Summer conditioning had been especially difficult for the Chaser. All the drills, at the end of the day, were more exhausting than he’d ever remembered. By the end of it, he was starting to feel more himself. It was amazing how much pain one could feel after a near death plunge. When fall had started, and the games with it, it was almost as if he’d never left the field.

Except for the sleep that he was missing out on. Amelia was a handful, crawling all over the place, using various objects to pull herself up to her feet, wobbling around as she started to make the movements of walking. There were a lot of falls and bumps along the way, but George was confident (and a little scared) that she would be walking before she turned one. And then they’d have to baby proof some more. As fall turned into winter, they had adapted to less sleep at night, early wake ups, constant feeding. It had been especially hard when Waker went back to work.

He had ordered a pizza for dinner while he laid out on the couch, ice charm applied to his knee. Amelia was crawling around on the floor, which was littered with fallen toys, left unforgotten for more interesting things like her mum’s books and decorative items nearly within her reach. The wireless played quietly in the background, an afternoon game on as George lounged. They had already hit the park, just down the road from their apartment, for a little play in the chilly weather. It had been unbundling her after that had been the tricky part.

Now, however, he waited patiently for Waker to get home. She wanted to work on Christmas decorations, and he’d pulled all the boxes out for it. George sipped at his glass of water before nearly choking on it as he shouted “No!” As if his voice would stop the lamp as it came crashing down next to Amelia. He jumped up and set about straightening up what she was wrecking. Constantly into everything. "Your mum is going to murder me." It was huffed under his breath as he scooped up a couple of books - never mind the soft bite marks on them.

Waker shut the lobby door against the rush of cold, a small but important triumph, and leaned back against it to catch her breath. It had taken all of her energy to combat the wind tunnel that was December. Her wide cheeks were a healthy pink by now, one that made her look as if she’d been blushing furiously at something George had said— only George wasn’t beside her, and her nose was nearly the same color as her cheeks.

Brown eyes trailed up the stairs, which were luckily empty. Home was this close, and so far away at the same time. She couldn’t reasonably Apparate right inside without nightmares of Ministry house calls. And winter clothes were impossibly heavy, however grateful she had a hat that actually fit her head.

By the time her keys were jingling in the lock, her toes were tingling, thawing. But the thought of a hot shower wasn’t enough to distract her.

“George!” She said loudly, and her eyes had somehow landed precisely on the lamp a mere couple of inches from a pleased looking Amelia. The baby looked up from the rubble of books, smiled, and reached out a hand… full of string lights.

The trail snaked around furniture legs and back toward a collection of boxes marked in Waker's own neat hand. Christmas.

“Are you trying to electrocute her, or are we going to let her decorate on her own?” Brows lifted, and Waker forgot for a moment that she was still wearing wet shoes. She crossed quickly to pick up the baby, who brought the string lights— now tangled— with her. Waker shifted Amelia onto a hip and waved her wand at the lamp, which floated up and uprighted itself on the table.

“What have you got there?” She asked the child, in a soft tone that suggested mischief. “Something that could start a fire? Helper elf,” she added, smiling and pecking the baby’s head as she began the difficult feat of prying the lights away. Waker frowned as they tangled further, and held the baby out for George. “Why couldn’t she go for a stocking or a blanket?” She asked. And the words were in her tone, one that knew it was hopeless: she takes after you.

As she shifted Amelia to George, Waker began to carefully string the lights into a loop. One that wouldn’t tangle. “I see you’ve got dinner.” Eyes caught his, and she smiled, amused. Even if she liked them to cook healthy, pizza sounded good right now. “I’ll make some cocoa to go with it.” Or anything warm. Her voice, like her toes, had thawed though, and as she got the last of the lights untangled, she brushed against him and offered a kiss. She supposed they’d need it, all of the sugar and grease, and kisses, if they were going to spend all night decorating. Plus, she was determined to win the game of What Went Where.

His name caused him to jump, slightly startled. He had the propensity to look slightly guilty, even as he set the books on the coffee table. George gave her a sheepish smile before dusting his hands off on his trousers. “Hello love.” His smile fell off and he frowned a little at her, pursing his lips to the side. “I was thinking we should just use her as the tree and be done with it.” He had looked away for a few minutes, picking up the shelf of books the infant had pulled down. Long enough for Amelia to string herself up, it seemed.

George almost got to the lamp before Waker took care of it. A sarcastic, witty response died on his lips, working on taking the broken bulb out. Luckily it hadn’t shattered, but he could hear the unmistakable jingle as he shook it near his ear. A sticking charm, perhaps, would do the trick next time.

He came back from the kitchen in time to accept his curious daughter from Waker, holding the grinning Amelia as Waker took the lights off her. The look was unmistakable - George felt like he’d been seeing it a lot lately. “Probably because you put those in a different box.” And not on the top of them. He wasn’t going to point that out to her, not right now.

The idea of cocoa and pizza perplexed him a bit. George frowned a little, putting his free arm around her and kissing her back. “Cocoa and pizza? You’re not pregnant, are you?” He laughed and poked her playfully in the side before juggling his daughter as he walked slowly back to the couch. Amelia was already fighting against him, huffing and puffing and starting to cry before she was sat back down on the floor. She easily slipped back into a grin and started to crawl back towards the lights.

“You’re going to have to put a perimeter around the tree, you know. She’s too curious.” George leaned back and put his feet up, smirking. “Just like her mum.” Speaking of... "How was work?"

Her gaze roamed over George, assessing him. His cozy greeting was at odds with the guilt in his eyes. And Waker knew the fact that he was looming over her books meant that he was, indeed, guilty o something. Why else would he be touching them?

It might have been the only time the former Head Girl was more suspicious than excited to see George pick up a book.

“A tree who’s crawling, climbing, pulling, touching, and trying her hardest to learn how to walk,” she listed off, and not in the same voice she’d used when she’d told him a week ago what sort of tree they should buy. "What could go wrong with that?”

If she was preoccupied with her live-life-in-the-danger-zone daughter, it didn’t stop her looking up to watch him disappear to the kitchen. Damage control. He couldn’t fool her.

And yet, there was something oddly comforting about coming to home to be greeted by the two biggest handfuls on the planet as they dismantled the flat.

“They belong in different boxes, George,” she managed to huff, sounding very much like the same girl who had lectured him on the organization of the library. “We want to be able to find everything, don’t we?” The problem was that Amelia didn’t need to find any of it. Waker was loathe to resort to piling boxes on their dining table or in an already-cramped closet (not the one they’d turned into a nursery). Which was why they had decorate as soon as possible, and then worry about how to baby proof it all. She had something of a plan, at least. “All the soft stuff should go together, so you can stack it on top.” And so that it could remain neatly folded and safely charmed to stay dry. “And all of the lights should be rolled up and twined, and the boxes sealed.”

Hadn’t she done that last time?!

As she puzzled over her infant half-mummified in string lights and how they were going to best decorate without creating a mess, Waker almost laughed off his comment. And then it hit her. It might have been a little too soon. Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “Of course not. I think you know there’s no way— not that we haven’t, but we’ve—” There was something distinctly wrong about discussing birth control with a baby between them. In broad daylight. While she was so hungry she could eat the tree ornaments. “No! I’m just cold. Have you been out there?”

Ha, turn it on him!

She kept a watchful eye on Amelia even as she scooted a little closer to the tantalizing aroma of pizza. “Maybe we should put it up on a pedestal… Then we’d only have to worry about her getting into presents. I suppose all the gifts could be hidden until Christmas morning?” She asked, still watching Amelia and the space where a tree would go as she sank down onto the couch beside George. “Actually… your idea is kind of brilliant. We could do an age line.” She turned to look at him, and smiled just a little. “It’s really picking up.” It was a lot, but she loved it. She waved her wand, setting the pots and chocolate to work in the kitchen. “What did you two do today? You promise you’ll tell me if she starts walking when I’m not here?”

“But growing either way.” He tapped his nose before pointing his finger at her, smirking a little. The idea of stringing their infant up as their tree did kind of tickle him. Obviously they wouldn’t... couldn’t. But the image was comical. “It’d be quite festive, for a moment.” She always saw the fault in his plans. Helped George see reason. That meant she often killed fun ideas.

Why did they belong in different boxes? Was it not all Christmas stuff? Should it not all be lumped together, because they’d pull it all out at the same time for the same holiday? George had already tried this line of reasoning last Christmas. He wasn’t about to start with it again, so instead he just raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips to the side. His hands found his hips as he watched her, his lips slipping into a playful smile. “It’s fun to look for things too...” Like when he helped her find her underwear that morning.

“Well... I opened the boxes. Because I was going to help you sort them out of the box, you know? And the lights, that wasn’t my fault.” He hastily pointed to their daughter. “She’s very quick. I think she could be a seeker.”

George had figured that Waker would’ve told him if she was pregnant. Or worried about being pregnant. Or that she would’ve cut off his knuts and dropped them in her coin purse to keep track of. The way she grew a little paler... It was just as terrifying for George. Instead of exclaiming or shouting or throwing his arms about, he stayed quiet. Very quiet, as he watched her carefully. Finally he spoke; that wasn’t the most convincing No! Waker had ever given him. “Yes. I did have practice...” And it was chilly, he’d give her that.

Pedestal?! His face showed how much he did not like that idea. George shook his head and laughed, as if she was making a joke. Because that would look ridiculous. “She won’t know the presents anyway, right? So we could just... rewrap them.” If she got into them. That was first rate parenting.

His arm found its way around her before he pulled her in for another kiss. It wasn’t every day that Waker called him brilliant, so George had to treasure those moments. He grinned; she could do an age line, he’d probably muck it up.

A yawn escaped him as he stretched, leaning into her while further snaking his arms around her, burying his head into her neck. “I promise...” George kissed her neck, hand moving down to her thigh, teasingly moving up to her ear. “We went to the park...” Another kiss. “Came home... started messing up all your perfectly placed shelves... and then you came home.” He grinned against her skin before biting lightly at her earlobe. “What’s my mystery woman working on at work?” His hand slid between her knees and slowly made their way up.

George could try, anyway.

Waker couldn’t argue with George on that point: their daughter was growing. Faster than any Christmas tree could hope to, probably. It was terrifying, and sometimes she wondered if they should worry more about outgrowing their little flat than Amelia getting lost among the many dangerous, pointy, heavy objects she’d painstakingly attempted to baby-proof.

“Until they come and take her away and snap our wands for being ridiculous parents.” Waker had had more than one such nightmare; even when she was doing everything she’d read up on, she was sure she had had some ridiculous parenting moments. No amount of reading could make up for Amelia’s free will and huge personality. (Loathe as Waker Nolan was to admit that there wasn’t a book with the answer.) “She’d fare better than that lamp,” she admitted, smiling a little, her eyes sliding to the piece of furniture she’d uprighted. How many more times could George replace the bulb before they were lamp shopping?

Something told her wouldn’t be easy as picking a tree. Despite their different ideas of interior design, they had come to a happy agreement on the Christmas tree… and had had a lovely day picking it. Waker still remembered the cold on her cheeks, and how it had felt good when mingled with the fresh George’s and the sight of George’s smile. Nothing like the cold today, which had almost made her want to Apparate right into a circle of muggles to stay warm.

“Her head’s unbalanced, though. The top of the tree is supposed to be the narrowest!” She laughed, tapping the hand on her hip. “It is your fault, if you were the one who couldn’t wait to open them. Shouldn’t a Keeper be able to keep up with a Seeker?” She eyed him carefully. Maybe that wasn’t case. But Waker was secretly terrified of the idea of her baby becoming a professional quidditch player. Or anyone who hovered high in the sky. Couldn’t she be quick at reading, charms, piano lessons? “Maybe she was trying to reorganize the boxes for us.” However fun digging around for bobbles might be. Waker liked organization.

“I hope you’re wearing a helmet in front of her,” she continued, not knowing whether today’s babysitter had stuck around with Amelia to watch. She could tell from the pile of baby clothing on the radiator that the infant had been out, at any rate. Maybe her energy would disappear soon, and they could enjoy the pizza and cocoa without worrying about Amelia getting her head stuck in a stocking.

“Do you know how long it takes to properly wrap a gift?” Even with magic, Waker was meticulous about it. “The tree’s fine right now, but when we start piling things on it and under it…” Amelia would be spending a lot of time in a play pen. “I am not going to be the one rewrapping.” (She would be. Mostly because she had a method.)

Her protest was muffled by the kiss. She snuck one to his cheek as he pressed into her neck. “An age line, definitely,” she said, as much to herself as to George. She was glad for his promise, and wished the age line could work to freeze time a bit, so that she didn’t miss anything. It surprised how much she wanted to be there for every moment, however overwhelming it had seemed. First steps and tangled limbs were more important than any other goal she’d set. Waker felt herself warming quickly, and the color that replaced the cold in her cheeks was equally rosy.

“What an innocent pair you are,” she murmured, her eyes closing a little, her smile a private thing. Waker shivered as he bit her ear. She was ticklish, and it drove her mad. An arm had found itself over his shoulder amidst their tangle, and now she pulled it back enough to tap the back of his head. “Mysteries,” she said simply, trying to keep her face straight.

It didn’t last, with where his hands were crawling. Waker’s eyes began to shut again, and she drew in a breath. She pressed into him and shifted enough to coax his lips back to hers. Her own hand came up to his neck, resting in the crook there as her mouth challenged his. Her breath came sharp against his pretty lips, and now Waker was feeling warm.

But the smell of cocoa filled the room, and became overpowering, and suddenly Waker wriggled up a little and opened her eyes to find two mugs dancing overhead. Immediately she remembered the baby— how could she forget the baby?! She pushed George up and looked around to find Amelia curled on a soft rug near the fireplace (luckily not lit). Her fingers were clawing into the the thick material, plenty distracted. Waker sighed with relief and grabbed at one of the mugs. “See, you are a troublemaker,” she said, pointing her cocoa cup (very, very carefully) at George.

George frowned and tapped his chin. “I don’t think they snap wands for that.” If they did, there would be a lot fewer wand carriers in the world. Less than there were, anyway. Look at all the Death Eater’s, after all! They were able to raise plenty of trouble for the wizarding world to deal with. “She’d look cute in the nativity set, anyway.” His tongue was stuck out at her.

He spared a look to the lamp, considering it for a moment. What it was that fascinated Amelia about it... he couldn’t quite figure out. All the toys she had, and she went for the things that weren’t toys, and weren’t supposed to be touched. He’d already juggled half the breakable items just within her grasp, putting them higher out of reach, cluttering up Waker’s shelves.

Head shook as he disagreed with her. “Her head’s perfect. Just like her mum’s.” Eyes twinkled as he grinned, glancing from the little girl to Waker’s face. “The top of the tree is supposed to draw your attention. Because it’s simple and beautiful.” George raised an eyebrow. Even after all this time, she didn’t seem to understand his position on the Quidditch field. “A Keeper does not try and stop a Seeker, even if they can keep up with them. That’s the Beater’s job, on some level.”

George waggled his eyebrows. “I can give you a better understanding of it, if you want.” It was suggestive and not very quiet. There was always room for a Quidditch innuendo, if one looked hard enough.

“She might’ve been. Trying to tell you that she didn’t like how you put the lights, looks like.” He waved a hand at the strewn lights and boxes, smirking after a moment. It was a good thing he didn’t care how things were organized; if it went in the box, then good for it.

He ignored her helmet quip. “She didn’t go to the pitch today. My mum watched her for me.” Questions of wrapping, however... George laughed as both eyebrows rose. “I know how to wrap a gift. Maybe not to someone’s expectations...” And in the past, he knew he grew bored of it and often just used a lot of tape to make sure the paper stayed down.

Merlin forbid if he didn’t have enough paper. Then it just made sense to put a piece of another one to cover the area he had left to cover. Waker had had a few gifts from him. Having been together for as long as they had, she should know how poorly he wrapped things.

The ease with which she further tangled them was not very shocking to George. And she didn’t need to coax hard, an innate hunger coming forth as he pressed back to her lips, parting them for a taste. Mysteries indeed. His hand felt warmer still, traveling under the dress that he’d complimented her on in the morning. Fingers slid over the top of the tights, making it his turn to persuade her out of something.

Except he must not be a great seducer, because the aroma of cocoa pulled her from his grasps a little too quickly. The push away was met with a slight frown, but George pulled his wandering digits back to himself as he slumped against the couch. Eyes rolled before he smiled, somewhat playfully, pulling the other mug down to him. “I was just trying to get to the center of the very Mysterious Miss Nolan.” His feet lifted to cross on top of the coffee table after he pulled a slice of pizza out of the box. “Better eat before it gets cold.”

“Oh, really? Because if you’ve read Hogwarts A History, you’d know they snap wands for less.” Maybe not. “And those are children.” Ish. George and Waker had been children(ish) only a year and a half ago, if one didn’t consider George’s extra year. Waker’s relief to now be out of her teens— no longer a mother without double decades— was obvious. But there were things to consider in adulthood, too, like the potential re-establishment of Azkaban.

She smiled, though, when she thought of Amelia’s huge head in the nativity cradle.

Less so when George reminded her it was like hers.

Though he did throw in the word perfect. Waker’s brows knitted, but she smiled— and tried not to— at the same time, looking down for a moment. “A perfect head we need to protect from every corner and book and lamp.” 

Which apparently did not come standard in a Keeper. Waker knew that. Mostly. “I know the rules!” She’d read books on them. It was easier, somehow, than trying to follow the shouting and the frantic pace of the announcer’s voice. “I know enough to know that all of you are zooming around on ridiculously fast bits of wood without adequate protective gear. A Keeper is fast enough to catch a baby, even if they don’t do a Chas-- Beater’s job!” There, she’d outwitted him, she though, and her face said so, beneath the indignation of the accusation that she didn’t know anything about quidditch. "Or are you going to tell me you'd lose a quidditch game to a toddler who can't walk?"

But as challenging as she felt, Waker was secretly all for private lessons. They helped warm her up in this horrible weather. "As long as it's here on the sofa..." 

George and Waker had somewhat different taste in decor, and it seemed to extend to holiday decorations. And how to shove them away for the year. "She obviously appreciates it and how easy it to find things under her father's face."

The same would not be said of wrapped gifts. "My expectations aren't any higher than NEWT examiners." Reasonable. And Waker wanted all O's. "I'll charm them until Christmas so she can't open them and you can't try to rewrap them. Even if I manage an age line. I wonder if I could do one for people younger and older than me." She gave him a look. Only... "But if your mum comes to watch her and tries to leave something under there, I'd hate for her to be pushed back." How humiliating would that be for the young homemakers? Waker wanted her future mother in law to think the very best.

Thoughts of Mrs. Carter were replaced by her son, his lips, his fingers skillfully sliding over tights, finding ways to rid her of them without charms, as expertly as he might block a quaffle. Waker knew quidditch.

He mouth lingered on his with an mmm and a pout before her attention was torn between his sweetness and chicolate's. It wasn't that Waker preferred cocoa to George's hands, only that she needed to satisfy one hunger to make the best of satisfying the other.

"It's going to take more than that to break through these secrets," she told him, cupping the cocoa, taking a deep sip. Brown eyes fluttered shut. But he'd already put a warm flush in her cheeks. "Pizza might be part of the password."

She indeed managed to eat before it went cold, and by that time, Waker was washing her hands and face in preparation for decorating. There was another pile of baby clothes in the bathroom. At least they were folded neatly, she analyzed, as she reached for her toothbrush.

"Can you find that channel playing Christmas music on the wireless?" She called, squeezing out toothpaste in the neatest possible way. "Not too loud, we don't want to break the statue!" Which would have been impossible, as Waker had already soundproofed the flat when they'd learned the joy of healthy baby lungs.

“Do you even know me?” George knew that she did. At least well enough to know he wouldn’t read that book if his graduation had depended on it. And even if he wouldn’t read it, that sounded like some medieval type of punishment. Back when witches were burned. He knew a little history, anyway.

He was not going to start arguing helmets again with her. George pursed his lips slightly and pushed them to the side, narrowing his eyes on her as he considered what he could say instead. “I bet you bumped into a few things growing up. And doing that helped you learn to not keep... doing it.” After the third time of hitting his head on an open cupboard door, he learned to feel above it if he was leaned under, or he would hit his head for a fourth time.

It wasn’t the hardest concept for George.

Of course Waker knew the rules. George couldn’t help the eye roll that followed, however funny it was to him. As if she might show up at a game with rules in hand to point out every breaking of them that the referee didn’t catch. The biggest problem in regards to that was that he wouldn’t put it past her. Amusement was too easy to spot on his face as he smirked; she’d almost mucked it up. “I’m saying... if she catches a golden snitch before I score... then I’d lose no matter what.”

His smirk deepened. George could definitely keep lessons right on the sofa. “Wherever you want it, love.”

A hand waving dismissively was his response to the possibility of infant OCD. Then again, it was Waker’s kid...

Eyes widened at the thinly veiled insult. “You didn’t complain about my wrapping job when it came to your gifts.” Not that George liked to wrap anything, let’s be honest. Then again, the possibility of age lining his mum did have George considering it, if for no other reason than the laughs.

After dinner, when Waker went to tidy herself up, George cuddled Amelia on the couch while they watched the toy quidditch players zip around in circles overhead. “What?” His voice was raised, glancing towards where she was absentmindedly. When she repeated her request, George groaned as he pushed himself off the couch, as if he couldn’t be bothered. Though after a few slices of pizza and a couple mugs of hot cocoa, he just really wanted to lounge with his daughter.

His free hand fumbled with the dials before he came across the unmistakable bells that sounded out in all the popular Christmas music. George scratched himself before turning around, lightly bouncing the tired little girl on his hip. He twirled his wand, weaving it slowly around fingers as he waited. “So I can just start putting the baubles on?”

Did she know him?! “I’m pretty sure your aversion to text books is how I met you…” Properly. In a lab table sort of way. The trophies before that had been all clean fun. (And yet arguably the beginning of a tale that had spawned their very own pumpkin-headed trophy).

If George had a point— and Waker’s open-mouthed response betrayed that he did— she wasn’t going to voice that. “Yes, but we want to learn from our parents' mistakes, don’t we?” Waker had attempted to baby-proof even the already-baby-proofed items in their home. Twice. "Not that mine weren’t amazing. And not that yours aren’t!”

She nearly went into panic mode getting that off her tongue. She always worried that George’s mum didn’t like her enough, even though she’d always been lovely. “She can learn not to walk into walls when she’s old enough to walk.” Which should be any week now, if she was the overachiever Waker was sure she was…

“I’m saying... if she catches a golden snitch before I score... then I’d lose no matter what.”

“I’m sure the Cannons are better than that,” she said, teasing. Amelia might have been instilling a strong sense of bias in her, but she thought the seven players in bright orange could beat a baby. They were coming along, had won a few games. “How’s the new coach?” Maybe that would pacify him over her lack of quidditch knowledge.

Though Waker was sure his promise to tutor her wherever she wanted was sincere.

“You didn’t complain about my wrapping job when it came to your gifts.”

“I’m the only one opening my gifts. I don’t mind, it’s just that other people might think you have no thumbs.” (Waker knew better. George was unsurprisingly skilled with all ten of his digits.) Smiling a little, she looked down at the ring with Amelia’s birthstone. “My favorite ones aren’t ever wrapped, anyway.”

---

The dilemma of having to repeat herself with a mouth full of toothpaste was short-lived. Music soon drifted into the bathroom, adding to the festive warmth of the flat. Which would soon be more festive, because it would be decorated in an organized way. Waker brushed away diligently, privately humming a word here and there of the familiar jingle.

“Yes, but don’t just dump them out on the floor!” She called, before a healthy swish of mouthwash.

After that and washing her face, she reached into the neat little cupboard for a fresh towel— and promptly screamed.

It stared at her, unblinking, its face even bigger than Amelia’s, when compared with its body. For a moment, she’d been sure it was a huge rat or a mutated bat. With fuzzy red hat and curled, striped shoes, it looked like Halloween had mated with Christmas. It lounged atop her perfectly folded, fluffy stack of white towels, legs crossed, hands behind its head as if it were under a beach cabana.  “What is that?” Her wand was out, threatening the unmoving object.

“George!” She called, darting out of the bathroom, down the little hallway. When she reappeared in the living room, it was to narrowly miss being swatted in the face by a tiny snitch. “Why is that thing having a holiday in our bathroom cupboard?!"

Waggled eyebrows answered her as George grinned. Those were perfect, more innocent times. Or scratch the innocent. George knew what he was doing when he climbed into the trophy case. He just hadn’t known if it was working until they kissed in the dungeon potion lab room. “You were an excellent tutor.” Always making sure he kept his attention when they studied.

“You mean the mistakes your folks made by having a straight O student?” George grinned and put laced hands behind his head, shrugging. “I’m all for telling our kid to not study and join the Quidditch team, love.”

Though her dig at the Cannons history of poor performance did sting a bit, he couldn’t help but laugh and give her props for it. She could keep him on his toes with her wit if she put effort into it. The new assistant coach, however, made his laughter ebb off, a soft sigh escaping. “She’s ruthless.” Hence why he had an ice charm on his knee. “She thinks we don’t work hard enough, so we’re always running drills.” George rolled his eyes. “She obviously doesn’t know how hard you push me at home.” His grin was sly.

Two thumbs up answered her no thumb inquiry, though one hand quickly turned into a ‘V’ shape in front of his mouth. “You don’t always need your thumbs, love.” He stuck his tongue out at her playfully. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She didn’t like her gifts wrapped; George would happily remind her that later, when they were cuddled up in bed.

---

He heard don’t and dump as he was starting to lift the box over. George carefully sat it down, concerned with how well she knew him. With Amelia on his hip, his wand was tucked away and he picked up one of the santa baubles, setting his hook over a branch. He’d gotten through three of them before the scream startled him. He nearly dropped it, catching it at the last moment, stumped over with Amelia almost on the floor.

“What?” He huffed as he juggled Amelia, righting himself and turning towards the hallway. George started towards her, nearly running into her. “Why is what thing?” He handed off their daughter before pushing past her, frowning as he came into the bathroom.

Until he saw what it was. And then he burst out laughing, leaning against the doorway. “Oh my god, no she didn’t.” He laughed harder, realizing how priceless Waker’s face must’ve been! Tears started forming that he quickly wiped away, finally getting ahold of himself. He picked up the House Elf on a Shelf and brought it out. “You put it around the house until Christmas. Supposed to let Santa know who’s behaving.”

He was still laughing as he tossed the raggedy looking house elf at her. “Don’t give it a sock or anything, or it’ll be gone.” Because Santa believed in free labor. “Emmylou must’ve brought it over. We used to freak each other out by hiding it.” She would love knowing she'd gotten Waker. He tried to hide his mirth by biting his lips, shrugging, looking away from her face. "So!" George picked up another bauble and placed it on the tree.

Even if they now lived together, were properly engaged, and had a baby together, George still managed to bring heat to the Ravenclaw graduate’s cheeks— which were hard to hide, given that they were nearly as huge as Amelia’s infant ones. Even so, the words ‘excellent’ and ‘tutor’ paired together had always been one of many goals. George might have had something besides books in mind— Waker did, too, though she wasn’t about to voice it, since it should have obvious— but she still appreciated the compliment. But then… “You were, too,” she admitted, breaking her own rule about coming clean. It still didn’t mean she was admitting anything other than George’s skills at imparting knowledge. He knew about things Waker had failed to learn in school. “Your studiousness could use work, though.”

She laughed a little, but shook her head in an eye-rolly way. It was hard to explain why she wanted to be different than he parents— who were lovely and successful people— and Waker felt a little guilty even thinking about it. But now George was forcing her to linger there. “I just mean they… didn’t always have time, you know.” Which was strange to admit, because as much as Waker loved her daughter, she had also been anxious to get back to work. Balancing a career and family was harder than any NEWT she’d taken (and passed, with an O), and she was doing it much sooner than she’d anticipated. And her priorities were now much different than she’d imagined they’d be. “They made time for academics, of course, and that was very important.”

There, she felt a little less guilty.

“Our child will not be one of those students who spends 12 hours a day on a sports field and never does any homework!” She was huffy and self-assured as she said it. But she sensed a disagreement. “If she wants to join a quidditch team after she does all of her homework, she can, but there are going to be ground rules.”

The word ‘ground’ was almost as important as the word ‘rules.’

Waker frowned a bit as he described his coach. On the one hand, Waker thought it was admirable that the Cannons had hired a woman, and that she wasn’t going to let anyone slack. On the other, ruthless wasn’t a word she liked to hear when she thought about sports, especially Quidditch. And especially after George’s fall. “Drills are a foundation, though, aren’t they? Like memorizing properties of a potion or certain wand movements. And they sound like they take place close to the grass.”

But then… “It sounds like you need to be pushed harder at home!” The cheek of him! But Waker hoped she was pushing all of his buttons in the right way, at the end of the day, just he like he did with hers.

He was certainly pushing them hard with that visual. Waker felt he cheeks turning pink again, and this time they were quickly making their way to red. She was glad Amelia hadn’t picked up on that signal yet.

---

There was nearly another fright as George almost barreled into her— he was so fast!— but he was thankfully a much prettier sight than the thing lurking in their cabinet. She turned on her heel after him, hovering at the edges, half afraid to set her eyes on it again; she wondered whether it might frighten Amelia, who was still in her father’s arms. She was spending more nights in her own little nursery. They didn’t need the baby having nightmares before she could talk.

“Who didn’t?!” She asked, or, rather, demanded.

George was crying with happiness.

Waker’s face told him how outraged she was about that. Their cabinet looked like it needed an exterminator, and he was delighting in this— Christmas tradition.

Wizards!

Much as she wanted to be part of the wizarding culture, this particular pastime had evaded her.

But then Waker had only heard of the muggle equivalent in passing, having narrowly escaped it with age and a pair of parents who had told her truthfully when she asked whether there was a Santa Claus.

The answer to her question— who! Because she’d wildly begun to think Amelia had managed it— came, and it all started to make sense.

“Emily can have it back,” Waker said, managing to calm down with a heave of her shoulders. She straightened up and tucked hair behind her ears. But it was in vain, because a moment later thing was flying her way. Waker let out a high-pitched squeal and jumped back toward the wall. Her eyes followed it to the ground; it smiled up at her with unblinking eyes. “I thought our flat was infested!” She called after him, as he laughed his way back to the living room. Waker frowned and, after a moment of hesitation, leaned down to pick it up. It gave her the creeps.

"Neither of us need to know if Santa is watching,” she continued, as she made her way after him. “And Amelia is too young. Besides, I always behaved fine without…” She gestured with her wand hand, still off-put and afraid to look at it for it too long.

She set it own carefully on the coffee table, and stupidly scooted it away from her cocoa mug on second thought. She looked back up at George as he turned his attention to the tree. “Please give it back to her. You can scare her with it, just keep it away from me.” She pointed at a branch above his head, nevertheless. “A little to the left. I think it would look nice there, with one of the owl ones under it.”

George prided himself on the way he could embarrass Waker. That after all they had seen together, she could still blush as red as rudolph’s nose, it made him happy. It was one of those things he loved about her. And those occasions where she caught him off guard, surprised him, made him blush... it was nice, too. That they were still surprising each other, kid and all. Not that Amelia was very old, of course, and not that they weren’t still young.

“So... it’s good to make time for fun too, you mean?” He grinned and bounced his eyebrows suggestively. As if the most strict parent would relent. George licked his lips and shrugged. “I guess it’s hard, right? To be so busy with your career and then to... worry about your kid at the same time. The ultimate balancing act.” For a visual, he put his arms out, as if he were balancing over something life threatening. Lava or spikes or something, yeah.

Ground rules, of course, were a little out of his jurisdiction. George would never hold his kids back from trying something new. Or he didn’t think he would. At this point in his life, it seemed the most reasonable thing, to push them to do whatever they wanted. He wasn’t going to point out the fact that he had been one of those students, mostly because he didn’t want to get into an argument. Not while setting up Christmas decorations.

George shrugged half heartedly at her attempt to make his new coach sound not so bad. He thought their training had been hard enough before she came along, now it often felt nearly impossible! How would they be the best if they were limping around and sore all the time? He laughed at her words, though, enjoying the playful banter there. “You could push on me harder, love.” He gave her a wink.

---

Through tears of joy, he saw the look on her face, and it only served to make him laugh harder.

George had to bit his lip rather hard to keep from letting out another giggle fit. Emily already had one, little did his darling fiancé know. He did let out a good laugh at the thought of infested House Elves on the Shelves. That would be a way to get her back... put up all sorts of different ones around her flat!

Eyes rolled as she continued to justify why they didn’t need it. “You could say we don’t need any of this, then, because she’s too young to enjoy it and we already know the holiday is only in our heads.” He shook his head and sighed, about to go for another bauble. “I can’t.” Had she not understood him before?

Hand stopped after he picked up another ball, staring at it. “You do know that no one is going to care if an owl is under this particular bauble or not, right?” And so he put it on the tree where he thought it ought to go. “The elf will hop around the apartment on his own, Waker, regardless of what we desire.” As if to make a point, the house elf had already vanished from the spot she’d set him on the table.

By this point, Amelia had started to crawl-scoot over to them, drool making up a good portion of her chin as she babbled for a brief moment. She was seeing something new to pull on, and she was making her way quickly towards the tree.

If only a bit ago, Waker had been almost ready to make good on George’s offer of pushing him harder, now she was nearly ready to break a Wizarding law or two at the tears in his eyes. Oh, she’d make him cry! It was lucky for him that he managed to keep that laugh in.

“There’s a difference between showing her some baubles and singing carols and…” She gestured to the horrible thing. “Because even if she can’t remember any it, there’s early childhood development to consider and… the sanity of her parents.” In other words, Waker could fall asleep to cocoa and twinkling lights. Evil toys, definitely not.

Bickering about safe things, like Christmas ornaments that didn’t lurk in unsuspecting places, calmed her a little bit. But Waker was lulled by the false sense of security that came with such tradition.

The elf would… “Hop?” She repeated, instead of letting him know that the human eye could be easily drawn to a lopsided concentration of decorations. She turned to cast the thing another wary look, but it had already confirmed George’s horror story. Waker shuddered and looked around wildly.

“Homenum Revelio won’t work,” she said, agitatedly, staring toward the kitchen, where knives lay shiny in their drawer. Suddenly her mind raced with all of the would-be weapons in their small flat, and not because Amelia was learning to grab everything at ankle height. “Can’t we summon it?” And without waiting, she tried.

It was fruitless: whatever magic had been put into the elf seemed not only childproof, but wizard-proof. “It had better stay out of our bedroom,” she warned, shooting George a look as she reached down to scoop up Amelia and an ornament both. “It’s alright,” she cooed at the baby, much more reassuringly. “Daddy knows the sofa will be his bed if it doesn’t.” She grinned, suddenly, and offered the child the owl.

Guiding her tiny hand gently, Waker helped Amelia hang her first ornament. “She has an eye for it.” Unlike some people.