Being in this part of London was always strange to Basil. No matter how many times he navigated Diagon Alley the chaos of it was always so stark in contrast to the eeriness of Knockturn. Here even shadows seemed to crawl in the brazen light of day but nothing, not even the unsettling hoot of something that was decidedly not an owl could deter him. No, Basil Foxwood was on a mission today. A mission to smoke out the one man he hadn’t seen in quite some time and who, for all intents and purposes, could serve as the best distraction to all the ongoings in his own life that Basil wanted to step away from, just for an afternoon.

Agrimony Macnair, for all his peculiarities, had a way of setting Basil’s mind to straights when the Ravenclaw most needed it. And these days, Basil needed it. Macnair’s perspective, his view of the world, was curious enough that it could turn even his most academic moment on its side, forcing Basil to see the world through another lens and - more often than not - come out of their exchanges with greater clarity. He needed a dose of such reality the longer this summer wore on, even if there were (mostly) positive things coming from his days as late.

Basil rounded a bend that he was almost certain would lead him to Curios Apothecary, but it did not. Skittish now as something slithered by his feet, the Ravenclaw huffed indignantly to himself. This was ridiculous. He ought to have just invited Agrimony for tea but instead, his impatience about this whole novel business had led Basil here: to some bizarre back corner of London in which he was wholly unfamiliar. Deciding a cigarette might settle his nerves, Basil pulled one from his waistcoat and gave it a light. One, two, three puffs and he felt his mind settle a bit. (It had been some time since he’d smoked; Mama had thought to finally have her way, but alas!) He carried on around another bend.

There. Finally. With a sense of some slight relief, Basil marched up to the front of Macnair’s shop and gave his cigarette another few puffs. He was loathe to leave it behind now, having just settled in, but it would be rude to impose. So, stomping it out, brushing himself off, and giving his waistcoat a small tug to tidy his appearance, Basil made to enter the shop. Overhead a small bell tinkled. “Macnair?”

The shop was empty inside and Basil looked about for Macnair with some curiosity as grey hues caught on every number of imaginable invention. The Slytherin had really made something for himself here, Basil couldn’t deny it. If only he held shop in a more savory location, then the Ravenclaw might venture forth all the more. (But maybe that was the point.) Deciding it didn’t matter as he caught his reflection in a bit of silver, Basil focused instead on brushing his bangs to the side. He looked a right mess! A few more brushes and nothing happened to improve his appearance so Basil sighed. Well, at least he was charmingly academic. (Or so he hoped.)

---

---