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Back from Delhi... Or was it Morocco? Prague? They all blurred together. Basil walked empty pockets through the corridors, trying to track down his dad. A rangy looking twenty something with holes in his Muggle jeans and a half tucked in button-down shirt ambling through the Ministry would normally cause a stir, but when your dad happened to be Minister of Magic, heads suddenly turned the other way. The last sixth months were a blur of country to country and girl to girl. He never stayed long. Getting what he came for; a new experience, a new high. He surfaced for occasional holidays and random stints in the simple London flat he'd rented weeks after leaving Hogwarts. The first two years out were far less eventful, filled with musing and sketches and whatever was on his mind when he wasn't sleeping or getting pissed at the pub below his flat. Finding himself. That's what he called it. And just when either parent began to protest, he'd submit a random piece to the Prophet or a literary journal and the accolades would be enough to tide him over.

Tripping over a lose shoelace, Basil tied it out of obligation, looking at curious eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the infamous Bristow bachelor. The ruddy shoe made his stomach cringe slightly with regret. Lowell was going to be pissed he'd shown up again under-dressed. Really, he just hadn't thought about it. He'd flown in just the night before, preferring Muggle air for the obscurity (as well as the flight attendants). The morning consisted of a cup of stale cereal and tossing on the few items of clothing he'd luckily found tossed in the back of a closet. He'd go shopping - once he convinced his dad to lend him a few galleons. Just until he could bother to find his Gringotts key. Really - it had to be in one of the boxes he kept at the manor. At least, he thought it was stashed alongside his old Head Boy badge and the prophet clippings that he'd found most entertaining.

Wandering to the nearest lift, he supposed he'd try and see who was around in the Auror department. Someone there kept tabs on his dad; naturally, being their job to protect and all. Pressing the button he slumped casually to the side, glancing around in boredom. Not like there was much to see. The Ministry was nothing like a dirty street corner or exotic beach. Same, standard, methodical, bland - not him. The chime rang and the doors opened. Basil yawned, turning to step foot, glancing up, and promptly turning slack-jawed. He'd had too much sun. Too much sun and booze and mirages had appeared before, so this was nothing different. The face was one he'd know anywhere, and most of all in his dreams. Though, he couldn't deny the small differences. It was the differences that convinced him she was real. Gaping long enough, the doors began to close, nearly shut when Basil furrowed his brow and shoved his hand to halt the automation. Casual, like he'd known all along (or perhaps cautiously that she was, indeed, a figment of his convoluted mind), Basil took a spot by her side and shrugged. "Security let you up here? Are you sure you aren't carrying some exotic disease?" His voice was slightly wary and his gaze remained stoically forward. "They scan for that sort of thing, right?"