“Stop it there…” Blanc’s shout reached the outer side of the door once the young bloke exited the Three Broomsticks without any intention of retreating.

The Charms professor stood there, perplex just as he watched him fleeing as he usually did. Roux had a temper he wasn’t much accustomed to confront in such situations, and whenever it regarded his mood, Blanc wasn’t precisely open to dialogue. Another discussion due another mishap and the father was yet eying him go, relentless and quite unstoppable as him, and only he was. It should offer the best spectacle for those around, gathered in such way it seemed they has only assembled to witness the scene. It didn’t come in handy that Blanc’s repute of being an impeccable man tarnished by his son’s deeds wasn’t enhancing his honourable image, but otherwise. “I pursue nothing but his own sake…” he mumbled, perhaps to himself just as he glanced at everyone’s reaction, letting alone the fact he opted to just dismiss the looks and the whispers from behind him.

Blanc turned around, spinning on his right leg as he darted upon the seat he was sitting on before, just to grasp his belongings firmly, holding them tight as he edged towards the bar, occupying a free seat next to a work colleague. There wasn’t much interaction between him and the Herbology professor, but he couldn’t help himself when he was irritated. “May I?” he queried nicely, just as he waited for a nod – his French accent still prominent just as his folded lips by then.

“I tend to talk to myself when I’m ruffled… Is it bad I only seek for his sake? … I mean… he’s about to become an adult… I don’t want him to end up in Azkaban…” drastic wouldn’t describe his situation, and venting was the only soothing manner in which he could find ease in the midst of this conundrum. “This should be terminated… I just ran out of options…”

“Bourbon scotch for me…” he added. The French would normally bottle it up and regain his pride, yet perhaps this time he could have a conversation with a stranger, and who knew, it could bloat his ego, just a bit.

Blanc couldn’t help his tongue once his mouth was open, and sometimes it was more of a matter of perusing than actual barking. Tempered and at ease, this bipolar French could go from sane to mental in a couple of seconds. It only took the right spark to ignite the fire within and let the anger and the hatred took possession of his body and of his soul. The man wasn’t the most poised and collected person on earth, but he didn’t bubble with rage out of nowhere, as there always needed to be a reason behind it. Blanc held the scotch high, lifting it at the height of his eyes, sulking in his place, just as he glanced at the bartender and those around, hoping he might find something to cling to that wasn’t the actual glass with liquor. French didn’t turn to people to vent about their problems, but Blanc could make an exception every once in a while. You couldn’t just go throughout livelihood without peers, and somehow he was certain of it, and it was just a concept still alien to him. His lips moulded to the crystal as he sipped from its contents, letting the liquid oozed down his throat into his stomach, scorching his guts from the very inside, though the sensation instead of unnerving was relaxing.

‘Condom?’ Blanc’s thoughts didn’t out, yet they were cold and distant. At times, he actually wished he hadn’t conceived any child, due his beloved’s absence and due the burden he was carrying with, knowing it was out of his hands. He couldn’t prevent himself from longing for it, but it was futile and worthless. “If only…” he sighed, stowing the cup back on its place.

“They come to earth like angels…. And then, they start causing trouble… before you know it, he’s telling you his girlfriend is pregnant and that he has to marry…” his voice trailed off on the last sentence, since he was sort of projecting his own issues.

“Bottom up” he replied, joining her on the toast - if that could be called such. He hoisted his glass once more, taking another gulp to liberate himself from inhibitions. The more he drank, the less he cared about things. The elixir could make him forgive and forget without notion. “If you want an advice… don’t have children…” his eyes opened widely, indicating he was being serious about the subject.

Broussard was nothing but sincere from the moment his lips parted to share something, and along with, his sense of responsibility always coerced him to confess whatever lie may have been erupted mistakenly. The professor regarded at his flaw and just as the empty glass thumped against the large bar before they were seated at, shaking his head in denial as Catherine sipped from his beverage, just worried upon the subject his words might have been misunderstood. “I’d love to say that ain’t preoccupying me, but it does take my attention often… However, I don’t believe knocking someone up is a problem I front now” being a French, the bloke was so used to the alcohol slipping down his throat that it seemed as though he hadn’t drunk anything at all. Being pissed (as of wasted) wasn’t something appealing to him, and the experience and years of abundant drinking worked their marvels on himself.

The man wiggled his finger at the tender before indicating that he wouldn’t let her pay for the round, but he stood perplexed at the easiness in which she basically emptied the vessel from a sip, luring his gaze towards the woman. “You’re not bad yourself, you know” Even when the man wasn’t much into blonds, since his hair was quite like it, he couldn’t deny that she was a fine specimen and that he should be mental for neglecting her beauty. “Grandpa is not the word I’m looking for…” he mused, fixating his lost orbs at some random point of the room, before retrieving the conversation.

“You know Roux… he is my principal worry of the day… every single day” he asked for another glass for himself, unsure if the lady would bear another round of her own. “I’m still expecting for the day when I’m kicked out from school when Roux flunks every single lesson” It was bizarre to teach the boy during classes, so he sort of let him out of the classroom and gave him private lessons instead; although he couldn’t teach him anything he already know. “I’m actually appalled that you didn’t mention anything negative about him… I think he’s taking Herbology, but not sure” he roved his sight to the wooden surface and just pouted a little before having another sip from his bourbon, burning his throat as it downed.

‘Not telling you anything?’ the man’s brows arched, his beard figuring in the same direction, framing his features as to hide the paleness of his skin with the dark golden tresses that moulded to each expression. Told to be an attractive man with his natural grandeurs of accent and charm, he could get himself dishevelled and unkempt. “I suppose you are in awareness of my bane” the man gazed at her, tilting his head a little as he could acknowledge the beverage was producing its effect on the woman, and so was on himself, not like he could feel queasy or the like, but alcohol could unleash his savage side which had granted him his deceased wife, amongst the rest of his lovers. Reared within the French status, almost like Germans, French were taught to drink, thusly, it wasn’t quite possible to get him pissed with so little.

“If you say so, lady” the French let a dimpled smile grew across his face, grasping the glass with his hand before depositing its contents into his mouth, sipping copiously from it as he just put it back on the wooden surface, emptied. “Mind me admonishing drinking only what you can handle” it escaped him, feeling her closeness, catching the breath that was expelled from her lips. “ Donnez-moi un autre whisky” he stated, eying the bartender tending the girl alone as he carried another bottle to her.

“ ne vit qu'une fois" the man addressed the woman from the side, holding the glass at a certain distance from her, just as he took another dip into the liquid, soaking it from a sip. “For the prat I have for son… for having something good coming to his life before his light extinguishes”

Blanc’s eyes roved from her to the bartender, as she seemed reluctant to measure her beverages, as gauging is a method of prudence, intended nowadays to preserve sense when jetsam and flotsam rouses, neglected nonetheless by those sensualists who procure nothing but the absolute quench of their whims and penchants. Not slightly queasy, but exhilarated by the substance, the maroon elixir nestled in his grip, the Charms professor could wade into a sulphuric notion churning his guts and burning his throat as the liquor made its way down his mouth and beyond. Bourbon was not only filling the tumbler to its rim, but causing a besmirching impression on those around him, as he endeavoured his best nonchalance, with his thoughts numbed by the alcohol penetrating down deep into his stomach, veins and basically his entrails.

“To that…” heaving the tumbler, the man let it hover delicately for a moment or so before tipping down to his lips, devouring each droplet as if the reservoirs of the content had vanished and that was all that was left from it. The toast, he wasn’t exactly certain of why, was laden with remorse, scowling at his own innuendos respect of his son. Roux was a headache, indeed, a mishap he couldn’t exactly fix, as the precocious bloke was now experiencing what he had surely experienced himself throughout his revelry days back into his youth. “Am I? really? … ” he replied in a questioning tone, quite phlegmatic, disinterest profuse in the lines.

“This is something should be done more regularly, indeed” the feverish slurring, infused by the alcohol levels, as cup by cup the man was exceeding his limits at intoxication, poisoned by it in a way that could only cause his tongue to twist whenever he wanted to say something, making him express himself with slow elaborated jesting, as drawling. “I think we should make this a private session” he suggested, completely out of himself by the time he was collocating the glass back on the counter, handing out a generously copious tip to the bartender, extracted from the depths of his trousers pockets.

Expecting for the woman, the smug professor helped her to find her way as they both exited the tavern and headed to the insides of a ramshackle inn not so afar from the place, chuckling and wheezing along the woman as they sneered at everything they set their gaze upon. Eerie notion that was, grasping a whisky bottle in his right as they staggered through the narrow streets and into the rustic site, demanding an habitation summarily (in Blanc’s words), though seemingly there were no tenders in the vestibule, letting a grimace flourished on Blanc’s features – frowning ensued.

The man goaded Catherine through an ample corridor and pointed his wand at the knob, pinning her to the door as it swung open, rapping her against the wall as they entered shutting the door closed behind him. Blanc felt his head insufflate with morbid deems, enclosing the woman with his arms as they moulded to her waist and his lips sank furtively below her chin, etching her neck as he traced a delicate line from the neck to her ear’s lobule, nibbling softly on it before darting his whole attention upon her lips, extolling the significance engulfing a French-kiss as his deft mouth worked his marvels on hers.