V. The Second Grey

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September 4 th , 1992

The air is grey and stale in that broom cupboard. "Get that damn envelope out of my face, Granger," he snarls at her, and the curse tastes good, though unfamiliar, on his tongue. "I'm not in the mood."

His pet snake had died the previous month, and he isn't ready to deal with any sort of bullshit yet.

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