Archie watches Jez light the cigarette and resists the urge to step back. He doesn't know if he'll ever get used to that.

He places the cigarette between his lips and leans in, touching the end to the glow at the tip of Jez's cigarette. He's close enough to smell the marks of potions and charms now, that not-quite-there feeling in the air.

His cigarette lit, Archie steps away and leans back against the shop doorway. He inhales gleefully, sucking in the warmth and the tang of electricity in the air.

"Storm weather," he says.