outfit

Emmylou was slumped into the couch, her head pressed into its back so that her hair bumped up, her legs jutting out in front of her. She was holding the baby a few inches above her, a hand on either side, thumbs supporting her tummy, so that Amelia looked like was about to take flight. This was especially true every time her obviously favorite aunt gave her a gentle wobble.

“Oh look at you, you’re going to be a brilliant flyer,” she said, taking on just a tinge of the Baby Voice to which no human was insusceptible. But just a tinge. She already adored Amelia too much not to treat her like a tiny version of herself. Future Gryffindor. Obvious badass. “Your mummy is gone which means we can do whatever we want.”

Because Merlin had blessed Amelia with a father who actually knew how to have fun. At least there was some hope for the kid.

A lot of hope.

The baby stared down at her with wide eyes, seeming to enjoy— or at least not mind— the little ride. Lou thought she saw a hint of a smile, even if they were supposed to smile yet. Maybe she was wise for her years. (Days.)

Lou grinned back, letting out a brief, breathy laugh. “You like that, little lion?” She gave her another wobble, and then brought her down carefully, sitting up just a bit to cradle the baby to her collar. A brush of a kiss to her forehead, and then Lou turned her attention on George.

“I see you have orange juice now.” She grinned. In fact, he had much more that. The fridge had looked neat and stocked when Emmylou had poked her head inside. And between them, they accumulated quite the feast on the coffee table: two types of crisps, various things to top them with and dunk them into, pretzels, and other sorts of crunchy, savory, salty snacks. Lou sat up a bit, careful to support the baby’s head, though with less apparent paranoia than Nolan probably had. She grabbed a crisp from one of the bowls. “But I think another butterbeer would go perfectly with the tears of the losing team’s fans.” She raised her brows, letting him guess what she thought whose fans those might be. “Turn it up— I think it’s starting."

George was always down to hang with his cousin (/sister from another mister). His game the day before had wiped him out worse than usual; coming home to a needy infant on top of everything had nearly been the end of him. That had been after playing the game on a few hours total of sleep over the past couple of days. Puddlemere had played well, which meant George had to play just as well to try and counter them.

And now? He had ice wrapped around his shoulder; overextending his arm too many times left him sore, but something about lack of sleep, a few hard blows, and playing the game through had reduced him to feeling like an old man. Ice helped, at least; the black vest and sweats were comfortable as they lounged around, babysitting.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was enjoying the quidditch games live by wireless with his favorite cousin, he might have been hurt that he didn’t get to just leave the apartment for something so vague as errands. Even if he was able to go to work. That wasn’t completely carefree time!

The problem really started when he got to work; as much as George wanted away from the craziness of their infant daughter, when he was away, he only wanted to be near her again. The love he had for his daughter was overwhelming sometimes; George had forsaken sleep stupidly to watch her sleep. His life was changed, for better or worse. But he could enjoy the fact that Emmylou was there to help keep an eye on Amelia.


George shuffled out of the kitchen and made his way over towards his cousin. A grin slipped out at the mention of little lion, picking up a small handful of crisps before plopping down on the couch next to her. His leg curled under him as he chomped down on the crunchy, salty goodness. Shrugging at her observation, he raised an eyebrow. “You made such a fuss.” It was a bit different than squash...

As he pushed the rest of the crisps in his hand into his mouth (in a very dignified way, clearly), George let out a grunt at her next words. Once he swallowed and followed the crisps down with some of his not-yet-finished butterbeer, he smirked and raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you were a seer. The Wasps are going to lose?” Rubbing hands together, George winced a little at the pressure he put on his shoulder.

Popping the top off another bottle for her, George pulled his wand to himself and flicked it towards the wireless. He knew basic wand commands. As the game announces started to talk about the teams forming on the field, George settled back against the couch; his eyes turned ack to Amelia and he grinned, gently stroking her cheek. “She’s pretty amazing. Terrifying... but amazing.” Pausing for a moment, his finger turned and pointed to Emmylou. “Your turn."

“I know what I like,” she insisted, shrugging back at him, offering a smile of sympathy-and-cheekiness to her ice-packed cousin. Sympathy for the sore muscles, not his slow uptake on the orange juice situation, which was simply inexcusable. “I know someone who’s fussier than me, and you love her.” She said, looking down at the baby again. Then again, it could apply to Nolan.

Lou swallowed the crisps and followed it with an "Ooooh." A challenge. “The Wasps,” she announced. “Are going to crush the competition.”

She didn’t know whether Ginny Weasley had gotten back on the broom after giving birth. It seemed like Harry Potter knocked up his wife faster than Voldemort had made horcruxes. “You aren’t the only one who might be on maternity leave.”

Accepting the butterbeer with her free hand (after another mouthful of salty goodness), Lou took a swig. She smiled against the rim of the bottle and took another sip— and then almost spit it out. Coughing a bit, she pulled it away from her, staring at George with you’re in danger eyes. “I think I’ll just borrow yours,” she said with a kind of laugh. When it was convenient. “Birth control potions… they’re this very cutting-edge magic I should introduce you to.”

The commentator began to set up the scene over the Wireless, the roar of the crowd in the background. Lou gave Amelia a little bouncing rock.

“I don’t think Amelia is fussier than you.” George frowned in thought and tilted his head before shaking it in disagreement with Lou’s statement. “You’re pretty fussy.” With that, he nodded in tune with his words, grinning at the end of it in good-natured fun. If she had meant Waker... then that was possible. Especially when high on the hormones of pregnancy. George wondered if he would remember that next time he thought it was a good idea to go in unwrapped.

Probably not. It was all he could do to not excuse himself for a bathroom trip just because. Honestly, the whole waiting period after the baby was a bit horrendous. Distractions only helped for so long; luckily, quidditch was a sport he could really sink himself into. Add his cousin there, and it was likely to be a fine baby sitting endeavor.

“The Wasps can’t crush anything. If anything, the Harpies will jiggle around-” George eagerly demonstrated it as he wiggled his chest back and forth, laughing. “-And then they’ll fumble the quaffle and bam! Harpies win.” Maybe he should write literature; that seemed plausible. Maybe just articles for PlayWizard...

Eyes rolled. “I’m not on maternity leave.” Obviously. His shoulder was probably a wonderful mix of yellow and green under the ice. That faint reminder that a bruise lingered. All of that was easily pushed aside, however, for Lou’s overreaction. Laughing at her, George picked up his own bottle and took a swig, careful to not choke (and thus turn the joke back on himself). Borrowing his kid to keep away the inevitable... As long as it wasn’t with Edmund (and as far as he could tell, that was a done deal), then George wasn’t going to ride her too hard about it.

His eyes rolled again. Waker had been talking about potions... In all honesty, he felt that it was a fluke. A once in a lifetime chance that Amelia had come out of it. If it hadn’t happened prior to that, then... his chances were still really good! “I am not good at keeping track of taking potions.” Perfect case in point was when he was hurt; he often dealt with the pain for a while before remembering there were potions specifically made to aid with it.

A fist rose in the air, triumphant, as one of the Harpies chasers got hold of the quaffle. George enjoyed another swig of his butterbeer before setting it back down, turning his attention to Amelia. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, careful to lightly caress her head before leaning back into the couch. “She makes it all... so weird, you know? I mean, I love Waker... but this is a whole new level. And it just makes me love Waker even more.” Glancing up at Lou, George let out a laugh and rolled his eyes. “That sounds ridiculous.”

After possession of the quaffle changed hands, George groaned as he pushed himself from the couch, picking up his rag, oil, and broom. He drug it back over to the couch and sat down, starting to dust it off first. “I can’t wait to take her on her first broom ride.”

“What! A baby totally beats me.” It was the only time Emmylou might acknowledge someone else winning. (Alright, she wasn’t that bad.) Still, Amelia was chill for a baby— or so Lou thought, out of bias and well-timed babysitting. She thought they could both agree that someone else was more finicky than she, but George was smart for not voicing an actual opinion. Cousin brainwaves worked just fine.

Emmylou made a sort of eye-rolly seriously? expression as she watched him shake his assets. Which could use a bit of padding, if he really wanted to go for it. “You might want to get fitted for a push-up bra if you’re going to try that move during the next game. What do they call it? I don’t think the Harpies have trademarked it yet.” She could only imagine the headlines if he tried it. That was one way to make a name for yourself in quidditch. “You know they don’t rely on those to win,” she argued. “Not that they’re going to win.”

The Wasps had it. George would be swallowing his words and dance moves when he was up against them and they had a nice win under their belts.

He could laugh, but it wasn’t really funny. (Alright, it was hilarious). Lou with a kid… yeah, no. Not for ages, at least. “Put them in your locker at the stadium.” He wouldn’t forget a potion if it was part of his routine before practice. “I’m a genius, I know.” Saving him the trouble, she smiled.

Lou made a face against the butterbeer— but this time didn’t almost spit it out— as the Harpies got off to a decent start. It was early. Plenty of time to listen to George gush about his baby. “Just a little,” she said comfortingly. But it wasn’t. It made sense, even if Emmylou was having a good time being a free agent. The bond she felt with Amelia made it fairly easy to comprehend George’s. She supposed if she’d put in the same work, she’d feel like he did. She loved her family, even Nora.

In reverse reaction to her cousin’s, Lou lifted the slumped, sleepy baby with a sweeping arm motion just above her own abdomen— in lieu of an actual jump for joy. “Ha, now who’s positioned to make the first shot?” It was music to her ears. “Look, I think she’s smiling.” Obviously a Wasps fan. She repositioned herself into the corner nook of the couch, between its arm and back, and shot a bright look at George. “I bet it only takes her six months to be a better flier than that beater who never smiles."

“I think you’re mistaken.” It wouldn’t be the first time Emmylou was wrong. George smirked; he enjoyed giving those he loved a hard time. It kept them on their toes. Plus they had to know that he was just kidding around. Except in Phillips situation. Though George was more... secure in himself, he still felt some jealousy here and there. Phillip was smarter, taller, settled. He made their parents (and other family) proud in ways George had never been able to.

Not that George stopped and thought very far into his actions and their repercussions. Hell, he would’ve never thought he’d be caring for a newborn within a blink of an eye from Hogwarts. It had been more than that, really, but now that he was where he was... he missed all that time.

As much as his maturity might resist it, he was growing older. Thank Merlin for Emmylou, helping to keep him grounded in that five-year-old way. “Do you know where I can get in for a fit?” Maybe he could just borrow one of Waker’s. He smirked at the thought - but, maybe not. Her chest was smaller in width than his. “If they haven’t, it’s the perfect time to do so. Make money on that move. Moneymaker, right?”

A scoff escaped before he rested his arm on the back of the couch, running his fingers through his hair. “That would be the easiest way to get the other team to fumble the quaffle. A little sheer Quidditch uniform, a bounce and shake here and there, and bam, it’s in their possession.” Not that George had thought into it or anything.

His hand waved out in the air, dismissive of her suggestion. George could just work on perfecting his method. It wasn’t the biggest let down to have to pull back. “But I’m not always at the pitch. Then I’d miss them. Or risk them going bad. There is no excuse for wasted money, Emily Carter.” His finger shook disapprovingly at her before he smirked and let it fall between them. “If you’re a genius, I’m like...” His mind went blank, trying to remember someone smart they would have learned in history. “-Double genius.”

George eyed his cousin carefully before settling into the couch with his supplies. His rag moved over the smooth wood. “She’s smiling because she knows the Wasps have a poor offense.” George smirked before turning his attention back to the broom, happy with the dust off before turning it over in his hands, focusing on the bristles. He needed to trim them a little... Maybe replace one or two, if he really wanted -

Blinking at her statement, he turned his slack jawed expression her way, briefly, before his mouth closed. It was a fluid, quick movement. A calculating glance. An eyebrow rose before he started laughing. “I could’ve told you that back in Hogwarts.” Amused, he turned his attention back to his broom, clippers in one hand as he worked on a strand. “She’s my kid, she’s better than him just because of that.” George had to make sure his daughter lived up to it, of course. “I can show you.”

And with that, he tossed the rag and clippers down on the table before hopping up, broom in hand as he made a ‘give me’ motion with his hand.

Emmylou eyed him harshly, but decided there was no point in arguing. They both knew the truth: she was amazing, his baby was amazing but still fussier than she, and George was whipped by Miss Fussy (who had left a bottle of her breast milk behind for the world class babysitters. That should be fun.)

She shrugged, her grin growing like a shark’s teeth at lunchtime. “Malkin’s, maybe. The girl there is really nice.” Someone would have to be, to put up with George and his tits. The subject of moneymaking was more to Lou’s liking than bra fittings. She wasn’t fussy when it came to bras, either. See, not fussy. “Yeah, but I think they need a better spokesperson to sell it. Although… if you can objectify a man, I say go for it.” She nodded, fishing for another crisp.

“That’s not sexist at all.” She was up for giving men a dose of their own potion, but sheer uniforms for the Harpies? How original.

“Please, you waste money on way less important stuff. And can I take this moment to remind you that you have a baby?” She gave Amelia a little rub on the back. Her mum wasn’t joking, raising kids was expensive. Emmylou had learned that when she’d gone to pick out gifts for her new cousin-niece. Surely a prescription was cheaper. “Genius.” Double-genius. Whatever.

Lou snorted in amused disagreement on the Wasp’s defense. The sweeter kind of disagreement was short-lived: George took her beater comment and ran with it, straight into the No Zone. Her mouth opened indignantly. “You’re lucky they don’t have Ministry personnel on professional quidditch teams.” The burn would have been epic.

Reluctantly handing over Amelia, as if she were some kind of bargaining chip— or as if helping George in anyway was too much work, Lou continued to frown over the Edmund comment. He hadn’t said the name, but they both knew what he’d meant. She appeared thoroughly unimpressed as she waited for him to show her… whatever he was going to show her.

George hadn’t been fit for robes in a long time. At least, normal robes. Quidditch robes were a different story, because they were required for his job. And he’d never been fitted for... what they were talking about. He thought perhaps he should take her word for potential seamstresses who could handle the task of their joke. Since it was a joke, George felt that it was ok to poke and prod at it.

The Harpies uniform suggestion, however, should have been taken into consideration with a little more enthusiasm. He shook his head, an agreement to her statement. Not at all. “It’s strategy, Emily. Take notes and maybe you can coach the Harpies soon enough.” George would have been in excited stitches if a family member was in charge of that team. He was sure he could convince someone he was worthy to be on the team. Even if he didn’t have all the requirements...

George would waste money on silly things. Waker had a tighter hand on their income, which was probably the wisest thing. Give George his weekly allowance and try and teach him how to pay bills; she had two babies to raise. “I do have a baby, which is why I shouldn’t waste money.” He’d already been given the lecture on using birth control from his parents, Waker, and a little bit from her parents as well. Now his cousin?

Did they think him incapable of not repeating the same mistake? Not that Amelia was a mistake, now that she was here and in his arms. Or Emmylou’s arms, at the moment. And perhaps that was a question that he didn’t need answered.

“That wouldn’t make any sort of sense; there is the Ministry and then there is Quidditch. You don’t mix the two up, unless the Department of Games intersects... which doesn’t happen much, you know?” He rubbed his hand over his chin, feeling light stubble there. He should shave. Later.

For now, though, he had his broom. And as reluctant as Emmylou was, she did hand over his baby. His hand cradled Amelia’s neck and lower part of her head, her body down the length of his arm, tucking her in like he might a quaffle he didn’t want to let go. His other hand held the broom steady as he swung his leg over. It was all with ease, as if he was getting up for a practice run. It wasn’t long before he was hovering off the ground, grinning as he balanced himself on the broom with no hands.

He quickly, carefully, repositioned Amelia so she was cradled against his chest. George extended his free hand up to gently push against the ceiling; there was head room there, and that was about it. “Look, she’s perfectly content.” In the background, the Harpies intercepted the quaffle while a Wasp beater knocked a bludger towards the Harpies chaser. George winced at the image the commenter was painting in his head. “After camp, you should come to my next game. We’re playing the Falcons. We’ll totally smash them.”

“It’s strategy, Emily. Take notes and maybe you can coach the Harpies soon enough.”

Lou rolled her eyes, hard, and not even because he’d called her Emily. George was able to get away with that without any looks or frowns. It was because he sounded so sincere in his business plan for the Harpies. “The fact that I would be an awesome coach aside—” She prefaced, letting that sink in. They both knew it was true, so it wasn’t necessary, but she was feeling courteous. “If the Harpies have to wear crop tops without bras, I think we’re owed an all-male team in thongs and bowties, don’t you?” Gloves optional. “They can wear helmets,” she added, generously.

On second thought, George would probably throw his name in to be drafted to such a team. Emmylou didn’t know how she felt about seeing her cousin in a thong, even if they were both shameless.

But then, yeah, they were both shameless.

She’d probably just laugh while his orange juice hoarding girlfriend covered the baby’s eyes.

“No, it’s why you should learn how to use birth control. It’s an upfront cost and longterm savings, George, duh.” Everyone knew that. Even Emmylou, who was liable to cackle or make a face at the suggestion of baby Emmylou’s. (The plan to steal George's was looking better by the moment.) “You can’t have all the fun and let poor Phillip go childless. What kind of terrible brother does that?” She laughed. Phillip probably had his future family planned out. He was organized like that. “Phillip will get married before he pops them out, though. My mum was muttering about it the other day when she was fawning over pictures of your gorgeous baby.” She shrugged, as if it say it was a case-by-case thing.

She let out a breath of defiance, shaking her head once as she pressed further into the couch. It was a glorious slump that Emmylou made look classy. Mostly because she was holding an adorable baby. “What I mean is, you’re lucky your girlfriend didn’t get drafted, or you’d never hear the end of it. So can we not with the you-know-who comments?” Department of Games did have its place, though. He was right about that. “He wasn’t even the Beater I meant.”

Hands free of babies, Emmylou contented herself with more snacks. Her ears were tuned in to the Wireless, but her eyes were sharply on George. She wanted to take a picture, but she could only imagine the state of their flat if Waker found the evidence. It was best to keep it as a memory. (Assuming George didn’t ruin the flat himself.) “She’d kill you if she could see,” she said proudly. They both knew who ‘She’ was. “Future Chaser,” she added in a coo.

Lou made a face at the Harpies taking a ball. If she, like George, winced at the bludger, she made a fist and pumped it into the air a moment later. “Hitting back where it hurts.” Literally. “I guess those crop tops aren’t saving them now.” Mostly because they were wearing proper uniforms. Her eyes found her cousin and Amelia again and she smirked. “Yeah? Can you get me box seats?”

George couldn’t necessarily disagree with Emmylou’s assessment of eye for an eye. “If that’s all it takes... I’m sure you’d have a team more than happy to offer their services.” Some might ask if they could go sans thongs; it seemed that would just... ride up wrong on a broom. Perhaps that was a question he should save for Laney.

He wasn’t completely sure about how he felt with the birth control advice he was getting. George frowned in consideration for a moment; he couldn’t pin point why he was so against it, just that he really was terrible at remembering. Then again, he was sure that Waker would be more than happy to remind him. His frown deepened at the mention of his brother, and he fixed Emmylou with a mild look of annoyance. 

“It’s not my fault Phillip doesn’t know how to procreate.” Not that he needed to imagine his brother attempting it. He probably told his girlfriend exactly what was happening, minute by minute. Yes, that feels adequate or almost, almost, nearly there. What sort of fun was that? Crossing his arms over his chest briefly, George shrugged. “He probably will. And why was your mum muttering about what Phillip would do?” Obviously his baby was gorgeous. Had Emmylou met Amelia’s mother?

The idea of Waker on a broom, let alone trying to play Quidditch, made him burst out in a fresh round of laughter. “She’d never hear the end of it! Oh good golly Godric.” Damn... Neely had rubbed off over time. “Can you imagine?” He ran his fingers through his hair with a last chuckle, shaking his head. George ignored her question of insistence. “Which Beater did you mean, then?” He thought she had put it perfectly.

He shook his head at her lack of faith. George grinned. “Not if she saw how soothed Amelia looks. It’s better than a rocking chair!” Scoffing at the position, he looked down at his baby. “Seeker, maybe. Best paid job, little one; if you have your mums eye and my athletics, you’ll be set.”

The play on the wireless caused him to groan in understanding. Bludgers were not friendly. “They aren’t in the crop tops yet. Otherwise they would’ve won by default.” Duh, Emmylou. Think with your head. He returned her smirk as he moved the broom forward a bit. “Not yet... but I can get you great bleacher seats if you don’t mind sitting with Waker and Amelia.” If she took the baby to the game, anyway. Perhaps the noise and the activity would keep her interest long enough to forget she liked to scream her lungs out. “I was thinking of inviting Grace as well.” George did a touch and go as he started to slowly circle the living room.

“Lou! Get the camera, get her first ride as a picture. I’ll show Waker when she’s... three or something.”

As long as he agreed in equal opportunity gazing, the Harpies discussion was going swimmingly.

Lou still didn’t want them to win.

“I’m going to guess Phillip knows how to procreate. He also knows the word prophylactic.” Not that Lou was that up on her (older) cousin’s sex life. “She’s just old-fashioned.” Ish. Or motherly. “I mean, my parents did have a great marriage, and it came before all three of us. Not that that means you and Waker can’t have a great one after a kid— or three.” Or the quidditch team George would inevitably produce. Maybe he was a rabbit. Was that genetically dominant? “Do you plan to get married?”

“Yeah. She’d try to calculate her miles per hour before reforming helmet laws.” If she agreed to get on a broom at all. “Not that one… the Harpies one.” And that was all she wanted to say on the subject of Edmund. He might have been George’s teammate, but Emmylou had trained her ears to focus on the name Carter whenever she listened to a Cannons game. She could support the orange and ignore the giant distraction waving its arms.

It was true that Seekers scored the galleons. If George stuck to his regimen, however, he could easily match a Seeker’s lucrative offer. But little Amelia, the genius baby, on a fast track… “Yeah, if you want her to pay for your retirement in her first season, maybe start throwing snitches at her.” She didn’t doubt Nolan’s eyesight, but wished the Ravenclaw alum would put it to better use.

“You are over-estimating fabric.” Or what it didn’t cover. “It can’t make up for talent. It only distracts so much. The Wasps have a great defense.” Or a brutal one.

The quaffle went back and forth and back again in the span of a few words. Lou sighed, considering his offer. She supposed if she could ignore Edmund, she could ignore Nolan. Amelia was a good common ground. “Well if it’s free.” Or cheap. She loved quidditch enough to make the big sacrifice. Nolan wasn’t so bad. “I’d love to see Grace,” she added. Her eyes followed George in the circle while her mind concentrated on the game.

“Yes, sir,” she announced, raising a hand to her forehead and saluting him. She looked around, then stood up. Camera, camera, where was the camera? “Accio camera!” She exclaimed, her wand hand shooting out with the necessary flare. The object came zooming her way. Emmylou handled it, looking through the viewfinder and adjusting a bit. “Ready?” She asked, following them around with her eye on the camera. She took several snaps, in case she didn’t catch it. If they came out blurry, he couldn’t blame her. In fact, he’d probably thank her: less evidence for Nolan. Her smile grew as she continued to take photos. “This is brilliant. It’s like her walking for the first time.”

George did roll his eyes. His brother knew a lot of things, George was sure. And if Phillip was asked, he’d probably tell them to anyone who would listen. “See, that word has too many syllables in it for me to know.” Would Waker believe that? The likelihood was not high... Talking about her mum felt like a huge weight started to rest on his chest. Old-fashioned... great marriage before children... All of this was leading up to-

Making a face (at what should have been the obvious lead up), George opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I... I guess...” His shoulders shrugged in a noncommittal way. Why was marriage that important right then? He looked past Emmylou while he considered, frowning a bit. “Wait, are we supposed to get married?” Eyes widened. “Should we have gotten married first?” Glancing to his cousin, he chewed on his lower lip and frowned a little deeper. Then again, he was not the most old-fashioned person out there.

And surely his family was the first to know that. Uncle Leon had tried to help get George’s head on straight after his first sixth year screw up. Aunt Cecilia... Were all the aunts talking? Did his mother feel that way?!

That one didn’t need to be brought back up in conversation. George merely grinned and raised an eyebrow. “She’ll be better than even her dad, isn’t that right, Amelia?” Which meant she’d be the best of the best, clearly. He laughed at the retirement joke before he paused and considered; it amazed him that she had him for the rest of his life. George had to support her for the rest of her young life. He could only hope she would be a productive member of society.

Wouldn’t Waker be so proud of the worries in his head? “That might be her first quidditch toy. Little snitch...” George didn’t mind a snitch running around the house, waiting for Amelia to find it. It just wasn’t the cheapest gift around, to get a real snitch. Still... for her first birthday, it might be the perfect thing. He shrugged at the defense line, smirking. “Sometimes the offense is what helps score those points, Lou.” And that meant they had to try and make it past George.

Eyes rolled at her reluctance for the game. “You’d love to see me play too?” Why would everyone go just for Grace? Just because she had been working herself to the bone...

George nodded at her question, adjusting himself just a bit on the broom before he grinned, flying slower than he had been for the picture taking. “Oh man, I can’t wait for her to be walking. Then maybe I can get her a training broom and baby seat on it.” His grin was from ear to ear as he brought the broom around again, hovering off the ground as he shifted Amelia in his arms, glancing to Emmylou. “I think I can wait a few months to do some tricks with her.”

After a few more photos, he brought the broom closer to her and hovered comfortably, propping a foot up on the broom. His other foot swung carefree below in the air as he cradled Amelia to him. “There are so many times that I can’t believe I’m a dad, you know? Like... how did that even happen?” He shook his head and grinned before glancing to Emmylou. The wireless erupted in a cheer as the Wasps scored a goal. George rolled his eyes and smirked. “They’re still going to lose. It’s just one goal.”

“See, that word has too many syllables in it for me to know.”

Emmylou laughed against the edge of a crisp before eating it. “I don’t know, there are some pretty big technical words out on the pitch, and you seem to get those just fine.” Or she hoped, given that it was his job. Also, she’d played quidditch with him long enough, in school and at home, to know he knew. (If he was joking, she was poking fun right back at him… again).

Marriage was a sticky topic. Emmylou couldn’t blame him. The idea would probably make her stomach drop, if she were in a similar spot. But she didn’t have a kid or a serious relationship. She returned his shrug, hers one a bit sympathetic. “I suppose it depends on who you ask. I mean, it’s not like you’ll be doing anything different… it’s just more… proper. For our parents, anyway.” Another smile, and she put her hands up to let him know it wasn’t her line of thought, not exactly. And then: “I think you’re supposed to plan it all out, so what comes first doesn’t really matter, does it?” She gestured toward Amelia. Not a plan, but a brilliant bump in the road, anyway. “You could always use her as a prop in the wedding.” Even if George was questioning things, Emmylou was making assumptions that there would be a wedding.

“Maybe she should learn to feed herself first, George.” With George as a father and a perfectionist mother, she wouldn’t be surprised if Amelia did end up some kind of athletic wunderkind. That was, if Waker allowed her on a broom. “Maybe Nolan will get really into it and start yelling at coaches and refs on the sidelines.” She grinned. “I love that idea, a snitch. I think you should get a half dozen and scare the pants off your girlfriend.” Score for team Carter.

“You’d love to see me play too?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Wasn’t it a given? “You’re the second coming of keepers, obviously.”

The more George talked about toy brooms and baby seats, the more Emmylou wanted to be involved— or felt a bit a jealous. Someone needed to buy her a new broom and a handful of snitches. Adulthood could suck. “What sort of tricks? Maybe when she’s quaffle sized?” Or she sort of already was…

“There are so many times that I can’t believe I’m a dad, you know? Like... how did that even happen?”

“I think you know how it happened.” Her brows jumped up. “Harpies fans are too frisky.” She stuck out her tongue, then fist pumped for the Wasps. “One goal before the avalanche of goals. And a snitch.”

“Technical words with Quidditch? You of all people should know it’s more about how you play the game, not how well you know every technical word on the pitch.” It was as close to an agreement as he was willing to get. Besides, Quidditch was fascinating. And his job. Proper shielding was not... something he had had to consider very much. As of right now, he didn’t need to worry about it anyway. Waker was healing.

George kept that to himself, however, knowing that Emmylou would prefer a hundred different things to hear besides that.

More proper. Sighing, George pursed his lips and looked at her as he considered. Maybe that was why her dad wasn’t his biggest fan. Or one of the reasons, anyway. Maybe if he had been more successful... Shaking his head, George swallowed and ran fingers through his hair. He chuckled and looked at Amelia. “You and Waker and plans.” Were women just like that? “Maybe instead of some piano music, we just have wailing infant to walk down the aisle to.”

He scoffed at her suggestion. “What happened to your adventurous spirit?! Won’t she be feeding herself, kind of, when she starts walking?” Maybe he should keep up on his reading assignments... Then, perhaps, he would have more of an idea of developmental stages. Waker would have them covered on that, anyway.

Maybe he would coach Amelia’s Mini Quidditch team. Then Waker would yell at him on the sidelines... Or maybe he would just encourage her to stay away from the pitch. Did Emmylou have a crystal ball? George eyed her with narrowed eyes. “If I wasn’t too busy taking her pants off anyway...” He smirked in triumph, eyebrows bouncing.

His chest puffed out at her compliment, even if it was forced. Obviously. For all his ego, George did put a lot of time into his career. The tricks and plays they ran through, drill after drill, practice after practice, had shaped him into a very lean and defined young man. George knew he had a ways to go before he was where he wanted to be. It was good to have goals...

Wouldn’t Waker be so proud.

He shrugged at her question. “Maybe just barrel rolls. Or backwards flips. Simple stuff. She has to be able to hold her head up and sit up, first.” Or George thought so, anyway.

Laughing at her statement, he nodded and sighed. “Frisky and always going for the goal.” Shaking his head at her cheering on the enemy, George let his feet dangle, kicking them lightly as he cradled Amelia in one arm, the other holding him up on the broom. “Just wait for it, they’re preparing to launch their counter attack.”

George had a point, but Emmylou didn’t think knowing technical words could hurt anyone’s chances. Still, there was a reason it was people like him getting things done on the quidditch pitch, and not people like Nolan. Chudley had a while to go, but they’d get there.

“I’m not turning all Ravencalw on you,” she said, defensively. Since when did technicalities and plans sound like good ideas to Emmylou? She was just pointing out he was smart and… sometimes girls liked to plan things. If she wasn’t incapable of being scared, she might have scared herself. Her half-reassuring-half-don’t-think-terrible-things-about-me expression became a lopsided grin, though. It was just too easy to imagine everyone’s faces at George’s ‘plans.’ “Now there’s a form of birth control,” she said, impressed. “You think she could be the musician and the flower girl?” And then, more seriously, “How big of a wedding do you think you want?”

“What happened to your adventurous spirit?! Won’t she be feeding herself, kind of, when she starts walking?”

“Where's it's always been!" She pointed at herself. "I don't know, I guess. I’m not the one who needs to know, really.” Maybe she should have thought through, before even bringing it up. "I think they all start feeding themselves at different times. I was probably impressively young.” No one had told her, or if they had, she’d forgotten, but it didn’t matter. She just knew it. “I had to keep up with you.” Hadn’t that thrilled her mum? She hoped Amelia took after George, too.

“Finite Incantatem,” Emmylou hissed, straining her face into a frown that seemed to be melting. She loved George and was used to his way with words, but she didn’t need to think about what he busied himself with when she wasn’t around. “Please don’t tell me about her days of the week pants.”

“Backward flips definitely come right after learning to lift your head.” The sarcasm was easy to detect, but it wasn’t the smarmy, dripping kind.

George was lucky his ‘goal’ had turned out so cute. His belief that Harpies were going to win this game was also very cute. “Bludgers bouncing off assets don’t count.” And they wouldn’t bounce, anyway. She held her drink tight for a moment, and listened to the Harpies’ Keeper block a second goal. It wasn’t going to be a pattern. The Wasps retaliated, sending a bludger at someone’s face. “Who’s doing the attacking?” She asked, taunting him.