Anthony was there. And holy fucking hell, was he pissed off. The sign that hung from his neck, gleefully admitting that he was not only from the prestigious pure-blooded Goldstein family, also reminded anyone who didn't know his father that he was also a half-blood, and offspring to a relationship that had rocked the boat back in the day. Pure-blooded poster child for evil and a Muggle-born Ravenclaw? That wasn't something you saw every day.
Candice was dead. He was the last one left, and for some reason, Anthony had the sensation in his stomach that made him believe that there would be people fighting to have him. If not the people who had told him over journals, then other Death Eaters who wanted him just because of his father. Either out of nostalgia or purely to fuck with him.
The scowl, set permanently into his features, contrasted darkly against the glittering text of his sign. Anthony had no intention of putting on airs or behaving himself. Fuck that. Maybe if he was surly enough, it would remind everyone that he was not to be fucked with.