Kingside had both legs kicked up on a booth in the far corner of the fairly ghost town-esque pub, the lunch "rush" having long since dispersed. Clad in fashionable jeans and a bright shirt, he stuck out like a sore thumb as a student -- adult wizards would dress far more practically! That is, practical by wizarding standards. Presently, Kingside's fashionable self was reading a book, both thick and dull, and sipping on some rather delicious tea of unspecified origin.

Kingside's eyes flitted upwards, overcome with the distinct feeling that he was being watched; he was rewarded by a blush and a quick shifting-of-the-gaze from a young girl, near his age. Kingside flashed her his most charming smile, when she looked at him once more, and she was so thoroughly overwhelmed that she felt compelled to exit the room, heading up the stairs towards the second floor. Kingside chuckled to himself, returning to his book.

For two weeks—two damn, bloody weeks—Gracie had been chafing under the dubious ‘hospitality’ of her paternal grandparents.

After four summers spent with the pureblood side of her family, the sixteen-year-old had grudgingly come to the conclusion that, yes, alright, that her relatives were an okay lot, folk who were at least tolerable if not totally likeable. And, come to think of it, hell of a lot more patient than she had initially given them credit for at that; she wasn’t the easiest person to get along with when she put her mind to it, she knew, and that they still made an effort to meet her halfway was. . . touching, to say the least.

She also knew the sentiment was mainly out of selfish reasons, but in this case she was hardly going to look the gift horse in the mouth.

Thankfully, however, all of that was done and over with. Now, two days after she had finally come home, she was at the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, dressed in her usual gear (shirt, shorts, and boots) and vaguely optimistic that she’d find a familiar face or two. The pub was no Three Broomsticks, true, but the place was just as much of a hot spot in Diagon Alley as the other was in Hogsmeade. Right enough she was dodging a virtual blush on two legs less than a moment later, and then found herself letting out a husky, rolling laugh when she spotted the cause of the poor girl’s hasty departure. “Kingside!” she greeted as she drew near, gracefully skirting what tables were in the way. Unabashed as ever, Gracie let her eyes rove over the boy’s form appreciatively. The two of them weren’t exactly friends and by no means had they ever been friends (nudgenudgewink there), but such banter was old hat to them. It certainly helped that all that brawn and blonde hair were easy on the eyes. “Lookin’ fit, Captain Gryffindork,” she grinned, leaning against his table’s edge with ease. “Taking your brain out for a walk now?”

As his surname was called -- customary among many, Kingside not having gone by his forename exclusively in quite a handful of years, now -- the young athlete averted his gaze from the large novel in his hands without swiveling his head at all. As his eyes and brain worked together to register who had addressed him, he smiled gently, waving.

"'allo," he called back, smirking as she drew closer, teasing him a bit. What was he if not a good sport? "Much appreciated -- ye aren't lookin' too bad yerself, but don't let any of the Gryffindor lasses know I said tha', they'd have a right fit." Adjusting his position to sit a bit more upright, John folded over a corner of a page, shutting his book quietly. In response to her last bit of teasery, Kingside chuckled; "Aye, I'm one a' them scholar athletes ye' hear so much about, love."

As for Kingside's familial situation -- well, just how close the side of the family he currently spent his time was to "pureblood" was questionable, but they were certainly a wizarding family. Estranged from his father after the death of his mother and brother (the latter, in his father's eyes, his fault -- and still, by far and large, Kingside's greatest demon), he had lived with a maternal uncle for nearly six consecutive years now. It was a vast improvement over his life in Belfast with his father, though in truth, nobody he had ever met at Hogwarts knew any of the facts about him in that regard. It was simply something he hadn't wanted to share.

For a boy that was so popular, Kingside had very few close friends.

Trying to look modest and failing, the girl gave up and simply looked pleased at the compliment. It wasn’t as if she’d dispute something like that, anyway. “Scholar athletes?” she smirked down at him, folding her arms as she raised a brow. “Never heard of them.”

Her head cocked to the side, Gracie let that half-smile linger on her face. That was the thing about John Kingside, Gryffindor’s golden boy; he might be a little too sure of his own popularity with the ladies at times, but to his credit there was something genuinely sweet about the way he went about it. In the Slytherin girl’s mind it was enough to let such things slide—she had at least one or two friends who were quite similar if not the same—and maybe have her fun while she was at it, too. “Y’know, Kingside,” she drawled, fingertips skimming over that closed book, “most people gen’rally leave the reading at home or a’ the library. Couldn’t find a little peace ‘n quiet there, or. . .”

Turning her head ever so slightly, Gracie shot a glance at the stairwell—where that girl from before now peeked around the corner—and shot her a bland smile. When she looked back at Kingside, the smile turned decidedly wicked. “Trying to help that image you mentioned?”

Kingside chuckled, shaking his head.

"I love the Cauldron -- besides, it's usually empty enough in 'ere for me t'get some reading in," he explained with a playful grin. "Ah, I don' mind, though," the boy admitted, placing his closed and bookmarked book on a nearby table. "What're you doin' 'round here anyway, love?"

Lounging across a long booth, Kingside crossed one ankle over the other, waiting on Gracie's reply. She was a decent looking girl, though he could never personally seem himself with a girl from Slytherin; while she was, from time to time, a good friend to have, at her core she exemplified many of the virtues of a Slytherin -- they were two entirely different people, when it came down to it. She was entertaining enough to talk to, at any rate.

Matching him grin for grin, Gracie leaned in and gave one boot a flick. “Not for reading, that’s for sure.” Not that she had anything against it—she rather liked reading, to be honest—but she really didn’t see much in toting a book about and reading it in public like some sort of display. Time ‘n place for everything, an’ all that. “I’m just passing through, actually. I haven’t been in town for weeks—thought I’d take the chance to do some shopping without someone breathing down my back.”

And that was one of the things she had missed, while she’d been away. During that time she hadn’t been allowed to be let out of anyone’s sight—not her grandmother’s, or her cousins’, or even her uncle’s, who was way, way more lax about it than the rest of them. If she had wanted something, she simply had to go for one that was more expensive, designer—‘better’. Rather annoying, to be honest. She couldn’t buy so much as a new quill set without someone ushering her towards the priciest ones on display-

Which reminded her. “Hey,” Gracie poked his foot, the grin she tilted at him surprisingly leer-free for once. “I’m thinking about trying out for the team this year. Any brooms you’d recommend?” A few had caught her eye—the newest Firebolt model being one of them—but she knew there was more to a ‘stick than a famous name.