Normal Is Underrated

He needed to clear his mind.

Albus had been feeling.....off for the past few days. Too moody, too fluctuating, like the flow and ebb of the tide, except a million times more unpredictable. Happy for the strangest and cheesiest of reasons, suddenly and tempestuously angry, sad like the world's deepest, dreariest dumps. It was a sudden, frightening change for a man so adept to masking his emotions and thoughts. If he was completely honest with himself, he hadn't masked for weeks, hadn't faked for weeks, and Albus didn't know if it was liberating, or the bloody scariest thing that had ever happened to him.

Crap. He was feeling too much.

It was a tumultuous mess, his thoughts. A spinning, out-of-control typhoon, ready to shred and rip every conception he had built about the world, every assumption he had made about its people, every character trait he felt he had possessed. Albus was a man with rules, strict ones, ones he never broke. Except he found himself inadvertently bending and stretching and contorting the best of them, and reacting and acting completely unlike himself.

Resentment brimmed up in him, like a simmering pot of water. Ah, at last, a familiar emotion. It was all their fault. Theirs, Jack and Katrina-Carlotta, and everyone else who had talked to him for the last couple of months. Really talked to him, not his shell. They had coaxed him, from a spot where he was resentfully happy, happily bored and constricted. Forced him to step up and actually participate in life, instead of following the predictable script. Actually being out there was so much more different that imagining it. Now he was open to hurts, to disappointments. It annoyed the hell out of him.

So Albus stepped into Borgin and Burkes, and relished the thought that he was smiling politely (fakely) and conducting conversation with the owner (fakely), and surveying the displays inadvertently, out of sight (secretively). No one knew, or cared. Secrets could still be kept, however small and inane. The thought sent a wave of comfort in his chest.

Then someone caught his eye, robes hinting at the corner of his vision, as the bell tinkled and someone stepped in. Finally, someone to test the strength of his mask, and ensure that the cracks in it were healed. To make sure that he hadn't lost his ability yet. Add to the fact that this would aid in the Rebel mission, Albus stepped up to the newcomer with adrenaline rippling almost gently in his veins, smile intact.

"Mister Krum. I don't believe we are acquainted."

Knockturn Alley harboured a certain type of Wizard within its glaringly dingy architecture. It was a place that only Dark Wizards truly knew and a place Light Wizards understandably feared. In the case of many Purebloods, though it depended on which side of the Mudbloods you laid yourself, Knockturn Alley was a place where grey magic could thrive and practitioners of the darker arts could harbour their secrets until such times as they wished to use the spells they’d learnt. For the Krum family it was of no consequence but an asset indeed when they were in London and it was this alley that Elijah traipsed in his expensive robes with his newly acquired secretary – blonde and expendable – tottering in tow, shrieking at every little twitch in the darkness. Even in day, the Victorian lampposts that Knockturn Alley boasted blazed with life.

Slinging an arm around the blonde’s waist, Elijah brought her close, whispering that she had nothing to be afraid of; a statement they both knew to be a lie though she visibly relaxed despite it. It wasn’t a long walk, he’d promised her while in the office though once they’d begun it soon became obvious that his idea of a short walk was vastly different to hers. Walking from one office to another in those shoes was a long walk. Walking through Knockturn Alley was like a marathon for her. She had offered to accompany him, however, and Elijah wasn’t going to turn down a chance to make it clear to her exactly who was in charge. There was nothing more he despised than little witches who tried to run the Ministry; and she was one of them.

The pass off was easy enough, as though it hadn’t happened at all. Elijah’s arm left her waist and another wound round it, sweeping her away down into the depths of the alley as he came to a stop outside of Borgin and Burke’s. He paid no heed to her screams. No one did.

Stepping into the shop, Elijah glanced up derisively at the bell that rang shrilly over the top of the door. Elijah looked over at the owner and shared a smirk with him before watching as he sent his apprentice into the back to fetch something that was mentioned lowly, below Elijah’s ability to pick up the formed words. Elijah inclined his head a little in the direction of where the other man had taken the blonde before moving over to a display cabinet of wands he couldn’t deny himself from looking over.

At the sound of his name, Elijah looked up and found himself looking at none other than Albus Potter. Elijah did not allow the surprise to show on his face but instead schooled his features into an impassive stare as he looked over Albus. True enough he was a Potter but by no means was he a Potter. No, no Potter would willingly be seen in Knockturn Alley, especially not considering the role the Weasleys had played in the way the last dredges of the family had come forth.

“Good Afternoon, Mr. Potter,” Elijah replied smoothly. “Indeed, I believe your right.” He extended his hand with a smile. “What can I do for you?”