Over the past few moths, Stephen had really come to hate London. Which made it a vaguely good thing that he was here, since this was not London, despite being miserable, basically metropolitan, and dreary. It was all those things, somewhat colder, and the accent was different. But he supposed there weren't as many Death Eaters. At least, he couldn't be absolutely sure, but it was logical that they wouldn't be. They usually kept their estates in places that weren't so awful to live in. At least, this is what Stephen assumed. Or at least, it was probably why there were so many Halfbloods living here now.
At least, that encompassed most of the witches and wizards he'd met around here. But there was an obvious reason for that, but he chose to ignore it and assume that Annalise and her crew were an accurate representation of the magical population of Sunderland.
Technically, he was only here to get his payment for a job he'd done in a place that was vaguely near here. It wasn't anything he wasn't used to being asked to do, indeed, the last five times he'd talked to Annalise he'd ended up warding up someone's house. It was fairly easy work, considering he wasn't so much focused on protecting the residents as getting the house into a state where the Death Eaters would have to go through a lot of trouble if they actually wanted to find it. It cost a few Galleons on top of the fee for actually getting you out of the country, but in Stephen's opinion they were getting their money's worth.
And in return he was basically being paid fairly. It wasn't that memory potions were difficult to come by, and you could even get them for cheap if you knew the right people. They were just impossible to get if you were a wanted criminal. Or, you know, someone with Muggle status. But Stephen had noticed he was starting to need them - partly just to remember how he'd come to the conclusions he'd come to the night before.
He didn't have real problems. Normal people blacked out when they'd had too much to drink. The only difference for him was that he didn't stop writing.
Of course, it might have looked like a problem when the only consumable items in his house were a carton of fags and a few bottles of wine, but he was presently rectifying that. It was much easier to go "shopping" here than in Bognor Regis. There were more people about, so fewer noticed him. He was mostly done, and just trying to find a place to Apparate when he saw the bakery. Well, it was a bit riskier than a supermarket, but he smoothed down his hair and went in anyway. He then pretended to look around until he found a place were no one was watching him, cast a Disillusionment charm over himself, and went to work stuffing a selection of delicious-looking things into his mokeskin pouch.
No one said this was dignified.
He waited to make his escape, and then darted out of the shop with just the tinkling of bells and the shopgirl boredly saying, "And ye have a good day."