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The emerald flames of the Floo Network surrounded Harry, spinning him through the dizzying network of magical fireplaces. Moments later, he stumbled out into an unfamiliar living room, catching himself on the edge of a plain beige sofa. Hermione followed seconds later, emerging more gracefully from the fireplace with only a slight wobble.
The room they found themselves in was unnervingly ordinary. Beige walls, generic landscape paintings, and furniture that looked comfortable but completely devoid of personality. It could have been a model home waiting for new owners to add their personal touch. Nothing about it suggested magic, let alone that it belonged to one of the most powerful wizards in Britain.
Dumbledore emerged last, his robes somehow immaculate despite the sooty journey. "Welcome to Sanctuary Cottage," he said, waving his wand to clean the bit of ash Harry and Hermione had tracked onto the cream-colored carpet. "One of several safe houses I maintain for circumstances requiring... discretion."
Harry looked around, taking in the suburban mediocrity of the place. Through a nearby window, he could see identical houses lining a quiet street—a neighborhood indistinguishable from countless others across Britain.
"This is a Muggle area?" he asked.
"Indeed," Dumbledore confirmed. "Surrey, to be precise. The house has modest magical protections, but its primary security lies in its absolute ordinariness. The best place to hide is often in plain sight."
The headmaster gestured towards a hallway. "There are two bedrooms prepared for you, and the kitchen is fully stocked. You'll find everything you need for a comfortable, if temporary, stay."
"How long will we be here?" Hermione asked, her practical nature asserting itself despite the dark circles under her eyes betraying her exhaustion from their ordeal.
"It depends on several factors," replied Dumbledore, taking a seat in the armchair and inviting them to sit down as well. "Upon returning to Hogwarts, I will begin researching interdimensional travel, but I must warn you - such events are extremely rare, and I have not come across a confirmed rare case other than you. The process may take a long time."
Harry sank onto the sofa, suddenly feeling the weight of their situation. "So we're stuck here."
"For the foreseeable future, yes," Dumbledore said gently. "Which brings us to more immediate concerns. You'll need identities, backgrounds, explanations for your presence."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. "In this world, you don't exist, Harry. No records, no history. The same applies to Miss Granger. You'll need more than just a place to stay—you'll need a context, a reason for your sudden appearance."
Hermione folded her hands in her lap, her knuckles whitening slightly. "How exactly would that work? Creating entirely new identities seems..." She trailed off, her analytical mind clearly struggling with the ethical implications.
"Not entirely new," Dumbledore corrected. "Rather, identities grounded in certain truths, modified to fit this reality."
Harry's mind was racing. He hadn't considered these practical aspects of being displaced from his own world. "And where would we stay while you sort this out?"
A flicker of something—perhaps discomfort—crossed Dumbledore's features. "That's what I wished to discuss with you. I believe I may have a solution, but it would require your agreement... and courage."
Before he could elaborate, Harry remembered something important. "Professor, there's something else. When we were processed at the Ministry, they took my belongings. There was a necklace—a cork necklace that Luna gave me before we went to the Department of Mysteries. I know it might seem silly, but..." He trailed off, unsure how to explain the significance of the odd trinket.
"It holds sentimental value," Dumbledore finished for him, understanding in his eyes. "I'll inquire about it. The Ministry can be quite thorough in cataloging interdimensional artifacts, even those that appear mundane."
"Thank you," Harry said, relieved.
Hermione had been quiet, her brow furrowed in thought. "Professor, you mentioned a solution for our living situation?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said, folding his hands. "I believe the most sensible arrangement would be for you to stay with a wizarding family who can provide both security and a plausible explanation for your presence."
Harry felt a sudden tension in his chest, suspecting where this was heading. "Which family did you have in mind?"
Dumbledore's blue eyes met his. "I've sent Professor Moody to speak with Lily and James Potter. I believe they would be the most appropriate guardians for your situation."
Harry's heart seemed to skip several beats. "My parents? You want us to stay with my parents?" His voice sounded strange even to himself—higher, younger.
"They are not precisely your parents, Harry," Dumbledore reminded him gently. "They are the James and Lily Potter of this world—a world where they never had a son. I must emphasize this distinction for your own emotional well-being."
"But they're still... them," Harry said weakly, unable to fully articulate the storm of emotions this prospect stirred.
"In essence, yes. Though like everyone else in this world compared to yours, there will be differences."
Hermione reached over and squeezed Harry's hand. Her face showed a mixture of concern for Harry and her own anxieties. "This is all happening so fast," she said, her voice slightly strained. "We've barely had time to process where we are, and now we're meeting... well, Harry's parents who aren't really his parents." She shook her head, clearly struggling with the paradoxes of their situation.
"We don't have to decide right away, right Professor?" she added, her practical side reasserting itself.
"Actually, they're on their way here now," Dumbledore replied, checking a peculiar watch with twelve hands. "Professor Moody should have reached them by now."
Harry's stomach lurched. "They're coming here? Now?"
"I believed a direct approach would be best," Dumbledore said. "Some situations benefit from immediacy rather than prolonged anticipation."
"But what are you going to tell them?" Harry asked, panic rising. "About me? About where we came from?"
"The truth," Dumbledore said simply. "Or at least, as much of it as necessary. However, for public consumption, I've been considering a different narrative—one that would explain Harry's sudden appearance while maintaining security."
Harry and Hermione both looked at him expectantly.
The Potter residence was a spacious two-story cottage in Godric's Hollow, set back from the main village road behind wrought-iron gates. Unlike many wizarding homes with their eccentric architecture and magical embellishments, the Potters' home projected an understated elegance—fine craftsmanship and quality materials speaking of wealth, yet strangely impersonal. The interior, though immaculately maintained, had a carefully curated quality that suggested a showroom rather than a lived-in space. Few personal photographs adorned the walls, minimal mementos occupied the shelves, and the color palette remained neutral throughout—as if the home's occupants spent too little time there to leave much of themselves behind.
In the kitchen, Lily Potter was preparing dinner, her wand directing various utensils in a choreographed routine of cooking. At forty-one, she remained strikingly beautiful, though there was a certain reserve to her movements, a controlled precision that hadn't been present in her youth. Her deep red hair, now streaked with a few threads of silver, was pulled back in a practical knot at the nape of her neck.
She checked her watch—James would be home soon, assuming the Wizengamot session ended on time. These shared dinners had become rare over the years, their schedules increasingly divergent. Lily's work as a specialized Healer at St. Mungo's often kept her late into the evenings, while James's political responsibilities frequently extended into weekends.
The sound of the front door opening broke her concentration, causing a paring knife to pause in mid-air. It was too early for James.
"Lily?" a gruff voice called from the hallway.
She recognized it immediately. "In the kitchen, Alastor."
Alastor Moody appeared in the doorway, both his natural eyes scanning the kitchen with professional thoroughness. Even in a friendly visit to his former colleagues' home, the veteran Auror-turned-professor remained vigilant.
"Evening, Lily," he said, nodding to her. "Didn't mean to interrupt your cooking."
"You're not interrupting," she assured him, though her tone carried a hint of wariness. Moody rarely made social calls. "Can I offer you something? Tea? Something stronger?"
"Nothing, thanks," he declined, leaning against the doorframe. "This isn't a social visit, I'm afraid."
Lily's wand movement faltered slightly, and a pot lid clattered. "Is it James? Has something happened at the Ministry?"
"James is fine," Moody reassured her quickly. "In fact, I need both of you. There's been an incident at the Department of Mysteries. Nothing dangerous," he added, seeing her expression. "But Albus needs to speak with you both immediately."
The front door opened again, and this time it was James who called out. "Lily? I'm home early. The session adjourned—" He stopped as he entered the kitchen and saw Moody. "Alastor. This is unexpected."
James Potter at forty-one had matured into a distinguished figure. His once perpetually tousled black hair was now cropped short and neatly styled, with dignified touches of gray at the temples. His wire-rimmed glasses remained, but now they framed eyes that had seen both war and politics—sharp, assessing, and careful. His posture was impeccable, a product of years of standing before the Wizengamot.
"What brings you here?" James asked, his tone immediately shifting to something more formal, the voice of a politician sensing trouble.
"Ministry business," Moody replied cryptically. "There's been a situation in the Department of Mysteries. Albus asked me to bring you both to him immediately."
James and Lily exchanged a look—a brief, wordless communication born of years together despite their recent emotional distance.
"What kind of situation?" James asked, his politician's instinct for information engaging.
"National security," Moody replied bluntly. "That's all I can say until we're secure."
James nodded, understanding the protocol. "Let me change out of these robes."
"No time," Moody insisted. "Albus was quite clear about the urgency."
Lily waved her wand, extinguishing the stove flames and placing preservation charms on the half-prepared food. "Where are we going?"
"Sanctuary Cottage," Moody replied. "We'll use the Floo."
Another glance passed between the Potters—this was serious indeed if Dumbledore was using one of his personal safe houses.
"After you," James said, gesturing to their fireplace.
Back at Sanctuary Cottage, Harry was pacing nervously while Hermione sat watching him with concern.
"Harry, you need to calm down," she said gently. "You're making yourself sick with worry."
"How am I supposed to be calm?" he asked, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I'm about to meet my parents—who aren't actually my parents—who think I don't exist, or existed, or whatever—and I'm supposed to act normal?"
"You don't have to act normal," Hermione reasoned. "Nobody expects that. This is an extraordinary situation for everyone involved."
She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, a nervous habit Harry had noticed over the years. "I'm nervous too, you know," she admitted quietly. "I'm about to meet Lily and James Potter—heroes from all the stories we've heard. And I'm going to be living in their house, intruding on their lives..." She shook her head. "What if they resent having to take us in? What if they only agree because Dumbledore asked them to?"
Her vulnerability surprised Harry, momentarily pulling him out of his own anxiety. "Hermione Granger, worried about making a good impression?" he tried to joke.
She gave him a weak smile. "I just... I'm out of my element here, Harry. This isn't like solving a magical puzzle or researching in the library. There's no book on 'How to Behave When Meeting Your Best Friend's Parents from Another Dimension.'"
Dumbledore had stepped out briefly to make some arrangements, leaving them alone with their thoughts. Harry stopped by a window, staring out at the perfectly ordinary street beyond.
"What if they don't like me?" he asked quietly, voicing the fear that lurked beneath his more complicated emotions. "What if they see me and just... don't feel anything?"
Hermione rose and came to stand beside him. "Harry, they're still Lily and James Potter. From everything we've ever heard, they were good, kind people. That doesn't change just because the circumstances are different."
"But they're not the same people we've heard about," Harry countered. "They've lived completely different lives. My dad—James—he's a politician now, not an Auror. And my mum... she's had a whole career as a Healer. They're basically strangers."
"Then you'll get to know them," Hermione said simply. "And they'll get to know you."
The sound of the fireplace activating made them both jump. Dumbledore had returned, looking as serene as ever despite the momentous meeting about to take place.
"They're on their way," he informed them. "Professor Moody has briefed them only that there's a matter of national security requiring their attention. I felt it best to explain the situation in person."
Harry's heart was hammering so hard he was sure it was visible through his shirt. His palms were sweating, and he wiped them nervously on his jeans. The air in the room suddenly felt too thick to breathe properly.
"What should I say? How should I act?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.
"Be yourself, Harry," Dumbledore advised. "This situation has no precedent, no protocol. Authenticity will serve better than any rehearsed behavior."
The minutes seemed to stretch endlessly. Harry could hear the ticking of a clock somewhere in the house, each second pounding like a drumbeat in his ears. Outside, the streetlights had begun to come on, casting long shadows across the unremarkable suburban garden. Somewhere in the distance, a car door slammed.
Then the fireplace flared green, the crackling intensifying as the flames turned emerald. Harry instinctively stepped back, almost hiding behind Hermione. Alastor Moody emerged first, his vigilant gaze immediately sweeping the room before he nodded to Dumbledore.
Then the flames turned emerald once more, and a tall man with black hair and glasses stepped out. Though his hair was shorter and neater than Harry had ever seen in photographs, and his bearing more formal, there was no mistaking James Potter. He brushed a bit of soot from his official-looking robes and looked questioningly at Dumbledore.
Before any words could be exchanged, the fireplace activated a third time. A woman with dark red hair emerged gracefully. Lily Potter was dressed in the professional robes of a St. Mungo's Healer, her hair tied back in a neat knot. She looked slightly flushed, as if she'd been interrupted in the middle of something.
"Albus," James said formally, "Alastor said there was an urgent matter of—"
He stopped abruptly as his gaze fell on Harry, who had unconsciously stepped out from behind Hermione. The resemblance between them was unmistakable—the same jawline, the same build, the same unruly black hair, though James's was now styled into submission.
Lily, who had been brushing ash from her sleeve, looked up at her husband's sudden silence. Her eyes followed his gaze, landing on Harry. Her breath caught audibly.
The room seemed frozen in that moment—James and Lily staring at Harry, Harry staring back at them, Hermione watching anxiously from the side, while Dumbledore and Moody observed with careful neutrality.
"James," Lily whispered, her hand unconsciously reaching for her husband's arm. "He looks just like—"
"I know," James replied, his voice tight.
Dumbledore stepped forward smoothly. "James, Lily—thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, sit down. What I'm about to tell you requires both explanation and discretion."
Neither of the Potters moved, their eyes still fixed on Harry.
"Who are you?" James finally asked, addressing Harry directly. His tone wasn't hostile, but there was a guarded quality to it—the voice of someone accustomed to political maneuvering.
Before Harry could answer, Dumbledore intervened. "Perhaps we should all sit first. This is a rather complex situation."
With visible reluctance, James and Lily allowed themselves to be guided to the sofa opposite Harry and Hermione. Dumbledore took the armchair between them, creating a triangle of conversation. Moody remained standing near the door, ever vigilant.
"James, Lily," Dumbledore began, "what I'm about to tell you will sound extraordinary, but I assure you it is quite real. Yesterday, there was an incident in the Department of Mysteries involving a temporal anomaly. These two young people," he gestured to Harry and Hermione, "were brought to our world from a parallel dimension—an alternate reality, if you will."
James's expression remained carefully neutral, but Lily gasped softly.
"This is Harry Potter," Dumbledore continued, "and Hermione Granger. In their world, Harry is your son."
The silence that followed was profound. Lily's hand had moved to cover her mouth, her green eyes—so like Harry's left one—wide with shock. James remained motionless, his politician's training holding his reactions in check, but his knuckles had whitened where he gripped his knee.
"That's impossible," James finally said, his voice carefully controlled. "We don't have a son."
"In this world, no," Dumbledore agreed. "But in their reality, Harry was born to you and Lily on July 31, 1980."
Lily made a small, involuntary sound. That date clearly held significance for her—it would have been around when they were trying to conceive, before James's injury.
"I've personally verified their identities," Dumbledore continued, sparing them the technical details. "Harry is, genetically and magically, your son—albeit from another reality. His magical signature carries elements of both of yours, modified by his unique experiences."
Lily, who had always been interested in theoretical matters and rejected the possibility of working in the department of mysteries to try to cure her husband, leaned forward. "How did it happen? Interdimensional travel is theoretical at best."
"An accident involving experimental Time-Turners," Hermione spoke up for the first time. Her voice was steady, though Harry could sense her nervousness. "We were in the Department of Mysteries in our world when several Time-Turners were damaged. They created some kind of temporal vortex that brought us here."
James was still staring at Harry, his expression unreadable. "If what you're saying is true," he addressed Dumbledore, "why bring this to us specifically? Surely the Department of Mysteries—"
"Because he's your son, James," Dumbledore said simply. "Biologically, magically, in every way that matters—in another world, he is the child you and Lily would have had."
Harry, who had been silent until now, finally found his voice. "I understand this is... shocking," he said hesitantly. "And I don't expect anything from you. I know I'm not really your son. Not in this world."
Lily's eyes filled with tears at his words, though she blinked them back with practiced composure. "How old are you, Harry?" she asked, her voice gentle.
"Sixteen," he replied.
"And in your world... what happened to us?" James asked, a new tension entering his voice.
Harry glanced at Dumbledore, uncertain how much to reveal. The headmaster gave a small nod, encouraging honesty.
"You died protecting me when I was a baby," Harry said quietly. "Voldemort came after our family because of a prophecy. You tried to hold him off while my mother took me and ran, but he killed you both. My mother died protecting me."
The color drained from both Potters' faces. James seemed momentarily at a loss for words—an unusual state for a politician. Lily's hand had found her husband's, gripping it tightly.
"I'm sorry," Harry added awkwardly. "I don't remember it. I was too young."
"Who raised you?" Lily asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"My aunt and uncle. The Dursleys."
Lily's expression twisted. "Petunia? Petunia raised you?"
Harry nodded, not wanting to elaborate on the nature of that upbringing. "Until I got my Hogwarts letter, yes."
A silence fell over the room again, broken only when Lily suddenly rose and crossed the small space between them. Before Harry knew what was happening, she had knelt in front of him, her eyes searching his face with an intensity that made him want to look away.
"Your eyes," she whispered. "Your right eye is just like mine, but the left... it's different."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "It changed during the accident that brought us here."
"May I?" she asked, her hand halfway raised toward his face, the healer in her emerging.
Harry nodded, and Lily gently tilted his face toward the light, examining his changed eye. He could smell her perfume—something floral and clean that triggered a strange sense of familiarity despite having no conscious memory of her.
"The pupil is elongated," she observed professionally. "Vertical, like a cat's or a snake's. Has your vision changed?"
"Yes," Harry admitted. "I can... see magic sometimes. Auras around people, or magical objects."
James, who had been watching this interaction with an unreadable expression, suddenly looked alarmed. "You can see magical signatures? That's a rare ability, Harry. Not something you should mention to people you don't completely trust."
Harry nodded, surprised by this reaction. "I've only just noticed it. It's not consistent yet."
Lily withdrew her wand. "May I perform a diagnostic charm? It won't hurt."
"Lily," James cautioned, but she gave him a look that silenced him.
"I'm a Healer, James. I know what I'm doing."
Harry nodded his consent, and Lily waved her wand in a complex pattern in front of his face. A series of glowing symbols appeared in the air between them, shifting and changing in patterns Harry couldn't interpret. Lily's brow furrowed as she studied them.
"These readings are... unusual," she murmured, glancing at Dumbledore.
The headmaster nodded almost imperceptibly. "Perhaps a more thorough examination later would be appropriate."
Lily canceled the spell with a flick of her wand and returned to sit beside James, though Harry noticed she sat closer to the edge of the sofa now, as if poised to move again.
"So," James said after clearing his throat, "what exactly are you proposing, Albus? Why bring this situation to us?"
"Harry and Miss Granger need a safe place to stay while we research their situation and the possibility of returning them to their own world," Dumbledore explained. "They also need a plausible cover story to explain their sudden appearance."
"I've been considering a narrative," he continued, "that would provide the most logical explanation while maintaining security. I believe we should establish that Harry is, in fact, your biological son—born during the first war against Voldemort."
James raised his eyebrows. "That's quite a claim, Albus."
"Consider the facts," Dumbledore replied. "Harry's resemblance to both of you is unmistakable. His genetic profile would match yours perfectly in any testing. The simplest explanation would be that he is your child."
"But everyone knows we don't have children," Lily said quietly, her eyes still on Harry.
"Which is why we establish that due to credible threats against your family during the first war, you secretly sent Harry abroad to live with a trusted friend. Tragically, there was an attack in which his guardian was killed, and Harry, as a young child, disappeared. Only recently was he located and his identity confirmed."
James looked at Lily, his expression softening slightly. "It would explain the resemblance."
"And why no one knows about him," Lily added, her voice taking on a new quality—something almost eager. "It's... plausible."
Harry glanced at Hermione, who gave him an encouraging nod.
"And Miss Granger?" James asked. "How does she fit into this narrative?"
"A friend Harry made at his previous school," Dumbledore suggested. "Perhaps also orphaned in the same attack, explaining why they arrived together. The details can be refined, but the essential framework is sound."
James looked at Lily, who was still watching Harry with an intensity that made him self-conscious. "What do you think, Lily?"
She seemed startled by the question, as if she'd been lost in her own thoughts. "Oh. Yes, of course they should stay with us. We have plenty of room."
"I don't want to impose," Harry said hesitantly. "This is a lot to ask of you. If there's somewhere else—"
"No," Lily interrupted firmly. "It makes the most sense for you to stay with us. As Albus said, your resemblance to James provides the perfect cover story."
James nodded, though more slowly. "Yes, I suppose that's right. We'll need to work out the details carefully. My position in the Wizengamot means I'm somewhat in the public eye. People will ask questions."
"I'll arrange everything," Dumbledore assured him. "Within a week, Harry Potter will have an impeccable paper trail as your long-lost son, finally returned home."
"And Hogwarts?" Hermione asked. "Will we be attending school there?"
"Naturally," Dumbledore said. "The timing is actually quite fortunate—with June nearly over, you'll have the summer to acclimate to this world. Then in September, you can join the new school year with your established identities in place. This will give us adequate time to prepare the necessary documents and background stories."
"What about Hermione's parents?" Harry asked suddenly. "In our world, they're Muggles—dentists living in London. Do they exist here too?"
Dumbledore's expression turned thoughtful. "An excellent question. I will investigate discreetly. If they exist in this world, we'll need to establish whether Miss Granger can safely contact them, and what explanation we might provide."
Lily, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly spoke. "When would they come home with us? Tonight?"
"If that's amenable to everyone," Dumbledore replied. "I see no reason for delay. The sooner we establish their cover identities, the better."
James nodded, his demeanor still formal but with a hint of something softer emerging—perhaps the first signs of accepting the situation. "We should go now, then. Before it gets too late. We'll need to prepare rooms."
He stood, straightening his robes with an automatic gesture. "Harry, Miss Granger—if you're ready?"
Harry stood as well, his heart pounding again. This was happening so fast. Just yesterday, he'd been fighting Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. Now he was going home with his parents—parents who didn't know him, who hadn't raised him, who were essentially strangers.
"We don't have any belongings," Hermione pointed out pragmatically. "Just the clothes we're wearing."
"We'll sort that out tomorrow," Lily assured her, her voice warming slightly as she addressed Hermione for the first time. "For tonight, I'm sure I can find you something suitable to sleep in."
Dumbledore rose as well. "I'll create a Portkey for you. It's more secure than the Floo Network for this initial transfer."
As the headmaster busied himself transforming an ordinary teacup into a Portkey, James approached Harry. Up close, the resemblance between them was even more striking, despite the differences in their styling and bearing.
"This is... unprecedented," James said quietly. "I want you to know that while this situation is extraordinary, you'll be welcome in our home. We just... may need some time to adjust."
"I understand," Harry replied, equally quietly. "Thank you for taking us in."
James seemed about to say something more but was interrupted by Dumbledore announcing the Portkey was ready.
"It will activate in thirty seconds," Dumbledore explained, placing the teacup on the coffee table. "Simply touch it with a finger when I give the signal."
The five of them—Harry, Hermione, James, Lily, and Moody (who would accompany them for security)—gathered around the table. Harry found himself between Hermione and Lily, acutely aware of his mother's presence just inches away. She was stealing glances at him when she thought he wouldn't notice, her expression a complex mixture of wonder, uncertainty, and something else he couldn't quite identify.
"On my mark," Dumbledore said. "Three... two... one... now."
Five fingers touched the teacup simultaneously. Harry felt the familiar hook behind his navel as the Portkey activated, whisking them away from Sanctuary Cottage.
After they had gone, Dumbledore stood motionless in the silent room for several long moments. Then, with a deliberate movement, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small object—Luna's cork necklace. He examined it thoughtfully, turning it over in his long fingers.
"Mimsy," he called softly.
A house-elf appeared with a quiet pop, bowing low. "Master Dumbledore called for Mimsy?"
"Yes," Dumbledore replied, showing the necklace to the elf. "I need you to create a replica of this item. It must be physically identical, but contain no magical properties. Use non-magical materials only."
The house-elf took the necklace, examining it with large, curious eyes. "Mimsy can do this, Master Dumbledore. When is it needed?"
"By tomorrow morning, please," Dumbledore said. "And Mimsy—this task is to remain between us. Tell no one."
"Of course, Master Dumbledore. Mimsy keeps all the Headmaster's secrets." The elf bowed again and disappeared with another pop, taking the necklace with him.
Thank you for reading! If you want to read chapters 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 right now and discover even more stories, join me on . Your support helps me bring you even more magical adventures!
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