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 McCormack was standing outside the Prides' pitch when Fitz arrived Sunday night with his suitcase in hand. His heart sank a bit; he supposed he hadn't entirely let go of the hope that they could somehow get out of this retreat. If McCormack was escorting them, there was no hope left.

“Evening,” she said pleasantly as he approached.

He nodded to her. She seemed in a better mood today. Probably because they were all bowing to her wishes. Her face was set in a contented smile that uncharitable people might call a smirk.

Not that anyone had any choice about obeying her, really. Not unless they wanted to quit professional Quidditch.

None of them did, apparently, because they all turned up within the next fifteen minutes, all toting luggage and looking as if they dreaded the week ahead. Molly arrived with a round, acid-green valise, her hair hidden under a black knitted hat. Purple curls peeked out from under the cabled yarn. He tried not to pay more attention to her than he had the others, but he found himself watching her anyway. She looked over at him as if she couldn't stop herself from catching his eye, but she stood next to Jinks. The Seeker was very nearly the only member of the team who would still speak to her.

“I've arranged a Portkey to take us,” McCormack announced when they had all gathered. She glanced at her watch. “About five minutes until departure. I'll check you into the retreat and then leave you to it, and come back to collect you on Saturday.”

Jinks let out an almost inaudible groan. He'd probably been hoping to escape before check-in.

McCormack held out an empty beer bottle, and they all gathered round and laid a finger on it. A few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence while everyone looked down at their feet, and then the Portkey activated.

It let them off on a rocky coastline next to a deep blue lake. The wind was bitingly cold, and the sky hung low with grey clouds. Something roared in the distance, and everyone looked round.

“Did that sound like a dragon?” whispered Beathan, her eyes huge in her pale face.

“We're right on the edges of the MacFusty clan lands,” McCormack said calmly. “They keep track of the dragons round this area, don't worry.”

“It'll be Hebridean Blacks up here,” Molly spoke up. “They're very interesting, I wouldn't mind having a look. My uncle works with dragons in Romania. We go visit him now and then. I've always loved seeing the dragons.”

McCormack gave her a big smile. “Charlie. He was at school with me. Loved dragons even then, though he did play some damn fine Quidditch.”

Fitz heaved a sigh. Of course she'd gone to school with a Weasley. Everyone had bloody gone to school with a Weasley. McCormack and Molly walked together, reminiscing about her uncle Charlie, while the lot of them trailed along behind. Fitz brought up the rear to make sure no one wandered off and got eaten by a dragon. He didn't entirely trust the MacFustys to keep track of all the beasts.

“She chose this place on purpose, didn't she?” muttered Declan as they trooped along in a haphazard line. “Bloody dragons, I tell you...”

“They're in cages, though, aren't they?” Zara asked. Her blonde hair, tied up in a knot atop her head, bobbed around with each step.

“We don't have that kind of luck,” Sid told her.

Fitz agreed with him, but didn't comment. At least some of the team was able to get along, and if he tried to contribute to the conversation, they were likely to shut up altogether.

The retreat was blessedly close, just up the hill. The large stone building was set on the edge of a small valley, with a green meadow of a lawn around it. Leading up to the house was a path bordered by rows of magical topiary, forming centaurs, kelpies, and even a pair of disproportionately large pixies.

As they approached, a woman in flowing red robes and blood-red lipstick appeared in the doorway and waved to them. McCormack waved back, and the woman hurried down the path toward them. The breeze didn't ruffle her perfectly coiffed brown hair in its French twist.

“I'm so pleased you all made it here safely!” she cried, a huge smile pasted on her face.

“Wonder if any of her other guests have been eaten by dragons,” Sid said under his breath.

Fitz saw a few grins breaking out among the team, and for the first time he thought that maybe the retreat wouldn't be so disastrous after all.

The witch who ran the retreat introduced herself as Risa Lefoque, and McCormack waved them inside before strolling back to the Apparition point. The team gave her a few dirty looks as she left.

Risa Lefoque clapped her hands to get their attention, and the dirty looks were turned on her. Either she didn't notice, or she was used to clients giving her dirty looks upon arrival.

“Welcome to the Silver Skies Sorceror!” she chirped. “I'll get you all settled in right away. Tomorrow is an early start for us, lots of team-building to do!”

Fitz wondered idly if he could get away with Silencing her.

Lefoque handed out packets of parchment to each of them. Fitz broke his open while she was still passing them round; it contained room assignments and schedules, down to the minute with each day packed full of activities with names like Running Free and The Take-Away Game. He didn't want to know what either of those were. He scanned the room assignments.

Molly's room was only two doors down from his.

“I've got a buffet laid out in the dining room,” Lefoque was saying. “You can all go in, I'll take care of your luggage.”

They all set their things down, some with more alacrity than others. Declan and Duff made a beeline for the food, with Deimos Flint and Bram Carmichael on their heels. Zara hung back a moment, then set her bag down to follow them. Fitz waited until they were all in the drawing room before turning to Risa Lefoque.

“I'm Coach Fitzroy,” he said, extending a hand.

She gave him another pasted-on smile and shook his hand weakly. “So nice to meet you. I do hope you enjoy your stay here. I know the team will learn a lot this week.”

“Yeah, about that.” He wasn't sure how much McCormack had told her when the manager had booked them here. “The team's not exactly chuffed to be here. You're probably going to have a rough go of it.”

“I'm up to the challenge, never fear,” she assured him. He didn't entirely believe her; she didn't look too certain of it herself.

“Right. I hope McCormack isn't giving you payment on results.”

The dining room had a long buffet table set against the wall, and two tables of the same size set with chairs around them. The team had already served themselves for the most part. Fitz loaded up his plate, sampling as he went, then went off to sit with Jinks and Molly.

“This is actually not bad,” Jinks told him, shovelling a forkful of mashed parsnips into his mouth. “Needs beer, though.”

“Tequila,” murmured Molly. She was building sandwiches out of the roast beef and rolls, carefully not looking at Fitz.

“We're going to need the strong stuff to get through this week,” he agreed. “Did you look over the schedule?”

“I refuse to look at it. I'm pretending it's not real,” Jinks assured him.

Molly unfolded her schedule and laid it beside her plate. “Six a.m. wake-up call tomorrow. And what the devil is a trust fall?”

Fitz had a pretty good idea what one was, and he was sure it wasn't going to go down well with the team. “Best not to ask.”


Molly woke to the sound of bells tinkling. Two silver bells sat on a small shelf beside the doorway, and they were ringing themselves gently but insistently. They might have sounded pleasant if it weren't still nearly dark outside her window. She blinked groggily at the clock. Six a.m. She grabbed her wand and aimed for the bells. A Freezing Charm shut them up, but she could hear activity in the hall. Everyone must've had a bell wakeup.

She stuck her head out the door and looked round. Zara, her blonde hair mussed and tangled, was standing in her doorway with a crushed bell in hand, and Sid leaned against the wall beside her, yawning hugely.

“This is bloody ridiculous,” Zara was saying. “It's not even dawn yet. This is a retreat, not boot camp.”

Sid nodded, and his eyes drooped shut.

“It's far too early in the morning to be awake, unless we're on the pitch,” Zara added, disgruntled.

Sid let out a snore.

Molly glanced down the hall and saw Fitz standing in his own doorway, dressed in a purple t-shirt bearing the Prides logo and a pair of red plaid flannel shorts. He looked sleep-rumpled, his dark hair standing on end, and an image of him in bed flashed through Molly's mind. Her cheeks flaming, she ducked back in her room before he saw her, and hurried to make herself presentable. If Fitz was up, there was no chance of sneaking back to bed. He'd make sure everyone was on task.

Normally Molly would never consider skiving off, but this wasn't school or Quidditch. It seemed like a week of bollocks, frankly, and time that could be better spent on the pitch, training. She showered quickly and then pulled on a pair of black stretchy trousers and a dark red v-neck shirt, corralling her purple curls into a ponytail. At least she could be comfortable if she couldn't get out of the inanities.

By seven, the team was beginning to assemble downstairs, and Molly sidled up next to Jinks. The Seeker was still wearing a ratty old set of pyjamas in a glaring shade of acid green printed with the Slytherin crest. Molly eyed them.

“Nice jammies, Jinks.”

“He refused to get dressed,” said Fitz's voice behind her. She turned swiftly; he was dressed now, in dark blue jeans and a white pinstriped button-up shirt. Business casual looked much better on him than his usual coaching robes or beat-up t-shirts.

He didn't seem to notice her giving him a once-over. Probably this was because he was staring at the low neckline of her shirt.

“Eyes front,” she whispered, and he looked up at her face with a grin.

“I don't see why I should get dressed,” Jinks said then, apparently oblivious to their exchange. “We're not playing Quidditch, are we? If we're not going to play Quidditch, I'm not at work.”

“Your contract is non-specific about required training,” Fitz told him. “This falls under training, in McCormack's world. So you are at work.”

Jinks made a face. “I suppose you think I should've showered, then, too.”

Molly stepped back from him a bit, wrinkling her nose. Fitz didn't even look surprised, just clapped the Seeker on the shoulder.

“I would never ask you to do something you're uncomfortable with, Jinks. If you start to stink, I'll just hose you off with an Aguamenti and call it a day.”

“I need really strong tea right about now,” Molly murmured.

“Breakfast is in the dining room, and there was a teapot,” Fitz said. “I wouldn't lay odds on it being strong tea, though, from the looks of that Silver Skies witch.”

Molly made her way to the teapot, and found that he was quite right: the tea was so weak, she could have fed it to her infant niece. Zara was just pouring herself a cup as well, and Molly shook her head.

“Don't bother, it's bloody awful.”

Zara stared at the contents of the tea. “I've never seen proper tea this light before. Is this green tea?”

“I don't think so.”

“Ugh.” Zara lifted the lid of the teapot and poured hers back in. “Disgusting. Is there any chance of coffee in this wretched place, if she hasn't even got decent tea?”

“Doubtful. Where the devil did McCormack find this retreat?” Molly sighed. “Maybe we can sneak into town and buy our own tea.”

“I'll go in on a box with you,” Zara agreed.

Molly smiled at her. This was their first civil exchange since the argument in the locker room, and she was afraid to jinx it by saying too much.

But there was no time to go hunting for a decent cuppa, because Risa Lefoque appeared in the doorway, dressed head to toe in pastel pink, to announce the day's activities would begin in ten minutes. Zara hurried off to load up a plate with eggs, toast, and beans, and Molly grabbed a pastry from the tray and wondered briefly if she could Transfigure the weak tea into a nice French roast.

Outside the air was crisp, with the scent of approaching snow on the wind. The sun had risen now, but the sky was still overcast, bathing the mountains in anaemic light. Molly huddled into her coat as the team straggled into place one by one, grumbling under their breath. When everyone was present, Lefoque clapped her hands to get their attention. She had a red tote bag at her feet. Molly was fairly certain no good could come out of that bag.

“Our first exercise this morning is an easy one. It'll get us all wide awake. Such a brisk morning.”

Molly shivered as a gust of icy wind slid over her.

“Brisk,” snorted Jinks from behind her. “I'll show her brisk, the stupid-”

“Jinks,” Molly said sharply, and he subsided. She didn't want to be there any more than he did, but outright hostility wouldn't help the situation.

Lefoque was pulling black cloths out of the bag, and Molly had a sinking feeling she knew what they were.

“We'll pair off, then one person in each pair will be blindfolded. The sighted partner will lead them from a walk to a run. Then, the pairs will switch who wears the blindfold.”

She was beaming at them, seemingly oblivious to the mutinous expressions on the Prides' faces. It was clear no one wanted to participate. But only one person would be able to avoid it. Molly didn't need to do a head count: there were ten Quidditch players and one coach.

Jinks appeared to have noticed the uneven number as well. “Fitz is getting out of this one, isn't he?”

“Probably. Be my partner,” Molly suggested quickly. Since no one else on the team was likely to want to partner her, if she didn't snap Jinks up, she'd be stuck trying to force someone. That sounded horribly embarrassing.

Fortunately, Jinks agreed, and then allowed himself to be blindfolded when Lefoque came past, handing the black cloths round. Molly spent the next quarter hour leading him from a walk to a trot, running beside him with her hand clutching his forearm. She could see the rest of the team leading each other in pairs; Zara and Sid, the Beaters together as usual, Beathan and Bram, and Waldman with Flint. No one was falling over at the moment, and Molly was fairly assured of her own abilities to guide Jinks. Fitz was standing to one side with Risa Lefoque, his arms crossed over his chest. He did not seem impressed. Molly reckoned that was more due to the apparent uselessness of the exercise rather than the team's abilities.

“Now switch! Pass the blindfold to your partner,” called Lefoque.

Jinks tied the blindfold on Molly with a wide grin. It occurred to her that she probably should have tried for anyone else as a partner, embarrassment notwithstanding. But he managed to get her to a running pace with only a few stumbles, so she thought things had gone rather well, all in all.

Lefoque seemed to agree. She called the lot of them together twenty minutes later, smiling encouragingly. Her teeth were very white but a little uneven behind her bubblegum pink lipstick.

“That was excellent! You all did very well. Now, how did that make you feel?”

“Incredibly stupid,” Jinks volunteered.

“Like a prat,” agreed Duff.

“Like I need a drink,” put in Sid.

Lefoque looked taken aback, but regrouped quickly. Her voice was a little fluttery as she went on, “Our next- next activity will be, er, an exercise in social support.”

“Is that something we can do indoors?” demanded Fitz gruffly. “The entire team is freezing their arses off.”

“Oh, er-” Lefoque glanced around at everyone, and then nodded. “Yes, I suppose we could do that-”

Fitz had already started stalking toward the house, and the team followed him. Lefoque gathered up the discarded blindfolds with a wave of her wand before following them.

Molly fell into step beside Fitz. “You could've done a blindfold run with Lefoque,” she teased him.

“I wouldn't trust that woman as far as I could throw her,” he retorted, but he winked at her.

Before she could respond, Lefoque was once again giving directions. This time she grabbed Beathan to demonstrate their activity, and since she was standing beside Fitz, Molly wound up paired with him.

“Start out a comfortable distance apart,” Lefoque was saying. “Then take a step or two closer to feel the difference, then a few paces away. Then we'll all switch up so everyone has a turn to work together. You'll notice as you change your physical proximity-”

Molly stopped listening. Fitz's idea of a comfortable distance apart was less than two feet, and after staring at her for a moment, he took a step closer, so they were nearly touching.

“I don't think you're supposed to be this close,” Molly said breathlessly.

“She said a comfortable distance. I thought that was a pretty good socially acceptable distance from you.” His voice was quiet, but the corner of his mouth pulled up in a crooked grin.

“You thought that was socially acceptable, did you?”

“Compared to how close I'd rather be, yeah.”

Molly's heart skipped a beat. She raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought we agreed, just friends.”

“And co-workers,” he agreed with a nod.

“Friends and co-workers don't flirt with each other.”

“I flirt with everyone.”

“No,” Molly said quietly, “you don't.”

The smile faded, but he didn't move back away from her. “No, I don't. Neither do you.”

Molly glanced around. Everyone else had moved on to pacing away from each other, so she took a large step back from Fitz.

“I definitely prefer the social support being closer,” he said dryly.

“Yeah, I bet.”

A prickling feeling between her shoulder blades made her turn. Mariah Waldman was staring at the two of them, and Molly gave her a pleasant smile. Waldman smiled back, but it didn't reach her eyes.

Molly turned back to Fitz just as Lefoque told them to switch partners. “We have to stop.”

“Yeah, it's time to switch. You should go grab Jinks before Beathan does.”

“You know what I mean.”

He gave her the crooked smile again. “I know, but I don't want to.”

Molly shook her head at him and left to find Jinks.


After an annoyingly short lunch break, Risa Lefoque had them back in the drawing room for another trust exercise. This time it was something she called 'anonymous positive feedback', and as soon as it was explained, Fitz knew it was going to go badly.

“Each of you will have a piece of parchment stuck to your back, and we'll all take turns writing something kind about the person. Then I'll read them off, so it stays anonymous.”

She was beaming at them. Fitz let out a snort of disbelief. Apparently she'd missed the round of silly faces at the social support load of Kneazle dung that morning, not to mention Duff and Declan tripping each other deliberately during the blindfold run. Something kind. He couldn't wait for this one.

“I like how she says we, as if she were on the team,” murmured Zara from a few seats down. “Bet she doesn't have to write anything.”

“The only thing I'm writing is a drink order,” agreed Sid.

Either Risa Lefoque didn't hear them, or she did a good job pretending she hadn't. Once everyone had a scrap of parchment stuck to their backs with a Temporary Sticking Charm, she handed out pencils. Fitz watched over Zara's shoulder as she wrote on Sid's back.

Firewhisky and soda.

He stifled a chuckle and glanced around as the team began wandering around, writing on each other's backs. They apparently had heard Sid and Zara, because the lot of them were following suit: Declan was writing his favourite type of beer on Beathan, and she was placing an order for a rum cocktail on Mariah.

Wondering how long it would take for Lefoque to realize what the team was doing, Fitz made his way over to Molly, expecting her to be taking the exercise seriously. Instead, he found her scrawling vodka gimlet on Bram Carmichael's back, and he let out a bark of laughter despite himself.

“Here I thought you were one of the two well-behaved Weasleys,” he teased her.

“I'm a thirsty Weasley, that's what I am,” she retorted as Bram moved off to write on Zara.

“You are all going to be in trouble when Herself sees what you're doing.” Fitz grinned at her. He didn't much care if Lefoque got annoyed, so long as she didn't tattle on them to McCormack; the team was obviously having fun and getting along for once. Maybe the ridiculous social support exercise had helped a bit after all. The team certainly seemed more relaxed around one another this afternoon.

Molly didn't look concerned. “Oh please. Here, have my pencil, you can add your drink order to my back.”

“Oh, who wrote dirty martini?” called Sid from across the room. He was peering at Declan's back. “I'm changing my mind, that's what I want.”

“Excuse me?” Lefoque looked closer at the nearest piece of parchment, which happened to be on Deimos Flint. “Pimm's Cup? What on earth-” She seemed to realize that no one was following instructions and her face flushed puce. “Please, everyone! Let's try this again.”

With a wave of her wand, the parchment disappeared from everyone's backs. Fitz tried not to laugh at their expressions; clearly the team had been enjoying themselves entirely too much.

“An hour wasted, my goodness,” Lefoque was mumbling to herself as she went past Fitz, pinning fresh scraps of parchment with a wave of her wand. “Now, you lot,” she went on in a louder voice, sounding much less airy-fairy than she had all day, “I want you to write something heartfelt about your co-workers. Really dig deep, please, and share something honest.”

“Oh, I don't think she wants that,” Molly murmured from beside Fitz. “God knows what Jinks would come up with.”

He grinned at her, his arms folded across his chest. “Pretty sure she's wishing she'd doubled her normal fee by now.”

The team seemed to be working much harder this time, and in silence they went around to each other, writing something on the scraps of parchment before moving on. Fitz stood to one side, leaning against the wall and waiting for them to start acting up. Lefoque looked a bit trepidatious as she waited for them to finish. Eventually she stepped forward, selecting the nearest Pride and using a Summoning Charm to remove the parchment from Declan Preece's back. He gave her an innocent smile.

“All right,” said Lefoque bravely, trying to appear cheerful and failing miserably. “Let's see what you've got, Mr. Preece. 'Bollocks to... this...'”

A round of snorts went through the room. Fitz shook his head. They all seemed highly amused by their own cleverness. Even Molly was biting her lip to keep from laughing, her cheeks red. Duff looked proud of himself, and patted his fellow Beater on the shoulder.

“It's from the heart, mate,” he said, completely straight-faced.

Lefoque didn't seem to know what to do. She glanced at what Zara had written on Duff's back - Fitz could see the words clearly from his vantage point: Bugger all this for a lark - but she didn't read the message aloud. It was probably time to call a halt to the day's activities, Fitz reflected, before the team started behaving even worse.

“You could read mine,” Sid offered, turning around.

“Allow me,” Fitz said to Lefoque, and Summoned Sid's parchment. He cleared his throat and read it with extreme gravity. “Sid, 'Bloody hare-brained bint.'”

“That's very helpful,” Sid answered with a serious nod. “I think you called Zara that during training once, actually.”

“I think we've all learned a lot about ourselves today,” Fitz went on, ignoring him. “I can see the team-building is happening, so why don't we call it a day? Don't want to overwork ourselves. We can start back fresh tomorrow. Thank you, Ms. Lefoque.”

“To the pub!” Jinks called out, and the team started whistling and cheering as they stood.

Lefoque was left looking rather bewildered as they all shuffled out. Fitz brought up the rear, closing the door on their forlorn retreat guru behind him. The team was all grinning when he turned to them.

“Quick, let's head to town and look for a pub before she tries to get us back,” he said, shooing them toward the front door.

No one knew the terrain well enough to Apparate, so they followed the path leading away from the retreat, up and over the foothills and down to a small cluster of buildings sitting in the middle of the next valley. Smoke curled up from the local pub, tinged green and occasionally forming an amorphous shape resembling a dragon.

“Oh, thank the Lord and all his saints,” said Jinks fervently as they came down the hill into the village. “Beer!”

The pub was small, and filled with a small crowd of what were obviously locals. Everyone looked up and stared as the Prides came in. Nobody looked welcoming, though. Clearly they weren't used to outsiders. The bartender, a burly older man with grey hair and a salt and pepper beard, watched them shuffle into place at the bar, but didn't look too eager to take their order. Fitz sat down next to Molly and Jinks, sliding onto a roughly hewn wooden barstool.

“Round of drinks for this lot, please,” Fitz said, gesturing to the team. Buying the first round was the least he could do after spending an entire day watching them jump through the world's stupidest hoops. “Whatever you've got on tap.”

“It's a local brew, nothing fancy,” the bartender said gruffly.

“So long as there's alcohol in it,” Fitz told him.

He started drawing pints for them. “We don't get a lot of strangers round here. Ye've come from that damned retreat, have ye?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Got away as soon as we could.”

“And we're all in desperate need of booze,” added Jinks. “Can I get a shot of whisky as soon as you're done with the beers? I'm gonna need you to keep them coming, by the way.”

The bartender's beard twitched. Fitz thought that was probably a smile.

“Not enjoying your retreat, are ye?”

Jinks grabbed a pint glass and took a long gulp before answering. “It's completely bloody stupid. This is not what I'm getting paid for.”

“What do you get paid for?” the bartender asked, glancing sidelong at the buzzed sides of Molly's hair and her purple curls.

“This is the Pride of Portree Quidditch team,” Fitz told him. He wasn't surprised that they hadn't been recognized; the line-up was mostly new, and this was a very isolated spot. He doubted the locals got out much to watch Quidditch games.

The bartender looked at them again, more closely. “Right. Don't get your sort in here too often. Usually it's Ministry blokes and business types at that place.”

“She's probably wishing we were those types by now,” Molly said, accepting a pint.

“We weren't terribly cooperative,” Fitz admitted. He hadn't exactly encouraged anyone to be, but he'd just managed to avoid joining in the sabotage of the trust exercises.

Once the team was all settled with a pint of dark, coppery ale in front of them, Fitz turned toward them with his pint in hand and began, “Well, you lot.” Everyone turned rather warily toward him. He nodded slowly and then said, “That was the most ridiculous load of dung I've ever heard.”

The team relaxed, and most of them chuckled as they started on their own drinks.

“Didn't learn a thing today,” Sid called out. “Can we skive off tomorrow?”

“That woman would call McCormack on us if we skipped out altogether,” Fitz told him. “We'll be lucky if she doesn't report back about what we all did today. We have to go. No choice.”

No one seemed surprised by this pronouncement, but they didn't look angry, either. The rest of the team settled into their own conversations then, and Fitz sat down next to Molly.

“Can't believe McCormack paid for this crap,” he said in a murmur, and Molly chuckled.

“Seems to be working though, don't you think? That was the most together I've seen them behave in weeks, even if it was at Lefoque's expense.”

“Don't count your doxies before they hatch,” he warned her. “There's bound to be a blow-up once they're all liquored up.”

She shot a sidelong look at the team. The knots of cliques they had formed into seemed to be loosening; Zara was buying shots of whisky for the Beaters, and Sid was laughing with Jinks about the round of creative swearing they'd done that afternoon.

Molly turned back to look at Fitz, looking far more cheerful than he thought was justified. “I have a good feeling about this week. I think it's going to work.”

Fitz eyed her. “You're a damned optimist.”

“Sometimes.” She patted him on the shoulder and went off to join Jinks and Sid. Fitz knocked back half his beer in a few gulps, watching her.

He must have been staring too hard, because the bartender was watching him.

“Is that yer girl?”

“No.” Fitz set his drink down firmly, but he couldn't meet the bartender's eyes. “No, she's not mine.”

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