Title Reference | Outfit

It was a pleasant Sunday afternoon, and a well-earned interval during the NEWT onslaught. Quinn didn't need to wait for months to find out her results; she already knew that they'd be terrible. As long as there were a few 'Acceptables' in the sea of 'Trolls', she'd be happy. People didn't need an immaculate report card to know she was a good writer. Her father had already introduced her to some big players on the Quidditch media scene, and when it came to charming, Quinn was top of her game.

On the subject of charming, her secret meetings with George had become far more regular since the rather delectable situation that had occurred on the family sofa. She'd spent all afternoon enjoying the sunshine with the girls, but had to conjure another, somewhat feeble excuse to escape: this one involved owling her mother. And nobody suspected anything. Why would they? Lou had no idea Quinn was stealing snogs from her cousin, and a surge of guilt hit every single time she had to lie.

Swiftly walking down the corridors of Hogwarts, Quinn checked her watch. She was on-time. Just. Placing a tribal-printed bag over her body, her thoughts had increasingly become focused on how, and if, Lou should ever find out. Well, it wasn't as if George was her boyfriend (Quinn never did that sort of 'official' thing), and it wasn't anything serious. Until it was, she had no reason to know. The Gryffindor twisted her mouth in thought. It was still incredibly deceitful; and she liked George. What if things were to get serious? What then? Would she just carry on burying her head in traitorous sand? Lou was her best mate: her first port of call, her usual 'remember the time' storyteller, her comrade-in-arms. Was she really ready to risk all of that for some stupid boy? Granted, the girl didn't have a proven track record (the John Flickwick episode had caused a fall-out of nuclear proportions) and maybe this was just a fling.

Nearing their predetermined meeting spot, Quinn tried to shake such thoughts out of her head. Running a hand through blonde, loosely curled (and largely messy) locks, it was as if she was trying to rummage all negativity from her confused little cranium. Turning one final corner, passers-by became less and less: there was usually no need to be in this part of the castle on a Sunday. Their hideaways were usually in similar, quiet surroundings, and were always kept secret; she'd yet to explain exactly why things had to be kept on the down low, but Quinn figured he'd be able to guess why. Despite his own academic shortcomings, he had a good head on his shoulders.

Catching sight of him stood by the Trophy Room archway made Quinn's stomach tighten; that horribly delicious feeling of extreme anxiety. It'd been a while since somebody had dominated the lioness's daydreams. Unsure of whether he felt the same (Quinn didn't ever just presume such things), the girl approached George with her usually cool demeanour. Keeping it casual. Sloping an arm around his neck, Quinn made one last glance to check the coast was clear. Pressing her lips to his momentarily, she grinned, quietly leading him into the Trophy Room. "I know I'm late," she whispered, giving a light-hearted shrug. "But worth the wait?" Raising an eyebrow at him, Quinn wrestled her fingers in between his.

Ugh, why did he have to be so good-looking again?

Over a month had passed since he’d had a sleep over with Quinn. And though all they’d done was a lot of snogging and feeling, it hadn’t gone past that. It was different, in a way, and reminded him of more innocent times. Not that they were very innocent when it came down to it, but George was having a good time. Plus, it was a good way to let off some of the stress in his life.

And if Quinn wanted to keep it secret… that meant she didn’t expect much more out of him than a little fun herself. Or that’s what he took from it. So he kept his mouth shut, smirking knowingly when he was with her and the girls, hinting with a tilt of his head, raising of his eyebrows, slight puckering of the lips. Only enough to tease her before he rambled on about Quidditch or the awful N.E.W.T. schedule. And, really, after making a slight fool of himself with Grace, and with his cousin being all sorts of crazy at the moment, he was down with it staying quiet.

What else did he have to do on a Sunday anyway? Studying was for the birds (Ravenclaws). Where others liked to experiment and dress normal on their days off, George was rather fond of the uniform he would soon get to never wear again. His tie was loosened, top buttons undone, and the shirt untucked with the sleeves rolled up, but he still rocked the Gryffindor colors as loud as his pride was. Leaning against the wall, George waited, twirling his wand around his fingers.

When he heard someone round the corner, he smirked and stood up, noticing Quinn as she sauntered down the hall. George tried to ignore the room they were near and hoped she planned on taking it somewhere else. Allowing her to lead him around, accepting the kiss, he grinned only long enough to turn, dropping it slightly as the trophies came into view.

Holding her hand (whether he had wanted or not), George nodded in agreement, glancing around as he tried to steer them away from the familiar case. “We'll see.” Finally he looked at her, giving her a smirk, attempting to brush off the feeling of something watching. Pressing her back towards a wall, his lips found their mark, showing her how ‘worth the wait’ it was. After a few moments, he finally pulled back. “Did you girls get any studying done?” Free fingers found their way to the end of her shirt, tugging lightly as he leaned his other arm against the wall, forcing her hand behind her back while he held on to it.

George's strong, overpowering hands pushed Quinn against the wall, and her usually solid, strong frame willingly succumbed. He was the first bloke in a while that wasn't scared of being the dominant figure - and Quinn was quite happy to let George take control. It was refreshing. As his lips found that weakspot, Quinn ruffled a ringed hand through his hair. Already, he knew how to make her go weak at the knees. He'd stuck around for a while now - it was just a shame boys weren't allowed in their dormitory. The previous 'should I, shouldn't I' anxiety was a thing of the past.

Her arm being pushed against the wall was another tempting sign of George's prowess, and Quinn shuffled beneath him, bottom lip bitten and eyes full of mischief. "I tried," she murmured, returning his gaze. "But I get... distracted." It was a true statement. Having some male attention was always a nice prospect - especially if it meant less concentration on NEWTs. "I'm sure you can understand, I'm a bit of a dreamer." Quinn smiled; far more genuine, and a lot more childish.

Going in for another kiss, Quinn felt that rush of hormonal delight. As her hands slid into George's pockets, it was very tempting to pull him in further for something a lot less innocent than kissing - her thoughts were interrupted however, the girl pulling back. Something was... different. For somebody who was such a good kisser (despite her disparaging remarks in the common room a few months ago), he wasn't giving it much attention. "Hey, what's up with you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows thoughtfully. Tilting her head in thought, Quinn gave a wary smile as questions began to flood her mind. Was that what happened when these sorts of meetings became a regular thing? Things became a little more stagnant? Ugh, surely that's what happened when you were fifty-three and stuck in a stale marriage?

Giving the boy a playful thump on the shoulder, Quinn shrugged, still unable to contain a smirk. "Am I boring you or something?" she asked in jest. "Not quite up to the Laney Irving standard?"

George had an idea of how distracted Quinn was. She distracted him a lot, recently. “A dreamer?” That was one way of putting her, he supposed. Glancing down at her chest, he raised an eyebrow. He seemed to be a ‘dreamer’ lately himself. Not necessarily by choice, either. But he was a big boy, he could wait (somewhat) patiently.

Feeling familiar hands digging in, he pressed into her lips. George couldn’t shake the feeling on the back of his neck. His hair stood on end as he tried to push overwhelming thoughts back. From her sudden reaction, it was clear that he hadn’t been quite as enthusiastic as usual. Pulling back without much resistance, he cocked an eyebrow at her, shrugging her question off. Would she believe him if he tried to blame it on the stress of exams?

George licked his lips and rolled his eyes. Sighing as he leaned against her a bit, he laughed lightly. The eagerness was slipping away. It wasn’t a chore, but it wasn’t as thoughtless as it had started out.

“That’s not a standard you need to get to.” His bullocks were well in place, after all. George had learned his less—don’t bring up obvious roleplaying at a crucial moment. Some girls were just too sensitive about the sort of idea you might have (like, say, your ex-girlfriend). “Just not a fan of the trophy room.” Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes were drawn to the familiar case. He frowned and shifted a little, arm resting on the wall to keep him up next to Quinn.

To tell, or not to tell… He debated over it in his head for a few moments, biting his lower lip. George didn’t often get nervous. “It, ah…” Shaking his head and laughing at himself softly, he finally glanced down between them. “This is where I… encouraged the Head Girl to get hooked on Carter.” His smirk fell and he pulled back a bit, shrugging and trying to blow it off. It wasn’t important. It wasn’t a big deal that it had been a year all ready.

“So, see, not a bore. Just a terrible event planner.” Finally he glanced up to her face, an attempt at a teasing smirk slipping across his lips.

George reassured Quinn that Laney Irving was not the epitome of womanly charm, and the girl smiled down towards two booted feet. He was either being honest, and the famed Quidditch player was a bitch, or he was a brilliant liar. Either way, his comments still put a spring in the Gryffindor's step. George had a rather impressive track record (not that Quinn would ever tell him), and that was always a tiny flame of distress in the back of Quinn's mind. Some of those girls were beautiful - notably his fling with Irving and Waker Nolan. Perfect and flawless. The envy of every girl in Hogwarts and the lust of every boy, they were the kind of females that Quinn would never be. Of course, she was confident and comfortable in the party girl skin, but everybody was sprinkled with some form of insecurity. Could Quinn ever compete with girls like that?

Suddenly, the atmosphere between them turned a little less certain - and Quinn couldn't help but silently worry. Her eyes moved over George searchingly; was he bored of her? Was she just a time-filler until someone better came along? Someone more glamorous, and alluring, and feminine? Biting her bottom lip, Quinn placed both hands on his lapels: "George, what's up man?" She tried her best to sound nonchalant, but even she couldn't hide some tinges of worry.

The mention of Waker was devastating. Quinn's fingers fell from George, and she shrugged. What else could one do? If he wasn't over the diamond of Ravenclaw, then perhaps it was time for Quinn to stop burying her head in the nearest sandpit. "Oh..." she simply murmured, casting her eyes towards the trophy cabinet that so obviously dominated George's attention. Of course: it was all too good to be true. It always was. A perfect match for Quinn had come along with interest by the cauldron and looks to die for - but the 'ex' card was played, and her fragile castle with the Queen of Hearts at the summit came tumbling down. She felt something intangible and unnameable sink into the pit of her stomach, and a sense of dread filled every vein. The look of disappointment and hurt on Quinn's face was undeniable. "I didn't realise..."

Quinn paused, her exhalation the only noise to break the silence. The smirk appearing on George's face was not reciprocated. What could she say? That it was fine an ex-girlfriend still played on emotions and memory? That it was fine a girl far superior in both looks and academia provided a distraction?

"So, see, not a bore. Just a terrible event planner." Quinn gazed everywhere but his eyes, scared she may look like the idiot she felt. "And a quick rebound to keep you entertained, as well?" The words fell from her lips, and rather than materialising in a malicious tone, they almost formed themselves into a question. Was she just that? It seemed the best way to confirm her fears. Still pressed against the wall, Quinn's arms remained rigid at her sides, eyes shooting down towards the floor.

"I'll never come close to her, will I?" Her voice was quiet: uncharacteristically meek for the brash Gryffindor. It stung to speak such worries aloud. Childishly fidgeting with a lock of blonde, untamed hair, Quinn clamped her eyes shut, bracing herself for the blow that would be his reply.

Her reaction left him a little less sure of himself. George thought he’d been rather suave in his troubles, the way he had skirted Waker’s name while still voicing why he didn’t care for the room. Obviously he wasn’t as nonchalant about it as he’d hoped. Frowning a little, he tried to not roll his eyes. Girls were all the same; so easy to get flustered over a few misspoken words… So he glanced away, and missed out on the guilt-inducing hurt, though he could still hear it in her voice.

George didn’t necessarily broadcast what stupidity he got up to when first meeting a girl. In reality, the trophy room had only enabled him to get the tutoring session that prompted the then Prefect to find him charming enough to date. What hadn’t Quinn realized, though? The way he was acting? Because she’d caught on that quick enough. Still, no reason to get irritated and defensive.

He could try and play it off easy. Shrug it away, make an excuse, tease her a little. Until she dug at whatever it was they were doing and called it a rebound.

Annoyance flickered across his face and he was unable to stop his eyes rolling. George’s jaw tightened as he stood up straighter, pulling away slightly, glancing away as he let out a breath of a laugh. “I’m not the one who’s been trying to hide a bit of snogging from everyone.” That guilt was setting in, though. All he could think was ‘Lou is going to kill me.’ Maybe this was a perfect reason why you didn’t mess up a good friendship. Or mingle with your cousin’s friendship.

Either way, he was going to be in trouble. Frowning suddenly at her statement, George tried not to let out an exasperated sigh (and half succeeding). “What?” Shaking his head suddenly, he tried to blow it off. “She…” She what? Broke his heart? Made it with someone else? “She cocked it up.” He skirted her statement. “But this-” and he quickly motioned between them with a hand withdrawn from behind her, attempting to make sense of her sudden change in attitude, “-has only been a bit of fun. Right? I mean, we’ve kept it just… light. And you don’t want me anyway.”

Honestly, why did things have to go crazy and complicated with women? If only he could stick to Trent. But that would require a lot more work. “All I meant was this wasn’t a great place to drag me in.” His rushed words slowed down, finally, and he nodded a bit, not making a move to continue their extracurricular activities.

"Do you think I like keeping all this secret?" Quinn murmured. Clearly, George hadn't cottoned on. It was hard enough not to rant to your best friend about boys and their mistakes and their charms: it was made even more difficult by Lou's stance on the two getting close. She'd made it apparent that Quinn wasn't to pursue George, but what had happened anyway? Situations like petty teenage arguments would anger Lou even more - it was probably the precise reason why she didn't want family and friends getting involved with one another. "I just don't want anybody getting hurt."

But who was feeling the backlash? It certainly wasn't George, and his cousin was none the wiser. It was Quinn. From the boy's insistence that their whole exchange was merely 'a bit of fun', the Gryffindor party girl felt like somebody had kicked her in the stomach with a steel-toed boot. Of course, that's all she was: 'a bit of fun'. A perfect remedy for George's heartache in an hour of need. "She cocked it up, so I'm first reserve?" Wow - she was honoured.

Quinn just couldn't bite her tongue. She hated being that girl, the one who grew attached and lovestruck; in normal circumstances, dropping boys was easy, an art almost. Now and again, someone like George popped up and knocked her off-track. The stolen kisses, the secret meetings - it was impossible for Quinn to stay unattached. He mirrored her move for move, countered every action and looked past every flaw and imperfection. The boy was beautiful, and Quinn couldn't quite believe he was giving her time of day. Of course, it was just too good to be true. It always was.

She faintly smiled at his insistence that Quinn didn't want George. It was such a standard response from a guy trying to be rid of a girl. "I..." she begun, her eyes looking everywhere but his face. If they connected, Quinn was afraid she might cry. "Maybe I've got the wrong impression, then." With a tightened chest and heavy heart, she wanted to leave the Trophy Room in a flash, but something was stopping her. "It's just..."

Just what? What could she say? Waker was his love, and the object of George's affections. Quinn was merely friend turned casual interest, somebody to offload testosterone passion and a point of relief in the onslaught of exams period. Why had she been so stupid? Why, why had Quinn let herself grow attached? Resting against the wall, Quinn's eyes remained on the floor, bottom lip bitten in an attempt to hold back welling tears.

"You still love her, don't you?"

If George was honest, he hadn’t thought much about why she’d been keeping what they were doing secret, and thus had never considered if she liked to or not. He’d made assumptions in favor of casual fun. His eyes narrowed as he tried to contemplate her statement. Who was ‘anybody’ and how would they get hurt if what they were doing wasn’t secret? Sometimes he wished girls were less secretive and more up front about how they were feeling.

“She cocked it up, so I’m first reserve?”

His eyes rolled again. It wouldn’t do to mention the failure with Laney and Grace. Instead he took a slow and deep breath, gritting his teeth, jaw tight. “I didn’t say that.” George didn’t want to have backups. He wanted to go back in time and stop Waker from ever meeting with her bartender. He wanted to just have his old relationship with her, to not have any of these stupid problems. But he couldn’t. Coming to terms with that was the hardest thing (and he still wasn’t there).

What had she gotten the wrong impression of? “Just…?” His eyebrow rose as he stared at her, trying to calm himself down. He didn’t need to get defensive. “You are a lot of fun,” choosing to leave out the unspoken ‘not right now’ though he realized it was his fault as well, “and cute and with this amazing party life outlook. But you never said you were interested in… more than fun.” So perhaps both had gotten the wrong impression.

Her question forced him a step back, rocking on his heels as his mouth opened stupidly. After a few moments, he closed it, pursing his lips in consideration. In renewed irritation. It was the type of irritation that went along with not knowing how to answer truthfully. His hand found his trouser pocket, digging deep, and eyes searched for words in the wall above her. George shook his head, but he knew that was a lie.

Finally his head hung a bit and he scuffed his foot on the floor. “I’m trying not to.” His voice was soft, slightly defeated in its tone. As if he’d betrayed himself by admitting it.

Of course. Just fun. It was partly Quinn's fault - she didn't know herself that interest would develop into something a little more romantic. "You don't have to let me down gently..." Her voice was a mere murmur, and there was no way Quinn could look George in the eye without getting upset. Even though their secret meetings had been nothing more than a few lustful kisses and fumblings, Quinn had quietly got her hopes up for something that was never going to happen. She was just another name in the Carter back catalogue - another name that couldn't compare to Waker Nolan.

Quinn struggled to understand the fascination. Besides the squeaky clean academic record and the face of an angel, was the Ravenclaw really right for George? What did they even talk about? He belonged in a secret nightclub, partying it up with Quinn - Waker belonged at the Ministry, finishing her evenings with a few cocktails with colleagues and bed by nine o'clock. Still, her own self-reasoning didn't make Quinn feel any better. Sometimes, one couldn't explain why somebody dominated their affections: prime example, John Flickwick. He was argumentative, and a tad selfish, and completely bad for Quinn, but that didn't stop her loving him. It was painful, and no matter how compatible a current romance was, they would never match up to those you loved.

Quinn would never match up. Leaning against the wall, she kicked the floor lightly with the toes of her boot, a wayward tear managing to escape down an increasingly pale face. It'd been all wrong - from start to finish. Staying at her house, a kiss in the common room, recognisable glances across the Great Hall, none of it should ever have happened. Lou would be furious, and Quinn had merely been a time filler and a distraction. "I do like you," she almost whispered, her hands clasping each other to halt the shakes and trembles. "And I shouldn't but I do."

Taking a deep breath, the Gryffindor finally looked up at George, watery eyes silently erupting tears and fears. She gave him a smile, and bit her bottom lip, trying to compose herself before speaking. "If you really love her, then go after her. Otherwise, you'll just regret it, George. There's no use in pretending you don't want her anymore, because we both know the truth: she makes you happy, and that's something I'll never be able to do."

It stung to even say it, but Quinn knew it was the right thing to do. She shouldn't get in the way of true love, no matter how painful and fickle it was. She just wanted George to be happy.

People had arguments. They had tiffs, misunderstandings, and scream fests. George, as the kind and understanding person that he was, was willing to let this argument go and go back to what she had originally dragged him in here for. Except, they could take it somewhere else. Somewhere that trophies kept their shiny accusing light reflecting off of him. He resisted the desire to glance over his shoulder again.

And he wasn’t really sure how a girl got that he was trying to ‘let them down gently’ when he was giving them compliments. Sure, sometimes you might be overly nice to soften a blow, but… it wasn’t an all the time sort of thing. He was being honest. He saw the tear, tried to blow it off in his head as something else. George wasn’t immune to feeling bad, of course, and the guilt was all ready thick as it was.

And his brain retaliated. But she’d never said she was looking for more! She never said she liked him like—

“I do like you.”

They were now past the point of returning to just making out in a different alcove. But maybe he misunderstood—

“And I shouldn’t but I do.”

If only he had a timeturner. When she looked up at him, he wished he was anyone but him right then. The tears spilled over and he tried to reason with himself. Those weren’t his fault, right? His gut twisted as he berated himself silently in his head. Should have known better was there, but that was George’s bad, not Quinn’s. He was clearly damaged goods. At least right then. It was still too fresh, too soon, too… broken. But it shouldn’t be! It had been months…

George grimaced and wondered what he should do. Should he hold her, hug her? Start kissing her again? Stand there and look stupid? He was moving his hands forward, however slightly, when her words slipped out. He paused as he made a face, letting out a slow breath. He glanced down between them and a hand moved up to the back of his head. He shook his head once, twice, stopped. Then he opened his mouth, couldn’t think of what to say, and so he closed it. With his free hand, he reached out and took one of hers, wondering how things could go so wrong in such a short amount of time.

But then, he had firsthand experience how that went. It took even less time on the stairs with Waker, hadn’t it?

Finally his voice came back to him. “She made—” He coughed, cleared his throat, and continued. “Made me happy.” His hand moved over his hair down over his face, rubbing at his eyes. He couldn’t exactly tell Quinn that he’d been talking to one his infamous ex’s about such a thing. And he couldn’t explain how he was still hung up on the forgiving part. But… “I’m sorry, Quinn.” With that, he pulled her from the wall and against him, glancing over her shoulder. A small, sad smile slipped on his lips. “Guess we can’t pretend this didn’t happen and go back to being make out buddies?”

Quinn bit the back of her index finger, glancing away from George once more. Behind the devilish bravado and attractive cockiness, he was just like all the other boys; with feelings, and a history, and affections that belonged elsewhere. Girls like Quinn were good fun; they knew how to ensnare good-looking males with plenty of wise-cracks and unabashed confidence, but it always seemed to end there. That's all she was - a bit of fun, and no matter how hard she tries boys never seemed to stick around that long. John was the sole exception to this, but the volatility and arguments were just too hot to handle.

She felt her fellow Gryffindor pull her in for a final hug, and Quinn pressed her forehead against his shoulder blade. Giving a comical grunt of displeasure through her tears, the blonde was trying hard to overcome the torrent of teenage tears. "Ugh, you're a nightmare," she sighed, voice muffled by the cotton of his shirt. Even now, with his request of still remaining make-out buddies, she was still tempted.

"You need to find her, and tell her," Quinn finally gathered her words, pressing both hands onto his chest and smoothing out the layer of creased material. Eyes were still reddened and raw, Quinn putting on a brave face to try and soldier through the heartache. "Because we're graduating soon, and you'll be making a huge mistake if you let her go, understand?" She sniffed, giving him a smirk that only George would receive from Gryffindor's in-house party girl. He was a delightful being, and Quinn was foolish to think he'd only have eyes for her. It'd been a brief, but enjoyable innings with Carter, but it was doomed from the offset. The disapproving cousin and best friend, the bewitchingly beautiful ex-girlfriend.

Placing her lips to George's cheek, Quinn let her kiss last for mere seconds before pulling away, slapping his left cheek lightly with encouragement. "Oh George, you heartbreaker."

And even through the smiles, and the silent tears, it was still killing her. It was better to bow out with grace than bend over in wretched hysterics.

George could be a nightmare, he supposed. Unable to contain his smirk, he shook his head a little. It was always easier to make light of a situation. And if she happened to go for it… What would he do? He couldn’t say that he wouldn’t mind it. But then, he’d all ready made a fool of himself. Torn on the potentials of ‘what if,’ George tried to focus on the present. Like her pressed against him, breath on his neck, fingers—no. That wasn’t really helping either.

Blinking as she moved away, his hands moved down to lightly hold on to her waist. It was like the first time he’d ever slow danced with a girl, keeping that healthy arms length distance, unable to meet the gaze of your partner. George made a face and glanced past her. He couldn’t do much except smile back, however slight it was. He wasn’t sure how he was making the big mistake… but he supposed what St. James had said was right. It was either forgive or don’t—he wouldn’t really be able to forget.

His smile softened at the kiss, blinking and opening his mouth in surprise at the slap. A laugh escaped. “Me?” Rolling his eyes, he pulled one hip and then the other, forcing her to twist a little. “You’re the one who won’t kiss me.” But some part of him was glad. Some part understood this was a good way to end it. Licking his lips, he finally pulled away. Now what? Putting an arm around her shoulders, he tried to pretend they were back to just friends.

Because they were, now. “All right, mate. I bet we can find a replaying Quidditch match on the wireless. Some butterbeer to wash it down?”

He slipped so easily back into the role of friend, just as swiftly his arm snaked over her shoulders. Quinn let out a long, quiet sigh. It only reinforced the shattered feelings of a teenage girl, as if she never really mattered, and was nothing more than a time-filler for George Carter and his award-winning, heart-smashing, knee-weakening antics. A sore notion within the girl wanted to entangle her fingers between his, to continue the make-believe game in which she was the girlfriend. Waker Nolan made her nerves tremble - but really, the Ravenclaw had done nothing wrong. And Quinn knew it.

"I think..." she murmured, pressing her lips inwards, "I'll pass." His intentions were humble, and oh so adorably lovely, but Quinn couldn't switch it up as easily as the object of her affections. Two hands pushed his arm away, attempting (and failing) to be playful about it. "I don't think I'm the best person to be spending your free time with." Again, the words made Quinn recoil. Admitting one's own shortcoming was never easy, but stepping aside to let somebody else take something so desirable? That was even worse. Quinn knew that her life would be full of these painful instances, that nobody was free from having to make such choices. But they were necessary, and most beneficial to all involved.

Crossing her arms, Quinn gave George a final nod of the head before turning to leave down the corridor. "See you around," her voice rang out in the corridor, yet Quinn failed to look back. Catching his eye one final time would capture all the longing and heartache she was suffering, and the Gryffindor was afraid it'd almost kill her.