harry finally broke the silence.
"Are you alright?" he asked again, his voice softer than before.
Fleur blinked, as if coming back from somewhere far away, and nodded slowly. "Oui," she said, though her voice was thick with emotion. "I am... I will be."
Before Harry could respond, she stepped closer to him, close enough that he could see just how beautiful her nose was from up close. Her hands came up to rest lightly on his chest, and she looked at him for another long moment before leaning closer.
The kiss was soft, gentle, and he could feel her soft lips trembling. Her lips were warm against his, and when he kissed her back, he tried to pour all of his care and concern into the contact, hoping she could feel how much he wanted her to be okay.
When they broke apart, Fleur's eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"Merci," she whispered, her breath warm against his cheek. "For waking me up. For... for everything."
Before Harry could say anything to her, she was pulling away, ascending the carriage steps with the same fluid grace she brought to everything she did. At the door, she paused and looked back at him one more time.
"Bonne nuit, 'Arry," she said softly, and then she was gone, disappearing into the carriage and leaving Harry standing alone in the gathering darkness.
The Next Day - Library
The next morning brought a familiar sight that Harry had been half-expecting and half-dreading: Fleur approaching their library table with an armload of books, looking like she'd spent the night wrestling with demons and hadn't quite won.
She's putting on a good show, Harry thought, watching her navigate between the towering shelves with her usual grace.
And Harry was definitely looking. The way she held her shoulders just a fraction too rigid, the careful control in her expression that suggested she was monitoring every micro-expression—it all screamed of someone who was holding herself together through sheer force of will.
Not that I'm one to talk, he admitted silently, aware that his own night had been filled with restless sleep punctuated by fragments of golden light and accusatory voices. Probably look just as rough around the edges.
Fleur set her books down at the far end of their table, and Harry noticed she chose a seat that put Hermione between them rather than sitting directly across from him.
"Good morning," she said quietly, her accent softer than usual in a way that suggested she was consciously trying not to draw attention to herself.
"Morning," Harry replied, trying to strike the right balance between acknowledging what they'd shared and not making her uncomfortable. "Did you manage to get any sleep?"
Stupid question, Potter. Look at her—she obviously didn't sleep any better than you did.
Fleur's smile was brittle around the edges. "Some," she said, which was clearly a diplomatic way of saying 'absolutely none, but I'm not about to admit that in front of everyone.'
Ron looked up from the defensive spells manual he'd been absorbed in and gave Fleur a genuinely sympathetic look. "Rough night for everyone, then. I kept having dreams about giant spiders chasing me through mirrors. Which is mental, because I don't even know what that's supposed to mean."
Some of the tension seemed to ease from Fleur's posture at Ron's casual admission of his own sleep troubles. She began unpacking her books with less rigid precision, and when she glanced up at Harry, it was more of a quick assessment than the careful avoidance she'd been practicing.
"I brought some texts from Beauxbatons," she said, her voice gaining confidence. "Zey might 'ave information zat is not in ze Hogwarts library."
Hermione immediately perked up with the particular enthusiasm she reserved for new research materials. "Excellent! We've been hitting dead ends with the British sources. What kind of books did you bring?"
"Mostly French texts on 'istoire des Créatures Sombres," Fleur replied, pulling out a leather-bound tome that looked ancient enough to have been written by medieval wizards. "And some more recent studies on psychological magical attacks."
As Fleur opened the first book and began scanning its pages, Harry found himself studying her profile. She was biting her lower lip in concentration—a habit he'd noticed she had when she was genuinely absorbed in something rather than performing for an audience. It was oddly endearing, this glimpse of her unguarded scholarly side.
Stop staring, you git, he told himself firmly. She's already dealing with enough without you making her self-conscious.
After about twenty minutes of silence broken only by the scratch of quills and the turning of pages, Fleur suddenly sat up straighter, her finger pointing to a passage in one of her French texts.
"I think I 'ave found somezing," she said, her voice carrying the first note of genuine excitement Harry had heard from her all morning.
Ron and Hermione immediately abandoned their own research, leaning forward with eager attention. Harry found himself doing the same, grateful for any breakthrough that might help them understand what they'd faced.
"Zese creatures," Fleur continued, translating as she read, "zey sound like Nooselings. Ze description... it matches what we experienced."
"Nooselings?" Hermione repeated, already reaching for her quill to take notes. "I don't think I've come across that name in any of the British texts."
Fleur nodded, running her finger along the text as she continued reading. "Zey are native to ze remote Scottish 'ighlands, but zey are rarely encountered because zey are... 'ow do you say... not very dangerous normally."
Not very dangerous? Harry thought incredulously. What we faced was definitely bloody dangerous.
"What do you mean, not very dangerous?" he asked aloud, voicing his skepticism.
Fleur looked up from her book, and for the first time since she'd arrived, made direct eye contact with him. There was something in her expression—a shared understanding of just how wrong the textbook description was compared to their actual experience.
"According to zis," she said, tapping the page, "normal Nooselings feed on minor anxieties and everyday worries. Zey create brief disorientation and mild confusion, nothing more. Ze book says zey can usually be avoided simply by staying in groups and maintaining positive thoughts."
Ron snorted. "Right, because positive thinking would have definitely saved us from what you two went through."
Exactly, Harry thought grimly. What we faced wasn't 'mild confusion.' It was a perfectly orchestrated psychological demolition.
"Ze attacks are supposed to last only minutes," Fleur continued, "and ze effects should wear off quickly once ze creature moves on. But what we experienced..." She trailed off, then continued reading, her frown deepening. "But wait... zere is more 'ere."
She flipped to the next page, her eyes scanning rapidly. "Mon Dieu... zere is a stronger version. Zey 'ave a similar name... Noxlings. Much darker, much more dangerous."
That sounds more like it, Harry thought with grim satisfaction. Finally, something that matches what we actually went through.
Fleur's face had gone pale as she continued reading. "Zey dwell in ze darkest places of ze world," she said quietly. "Places like... ze Lake of Madness, ze Whispering Caverns of Romania..." Her voice trailed off as she read the locations, each one sounding more ominous than the last.
"The Lake of Madness?" Hermione repeated. "I've never heard of that place."
"I 'ope you never 'ave to," Fleur said with a shudder. "According to zis, zese Noxlings... zey are what we encountered last night. Zey must be."
Harry leaned forward, trying to read over her shoulder. "What does it say about them? How do we fight them?"
Fleur's expression grew frustrated as she scanned the text. "Zat is ze problem. Zere is not much information 'ere. Ze book says zat Newt Scamander discovered zeir existence thirty-seven years ago, but..." She shook her head. "Most of what 'e learned was classified by ze Ministry. Too dangerous for public knowledge."
Brilliant, Harry thought sarcastically. So we're facing creatures so dangerous that the Ministry won't even let people know how to defend against them.
Ron had gone slightly green around the gills. "Hang on," he said slowly. "You're telling me that someone thought it was a good idea to put creatures from the bloody Lake of Madness into the Triwizard Tournament? Whose mad idea was this?"
"Someone who wants ze champions to suffer," Fleur said darkly. "Or someone who wants to see if we are strong enough to survive what is coming."
Or someone who wants to make sure we don't survive at all, Harry added silently, though he kept that particular thought to himself.
Fleur continued reading, her finger tracing along the sparse text. "Zere is somezing 'ere about defenses," she said, her voice brightening slightly. "It says zat being skilled in Occlumency can 'elp protect against zeir attacks. Ze mental shields, zey can prevent ze creatures from accessing your deepest fears."
"That's actually useful," Hermione said, making notes rapidly. "If we could learn proper Occlumency techniques..."
"We could train together," Harry said suddenly, the idea forming as he spoke. The thought of practicing mental defenses with Fleur was appealing—someone who understood what they were up against, who'd faced the same kind of psychological assault. "We just need to find someone who's good at Legilimency to help us practice."
And preferably someone who won't use the opportunity to torture us with our own memories, he added mentally.
"Actually," he continued, the solution occurring to him, "Tonks is decent with Occlumency. She's an Auror, so she's had training in it. And she's here at the castle with the security detail."
The moment the words left his mouth, Harry realized the implications of what he was suggesting. Training in Occlumency meant exposing their minds to a Legilimens, which meant Tonks might see fragments of their nightmares—the very nightmares they'd both been so careful not to discuss with anyone.
Brilliant plan, Potter, he thought with a mental wince. Let's invite your girlfriend to rifle through the psychological torture you just experienced. That won't be awkward at all.
From the way Fleur's face had gone carefully blank, it was clear she'd reached the same conclusion.
"Zat... could work," she said slowly, though her tone suggested she was about as enthusiastic about the prospect as Harry was. "Though..."
"Though it means she might see what we went through," Harry finished quietly. "Our nightmares."
But if it's the difference between surviving the first task and ending up as psychological casualties, Harry thought grimly, then maybe it's worth the embarrassment.
"It is... not ideal," Fleur admitted quietly. "But if it will 'elp us survive what is coming..."
"Then we deal with the awkwardness," Harry said firmly. "Better to be embarrassed than to be broken."
As the conversation lapsed into thoughtful silence, Harry became aware that Fleur was looking at him again—not the careful avoidance of earlier, but something more direct and assessing. When their eyes met, he saw his own concerns reflected back at him, along with something else: the recognition that they'd shared something profoundly intimate without either of them choosing to.
Fleur was the first to look away, returning her attention to her books with a composure that Harry found both admirable and heartbreaking. She was so determined not to be seen as weak, even after proving her strength in the most definitive way possible.
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The library felt too public for the conversation they needed to have with Tonks, too many listening ears and curious glances. Harry had noticed the way other students kept sneaking looks at their table, probably wondering why the famous Harry Potter was huddled in intense discussion with books about dark creatures.
"We should find 'er now," Fleur said quietly, closing the French text and gathering her things. "Before we lose our nerve."
"Agreed," Harry replied, though his stomach was already churning at the thought of asking Tonks to help them practice Legilimency. How exactly do you ask your girlfriend to rifle through your worst nightmares?
They left Ron and Hermione to continue their research, with promises to update them later about what they learned from Tonks. Harry noticed the way Hermione's eyes followed their departure, a slight furrow between her brows that suggested she was picking up on the undercurrents of tension.
She knows something's going on, Harry thought. But she's giving us space to handle it ourselves. God, I love that about her.
The corridors of Hogwarts were busier than usual for a weekday afternoon, with students making their way between classes and Aurors stationed at regular intervals. Harry spotted at least three security wizards just on their path from the library to the main entrance, all of them alert and professional in their burgundy robes.
"She could be anywhere on ze grounds," Fleur observed as they walked past a group of second-years who stopped their conversation to stare. "Ze Aurors, zey patrol everywhere, non?"
"Yeah, but knowing Tonks, she's probably somewhere she can keep an eye on students while still having a bit of fun," Harry replied. "Maybe near the Quidditch pitch, or the lake. She mentioned yesterday that guard duty gets boring."
They turned down the corridor leading toward the main staircase, their footsteps echoing slightly on the stone floors. The afternoon light streaming through the tall windows cast long shadows, and Harry found himself hyperaware of every sound, every movement in his peripheral vision.
Still jumpy from last night, he realized. Going to take a while to get over that.
"Harry," Fleur said suddenly, her voice softer than it had been in the library. When he looked at her, there was something vulnerable in her expression that reminded him of how she'd looked just after waking from the nightmare. "About last night... what we experienced..."
"You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready," Harry said gently, slowing his pace. "I know it was... intense."
Fleur stopped walking entirely, turning to face him fully. They were in a relatively quiet stretch of corridor, with only a few portraits nearby to overhear their conversation.
"But if you want to talk," Harry continued, meeting her blue eyes steadily, "I mean really talk about what happened, what we saw... I want you to know that you can talk to me. I'll listen."
Something shifted in Fleur's expression at his words, a flicker of emotion too quick for Harry to identify.
"I appreciate zat," she said quietly. "And... ze same goes for you. If you need to talk about what zose creatures showed you..."
"Thank you," Harry replied, meaning it. "I might take you up on that. Eventually."
They stood there for a moment. Harry found himself studying her face.
God, she's beautiful, he thought, the realization hitting him like it did every time he really looked at her. Her lips were full and soft, the kind that poets probably wrote sonnets about, and her hair fell in silvery waves that seemed to catch light even in the dimmest corners of the castle. Her body was... well, it was the sort that made teenage boys walk into walls and grown men forget their own names.
But that wasn't what made his chest tighten with something deeper than attraction.
She's beautiful, yes, he thought, watching the way her blue eyes held steady despite the vulnerability he could see lurking there.
There was steel in the set of her shoulders, a quiet determination in the way she held herself despite everything the nightmare had thrown at her. She'd faced the same psychological torture he had—the kind that was designed to break a person down to their component parts—and she was still standing here, still fighting, still brave enough to offer him the same support she was asking for.
That's what makes her extraordinary, Harry realized. Not the Veela heritage or the perfect features or the way she moves like she's dancing even when she's just walking. It's the fact that she looked into the abyss last night and decided to keep going anyway.
She could have crumbled. Hell, she probably wanted to crumble—Harry certainly had moments where giving up seemed like the easier option. But instead, she'd gotten up this morning, walked into that library, and started researching ways to fight back. She'd brought French texts and shared her knowledge and made herself vulnerable all over again by admitting what they were up against.
She's the kind of beautiful that starts in the soul and works its way outward, he thought, feeling something warm and protective unfurl in his chest. The kind that would still be there if you stripped away everything else.
The afternoon light shifted slightly, casting her features in a softer glow, and Harry felt his breath catch. Her hair really was like liquid silver, and her eyes were the exact shade of blue he'd always imagined the Mediterranean might be on a perfect day. But more than that, those eyes held intelligence and courage and a fierce loyalty that she was still learning to trust him with.
Beautiful and brilliant and brave, he thought, the words settling in his mind like a mantra. And somehow, incredibly, she's choosing to face whatever's coming next with me.
Something in his expression must have changed, because Fleur's eyes suddenly darkened with an intensity that made his breath catch. Before he could process what was happening, she had stepped forward and pushed him back against the stone wall, her hands flat against his chest.
"Fleur, what—"
His words were cut off as her lips crashed into his, hungry and desperate. This wasn't the soft, grateful kiss from the night before—this was raw need, a claiming that left no room for gentle hesitation.
Harry's hands found her waist automatically, pulling her closer as she deepened the kiss. Her tongue traced along his lower lip before slipping into his mouth, and the small sound she made—half moan, half sigh—sent heat shooting straight through him.
Merlin, he thought dimly, his hands sliding up her sides. What brought this on?
But thinking became increasingly difficult as Fleur pressed herself against him, her body warm and soft and perfectly fitted to his. When his hands found the curve of her large breasts through her robes, she gasped into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer.
"Fleur," he murmured against her lips, but she silenced him with another kiss, more demanding than the first. Her leg slipped between his, and Harry had to bite back a groan at the sudden pressure.
They might have stayed like that indefinitely if not for the sound of approaching footsteps echoing from somewhere nearby. Fleur pulled back suddenly, breathing hard, her lips swollen and her hair slightly mussed.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other, both trying to catch their breath. Harry could see his own confusion reflected in her eyes, along with something else—something that looked almost like pain.
"What's wrong?" he asked softly, his hands still resting on her waist. "Fleur, what just happened?"
She looked at him then, really looked at him, her blue eyes searching his face as if looking for something specific. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Sometimes I still see zat look," she said, and there was something fragile in her tone that made Harry's chest tighten.
"What look?" he asked, completely lost.
Fleur's hands were still pressed against his chest, and he could feel the slight tremor in her fingers. Whatever she was thinking about, it was clearly affecting her deeply.
"Ze look in your eyes," she said finally. "In ze nightmare... when you looked at me ze way everyone else does. Like I was just... somezing pretty to possess."
Oh
"Fleur," he said gently, lifting one hand to cup her cheek. "That wasn't me. That was the creature using your fears against you. I would never—"
"I know," she interrupted quickly. "With my 'ead, I know zis. But sometimes... sometimes when you look at me, I still see 'im. Ze version of you zat only cared about 'ow I looked."
Harry felt something twist painfully in his chest. No wonder she'd been avoiding his eyes earlier, no wonder she'd seemed so fragile. She was dealing with the aftermath of seeing someone she cared about—someone she was developing feelings for—turned into her worst nightmare.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry you had to see that. And I'm sorry if I've been looking at you in a way that reminds you of it."
"You 'aven't," she said quickly. "Most of ze time, your eyes are... kind. Concerned. Real. But sometimes..." She trailed off, shaking her head.
"Sometimes the nightmare bleeds through," Harry finished for her, understanding completely. "I get it. I really do."
He thought about his own lingering fears from the nightmare—the accusatory voices that still echoed in quiet moments, the certainty that everyone would eventually leave him.
"We can talk about this later," Fleur said, stepping back slightly but not completely pulling away. "When we 'ave more time, more privacy. Right now..."
"Right now we need to find Tonks," Harry agreed, though he was reluctant to let the moment end. "But Fleur? Whatever you saw in that nightmare, whatever version of me the creatures showed you—that's not who I am. And if you need reminders of that, if you need me to prove it somehow, just tell me. Okay?"
Fleur's smile was small but genuine. "Okay," she said softly. "And 'Arry? Thank you for understanding."
"Always."
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