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Translate the following into your conlang: “"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. ”

  • Dumbledore: I've found the perfect place to raise Harry until he's old enough for school.
  • McGonagall: With Remus and Sirius?
  • Dumbledore: Nope...
  • McGonagall: Hagrid's?
  • Dumbledore: Not exactly...
  • McGonagall: At Hogwarts with me?
  • Dumbledore: No...
  • McGonagall: I give up. Where?
  • Dumbledore: Well, now I'm not sure I want to tell you.
8

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours’ time by Mrs. Dursley’s scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley…

Happy Birthday, Harry! (July 31)

anonymous asked:

hey would you ever do a "what if harry potter had been a girl" story? or a trans girl? i don't know how much gender would change things except other people's perceptions but...

Hermione went to the library, when Harry first confided in her. Whatever the faculty, the administration, or the Ministry believed or didn’t believe, the Hogwarts library gave the children what they needed and always would.

Hermione came back with books and books on gender in wizarding history, on the spells and words wizards had used for centuries or decades or mere years, and she and Harry bent their heads together and figured out what words Harry felt best told her story. From her hometown library, after that first summer, Hermione brought back memoirs and brightly-colored pamphlets that Harry read through instead of finishing her Potions homework.

When Harry looked in the Mirror of Erised, she still saw her mother, her father, all her gathered, lost kin. The specter of her father gathered up her hands in his. Her mother pushed back the long dark hair Petunia had always made her cut short and she called her beautiful.

When she looked into it again, after Devil’s Snare and winged keys, giant chess and Ron lying prone on the floor, Hermione wringing her eleven year old hands in the potion riddle room– When Harry looked into the Mirror again, she saw herself, just herself. The girl in the mirror winked and smiled and slipped the Stone in Harry’s pocket. No matter what other wishes and want laid on her narrow shoulders, at the end of the day the thing Harry wanted most was to help. Harry brushed one hand over the lump of rock in her robe pocket, and then brushed her other over her mess of hair, which was feet shorter than the girl in the mirror’s.

She woke up in the hospital wing, bedside table piled high with candy.

Once Harry and Hermione had sussed out between them what the words were for what was going on here, they had explained it to Ron. Harry didn’t come out to anyone else until partway through second year, though, at the height of the Heir of Slytherin nonsense.

She was fed up, then. She just wanted to be left alone, and this wouldn’t help with that, but they were all already staring. Keeping this to herself felt like a vice around her chest. Hogwarts was supposed to be better.

After, Ron came almost to blows with anyone who goggled or sniffed or rolled their eyes. Seamas learned to swallow his tongue. Draco Malfoy didn’t. Hermione wrote up an explanatory note about appropriate pronouns in her best penmanship and then copied it with flicks of her wand. With Harry’s embarrassed permission, she gave it to every professor Harry had or would ever have.

Colin Creevey stopped her in the Great Hall with a tug on her sleeve. She turned, shoulders rising, and the kid said in his piping voice, “You’re still my hero.”

That was better than it could have been, but she wasn’t sure she liked the “still.”

Peeves, though he was nasty about everything else–ickle firsties and orphan girls–got it immediately. For all six years of her Hogwarts tenure, he dropped water balloons on the heads of anyone who misgendered her. Professor Binns never quite figured it out, but he didn’t know any student’s name. Nearly Headless Nick gallantly and somewhat awkwardly called her lady and tried to hold open doors for her, despite the fact that he couldn’t open them.

Snape called Harry “Mr. Potter” for all seven years that he was in Harry’s life. Around year three, Ron stopped counting the detentions he got for his increasingly sarcastic responses to this.

The whispers about the Heir of Slytherin grew louder and louder, keeping pace with “Uh, I thought it was the Boy Who Lived?” Fred and George Weasley took it upon themselves to walk Harry to and from class when they could, talking loudly enough to drown everything out.

Then Hermione got Petrified and the Heir whispers stopped abruptly. Harry, if she hadn’t been busy with Ron trading off reading their assigned textbooks aloud to Hermione in the infirmary, might have felt gratified that the whole school knew how much this bushy-haired kid meant to her. Alright, so they thought she might murder Muggleborns with a mysterious monster, or sic a snake on her opponent in a dueling club? But they knew she wouldn’t hurt Hermione for anything.

In the Chamber, she met Tom Riddle. He was supposed to be her mirror, though she didn’t quite know that yet. He was supposed to be her shadow, the chain around her ankle, the other half (or another eighth) of her story and his soul.

Ginny had been trying to speak for months– to tell someone, to open the diary and the bag under her bed full of chicken-blood-stained robes and to thrust them into the light. But Percy had shushed her, all his assumptions orbiting his own importance to her story. The teachers had patted her on the head. She had been frightened, eleven years old with Tom whispering in her ear, guiding her hands.

Harry had been trying to speak for years– to explain to someone the way she did not feel like Dudley, like Vernon, like the boys in the locker room at school. Hermione had listened. Hermione had given her books and books of people who felt like her. Ron had listened, and taught her wizard’s chess, and kicked Draco in the shins.

But here Harry was, standing alone– a red-haired lump at her feet, dark robes sodden with moldy water. Hermione was frozen. Ron was trapped behind a rock fall and Tom was pacing, gloating, glowing. Ginny was breathing. Ginny had to be breathing. Harry was going to save her. She had to, because no one had listened to the kid, not even Harry.

The phoenix tears left no scars on Harry’s arm. Riddle, the Chamber, the life going out of her, everything that had happened in that long year– none of it left scars on Ginny, or at least none that anyone could see.

When Harry got back to 4 Privet Drive that summer, she suffered through Aunt Petunia’s annual hair cut and then she curled up with Hedwig and wrote a letter. She wrote about the Muggle candies she missed when at Hogwarts, and how her cousin thought she was weird for being excited about summer homework. She asked Ginny how she was.

Ginny wrote back after a long week. She didn’t answer the question, but she wrote about helping Dad on the car, about the apple harvest coming, and Fred and George playing pranks on the ghoul in the attic.

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Memories that conjure patronuses:

Ron:

  • Seeing Hermione wake up after being petrified 
  • Harry telling him that the Burrow was the best house he’d ever been in
  • Harry saying that Dumbledore knew he’d want to come back
  • Ron tearfully telling the twins what he thinks Harry is going through at Privet Drive and instead of making fun of him, Fred wipes his tears while George says “we’ll just have to go get him then, won’t we?”

Hermione: 

  • Being rescued by Harry and Ron from the giant troll
  • Getting accepted to Hogwarts
  • Adopting Crookshanks
  • Ron squeezing her hand when they see Harry is alive

Ginny:

  • Realizing Harry wasn’t killed by Voldemort
  • Luna befriending her in their second year while others have avoided her because of Riddle’s influence last year
  • Winning the big quidditch game and getting kissed by Harry for the first time, all in the same day no less
  • Seeing Ron be impressed by her as she practices curses

Luna:

  • Dancing around with her mother as a little kid while her father smiled and worked
  • The first time Harry complimented her spellwork in a DA meeting
  • Going to a Wizard Rock concert with Ginny one summer night, her first summer adventure with a friend
  • Ginny asking her and Neville to reform the DA while Harry, Ron, and Hermione look for horcruxes

Neville:

  • Luna sleepily kissing him on the cheek while he organizes stuff for the DA and Ginny plans
  • Dumbledore awarding him points for standing up to Harry, Ron, and Hermione
  • His grandmother being proud of him for being accepted to Hogwarts
  • The moment he stands up to Voldemort and realizes he isn’t as scared as he used to be
Common Toxic Herbs and their Effects

This is not a complete list by any means, but these commonly noted plants, herbs, and flowers should be handled with care or avoided altogether. 

Aconite (Wolfsbane, Monkshood) - all parts: dermatoxic, hepatotoxic, and neurotoxic

Adam and Eve (Jack-in-the-Pulpit, Wild Arum) - root: dermatoxic and gastrotoxic if ingested

African Sumac - leaves: dermatoxic; possibly fatal

Agave - juice: dermatoxic  

Angel’s Trumpet - all parts: cardiotoxic; often fatal

Apple - seeds: cytotoxic in large doses

Apricot - leaves and seeds: cytotoxic in large doses

Arnica - gastrotoxic 

Asparagus - berries: dermatoxic and gastrotoxic if ingested

Azalea - all parts: cytotoxic and neurotoxic; rarely fatal

Betel Nut Palm (Pinyang) - all parts: gastrotoxic if ingested

Bittersweet Nightshade - all parts: neurotoxic and gastrotoxic; rarely fatal

Black Hellebore - all parts: cardiotoxic and gastrotoxic; possibly fatal

Black Locust (False Acacia) - root bark and flowers: gastrotoxic

Black Nightshade - all parts except ripe fruit: neurotoxic and gastrotoxic; possibly fatal

Bleeding Heart - leaves and roots: neurotoxic

Bloodroot - rhizomes: cytotoxic

Blue Passion Flower (Common Passion Flower) - leaves: cytotoxic

Bracken - all parts: carcinogenic

Buttercup - all parts: gastrotoxic and dermatoxic 

Calabar Bean (Ordeal Beans) - seeds: neurotoxic and gastrotoxic if ingested in large doses

Cassava - leaves and roots: cytotoxic in large doses

Castor Bean (Castor Oil Plant) - seeds: cytotoxic if ingested or inhaled

Celandine - nephrotoxic 

Cherry - leaves and seeds: cytotoxic in large doses

Christmas Rose - all parts: gastrotoxic

Cocklebur - seedlings and seeds: gastrotoxic and neurotoxic

Columbine - seeds and roots: cardiotoxic; easily fatal

Corn Lily (False Hellebore) - all parts: cardiotoxic; often fatal

Cowbane (Water Hemlock, Snakeweed) - root: neurotoxic if ingested

Daffodil - bulbs and stems: gastrotoxic; possibly fatal

Datura/Moonflower - all parts: gastrotoxic and cardiotoxic

Deadly Nightshade (Belladonna) - all parts: cardiotoxic and neurotoxic; often fatal

Desert Rose (Sabi Star, Kudu) - sap: cardiotoxic with skin contact

Dumbcane - all parts: dermatoxic; possibly fatal

Elder (Elderberry) - root: gastrotoxic

Elephant Ear (Angel Wings) - all parts: dermatoxic and gastrotoxic

Ergot - neurotoxic 

Foxglove - leaves, seeds, and flowers: cardiotoxic; often fatal

Garlic - all parts: gastrotoxic in some animals

Giant Hogweed - all parts: dermatoxic

Golden Chain - all parts, especially seeds: neurotoxic and gastrotoxic; possibly fatal

Goldenseal - all parts: gastrotoxic and neurotoxic in large doses

Grapes/Raisins - all parts: gastrotoxic in dogs

Greater Celandine - all parts: gastrotoxic in large doses

Hemlock (Spotted Cowbane, Poison Snakeweed) - all parts: neurotoxic; possibly fatal

Hemlock Water Dropwort - roots: neurotoxic if ingested; possibly fatal

Henbane - all parts: neurotoxic and cardiotoxic

Holly - berries: gastrotoxic

Honeybush - all parts: gastrotoxic

Honeysuckle - berries: gastrotoxic in mild cases and cardiotoxic in severe cases

Horse Chestnut - all parts: neurotoxic

Hyacinth - bulbs: gastrotoxic and neurotoxic; possibly fatal

Iris - rhizomes: gastrotoxic and dermatoxic 

Jequirity (Crab’s Eye, Rosary Pea) - seeds: neurotoxic and gastrotoxic; often fatal

Kava Kava - nephrotoxic, hepatotoxic 

Kidney Bean - raw: gastrotoxic

Larkspur - young plants and seeds: neurotoxic; often fatal

Lemon - oil: dermatoxic and gastrotoxic to animals  

Lily - all parts: nephrotoxic

Lily of the Nile (Calla Lily) - all parts: dermatoxic and gastrotoxic if ingested; possibly fatal

Lily of the Valley - all parts: cardiotoxic; possibly fatal

Lima Beans - raw: gastrotoxic

Lime - oil: dermatoxic and gastrotoxic in animals

Lobelia - all parts: gastrotoxic 

Mandrake - roots and leaves: gastrotoxic and neurotoxic

Mango - peel and sap: dermatoxic

Mangrove - bark and sap: dermatoxic and eye irritation

Mayapple - all green parts and unripe fruit: gastrotoxic

Meadow Saffron (Autumn Crocus) - bulbs: gastrotoxic; possibly fatal

Mistletoe - leaves and berries: gastrotoxic, cardiotoxic, and neurotoxic; rarely lethal in adults

Moonseed - fruits and seeds: gastrotoxic; often fatal

Mountain Laurel - all green parts: gastrotoxic

Nutmeg - raw: psychoactive in large doses

Oak - leaves and acorns: gastrotoxic; rarely fatal

Odollam Tree (Suicide Tree) - seeds: cardiotoxic; often fatal

Oleander - all parts: dermatoxic, cardiotoxic, and gastrotoxic; possibly fatal

Onions - all parts: gastrotoxic in animals

Orange - oil: dermatoxic and gastrotoxic in animals

Peach - seeds and leaves: cytotoxic in large doses

Pokeweed - raw leaves, berries, and roots: gastrotoxic and dermatoxic; often fatal

Poison Ivy/Oak/Sumac - all parts, especially leaves: dermatoxic; possibly fatal

Poison Ryegrass (Darnel) - seeds: neurotoxic

Potato - raw: cytotoxic

Privet - berries and leaves: neurotoxic and gastrotoxic; possibly fatal

Ragwort - all parts: hepatotoxic

Redoul - all parts: gastrotoxic, neurotoxic, and causes respiratory issues; can be fatal in children

Rhubarb - leaves: nephrotoxic

Skullcap - hepatotoxic

Spindle (Spindle Tree) - fruit: hepatotoxic and nephrotoxic; possibly fatal  

Stinging Tree (Gympie Gympie) - bark and sap: dermatoxic; sometimes fatal

Strychnine Tree - seeds: neurotoxic; often fatal

Sweet Pea - seeds: neurotoxic and damaging to connective tissues

Tomato - leaves and stems: cytotoxic in large doses

Uva Ursi - neurotoxic, dermatoxic 

White Baneberry (Doll’s Eyes) - all parts, especially berries: cardiotoxic; possibly fatal

White Snakeroot - all parts: gastrotoxic; often fatal

Winter Cherry (Jerusalem Cherry) - all parts, especially berries: gastrotoxic; occasionally fatal, especially to children

Wisteria - gastrotoxic

Yew (English Yew, Common Yew) - leaves and seeds: gastrotoxic if ingested and respiratory issues if inhaled


definitions of terms used in this list: 

  • carcinogenic - a substance that can cause cancer
  • cardiotoxic - toxic to the heart 
  • cytotoxic - toxic to living cells
  • dermatoxic - toxic to the skin
  • gastrotoxic - toxic to the gastrointestinal system (stomach, intestines, etc.)
  • hepatotoxic - toxic to the liver
  • nephrotoxic - toxic to the kidneys and urological system (ureters, bladder)
  • neurotoxic - toxic to the neurological system (brain, nerves, brainstem, spinal cord, etc.)
  • psychoactive - pertaining to substances that change brain function and result in alterations in perception, mood, or consciousness

last updated: 6-29-2016

Me as a mother
  • Child: mum can you read me a bedtime story
  • Me: of course sweetie *leaves room to get a book*
  • Me: *walks back into the room holding all 7 of the Harry Potter books, the original screenplay of the cursed child and fbawtft, the tales of beedle the bard, Quidditch throught the ages, fantastic beasts and where to find them, all of the dvds for Harry Potter, fantastic beasts and the movie about jk Rowling while wearing all my Harry Potter shirts layered on top of each other, my house scarf, Harry Potter socks and holding a tankard of butter beer and my wand with a time tuner dangling around my neck*
  • Me: mr and Mrs Dursley of number 4 privet dri-
  • Child: you haven't even opened the book
  • Me: I've memorised the first book
Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much
—  Words that changed our lives 20 years ago

Here’s to the places. To the school with moving staircases and the secret passageways. To the forest where no one dared to step, to creatures that lurked among its trees. Here’s to the bank with vaults of gold and the alley of shops that houses it. Here’s to No. 4 Privet Drive, to the Three Broomsticks, to the Ministry of Magic. To 12 Grimmauld Place and the Burrow. Here’s to the house where two parents died and the Dark Lord disappeared, the house where a story was born.

Here’s to the houses. To the lion’s roar and the eagle’s cry. To badgers and serpents. Here’s to gold and red, to yellow and black. Here’s to blue and bronze, to green and silver. Here’s to the Quidditch games and rivalries. The hourglasses and the founders. Here’s to Gryffindor and Slytherin. Here’s to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

Here’s to the items. To the letters carried by owls and the necklace that turned back time. To miniature dragons and golden balls with wings, to a hat that can sing. Here’s to the photographs that move and the potion that makes you lucky. To self-correcting quills and screaming plants. To golden coins and self-scrubbing dishes. Here’s to Butterbeer and the Daily Prophet. To Bertie Bott’s and Firebolts.

Here’s to the people. To the boys who died too young: the wolf, the stag, the rat, the dog. To the woman with hair that changed colors. Here’s to the twins, the herbology teacher, and the house elf with a love for socks. Here’s to the professor who could turn into a cat. Here’s to the potion’s teacher who was corrupted by love and the ghost who lived in the bathroom. Here’s to the boy who lost his toad, to the girl with six brothers, and the Ravenclaw girl who loved her friends. Here’s to Voldemort. To Draco and Dumbledore. Here’s to Cedric, and Cho, and Fleur. To Hermione and Ron. Here’s to the Boy Who Lived.

Here’s to the story. To the stone and the chamber. The prisoner and the goblet. Here’s to the order, the prince, and the Hallows. Here’s to “Always.” To “All was well.” Here’s to the lightning scar. To Harry Potter.

Here’s to 20 years.

anonymous asked:

What if Harry Potter, the chosen one, had turned out to be a squib, how do you think history would have turned out differently?

It was Mrs. Figg who suspected first.

She noticed many things, sitting on her side of her fence with her cats chasing butterflies and nuzzling her ankles, Mundungus and the other watchers dropping by for tea now and then.

Mrs. Figg noticed that Petunia was a nosy bit of work with insecurities hanging from her every harsh angle. She noticed when Dudley learned the word MINE– the whole neighborhood noticed that one. She noticed that Vernon glared at owls.

She noticed that when Petunia gave Harry a truly horrendous haircut one year, it grew back in at a normal rate. Harry was uneven and weird-looking for ages, hiding under beanies when he could.

When Mrs. Figg had Harry over for carefully miserable afternoons of babysitting, she noticed nothing moved that shouldn’t. He didn’t accidentally make flowers out of fallen leaves, or levitate anything during tantrums, or turn toys funny colors.

Mrs. Figg called up her mother, interrupting the wizarding bridge game she was winning against the nursing home staff, and asked her how she had known, decades back, that her youngest daughter was a squib.

When Albus Dumbledore received Mrs. Figg’s letter he wrote back a polite thank you and then went to talk with Minerva McGonagall, who inhaled sharply in horror when he told her the news.

Finally, McGonagall gave a gathered sigh. “I suppose we can ask one of the wizarding families to homeschool him,” she said. “We can’t have the Boy Who Lived not knowing about his own world.”  

“No, he’ll come to Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore.

“Hogwarts is not a place for–” Her voice fell. “–squibs, Albus.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Harry must be taught.”

“Be taught what, Albus?”

But Dumbledore just sighed and offered her a lemon drop.

Years later, the owls and the letters came to 4 Privet Drive. The Dursleys ran, dragging Harry with them, and the letters and one stubborn gamekeeper followed– none of this would change with a magicless Harry.

When Hagrid asked Harry in that little cabin on that little rock in the middle of the sea if weird things always happened around him, Harry couldn’t tell him about vanishing glass and setting captive snakes free, about ending up somehow on the school roof, or growing his hair out overnight.  

“Strange things always happen around you, don’ they?”

“Um,” said Harry, racking his brain. “Well… I live in a cupboard under the stairs…”

Harry could tell him about how snakes sometimes talked back, because that had never been Harry’s magic, but when he did Hagrid just blanched and changed the subject.

Hagrid held out hope, even against Dumbledore’s quiet warning explanations, until they made it to Ollivander’s Wands. Harry marveled at Diagon Alley, got his hands shaken in the Leaky, pressed his nose up against shop windows. Hagrid watched the scant boy– looked at James’s messy hair, Lily’s eyes, Harry’s own wandering gaze– and he wondered how this boy could be anything but magical.

In the wand shop, Ollivander said, “James Potter, yes… mahogany, eleven inches. Pliable. A powerful wand for Transfiguration.” He said, “And your mother, Lily…  strong in Charms work, ten and… yes, ten and a quarter, willow, swishy.”

Harry picked up stick after wooden stick. They remained just that– wood with bits of feather or scale or hair. Harry wondered if the creatures who gave these offerings were still alive– if they were given or taken. What did it do to your wand when they died? He waved a maplewood wand (unicorn hair, eleven inches) and a gust from the door opening blew some receipts off the counter.

“Well, said Ollivander. “I think that’s as close as we’re likely to get.”

He sent them out with the maplewood. Hagrid bought Harry a snowy owl and a fudge sundae and tried not make it too obvious that these were condolence gifts. The next day the Prophet’s headlines read: The Boy Who Lived– A Squib? Various magical medical experts weighed in on how it might have happened. Fingers were pointed at childhood trauma, at his upbringing, at his family lineage.

Harry still met Ron on the train– Ron was still smudge-nosed and Harry still bought enough candy to share. When Molly had helped him through the platform entrance, her voice had been a little softer, a little more pitying– but it was still better than the laughter that had been in his aunt and uncle’s voices when they dropped him here to find a platform they didn’t think existed.

Hermione Granger dropped by their compartment, looking for Neville’s toad, but got distracted when she spotted Harry. “I’ve read about you! In my books, and in the paper,” she said. “You’re the Boy Who Lived, and you’re a squib.”

Harry sank down in his seat. Ron hid Scabbers under a candy wrapper.

“Squibs have never been allowed in Hogwarts,” Hermione announced. “According to Hogwarts, A History, squibs try to sneak in now and then– the furthest anyone’s ever gotten is to the Sorting Hat before they got found out.” At eleven, Hermione still believed in expulsion being worse than death. Her voice was thrumming with sympathetic horror.

“But they already found out about me,” Harry said, alarmed.

“It’s alright, mate,” said Ron. “You’re Harry Potter. Oy, Granger,” he added. “What’s this Hat? Fred and George were trying to sell me some story about having to fight a mountain troll to get your House…”

Harry sat back and watched the countryside rush by. Yes, he was Harry Potter– his aunt’s useless sister’s useless child, the boy in the lumpy hand-me-down sweaters who named the spiders who lived in his cupboard. And here, in new world, he was apparently useless too.

When they got to Hogwarts, Harry clenched his fists and stood in line with the other first years. He barely twitched at the ghosts or Peeves, just stared ahead and thought about how far he would get before they turned him around and sent him back to Vernon and Petunia.

They opened the Great Hall doors. They called the first years one by one. Harry clenched his teeth and walked up to the Hat when they called his name.

As he turned to sit down on the stool, he really caught sight of the Hall for the first time– the hovering candles, the big wooden tables, the black robes that swallowed the light. Translucent ghosts gossiped with the students beside them. The paintings on the far walls– were they moving?

Harry’s jaw had unclenched, falling open. His fists curled open, curving around the stool’s seat as he leaned forward to stare. If this was it, if this was as far as he’d get in this world, then he wanted to drink it all in. The candles were floating, in mid-air.

The Hat dropped down over his eyes and blocked out the light.

Well, said the dry voice that had been hollering House placements all night. What do we have here?

Ron had been begging for not-Slytherin. Draco from the robes shop had been scornful of Hufflepuff, desperate in his disdain. Neville had begged for Hufflepuff, sure he was not brave enough for Gryffindor.

Please, thought Harry. Don’t send me back.

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