Roger Lemon sat by a babbling brook just on the outskirt of Oxfordshire, trouser cuffs rolled up and barefooted. Barely fifteen years old, the boy wasn't yet too tall. He leaned back on his hands and squinted up at the summer sky. S'far as the squib could tell, it looked like a clear day. The field 'round him smelt like a draught; dried up wheat and lavender or summat. Wha'ever it was, it was pleasing.

The water burbled coolingly. He closed his eyes against the warmth of the sun beating down on him. Fuckin' good day t'day. Couldn't be any better.

"Lemon!"

Or maybe it could.

Quickly looking across the brook, Roger saw a short and spindly figure wanderin' down the slope of the earth. Merlin. Even from 'ere, he knew it weren't the other twin comin' to meet him- t'was Raine. 'Cause Raine wandered when she walked but Sanya danced. A crooked grin tugged at his lips.

"G'mornin' girl!" he called back as soon as she reached her side of the running water and smiled at him, nothing but a set of white teeth under that mess o'red curls. "Here on ye own? Where'd the pretty one go?"

Raine's laughter peeled across the space between them like a ringing bell while she dropped to the bank just opposite of where he was sitting. "I'm afraid my sister is still asleep," was her reply. She was wearing a pale green summer dress; it went right down to her knees but she hitched up the hem and dipped those lanky, freckled legs into the stream. Blue eyes shot back up to him, wry but real.... nice. Made 'im feel nice.

"What're ye up to t'day?" Roger peered at his friend, tryin' his best to sound nonchalant even though he knew that she didn't care much 'bout that kinda stuff. "Runnin' down to town? One of ye lessons?" The lass was always off doin' sumthing, like the world would stop its spinning if she stopped 'ers.

Mornings like this were wasted on her sister.

The sun burnt bright and the winds were not the least bit chilly and the fields were clear of livestock and Raine Almasy's favourite squib in the entire world had been waiting for her exactly where she expected him to be! Nobody could wait like Roger- he was as patient as the oak tree that grew singularly on the side of their small brook.

Raine paddled her bare feet in the water as she leaned forward, hands on knees and eyes on the boy with a lopsided grin.

"Nothing," she enunciated with a proud lift of the chin. "Nothing at all!" And then she giggled at Roger's mock surprise. "I am free as a bird today and we can do whatever we fancy."

He raised his eyebrows, almost suggestive. "Anything?"

Raine's expression flickered hesitantly- she was barely fourteen after all and hadn't quite gotten a grip on flirty banter. So instead, she let her gaze fall diffidently into the river, which looked especially welcoming on a hot summer's day. Tempting, rather.

"Swimming," she said out loud in a thoughtful voice. Roger made an inquisitive noise. "Wot? Come again? You ain't thinkin' about-- OI!"

and that was the last thing she heard before pushing herself off the muddy bank, meeting the water with a loud SPLASH. Underneath its surface, the world was silent.

Boggin' hell, Raine.

"You ain't thinkin' about-- OI!" he nearly kicked off the bank to go after her but stopped himself in the motion, sitting up leaning forwards instead. The witch had hit the water with a loud splash and was now completely underneath, nuffin' but air bubbles on the upside.

He waited- not anxious or anythin', just a lil bit weary. Always jumpin' off things and runnin' towards stuff and doing wha'ever the fuck she felt like doing. Ye'd think she woulda gotten 'erself killed by now the way she took life head on.

A loud gasp and Raine emerged, bobbin' on the water, a floating head in the clear stream. Her red hair was flattened down'n soaked; there was a big smug grin on her pretty lil face like she'd gone done somethin' amazing. "It's deeper than it looks!" she drifted over to his side and he looked down, smiling crookedly. Hard not to, the way the quin stared at him. "Join me?"

"I en't gettin' me self wet ye silly duck," Roger laughed. "Get out'f there b'fore anythin' happens to ye dress. Don't ye have family visiting t'day?"  He held out his arms to her and she stuck out her tongue. Cheeky. "Come now lass, I won't offer twice."

Raine disappeared under the water again and then shot up out of it- she must'f kicked off the river floor. He let her grab his arms, holding on to hers more gently, and then heaved her out on to the river shore with an ungraceful grunt. OOF! The girl landed right on him, her nose a coupla inches away from his.

And she was drippin' wet; her form pressed against his chest awkwardly and heavily. Roger went red, lettin' go of her boney elbows... tryin' t'look somewhere else distractedly. "What are you blushing for?" he heard her say and then felt a small hand on his cheek before she kissed him on the mouth- her lips were kind and cool and damp. They made him feel he was burnin' up on the inside.

It was over too quickly. Raine rolled herself off on to the grassy ground next to him and he could see her in the corner of his eye, on her back. Staring at the clear sky as if though nothing happened, s'if though she hadn't just turned his head around. A soft sigh. Hell. Even her sigh made his stomach lurch.

"I wish we could run away from here," she murmured.

Roger's mouth tasted like cheap cigarettes and sharp orange juice. It was a surprisingly appetizing combination.

A single bird was crossing the clear blue above and Raine's eyes followed it as she lay on her back, shoulder blades comfortable against the curve of the earth. She wasn't sure why she'd kissed him except that it felt right and meant something and that it didn't matter what that something was because they were young, because they had time not to ask the urgent questions of older sweethearts.

"I wish we could run away from here," her words filled in the silent gap between his surprised breaths. "Just us."

The bird (a kestrel?) soared out from her line of sight and she remembered a queer notion from a conversation now mostly lost to memory: if a tree fell in a forest and nobody was around to hear, would it still make a sound? Does anything really exist once it is out of sight and out of mind?

Raine could hardly claim to know those answers but the questions always made her feel a little sad- and a little lonely. She folded her hands behind her red head, glancing sideways at Roger. He was up on his elbows, staring at her with a serious expression. "We could," said the boy with the stormy eyes: "Run, I mean. Take a train t'some place far away. All ye have to do is say when..."

He was not teasing; neither of them were the sort.

"I will." Raine looked away, closing her eyes as if though to sleep, and smiling very faintly to herself. "We will, some day. Just the three of us and the clothes on our backs." One summer, perhaps when she'd learnt how to apparate and not even the reproachful brow of a concerned Governess could stop their wanderlust.

"You'll see."

That sounded like a promise.

Roger sat up proper, hunching forward with arms on his knees and head turned 'round to look down at the dozing Raine Almasy. She looked like she were dozing anyways, eyes closed and red curls splayed across the grass in stunning contrast. A warm summer breeze came rolling down the field but it carried her scent now, not the draught. Intensely sweet, fresh strawberries.

"I'll keep ye t'that word," the squib reached out and touched her hand delicately- just his fingertips, trailing against hers. "Bairn or not." They could dream, aye? Could dream anythin'.

With a sudden jerk, he felt Raine squeeze his fingers- and her eyes blinked open. "Oh..." she looked at him (his stomach did that bloody lurchin' thing again) with a strange frown. "I think she's awake. We should go fetch her."

Hell, they were doing that creepy-as-fuck twin thing again. Roger peered at his... his girl, he guessed, and wondered if he'd ever come first with 'er. Prolly not. That made him feel sorta miserable sometimes, to know it for a fact, but he could never really blame anyone. It weren't anyone's fault; that was love. Or least that's what he thought love was.

"Aye," Roger shrugged and began to get up. "If ye say so."

And she did say so.