February 11, 1893 — Hogwarts Corridors
Spring term had been absolute bollocks so far. In wake of the chaos from New Years Eve, Basil had been actively avoiding… well everyone that mattered in his life including (and most especially) Gus Lissington. He… he didn’t know where they stood anymore and frankly, he was too afraid to ask. Victoire… well, he wasn’t quite sure there either if the pit in the base of his stomach was any indication. And Anthony? By god, he hadn’t gone near his cousin (or his brother) since he’d woken up hungover from the amortentia and immediately stolen back to Hogwarts in the dead of mornings first light. He hadn’t even said goodbye to his mother, a feat that was telling in and of itself! On this mid-afternoon in February, as he waltzed wearily from his classroom towards a new haunt on the grounds he’d made a home of, nose buried deep in a pile of essays he ought to grade soon, Basil paid hardly any mind to the ongoings in the Great Hall. He knew there was something afoot with the potions students but he wasn’t quite bothered to plug into what. It was for this reason he was startled to see a familiar face round the corner and nearly throw him for a loop. (If something in his chest fluttered nervously at the sight, that was nobody’s business at all!) “Agrimony Macnair?” Basil heard himself greet, incredulously. What the hell are you doing here? Nearly followed.
Instead, Basil felt the hint of a smile play across his face: a look that had not graced him in months now. Standing up just a bit taller than before, and trying not to think too hard about the last time he’d seen Macnair (or anything they might have gotten up to as children and made his cheeks pinken), he tucked the stack of essays under his arm and closed the small space between them, hand outstretched for a greeting. “What brings you to these hallowed halls?”