February 2, 2022 – 4:24 AM
Jan 16. 1982 - Malfoy house, London (early afternoon)

The youngest Foxwood was currently on his way to court (bleh!) the youngest Miss Victoire Malfoy. That would be the name of the woman he’d been chatting with on New Years Eve, apparently. (If Atticus was to be trusted, which Basil severely doubted.) There was no true heart behind the action and he felt ridiculous even holding the damn flowers as he stomped along. This was an empty gesture and frankly, he pitied the poor girl for having to put up with him this languid, cloudy Sunday afternoon.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t liked Ms. Malfoy, truly. After their initial awkward er… not quite introduction, Basil hadn’t minded conversing with the woman all too much. They had absolutely nothing in common and ran out of friendly topics in a few minutes, but she had been pleasant enough. In all truth though, Basil wasn’t sure he could pick his interaction with Ms. Malfoy out of a lineup with other debutantes if someone had asked him to. They were all very much the same, some with a little more zest than others. Victoire? Well she was… less pretentious, he supposed. Less pretentious by far than some smug professors he knew, for sure.
Still thinking about the ambush he’d walked in on that morning at breakfast, his face was dark. Basil sucked in a deep breath as he arrived at, what he hoped, was the right door. Shaking some of the cobwebs and storm clouds from his face, he knocked respectfully three times. Perhaps Miss Malfoy would be out. That was the only cheering thought he could cling to as footsteps approached from the other side of the door.