Catch The Snitch

The weight of London settled differently than V remembered.

Six years was a long time to be away from a place that had never quite felt like home to begin with, but standing at the entrance to Diagon Alley; properly standing there, not hunched and trying to take up less space. Vincent Mathis found himself actually looking forward to walking those cobblestones again. Chicago had been good to him. Chicago had given him room to breathe, to build himself into someone he could actually stand to see in the mirror. But there was something about coming back that felt like closing a circle he hadn't known was still open.

He adjusted the strap of the leather messenger bag slung across his chest and stepped into the flow of foot traffic, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. The late afternoon sun caught on the ink visible at his collar, the edge of something intricate that disappeared beneath the fitted black henley he wore. His hair; longer now, dirty blond curls pulled back in a short ponytail shifted as he tilted his head back to take in the familiar shopfronts.

Some things hadn't changed. Ollivanders still stood with its peeling gold letters. Flourish & Blotts still had stacks of books visible through its windows. But there were new shops too, spaces that had been rebuilt or repurposed in the aftermath of the war. Scaffolding still clung to one building like skeletal fingers, a reminder that healing took time. V had a mental list: potion ingredients he couldn't get stateside, a few specific books, maybe check in at the apothecary about restocking his personal supplies. Practical things. Mundane things. The kind of things that didn't require him to explain to anyone why he was back or what he'd been doing with himself.

He paused outside Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, eyes scanning the window display of crystallized porcupine quills and carefully labeled jars. Through the glass, he could see the shop was moderately busy; witches and wizards browsing the shelves, the shopkeeper measuring out something that smoked faintly purple. For a moment, just a moment, that old instinct flickered. The one that said keep your head down, don't draw attention, make yourself smaller.

V rolled his shoulders back, felt the fabric of his shirt pull across muscle that hadn't existed the last time he'd walked this street, and pushed the door open. The bell chimed overhead, bright and clear. He belonged here just as much as anyone else.
The shop smelled like it always had: dried herbs and something vaguely sulfuric, underneath notes of wood and parchment. V moved toward the back where the rarer ingredients were kept, his boots quiet on the worn wooden floor. He was scanning the shelves, looking for essence of dittany, when he felt it.

That prickle of awareness. Someone's attention, landing on him and staying.

It had been a bit of time since Adeline had been in Diagon Alley herself, having been running her shop in Hogsmeade, but even she had things she had to come and buy. It was always like going on a little adventure, though she wouldn't know how to do so discreetly if it bit her.

She was looking for supplies for a new type of paint she wanted to try to make, which had her little basket on her arm full of little bottles and jars that were clinking together as she moved about the apothecary in her bright, floral-patterned gown, her hair pulled back in a bun, but with a flowery hair stick peeking out of it. She was humming to herself, largely unconcerned about the people around her, looking over the different items on the shelf, seeming to really consider each one, hand to her mouth as she thought.

She glanced over as she heard the jingle of the bell at the door, which broke her thought process for the moment, and she started to look back before doing a double-take at the figure who'd come in. He looked familiar, but... he'd certainly changed since she'd seen him last. "Vincent?" she asked as she approached, not entirely sure she was correct. "Sorry if I'm wrong, you just look like someone I remember," she said with a good-natured laugh, waving her hand, "You might not remember me, too, oh hum, I should have thought that through more," she put her hand to her cheek realizing she'd made this entire thing awkward, "Sorry," she said again, "I'm Adeline, you were only in your second year at Hogwarts when I was finishing up, so this is probably really weird," she made a face that said this was not the first time she'd sort of helped herself to a conversation only to realize maybe she was being a bit forward,"Might remember me from having to clean off my messes from the ceiling of potions? Usually bright colors cause I couldn't help myself," she laughed a little, "Uh... well, how have you been?" she asked.

She'd started the conversation; might as well be polite and keep talking. That was the polite option, right? Sometimes she wasn't sure if it was truly polite or just her optimism and desire to make friends. She'd always been a social butterfly, clearly the type of girl who had never been told she wasn't able to be friends with someone, and wanted to try to be friends with everyone.

V turned at the sound of his name, and for a split second that old defensive tension tried to creep up his spine; the instinct that said what do they want, what did I do wrong before his brain caught up with what he was actually seeing.
Adeline.

Adeline.

Bright as a damn sunrise even in the dim lighting of the apothecary, floral dress and all, looking exactly like he remembered except older, more confident in a way that seemed to just radiate off her. The kind of person who'd never learned to dim herself for anyone else's comfort, and Christ, he'd forgotten how rare that was.

The smile that broke across his face was genuine, reaching all the way to his eyes as recognition clicked fully into place. "No, you're… you're absolutely right," he said, his voice carrying that low rumble that still sometimes surprised him when he heard it. Six years of actually using it, of not swallowing every word before it could leave his mouth, had changed even that. "It's me. And yeah, I remember you, Adeline...Right?"

How could he not? Adeline Green who'd turned the Potions classroom ceiling magenta one memorable afternoon, and who'd apologized so profusely to Professor Snape that even he had looked exhausted by the sincerity of it. Who'd been kind to the awkward second-year who mostly just tried to blend into the dungeon walls.

"The purple one was my favorite, I think," V added, shifting his weight so he was facing her properly, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck in a gesture that was equal parts sheepish and amused. "Third year? You were trying to make something that was supposed to turn things invisible and instead it just made everything smell like lilacs for a week."

He glanced down at himself at the visible ink crawling up his forearms where his sleeves were pushed back, at the way he actually took up space now instead of trying to fold in on himself then back up at her with something self-aware in his expression. "I, uh. Yeah, I've changed a bit since then. Been in Chicago the last six years, just moved back a couple weeks ago."

The basket on her arm was clinking with bottles, and he caught sight of some of the labels. Interesting combination. "Paint supplies?" he guessed, because that seemed like exactly the kind of thing Adeline would be doing. "How've you been? Still making colorful disasters, or did you finally convince potions to behave?"