British place names, man. He sort of starts to mouth Ottery St. Catchpole, just because it sounds kind of fun to say, but doesn't chance it out loud. It's seems like a mouthful. "I'd um, l-like to know." He almost makes a face at how awkward that sounds, (I'd like to hear more, he thinks might have been better) but nods a little. "D-do, uh-- do you have a f-favorite?"

She's so up front about it - not nervous at all, not the way he is. Maybe he's too secretive. Maybe he's a coward, but he knew that already. The way wands work is fascinating to him, the incantation - he'd be so bad at doing magic that way, he realises unhappily - but then there's a hare and it's dancing around him, as he twists in his seat so his gaze can follow it, mouth caught in a grin. A moment of hesitation, reaching to touch it but curling his fingers back to his palm at the last minute, 'cause maybe that's not okay, maybe it's impolite. "It's p-pretty."

Not words enough and he knows it, but then... words aren't really his area.