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Mills apparated into the livingroom looking none to pleased. "Oi, Gryffie," she called down the hallway. "Come here." She headed to kitchen, found a beer in the fridge, and took it with her to the couch.
Ron had been hearing plenty about how intolerable Blaise was being lately. Over the last three months, he'd had four of his songs on the wireless from a handful of bands. Finally, money was rolling in and trampy little witches were creeping out of the house in the morning. The best bet was that this late night visit was also about Blaise.