Outfit

It was late evening, and Bristol rushed down Diagon Alley to make it in time. He was running late. Typical. It'd been a nightmare of a day; having to stay longer at Charlotte's than initially planned was in no way ideal, and it seemed his ex-wife tried to make even the most simple tasks a barrage of paperwork and bureaucracy. To make this even more annoying, Anna refused to do any of this in person, and Bristol was left to deal with her less evil but equally as catty friend. St. James knew how to put the playboy in a bad mood, and once again, she'd succeeded with backhanded compliments and a pro-Anna stance on everything and anything possible. How could one witch have her wand so far up someone else's backside?

As usual, he'd spoiled Poppy something rotten. Sweets, cakes, gingerbread men, bon bons, Bertie Botts Beans of Every Flavour, Longley Exploding Jelly Spiders, sherbet saucers - essentially every piece of confectionery one could buy in Honeydukes. And after feasting on such treats all afternoon then wanting to play indoor Quidditch, Bristol's daughter had vomited. Everywhere. Another mess to clean up, and another shirt to change.

Since his return to England, a meeting with George was long overdue, and Bristol was pleased to have finally made concrete plans with the youngster. Catching-up with old mates was all well and good, but there was something even more appealing about getting drunk with the kids that looked up to you. Even though Carter was a Gryffindor, and Bristol was a loud and proud Slytherin, they'd always been friends, and he was more than happy to help out when situations got a little sticky. And boys being boys, such events were often and usually hilarious. It seemed things were really taking off for George, though, and Bristol was immensely proud; a foot in the Quidditch League (even if it was Chudley) was an amazing achievement, and so was obtaining that very charming (and very good-looking) girlfriend. Wendy was it? Or Walker? Something weird beginning with a 'W' anyway. She was a little young for Bristol, but he could always appreciate a fine looking female from afar.

Getting to their proposed meeting place, Bristol dashed inside and couldn't help but grin at a table full of young witches that gossiped and whispered. 'Is that really him?' 'It sure looks like him...' 'Oh Merlin, I could die.' One always had to take advantage of these situations. His agent consistently reminded Bristol that he had a public image to uphold; interact with the fans, keep them guessing, flirt with them at every opportunity. He didn't have many qualms with the latter, however.

Taking a look around, George was sat at a table quietly, two pints at the ready. Good man. Bristol immediately walked over, enveloping the former Gryffindor in a tight manly hug: plenty of patting and plenty of warm laughs. "Kid, it's been way too long," he bellowed in his Essex drawl, taking a seat. "Sorry I'm late, the girl was sick and I had a run-in with Charlotte St. Basilisk." Taking a sip of his pint, a gasp of refreshment escaped his lips and Bristol rubbed his palms together excitedly. "So then, star Keeper, what's new, what's new, what's new?"

Before Laney was a Magpie and the Harpies cemented themselves in George’s heart forever, there was an older gent from Hogwarts that George had latched on to shortly after arriving at Hogwarts himself. There weren’t many older students willing to let the young first year tag along, especially with his brother a Prefect, but George had always been persistent.

Ever since then, Bristol had been almost Merlin-like in his eyes. Perhaps not unlike Keegan and George’s relationship. So when Bristol went on to play as a reserve for the Wasps, George followed religiously. He’d kept tabs while Bristol played for the DC Dogs, and though things had gotten crazy recently, he even knew his old mate had come back from the States and was with the Tornadoes.

If he wasn’t a Chudley himself, or in love with the Harpies, George would have rooted for the Tornadoes. The invite for drinks had encouraged George out of the showers after practice faster than usual. Sometimes a nice soak under warm water was just what the healer ordered, especially after running training drills.

Tomorrow, maybe. Today, a pint was going to be his remedy for sore muscles. While he waited at the table, George had gone ahead and ordered some starters, eager to wolf down something. He would still have an appetite later, for whatever was for dinner with Waker. If she got home before he was dead to the world, at least.

When Bristol came in, George felt like a young pup again. Did he look like he’d grown up? Was he too short? Maybe he should’ve left some mud on his face from practice... Reciprocating the embrace, he laughed in greeting. “Yeah, well, some of us had to finish up Hogwarts.” The Essex dialect reminded him of Waker and he smirked before sitting back down, pushing a pint towards the older man.

He’d only heard of Charlotte St. James from Bristol, though he recalled some punk in Slytherin with the same last name. “Sounds like a rough time, mate.” George could only assume ‘the girl’ was his daughter; if there was some other girl in Bristol’s life that George was supposed to know of, he didn’t.

Mention of his career (he actually did it for a job!) made George grin like a five year old. Shrugging as if he was waiting for something, he took a sip from his beer and stretched out in his chair. “Just running drills like crazy people. I love Quidditch, but sometimes they make you wish you’d never see another Quaffle.” Grinning, he considered the next game. George was hoping they could win against the Arrows on Sunday...

“Got my own place now, settling in with Waker. Being an adult isn’t so bad.” If he didn’t think about bills and groceries and baby duties, oh my. “What about yourself?” George wanted to ask how Bristol thought he might feel playing against the Wasps next Sunday, but bit his tongue and waited, taking another long drink from his glass.

Bristol patted George firmly on the back, almost a direct repetition of their usual greetings in Hogwarts; except now, Bristol was a little broader, and the young Gryffindor a little taller. Although it'd been months (perhaps even a year), it was the same as always. For some reason, Bristol was keen to keep George under her wing somewhat - it was nice that people looked up to him. Knocking back a second sip, he clinked his glass against his mate's, giving a nod of approval. 

Hearing of first-year professional Quidditch training made Bristol chuckle, a comical reminder back to harsher days and muddier faces. "It'll get better," Bristol replied reassuringly. He looked into his pint and smirked, "I'm not actually sure if it gets better - or you just get more used to it? The Tornadoes coach had me race fourteen Bludgers the other week. Can't say it was all that great." Another laugh as Bristol hopelessly tried to outdodge a small army of angry, brown magically charmed killing machines; he managed to avoid four but a fifth found a more comfortable home in the small of his back. He'd been playing Quidditch his entire life, and these things rarely got easier. The only things that did were the paychecks and the added bonuses of being a professional athlete. Some dirt was worth suffering.

"It's been pretty mental since I moved back from DC to be honest, man," Bristol explained. It really had been manic relocating, and even the advantages of magic and charms didn't make packing, organising and finding a new home any easier. "Plus my divorce from the ex is getting down to the paperwork, so there's plenty of gold-digging and Gringotts solicitors hounding me." Again, didn't make the move any easier. Still, the new Tutshill chasers wore a smile - Anna was small fry, and an annoyance rather than a major concern. "But I can't complain, nothing to lose any sleep over, y'know."

George quickly fell upon the subject of 'settling in' and Bristol's eyes widened, his grin growing considerably. Little Carter, settling down! Bristol and the boys saw a future renegade libertine playboy in George - getting all cosy with the girlfriend so young seemed insane. Bristol really had been gone too long. "Look at you playing house like a grown up wizard," he laughed, his tone lightly teasing but always in jest. "She a keeper then this Waker? Where is she? I want to buy the girl who tamed Carter a well-deserved beer. Or is she more of a cocktail kinda girl?"

So few words could reveal so much, and as a result, Bristol had so many questions. He enthusiastically asked every single one, shedding none of that schoolboy excitement that reemerges whenever one reconnects with old mates; it really was a simple catch-up, but Bristol had missed it.

Eyebrows rose as George settled in to Quidditch talk. He could almost understand getting used to it. The idea was to build upon what you could do, to reach that next level of competition and attempt to be the best. Or more than he all ready was, anyway. “That sounds intense, mate.” Luckily he didn’t have bludgers thrown at him very often during practice, and dodging them around goal posts was easy enough for George.

It was the Quaffle he really cared about, and a close opponent could make it hard for George to stop it, considering how far apart the three goal rings were. It was part of the reason he loved the position of Keeper, though. The Seeker had to find the Snitch (that just seemed like a boring hide-and-seek game over and over again), Beaters hit a ball around to hit others, and Chasers tried to score. He was the player who slowed the game down; if it was a rather long game, how well he deflected shots could be the reason that his team won or not.

George loved pulling moves on the broom that made normal people gasp; he enjoyed putting his all into a play and seeing it follow through. Most of all, he loved the physical expectations and challenges that guarding three hoops could do. He could find time to not think about it, of course. Just ask Waker.

“Right.” He didn’t quite understand how there could be so much headache involved with two people going their separate ways. Then again, George didn’t have the best track record to go by. His silly Hogwarts relationships had mostly ended in fiery explosions, at least one fairly unrepairable. Perhaps it was the gold-digging part that he couldn’t wrap his mind around. “Sounds mental...” Divorce was such a grown-up term. Break ups, hook ups, flirting: George knew the ins and outs of young relationship lingo.

This was a new level of the game, though. Bristol had gotten himself well wrapped in it.

“Look at you playing house like a grown up wizard.”

At first he was confused. It took a moment for George to realize Bristol was poking fun before he laughed in agreement. A keeper for the Keeper? Rubbing the back of his head, George sipped his beer and chuckled into it as he took his time responding. “She should still be at the Ministry. And I don’t know about tamed, honestly.” He could try and keep up the appearance that he was still a wild boy, out on the town. And even if he was (and got up to trouble more often than not), he was quite ‘tame’ when it came to the ladies.

Shrugging at Bristol’s question, George laughed and glanced down into his beer, swirling the liquid around slowly. “A little sex on the beach if you get what I mean.” It slipped out quicker than he could think it through. Thoughts of Barcelona slipped through before George blinked to the present, hearing what he had said a little late. Laughing loudly, surprised at his own joke, he quickly looked up at Bristol. “Seriously though, she isn’t drinking right now. She, uh...”

And suddenly he didn’t feel like he could tell Bristol. As if owning up to the fact that he had made one of the ultimate screw ups that a newly graduated Hogwarts student could make to a role model would make him feel even worse about it than he did when, say, telling his parents. Because his parents were going to be there no matter what. They didn’t have much choice. But George still felt some kind of childish envy for Bristol; he wanted his older mate to think he was on par with where he should be.

So he swallowed his confession and gave a half smile before taking another drink. It would come out eventually. "I don't know."

"Ministry bird, ooooooh," Bristol laughed, stamping his feet and making the noise of a mocking seven year old that poked fun at another's primary school crush. It seemed so strange, George - no, Little Carter having a serious girlfriend, his own place, a career. Not that it was a bad thing: Bristol was more than pleased for his younger comrade, but it just seemed strange. Time had flown by so fast, and his own graduation seemed like yesterday; he was never Head Boy, he was never even a Prefect, but Bristol felt that his penchant for kissing girls in quiet corridors and sneaking bottles of Firewhiskey into the common room had left a tiny mark upon the likes of George Carter and Quinn McAvoy. Hogwarts had never been about learning, it'd been about fun.

He couldn't help but snort at George's 'Sex on the Beach' joke, the froth of his butterbeer going down the wrong way. Spluttering a little, Bristol had to hand to him - the kid was still incredibly funny. "Merlin, I miss the days of banging birds non-stop: gets a bit difficult once you're somebody's ex-husband and somebody's dad." He grinned again, giving George a knowing wink. Bristol's eyes gleamed with pride, that Carter out of all the youngsters was living the dream life and had finally made it all happen. Who knew? One day Bristol might even be aiming for George's hoops in a match - now that would be something. The veteran and the newcomer, united in the pub and united on the field.

Bristol's reputation with the women, however, was a little more complex. It was true, having a daughter often put witches off, or it made them swoon. Regardless of all of this, having his divorce plastered on the front cover of gossip rags didn't attract many potential conquests. Who wanted to get on the wrong side of Anna Ziesling? Never mind though, Bristol pondered. There'd still be plenty that would go there. Plenty.

Cocking his head to the side as George trailed off, Bristol upturned his mouth in confusion at the sudden quietness. Perhaps he was a bit nervous, or even a bit reluctant - it'd been some time since they'd had a one-on-one. "She not a big drinker, eh? No worries, she'll be a seasoned boozer once we take her out for a proper night, eh? Azize and I were on about a big night soon so be sure to come along, even bring this girlfriend. It'd be good to finally meet her, I don't quite remember her from Hogwarts." The sea of faces from his schooldays all blended into one, especially the younger ones.

Trying to remember people always brought familiar ones forward, and Bristol had to admit he'd been keeping tabs. "So, who you knocking about with these days?" There were so many of the young'uns, only Merlin knew what they were up to these days. "There was Trent Travis, right? And that Quinn McAvoy girl, her dad is that commentator. Said she gets pissed up all the time. And then there's your cousin? Emily, right?" Each name, another memory. It was hard, and Bristol's squinted eyes reflected his hard-pressed memory.

George grinned and shrugged; he was lucky to have an intelligent woman on his arm, he wasn’t disagreeing there. It was a little odd, really. It wasn’t what George would have pictured a couple of years ago. Then again, he had tried to think as little as possible about the future. He figured he’d end up with someone like Laney. Or Quinn. Waker was in her own category, at least for George. And now she was something more than just a girlfriend. He hoped he could keep down the food he’d just eaten. Thinking about the baby made him both anxious and nauseas, with a little bit of excitement and looming doom added in.

He did a great job of not showing it, at least, focusing on the topic as it moved around. Banging birds non-stop made him feel like he was a carefree teen again. Or at least one that wasn’t held down. George enjoyed his relationship, but there was a distinct difference between Single-and-ready-to-mingle George and Committed George. “Sounds complicated.” He screwed his face up in sympathy.

Divorce sounded painful.

Almost as painful as talking about why Waker wasn’t a big drinker. Raising an eyebrow, George laughed and shook his head. “I think she’d need a few proper nights to get ready for that.” Maybe she would want to go out with them, even if she had to drink sparkling water. Nodding slowly, George made another face before scratching his head. “Well, she was a year behind me originally so... you didn’t know her at Hogwarts.” George had had to repeat a year, and subsequently dropped into the year below. His eight years versus a normal person’s seven had given him little extra insight. Except in finding proper broom closets and hidden passageways.

The extra year wasn’t his proudest moment, and George was a little more humble about it nowadays. Not as rebellious as he had been at that point. A little bit mellowed (obviously, he had a girlfriend whom he moved in with).

George wondered how Bristol had remembered so much from the sparse letters he’d sent over the years. “Yeah... Trent is my best mate. He’s a lot of fun. Quinn and Emmy are friends; they both can get pretty ridiculous.” Smirking at the thought, he shook his head. “They were all a year behind me. I still keep in touch with other mates. Laney, she’s doing well for herself.” Shrugging, he leaned back in his chair and laughed before taking another big gulp of his beer. “I think I was lucky to have Emmy; she helped me establish myself when I came back. We share friends.” Mostly, anyway. "It's weird how much change had happened at Hogwarts since you were there, mate." From professors to Headmasters. "But I passed!" Giving a thumbs up, George smirked and rested an arm over the back of his chair.

"Well mate, I'm sure she's just a delight. Do you reckon it's wise to introduce us though?" he asked, raising a comedic eyebrow and leaning forward. "Might not be able to help herself, I've still got the charm you know." Bristol laughed heartily, completely unaware of George and Waker's somewhat turbulent relationship. The man himself wasn't actually looking for a girlfriend, but most people were notified of countless dates and 'mystery women' he escorted from clubs via the fantastically vile Daily Prophet. Bristol had been cannon fodder for the tabloids for some years now, and it didn't look as if it would ever let up until he settled down. Fat chance.

Speaking of Laney, Bristol gave a warm smile. Another youngster at Hogwarts that he was pleased to see excel, and making quite the name for herself in the Quidditch world. "Irving's good man, really good. She's gonna be quite the competition this season, I've heard a lot of people singing her praises - which is also the same for you, mister. Everyone's pretty impressed at some of the shit you've been pulling out the bag. Whether you win or lose these matches, you're doing your best and it's paying off." Bristol gave his drinking companion a nod of respect, and he was always filled with pride when the name 'George Carter' was commended by Quidditch colleagues. But people talked, and some others things had been coming up recently.

"And I also heard about that little spat with Klint," he muttered quietly, raising another eyebrow that was far less jovial. He had to be careful to keep his voice down - some gossiping idiot would run a mile with insider knowledge. "The Klints are a set of jumped-up pretty pansies mate, I know that better than anyone: but getting into a fight with him? I've seen people booted out of clubs for a lot less George, you need to watch it." Although Bristol hadn't met Edmund, he'd had a few run-ins with Jasper, the eldest. Arrogant, vain and perpetually frowning, the two had never got on during Hogwarts and that rivalry was only fuelled when Bristol 'mistakenly' kissed Jasper's bird on a night out. Apparently 'she went for me' wasn't the best excuse Bristol had ever pulled out of the bag.

At first, George wasn’t sure which way Bristol was going with his questioning. Was it a bad idea to introduce her to something from earlier in his Hogwarts career? When he finally realized which way, George laughed and rolled his eyes, even as the unexpected sting of jealous sizzled through him. He wasn’t familiar with the emotion, not in the way that he had been feeling it. He worried about whether he was good enough for her or not, which was something he wasn’t used to thinking about.

And it all stemmed from some guy she met in a bar. “Charming it up at the old folks home, eh Bristol?”

Laney was another sore subject. Though he was physically healed from their last personal encounter, he was mentally scarred. He merely nodded, however, agreeing with Bristol’s assessment. Laney was a fierce competitor (though George had known that for a long time). Smirking and feeling a flush hit his cheeks, George straighted up subconsciously in his chair and puffed his chest out a bit.

Talk about giving the boy a big head. “I’m just excited to be playing Quidditch professionally.” It was his dream job.

Of course his grin melted away with the reminder of his fight with Klint. Working it over in his mouth, George finally settled into a small frown, taking another sip of beer. Getting reprimanded was never fun either. He felt like he’d been getting that a lot lately, in all sorts of aspects of his life. “I know.” He looked a bit sullen now. Finishing off his beer, he settled back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, fingers lacing in his hair. “It isn’t going to happen again.” At least he wasn’t planning on having it happen again.

The waiter came by in time to get another round of drinks. George waited for him to walk away before shifting in his chair. “So...” Surely Waker would be ok with him having a few drinks. No doubt she was busy with work. Practice earlier in the day had left him open for the get-together with Bristol. “How’s your kid?” He felt almost out of breath. Even saying some form of child set his nerves on edge.

"Charming it up at the old folks home, eh Bristol?"

The elder laughed, eyes widening in surprise and appreciation for Little Carter's cutting comeback. "Nice, nice - good to see you're not all brawn and brawls these days." Taking another sip of his drink, Bristol had every intention of cramming light-hearted insults and genuine compliments into their evening. And plenty of beer, of course. It was an occasion to drink - too old friends catching-up after a rather long time. "I might be getting a few silver streaks on the old barnet, but I've still got it kid believe me."

Such glee was shortlived, however. Seeing the frown appear on Carter's face made Bristol lean forward, twisting his mouth into a sympathetic smile. He didn't want George to feel bad - that was never his intention. He just wanted to advise the junior Quidditch player from making some grave mistakes. After all, he'd been so close to getting kicked off plenty of times and only sincere apologies and hideously harsh training sessions had made up for it. "Look mate, I'm not having a go at you for it. I know exactly what them Klint dick'eds are all about, trust me. I just don't want you messing things up because of some toff with a quiff, do you get me?" He offered another grin, this time more honest, eyes narrowing a little as if trying to cheer George up in some way. "It's not about him, it's about your career. People talk, so your best bet is to be all smiles on the pitch. Be the better man."

Bristol gave George a friendly dig on the arm, smiling from ear to ear with reassurance. It was nice in a way, to refer to George as a man now. Working, sorting himself out, settling down (well sort of). If anything, the elder Quidditch player was glad that one of the Klints received a fist to the face - but the beautiful wizarding sport combined with inter-team brawling never went down well with the officials. "And if you are tempted to hit him again, at least throw a hex in there and make the pansy cry." Bristol smirked. He didn't like making such an old friend look so sullen, and the odd joke was thrown in to divert any sense of impending lectures or ultimatums. "Pretty boys can't ever take a good hex, mark my words."

Giving the waiter an appreciative nod, Bristol handed him a few notes tip. It wasn't just a token gesture of goodwill however, it was to ensure rapid service. The galleons always made the beer boys rush back and forth, and he wanted plenty of beer to put it mildly. And the mention of Poppy only added to the man's need for celebration.

"She's great mate, honestly," he said, grinning from ear to ear as the vision of his beautiful little weirdo flooded into view. "Poppy's a bit of a nutter but I love hanging out with her. Best thing that ever happened to me." His words were genuine, unadulterated and lacking his usual cocksure tone. "You'll have to meet her soon, properly, she's a right little show-off when it comes to Quidditch. It'll be good practice as well for when you're a dad at my age." Again, another comment that awkwardly displayed Bristol's lack of knowledge.

“-but I’ve still got it kid believe me.”

George smirked and tilted his head slightly. “That’s what all the gossip articles say. And just a few?” Shrugging a little, George was just getting his feet wet when it came to the papers. It was crazy how you could say one thing, and someone else took it as something completely opposite! It was baffling and irritating all at once. He wasn’t the best at hiding meanings in his words; usually what came out was straight enough that he didn’t see it easy to take a different way.

Boy, was he wrong.

George got Bristol well enough, and so he scratched the back of his head and shrugged half heartedly. “Sure thing, mate.” He could be the better man. He was the better man! Right? Life was a lot simpler at Hogwarts. Then, if he got into a row with Klint, at least it was just detention and scrubbing trophies.

A small smile slipped on to his lips at the thought of trophies. He’d come full circle. It grew at the joke about making Klint cry. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Except for his obvious history with Edmund, if it was a hex, it’d be harder to pin on him in a group of people than, say, if his fist connected to Klint’s face again. And again.

People kept saying things like that about kids: best thing that happened to me, or I don’t know what kind of person I’d be without them, or I don’t remember how I was before them. The flip side was also true, though, that kids were a nuisance and something not to be taken lightly, a pain in the arse, always needing something, and had to be handled well or they could become unruly. George didn’t even know how to care for a dog! His owl at school had been fed by others, as he hardly made time to write.

The irony of Bristol’s words were not lost on George. Wincing and glancing into his drink, George chuckled as much as he could bear. The sad thing was, he would be a dad at Bristol’s age! Just not in a way that Bristol might think. “That’ll be something all right.” In all honesty, he was just glad it hadn’t hit the papers yet. New Cannon shot his ball too soon, or something like that. Perhaps, then, it was best he told Bristol about to. Maybe his friend could give him some friendly advice.

How best to say it? “I screwed up, mate. Waker’s pregnant.” That seemed simple enough, and it rushed out quicker than he’d expected. Taking a deep breath, he waited, not able to meet Bristol’s eyes.

"George, beware of those bloody rags," Bristol laughed. The very image of a Daily Prophet made him want to barf, and so did Witch Weekly to a lesser extent. A lot of their tales did have some truth (or, well, full truths) but plenty didn't. Bristol's excessive partying led to the label of 'alcoholic'. He was on a strict training diet. Unfounded. Bristol seen with a mystery woman led to rumours of adultery. It was his sister. Unfounded. And the best of all, Bristol was found with Hungarian Horntail eggs and was a smuggler. They were in fact magically enlarged boiled eggs he charmed for a friend's birthday. Unfounded. The media circuit simply was ridiculous.

Reclining once more to take a sip of his favorite booze, Bristol almost spluttered when George made his announcement.

"I screwed up, mate. Waker’s pregnant."

He froze. Eyes widened, lips slightly parted. He was, nineteen. Nineteen. It was unimaginable, and simply shocking that Bristol's protegee had skipped the best part of a Quidditch career for fatherhood. Besides these initial fears (and it was true that Bristol truly feared for this situation), he never aimed to judge. Simply putting both palms on the table, the former Slytherin took a deep breath, gulped, and nodded. "If you're happy to go ahead with it mate, then maybe change your phrasing." He smiled, half sympathetic and half concerned. When in doubt, crack a light-hearted joke.

"I'm not going to ask if you've thought about it, because you and your girl obviously have," he mused, wanting to be a figure of support as opposed to one of cliche. "And as long as there's plenty of people who'll help, you've got no reason to worry. I'll be 30 in a few years and believe it or not, I mess up a lot as a parent too. Whether you're 18 or 48, there's no right or wrong way. All that you gain is life experience and money, and trust me" - he smiled, more genuinely, eyebrows raising, "neither of them have helped me all that much."

It was the least he could do, and Bristol motioned to the waiter for something a little extra. 

“If you're happy to go ahead with it mate, then maybe change your phrasing.”

Perhaps Bristol had a point. Shrugging a little, he rubbed the back of his head. George had gotten to the point that he accepted Waker was pregnant. Perhaps it was the fact her stomach was starting to show a bit. Maybe it was all the baby things he was being forced to read. Or, then again, it could have been the Healers and their insistence about checkups.

George still felt like a kid, telling people that he had gone and done something straight out of Hogwarts. Something that not many people did, even if it was common for those in the Wizarding world to be young parents. There was young, and then there was George and Waker young.

They were still kids themselves!

“That’s true.” He had screwed up, though. Waker could be just worrying about her job, and the bills, and whether her dress matched her hair. Now she did all that and everything that came with a baby (and some things that George had made up in his head and chose to be worried about). What if his son didn’t like Quidditch? What would he do if the kid liked pink? Irrelevant but worrisome nonetheless. What if his son didn’t have the proper equipment to woo the ladies? Not that it was important yet, but it was still something he had to worry about.

Scratching the back of his head, George nodded slightly. Thought about it and over-thought it. Perhaps the last thing he wanted to know was that one of his role models screwed up as a parent regularly. A weak hearted smile was returned before George took interest in his beer once again. His parents had said much the same. Or similar enough, with more disapproval and annoyance in their son. George never did play by the rules.

This time, he had dragged Waker into a mess. A simple detention or potion work up wasn’t going to right it either. When the ‘little extra’ came over, George barely tipped it towards Bristol in cheers before downing it. The resounding clink of it hitting the table was enough confirmation that it was empty. “You’ll have to pop over, mate, and check out the place. At some point.” It wasn’t going to be as nice as someone in Bristol’s current state, but it was still George’s.

And he was still determined to have the party place. He would just need to baby proof it at the same time (which was awesome for drunks as well).

"I'd love to come over," Bristol replied enthusiastically. The key concern here was to act normal. George shouldn't be judged because Waker was now 'with child' (or 'up the duff' if he was in a more vulgar environment), things happened, people happened. Hell, Bristol had suffered it all himself despite not being as young. Priss, forever the responsible elder sister, was outraged. As were his parents. And grandparents. And most other relatives. They insisted he was too immature (possibly true) and that his marriage too volatile (definitely true) to be considering a child, but he ultimately proved them wrong. Poppy was relatively well-adjusted, and Bristol was indeed a good father. He sincerely believed George would be the same.

Still, all the wistful glances and hard gulps weren't too reassuring. The usually optimistic Bristol has a stark contrast to his younger drinking buddy. The roots of Hogwartian insecurity and angst were still there, and graduation didn't necessarily cure one's anxieties in a flick of the wand. Bristol still harbored some himself, even if all the crazier years had been left behind. "You're not on your own, mate," he reassured with mandatory light punch to the arm. "And stop looking so friggin' down. You should be excited! Really, really excited! I mean, have you even celebrated yet?"

Advice was too somber, but partying? Well, that was something Bristol knew.

Signalling to the bar, he gave an enthusiastic wave, a wide grin painted on his face. "A bottle of bubbly please mate, stick it on a tab." Turning to George again, Bristol followed suit with his pint. Empty. "Whether you're up for it or not, we're getting smashed. Night off. On me."

It was the least he could do.

George grinned, a testament to his younger age and desire to stand as tall (figuratively) as one of his role models. It wasn’t often that George acted like an eager, zealous fan. Bristol was almost like the brother that George wished he had growing up.

Instead he was stuck with a stuck up prat who was enjoying George’s latest screw up a bit too much. No, not a screw up. He needed to start changing his wording. It was harder to do than the usually optimistic boy could manage. The fact it happened when so much could have happened instead… that was the screwed up part of it. That they (Waker and George) were forced to grow up, that they couldn’t enjoy post-Hogwarts as carefree adults (well, at least George would have been carefree). It was a wake up call.

Or it was and would be. Right now, with the alcohol piling up, and it was as if some little part of George’s conscious was saying it was ok to take a break from it all. Besides, he was with Bristol Collins! That just yelled ‘responsible drinking,’ right? Eyebrows rose at the light banter, a slow spreading grin slipping on to his face, almost unwilling. A half shrug escaped him at the question of celebrating. “Over this thing specifically? Not yet… Kind of?”

Licking his lips, George sat up in his chair. The grin wasn’t forced. “All right, mate.” A night off of drinking? George wasn’t going to turn it down. He rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. “First drinks first, then.” What alcohol was all ready in his system was starting to tingle through his extremities. Worries and fears started to slip away as George focused on fun and drinking.

"I dunno if you've heard," Bristol said, leaning close as if the two were conspirators in some shady controversy. "But you're supposed to get blind drunk when you find out your're going to be a dad." He grinned, half-proud and half-reminiscent. When Anna and him learned they were having a child, the boys had hastily flown over to Washington for a major blowout in the bar. Just thinking about it gave Bristol a hangover. "So, start being positive. You're young - okay, it'll be hard, but having a kid is just awesome. Waker seems like a great girl, and neither of you are idiots." Bristol paused, giving George a wink. "Well, I guess she's not an idiot anyway."

The young Carter questioned what drinks they'd be enjoying, and Bristol immediately shouted "Firewhiskey" at the bar. It was an obvious choice, and the strongest he could think of from the top of his head. Though he was all smiles, Bristol was somewhat concerned - but he didn't need to worry George right now. Support was priority, reluctance came later.

And so, Bristol continued to get hammered with George, throwing back the drinks and talking less of the child and more of the beautiful game of Quidditch. It was always a good night with a Carter around.