Edmund had been training hard recently in all areas of life; Leon and Waker had persuaded him to actually do some homework instead of making a few fancy-looking notes with a quill, whilst his tight-collared brother, Jasper, had recently sent his younger sibling a long and cumbersome letter urging Edmund to focus upon the more important things in life - school and Quidditch. His parents had been informed of his latest detention with Professor Ramsay, and whilst they most displeased, Clarissa had applauded his bout with discipline secretly.

Flying up on his broom, Edmund let out a groan of exhaustion through determined, gritted teeth as his bat met the Bludger once more, sending it crashing down to the earth. He'd been practising with teammates for the past three hours, and although Edmund would never admit it, he was beginning to tire. A bead of sweat gathered on his temple as he cracked another unruly Bludger so hard that it cleanly took the head off a rather bedraggled dummy below, Edmund's face a little red and his quiff not so immaculate. Swooping down on his broom, he yelled out his position to the others, slamming another of those pesky brown balls into the grass with ease and a sort of brutal elegance. Edmund knew he was good at what he did, but he always wanted to better himself; no matter how many Bludgers he hit, or how many Chasers he wiped out, there was always one step further.

With one final swing of his bat, the practice officially ended, the clouds above looking rather dismal and grey; it was perfect timing. After getting hot, bothered and boisterous all afternoon, the last thing Edmund needed was getting drenched. His feet landed firmly on the ground as he swung his broom over his shoulder, shaking hands and patting backs with the others as they all dispersed, ready to hit the hay after a heavy training session. Edmund's breaths were warm and heavy as he walked steadily across the pitch, his elbow and knee pads clotted with mud. Looking up for a moment, he couldn't help but smile a little bashfully as he saw a familiar face in the stands. Had she been watching all this time? If Edmund had known, he would've been far more nonchalant and cocky in order to impress.

outfit

Despite the cramp in her hand that had made the next day’s practice quite the torture session, Emmy had not exactly suffered during detention with Professor Ramsay. Her cohort in crime, the homework-avoider, one Edmund Klint, had been a fun detention buddy, to say the least. (It might have helped a smidgen-- or quite a lot-- that was quite the foxy Ravenclaw). Though Lou loathed to admit it, her cousin might have been on to something with the blue and bronze crew.

Having a penchant for knowing when her schoolmates took to the field-- or maybe just the interesting ones-- Emmylou had made sure to “coincidentally” show up in the stands around the same time that Edmund practiced solo. In the vast, empty stadium, she had the seat of her choosing. It was arguably the best seat in the house, and Lou didn’t even need a pair of omnioculars to enjoy her fellow seventh year’s... technique. Ahem.

When he noticed her, she grinned, and halfheartedly unfolded the Evening Prophet in her lap. The sports page seemed unassuming, didn’t it? For a girl like Lou, anyway. Even so, her eyes paid the words no mind; she waved at Edmund, beckoning him to come over for a visit. “Come have a break!” She shouted, cupping her hands over her mouth to make her voice echo. In the autumn wind, she had no idea whether he’d heard her.

Edmund nodded slowly as he vaguely heard the words she shouted from the stands, and he boyishly rubbed the back of his head as he began to walk over. He couldn't help but feel a little nervous, his breathing still short, hot and heavy from the training session. Looking up at her once more as he got nearer, he gave a warm smirk, looking towards his teammates to see if they'd gone. Turning to Emmylou once more, he gave another smile as he placed his broomstick on the walkway of the stand, taking a seat next to the Gryffindor beauty.

Leaning forward with his wrists rested upon his knees, he couldn't hold back his breaths of exhaustion and felt a little self-conscious; what if Emmylou thought he smelt of sweat and mud? Edmund immediately bit his bottom lip for a second, but shook of the thought; of course he was going to smell, he'd been playing Quidditch all afternoon.
"Trying to steal some Ravenclaw tactics then?" he said, flashing his signature smirk that was all too full of charm, his face still somewhat red and blotchy from pure exercise. "God knows, you'll need them."

Edmund rested his head back, giving a slight chuckle as he glanced at Emmylou; for some reason, he couldn't help but feel a little nervous throughout their exchange. It'd been a real delight sharing an afternoon in detention, and he was tempted to ask for homework help that he didn't even need in order to see her again, but he bottled it and left with a lingering goodbye.

Having maintained quite the quidditch schedule of her own, Emmylou was more or less immune to the rough-ups and low-downs of the field. In fact, she thought Edmund looked remarkably collected for someone who had just been on a broom in the autumn wind. Face aglow from the rush, and all. (It even masked any nervousness, real or imagined.)

“Ah, yes, you’ve caught me,” she conceded, nodding solemnly. But it quickly turned into a shake, and the girl broke into a grin. “Do I look like a spy to you? Where’s my trench coat? My binoculars?” She challenged, raising a brow as she tilted her chin down so that she could give him a suspicious glance. As her eyes appraised his face, from lips upward, she found herself slightly entranced.

Snapping out of it, Lou tried to play casual by stretching her arms over her head and clasping her hands. She gave a grand, faux yawn and then fell leisurely back into place, bumping shoulders slightly (and perhaps intentionally, oops) with Mr. Klint.

“Really, though, I bet that’s what you tell all the ladies...” She trailed off, still grinning. “You need practice. And then the next thing they know, they’re doubling up on your broom, and...” Again, her voice faded, letting the amusement float around them.

“What I’d really like to know,” she added, “Is how you keep your hair so nice when you’re flying."

Edmund couldn't help but laugh at her comments about the stereotypical spy, imagining her in a trench coat, thick sunglasses and a Panama hat. Giving her another smile, he ruffled his hair a little more, his quiff taking more shape as the beads of sweat from his forehead boyishly mixed in.
"Then you'd be revealing your true identity," Edmund commented, leaning back and glancing at her rather attractive features. "That'd be too obvious, even for a Gryffindor." He couldn't help but bring in some inter-house rivalry; Edmund was all about the competitive drive, and he was all about repping Ravenclaw.

As he felt her shoulder graze his, Edmund bit on his bottom lip lightly, feeling a very uncharacteristic flip in his stomach. With girls, he was normally so confident, so smooth, so arrogantly charming; why was he so nervous around Lou? Edmund didn't like the fact he felt so uncool around her, but loved the fact that he kept spotting her in the most inconvenient places.

"Not all the girls, Carter," Edmund sighed, a joking look in his glance at her, his eyes meeting hers for a split second. "Just girls I think need to brush up on their Quidditch skills." He retained his cocky sense of humour, and cast her a smug smirk as he messed around. In truth, he wanted to ask her on a date, but Edmund couldn't bring himself to just interject with such a bold statement. Edmund always wanted to be the smooth operator.
"My hair?" Edmund asked, his eyes widened a little as she sent a compliment his way. "There's me thinking I look like your average mud-caked beater. It's you girls that always seem to look pristine after a game."

She neither confirmed nor denied his playful, somewhat coy suspicions. Was that a hint of reservation in Edmund’s glance, or was he simply drained of energy? Emmylou was beginning to see it, finally-- what she’d mistaken for good, hard work had a tinge of uncharacteristic... uncertainty. And it was rather appealing.

“Even for a Gryffindor,” she echoed, her voice possessing a sing-song edge as she gave her rendition. “What’s that supposed to mean?” her tone sobering, she gave him a look, eyebrows and all. But it wasn’t particularly intimidating. And what would a proper teenage boy be without a bit of house pride? Jokes at the expense of the other three houses were a natural part of the Hogwarts experience. It was the ones who weren’t ballsy and confident enough to make the subtle jabs whom Emily Louse Carter insufferably boring. “If I were a spy, you wouldn’t even suspect me of pretending to be stealth. I’d be that good. So, really? You’ll never know.”

Turning a cheek to him as her smile became, well, cheeky, Lou rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. She turned back to him, her smile swishing to one side as devilish thoughts danced through the stage of her mind. “I suppose now is a sore time to mention Ravenclaw’s epic defeat last season...”

Needed to brush up? Ha! (Actually, Emmy wouldn’t mind brushing up, if it meant brushing up to Edmund. Or against Edmund. Silly prepositions.)

“Because girls have the hidden gene,” she said, waving off the mystery. “But boys-- I always like mine a little bit dirty after a rough and tumble game. Don’t you?” Here she grinned again, waiting for her teasing implication to be challenged. In truth, she had no doubt Edmund was a lady’s man, nor did she find him dirty. He was appealingly well kept, but with a certain nonchalance gracing everything from his clothes to his hair. An inborn coolness. He needn’t try, or that’s what it looked like.

Even as she spoke, Edmund couldn't help but grin a little; she had all of the charm and wit he wished he could muster during their exchanges but felt too nervous to employ. He'd always been a fan of the witty Ravenclaw, the cheerful Hufflepuff and the attractively sly Slytherin, but this was the first time he'd seen all of those qualities in a fiery Gryffindor, and he couldn't help but admire it.

"I think we both know what it means," Edmund said, rolling his eyes jokingly. He placed one foot on the seat in front, a slither of mud from his shoe spreading over the back. "You talk the talk like everyone else in Gryffindor, but when push comes to shove, well, you're nothing more than that. Talk." Edmund's flirtatious tone was laced with amusement and challenge, his cold lips curling into a wickedly charming smirk. He still felt a little nervous around Miss Carter, but he just kept trying to counter her enchanting remarks.

As she mentioned Ravenclaws' somewhat disheartening stint during the last Quidditch season, Edmund looked down, an embarrassed grin on his face. He sighed reluctantly, feeling his cheeks blush a bright red scarlet; it was always a sore point to bring up failure to a Ravenclaw, but Edmund took it on the chin, grinning as he rested his head back on the seat.
"That's a bit below the belt, even for a Gryffindor..." Edmund almost whispered, his voice still loud enough for Emmy to hear. He glanced at her with a cheekily charming expression that almost equalled hers. Almost, at least.

Edmund laughed instinctively as she questioned his preference in boys post-Quidditch, and he shook his head, a hand boyishly ruffling his fringe. It was usually quiffed or swept to the side, but hours of practice made him look rather unkempt; he didn't mind, since by Emmy's own admission she liked the dirty look. All he could do was try and meet her criteria.
"I may be a Beater, but I certainly don't bat for that team," he chuckled, tempted to put an arm behind Emmy's seat but he supressed this urge; he didn't want to mess up, so perhaps it was better to just play it cool.

"I take it you've already found this roughed-up boy in Gryffindor then?" he remarked, biting his bottom lip slightly with a grin. He hoped it was a subtle way of asking 'do you have a boyfriend?', and although his delivery was smooth and calculated, that trace of flirtatiousness and teenage lust was ever-present. All he could do was hope that Emmy was without.

“I think we both have different ideas of what it means,” she corrected playfully, enjoying the roll of his eyes as much as she enjoyed everything else about his face. “Oh, come on, give me more credit than that. I promise I’m far more original than my housemates...” Even if she would defend them to her death. Minus one Kyle Gibson, teenage murderer. “Especially that cousin of mine.” Grinning at the mention of her captain, she added, “One day, you’ll see. I have a very mean bite.”

It was becoming increasingly easier, spotting the blush, differentiating it from the glow of a cardio routine, or the heat of the sun breaking through in small stripes in the the autumn afternoon. But, instead of mentioning, the girl soaked it up, enjoying it as it bloomed on his face in the most adorable of ways. “Better luck next time, huh? Maybe after I graduate...” And, oops... “I mean, if you feel like sticking around an extra year.” George had done it. Why not?

Then again, Edmund seemed to sort who was not easily confined by a castle. Like his sister, he seemed to have a certain... free quality. It was appealing, the antithesis of the boring Ravenclaw prototype Emmylou associated with Rowena’s house.

"That's a bit below the belt, even for a Gryffindor..."

“Can’t take a sucker punch, get off the field,” she concluded simply. Besides Gryffindors were plenty fair! Loyal, bold... all that good stuff.

She watched him play with his hair, and enjoyed it as much and as privately as she had when he was trying to hide the blush in his cheeks. His profile was sharp and expensive looking, undoubtedly aristocratic. But it had that same coolness his hair possessed: it could be as charming when it was tinged pink as it could be when it was aloof. Likewise, his hair could be expertly styled or windswept, and, to Emmy’s great discovery, quite appealing. She would have to remember to keep tabs on it... That wasn’t creepy. No, never.

Laughing, but feeling a butterfly flap victoriously in her stomach, she was glad to hear what she’d already surmised. He liked the fairer sex. Or was it the fiercer sex?

Leaning back on her elbows now, she studied his shoulder and shook her head slowly, pensively, as if her gaze were lost in the clouds. “They’re a little too close to home lately,” she admitted. It wasn’t exactly a lie, either. She loved her Gryffindors like she loved french toast, but one could have too much of a good thing. It was time venture out of the red and gold bubble. Ravenclaw colors were looking particularly tempting now. “Besides, they can’t clean up for rubbish. They’re a bit hopeless when it comes to being suave and... subtle.” Not exactly true. She’d seen the girls flock to George. But Lou had her sights set on the boy beside her. It was happening shockingly fast, and she took not even a moment’s pause to consider the consequences. Life was too short.

“What about you? Do you have a N.E.W.T.-collecting spelling bee champ of a future trophy wife waiting to escort you off the field?” She sat up a little more, leaning forward to stretch her neck toward the locker rooms, as if expecting one such barbie doll to appear. She was joking, of course. She wasn’t as naive or innocent as, say, Fauna. She could guess Edmund’s interests, and she had no complaints.

"I only give credit when people have earned it," Edmund sighed, his voice vaguely flirtatious but the smirk on his face instantly gave away his attraction. Leaning back and resting an ankle on his knee, his breathing was eventually starting to even out, and the redness of his face was a combination of exhaustion and blushing; he could only hope that Miss Carter would think he was just hot and sweaty from Quidditch. Her presence made Edmund lose his collected charm, and instead, he was just a giggling schoolboy.

"Well, I have a theory about your tactics, Carter," he said, taking on the rather amusing role of a Quidditch expert. "I do believe that your teammates carried you to victory." Although he was nodding in agreement with his own statement, Edmund's comment was clearly in jest, and he couldn't help but flash her another of his signature smirks. When it came to Quidditch, Edmund was constantly involved in the inter-house banter, but he enjoyed it moreso with Emmylou; it was a point of conversation, and he could only be glad that their exchanges weren't filled with gaps of awkward silence. Their dialogue flowed, and Edmund could only thank Merlin for that.

Edmund stirred a little in his seat, his eyes widening innocently as he felt a jump of excitement in his stomach; so, she was single. How was that even possible? He knew any boy from any house would kill for a shot with Emily Carter, and he slowly began to realise how lucky he was that she even gave him the time of day. With other girls, Edmund was cocky, expecting their attention, but he almost felt unworthy to be flirting with a girl who just had that little extra something about her.

"Nope, there's no Ravenclaw girl on the sidelines," Edmund said, shrugging a little with a boyish yet naive smile painted on his face. For the first time, a sweeping second of silence fell onto Edmund, and he was at a loss for words; whilst it was a miniscule fraction of time, it felt like thirty years to Edmund and he immediately felt the need to carry on his side of the conversation. "Do you fancy getting in some extra revision in the library tonight? I could use a good study buddy that isn't as intense as Leon or Waker." As soon as he said it, Edmund could've died; why was he such a typical Ravenclaw at heart?

“Oh, I see.” Emmylou’s grin fell into a comically melodramatic frown (fake, of course), and she shook her head. “So I haven’t earned your favor, O Elitist Ravenclaw?” Hair tumbling into her face, she put her elbows on her knees and her cheeks in her palms, we chin resting comfortably where her two wrists met. “So I guess my asking for a loan is out.” She sighed and then sat up again, slowly, methodically. “Unless...” She trailed off and shook her head again. “No,” she murmured. “You wouldn’t go for that. Not the type.”

Losing this mock sense of self-consciousness and crestfallen modesty, Lou’s voice and animated face immediately sprang to attention. “Aaaah.” She flicked out a hand, her finger pointing loosely but accusingly at Edmund. It were as if she’d had a revelation. She grinned confidently, and with a oh-no-you-didn’t sort of air. “Which victory would that have been? We’ve had quite a few. Slytherin’s fluke last semester was... well, just a fluke. We would have crushed you much harder. I would have crushed you.” She emphasized the pronoun, her finger switching course and turning toward her own chest. “Wouldn’t be on the bloody team if I couldn’t hold my own. But Beaters? I mean, you don’t even have to worry about points.” Which, of course, was entirely untrue. The Beaters made sure their teams were able to score, and helped keep the opposite team from doing the same.

Feeling somewhat perky, energized by their banter, Lou now felt her heart jump and fall quickly, causing a stirring dizziness in her head. If she’d been standing, she might have twitched excitedly or lost balance as she processed his words. Quickly covering this invisible reaction with another surge of self-assuredness, she grinned broadly. “Of course not. You aren’t straight-laced enough for your own housemates.” It was a compliment, really.

But then the question came, the one she’d been entertaining while she watched him practice alone, and it didn’t sound exactly like it had in her daydreams.

Revision?

It wasn’t exactly the steamiest proposal, but...

“I...” Lou opened her mouth, closed it again, tilted her head just barely, and then snapped out of it. “Sure. Yeah, of course. I suppose all those books shoved under my bed could use some airing out.” She smirked. “But... you have to let me have a go on your broom first. And you get to bring the snacks.” Which, naturally, were strictly prohibited in the library. “We have to make it fun. I know you aren’t going to believe me, Edmund, but...” Lou paused, leaning toward him. Her lips hovered near his ear. “Normal people find studying dreadfully boring. You’ll have to keep me entertained.”

As Emmylou trailed off suggestively, Edmund couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in interest, unintentionally leaning forward instinctively as if he wanted to absorb every little detail that crept from her pretty little mouth.
"Go on..." he teased, a handsome smile appearing on his youthful face. Although his reactions to Miss Carter were unintentional and based upon pure attraction, he couldn't help but emphasise that trademark smirk what had besotted so many girls previously. The difference between them and Emmylou was however, that the latter seemed to be far more attainable and far more feisty than all of them put together.

Edmund was still kicking himself for asking Emmylou if she wanted a revision session. Revision? He was literally the lamest Ravenclaw going; a walking stereotype in oversized spectacles and an essentially 'preppy' style. He'd become his own worst nightmare: the type of Ravenclaw that used 'revision sessions' in replacement for normal teenage dates. As she paused for a second, Edmund couldn't believe how much he'd messed up, and almost grimaced as he waited for an outright rejection. He was usually so smooth around hot girls - why was she unintentionally making a mockery out of him?

And so, imagine Edmund's suprised when Emmylou accepted his offer; he immediately gave a surprised look, widening his eyes but grinning with flirtation. She'd obviously spotted the Ravenclaw streak (or the potential flaw) in him, and he was glad that she didn't think he was the nerdiest guy going. Edmund couldn't believe his luck, biting his lip a little nervously as her lips hovered near his ear, an arm slowly spreading to the back of her chair as if subconsciously inviting her proximity.
"When I say, study session, I mean something a bit more entertaining," he muttered quietly, feeling his cheeks blaze a crimson red. Why was he being such a moron?! "I just mean hanging out somewhere, maybe get something to eat, a drink or something?" He was beginning to talk a little quietly and looked down for a moment, glancing up at Emmylou once more through his unkempt post-Quidditch sweeping side fringe. "Kind-of like... a date?"

“No,” she said simply, shaking her head in resolution, her eyes fluttering her shut, her mouth tightening into a subtle line of a smile. She would, of course, tell him... in a few moments time, anyway. She was going to pick up the conversation they’d had before the Transfiguration professor had crashed their detention party for two. Only Emmy had better and more pressing ideas than one-on-one quidditch. Like two-on-one broom.

Delighting in the surprise that seem to flood his face when she accepted the offer to study together, Lou suppressed a laugh. “More entertaining, huh?” It was amusing, but also promising. For whatever reason, despite their banter and underlying claim to house pride, Lou believed him. Why else would she be stalking him here, now, while Edmund coincidentally quite alone and showing off his skills on the pitch?

“I think you’re coming down with a bad sunburn,” she suggested, faux innocence taking hold of her voice. She reached out as if to touch his cheek, but stopped, dropping her hand gingerly. It was sort of (extremely) cute, to see him flustered. In the hallways and classrooms and Great Hall, Edmund always seemed composed, cool, collected... the slightly more subtle, male version of his sister, plus a few Ravenclaw qualities and minus a bit of Gryffindor brashness, perhaps.

“I’d love to hang out and eat and drink with you,” she admitted unabashedly. She offered a sincere smile, the kindest and least playful yet, but then reached to grab hold of his broom. “Kind of like a date, or actually a date?” She tilted her head, and then gripped the broom tighter. Finally, standing up, she started to mount it. “Because I have to let you know... I’m really more into the latter.” And then, offering him hand, she beckoned him to join her. It was his broom, after all.

Edmund comically scowled a little at her rejection of his question; although it was obviously something in jest, he couldn't help but wonder what it was. Emily was the type of girl that knew all the right things to say, and Edmund couldn't get enough. Leaning forward a little with an innocently amused smile, he shrugged, placing his foot on the seat in front once again. Still trying to be the cool dude, Edmund didn't realise how schoolboyish his behaviour could actually be when in the company of a rather attractive young lady.

Edmund bit his bottom lip a little as a hand approached his cheek, and let out an almost silent sigh of anticipation as she dropped her hand. This girl was an utter tease, and Edmund had never been reeled in quite so easily with any other girl. He'd always known of Emmylou, but for some reason never really considered a Gryffindor dame. In retrospect, he couldn't believe how foolish he'd been to have found this gem in the last year. "I'm not sun-burnt," he coyly replied, looking up to the sky in slight embarrassment. He knew he was going red - she was only simply teasing him further by mentioning it. "I'm just warm from training is all."

Emmylou stood up, mischievously taking his broom with her as he remained seated. Looking up at her through a ruggedly messy fringe, he gave her a smirk - one that was more like the arrogantly charming persona everyone associated with Edmund. Two could play her game, he just had to stop acting like a schoolboy and give as good as he got.
"Actually a date..." he quietly replied, his lips twisting into another Klint smile - a subtle and handsome smile that everyone aside from his mother possessed in the family. "And I think you need to remember what you're letting yourself in for."

With little hesitation, Edmund gripped Emmylou's hand and hoisted himself onto the back of the broom. As he mounted it, Edmund immediately kicked off from the stands, his arms enveloping hers as he controlled the front of the broom. Racing into the sky above, the wind whipped his face as he gave a laugh, hoping that the element of surprise was a quick-fire reaction to her charms. Circling the Quidditch pitch, he narrowed his brow, his mouth close to her ear.
"Guess you're not used to Ravenclaw piloting then!" he laughed, swooping over a cluster of trees near the Quidditch grounds.

“Warm from training. That’s a new one,” she teased. She was kidding. Even in late November, one could work up a heat during practice. It was just a small part of why Emmylou loved the sport so very much. “We’ll keep plenty warm on this date,” she added, emphasizing the word since he’d made it official. “I hope that won’t be a problem...” Even though he was the one doing the inviting, she was going to bring her own surprises to the table, too. “I like just showing up and seeing what I’m in for. A bit of adventure never hurt a girl.”

He kicked off, driving the broom upward at an alarmingly exciting rate; Emmy hadn’t ridden two-on-one in ages... probably not since the summer, with cousins and small neighborhood children. Being on it with Edmund was somehow much more intimate-- and the fact that he was such a skilled rider made more alluring, too.

She tilted her head to the side and attempted to turn the broom at a sharp angle while avoiding giving Edmund a mouthful of hair. “No, I’m not. But are you used to a Gryffindor co-pilot?” She tried to catch his eye in her peripheral, but it was hard. She could therefore only imagine how good looked behind her, with the wind rushing through his perfect hair, and his hands... well, on her. “But tell me, have you ever been on a muggle plane?”

Edmund bit his bottom lip as Emmylou openly flirted with him, revealing a more boyish and innocent side to his persona. For the most part, Edmund was cool, calculating and charmingly smug, yet in situations were the girl was more forward than him, he became bashfully doe-eyed and jittery. He shook his head in reply, a cheeky smirk appearing on his face.
"No, not a problem at all," he chuckled and stretched out on the seat, his eyes glued to her attractive countenance.

As they flew through the sky after his rather abrupt move, he gently slid his hands over hers as he controlled the broom, resting his chin on her shoulder from behind. Although it may have seemed a little forward, Edmund felt completely comfortable doing it, and he couldn't help but counter her charm with his own bold flirtatious moves.

"A co-pilot? There's no way I'm letting a Gryffindor take charge of my broom," he laughed, teasingly mocking her; Edmund was all about the inter-house banter and rivalry. Taking a swift right, the wind bit into his cheeks as they pulled up nearer to the main castle, yet Edmund wasn't concerned with the climate so to speak.