Evening



Gracie – distracted from the slew of pictures she’d been taking ever since they had arrived – looked over her shoulder and burst into laughter.

Ever since they left King’s Cross, the Slytherin had taken on the job of honorary trip photographer, taking it upon herself to capture every moment she could, chronicling their adventures with a well-timed shot. And there had been so much to capture: group shots, meals, candids, shenanigans... friends who stared back with varying expressions of tolerance and exasperation. Rare smiles. Naps that ended in a tangle of limbs.

Oh, Gracie had made herself a nuisance; innocent, winsome smiles could only get you so far, and there were those certain few who had less patience for a girl armed a camera than most. There were times when even her friends thought she was being a tad egregious. But between Thailand and Burma, there was no end of pictures to be taken, and she was determined to have them all.

And so, deftly twisting about on her perch (a convenient boulder situated atop one of the lagoon’s several cliffs), Gracie held her trusty little gadget to her eye, zooming in and snapping away.

Eli dragging Sasha under. Sasha thrashing his way back to shore. Sasha looking like a drowned horse.

Lowering the camera, Gracie smirked. Perfect.

With only minimal hesitance, Micah approached, curiosity getting the best of him and the warm, salty air leaving him with an ease that couldn’t be found at the highest peak of the castle.

The trip had been... nice, so far, good in ways the boy had both hoped for (faintly, tentatively, not all that hopefully) and hadn’t expected. While undoubtedly warmer than he was used to (and in some places, more crowded than he was used to) and so richly, intimidatingly diverse, South East Asia was also very, very far—enough, in fact, that Hogwarts and everything that made up the past seven years seemed like a distant dream, as removed as the moon as anything could be; the language barrier meant no one would expect him to speak anymore than he usually did, and the louder, flashier of his friends diverted most if not all the attention of curious locals, leaving him to happily fade to the background.

With every passing day he unwound a little more, until he found himself taking a more active part in activities. Counselor Maiko and Professor Donovan were especially nice—not just friendly, but nice to be around; neither tried to pry, or just make him talk, or tried to fill the quiet that was inevitable with him with awful small talk that would curdle anyone’s insides. Professor Donovan in particular was easy to open up to. She offered bits of information easily, without expectation of a reply, and the stretches of silence in between were comfortable instead of stiff or expectant. Though the cave tour had been hours ago, Micah found himself in a near-constant state of calm.

Dinner, of course, had only helped. By the time they were due for their night swim, the Hufflepuff was practically zen, floating along with his mates in bliss. Rather than startle and shrink the way he so often did back at the castle when someone approached him, he would only blink as if he were being gently shaken out of a daze. He started to hold himself... if not confidently, then calmly. Which was its own kind of confidence.

He watched the others a bit, content to enjoy himself vicariously through them. He didn’t know them that well, Ariadne, Waverly or Sasha, but Eli—Eli was cool, if (really) loud and (really) uh, kind of excitable, and though he didn’t hold anything against Sasha like some seemed to, he couldn’t help but grin a bit at the display, even as he winced in sympathy. He knew about cameras; they didn’t mix well with water.

Others, though, clearly didn’t share his compunctions—one of whom he was very much familiar with. Micah smiled a little as she whipped out her own camera, snapping away without remorse. Once Verity drew the girls away to the waterfall, he picked himself up and made his way over to Gracie, gingerly climbing the slippery cliff.

He found her kneeling in her seat, pleased as punch as she looked through her shots. A trickle of sea green hair had escaped her fancy braid. She snickered quietly to herself. “What are–” Words trailed off as his voice – already made thready by disuse – thinned to a rasp. He cleared his throat, cheeks bright. “What’re you doing?”