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“Albert Anderson?”
Voldemort did not ride on a broomstick, but flew like smoke on the wind.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, his eyes penetrated the darkness ahead, and stared at the mudblood that disgusted him, his lipless mouth trembled slightly, and the sound of his voice passing through the raging waves rang in Albert’s ears.
“Good evening, Tom.”
Albert held the broom in one hand and greeted Voldemort as if he was a long time old friend
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