a little sincerity is a dangerous thing; a great deal of it is absolutely fatal

[amourpropre]

Who: Lucius Malfoy (Sr) and "Vanessza Bernát"
What: A second appointment.
Where: Syriac Well.
When: Newdie afternoon.

He Apparates silently out front her apartment building, likely startling anyone who happens to be crowding the sidewalk - but that is also one of the small, pettier pleasures of living in Baedal. Good to remember when home sickness, or something like it and perhaps with more dignity, draws its bow across his nerves like the world's tiniest violin. It's coming down with sleet, a little bit London about its damp Christmas weather and urban angles, and he allows a glance around before leaving it behind. He carries specks of the quick-melting ice water on his coat, one that is the approximate same colour as the grey streets he leaves behind, his clothing plainly Muggle in cut and sensibilities for all that long, scraggling tendrils of platinum-grey hair and affected addition of a cane is less so.

But there are all kinds, out here.

The end of that length of elm is used to knock against "Vanessza's" door when he arrives at it, drawing up his posture as if he has to remember to do so, a small twitch at his mouth at the twinge to his arm at the movement. A glance down at shoes, reflexive if belated, to see that they are suitably clean, for all the good it would do him.