CHAPTER – 1 PROLOGUE

The Hogwarts grounds were shrouded in darkness.

The towering hedges that formed the intricate maze cast ominous, ink-black shadows across his path. These thick, swaying stems seemed to create an eerie silence, and it was evident that the maze had been chosen as the setting for the Third Task for a reason.

After facing dragons on solid ground and battling grindylows in the Black Lake, one might assume that surviving a forest-like maze would be relatively straightforward.

However, Harry knew better.

The maze played tricks on his senses. The tall hedges loomed, giving him the feeling of being enclosed by ever-shifting walls. The constant cacophony of sounds around him rendered the Supersensory Charm useless. Everything, from the wind's sigh to the rustling of bushes, seemed to conspire against him. Invisible obstacles, such as tree branches, spiderwebs, and leaves, would unexpectedly touch him. The ground beneath him changed unpredictably, forcing him to adjust his steps as the earth rose and fell abruptly. The ground resembled an inky black pool, concealing embankments, tripping stones, and treacherous sinkholes that could drop him anywhere from a few inches to several feet.

Surviving this place without injuring himself seemed more challenging than dodging a bludger with his eyes closed. And this was before factoring in the hostile, living elements lurking within the maze, ready to attack him at any moment.

It was the perfect setting for a tournament designed to test his survival skills.

"Point me," Harry whispered, holding his wand flatly in his palm. The spell was relatively simple in both concept and execution, aligning with the earth's magnetic fields to act as a makeshift compass.

The wand spun several times before pointing rigidly to the right.

Directly at a hedge.

Harry needed to head northwest towards the maze's center. This meant taking the left fork ahead and veering right as soon as possible. Swiftly, he chose the left path and—

Empty.

Harry furrowed his brow. Hagrid had specifically mentioned that the maze would be filled with obstacles. He had proudly boasted about his home-grown abominations, the blast-ended skrewts, which would confront any challenger they encountered. There were also mentions of acromantula from the forest and possibly creatures from Lupin's old lessons. Frankly, Harry didn't know what to anticipate.

Was this corridor merely luring him into a false sense of security?

His fingers tightened around his wand.

—scuttle—

As he made a right turn, his ears caught faint clicking sounds. A massive acromantula, perhaps one of Aragog's numerous offspring, clicked its piercers in the distance while drooling menacingly.

"Arania Exumai!"

A thin, poisonous yellow stream erupted from his wand, striking the spider directly on its head. The creature emitted a cacophony of whistles, screeches, and foamy gurgles, twitching until it finally went motionless.

Harry's tense shoulders gradually relaxed. The spell was probably the only useful thing he had gained from Riddle's memories of Aragog and Hagrid. Holding his wand steady, he turned his gaze forward once more. Given his luck, there would be no shortage of—

A bone-chilling scream, unmistakably feminine, shattered the silence like a cannonball crashing through glass.

"Fleur!" Harry shouted, racing through the labyrinthine hedges toward the source of the sound. He knew that running recklessly through the maze was probably the worst thing he could do, but he was a Gryffindor through and through. Despite not having interacted with Fleur Delacour significantly throughout the year, the memory of her kissing him on the cheek remained fresh in his mind.

So what if he was a teenager?

Emerging from the narrow hedges, Harry found himself in an empty corridor. There was no red glow in the sky, and the dense fog around him made it nearly impossible to see anything. Fear and anxiety churned in his mind as various scenarios played out.

What had happened to her? Where had the scream originated? Had the organizers intervened? Had they... perhaps she hadn't reached for her wand in time? Was she in danger?

"Accio Fleur Delacour."

Summoning witches and wizards was notoriously difficult, but the faint tug on his magic gave him a sense of direction.

From this direction—

He plunged back into the darkness, unease mounting with every swift step. As he delved deeper into the maze, a selfish thought emerged, unbidden.

One champion down.

A gigantic scorpion attempted to block his path, but a quick "Reducto!" spell sent it flying backward, though its exoskeleton remained intact. The creature emitted a small screech, signaling its intention to continue the fight, but Harry aimed his wand at one of its legs.

"Reducto!"

The limb exploded, causing the creature to drop to the ground, writhing in agony. It was far from dead, but it was incapacitated enough not to pursue him further.

Satisfied with that outcome, Harry darted past it.

Left. Right. Left. Left again. Right.

The Four-Point Spell kept him on the move, yet there was no sign of Fleur Delacour so far. The low, untraceable anxiety simmering in the background was now escalating into a full-blown panic. His heart pounded against his chest, and his mouth felt parched as a desert. Clenching his teeth, Harry made another attempt.

"Accio Fleur Delacour!"

In that instant, he could have sworn he heard a faint whimper just ahead.

"Who's there?" Harry demanded. "Fleur!? Is that you?!"

The hedges of the maze seemed to close in, the mist thickening, and the darkness intensifying.

Harry panicked, and when he panicked, he often did foolish things.

The thought only fueled his panic.

"Lumos Solem!"

A brilliant, pulsating orb of white light appeared at the tip of his wand before exploding into a blinding flash. Something in the darkness slithered away, leaving behind a solitary figure.

As Harry approached, his mouth dropped open in astonishment.

Fleur Delacour lay sprawled on the ground, her body spread-eagled, and her wand nowhere in sight. Her eyes were wide open, her form trembling, and timid whimpers escaped her lips.

She appeared nothing like the aloof Veela who had often hidden behind her allure and enjoyed watching others make fools of themselves.

Vulnerable. Isolated. Terrified.

Harry bent down and gently touched her arm, finding her sleeves burnt to cinders.

What could have caused this? She was clearly alive, but—

No, this wasn't the time for questions.

This was beyond his deductive abilities. The girl needed immediate medical attention.

"Accio Fleur Delacour's wand," he muttered, and a slender object streaked through the misty air. With the agility of a Seeker, Harry caught it in his left hand, and without hesitation, he held it aloft.

"PERICULUM!"

A flurry of red sparks shot out of the rosewood wand and soared into the hazy evening sky.

Harry glanced at her again, torn between the desire to stay until a tournament official arrived and the overwhelming pull of the Triwizard Cup, which he could sense was near. Cedric and Krum were still somewhere in the maze, and perhaps, just perhaps, he could beat them and claim victory. He could finally silence those who had jeered at him. But Fleur...

He furrowed his brow. Leaving her alone in this condition didn't sit right with him. But what could he do?

Harry raised his wand.

"Expecto Patronum."

A radiant white stag burst forth from his wand, frolicking along the maze floor. Its mere presence compelled numerous vines and shadows to retreat.

"Stay here," Harry instructed his Patronus. "Keep her safe until help arrives."

It was the best guardian he could conjure, even in the absence of dementors. It might work, or it might not, but it was his best effort.

Turning back to Fleur, he wondered if she could hear him.

"Fleur, um, Miss Delacour," he whispered gently near her ear. "Dumbledore and the others will be here soon. Don't worry, you'll be all right."

Fleur's pupils flickered open, her trembling fingers taking hold of her rosewood wand.

That's better.

With one final look at the incapacitated Beauxbatons champion, Harry sprinted further into the mist. He encountered a dead end after taking a left turn. Forcing himself to halt, heart pounding in his chest, he cast the Four-Point Spell once more, retracing his steps and opting for a northwestward path. That brief detour had definitely cost him precious time—

—drag-thump—drag-thump—

A shadowy figure, almost indistinguishable amidst the dense shadows, drew nearer, slowly taking shape as something decidedly non-human. Its shoulders were too broad, its posture too twisted, and it moved with a deliberate, limping rhythm—drag-thump—drag-thump. A billowing dark cloak cloaked its form as it approached him before—

"Expecto Patronum!"

—retreating swiftly.

"WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING?!" Cedric's voice echoed from a few hedges away. Harry cursed under his breath and sprinted toward the sound. It seemed like he was spending all his time rescuing fellow participants. What's next? A vine strangling Krum, making him the Champion by default?

"Crucio!"

A chill ran down Harry's spine. He plunged into the darkness, pushing through a thorny hedge, ignoring the stinging prick of its thorns.

Krum stood there, his face contorted with rage, wand raised, and another spell on his lips.

Harry wouldn't give him a chance.

"Expelliarmus!"

With a sudden force, Krum's wand flew from his hand. The infuriated Bulgarian turned to face Harry, his mouth slowly opening—

"EVERTE STATUM!" Cedric's shout came from behind, sending a disarmed Krum flying several feet away, where he collided with a rock and lay motionless.

"He's not moving," Harry said breathlessly, "are you—"

"Yeah," Cedric replied, his voice hoarse, tinged with horror. "He just showed up and started tossing around the Cruciatus Curse like it was candy."

"I know," Harry replied, his instincts on high alert. Cedric seemed fixated on Krum. "He got Fleur too, I think. She was trembling when I found her."

"Good. Good. Think we should leave him here?"

"I don't know," Harry said, scanning for Krum's wand. "Maybe we should signal for help using his—"

The hairs on his neck stood on end. Harry couldn't explain why, but call it instinct—just then, he lunged forward, narrowly dodging a petrification hex.

"What the—" he gasped, rolling again. This time, he narrowly evaded a lightning spell that singed his robes. Before Harry could even raise his wand, Cedric cast a third spell.

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

The last thing he saw was a chillingly sweet smile on Cedric's face.

Albus Dumbledore was livid.

Actually, scratch that; he was incensed.

Even more so, he was deeply concerned.

At Hogwarts, apparition in and out of the school was strictly prohibited. The same applied to portkeys. Without explicit permission from the Headmaster, there was virtually no way to enter or exit the school grounds. The formidable wards established by the Founders themselves ensured that.

Albus had done everything within his power to ensure that everything would proceed as planned.

Each Champion had been given a robe imbued with various protective enchantments, and they were explicitly informed that death was a possibility—that participating in the tournament was not to be taken lightly. He had no intention of allowing the lives of these young students to be gambled in a mere competition.

The robes contained a specific runic matrix woven into them. This matrix could function as an intra-Hogwarts portkey, capable of transporting a student to the main stage if they chose to forfeit or if they won.

There was no cause for concern.

Or so he had convinced himself.

In hindsight, he should have known that things never unfolded as planned, particularly when Harry Potter was involved. In what Harry referred to as "classic Harry fashion," he cast a fully corporeal Patronus—a remarkably impressive one, at that—to protect the Beauxbatons champion.

All would have been fine if the ethereal stag had vanished peacefully. Instead, it charged at Harry when he attempted to aid the French girl.

Having to fend off a Patronus—a novel experience, trying to fight something that brought joy—was quite unsettling.

Viktor Krum had been discovered on the ground further away. His head was injured, and there was significant blood loss. The Bulgarian Seeker wouldn't regain consciousness for the next twenty-four hours.

The situation was worsening.

The judges had detected the activation of Cedric Diggory's portkey and had expected him to appear on stage, holding the Triwizard Trophy. Cedric was an exemplary young man, one of Hufflepuff's finest and brightest. With the portkey's activation, the enchanted mist and fog shrouding the maze had dissipated, replaced by brilliant illumination spells that bathed the entire area in light.

However, there was a problem.

The Triwizard Cup remained where it had been left, securely perched atop a stone pedestal in the heart of the maze.

Moreover, Cedric Diggory had not materialized on the stage. So, where had he gone?

Most significantly, Harry Potter was nowhere to be found.

What on earth had transpired here?

"This was not supposed to happen," Albus muttered, glaring at the Triwizard Cup resting serenely on its stone pedestal, as though it were responsible for everything. Yet he should have known better.

The signs were evident.

Unusual disappearances. The Dark Mark darkening. Harry's peculiar year-long dreams.

His selection as a Triwizard Champion.

And now this.

He should have foreseen it. He should have predicted it. Tom could never resist meddling with such an event, so Albus should have anticipated it.

And now, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the young man whom he had vowed to protect...

Was gone.

The sinking feeling in his stomach grew even more profound.

"Is everything alright, Dumbledore?"

Albus nodded tersely at the Minister, who had been approaching him.

"What's wrong? Where's the Diggory boy? I can't have the stage all to myself without presenting the thousand-Galleon prize," the man said, removing his bowler hat and furrowing his brow. "Can you ask your school nurse to attend to Diggory later? Maybe after my speech?"

"Diggory is not with Madam Pomfrey," Albus muttered, waving his wand in the dark and invoking incantations that were long-lost to most witches and wizards, in a language now forgotten by time.

"Where is he then?" Fudge demanded.

Before the Minister could say anything more, Dumbledore apparated to the spot where Krum had fallen. One of the perks of being the Headmaster. Fortunately, there was still some lingering magic in the air. Maybe this was a better place to try again?

Dumbledore wasn't naive enough to think that his portkeys had suddenly malfunctioned. No, this was a deliberate attempt to abduct Harry.

And it had succeeded.

But why Diggory? Why involve the Diggory boy? It made no sense.

What are you planning this time, Tom?

Flicking his wand, he began to incant every sensing and tracking spell he knew—locators, scrying spells, and more—onto the pedestal where the Triwizard Cup had once stood. Unfortunately, nothing seemed to work. And with each passing second, Albus Dumbledore inched closer to experiencing an emotion he had long thought behind him.

Desperation.

Ever since Harry Potter had entered the magical world, Lord Voldemort had caught Dumbledore off-guard. And now, his dear student was paying the price for his hubris and shortcomings.

Harry Potter was indeed everything Albus had imagined. Whatever his limitations in magical talent, the boy more than compensated with sheer courage and strength of character. Regardless of the circumstances, he always chose what was right over what was easy. A far better man than Dumbledore had been at that age.

That only made Albus blame himself more.

With the escalating series of confrontations between the Chosen One and the various incarnations of Lord Voldemort, a final showdown was all but inevitable. And Tom knew it as well.

That it was happening so soon was something Albus had utterly failed to foresee.

No, that wasn't entirely accurate.

Much to his shame, Albus knew he had seen it coming. From the clash in Harry's first year to Sybil Trelawney's recent prophecies, the signs of an impending storm had been right in front of him.

And he had chosen to look away.

Ignorance was bliss, he told himself. To tell Harry that he must die in order to vanquish another was a burden he couldn't bear to place on an eleven-year-old's shoulders. Such a weight was not meant for the bony shoulders of a child.

So, he had procrastinated.

This is Berlin all over again.

His failure to take a stand decades ago had cost over ten thousand lives in the Great War. And now, his desire to see Harry Potter lead the life of an innocent child had unintentionally put the boy's life in mortal danger.

And now, he was gone.

Lost.

Out of reach.

And anything he did at this point would be too little, too late.

…Or would it?

As if on cue, his mind provided him with every bit of information he had ever gathered about Lord Voldemort. Understanding one's enemy was a crucial aspect of waging a war, and Albus Dumbledore had been engaged in this one for years.

The graveyard. Every time Harry had a dream, it was linked to a graveyard. Albus had meticulously researched Tom's history—more than any other wizard alive. Yet, for the life of him, he couldn't recall any location that included a graveyard. But there had to be something he was missing.

But what was it?

"Have you found the boy, Dumbledore?" an almost-drawl interrupted his thoughts.

"Severus," Albus turned around. "I was expecting Alastor."

Alastor Moody served as the Head of Security for the tournament's purpose and duration. Albus had invited the paranoid and ever-vigilant Auror into Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for the very same reason. So, it was both surprising and concerning that Alastor was absent.

Had something sinister befallen him as well? Paranoia came naturally to Albus. Perhaps spending too much time around Alastor throughout the year had been a bad influence. Still, it wasn't paranoia if there were genuine threats. Had Alastor gone after whoever had captured Harry? Maybe he was on their trail?

The potions master sneered. "He's probably too busy jumping at shadows."

Albus sighed, ignoring the man's caustic remarks with practiced ease.

"I assume the Dark Lord has taken the Potter boy. The only question remaining is how."

"Cedric Diggory. Something triggered the portkey in his robes. But instead of sending him to the stage, it took him somewhere else," Albus exhaled. "I believe whoever did that is also responsible for Harry's disappearance."

Severus's lips twisted into a full-blown sneer. "Forgive me, Dumbledore, but that's just preposterous and... sloppy!"

Albus raised an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that look, Albus," Severus scoffed. "There was no one else in the maze besides the four participants. Miss Delacour... she had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse. Potter used his Patronus to protect her, and we both know your Boy Wonder lacks the capability to cast an Unforgivable."

Albus rolled his eyes.

"Krum was incapacitated, his wand thrown aside. Whatever attacked him did serious damage. There are scorch marks on the ground. Lightning spells. NEWT-level magic. Either it was Diggory or... someone else."

"Why would Cedric Diggory attack Krum?"

"It could be the other way around. Have the Aurors examine his wand."

"They cannot do that— not without an official warrant. Krum is an international delegate and enjoys diplomatic immunity. Unless there is a serious charge against him, the British Ministry has no right to investigate his wand," Albus replied with a sigh. "Furthermore, I doubt that Mr. Krum is responsible."

"Then who is responsible?" Severus appeared frustrated. "The Triwizard Cup is right here, Albus. Neither Diggory nor Potter came close to reaching it."

"Yet both of them are missing."

"Yes, which makes no sense. If the perpetrator wanted Potter, he would have taken him. There's no point in taking a backup as well."

Albus sensed a hint of anger in Severus's tone. "And yet this person had a plan to remove Diggory and Harry from—"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Severus spat, "The maze was sealed from all sides. No one entered or exited. There's no guarantee that Potter would ever have met anyone from start to finish. No guarantee he'd even cross paths with Diggory between the start and the finish line. Perhaps Krum could have bested him. The Veela could have ensnared him. The magical creatures could have—"

"You seem to underestimate Hufflepuffs, Severus."

"I simply don't expect too much from them," Severus defended himself. "But seriously, Albus, if you're about to suggest that the perpetrator went around killing monsters and clearing Potter's path just to make him encounter Cedric and then disappear into thin air, you're in for a surprise."

Albus didn't comment on that. He could understand the potions professor's logic.

Anyone already inside the maze could have activated Harry's portkey and avoided Cedric. Unless—

He froze.

"Tell me, Severus, has your Dark Mark been acting up?"

The dour man grimaced, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the fully visible Dark Mark.

Albus sighed.

"I warned you about this," Severus continued. "Allowing Karkaroff into Hogwarts was a mistake."

"I doubt Karkaroff is involved," Albus replied softly. "I personally enchanted the portkey runes, and the robes were inspected for tampering by all four judges. Minerva herself placed the cup."

He paused, trying to piece together the puzzle. The portkeys on Harry and Cedric's robes should have taken them to the stage, not somewhere else. Harry's own robes had not been tampered with.

So, how had this happened?

He looked around and realized he had lost sight of Alastor Moody. Why wasn't the paranoid Auror here?

"Albus?" Severus asked warily.

"It's... It's nothing," Albus said, shaking off his concern for now. They needed to find Harry, and time was of the essence. "We must locate Harry as quickly as possible."

"And how do you plan to do that, assuming Potter is still alive?"

"I have faith in Harry," Albus replied with conviction. He muttered one final incantation and sighed in realization. "Ah, I see."

"What are you doing?"

"Examining the scene. I must admit, this is both simple and troubling. The base is runic, but it's powered by the holder's magic. Activated by intent, it seems. But that doesn't make sense."

"What are you talking about?" Severus asked impatiently. "You can't trace runic magic."

Albus would have chuckled if the situation were less dire. Severus claimed to despise Harry Potter, but he spent a great deal of time worrying about the boy. Not that Albus would ever point that out.

"Please conjure a solid object," Albus requested.

Severus complied, conjuring an empty potion bottle and placing it on the pedestal in the center.

"What are you planning?" Severus asked.

"This," Albus said, his wand moving in intricate patterns as he turned arithmantic equations into matrices. It was a skill he had learned from Nicholas Flamel, and while he couldn't match the ancient alchemist's proficiency, he was more than capable of using it to track Harry.

He wove the ambient magic into a replication of the original portkey and cast the enchantment on the bottle.

"Severus, I'm going after Harry. Make sure no one leaves Hogwarts, and please check on Alastor if you can."

Severus nodded curtly in response.

Albus knew Severus might lack pleasantries, but he was efficient. With faith in his potions master, Albus activated the portkey and vanished.

What is this place?

Albus looked around and realized he hadn't ended up in the midst of Death Eaters or a confrontation with Voldemort. Instead, he found himself in an unfamiliar location, still within Hogwarts' wards.

He had expected a battle, but instead, he was here.

This place... it was close to Hogwarts, maybe along the outskirts of Hogsmeade or the Forbidden Forest. It was hard to tell in the darkness. However, one thing was clear: Hogwarts' protective wards extended up to two feet from his position. Beyond that boundary, there was no protection.

Like apparition or portkey travel.

This was how they had taken Harry and Cedric.

It was painfully obvious now.

Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory had both arrived here. The portkey on Cedric's robes, not Harry's, had activated. But how? Why would Cedric Diggory—

For the second time, Albus found himself palming his face in exasperation.

"What a brilliant mind," he muttered to himself, walking forward. "It's a shame such prodigious talent fell into darkness."

This simple solution was not characteristic of Voldemort. Tom Riddle enjoyed grand entrances, loud proclamations, and magnificent displays of power. For someone who claimed to be the Heir of Slytherin, Tom had a Gryffindor streak a mile wide.

If it had been Tom's work, the portkey would have likely taken them to a hidden and grand location, like the Chamber of Secrets. However, that option was no longer viable. Albus had sealed the Chamber's entrance after the events of two years ago.

So, whose work was this? Who had influenced Cedric to activate the portkey, and how?

It was a question that warranted further investigation, but for now, there were more pressing matters. The traces of the portkey's second activation were already fading.

Without delay, Albus raised his wand, conjuring more colorful beads of magic around him.

And began to weave them once more.

I've been here before.

Albus Dumbledore stared out at the vast graveyard that stretched before him, seemingly extending for miles. Rows of tombstones filled the landscape, creating a sea of the departed. The writing on the old, weathered gravestones looked faded with age, indicating the passage of many years— or perhaps there was no one left to tend to them?

But something about this place felt strangely familiar.

Where am I?

As he looked around, Albus noticed a small signboard a few feet away, hanging limply from a wrought-iron gate.

As Albus read the words "Little Hangleton Cemetery," something around him began to change. It was as though a veil had been lifted, revealing the true surroundings. The misty presence faded, and the writings on the tombstones became clear once more.

In the distance, Albus saw the silhouette of a church to the west and a solitary house with a tapered roof on a hill to the south.

Suddenly, it all came rushing back to him. This was the graveyard of Little Hangleton, the place where it had all begun. The Gaunt family, Tom Riddle, all the connections he had meticulously gathered over the years flooded his mind.

He couldn't fathom how or why this information had been erased from his memory, but he suspected Voldemort's involvement. Or perhaps something even more sinister was at play.

Without taking any chances, Albus raised his wand above his head and cast "Lumos Maxima." A burst of brilliant light shot from his wand, creating a miniature sun in the sky. The gray mist dissipated, and the graveyard was bathed in the bright light. However, he couldn't shake the feeling that magic itself was fading in this place.

In the center of it all lay Harry James Potter.

"Harry!" Albus called out, a mix of worry and relief washing over him as he rushed toward the boy. His mind was in turmoil, but he had no time to dwell on the strangeness of the situation.

Pain suddenly surged through his spine, and Albus screamed in agony. Acting quickly, he cast a protective dome around himself just in time to repel a malevolent force trying to engulf him.

"FINITE INCANTATEM!" he yelled, sending out a powerful wave of magic that halted the strange influence. The grayness lifted, and the magical drain ceased.

Exhausted but determined, Albus pushed forward to reach Harry. The boy was alive, and that was all that mattered. He couldn't afford to rest now; there was work left to do.

As he knelt beside Harry and checked for a pulse, Albus noticed the bodies of twelve Death Eaters strewn about, rotting away. They wore tattered robes and shattered masks. The sight was gruesome, and yet, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for their lives lost.

But there was another body that caught his attention—a thirteenth one with a strangely familiar face. Peter Pettigrew. Albus had long suspected the man's involvement in the Potters' tragedy, and now he lay dead among the others.

A fourteenth body was also present, one that hit Albus hard. It was Cedric Diggory, decaying but still partially recognizable. The weight of the loss settled heavily on Albus's shoulders.

He had failed them all.

With a determined effort, Albus created a second portkey to return to Hogwarts, grouping all the fallen forms together with a strong Body-Bind Jinx. Clutching Harry tightly, he activated the portkey, feeling the familiar tug at his navel.

As they disappeared from the cursed place, Albus couldn't help but take one final look at the scene that would haunt him for years to come—a circle of gray where Death held sway, where not even color could penetrate.

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