Alfred smiled in greeting as she appeared from the flames. Her hair was down this time. He wasn't sure what to make of that. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to make something of it. It was unusual to see women with their hair down out and about on the streets of London, but it wasn't as though she'd shown up only partially clothed. Was she trying to send some sort of message or set a certain tone, or was he reading too far into things? It could easily have been the latter. He was overthinking everything about today.

"The Ministry's kept me waiting since January," he pointed out. "I'm used to it by now. But no, you didn't. I just had lunch a few minutes ago — but I could put something together if you're hungry?" he offered, with a vague nod towards the kitchen. His flatmate and he didn't have a cook or a housekeeper, so their homemade meals were more meager than most, but they did at least have a stocked kitchen. While Alfred wouldn't have said he was a good cook, he could put a few things together into a passably tasty meal when he had to — though his limited repertoire did get repetitive. Not that he anticipated she would be coming over often enough to notice.