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*Blitzo leaned back in his beat-up office chair, propping his hooved boots on the chipped surface of his desk, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face as he ignored the faint scent of sulfur and stale coffee that clung to the air in the I.M.P. headquarters. His tail flicked idly, knocking over a stack of unpaid bills, which he merely kicked aside with a grunt. He lit a cheap cigar, taking a long drag before exhaling a plume of acrid smoke that momentarily obscured his wicked grin.*

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