Waker smiled down at the bottle, lashes brushing against her cheeks somewhat shyly— or guiltily. George was trying to get her to draw outside of the lines again: beer, something she had not had much of the past nine… no, ten months. She shook her head, and looked up again, eyes latching onto his. “Maybe a sip—“ She wanted to. Then she found Amelia, who was nestled between them on a blanket, staring in wonder at parents and their celebratory beverage of choice.

What kind of terrible parent had beer before putting the baby safely to bed?

“After we put her down,” she decided.

She could have a bottle.

A little more fun than Amelia’s bottles, not that she was taking the bottle much. Waker rarely ventured out without the baby, and when she did, she made sure to arm George with her milk. Still, she preferred to feed Amelia herself, to do exactly what the parenting guides suggested. Their daughter had already had her dinner, and was calm— for the moment.

If George had had his dinner, too, in the liquid form, Waker had been more careful not to catch up with him.

“She started to hold her up on her own, did you notice?” She asked, looking from the baby and back to George. Amelia wasn’t doing it now: Waker was at times befuddled at how witchy a month-old baby could be. She seemed to horde her talents at times, and there were wild moments when her young mother envisioned the baby holding court in her nursery in the middle of the night, only to revert to run-of-the-mill baby things when her parents popped in.

Waker got up, adjusted the fluffy pink robe and bent down gingerly to pick up the (yes, still calm!) child. Amelia in arms, she moved to the corner of the living room, where’d they’d set up the rocking cot until their bedtime. “You’re going to be brilliant and sleep, aren’t you?” She asked softly, hovering over the the rocker. She set the baby down softly, pointed her want at the rocker, and whispered a charm to make it move. Reaching toward the lamp beside, she flicked it off and turned back to George. Waker stared at him as if to say, time to keep your voice down.

Even so, she cast another subtle charm around the now somberly-lighted corner, something simple that would mute the conversation across the room without stopping George or Waker from hearing or seeing Amelia.

“Ok, one beer,” she said. One was ok. It wouldn’t interfere with her breastfeeding, and if she got tipsy, she would still be functional. Waker set the bar and stubbornly decided she was going to stick to it. “We still have to move her to our room when we go to sleep.”

She sat down on the couch next to George, curling her legs beneath her. She reached for the as-of-yet-still-very-full bottle on the coffee table in front of her and took a small, measured sip before inching her legs out and dropping her feet somewhat cheekily in George’s lap. The second sip was measured, too, despite her playfulness. Even when she was relaxing, she wasn’t.

“Congratulations,” she said, bending forward to clink her bottle against his. He had done well during the camp and tournaments, and that meant good things for his future. Waker couldn’t imagine having a career that could have such spur of the moment success. She supposed the Department of Mysteries was similar in a way. The sort of magic the minds there came up with could be society-changing. She also knew, on the flip side, that quidditch players, like ministry personnel, at the end of the day had to work year round and be persistently good to find longterm success. But still!

Maybe she was going a little stir crazy while on maternity leave.

His hands pumped out excitedly at her proclamation. Hell yes, maybe a sip! George grinned as he settled back on the couch, careful to not jostle the cushion around too much. He inclined the neck of his bottle of beer towards her with a wink before tipping some of the liquid back into his mouth. If he’d had a couple other bottles (and maybe a couple shots of firewhiskey to help it go down) already, that just meant he had been egging Waker on even longer.

It was as if he was a kid let loose in a candy shop. He clapped his hands (bottle in the way) and nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course.” It was the responsible thing to do, to lay her down first.

“Oh, yeah, she’s getting strong. Did you see how she peed on me again?” He laughed and shook his head in disbelief. If she hadn’t seen it, he had already brought it up - when it had happened. George had looked around and shouted as if it was the greatest thing to happen. Where a normal person would have covered it to try and contain it, he had been so shocked (and a little proud) that he just watched it happen.

Amelia went through so many outfits that she must have thought her dad needed to as well. Then again, he just took his shirt off and left his thermals on instead. Compared to Waker, he was practically naked.

It had been a couple of hours since they had eaten as well. A hand rubbed over his stomach in appreciation. “You should make dinner more often. That was delicious.” He had had extra helpings of it, too. It would make an excellent lunch the next day. George watched Waker get up, leaning his elbow on the back of the couch as he shifted, taking another sip of his beer with a grin. The look she gave him made his hands come up in slight defense, warding her off. The wireless played softly in the background.

He looked her over like he hadn’t eaten already. Even if she was wearing the most ridiculous outfit she could’ve possibly pulled out of the dresser. “One beer, for now.” Eyebrows danced up in mischief. His foot rested on the coffee table, the other leg curled up on the couch; he grinned as she took a sip, enjoying a taste of his nearly drained bottle. With her feet now in his lap, he had all the attention he could want.

After the clink of cheers and a quick “Thank you,” George drained his bottle and set it aside to focus on her, hands moving against her skin, kneading into the balls of her feet. Hands moved over her legs and up over the knees, finding the cinch of the robe and tugging on it. He turned on the sofa and started to crawl towards her. “I must have had some Felix Felicis, because I think I’m about to get lucky.” Everything was warm and fuzzy and he felt good.

“Oh, yeah, she’s getting strong. Did you see how she peed on me again?”

Waker made a face; it wasn’t purposeful. Her cheeks bunched into a kind of strange smiley-frown, eyes crinkling, a half-flinch. George was impressed with the things Waker hoped their daughter would grow out of, whereas the milestones she marked were highly fascinating early childhood developments. Motor skills. “I did the laundry,” she reminded him. In case he had forgotten. The story, however, was vivid in her mind. He had certainly not spared any detail. Waker felt her a smile threatening to replace the young-motherly-disdain. “That’s normal,” she added, as if it pacify herself.

Where she was dressed in weather-appropriate pajamas, George left very little to the imagination. The outline of his… gifts… was more visible than the outline of Amelia’s diaper through her baby onesie.

“I make dinner a lot!” Another reminder. Slightly defensive. Waker thought she was good in the kitchen! Not that George disputing that, but. Being good in the kitchen wasn’t her primary aspiration. She leveled him with a look as she lifted Amelia. “I’m glad you liked it, though,” she carried on, a bit more softly, before taking care of the baby. Another look over her shoulder, and maybe another tiny hint of a smile. She couldn’t help it, not with George.

If he happened to think her one beer rule was negotiable, well, she would show him. Even so, she settled easily into the foot massage, taking another sip as she let her eyes close a bit. She exhaled contentedly at the work George’s hands were doing, wiggling her toes just a little in his grasp. As he made his way up her leg, she redoubled her hold on the bottle, her eyes popping open as he uncinched her robe. The brown orbs grew keen with suspicion, amusement, and desire. Waker’s lips parted at his pickup line, which was so George. “You,” she said, accusingly. The familiar thrill that he inspired ran through her. “That’s cheating.” Her brows rose and she adjusted the hand with the bottle for whatever reason, seeming to fidget with the slightly unfamiliar weight. “Does your coach know you’re using Felix Felicis?” She looked from George to the beer bottle. “Is it in this?” She gave it a shake, not daring to smile even as he came closer and her free hand found its way to his arm. It was a difficult feat, but she wasn't going to crack first.

Why could Waker not be pleased with all of Amelia’s accomplishments? George was! He nodded at her reminder. “And I thank you for that. I’m getting better at it!” If she didn’t mind a sloppy mess after. Still, George did put in an effort, even if it wasn’t as perfect as Waker would do it. “So is holding up her head.” He teased her back with a tongue stuck out at her; it slipped back behind his teeth as he scratched his head.

Sometimes the scars itched. “Yes you do! I love it. It’s one way to my heart.” George gave her a wink before letting out a soft belch of beer deliciousness. Too much air in his stomach... The look was telling, and he tried to raise his eyebrows in surprise. “Excuse me.” His tongue ran over his lips as he tilted his head and watched her. “I have dinner tomorrow night.” Plus, wasn’t tonight about celebrating? What had he done to earn that look?

Or maybe it was what hadn’t he done. He rocked the leg that was resting on the coffee table back and forth. “You are so sexy, you know that?” Of course she did. While he worked on her feet, he smirked and bit his lower lip. Sometimes the looks she gave him made his heart stop, momentarily. If that didn’t dull as they got older, he might have to worry about what that would do over the long term.

The mischievous grin slipped out before he could help himself; she sounded so scandalized. A gasp escaped him and he looked at her as if he was shocked. “Cheating? I don’t cheat.” Anymore. George laughed as eyes darted from her face to her body. “Maybe... It might be the Cannon recruiting tool.” He moved farther up, settling his hands on either side of her mid torso, digging into the couch. Eyes moved back up to her face, briefly glancing to the bottle.

“Perhaps. Are you feeling lucky? Maybe I should have a taste just to make sure.” Leaning forward, he lightly kissed her, teasing as he pulled back. After an intake of breath, he pressed against her lips again, having a taste as his tongue slipped over hers, briefly. “Hm... I don’t know, I might not have gotten a good enough taste.” Pulling back, George couldn’t help but grin. Leaning to the side, into the cushions, he ran a hand through his hair. “Drink up, drunkard.” His lower half leaned down comfortably against her, settling in in the perfect spot. Reaching across with a grunt, he picked up another bottle.

George leaned his head down and lifted her shirt up a little, kissing her stomach lightly. “You’re so beautiful.” He pulled back with a smug grin. “I’d let you handle my wand any day.” Eyebrows wiggled suggestively as he waited, taking a sip of his new beer before setting it aside, his fingers moving over the boring material of her pajamas.

If Waker wasn’t head-over-heels about their daughter’s urinating prowess, she could agree that George was improving in the laundry department and that Amelia, in general, in all of her week’s-old personality, was developing normally— and brilliantly. Whether she was peeing or holding up her head.

“So if I cook every night, you’ll love me enough to break out the dusting charms and keep this place spotless?” She asked, grinning a bit— and then rolling her eyes at belch. A girl could dream. And a hyper-organized witch could make it happen! George just needed to dust off his dusting spells. Not that George was bad at cleaning: surprisingly… or not, given his loyalty… he was pretty good. If he was used to his mother cleaning, he made a strong effort with Waker. “What are you making?” She asked wondering if she should be on standby to put out a fire. “Are you trying to out-do me?” Her voice was light and playful as she returned from putting the baby down, careful not to overstimulate.

Once on the couch, it was a bit easier not to overstimulate Amelia.

Waker smiled at his announcement. It was somewhat shy, but also calm, inviting. They were winding down now, and had taken care of everything that Responsible Adults needed to. For the most part. “I might hear it enough to know it.” And then: “And you’re so… not dressed,” she decided, looking him up and down. Her tone was teasing, but she obviously didn’t mind.

Waker’s mouth opened and she tilted her chin up, giving him another look as he refuted her interrogation with a scoff. “It’s all hard work and talent, then?” She asked, knowing the answer already. He was a brilliant quidditch player, and had the sort of talent for sports that the bookish Waker could only vaguely imagine. “A little lucky. I guess I shouldn’t drink the rest. I don’t have time to be recruited for a professional quidditch team.” Also, the thought was terrifying.

She held the bottle out a bit, but not toward George. If he wanted it, he could earn it. But that was apparently not the sort of taste her keeper had in mind. Waker wanted to roll her eyes at herself for not getting it right away. She knew what was coming. It was just connecting the dots… and, well, all of that seemed to be shoved to the back of her mind as kissed her. Briefly. George was playing games, and he was good at it. She let out a tiny breath in the space between them just as he took one. He didn’t make her wait too, long, though and Waker leaned into the kiss, this time able to respond more thoroughly. His taste lingered as he pulled away again, and Waker propped up on he elbows to watch him. The way he touched his hair like that made feel like a sixth year again. So much had happened in only a couple of years, but if Waker still had a pull on him, George had one to match. “I’m as sober as a bookkeeper,” she contested, maybe a little weakly. The pleasant flush in her cheeks was from kissing, not beer. She reached over to set her bottle down on the table.

Then he was going… down. For the moment. Waker watched, resisting the urge to splay a hand over her face as her robe was opened further, her shirt messed about. They had been cuddly, and were able to get a little closer in the past week or two, while Waker continued to heal, but it had definitely been a while since they had really gone at it. If Waker was a little shy, she felt silly for it. The excitement that made her body flush under George’s pretty mouth outweighed any sheepishness. She loved Amelia, but it was nice to have her body back, to be able to see further down her belly when George kissed it. She put a hand on his cheek and offered expression that failed wonderfully at looking outraged. Maybe because he’d called her beautiful. “Just because you know I think practice makes perfect, doesn’t mean you can exploit it.” She withdrew her hand as he reached for his beer, and sat up a bit. Waker shifted closer, easing into his touch, and leaning toward him to return the kiss he’d planted on her tummy— this time just below his collarbone. If she was saying one thing with her mouth, her hands were nevertheless friendly. They settled nicely into their tangle of legs, but then one reached up to take a sip of George’s bottle, since it was conveniently close.

His mouth opened, slack as he considered the option painted in front of him. George finally glanced around and bit his lip. “Spotless? Yeah, why not, I’m sure I could do that.” Maybe. He would just need to remember to pick up his socks off the living room floor. Still... it was kind of fun to try out his cooking prowess. A laugh escaped before he shrugged, taking a swig of beer. “You’ll see.” A hand settled on her thigh and squeezed playfully.

Glancing down at his attire, George nodded in agreement. “I could get more not dressed if you’d prefer.” His eyes twinkled in amusement before meeting her gaze. To be honest, he was super comfortable and warm enough. If his feet were cold, then it wasn’t to the point of bothering him. Besides, he could put them on Waker and find out just how cold they really were. Soon, perhaps. After handling a couple cold beer bottles, his fingers were chilled.

He took in a deep breath and held it, nodding his head. “Of course. Cheating wouldn’t make it fun.” They weren’t the Magpies. And hadn’t he and Lou just been joking about if Waker had been on a team? He couldn’t help but laugh at the idea, raising an eyebrow. “I’d have the perfect uniform for you if you get picked up.” George could design the Harpies outfit any day of the week. “Talk about super-mom, though! Maybe we’ll start with a broom lesson first.”

It was encouraging that she was so responsive to his kisses. It made his heart beat a little faster. “Right.. Of course. So keep drinking then.” He looked at her, his eyes a little clouded over as he ran his tongue across his lips playfully. If anything, the lack of complete intimacy had pushed him back to the days of when he first came into puberty. It was a terrible reminder. George really wanted to keep taking her clothes off. Or just push them down and out of his way. The alcohol wasn’t helping.

“Why not? I’ve been trying to exploit learning since you taught me how.” He raised an eyebrow as if they both were remembering certain potion study sessions. Or library stack searching. Or... well. He was very into learning when it involved them and a secluded area. His breath caught as she shifted into him, closer; his stomach tightened up in knots of anticipation. Closing his eyes, George let out a slow breath, grinning as her hand brushed close. It made him jump a little.

He gave his bottle without a fight, moving his cold hand to her waist, wrapping around and under her as he pulled her against him. His lips pressed against her neck while fingers roamed under the shirt. This was why one should wear less! A groan escaped him before his lips trailed down further. Once again, he pulled her shirt up, kissing her stomach, trailing down until his chin brushed the material of her pajama trousers. In frustration he pressed his slightly open mouth to her skin and blew a raspberry against it.

“I’m holding you to both of those things. On a NEWT scale.” Serious business. If Waker felt a bit childish, employing the grading scale of their youth, it was not too terribly long ago. Sometimes she felt younger now that she had come into adulthood. It was like starting all over again. Things like cleaning and cooking hadn’t even been factored into her five year plan, though they often proved to be among the most challenging. Still, she felt more like an adult when she was cooking or feeding Amelia than she felt when she was running errands at work. She was excited about the prospect of becoming an Unspeakable, and also exceptionally nervous.

“I could get more not dressed if you’d prefer.”

“But then we won't match at all.” A less clothed version was always a good option. But George looked comfortable. Waker, too, despite her more layered look, was plenty comfortable. Not that she minded George’s roaming hands; she was still plenty warm as he undid her robe. It made a cushy sheet between Waker and the couch, and the former Ravenclaw found it a bit easier still to relax. Ish. As much as one could relax with a boyfriend wearing that and a newborn in the corner. 

She was glad they could agree about cheating, now. Past mistakes aside, following the rules— in all things!— was best. Well, most things. “What, robes with a number on the back?” What a surprise! “You know I can’t wear your jersey if I’m playing against you.” It was said as if Waker was going to stick out her tongue, but she was glowing a bit at the super-mom comment. It was not what she had imagined she would be, but it meant a lot in a way that she couldn’t pinpoint. “I can ride a broom, George. It’s not that hard.”

An enabler, that’s what George was. “I’m not getting drunk,” she promised, elaborating. “I’m a responsible adult with two babies.”

One of whom she had taught plenty, and who had taught Waker quite a lot, too. She smiled at him, a sweet smile despite his cheekiness. It was true that he exploited her academic nature, but she would take the compliment that came with it. If she made George a better learner, that was progress. Her hand continued to roam, lingering in a particular spot and enjoying the way she could make George breathe. She took George’s bottle and let it linger at her lips as he again started to explore the other side of Waker’s pajamas. She was about to tell him he needed the right spell, when he sent her into a fit of painful laughter. Waker Nolan was ticklish. “Ahhh, wait,” she said, a desperate breath between laughs as her body cringed up and her hand hit his shoulder (having long sense retracted itself from other places). Her mouth was an aching smile, and Waker looked wildly over her shoulder, upside down, at Amelia’s cot. The baby was still sleeping. A gangly arm was able to put the bottle on the ground, the easiest place to reach. “You,” she said, her favorite word. The hand on his shoulder, trying to lovingly hold him at bay and prevent more tickling, began its own attack, albeit one a bit less surprising than George’s. “That’s not fair!” She tried to tickle his neck, which was what he got, instead of kisses, for tickling her with his mouth.

Even bringing up NEWTs made George flinch a little. That part of their lives was over, but it still hung around in the back of his head as a friendly reminder. He had done better than anyone would have expected. George knew that was thanks to the woman he was currently sharing a couch (and life) with. “I’m not sealing it with an Unbreakable.” But he would try and do what he said he would do.

“Since when do we worry about matching?” Eyebrows waggled at her but he didn’t press it any further, and he wasn’t taking his comfortably warm trousers off. Talking about potential Quidditch outfits didn’t help. Laughing, he shook his head. “No. I was thinking a complete overhaul of the Harpies outfit. You can be the model.” George gave her a wink. “Though you can wear my name.” Did that come out too committal? He felt a weird fluttering in his chest at the thought and tried to banish it.

Emmylou of all people had been poking fun at the fact they weren’t married. Was it wrong that they had a kid and hadn’t promised each other their life? Wasn’t that the whole point of a child? It was life long commitment. Plus, he loved her. “I do love you in my jersey, though.” He grinned big, a level of immaturity there.

“Not that hard?! Then why haven’t I seen you on one?” He poked her gently, biting his lower lip and grinning around it. “Recently!” Might as well go everywhere with that statement that he could.

Fingers ran through his hair again as he glanced over her face. “I haven’t seen you drunk in a while, though.” His eyes twinkled playfully before her next insult slipped through and made sense. “Hey!” Laughing, he once again prodded her with his hand. “Rude. I don’t think one of those babies has been pacified with your-” Hands came up and made motions in front of his chest before reaching out for hers. “Yeah.”

It took a lot in him to not just brush aside the concern of her healing, especially with her exploring hand. It could’ve earned a merit badge. A short and sweet whine escaped his throat before he could help himself. The easiest way for him to get off the desire was to change their cozy touching. A tickle fight seemed appropriate.

The laughter that escaped made him grin; he was feeling cheeky. He did listen to her and waited. For a few seconds. Then he lightly kissed around her stomach as hands came up to join his lips. A loud laugh escaped him, his body jerking under her fingers at the unexpected return tickle attack. “You’re not being fair!” Twisting away, he suddenly came up and over her, hands grasping hers. With a grunt and laugh, he wrestled both of her arms above her head, holding them together with one hand at the wrists.

Hopefully he could keep her there. George straddled her as he looked down at what he had caught. “You.” And with that he proceeded to tickle her armpits with his free hand.

“I’m not sealing it with an Unbreakable.”

“I think I’m relieved about that.” The last thing either of them needed was a broken Unbreakable. Navigating the dishes and laundry on negotiable terms was enough of a handful.

If Waker didn’t worry about matching with George— as a couple, they had proven the Opposites Attract rule— she did worry about matching in general: it was important to project a professional image! Pajamas might not be the most dire example, but, well, it was still true. “For some reason I think your idea of a Harpies uniform wouldn’t make league requirements.” George’s idea of professional image definitely differed from his girlfriend’s. She stared at him, waiting for him to disagree. She found herself a bit more speechless where his name was concerned. She had worn his name plenty of times, but as his girlfriend. Somehow the way George said it made it feel… big. “Well, I can’t wear mine. They’d never let me into the Department of Mysteries if they knew I was cozying up to Magical Games and Sports,” she lied, a laugh. Joking seemed a good way to smooth out the more serious angle of the conversation. “Your jersey would be a great extra layer tonight.” Waker lifted her arms around her, mummy-like, giving them a rub as if she were shivering. It was perfectly warm in the flat.

If she knew that broom riding as a whole was not easy, she didn’t think the basics were that hard to grasp. Waker didn’t have George’s talent, but she had taken broom riding lessons! (In her first year.) “I’ve been on a broom…” She let out a sigh of protest at his joke. She was being serious. “I can get one to sit still on the ground for me, and I can get on it properly.” That might have been the start and finish of Waker’s broom mastery, but however detailed the witch was, she didn’t need to share those details with George. It was an as needed basis. “I’ll ride one when the weather is nicer, you’ll see.” Hopefully, by then, George would forget her offer.

“I haven’t seen you drunk in a while, though.”

“I can’t imagine why.” It was not as if she had been carrying the other baby for nine months. George’s grabby hands were not impressive. Waker’s face became somehow wider with pouty disapproval (though it was hardly the worst look she could throw his way). She rose her brows. “This just proves my point.” Alright, she didn’t mind his hands. Especially when he wasn’t tickling her. “At least I know she want them for a noble reason.”

Try as she might to gain a metaphorical footing and give back as good as he was giving, Waker felt weak and achey from the tickling fingers of the professional keeper. The smile plastered on her face, against her will, almost hurt, it was so big. She was on the verge of reaching for her wand, sending a Tickling Charm his way, when George caught both her hands. Waker stared up at him, defeated, a picture perfect prisoner. “You have an advantage.” She sounded like someone who had just run a marathon. "You must do hand exercises for work,” she breathed.

He also knew exactly how ticklish she was.

She had hardly caught her breath when there was more tickling. She let out another ahhhhh of a laugh, writhing beneath him as her underarms broke into chills under George’s touch. She lifted her head, or attempted to, looking and sounding breathless. “Let me give your prize,” she insisted, an apparent plea for a truce as her lips seemed to promise something nice. It was a strategy.

Well. As long as she didn’t want an Unbreakable... George could try and stick to it. As they moved on to better topics (like Harpies uniforms), he grinned and shrugged. “If they let me be in charge of uniform league requirements, they would be.” He tried to feel embarrassed... but he just wasn’t. “You’d be sexy as hell. You’re always sexy but...” He made a noise equivalent to something tasty, “Mm-mm.”

Why couldn’t there be fraternization between the departments? Raising an eyebrow, he smirked. “But you’re already cozying up to someone in Magical Games and Sports.” Technically he was managed by them, being part of professional Quidditch in the UK. Eyes widened at her threat. “Why not have the next best thing and just layer yourself with the real Carter?” Just to clarify, he pointed to himself.

Didn’t everyone get on a broom at Hogwarts? He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “So you can lay a broom down and keep it there?” His face lit up at the suggestion. “Yes!” A fist rose in the air in triumph. George couldn’t wait to see her on a broom. “It’ll get nice by May.” Hands rubbed together in excitement.

She didn’t seem pleased with his well-intentioned hands. He returned the pout. “I’m noble. I can be your trusty steed, you can be the knight, and you can ride all night long.” His face was as innocent as he could manage.

He had an advantage?! Well, yes, he kind of did. “I do hand exercises for everything.” She had been healing for weeks, after all. George administered the tickling as he saw fit, tilting his head as she squirmed under him. His hand came back up in a threatening gesture, about to go back for another round when her words had him pause. Eyes widened and he grinned very suddenly, quickly letting go of her wrists and pushing himself back up, settling back on her lap as he sat. “Ok!”

“Well, they definitely wouldn’t meet child friendly requirements.” And then poor Amelia would be barred from the games. Then again, Waker didn’t know whether she wanted to encourage their one-month-old to aspire to Harpies stardom, with or without the scantily designed costumes of her father’s dreams. A smile crept over her features, making her face appear even wider. “I think you’re the one who was made for jerseys,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his arm, the toned muscles of which would have made her blush if she was meeting him for the first time. Lucky for Waker, she had met him a lot. Very lucky.

She did like wearing his to bed when the weather was less fluffy-pajama-worthy.

“Actually,” she admitted, “I do like you better when I can see more of what I’m getting.” Her eyes trailed down and back up.

“But you’re already cozying up to someone in Magical Games and Sports.”

“But not so openly. Trade secrets… I can’t look like I’m on the other team.” The Ministry of Magic was very competitive. Even George wasn’t actual an employee. He needed a Ministry job before he was allowed to steal her from the DoM… or, again, approve costume changes. In truth, George had done quite well on his NEWTS compared with where he had been a few years prior. Waker was proud of him. And the career he’d chosen? Even if the idea of being fifty feet off the ground terrified her, it was perfect for George. He worked at hard at it, and she was sure it was going to pay off. His uniform ideas aside.

“Why not have the next best thing and just layer yourself with the real Carter?”

The technicalities of quidditch player versus Ministry personnel were too much for this sort of argument. Especially such a cuddly one. “Is a real Carter as easy to launder?” The jersey version seemed less likely to put Waker in a compromising position than the authentic Carter version. She cast another glance toward Amelia.

“I passed my flying class, that counts, George Carter.” Waker took her classes very seriously. “May,” she agreed. “And not a day before.” Her eyes went a bit wide, as if that settled it, and he shouldn’t argue. “Steeds or brooms? You have to make up your mind,” she scoffed, bouncing his joke back at him as if she hadn’t understood what he’d really meant, even if he’d laid it plain. She had, and they both knew it. He wasn’t going to catch her that easily.

But Waker might have offered to jump on a broom in the corridor of their flats if it would give her a reprieve from the hilarious pain that came with being ticklish. That she could laugh this much was startling even to her.

Waker pouted. Her abdomen was still reeling from the tickles, her breath visible, up, down, up. What was he implying? She’d done plenty of handywork. But her face became softer, more enticing as she tried to free herself and gain the advantage. As soon as he let her go, she was propped on her elbows, watching him settle into her lap— it was a momentary pause, really— and then she pushed up and pecked his chin and jaw with a brief, not-particularly-rewarding kiss. She smiled at him, kept her eyes locked on his even as she leaned out a bit and grabbed her wand. It was a feat, arming herself while he provided that distraction. Tapping it against his chest, she lifted her brows. “I meant for work. I am plenty helpful with my hands.”

If it was true they’d both been particularly exhausted of late, and that Waker had not been quite as occupied with thoughts of pleasing George, it didn’t mean she hadn’t tried at all. Still, the healing was important, and it had been a while since they’d fooled around, even.

It would be another minute or two. Waker looked down and back up, feeling only a little regretful before she whispered a tickling spell, sending it crawling up George’s bare chest. She almost felt bad, and there was a bit of guilt in her victorious smile.

“They would cover the vital parts. How is that different than going to the beach for the day?” George raised an eyebrow, feeling as if he had a point. If Amelia ended up on the Harpies team, however... George would make sure their outfits were neck to ankle thick wool. To keep them warm when the skies turned icy, of course.

Breathable linen for the summer would make it pass regulations.

George smirked as she touched his arm, flexing under her fingers as he turned his eyes back to her face, his own scrunching up in a “Grr” face. The physical requirements for the job definitely helped keep him in shape; he was more defined than he had ever been in school. Even while being the little guy, he could still bulk up and bulk out. Waker seemed to not mind it, and it did make the jersey fit better. His tongue ran slowly over his lower lip as he glanced over her.

Eyebrows rose in mock surprise. Or maybe a little more than mock; she wasn’t playing overly hard to get, and that was a bit of a shock. Grinning like a kid who got his candy before dinner, George puffed out his chest a bit and flexed again. “Just imagine, all of this is for you.” His fingers rested just in the elastic of his trousers, watching her carefully. “You want to see more?” His smile spread before he laughed; it was difficult to keep in.

“But you are on my team!” George was whining a bit. It was not a secret that he found whatever she kept a secret from her job fascinating to try and dig out of her. “It’s not a broken secret if I keep it too.” It made perfect sense to him. Who was he going to tell who would believe him anyway? In all honesty, he had his dream job (and it was something he was good at). And Waker seemed to have hers, what little she actually opened up about it. It was both a curse and blessing that she was able to be home with Amelia so much.

Easy to launder? Scratching his head as he made a face, George contemplated it briefly before smirking. “Even easier. You just take the real Carter with you to the shower, one and done. And then it’s ready for another wear.” His eyes followed after hers, pausing in his topic to remind himself how impressionable minds were.

If only Amelia could talk.

George couldn’t help but laugh; imagining a mini Waker studying for her flying class... It tickled him. “How many books did you read about it before you felt confident to pass the theory behind it?” His fingers poked and prodded as he smirked. “Ok, May then.” That she didn’t pick right up on his playful pickup line caused him to pout a little. “Why settle for one when you can have both?”

George couldn’t help the laughter that echoed hers, even if his was more in fun than in ticklish pain. Was he to blame if he enjoyed hearing her laugh? His hopes for some grand prize were dashed on the rocks of reality when she pecked him. His pout might have mirrored hers from earlier. George didn’t put two and two together, merely frowning at the wand tapping at his chest. “I guess you are.”

If that was all he got for stopping his tickle attack, he clearly hadn’t been doing it long enough. George had just cracked his knuckles when the spell started to take effect, reaching out for her as the first wave of tickling caught him off guard. A yelp escaped him before laughter bubbled out, landing with a thud against the back of the couch, his side twisting as he groaned and laughed, hands trailing after the relentless spell. How cruel it was that she was so good at magic!

“Ah! Oh, no, it, AH!” He twisted and turned and laughed, legs kicking out. He flipped onto his back, twisting against the seat of the couch. “Wa-” A hysterical laugh left his lips. “Waker!”

“They would cover the vital parts. How is that different than going to the beach for the day?”

“Maybe because you’re going to work for the day?” Waker asked, her belief in her own logic evident in her voice. Quidditch players were attention grabbing enough without objectifying their bodies! Outside of magazines and… George and Waker’s couch, apparently. She couldn’t help it, if she liked to stare in touch in the privacy of their own home (for which they paid rent). His job was a good look on him.

“Yes, all for me,” she echoed. “Nothing new here.” Her tone was teasing; Waker never tired of looking at him, and certainly George looked even more attractive month by month, as professional quidditch chiseled into him. She hadn’t thought that was possible a couple of years ago, in the potions classroom. She smiled, as if to say she were kidding and quite pleased with what was hers. George was a more tangible, rewarding gift than straight O’s and unmonitored department-wide access to information. She opened her mouth and closed it again, lightly, waiting for him to carry on with his show. A laugh tickled her throat as she tried (not very hard) to conceal it. “Do you want some music before you take the stage?” Her stomach felt a bit funny, in a good way, the fluttery way he made her feel after a while of being apart. In a manner of speaking. Her eyes drifted to where his hand had taken up residence.

“I’m not on your official quidditch team! There’s a difference, George.” An important one. No one was going to depend on Waker fifty feet up in the air. “Sometimes you have to be stealth.” She continued to look at him, trying to decipher whether he was being honest or cheeky or both. She had no doubt he’d keep a real secret for her. “If one of us gets caught, the other has to be around for Amelia,” she pointed out, and even Waker was not sure where the conversation was going. Hanging out with George did that to her. Plans evaporated, and were replaced with a different kind of adventure. She laughed at his idea of laundering. “That’s a great way to save on bills, too.”

Even if it wasn’t the proper way to wash clothes.

The outrage on her face was plain, if not the sort that might send George flying to the other side of the room. “I am perfectly capable of basic broom commands without doing too much research.” She managed to evade his question. The truth was, an eleven-slash-twelve-year-old Waker had researched flying plenty before managing to scrape by in that class. “You can do both, just not at the same time. Horses weren’t made for brooms.” And if George was inferring he was both a horse and a broom, Waker was artfully dodging around it, on purpose. “I think horses are easier, though. They're much closer to the ground.” Where humans belonged.

Ah ha. Waker was in control now: she reveled in George’s pout, and maybe also his confusion. Or lack clairvoyance. She could play this game! And win. A smile broke out on her face, but this time she was in control of it. She gave George a good couple of minutes of tickling before ending the charm with a flourish, her wand hand dropping casually to her side. While he was still recovering, Waker switched their positions, shuffling on her knees onto his lap. “It was a good prize, wasn’t it?” She asked, mostly proud, but also a bit curious about whether she lived up to the expectations. Waker was still hardwired to expect grades.

“But I could cover everything with paint.” Orange and black weren’t terrible colors... Though he knew from past experiences that black was not an easy color to scrub off. Still... when work called for safety padding in the hot summer months, it was torture. Sweat made leather itch, even with a layer of uniform between it. Or maybe because it had an extra layer, it made it harder. Either way, George preferred to show team spirit in color than in cloth during summer training.

Eyes widened at her statement, narrowing after a few moments dangerously. “You don’t like the same ol’ me?” If she wanted to tease him, he could do the same back. “Maybe I should just-” And with that, he let the waistband snap back into place, having hovered out from his skin on the cusp of giving her an eyeful. “-keep everything covered, then.” His tongue slowly ran over his lips before he smirked, settling against the cushions of the couch.

Now he was going to play hard to get (as if that was believable). “I don’t want to take the stage now.” Arms crossed over his chest as he huffed it out, eyeing her with a small smirk on his lips.

Topics could jump from one random thing to the next, and it all felt completely natural. There was hardly a time where they couldn’t tease and talk easily. Things didn’t often get tangled over his tongue, especially when he was so comfortable with Waker. They had both made enough mistakes in the past for neither to be a saint. He belonged with her, and she belonged with him. It made sense to him.

“You’re on my official home team, though.” He gasped as his face morphed into shock. “Have I not been stealthy in the past?” Had he? She certainly had. He smirked briefly. “Did you have to confess your most stealthy moment before they accepted your application?” George’s mind slipped back in time to the Gryffindor tower dorms. His eyes took her in, giving away some idea of what his thoughts were. “Emmylou could co-parent with Trent, if we both go to Azkaban. She’ll be very popular and well known when she gets to Hogwarts.”

If she thought that was a good idea... “You should hear my other ideas on chores.” Eyebrows wiggled suggestively, an almost warning to not ask about them.

Hands came up to deflect the look of death she shot his way. If looks could maim, right? He merely smirked and nodded in some silent agreement. George wasn’t going to push her to confess her scholarly ways, even if he had an inkling that he was more right than wrong. Why else would she have gotten so defensive?

Safer topics were obviously horses. “Then it’s settled. You’re the noble knight.” He motioned to her as he settled against the couch, slipping his feet under her a little as he smirked. “There are such things as flying horses, you know. Winged, whatever.”

The retaliation of tickling was relentless. He laughed until tears were streaming down his cheeks, twisting and turning and gasping for air; it did hurt to laugh that long. When the charm was removed, George laid there and gulped down each breath, exhausted as his body laid strewn across the cushions. Her question made him grunt, her position made his eyebrows raise. Hands rested on her thighs before he wet his lips, gaze moving slowly up over her body.

“This’ll do.” Hands grasped her hips as he pulled her down against him, grinning before eyes finally found hers. “Put that pitiful wand away, Miss Nolan.”

She already know what he could cover with paint. Waker's kind of eye roll of a statement, edged by a poorly hidden smile, said as much. “The next time you play with paint, you should buy the kind that washes off. Or self-cleans.” And not paint it onto any Harpies. ‘Body Paint’ was highly misleading. Waker thought it should logically be less messy than normal paint. It wasn’t. There was a fortune waiting to be made for a witch who invented the clean kind of body paint.

She mirrored his expression— the wide-eyed bit, anyway. “That’s not very diplomatic for a representative of a professional quidditch team,” she argued, frowning. Her eyes moved down and back up again, quickly. “You should be willing to share if you’re going to insist the Harpies wear invisible clothes.” Waker’s frown was quickly becoming a likely very familiar pout, one that George would see more that night than Waker might see certain things. “I didn’t mean you aren’t exciting exactly how you are.”

Waker being stealthy was an entirely different matter. George was just breaking the rules. She wanted him to be stealthy and well-behaved. Ish. Still, she smiled, at his next bit of outrage. If it was mostly inspired by being called his home team, well, she was still a girl he could make blush and panic. “You’re stealthy enough.” It was said casually, with all the strength of nonchalance Waker could put into such a statement. “You can play reserve keeper.” On their home team. The Ravenclaw alum might have prided herself in following the rules, but the wittier strain that came with being in said house made it easy enough to tell white lies with a straight face. Or try. She wasn’t a Slytherin. “But I can’t tell you about my application, under threat of hexing.” She wasn’t lying this time! She might have been twisting words, a little. Waker Nolan did not plagiarize. “You don’t want me to bring the Obliviators in here, trust me.” She didn’t want them here, either, with a few chores still to complete. Obliviating an Obliviator sounded daunting.

The idea of Emmylou and Trent parenting anyone was ridiculous. If Waker didn’t know he was joking, she would have gone white as a sheet at the idea. “For the entire year she’s there before she gets sent to Azkaban with us?” That was what they needed, a delinquent Gryffindor-Slytherin hybrid child. “I think you just won my argument for me.” She folded her arms, triumphant. In truth, if they ever got thrown into jail, Waker expected Amelia to go with George’s parents, and still regularly see her own. A stable wizarding home and family who knew how to raise children. Not teenagers.

George doing chores was a pleasanter thought. “Do they involve you and a broom?” She asked, trying for seductive and cheeky at the same time, a murmur. She was serious, though: she wanted George to learn the other uses of a broom! She wasn’t going to just drop the subject. He was doing a decent job, helping her keep their place clean. And their current predicament was distracting.

A knight, she could deal with. “I don’t want a winged horse.”  A little off the ground was ok: like being on top of George. Waker continued to beam at his exhaustion (he had earned it), but waved her wand like a testy finger when he called it pitiful. She shifted a bit in his lap. This was what she wanted. “This wand is going to keep you out of trouble.” She kept her eyes on his for a moment, before leaning over and setting it down gently, her legs on either side of George, trusting that he would keep her from toppling onto the coffee table. Not that Waker had bad balance. She settled back, and glanced from George, to the wand, and back again, making sure he understood.

Waker leaned in with a smile, knowing that Amelia was still slumbering happily in corner. She kissed him again, calmed by the tiredness that came post-tickle-fight. But excited, too, in the way that he made her, in the way that they hadn’t been able to share for a few weeks now. Her hands resumed their exploration before one arm settled behind his neck, encouraging him to sit up with her. Now was a good time for him to finish that show he had started to put on.


A long while passed, during which time they had been able to work around Waker’s healing. Even more exhausting than a tickle fight, but in the best way, and nearly ruined by a waking baby, their fun on the sofa lead to more beer— Waker very slowly sipping from the one bottle she’d been nursing since they’d put the baby down, and George showcasing his impressive ability to knock them back in succession.

After the second time Waker was able to calm the baby down, she pressed back into the sofa and exhaled deeply, looking to George with a close-mouthed smile.