CHAPTER 23 – IDEOLOGICAL EVOLUTION
That evening, the atmosphere in the Great Hall buzzed with unexpected excitement, especially among the young women at the school. As Harry and his friends settled at the house table, they engaged in lively discussions about the day's Defense class, all the while exchanging subtle smirks in the direction of the still-aggrieved Malfoy scion. The tosser's ruddy complexion and implacable glare were clear indications that his anger remained unquelled.
Amidst the animated chatter, Dumbledore gracefully rose from his seat at the head table, gesturing for silence. "I trust your day in classes has been fulfilling," he began, once the clamor had subsided. "Hogwarts has faced its share of challenges lately, and I am optimistic that we are on the path to improvement. Rest assured, I am dedicated to ensuring you all acquire the knowledge you need until the arrival of the new Defense Professor in January. In the meantime, I am genuinely excited about the prospect of teaching once more. It's been many years since I've spent time in a classroom, and I find myself relishing the experience once again.
"But enough of my ramblings," Dumbledore continued, his benevolent smile unwavering. "The real purpose of my verbose discourse tonight is to introduce a new tradition to our annual Hogwarts activities. I believe it will add a unique and enjoyable dimension to our time here."
As he paused for dramatic effect, the students exchanged intrigued glances, their curiosity piqued by Dumbledore's mysterious announcement. "Starting this year," Dumbledore declared, "we shall organize the Hogwarts Winter Gala—an enchanting evening of magic, music, and merriment. It will be an occasion for students, staff, and even some special guests to come together and celebrate the spirit of unity that defines Hogwarts. I'm certain it will become a cherished tradition for years to come."
Whispers swept like a gentle breeze through the gathering of students, each one caught in the web of anticipation as they speculated about the mysterious new tradition that seemed to be unfolding before them. Harry, accompanied by his ever-loyal friends, exchanged meaningful glances, their curiosity piqued. Their eyes then collectively shifted toward the Headmaster, Dumbledore, a figure bathed in an aura of genuine affection for the student body. His connection with the students went beyond the realm of mere administration; he was a true educator at heart, cherishing every moment spent guiding and shaping young minds.
With a twinkle in his eye, Dumbledore broke the tension-laden silence, "In light of the resounding success that was the Yule Ball last year, we have decided to enshrine it as an annual tradition here at Hogwarts."
His proclamation echoed through the hall, creating a symphony of enthusiastic murmurs that reverberated off the stone walls. The students, their eyes sparkling with excitement, absorbed this unexpected revelation. Harry scanned the room, gauging the palpable enthusiasm that swept through his peers. They appeared ready for a night filled with enchanting melodies, rhythmic dances, and, of course, the opportunity to leave a lasting impression on the opposite sex.
Amidst the buzz of anticipation, speculative glances darted from one student to another, seeking potential dance partners and assessing who might make the night memorable. Harry couldn't help but notice the inquisitive looks directed his way from various corners of the hall. However, as those glances traversed the distance, they often transformed into subtle frowns, especially when they reached the radiant blonde seated beside him. The air crackled with an unspoken tension, hinting at untold stories and uncharted territories in the upcoming festivities.
Fleur, her demeanor tinged with eagerness, seemed poised to replace lingering memories of the previous Yule Ball with brighter ones, relishing the idea of creating new, joyful moments alongside her betrothed. Casting an inquisitive glance at Harry, she arched an eyebrow, silently seeking his affirmation. Harry responded with a smirk and a nod, and a subtle, smug grin adorned Fleur's face during their wordless exchange. This display only fueled the disdainful looks aimed at her from other girls across the room. Yet, amidst the unspoken tension, Harry remained unfazed. He had no need to worry about finding a last-minute date this time; he was set to attend the ball with the most enchanting girl in the school by his side. In fact, a promising idea began to germinate in his mind.
Dumbledore's interruption disrupted Harry's burgeoning thoughts. "Similar to the previous ball," Dumbledore interjected, drawing Harry's attention back, "This year's Yule Ball, and all future ones, will be open to fourth years and above. However, younger students in first, second, and third years will have their own celebration within the castle, although they may attend the Yule Ball if invited by an eligible upperclassman."
"The ball is scheduled for the final Friday of the year," Dumbledore continued, his words framing the anticipation in the room, "and departure will be the day after on the express. Additionally, there will be a Hogsmeade weekend the week before the ball, offering an opportunity for everyone to procure the necessary attire."
The promise of the imminent Yule Ball lingered in the air, and Harry couldn't shake the feeling that this year's event would surpass its predecessor in grandeur. As Dumbledore concluded his announcement, the students buzzed with excitement, their imaginations already painting vivid pictures of the enchanting night that lay ahead. Amidst the anticipation, Harry's mind whirred with ideas, eager to make this Yule Ball an unforgettable experience.
Dumbledore's countenance, brimming with amusement, lingered as he surveyed the excited students. With a single, resonant clap of his hands, he drew attention before gesturing towards the laden tables. "Now, I believe I have kept you from your dinner for quite long enough."
The hall burst into a cacophony of noise once more as the Headmaster resumed his seat, and students eagerly plunged into their meals, their animated conversations filling the air. The discussions surrounding Harry's position were particularly vibrant, with the girls expressing unabashed enthusiasm at the prospect of another enchanting dance, and the boys revealing a spectrum of mixed emotions. Ron, in particular, appeared to be revisiting the emotional rollercoaster of the previous year. Harry couldn't help but notice Ron's subtle furtive glances in Hermione's direction. While the prospect of another Yule Ball brought excitement to some, for Ron, it seemed to be a reminder of the rejection he faced from Hermione, leaving him slightly disheartened and grappling with the reality of the situation.
As the dynamics played out around him, Harry sensed the contrast in his own feelings about the upcoming event. Tactfully avoiding a glance in Ron's direction, he shifted his focus to another friend. Neville, who had been quietly sitting with the group since the announcement of the ball, contributed little to the conversation. His expression held a mix of pensiveness and deep contemplation, and his frequent glances towards the Ravenclaw table added an intriguing layer of amusement to the scene. It appeared that the subtle hints dropped over the months about a potential romance between the reserved Gryffindor and a certain ethereal Ravenclaw were about to transition from speculation to a captivating reality. The air in the Great Hall buzzed with the anticipation of not just one, but numerous stories that were set to unfold in the magical tapestry of the upcoming Yule Ball.
Wearing a satisfied smile, Harry discreetly shifted his attention away from Neville, silently hoping that his friend would muster the courage to ask Luna to the ball. Yet, Harry had his own plans to orchestrate—a plan designed to make waves.
Crafting his strategy with a devious glint in his eye, Harry waited until both he and his intended target had completed their dinner. As the moment approached for the students to retreat to their respective common rooms, he impulsively stood and turned to face Fleur. With a dramatic flourish, he knelt on one knee, gallantly taking Fleur's hand in his. Observing her mildly surprised yet amused smile, he returned it with a cheeky grin before uttering his carefully rehearsed lines.
"Miss Delacour, as the most captivating presence in the room and my esteemed betrothed, I would be deeply honored if you would condescend to accompany me to the Yule Ball." In a wave of his wand, Harry conjured an opulent yellow rose with crimson highlights at the tips of its petals, recalling details from a magazine article he had once glimpsed at his aunt's. "Please accept this rose as a token of my admiration and the joy that fills my heart for the fortuitous union we share."
A blush graced Fleur's cheeks as she reached out to accept the rose. Bringing it close to her face, she inhaled its fragrance deeply before gracing Harry with a dazzling smile. "I would be delighted to attend the ball with you, kind sir. I express my gratitude for selecting me out of all the girls who might have captured your attention." The exchange triggered curious glances and hushed whispers from onlookers, infusing an element of theatricality into the unfolding scene. The air buzzed with a mixture of excitement and curiosity, setting the stage for the impending enchantment of the Yule Ball.
"No, my dear," Harry continued, maintaining an exaggeratedly gallant demeanor. "With such radiance before me, the very thought of escorting anyone else to the ball is inconceivable. I would appear as nothing more than a poor country cousin next to your brilliance."
Smirking, Fleur leaned toward Hermione, who gazed at Harry in astonishment, as though she were witnessing a side of him she didn't know existed. "He's definitely a keeper, Hermione," she remarked with a light laugh. "I'm glad you trained him so well."
"I certainly didn't teach him that," Hermione murmured in response.
"I am confident that you will navigate the social waters admirably, Mr. Potter," said Fleur, redirecting her attention back to Harry. "I await the ball with breathless anticipation."
Bowing theatrically, Harry pressed a kiss to Fleur's hand before standing and drawing her to her feet, all while the Great Hall erupted in thunderous applause. Smirking, Harry turned and bowed in all directions, taking note of the cheers and the now-softened expressions on the faces of many girls who had previously been glaring at Fleur. It seemed a touch of romance possessed the magical ability to soften the demeanor of any girl.
In passing, he also caught sight of the disdainful sneer etched on the still-furious face of one pompous ferret. Harry made it a point to flip a jaunty salute in Malfoy's direction, delighting in the haughty glare he received in return. Then, with Fleur's hand gracefully resting on his arm, he guided her from the room, leaving behind an air of lingering excitement and a buzzing Great Hall.
Hermione, who had joined them and was walking at Harry's other side, frowned and peered at him. "Who are you, and what have you done with Harry Potter?" she questioned, her eyes reflecting a mix of amusement and disbelief.
Smirking, Harry casually shrugged once. "Seemed like the thing to do at the time," he said nonchalantly. "I've spent every moment of my existence in the magical world wishing I wasn't famous. I figure there's nothing I can do about it, so I may as well use it to my advantage."
His response momentarily caught Hermione off guard, but after a brief pause, she nodded and grinned at Fleur. "See, Fleur? He's growing up all by himself."
Laughing, Fleur tightened her grip on Harry's arm. "He'll do just fine, Hermione," she assured her, casting a pointed look that made Hermione flush a little. Before Harry could ponder the unspoken communication between the two girls, a voice called for them to wait. Turning, he saw a young redhead girl approaching.
Susan Bones regarded him with admiration before breaking into laughter. "Smooth, Potter—really smooth. You could have had just about any girl in the hall falling at your feet if you had asked them instead of Fleur."
Harry, adopting a playful smirk, replied, "Well, what can I say? Some of us have it, and others—"
His sentence abruptly halted as his two companions, in perfect unison, smacked him on the back of the head, eliciting a delighted laugh from Susan. The camaraderie and banter continued as they made their way through the bustling corridors of Hogwarts, the excitement of the upcoming Yule Ball lingering in the air like a magical spell.
"Methinks someone has an exaggerated opinion of his own charm," Hermione remarked to Fleur.
"Perhaps," Fleur responded with a playful grin at Harry, who was now rubbing the back of his head and grumbling. "I can take his charm as long as he directs it at me."
Ignoring the banter between his friends, Harry turned to Susan and asked, "What can we do for you?"
"Umm… Can I have a minute of your time?" Susan Bones requested, suddenly appearing nervous.
Although Harry didn't know Susan well, he recognized her as a bright and pleasant girl. With orange-hued red hair, blue eyes, and an average stature, she possessed a certain charm. While she might not have been his personal preference, her competence in Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Umbridge and her presence in the Defense Club showcased her as a capable and friendly person.
"Sure, Susan, what would you like?" Harry asked.
Susan glanced around the hall and gestured towards an empty anteroom. "Can we step inside that room for a moment?"
Intrigued, Harry motioned for Susan to lead the way. They entered the room, and Susan turned to face them. Harry noticed her continued nervousness, evident in the way she wrung her hands and peered at them uncertainly—a demeanor he had never seen from her before.
"Harry," she began, a slight quaver in her voice reinforcing his observations. "I have someone I'd like to introduce to you. Someone who is interested in joining the club," she finished in a rush.
At Harry's raised eyebrow, Susan scowled and fixed him with a determined glare. "Well, you did say that we were welcome to pass the word to those we considered trustworthy. Besides, I figured that with Umbridge gone, secrecy is not much of an issue anymore."
"That's true, I guess," Harry admitted. "Who is it?"
Susan's initial indignation faded, replaced by a renewed sense of nervousness. "Well, she's a friend of mine—her family and mine have been friends for years. She mentioned having other friends and housemates who are also interested in attending."
"And who is it?" Harry inquired, a tinge of suspicion creeping into his tone. Susan wouldn't have acted this way if she were introducing someone she believed would be a good fit for the club; there seemed to be an underlying concern.
After a moment of contemplation, Susan squared her shoulders and declared resolutely, "Daphne Greengrass."
Surprised, Harry's eyebrow rose again at the mention of the name. While he knew who Daphne was, given the relatively small size of the Hogwarts year groups, he was taken aback. His astonishment didn't stem from a lack of familiarity but rather from the difficulty in believing that someone would extend an invitation to a Slytherin. The reputation of that house, and to a significant extent, the individuals it represented, typically cast a shadow over such inter-house collaborations.
As Susan's revelation about Daphne Greengrass hung in the air, Harry felt the weight of his reservations. However, a snippet from his recent conversation with the Headmaster resurfaced in his mind like a guiding whisper.
"I would caution you against painting the entire house with the same brush."
Reflecting on these words, Harry questioned his own biases against the Slytherin house. Had his early encounters with Malfoy tainted his perception of the entire house? Were all Slytherins cut from the same cloth as Malfoy and his father? Could he trust any of them to stand with him against Voldemort?
The candid answer to his introspective queries was an acknowledgment of his own prejudice. He had allowed Malfoy's behavior to shape his opinion of all Slytherins, whether or not it was justified. Throughout his early years at Hogwarts, Malfoy's persistent proclamations of superiority and disdain for others had unintentionally painted the entire Slytherin house with the same brush. Was there merit in challenging these preconceptions? The answer remained uncertain, as Harry lacked sufficient interactions with Slytherins to draw a definitive conclusion. However, for the first time, he considered the question without succumbing to the biases of the past.
As Dumbledore had perceptively pointed out, not all Gryffindors embodied nobility and goodness. Applying the same logic, it stood to reason that not all Slytherins were inherently dark, bigoted supporters of Voldemort. Harry found himself contemplating the possibility of bridging the gap between Gryffindor and Slytherin, challenging the longstanding prejudices that had shaped his understanding of the wizarding world.
With this newfound perspective in mind, Harry redirected his attention to Susan. "Do you trust Daphne?"
"As I said, she's been a friend for a long time. In fact, with my aunt being so busy at the DMLE, I often stay several weeks with the Greengrasses during the summer. Daphne's mum and my mum were best friends at Hogwarts."
"And you mentioned some others," Harry prompted. "Do you know who they are, or how many? Are we to be overrun by Slytherin students eager to improve their defense skills?"
Susan tactfully ignored Harry's attempts at humor, a choice that, in hindsight, seemed wise to Harry. "I would imagine that her little sister Astoria and her friend Tracey Davis would be involved, but other than them, I don't know who else she has in mind—if anyone."
"I think we should meet them first," suggested Hermione. "Slytherin house doesn't exactly have a sterling reputation, and I think that we should get some indication from them about why they want to be involved."
An indignant expression flickered on Susan's face, but her words were gracefully preempted by a conciliatory Fleur. "We don't want to imply your friends aren't trustworthy, Susan. We just want to meet them for ourselves—Slytherin, in general, has not been kind to Harry, nor have they been welcoming to Hermione or me."
"Besides, what do you think the reaction would be to a bunch of Slytherins suddenly walking in on our meeting?" Fleur added, underlining the practicality of their decision.
Grudgingly, Susan acknowledged both Hermione and Fleur's points with a tight nod. "So, when did you want to meet them?"
"Tomorrow after dinner?" Harry suggested. "Wednesday is our next meeting. We could talk to them, and if they check out, we could introduce them to everyone then."
"Thanks, Harry," Susan said, visibly relieved that the discussion had concluded positively. After a few more moments spent arranging a time and place to meet the Slytherins the next day, she exited the room.
Harry exchanged glances with his two female companions. "Well, what do you think?"
Grimacing, Hermione admitted, "While all my experience with Slytherin says that they can't be trusted, I must admit I don't really know Daphne and Tracey. They've always seemed to be pretty aloof in the past, but that could just be because we don't know them."
"Or it could be because of the whole 'house of the ambitious and cunning' thing," Harry retorted sourly.
"There isn't much we can do but wait and see," Fleur interjected. "For what it's worth, I think you made the right choice. The only thing you can do now is talk to them and see what they have to say."
Deep in thought, Harry nodded his agreement before leading the girls out of the room. While he recognized that speaking with Daphne's group was the right course of action, a part of him wished he could continue believing that all Slytherins were inherently evil. Such a perspective, he mused, would be far less complicated.
Daphne Greengrass, an alluring young woman, possessed a cascade of lustrous black locks that framed her face, drawing attention to her striking deep blue eyes. Standing at an average height, her slender frame exuded confidence and poise as she occupied the empty classroom. As Harry's gaze lingered on her, he found himself contemplating the enigma that was Daphne. The upcoming meeting promised to unravel some of the mysteries surrounding Slytherin house and, perhaps, challenge his preconceived notions about its members.
In Harry's past observations, Daphne Greengrass had always appeared reserved and uncommunicative. Occasional glimpses, however, revealed her openness and engagement with friends. It remained unclear whether her quiet demeanor stemmed from guardedness around unfamiliar faces or if it was a manifestation of inherent shyness. The current situation, however, seemed to paint a different picture—Daphne's frank gaze conveyed confidence and assurance, hinting at a comfort level that defied any hint of shyness.
In stark contrast, Daphne's companion, Tracey Davis, presented a markedly different image. Tracey, with her dumpy stature and plain appearance, wore her limp, mousy brown hair in a messy ponytail, with stray strands defiantly escaping their confines. Harry, well aware of Tracey's personality, knew her to be garrulous and outgoing, her presence often punctuated by loud laughter and incessant chatter.
Turning his attention to the others in the room, Harry found himself in unfamiliar territory. Blaise Zabini, of African descent, cut an imposing figure with a tall, broad-shouldered frame and short-cropped black hair. Despite sharing the same year as Harry, Zabini maintained an air of mystery, shrouded in taciturnity that bordered on legend. His reputation as an antisocial loner, disparaged even by those within his own house, echoed the isolation Harry himself often felt. Zabini's poker face, impenetrable and unreadable, added another layer to the intrigue surrounding him, leaving Harry to wonder if he had ever been bothered by the disdain thrown his way by Malfoy and his ilk.
As the minutes ticked away in the silent classroom, a palpable tension hung in the air, each student wrapped in their own thoughts and secrets. The dynamics of the group, a mosaic of personalities and backgrounds, promised a chapter yet to unfold in the intricate tapestry of Hogwarts life.
The final trio, shrouded in mystery, added another layer of intrigue to the gathering. Astoria Greengrass, a younger reflection of her older sister, differed primarily in the shade of her ice-blue eyes, lighter than the deep blue orbs of Daphne. Nigel Johnson, a seventh-year, remained a figure Harry had only glimpsed in passing, while Greta White, a fourth-year beauty with blond locks, carried an air of superiority that even Malfoy might envy.
Seated at various desks around the empty classroom, the six Slytherins maintained a certain aloofness, creating a subtle distance from the Gryffindors and the lone Hufflepuff present. Harry couldn't help but suppress a smile at the irony of proud and haughty Slytherins appearing almost like supplicant pilgrims before him. The very nature of Slytherins dictated that their actions were motivated by personal gain, familial interests, or the prosperity of their house. Harry couldn't help but wonder about the hidden motives that drove these six to seek membership in the Defense Club. The unfolding chapter promised a deeper understanding of the intricate relationships and motivations that bound the students of Hogwarts.
Susan took charge of introducing Daphne to the Gryffindors, who, in turn, presented the other Slytherins. Once the formalities were concluded, the group delved into the matter at hand.
"We understand that you've initiated a Defense Club, and we're interested in joining," Daphne declared, taking on the role of spokesperson for the enigmatic group.
"Yes, we have," Harry confirmed simply.
Tracey, ever direct, demanded, "Then how does one go about joining?" The question hung in the air, a palpable anticipation of the discussion that would unfold.
"It's an invitation-only club," said Harry. "In response, I would inquire why you would want to join a Defense Club run by a bunch of hotheaded Gryffindors."
"The fact that we want to learn more about Defense isn't enough?" Daphne questioned, her voice holding a hint of challenge.
"In a world where Voldemort is on the loose, and certain members of Slytherin openly support him, it is most certainly not enough," Harry responded bluntly, noting the visible discomfort that mentioning the Dark Lord's name brought.
Harry scowled, his brow furrowing at the collective winces around him. "If you're going to be part of our group, you've got to toughen up a bit. Flinching every time someone utters the name Voldemort won't get you far. It's just a petty moniker he conjured up because he detests his Muggle name. If you're curious about its meaning, ask Fleur – she'll enlighten you."
Daphne shot back with a somewhat prim retort, "I'm well-versed enough in French to decipher it, thank you." Her contemplative gaze lingered on Harry. "But let me get this straight – you still insist that the Dark Lord has returned?"
Harry nonchalantly shrugged. "Why would I lie? I made a magical oath during our first club meeting. If you doubt me, ask anyone who was there."
The Slytherins exchanged glances, their expressions revealing a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Daphne, breaking the silence, declared, "If that's the case, then it appears we have even more reason to delve into defensive strategies."
Unconvinced, Harry raised an eyebrow. "So, you're not aligning with Malfoy's crowd?"
Daphne threw her hands up in exasperation, a gesture of frustration. "Honestly, Potter, I understand you've had run-ins with certain Slytherins, but not everyone in our house goes by the name 'Malfoy.' We're not all cut from the same cloth, and not every Slytherin aspires to be a slimy Death Eater."
Harry pressed on, seeking confirmation. "So, you're not in Malfoy's camp?"
Daphne sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Potter, for the umpteenth time, not every Slytherin follows Malfoy's ideology. We're a diverse bunch with varying perspectives, in case you haven't noticed."
Tracey's frustration cut through the air as she demanded, "Do we look like we're part of Malfoy's entourage? Think about it, Potter – have any of us ever associated with him? Have we ever treated you the way he does?"
Harry paused, reflecting on their interactions. "You haven't," he admitted, realizing that the Slytherins before him had been notably absent from the drama that usually accompanied Malfoy. "Actually, I hardly know any of you."
Blaise, breaking his silence with an enigmatic aura, finally spoke up, "Then give us a chance."
The Gryffindor trio remained silent, but Susan, unable to contain her impatience, huffed. "I can vouch for Daphne and Astoria, Harry. The others I don't know well, but I trust Daphne wouldn't bring them here if they couldn't be trusted."
Hermione chimed in, turning to Harry. "Their word should count for something. What's your take on this, Harry?"
"I'm inclined to allow them to participate," Harry declared, his gaze thoughtful as he studied the Slytherins. The echoes of Dumbledore's warnings reverberated in his mind, cautioning against assuming everyone was aligned with Voldemort. "If we start imagining everyone to be on his side, we'll end up paranoid, jumping at every shadow."
Fleur interjected with a cautionary tone, "But we do have to be careful."
Harry nodded, his expression firm. "Agreed. But I'm not going down that path."
Daphne, injecting a dry tone into the conversation, suggested, "Would it help if we were to swear an oath?"
Hermione, her eyes appraising Daphne, responded, "I hardly think that is required. Your word will suffice for the time being. However, you will have to sign a register to prevent any betrayal of the club. Although, with Umbridge gone, it's not as big an issue as it used to be."
Daphne, seemingly nonchalant, asked, "And what happens if we do betray the club?" Her casual tone and body language hinted at curiosity, but Harry sensed the need to remain vigilant. Trust had yet to be fully established with these Slytherins.
Hermione, cryptic as ever, replied, "Let's just say that it would be unpleasant." She offered no further explanation, maintaining the mystery surrounding the register. Throughout their discussions, Hermione had been notably evasive about the specifics of what she had done, even withholding information from her closest friends. The air hung with a sense of caution and unspoken secrets.
Intrigued, Susan sought clarification, "Then how was I able to talk to Daphne about it?"
Hermione reluctantly disclosed, choosing her words carefully, "I based the ward on intent and actual harm. I won't share exactly what I did, as I don't want someone to find a way around it. In a basic sense, since you had no intention of causing harm to the club, the consequences weren't activated. It's not the full explanation, but it does shed light on your ability to discuss it."
Daphne, wearing a hint of skepticism, observed, "That's a fairly complicated and advanced ward scheme."
Harry chimed in proudly, casting an approving look at Hermione. "That's our Hermione. She isn't just book-learned, you know," he teased.
"Harry!" Hermione scolded, her embarrassment evident.
Unfazed, Harry met her gaze with an air of amused impudence, relishing the camaraderie in the room. The dynamics of the Defense Club were evolving, and with the Slytherins now part of the equation, uncharted territory promised both challenges and unforeseen alliances.
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