Location: Columbia Road Flower Market

Staring at the multitude of colorful blooms dotting the stalls, Kit didn't hear his name being repeatedly called behind him. He couldn't even get himself to look away from the flowers, lost in the sight of them and the names of those he could identify, until a little Shetland Sheepdog in various grays and whites barked merrily and ran in little circles around his legs.

Art commissioned from LunarEden on Deviantart.
Please do not steal.

The artist stopped and stared down at the 10-inch tall Sheltie dog and grinned before reaching down to pet it. He knew her well. "Hello, Rue," he greeted before standing back up and looking around. "If you're here, then Vermithirod must be too, huh...?"

"That's right," grumbled a 5'6" elderly man in his 80s who came hobbling over to them with the aid of a cane. Despite his age, he appeared quite hale and was somewhat stout as well as robust. He had a thick, pointed silver beard that was well-kept, rectangular spectacles, and a large scar over his left eye. He peered at Kit through his spectacles, mouth downturned in its usual frown, and then looked past him at the flowers. "You might have noticed us sooner if you hadn't been so absorbed in whatever you were doing. Both of us were calling out to you. Just what was it you were so busy looking at?"

Despite the scorn in the old man's voice, Kit smiled at him. He knew Vermithirod's ornery words came from a place of concern. "Oh, sorry...yeah, I was just reminded of my mother. She loves flowers."

"Oh, you poor thing," a 5'4" older woman suddenly spoke up, her eyes closed as she appeared at Vermithirod's side. The Sheltie dog, Rue, had transformed into that very woman, her gray dress, varying shades of gray hair, and white apron, old-fashioned apron reminiscent of the colors the dog had sported in her thick fur. Like the dog, the woman Rue's eyes were closed to avoid frightening people with the lack of eyes behind her lids, keeping her empty eye sockets from being exposed. "You must miss her, mustn't you? Isn't she back in America?"

"That's the thing," Kit answered with a grim smile, turning back to stare at the flowers some more. "I don't...know if I miss her. Maybe it's wrong of me not to, but...I just don't know."

Vermithirod scoffed. "What do you mean 'maybe it's wrong'?" he snapped, lightly punching Kit in the arm. Despite his attempt to be at least somewhat gentle about it, Kit winced before smiling. He welcomed pain in the sense that it made him feel more alive, but he always forgot just how physically strong Vermithirod was for someone of his age and he suspected the old man forgot it, too. That punch was likely going to leave a bruise later. "If you can't help feeling that way, how can it be considered 'wrong'? It's not your fault; it's just how you feel. Embrace it, learn from it, and move on."

"Vermithirod, you know it's not always that easy," Rue said, taking the older man's arm and stroking it. Vermithirod didn't tolerate touching very often, much less clinging, but he made an exception for Rue because she was blind; nevermind that probably had the ability known as Blindvision, for she seemed to be able to get around decently well on her own. As a dog, it especially made sense since her other four senses were quite strong, but despite her strange ability to still sense people before running into them, Vermithirod continued to pretend like he needed to help the poor old woman. Kit suspected it was secretly because he liked her affectionate holding on to him and just used her blindness as an excuse to say that he wouldn't have tolerated it otherwise. Still, for all her uncanny abilities, Rue did tend to run into inanimate objects like doors and walls and tables quite often, so the artist supposed Vermithirod wasn't entirely making things up.

Vermithirod's clothing, like Rue's, was very old-fashioned, but while hers was plain, dully, and gray, his still screamed wealth with its rich vermillion color and gold accents, causing them to appear to be in quite strong contrast with one another. Grinning at the picture the two of them made, Kit took out a small sketchpad from his satchel and started to sketch out the pair of them. They weren't a couple, for Vermithirod's wife and children had been murdered quite some time ago, presumably during Voldemort's reign of terror. He didn't like talking about it much. But Rue had explained.

Rue had been the one to go after the murderers for her own reasons. And while Vermithirod himself had been hot on their trail, ready to become a murderer himself on behalf of avenging his wife and five children, he had seen Rue about to throw herself in harm's way and stepped in to stop her. He had come to grips with his thirst for revenge and put a hold on it for the sake of keeping Rue from turning murderous herself. And Rue, who hadn't really been in her right mind until Vermithirod had stopped her, had been forever grateful to him since. They had stayed together to nurse each others' metaphorical wounds of the past and Kit believed they were good for each other.

"What are you two doing out here, anyway?" the artist asked as he sketched, knowing one or both of his conversation companions would have spoken up or stopped him if they minded his drawing them. Even if Rue couldn't see what he was doing, he was sure she could here the sound of his pencil on his sketchpad just fine and hear how he was turned toward them as he walked.

"Hmph. We thought we'd go out on a stroll," Vermithirod muttered. "This market is here every Sunday, we were told, so we wanted to visit and see what they had for sale. Rue found some children to play with earlier, since she has a fondness of brats for some reason. They thought she was cute enough as a dog, but when she wanted to purchase some sweets and offer them some as a woman, they got frightened and started calling her a hag." His eye twitched as his thick brows narrowed in fury. "Horrid little miscreants..."

"It wasn't their fault," Rue said, smiling good-naturedly, but Kit doubted she hadn't been hurt by the event regardless. "I would probably think I was a hag, too, if I were in their shoes. There was so much commotion about hags not far from here and not long ago, after all...and when I don't even have normal eyes to show them, what else are they supposed to think?" She shook her head, dismissing the past with a wave of her hand. "But what Vermithirod neglected to mention, Kit, is that we had come to try to meet you."

"Me?" Kit asked, pausing in his sketching. "Wait a second - who told you I was here? In London, I mean?"

"We know," the old man said, glaring at Rue for divulging that last bit of information. He was fairly certain she could tell he was glaring at her, sight or no, but she continued to smile as if she was blissfully ignorant nevertheless. "You've been living in Hogsmeade in Scotland ever since you got hired by that magic school, isn't that right? And you've quit since then, but you've stayed in that village. You just came here to London on holiday. A little fairy told us."

Kit hesitated, lips parted slightly in surprise, before sneering and going back to his sketch. "Owen, then."

"Owen," the pair replied in unison, Rue nodding, as they confirmed the culprit. "But he's only looking out for you."

"You all are," Kit answered with a grateful grin. "Each in your own way. I appreciate it. It means more to me than you could know."

"You might be surprised," the old woman laughed, reaching out to pat Kit's shoulder.

Vermithirod, who had gone very red in an obvious display of discomfort at the open expression of such mushy sentiments, cleared his throat. "Yes, well...we heard you were doing portraits," he said, apparently attempting to change the subject. Or perhaps he had meant to come to that subject all along and had only waited for the right time and opportunity to get to it. Kit wasn't sure. "Drawings. Paintings. That sort of thing."

"Oh! Yeah, I've been working as a freelance artist," Kit answered. "Muggle artists are pretty popular among muggles, but since I don't really have a style to call my own and just draw what I see, I guess I've been being commissioned a great deal by purebloods. Even the ones that hate no-ma - I mean, muggle-born." He chuckled. "It sounded like that was at least in part due to Owen."

"No doubt, that meddler..." Vermithirod snorted.

"That's kind of him to help your career," Rue commented cheerfully. "Actually, Vermithirod and I were wondering if you might be willing to paint us, too," she continued. "Have you learned how to imbue magic into your artwork yet?"

"Not yet," Kit admitted with a smile. "Not successfully enough that I'm ready to offer it among my services, anyway. But I'm getting very, very close. I think I might be able to offer it by the end of this summer, actually."

"Wonderful!" Rue cried, delighted. "Then please allow us to help fund your endeavor! If you'll allow us to commission a portrait or two from you, you can use them to practice your magic on!"

"I'd appreciate that," the metamorphmagus replied with a grateful dip of his head. "I don't know if either of you are aware, but evidently, the degree to which magical portraits can interact with their viewers doesn't depend on the skill of the painter. It depends on the magical power of the subject being painted," he divulged, beaming mysteriously.

"It better not steal my soul..." the old man grumbled, to which Kit laughed and Rue patted him gently.

"It won't," the artist assured him. "It just...it kind of makes me wish I had learned this skill sooner," he said, his smile fading a bit as he stared down at his sketch. "I would have liked to at least talked to her again," he murmured. "Tymiko, I mean."

"Well, why can't you?" Rue asked.

"Because I don't know where she is or what happened to her," Kit sighed. "I still can't find any trace of where she might be, if anywhere. For all I know, she could be -" He stopped, ceasing in his walk. Could magical portraits be painted of people after they died? He couldn't remember.

He knew that magical portraits became sentient when the painter placed enchantments on them and that they could only imitate their subjects' demeanor and repeat favorite phrases based on what the painter knew of the subject. For that reason, the painter had to know their subject very well, which suited Kit just fine since he adored learning about people of all kinds. But...if portraits could move and behave the same way as their subjects even long after their subjects were dead...did that mean they could still be created long after their subjects were dead and still be made sentient so long as the painter remembered them well enough to imbue a created portrait with their general demeanor as well as their likeness?

"You appear as though you've stumbled onto something," Vermithirod commented, having stopped walking to watch Kit, and Rue along with him. His expression appeared to be faintly amused.

"...Yeah," Kit murmured, his smile slowly returning to his lips. "I may not be able to bring her back or find out what happened to her just yet, but...if I could just test to see if I might be able to make a magical portrait of her...to be successful in doing that would be enough for me," he said, finally looking up from his work.

Perhaps it might not have been possible after all if a portrait relied on a witch or wizard's magical power to interact with its audience, but the text he'd read from hadn't been very specific. It could have just meant that a sentient portrait's ability to interact with the audience depended on the amount of power their subject once had, not necessarily that it drew from their subject's power or that it had had to have a portion of that power imbued within it while the subject was still alive. He would have to look into that more. But on the chance it was still possible...he had to find out.

"Well, then what are you waiting for? Run along," Rue said, with a laugh, waving Kit off.

He responded with a loving smile and replaced his sketchpad back in his satchel before moving to go hug the older woman. Rue released Vermithirod's arm to embrace him tightly, kissing his forehead before letting him go. When he turned to Vermithirod, however, the old man looked completely caught off-guard at first and then jutted out his chin as if daring Kit to try to do the same to him. Kit didn't even hesitate in doing so.

"- !" The old man made a strangled sort of noise before resigning himself to his fate and sighing, arms falling limp to his sides before eventually lifting back up to surround Kit, one of them patting him a little. "You're not a bad kid, Kit," he grunted, meeting the artist's eyes once the taller of them stepped back. "You know that, right? You're not to blame for her having left."

"In fact, if she's still out there," Rue continued, "I'm sure it's because of you that she's still alive."

It was a long few minutes before Kit found himself able to say anything in response to either of them. His throat had closed up too tight for him to speak for a little bit, but when he finally could again, he said, "Thank you. Both of you." Then he bowed low before righting himself once more. "It was so nice to see you two again, Rue. Vermithirod. I'll be staying around London for a little while longer, so if you want to meet up any time before I have to go back, I trust you have your ways of being able to reach me. By owl or otherwise." He chuckled. "Even when I get back to Hogsmeade - don't be strangers. I'm always happy to hear from you. I'm just terrible at staying in touch when it's on me to reach out," Kit admitted.

"Yes, we know. It's fine. Everyone gets busy," Vermithirod answered, making a little shooing motion as he was once again clearly uncomfortable with the show of sentiment. "Get lost, already. Go figure out how to make your magical painting portrait thingies..."

"We'll make sure to meet up with you again at least once more before you go back," Rue assured Kit. "Especially if you manage to make a breakthrough with your paintings. We'll want to hear all about it. So go on and get started! Don't let us hold you back." She smiled fondly at him and blew him a kiss. "Take care, Kit. See you again soon."

"Alright, thank you. You too," the metamorphmagus answered, grinning his usual grin as he raised an arm in farewell. "Until we meet again." And with that, Kit turned and began the long journey back to his room at the Leaky Cauldron. He had some work to do.