Title Reference | Outfit

Alfie toyed with his camera, hearing the magical machinery whiz and click into action as different buttons were pressed. The excitable greetings and chats interrupted by incessant teenage giggling were reserved only for the crowds in the next room as the lonely Hufflepuff retreated into the kitchen corner. He was all ready to leave, but where would he go? The Floo Network would be an instantaneous if not uncomfortable journey to his home in Suffolk, and questions would immediately be asked. Why have you left so early? Is something the matter? Of course, there were plenty of things concerning school that were a grand matter for Alfie, but tackling such tales with his mother would only break her heart. There was no way he could explain that his father's actions and her betrayal were the source of his social alienation. With nowhere to hide in the meantime, he'd have to stick it out at Sophie's for at least an hour. Oh, how time dragged.

Neely had done as expected and paid more attention to her compact than the lovelorn boy that foolishly displayed his affections. He couldn't blame her. Those that didn't actually ignore Alfie were keen to have quiet conversations out of earshot rather than risk association. His slouched shoulders heaved as skinny arms lifted the camera, taking a snap of the assortment of foods Sophie had created. It must've been something, to host a party and have so many people turn up. Alfie's mother had organised a similar bash for his fourteenth - but it was purely for family, which was lucky. Glancing at the image that began to emerge on a screen of the camera, he studied the faded colours and blurred edges. It looked rather vintage, everything covered in a warm, heady glow that made everything seem more inviting.

Taking a few steps to the back door, he lifted his camera once more, fiddling with the flash which gave a gentle pop as a photo of the night sky was taken. Alfie's walls were covered with countless miscellaneous images; a frog in a pond in his back garden, the assortment of copper pans in the kitchen, the contents of his school bag. Recording the pointless had become quite the hobby, and Alfie had become quite fond of watching the tiny magical movements that differentiated his collection from the average Muggle. A reed gently swaying in algae-riddled water, the shimmer of sunlight through a window as it hit a metal surface.

He turned around, Alfie's slanted eyes gazing through the lens as he prepared to photograph the kitchen doorway, the people through the living room barely a blurry outline as he focused on the inanimate. His finger landing on the appropriate button, Alfie stopped. Right in the middle of his shot was Neely Woolfolk. Her. Swallowing hard, he instantly dropped the camera, not wanting to seem like he was taking a sneaky, perverted photograph. Eyes on hers, he shuffled awkwardly, his spare hand about to reach into his pocket before deciding otherwise. Instead, he pressed his lips inwards, a gentle hand waving ever so slightly at hip level.

He waved. He actually waved? Alfie wanted to disappear on the spot, but for some reason, couldn't take his attention from Neely. Not now this eye contact had been made. "Um, hello, Neely."

Neely turned around again, this time to find that Alfie had disappeared. Her curiosity got the best of her, and while she aimed to avoid him, she absolutely wanted to know what the Hufflepuff was up to. A part of her (alright, a giant part) felt guilty about the way she’d treated him when he worked up the courage to invade the Slytherin table and ask her to Hogsmeade. In front of everyone. It wasn’t as if Neely wasn’t used to people being effing obsessed with her, but with Alfie was different, a little nerve-wracking, and harder to be mean or flirt back. It was much easier to deal with the imaginary famous suitors of her daydreams, or the bold Slytherin boys who spoke their minds and didn’t get laughed away from a lunch table full of teenage girls.

She wandered through Sophie’s house, past the table where she’d last seen Alfie, and toward the kitchen. Her eyes roamed the crowd, senses ever honed, a thoroughbred rumor-collector. When she looked back at the kitchen, it was to see a strangely tall, trim figure with a camera pressed to his face, where moments ago Neely had been the one camouflaged behind a compact.

She stopped, and if she’d been the sort to lose her balance in heels, she might have. Instead she sort of froze in place, blinked, and stretched a little taller.

The wave was weird. Neely looked from his hand, to his face-- Alfie’s face-- and back to his hand again. And then to the camera.

When she looked at his face again, she was somewhat surprised that he was staring at her. She had half expected him to have disappeared from the party when he realized she was here. There hard certainly been a moment when Neely wanted to do the same. But her diving heart had calmed itself, and now it was only a little jumpy.

“Hi, Alfie.”

Her own small hands found her hips. Her lips parted again, this time more confident. “Are you taking photos of me?” She asked, her voice as amused (perhaps even excited) by the idea as it was apprehensive or scandalized. Clearly one side was winning, the other was only for formality’s sake. She had already begun to move closer, balancing on tippy-toes to inspect the camera, chin raised, eyes downcast at its viewfinder. Her mouth was open in a curious little expression, a sort of smile. Her hands reached out to grab it-- as if the camera would tell her whether he'd been taking photos of her, anyway-- and then she stopped, lowering them when they were about a half foot away. Her eyes rose again, finding Alfie’s. She wanted to bite her lip. Instead she opened her mouth, closed it again with a resolute non-sigh. “How has your summer been?”

"No, of course not!" he immediately protested at the question of photographing her. The last thing he wanted was to incur the wrath of the Slytherin allegiance. The amusement in her voice was only noted after Alfie's outburst, and he immediately tried to retrace his steps. "I mean, n-not that I wouldn't take a photo of you, y'know? I was just, taking a photo of the door, and you came through it, I'm not like, getting a sneaky snapshot or anything..." What am I actually saying? Looking down at his feet momentarily, Alfie fiddled with his camera to keep nervous, trembling hands forced to be kept busy.

Neely approached, and didn't seem to stop. He half expected her to warn him to leave immediately, that he'd already embarrassed them enough for one schooling career. But, she didn't. Her arms extended to clutch the camera, and Alfie immediately obliged but sank back down when she failed to follow through. Was this just another case of a girl playing around with him? Even if her attempts at interaction were indeed genuine, Alfie was still a nervous wreck. "It's just an old Christmas present," he murmured, another unnecessary explanation.

As her eyes met his, Alfie was reminded of his brutally rebuffed invitation to Hogsmeade. The glances between all of those girls, that piercing laughter of Kitty Li. Out of all the times Alfie had been publicly humiliated (and by Merlin, there were plenty of instances), that particular moment seemed the worst. Teenage affections were incredibly fragile, and any remnant of courage Alfie possessed had seen a rapid exit. Away from the party in the other room, the only attention on the Hufflepuff came from Neely - but for some reason that seemed so much worse.

"My summer?" he asked, raising an eyebrow that a real conversation was perhaps being initiated. "Okay, really. I didn't do all that much, y'know..." Alfie could've lied and said he'd been to France, to parties in Paris and the seaside in Montpelier, but he was a terrible liar, and such stories were completely unbelievable. Neely would've been to all the big Hogwarts parties, of that he was sure, and pretending he'd attended would only add to his bubbling cauldron of embarrassment.

There was a long pause after Alfie spoke. Suddenly remembering his manners, he blinked a few times, still in awe of the Slytherin beauty. "Oh, how was yours? I bet it was pretty fun, r-right?"

He caught a glimpse of Deus Deres and Erin Harper in the other room. How he'd kill for just a dose of their suave sophistication, instead of the Hippogriff-sized awkwardness that rested on his shoulders.

Neely’s mouth became a wide frown as Alfie quickly pronounced that he hadn’t been taking photos. Though she wouldn’t admit it, his nervousness was kind of cute. By the time she reached him, he’d uttered a shockingly detailed explanation which Neely was still processing. She needed a pair of Omnioculars with a Replay button. Why didn’t they make mini versions?!

If she had grabbed the camera, Alfie might have melted right there-- out of fear. She wondered where the nerve to ask her on a date had come from, and how long it had taken. She wondered if he still fancied her.

She looked back to the camera for a moment, its lens and knobs and such. It was not the same sort as photographers used on big fashion shoots; it was like one Neely had borrowed from her parents ages ago before getting her own (powder pink, with the option for all sorts of crazy lenses) to play around with in the dorms. She did not take photos as a hobby, though-- usually only during parties (and that was often relegated to elves or the tallest boys in the room) or when she and Jordyn were bored.

“So you would take my picture?” She probed, knowing the answer. It wasn’t the same as asking a semi-famous photographer to do it; it wasn’t like the dreams of being in tabloids, Cornelia Heloise Woolfolk, Witch Weekly cover star (obviously she would be a September issue.) But her heart pounced a little at the idea, and there was a certain girly excitement (which she kept at bay, what an actress) in the idea. “Would you keep it?” She was on an investigation now.

Neely dropped her arms in front of her. Alfie sure knew how to make a conversation brief. “Not that much? You must have done something,” she insisted, smiling, her voice a little laugh of sorts, not meaning to be bossy. Really, she was nosy. And trying to bring the boy out of his shell; she felt guilty about what had happened, but she wasn’t sure how to say so. Neely was expert when it came to six-inch heels, but this required baby steps. Apparently so did Alfie Vaillancourt’s social skills. She imagined someone like Alfie, who was a verifiable social catastrophe with a cute face and too much shy charm for his good-- which he didn’t even realize he had-- spending his summer alone, and wonder if he got lonely, or if he was used to it in that weird way that introverts seemed to be.

When he asked her about hers, Neely loosened up a little more. Her summer had been both ultrabusy and super boring, and her voice said as much. “Oh, I went to the islands off of Greece with my mum. Daddy-- I mean, my father came for a while, but he had to work.” Neely had learned long ago not to stumble over her words. Even if she made a mistake, it was Socialite 101 to glide past the blunder with something more impressing. Where Alfie seemed to get stuck on a casual question, Neely wasn’t about to highlight the fact that she’d just said Daddy right in front of him. Like a five year old. (Naturally, she’d get revenge if he told anyone. Not that it was a huge deal-- such language helped in cases where professors were being giant bullies.) “I renovated my closet- again- it’s kind of a must for summer, you know, and then you have to decide whether to do it by garment or color or both... and you can’t forget pattern or texture...” The shoes would take a year to discuss. Alfie needed to be initiated first. It was better not to overwhelm boys like this. She had learned that with Sasha. “I saw Abby a lot. It’s terrible that she can’t come to school with us. It’s not like you even need a wand for History of Magic or Muggle Studies.” She frowned. Not because Alfie didn't know Abby. (He probably didn't, but that didn't go through Neely's head.) “I haven’t seen Jordyn in ages.” By which she meant a couple of weeks. But in girltime, that was centuries.

When Neely got talking, she could talk for ages. The fact that she was talking to Alfie instead of one of her friends... well, it was sort of like they were partners for a project again, and nothing that had happened had happened. (Except it had, and it was dancing around in Neely's mind.) School projects presented a sort of social stasis in which one could so or do anything without consequence (nope). Like visiting Las Vegas.

She noticed him looking past where they were standing and followed his gaze to her housemates. Neely sighed inwardly. The chances of having a proper conversation-- or of Neely apologizing when a pack of Slytherins loomed near-- were slim. “I... Let's go outside.” She gestured toward the window. “Natural light is better.” She stared at him for a moment before indicating the camera. It was a nice cover. And as for natural light, well-- studio light might have reigned supreme, but Neely was working with what they had.

"I can do, if you'd like?" he murmured, eyebrows raising innocently. Unsure of whether to start snapping or not, his hands turned the camera over and over, almost pressing buttons and his face look equally uncomfortable. Alfie was still incredibly cautious - what if this was some big prank? That he'd try and take a photograph and be laughed off again? The problem with being isolated was being constantly on-guard; when people didn't want to be Alfie's friend, it was difficult to understand when invitations of interaction were indeed genuine. Neely, stood there in all her minuscule perfection, pulled every hormone-addled heartstring Alfie possessed, but with that came the sound of dull alarm bells. Was this all some sort of joke?

"Would you keep it?"

Alfie fell silent, looking down at his shoes as if the answer was written on their tongues. Of course he'd keep it. An image of Neely (one that Alfie had taken himself, no less) would be plastered on his wall amongst his favourite photographs as a symbol of being seventeen and being hopelessly infatuated. Biting his bottom lip, his eyes flicked up, lips parting as if to speak only to close again. "I would if you didn't want it." Alfie's voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper, and the corner of his mouth turned into an apologetic smile. Apologising for being so awkward, apologising for embarrassing her, and apologising for taking a fancy to the young Slytherin. He just wouldn't be able to vocalise such pleas of forgiveness.

Conversation steered to his summer, and the Hufflepuff gave a quiet laugh. Shrugging both shoulders as Neely remained unconvinced about his uneventful summer, Alfie twisted his lips with a delayed response. "Honestly, I didn't do all that much... I went to Windsor one day?" As soon as the words left his lips, he realised how pathetic he must've sounded. A trip to Windsor being a summer holiday highlight? Lame. Neely, however, filled him with amazing tales of Greece and images of him joining her on the Woolfolk boat (for some reason, he pictured a yacht of some type) began to conjure in his quiet mind. A few stolen kisses on the cheek, plenty of photographs in deserted coves in Crete - Alfie was entering imaginative teenage heaven.

His attention was soon brought back to Sophie Flickwick's kitchen with the mention of some girl: "W-whose Abby?" He had no place asking Neely who her friends were, but she spoke as if the boy knew of this Abby character. "Is she from one of the, y'know, Tetrawizard Schools?" He was doing his best to make conversation, but the infrequent stammer and trembling fingers proved otherwise. Alfie was normally a nervous wreck around girls, but for some reason, Neely made him a whole crater of anxiety.

Soon enough, she was ordering them outside. Whether it was to avoid others seeing them, or if Neely was to scold him, Alfie didn't really care. He was just wanted away from the partygoers. "Um, okay," he replied, leading the way into the warmer summer air. It seemed she really did want a photo. "Erm, what sort of photo would you l-like?"

Alfie waited for the punchline, for a group of jeers. This was the most tempting form of torture he'd ever experienced in his whole life.

Neely opened her mouth in thought and stopped-- it seemed to get ahead of her brain, it was just that quick. Her lips pursed a bit in a sort of pensive surprised-at-my-own-answer-slash-can’t-look-too-desperate expression. It was much more unpracticed and genuine than for which she gave herself credit. “Maybe,” she admitted, a non-admission. “Alright,” she agreed.

Neely watched him carefully, something tugging at her insides as she waited for him to answer. He took his merry time; she followed his gaze to his shows and back up to his face, despite the fact that Alfie’s brown eyes were still on the ground, and all Neely could see were his youthful cheekbones and boyish brow and dark eyelashes. He was cute and shy and waiting for him to admit something made her feel a little off balance, which was not haute.

She turned her cheek a bit, chin raising as she considered this, brows casually moving upward. “Uh huh,” she responded, oh-so-Neelyish, a little bit of the witchy sass returning. He would keep it. She’d known! It made her heart pounce a little. She might have told any number of devoted audience members acquaintances that dozens of boys would pin her picture to their walls, but knowing that a real, live one would was different. But his little smile meant keeping hers at bay was even harder. She found herself returning it, first just a subtle turn of her lips, and then her teeth and all. “I have to see it first,” she warned, but she didn’t sound too convincing. Still, in that teenage girl way, she was wary of letting someone keep a photo of which she didn’t approve. Her face was adorable and photogenic, but even the Neelys of the world (and there was only one) had their weird outtakes.

Windsor? Holy effing sheltered. Neely giggled a little; she couldn’t help it. “What did you do there, swim with your wellies on?” Neely had heard one of the muggle queens had an old doll house the size of Hufflepuff common room, and that it was at the castle in Windsor. She kept this thought to herself. “Aren’t you French?” She asked suddenly, blinking. Well, duh. Vaillancourt was a French name, and he was obviously related to the Potions professor (Neely wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen them talking). But what she’d really meant is whether he’d ever lived in France. Or at least been there on holiday.

Tetrawizard Schools? Did he miss the bit about the squib? Maybe he had. Maybe she hadn’t said. “Abby is Professor Reid’s little sister!” Neely brightened up at the idea of being able to school someone (further). “She’s a squib, so she can’t come to Hogwarts, but she’s totally one of my best friends. We’re like blonde partners in crime.” And, with bossy clarification because she half suspected Alfie might take her too seriously, “Not that we’re criminals.” Duh.

Neely was glad for the chance to move outside. The actual moving gave her time to think. The bonus of not having four-hundred-sixty-three pairs of spying eyes and gossipy mouths was also something to consider. (Which she had, because she was with it.)

She lead the way, pausing some several steps into the garden to wait for Alfie to follow her. She felt a surge of confidence with the faces and mute noise behind them. She placed her hands on her hips again, brows dancing up. “Have you ever done a fashion editorial?” She thought she was dressed chicly enough... but she’d only brought one outfit. Which was the fashion equivalent of test shots. Or a beauty spread. She pulled on the hat she’d brought along, hands pulling it snuggly over her head; she leaned forward a bit as she did it, a smirky laugh between two koala cheeks. Her eyes were shaded, hidden as she adjusted it. “We’ll have to improvise.” She lifted her head again, eyes finding him, as if to ask whether that was alright. She had no one with whom she could test her angles (though she knew her best) or ask whether her skirt would photograph alright. No one but Alfie, who did not seem to be a fashionista. But it looked like he did like photography. Neely waited for him to give her some direction... even if she was sure to follow plenty of her own.

Alfie noticed the corners of her mouth perk upwards, and he couldn't help but blush at this strange interaction with the even stranger Neely Woolfolk. It was beyond difficult talking to a girl of her calibre. She had reputation (a desirable one), friends, admirers and a whole future: what did Alfie have? Good grades were all well but without the ability to even communicate properly, he was hopeless. Imagine his surprise, then, when somebody like the Slytherin was giving him the time of day (a Slytherin, of all people). It all seemed far too good to be true. "Yeah, I mean, that's fine." The conditions of this impromptu photoshoot were all rather lax, and thoughts of this being the ultimate in prank were quickly dissipating.

The ridiculousness of Windsor being a summer highlight was magnified by Neely's slapdash sarcasm. He shuffled awkwardly, ruffling a hand through unruly brown hair and looking everywhere but her face. "Uh, no..." Alfie tried to chuckle. "My mum's just got some friends who live there, y'know." It was almost an admission of his own isolation. They weren't even his friends, merely companions to the entire family. The whole trip hadn't been too long, or too thrilling, and Alfie spent most of the time wandering around all two local landmarks. The Hufflepuff tried racking his brains for more memorable moments, but they were practically non-existent. Summer holidays were a retreat from bullies but days were still spent alone with nothing to do and nobody to talk to. Amandine Vaillancourt was a fantastic mother - but what Alfie needed was a friend.

"Aren't you French?" He immediately looked up - how did she know? Oh, of course. Alfie seemed to forget that his close relative just happened to be a Hogwarts professor, and a fine one at that. Glancing finally in her direction, he lifted his left shoulder slightly. "My mum is, yeah. So, half-French, I guess..." He didn't even want to consider the other blood in him, that was a side better off forgotten.

Still fidgeting nervously with the camera, he merely scrunched his nose up slightly, trying to stifle a giggle at her unpredictable route of conversation. "I k-know you're not a criminal," his voice, barely a murmur. He might've been incredibly awkward, but he could indeed spot a joke. Being the butt of them for the majority of one's life gave a very good sense of perception when it came to comedy. Still, he followed regardless, glad to be away from prying eyes of gossiping classmates. Mates in the loosest sense of the word. Of course there would be whispers, and Alfie himself was flummoxed by such an event - what was Neely Woolfolk doing with a guy like him? It wasn't a regular occurrence for a Slytherin princess to chat to a loser with a penchant for publicly embarrassing himself. In the garden it was quieter. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Alfie simply shook his head to her question: "I don't r-really know what a fashion editorial is..." This was a foreign language to him. Usually dressed in some old jeans and an equally unshapely t-shirt, Alfie wasn't exactly the chic fashion photographer Neely would expect. Returning her smirk as the hat came on, he immediately started snapping, trying to catch her when she least expected it. "Just - pretend I aren't here, they make the best photos..."

He took a few steps back and continued in the same vein. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to take a good picture.

Neely's smile waned a little. She felt kind of... bad about Alfie's social situation. And it was a situation/ His mum's friends? For summer company? Alright, so Neely was guilty of the same... but it was entirely different when one was holidaying in St-Tropez and sipping virgin cocktails (and the more-than occasional iced hot cocoa, naturally.) "Oh," she said, taking in the bearings of this news, orienting herself. Alfie needed a coach. He wasn't a lost cause, but he was so... hopeless. And he wasn't a girl on whose face Neely could paint pretty red lips and teach her how to teach her elves to hem her skirt a little differently. (The rules were a drag, but one could bypass them with the right tailor.) Even so... "I had lattes with my mom's friends all summer," she said, sounding exhausted. She shrugged. "But Alfie, golly, you can't just waste your summer like this. It's like... a crime." Her eyes went wide, her voice was a loud whisper, trying to convey the implications, as if those fake aurors in the living room were going to come over and arrest them for being boring. Or him. Neely was not boring. (And neither, she admitted to herself, was Alfie.) "Why don't you talk to boys like Deus or Huxley?" She added, probing. "You aren't a lost cause. You have nice hair and--" She stopped abruptly, crossing her arms, uncrossing them, and looking from her shoes to his face. "What about the library?" Immediately, she clarified: "Not for books." They'd been there once before, together, coincidentally. "But the library could totally help you." It was perfect for spying. Neely would know. "You can watch people while you're pretend to your homework. Watch the popular ones." She felt she needed to be specific in this case. "All the people worth watching are the ones who aren't reading..." Otherwise, their daily schedules were more likely to plant them in the Great Hall or various common rooms. Neely could see how this might problematic for Alfie, who only had access to Hufflepuff. No wonder he was hopeless. His role-models had been a model assassins and do-gooders of the Professor Binns-level-boring catnap sort. "Wait, no... you should start in the Great Hall."

Except that had not ended well the last time. She blushed and carried on quickly, grateful to poke around in the Romantic roots of his family name. "I love France," she explained, as if this were news. "French people dress so well... do you ever go shopping there?" She raised a brow, and looked him up and down. She doubted it. Maybe that was the place to start, as opposed to the social spy network that was predisposed to nurturing Slytherin's teenybopper gossipmongers. Neely didn't take potions or care for the redhead whom, rumor had it, had stolen Mr. Morgan's heart (everyone knew, or Neely's diary knew, that Mr. Morgan's heart belonged to Neely Woolfolk, and besides, he ought to prefer blondes. It was just obvious.) But she would concede that the woman dressed well, and that her taste could be telling of Alfie's own. "Do you speak French?" She added quizzically. "Do you know any of the Beauxbatons students?" She knew Professor Vaillancourt had been schooled there. But anyone with a brain knew that. Cornelia, of course, was resourceful.

Crime was a hot topic for the teenagers. Neely wasn't sure whether to smile, roll her eyes, or feel satisfied that Alfie knew... what was entirely obvious! Apparently the high fashion world was not quite so plain-faced. (Well, duh.) "It's a pictoral... you know, with the latest runway samples and a theme..." And the best models. Hence, Neely. There was something about his ignorance that reminded her of Sasha when she spoke of shoes to the Ravenclaw. Maybe it was a shy, academically-inclined boy thing. Or just a boy thing.

But Alfie seemed in his element with the camera, and even Neely, ever the sharp-eyed owl, was caught off guard when he began to snap photos. Her mouth fell open just a little, but the surprise vanished when she realized these photos were going to be developed. She tried very hard to maintain a feigned unawareness his presence, while also putting on her prettiest high fashion face. Neely knew what to do: angry, a little pissy, bored, pensive, sultry.

After a few moments of this, she was considerably into it, comfortable with Alfie as a photographer-- though she could not quite forget that he was there. Even Neely, for whom it was often all about her, was aware of Alfie's command of the camera. She stepped away from a tree against which she had been leaning and moved closer to him, suddenly popping up right in front of the lens, her face close enough that individual lashes might be discernible. She smiled. "Why aren't you on the newspaper?" She asked, suddenly curious-- and honest. Merlin knew they could use someone who wasn't full of themselves on that staff.

Alfie heard her advice on mirroring the social upper echelon of Hogwarts, watching the popular ones and trying to get involved. He really wasn't all that fussed. Of course, friends would be a true delight, but renown amongst classmates? It didn't seem all that great. Idle gossip often snowballed into words of treachery, and even Alfie had heard vicious rumours amongst his more notable colleagues at Hogwarts. Popularity wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Most knew Vaillancourt, for all the wrong reasons, but at least he knew where he stood. So many of the popular kids were gifted in the art of the fake smile - Neely's group in particular. "Maybe..." he uttered, trying to think of a situation in which guys like Huxley and Deus would be free for a chat. It wasn't very likely. Alfie was awkward, and his own history rendered him an untouchable. Neely had confirmed this, all those weeks ago in the courtyard...

Trying to shake off such horrid memories, it was a relief to hear Neely focusing on the French side. And her hidden compliments. Alfie almost missed them - nice hair? It was an interesting comment to a boy who rolled out of bed and spent around two to three seconds ruffling an untamed, undisciplined mop. "You've got nice hair too." His own reply of subtle adoration was frighteningly naive, and Alfie couldn't help but crack a tiny smile at Neely's company.

"I've got family a-all over, really," he explained quietly, the friendly (and life-saving faces) of the Vaillancourts flooding his mind. "Paris, Nantes, Lyon..." Trips were abundant, and although not fluent, Alfie could hold a conversation. Many failed to recognise the obvious relation to Juliette, which was something of an inconvenience. Bullies weren't deterred, and it didn't make him more acceptable in the mainstream student consciousness; he would never dream of confiding in his mother's cousin about trouble at Hogwarts, and so, Alfie's hard times fell off the family radar. Nodding to her questions and shaking his head when appropriate, he was still hard work. Still tense. It was hard to monitor Neely's intentions - and Alfie couldn't help but think, that somewhere, she possessed them.

Photographing the Slytherin beauty continued, however, and Alfie snapped away happily. He couldn't help but fawn over a pretty blonde girl that having her picture taken - having her picture taken by him. It was incredibly nerve-racking, all that hair flicking and stern glares. Cheeks still a little crimson, the camera was tilted portrait, zooming in on a symmetrical face that was fit for Witch Weekly.

"I, I don't..." he stammered, lowering the camera slowly. "I've never really done stuff like, proper photography y'know. It's just a hobby?" Alfie took another picture, gulping at the thought of a room full of budding journalists with sharp teeth and even sharper headlines. "I can get these photos developed tonight, if you want, I can owl them to you?" It was an honest suggestion, and despite being a teenage boy, was not a less-than-sly attempt at gaining Neely's address for regular letters. He wasn't devious (or confident) enough to even broach such a topic. "Then, just, keep the ones you like?"

Neely rose her brows at his shy, vague disbelief. She would work on him. A maybe was a start.

"You've got nice hair too."

‘I know.’ She started to say it. Her lips were poised for the words. But she stopped before they actually left her mouth. Neely could be very mindful of what she was chattering about! “Thanks,” she chirped instead, sounding a bit younger than intended. Probably because it was not what she had initially thought. It was more candid than that. And she found she was glad to hear that someone thought her hair was nice. It was somehow different from the praises showered upon her by older relatives, or the ohmygodric, I love your skirt!’s one exchanged in the corridors between classes a few times a week. It was sweet, too.

A family visit for Alfie would probably easily turn into a tour of France. Neely could get used to that sort of thing. She loved living in London and didn’t mind the English countryside where some of her family took up residence (depending upon with whom she was discussing it, trips there could be boring or the height of normalized social maturity), but France was its own world. “You should go shopping in the wizarding district in Paris. There’s little street-- it’s like if Diagon Alley and a runway had a baby.”

Even if Alfie was a little nervous, and Neely had been hesitant, at first, about interacting with him here and now (she had certainly avoided him after the Great Hall incident), there was something easy, something fun in their little photoshoot: two teenagers playing around with a camera. Neely hadn’t known he could be so confident. And, even if Alfie didn’t realize it, there was a confidence in the way he held the camera (even if it was accompanied by a blush behind the lens). “You should take more photos in public,” she announced. “Merlin knows Hogwarts could be a little more eventful.” And could use a semi-regular photo shesh. It was ironic, coming from Neely, who could turn oranges into melodrama. She loved Hogwarts, even if she didn’t always admit it.

Grinning at the idea of fast results (Neely was not the most patient creature), she stepped closer. “Oh, could you?” She asked, as if talking to an adult promising a new and newly tailored garment via express owl. She rummaged in her bag for a quill, and came up instead with a lip pencil. It would do. Taking the back of his hand, she scrawled her owling address in very Neelyish hand indeed. “You can make copies if you want them for your portfolio,” she added casually, replacing the pencil. “And don’t forget, you have to take it to the next newspaper meeting.”

She pointed at his chest bossily, and then readjusted her hat, looking up at him. If he was going to make his summer more eventful, too, he had to start somewhere. She was helping. Honestly, it was an innocent gesture. Pretty grin, Neely took the camera, prying it easily from his hands, and then bit her bottom lip. “Do you ever take photos of yourself?”