9.0

A Mutual Accord

Hermione Granger had never seen Draco Malfoy laugh so hard, and so genuinely.

Oh, she had seen him chuckle snidely, and downright cackle and crow when misfortune befell her and her friends, but this wasn't that type of laughter. This was stitch-in-your-side laughter over a funny story shared between friends. This was unable-to-breathe, rolling-on-the-ground, tears-running-down-your-face laughter. It was communal, and wholesome – and, as she watched him nearly fall off the sofa while clutching at his sides, Hermione found herself relaxing in his company – as if she was sitting with an old friend rather than the bully she knew Malfoy to be.

She watched the young wizard take a few deep breaths to calm himself before he reached up to wipe his eyes. "I would have paid 100 galleons to have seen his face when Mother silenced him." He said, his eyes sparkling. At least, they seemed to be sparkling to Hermione.

Hermione chuckled in spite of herself. "His face when she freed Darby was even better."

"I don't doubt that." Malfoy swiped at a stray tear that had escaped down his cheek before looking up at her. "How did Weasley and Potter react when you told them what happened?"

The question caught her off-guard. And she didn't know what exactly to say because, the truth was, she hadn't told either one of them what had occurred at the Manor. Harry suspected that something had happened, of course, but she hadn't felt like talking that morning and so had evaded his questions.

"I didn't tell them." She said, and then at Malfoy's raised eyebrow, she huffed. "I don't tell them everything you know."

"So I see," came the silky reply.

The Slytherin narrowed his eyes slightly at her. She felt a bit like a specimen in a jar - like a pair of pickled grindylow eyes or bat wings that had always lined the walls of Snape's classroom.

The mood in the room had changed in an instant. The cheerful atmosphere had been replaced by a seriousness that had somewhat taken Hermione off guard. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment before Malfoy spoke again.

"Tell me, Granger, how do you plan to respond to Father's letter?"

How did she plan to respond?

She thought about the question for a moment. Lucius Malfoy had apologized and offered reparations, true, but she doubted they were sent with good intentions, and so the letter did not do much to assuage the renewed bitterness that had risen in her toward the pureblood family in the last 24 hours. Truth be told, she could go a lifetime without ever setting eyes on Lucius Malfoy again and be perfectly content in doing so. She would accept the man's apology and that would be that. There was no need for reparations.

Hermione related her thoughts to the wizard in front of her, who scowled and tsked.

"What?" She asked.

"You're plenty book-smart, Granger, but you're not very skilled in the art of manipulation." Malfoy said as he sat back and rested one arm on the back of the couch.

"And what is that supposed to mean," the witch asked in slight exasperation. She didn't really like the idea of manipulating anyone. She stood, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked down at him.

He tilted his head slightly. "Politics, Granger. Brokering deals. Those machinations that keep things running, preferably in the direction you want them to go. You don't have the skill for that."

"I –" She began, clearly frustrated at his statement, "I just convinced McGonagall earlier this week to let you complete your seventh year."

"Which wasn't very difficult because McGonagall likes you. To make deals in the real world, though, you need leverage." The Slytherin stood and took several steps to close the gap between them, only stopping when they were mere inches from each other. "The kind my father just handed you on a silver platter."

"And why exactly would I want to do that – make deals, I mean." She asked, quirking an eyebrow.

He took a few steps back, shrugging his shoulders as he threw his hands up. "Surely there must be something that you wish to accomplish, Granger. Something idealistic, that might help make the world a better place?" He collapsed back on the sofa he had been occupying, and then raised an eyebrow in her direction.

Hermione remained standing, resting a hand on the back of the sofa next to her. "I doubt your father and I would agree on how to make the world better."

"True, but he's the one offering reparations, and he conditioned them to be on your terms. So now you just have to name them." The wizard said as he leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes intensely on her. "Father is a skilled negotiator. You would be a fool not to take advantage of it."

"And where do you come in?"

Malfoy smirked. "Simple, Granger. I've watched my father at work for years. He has an art for manipulation, and it is difficult to out-maneuver him. If you want to do so, you're going to need me."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the Slytherin. "What's the catch, Malfoy?"

He shook his head. "No catch. An accord. I will aid you in your negotiations with my father if you agree to tutor me in arithmancy."

Why would Malfoy want to work against his father? Hermione thought, but she decided to let that question lie for now. She was sure it would be answered in time. Instead, she asked the other question that had sprang to her mind.

"You're smart, Malfoy. Why do you need a tutor? The school term hasn't even begun yet."

The wizard ran a hand over his face. "I'm rubbish at arithmancy. And I'm behind. The last two years were rather stressful."

Hermione knew by the way he emphasized that last term that he was leaving a great deal unsaid – Voldemort taking over his family home, his father in Azkaban, his orders to kill Dumbledore.

He continued. "I've managed to catch up in my other subjects, but something about arithmancy eludes me." He looked up at her expectantly.

She bit her lip and considered the matter for a moment. He made some compelling points, and she was quite skilled at arithmancy. The witch let out a breath of air. "Alright," she said.

"We have an accord?"

She nodded. "We do."

The blond gave a single nod of his own. "Write to my father. Tell him you accept the apology but that you are going to take a week or two to consider what reparations might be suitable."

Straight to business, I see. Hermione thought. Well, she could do that as well. "I will. You go find your sixth-year arithmancy text and re-read the first three chapters. We're going to need to get started soon if we're going to have you caught up for seventh year. I'll need to review my text as well." She turned almost absentmindedly and moved toward the door, already cataloging a list of subjects they would need to cover in the coming weeks.

"And when would you like that read by, Professor?" Malfoy asked before she had moved too far away.

She could hear the sarcasm subtly lining his voice, but she chose to ignore it. "Tuesday. Let's meet on Tuesdays and Fridays. That should give you ample time in between to complete the readings."

The wizard closed his eyes, clearly resigning himself to the workload. "Fine," He spat after a moment.

Hermione continued toward the door, and then paused, looking back at the blond. "Why do I feel like I just made a deal with the devil?"

The young wizard raised an eyebrow. "Better the devil you know, Granger…" He left the rest of the idiom unsaid.

She gave him a questioning look – unsure of how he had learned that muggle phrase - to which Malfoy just rolled his eyes and turned to stretch out on the sofa. "I've picked up a thing or two from those books in your room, Granger. Now, go home, unless you would like to supervise my napping skills."

At that, the witch turned on her heels and left.

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Harry performed a corkscrew to avoid a stray bludger. He was in the middle of playing a pickup game of quidditch with Ron, George, and Angelina Johnson in front of the Burrow, which was still undergoing reconstruction from burning the previous year. The ground floor had been completed, but the upper levels were still mere shells of their former selves, with plenty of tarps and makeshift boards being used to add some level of protection from the elements during the rebuilding phase. This was one of the main reasons that Ginny had already moved in with him, and that Ron and Hermione had gotten a flat together. There was barely enough livable space for Arthur and Molly at the moment. Adding any of the Weasley brood into the mix would make things untenable.

The boy-who-lived scanned the skyline, looking for the snitch. It felt wonderful to be flying on a broomstick again, though the game itself was a bit lackluster. After spending the past year tracking down horcruxes and running from snatchers, Ron and Harry were both out of practice. And George, well, he was still devastated over the loss of Fred. Harry knew that the Weasley twin made an appearance once a week at the Burrow to keep his mother happy – generally on Mondays after busy weekend traffic at the shop. Otherwise, the entire family suspected that he had spent a good portion of the summer locked inside the flat above the joke shop, with only Angelina for company. George and Angelina had never announced that they were officially dating, but it was pretty much an open secret at this point.

Harry glanced toward the front door, where Ginny sat on a bench talking quietly with Hermione. He wondered briefly if the red-head had learned anything more about Hermione's tea at the Manor than he had. He hadn't pushed the subject Saturday morning, but he generally knew when Hermione was being evasive. His wondering was cut short by George swinging a bat near his head, knocking a bludger away.

"Look sharp, 'arry!" Angelina yelled at him from several yards away, where she held tight to the quaffle. She lifted the ball and tossed it to him. He caught it easily and took off toward the make-shift goal post, where Ron stood guard. He took a shot, only for his best mate to knock the ball out of the air with a spin of his broom. He heard Angelina and George groan as a voice rang out from below.

"Oy, you lot, time for dinner!" Mr. Weasley said from the front door, beckoning them all inside with a wave of his hand. Harry landed next to Ron and perched the broom against the side of the house before meeting up with Ginny, who was waiting for him just outside the front door.

"I think you need just a bit more practice if you want to pick up chasing." She said with a small laugh.

Harry grinned at her. "Well, maybe you can give me some pointers."

She raised an eyebrow at him as they turned and entered the house. "Maybe. I think I could handle that."

A short time later, they were all nestled around the Weasleys' dining table, making small-talk while Mrs. Weasley bustled around, making sure that everyone had enough food on their plate.

"Harry, dear," the Weasley matriarch said as she finally moved to take a seat in her own chair, "any plans for your birthday this Friday?"

Harry quickly swallowed his mouthful of potatoes. "No definite plans yet. We've been talking it over," He said, glancing quickly at Ginny next to him and then Ron and Hermione across the table, "we're thinking about going to that new restaurant in London - Harrisons."

"It has live music, and a dance floor." Hermione said, and Harry saw her and Ginny share a smile.

"I've heard of that. It's a muggle restaurant, correct?" Mr. Weasley asked.

The raven-haired boy opened his mouth to speak, only for Ginny to beat him to it. "Yeah, Dad. We can't really go to a wizarding place since these three," she indicated the trio, "are more popular than the Harpies were after they defeated the Heidelberg Harriers."

Mrs. Weasley's expression morphed into one of slight disapproval, but she gave a small nod of understanding. "You four just be careful. Ginny, Ronald, you follow Harry and Hermione's lead in the muggle world."

Harry looked past Ron, who was rolling his eyes, to the quiet, youthful red-head seated next to Mr. Weasley. "George," He said, "you and Angelina could come too, if you want."

The twin looked up from where he was absentmindedly stirring his fork in his mashed potatoes. He gave a small, crooked smile. "Sounds fun, Harry."

"Yes, it does," Angelina spoke up from where she sat next to Mrs. Weasley. "We'll be there."

Mrs. Weasley patted Angelina's hand before turning her attention to Hermione. "And what about you, dear. Any exciting plans for this week?"

Ron looked across the table at Harry. "You notice she doesn't ask about my plans?" The red-head said.

"No, I don't, Ronald, because I have no interest in hearing about your pub-hopping adventures."

Ginny snickered, and Harry watched as a blush spread across his mate's face at his mother's admonishment before Hermione offered up a response to Mrs. Weasley's original question.

"I don't have any really exciting plans. Just a bit of studying in preparation for seventh year."

"Studying! We're still weeks away from the start of term!" Ron said through a mouth full of mashed potatoes, but Harry was more interested in the look that Hermione and Ginny had shared at the former's statement. Yes, Ginny definitely knew something.

He was trying to determine whether he should press his girlfriend on the subject later when Hermione spoke up again. "How is work, Mr. Weasley?" Harry narrowed his eyes slightly at the question. He couldn't decide whether she was truly interested, or just being polite, or whether she was trying to redirect the flow of conversation away from herself. Or perhaps, he mused, a combination of all of those.

Mr. Weasley took a sip from his cup. "We've had some interesting developments at the office. Due to my experience in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, I was pulled into conversations this past week about a new resolution that all pureblood children should be required to take Muggle Studies in their first year at Hogwarts."

"Well, that's a stupid idea." Ron said as he dug his fork into his roast beef.

Harry's brow furrowed. He actually didn't think it was such a bad idea. Plenty of pureblood children grew up with no knowledge of the non-magical world at all.

Hermione apparently shared his point of view. "And just what's so stupid about it, Ronald? There are certainly still some things you could stand to learn about muggles!"

The red-head was quick to backtrack. "I just meant that it wouldn't be fair to make pureblood children take an extra class. Not unless you also made muggle-borns take something – like maybe an introduction to the wizarding world."

"That's actually a brilliant idea." Harry said. "I certainly didn't know very much about the magical world before I came to Hogwarts. It would have been helpful to have some things explained instead of being blindsided by them."

"I second that." Angelina said, while George and Mrs. Weasley each gave nods of understanding.

"And then children from mixed families, those with both wizard and muggle parents, could just choose which course would be most beneficial to them." Ginny piped up.

Mr. Weasley was staring at them all incredulously. "That's all rather straightforward, isn't it. And here the Ministry was stuck on Ron's first point. I will be sure to share your ideas with them. I'm positive if I mention you, Harry, they'll be a bit more keen to take the suggestions seriously."

"Any other work issues we can help with, Dad?" Ginny asked with a small laugh.

Her father chuckled. "I'm afraid not. Kingsley wants me to help negotiate a proposed piece of legislation regarding equality for marginalized magical groups – werewolves, giants, elves, you know – since the discussions seem to have stalled." Harry watched as the man gathered some roast beef onto his fork before lifting his eyes to take in the others at the table. "Unfortunately, though, this is not really my area of expertise, and I'm not nearly as skilled a negotiator as someone like Lucius Malfoy."

"Not that he'd ever argue in favor of such a piece of legislation." The man added after taking a small bite.

Harry was still facing Mr. Weasley, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione and Ginny share another look.

What is going on with Hermione? He wondered for about the hundredth time in the last few days.

He turned to look at the witch in question, and when she returned his gaze, her eyes held none of the anxiety he had sensed after her tea at Malfoy Manor several days before. Instead, all he saw was fierce determination.

If Harry had learned one thing over the years, a determined Hermione Granger was not to be questioned or trifled with. And if his guess was correct that Mr. Malfoy was somehow caught up in all of this, he hoped Lucius Malfoy knew that too.

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Spindle backed through the drawing room door, guiding a levitating half-filled bucket of soapy water inside with her. On one arm hung a washcloth which spanned from her shoulder down to her wrist. It was Tuesday, and Tuesday was the day she washed the windows.

Normally, she would have apparated into the room, but apparating with a wash bucket was messy business. Once, as a younger elf, she had tried, despite her mother's warning; she had ended up with the bucket over her head for her trouble and soapy water in her ears.

Making her way further into the space, she glanced over at the room's other two occupants. Back when she was a bound house-elf, she wouldn't have dared to appear before witches or wizards unless directly summoned. Now, though, as a free elf, Master Harry had instructed her that she needn't worry about being seen, so long as she stayed mostly out of the way.

On the two couches in front of the fireplace – sitting across from each other and working quietly - were Miss Hermione and Mister Draco. The young witch sat casually on the side of the sofa nearest the house-elf, a piece of parchment laid neatly across the large textbook situated in her lap. She wrote a couple of lines, and then reached over to the side table and dipped her quill in the inkwell, gracing the small elf with a smile before returning to her work.

Master Draco, on the other hand, had positioned himself in the center of his couch. He was situated on the cushion edge, leaning over the coffee table – which he had pulled closer for convenience. On top of the table lay open his arithmancy textbook, and his own piece of parchment decorated with several sections of equations that had been crossed out. Spindle watched as the young man huffed and then scratched out the formula he had been working on. The house-elf could tell he was in one of his temperamental moods, and she did not like him in those moods.

That said, Spindle did like Miss Hermione. The young witch was nice – even though she sometimes had some strange ideas about house-elves. After all, Spindle might be a free elf and enjoy working for Master Harry, but she suspected many other house-elves would not find such circumstances enjoyable. She knew her mother would have been downright offended at the idea.

"House elves is being paid with food, and shelter, and security. They Is having no need of filthy money." Her mother's words floated through her mind. Those words had been spoken to her more than once – usually when the family elves received word of a rejected house elf that had been forced to turn to paid work. Spindle, however, had always questioned as a young elf how secure one could be when a wizarding family could throw a house-elf away on a whim.

Spindle wondered what her mother would think of her now. She had traded in her pillowcase outfit for a pair of sack-cloth pants and a knitted sweater made for her by the mother of Mister Ron. The house-elf doubted her family would approve. They had always worn their tea-towels and pillowcases with pride.

Shaking her head and resolving to get back to work, Spindle moved her wash-bucket over to the window closest to the door. She dipped her washcloth in the soapy water and a flick of her wrist had it levitating and moving toward the first pane of the window. Spindle directed the cloth's movements with her hand, making sure that each pane was sparkling before moving on to the next.

Her ears perked up, though, when Mister Draco growled from the other side of the room.

"I'm never going to understand this. It's all just a bunch of numbers."

"It is all just a bunch of numbers. You have to find the meaning in them," said Miss Hermione.

"Yes, well, all I'm finding is a way to frustrate myself."

"Let me see." There was a rustling as the paper exchanged hands, and then Spindle could pick up the distinct scratching of Miss Hermione's quill on the parchment. A few moments later, the witch spoke again.

"There, see, you simply needed to invert these two numbers to find the right equation."

At the pause which followed that statement, Spindle turned to find Mister Draco giving the young woman a wide-eyed glare.

"Is this how Potter and Weasley managed to pass their courses? Because you were doing all the work for them?" He snapped after a moment.

Spindle returned to her window-washing with a slight shake of her head. She was tempted to tell Mister Draco to hold his tongue, but she doubted he would listen to a house-elf.

"If you must know," said Miss Hermione, "I did help them from time to time, but only when there were extenuating circumstances that kept them from completing the work themselves. Now, try problem 11."

The wizard huffed and the room fell quiet for a couple of moments, the only sound the scratching of quills on parchment.

Spindle had not yet finished with the second row of panes, though, when Mister Draco spoke up again.

"So, where are Scarhead and Weaselbee anyway?"

There was a pause. "They are, ah, at auror training."

Mister Draco scoffed. "Aurors? I would expect that of Potter, but not Weasley. The Ministry must have lowered their standards, which is hardly surprising."

The house-elf looked over her shoulder to find Miss Hermione glaring at the wizard. "And just what is that supposed to mean, Malfoy?"

"Just that with the war and everything the Ministry must be hard up to fill vacancies, and with Kingsley at the helm it is hardly astonishing that there would be some questionable choices."

Spindle tsked to herself and turned back to her window washing. Behind her, she could hear the young witch sputtering. "Questionable!"

"Honestly, Granger, if you can't handle my goading, I don't know how you expect to go up against my father." Came the sharp retort. "Speaking of which, let me see what you have."

The sound of rustling paper filled the room once again.

"What is this?" The young man asked after a moment. "There are way too many things listed here. You have to narrow this down or my father will never take you seriously."

Miss Hermione was the one who scoffed this time. "But everything there is important!"

Spindle finished the row of panes and turned to dip her washcloth in the bucket. As she did, she saw Mister Draco pick up the parchment and scan it.

"Item 47," he read, "If a house-elf chooses to leave unpaid employment, they must be paid back-wages for all their years of service. Do you really think anyone is going to agree to that?"

"It is the ethical thing to do!"

The wizard rubbed his temple with one hand while still grasping the parchment in the other. "Perhaps. But it isn't realistic. No one on the council will vote for that."

Spindle returned to her window washing. Behind her, she heard Miss Hermione sigh. "I have been accused before of being a bit over-zealous." There was a rustling of papers – presumably, the list had exchanged hands again – before the witch spoke again. "I suppose I'll have to go about this in a more pragmatic way and consider what the council will likely approve."

One blotchy spot on the window was proving particularly difficult. The young house-elf put a little more force behind her magic, but the spot remained intractable.

"You should probably also consider the wishes of those that this legislation will apply to, since I can guarantee my father is going to press you on that issue, not to mention the council." She heard Mister Draco say behind her.

The house-elf tilted her head to the side as she examined the spot. She might need to go fetch a bottle of blemish remover.

"What do you mean? And why would your father care about the wishes of house elves?" Miss Hermione said.

"He won't," came the wizard's quick reply, "but he'll use it as a way to dismiss your proposal altogether. As for your other question – Spindle!"

The house elf, who was still focusing on removing the stubborn spot, jumped at being addressed so directly. She turned to find both of the room's other occupants staring at her. She tensed, as Mister Draco had a tendency to start barking orders as soon as she was summoned.

"Yes, Mister Draco?"

"You are free elf, correct?" The wizard began, his tone curt.

The elf nodded her head enthusiastically. "Yes, Spindle is being free."

"And while I'm sure you enjoy your work," Draco said with a bit of a sneer, "I'm guessing that you come from a long line of house-elves that are not free." It was a statement, not a question.

Spindle gave another nod. She noticed Miss Hermione was intently watching their interaction.

The young man traced a finger down the arm of the couch he was sitting on. "And how does your little elf family feel about you being free?" He asked, almost absentmindedly.

"They is not liking it at all, sir." The elf said while vehemently shaking her head, "They is being horrified that Spindle is taking monies for her work."

Miss Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Mister Draco cut her off. "Tell Granger why that is."

Spindle wrang her hands together. "They is loving their masters and wanting to serve. They is thinking house elves should be paid in food and shelter, not monies."

"But money can pay for both of those things!" Miss Hermione said.

Her exclamation was met with a growl from the blond sitting across from her. "House elves consider themselves part of the household, Granger, not employees that merely work there and return home at the end of the day." He snapped. "But the point of all this was to demonstrate that not all house elves are going to agree with your assessments of what they need or deserve. In fact, many of them will heartily disagree with you. So, unless you want a veritable army of house elves coming after you, I would suggest you put a little more thought into that list."

Spindle did not like to admit it, but Mister Draco was correct. Forcing all house elves to take monies for their work would likely cause a great deal of dissatisfaction within the elvish community. Spindle stood still, waiting to see if she was still needed, as Miss Hermione turned back to her parchment and began crossing items off in clear frustration.

After a moment, Mister Draco looked up at the house elf. "That will be all, Spindle." He said, his tone neutral as his gaze turned to focus on Miss Hermione.

The house elf gave a little bow, and then sped from the room. She needed to find that bottle of blemish remover.

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By late Friday afternoon, Draco was fairly certain arithmancy was going to be the death of him. Granger seemed to have a natural knack for the subject, but for the Slytherin it was like trying to read a foreign language that he had never laid eyes on before. He scratched through yet another failed equation with a frustrated growl and wondered - not for the first time in the last half-hour – what was taking the witch so long in the downstairs lavatory.

Rising from the sofa, he exited the drawing room and stalked down the hall, coming to a halt just outside the bathroom. He raised his fist and pounded on the door.

"Just what are you doing in there, Granger? Did you drown or something?"

He heard something hard slam down on the porcelain countertop. Perhaps a hairbrush?

"If you must know," She remarked from the other side of the door. "I'm getting ready to go out for Harry's birthday. Ginny will be here shortly, and then Harry and Ron are going to meet us at the restaurant when they finish with their auror training for the day."

Draco huffed. Leave it to Scarhead to interfere with his arithmancy tutoring. He almost reminded the witch that the two of them had an accord, and that he had already fulfilled his part for the day, when another thought struck him. "Do those two have auror training every day or something?"

There was a pause, and then, "No, just Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays."

Tuesdays and Fridays. Interesting.

Before he could ponder that thought more, though, he heard a knock at the front door. He sauntered down the hall and opened it to find the Weaselette standing there. She was wearing a forest-green dress and had curled her red locks so that her hair almost bounced on her shoulders.

She looked nice - not that Draco was going to tell her that. Potter could have made a worst choice, He thought, such as –

"Are we ready then?" Granger interrupted his thoughts as she came up behind him in the hallway.

He turned, and was not prepared for what he saw. His eyes drank in the sight of her. She wore a navy cocktail dress in the A-line style. The very top of the dress – along her shoulders and neckline – was lacy, while the rest was a solid dark blue that fell to her knees. The cut of the dress accentuated her curves and her legs, features he had never fully appreciated before now, and he felt his heartbeat quicken at the sight of them. Her brown tresses had been tamed in a modern French roll – a style that his mother had sometimes adopted back when he was younger. She looked much like she had at the Yule ball several years before, only older and much more elegant.

"Are we ready?" The witch asked again, clearly addressing the Weaselette as she moved forward.

Draco shifted back out of Granger's way, and as he did so, he caught the red-headed Gryffindor regarding him critically.

"Yes, I'm ready," The girl said, finally, turning her attention to her friend. With that, the two descended the steps – though not without the female Weasley throwing another hawkish look over her shoulder at him - and Draco closed the door behind them.

He turned toward the spot in which the brunette had been standing, and his heart began to race again.

When had bookish, awkward Granger turned into, well, that?

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Author's note:

If you want an idea of what Hermione's dress looks like: A-Line-High-Neck-Asymmetrical-Chiffon-Cocktail-Dress-016197093-g197093/?utm_term=197093&utm_size=06&ggsub=pl&ggntk=u&ggcid=456145431547&ggkey=&ggpos=&ggdev=c&ggdevm=&ggplm=&ggtgt=&gclid=EAIaIQobChMI37T3-Jqu8QIV_QeICR0wogBkEAQYByABEgL1ivD_BwE&ucid=3859