Emmylou scrunched her face into the pillow and reached her arms overhead to block out more light. Her head throbbed vaguely, no doubt reprimanding her for the fun she’d had with Quinn, and later, George. The car alarm in the distance only made it worse. “Shut up,” she murmured. But it was in vain, and a few moments later, she was sitting up on the couch, blinking back the offensive sunlight, and wondering what George had in his fridge.

She stretched in place and sunk down into the couch again, her side nestled into the back. Half-yawn, half-sigh, she glanced around the flat, her eyes perusing random nicknacks with lazy but still commendable nosiness. Finally, she spied a clock, so that she could deduce whether her cousin and Nolan were awake, or gone, or would be asleep for a few more hours yet. If she’d been paying attention to the overzealous light from the window, she might have realized sooner that it was nearly noon.

Reaching for her wand, Lou flicked it at the Wireless and upped the volume enough to hear the end of a news report. After a jingle for Fizzing Whizzbees, the familiar sound of the crowd was discernible under the intro music for a popular sports commentator. The Sunday game made the flat seem less sleepy, and Lou climbed to her feet to poke around the kitchen.

George was drying himself off from the shower when the familiar sound of Quidditch seeped into the bathroom. Smirking as he wiped off some of the excess heat on the mirror, he towel dried his hair and picked up some shaving cream. He’d all ready heard the game the night before (having thrown back a couple beers while the Wasps and Kestrels battled it out), prior to Emmylou’s entrance.

Perhaps he was still a bit sore, having lost his first games to the Kestrels, that he had really crossed his fingers for the Wasps. When they lost, it had been a time to drink for them (and perhaps his wounded pride). Still, it was something to learn from. The Cannons would face off against the Wasps eventually, after all. As he had a Harpies game coming up, he had been more interested in their Saturday game against United.

It was amazing having a job where he could say listening to Quidditch games was ‘working.’

Once he wiped the excess cream away (and finished getting dressed), George left the warm bathroom and headed out, following after her into the kitchen. “Wasps are going to miss the goal!” When the announcer finally got to it, an ‘oh!’ of disappointment was heard through the speakers. “The Kestrels have a fair Keeper, to be sure. Almost as good as me.”

The kettle was turned on and he leaned against the counter while watching his cousin. “Sleep well, Princess?" The grin of amusement was mostly there because, unlike many times before, he had been the more sober of the two the night before.

Emmylou reached for the orange juice, and instead grabbed a bunch of grapes as she heard George, apparently now a Seer, makes his appearance. Turning on the spot, she launched a grape at him, brows knitted, mouth open with brand of indignation that could only ever be reserved for George. “Did you get an O in Divination?” Or was that a P?

She popped a grape into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and leaned a shoulder into the counter opposite him; it was remarkable how she could mirror him without even being fully of aware of it. “Prat,” she murmured affectionately, dropping a grape into the pocket of his t-shirt as if it were a pin ball machine in an aracade. She popped another into her mouth and shook her head as the Wasps continued to fumble with the ball. The Kestral’s Keeper was indeed fair, but Lou would have preferred to hear the game in (pre-recorded) real time.

If George was a prat, and Lou was a princess, and they were all getting P’s in subjects they’d left behind at Hogwarts... How had she slept? “Like a baby.” She raised her brows, shrugged, and straightened up-- realizing a moment later that her hungover tongue had got ahead of her. She made an awkward face at the implication of the word baby, but then had to smile. As she turned to the kettle, it whistled for attention. Everything was reminding her of infants today. Except for herself. Lou was a certified adult, obviously. Whether she’d actually slept well was beyond the point. George had been kind enough to give her his couch, and now she was looking for him to be kind enough to let her clear out his fridge.

“Since I’ve made the tea,” she said-- having paused to listen to a particularly tense moment in the game-- “Generously,” she clarified, pouring into one cup, and reaching into the cabinet for a second. “Do you want cook the bacon?” She looked over her shoulder briefly, catching his eye. “With eggs,” she added, with a sort of thanks in advance to her tone.

She turned around with both mugs and moved a few paces back to George. “I mean, if you can handle cracking an egg without fertilizing it. I am your guest, after all.”

She grinned and blew on her own tea. “You are better than that tosser on the Wasps. It’s the Seeker’s fault you lost.” She took a sip, and relief immediate washed over her. The headache could run through her head all it liked, but it wouldn’t hide from the hot, soothing caffeine for very long. “Where’s your woman?” Her tone was somewhere between mildly interested and conspiratorial. Mostly, she wanted to know if she could barge into their washroom and brush her teeth.

The remark he wanted to make to the Divination grade was inappropriate (and a little too early to go there). He had done well enough in Divination, but not ‘O’ worthy. “I should be a traveling Seer. Quidditch bets taken on the side. It’ll be my extra income.”

George made a face at the grape in his shirt, looking down at the offending fruit before sticking his tongue out at her (careful to not keep it out too long). It seemed safe to head to topics of sleep. He saw that look on her face and echoed it, shaking his head. Laughing at the thought, George dug the grape out and popped it in his mouth. “I hear they don’t sleep that great.”

Sometimes it was still weird to think he was going to have a baby in a few short months. Especially with someone he had grown up with. Lou had ever right to know him better than anyone: she knew him when he was an annoying child, figuring out what buttons to push, his favorite hiding places, things he had taken apart and toys he’d fought over. They had shared enough things over the years that it was weird to approach something so foreign alone (or not completely alone, obviously there was Waker who was going through it as well).

“Did you now?” Was it hard to let the water boil and pour it over a tea bag now? Smirking before pushing off towards the fridge, he shrugged and opened the door. “Did you do something to deserve breakfast? Or do you just like my meat?” Pulling out the bacon and eggs, he made a face at her before setting up on the stove top. He stopped at the mention of fertilizing eggs, wide eyed as he stared at her. A hand towel was quickly rolled up and snapped in her direction. “I’m not going to use a rubber to make your breakfast, Lou.”

His mouth opened and quickly shut; it wasn’t a good subject to bring up Klint. George felt it was partly that prats fault for sending the bludger his way. Ultimately, however, it was up to the Seeker to catch the Snitch.

“She’s out. She likes to start the day early...” Shrugging a bit, he smirked and glanced over his shoulder at her while the bacon started to sizzle. “I think she said something about catching up on work.” George crossed his arms over his chest and relaxed against the counter.

“Where’s your woman?” It seemed a fair rebuttal, though his tone was not as 'friendly' as his dear cousin's had been.

"Uh huh, and when the goblins are after your arse..." She quirked a brow, waiting to hear his plan. "Stick to your day job, George. We'll both sleep better." She raised a cup of water in cheers.

Babies, on the other hand...

Lou shrugged in a sorry, bro sort of way. "Maybe you'll get used to it?" By then, the thing (the baby, it was going to be a baby) would no longer... be a baby. "Ear plugs... insulating charms... that could be dangerous," she added, her tone suggestion don't take my advice as she vaguely shook her head and returned to her cup. Nights out made her thirsty. It was hard work, but someone had to do it.

"And don't you forget it." She shot him an accusing, affectionate glance. (More accusing than affectionate). "If you think about it, I make tea exactly the same way you do because our parents shared parents... So my tea should be extra comforting, and you should appreciate it. And make me breakfast." That bit was less of a suggestion, but she said it kindly enough, she thought. George wouldn't mind. He got her. Or that's what she told herself every time she pushed her luck.

Scrunching her nose in some expert combination of disgusted and already-sensitive-in-the-stomach-slash-head-region, she quipped back a simple, effective, "Ugh," or something that sounded remarkably like it.

George's meat dishes were one thing, but common sense, she could talk. "Right. You've got that bit down, now remember that you do need one in other places. Like your bedroom." Or he might have, if he hadn't already gone and... Yep.

"Just give me bacon, please, George," she said, finally, plopping onto a stool. She continued to nurse her water and listened with vague (keen?) interest as he explained Nolan's whereabouts. Excellent, it would be just like old times: Carters only. "Oh, good for her," she said, vaguely, so that her sincerity might be questioned-- or, hopefully, taken at face value. Really, it was good for her. Better she wake early on a weekend than Emmylou. "Mmm, if she's going to get back soon, do you think you could ask her to bring some more orange juice?" Might as well. In whatever Floo-them-down method couples like this one used. Did they even have a fireplace? An owl? Lou glanced around at the details she had managed to miss or forget last night (and apparently all of the other nights she'd crashed here.)

Her head snapped back-- and her brain, did, too!-- when he brought up her woman. How clever. Lou gave him a searing look. "Off being a strapping young lad on a broomstick, I imagine. Dunno, but when I find him, I'll be sure to take a picture for you," she said in a voice that was like a wink. And then: "Stop calling him a woman, George. I'm pretty sure I would know if he was, and you're just looking for a fight. If you both get chucked off the Cannons because you can't act like grownups, I won't speak to you for seven years." If it was an empty threat, she didn't make it apparent.

"Dammit," she said with a groan, her forehead pressed into her palms, which were supported by sober elbows that were still getting used to their soberness (she wore it well, ever the balanced and lucky thing, not unlike her family, perhaps). The commentator continued to expand on the theme of George's prophesied outcome while the crowd roared disapproval (and equal parts cheer) in the background.

---

Sorry for typos, I typed this on a tablet with the autocorrect turned off

“Maybe I can blend in with them…” He trailed off at the thought; he was used to making jokes about his height. If he didn’t, someone else would. It seemed like all it would take was a proper costume. Maybe add a bit of a nose and pointy ears… a wart or two. George could pull it off in a pinch! “You never let me do anything fun.” As if running a shady fortune telling Quidditch business in the back of a gypsy wagon was on his bucket list. Still…

“I can sleep through anything.” Grinning, he puffed his chest out as if it was a badge of honor, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. Perhaps he had never been around the octave of ‘baby-screaming-as-if-the-world-is-ending.’ Whether he knew it or not, he was going to learn.

Eyes rolled at her reasoning, but he couldn’t poke any holes into it (especially as she was using his kettle and tea), so he didn’t put up more of a fuss. Other than what he was doing. As in he would make her breakfast and moan about the injustice of it all. And about how he was going to make her breakfast with his meat.

What stays in the family…? Isn’t that how the Purebloods did it for so long? Smirking at her reaction, an eyebrow rose in her direction. “They should have you come in for Hogwarts big sex talk.” Show them a picture of George in eight months and they might abstain. “Meat coming up for the demanding cousin.” He was too busy getting breakfast ready to analyze how she reacted to Waker, if he would have noticed at all. “There’s squash, Lou.” Honestly…

Not that he would know how to get a list of necessities to her were he to need more than orange juice. She might be at work, or she might be visiting her parents, or she might be at some adult club getting a lap dance. How was he supposed to know?

George enjoyed the look she gave him over the comment about her woman. It felt good to give her a smug look of satisfaction back, knowing he had put the stakes up for this little game. “You can keep the photo, I see him enough as it is.” He dipped the fork into the bacon and turned it over, letting it sizzle into crispy lengths of goodness. The face he made over remarks of whether Edmund was a girl or not was unpleasant.

“Sounds like bad luck then.” Attention was diverted from the bacon and on to Emmylou. “I’m trying. I’m new at this grown up thing.” He listened to the game for a moment as a big loss was suffered by the Wasps. As the bacon finished, he plopped them out onto a waiting plate, going right into cracking eggs while munching on a bite of bacon. “’Ow’s Quinn?” He was trying to ask off-handedly, make a feel for how the two were doing and whether Quinn had mentioned to Lou about their previous relations.

The welcoming noise of eggs cooking kept him busy for a couple minutes, adding mmhms absentmindedly as the cheese was added. A stray hand moved to the bacon plate and picked up another piece, chewing on the end as he listened.

“You sure are green enough,” she retorted, grinning nevertheless.

Ha. Ha, ha, ha. “I never let you have fun?! I am fun, George. I was your partner in crime all these years... and then you betrayed me and went off to school a year before me, but you loved me so much that you repeated Sixth Year so we could have more fun.” Details, details. She was too hung over. “But someone has to keep you in check.” Also her job. “I should get paid for being fun and babysitting.” The fun babysitter.

Wait, no.

She looked to George, reproach, pleading, and innocence mingled in her expression. She would not. Her babysitting services did not extend to Carters-yet-to-be-born. Though he hadn’t yet asked-- and maybe the idea wouldn’t come to him. Her mouth was loud, but his brain...

Another thing to laugh about: anyone sleeping through the hippogriff screech that was crying babies. Lou had more confidence in a class run by herself. Grinning now, cockily so, in a way that was frightfully familiar, she answered, “Yeah, I could teach them a thing or two. But Azkabait’s kind of boring...” She took a deep breath and yawned. “I’m not ready to be a cougar.” Rolling her eyes, Lou clambered to her feet and shuffled with heavy steps to the cupboard. She pulled out the squash, mixing it while George made breakfast. “Is orange juice so much to ask for?” Also, eggs, bacon, and rent-free accommodations.

A breathy huff of laughter escaped her nose as she poured the squash into glasses. “If only Edmund got as excited to see you as he does me, all of our problems would be solved,” she said, in a tone that suggested, if you think that’s something, you should see... “Seriously, George, stop being a prat. You’re my cousin, that won’t change, but...” She shook her head. “This is messing up my relationship. I nearly walked out the other night.”

Moody for a moment, she let the commentator take over. When George questioned her about Quinn she raised her brows idly. “Same as always.” Their usual fun was how Lou had ended up at George’s for a nightcap (or another few rounds and good old rock n’ roll on the Wireless) instead of her mum’s. “Having the time of her life post-Hogwarts,” she elaborated, smiling a little as she reflected on it. “You haven’t seen her since we graduated?” She asked, closing her eyes a bit, racking her brain for a time when they had all hung out together. But George had practice between knocking up Nolan and moving into his new flat, and Lou was balancing espresso shots at St. Mungo’s, and Quinn was on the hunt for a job-- and maybe a barman. Not to mention that various significant others didn’t exactly get along with certain members of the Gryffindor alumni.

She lifted her wand, tapping lightly on the countertop to signal that she was ready for her food. But since George was already picking at the bacon, Emmy summoned a bit and chewed. “We could all get together, Grace, too, but since you won’t go to Edmund’s and he probably won’t come here, that leaves my mum’s or bumming around in a bar.” No complaints there. “If you bring Nolan, she gets to play sober Floo buddy.” She offered a thumbs up, as if it were an excellent idea-- which really meant she didn’t think so at all. “Or we could just do a Gryffindor thing...” Suddenly, she looked particularly lionish, her smirky-grin obviously implying this was a better plan. “Alumni association.”

Hold on there, fellow wizards and witches. Don’t you dare tell Emily Louis Carter that she and fun do not go together. Because she will rip you a new one. Laughing at her, George’s eyebrows rose and he assessed his cousin for a moment. “Simmer down, Lou. Partner in crime, you still have the badge of honor.” Waker didn’t get all of his antics, after all.

“Sounds like too easy of a job.” Merlin, he’d volunteered for that during his summers off from Hogwarts. Then again, George liked to keep busy. If he was left to his own devices, there were mini catastrophes to come home to. Ask his mum.

He made a face and shook his head, as if willing some unsaid image from his head. “Ew…” George did not need to know what ‘wisdom’ she could impart on the children. Just like she didn’t want to hear about his meat. “I’m sure the claws would fit you fine.” And perhaps Quinn would keep herself busy, entertaining the children with Lou. Hell, Trent would be up for a day back at Hogwarts, probably.

They were probably lucky that George wasn’t cooking for more than just Lou and himself. Trent could’ve crashed on top of her, after all, and he would’ve allowed Quinn a place to crash. As long as people didn’t invade his bed, he was fine with his mates staying over. That did not, however, take into account Waker’s opinion.

“Depends on how lazy you’re going to be.” Orange juice was quickly gone through, with George around. Squash at least lasted a while.

If his face had been screwed up over her discussion of Hogwarts, it really did it over her talk of Edmund. “No. No, gross, stop it.” They showered together, for Merlin’s sake! He felt a little queasy before glancing to her. “Honestly, don’t need to know how excited-no.” He could punch Klint in the face twice for that.

George wasn’t sure if he should be excited or feel his cousin’s pain at the thought of her walking out on Edmund. He reminded himself that at least Klint wasn’t getting excited for him, and tried (very hard!) to put himself in his cousin’s shoes. Plus, he could tell he’d irritated Emmylou off, and so he softened his voice. “All right, all right. I’ll give it a try.” He had to make it work for his job as well, right?

“Same as always.”

That was one girl George hoped never changed. “Uh…” Blinking, he glanced over his shoulder towards her. “I have…” Just before moving in to his own place, as a matter of fact. But Lou didn’t need to know the specifics. Except that he felt guilty now.

He almost whined and asked why Edmund had to come out. George was able to catch himself, even as the face morphed into a child’s pout, taking a deep breath and trying his best to put his normally happy, cheery grin back on his face. “If you’re bringing Klint, Waker is coming.” It was best not to mention that as sober as she was going to be, a trip through the Floo could bring about disastrous results for the drunk she helped stumble to a couch. Poor thing, all nauseous from the baby.

Suddenly Lou seemed like a genius. Dishing out the eggs on to two plates, he finally sat down-he’d clean up the dishes after. Another piece of bacon made it to his mouth, and as he crunched down, he nodded his head in excitement. “That’d work.”

He dug into food and swallowed it down with tea and squash, listening to the game for the second time (not as on edge as the first), and gauging Emmylou’s appetite. When they were nearly finished, he decided to approach the subject. “So… Quinn’s her own person, right? If she dated someone on her own terms, no matter who, it’d be her own thing and it’d be cool, yeah? Like, during Hogwarts…?”

Looking self-righteous, smug-in-an-attractive way, and pacified (hung-overly so) all at once, Lou stuffed another few grapes into her mouth. She would have her badge and her grapes.

“Sounds like too easy of a job.”

“As opposed to one day rolling in the galleons for catching balls?” She grinned. It was funny how quickly teasing her cousin could lighten things-- especially when she was being grumpy toward the very same, famous cousin. She knew as well as anyone (better than most) how hard it was-- all that training. Even without homework in the way, this was the real thing, not a school team (which was competitive and choosy enough), and it would be lot of heavy training, sore muscles, daring stunts, demanding coaches, broom repairs, wins, losses, and press conferences, both before and during the big money. She sighed. “I wish I could join you and Edmund.” She’d been too long out of practice, and though she was a good player-- and very good chaser, in her opinion, at least-- she did not have George’s raw talent or level of passion (though what would be the fun in admitting that). She marveled and was simultaneously distraught over how long she’d kept her barista job. “But if you need a live-in nanny, don’t hire me.” Even if she was bound to get on with the baby George. “If your friend Bristol Collins needs a new nanny, he can hire me,” she clarified.

But Lou and males of the Azkabait, famous quidditch player, or boyfriend variety were apparently not an appealing topic for George. She grinned, triumphant at making him uncomfortable.

“Depends on how lazy you’re going to be.”

“I’m the brilliant sort of lazy.”

Still grinning in a particularly troublesome way, Lou added, “I’m brilliant at a lot of things actually. Don’t look like that. Does it really shock you that Edmund gets excited to see his girlfriend? I mean...” Alright, maybe that was overboard. Besides, this was serious.

When he said he would try, she lifted her head a little, looked at him soberly, apparently with deep consideration. Finally, she nodded upward, once, a trusting lift of her chin, a I’m listening, I heard you. She hoped he wasn’t just saying it. She supposed time would tell. Didn’t it always? “Thanks.” It was as much an honest thanks as it was a you’d better.

She winced as the crowd on the radio grumbled and ooohed loudly, a chorus for the commentator’s bad news. Lou’s palms reached toward the top of her head. What an awful game. She thought it at the radio as much as at George. She dropped her wrists, still shaking her head a little.

She looked up at him with confusion when he was sparse with his answer. Not because it was yes, but because it wasn’t a simple, run-of-the-mill George yes. It was a drag-your-feet response. “Are you alright?” Maybe the bacon was occupying his attention. What a great cook. So much attention to detail. She had to love him. And the bacon smelled delicious.

Still, she kept an eye on him until he started dishing out the food (or the bickery, snippy comments at mentions of Edmund. “Yeah, we’ll let the catch up,” she said conversationally, though there was underlying nope to it. Not that she was a possessive girlfriend, or the sort to control Edmund’s friends, but she wasn’t especially fond of Nolan unless she was bringing her orange juice. (She’d only been kidding about the floo thing.) At least Lou could control herself (most of the time) when it came to voicing her not-fondness, unlike George and Edmund. “You know, George, we both need Ravenclaws in our lives. Necessary evils...” She didn’t find Edmund the least bit evil, but their rows sure were interesting.

Eggs, bacon, squash. There was plenty to keep her busy, along with the spoiled game and picturesque little road outside George’s window.

She certainly was not expecting the question. She looked up, blinking, hand on her fork. “What?” She asked, her brow becoming confused. The longer she stared at him, the less easy she felt. “If you mean would I be mad if she was macking on someone who wasn’t me...” She grinned, covering her uneasiness. It felt paper thin. “I’d get over it...” Her voice sounded hollow, suddenly. Her smile faded. Joking about it wasn’t going to work, or make the question unasked. “You--” She sort of knew, and she knew that she didn’t want to know, but she had to know. “What are you saying, George?” He certainly wasn’t asking. They weren’t even in Hogwarts anymore. (Not to mention George was attached with a baby on the way.) So this wasn’t about permission. She set the fork down and stared at him, leveling, preparing for... something. “What’d you do? You? And Quinn?”

George almost told her he didn’t do catcher, but then he reminded himself they were being more than halfway serious, surely, and so he smirked and shrugged in response. “That takes real effort. You have to caress the Quaffle, let it know you understand, and then gently toss it back.” Giving Emmy a small smile, an eyebrow rose. “I want to get a pitch some day. Then you can be my water girl.” Was that not what she meant by join? Whoops.

Rolling his eyes, George sighed and shook his head. “I’m sure he’s got a few more qualified, older options for nannies.”

Talk of Edmund being excited made George want to push him off a cliff an undetermined height from the ground. Over twenty feet, at least. “I don’t think about it. Just like I’m sure you don’t think about how excited I get with Waker.” Waggling his eyebrows at her, he added with a lazy smirk, “And I can get rather excited.” Why not give her back some of her own medicine? Spoonful of sugar, and all that.

He made a face at her at her question. Was he alright? Of course he was alright! “Have some bacon.” Get her away from his awful attempt to be sly about hanging out with Quinn.

Taking a deep breath, he attempted to consider her statement. Were Ravenclaws themselves evil? Or did they become evil once they became Ravenclaws? Was there hope for them if they had been sorted somewhere else? That was too much philosophy for George to think about, so instead he was willing to concede another answer with a shrug. Edmund Klint was worse than a snaky Slytherin.

George focused on his food while Lou came to her own conclusions, rolling his eyes. He didn’t know about Lou’s tangle with Ruby, and assumed she was kidding one hundred percent.

His face scrunched up as he wondered how he could explain this quickly and subtly. Perhaps he should have just opened up about it to his cousin while it was going on. Come out of the broom closet with Quinn around him or something, yelling ‘Gotcha’ while covered in glitter.

“What’d you do? You? And Quinn?”

“I didn’t do Quinn, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He looked uneasily at her. “We just… fooled around a bit.” A piece of bacon was bit off and he chewed on it cautiously, his other hand scratching the back of his head.

“Good to know if I ever have questions on Quaffles, I just have to ask my cousin, who has caressed so many.” She grinned wickedly, but nevertheless perked up with a little more sincerity when he mentioned a pitch of his own-- and. Nope. Water girl. Ha. Lou gave him a loving look of dismissal and dug into her food with a silent never.

Nannying for Bristol Collins, on the other hand... “Who wants an old nanny when you can have a fun, young one? Your kid will be instantly cooler.”

George was right: she didn’t think about how excited he got with Waker, and she didn’t want to. “Point taken.” Eggs and bacon, focus on those. Oh, weren’t they beautiful? La, la, la, la. And George was being so civil and grownup, offering her more. Emmylou pointed her wand at the radio: a dial turned and the speakers got louder before she stabbed the hot, crispy food with her fork.

With the game in their ears and food occupying their mouths, they didn’t have to talk much. If the silence was awkward, Lou didn’t really notice-- they had grown up together, and could easily go long stretches of time without having to talk (even if both loved talking very, very much, as any proper Gryffindor of many generations.)

But when it came up, when the flood gates opened, there was no going back or hiding behind bacon and the distress of a losing team. A best mate and a cousin.

“Why--” Did you do it? Didn’t you tell me? Are you such a giant prat?!. She stared at him for a moment, feeling her stomach twist and her face getting warm. Two of the people she trusted most had left her in the dark, had clearly had no intention of telling her that they were ‘fooling around a bit’ in a cupboard somewhere. She wasn’t amused about by his don’t worry angle. “Why would do that?” To me. It was plain as day in her tone, if left unsaid. George knew her well enough. Lou was sorely tempted to hex him. “All the girls you could have snogged, and you go with Quinn?” She didn’t mean that Quinn wasn’t a prime choice for any bloke-- she was. But he knew better, as far as Emmylou was concerned. He had poached Lou’s best mate and gone behind her back, and two flirts together always made for a disaster in the longterm. She’d had enough of being pushed to choose sides between her boyfriend and her cousin; she didn’t want to do the same with Quinn and George. “Why didn’t you tell me when it happened?” Or why would he tell her at all? She might have been better off not knowing, but now that she did, she wanted to kill him for not telling her sooner. “I share everything with you--” Her hands were moving around now, so that he might understand better. “I told you how Edmund gets excited in the shower and you didn’t even want to hear that-- and you don’t tell me this?!” Quinn hadn’t told her. Did she even mean to? Emmylou felt her heart jump.

The radio was suddenly too loud, booming in her head. She pointed her wand at it without much care and it silenced, leaving another kind of loudness. She pressed her fingers to her forehead, briefly, and then drew them away again, staring at George.

From quaffles to nannies, the cousins could discuss just about anything. If she wasn’t his cousin, George would go into every detail he could get away with about Waker and himself. She was a mate! The whole family bit just complicated it. So typical of Emmylou to complicate things (even if it was beyond her control). If he rolled his eyes here and chuckled there, it was in amusement at their conversation.

And, in all honesty, he didn’t know one from the other as far as nannies went.

If Emmylou couldn’t fight back with equal points that would disgust George, he might have pushed his point a little further. As it were, he was enjoying his bacon. Tasting it once was enough, thank you.

Speaking of food, he dug in to his appreciatively. It was a good distraction, for a short while, listening to the game while all ready knowing the outcome. It was a reminder of simpler times. Of growing up and nagging one another. But like most things, it could only stay peaceful for so long.

“Why—“

Why indeed. If he’d looked in the mirror, he knew he’d find a guilty boy staring back. As it were, he couldn’t quite meet her gaze at first. As if he’d been caught stealing some freshly baked biscuits, or breaking something or another around the house. George bit his lip and fidgeted with his fork, twisting himself back and forth on the chair, slowly. He shrugged at her question. The why was easy to explain; he was a teenage boy with one thing on his mind. That was not what Emmylou wanted to hear, though.

“All the girls you could have snogged, and you go with Quinn?”

Fingers entwined behind his head as George contemplated responses. The cabinets looked mighty fine. Eyes roamed over the kitchen before he finally let out a breath. “I don’t know, Lou, maybe-”

Frowning suddenly, he glanced towards her. Hands dropped to his lap. Teeth grit as she brought up Edmund again. Gross. Never showering after practice near him again.

His voice was smaller, somehow, with the radio off. “It didn’t seem like something to… tell. We figured you wouldn’t handle it well? Plus I think I was just a snog for her, you know.” Or it might have started out that way. George looked back at his plate, longing for the bacon to suddenly appear and this conversation to have never happened. “Once it ended, it just seemed easier to… not.” Why had he decided to get it off his chest?

“I thought you would have noticed…”

His face looked guilty, but it didn’t pacify Emily Louise. To the contrary, it annoyed her. She was annoyed (and angry) he hadn’t told her, and annoyed that he was suddenly being so open about it. Part of the problem was that Lou couldn’t decide whether she really wanted to know or not, even though it was very much the sort of thing one was supposed to tell one’s best friend, or close family member, or, in this case, both. Searing eyes and a tight jawline made their appearance; if she looked ready to pounce, a more lionish reaction was sure to follow.

If it were a bad time to bring up Edmund (every time seemed like a bad time when George was involved), Emmylou paid it zero mind. He deserved to hear about things he found less than appealing, a dose of his own medicine. For his cousin, the idea of her two best friends getting together was terribly unappealing for several reasons. The fear of having to choose sides was the biggest hurtle in the long run, but immediately, being left out of the news entirely was what stung the most. They hadn’t told her because they knew she wouldn’t take it well-- but it sure hadn’t stopped them from having their fun. What about Gryffindor loyalty?! Blood ties?

Lou would have told him to get out, but it was his house. She closed her mouth last minute, after opening it to argue. (And suddenly everything annoyed her-- like the fact that George had his own flat before Emmylou had one.)

“You dumb prat.” She was, luckily, no longer holding her fork. The words lacked the affection either one might have held the last half dozen times she’d murmured some combination of them at him. She lifted her wand with a frustrated, upward throw of her arms, but they came down again, somewhat hopelessly. “I can’t believe you-- either of you. So what, you sit there snogging in some cupboard thinking Emmylou will take it bad, so let’s just keep going on about it and not tell her, and, hey, she’ll find us eventually, but let’s not think about that right now?” It was, more or less, what he’d just told her. Why she was repeating, summarizing it, she didn’t know... but it was so ridiculous, she had to. “I would never do that to you.” She stood up now, pointing at him. Alright, that was a lie. The actual point, was that she never had done it to him. Mostly because George’s closest male friend had never paid her ridiculous crush any mind. “How long? How long did it go on for, then?” She demanded asked. She crossed her arms, waiting.