Waker added the last punctuation mark with a rather violent stab of her quill, so thrilled to be finished with another essay that she had for a moment forgotten her steadfast library etiquette. Her palm dropped limply atop the parchment, but she drew it away immediately. She winced at the smear of ink that was like a battle wound on the side of her hand.

N.E.W.T.s had taken hold of her soul. In the span of fourteen days, she had not only unintentionally-- alright, rather intentionally, but quite regrettably-- slapped George, but had also nearly broken her own leg wobbling back to Ravenclaw tower under the weight of various Arithmancy texts, too tired to employ a charm. She had watched a horrific scene in which a classmate practicing Human Transfiguration had almost permanently left another boy in an unpleasant form somewhere between man and donkey. And then there had been the episode involving third years, frog spawn, and muggle firecrackers: an excellent interruption to a Charms study session.

But she had survived O.W.L.s, and she was determined to survive her exit exams without being dragged off to the mental health ward of St. Mungo’s. Besides, this time she had an anchor in the form of a very attractive, very engaging Gryffindor... whom, luckily, had not discarded her since the Very Awkward and Uncomfortable Potions sessions involving snickering snakes, selfish slaps, and snogging penalties.

The very same lion was seated beside her, presumably finishing his own essay. Waker slowed in her frantic and trivial task of rubbing the criminal ink off of the side of her hand. She leaned lightly into the boy, narrowly avoiding the tiny gap between their chairs. “Can I read it?” She asked, throwing a daring glance toward his parchment and smiling. She’d loved what she’d already seen of it.

Doing homework with George put Waker at ease. Where she was usually chronically independent when it came to Library Time, she very much liked studying beside (and with) the Gryffindor. She even found herself relishing the study breaks... the last of which had been in the stacks, very dangerously close to the Restricted Section.

George had been very apologetic about the Potion’s class and the things he’d caused in there. It had taken a little time, but somehow he’d worked his way out of the doghouse. Then there had been Waker’s birthday that he’d gone all out for, since it was Waker’s birthday! And the big one-eight as well. He’d all ready passed that mile marker, and was glad to have her finally in his age group once again. In fact, he’d teased her about it for quite a while… until she was.

He hadn’t known what to get her either. What little he’d earned over the summer, doing odd jobs here and there, he’d been combining with what else he’d saved. With his mother’s advice, he’d gone with something simple: a gold necklace with a little gold plated ribbon. It was supposed to stand for the trophy room, or that’s what he’d thought. And that he thought she was first place. That was kind of silly, though, and he’d kept his opinions and thoughts on it very private.

No one needed to know he knew what feelings were.

Still, outside of a few times here and there, they seemed to be doing a lot of studying. Of course, he wasn’t against it. A grin came to his lips as he paused in his sentence, distracted with memories that flooded his forefront of ‘studying’ they had done. Then he tried to refocus and realized he’d written ‘steamy,’ which he didn’t think went with Charms very easily. Rubbing his forehead, he let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh as he marked yet another word out. Sometimes his parchment came out looking like brail, with as many mistakes he made.

Blinking in surprise as he felt her against him, he turned his head towards her, looking and grinning. Was it time for another study break? His eyes lit up at that thought, though he tried to play it cool. If anything, his desire for her only grew the longer they were together. That was how it should be, right? It was still fairly new, as far as relationships go. Perhaps not Hogwarts relationships, that sometimes ended after a lecture period, but… as for that excitement of experiences, new to share together—it was still there.

For him at least. He hoped for her too. Then again, the summer had been steamy. That ‘honeymoon’ phase they talked about, he’d experienced it firsthand. Or thought he had. And if it wasn’t… then he didn’t mind having two. Now, though, they were supposed to focus on the last year at Hogwarts. N.E.W.T.s. He normally made a funny face when someone mentioned them; if he passed, he passed. If not… well Waker wouldn’t accept failure, so he wouldn’t either.

“Can I read it?”

Playing with his quill, he finally lifted it and gently poked her in the shoulder with it. “I don’t know… can you?” Then he leaned over, not as worried about a quick kiss in the library as he was now in a class room, giving her a quick peck before pulling back. However, he finally set his quill behind his ear and pushed over the messy parchment her way. He watched her face for a moment, contemplating possible conversations right then.  Giving her a gentle nudge with his shoulder, he chuckled.

And then his mouth opened up and he was even surprised with what he had to say. “What’s your full name?” For whatever reason, his brain obviously wanted to know. And now that the question was out there in the open, he found himself curious. Because, truthfully, he wasn’t clever enough to think of any cute nicknames out of ‘Waker.’ He liked her name, though. Still… His name had a few, though normally people (often family, especially when he was younger) would call him ‘Georgie.’ Adding an ‘ie’ on to Waker only made his brain hurt, so he knew it would come out sounding odd.

Waker stared back at George, her brown gaze taking in his blue one, and the fingers which had been so intent on getting ink off her own paws instead moving instinctively, gingerly to the pretty little charm which hung around her neck, its gold resting over the buttons of her (ink-free!) blouse. There was something intently bright in the Gryffindor’s gaze, though his never-ending adventurous streak made it a challenge for even Waker to guess-- which was part of why he always kept her so interested, if also, at times, playfully exasperated.

Shaking her head lightly at him, her smile becoming more of a half-smirk, she rolled her eyes. “May I read it?” She corrected, right before diving into the task, her keen eyes already devouring the paper, analyzing it, and, though she had a hard time revealing such things aloud, silently admiring every word. George had surely worked harder than anyone this semester, though Waker might have been a touch biased. Either way, their evolved method of studying (snogging and all) had paid off, she thought.

Even as she began to read, her face was momentarily distracted. And pleasantly so. She turned more properly into his brief kiss, just before it ended. She drew away with a smile, and returned her attention to the parchment on the table, her fingers finding the little gold ribbon again, as her eyes settled back onto the sentence where they’d last preyed.

She was able to take it in more properly when George pushed it toward her, but forbade herself to lift her quill and start correcting things just yet. She wanted to read it in its entirety first. But it was something that even Waker’s trained eye couldn’t manage before George started talking. The ideas that came to him at the most random times....

“What?” She asked, blinking at the parchment but not really seeing it any longer. She pried away from it, slowly turning her face back toward his. Her cheeks bunched in a confused smile before the question really settled in her mind. She felt herself blushing for no reason at all. Her parents had given her quite the odd name; it was very plain, traditional, pleasant... except for the Waker bit. But why should she be afraid to say it? She liked it well enough, she supposed. And everyone needed a proper name at some point in their lives... resumes, public letters, diplomas.... It was just that no one had ever really asked, at least not so randomly. “Waker Lane Nolan,” she said, straightening up a bit and trying to say it with a straight, casual, most sober expression. “Why?” She couldn’t help adding, intrigued suspicion washing over her.

“And what’s yours?” She tilted her head a bit, resisting the urge to lift her quill and tap its feather against his perfect features. Why hadn’t she thought to find out before now? Hadn’t they spent hours talking about anything and everything? Now that she really pondered it, it was something she wanted to know! How had they dated for so long, and she hadn’t thought to ask his full name? What if they graduated before she ever considered asking? What if they... what? Anyway, it was almost criminal.

When she corrected herself, he gave her a cheesy grin and shrugged. “Knock yourself out there, love.” Sign of affection, right? Then he realized what he said and his grin fell just a smidge. Not enough to really notice, maybe she would think he was just smiling too wide. Love. He’d been thinking about that a lot. An odd, sinking feeling was in his gut. It wasn’t a bad thing, right? His mouth was slightly dry, and he turned his attention to the table; thankfully she was too busy eating up his essay to notice his change in mood.

He didn’t know how to go about explaining how he felt either. His mum had given him this knowing look after seeing them together over the summer, but when he’d asked ‘what,’ she merely shook her head and gave him a smile. It had been a kind of sad smile, though, that he wasn’t able to explain. He was her last child, and she wanted him to be happy. Phillip, the overachiever that he was, all ready had his ‘perfect life’ set out. Or seemed to. So maybe she had a hard time letting go of her youngest son.

Either way, she had told George she thought Waker was a lovely girl, and she couldn’t deny the positive changes she’d seen in her son, and his academic scores. Still… When he’d written home to ask her for advice for his girlfriend’s birthday, she had been all too quick to respond with the question he’d not wanted to even think of answering. And his response, though delayed, had probably been what she’d expected. So she’d offered the idea of jewelry as a hint, that George hadn’t really understood.

She was a sweet woman, though. Penelope Carter was always looking to help someone, and with the influx of letters he’d been getting, it seemed she’d decided that he could be her charity case for now. And the latest advice was ‘tell her.’ The thought made him a little sick to his stomach, though. He’d not told a girl outside his family that since… probably since the little girl he had a crush on when he was six.

“What?”

He’d even distracted himself with the question, which was good. His mind could only take so much abstract what ifs before it started to rebel and he did something stupid. Like scale the library stacks… that sounded kind of fun. He smiled a little at her confusion, tilting his head at her and resting his cheek on his fist, elbow against the wooden table.

“Waker Lane Nolan.”

Lane… A grin came over him as he ran it over in his head, then saying it softly outloud, slowly and then normally. “Waker Lane Nolan… Waker… Lane… Nolan… That’s cute.” He shrugged a little at the question, feeling a little self conscious of the reasoning behind it. Now, what could he do with Lane? Before he could get much farther in that train of thought, though, she asked him a question and he blinked, frowning just slightly as he looked at her. What was his what?

Then his eyebrows rose and he laughed. “George Jacob Carter. The amazing. That’s not legally on my certificate, but I was thinking of getting it added on.” Winking at her, he leaned on his other arm, closer to her before letting out a soft groan. “Are you done with that then?” Then he recalled why he’d wanted to know her middle name. “Lanie…” Then his eyes widened and he shook his head very quickly, sitting up straight. His smile fell a little and he ran a hand over his mouth. “No… no Waker fits you best.” Nodding to himself, he gave her a smile, slightly guilty behind t. She couldn’t have a nickname that sounded exactly like his previous fling. Or whatever Laney had been. She seemed to be doing well herself. What little he’d talked to her.

Scratching his chin, he finally shook his head and looked at the parchment. Then a grin came to him and his eyes lit up slightly. “Is it time for another study break?”

She paused to stare at him discreetly, curiously, but almost elated, at the little term of affection. Few things escaped Waker’s over-analytical ears. It was a good feeling, to be called something as seemingly simple by George. Sure, friends and parents and old relatives had used it, but rarely anyone attracted to her-- men in alleys willing to leer at anything female notwithstanding.

The paper, however impressive it was, particularly since George had been so sincere about applying himself as of late, could not keep Waker’s attention from its author. Her almond eyes followed his movements, the ease with which he rested against the table, as if the library were a lounge for their own disposal. Waker had always, secretly longed to be like that, and with him, she often could be.

She let out a little breathy laugh as he repeated it and proclaimed it cute. Her name was cute? Certainly not as cute as George Jacob Carter The Amazing. “Mmm... I think I like the original version,” she admitted. “You don’t want to give your poor children five names, however amazing it would be...” She teased, her eyebrows inclining slightly as she stared at him.

Lanie? Lanie? No one had ever called her that. For whatever reason, it brought a flush to her light, almost-olive complexion. And clearly George had second-guessed himself, a rare feat.

“No… no Waker fits you best.”

“Thanks, yeah...” She laughed. “I like the way my name sounds on your lips.”

Looking both ways, not able to entirely suspend her usual Library Paranoia, she made sure that the librarian was nowhere in sight before bestowing a kiss offering to said lips. It was the least she could do, return the favor. She smiled against him, her eyes mildly flittering between sleepily-open and lightly closed. “I think...” She mused, taking her sweet time. She kissed him again, reaching out to smooth her hand down his shirt. “George Jacob Carter...” Another kiss. “The Amazing...” And again. “That it is.”

Oh, and... “Peachy essay, by the way. We’ll work on the conclusion.”

“Mmm… I think I like the original version.”

Raising his eyebrow at that, an amused look came over him as he rested his chin more into his fist. “That so?” He liked his name, it had served him well in the past. And he liked how she said it. ‘George’ had a different meaning when it left her lips. And if anything, it made him want to kiss her again. Not that he didn’t all ready want to, but…

“You don’t want to give your poor children five names, however amazing it would be…”

“And epic. Though I think they would have to earn ‘The Amazing’ to have it added on, really. A rite of passage.” Nodding at that, he let his hand drop and laid it on top of his other, leaning forward slightly on the table, slightly towards her. How he wasn’t falling over yet… well there wasn’t that much distance between them. And if he fell, he could work with it. Drag her under the table or something in search of… pygmy puffs…

Now he wanted to casually fall off the chair.

“Thanks, yeah… I like the way my name sounds on your lips.”

He grinned and nodded. “I agree completely.” His eyebrows rose slightly, briefly, before pressing back against her lips, parting them just so before she started to talk again. He gave a half smile and let his eyebrows rise without opening his eyes. She thought…? He didn’t have to wait long, and the kiss distracted him again. Then she was talking again and he let out a soft laugh against her lips before his breath caught, feeling her hand. A familiar feeling started to well up and he leaned into the kiss a little more.

He moved his own hand out, though he couldn’t conveniently do what she had without being naughty, so he settled for resting it on her knee, moving it up the outside of her thigh, his own knee turning towards her. He rotated his hand forward, spreading his fingers out, pulling her leg slightly towards him, inching forward on the edge of his seat. Then her next statement sunk in and he paused in his movement to her neck. “Work on the conclusion? Who needs that in an essay?” And his words mumbled off as he pressed against her neck, teasing her skin with the tip of his tongue before sucking lightly.

His hand moved up slightly more still and he let out a deeper, heavier breath against her skin, pulling back long enough to press once again against her lips. When he paused for air, he exhaled with “I love you,” loud enough to be heard by her, soft enough that others might think he just had a sudden cough in the midst of their snog.

“That so?”

“Why try to improve something that doesn’t need it?” She mused, having somehow been prodded into a light, banter-y debate by his question. It was an ironic point coming from Waker Nolan, who had proved in her six-years-and-some-odd-weeks at Hogwarts that there always room for improvement. But when it came to George, and his name, and his kisses, and the things they talked about for hours on end, she wouldn’t change anything (their hilariously different approaches to schoolwork aside).

“And epic. Though I think they would have to earn ‘The Amazing’ to have it added on, really. A rite of passage.”

It was admittedly a very ‘George’ thing to say. Waker grinned, shaking her head and looking down at the table top. “As long as it doesn’t involve mermaids...” She innocently recalled their most recent venture into the lake. Which had ended with quite the eventful dry-off-and-get-warm session. “But you know, you’ll also have to fit in their mother’s name. Even the people in Barcelona will be shocked.”

Only the pair of them together could make library chairs a potential liability. It was very  that neither had fallen yet, but then perhaps they had George’s quidditch-trained, ever-lucky balance and Waker’s... obsessively practiced balance to thank.

If anyone happened to walk by, Waker put on her invisible George-inspired side-visors and pretended not to notice. They deserved a bit of snogging, didn’t they? Her essay was finished, and his was coming alone splendidly...

“Work on the conclusion? Who needs that in an essay?”

“Every--” Waker stopped, her eyes moving down quite slowly in the general direction of her legs. They then moved sideways, staring suspiciously at George-- but she didn’t move his hand from its place. There was library snogging, and then there was having a good feel in public places. The latter was a bit more of a hurtle for the Ravenclaw, but she did like the feel of his hand exactly where it was... or where it was going. “All essays need conclusions,” she murmured, more slowly and reasonably. “They tie together your points with your thesis and lend nicely to future arguments without being simply another transition paragraph.” All of this while George’s fingers and mouth worked their magic. Waker was rather proud of herself.

Succumbing to the now-official study break-- which number were they on today?-- she let her eyes shut a bit and tried not to shiver or forget to breathe while George teased her neck. What had she done on study breaks before the Gryffindor came into her life? Continue studying? She couldn’t imagine surviving this year without him.

“I love you.”

She heard him, but she didn’t really hear him. The words were so foreign... or, rather, something Waker only ever heard from her mother on a train platform, or n old friend while laughing over private jokes. (And there weren’t many people with whom she was so close to begin with.) In the latter case, it didn’t really mean what the words implied, and in the former... well, everyone’s mum loved them, and every loved their mums.

It was the first time in over two years Waker had heard it and really felt the shock of it. George loved her. Did that mean George was in love with her?

But if it wasn’t love she felt, what was it?

It had to be...

It was.

And yet, Waker couldn’t find her voice. She stiffened a little, her lips becoming still. Drawing in a silent breath, she opened her eyes to look at him for a long moment; it was an almost painful, confused look. “What?” And then a blush crept into her cheeks and she averted her gaze. “I’m sorry, I--”

What was she doing?!

“Why try to improve something that doesn’t need it?”

“Mm… too true.” Smirking at that, he rolled his eyes slightly before watching her. She amused him, gave into his rebellious streak with small steps, making him not overdue himself as well. She held him back with most insanely stupid plans he came up with, and let him get away with some of the smaller ones. Like the lake. Or snogging in the book stacks. He was going to try his luck soon on the prefect’s bathroom… But that was still bubbling in his head.

“As long as it doesn’t involve mermaids…”

His grin widened, an opposite effect of her innocent expression. Yes, he wasn’t very… good at hiding innocence. Even when he was younger, he didn’t know well enough to get away from his mess he’d made before denying it was him, screwdriver and bolts in his hands behind his back. Because clearly it was either gnomes or his nitwit of an older brother. Though their logic always beat him when it came to how anyone else’s hands could get into the little areas that his could. And for some’s benefit, they were still good at getting into tight spaces.

Because, really, if at the age of seven you can get your grubby little hand into an appliance to undo the bolt without looking… then by the age of eighteen, well, the mind could expand on its own. “No, no, that was someone else’s rite of passage.”

“But you know, you’ll also have to fit in their mother’s name. Even the people in Barcelona will be shocked.”

Biting his lower lip, he felt his stomach twist at the thought. Sure they had joked about it before, but suddenly George didn’t mind the idea of it all. He could see himself with Waker, arguing over names, choosing outlandish and obscene ones just to watch her get irritated with him. Because that’s what was important in relationships right? To keep the amusement and fun alive, even in the little things. He did grin, however, recalling the conversation of Barcelona and jockey Quidditch.

“The beautiful? The Amazing-and-Beautiful. I think that would make most jealous of how fantastic these kids will be.” Why was he getting so excited about this? He didn’t want kids. But the prospect, with Waker, was approachable. It was feasible. And at some point, in his head, it made sense. He could see himself there, which scared him a little bit…

“Every—”

George pretended not to notice the look on her face with his wandering fingers, only acknowledging it with a small smirk that he couldn’t hold back. Still… there was a table, no one was around right then, and he could always put his hands up and say ‘hey, I didn’t realize these chairs were made of wood.’ It was fool proof. He listened intently (more because he enjoyed pushing her buttons and seeing how long until her serious conversation gave into something a little more throaty), nodding slowly as she explained why conclusions were important.

George had thought his timing was perfect. And then, she went a bit stiff under him, and he tried to brush it off as nothing. Maybe she had some extra gas from breakfast that she needed to expel. Or maybe she remembered something she wanted to add in to her essay. Or maybe the next wizarding war was underway…

“What?”

But then she pulled away and he took in a slow breath, his hand stopping its movement. He looked up at her, his hopeful look turning into a mixture of disappointment and uncertainty. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Never listening to mum again. Then again, she hadn’t told her son to do it during a snog fest in the library. He opened his mouth to try and explain, but he couldn’t find the breath to get it out. “I just… I love-”

“I’m sorry, I—”

And his heart dropped right to his stomach, feeling a little sick. Shaking his head, he slowly pulled himself back, sitting straight with his hand now far away from her thigh. Resting it on his knee, he let out an audible breath before licking his lips. She was sorry? She didn’t feel the same way. Another emotional stab in his chest and he sat back against the seat. “Oh. Right.” His gaze went a little hazy as he stared off for a moment, unfocused with the severe blow to his ego.

Dumbass was putting it nicely. He felt the dry throat he had, rubbing a hand over his mouth without a thought, finally turning back to the table just slightly. “No, it’s okay Waker.” Then he thought to just laugh it off. And so a very sudden and abrupt laugh came out and he frowned, leaning forward to pull his essay to him. “It’s okay.” He was almost reassuring himself. “I shouldn’t have sprung that on you.” Pulling his quill from behind his ear, he let the tip tap gently on the parchment, splattering little bits of ink across the battlefield he’d created.

“So, conclusions huh?” He attempted a grin, glancing sideways in her direction though he didn’t feel it reach his eyes.

“The beautiful? The Amazing-and-Beautiful. I think that would make most jealous of how fantastic these kids will be.”

“So their mum will be beautiful, hmm?” She asked teasingly before offering up a rather George-like wink. It was certainly weird to discuss these sorts of things after having dated for several months now-- this was the most serious relationship Waker had ever had-- but it was also shockingly easy when she put it in playful terms... the distant, dreamy future that never seemed quite attainable, and yet she was always racing toward it. Beyond her career, however, what time would bestow upon her was all at once shaky, terrifying, and intriguing to ponder. Her heartbeat seemed to grow louder and quicker, and she was very overly conscious of the fact that she wanted George to be a part of that future. Was he playing into their usual banter, or did he want these things, too? It was the part she couldn’t read, perceptible as she was.

She could tell before the words came out of her mouth that they were the wrong words, that she had messed up, and badly. That she couldn’t simply take them back, repair things like a simple, neatly-cast charm.

He’d meant to repeat it. Waker’s insides squirmed, even as she sat frozen in place, feeling very heavy and immobile. As if she were made of ice.

But his reaction was a melting one and Waker reached out to touch his face. She paused, unable to do it. Wherever that lion inside of her was hiding, it didn’t want to come out to play now. No matter how much time she’d spent with the Gryffindor as of late.

She was afraid, and ashamed to be afraid.

But somehow, George’s laugh pierced through the paralysis and Waker shook her head hurriedly. “No!” Breaking the barrier, she reached for his hand, covering it. “No, George, it’s not-- it’s not that I don’t-- I just... this is new... I... I haven’t been... in” Love. Love. Say it, silly Ravenclaw! “This situation before. And I--” She blushed, stopping herself. “Well, the last time anyone said it to me, it didn’t end well.”

That hadn’t come out how she’d imagined. How many times had she secretly envisioned this scene as she drifted off to bed? How many times, in recent weeks, had she imagined George-- and Waker herself-- confessing these intense feelings? But it never happened like this, not in her mind’s eyes. It was probably a terribly teenage-girl fantasy, childish and unrealistic and far smoother than reality ever allowed it to be. She felt like a fool.

She frowned as he tried to change the subject. He had meant it, hadn’t he? He loved her...

She wanted so badly to say it back, but she’d ruined the moment.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said at last, pathetically.

“So their mum will be beautiful, hmm?”

He leaned forward slightly as if he was letting her in on the biggest secret ever! Or at least right at that moment. “She would have to be.” He felt a thrill at her wink, licking his lips in anticipation of what she might do or say next. She might have thought he was good at keeping her on her toes, but she didn’t realize what she did to him. Or if she did, she played innocent very well… His hand reached out, the back of his fingers gently rubbing up her arm.

Then the uncomfortable situation set in, and he saw her hand reach out. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He didn’t want to think, but his brain was now on overload. What this all meant, what it didn’t… He didn’t want to breathe, to be honest, but he had to. That was one thing he couldn’t tell his brain to stop and expect it to listen. So he continued to take slow, steady as possible breaths as he could.

“No!”

He grit his teeth, the skin pulling taunt as he ground down just slightly. She touched his hand and he clenched slightly, not pulling away and not moving to hold it. Then she was stumbling over her words and he kept up with every word. He tensed as she said she hadn’t been in… what? A noisy breath left him as she stated ‘situation.’ Of course. He hadn’t been in this situation either! It was more convenient to have a fling, to not care so deeply for someone, than to have them not reciprocate it.

“Well, the last time anyone said it to me, it didn’t end well.”

And with that statement, his hand retracted from underneath hers, his anger starting to boil slowly. She’d heard this frequently then. Enough times to have a last time. A sneer popped up before it fell back down, his eyes not focusing on the parchment in front of him. Was he a fool? As much as it bothered him that she had heard it from someone else before, it was even worse knowing she couldn’t just say it back. He felt like a fool. A dunce without the hat. What had he been playing at, this school business? Maybe Laney was right.

Why’d he bother coming back at all? Could’ve been one of the youngest Keepers… and then? He wouldn’t have to worry about women. They would profess their love over him.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Another chuckle came out before he stifled it, nodding slowly before letting the quill drop. Best his hands didn’t have anything in them. “Right, thank you. That’s very gracious of you.” Pushing his chair back, George felt the walls starting to close in a bit. He needed some air. Any air would do right then. Tugging at his tie, he loosened it and undid the top couple of buttons, not feeling as if the air was being sucked from him by the ever constraining neck accessory.

“How can” His voice came out accusatory and loud, and he quickly swallowed and lowered his voice slightly, trying to stay calm. “You think… You think this is some… replicated time? Where everything will end the same? That I’m like whoever… Who? Did you lo-” He couldn’t bring himself to saying it. Rubbing his head rather forcibly, he let out a louder groan against his hands, muffled. Finally he leaned against the table with his palms on top, arms spread out, body hunched over in slight defeat.

With his head hung down, he finally took a slow breath and held it. “It’s fine, Waker. It was stupid.” He felt a heavy weight in his chest, though he resisted the desire to reach up and rub at it. And since the suddenly self-loathing man couldn’t seem to get enough information, he found himself (as pathetic as he felt, berating himself again and again in his head) curious. “Who… Who said it to you ‘last time’?” His voice was soft, though he tried to keep the emotion out of it as best he could.

It was a terrible halt to a conversation that alluded to a dreamy adulthood, one full of Amazing and Beautiful Children who may or may not have belonged to both George and Waker.

She had ruined the watercolor picture of the future.

She could his muscles tightening under her soft and uncertain touch as she attempted to pacify him. She couldn’t blame him, really. How would she have felt? But Waker wasn’t brave enough to be the one to say it first; she wasn’t even brave to articulate it now. No amount of reciting monologues into shiny surfaces or gathering O’s during classroom discussions could prepare her for so rawly and sincerely confronting her feelings, voicing them, sharing them. Waker had always kept such things under lock and key, particularly since the sour end to the chapter that was Devlin Matthews.

She flinched, her face becoming the vision of pain when George drew his hand away from hers. Hints of babyish cheeks crept into the young woman’s face as the corners of her mouth turned downward in a frown. “George...” Her own voice sounded like a ghost. Ineffective.

“Right, thank you. That’s very gracious of you.”

Brows knitted, Waker continued to shake her head in protest, as if the gesture explained everything she couldn’t. She was, for once, prepared for the usually unexpected, attention-drawing boldness that came next. The loosening of his tie was a dead giveaway. The Gryffindor’s voice issued loudly; by library standards, it unforgivable. But the knots in Waker’s had much less to do with peering eyes and eavesdropping ears than the hurt masked in his angry tone.

”You think this is some… replicated time? Where everything will end the same?”

“Of course I don’t think that!” It was all she could really say. But it was true. While she feared conveying her feelings to their full extent, she didn’t think things with George would end the same way they had with Devlin; nevertheless, she did fear they would end. And, generally speaking, the chances rose whenever one took a leap in the love department. Wasn’t it simple logic?

Why didn’t Hogwarts offer a class in practical romance?

But that very thought was exactly what George seemed to have picked up on; Waker thought about everything too logically, too mechanically.

“It wasn’t stupid!” She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. It was almost unbearable. “I’m... I’m happy you... I wanted you to... but I’m just not very good at--” She sighed. She was going to start hyperventilating like a first year missing his bed and dog at home if she didn’t take a moment to breathe. Years worth of debate preparation dissolved in seconds, and the Ravenclaw into a stuttering mess of helplessness.

“Who… Who said it to you ‘last time’?”

The color that had crept in drained. Sheet-white, Waker stared at him. She’d thought he’d known. Who didn’t know? But suddenly it became clear-- George was in Gryffindor, and had been a year ahead of them when it happened. Why should he keep up with Waker’s life? Which, aside from that little (rather big) relationship, had been mostly uneventful. “You don’t... you don’t know?” She tilted her head cautiously. Her throat stung. Of all the names she had to recite, why did it have to be this one? “I thought you-- I thought everyone--” She cringed. She was doing again. Assuming.

“It wasn’t like this,” she explained hurriedly, gesturing to whatever invisible thing kept them tied together. It seemed to be unraveling rapidly. “We were younger. It was silly.” It hadn’t been so silly then. But George didn’t need to know that. “Immature...”

Her hands moved to lap, slowly, graciously. She folded them over her skirt, lowering her gaze to the backs of her palms. Her voice became lower. She was afraid to say it. “It was... I thought I loved Devlin Matthews.”

“Of course I don’t think that!”

“Then why would you even-” He stopped himself more frequently than usual, wanting to ask too many questions at once, too many accusations. In reality, it was just George’s way of dealing with this sudden blow. She didn’t love him. He felt his face contort again at that thought, though he quickly pursed his lips and forced a heavy frown back on his face. He could deal with this.

Why put effort into a relationship if, in the end, you didn’t hope it would work out? What chance on love was that? He’d put in a lot for their relationship, enjoyed every moment, just to be with her a little longer. And he’d come to the realization that he did, in fact, love her. It had taken a few weeks to finally bring up the courage to tell her to her face, and now he felt as if it had been all for not. Love wasn’t an easy thing for him to give in to. How many relationships had he been in? How many flings with this and that girl had he had?

And this was the first one he’d felt like this for. He'd hoped it would be the last. Who stopped his breath with just a smile. Who invaded his dreams and made him ache when he had to be away from her for too long. And she didn’t even feel the same. His face once again morphed into sadness, sudden and bitter, before back into a tight frown. He wanted to argue back, to explain exactly why it was stupid, but he didn’t have the heart. She wanted him to? A mean smirk came to his lips, his eyes a bit narrowed with the flare of anger.

Attention with love, no need to give it back. No… that wasn’t Waker. George was torn right then, and he was trying to keep himself in check. Detentions from destroying part of the library, while worth right then, would be considered harsh and stupid in hindsight. He tried to remind himself of that, as much as he just wanted to react.

“You don’t… you don’t know?”

He felt even more stupid. His eyes flashed slightly as he glared at the wood on the table, willing it to burn under his gaze. If he knew, why would he ask? Right then, the last thing he wanted to do was talk. The last thing he wanted to do was know about this history, to know who she was comparing them to. But he merely waited, knowing he had to know, want or not. His sadistic side begged for it. Something to moan about later as he beat a bludger repeatedly. At least they put up a fight.

“I thought you—I thought everyone—”

And so everyone knew? Everyone but George. He felt very uneasy all of a sudden, and he tried to will the worry aside, tried to tell himself it wasn’t the same. But she hadn’t said she loved him back, had she?

“It wasn’t like this… We were younger. It was silly… Immature…”

That didn’t make him feel any better! His heart beat a little faster, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the desk. Finally he felt able to look at her, and he did, turning his head just slightly so his gaze could linger on her. And it did, and his heart leaped forward in desire, in love, in all that she made him feel. And he tried so hard to stuff it back, to cut it away, to forget it. He couldn’t, though. Just looking at her made him want to hold her forever.

“It was… I thought I loved Devlin Matthews.”

He stared at her.

And then his knees buckled, and he was kneeling beside the table, staring at the same area, just at a different height. George lost his fight very suddenly. Matthews?! His breathing came back all of a sudden, very quickly, and he felt the adrenaline rush through his veins. “Matthews?!” And with that, he picked up his paper, the closest thing he had, and ripped it into pieces; something to destroy, as unsatisfying as it was. Leaving the mangled parchment around him in pieces, he blindly stood up.

“How could you love that swine?!” His face turned into disbelief and hurt, unable to turn it back. It had to be, didn’t it. Had to be that little shit. He had a horrible taste in his mouth, and he was suddenly very sick to his stomach. His fist beat down on the table in anger, a yell escaping his lips with the sudden pain through his knuckles. That was what he needed. Something real, tangible, that reminded him he wasn’t in some nightmare.

“When?!” He turned himself towards her again, his hands in his hair, gripping what little was there still. In an afterthought, his hand moved back along it to the scars that remained, something he’d worn as a badge of honor lately. Had she stayed with him out of guilt? A stab of pain cut through his midsection as he took half a step back, his fingers now shakily running over the memories. Because she had felt terrible about it… was that her way of punishing herself? Or making it up to him? His fight left him suddenly, feeling winded as he once again found himself exhausted, collapsing into a chair down the table.

He stared towards her without really looking at her, trying to think it through. Finally he blinked and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. “Tell me.” He had to know, now.

The smirk made her nervous. It made her want to ring her hands or run away. The library had been a refuge for so many years-- its more barren corners, where no one cared to do things like read or study had been a little haven for Waker. And, more recently, prime real estate for putting her hands and lips in places that would get her permanently banned. Waker Nolan would have shocked a permanently dropped jaw onto the librarian’s face, had the adult ever happened upon the pair of teenagers amidst one of their study breaks. But now wasn’t the time to consider their happier moments.

The amount of time between the momentary smirk and George staring at the table, anticipating Waker’s answer, and Waker stumbling to find the words and the courage, was perhaps a minute at most-- if she were being generous. But it felt like an eternity, enough time to establish a new wizarding school and four new houses for good measure.

And then he’d stared back at her, and she almost lost the will to speak entirely. She couldn’t stand it, seeing the face that so often held an infectious grin and classic boyish charm now pained and anticipating. How had this happened? How had she managed to crumble his lovely smile in lieu of admitting three syllables?

The words were uttered at last, and Waker forced her gaze back up toward his, away from the familiarity of her (now tense) clasped hands. But George’s eyes had vanished. She blinked at the space where he’d been seconds again, and then followed his person as he went onto his knees. Waker felt the back of her neck prickle.

“Matthews?!”

Of all the times she’d said the same name with the same venom, it had never sounded so lethal. Waker’s feet dug into the library floor and she shifted in her seat, moving away from the kneeling boy as he reached for his paper. “Stop,” she said, trying to sound calm, but the word came out shaky. She raised her wand, prepared to reverse his sudden fit. Of all the crazy things to try in the middle of her first real fight with George (Potions class excluded), she’d had the brief desire to repair a piece of parchment. Really.

Shivering out of it, she stood up almost in unison with him, clambering out of the chair in a very un-Wakerish manner. Her wand was still clutched desperately in her hand.

“How could you love that swine?!”

She flinched, but it turned into more of a jump with the resounding marriage of George’s fist and the sturdy table. “He’s not--” It was almost reflexive. She believed Devlin was every bit the swine in his current state, but she felt propelled to defend him, to argue against whatever point George’s was trying to make. More importantly, she wanted to defend herself, her own past actions. “He wasn’t,” she corrected herself, clinging to some invisible bit of dignity. “He wasn’t like that when we were together... and I... I was too young to really know what being in love was, George,” she reasoned. She could feel her eyes beginning to sting, the heaviness in her throat that forewarned of choking sobs. She wouldn’t let herself get to that point.

Waker breathed heavily, her heart beating and her chest working visibly for air. She didn’t answer at first, when he insisted to know when. But as he continued to stare at her, and finally demanded that she tell him, she took one last deep and sat down again, trying to compose herself.

Ordinarily, Waker would have slapped him by now and stormed out. But she felt that George deserved to know what she had she tried to bury, what she had, with some vague strain of hope, assumed he’d known and disregarded. But of all the judging people in the world, it was now among the harshest critics in Hogwarts who was facing trial.

“We became very close friends after we were both sorted into Ravenclaw,” she began slowly. It sounded reasonable, didn’t it? “Devlin was sweet then... he was a good person. He was funny and entertaining, but not... not the person he is now. He didn’t bully people or... skip classes and take money from whomever offered it...” Her voice grew a touch nostalgic even as it became somewhat bitter. Devlin was like an impostor of his former self. A badly done one, at that. “In second year, we... we sort of developed crushes on each other. We were so young,” she reiterated. “It was just how it happened.” She looked to George, hoping to appeal. He had to understand. “Before third year, we were... together.” In that thirteen-year-old way, of course. It had been innocent puppy love in the beginning. Flirting and hormones and hand-holding. Teaching each other to snog. Building a repertoire... Waker quickly continued. “But we started to fight a lot after his mum died. It was a really hard time for him and he didn’t make the best choices afterward. In the start of fifth year, I found out about his business ventures,” she laughed. It was a brief and bitter laugh, but inappropriate nonetheless. “And I broke up with him.” Again, she waited for some sort of reaction before carrying on. “I think we both knew it was going to happen. He’d changed too much and I wanted something different. We weren’t good for each other. I didn’t know what to do about his mum... and...” She shook her head. “Now we can’t even stand to be in the same room together.”

“But George, the way I feel with you-- about you-- it’s different. It’s more...” How did she put it into words? “I’ve never felt like this before. It scares me.”

If it were anyone but Waker, George would have dusted his hands of his embarrassment, picked up his quill, and left when Matthews was brought up. In this context, at least. Instead, he stayed to dig his own hell, suddenly wanting every detail, any explanation or reasoning—he needed to know why she’d felt that way about Devlin but didn’t for him. That realization caused the air supply he had to leave, and as precious as it was, he didn’t want to draw in another one. How had she reduced him to this?

Because it was her fault he cared so much about her. From the trophy room to now, she’d constantly amazed and astounded him. Even now he was, though in a different way than usual. He sneered slightly, slight disgust on his face as she started to say he wasn’t swine.

“He wasn’t like that when we were together…”

He fought to keep himself from losing it. The table would need replaced if he did. He clenched his fist, hearing a crack before he grit his teeth, loosening it to rest on the forgiving wood. When she said his name, he felt a strong yank on his chest. She had complete control over his heart. She’d been in love with Matthews… Closing his eyes, he dragged his fingertips along the top of his head, moving to the back of it.

He listened as she started talking, glad to have his head in his hands so she couldn’t see how much it was bothering him. He let out a muffled, short laugh when she called Matthews sweet. But then he shut up and listened. Second year they had a crush on each other. Then they were together. He frowned and tried to keep his breathing under control; how had he never thought to ask her about who she’d dated in her past?

It hadn’t mattered until… now. Sliding his hands from in front of his face, he hung his head a little as his hands rested against the back of it, interlacing. His mum died? Frowning a little harder, he thought about that a moment. Then he heard fifth year and his eyes widened dramatically, his fingers clenching. From end of second to their fifth year?! He felt even worse all of a sudden. His heart sank fast, and a lone, unheard of tear slid out of the inside corner of his eye to the tip of his nose before he rubbed at the tickling sensation.

“But George, the way I feel with you—about you—it’s different. It’s more…”

He let one of his hands drop to his knee, resting in the space between his legs while the other hung on to the back of his neck, gently running over the scars. More what? She hadn’t told him she loved him, so it had to be something completely different indeed. He didn’t like feeling bitter and jealous, but suddenly he was.

“I’ve never felt like this before. It scares me.”

‘Like this.’ No… she’d been in love right? She’d said as much, with Devlin. So this wasn’t love. This, between them, was something different, right? He sat his head up, his hand moving to rub each eye, trying to will the watery feeling away. And after a moment, he did, leaving just a hint of his emotions as he stared at her blankly. It scared her? The lack of love she felt? Whatever she was going to explain as her feelings? Finally he found his voice, “Did-” his voice cracked and he coughed, looking down in embarrassment as he cleared his throat, swallowing and trying again. He kept his voice as emotionless as possible.

“Did it not occur to you that I was scared to tell you how I felt?” He stared at the ground for a while. A grunt of a breath came out, his attempt at a laugh failing. “Obviously with good reason.” He mumbled softly before rubbing a hand over his chin, tapping his lips with the tips of his fingers. Shaking his head, he let his hand drop to meet his other between his knees, lightly holding on to them as he finally met her eyes. She was so beautiful, so amazing, and he felt an ache in his chest to forget all of this, to take it all back. To go back and stop it from happening. “You loved Devlin.” He was now stating facts, or what he saw as fact.

“And you feel different about me.” He shrugged slightly, one shoulder moving up as he raised an eyebrow. Now he’d worry she had only stayed with him because she’d felt guilty. He felt an itching desire to reach up and touch the back of his neck again but grasped his hands tightly instead. George couldn’t force out what he wanted to say. That would be giving in, wouldn’t it? What was there, though, if she didn’t love him? His face gave into his emotion and he frowned, glancing away, ashamed. He was a man! No need for petty emotions. “Seems fairly easy what should come next.”

Seeing the tear fall from George’s face, which was turned away from her own, Waker felt her eyes sting and water again. She too began to cry, though perhaps more obviously, if also in silence. So much had happened in the span of a few minutes that it was almost impossible to believe-- even in the heart of a world where people could turn teacups into hummingbirds or catch fairies and converse with elves.

“Did it not occur to you that I was scared to tell you how I felt?”

Waker shivered, a sincere convulsion of tears finally freeing itself. “No,” she sobbed shamefully. As close as they’d grown in the past several months, she’d taken for granted that George was the ever bold one, the one who said what was on his mind, lived in the moment, and never regretted taking a leap, however dangerous it seemed. He was the risk taker to her over-preparedness. It was part of why they worked... and now, apparently, part of why they didn’t. “You’re so fearless... you’ll try anything. You make me want to try everything. It didn’t... no... I’m sorry.” She reached out to touch his cheek again, but stopped herself, drawing her hand back toward her chest.

She flinched at the half-hearted laugh, and the epic misreading of her own terribly-worded confession. Staring back at him, she began to cry harder.

“You loved Devlin.”

“I loved Devlin,” she said, stressing the tense of the word, as if trying through expert intonation to somehow sink the truth into George’s brain. “I loved him in that way that girls do when they write their boyfriends’ names in the margins of their notebooks,” she explained, with a frantic, panicked, choking sort of laugh-sob hybrid. The idea of Waker defacing a school assignment with ‘Mrs. Devlin Matthews’ was laughable, and yet, at twelve, no one was susceptible to perfectly sterile parchment margins. “And I thought I was in love with him when I was fifteen. And maybe I was.” She spoke with a bit more composure this time. She spoke more fiercely.

“And you feel different about me. Seems fairly easy what should come next.”

“I feel different about you,” she reiterated. Her mouth opened in protest when he jumped to the next conclusion. Waker desperately needed tissues. The wetness of the parchment laid neatly on the table-- in stark contrast to George’s torn-to-bits essay-- was bordering on enough to make the rain jealous. “It feels right. It feels like we are what we’re supposed to be. And that terrifies me because I never planned for any of this...” Waker for planned for everything.

Leaning toward him, she reached out to grab his shoulder, as if shaking him from slumber. A coma. “George, I love you. I love you so much, it hurts. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone else. I probably sound like a bumbling idiot right now because I’m so stupidly in love with you that I don’t even know how to tell you.” A huffy, very Waker-like breath followed this announcement. Her limbs seemed to go like a ragdoll’s, rather than tensing. She stared at one-and-half George’s through the watery, vaguely rainbowy spectrum of her tears.