Clint wasn't in the best of moods. In fact, he'd been a right shit all week. He blamed Bletchley for his current state of despair. Of course, that wasn't exactly fair. He'd done a lot to sully his own reputation but when your supposed friends started to lose faith in you? That became a problem. He was just so bloody fucking tired of the insinuation that he wasn't good enough. He had zero fucking interest in Roslyn Bletchley. Not that she wasn't a pretty girl. She was. But she was Miles' sister and he didn't cross those fucking lines.
Not that Miles seemed to believe it. Miles thought he'd fuck anything that walked and that wasn't even close to the truth. Well, maybe a little close. Not someone's sister. If anything, Miles should be mad at Ade. It'd take a blind idiot not to see what was going on there. But, Ade was always the angel to Clint's devil. He growled at a kid who bumped into him and stuffed his hands in his pockets, heading further down the street.
He was in the midst of a crisis. He knew this but couldn't quite figure out what he wanted to do about it. Sunday afternoon on Diagon Alley was always busy and he appreciated that. It was easier to blend in and move about without being harassed by the busy-bodies of the wizarding world. Sighing, he spotted a familiar head of brown hair and a slow smile spread. She was talking with someone but he didn't care. Right now, Clint Warrington was feeling the need to prove that he was more than people made him out to be and Penelope Clearwater, while utterly beautiful, was just the person to cheer him up and help him out.
He purposefully made his way towards her, admiring her shapely arse and thighs when a realization hit him and stopped him in his tracks, another bloke bumping into him. He shot him a dirty look and paused, looking back at Clearwater. They weren't normally seen together. Not here. He had his reasons but he'd never actually thought about hers. Fuck. Standing there, ten feet away, he felt like the world's biggest arse. This whole 'pureblood playboy' shit was starting to be fucking exhausting. He couldn't remember the last time he was himself.