The Radio Demon or: How Harry learned how to smile

by Muminpappan

During the battle for the ministry, Harry is caught up in an accident that sends him hurtling through space and time. Landing in Louisiana in early 1900 was taken in by voodoo practitioners and took on the new name of Alastor. Watch as our beloved boy who lives transforms into the man who will one day become one of the most feared overloads in all of hell.

25. Dealing with feelings

Author's note sorry this chapter took so long. IRL, unfortunately, got in the way, and I actually got an idea and have been working on another story. This one is going to be a lot fluffier than what I usually write, so it's going to be new territory for me. It's going to be a bluey Harry Potter crossover, and that's all I'm going to say for now, anyway. I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you do, please leave a review and tell me what you think or any critiques or criticism you have. I hope you have a great day!

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It was a moment, only a single moment, in which Alastor lost control, and nothing came of it since no one other than the beautiful young man up on the balcony had noticed him staring. But that moment of losing himself was enough to make him wary. Wary of himself.

He peeled his eyes away from the boy, his heart racing at an inconsistent gallop, and did his best to incorporate himself into the conversation as best he could. But his mind was elsewhere. It was like all the neat little filing cabinets in his brain had suddenly been pushed open, and papers were flying everywhere.

He knew that boy. He had known him for decades, dreaming about his milky pink eyes staring at him lovingly through a cloud of thick smoke. His dreams had gone farther than just what his visions had shown him, sometimes.

He was far too flustered. He felt himself becoming a bit heated and nervous like his pulse had dropped down to his lower back and throbbed there, making him feel queasy. He excused himself to go to the bathroom and was politely directed down two splendorous hallways. At the turn of the second one, he found himself blessedly alone.

He sprinted into a bathroom that could've easily housed a family of five and doused his face with water. What had gotten hold of him? Sure, the shock of seeing that boy for the first time in real life was great, but Alastor had never been one to let himself become unsettled by nearly anything. He felt light and simultaneously sprawled all over the place at once.

He realized he had never felt something like this in his life, and his excessive and unexplained bodily reactions deeply perturbed him. He slapped himself in the face. Get a grip. He half felt like laughing at himself for how weird he was being. Nothing was the matter just yet - he had gotten flustered after seeing this much-awaited character, and surely he was only anticipating what answers or meaning the boy would have.

He had just been caught off guard from seeing him so suddenly. Yes, that was it—no reason to feel ill. Alastor took a deep breath, rearranged his hair, put on a tiny spritz of perfume, and stepped out. He was feeling better about himself, fixing the cuff of his righthand chemise as he exited, when he suddenly noticed another person in the hallway. It was the young man from before.

Once again, as he properly laid eyes on him, Alastor felt the wind getting knocked out of him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn't know what to do or how to act. It was like he had forgotten all his tricks, all his charms. He wanted to punch himself. The slap clearly hadn't been enough.

Up close, the boy was even more shocking than Alastor had previously thought. His hair was a creamy vanilla white, vibrant and silky, slightly curling around his head like a halo. He was lazily leaning against the wall, and his body relaxed as he checked his gloved hands for imperfections that weren't there. He looked up as Alastor emerged, and his pale pink eyes were surely more hypnotizing than Alastor's had ever been, even when he used magic.

He was exquisitely dressed from head to toe, though even for a young man, the garb was somewhat modern and eccentric - he had a thick-stripe suit on, alternatingly pink and white, with an ivory silk chemise underneath and a pink bowtie. His pants were long and white, and he wore pink satin gloves.

It would've looked strange or borderline ridiculous on anyone else, but the man wore it so well and with such confidence that it was a downright statement. He wondered how that sort of outfit went along with Mr. Montenegro, who didn't come off to Alastor as the most liberal of men.

The two men stared at one another for a second, Alastor trying to recuperate himself, Anthony thinking god knew what.

"All yours," Alastor said, stepping aside and flashing the man a smile. One had to assume he had come all that way to go to the bathroom, right?

"Say, do I know you from somewhere?" He asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. Alastor was struck by how handsome he was. But he wasn't attractive in the way that other men were attractive - rugged, scruffy, with broad chests and facial hair. No, this man was exceedingly tall and slender (though probably not as tall as Alastor), with juvenile features that blended well with an angular, pretty face. That was the way to describe him - pretty, with that upturned nose and those wide, slightly slanted pink eyes, his lips puckered and pink as his clothes. He was like a modernist portrait of Cupid.

Alastor was taken aback for a second by his question - was it possible this boy had had the same visions he had had? He had to assume it wasn't the case.

"I don't think so, though you do look quite like your father," Alastor replied. Mistake - that comment had displeased the boy noticeably with the comparison. He found that that made his heart plummet. He was eager to find a way to remedy the strange wrong he had committed. "Though you have your mother's looks," he said quickly.

That could be taken the wrong way. Besides, though it was easy to tell due to the distinctive characteristics, he had already revealed he knew who the boy was and had put them both in a weird position. He wanted to leave the house as soon as possible before he made even more of an imbecile of himself.

Every interaction seemed exaggerated and tense while they were speaking, and every word and gesture was loaded with meaning. It felt like a precipice to Alastor, and he found himself both liking and disliking it. Thankfully, the boy smiled at his comment.

"Well, you got an advantage over me because I don't know who the hell you are," he said, but his tone was light and playful. He seemed a bit reserved, or like he had been trained to be reserved, but even from his language, Alastor could tell he was terrible at acting that way. He looked too devilish for that.

"Alastor Cormier," the older man said, extending his hand. The boy shook it in a careless manner. Alastor had not been prepared for the shock that touching him was. It was like he still had half a mind considering him to be an apparition, another half considering him an illusion produced by Alastor's overworked brain. He noticed that the boy's eyes had widened in recognition and felt flustered for some reason.

"Anthony," he replied, not bothering to clarify his last name. "you're that radio guy," he affirmed with a curling, satisfied smile.

"That I am," Alastor said with a nod, smiling. For once, he felt that his smile was genuine. He wished he could remove it from his face.

"Molly would have a fit if she knew you were here," Anthony said with a light, mocking laugh. "My sister - she loves you. We listen to that show, the one with the murders, all the time."

"I'm flattered," Alastor said, and he found that he was suddenly resentful of himself. How many times had he said that phrase and not meant it? Now that he did mean it, it rang hollow in his own ears, devoid of meaning.

"You ever get people giving you shit about it? I mean, not a lot of people are cool kidding about murder and things like that."

"They tend to leave me alone. Don't want to end up on the show, I suppose." That made Anthony breathe out through his nose, amused. It felt like the only expression of genuine amusement Alastor had seen in some time. He craved more of it - but that was bad. He shouldn't have been craving anything. What the hell was wrong with him?

He had had his victim just two nights ago. There was no reason for him to be acting and feeling so strangely. But he knew what it felt like when he got restless for blood, and that wasn't what was happening right now.

"You know, I recognize your name, and your voice, now that I can place it, but I still get the feeling I met you somewhere."

"Where do you think you've met me?" Alastor asked him, his heart pounding. He hoped with his whole soul that he would say something along the lines of 'I took a load of drugs and saw you and me together. I also dream about you every night.'

"No, it's not that, it's just that when you looked at me… whatever. I must've taken too many… uh…" he trailed off, noticing he had made a mistake and becoming flustered himself. Alastor found himself inexplicably delighted at having been caught by Anthony, and he was almost about to shiver when he realized the uncomfortable position the young man was in. He definitely would never want him to feel awkward in his presence. As a way to save him, Alastor stepped aside again.

"You needed to…?"

"Eh," Anthony looked at the bathroom, unconvinced. "Nah, I want a vodka or something," and with that, he simply turned around and headed back down the hallway. Alastor followed him. It was refreshing to have a person act so blatantly informal.

As they wandered back into the crowd, Alastor felt incredibly giddy and jittery - Anthony had actually sought him out. He hadn't wanted to go to the bathroom at all. He had just gone there to follow him.

As he looked at the back of his beautiful head, Alastor felt that darker side, the more calculating, cold part tell him to get the hell out of that party, to go back home and do some soul-searching to find out just what in the hell was the matter with him before his foolish impulses made an ass out of him in front of people he definitely didn't want to look bad in front of him.

But he found that he couldn't stop himself from wandering wherever it was that Anthony was leading him. It was like when he took that first bite of a fresh victim - it was the only time he allowed himself to lose control. But even when eating, it was a restrained form of self-control, as he had no problem with it. This was neither the time nor the place to be losing control over his more rational faculties.

He wondered whether he was making too big of a deal of the whole thing - but deep down, he knew that it wasn't the act in itself, which had gone unnoticed and nobody had minded until now, but rather what it represented. Could he be losing his touch? He refused to believe it was possible. It couldn't happen.

Anthony led him to the rest of the party, besides a bar that might've belonged to a five-star hotel, sat on one of the high stools, and gestured for Alastor to sit beside him.

He ordered a Bloody Mary for himself and then popped out a cigarette from a silver case. Alastor watched him attentively as he stuck the cigarette between his lips, swiftly lit it, and sucked in the smoke. It was amazing - this was exactly how Alastor remembered him smoking in his vision, the same way that Alastor had copied ever since he had seen it. Anthony side-eyed him, and though Alastor should've felt weird for looking at him so much, Anthony seemed very amused.

"I got something in my teeth or something?" He asked casually as the bartender shook his metallic container with the Bloody Mary. Alastor cleared his throat but thought it best not to reply to that comment, as any response would've been weird. Thankfully, it seemed that Anthony didn't allow silence to go unattended for too long.

"You know, I missed tonight's show. What were you talking about?" He asked expectantly, a devilish glint in his eye. There was undoubtedly a mischievousness about him, and judging by the way that Montenegro had spoken to his wife about him, Alastor was willing to bet he was a sort of wild card in the family. The black sheep.

"Well…" Alastor began, but Anthony interrupted.

"Oh, my bad. Would I have to pay for the, uh, private show?" He asked, and a crazy smile stretched across his face. Alastor was about to reply when Montenegro and Bradley came up to them.

"Alastor, I see you've met my son," he said, placing a hand on Anthony's shoulder. Anthony side-eyed him distastefully as if his father's touch was corrosive.

"That I have," Alastor said with a nod.

"How're you doing, Ant?" Bradley asked, smiling at Anthony.

"Same as always, Bradley," Anthony replied, not without a hint of bitterness. Montenegro laughed at the disdain in his voice.

"You'll have to forgive Anthony, he hates being called Ant, but it's a family nickname," Montenegro explained with a false smile.

"Why not Tony?" Alastor asked, matching their false smiles. He was relieved to find that he felt less rocky and out of control when other people were opaquing whatever intoxicating aura Anthony seemed to possess.

"Exactly what I keep saying," Anthony muttered, taking a deep swig of his drink once the bartender set it down in front of him. Half the contents of the glass went down before he was done chugging.

"Tony was my father. That was his nickname. Besides, when he was a little kid, he was this tiny thing…"

"C'mon, Dad," Anthony said, looking very uncomfortable.

"Sorry, sorry, just reminiscing. You don't want to look bad in front of Alastor, huh?" Montenegro said with a laugh. At that moment, Alastor hated him. He could understand Anthony's dislike for the man - growing up with such a person couldn't be easy. Alastor immediately understood the kind of father Montenegro was, and he had always resented such figures.

"Well, Anthony is definitely far closer to Alastor's age than we are. We should leave them to the partying and gallivanting, just like we did, eh Sal?" Bradley said to Sal with a good smack to the back. In a second, they had launched into a plethora of stories of their youth and all the shenanigans that they had gotten up to.

Anthony slinked away when they weren't paying attention to him, and Alastor was sad to see him go. He suddenly felt very distant from Montenegro and Bradley when before he had been laughing and joking alongside them, enjoying himself immensely in such a lavish party that he had been looking forward to. Now, he felt it all to be oddly pointless, vacant of weight or meaning.

Alastor tried his best to get back into it, and though he definitely succeeded to any outside spectator, a strange change was coming over him, and he wished dearly to be alone so that he could process it fully without calling his silence to attention.

After a few more minutes of mind-numbing chit-chat, the whole party was called to dinner. Alastor was led to a massive dining room with a table that could seat a small country. Even though there was no sparsity of people, a third of the table remained empty once they were all seated. This was a house designed for an entire court of people, and Montenegro doubtlessly fancied himself as a sort of king. Alastor found that, since the interaction with Anthony, he had been seeing more and more things that he disliked about Montenegro despite the fact that he would've swept over them in his usual state. It was like he had personally offended him, though that had been far from the case.

Though he knew Montenegro quite liked him, he had still been placed halfway down the table, five or four people away from Sal, who had other people surrounding him and speaking. But that was only to be expected - a man like Montenegro definitely had his higher-ups to give authority to. Unfortunately, Alastor was not seated beside or in front of any people he knew, but he knew he would make friends quickly. A man started taking his seat at the table in front of Alastor before Anthony stopped him.

"Jinks," he said with a charming smile. "Swap me." He gestured to a spot at the table only two spaces away from Montenegro. The man called Jinks widened his eyes.

"Really?"

"Really." Without questioning it further, Jinks slinked away and took Anthony's former seat close to his father. Alastor watched, simultaneously pleased and dismayed. How could he stop himself from looking at Anthony the entire dinner if he was seated right in front of him? It would become one of those awkward situations in which staring too much would be inappropriate, but staring too little would be noticeable and weird. Alastor suspected that Anthony's change in seating had been to get as far away from his father as humanly possible - but then, there were other spots further away.

Did he have to take a seat right in front of Alastor? He didn't allow himself to ponder it much further lest his mind wanders to places it shouldn't. Thankfully, the young man wasn't even looking at him. He just leaned back and called a waiter to him to ask for some champagne, which was diligently served.

Anthony had his glass served before everyone had been indicated to their places, and then he finally looked at Alastor dead in the eye, raised his thin, delicate tube of champagne, and gulped it down like it was second-rate apple juice. Alastor couldn't help but smile. If alcohol didn't make him feel so out of control, he would've liked to drink more in order to get through with the evening, but as it was, he had already felt obligated to take at least an entire polite martini.

He couldn't help but consider how far Anthony had been placed from Montenegro - to Sal's right sat his wife, and to his left, another young man, slightly older than Anthony but with the same light hair and hypnotizing eyes who Alastor took to be his brother. Anthony had been placed initially two spots away from them. As if he needed confirming, it was evident to anyone with two eyes that Anthony was the family's black sheep, and in a most painfully obvious way. It was as if Montenegro had no problem setting Anthony aside from him publicly.

The first dish was served, and Alastor did his best to befriend the people on either side of him. It was easy to do, really, as the kind of people invited to these events were always the epitome of cordiality and politeness. Really, it was his duty as a guest to make conversation, but part of it was also so that he would have an excuse to be so distracted he never met Anthony's eyes.

He craved it far too much, wanted to see what he was up to, whether he was looking back at him, but it was for that very reason that he couldn't allow himself to pay too much attention to him. From what he could tell by the few glances he stole in his direction, he was antipathetically ignoring the social advances from those around him and simply sombrely staring at his plates of untouched delicacies. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else - in fact, it seemed like he did have somewhere else to go and that he was being held hostage at that dinner.

At some point, one of the women between Montenegro and Alastor overheard his conversation with the person beside him, and she craned her head over to Montenegro.

"Sal, I didn't know we had the Alastor Cormier among us," she said loudly for most of the table to hear. Montenegro looked pleased that his guests acknowledged Alastor's presence to be commended.

"Yes, Alastor here works for Bradley," he said smoothly.

"Big fan," a man diagonally across from Alastor. "Your show tonight was hilarious," he said with a snort as if remembering something. Alastor bowed his head, his smile stretching across his face.

"Thank you very much, but really, it's Mr. Bradley that does all the work." At that, Montenegro let out a bark of laughter.

"As if Bradley could crack jokes like that!" Laughter issued from around the table. The woman who sat beside the man that had complimented Alastor spoke up.

"Oh, I missed it! What did he say?" She asked the man, but he waved his hands and shook his head.

"It's not what he said, but how he said it. I'd just sound vulgar."

"Oh, I'm sure Alastor wouldn't mind telling us," Montenegro said with a wink towards Alastor.

"Come now, honey, don't make Alastor work after hours," Mrs. Montenegro said softly with a smile.

"It's no trouble at all, actually, Mrs Montenegro. I would love to play host for you as willingly as you're doing for me," he said with a wide smile, and without much further ado, he started narrating the grisly story that Bradley had given him a few days before. He spoke a lot more in-depth, cracked many more jokes, and subdued the flamboyance and extravagant speaking style he used on the radio so that it sounded more like a personal story and less like he was a broadcaster.

He knew he was doing well from the rounds of laughter that erupted around the table, and every time they laughed and put away their glasses of champagne, he felt himself become more and more invigorated. As soon as he was done, he gave way to a conversation about the crime going on around the city and how sick some people were, but upon concluding, he couldn't help but sneak a glimpse at Anthony's face to see how he had received it. He wished he had heard his laughter, but he hadn't heard his laugh at all, and since he had been looking forwards to Mr. Montenegro when he told the story, he hadn't laid eyes on Anthony yet.

But the moment he saw him, his heart fell. He was staring at him with a dazed, happy smile, looking like a kid being taken to the movies for the first time in his life. Alastor had never been more flattered in all his time, and it was all he could do to keep himself from turning scarlet under Anthony's worshipful gaze.

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Dinner was lively and relatively fun for the rest of the evening, and afterward, they all retired to the smoking room, where they had the tiniest glasses of fine port and thick cigars. Alastor was surprised to find that this particular group of wealthy people wasn't as dull as he had expected. Yet, despite their liveliness, he was still having difficulty being present in the situation.

Anthony was nowhere to be seen from the moment everyone had started standing from their seats. It seemed that he had completed his quota of necessary interaction with his father's guests. Though Alastor was disappointed, he thought it best that he kept away from Anthony until he found out why he was so fazed by him and why, ever since he had seen him, he had had this keen desire to have him like him… like a teenager. Having people like him was as easy as breathing and not really a desire but a necessity so that he could get his way.

It didn't seem to be that way with Anthony, but Alastor had a horrible certainty that the intensity of the connection was completely one-sided because of his visions, and so he wouldn't allow himself to betray what he felt.

When the evening was drawing to a close, marked by the departure of an elderly couple, Montenegro went over to Alastor and asked him if he could have a word.

"Of course."

"Not here," he said with a wink as if telling him it had to be private. He slipped past the thinning crowd, making sure Alastor was following him.

They made their way down a corridor and then went into what Alastor presumed to be Montenegro's private study and library. It was a large room with walls lined with old and new but evidently expensive books and tall windows covering the spaces in the walls that didn't have shelves. A lavish, heavy ornate desk sat at the center, with a chair like a throne behind it. A leather reading chair was propped against a window, and Montenegro sat himself on it with his finger-thick cigar. Alastor remained standing, admiring his surroundings.

"Quite the collection," Alastor complimented as he looked at the books.

"Eh, haven't read even a quarter of them, I think. Maybe someday… some day…" he trailed off, taking a puff of his cigar. "Well, what do you think?" He asked suddenly, calling Alastor to attention as his gaze wandered off.

"I'm sorry?" Alastor was slightly confused, meeting Montenegro's expectant eyes.

"Of all this, I mean. My home, the company I keep…" he was born into Alastor's very soul, it seemed, scrutinizing him from top to bottom. "I see something in you, Alastor. You know how to work with people. You know how to work for a crowd. That was the first thing I noticed. But there's something else… a hidden depth." Alastor was about to open his mouth to respond, but Montenegro put his hand up to silence him. When a man like Montenegro silenced you, you kept your mouth shut. "Now, I don't mean to pry, not at all. A man's personal life is his personal life, and that's that.

I value privacy above all things, and I am of the opinion that any great man has his fair share of secrets. Whatever it is - and I do not want to know - it gives you an edge. My gut tells me you are a trustworthy man, and my gut has kept me alive and thriving for more than sixty years now, I'll tell you." At this, he paused, but as Alastor had the keen feeling that he was about to speak again, he waited. "So, what do you say? I want you to join me, Alastor."

"And what exactly would joining you mean, sir?" He asked politely, though he didn't show any form of resistance towards what Montenegro was telling him.

"See, this is why I like you. Any other man in your position, after being bombarded by… all of this-" he gestured wildly to the general splendor of the room -"would jump at the opportunity without asking any questions. You, however… you aren't like other men, are you?" He asked, his eyes glinting. Alastor was rather shocked by how perceptive Montenegro was. He had rarely ever met a person that was able to read anything from him other than what he explicitly decided to put out. He was a dangerous man, to be sure, but undoubtedly a powerful ally.

There was no question as to whether he was involved in shady business, judging by some secretive-looking men Alastor had met who had danced around the subject of their professions like they were used to doing it. And so Alastor suspected there were few depravities that would shock him - who knew what Montenegro got up to when he wasn't hosting parties?

"The only thing I want is to have you on my side," Montenegro concluded casually.

"And what does the other side look like?" Alastor asked with a coy smile, making Montenegro laugh.

"In a world like this, you pick a side, and whatever isn't in it is your enemy. If you would like to ally yourself with me, whatever the world should throw at you, you would face with us by your side, Mr. Cormier. We look after one another - we're like a family." After seeing Anthony, Alastor wasn't sure whether actually being family with Montenegro was any good.

"Well, you're certainly a powerful ally to have," Alastor acknowledged, but he wondered whether he wouldn't be selling his soul to the devil if he agreed to the very vague 'side' proposition Montenegro had.

"That I am. And I'm sure you're wondering what exactly it is that allying yourself with me would imply, and I assure you, I would never ask anything of you outside of your comfort area," he said as he stood up. He wandered over to the window. "And yet I have a feeling there isn't too much that's outside of your comfort zone." Alastor was doubly surprised - not only did it seem like he had read his mind and worked out his doubts, but was there any way that he knew how much he was able to stomach? How limitless he felt himself to be?

"That is true," he permitted since it would be useless to contradict him, anyway. The man had a far keener eye than Alastor had previously thought. But Montenegro wasn't even looking at him anymore and instead just stood, gazing out the window, lost in thought. Apparently, the smoke of his cigar billowed up gently.

"The first thing I would ask of you… as a favor, of course, since we take care of each other, as I said… you've met my son, Anthony?" He asked, suddenly turning back and looking at Alastor again, who had to go through pains to keep his face straight at the mention of Anthony.

"Yes, of course," he managed to get out. His heart was beating loudly in his ears.

"He seems to have taken quite a liking to you. And it's understandable, too - he rarely ever meets guests in this house who are older than his age. Well, Anthony is… a particular kid. He was always the problematic one out of my little bunch, and I'm afraid he never quite grew out of it. He's smart, you see, too smart for his own good. That sort of intelligence is thrown to waste, mostly on his philandering and partying. You see, he's an erratic boy who can't keep his impulses in check for his life. He gets into trouble every other day, and though his mother and I do our best to keep him in line, most of our efforts are futile."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Alastor said with a slight bow of his head. In truth, it was no wonder that a lavish lifestyle and a tight grip like Montenegro's should result in a wild child.

"Yes, well, he is a creature of vice, as are we all, but he never wants to share them even when they're laid out in the open for anyone to see. And a man that cannot bear to share his vices is a man that ought not to have them. In any case, he's mastered the art of keeping his mother and me out of his business until we have to… bail him out."

"And you'd like me to keep an eye on him?" Alastor asked, trying to keep the nerves from his voice. This was possibly the worst first task Montenegro could've appointed him - it would've been better if he had just asked him to go and murder someone that owed him money.

"In a way, I suppose. If I'm right, Anthony himself will try to befriend you, and all you have to do is let him. I mean, I wouldn't force you to babysit or anything too tedious like that, earn his trust. Try to keep him from going on a rampage, and if you can't prevent that, then try to minimize the damage he does." Alastor nodded, trying to simulate being deep in thought.

But in reality, he knew what he wanted to say, what he was going to say. Every survival instinct told him to ask Montenegro to give him another task - any other task, no matter how daunting it might be. But he knew he would say yes. How could he say not to Montenegro? Say no to Anthony? How could he pass up an opportunity to see Anthony regularly and not have people think it was weird? There was only one thing that made him doubtful.

"What makes you so sure he'll try to befriend me?" Montenegro gave him a little smile.

"I've already seen him trying to."

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After Alastor's little chat with Montenegro, when he had given him yes and basically been introduced to his new little mafia family, they went back to the thinning crowd, had another drink, partook in some more chit-chat, and then Alastor finally decided it was time to head home. He thanked his hosts profusely and then said his farewells. Bradley told him he could wait a while and give him a ride back to his house, and Montenegro even offered to have a chauffeur take him there once he had found out Alastor didn't own a car. Alastor thanked them kindly but pressed upon them his love for walking and insisted on heading back home on foot.

Finally, he was escorted back to the anteroom and took his leave. A servant was opening up the door to the mansion when Alastor heard footsteps rushing up to him.

"Hey!" Came Anthony's voice as he caught up to Alastor and followed him out, his long legs keeping up well.

"Hello," Alastor greeted, his excitement palpable. His voice even seemed to quiver a bit as he said hello to Anthony, and he wanted to slap himself for it. How was he going to keep an eye out for Anthony and be alert when he put him in an idiotic state?

"You going out?" Anthony asked him as they walked down the front steps of the house.

"That I am." So Montenegro had been right - Anthony was seeking him out, after all. If Alastor hadn't been so dumb when it came to him, he would've noticed immediately.

"You having someone bring your car around?"

"I don't have a car," Alastor replied quite simply as they came into the massive driveway. Anthony halted for a second as if dumbfounded.

"You don't have a car?"

"No, I don't."

"Huh. You really are a funny guy," he said with some amusement, but that seemed to sit right with him, whereas other rich people stared at him like he was insane. Alastor stopped and looked at Anthony, expectant. There was a reason he had chased him down this far, and now he was beckoning him to say it.

"I talked to my sister just now - she practically peed her pants when I told you I had met you." Alastor laughed at that.

"You exaggerate."

"No, she really does love you. She wanted to meet you, but since you're going…" Anthony looked down at his shoes with uncertainty. He was probably weighing something in his mind, trying to solve a puzzle with a few missing pieces.

"Well, I'd love to meet her, too," he encouraged. At that, Anthony perked up.

"You can! Well, I mean, if you really want to, not out of courtesy to my dad or anything…" he mumbled, looking like he regretted speaking. So that was what he was afraid of. Alastor's age made for an uncertain ground - was he on Anthony's territory or his father's? Surely there weren't a lot of people in their social circles that overlapped. Alastor could see in Anthony's face a sort of insecurity like he was afraid of being made fun of or perceived as a child. His mind flashed back to the bar scene when Bradley had called him 'Ant,' and it seemed that even his ears were about to turn red with shame. Maybe he was afraid of Alastor laughing and saying he didn't spend time with children.

"No, not out of courtesy to your dad," Alastor clarified softly.

"Yeah, no, uhm…" Anthony cleared his throat, and in a second, he was back to his usual charming self. It seemed that he worked around moods and sensations rather quickly. "Well, if you want to, she and I are going out for drinks with some friends tomorrow. If you're interested, you know," he finally spilled, looking like he was trying to be casual about it. His clothes, demeanor, station, and confidence would've told the tale of someone composed and able to disguise their emotions, but surprisingly, the boy wore his heart off his sleeve. It was strange but wonderful to see, and Alastor couldn't recall the last time he had met someone like that, what with all the falsity that he surrounded himself with. The falsity that he himself had made surrounding his own image. He wasn't even sure what he enjoyed anymore, really, and every day the line got a little blurrier.

"I do work tomorrow, the show, and everything, but I'm definitely free after." Anthony's hypnotizing pink eyes seemed to become clearer when he heard that. Alastor felt like sprinting away. That feeling that he had had about being at the edge of a precipice came back, and apparently, he had suddenly decided that he would like to tumble down head-first.

"Great, I'll pick you up at the station after your show if you want."

"That's very considerate of you, thank you," Alastor said with a slight nod. He was trying not to smile too wide - he knew that if he overdid it with the smiling, he could come off as creepy, and though he was certainly feeling incredibly lighthearted, the last thing he wanted to do was to scare Anthony.

"Alright, nice. I'll see you tomorrow," the boy said, grinning at him and beginning to walk away.

"See you tomorrow," Alastor greeted back, raising his hand in farewell.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Thankfully, the Montenegro mansion was directly on the other side of the outskirts of town from where Alastor kept his car, so he had a long walk ahead of him to really mull things over - and he needed that, for his mind was in such disarray he felt like lobotomizing himself. What would his brains taste like, he wondered, what with all the sins he had under his belt?

Part of his mind was processing his interactions with Montenegro, wondering exactly what sort of shenanigans Anthony got up to that even a man like Sal would feel was too excessive. Surely he could pull any string and let his kid off in a snap of his fingers. Rich people were all too keen to let their children wander off and do whatever they wanted as long as they had the budget to pay for their destruction, and Alastor had no doubt that Montenegro could've bribed the entire city of New Orleans to have his way.

But maybe it wasn't the law, or the destruction of property, or lavish spending that Montenegro was worried about. He had mentioned Anthony's partying and philandering - was he afraid that his son would put himself in bodily harm? Alastor thought back to Anthony chugging back his alcohol like it was nothing and thought that might be the reason, though he wasn't too sure what to conclude.

Yes, indeed, he was calculating and thinking things over in the rational way that he always did. Still, the more critical thoughts were constantly interrupted by other, intrusive ones, ones that were abstract and pointless and only served to make him nervous. Because he was thinking of Anthony - and no, he wasn't thinking about him and about what his role with him would be, about how to work his angle, play Montenegro, get Anthony to trust him so he could get closer to his influential father.

No, he was thinking of the dumbest, most ridiculous things, like the way that his hands might look without the gloves on, or the silky curls of his pale hair, or the beaming smile that he so willingly and genuinely offered him when in contrast he was always to be seen scowling at anyone else. Alastor sometimes felt like singing and dancing as he thought of how Anthony had sought him out and asked him for drinks with his friends - and then, at other moments, he would be brooding and upset, worried about what would come of this whole situation.

Try as he might, he couldn't find a single good answer to his questions about his state. The answers were, as one would expect, staring him right in the face, but he was far too stubborn to recognize what it was that was actually happening to him.

He had decided to convince himself that he was shocked at Anthony's presence after dreaming about him so much and that he was in this dazed state because… because the vision had been telling him something, and Anthony marked an important new turn in his life. After all, the other visions that he had had marked events that completely changed the course of his life. All he had to do was decipher just how Anthony was tied up with his future.

And so, singing, frowning, dancing, and then sulking, he made his way to the parking lot to get his meats, still keeping one eye open for that snooping Ridley. Thankfully, it would've been rather strange for him to have been following him so late and from the Montenegro mansion, and sure enough, there was no sign of him. Unfortunately, Friday evenings were packed full of people, so there was the slim possibility that he had evaded Alastor's keen eye, but then again, the crowds were also beneficial to Alastor, who slinked among them and then blended in with the shadows on the off chance that someone should recognize him and hold him up.

He got his suitcase full of human remains and then went back home, a little bit more paranoid than he usually would've been because of the interaction with Ridley, but mostly he was shaken up from Montenegro. Or, particularly, Montenegro's son.

Alastor was actually glad when he returned to his apartment, happy to see and feed little Harry and be completely alone with his thoughts. Though walks usually cleared his head, the streets were so busy and the Ridley threat so imminent that he didn't enjoy it as much as he had in other circumstances. He put on a record, unpacked his meats, and then, with considerable delight, weighed what he would be having for a late dinner. He had eaten his fill back at the Montenegro house, but this hunger for human flesh was another sort of desire, and he had been deprived of his satiation yesterday when he should've been delighted in fresh meat. The flesh would give him the calmness and clarity that he was in desperate need of.

He calculated what part of the meat would spoil first and decided to spoil himself by eating the remainder of Allan's brains. He turned on his grill, charred it a bit on both sides, sprinkled some parsley and lemon on it, and then had his dinner together with little Harry the second.

After that, he picked the man's eyes in his special little jar and went to his bedroom to change into his pajamas - that was debatably the only time of the day when he didn't have his suit on, as it had become something like a second skin to him.

He caught himself, in many instances, as he combed his hair and undid his tie, smiling like a buffoon. He wasn't even thinking of anything in particular, and if he was subconsciously thinking about what he thought he was thinking about, he ought to be more preoccupied than happy. And yet…

God, he was a fool, and the devil would take his soul sooner than he wanted if he didn't stop himself from becoming a daft, slobbering monkey. It was strange how contradictory his feelings had become. He hated the person he became when he thought of a certain person, but at the same time, he felt that that person was better.

He didn't ever want to be vulnerable and caught off guard again, but at the same time, it had been so lively and thrilling that he couldn't remember having felt more alive in years. He was going through an inner struggle to be certain, and it wasn't like it was his inner demon and angel fighting, as Alastor was composed mostly of demons. No, it was hell clashing with hell. Still, despite his inner turmoil and the massive battle within him, he went to sleep with a smile, humming to himself idiotically as if he were a giant, moronic baby.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

When he woke up, he felt he was about to vomit from his nerves. As he knelt weakly over the toilet seat, spitting out nothing, he wondered whether his meat hadn't spoiled, and that was why he was sick. But he knew that wasn't it - it was excitement. His body hadn't experienced genuine excitement in years, and it was apparently going into overdrive. How could it be that he was so ill-prepared for it? In reality, of course, it wasn't excitement - it was fear. He was afraid of being caught off guard. For a man like Alastor, slipping up for a single second could mean a lifetime of being chased by the authorities or rotting in a cell. Or winding up in an electric chair.

No, he was now willing to admit that, though he did want to be close to Anthony and spend time with him, the boy was a danger to him and everything that he wanted to do in life. He would have to repress the part of him that craved to have him like him, that got nervous around him. He would have to stop seeing him as the interesting, genuine person he thought he was and more like another of the faceless people he interacted with and went out with. Anthony would be nothing more than a job to him, and last night had been a mere slip-up.

It would mean nothing as long as he was able to catch it in time, and that was exactly what he would do. With this in mind, he felt his queasiness subsiding and was able to stand up from the toilet and have a light breakfast. He felt better, more detached. He knew it was the best thing he could do for himself. If he let Anthony get to him, he would put himself in danger, even possibly put Anthony in danger. That couldn't happen.

He decided he would treat himself to a nice afternoon in a park - take a pleasant stroll and revel in his new conviction and how wise and well-controlled he was to be able to take it. He didn't have to go into the studio until after five, anyway, so he had quite some time to kill.

He pan-fried a few arm steaks with herbs and butter, put them away, bought cheese, bread, and wine at a Saturday-special market, and then headed over to his favorite park. It was a wonderful day, the slight breeze often kicking away at the midsummer heat, and the sun shone brightly, making a usually somewhat brown and black city look greener and bluer with color. Alastor was certain that the weather and his lovely meal would put him in just the right mood, and by the time the evening came and Anthony picked him up at the studio, he would be back to his old self. He would be fine as long as he didn't ponder over Anthony coming to pick him up, in which case he got the jitters again.

Though he was not particularly fond of geese, they were a sort of given whenever he went to a park with a body of water (which was his favorite type of park), and so as he sat down for his little picnic, he kept giving the geese a poisonous side-eye lest they should be bold enough to come up to him and try to steal his food. He unfolded his cheese, bread, and wine, and set to eating his little lunch, still keeping an eye out for the geese. However, something caught the corner of his eye, and it wasn't a plucky goose.

"Little date with yourself?" Came the familiar voice. Alastor's blood was positively about to boil. Here he was, trying to clear his head from all the things that had been happening, and the absolute imbecile that was Ridley was coming to give him a hard time.

"Mr. Ridley," Alastor greeted with a hint of bitterness as the man started stepping on his picnic blanket. Truly, he couldn't be more of a nuisance.

"Mr. Cormier," he nodded, standing there like an idiot.

"You know, I'd hate to be rude, but I was hoping to enjoy this lovely afternoon to myself."

"Of course, I don't mean to intrude," he replied, holding up his hands, but he made no move to leave.

"Don't you?" Alastor asked, his lip curling unpleasantly. The man just laughed a bit, looking slightly uncomfortable but apparently not enough to leave.

"I know you don't want me to disturb you, Mr. Cormier, but I wish you'd allow me to speak with you." Alastor sighed as he looked down at the lovely food he had gotten to have this little afternoon to himself. It would have to wait - better to deal with Ridley as soon as possible so he could shake him off and stop feeling so persecuted by the man: he put him off his game.

"Very well," Alastor said, gesturing to the other side of his large picnic blanket so Ridley could sit.

"Thank you. I'll be blunt, as I know you're probably not too keen on my presence. I know you're a wizard, Mr Cormier."

"Ah, is that so?" He asked, chuckling a bit as he sipped on his wine. He didn't offer any to Ridley as he didn't have another glass. Instead, he handed him some cheese and bread, which the man took willingly. He didn't quite dare to bring out his steaks - though to anyone, they would've looked quite regular.

Mr. Ridley took the cheese and bread so eagerly that he was afraid he would ask to try the meat and notice something off about it. "You are quite entertaining, Mr. Ridley, I must say. Did you know that every week, Star Radio has a special segment - hosted by me, of course - in which we admit very special individuals with fascinating stories to tell? We already have someone for the coming week, I'm afraid, but I can work you in."

"I know all about the quacks you get into your little show," Ridley said heatedly, his nostrils flaring, "and I am not one of them."

"Well, I wouldn't call them quacks-" But his sentence faltered when Ridley pulled out a dark little wand from his trousers and turned one of the cheeses into a glass. He looked very proud of himself for a moment and then looked around to make sure no muggles had seen him. Luckily, though it was a lovely Saturday, Alastor had chosen a relatively solitary spot, and no one had been milling about just then. Alastor paused for a moment, calculating his next move very carefully.

"Nice trick," he said simply.

"It's not a trick, and you know that full well. Now, what I want to know is how an unregistered wizard, who I can't find records of anywhere, is capable of doing magic without anyone realizing." Alastor eyed him, trying to figure out just how much the man knew.

"Just who are you, Mr Ridley? And who do you work for?" Alastor asked, narrowing his eyes at him. He hoped - well, he knew he could be very convincing.

"Well," the man adjusted his collar a bit, looking slightly embarrassed. "I might have told… a bit of a tall tale. I used to work for MACUSA."

"MACUSA?" Alastor questioned, now actually clueless. Ridley stared distrustfully.

"The Magical Congress of the United States. I was in their Irregular Magical Movements division, but… well, they're blind. The American Ministry they… they started saying that I was coming up with theories."

"About me being a wizard?" Alastor asked. The man tsked and shook his head.

"No, no. Well, they never did pay any attention to the reports I gave them about you. They said you were just an ordinary fellow and that the very most I should delegate the case to the No-Mag department for your cane, if it really was magic, which they said I didn't have any evidence for, anyway…" the man drawled, looking spacey. "Anyway, I don't work for them anymore. But I still want to know how you're flying under the radar while you perform your magic. I refuse to believe you don't use that cane of yours."

"Well, Mr. Ridley, you'll be displeased to hear that I am not a wizard."

"Bullshit," he spat, which made Alastor laugh, much to the wizard's surprise.

"I've come across a few of your… kind-"

"Wizards?" Ridley asked, astounded.

"Yes," Alastor replied, pleased that his lie was coming so naturally, "and you're always the same - arrogant. Cocky and self-assured that there are no forms of magic other than what you perform with your sticks." Ridley was listening with his mouth wide open for the lake flies to waltz right into.

"Are you saying you practice some… another form of magic?" He questioned, lowering his tone to a whisper, looking around for muggles around them.

"Precisely," Alastor said casually, serving up wine on the glass that had once been a block of cheese.

"So, what do you practice?"

"Well, some may call it voodoo, but really, most people don't know what voodoo is really about," Alastor explained.

"And you use your cane as a sort of wand?"

"That's why you wizards are so limited. I don't need the cane for anything. Certainly, it sometimes comes to my aid, but for the most part, it isn't necessary."

"And-"

"If you don't mind, Mr. Ridley, I am a rather private man, and I don't like people prying into my business. I have answered your questions, and I hope you will now know your limits."

"Of course, of course," Ridley replied with a newfound respect. He looked pensive and awe-struck.

"And I'm sure you will keep this between us. I have no interest in your American Wizarding Government meddling in my affairs," he added for good measure.

"Of course not. I wouldn't tell those fuckers anything at this point. They'd want to keep this hushed up, anyway, even tell me I'm crazy," he said ruefully, shaking his head. "A discovery like voodoo would be too much paperwork for them."

"Do tell me more about them, though. I'm interested in your little society," he told him with a seemingly innocent smile, parting his bread. As he suspected, Ridley was a chatterbox with some extreme opinions he didn't mind sharing so long as someone showed interest, and Alastor showed quite some interest in the workings of the magical American Congress. Ridley revealed things to him that he was confident he shouldn't have, and by the time Alastor got up and went to work, he knew everything he needed to know to fly well under their radar.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

What with Ridley and his special Saturday evening show, Alastor had all but kicked Anthony and the impending night of trouble from his mind. But when the show came to a close, and they were wrapping up, it all came back to him, and he knew that any moment now, Anthony would be coming to fetch him. Anthony. Just thinking of him makes him break into a cold sweat.

The moment he remembered, he was immediately struck by a new wave of nerves and anxiety. Knowing that now there was nothing left of the day that could distract him from Anthony, every other thought was dispelled from his mind, and he had to go to the bathroom to splash some water in his face and pep-talk himself into being the Alastor he always was, and not the Alastor that he had been yesterday, weirdly emotional and out of control.

"You are in control," he said as he wagged his finger at himself in the bathroom mirror. The moment he spoke those words, he felt ridiculous. He had never felt the need to do such a weird thing. He shook his head at himself and tried to convince himself that he didn't need a pep talk or anything of the sort to be composed.

He was ready and knew how he had to be towards Anthony - distanced. He straightened his jacket and corrected his already impeccable posture. He flashed a grin at his reflection and stepped out right in time to hear a honking coming from outside the studio. He bid a quick farewell to his coworkers without any explanation and stepped out into the street, where a car was waiting for him. He wasn't sure what he had expected - maybe the 1900s version of a limousine, but it wasn't the modest car that pulled up. Sure, it had its particular sort of flair with its pink color and red accents, but it still wasn't much of a lavish car. Still, it was nicer in the sort of well-loved way that a personal vehicle was.

"Ei, radio-man, get in here," Anthony said as he popped his head out the window with a grin, gesturing to the seat beside him. Alastor went next to the driver's seat, but a young girl with pouffy white-blonde hair was already sitting there.

"Move your ass, Molly," Anthony told her, rolling his eyes. As Molly stared at Alastor in a star-struck way, she maneuvered herself to the back and plopped down on her seat unceremoniously. Anthony went so far as to open the door for Alastor, reaching forward, and then Alastor hopped in.

"Pleased to meet you, Molly," Alastor said, looking back at the young girl with a smile. Her eyes were unnaturally large, giving her an innocent aura and the air of someone who hadn't slept since they'd been born.

"You too!" She squealed, and though she sounded excited, her voice cracked like she was trying to contain herself.

"We were just listening to your show before we came here," Anthony told him as he sped down the streets, earning a few shouts from the pedestrians he very nearly ran over. He couldn't have been driving at the legal speed.

"How did you find it?"

"You are one sick bastard, I'll tell you that," Anthony said with a well-meant cackle.

"Ant!" Molly reprimanded from the back, though she, too, was snickering. Her laugh was very odd, like Anthony's, but more high-pitched and crackly. She was a particular girl, to be sure - down to her layered, strange clothes, but Alastor found himself liking her immensely from the get-go.

"I was just quoting you, Molly," Anthony said wickedly.

"So, Anthony, are you the oldest?" Alastor asked, genuinely intrigued.

"No, I am," Molly said casually.

"No, she's not. Just look at that baby face," Anthony corrected. Molly reached her hand out to smack him in the head, and he swerved dangerously on the road, earning a few more angry shouts. It was a wonder Anthony had a driver's license.

"Actually, Ashton is the eldest."

"And he didn't want to come?" Alastor asked innocently, which sent the two siblings into hysterical laughter. It lasted about a full minute until Molly finally spoke again.

"Ashton? He's about as much fun as getting hit by a train."

"The train might be more fun," Anthony said with a hint of bitterness behind his laugh. "Anyway, I hope you don't mind. We're just picking up a few of our friends on our way to Moe's."

"No problem at all - who's Moe?"

"Moe's. It's a bar downtown," Molly told him. Alastor had to keep himself from laughing at the reference that was literally ahead of their time. The two siblings bickered wildly as they drove, making their first stop quite close to Alastor's home to pick up a man named Edwin. He, too, was dressed rather oddly.

Whereas Molly and Anthony knew how to coordinate their clothes to their particular looks, Edwin looked like he had flunked clown school. The mustard vest, the red jacket, the blue pants - it all made him look like a particularly deranged art teacher, though it was surprisingly interesting to behold. The peacock feather of his green hat bent as he entered the car.

"Edwin, looking awful as always," Anthony greeted and introduced him to Alastor.

"Bite me," was Edwin's response, and his voice was far deeper than Alastor would've thought it would be given his babyish, clean-shaven face.

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Alastor Cormier," Alastor said as he reached his hand back for Edwin to shake it.

"No shit, you're that radio guy."

"I know, right? Isn't he cool?" Molly said, sounding like she was about to swoon.

"Panties on, ladies," Anthony grumbled, seeming slightly annoyed. "Sorry about those two. They don't know how to behave in front of a celebrity." Alastor laughed.

"I'd hardly call myself a celebrity," Alastor replied modestly.

"Just wait until Reena meets you - then you'll really feel like a celebrity," Edwin told him. And, sure enough, Reena didn't disappoint.

Unlike the others, Reena's garb seemed almost gothic. She wore dark, velvety clothes, and her short bob of artificial crimson hair made a stark contrast against them. She was very beautiful, Alastor thought, and when she first got into the car, he thought she might be rather moody.

"Who's this guy?" Were her first words as she slid in next to Molly.

"This, dear Reena, is none other than Alastor Cormier," Edwin told her with quite some satisfaction. Alastor, who had been looking at Reena as she stepped into the car, saw her expression change from apathy to shock.

"Holy shit!" She exclaimed, leaping forward and popping her head in between Anthony and Alastor. "Is it really? Say something!"

"Hello-"

"It really is!" She shouted before Alastor could say anything else, making his eardrums ring. "Just wait until the club hears about this." All the people in the car gave out a collective groan at that.

"The club?" Alastor asked.

"Reena has a fan club for you," Molly said with a giggle.

"Jesus, you dipshits are going to freak him out," Anthony complained, casting a worried side glance at Alastor, who actually seemed to be having the time of his life.

"C'mon, he's Alastor Cormier. I doubt he gets scared easily," Reena pointed out.

"She's right," Alastor agreed.

"Well, to be fair to Reena, it isn't for Alastor. If you haven't noticed, Reena is a bit gothic-" Edwin started explaining.

"Watch it," Reena warned.

"She has a club with a few other people. They meet up to talk about gory stuff and read weird books," Edwin concluded.

"It's not as freaky as it sounds," Reena defended herself, crossing her arms and sulking a bit.

"Suuure it's not," Anthony said with a grin, earning himself another smack upside the head. They almost died from the way the car rocked back and forth.

Alastor couldn't deny it: he was intoxicated by their atmosphere. The crudeness of their comments, the playful way that they teased one another about their particular oddities - it was like nothing he had ever seen before. They reminded him of connections that he had had in what felt like two lifetimes past, and a massive wave of nostalgia swept over him, threatening to topple him over.

Thankfully, due to their insane dynamic, he was never allowed to dwell on himself for too long before they managed to distract him with a weird joke or story. Even though Edwin had described him as a sort of celebrity, he felt like the dullest, more boring one of the bunch, something that he had thought would never happen to him. Maybe he should've told them that he was a cannibal so that he could be as interesting as them. Ha. They arrived at Moe's roughly ten minutes after picking Reena up, and the bar was just as chaotic as they were, in the back alley of a back alley, all the streets around in disrepair, the buildings vacant and silent save for this one, bustling bar. Inside, the people were just as interesting and particular as the other four Alastor had just met. Anthony strolled in like he owned the place and walked right up the bar as the others searched for an empty table. Alastor, still not confident enough to go along with them, followed Anthony.

The bartender noticed him immediately, their eyes perking up as they noticed Anthony's sauntering figure. The bartender was, in themselves, a particular character. For one thing, Alastor was not quite sure of their gender, and try as he might, neither the colorful, tasteful clothes nor the spiky, somewhat short hair gave him any indication. For another, their makeup was like the type that the more alternative crowd of the seventies wore. Alastor had seen nothing like it in this time.

"You guys better not get into another fight," the bartender said as a greeting when Anthony reached the bar. He laughed.

"C'mon, Sky, you know we'd do that

"Yeah, whatever. The whole group here?"

"Yeah."

"Who's this guy?" They nodded towards Alastor.

"Alastor Cormier," he introduced himself. Sky tilted their head and narrowed their eyes, trying to place him.

"He's the crime radio guy," Anthony offered as a way of explanation.

"No shit," Sky said, nodding respectfully at Alastor. "What'll you be having?"

"A martini, please."

"Oh, actually, we usually order a round of beer before we drink the harder liquor Anthony told him.

"Let the man drink what he wants," Sky said, rolling their eyes.

"No, it's quite fine. Beer it is."

"Sure thing," Sky nodded again and started walking over to the tap beer.

"You'll put it on my tab?" Anthony asked.

"C'mon, Ant, you know I wouldn't charge you a thing."

"Let me pay this once, for last time's… uh, damages," Anthony's eyes flitted over to a window in repair. Sky tilted their head a bit and then finally sighed.

"Alright, fine, I'll be over in a bit with the beer," Sky said, and then Alastor and Anthony made their way over to the others.

Alastor wanted to ask him what the whole 'tab' conversation had been about, but something told him that would've been a bit out of place, so he refrained.

At the table, the group began telling him the story of how they had started a fight at the bar the previous week and sent a man flying through the window. They all gave their own accounts of what had happened, and none of them matched up as it seemed that they were all too drunk to remember everything exactly. When their beers arrived, they all had a drinking competition for who could hit the bottom first, and, by a landslide, Anthony was victorious.

The rest of the evening at the bar was spent sharing wild anecdotes and drinking copious amounts of alcohol, chasing it down with cigarette after cigarette after cigarette. For the first time in his life, Alastor paid very little mind to the amount of alcohol he drank, as he felt that being looser and more relaxed with these people would get him much further than if he was always in control.

Still, was he only doing it because he had been instructed by Montenegro to keep tabs on Anthony, or was it because he actually felt comfortable with them and felt an odd desire to fit into their friend group? He didn't want to dwell on it too much and tried to convince himself that he was doing a job. It just so happened to be a job that he thoroughly enjoyed up to now.

He had often had to keep himself from sneaking too many glances towards Anthony and see what he was doing. There were far too many people for him to slip up like that - but still, as he reached the end of drink after drink, he found his eyes straying more and more to his legs, to the crimson-colored boots he wore, to the soft way that his hair fell and formed.

He would've felt like smacking himself if he hadn't been so distracted laughing and sharing jokes. Of course, he never quite managed to reach the level of crude humor that they all seemed to wield without trouble. However, he still managed to get quite a bit of general laughs around the table, and every time that happened, he felt even better than after a whole night of chatting up vapid, 'important' people at some dinner party.

These weren't people you could impress easily, and that made them all the more important to impress. He thought that, every once in a while, he could see Anthony glancing at him from the corner of his eye or his leg bouncing and moving towards him subconsciously. But that could've been an illusion of his drunk mind. It had to be.

At some point, they all started playing darts, and a very foolish rendition of them, too, trying to hit each other and perforate an important artery, apparently. Alastor had had to, on many occasions, deviate a dart that was going straight for Anthony's forehead. After the fourth or fifth round, Anthony and Reena stood up to compete, and Alastor watched them intently. Reena slapped Anthony's arm and laughed at all his jokes, and Anthony, too, seemed quite comfortable with her.

"Say, Anthony and Reena…" Alastor said, leaning towards Edwin. He looked at him as if confused for a second before understanding what Alastor meant. Then, he let out a loud laugh.

"Anthony and Reena?" He repeated as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had heard in his life. Alastor couldn't figure out why it was such a ridiculous thing to ask, seeing how easily they laughed and how they hugged and fought with closeness and tenderness often seen in lovers. Edwin stopped laughing when he noticed that Alastor had been serious, the perplexity in his face evident for him to see.

"Uh, no, no, they're not together. Like, they don't even…" and at that, Edwin blushed hard and looked like he had over-spoken. Alastor, not wanting to overstep his bounds or make Edwin uncomfortable, nodded and ordered another drink before promptly changing the subject to something Edwin was sure to be comfortable with - fashion.

Sure enough, the man went into a thirty-minute tangent. Surprisingly, Alastor wasn't numbed to his very bone by it but rather became invested in Edwin's explanations of fashion as a form of expression, associating it with class, liberty, or lack thereof.

"Edwin going on a rant about clothes again?" Molly asked, dragging her chair towards them while popping a cigarette to her lips. Edwin turned red.

"It's fascinating stuff, really," Alastor defended.

"I mean, yeah, the first fifty times. Listen, we wanna go down to the pond. You game?" She asked Alastor. Edwin whooped at that.

"The pond?" Alastor asked. Anthony swept in behind them as he concluded his game of darts.

"Yeah, it's a bit farther from here. We like to go and feed the ducks," he explained.

"Yes, why not?"

"Great," and with that, they were all off. Before they left, Anthony hovered by the bar and asked Sky for bread. It was an odd request, but apparently, one that the bartender was used to since they already had two packaged loaves ready for them. As they left, they had a general consensus not to take the car since Anthony's driving put everyone at risk, even when he was sober. Anthony made a passing comment about how he hoped no one would steal it, and when no one was looking, Alastor charmed it for good measure.

They walked through the still-crowded streets even though Alastor's watch told him it was well past three in the morning. They laughed and danced and overall did the strangest things as they walked, like climbing lampposts (with little success). Even though the other people in the streets were very likely also drunk, they still stared a bit judgementally. Alastor couldn't bring himself to care. He found himself cheering and clapping, even hooting along with the rest of them as Edwin or Molly did a weird trick or tried to be acrobats.

At one point, as they were all laughing, Edwin even slapped him on the shoulder, and Alastor felt weirdly good about it like he was being included in something real, something personal. Sure, he was rather different from the rest of them, a bit less messy, to put it in a certain way, but as the night had progressed, there had been less and less of a feeling of distance or him being an outsider. Maybe it was the alcohol talking since he was not used to feeling tipsy. But still, sober, normal Alastor would never have done such a thing as hooting, but with this crowd, it felt fun, natural.

They finally made it to the pond in one piece. It was located in a large, strangely out-of-the-way park and was deserted from what Alastor could tell. He could see the appeal immediately. The ducks looked static, but the moment the blundering crowd approached, they awakened and stared at them, probably wondering whether they were friends or foes. Regardless, the loaves were split evenly among the lot of them, and the ducks ate quite happily.

Anthony, without even looking around to corroborate that they were alone, brought out what looked to be a rolled cigarette, but he held it with some reverence.

"You up for it?" Anthony asked Alastor with a drunken grin.

"What is it? A psychedelic?" Alastor asked.

"This guy is into some hard shit," Reena said with a laugh as she took the joint from Anthony's hands and sniffed it.

"I mean, it's not exactly a psychedelic. You won't see things. Probably. It's a very specific feeling. You'll know it when you feel it." But Alastor wasn't up for such a drug - there was no way he was trying something that he didn't fully know the effects of, least of all when he already had alcohol in his system.

When they passed around what Edwin called 'the devil's lettuce,' Alastor politely declined, but no one seemed to mind since there was more for them. Besides, he wasn't about to put his lips where everyone else had. Germs. Molly, too, refused to smoke, which made him feel a little better. He had also noticed that Molly didn't drink or smoke as much as the others and that they had a sort of protective stance over her, probably due to her being the youngest of the group.

After the devil's lettuce, there wasn't much of a difference to be seen in the lot of them, except for the fact that they were, debatably, a little goofier. They seemed to take immense pleasure in feeding the ducks, and Anthony, who had noticeably smoked more than the rest, insisted that he wanted to dance and was demanding that there should be music, though to no one in general.

"Let there be music!" He bellowed, throwing his arms out and chucking the rest of his bread out to the pond. A bit hit a duck on the head. The others giggled and shook their heads - they seemed to be used to such displays from Anthony.

"Molly," he pointed at his sister, "sing for me." She snorted.

"I ain't any good at it, you know that," she said, rolling her eyes.

"I bet Alastor has a good voice," Reena said causally, looking at him.

"You're right. He's smooth as hell," Anthony agreed. "Alastor, would you sing something for us?" Though the situation called for it, and Alastor knew he didn't have a bad voice, he felt uncharacteristically shy at the moment.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly-"

"C'mon, we're all dying for it," Anthony pleaded. And, as if they were all synchronized, they started chanting his name, making him laugh.

"Alright, alright." He cleared his throat and sang the first thing that came to mind. "Hey hobo man, hey dapper dan, you've both got your style…" he sang to the general cheering of the other four people. They all linked up immediately and started dancing to Alastor's song, laughing and hooting him on. Alastor had never seen such a bizarrely natural and gleeful scene, and he found that as he sang, the tune sounded way different than when he sang it to himself or his victims. It sounded better, happier.

They were all exceedingly pleased with the song, and when Alastor finished it, they went and clapped him on the back. Anthony stumbled towards him. His faculties were lost somewhere between the bar and the pond.

"You're really good. Just a box full of wonders, huh?" He said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Alastor almost shuddered from the sudden contact. He never liked people touching him, let alone people he barely even knew. But his reaction had another cause - this felt different, this wasn't altogether unpleasant, though it had put all of his nerves in a frenzy, and that was particular in and of itself. Anthony read his body language and immediately pulled away, looking ashamed and embarrassed. A dark expression had taken over his features as he moved away from him, and Alastor craved to set it right, to explain what had just happened, but it would've been too difficult, too strange to talk about.

"I want to be with the ducks," Anthony muttered, though no one other than Alastor heard him as they were all replicating their dances or feeding the ducks. Without another word, Anthony started taking off his long, crimson boots and setting them aside. Alastor went over to him before he took his first step into the pond.

"Are you sure that's… wise, Anthony?"

"Who cares about wise? It's going to be fun. By the way, I appreciate you not calling me Ant," he said with a weak smile, and there was nothing Alastor could do to stop him from plunging into the water.

Crap. This wasn't good. Who knew what you could find at the bottom of that pond? It wouldn't have been smart sober, let alone someone in someone the state that Anthony was in.

The others soon realized what he was doing, and though Edwin and Reena cheered him on through laughter, Molly kept telling him to swim back and not be an idiot. Alastor was clearly on Molly's side, but he said nothing, worriedly watching him as he paddled over to where the ducks were swimming away. Alastor noticed with increasing alarm how Anthony seemed to lose energy the further he went into the pond, carelessly doing little dances to humor the others, and didn't measure how he meant to get back on his low reserves. He really wasn't a good swimmer. And, sure enough, when he realized his mistake, he was too far out, and he barely had the energy to swim back to his friends. Alastor's felt his pulse skyrocketing, and soon enough, they all entered a panic as he splashed around with his loose, inebriated limbs, clearly losing confidence in himself and beginning to… well, drown.

Without thinking of it, Alastor encompassed Anthony in a sort of bubble, the kind of protective spell he knew how to do well around the property and had never tried to perform with humans. Still, he hoped it would keep the water out from Anthony's lungs long enough for him to swim out there himself.

He kicked off his shoes and, in a flash, awkwardly stepped into the pond himself. The water was cold and slimy, and every cell in Alastor's body was screaming with discomfort and disgust, but he couldn't stop now. He was able to run a bit, but the pond had a steep decline at its center, and that was doubtlessly why Anthony wasn't able to find his footing. The others were silent as they watched all this, completely dumbfounded. They were all high and drunk and feeling panicked in what couldn't be a good state.

Thankfully, Anthony was still thrashing around when Alastor got to him, and he helped him swim back to the shallow end after a bit of struggling. When they emerged, Anthony collapsed on the ground and suffered some serious reprimanding from his friends as he coughed up pond water. Alastor, for his part, sat beside him and caught his breath.

He was thanked profusely by everyone except for Anthony, who seemed almost ashamed, like a prideful cat that had gotten drenched in water for misbehaving. Alastor avoided looking into his eyes. This had been his job, after all, keeping Anthony safe.

After that, they were all so shaken up they decided to call it a night. Alastor had assumed that they would all be parting ways, but Reena explained that they usually accompanied each other to one another's homes if they were walking back. They asked him where he lived, and that set him on edge.

Still, he knew it would be strange if he refused to give an answer, so he told them about the general area instead. They calculated it and agreed to walk Reena and Edwin back to their homes first, as usual, since Molly and Anthony lived nearly on the outskirts of town and they could afford cabs.

The nightlife had begun thinning out, and though their merry little band kept cracking jokes and laughing as they walked, it was all decidedly a bit less lighthearted than before, especially considering how gloomy and silent Anthony was. He walked at the very front of the group, alone, and the others watched him, preoccupied. Reena stepped up to Alastor.

"Don't worry about him. He always does this kind of crazy thing and then feels guilty when it's over. It'll pass." Alastor said nothing, only nodded. Had his worry been so evident on his face? In any case, the walk didn't take exceedingly long, and the time passed quickly when you were drunk, and so soon enough, it was just Molly, Alastor, and Anthony who left, the two men leaving dampness wherever they stepped. Molly, for her part, seemed a bit upset - not sad, but rather a tad angry, somehow.

Anthony, Alastor noticed, didn't look at him and instead just gazed at his shoes the whole time. Alastor and Molly had a few chats about the radio and the upcoming stories, and he even invited her whenever she wanted to visit him at the station, which cheered her up considerably.

After twenty minutes or so, they arrived at Alastor's building. He had insisted on them taking a cab directly and leaving him to walk by himself, but they were going roughly in the same direction and insisted that they never left their friends alone after a night out. Alastor had never heard of such consideration before, and so he couldn't very well keep on asking them to let him leave alone - that would've been far too suspicious.

It was one of those rare occasions in which Albert wasn't at the door, which made sense: it was four in the morning, and the poor, overworked man had to sleep sometime. Alastor had the awful impression that he was severely underpaid because if he had had decent wages, the number of times that he stood there should've made him a millionaire.

Anthony and Molly looked at his ordinary building up and down without a single look of disdain or judgment between them. These kids came from money, real money, and yet they wouldn't turn their nose up at a normal building, didn't mind having poorer friends or having drinks at a bar where the occasional rat might scurry past your feet. They were quite a feat, and Alastor wondered whether their father had anything to do with it - or their mother, for that matter.

"Well, thank you very much for walking me home," he told them, feeling the urge to also thank them for even spending time with him and then bowing.

"Did you have fun?" Anthony suddenly blurted out, breaking his silence. Alastor stared a bit, astonished.

"This was the funniest evening I've had in years," he said quite seriously from the very bottom of his heart. The two siblings didn't laugh at that, only smiled at him rather coyly.

"So, Anthony didn't scare you?" Molly asked, nudging her brother. He elbowed her in return. It seemed that joking about it eased some of the tension that had been building up.

"On the contrary," Alastor said with a smile, watching with his heart in his throat as Anthony seemed to stand up straighter after that. He didn't want to elaborate and didn't feel he had to. He wished Anthony would understand everything that he meant just by the way he was looking at him.

God, how he wished that, at that very moment, Anthony would know and be freaked out like all hell and then run away and never see him again, and then Alastor could tell his father that the boy had simply disliked him and he couldn't do his job. That would be easier. That would be right. But Anthony only stared back, the profundity in his eyes just as beautiful as that first night they had 'met'. He was sodden to the bone, walking around the city in holed socks with his long boots in his hands, and the whites of his eyes were slightly red from the drugs and the sleeplessness, but by all the saints above and below - he could still make your heart stop.

"Good evening," he finally said, a bit dreamily. "Take a cab, don't take chances."

"We won't, mum," Molly said with a laugh, nudging Anthony along, but before they could leave, he stopped.

"I'm sorry about your suit," Anthony told him. Alastor just smiled.

"It's no worry at all," he said, and with that, the two siblings took their leave, Molly at the front, taking Anthony's arm. He kept sneaking glances back at Alastor like he was afraid he might disappear.