outfit

Neely had been manning the table with all the ruddiness of a ballerina. She didn't need bring out her hexes for this. She'd already asked permission from Mr. Morgan, whom she knew loved her above all others. No one would dare steal her table on threat of an unpleasant end before they could say "Apparition License!" or "No more Trace!" (No need to tell them that it was Neely exacting the punishments, and not the librarian himself.) Thus, rather than flashing muscles or her Neely-sized wand, the girl shooed hopefuls away with blasé in what world? looks and a dismissing wave of her nail file.

Her Divination book and notes were stacked to her right, her pastel-hued, dip-dye quills and pretty inks to the left. Fresh parchment was half an arm's reach in front of her. And right where an open text might have been, Neely kept the Burn Book, pretty as a plate of cake. (She might have kept cake, too, but she valued her life just as those would-be table-stealers did.)

She let out a sigh; she'd only been here ten or fifteen minutes-- had arrived early, because her last class had been a quaffle's throw from the library. Still, it felt like ages, and the books were beginning to weigh her down: books looming above on the tippy-tops of shelves, snaking round never-ending aisles; books stacked on tables, so high that one couldn't see the pigtailed Hufflepuffs behind them; books drowning the arms of Ravenclaws straight into the floor. Not a good look.

"This is so depressing," she announced to no one in particular, and then went back to filing her nails while she waited for Alfie Vaillancourt to join her. They'd been assigned a project in Divination, and Neely wanted to get this over with. She'd been very good about studying this semester, had even come to enjoy some of the routine-- it allowed her to show off to professors, to spy on older boys whose social lives had been effectively robbed by N.E.W.T.'s, and to impress her friends with how smart she was becoming. She also got to ask Daddy for boxes and boxes of pretty knew quills, monogrammed parchment, and quill cases intricate enough to rival makeup drawers. Divination was her best subject, too. She had a certain talent for it that other, less special children lacked. Even so, one didn't need a crystal ball to foresee cocoa and gossip with Jordyn, a study session sprinkled like a fluffy pink cupcake, nor to realize its sheer superiority.

Outfit.

It was Divination work, and usually, Alfie would exceed the normal class average. When it came to schoolwork, he was dedicated - primarily because he had very little else to do in his spare time. He was no good at Quidditch, and even if there was a natural inclination towards the sport, Alfie would never be selected for the team. A social life was pretty much non-existent. And girlfriends? What the hell was a girlfriend? Essays and projects however, he was good at those.

But this was no normal Divination project. It was something that terrified Alfie to the very core. Group work. It never went well, and usually resulted in more than a fair share of misfortune for young Vaillancourt. In his first year, a mixed team of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had made Alfie do all the work and left him with nothing to contribute in the hand-in. A Potions joint project saw a group of rather vindictive Slytherins replace the contents of his water bottle with Sdraw Kcab serum - and everything the poor boy uttered was backwards and sheer gobbledegook. Cue an overnight stay in the Infirmary Wing and a big, steaming dollop of humiliation.

To make matters worse, he'd been partnered with Neely Woolfolk - one of the girls that would forever intimidate Alfie and remind him of a school life he would never know. Popularity, gossip, friends, a reputation - how could he ever compete with that? Girls like Neely had conquered Hogwarts - Maeve Whitman, Kitty Li, Demitria Strelnikov, they were all the same. A reputation preceded them, and it wasn't one to look forward to.

Trotting through the library with down-turned eyes, Alfie's shoulders were somewhat slumped forward from the vast array of books, quills, parchment and the crystal ball he'd brought; if Neely didn't want to do any work, the Hufflepuff would surely oblige. He always did. Glancing at his half-broken wristwatch, he was right on time, but immediately tensed up as the slender, perfect image of Neely Woolfolk came into view.

Clenching his fists to hide the sweating palms, Alfie gave her a nod, staring down at the table surface as he lightly placed his bag on the floor. "Hi, Nelly," he greeted, his voice quiet and more than reluctant. "I m-mean, sorry, Neely." Brilliant. He'd been there five minutes and in all his anxiety had got the girl's name wrong. Great start.

Immediately feeling his cheeks blush a rather stark shade of red, Alfie took a seat, taking out a few books and looking everywhere but into Neely's eyes. "So, where do you want to start? I mean, I can do most of it if you're like, busy, I really don't mind." Maybe it was better to make this joint project a solo affair as soon as possible.

Neely’s manicure was perfect. She did not register a shadow in her peripheral as she stared at her  pretty nails, but Alfie Vaillancourt’s greeting sure caught her attention. Neely’s lost her breath, as if someone had dunked her under water. Cold water. She looked up from the back of her fingers, outrage in her eyes, dangerous, tantrum-worthy puffiness in her Koala cheeks as she regained her grasp of oxygen.

The boy corrected himself before the blonde could, but it didn’t change the sting of his mumbled greeting. She knew his name, and he wasn’t even popular! Not like Neely was, anyway. She looked the boy up and down, wondering how she had got stuck with someone who couldn’t remember her name. Everyone knew her name. It was more than that, though...

“What is a Nelly?!” She demanded. She forgot to use her library voice, and a pair of younger students sitting a few tables away looked up, ruffled, as if to warn Alfie you've done it now.

What a terribly common endearment. It was something Neely would name her elf. If she didn’t already have three.

She stared at him sourly, stonily, stormily.

“Nee-ly, can’t you spell?” She murmured, more to herself than to him. Or, rather, more to him, but as if it were a lost cause. For a fleeting moment she wondered if anyone of great importance had heard the slight, and thought to panic. But now. She couldn't, not in front of Alfie Vaillancourt.

Alright, so it wasn’t a matter of spelling, but.

“You wouldn’t like it if someone called you Alfred, would you?” She had not remembered from several class attendances over several years that that was, in fact, his name.

Her hands landed on the table softly, under her moody gaze, but her fingers echoed as the tapped with impatience. She rolled her eyes and looked up again. “I am busy, thanks for asking,” she said, getting that out of the way. It wouldn’t do to let him think she had nothing better to do than homework. Alfie Vaillancourt was harmless, but that was the problem: he never seemed to find the courage to stand up to the kids who hexed him and insulted him, and the verbal clumsiness made it all the more easy. She might not have seen him approach, but that spoke volumes in itself. He was threatening. Still, once one spotted the fear in him... “But do you think I’m going to let you take all the credit or mess up my Divination grade? Do you think I’m just dense? Is that it? I don’t know if you know this--” Probably not, considering he couldn’t pronounce her name. “But I’m kind of a genius in Divination, and the professor loves me.”


It might have been a tiny lie. An exaggeration, really. But the professor had already given Neely a special position in her joint class with the History of Magic professor which meant that she was clearly special.

She chewed the side of her lip, sighed, and motioned with two graceful curves of her cupped fingers for him to set the crystal ball down. At least he’d remembered to bring it.

Neely leaned into the table, her knees stretching in the seat of the chair, picked up the thing and replanted it in front of herself. She sat like a pretzel, shoulders high, neck still and swan-like as she could make it, and placed her palms on the marbly glass, which was still warm from Alfie’s grasp. She let her eyes flutter shut-- but secretly peaked through them just enough to make out Alfie’s silhouette and any sudden movement. “This is how I warm up,” she said, her voice suddenly sage and full of secrets he was obviously too much of a boy to understand.

Alfie looked at her, flinching somewhat at her insulted response. Eyes flicked down towards the floor as he armed himself for a verbal barrage; communicating with girls like Neely was a whole different ballgame to the usual thugs of Slytherin. A punch in the arm or a shoulder barge into the wall had a visible bruise, and Alfie could shake off the humiliation eventually, but with girls, their scathing words and biting remarks left scars that weren't so easily forgettable. Their words would dwell and fester in Alfie's mind, and only reiterate what he already knew: that Vaillancourt was worthless, that he was somebody who didn't matter.

"I'm sorry, I just, accidentally said it," Alfie reasoned with her, his voice notably quieter than Neely's so as not to attract any more attention. He caught the smirks of the nearby students in the corner of a rather nervous looking eye - Neely Woolfolk had clearly earned her place amongst the princesses, and for good reason. The sting of her words hit Alfie like a bludger on Weidman's bat, and he was growing more anxious by the minute.

"You wouldn’t like it if someone called you Alfred, would you?" she spat, her words like poison that could hit the table and melt it in seconds. "I-I, I am called Alfred," he replied, although his statement sounded more like a timid question. Either way, Neely wouldn't give a flying Hippogriff what his real name was, and Alfie immediately wanted to retract his statement. "Sorry, it was rude of me." He gave a few nods, biting his bottom lip. What a terrible start to the project. It was firm evidence that the Hufflepuff worked better alone - he either upest, or offended, or insulted. Giving a sigh, Alfie wondered whether he'd ever get anybody onside.

As she began to reel off other questions, he almost had a breakdown when the realisation emerged that Neely could've been offended further. "No, no, none of those," he protested, shaking his head rapidly in an effort to soothe the angered Slytherin. "I just meant, usually, if it's group work, I end up doing it, but I'm s-sure you're really, really awesome at Divination." Alfie's voice was undoubtedly sincere; despite succeeding academically, he wasn't better than anyone else. "So, we'll do just e-equal parts." Alfie clenched his fists under the table, reeling with embarrassment.

He simply watched as she placed her slender, lithe hands on the crystal ball, observing her 'warm-up' method. Was she really this adept at the art of foresight? Somewhat intrigued, Alfie grabbed a brown quill, ready to take down any notes that she may or may not dictate. "S-see anything yet?" he asked inquisitively, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

"I'm sorry, I just, accidentally said it."

Neely stared at him suspiciously for a moment before her face gave way to a moody pout. Arms crossed before she reached for the new distraction-- the crystal ball-- she looked very much a child having been told she had to keep her bum planted in a chair and suffer through dinner with old people; Neely didn’t always mind old people, especially if they were impressive or easily impressed, but many tended to drone on worse than Hogwarts’ famed lecturers.

"I-I, I am called Alfred."

Promptly ignoring this, as if it were a minor snag in her logic, Neely instead considered his apology. There was nothing wrong with the name Alfred; like Cornelia, it was a strong indication of clear-minded parentage and good breeding. Old money. But Alfie had always been Alfie, and whether or not his name was cute was irrelevant; the boy was clumsier than a house-elf, and apologized almost as much as Sasha. “Let’s just get this done,” she said at last.

It was no shock that Alfie Vaillancourt got handed the lion’s share of the work on a pretty platter. Probably by the lions themselves-- or the snakes. Neely knew when to take advantage of a good opportunity; however, in recent months, she had been trying her best to participate in group work, even for the most tedious of classes. It didn’t always work, but her grades had been steadily on the rise, something which surely sit well among the elite gaggle of girls with whom she associated. And Daddy was so proud. If she played her cards right, she could nab a hand-full of O.W.L.s and be well on her way to charming society. Too bad the charms professor was a mustachioed nightmare.

“Equal parts,” she agreed. “But I get to pick which ones.” Neely was not always a leader, but she could be bossier than anyone had a right to be. And Alfie made it easy. He was submissive, and not like to complain. He might have had several inches on the girl, but her ego and (sometimes false) confidence were big enough for both of them. “Like going first with the crystal ball.” A smirk danced onto her pillowy lips and white teeth were bared before her eyes fluttered shut.

"S-see anything yet?"

“Mmmm,” was Neely’s reply. Through the mascared lashes of one eye she glimpsed Alfie’s outline across the table; he seemed intent enough, even through Neely’s careful, fragile eye. Colors dotted the back of her eyelid when she closed it again. “I see...” She began in a soft, raspy whisper like so many she’d heard from Seers false and real. She opened her eyes properly and stared down at the marble swirl of soft pink fog between two sets of splayed fingers; it was like a liquid candy floss under the heat of her hands. “Us getting an O,” she announced at last. She looked up at Alfie again, and re-emphasized her grip on the ball, her palms pressing showily into the glass. “Thanks to me.” She grinned genuinely this time.

Retracting her hands again, she picked up a snowy quill dip-dyed in lilacs and pinks, one end pastel, the other white. She began to record her observations. “I see a fight in the common room. Mine, probably. It was definitely under water, that’s why the glass got all swirly and sort of blue,” she explained. “And there was a snake or a tail... It totally makes sense because the calendar and moon charts both say we’ll have chaos soon.” Also, there were O.W.L.s on the horizon, but Neely needn’t mention that. “Or maybe it means the giant squid will eat someone.” Hopefully someone useless. “But that’s just gross.” The Giant Squid had almost eaten Neely once. “There was... bacon, too, and pie.” Not standard symbols in their book, but Neely saw nothing wrong with unique interpretations. “And lightning. I bet that was the ceiling in the Great Hall. Something big will happen at breakfast or lunch! I also see,” she went on, leaning across the table, looming over the ball as she stared at Alfie conspiratorially. “A man. I think it was Mr. Morgan.” Whether she’d seen him out of the corner of her eye in large part thanks to their current location was irrelevant. “I don’t know what will happen yet. Maybe you should give it a try.”