Chapter 4 - "Starting Over"
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed the previous chapters. Your comments mean a lot to me. Special thanks to my wonderful beta readers, hystericalhystorian and tome_raider, for their advice and support.
This is the second-to-last chapter. I'm writing chapter 5 now but I'm not sure when it will be done because I write very slowly. I hope you'll stick around for the ending.- O.H.
He has to be here…
That thought crossed Hermione's mind for at least the hundredth time since she'd boarded the ferry at Caolila two hours earlier. Leaning on the starboard railing near the bow, she could discern the outline of a small, rugged island a few miles out in the Firth of Lorne. As the ferry plowed through the choppy waters, the ocean wind whipped her hair about her face; shivering, she pulled her cloak closer around her body.
It was three weeks since she discovered that Harry Potter had disappeared.
Three weeks since she and Ron Weasley had broken off their engagement and she'd moved out of the flat she shared with him.
Three weeks and almost three days (minus a few hours--not that she was counting) since she had found herself on her back on Harry's desk, skirt hiked past her hips, as Harry made love to her in hard, hot, frantic strokes that sent her orderly, predictable world crashing down around her.
Now, if she were lucky, it would be a few hours, or less, until she found Harry and the two of them figured out what to do about what had happened between them.
The past three weeks and three days had been strange and difficult for Hermione. The raw passion of her encounter with Harry gave way to crushing guilt, followed swiftly by denial so deep that she blocked the memory of it from her mind over the weekend. But when she returned to work three mornings later and found his office empty, stripped of his belongings, the guilt returned, followed by anger at his cowardly retreat, then denial about possibly never seeing him again. Grief finally set in when she went home early, her head pounding. As she lay on the sofa, her headache gave way to a river of tears.
That was how Ron found her, crying her eyes out about Harry. As the ferry pulled into the dock, Hermione thought of her final argument with Ron. She'd expected him to hold onto her tenaciously. Instead, his rage petered out quickly as he forced her to admit something she'd not realised until that day - that she was in love not with him, but with Harry.
She left Ron a few hours later. She'd spoken to him only once since then, to let him know that she thought she knew where Harry had gone, where he was hiding, where he probably hoped he could avoid her - and his best mate - for the rest of his life.
"Where's that? The first level of hell?" asked Ron, his voice dripping with bitterness.
Probably best not to relay that to Harry right away.
^*^*^*^
The ferry docked at Scalasaig, the largest village on the island. Hermione had no vehicle, no way to get around. She'd boarded the ferry on foot after taking a Portkey to Oban. Now she needed to try to find the Auror safehouse where she believed Harry was hiding.
The gray skies of the ferry ride had given way to a steady rain. Hermione would have used an Impervius charm to protect her clothes, but the sight of a young woman in perfectly dry clothing amidst the rain would have disturbed the villagers. So she allowed herself to get rained on and, in the process, quite wet. The irony of the smartest witch of her age getting soaked was, perhaps, part of her penance for being stupid enough to get into this situation in the first place.
Apparently a lone young woman arriving on foot was not an everyday occurrence in Scalasaig. It was mid-September now, almost Hermione's birthday. The rain was cold and bone clenching, and she took shelter under the eaves of the nearest building. A lanky older man in a yellow macintosh and wellingtons pulled up in a bright green car; a sign in the window said Cab for Hire. Hermione wasted no time jumping in. When she'd described her destination, the man seemed perplexed.
"But miss, noon lives theer," said the driver. "'At's an ould stone bairn, dinna noon live there in morn theerty yers."
She pulled out at twenty-pound note, which quickly silenced his objections.
The ride was slow and silent, much like the rain. Hermione paid no attention to the rugged, windswept scenery, which ordinarily would have delighted her. She sat in the back seat, mulling over what she'd done the past three weeks. She pestered everyone she knew in the Ministry of Magic, especially her fellow Aurors, but no one had seen hide nor hair of Harry that weekend, nor could anyone tell her where he might have gone.
After eighteen days of research during her spare time, she thought she'd figured out where he might be. The Division had a series of safe houses that undercover Aurors used during highly sensitive or dangerous investigations. Most were in rural areas of England, Scotland and Wales. She decided that Harry would think those were too accessible, too easy to find. He would want to go somewhere remote, some place she'd never been. She narrowed down the list to three places and chose the one that would appeal most to Harry's brooding nature: the safe house on Colonsay.
Twenty minutes into the cab ride, the vehicle slowed to a stop where the road crossed about fifty yards from an aging stone barn. The rain had not abated, but Hermione didn't care. The moment she left the cab she sent the driver on his way, standing alone in the rain as the cab moved down the road.
The barn faced away from the road. When Hermione was sure the coast was clear, she Apparated to a spot just to the north of the building. Dusk was approaching, and what little light was left was fading rapidly in the rainstorm.
The barn appeared to be dark.
Perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps Harry wasn't here after all.
Her instincts, though, screamed to her that Harry would retreat to a place just like this. If not here, where could he be?
She'd come too far to give up her hunt so quickly. She needed to investigate more.
She stared at her wand briefly; the tip began to glow like a torch. Pulling her sodden cloak more tightly about her, she crept around the outside of the barn, sticking close to the stone walls.
No sign of life on the east side, either. Perhaps the barn really was abandoned.
When she turned the corner to the south side of the barn, her heart skipped a beat. A few feet above her head, a stone lintel ran about eight feet along the wall. Beneath the lintel, light spilled from a long, high, narrow window.
Better yet, she could see a white owl perched on the window ledge.
If Hedwig was here, Harry must be, too.
Heart hammering in her chest, Hermione stood up from her crouch and strode along the front of the barn until she found a battered wooden door. She would use the secret knock only she and Harry knew.
She took a deep breath. He would answer the door. He had to.
^*^*^
It was almost dusk. A steady rain beat against the tin roof of the old stone barn. Down on the ground level, a young man lay face down, motionless, on a moth-eaten old sofa. A candle guttered on a battered wooden table, melted wax threatening to overflow the tin candleholder.
The young man stirred on the sofa, his unconscious mind full of images his conscious mind was trying to forget. A hiked skirt, bruised lips, dark brown eyes full of remorse. The throbbing of his cock quenched by the wet heat between her legs. A piece of parchment on a wall… a blur of names and emotions he couldn't face anymore. The fragments of the dream were always the same, merely rearranged from night to night, shifting around like a puzzle he could never solve.
A sound intruded on the dream, a sound he hadn't heard since he'd come to the island. Knocking, like someone was at the door.
Harry Potter stirred, his conscious mind suddenly taking over.
The sound came again. Three slow knocks, a pause, then four quick knocks.
He sat up, suddenly wide-awake. The shiver he felt had nothing to do with the cold, damp weather.
Three slow knocks, a pause, then four quick knocks. The knocking was becoming louder and more insistent.
I must still be dreaming, thought Harry as he stood up and moved slowly toward the door. The only person who ever knocked like that was hundreds of miles away, about to marry his best friend.
He opened the door and looked out into the rain.
Standing a few paces away was the last person he expected to see: Hermione. Her hair was plastered to her head, her cloak sopping wet, and on her face was a look Harry had seen many times - a look of grim determination.
"Hello, Harry," she said simply.
"Hermione." His voice quavered. Maybe she wouldn't notice.
"Surprised to see me?"
"More than a little."
A silence louder than the rain formed a gulf between them.
"It's rather wet out here," she said finally, " and I've traveled a very long way. May I come in?"
"Of course."
Opening the door wider, he ushered her in with a wave of his hand. Hermione stepped into the house, her cloak and hair dripping on the brushy mat inside the door.
"You're soaking wet," said Harry, taking her cloak and hanging it on a peg. A flick of his wand later, the cloak was dry as a bone.
"Thank you," said Hermione, passing her own wand over her clothes to dry them herself. She set her small overnight bag on the floor near her cloak.
The smallish room, she noticed, was sparsely furnished with a ratty-looking sofa, a small table with only one chair, and several oil lamps. Next to one wall she saw a small metal sink and a cooker similar to the one Mrs. Weasley used at the Burrow. A fireplace took up most of the opposite wall.
"Have a seat," said Harry, nodding toward the table. Hermione, however, sat down primly at the end of the sofa closest to the fireplace. For the next minute, neither said a word. For Harry, the silence came honestly. He'd never expected to see Hermione again. Considering what happened the last time they'd seen each other, he assumed she would never want to see him again. He'd attempted to arrange his life so that it would be removed from hers forever. Yet despite his best efforts, there she was, sitting less than ten feet from where he leaned against the stone wall.
She must have come to see him on business. That was the only answer that wasn't insane.
"So," he said, breaking the silence, "what's up in the Auror Division that Breakstone sent you to retrieve me? I told him I wouldn't be coming back for at least three months."
"Breakstone didn't send me. I came here on my own."
"Why would you - how did you -"
"I pestered everyone in the division for three weeks, trying to figure out where you'd gone," said Hermione as she rose from the sofa and leaned against the back of the wooden chair. Her fingers kneaded the top of the chair nervously. "It was a lot of work, narrowing down where you might be. You were foolish, Harry, if you really wanted to stay underground, not to find a Secret-Keeper. You left too many tracks."
She was staring at him now, her brown eyes boring into his..
"Why'd you come? Why would you want to see me again? After what I did-"
"NO!" she yelled at him. "No, not what you did! What wedid together!" In three sharp strides she was standing less than a foot in front of him, her face darkened with rage, her fists balled tightly at her sides.
"You didn't seem all that broken up about it when we were shagging on top of my desk!" he shot back. "You straightened yourself up and went home to him." Harry couldn't bring himself to say his other best friend's name. Speaking his name would be like betraying Ron all over again. Even thinking about him made Harry break into a sweat. "You didn't tell him about it, did you?"
Now Hermione was practically toe-to-toe with him. "You think I would tell Ron that you and I betrayed him? I didn't have to tell him. He figured it out. When I found out you'd run away, I went home and cried. When Ron came home, he found me crying on the sofa. I'd been crying for several hours. Crying over you, Harry. Crying because you had left. Crying as though my own life was about to end."
He stared at her, unable to grasp what she'd just said. "You're not making sense, Hermione. Why would you cry about me?"
"Because I couldn't imagine not having you in my life," said Hermione, her eyes filling with tears.
"I don't understand," he said quietly, trying desperately to tone down the tension in the room. "Ron knows about - what we did - and he's okay with it? So you're still going to marry him? Then why did you come all this way to see me?"
"Stop being so bloody oblivious! Dear God, do I have to spell it out for you? Ron is not okay with it. I'm not okay with it. I'm not going to marry him. I've moved out. Ron figured out what I couldn't…that I'm in love with you. Not Ron, you!"
As she raged against him, Hermione's breath was hot on Harry's face. Lip quivering, she stood shaking in front of him as tears spilled onto her cheeks. Hermione's last words seemed to suck the air out of the room. His stomach fell; his mouth went dry. It was too much to believe.
"No!" he burst out. "No, that's not…you can't mean that. You're just saying it to make me feel less guilty!" He turned away, afraid to let her see the tears in his own eyes.
Suddenly Hermione's hands were clutching his arms, her fingers digging into them painfully. "Harry…Harry! Look at me! You think you're the only one who's wracked by guilt? What about me? Once I got back from…being with you, I could barely look at Ron. I shut down. I couldn't let him touch me. I couldn't let myself examine what I was feeling because it was too terrifying. Why couldn't I let my fiancé make love to me? When I discovered that you'd gone away I couldn't function. I thought I would cry for the rest of my life."
Diatribe done, Hermione let go of Harry's arms and wiped her face with her sleeve, wondering if she'd broken through that thick skull of his. Through teary eyelashes she watched his face, hoping for some sign that he understood what she'd gone through, the price she'd paid, for what they'd done together. Myriad emotions seemed to play across Harry's face until he finally spoke.
"So you don't love Ron anymore."
"No, I do love Ron. I'll always love him, though right now I think he despises me - and you too."
Harry grimaced.
"He has every right to be angry at both of us," she went on. "I just hope he cools down in a few months. I can't bear the thought of losing his friendship forever. But what I feel for you," she paused, her eyes searching his face, "is more, and different, than I've ever felt for him. Although I love Ron, I'm not in love with him. But I love you and I'm in love with you."
I'm in love with you. Words Harry had never heard from anyone, much less considered hearing from Hermione. He knew in some deep part of his heart that she did love him, probably had for years; her actions spoke as much, though she'd never said the words before. But the idea that she could be in love with him too, that she might feel the same passion for him that he felt for her, was something he'd never let himself hope for. And now she'd come five hundred miles to tell him….
"Harry?"
Her voice brought his mind back to earth. He looked down at her.
"Please say something." She gave him a hesitant, questioning smile.
He couldn't speak, couldn't say everything that was tumbling through his mind and heart; he could only show Hermione what being with her meant to him. Cupping her cheeks in his palms, he looked deep into her eyes and gave her a tender, lingering kiss on the lips.
When he finally pulled away, he saw new tears on her cheeks and eyelashes. Alarm clutched his heart for few seconds until Hermione wove her hands around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her tightly to him, finally letting himself revel in the feel of her body against his own. Her lips were soft and yielding and needed no coaxing when his tongue sought to enter her mouth. As he took his time learning the contours of her lips and tongue, one hand drifted down to cup her bottom while the other twined in her hair.
Hermione sighed, pressing herself firmly against him until he was fully aware of her femininity and, he thought, she must be fully aware of his maleness as well.
"What are you thinking?" she breathed, shivering as Harry dragged his lips up the column of her neck until he reached her earlobe.
His breath was hot and urgent against her ear. "I'm thinking I like doing this better than talking about it."
"We're almost done talking," she said, suddenly pulling away and taking a deep breath. Twining her fingers with his, she asked, "I've given up the life I'd planned and traveled five hundred miles so I could tell you what was in my heart. But if being with me is only about sex for you, I'll leave. Please, Harry, tell me it means more to you than just a roll in the hay."
"Hermione…" He stood there grasping for words. "What we did before, it wasn't just about sex. It meant more to me than I can say. It was what I should've done years ago, before you and Ron ever got together, but I was too stupid to realise it then. I didn't leave just because I felt guilty. I left because I thought I would never have you again, and I couldn't watch you marry him once I knew what it felt like to be with you that way. I couldn't watch the woman I love marry another man, not even my best friend."
His free hand stroked her cheek, drifted down to her shoulder, then to her breast, which he cupped lightly.
Hermione sighed again, her nipple hardening at the touch of his palm. "I was so angry with you. I thought you'd left me forever. I didn't know…you never said anything before."
"I know," he whispered, his hand roaming back down until he could squeeze her bottom. "My fault. Can we stop talking now? I want to make love to you properly. No quick shag on a table top this time."
Stroking the nape of his neck, she gave him a naughty giggle. "I'm sure I want it as much as you do."
"But not here," he replied, pulling her close to him again. "Not on that shite sofa either."
A moment later Hermione found herself and Harry in a different part of the barn, in a room with a beamed ceiling and a rough-hewn bed. She realised that it must be a loft above the room they'd just been in.
"This is where you sleep?" she asked, noticing the unmade bed, as well as piles of clothes, a few books, and Hedwig's cage on the floor.
"Haven't gotten much sleep since I came here," he muttered, sitting down on the bed. "Maybe a few hours a night. I kept dreaming about you."
He did look rather haggard, she thought. His clothes, which used to drape nicely on his lean frame, seemed big again, as though he'd lost weight; there were dark circles under his eyes and he hadn't shaved in several days.
"I've not slept well either," she admitted, straddling him as she placed gentle kisses on his forehead. "I couldn't rest, not knowing where you were. And once I'd figured out where you'd gone, I could barely wait to find you. I suppose I'm running on adrenaline…and a bit of anxiety…not to mention" - she rocked against his erection, which was hard and hot under his jeans -- "a rather strong need to feel you inside me as soon as possible."
"No more words," said Harry, thrusting back against her jeans. Hermione's head rolled backward as she moaned. Harry undid the row of buttons down the front of her jumper, stopping briefly after each one to admire the newest bit of exposed flesh. Undoing the front clasp on her bra, he breathed in sharply at the sight of her breasts. For years he'd longed to see those breasts, to touch and taste them; they were neither large nor small, but just right, fitting perfectly in the palm of his hand as he squeezed one breast gently while his lips found the other. She squirmed against him, her fingers kneading his scalp as his tongue swirling against first one nipple, then the other.
When Harry stopped for a breath, Hermione pulled his tee-shirt over his head and tossed it off to the side. A charge of lust shot through her as she pressed her naked breasts against his skin and wrapped her arms around his neck. His chest was lean and lightly muscled, with a sprinkling of hair between his pectorals. Shifting her weight forward, she tipped him onto his back on the bed. He gazed up at her with flushed cheeks and a wicked grin.
"Evanesco clothes," he whispered, and suddenly Hermione found nothing between herself and Harry's manhood, which throbbed between her legs.
"I wanted to strip you," she pouted, sliding down his body until his nipple was under her tongue.
"Couldn't wait," he moaned as her tongue slid further down his torso, tracing the thin line of hair pointing below his navel.
"No more words, remember?" She pushed his legs apart and settled between them.
He was about to offer a weak objection when he suddenly felt something warm, wet and slippery surrounding his cock. Hermione's head bobbed slowly up and down, her tongue dancing in spirals around his engorged flesh, teasing and goading him. At the instant he was sure he would explode inside her mouth, she pulled away. Rolling onto her back, she spread her legs and pulled him by the hand until his head was near the apex of her thighs.
"Please," she moaned, her hands twined in his hair, "please, Harry."
"Please what?" he teased, sliding his thumb between her folds until he found the throbbing nub he was seeking.
"No more words, remember? Instructions only," she rasped as his thumb rubbed her clit while his forefinger slid inside her soft, wet heat. He thought he might keep his thumb and forefinger there all night, massaging and kneading her until she couldn't see straight, but that didn't seem to be what she wanted.
"Use your mouth, please," she begged him.
"Like this?" Spreading her legs further, he wrapped his arms under her thighs and leaned his mouth down to her folds. His tongue slowly explored every inch of that delicious flesh, occasionally darting inside her then retreating so that his lips could suckle her clit until she cried in ecstasy. She was squirming delightedly beneath his mouth when she suddenly uttered a different cry.
"OWWW!"
"Oh fuck!" He pulled away from her, searching her face. "Did I hurt you?"
"Just a bit," she answered with a tiny grimace. "Just keep your teeth away from there, okay?"
"I'm so sorry," he muttered, pulling himself up to her side. "Are you all right?"
She was so beautiful, he thought, with her hair fanned out on his pillow, her cheeks flushed with exertion, her eyes even darker than usual. Her naked body glistened with a sheen of sweat; it pleased him that he had caused her to sweat like that, to squirm and squeal and respond to every kiss and caress, other than an unfortunate moment of stray teeth.
"I'll be okay. How are you doing?" Gazing down his taut stomach toward his thighs, she couldn't miss that his cock was still at attention, apparently waiting patiently for what she and Harry both wanted.
"I'm ready when you are," said Harry, not missing how she was examining him.
She nodded, giving her unspoken permission for him to proceed. Now there really would be no more words, nothing that made sense to anyone but the two of them.
With her feet flat on the bed, Hermione let her knees fall to the side as Harry hovered above her, one arm bearing his weight while his other hand guided his cock inside her an inch at a time. She lay still, almost holding her breath as he moved slowly, torturously, inside her until his hot, hard flesh totally filled her. As soon as he was fully seated, she began to rock rhythmically against him, her fingernails drawing circles on his back.
Rolling his pelvis, Harry pumped into Hermione cautiously at first, then faster and harder, with more abandon. Her enthusiasm egged him on; she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer, capturing his lips in a fierce, hot kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth for several minutes in a rhythm that mimicked his.
Breathless, Harry drew away from Hermione's lips. He would come very soon, he was sure…he wished he could hold back until she was done, but the feel of her body around his made it difficult to retain control. With a strangled cry he came hard inside her, then finished up with a few short strokes. A whine escaped her as she arched her back and dug her nails into his arms. Although Harry was sated, he pumped a few more times as Hermione ground her pelvis against his until she shuddered and moaned, her lust for him finally spent.
He was getting sleepy now, as he always did after an orgasm, so he rolled gently off Hermione and pulled up the tattered quilt until it covered both their bodies. Her breathing was returning to normal and a sly smile played on her lips.
"That was very nice," she sighed, her fingers lightly stroking his chest.
"Not perfect, or amazing?" He pretended to pout, but could help smiling at her.
"Well, there were a few rough spots - like your upper lip and those errant teeth - but overall it was quite lovely. Best of all, it was you and me, making love naked on a bed, instead of fumbling guiltily on a desk with most of our clothes on. It was like starting over on this new phase of our relationship."
"You and me," he repeated, his mind drifting peacefully, "starting over"…
He fell asleep in her arms, just as Hermione had hoped he would. As the rain continued to beat a steady rhythm on the metal roof, she lay silently, stroking his hair, brushing kisses against his forehead, until darkness overtook the barn and sleep overtook her as well.
^*^*^*^
"You still take your coffee with milk and one sugar?"
"You remember!"
"I watched you drink coffee every day at school," said Harry, handing Hermione a freshly-brewed cup at breakfast the next morning.
They'd made love again that morning; this time was slower, less frantic, and more satisfying for both of them. Hermione sat at the table wearing one of Harry's wool shirts, which hung halfway to her knees. Harry, clad in pyjama bottoms and a tee shirt, transfigured one of the oil lamps into a second chair and set it down next to the adjacent side of the table.He made scrambled eggs and sausages and wouldn't sit down to eat until she'd tucked into her own meal.
"My compliments to the chef," said Hermione, patting her lips delicately with her serviette when she'd sampled the meal.
"I remembered that you liked this too," said Harry as he ate his own breakfast more heartily than usual. It was true, he thought -- sex made you hungry, and good sex made you ravenous.
"Thanks for lending me this shirt," said Hermione. "This barn is rather chilly and the few clothes I brought aren't nearly heavy enough for the weather here. How do you stand the cold and damp?"
Harry laughed. "It's no worse than Hogwarts. 'Course I don't have any of the luxuries of Hogwarts here either. I actually have to go into the village to get food."
He rested one ankle against Hermione's leg; she rubbed her other foot up and down against his and petted his cheek, which he'd finally shaved.
"I don't want you to have to go into the village to get food anymore. Come back to London, Harry. That's where you belong, not here. You came here to hide. You don't need to hide any more now that we're together."
"I don't think Ron would agree with any of that," said Harry glumly. "I might need to hide from him if I go back."
"Harry, listen to me," said Hermione in her most no-nonsense tone. "I repeat, there's no need for you to hide up here or anywhere else. You still have a job in London and our boss is anxious for you to return. Besides, I have no intention of staying here, not even for you."
He raised an eyebrow. "You'd leave me here after everything that's happened between us?"
"Of course not. You need to come back with me." She arched an eyebrow in return, as though adding silently, If you know what's good for you.
Harry recognized that look; it was Hermione's I won't take no for an answer look. He stroked her hand with his thumb as he considered his options.
"I 'spose I could go back and lay low for a week or so before I returned to work. I didn't give up my flat. In fact I still have a week left on this month's rent."
"See, there's no good reason for you not to come back," she said soothingly. "Other than how Ron might react, of course, and you know Ron - it might be a long time before he's willing to see either of us."
Harry flinched when she reminded him of what he was losing - he hoped temporarily - to be with her. "But what about the rest of his family? I reckon I can't avoid all of them forever."
"No, you can't. Nor can I." She paused, biting her lower lip as she considered Harry's dilemma. "Listen… Ron said he wouldn't tell his family exactly why we broke up. You and I are already honorary Weasleys. Molly and Arthur will expect to see both of us occasionally. We'll just find a way to visit when Ron's not there."
Harry nodded morosely, then kissed her palm. "I should've known you'd be able to knock down all my objections."
Blushing, she lay her cheek against the back of his hand. "I'm highly motivated. I want you to come back with me."
As she rose to put her dishes in the sink, Harry pulled her toward him until she landed in his lap. Hermione's mouth made a small "O" of surprise as her plate broke when it hit the floor.
"Harry!" she squealed as his arms wrapped around her middle and his lips found the spot behind her ear that drove her wild. He suddenly realized the best part about going back: he would have plenty of time to learn every inch of Hermione's body. Something else struck him in that moment - something Hagrid said at the end of his traumatic fourth year at school.
"Harry?" she asked, seeing a change come over his face. He seemed calmer, more settled. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Just thinking of something Hagrid told me a long time ago." He would try his best not to worry about what Ron, the Weasleys or anyone else thought about him and Hermione. "Whatever happens, happens, and we'll take things as they come."
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