[He loosens another clump of dirt. It's nerves more than anything. Fear of staying too long in one place lest Harry's tombstone pops up again along with its phantom gunshots. Or Justine's and the last words she would have said if he'd killed her that night. Fear masquerading as nerves. And bravado masking that fear.]
Think he got the better end of that deal, Buttercup.
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Think he got the better end of that deal, Buttercup.