They were glorious. And through her focused wink, they looked life-sized. Ellie backed up slowly, her feet doing what she called the Photographer’s Shuffle.  What was behind her was unfortunately of no concern to the young and aspiring. She bit her lip in concentration, flicking a pesky, untrimmed strand of fringe from her strenuous pirate’s gaze.

The candied broomsticks, which she’d narrowed in on with her pretty new lens, looked almost too good to eat: the handles were made of hand-dipped, finally-carved pretzels with various coatings of chocolate, caramel, and hazelnut. The tiny, sugary straws were fruit flavored and vibrantly colored. The shopkeeper had promised Ellie a free sample for her enthusiasm, and she considered this one of her First Paid Jobs. Hey, everyone had to start somewhere!

With a crackle of sorts, the air around her filled with the fine purple fog used to produce magical frames. And for a moment, the world looked as if it were wrapped in psychedelic, semi-transparent plastic. Eleanor could only see a few steps in front of her, and it was all purple-- the gum drops, the cream puffs, the truffles-- all of it.

Another noise, one just as startling and exciting as the camera’s customary crepitating, issued behind her, and Ellie whirled around in the melting mist to find the source. Perhaps it would be her next point-and-shoot scoop. One the Prophet might actually pay galleons for.

Ian Cuddyer was slated to meet with his agent on this particular day in Hogsmeade, but the man had failed to tell him that they would be meeting on a weekend where the school had its visit to the wizarding town. That meant that every student who was a fan of Quidditch (irregardless of whether they were a fan of his or not) would be in the vacinity. Which ultimately meant that Ian was in for a long day of public scruntiny, something that he had always had a love-hate relationship with.

Ian flipped the hood to his hoodie up (and was grateful for his last minute choice in wardrobe that morning that hadn't included his personalized Tornado jacket with CUDDYER and his number prominently displayed on it), stuffed his hands into his pockets and tucked his chin to his chest in an effort to be as inconspicuous as possible as he walked down the street. After a quick glance around to see if the coast was clear, he slipped into the nearest shop.

If he had truly been thinking clearly, he would've realized that stepping into Honeydukes was probably not the best choice. Even if it wasn't full now of students, it was only a matter of time since anywhere where candy was, they were sure to want to be as well. But Ian wasn't thinking. He was paranoid and worried and that combination wasn't good for any kind of productive thought.

As it was, he nearly bumped into one patron and when he looked up, he could've sworn that they recognized him, which caused him to rush on by and down an isle, hoping not to give them more proof that it was indeed the person they probably thought he looked like.

But luck didn't seem to be in his favor yet, as ahead of him there was another person he would likely have to navigate around.

Or maybe if I look at this assortment of candy here long enough, she'll be done with whatever she's doing there, he thought, glancing away from the woman's frame to something delicious looking on a shelf nearby. But then his curiosity got the better of him and his eyes were drawn back to her. What IS she doing, exactly?

When she turned around, Ian was prepared to bolt in case she was a fan as well. But he was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was someone he knew and it was he who was a fan of hers!

A slow smile crept onto his lips and he stepped closer. "Ellie, hey!" He was softly spoken, but it was clear he was happy to see her. "What are you doing here?" As a few customers glanced their way, he brought his index finger up to his lips and then lowered his voice more to a whisper. "Shhh.....I'm not really here...."

Someone spoke her name in a sort of shout-whisper, and it was plenty to jar Ellie’s attention. The last bit of fog from the camera cleared, revealing the photogenic face of Ian Cuddyer, Keeper for the Tutshill Tornadoes, a new(ish) friend of Eleanor St. James’.

She glanced him up and down, appraising the quidditch star in the flesh. She’d seen him that summer while traveling, but her renewed vigor for sports photography gave her a whole new perspective. A few months ago, it had only been a lazy dream in her head while she trotted across the map with her camera.

“Ian! I should ask you that question instead.” If he weren’t an international star. “I’m snapping shots of brooms... made of sugar, but it’s a start. Want to help out?” She raised a brow, her grin widening. As if his warning weren’t enough, the keep-me-on-the-low-down attire said it all: Ian didn’t want to be recognized.

Mocking his whisper she clutched her camera and leaned forward a bit. “I won’t sell you to those annoying tabloids. I’ll make it off the record. Just give me one photo for my mantle... I need some of my old French rivals... even if we never got around to playing against each other.” Hopefully she would be moving soon, where she would actually have her own fireplace and mantle. And hopefully the rule-makers over that Ministry would stop being lame, and consider school-on-school matches. Much safer than the Triwizard Tournament. (Assuming one’s beaters didn’t have too much time on their hands... and bats.)

“Or, you know, catching up over a few sweets would do.” She gave him a quick, one-armed hug, trying to be discrete, but nevertheless being rather Ellie-ish. She knew he didn’t need a repeat of the old rumors... though it had been fun, dodging around Canada and neither corroborating nor shooting them down.

Even as he worried about reporters in the vicinity, Ian could not hide how happy he was to see a familiar face. Since arriving in England, the Quidditch star found it hard to know who was genuine and who was only out to get a view of his inner world. He wasn't a stranger to that happening, as he had been in the public eye for four years now (and even longer than that if one counted his connection to his mother, also a former Quidditch player). But it wore on him.

Ian admitted that when he had first met Ellie, it was hard to put aside this kind of thinking. But she had proven to be someone of worthy of his acquaintance.

They had met that summer while his contract negotiations had been in full swing, and while his agent had focused on hammering out the details, Ian had attempted to get away from it all. Spending time with Ellie had been a welcome reprieve from the incessant questioning about when a contract deal would be inked. He had been pleasantly surprised by how much they had had in common and had enjoyed getting to know her.

"Brooms? Sugar? That's a new one on me," he said, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the sugary sweets that she had been giving the star treatment. With a quirky grin reserved for her, he quipped, "How can I help? Want to snag a picture of me eating one? I've been told that an endorsement of a Quidditch Star can go a long way..."

Stepping closer so that they wouldn't have to whisper, Ian listened to her rationale for taking his photo. She really didn't need to do much to convince him because he already believed that she wouldn't "sell him to the tabloids". He chuckled at her mention of French rivals and he was reminded that Ellie wasn't too shabby at playing Quidditch. He withdrew his hands from his pockets and held his arms out to the side and gave a half shrug. "Hey, I offered to go one-on-one with you once before...."

When she hugged him, Ian instinctively closed his arms around her. And then he reluctantly stepped away when it seemed to end. He teasingly offered, "You know, it's hard to say who dating who was better for the rep." Flashing her another smile, he added, "The tabloids certainly made more of it than it really was. I believe they called it Ellie-gate or something like that...."

“Well if they didn’t invent new ways to eat sugar, they’d be out of business! I thought you of all people would appreciate an edible broom...” Though, on second thought, that sounded more than a bit suggestive. Ellie cringed, smirking and looking downward, and then back to Ian. “I mean that in the completely literal sense. Obviously.”

Did she want a picture of him? Was he crazy? “Of course! If you’re offering.” She held up her camera, tilting her head in a sort of nod, her eyebrows shooting up with hope and suggestion. She may have wanted the picture for more than one reason; Ian wasn’t just another quidditch superstar whose face could flesh out Ellie’s portfolio. He was a friend. (Whose face happened to be not only famous, but rather easy on the eyes.)

“We’d better do it outside, though,” she added, lowering her voice again. “You and a candy broom and a photographer... that’s not so discreet, is it?” She asked playfully.

But soon, she her whispers turned to laughs, and she shook her head slowly. “I would kill you on the pitch,” she boasted. They both knew she was lying. And that was why she could get away with saying it. That, and Ian was insanely nice. “We’d have to go one-on-two, at least... you think you can owl any of your teammates in the near future?”

Stepping around him, Ellie made for the sugary brooms. She had an excuse to buy them, and thus to indulge. She gestured for Ian to follow her toward the clerk; he could loiter near the door, of course. “Well, since I’m world-famous and all...” She looked over her shoulder, smiling. Was he off his rocker, or simply complimenting her? No one had known her name until Ellie-gate. “If there’s a part two, they should call it ‘Revenge of the Ellie’.”

Ian laughed at her declaration about new ways to eat sugar and he nodded in acquiescence. "Indeed, you are right, O' wise and sagacious Ellie. The world--and me for that matter--should not underestimate the importance of an edible broom." He tried not to make fun of her choice of words but couldn't help ducking his head and chuckling.

He was just as happy when the topic turned to something else and her enthusiasm at the idea of taking his picture actually spurned an excitement in him as well.  Normally, Ian avoided getting his picture taken, especially by the never ending string of papparazzi who seemed intent on following his every move. What he ate. What he drank. What he did in his spare time. Or for the more salacious ones, who he did. That made him cringe because Ian hardly considered himself to be like a lot of other Quidditch players he had met along the way who used their fame to shamelessly enjoy all the groupies that trailed after them.

But the reason he didn't think twice about entertaining the thought of Ellie taking his picture was because he knew she wasn't like other photographers. She wasn't going to do it for the wrong reasons. In his eye anyway. If a photo or two or three helped her career, that was fine because at least she had taken the time to get to know him and could thus put him into some kind of context, instead of just being a public figure who deserved little consideration.

Yes, he would much rather Ellie take his picture. And the fact that she was much better to look at and held better conversation than most of the paparazzi photographers was a plus. "Outside is fine," he agreed with a shrug.

As they headed in that direction, trying not to draw attention to themselves, Ian shook his head at her claims that she would kill him on the pitch. He tossed out, "Well, only if I let you win, which being the gentleman I am, I would." He snuck a sideways glance at her and smirked. "One-on-two, huh? You sure you wanna do that?"

With another half smile he waited for Ellie to pay for her sweets before he continued talking about their previous rendezvous' in Canada. She might downplay her notoriety, but  Ian knew better. He had read the stories as well, as much as he had tried to keep from doing so. When reporting the sightings of the two of them together, the reporters had made certain to dig up all the information they could find about Ellie. Where she was from? Who her family was? Was she suitable for one of Quidditches most eligible bachelors?

Apparently the public had approved of her because there had been fierce demands (according to reporters and photographers) to get the scoop on the "relationship". And since neither Ian or Ellie had commented on such things, Ellie-gate had ensued.

Ian raised his brows at the mention of a reprisal. "Well, that would work, actually. Because I think for a while after you left, there was speculation that I had done something to make the public's newest darling run off. They were crushed." He wasn't sure if he was serious, but he gave her a goofy grin. "So Revenge of the Ellie....would give them so much fodder...."

“They might save your life one day, if you go spiraling toward the ground and face-plant into someone’s gear...” Made of candy. Right.

Ellie dug through her satchel, pulling out a handful of coins, and counted out the bill. She did so leisurely, grinning and looking over her shoulder or peaking through peripheral. “If you let me win on purpose, I’d hex you back to the 1975 Cup,” she warned playfully. “But yeah, I’m sure-- and not cheating for my benefit. If I win, you can hire me.” Her eyebrows danced up hopefully, though she was only kidding. (Granted, she wouldn’t mind spending more time around him.) “It’s a bit embarrassing, still getting an allowance from my dad.”

She sold a photo now and then, or worked a holiday job, but the money always seemed to disappear-- new quidditch gear, new camera lenses, trips across the globe. And that happened even she was being ‘thrifty’. She hoped the Prophet would soon recognize her talent.

With the sweets successfully bagged, Ellie gave a wave to the shop clerk and floated outside, leaning her back into the door as she continued to speak to Ian.

“Were they? Why didn’t you owl me these articles? I would have loved to upstage my sister’s boyfriend’s drama.” Or to give Jason Marren a good punch in the face. He was a Healer. He could deal with it.

She reached into the bag of treats and pulled out a broom, inspecting it only briefly before taking a bite. She chewed slowly, evaluating it before swallowing. “Mmm... you should try one,” she insisted, holding out the bag. “Energy before we begin our diabolical plan.”

"Well, I don't know about that unless they're like spinach is to Popeye and they'll give me some super magical powers" He teased lightly. He slipped  his hands into his pockets and ambled around near the door as he waited for her. Then he countered her warning with, "If you hex me back to then, you'll be doing me a favor. I believe my granddad was still playing then and I could show him a thing or two...." he joked. With a half shrug, he added, "Hey, you can be my official photographer if you want. I think we already established that I'd much rather have you following me than all the other media folks."

Ian winked at her and when she finished paying, he was happy to follow her out of the sweetshop. When she demanded to know why he didn't send her the articles, he held his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, sorry. I guess I was too busy playing and trying not to get bludgeoned to death." With a laugh, he assured her, "But if you want, I think my mum saved them. She'd be happy to share them with you, I'm sure. She was one of your biggest fans, you know." He smirked and then mimicked his mother's voice with, "'Oh that Eleanor is so beautiful, Ian.'"

Fully prepared for some kind of retaliation from Ellie, Ian reached out to snag one of the brooms before stepping away far enough out of reach. He asked dubiously, "So? What is our plan, exactly?"

“Pop... eye...” Ellie murmured. Was it new slang? She was usually up on the vocab, too! Squinting one eye at him, as the strange word seemed a good excuse, she added, “I think you’re lying. You’ve already got magical powers. You’re holding out on me.” If a wand counted, anyway. “But the brooms could only help. Something about sugar and energy.” She shrugged, her face relaxing.

“Oh, oh, oh.” Ellie held up both hands. Was he saying his legend of a grandfather would come up short in a one-on-one match? Well, Ian was sort of a genius in the field. Almost as much as Ellie was a genius in general. (Kidding...) “Was that way back in the middle ages when they used real birds as snitches?” She laughed. “Then yeah, you could show him something.”

Not being able to help the genuine grin on her face, she raised her camera to her eye and snapped a quick photo. An invitation? How flattering. “Perfect.”

She waited for him to take the bait. “Your mum sounds like a very nice woman. Does she like sweets?”

But then he was pulling away, and she knew she had to elaborate. “I took you back because promised me a cozy new loft in London. But then I ditched it and moved in with you... and now we’re quite lovey dovey, and it’s thanks to me you’re going to win the cup this season. I help you concentrate.” She returned his wink, and snapped another photo before reaching for another candy broom.

Ian realized his error almost as soon as he spoke. He had forgotten that Ellie's family was pureblood and that her exposure to all things Muggle might be limited. He sheepishly reached up to fiddle with his hair and shrugged. "I'm not lying. And I'm not holding out on you," he assured her with a soft laugh. "I couldn't possibly do that since you've got that photographer's eyes. So darned perceptive."

And indeed, Ellie did have a wonderful eye for detail, something he had seen in her photographs and had been amazed with upon first meeting her. One of her many endearing charms. Along with her humor. He chuckled at what she was saying about Quidditch in the past.

"My mum loves sweets," he assured her. And then the conversation was going back to their little plot. Ian ducked his head a bit shyly at her bold planning and the bit about being lovey dovey seemed a little silly, considering they had never been that way, even though people had tried to make it appear that way. "I think you'd definitely be my good luck charm," he told her. "Perhaps we should plan our big reveal? Where we are out in public again...together?" He was still playing along with the whole thing and he said, "You can come to a few of my upcoming matches if you want....Sit in the player's box and all....that'll get tongues wagging."

“Well then, someone’s lying to you. I bet it’s a ploy to get muggle children to eat their vegetables...” Ellie shook her head slowly, sympathetically, but smiled. She liked her veggies just fine, but sugar would always be the victorious party. Energy, indeed. She poked Ian square in the chest (though lightly), and her shake became a nod. “That’s right. Perceptive as pie. Don’t forget it.”

Storing the information in the back of her brain, Ellie knew she would have to send Mrs. Cuddyer a lovely box of Honeydukes sweets in the near future. Anyone who thought she was lovely was a friend she planned to keep. Or, er, make. (As she hadn’t exactly met Ian’s mum. Not yet.)

Raising her camera to her eye with a widening grin, Ellie snapped more photos of the cute Quidditch star against the scenic background of the town’s cobbled streets and shabby-chic storefronts. “How about a range of expressions, stud? Let’s see some... intimidation, or whatever it is you use up there in the sky.”

She was delighted to be called his good luck charm, even if she’d been the one to initiate the idea. She liked the way it sounded. Good luck charm. Perhaps it was the occupation she’d been searching for.

“I won’t turn down comfy seats or free tickets,” she confessed, lowering the camera again. She let it hang gingerly from her neck, and linked arms with Ian. As they began to walk (at Ellie’s unspoken request), she hummed a hmm, her mind racing with ideas. “Why not start things now?”

No time like the present.

Pulling him more dominantly, Ellie turned and walked backward, tugging Ian in front of the Three Broomsticks. It was the weekend, and Hogwarts students were out shopping for Halloween goods. The window seats were as hot a commodity as they’d always been, and Ellie knew they were hitting the dramatic jackpot by loitering in front of the pub. Tugging at Ian’s hoodie, she used it to anchor herself as she leaned up and pecked his cheek. Then, firmly back on the earth, she took his hands and swung them playfully, grinning a wicked sort of grin. “We may need to run in a moment,” she whispered loudly, her eyes darting sideways, where, sure enough their audience was gathering momentum.

Ian chuckled at Ellie's logic regarding sweets and vegetables. But he wasn't sure if he should be laughing at his friend's plans to align herself with his mother. Not that he was entirely opposed to that because neither Ellie nor his mother were very devious (or so he thought).  Still, it probably was never a good thing to have two women conspiring with each other.

Despite feeling suddenly self conscious when Ellie brought her camera up to start taking pictures, Ian complied and began to change up his expression. "Intimidation? I didn't realize I did that." But Ian did his best muscle pose for her and furrowed his brow into a his best intimidating scowl. Ian tried to imagine himself as being a badass defensive hockey player like his father, as he hardly figured his position as Keeper allowed him the opportunity to do much of that.

When Ellie seemed amenable to coming to see him play, his expression visibly brightened. Even if they weren't "seeing" each other and regardless of whether it would fuel wagging tongues, Ian admitted that the thought of having someone in the players box to watch him (besides his family) was exciting. "Well, then I'll make sure you get some tickets. Really, any game you want to come to, Ellie, I'd love to have you watching." When she linked arms with him, he brought one of his hands up to rest on hers and gave it a squeeze.

And then the conversation turned to how they were going to revive their little storyline. He should have known that she wasn't going to waste any time. He could barely hide his surprise when she pulled at him and barely had time to protest when she placed them smack dab in front of the Three Broomsticks.

Not that he was going to protest. Ian was having fun, as only he could do when he was in Ellie's company. When she pulled herself close to kiss his cheek, Ian brought a hand to lightly rest at her waist to help steady her.

He ducked his head close to hers to catch what she whispered and he allowed a husky laugh to resonate from him. "Run, huh? I guess it's time like these we wished we could fly without a broom, eh?" After a pause, he asked quietly, "So where should we run off to, Ms. St. James?"

Laughing at his mock-intimidation, Ellie soaked up the chance for a good shot or six. Snap, snap, snap. Her fingers wasted no time in clicking away, as her winking concentration stayed on Ian’s attractive mug. She lowered the camera with something a triumphant grin. “You’re on your way to becoming a regular supermodel, sir. Ever think about a change of careers?”

She felt prickles on her spine, the pleasant kind, like light electricity, if Ellie had ever really known electricity. (Being a Pureblood had its drawbacks). There was something more than exciting or friendly about being invited to watch Ian, and her desire to go wasn’t entirely entrenched in her love of the game, or of a good, prime seat. She genuinely wanted to be there to show her support for a friend. A very generous, easy to talk to, good-looking friend. They’d always had fun together. “I’d love to watch,” she admitted, her voice softer than usual.

Looking sideways as she tugged him down the street, she offered a private smile that was more for her girlish benefit than for Ian. It was nice, the touch of his hand. It was also strange, how such a little, simple thing could make her happy. Or... aware. Really, despite the tabloid articles, they’d always had a rather innocent (if sometimes flirtatious) friendship. But Ellie wasn’t about to deny a certain chemistry.

A flounce of dirty blonde hair landed them in front of the pub, and she was humorously delighted to see Ian’s expression. She wasn’t doing it to torture him, and she wasn’t doing it for attention (though she was hardly a shy girl). She was doing it for The Plan. Of course.

The whispered joke stirred between them, and not even a fly on the wall in the form of an ambitious reporter could quote Ian on this one. “Maybe. Like your muggle comic books or whatever they’re called. How on earth did they get that name?”

She shook her head slowly, in wonder, but her eyes wandered to the door of the pub. It gave a jangle, the bells overhead announcing the start of the bull run. Sure enough, there were people bumbling outside, some of them with airs of innocent coincidence, others with bits of parchment in hand, mouths ajar. The brigade was fronted by (who else?) five or six teenaged girls in Hogwarts skirts.

Before she could provide an answer, Ellie tightened the grip of their hands and took off down the cobbled street. The army of fans gained momentum behind them, growing like a giant dustball the further they ran. She peaked over her shoulder now and again, and stole glances at Ian’s face as her own became bright with autumn whiplash. “I haven’t figured that bit out yet. Just keep running!”

Passersby whirled around, bewildered at the chase, and window displays became blurs of orange, red, and leafy gold. The hill at the edge of town became larger, steeper, and the house sitting atop it like a crown loomed closer.

Suddenly, in a mad moment, Ellie yanked Ian into an alley and darted through several Olympic-esque obstacles of trash bins, crates, and broken glass.

"Supermodel? Oh Merlin's Beard, no!" Ian finally raised his hands up to cover his face. "I can barely handle the publicity now," he bemoaned, keeping his hands where they were as she continued taking pictures, sure that some of them would still turn out pretty amazing because of her talent. After a moment, he made a show of peeking through his fingers and flashed her a shy smile.

He saw that she had lowered the camera and did the same with his hands. They were rather silly together but that was in no way a bad thing as far as the Quidditch star was concerned. The fact that he could enjoy himself when he was around someone like her and not worry about his fame could never be underestimated. And as much as they joked about being together in a romantic way, for a moment Ian allowed himself to really wonder why that was something not to be taken seriously. He liked Ellie. A lot. What more did he need to want to try and be with someone?

When she said she would want to come to a game, something inside of him swelled and he suddenly had an urge to wrap his arms around her for a bear hug. But he contained himself, and luckily at that because already their antics were creating quite the stir. Hugging Ellie in that moment would've seriously hindered their escape from all the spying eyes.

The sight of so many fanatical onlookers caused Ian's face to break out into an expression of sheer surprise. He nearly tripped over his own feet at first when Ellie took hold of him and started to hightail it down the street. When she admitted she had no idea what the plan entailed next, Ian was tempted to say something, but he was finding that all the running was preventing anything coherent from coming out. So he concentrated on her command to keep running, quite certain that the wind in his hair would knock the curls right out of it.

That was, until she pulled him into the alley and they were presented with a whole new set of road blocks. Finally he managed to eek out, "Ellie! Hold up!" It was rather amusing that the Quidditch player was the one needing to catch up. But he managed to hurdle over a bunch of obstacles before they reached an area that was clear. Quickly glancing behind him and seeing that their entourage had given up the chase, he slowed up and encouraged her to do so as well.

Slumping against the wall of the nearest building and tugged her to a place alongside him. He grinned down at her and with a husky chuckle that clearly showed he was still catching his breath, he murmured, "Wow. That was impressive, Ms. St. James. If you ever want to play for the Harpies, let me know..."

“That’s why you should go for it. Lasting power. None of those cam-whoring blokes get far. But the earnest ones...” Ellie squinted suspiciously; it was really more of a wink. “Watch out.”

The dash to escape escaped unscathed was a successful one, but the adrenaline in Ellie’s didn’t stop when Ian slowed her down. She breathed heavily, in triumph, welcoming the gulps of breath and dizzy excitement. “Wow, I missed that sort of workout,” she murmured. She hadn’t run like that in a while. She’d been meaning to get back into it, even if she would never find herself on the pitch on a regular team again. Running, jumping, tip-toeing the tightrope of fatal danger... it was a wonderful rush.

“Have I left you in the dust?” She asked innocently. “Didn’t mean to do that, sir. I know you professionals are a little rusty...” Grinning at him, she glowed with pride at the idea of herself decked in Harpies robes. Even if it was a joke, it was a brilliant one. “Do you often hang with the Harpies?” She asked, her eyes widening delightedly. “Which is your favorite?”

Bending over a bit to further catch her breath, she began laughing. “Imagine if we’d tripped or something. You’d be a goner. Those school girls are cannibals. I know what I’m talking about. I used to room with them.”

She stretched this way and that, and then supported herself by slumping casually against Ian’s shoulder. “Are you hungry for something other than sugar? We’d have to double around and go to that shady pub way up the high road, or else you may have to put on some thick sunglasses if we’re going to brave the Broomsticks, but...”