Despite himself, Michael snorted in amusement. "Shagging equals communism now? I need another couple of these," he tapped the side of his beer, "before that makes sense." Except it sort of did. Everything worked better in theory -- he'd never been that kind of Ravenclaw, though. He felt like he should've seen it coming. Then again most of the past year he'd spent looking at the bottom of a bottle; the only thing he saw was his bar tab.
Even so, he'd been aware enough at times to follow what was going on outside of his own self-imposed wallowing. Eva had family who had been on You-Know-Who's side, he knew that. He felt sorry for her but not for her uncles. Branding was too good for what Death Eaters and their supporters should face. At least they were still free to roam the streets. Not like what his father had gone through. Eva's surprise knocked Michael out of his morose thoughts, and he scrubbed a hand across his mouth, belatedly. Had Ernie made the information public? Shit, he couldn't remember. "Proof that clean living's not all it's cracked up to be. Your past comes back to haunt you, blah blah blah. They tagged him for some club he used to be in at school or something." Michael was a shit liar; he knew exactly why Ernie was an ST, and his gaze slid away from Eva as he spoke.