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AI Generated Story Plotting, Prompts, and Giveaways

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This thread is similar to our Brainstorming, Plot Ideas, and Story Help and Fanfiction Giveaway Ideas threads, though it's specifically for AI generated content. If you're using AI to generate story ideas and the like, feel free to share in this thread!

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The Gestalt PrinceKrystalNaagaWinter's ShadeDark AngelSalvyus

I felt it would be better to shift my previous ideas from the original Brainstorming thread to this thread. I felt it was necessary because while this is an idea I cannot write for myself, I want a limited involvement with the writer who picks it up so that they can do justice to the entire plot. I am also generating my ideas with specific directions to the AI so it fits this thread far better than the previous one.

Again apologies for the inconvenience caused.

These ideas are open for use by any writer, provided that I communicate with the writer so that the fic written does justice to both my ideas and the writer's creativity. I'm leaving the creative stuff to the writer and won't interfere with their direction to the story, I'd only communicate an outline and character specific details to them and more if they're willing to work with me.

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The Gestalt PrinceKrystalWinter's ShadeDark AngelSalvyus

So this idea suddenly came to my mind. The protagonist would be Snape's OC son who was a result of drunken one night stand. This son comes to know about his father's death and rather than honoring his sacrifice, decides to destroy Hogwarts for sacrifing Snape. So kinda Dark OC Snape son.

The following is a scene I generated from ChatGPT.

In the dimly lit chamber, the flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows upon the timeworn edges of the parchment beneath my fingers. The weight of my father's final words bore down on my heart, etched onto the paper like a painful reminder of his sacrifice.

"He was sacrificed," I muttered through gritted teeth, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and grief. "For their damned ideals."

The memories of my formative years surfaced, a tapestry of moments that had shaped my resolve. Severus Snape, a name that carried both admiration and sorrow, had been my father. A brilliant wizard, he had walked the fine line between light and darkness, his loyalty and sacrifices often hidden beneath a cloak of secrecy.

I grew up with whispers and hushed conversations, my peers shunning me due to my lineage. The Slytherin House, my supposed family, felt more like a prison than a home. I found solace in the company of Leona Shadowthorn, a kindred spirit whose heart bore scars similar to my own. Together, we weathered the storms of judgment and resentment, forging an unbreakable bond.

Rook Blackwood, an enigmatic figure with a penchant for intrigue, became an unexpected ally. His wit and resourcefulness complemented our strengths, and together, we navigated the treacherous waters of Hogwarts. Viktor Nightshade, with his brooding aura and mysterious demeanor, completed our quartet. His presence resonated with the echoes of my father's enigma, drawing us closer together.

The night I uncovered the truth about my father's sacrifices was etched into my memory. The hidden letters, the clandestine conversations – they all pointed to a web of lies and betrayal. "Dumbledore, Potter, McGonagall, Death Eaters, Order of the Phoenix... they will all pay," I declared, my voice carrying a venomous determination. "For the suffering they caused, for the sacrifices they ignored."

Leona's emergence from the shadows interrupted my thoughts, her voice laced with fierce determination. "We won't let them get away with it, Draven. They'll pay."

Our eyes met, and in that moment, a silent agreement passed between us. The pain of my father's loss united us in a common purpose, a desire to seek justice for the injustice that had shattered our lives.

Rook's enigmatic figure materialized, his voice low and calculating. "Our strategy must be flawless. We must tread carefully."

Viktor's brooding presence completed our quartet, his words a promise of retribution. "Hogwarts will crumble, just as they brought down Severus."

As the Obsidian Covenant convened, a palpable tension hung in the air, a potent mix of determination and simmering anger. "Our magic must be formidable," I declared, my grip on my wand tightening. "Strong enough to bring their fortress to its knees."

Leona's sinister smile revealed a glint of excitement in her eyes. "I've journeyed into forbidden realms, Draven. Our power will rival the most ancient and forbidden spells."

Rook's gaze held a keen intensity. "And our tactics will be impeccable. Hogwarts won't see us coming."

Viktor's chilling resolve echoed through the chamber. "They will suffer for their sins. Just as they condemned Slytherins to their fate."

In the days that followed, we honed our skills, forging our alliance with a single purpose. The night of reckoning arrived, and I found myself standing before the imposing façade of Hogwarts. The castle that had once been a place of wonder and learning now loomed as a bastion of betrayal.

"Let their fortress crumble," I hissed, my fingers curling around my wand.

Curses erupted, magic crackling through the air. The castle quaked under the force of our power, mirroring the destruction that had befallen my father. The weight of grief and anger fueled my every incantation, driving me forward with a relentless purpose.

Amidst the chaos, I strode towards the portraits of Dumbledore and McGonagall. Their eyes bore witness to my fury, their expressions frozen in a state of resignation and regret.

"Draven Snape," the portrait of Dumbledore sighed, his voice tinged with weary wisdom.

"You allowed his sacrifice," I spat, my voice thick with bitterness. "Just as you stood by while they condemned him."

The figure of McGonagall's gaze held sorrow, her voice a whisper of remorse. "Severus made choices, as you do now. Do not let vengeance consume your soul."

My grip on my wand tightened, my resolve solidifying. "Hogwarts will fall, just as he did. I won't let his memory fade into obscurity."

The clash of spells echoed through the air, a symphony of magic and emotion. My heart raced, memories of my father and a burning determination fueling every incantation. In that moment, as the echoes of our actions lingered in the air, I knew that my path was set. Vengeance would be my legacy, a testament to the unyielding pursuit of justice for the sacrifices that had been made.

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The Gestalt PrinceKrystalWinter's ShadeDark AngelSam

Another scene for this fic, Draven dueling Harry, this turned out well, thanks AI.

The air crackled with tension as Draven Snape and Harry Potter faced each other on the desolate grounds of Hogwarts. The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the scene, a backdrop for the clash of two destinies entwined by tragedy.

"Potter," Draven sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Always the hero, aren't you? Letting others sacrifice themselves for your sake."

Harry's emerald eyes blazed with a mix of determination and regret. "It's not like that, Draven. You don't understand."

Draven's lip curled into a cynical smile. "Oh, I understand perfectly. You're the golden boy, the one everyone looks up to. But it seems your shine is nothing but a reflection of their blood."

The wind rustled through the trees, carrying the weight of Draven's accusation. His father's sacrifice loomed large in his mind, a wound that had festered over the years. He raised his wand, the blackthorn wood gleaming in the moonlight, and Harry mirrored the gesture.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, his voice resolute.

Draven deflected the spell with a flick of his wand, the air crackling as the magic collided. "You think you're brave, don't you? But bravery cost my father his life."

Harry's face contorted with a mix of frustration and sorrow. "Your father made choices, just like everyone else."

Draven's grip on his wand tightened, his knuckles turning white. "Choices, yes. Choices that led to his death. And you, Potter, you were at the center of it all."

The intensity of their confrontation hung in the air, a storm of emotions that threatened to consume them both. Spells flew back and forth, each clash of magic punctuating their heated exchange.

"You're blaming me for something that happened in a war," Harry shot back, his voice tinged with desperation.

Draven's laughter was bitter and cold. "A war that you were always at the heart of, yet you managed to escape unscathed. Tell me, Potter, how many lives were lost so you could live?"

Their spells collided once more, the impact sending shockwaves through the air. Draven's thoughts raced, memories of his father's sacrifice fueling his determination. He had waited years for this moment, for a chance to confront the symbol of his pain.

"You're a coward, Potter," Draven spat, his voice laced with venom. "A coward who let others pay the price for his glory."

Harry's face contorted with a mix of anger and anguish. "I never wanted any of this. I never asked for people to die for me."

Draven's eyes narrowed, his focus sharpening. "But they did die, didn't they? And my father was one of them. All because of you."

The duel reached a crescendo, their magic colliding in a symphony of light and fury. Draven's heart raced, his emotions a whirlwind of grief and rage. In that moment, as their wands clashed and sparks flew, he felt a twisted sense of satisfaction. The confrontation he had yearned for was finally happening, and he was determined to make Harry Potter understand the weight of his actions – the cost of his existence.

Their battle raged on, a dance of magic that mirrored the tumultuous emotions within them. Draven's mind was consumed by a singular purpose: to make Harry Potter acknowledge his role in the tragedy that had shaped his life.

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The Gestalt PrinceKrystalWinter's ShadeDark AngelSam

Draven is actually manipulated by main villain of the story who turned him to the vengeance with some lies.

The following scene starts redemption arc for Draven.

In the chamber's dim light, Draven Snape stood before the haunting portrait of Severus Snape, his father. The air seemed to carry a weight of solemnity, a reflection of the internal struggle that raged within him. The portrait's eyes, rendered with uncanny realism, held a mixture of wisdom and sorrow, beckoning Draven to share the depths of his heart.

"Father," Draven's voice quivered with a blend of reverence and resentment. "For so long, my purpose has been defined by vengeance. A relentless pursuit to avenge your sacrifice, to make those who wronged you pay."

The portrait's lips seemed to twitch, a fleeting semblance of his father's wry smile. The silence stretched, urging Draven to unveil the complexity of his emotions.

"But standing here now, before your image, I question the righteousness of my path," Draven confessed, his voice a blend of uncertainty and revelation. "Is vengeance truly the legacy you would want me to embrace?"

The portrait's gaze, intense and unyielding, bore into Draven's very soul, as if searching for the truth buried beneath his turmoil.

"Vengeance, my son, is a path riddled with pitfalls," the portrait finally responded, its voice carrying an ethereal echo of Severus Snape's cadence. "It is a torrent that can drown the noblest of intentions, leaving only emptiness and regret."

Draven's fists clenched at his sides, his inner struggle writ large upon his features. "But they must pay, Father. Those who betrayed you, who allowed your sacrifice to be in vain."

Severus Snape's portrait seemed to meet his gaze with a mixture of understanding and admonition. "Sometimes, the true villains lurk in the shadows, manipulating events from behind the scenes. They wear masks of righteousness while sewing discord and chaos."

Draven's brow furrowed, his mind racing to unravel the cryptic words. "And who is this true villain, Father? Who orchestrates this web of deception?"

The portrait's eyes, deep pools of insight, seemed to pierce into his very essence. "The identity of the puppet master is not for me to reveal, Draven. But I urge you to look deeper, to question the motives that drive those in power. Seek the truth, and you may find your path taking a different course."

Draven's resolve wavered, torn between the searing desire for vengeance and the newfound doubt that crept into his consciousness. He took a step closer to the portrait, his voice barely more than a whisper. "What should I do, Father?"

Severus Snape's portrait softened, a complex blend of paternal pride and compassion emanating from the canvas. "Choose a path aligned with your true values, Draven. Do not let the tendrils of hatred cloud your judgment. Pursue justice, but let it be tempered with mercy and understanding."

Tears welled in Draven's eyes, a testament to the storm of emotions that churned within him. "I don't know if I can let go of my anger, Father. But I will heed your counsel. I will seek the truth before I take further action."

The portrait's smile, a nuanced expression of their shared connection, seemed to imbue the chamber with a gentle warmth. "You possess a strength beyond measure, my son. Remember that your choices carve the legacy you leave behind."

As Draven turned away from the portrait, his heart heavy yet resolute, he felt a renewed sense of purpose surging through his veins. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges, but he was determined to unearth the truth and make a choice that would honor his father's memory in a way that transcended the confines of vengeance.

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The Gestalt PrinceKrystalWinter's ShadeDark AngelSam

Another scene for Draven's past, with reveal of his mysterious mother.

Draven Snape's heart blazed with an unrelenting desire for vengeance, his mother's tragic fate a driving force behind his determination. Charity Burbage, a muggleborn Hufflepuff who had woven herself into Severus Snape's life, cast a shadow of both longing and purpose over his relentless pursuit of retribution. Draven had carried his mother's name, Draven Burbage, during his time at Hogwarts, concealing his true lineage to protect both himself and his father.

In a vivid flashback, Draven found himself transported back to his fourth year at Hogwarts. The castle's hallways seemed to echo with whispered secrets, his thoughts consumed by a blend of bitterness and unwavering resolve. Charity Burbage, his mother, stood before him, her eyes reflecting the love that had always been a guiding light.

"Draven," Charity's voice held a mixture of fondness and yearning. "You have your father's eyes, a reflection of the man who cherishes you."

Draven's gaze met hers, a guarded yet curious expression in his eyes. "Tell me about him, Mum. Tell me about his and your story."

Charity's smile was bittersweet, a tapestry of memories woven together. "We were students at Hogwarts from different worlds, brought together by circumstances that defied the norms. Your father, Severus, carried a depth of complexity, wrestling with his own demons. But there were moments of tenderness that only a select few were privy to witness."

As they conversed, Draven's heart swelled with a mix of emotions – the truths that painted an intricate picture of his parents' relationship. The unrequited love, the paths that had diverged – it was a narrative that seemed to shape his very identity.

"Did he ever know about me?" Draven's question held a tinge of curiosity, a desire to understand the untold chapters of his life.

Charity's gaze softened, her voice infused with both warmth and sorrow. "He cared for you, Draven. He was a part of raising you, even though our circumstances dictated otherwise. Our love for you united us, even as life pulled us apart."

The memory played out, a tableau of a family entwined in secrets and the unspoken. Draven's longing grew, his connection to his parents a puzzle whose pieces he yearned to fit together.

"You have his strength, Draven," Charity's words carried a weight of truth. "But remember, vengeance is a path fraught with peril. Your father's choices were shaped by the complexities of his life."

As the flashback began to fade, the reality of Draven's unwavering pursuit of revenge reasserted itself. His mother's unrequited love, her tragic end, had ignited the flames within him to make those responsible pay. The truth of his lineage, the bond he shared with Severus Snape, was both a wellspring of strength and a source of isolation.

Draven's thoughts turned to the knowledge that his mother had fallen victim to Voldemort's malevolence. The revelation had fanned the flames of his vendetta against the Death Eaters who had embraced darkness. And in that moment, amidst the echoes of his past, Draven's commitment to avenge his mother's death remained unshaken. He knew his true lineage had been concealed to protect him, and he carried the certainty that his father loved him deeply, even if their paths had diverged.

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The Gestalt PrinceKrystalWinter's ShadeDark AngelSam

Charity has suffered her canon death, truly orphaning Draven and it adds one more grievance to his quest of vengeance.

The following is supposed to the true villain of the fic.

The true villain mentioned by the portrait of Severus Snape to Draven is none other than Barty Crouch Jr., a malevolent figure who has woven a complex tapestry of deception and manipulation. Barty had been driven to extreme measures, even creating a Horcrux to preserve his existence beyond death. Hidden by Voldemort, he had surreptitiously completed dark tasks and had been resurrected in secret, unbeknownst to the world.

Polyjuiced as Kingsley Shacklebolt, Barty had risen to the position of Minister of Magic, his influence extending to the highest echelons of power. His subtle yet calculated maneuvers were designed to manipulate the very fabric of society. And in the shadows, his agent Viktor Nightshade was a master of manipulation, skillfully mixing lies with partial truths to bend Draven to his sinister will.

Barty's ultimate goal, shrouded in darkness, was to avenge the fallen Dark Lord Voldemort. He sought to either resurrect Voldemort himself or carry out the dark tasks Voldemort had left incomplete. With his eerie charisma and ruthless determination, Barty had begun gathering a new cohort of Death Eaters, adopting the mantle of "Lord Voldemort." He obscured his true identity behind a mask reminiscent of Voldemort's visage, a chilling image that struck fear into the hearts of those who dared to oppose him.

Barty Crouch Jr. possessed power that rivaled even that of Voldemort, his mastery of the dark arts unparalleled. As he maneuvered through the shadows, he orchestrated a grand scheme to annihilate his enemies. His intricate web encompassed figures like Harry Potter, members of the Order of the Phoenix, and those whom he deemed traitors – including Lucius Malfoy, who had betrayed fellow Death Eaters to escape Azkaban.

Amidst this intricate dance of power, Barty Crouch Jr. had set his sights on Draven Snape, a pawn in his larger game of vengeance and manipulation. Draven's desire for retribution and his connection to Severus Snape had made him susceptible to Barty's influence. Barty skillfully exploited this vulnerability, using Draven as a weapon to achieve his own dark ends.

As the lines between truth and deception blurred, Draven found himself ensnared in a web of treachery woven by Barty Crouch Jr. The true villain's grand design was poised to reshape the wizarding world, and Draven's unwitting role in this malevolent scheme would lead him down a path fraught with danger, sacrifice, and a desperate struggle to discern friend from foe.

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The Gestalt PrinceKrystalDark AngelSam

Draven learns Unaided Flight with the help of Snape's journal.

Draven Snape stood at the edge of the towering cliff, his heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and excitement. The wind tugged at his dark robes, whispering promises of freedom and exhilaration. He held a worn leather-bound journal in his hand, his father's handwriting etched onto the pages like a map to uncharted territory.

His father's notes were a testament to years of research and experimentation, a secret quest to unlock the mysteries of unaided flight. Draven's fingers traced the faded ink, his mind unraveling the intricate details his father had painstakingly recorded.

"The key lies in the manipulation of magical currents," his father's words echoed in his mind. "Focus on the convergence of energy beneath your feet, visualize yourself soaring through the air like a bird."

Draven took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the expanse before him. The cliff overlooked a vast canyon, its depths shrouded in mist and mystery. The sky stretched endlessly above, a canvas of endless possibilities. His heart raced as he recalled his father's notes, his determination igniting a fire within him.

Closing his eyes, Draven visualized the currents of magic beneath his feet, imagining them lifting him from the ground. He felt the energy responding to his intent, a tingling sensation that surged through his body. With a surge of adrenaline, he took a step forward, his body leaving the safety of solid ground.

For a heart-stopping moment, Draven teetered on the edge of uncertainty, the wind buffeting his form. Panic threatened to take hold, but he clung to his father's guidance, his mind focusing on the sensation of flight. And then, something extraordinary happened.

He felt a rush of energy beneath his feet, a surge of magic that lifted him higher into the air. His heart soared as he realized he was flying – truly flying – unaided by broomstick or enchantments. The sensation was both exhilarating and surreal, the wind rushing past him as he glided through the sky.

Draven's laughter mixed with the wind's song, a symphony of joy and triumph. He spread his arms wide, his body responding to his every thought and desire. The world below him seemed to shrink, the canyon and cliffs now mere specks in the distance.

As he soared above the landscape, Draven felt an undeniable connection to his father. The notes, the years of research, and the secrets of flight had all led him to this moment. He could almost imagine his father's presence beside him, a whisper of pride and shared accomplishment.

Hours passed as Draven reveled in his newfound freedom, his heart light and his spirit unburdened. The sun began its descent, casting a warm golden glow over the horizon. With a sense of contentment, he allowed himself to lower back to the ground, his feet touching the earth with a sense of newfound purpose.

Draven landed with a graceful flourish, his pulse still racing from the exhilarating flight. He closed his father's journal with a satisfied smile, knowing that he had unraveled a long-held secret and forged a connection that transcended time.

His first unaided flight had been a triumph of both magic and memory, a testament to his determination and his father's legacy. As he walked away from the cliff's edge, Draven carried with him the knowledge that he was capable of soaring to new heights, both in the skies and within his own heart.

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The Gestalt PrinceKrystalWinter's ShadeDark AngelSam

A flashback scene in Draven's school days. (Thanks ChatGPT)

The corridors of Hogwarts seemed to pulse with an undercurrent of mischief as Draven Snape walked with purpose, his steps echoing a determination that brooked no interference. It was in his second year, a time when the castle's halls bore witness to the simmering tensions between houses, a battleground where rivalries manifested in clashes of power and pride.

Draven's eyes, akin to molten obsidian, glinted with a simmering resolve as he caught sight of the trio of bullies blocking his path. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff insignias adorned their robes, a testament to the divisions that had ignited this confrontation.

"Hey, Burbage," one of the bullies sneered, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. "Feeling lonely, are you?"

Draven's jaw tightened, a quiet storm brewing within him. He squared his shoulders, unyielding under the weight of their taunts. "I could do this all day," he retorted, his voice a cold blade cutting through the tension.

Laughter erupted, a chorus of jeers that only fueled Draven's determination. As the bullies advanced, the air crackled with anticipation, a showdown on the brink of eruption.

His wand felt like an extension of his very being as Draven unleashed a flurry of spells, each incantation a testament to his mastery. There was a swift elegance in his movements, a dance of magic that left his adversaries reeling. Bolts of light and shadows filled the corridor, a testament to his burgeoning prowess.

Amidst the chaos, a triumphant smile played upon Draven's lips as he deftly outmaneuvered his opponents. Their jeers had transformed into cries of frustration, a testament to the power that flowed through him.

Just as victory seemed within grasp, a chilling voice cut through the maelstrom. "Enough!"

Severus Snape's imposing figure materialized, his eyes like twin orbs of frosty scrutiny that bore into the combatants. Draven's heart skipped a beat, a mixture of apprehension and relief flooding through him.

Severus's voice was a blade of authority, severing the tension with its steely resolve. "Five points from Gryffindor and five from Hufflepuff," he declared, his gaze settling on each bully in turn. "Detention for all of you."

As the bullies slunk away, the corridor echoing with their disgruntled protests, Severus turned to Draven. His expression softened, an almost imperceptible hint of pride in his eyes. "Come, Draven," he beckoned, his tone a delicate tapestry of sternness and warmth.

They walked side by side, a peculiar sense of camaraderie settling between them. Severus's words, laced with paternal affection, wrapped around Draven like a comforting embrace. "You have your mother's fire," he mused, his voice tinged with reminiscence. "I'm proud of you."

Draven's heart swelled with a mixture of emotions, a sense of validation that he had longed for. In that moment, the bond between father and son grew stronger, a shared journey of growth and discovery that would shape their destinies in ways neither could fully fathom.

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The Gestalt PrinceKrystalWinter's ShadeDark AngelSam

Prophecy about Draven.😸

In the mystical realm of Divination, Trelawney stood as a conduit between the mortal coil and the cosmic beyond. The crystal ball emitted an iridescent glow, as if channeling the energies of forgotten galaxies. Her voice, like the murmurs of forgotten constellations, began to unravel the enigma of fate.

"As shadows weave their dance and stars conspire," Trelawney intoned, her eyes reflecting the expanse of infinite cosmos, "a prince shall emerge, his existence both a beacon and a tempest."

Harry's gaze held a mixture of fascination and exasperation, his quest for clarity evident. "A prince? What does that even mean?"

Trelawney's gaze seemed to pierce through space and time, her words a symphony of cosmic secrets. "Not a monarch's heir, but a vessel of cosmic forces. His very essence resonates with the ebb and flow of destiny."

Harry's patience wore thin, a mixture of curiosity and frustration. "And what is he supposed to do?"

Trelawney's voice carried the weight of stars, her words a cryptic echo from the void. "A convergence of threads, a tapestry woven by cosmic hands. His choices shall ripple through existence, a catalyst for the symphony of creation."

Harry's brows furrowed, a sense of urgency tugging at his thoughts. "Please, just give me something concrete."

The professor's eyes shimmered with the light of ancient novas, her words a celestial whisper. "Prophecy's fabric is woven with nebulous threads, waiting for the celestial alignment to unveil its truths."

As Harry exited the chamber, Trelawney's gaze lingered on the door, her lips curving into an enigmatic smile. The tapestry of fate had been woven with a new strand, a prince of enigma whose role in the cosmic saga would shape the destiny of worlds untold.

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The Gestalt PrinceKrystalWinter's ShadeDark AngelSam
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