Conspicuously running her palm over the bottom edge of the cottony material upon which she lay on her stomach, beside a rather likable lion, Waker made the appearance of looking over the lake and not being bothered by the wrinkles in the spare blanket she kept in her trunk for most of every term. Clearly her Folding Charms weren’t up to par.

Folding her arms pretzel-style beneath her chin, she rested the side of her head on her lanky limbs as if they were a pillow, and looked unabashedly at George. She didn’t need to squint now, to imagine that they were at the beach, as they had been that summer. It was very easy picture while staring at the warm, friendly, and always infectiously adventurous Gryffindor.

George made her forget about things like N.E.W.T.s and time tables. (Well, at least, put them on the back burner... without any unexpected, hazardous, quill-feather-induced fires, thank you very much). “Are you excited about quidditch?” She asked needlessly, knowing the answer; he’d earned it, she thought. He’d earned his place back on the team, perhaps much more so than any of the others, though Waker might have been a touch biased. Quidditch wasn’t her passion, but she liked the idea of being Team George, and, surprisingly, she liked the idea of everyone knowing it. (Mr. Matthews included).

Propping herself up a bit, elbow now pressed into the blanket, and body turned slightly to the side so that she faced him more properly, she reached out and touched his cheek with her other hand. Six months ago, she wouldn’t have dared even dream about such a gesture, not toward anyone, least of all her apparent (on initial inspection) opposite. Hands and feet inside the cart at all times. But now she reveled in it, small and brief moments that felt like private centuries, and which were always exciting in their simplicity.

George laid on his back, one leg bent at the knee in a very casual and comfortable position, his head turned to the side as he watched her. She was beautiful, and he constantly had to remind himself that somehow he’d managed to get the trophy talking head girl on his arm. Good things came out of everything, and he wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t been a jackass in his first sixth year. He didn’t mind that he was stuck at Hogwarts; it gave him the opportunity to meet her, the girl who somehow kept him out of trouble most of the time.

What was life without a little adventure and risk, though? He bit his lip and grinned around it as she turned her attention to him. He’d all ready seen the lake… and seen a lot more of it than he’d expected with Waker. It had been such a spur of the moment thing… they’d been walking down to the lake (for what, he didn’t remember now; perhaps just a walk after the first week of classes started to settle down). Then he just… started pulling his uniform off. The tie had been left up in a heap on his bed though.

All it had taken at that point was a little tugging at her hands and promises that of all the times he’d gone in, he’d only really been caught a handful of times (or so…). And look where he was now! A grin and some convincing later and they’d have the adventure of the day. Well… at least up until that point in the day.

“Are you excited about quidditch?”

Chuckling, he licked his lips and glanced up to the sky, watching the clouds pass lazily. He thought about the question a moment before he finally turned on to his side, facing her, his arm tucked under his head as his hand reached towards his back slightly. “I am. Though I’m going to miss causing chaos in the stands with you.” That had been an experience as well, the body painting. A not so innocent grin appeared on his face at the memory.

When her soft hand touched his cheek, he closed his eyes for a moment and smiled, finally turning his head to the side and kissing the palm of her hand. This feeling she gave him… it was odd, and it was unexpected. Something to remind him not to go too recklessly into everything. Opening his eyes, he watched her a moment, kissing her palm again before moving forward slowly, leaning closer to her. His hand reached out and rested gently against her side, his lips pressing against her forehead.

Now that he was a bit closer to her, nearly touching, he let his hand rest lazily on her side. He reached out and tugged his shirt over, balling it up and stuffing it under his ear for a pillow, keeping his eyes trained on her. “What about you, though? Quidditch got you all hot and bothered?” He grinned and moved his now free arm between them, brushing some hair out of her face.

Waker smiled, her own face more blatantly guilty than George’s mask of innocence. The things she’d got up to with him... it was remarkable. She still had a top with blue paint dried on it, even after several washes. And for once, she didn’t mind. It was a token of memory, more so than any transcript or school merit could aim to be. (It had taken a while, of course, for her to prioritize, and she was still working at it.)

“We can still have fun when Hufflepuff murders Slytherin,” she pointed out. (Friends on the green team aside.) “And I think we just nearly enraged a merman or four, so that should count for something.” In retrospect, it was much more hilarious and less terrifying than it had seemed in the water, where she’d been torn between groping her George-shaped flotation device and fending off water fiends. In the end, the option that required less wands and more hands had won.

It was Waker’s turn to close her eyes; her cheeks bunched under her lashes as George’s lips touched her forehead. The hand with which she’d grazed his cheek-- the palm he’d kissed-- found its way to his shoulder, where a drop of water had escaped the sun (and Waker’s drying charms). She stroked it away and then lay content beside him, looking back at the young man who’d convinced Waker to have a swim in the Hogwarts lake.

“Oh, definitely,” she said, not blushing. She could joke about these things when she fancied, and especially here, alone with the Gryffindor. “Those bludgers, and the ref’s uniform... being a million meters in the sky with nothing to fall on... I just...” She sighed and shook her head apologetically. Not too hard, so as not to let the vaguely-damp strand of hair fall back onto her cheek.

Leaning closer, she finally kissed George properly. “Those bleachers are a mood-ruiner, though.”

“We can still have fun when Hufflepuff murders Slytherin.”

Laughing at that, he nodded in agreement. “Or when Ravenclaw plays them.” It was remarkable how genial and sincere most Hufflepuffs could be. Until you got on the Quidditch pitch. Even then, they were probably the fairest of the houses when they played… but not by much. It had certainly shocked him the first time he’d experienced it. But that was part of the game; it brought out the beast in people, and it was always interesting to see. Especially when the younger students found their confidence.

“And I think we just nearly enraged a merman or four, so that should count for something.”

His eyes lit up at that and he grinned like a kid in Zonko’s. “Nearly? When they shake their spears at you, I think that’s their way of saying ‘let’s have some tea and biscuits.’” He winked at her and sighed. “Was it really our fault that we were trying to untie the plimpy’s legs?” It had certainly been an adventure, though he was glad to be breathing air next to her. He didn’t mind redoing his bubble head charm, but something about being able to actually talk with Waker was very pleasant.

“Oh, definitely… Those bludgers, and the ref’s uniform.. being a million meters in the sky with nothing to fall on… I just…”

He laughed and rolled towards her, his head moving so his forehead hit the blanket; the ref’s uniform? Shaking his head, he rolled back and grinned at her. “I figured that’s what got your heart thumping. I’ll have to remember that…” He figured he’d only talk Waker into a broom ride if she felt like it. Jumping on a stick to fly into the air was a bit different than swimming in the lake. Or maybe it wasn’t… Both were a little different than your feet on the ground.

“Those bleachers are a mood-ruiner, though.”

He was still recovering from the kiss. Giving her a small grin, he leaned forward and kissed her again, sitting himself up a bit. “A mood-ruiner?” Shaking his head, he kissed her again, his hand moving down her lower back until it rested on the other side of her on the blanket, gently forcing her to move to her back to keep contact with his lips. Finally he pulled back and looked down at her. “I thought the openness of them had a twist of anxiety inducing fun. That whole… what can I get away with…”

“Or when Ravenclaw plays them.”

“Now that’s just cruel,” she sighed. “Having fun when Hufflepuff doesn’t even stand a chance.” Of course, her own house team had lost the cup only a few months ago, and Waker hadn’t been too let down. Something to do with blue skin and George’s hand prints... (Of course, comforting her favorite Maddox twin had made things a bit more somber later that evening).

“Nearly? When they shake their spears at you, I think that’s their way of saying ‘let’s have some tea and biscuits.’ ...Was it really our fault that we were trying to untie the plimpy’s legs?”

Waker wrinkled her nose. “Soggy biscuits...” She murmured. What did mermaids eat? Wait, no, she knew the answer, and didn’t want to dwell on it. In addition to raw fish and other sea prey, the legs of healthy Hogwarts students seemed a season favorite. “And you’re right, we were being good Samaritans.” If they could earn points underwater, Waker was sure George would have been awarded more than a few for Gryffindor. She had promised him, after all, that he was going to do just that this year.

“I figured that’s what got your heart thumping. I’ll have to remember that…”

The sound of his laughter made it easier to breathe. It made things feel better, even when nothing was wrong. It made Waker forget the pettiness of day-to-day life. “Do you have a ref’s uniform?” She asked suspiciously, raising a brow. Secretly (or not so secretly), she rather fancied the red and gold of a certain someone’s team. The Keeper’s gloves were especially impressive.

Waker shifted onto her back, not protesting in the slightest as George’s encouraging hand, but rather at the idea of his lips moving away from her own. She’d been quite into the kiss when he pulled back. Pouting a bit, she wondered what he was up to, when his voice answered her question.

“I thought the openness of them had a twist of anxiety inducing fun. That whole… what can I get away with…”

Rolling her eyes and moving her head slowly back and forth against the blanket, she took a moment to memorize his face for the millionth time. And then, finally: “What is with you thinking anxiety is fun?” Waker had thought that particular moment was a blast, granted. “Anyway, I like it better when we can get away with things while we’re on our own... then we’re the only two people in the world who know about them.” It was not just an issue of privacy, but there was an intimacy in it. It had come as a surprise even to her, but Waker was now attached to the idea of sharing something with just one person. It was a form trust that was new and exciting, and not quite like the trust she had in Jasper.

Putting a hand over his shoulder, so that her fingers graced the top of his back, it was Waker’s turn to be playfully forceful. She pulled George back toward her and kissed him again. “We’re going to be freezing later,” she murmured pensively against his mouth.

“Now that’s just cruel… Having fun when Hufflepuff doesn’t even stand a chance.”

Laughing softly at that, he trailed his fingers softly against her skin, finally looking up at her. “I’ll be having fun even when Ravenclaw is in that predicament, so…” He gave her an innocent expression that he quickly swapped for a cheesy grin. He still thought of the cup, and all that they’d gotten up to, quite often. George was looking forward to helping Waker get ready for another match. And her helping him. That would be just as fun.

“Soggy biscuits… And you’re right, we were being good Samaritans.”

Nodding at that, he gave her a half smile. That wasn’t often something he would associate himself with, being a do gooder. Not that he wouldn’t, he just normally didn’t get that title. But he kind of liked the ring of it, with Waker. “Soggy biscuits are the best at the bottom of your morning tea.” Licking his lips, he closed his eyes and hung his head back slightly, resting his hand on his stomach. “Mmmm…” Then he looked back at her, his grin once again plastered on his face. She made it come out so easily…

“Do you have a ref’s uniform?”

His own eyebrow rose as he tried to act sauve, leaning forward just slightly. “That’s something for you to find out…” Then he slid into a smile and scratched his cheek. “I’m sure I can fashion one up with paint…” Giving her a knowing wink, George supposed he didn’t have an actual referee uniform. Before, it wouldn’t have been a problem; why would he want to just watch the game. But now he had a reason to have the outfit, it seemed.

“What is with you thinking anxiety is fun?”

She was so cute when she pouted. “It’s a rush. That whole ‘what’s going to happen’ feeling… just leaves you feeling quite exhilarated after, doesn’t it?” It’s always after that you appreciate what you went through. Some of their more outlandish outings had been like that; being in the trophy case, the potions dungeon, the quidditch stands… And now the lake. Though to be fair, all that had happened at school. It had been less taboo over the summer, for whatever reason.

“Anyway, I like it better when we can get away with things while we’re on our own… then we’re the only two people in the world who know about them.”

But then he couldn’t brag about them… though George supposed that was the point. To be able to share something personal and unknown between the two of them, and leave the rest of the world guessing… He supposed he preferred those moments himself… if he had to admit it. If it still caused the heart to beat faster, that little bit of anxiety… adrenaline, then it seemed more fun. Though anything with Waker tended to turn into fun, whether they were studying or having a meal or walking near the lake.

There were times George didn’t share what he had been out doing. This would be one of those. No one needed to know where they’d been… no one had gotten hurt, no harm had been done, and the plimpy was free to swim another day with its legs untied. “Aren’t you the romantic.” He looked down at her, his smile reaching his eyes before they looked over her face, admiring the features that made up Waker. He really cared about her. It was an odd feeling to have all of a sudden, his epiphany of what she had started to mean to him.

“We’re going to be freezing later.”

He was distracted in his thoughts by her tugging him back to her, which he did without resistance. He wasn’t really sure what to do about his feelings, now that he’d uncovered them. A few moments after she spoke, and he’d gotten some thought process back (something about realizing how much he cared about her made him suddenly incapable of speech), he took a moment to taste her lips again, gently, intimately feeling her so close. It was warm there…

And then he pulled back slowly, rubbing the tip of his nose with hers before smiling down at her. “You mean, with as little as you’re wearing in the Scotland air, you’re not all ready?” He had been shivering very slightly since they came out of the water, and he always came to believe that warming charms were the best things invented. Glancing over to their clothes laid out over the low hanging tree branches, he rubbed his chin in thought, leaning slightly on Waker. “They might be dry by now…” Putting a slow warming charm on them had given them more reason to relax on the blanket.

Glancing down at her, he kissed her again, moving to her chin. “But then again-” He placed another kiss next to the last one, moving slowly up to her ear with every few words. “-Perhaps I’m keeping-” And again. “-You warm-” and a few more before he reached her ear. “-Enough…” He nuzzled against her ear and kissed her cheek, resting there a moment. “Maybe it’s your turn to have your back to the wind…” He grinned and closed his eyes, feeling completely relaxed and content, minus the chill on his back.

“I’ll be having fun even when Ravenclaw is in that predicament, so…”

Waker blinked lethargically, shaking her head against the blanket. “I said I’d help you win the cup... I didn’t say which one.” She remembered the promise she’d made last year, and tapped his nose softly, her eyes widening a bit as she appraised him suspiciously and with a hint of competitiveness in her features. She didn’t really mind who won the Quidditch cup, but it was fun to tease George. Besides, she rather thought Ravenclaw was good...

“Soggy biscuits are the best at the bottom of your morning tea... Mmmm…”

A sort of ‘ew’ or ‘ugh’ or some marriage of the two seemed to pass Waker’s lips as George described his fondness for biscuits swimming in tea. “The texture sounds repulsive,” she admitted, giving him an apologetic but also somewhat comically judgmental glance. Like all things in her life, Waker was often particular about the way she went about eating things... but not always. Despite mealtime routines and schedules, she had quite the appetite, and could hold her own against hungry teenage boys.

“I’m sure I can fashion one up with paint…”

Laughing and rolling away for a moment (quite the feat, considering George’s magnetic wink), Waker envisioned the boy painted in referee stripes... a rather transparent, athletic, and spirited haute couture. “Just paint?” She mused aloud, giving him a moment before turning her face back toward him. “Hmm... It sounds like an improvement over the already ridiculously impressive referee ensemble. I think you could make a career out of this. I like your ambition.” And there she kissed him again.

“It’s a rush. That whole ‘what’s going to happen’ feeling… just leaves you feeling quite exhilarated after, doesn’t it?"

There was truth in his words; it was something Waker would never have admitted, or would have done her best to protest, before she’d come to spend more time with the Gryffindor. Even now, it was hard to agree even if she did in her heart. She could see his point almost as clearly as she believed in her own, and that was a huge leap for Waker Nolan. Exhilarated. George definitely made her feel that way. She smiled, studying him pensively, fondly, and said nothing.

“Aren’t you the romantic.”

“I guess I have a very good tutor...” She shrugged a bit within his grasp. There were, indeed, many things to learn outside of the classroom, and George had arguably been a better teacher in that arena than the studious Ravenclaw. She felt his gaze, and enjoyed it. She didn’t blush. It was tranquilly comforting and simultaneously exciting to feel his eyes on her.

“You mean, with as little as you’re wearing in the Scotland air, you’re not all ready?”

Anyone else might have reduced Waker to the humility of blushing, but she rather secretly reveled in hearing such a statement of... her own lack of discretion... from George’s mouth. It was, again, something to do with that insanely contagious part of the Gryffindor that had latched onto to Waker’s heart. She shook her head mildly, with a hint of sass and a hint of pride. Maybe she was becoming a lion.

“They might be dry by now…”

“No, I don’t think they are. Not yet,” she reasoned innocently enough, in response to next words.


“But then again... Perhaps I’m keeping... you warm... enough... Maybe its your turn to have your back to the wind.”

“Mmhmm... I have a one-hundred percent authentic George Carter coat,” she pointed out, follow his glance, nevertheless, toward their garments. Waker secretly didn’t mind whether they redressed that day. She brushed the tip of her finger over his eyelids as they closed, taking a selfish moment to feel the softness of the most delicate contours of his face. Finally, in a rather witchy feet, she obliged. “But if you want to trade places...” Wiggling out from under him with rather surprising skill for someone who wouldn’t dare join a school sports team, she crawled away before George could protest and tried to topple him, managing to pin him softly to the blanket. Resting her knees on either side of his trim but strong, Quidditch-toned torso she smiled down at the Gryffindor. She leaned in as if she were going to kiss him, but then paused and tilted her head away a fraction, mock frowning. “You’re right, it’s chillier up here.”

“I said I’d help you win the cup… I didn’t say which one.”

“Oh! And the feisty Ravenclaw comes out.” Smiling at her, he crinkled up his nose after the tap and blew a kiss her way. He enjoyed the bits of Waker that came out, things he hadn’t expected upon first inspection. It was refreshing and fun, learning things about someone. And someone he seemed to care about. “And like you’d prefer Gryffindor winning the house cup over the Quidditch cup.” Grinning, he tilted his head slightly. Her last year, she was Head Girl—didn’t Ravenclaw deserve to win the house just for that?

Not that he’d ever straight out say that Gryffindor shouldn’t win… that would defeat the purpose of competition. However, he did feel that Waker deserved it. She cared so much for education… though he didn’t understand, he could accept that part of her. Obviously.  She had been a very gracious tutor. A smirk appeared at that thought that he quickly tried to hide, turning his head downward slightly, almost bashful.

“The texture sounds repulsive.”

He laughed at her reaction, rolling his eyes at her obvious disgust. “Have you tried it? A good sugar biscuit soaked in tea… Mmm.” George licked his lips in thought, closing his eyes for a moment before he shook his head. “Are you saying you don’t dip your biscuits in your tea, Waker?” Shocked and feigning dismay, he let out a sad sigh. Yet another thing he was going to introduce her to, whether she wanted to be or not! A surprise, if you would, for their next breakfast together. A slightly devilish smirk started to sprout up before he reprimanded himself mentally and hiding it behind a suddenly far off looking frown of concentration. Smooth.

“Just paint? Hmm… It sounds like an improvement over the already ridiculously impressive referee ensemble. I think you could make a career out of this. I like your ambition.”

He nodded at her question, not feeling the need to add more to it. He laughed softly and kissed her back, easily amused by her. “You think I’d get hired? Professional painted referee for all Quidditch matches… Though Merlin forbid a stray bludger.” At that thought, he winced and tucked in his legs slightly at the thought, shaking his head. Then again, he had mild anxiety over that same fear on the field, though he was rather covered with protective padding. Any form of flying objects, be they bludgers or knees, going anywhere near that area always made him feel a little woozy and protective of himself. Just natural.

“I guess I have a very good tutor…”

With a look of surprise, he sat up a little, looking around with a slight frown. “Where’s the bloke so I can give him a piece of my mind?” Grinning then, he looked back to her, tilting his head and pulling her a little closer out of instinct and desire than consciously doing it. A primal instinct, of sorts, to bring what he liked most closest to him. And they were fairly close, considering the lack of uniform. And he had admired said lack of clothing since they’d gotten out of them.

“No, I don’t think they are. Not yet.”

His eyebrows rose but he merely grinned wider, his gaze quickly settling over her face and finally on her eyes, nodding slowly in agreement. “No… of course not.” Licking his lips slowly, his eyes moved to her lips before staring a moment, finally flickering back up. She made him go weak in the knees on a too common occurrence, and he was just glad that he was lying down over her.

He scoffed at her remark of authentic, as if he was anything else. Still, he grinned against her skin, in between his kisses. “You can wear it as long as you want too.” He would have gladly kept his eyes closed, body still, anything if she would keep touching him. She was like his drug, her fingers and lips enablers of his addiction.

“But if you want to trade places…”

To say that he was slightly surprised at her eagerness would put it lightly, but he moved gently aside to help her without much prodding. He did try to pull her back, but if anything that only helped when she attempted to push him over (and succeeded). He only half heartedly sat up before letting her pin him down, his breathing coming a little faster as his eyes clouded over, looking up at her. When she paused from his kiss, it was all he could do to hold himself there and wait impatiently.

“You’re right, it’s chillier up here.”

Letting out a playful growl, he pulled her down against him, kissing her deeply, his need showing through as one hand grasped the back of her head gently but firmly, fingers lost in her hair, the other resting against her back, gently digging in with a knead. She was becoming more of a tease, which was fun, oh was it fun. But it also left him with that feeling of ‘come back!’ So now he chased for it, finally pulling back slightly but keeping his lips close to hers. Grinning against them, he pressed lightly once again before letting out a satisfied noise. “It’s warmer down here.”