Title: Bend and Not Break
Spoilers: Books 1-5
Disclaimer: I think we all know this one. Also, this is a sort-of-not-really song fic. The title comes from the Dashboard Confessional song `Bend and Not Break,' possibly my favourite song of the moment and kind of the theme song for Bend and Not Break. BUT, because I love to be confusing, the song that goes along with this chapter isn't `Bend and Not Break.' It's another Dashboard song (and if you don't own his latest album A Mark, A Mission, A Brand, A Scar, you must go buy it immediately), that was originally supposed to be the theme, but is now merely the theme to chapter one. Confused yet? You should be.
A/N: This could very possibly be labelled as angsty sap. Yes, there is such a thing, as you will discover upon reading. Harry's thoughts are in italics, so don't get it confused with the dialogue.
Thanks to my lovely betas James and Kristin for both telling me that they liked it and for correcting the errors. Thanks to Kaze whose lovely in progress fic Magnolias was a source of inspiration. And thanks to Joogie and Danielerin for the nomination in the Portkey awards.
Breathe in for luck, breathe in so deep,
this air is blessed, you share with me.
This night is wild, so calm and dull,
these hearts they race from self control.
Your legs are smooth as they graze mine,
we're doing fine, we're doing nothing at all.
My hopes are so high,
that your kiss might kill me.
So won't you kill me? So I die happy.
My heart is yours to fill or burst.
To break or bury, or wear as jewellery,
whichever you prefer.
Hands down, this is the best day I can ever
remember, always remember, the sound of the
stereo, the dim of the soft lights, the scent of your
hair that you twirled in your fingers, and the time
on the clock, when we realized it's
so late, and this walk that we shared together.
The streets were wet, and the gate was locked,
so I jumped it, and I let you in.
And you stood at your door, with hands on
my waist, and you kissed me like you meant it,
and I knew that you meant it.
-Hands Down, Dashboard Confessional
***
Harry hated it here.
Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Despite their overwhelming clean-up attempts the previous summer, the house had never seemed bleaker. Perhaps it was because Sirius' presence permeated nearly every room of the house. Harry felt as though he stumbled into his godfather's ghost with every step he took.
Still, it wasn't the Dursley's. And anything was better than being cooped up at Number 4 Pivet Drive in the Little Whinging.
The door opened and Harry glanced up, pulling himself out of his musings. Ron was standing at the entrance to their shared bedroom, tugging nervously at his collar.
"Hey, mate…" Ron said, looking intensely uncomfortable. "D'you have a moment?"
Harry sighed and glanced forlornly down at the homework he'd been trying to do. Pushing it off to the side, he stood and gave a long stretch. "Sure," he said, yawning. "What's up?"
Ron took a deep breath, seeming to gather his courage. "There's err… something I think we should talk about."
"Yeah?" said Harry casually. "Ron, if this is about Sir-"
"No, no," Ron said hurriedly. "No, err… it's about Hermione, actually."
Relieved, Harry felt a little friendlier. Curiously, he surveyed his best friend. "What about Hermione?"
Ron tugged at his collar again. "Well… the thing is…" Ron looked behind him into the empty hallway. Clearing his throat, he shut the door and started pacing nervously around the room. "The thing about Hermione is…"
Harry sat back down at his desk and raised his eyebrows in Ron's direction. "The thing about Hermione is…?" he prompted.
Ron sighed heavily and sat down on his bed. "Oh, bullocks," he muttered. "This is more difficult that I thought it would be."
Harry, watching his friend in amusement, had a sudden sinking suspicion.
"Right… err…" Ron took a deep breath. "I sort of… fancy her. Hermione, I mean."
Harry blinked a few times, feeling his stomach drop even further. "Oh."
"Yeah…" Ron gave a nervous chuckle. "Weird, eh? It's not like I meant to. I think I've been… struggling against it for a long time."
Harry nodded, looking away from Ron. "Yeah… I think you have, too."
"I think that… well, I think I'm going to say something to her." Ron's voice turned quieter. "I mean, if you don't have a problem with it."
Harry swallowed with difficulty, suddenly finding the floor to be intensely interesting. "Why would I have a problem with it?"
"Dunno," Ron said. "It's just that… we've never really talked about it, you know? And I just wanted to make sure…"
"Make sure of what?" Harry asked, finally looking up from the floor. Ron was peering at him, clearly hesitant but determined.
"You don't… I mean… do you fancy Hermione?"
"Of course not," Harry responded quickly.
"Okay… good," Ron said, grinning a little. "That's really, really good." He jumped up, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.
For some reason, Harry found that his mouth was suddenly very dry. "So, err… what are you planning on telling her?"
Ron blushed deeply and shuffled his feet. "Don't really know," he admitted. "But I'm a Gryffindor, right?"
"Right," Harry said weakly, suddenly wishing that Ron would just leave. The room felt entirely too small all of a sudden.
"I think she deserves to know…" Ron said quietly. "About how I feel. I reckon that… I have a good feeling about this, Harry."
"That's great, Ron," Harry said heartily, his voice sounding overly cheerful.
Ron's mouth split into a wide grin. "Yeah, it is, isn't it?"
Harry grit his teeth. Just leave, he thought. Just. Leave.
"You two would make a good pair," Harry said, finding himself unable to look in Ron's direction.
You liar.
"Yeah," Ron said, still grinning, and shooting the door hopeful looks. "Well, err… I'll see you later, then."
"Yeah," Harry said quietly. When Ron left, Harry glanced back down at the homework sitting on his desk. He pushed it back in front of him, doing his best to pay attention.
I hate this place, he thought to himself.
Involuntarily, his mind shifted back to the conversation he'd just had with Ron. I don't want to think about it, he decided. I don't want to think about it.
So. Ron and Hermione. Fancy that.
His stomach twisted painfully. Harry grit his teeth. I don't have a problem with it, he told himself. I don't have a problem with it.
And what possible reason could he have for having a problem with it?
Ron had fancied Hermione for ages. Everyone knew it. And the pair of them were always sniping at each other like an old married couple.
Maybe that was it, he reasoned. Maybe his stomach was twisting itself into knots because he couldn't bear the thought of Ron and Hermione bickering more than they already did.
//Do you fancy Hermione?
Of course not.//
Harry closed his eyes and for a moment wished that Ron would come back because he found that he did have a problem with it, he had a rather large problem, at that. Not that I could have told him so, Harry admitted to himself. Ron's my best friend.
Ron had been right about one thing, they never had discussed their feelings for Hermione. It went by unspoken agreement that the three of them were friends. Best friends. Hermione was off-limits, feeling anything more than friendship with her would throw the everything off balance. Their friendship was precarious; if two were to get closer the scale would dramatically tip in one direction. They were Harry, Ron and Hermione-the golden trio of Hogwarts.
Ron and Hermione.
Harry felt a small flash of jealousy. Bitterly, he felt as though they were leaving him behind. They were the only people he had-and he was suddenly faced with the possibility that they cared more for each other than for him.
Now I'm just being ridiculous.
Ridiculous or not, Harry couldn't help the feeling that settled in his stomach. It was a feeling very much like betrayal. They were about to go somewhere he couldn't follow. Intentionally or not, they were leaving him behind.
Stop it, he ordered himself. If they're happy, you should be happy for them.
Harry slumped down, leaning his forehead on the cool surface of his desk. He couldn't quite stop the nagging, whispering voice in his head. What about you? What about what makes you happy?
//Do you fancy Hermione?
Of course not.//
But he'd never exactly taken the time to think about it, Harry reflected. Not once. Hermione was his best friend, and Ron fancied her, and there were enough rumours circulating about the two of them as it was. He didn't have to think about it because she was simply Hermione. She was simply one of his two best friends, a girl, yes, but still only his best friend.
So he'd told Ron the truth. He didn't fancy Hermione.
Well, have you ever even considered it before?
No, he'd never thought about it before. He suddenly realized that is was a little odd. Even when Skeeter's articles came out, even when Krum expressed jealousy… he'd never once considered what it could mean to think of Hermione "in that way." Sure, she was rather pretty, and it wasn't that he wasn't attracted to her, exactly. It just wasn't something he'd thought about.
//Of course not.//
I don't want to think about this, Harry thought desperately. It's too late, it doesn't matter. Ron likes her. Don't think about it… don't think about it…
But it seemed as though he couldn't stop thinking about it. Hermione. His best friend Hermione, who'd always stayed by his side, who worried herself sick over him, who stayed calm in the face of his anger, who always treated him as just Harry and not The Boy Who Lived.
And he was back in the Department of Mysteries and Dolohov's curse hit her in the chest and he was watching as Hermione crumpled to the ground. It didn't matter that it was months ago, Harry felt the familiar whine of panic start up in his head. Not Hermione, something inside him said. I can't lose Hermione.
That thought snapped him to attention. His eyes snapped open; focusing on the dull, grey room of his bedroom at Grimmauld Place. He wasn't in the Department of Mysteries and Hermione was fine.
But I can't lose her.
Harry sat up a little straighter, as he felt the realization surge through his system. If he had lost Hermione that night…
Harry shivered as the thought crossed through his mind. Vehemently, he denied it. He found himself suddenly overcome with the urge to go and find her and reassure himself that she was alive. Can't, remember? His mind said bitterly. Ron's with her.
There was another flash of jealousy. It was all because Ron had simply realized before he did. If he, Harry, had realized first, he could be the one going to find Hermione…
No, Harry said to himself. Stop it. You don't fancy Hermione. You told Ron so.
But the idea Ron and Hermione together caused a feeling of nausea in the pit of his stomach.
Yes, you do, he said to himself. You like her, you've liked her for a long time and you're only just realizing it now because you're a daft git.
Harry suddenly felt helpless to stop himself. The more he thought about it, the more he couldn't come up with a reason for why he shouldn't feel that way about Hermione. He saw her again, falling down with a small "oomf" of surprise. He saw her falling through the veil…
"No," he said aloud.
He shook his head, trying to clear his brain.
I need her.
I'd be lost without her.
I can't lose her.
A surge of protectiveness rushed through him. I'll keep her safe, he vowed to himself.
That's ridiculous. You can't promise something like that. Besides, this isn't the Middle Ages, do you really think Hermione would appreciate being whisked away to a castle under the protection of the shining hero?
Harry knew she'd hate it. She'd want to stand next to him every step of the way. Fight with him, help him, keep him safe.
For a desperate moment, Harry wished he could go back into time. Before Ron had brought Hermione into the equation. When he'd been ignorant of his feelings and Ron's feelings. And he still didn't know Hermione's feelings but he was suddenly desperate to know even if it didn't matter, anyway, because Ron was his best friend and he couldn't move in on his best friend's girl.
But that wasn't fair, either.
Because Harry was certain that Ron's feelings were nowhere near his own.
No, it wasn't anything like how Ron felt. Ron fancied Hermione. Ron had a crush on Hermione.
Harry was certain he didn't. Whatever he felt for Hermione, it went deeper than a crush, it went all the way through him so much that he didn't understand it himself. It was dangerous and thrilling and he felt as though there was a hand closed around his throat… choking him…
Because Ron had realized his crush first. Which wasn't really fair, Harry reflected.
Stop it, he told himself firmly. There is nothing you can do.
What were they doing now? Had Ron already gathered up enough courage to talk to her? Maybe they were already together. Maybe he was already too late.
It. Doesn't. Matter.
That thought firmly in mind, Harry did his best to push Hermione out of his thoughts. He had no right to interfere. He would not begrudge them their happiness.
***
There was a knock at his door. Harry, who had long since abandoned his homework, and thrown himself face-down on his bed, rolled over and squinted into the musty darkness of his bedroom.
"Harry, dinner!" Ginny called, knocking on the door again. "Is Ron in there with you? Haven't been able to find him anywhere…"
Harry closed his eyes momentarily. Blearily, he found his glasses and stumbled to open the door. If Ginny was surprised by his dishevelled appearance, she didn't make any outward signs of it.
"No," Harry said, voice tight. "Haven't seen him since earlier this afternoon."
Ginny frowned at his tone. "What about Hermione? Can't find her, either."
Harry swallowed. "Dunno where she is, Gin." Harry stopped as a wave of pain slam into him. "Maybe they're off… together… somewhere…"
Ginny looked doubtful. "Maybe."
Slowly they made their way downstairs, Ginny shooting him confused looks the entire way. "Something wrong, Harry?" she finally asked. "You seem a little, well… are you alright?"
"I'm fine."
Ginny sighed. "Mum's not going to be happy that Ron and Hermione have disappeared. You know how she worries, she's bound to call the entire order together when Ron doesn't show up for dinner."
Harry didn't say anything.
Dinner was a tense affair. Mr. Weasley had been held up at work again. George and Fred were spending their summer in Diagon Alley trying to get their joke shop off the ground. Tonks and Lupin stopped by for a short period, hastily grabbing a bite to eat before rushing off again.
Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Harry ate in relative silence. The chairs on either side of Harry were empty. Mrs. Weasley, thankfully, had not made any comments except to say that Ron and Hermione had better not come down in an hour expecting her to make them dinner.
The house seemed more forlorn than usual. Harry missed Ron's light attempts at humour and the teasing he'd indulge in with Ginny. He even missed the sounds of Ron and Hermione sniping at each other. Anything was better than the silence.
He remembered how Sirius had sat at the same table the year before. His godfather had been bitter, even then, at being cooped up inside.
Familiar pain washed over Harry and he pushed his plate off to one side.
Mrs. Weasley looked over at him, a look of sympathy on her face. "You barely ate, dear."
"I'm not hungry," Harry muttered. "Sorry, it was delicious, Mrs. Weasley."
Harry glanced back at the empty chairs next to him. Where were they? Immediately images assaulted his mind… Ron and Hermione snogging… Ron and Hermione off together…
Harry shook his head and gathered up his stuff. "I'm really tired," he mumbled. "G-night."
Placing his dishes in the sink, he left, eager to get away from the kitchen. The hallways of Grimmauld Place were hardly any better. Grimy and dusty, they exhibited an aura of barren emptiness.
Slowly Harry climbed the stairs, wondering if he should wait up until Ron went to bed. He desperately needed to know what had happened-what was happening-while another part of him wanted to pretend that it wasn't happening at all.
Reaching his bedroom, Harry was spared having to make that decision. Ron was sitting on the floor, back against the foot of his bed. Lazily he was throwing a ball against the wall and catching it again as it rolled back to him.
Ron didn't bother looking up as Harry entered. He continued tossing the small, rubber ball against the wall. Besides the small thunk of the ball against the wall, the silence in the room was oppressive.
Harry licked his lips and stared at Ron uncertainly. He turned, going back out of his bedroom and leaving Ron behind. Barely aware of what he was doing, Harry made his way up a second flight of stairs. These ones led to the roof of Grimmauld Place. Because of the charms placed on the house, any occupant of the house remained unseen by Muggles as long as they remained on its property. Though the roof was outside, Harry knew that he would be perfectly safe.
What am I doing? Harry asked himself, continuing up the stairs. He knew that this was a bad idea. He should be with Ron, trying to draw from him what had happened.
Harry paused, his hand on the handle at the top of the stairs. If I do this, there's no turning back.
Harry took a deep breath and opened the door. The sounds of the Muggle world hit him-the honking of cars, the loud wail of sirens, cats mewling, and dogs barking.
Sitting by the edge of the roof, perched on its corner was Hermione. Her legs were curled up under her. Her hair danced around the back of her neck with each puff of wind.
Harry approached her cautiously, aware of the sounds of his heavy breathing. Hermione visibly flinched as she became aware of another person.
"Ron," she said without turning. "I know you're upset, but I just don't think I can take anything more tonight. Please… just go back inside."
Harry froze. He could turn around now, he realized. He could go back and Hermione would never know. Ron would never know.
Go back inside!
"Hermione," he said, instead. "It's not… I mean, I'm not…" Hermione stilled at the sound of his voice and turned around. "Ron," Harry finished, rather uncomfortably.
Hermione brushed hair out of her face, eyes looking a little watery. She's been crying, Harry realized, the feeling unsettling him. "Oh, Harry…" she whispered. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was you. What are you doing here?"
Harry moved closer to her, thrown off by her presence. She looked vulnerable in the night air. She was wearing a small, black t-shirt and she rubbed her arms in the cold. Hermione stood up and Harry came to a stop in front of her, mere inches separating them. She sucked in a sharp breath.
"How are you?" Harry whispered, wishing suddenly that he could get closer.
A faint blush spread over Hermione's cheeks. "Oh… did Ron… did he say something to you?"
"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "He might've. But I don't really know… what happened?"
Their eyes met. Harry's heart began to pound and he found himself unable to make a sound or move as her eyes burned into his. His mouth was desperately dry and he found himself helpless to look away. This is dangerous, his mind warned, even as another part of him wanted to get even closer to her. Hermione's breathing was coming out in small, harsh gasps and she seemed just as frozen was he was.
Stop it. Stop it. Ron's your best friend. He's your best friend.
"Harry…" she said, his name no more than a whisper.
He found his resolve weakening and he took another hesitant step towards her, desperately wishing to reach out. She looked so cold, and he felt so unbearably warm.
"Harry," she said again, as if trying to reassure herself that he was really there. Her eyes flickered shut for a moment, abruptly ending the trance that had seemed to fall down upon them. With difficulty, she took a step backwards.
Harry's heart was beating so hard that he could hear it echoing in his ears. "What did Ron say?" he asked again, suddenly desperate to know.
Not that it matters. She's off-limits. You can't do this to Ron.
"Why does it matter?"
Harry was ready to yell with frustration. "Please, Hermione…" he said. "I need to know what happened. Just tell me."
Hermione gave a small shiver from the cool night air. "Ron fancies me."
The words hung in the air between them and though she was only a few feet away from him, Harry felt as though the words were a physical barrier holding him back.
"You don't feel the same away about him."
Harry's tone was flat and his words had an instantaneous effect. Hermione visibly flinched, her eyes screwing up in an attempt to keep control over her emotions. But Harry knew what he'd said was true-known it from the moment that he'd found Ron shut up in his bedroom. Known it when he came searching for Hermione.
You're betraying Ron.
I don't care.
Yes, you do.
"Hermione," he said, in a gentler tone. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"
"No, you're right," she cut in, looking downcast. She rubbed at her arms again, which had broken out into small goose bumps. "I don't fancy Ron."
"There's someone else," Harry said, finding her eyes again. Hermione steadfastly shook her head, but Harry saw right through her. "It's alright," Harry said. "You don't have to tell me."
What if it's me?
What if it's not?
What if it is?
Hermione's bottom lip trembled. Harry couldn't take it anymore. Without being fully aware of what he was doing (or the consequences of his actions), he reached out to pull her against him. Hermione seemed to fall against him easily, her face pressing just below his neck. He rubbed her arms briskly, feeling the cold radiating off her skin.
Hermione let out a little sniffle and Harry was momentarily worried that she was going to start crying. Instead, she pressed herself tighter against him, as if that could stave off her fear and her cold.
"Tell me who it is, Hermione," he whispered insistently. I'm going crazy not knowing.
"I can't," she whispered.
"Why not?"
"Because it's not-right-for me to feel that way about him," she finally said hesitantly, her words coming out in short, quiet gasps. "But I don't think-I can't-stop. He can't know. Not ever. Because-it would-mess things up. Things are delicate. If we-ever-people would get hurt. But I…" here, her breath caught. "I wish that he did-know. Because I want so desperately to know if-he-could ever…" Hermione trailed off helplessly. "What d'you think, Harry?"
Harry shut his eyes, feeling tiny shards of glass slicing at his heart. "I think," he said, in that same, hesitant tone. "That he likes you back. I think that he's found feelings for you that are so strong that it's terrifying him. But he knows-she's right. They can't-because people will get hurt."
"Their best friend will get hurt," Hermione whispered heavily. "And neither of them can stand that pain."
"But it's not really fair…" Harry continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "They can't hide it forever, can they? It's bound to explode, if they push it aside."
Hermione looked up at him, the unshed tears in her eyes glistening in the moonlight. "Oh, Harry…" she whispered. "What do we do?"
Ron's your best friend.
So is Hermione.
You can't do this to him.
You can't to this to yourselves.
You're betraying him.
I don't care.
Then his mouth was covering Hermione's, pressing furiously against her. She gave a muffled moan and leaned against him, her arms winding around his neck, pushing closer, closer, closer...
His hands slid down her arms, his fingers scraping and prying at the bottom of her t-shirt. Her tongue probed against his and he was helpless to do anything but kiss her harder. His fingertips were under her shirt, sliding over her stomach, coming to rest just below the lace of her bra.
What if we get caught?
What if Ron comes up and finds us… and… oh, God…
Hermione seemed to come to the same realization he did because they wrenched themselves apart at the same time. Harry was with his skin tingling, his mouth still feeling the pressure of Hermione's lips against his, his body aching for more.
Hermione stood shocked, eyes wide as a flush settled out over her cheeks. Her lips were red and swollen from their furious kissing and Harry forced himself to look away.
"Oh… what have we done?" she moaned quietly, as she pressed a finger wonderingly to her lips.
"We kissed," Harry said aggressively. "It's what we both wanted."
"I know, but-oh-this wasn't supposed to happen!" Hermione looked near hysterics. "Harry, we can't do this to Ron. We can't."
"I don't care."
Their eyes met again and Hermione valiantly shook her head. "Yes, you do," she said desperately. "He's your best friend-you'd love to not care, but you do."
"Are you sorry, then?"
Hermione blinked rapidly, looking anguished. "That's an unfair question, and you know it."
"It's not unfair," Harry said quietly. "It's simple. Are you sorry or not?"
"I'm sorry about Ron," Hermione finally said. "I can't be sorry that we kissed."
Harry slumped, feeling the anger drain out of him. "Fuck," he said. "I can't believe this."
Hermione looked startled by his use of language. "Maybe if we talk to him…"
Harry let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure he'll be perfectly understanding."
"Well, what do you want to do?" she snapped, beginning to lose her temper. "Lie to him? Pretend this never happened?"
"I don't know," Harry admitted with difficulty. "I don't know, okay?"
Hermione looked even more upset. "Then maybe you should have thought it all out before kissing me!"
"I'm going to bed," Harry ground out, feeling like the situation was growing steadily more out of control. He took a deep breath. "I'm just going to go in and go to bed."
"We can't make it go away," Hermione said quietly. "I can't make what I feel for you go away."
Neither can I.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other, not moving, caught helpless. Finally, Hermione shook her head. "Fine," she said softly. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow, Harry."
"Yeah. Okay," Harry said dully.
Alone on the roof, he let out a long breath, pacing restlessly to the stoop overhanging the house. He knew the roof was enchanted to prevent anyone accidentally slipping off and felt perfectly at ease leaning against the edge, overlooking the Muggle world around him. Perhaps because it was night time, even that seemed dark and grey.
Harry knew that Grimmauld Place was located in a relatively poor section of town. The houses were run-down, porches and steps were cracked and shotty. Paint was chipping and peeling. Lawns had shrunk to dried up shrivels of dirt. In the evening, the occupants of Grimmauld Place could often hear the scuffles of rival gangs out in the streets.
None of these people know, he thought, as he watched a young Muggle woman nervously walk her dog. She kept casting suspicious looks over her shoulder, looking distinctly more unsettled by the moment. None of them know what will happen if….
If I die.
If Voldemort wins.
Harry shut his eyes. He didn't want to think about the prophecy at the moment. Not with everything else he had weighing down on him.
He had kissed Hermione, helpless to do anything else. Even now, every fibre of his being called out to her. He wanted to damn the consequences, damn Ron's feelings, damn everything else to Hell and back, because that kiss was worth so much more.
And yet, it now hung out between them, a scar on the friendship he held with Ron and Hermione. They had betrayed Ron.
A feeling of shame settling in the pit of his stomach, Harry turned away from the edge of the roof and returned back to the house. He was suddenly drained and his feet shuffled along the floor as he made his way down to his bedroom.
He could hear Ron's snores from all the way out in the hall. Clearly, Ron had slept through everything that had transpired between his two best friends.
/I have a good feeling about this, Harry./
Entering his bedroom, Harry felt a small stab of indignation. He should have known, Harry thought bitterly, glancing at his sleeping friend.
It's not his fault, he protested to himself. He was just happy to think that Hermione might return his feelings. He had every right to be.
Just like she had every right to like you and not him.
Harry climbed into bed, feeling his guilt tighten with every snort that Ron made.
Can we even pretend that nothing happened? Can I pretend that nothing happened?
This… thing that he had with Hermione, now that he was aware of it, was permeating every part of him. It wasn't going away.
Harry screwed his eyes shut, willing his mind to drop off onto sleep.
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