It was late in the evening - or perhaps it was early in the morning - Atticus did not know nor care which, when he strolled through the familiar doors of the Demon's Head. Business had been somewhat slow as of late and he'd found himself unable to sleep that night. He was fortunate in that a night at the pub was essentially a typical workday for him.

The bar was surprisingly quiet for a weekend night. There was a trio of burly looking men in the corner grumbling quietly to each other as the barkeep leaned oh his bar with a sleepy expression on his face. Beyond that, the place was empty. Atticus loped over to the bar and asked for his usual - triple firewhisky.

After receiving his drink, he strolled to an empty corner and took a seat. He took a sip of his drink and set the glass onto the table as he pulled out a cigarette. He snapped his fingers and it lit. He took a deep draw and leaned back in his chair, smiling slightly as he exhaled through his nose.

Marcus barged his way into the Demon's Head pub. He gave a quick look around as he made his way to the bar. He saw a few people at tables, but didn’t really care who they were. He pounded on the bar to wake up the barkeep, who quickly walked over to him. “Gimmie the usual, and gimme the bottle too.” He said in his gruff voice as he poked at the bar. The bar keep set a shot glass on the bar with a bottle of Blishen's Fire Cinnamon Flavoured Whisky. Marcus knew not a lot of people drink that, but he didn’t care, he liked the Cinnamon taste, and he wanted something he enjoyed, especially tonight. He needed it tonight because his father almost killed him again for making a mistake with the money at the shop. It was a miracle he got away from the old bastard before anything happened. All Marcus wanted now was to get drunk and forget about it. He poured a shot and drank it down, and began pouring another shot.

Atticus had been sitting there for a few minutes before he heard someone pound on the bar across the room. He looked up and raised an eyebrow when a gruff voice he didn't recognize filled the room. He was arrogant enough to think he knew most of the denizens in the alley by name and voice, but of course that couldn't be true. He looked over and saw who he thought was a clerk at Borgin & Burkes. He couldn't be sure, he hadn't been to the shop too often but the man's face was familiar at any rate.

He smiled as the man was handed the bottle with the shot glass. This was a man who wanted to escape. Considering his current state of boredom and listlessness, Atticus had found himself a kindred spirit. As kindred a spirit in Knockturn Alley could be anyways.

He took his glass and tapped out the remains of his cigarette and walked over to the bar. He signals the barkeep for a top off as he pulled a stool out and took a seat. He then turned and leaned towards the stranger and introduced himself.

"Atticus Roark. Pleasure to meet you on this quiet evening."

As Marcus was pouring his third shot of firewhiskey someone came up and introduced himself quite nicely. Marcus looked over at the young wizard and did not recognize him. He said his name was Atticus Roark. Marcus quickly tried to think if he knew any Roarks, but couldn’t come up with anything. The bloke seemed nice enough, but Marcus knew that if someone was being this nice in Knockturn Alley they were either up to something or chatting him up. Marcus decided to treat this man the way he treats any stranger. “What’s so pleasurable about it?” He asked after downing another shot. He purposely didn’t give this bloke his name.

“What’s so pleasurable about it?”

Atticus chuckled as he took out a cigarette. He lit it with another snap of his fingers and looked back at the stranger. "Call me a simple man, but any night my belly's full of whisky is as pleasurable as can be." He said with a smirk as he nodded towards the stranger's bottle. "I'm sure you feel the same way." He added, eyeing the man's shot glass.

He turned back towards his glass and took another sip. He might've been making a mistake by bothering someone who had clearly come to get drunk, but he'd met some of his most useful contacts and friends this way. Most found his charm disarming at its surface, considering the mood and charisma of your average Knockturn citizen. People in this neighborhood were distrustful at best, which was understandable. Atticus aimed to be as approachable as he could be without laying it on too thick and setting off alarms. If the man remained somewhat standoffish, he'd leave him be.

Marcus came to the pub tonight to be alone and get drunk, but this bloke seemed interesting. He never seen him in here before, and he knew not to fully trust strangers in Knockturn Alley, or anywhere actually, but he decided to give this bloke a chance. He didn’t know if he was chatting him up or not, but he would play with him anyway. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” He said as he poured himself another shot and downed it. He looked over at him again and said “Marcus Flint, I suppose it’s a pleasure to meet you as well.” He said a little dryly as he poured another shot and then held it up in a cheers motion.

“Marcus Flint, I suppose it’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

Atticus smiled as the man gave him his name. He was glad to have broken through the obligatory Knockturn suspicion when meeting new people. The name sounded familiar, but he still couldn't place it. Flint looked too old to have gone to Hogwarts with him, though perhaps he'd heard the name around the alley.

"A pleasure indeed!" He said as he raised his glass to match Marcus' and took another drink. He reveled in the burn of the alcohol for a moment before taking another drag of tobacco. Introductions had been made, perhaps it was time to turn down the bravado a little. He surely didn't want to irritate his new acquaintance with this energy so late in the night.

"You know Marcus, your face looks familiar to me. I've only been living in the alley a few years but I'm confident enough to say I've clocked most of the people around here." He began, turning his head to the side a bit as he thought aloud. "Would it be too bold to ask what you do? I myself am a social organizer of sorts."

Marcus gave a small snort of a laugh when the young man said he never saw him around. Marcus figured it was because his father always had him working. If he wasn’t behind the counter at Borgin & Burkes he was downstairs doing stuff in the basement, and if he wasn’t working he was mostly up in his flat above Borgin & Burke’s. It was then that he realized he hadn’t really been around Knockturn Alley lately. “I work at Borgin & Burkes.” Marcus replied as if it was a boring job, which it was to him, but it was a job. “It’s….a family business.” He added on and then motioned over to the barkeep, who walked over. “Gimmie a pint.” He ordered the barkeep. The bloke said he was a social organizer. Marcus wondered what he meant by that.

“It’s….a family business.”

Atticus raised an eyebrow with curiosity. He'd only been to the shop a few times - it must be where he knew the face from. While he didn't have any particular qualms with most dark artifacts, he didn't outright seek them out either. It had come in handy for a few jobs though, so the idea served as a good back up when traditional means failed.

He looked at Marcus for a moment before deciding not to inquire further about the business. He filed it away for later.

"Sounds dull. No offense-" He started, raising his glass in surrender. "You just look like the type who might like a bit of more adventure. Did you play quidditch at Hogwarts? Assuming you went there." He added hastily before taking another sip of whisky. The best way to get the measure of a man is to learn where he came from. He silently wondered to himself which house this gentleman might've been in, had he matriculated at Hogwarts.

The barkeep gave Marcus a pint of beer and quickly walked away. Marcus listened to the young man as he poured another shot of firewhiskey in the shot glass and then dropped it in the pint of beer. He purposely ignored the blokes question about adventure, because he wanted to avoid anything that would lead to his involvement in the Death Eaters. The question about Hogwarts seemed safer to answer. Marcus gave a quick smirk as he remembered his days in the Slytherin quidditch team. “Yeah I played on the Slytherin quidditch team from 88 to 94, and was captain of the team from 91 to 94.” He answered, still remembering the good old days. “What about you? Did you play quidditch?” He asked the young man that he figured graduated from Hogwarts not too long ago, and then downed half of the pint and slammed the glass down on the bar and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“What about you? Did you play quidditch?”

Atticus chuckled, thinking back to his formative years. He had never been truly comfortable on a broom. In fact, he often claimed nobody was ever comfortable on a broom and those who said they were are abject liars. This might've been a side effect from his pride and narcissistic tendencies. Either way, he had great respect for those who made maneuvering those wretched wooden sticks look easy.

"I never found myself home on a broom, personally. I might've liked beater though - something about whacking murderous sports balls at my enemies sounds rather pleasing." He jested, putting on a mock thinking face as he did. "I spent most of my time at school studying, smuggling or in the dueling club. I'm proud to say I had a rather impressive winning record through the years." He mused, twitching his hand as he did in the motion it would take to twirl a wand. "I must say I do have a competitive side. I was a Ravenclaw, but I often think I would've been just at home as a Slytherin." He added in thought before frowning for a moment.

"I was expelled in my sixth year for purveying contraband, unfortunately. I've been here ever since. Wasted potential and whatnot notwithstanding, I'm not displeased with my lot in life anymore." He mused. He took another long draw from his cigarette and tapped it out in a nearby ashtray. He glanced down at his near-empty glass and motioned the barkeep to refill it, which he did hastily before resuming his quiet stupor in the corner behind the bar.

“Oh , I love flyin’.” Marcus remarked happily. “Put me on a broom and I’m a happy man.” He said just as happily. He didn’t mention anything about the fun he has flying as a crow in his Animagus form. No one but the Death Eaters can know about that. “Speakin’ of brooms, I have a classic Nimbus 2001 I’ve had since 92.” He said showing off about his old gift from Lucius Malfoy. Marcus was proud of that broom and always enjoys showing it off to people. Most people didn’t care as they were more into newer models of brooms.

The man said that he was a Ravenclaw that got expelled for selling contraband. Marcus thought that wasn’t a very Ravenclaw thing to do, and he silently agreed that he would probably fit into Slytherin quite well. Marcus remembered there was Slytherins that sold stuff like that, but he didn’t know if there were students in other houses doing it. “I never heard of a Ravenclaw gettin’ expelled. In my day you lot were too busy with your books and the like.” He said with a laugh and drank more of the pint of beer that the man ordered for him. He wondered if this man was still selling things, as he could use him if he sold stolen antiques or cursed items. “What is it you said you do, again?” He asked the man.

“Speakin’ of brooms, I have a classic Nimbus 2001 I’ve had since 92.”

Atticus had never been one to keep up with brooms, but even he knew this was an impressive model. Albeit it came out just before he was born, he knew of it to be a true and fine quality broom. He was impressed. "Very nice. You know, maybe my issue with brooms was never flying on a high end one. I'm sure you can just about dance in the air with a broom that nice." He mused, stroking his chin.

"I never heard of a Ravenclaw gettin’ expelled. In my day you lot were too busy with your books and the like."

He chuckled and shrugged. That wasn't the first time he'd heard that sentiment and it was unlikely it'd be the last either. "I was more hungry for knowledge for my own benefit, as opposed to being arbitrarily attached to marks and strict academic success. This is why I think I would've done well in Slytherin - the ambition and desire for power, y'know? Alas, my curious side won that fight. Were I re-sorted today though - I'd be donned in green." He said with another chuckle, wondering if being sorted into Slytherin would've altered his life path at all.

“What is it you said you do, again?”

Atticus took a healthy gulp of his newly filled whisky glass and set it back down. He folded his hands and thought of the best way to approach the conversation. This fellow seemed friendly enough, and he did work at Borgin & Burkes so he couldn't be completely on the up and up. Perhaps he had even heard of Atticus, tangentially, as someone in the neighborhood who knew something about something.

"People come to me when they need knowledge. You could say I collect and horde knowledge - the bit of Ravenclaw in me works well at this." He began nebulously. "I've been known to connect people as well. I am an information broker, and a bit of a fixer, for lack of a better term. Something's gone sideways? Owl Roark, he'll clean it up or find someone who can. Need some dirt? He's your guy too. I operate mostly in the alley but I've got contacts in just about every corner of Wizarding society." He said with a bit of a smirk. His job often called for unusual things or actions so it was a bit hard to describe. Initially he'd dealt strictly with information, but as his business grew, so did his offerings.

“I fly like the wind on any broom, but that Nimbus does help.” He bragged. “In fact they say I was the best chaser in the school during my time. Slytherin would’ve won a lot more if there wasn’t that favoritism to that lil bastard Harry Potter.” He said angrily. “That bastard ruined my chances to go pro.” He said just as angrily. Of course he wasn’t telling the truth. All Marcus was, was an aggressive bully on the pitch. In reality Harry was the better quidditch player and deserved all the acceptance he was getting, but Marcus would never admit that.

When Atticus talked about what he does Marcus realized he wasn’t talking to just some regular wizard out for a drink. He knew people like this in the Death Eaters and they got downright serious. Did someone send this bloke after him? Was this bloke trying to get information out of him? Was he in danger? He’d made a lot of enemies in the past. Could he be working with the Order of the Phoenix? Are they catching on that he’s a Death Eater? Would they even do this? Marcus decided to not drink anymore and be more defensive. “You look a lil young to be doin’ all that. How old are you 18?” He asked curiously.

"That bastard ruined my chances to go pro.”

Atticus spit out a bit of his whiskey laughing at the blunt characterization. He had never been one to praise the Potter boy like he was magic's savior. Sure, he defeated an admittedly dangerous wizard bent on genocide - which was all good and well - but he had his faults, he was human, and from what Atticus had read and heard, he'd had a lot of help along the way. As a student of history, Atticus would grant the W to Albus Dumbledore before anyone else. He smiled at his internal pedantry.

"Potter isn't the messiah, that's for sure." He said, still amused by Marcus' comment.

“You look a lil young to be doin’ all that. How old are you 18?”

This was a classic response Atticus got when telling people what he did. He couldn't blame them. He'd become well practiced at responding to it at any rate. "Nineteen. But don't let my age fool you - I've been out here since before I was a legal wizard, having been expelled at sixteen. A determined man can reach any damn mountain top he pleases with a bit of luck and a lot of effort." He said simply before taking another sip. He knew it to be true. He could frankly afford to live in Diagon Alley or the nicer parts of London, but he felt no need. His best contacts resided in the Alley and in the years he'd spent there, he had become quite fond of it. Sure, it was a grimy run down neighborhood but it had character. It was his only home since his parents disowned him following his expulsion. He loved it and it showed.