Day had become night and night day for Justin. Night worked better for deeds of questionable nature; night brought a larger dividend. And if Justin's hope to break away from his father and the family and survive at a standard of living that he desired, he had to make dodgy decisions. It was a hard way to live.

And that didn't even begin to cover the range of emotions he'd been dealing with in relation to Anjali. Between the handful of times he'd seen her - including that last time when she'd gone running from his flat after a rather spectacular fight - things weren't really going so very well with his heart. It still fluttered whenever the mail came; as of yet, he'd gotten no return from his owl.

He'd just stepped out of the shower when he heard the knock on the door. Without preamble, towel wrapped about his waist, he stepped over the piles of laundry and around a stack of books in his studio and yanked open the door. Surprise would have been the first expression on his face if he were prone to showing emotion, instead, at the greeting, he motioned for Phil to enter, shutting the door behind him.

"What brings you to Muggleland, Cresswell?" he asked, even as he dropped the towel and dug through a pile of clean, unfolded laundry tugging on a pair of boxers.