George was excited to go to Hogsmeade with Waker. Especially since she seemed to have forgiven him, or at least was being nicer. Not that he didn’t know he had some explaining to do still; he had a lot of pre-Waker things he assumed would be better to get off his chest and into the air than to let them stay stuffed in some other figurative shoe box, waiting for someone else to open it for him. Not today, though.

He’d even gotten up early, showered and dressed fairly nicely. He had to look somewhat presentable with Waker on his arm, after all. It wasn’t until he was pulling on a hoodie that he recalled (with sudden horror) that his brother and father had made plans to be in Hogsmeade around the same time. With said epiphany, it had taken him twice as long as usual to get ready.

Sam Carter, George’s father, was a cursebreaker, and by all accounts loved his job. He had been doing it for so many years that the times he was gone were normal. During the summer months, though, he attempted to be around, traveling while his sons were in school. When Phillip, George’s older brother, graduated from Hogwarts, he followed quickly and obediently in their father’s footsteps. And George had been ecstatic over his decision—it meant that, as a fairly new person in the field, he wouldn’t get his choice of assignments as often as, say, their father. And it also meant George hadn’t had to deal with him very much over the holidays he was home.

Since he could remember, he had gotten the brunt end of his brother’s teasing. Not that he didn't give as good as he got, but he could play the victim. And it hadn’t gotten any easier when George stopped growing. Both his father and brother were over six feet tall, and his mother a little taller than him (often assisted with heels as well, making her that much taller). For George, he had gotten used to being short—just not always the snide comments that came with it. Out of his family, very few were shorter than him.

He wasn’t even sure if it counted if they were married into the family. After hearing for a good portion of his adolescence that girls wanted to date tall guys who could protect them and not boys who they could use as an arm rest, George had grown tired of his brother and their constant bickering to the point that he didn’t mind skipping this lunch date and every one after. However, as his dad was supposed to show up, he couldn’t very well weasel his way out.

George had attempted to explain to Waker what his brother was like, and thought he did a good impression of him being as thick as a troll. Regardless, she had seemed keen on going with him to his torture session, and now that he remembered… he knew he had to look sharp, as smart as he could compare to Phillip.

With the gray wool suit in place, the white button up shirt undone at the top, he had stood in front of his bed and stared out into nothing for a short while, tugging absentmindedly on the ends of his jacket. Once he was certain he had his thoughts (and hair) straight, he pulled on a nice pair of brown dress shoes and one of his better, newer Gryffindor scarves, a light black jacket on over his suit for the cold weather. ;

He really wasn’t sure how Phillip was going to be to Waker. If he said one off thing… George couldn’t promise to hold back. Fixing his trousers, making sure his belt was snug, he finally jogged down to where everyone was meeting, nearly one of the last in the group to head out. Seeing Waker, he gave her an uneasy half smile, his gloved hand taking hers and gently pulling her against him as they started to walk to Hogsmeade. “You sure you want to go through with this? I think I can distract him with a knut…”

His free arm tugged at his trousers, attempting to place how long it had been since he’d worn them last, before reaching over to their clasped hand, tugging down at the shirt under the jackets. “Are you chilly? You look gorgeous.” Giving her a soft smile, a hint of nervousness evident in the wrinkles around his eyes, he leaned over as they walked and gave her a kiss on the cheek. It had been a crazy twenty four hours… And they had an hour or two to kill before lunch anyway. He hoped. Sometimes Phillip had an annoying habit of being on time to things… in a ‘too early’ sort of way.

outfit

Waker felt decidedly... underdressed.

It was an odd feeling, to be the casual Ravenclaw standing beside George Carter. As the Gryffindor fidgeted with his well-tailored trousers, his girlfriend could only stare, blink, open and close her mouth. At first she’d wondered whether he was ill; should she take him down to Madam Nagde for a checkup? Had the furious dark magic that had left its scars finally worked its way through his blood stream and up into his brain? Or was she pressuring him too much to be a Good Student? It was amusing, and kind of troubling. Waker found herself wanting her trophy-juggling troublemaker back as much as she wanted to take his hand and comfort him.

“George,” she said, giggling, “He can’t be all that bad. And if you could distract him with a coin, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble distracting him with...” She paused, and gestured to his handsome gray ensemble. “Look at you, you’re perfect.”

She looked gorgeous? She felt positively plain at the moment. “Stop being a prat. I’m plenty warm, but are you sure I shouldn’t change?” She asked, Waker the Original Flavor: Slightly Worried Obsessive Compulsive surfacing momentarily. She looked down at her lilac flats. “Heels, maybe? A dress?”

But, whatever her qualms about wardrobe, there were more pressing matters. Such as the hint of boyish worry adorably plaguing George’s smile. She tightened her grip on his hand, taking the lead and tugging him toward the gate more confidently. She returned the kiss with ardor, hoping to enthuse him. Leaning into him as they passed out of the Hogwarts gates and into the village, Waker gestured toward the horizon, which disappeared into the High Street and became the base of the mountains. “Since we’re going to The Three Broomsticks, why don’t we walk in that direction? There’s a bookstore over there having a sale...” Need she say more?

“Or, maybe we should buy something for your dad,” she suggested. She’d met Mr. Carter that summer, and had immediately liked both of George’s parents. She also wanted to make a good impression.

Even after what he’d told her about his brother, she still didn’t seem to think it was going to be a big deal. A boyish pout found its way to his face, and he muttered an automatic “sure he can” before sighing and glancing down, rolling a shoulder and trying to get the feeling of the jacket that felt a bit too tight across the shoulders. Maybe it was just him, though, and his nervousness, making him feel a bit suffocated in his wool suit.

Maybe he’d exaggerated a bit about being able to distract him with a knut. He was able to grudgingly admit his brother was intelligent; and for the first couple years at Hogwarts, he’d had to live with his brother’s shadow (no jokes about still being in it!). He would have something smart to add to George choosing a fellow Ravenclaw, after all. What if Waker did like his brother? And worse… what if she liked him more than George?

After a moment, he pushed that aside—how could anyone like his brother over him? Besides… he was fairly certain his fruitcake of a brother was still with his annoyingly snooty girlfriend. She really was made for Phillip, in George’s opinion.

He did care for his brother, but he much preferred showing his love in as little a way as possible. Making a face as Waker motioned to his outfit, he glanced down. “Perfect? Is that sarcasm coming from Miss Nolan?” Maybe he should go and change… Look a little more ‘normal’ like his girlfriend. He reached up to scratch his head, but remembered in time to stop short—Merlin forbid if he messed it up. His free arm fell limply at his side as a drama filled sigh escaped him.

“Stop being a prat. I’m plenty warm, but are you sure I shouldn’t change?”

Plenty warm? In Scotland in November in so little clothing? George gave her a disbelieving look, eyebrow raised as he appraised her once again. “You look great.” Then she was looking at her shoes, and his eyes followed, screwing his face up at the mention of heels. So she could be taller than him? Or… taller than usual? Phillip was going to have fun with this. “No, Waker.” Tugging lightly on her hand, he smirked and looked up to her face. “You look great.”

As she herded him towards the gate, he let out a soft groan. He did appreciate the kiss back, a small smile coming out as he wrapped his arm around her lightly, enjoying the closeness at least. Everything was better when she wasn’t mad at him. A laugh escaped him at the mention of a book sale. She would know about those… “More books? Don’t you have enough?” She was a good distraction for the worry on his mind, offering up playful teasing.

“Or, maybe we should buy something for your dad.”

And his grin slid off his face at the reminder of what was to come. “No, I’m sure seeing your beautiful smile again will be gift enough.” Loosening his hold, his hand slid off her waist and back around to hold her hand, hanging his head slightly as he trudged towards the village with her. “We could… stop at the quill store.” A half smirk came back to his face as he swung their hands between them. “Or get some tasty treats from Honeydukes.” Tugging her arm so she was close again, he grinned as he turned to her. “Or we can go peruse the bookstores stacks.” His stomach was still clenched with worry, but he decided that he could keep his worry inward and try and project a pleasant out. They were getting away from the castle, after all.

Waker rolled her eyes. “I would like to think you know sarcasm when you hear it from my lips. At least by now.” She shot him a stern look, but immediately softened it. “Stop being such a girl, George.”

She’d moved on from ‘prat’ and had climbed the next rung to ‘girl.’ And by girl, she actually meant noun, f.: Fifth Year Slytherin Loitering in Washroom.

“You look completely edible, alright?” She’d lowered her voice, hissing the words and making sure no professors were in sight. As much as she loved George, she did not want the sole lasting impression of this year’s Head Girl to be her voracious appetite for a delectable boyfriend. It wouldn’t look good in the trophy case next to George’s inscribed Quidditch cup.

As they bickered, each trying to convince the other that he or she was more than adequately presentable (while simultaneously falling into patterns of sociably acceptably self-chastisement), Waker could feel the autumn air enveloping them, rustling her hair, sweeping past the highly tailored lines of George’s attire.

They passed through the gates, forfeiting opportunities to turn back, and looked forward, toward the High Street melting into the mountain scape. Toward the future.

“I just got rid of an entire box!” She defended herself, free hand raising like a magnet to meet her hip. “And there are a few things I want to search for... some rarities I think would help with the N.E.W.T. preparation. Have you noticed that every one of the five copies of that Human Hibernation History are checked out every time we go to the library?” Waker asked exasperatedly. How in the world was she going to learn the historical context for the charm? The Transfiguratory intricacies? The consequences of lines blurring between species, of wizards becoming more like animals, and other magical beings mounting their revolution for equal rights? It was all connected!

Apparently the alternative suggestion did not sit well. It seemed even less pleasurable than diving into piles of dusty books, judging by the expression on George’s pretty face.

“My god,” she said, a rare utterance of a least-favorite quote (not for its religious implications so much as the societal air-headedness that enveloped it). “When did you become so finicky? George, it’s your family! If anyone should be nervous, it’s me.” Exasperation might have been the day’s theme, but Waker could feel the smile tugging at the corners of her pillowy mouth, urging her cheeks to bunch beneath her almond eyes. She felt like... George. “We’ll go to the quill store,” she agreed softly. “And we’ll order some monogrammed parchment for your father, so he can write to you more often. And maybe some chocolates for your mum...” The mention of Honeydukes had set the wheels in motion. Waker was making the rounds in her mind’s eyes. “And for your brother, we should...” And here she came up blank.

Eyebrows dropping, eyes becoming sleepy, mouth a straight line, she looked at George with the blase expression of a tired teacher. “If I hear the word stacks while we’re lunching,” she threatened. Her lips pursed and she leaned forward to peck him again. “I’ll take points illegally from Gryffindor.” The murmur turned into a smile, and the quick, chaste kiss into a lingering one. “I think we should get your brother some parchment, too. It sounds like you too could work out a few things if you communicated more often.”

“I know a few things from your lips.” He rolled his eyes at the jab and stuffed a hand into his trousers, finding it a bit tighter than usual. “Learning from the best, sweets.” Smirking at that, he tried to imagine Waker on the Quidditch team… she was getting brash enough she could at least do with some sidelining insults. Nothing better than calling the opposing team a bunch of girls, even if they were comprised of a few. 

“You look completely edible, alright?”

A grin found its way to his face—if he were an animal, his ears would have stood up and tail started to wag. However, he wasn’t, so the grin was the easiest way to see how that pleased him. George was aware, however, how she worried about coming across, and so he leaned in closer, his voice dropping. “You want to eat me? I’ll give you seconds.” Thirds, even. If she had an appetite… he wasn’t going to try and starve her. That would be cruel and unusual, really. Best to let her have a taste, really, out of the goodness of his heart.

When she mentioned getting rid of a box, he felt his eyes flash quickly to he, worry that was there becoming more obvious. His initial thought was that she was referencing his box, the one he had gotten rid of just… recently. However, he couldn’t make a good connection between more books and riding herself of his box, so he came to the conclusion that she was referring to her own box, and that it must have been full of books. He doubted she had done that, though… maybe sent it back home to her folks or something.

Then she lost him in her ramblings about some book at the library. He stared at her blankly, merely nodding in ghostly agreement. Then he shook his head as if to counter that. “Copies of what now?” They were looking for a specific book when they went to the library? His free hand snaked out of trouser pocket and moved down against the back of his head, smoothing his hair down, feeling the scars underneath.

“Why should you be nervous? They like you. You fit in with the ‘Carter way.’” Ravenclaw had been a house of choice in his family… and Phillip had been an annoying Prefect. Not that George thought many Prefects weren’t… Waker had been one of the few, after all. And he wasn’t finicky! The toddler in his head was kicking his feet in indignation. Of all the things… Immature, of course, maybe even occasionally hyperactive and attention deprived.

“We’ll go to the quill store.”

That sounded like fun! He could hear the sarcasm in his head, but reframed from letting it out lest she give him another look of disappointed irritation. So he swallowed it and gave her as light a smile as he could. George liked that she picked out gifts to get his family. In reality, he liked giving gifts, he just never really knew what to get someone. Hence why he’d had to ask his mum for some ideas for Waker’s birthday.

Regardless… she was planning out their day and it sounded to him like a list was mentally being made. An inward groan came out and he shook his head. His brother could do with a swift kick.

“If I hear the word stacks while we’re lunching.”

His eyes widened in mock surprise and feigned innocence, not able to keep the façade up as she gave him a kiss, he laughed softly and pressed in for more, nipping at her bottom lip. “I think you’re hanging out with your lion too much… Illegal points and all.” His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her in as he stopped, eyes heavy as he leaned in for her jaw, pressing lightly to it on his way down to the side of her neck, lightly teasing it with his lips.

“I think we should get your brother-”

A breath was let out against her skin as he pulled back reluctantly, continuing in their walk. He pulled away from her, still holding her hand and letting it swing dramatically between them. “Work things out? I don’t know what there is to work out… He’s a selfish prat who misses being the only child.” Grinning, he glanced at her. He would obviously have to bring up the word ‘stacks’ during lunch now.

“Men,” she said, rolling her eyes, but still grinning. “Your eyes are always bigger than your stomachs.” She poked George’s side, and, keeping her voice in a whisper lest the same imaginary professors of her nightmares overhear something they shouldn’t, she added, “But I think I could do with seconds...”

Seconds of George were admittedly much more appetizing than the text Waker was attempting to hunt down, but the N.E.W.T.s were in a war for her heart, and she did not want to disappoint them, either. They would have to compromise, George and Waker. “We need it to pass,” she summarized, not bothering to name the title again. “Don’t worry, I’ll buy two copies.”

A tingle raced down her spine, and Waker quietly took pleasure in being told she fit in. Hadn’t that been what she’d been looking for for ages? Schoolwork was one thing, but finding her niche among people... well, a blush rose in her cheeks, and she realized she could very well see herself spending more and more time around the Carter family in the near (and distant) future.

What George did not know-- what Waker had not bothered to elaborate on-- is that a tiny first year, she’d looked up to his brother, the Head Boy and pride of her own Hogwarts house. She’d had something a puppy love crush even, not unlike the infatuation she witnessed in little Eirene, who clearly saw some sort of hero in Sasha (whom, in Waker’s opinion, had a rather good shot at winning the Head Boy title in a couple of years).

But Waker’s ‘type’ (if such a thing existed) had turned out to be exactly the opposite of Phillip. His brother was the antithesis, the other version of Carter, and she was quite pleased he’d found her. She had connected the dots until after she’d started dating George. After all, most childhood crushes were good and buried, and Waker’s were no different.

So why was George’s nervousness beginning to effect her?

Putting on airs of Gryffindor confidence, she quickened their pace and was soon pulling the boy into the bookstore. It was a matter of moments before she carrying a pair of textbooks to the clerk, ready to ring them up. “Will these do for my lion?” She asked under her breath, repeating the title George had given himself a few minutes earlier. She grinned at him, flashing the texts like a pair of shiny new earrings. “Now we can have the real fun-- gifts.”

Despite his protests, the body language that suggested George wanted nothing to do with charity if the receiving party began and ended with Phillip, Waker again took control of the situation, bee-lining for the quill shop. “It’ll be fun,” she promised, speaking more to herself than to George. “Maybe his-- girlfriend? They aren’t engaged are they?” She offered a side glance. “Maybe we should get something for her, too...” Waker wasn’t so keen on the idea, but she wanted to make a good impression. All of the time. She supposed the girlfriend had one upped her, being a few years older and thus a few years closer to... whatever it was parents expected of their sons’ girlfriends.

Her assessment of the opposite sex made him want to roll his eyes in kind, but he couldn’t entirely disagree with it. If anything, that made it worse. “Always better to have too much than too little.” It was like that with most things, in George’s opinion. When you were putting something together, if you have too little, then it’s not as sturdy or as trustworthy. When you were with your girlfriend, well… his eyes were very indulgent, and he certainly liked what he saw.

His breath did catch, though, when she teased him back, his mouth becoming slack, his eyes glancing down to her lips and quickly over his shoulder at the castle. Who really needed to go to Hogsmeade? Biting his lower lip, he took a few seconds to talk himself out of convincing Waker that he could do with a personal tutor session. At least, for now.

“We need it to pass… Don’t worry, I’ll buy two copies.”

And thoughts of a different study group left his mind; a sour look came to his face at the mention of his very own copy of whatever it was she wanted. “I wasn’t really worried…” Glancing down at their hands, he let out a slow sigh. “I’m sure that’s an exaggeration. We could pass without two copies.” Giving her a smirk, his eyes watched her a few moments more before darting to the path ahead of them.

The trip into the bookstore was not as George had imagined. Or secretly hoped for, anyway. If anything, it was just more time for him to brood over the impending lunch date. With his free hand stuck in his trousers, he raised an eyebrow and looked down at the books, the look on his face saying more than he could (or would). Contempt, perhaps, or just downright dislike. Either way, he tried to give her a smile, a grimace half upturn of the lips sliding on his face. “I don’t know… Do they come with pictures?”

“Now we can have the real fun-”

Words should not be spoken if they weren’t true. At least when they made George’s eyebrows raise and his grimace turn into a suddenly very interested grin. It took just a moment longer to process the word ‘gifts’ and put it with what she had mentioned before, his grin falling slightly. “That’s the ‘real fun?’” How was he ever going to keep her excited if she thought books and shopping were the equivalents of a good time? Pulling his hand out of his trousers, he rubbed the back of his head.

He took the books, however, holding them as he followed behind her like a… like something more ferocious than a dog on a leash. Then she was asking about Tweedle-Dee and George merely shrugged. “Engaged?” How was he supposed to know? Did people expect them to be? Were you supposed to take time to do that or just jump into it? Or did you really only do it if you felt obligated? George wasn’t too sure on serious [mature] relationships; he was still learning as it was.

Was there a window of time you had to be engaged in, or it wouldn’t be right? Making a face as he realized what she was thinking, he shook his head firmly. “She’s not coming to lunch, and you’re too nice. Maybe Phil will take her his leftovers.” Grinning at that, he felt good about his comeback, relaxing in the quill shop. He picked out a couple of new ones (his favorite one had broken the other day, how else was he to do his essays?) and even chose a new organizer for Waker. It helped that she mentioned she had liked it the best... and that it was in red.

Once she’d gathered the ‘gifts’ together, he’d purchased it, all too eager to get out of the store. Now with more in his free hand, he took hers again, swinging it gently between them. “We should have another half an hour right?” His eyes looked around absentmindedly for a big clock, continuing as he did. “We could go stock up on some Whizzers from the joke shop…” They were great fun to let loose in the loos. Not that he had ever done that, of course.

As he started to say this, of course, he saw him. Staring right at them, with a cocky smug smirk on his face, was Phillip Carter who continued on his way to the couple. George gripped Waker’s hand a little tighter and attempted to stand up straight, realizing too late that would be a little too obvious. Really, poor George had enough to think about. Including the fact that his overly confident brother (he was willing to forget the fact that it seemed to be an inheritable trait) was less dressed for this than he was.

Grimacing, George shifted the items they had slightly, letting go of her hand and putting his arm around her loosely as if to say 'mine.' "George!" His brother's voice even grated on his ears. Giving his brother a nod in returned greeting, George turned his gaze to his girlfriend. "Phillip. This is Waker." He let them do their little... introductions.

“I don’t know… Do they come with pictures?”

Waker stared at him, her eyes moving hawkishly over his face, as if it were their very first study sessions and George needed to be reacquainted with the concept of book-opening. “Illustrations,” she corrected. “And maybe a few historical faces. But if you actually bother to read your new gift--” And here she shoved the bag of books at him. “Maybe I’ll leave a few of my own photographs pressed in the pages...” Kidding, kidding! Or was she? Hmm...

And now the gifts for others.

Perusing the choices of parchment, embellishment, stamp, seal, and glaze, Waker nearly forgot why they’d entered the quill shop in the first place. There were even rows of giant peacock quills, and quills made from the wings of hippogriffs. Waker wondered if one had to be a giant or simply skilled to operate the instruments.

George’s echo of her own question brought the day-dreaming Ravenclaw back up for air (parchment and quills could be quite exciting). She tilted her head toward him. “Engaged...” She repeated again, blinking. “Well, I mean, they’ve been together a while, haven’t they? Do they live together?” She insisted on knowing, even if he had no answers. She was suddenly becoming nervous, having second thoughts-- what if she couldn’t even get the simple facts down? What if his brother (and father, for that matter) found her dense? Had they met any of George’s other girlfriend?

Other girlfriends. She nearly soured without his provocation.

“She’s not coming to lunch, and you’re too nice. Maybe Phil will take her his leftovers.”

Rolling her eyes and jabbing him in the quidditch-hardened stomach with a quill’s not-so-sharp end, Waker finally asked the clerk to help her put together a little basket of (rather neutral, but endearing) things. She couldn’t have a girlfriend’s name stamped officially onto letterhead if she didn’t even know how serious she was to George’s older brother... or his family.

The goods were as followed: letterhead with Phillip’s official name and job title on fire-proof parchment (just in case the curse-breaking became even messier than usual); three types of charmed ink for various writing and security conditions; raven-colored quills; and a magical eraser, which could remove any number of mistakes from highly sensitive documents. Naturally, Waker had every intention of getting the pair of siblings to correspond with each other on a more regular basis. Their mum would like that, wouldn’t she?

She was too busy tying the odds and ends into pretty knots to notice George’s own purchase, and by the time they stepped back into the sun, she was critically evaluating her own taste in gifts.

“The joke shop? Alright, but let’s also stop over there,” she said, pointing as she looked into her purse to count her money. “We should buy wine for your father. And maybe for Phillip, too. Or do you think that’s too forward? Quills are sort of prudish.” Her eyes shifted from her purse to the bag which shrouded the gift basket, and she began to frown. “Maybe the joke shop will have something more fu--”

The grip on her hand make Waker stir. She tensed in response to George’s tensing, and looked up, half-expecting to see a resurgence of the long-forgotten Dementors. Few things made the Gryffindor nervous, after all, or so it seemed.

Spying him, the young man with the unmistakeable grin which mirrored George’s own. (That being his usual expression, not the one that had overtaken his face at the sight of his brother).

Waker looked to George for direction, but only seemed to find more discomfort. He looked stifled, despite pulling her closer. She set her sights again his brother, deciding that she would have to take the lead. Again. What had got into the pair of them this afternoon?

Gingerly offering a hand-- and then quickly deciding it was not the up-to-par shake she’d practiced so many times with professors and peers and trophies-- Waker beamed at the older version of George, the Ravenclaw version, the former Head Boy. “I’ve been wanting to introduce myself for ages,” she explained, and then blushed. She’d meant it in more ways than one, but had not meant to hint at that in any way. George needn’t know she’d admired his brother long before she’d come to really know the Gryffindor. Continuing quickly: “I mean,” She shook her head at her own silliness. Silliness?! Waker? “Hello. It’s nice to meet more of George’s family. You two look very alike.” Uh-oh.

Pictures, illustrations—they were the same thing weren’t they? At least in George’s mind… And he liked his books to have a lot of them. Sighing as she shoved the books at him, he looked down at them as if they might bite. Read it? Couldn’t she sum it up for him? Why did it matter what he learned about… the history of a charm or where transfiguration came from if he could use it? Then again, he preferred the actual application of something and didn’t care so much for the how it came to be bit.

That was more Waker’s area… and he didn’t mind listening to her go on about because then he could day dream and watch her lips or… some other part of her, zoning out and thinking about things other than the latest essay. Raising an eyebrow at her offer, he tapped the books with his thumbs lightly. “Well… then maybe…” It was good incentive to try and talk him into reading. “I’d have to see one of them first, of course.”

He made a face at her insistent questions. Who cared how long Phillip had been with his girlfriend? “They’ve… kind of?” A while? Off and on again as far as he knew. Did they live together? Thinking about it, he finally shrugged. “I think so…” Her parents were a bit traditional, but they also liked Phil, from what he could remember. Rubbing the top of his head, he let out a groan; she should ask his mum these questions—she knew them off the top of her head. “They, yes, they live together.” He’d celebrated it, now that he recalled.

Another low grunt escaped him at the jab, smirking at her and rubbing his stomach in afterthought. He noticed some of the items she was having put together, though he wasn’t sure why she was going to such lengths for it… men didn’t need baskets. Tilting his head as the man added a little bit of ribbon, he rethought that—no, maybe most men didn’t. As long as she didn’t think he was carrying that…

His eyes lit up as she so easily agreed to the joke shop. Somehow George managed to keep himself from jumping up and down and swinging her hand in excited glee—he didn’t need her to rethink their next stop, after all. His grin fell just slightly, glancing to where she was pointing. Another place to stop? Who was the basket for, and why was it not enough? Was he expected to get her parents something like that?! Maybe she’d help him pick the right things out… “Maybe it’s good that we get prudish gifts. They’ll think you’re having a positive influence on me.”

Then Phillip was there, overbearing and blocking George’s sun as usual. It wouldn’t have been so bad, perhaps, if he hadn’t glanced to Waker and saw… well, whatever look she was giving Phillip. His upper lip pulled away however slightly at her stumbling words, eyes darting from his brother’s interestedly grinning face to Waker’s blushing—wait, blushing?!

That all seemed to fade away when she said they looked ‘very alike.’ He attempted to stand up straighter as Phillip gave Waker her hand back, smirking at George and glancing him up and down quickly. “Then he has some hope still.” George knew the jab could be in reference to a number of things, but took it as a height remark. “But Phillip doesn’t.” Glancing to Waker, he gave her a smug grin. “Poor sod has no extra leg to stand on. If he tried, he might break his nose first.”

It came out quicker than George could think it through, and aside from the slightly taken aback look on Phillip’s face, it wasn’t until he felt the slap up against the back of his head that meant others had been listening as well. “Hey!” Pulling away from Waker slightly, he frowned and looked over his shoulder—George quickly lost that, however, as he stared at his father’s stern glare. “I was just kidding…” Standing there like a punished child, George pouted slightly as his father turned a smile to Waker. “It’s wonderful to see you again, dear.”

“Are you suggesting my candids aren’t up to your standards?” Waker challenged, holding out an accusatory finger. But her palm softened and she brushed her fingertips under George’s chin, like a chastising-but-still-obviously-endeared parent. She supposed it was more or less the same, given George’s wicked penchant for adorableness.

Teasing him about his brother’s relationship status was not so easy.

Particularly when, moments later, said brother materialized before their eyes.

Waker had no time to wonder allowed whether he was calling her a prude, for there was Phillip, making things gloriously awkward with his uncanny resemblance to his younger brother, upon whose arm Waker now leaned for support.

She was too worried about saying something (even more) stupid to notice George quietly analyzing her expression or reading into her words. In Waker’s defense, they did look alike. Was it a crime to point it out? At the end of the day, she much preferred her lion. Obviously.

The joke did not sink into the Ravenclaw’s mind as readily as George told it. No sooner had she clapped a hand over her mouth in realization, and hissed “Geoge!” when her boyfriend was swatted in the back of the head by another Carter with a spookily similar semblance.

Dropping her hand and turning on heel, Waker blinked and pushed her hair back with a brisk set of fingers. The tips of her ears were not red like her cheeks, thank goodness. She smiled, first shyly, and then more brightly at Mr. Carter, offering him a hand before deciding something more ‘familiar’ might make a better impression. Long and awkward arms flailed right, stiffened left, and finally wound their way around Mr. Carter’s neck in a brief, familial hug. “It’s great to see you, too!” She said, barely catching her breath.

“I-- we,” she corrected herself, quickly and smoothly as she pulled away and grabbed George’s hand again. “We got you a little gift.” She looked from the man to the elder of his two sons, and finally settled on George, catching his eye for some sort of lead. “Maybe we should sit down first? It’s a bit chilly out here. You aren’t as warmly dressed as George,” she noted, eying Phillip again. “I mean, as we are.”

Well. He’d walked into that one, hadn’t he? “I’m saying I don’t know if they are…” He dragged it out a bit to overemphasize, wiggling his eyebrows and grinning. Rolling his head back slightly from the finger, he tilted his head and leaned forward slightly, brushing against her lips in a momentary truce. Well, until he pulled away. “I can help you take some.” Dedication is always key to fine art, after all.

Punishments shouldn’t be handed out in public unless they were absolutely horrid. So George felt a bit out of place and immature with the open swat from his father, though he had merely smirked when Waker had hissed his name. It had been a momentary triumph, seeing the look of ‘I don’t know how to respond’ on Phillip’s face. But perhaps that was because he had seen their father… Clearly he was facing that way. And he hadn’t even attempted to warn George either. What a prat.

Pouting George watched Waker’s attempts to greet his dad, rolling his eyes as they hugged. Gripping the bags he was carrying, he sorely wished he could shove a hand in a pocket for something to do. Frowning slightly and shifting his weight to another foot, he let his free hand be taken, watching Waker in confusion as she started talking for them.

“We got you a little gift.”

Blinking at her, he tried to shake off the humiliation of public abuse and raised an eyebrow. Then it dawned on him what she was referring to and his eyes widened and mouth parted as an “Oh, right” escaped softly. The bags he was forced to hold.

Sam seemed to agree with Waker’s opinion of sitting down somewhere, though he offered to take her bags off of her hands first. “Will The Three Broomsticks suffice?” When no one disagreed, he started to lead the way, offering George a walking one armed hug before tossling his hair from the back slightly, a light hearted joke escaping to try and break his boys of their sudden silence. George tried to duck away from his father, frowning and shaking his head, lifting the hand holding Waker’s to the back of his head to smooth some of the hair down.

Phillip opened the door for everyone and they shuffled in, taking an open booth—clearly the lunch crowd was just starting to seep in. George ushered Waker in to their side, letting her go in first as some form of retaliation for choosing to come with him to this family lunch. Smiling and leaning forward to brush against her cheek, he finally sat down and set the bags on the bench, turning his attention to the male Carter’s.

“Waker thought we should get gifts.” They would know George hadn’t come up with the idea. Gently bumping his shoulder against hers, his free hand found its way underneath the table (and away from prying eyes) to tease her thigh. Sam went on about the unnecessary trouble they must have gone through, and Phillip mirrored his father, glancing occasionally (or more than, though George was a little occupied with settling in to notice) to the girl he’d heard a bit about.

Though he was obviously still quite immature in his banter, there was something more grown up about George—and his family had noticed and had passed around opinions. His mum had, unknown to George, offered slight worry that he was growing up a little too fast. After the waitress took their drink orders, Phillip decided to jump in there and start off conversation. “Waker, I hear you’re head girl.” George raised an eyebrow but merely glanced from his brother to Waker, giving her a small smile. She was pretty remarkable like that.

“I think she had it in the bag since her N.E.W.T.s.” Not that George could boast knowing her since then. Knowing of her, perhaps, but he had been a year ahead at the time. Sam settled into the booth more comfortably, laughing easily and contributing his own opinion. “Except for her choice of company, she’s clearly made sound decisions… how are you enjoying it?” His attention turned to the young woman, and George squeezed her thigh, moving his hand inwardly as he also turned a smirk her way.

Waker was glad to be out of the sun, which was a traitor to her cheeks and the blush rising in them. She’d only turned pinker when her arm went up like a levitated broom to help George and his newfound hair problems. Boys. Didn’t they know girls were the only ones who needed to worry about hair?!

As she slipped into the booth before George, she resisted eyeing him to silently question his game. He was pinning her in, and clearly chuffed about it. But the Ravenclaw straightened up, smoothed her skirt, and --yes-- combed her fingers through her hair, only glancing at her other half through her peripheral until she was sure she could control herself. Breathing exercises were harder than they sounded.

Three Carters and a Waker. It would make for an interesting lunch session.

“Waker thought we should get gifts.”

“Oh!” Immediately, she sprung to action, finally pinning down George with her brown eyes, opening her mouth in protest, and turning to smile at his father and brother. “He’s being modest,” she promised, though she was not much of a liar. An offerer of explanations, perhaps, but not in an element like this one. This wasn’t a classroom, and Phillip wasn’t a professor idling behind his desk. “I know George has been wanting to do something nice for you for a long time-- we’ve just been so busy with exams and revisions, or I know he’d write more often.” She prodded him with her shoulder, tightening her lips as pleasantly as possible. “We picked them out together.”

Her eyes fell on the gifts and she waited for them to be analyzed. She felt quite foolish all of the sudden. And she’d been humored by George being too formal and antsy. The powers that be were reversing the mistake, righting the wrongs, and realigning the stars so that the pair fell back into the natural elements... in other words, Waker was flying full-speed toward Over-Thinking Everything.

“Waker, I hear you’re head girl.”

Glad for a change of conversation, but slightly unnerved that it was again about herself, she rose her brows mildly and smiled, caught off guard. “I’ve always wanted to be,” she admitted, lashes hitting her cheeks before she looked back up at Phillip.

“I think she had it in the bag since her N.E.W.T.s.”

Waker blinked, turning her full attention to the Carter beside her. “O.W.L.s, you mean?” She asked softly, trying not to laugh. “I’m very lucky...” She turned back to Sam and Phillip for a moment. “But George has promised to win the House Cup for Gryffindor.” Again, she gazed toward him, almost smirking, and winked. “And the trophy... for Quidditch, I mean.” Of course.

“He’s actually very good company. I think he’s taught me a thing or tw---” Waker sucked in a breath, her eyes widening slightly as the hand crawled up her thigh. Immediately, she reached for her glass of water and took a sip, lowering it to smile apologetically. “Sorry, I think I’m catching a bit of a cold.” Under the table, she swatted at George’s hand, and decided to change her tactic.

“I love it,” she admitted unabashedly. “Being Head Girl. It’s sort like having a real job, isn’t it? I mean not that I have the responsibility you have-- or you, Mr. Carter. But it’s definitely preparing me for life after Hogwarts.” She laced her fingers with George’s and took another sip of water. “You were very inspiring as Head Boy. You probably don’t remember me, but I picked up one of your books in the common room once... I was a first year. My god, that was so long ago.”

Her little exclamation made his heart jump, forcing his eyebrows up and glancing at her as if he wasn’t sure why he was getting that look. George was just being honest… did she not want him to be honest? A quiver started at the corner of his lips, the sign of a grin starting before he was able to quell it, trying to give her his best innocent wide eyed look back. That look of uncertainty was enduring on Waker. Then she claimed he was modest… when had George ever been so wrongfully pegged?!

Then it was his turn to respond and fumble. “What?” His surprised hiss escaped quicker than he could process, head turning to look at his girlfriend as his brows furrowed slightly. He wanted to do something nice for a long time? Scratching his shoulder and finally turning his not so pleased face back to his family, he gave them a copycat smile. “Together.” She was getting better at playing his game and getting him back.

Both older Carters seemed to take it as their cue to examine and marvel over the gifts. Once their attention was diverted for a moment, George’s tight uplifted lips fell and he gave Waker a testy look while tugging at the suddenly stuffy coat sleeves.

At least things could change rather quickly. Get Waker on about her academic prowess and you were likely to be there a while. How did someone aspire to be Head Girl (or Boy)? George had aspired to living life to the fullest, and getting into as much trouble as he could, and passing with the bare minimal in class attendance. He had believed in having fun and doing it all. What did she want now that she’d achieved Head Girl? That question hadn’t really popped up yet, and now it was nagging at him.

“O.W.L.s, you mean?”

His mouth opened slightly before closing, lips pursed slightly to the side as he took a slow breath. Always pointing out a mistake. “Right, that’s what I meant.” His voice faded as she continued to talk, not glancing to his smirking brother. Trophy talk made him perk up a bit, and a small smile rose. “I am good at winning trophies I want.” Perhaps it was a renewed vigor for the sudden innuendo between the two, but George felt like pushing her boundaries. After all, she hadn’t been helping his awkwardness with his brother, so why not play it back? His family added their own opinion, Phillip egging Waker on for Ravenclaw and Sam encouraging the fighting spirit in his youngest.

Her reaction to his wandering hand made him smirk arrogantly. George was good at catching people off guard. He faked concern over her ‘cold.’ His father gave genuine concern. “Make sure you have some soup… Or make sure George gets it for you.” Both Phillip and Sam offered a couple of suggestions to battle the pseudo cold as George jumped from the swat, raising an eyebrow in her direction.

She loved it? Then he felt a scowl coming on; Phillip didn’t have responsibility! And… George had just as much responsibility! Cause he had to keep Waker happy. He didn’t accept her laced fingers as easily, especially with her next sentence out of her mouth. Then he could feel the heat rising to his face and he pulled his hand out of hers, pressing it between his knees in an attempt to not let his irritation control his emotions.

“Well…” It seemed Phillip was as caught off guard as his brother from the compliment, though he quickly grinned, seeing George’s discomfort. “I’m sure you’re doing as great a job, if not better. That was long ago… George was a pain then. I think he destroyed some of my books that year.” Sam beckoned the waiter over while George sat up a little straighter, giving his brother a knowing smirk. “And one of your essays.” That was what happened when the Head Boy tried to give you a hard time in the hallway time and again. Or that was what George had thought at the time, considering the Head Boy was his annoying older brother.

“Oh yes! What class was that for…” As Phillip considered it, George once again moved his hand back out, resting it on Waker’s thigh and pointedly moving away from her hand whenever it tried to intervene. “Potions! I didn’t think the Professor was going to believe the ‘my brother ate it’ story.” George’s grin deepened and he couldn’t help but twist slightly in the booth, pressing his hand farther away from his family. “They’ve since learned their lesson. I have quite a hunger for… essays. Right Waker?” And he turned his attention to her, his fingers moving as best as they could at the angle he was at without causing too much attention.

Sam then had the waiter there and he glanced to the group, offering a smile. “Ladies first.”

George, for all of his confidence, and willingness to do things like wade through crowds of students on Hagrid-sized stilts, was not exactly stepping smoothly into the role Waker was attempting to craft for him. He seemed less than enthusiastic, even caught off guard by the idea of having anything to do with choosing gifts for his family. Well, so much for good impressions...

Waker tried not to blush, but it was harder as the two men across from them busied themselves with the parcels so as not to interfere with the battlefield flirtation.

Nodding with agreement at their many suggestions, she continued to massage her throat and conjure up a few soft, ladylike coughs (nothing terribly off-putting, as they were about to have lunch). “Soup sounds excellent,” she admitted.

“Oh, I’m trying, but we’re only through a part of the first semester!” Merlin knew the next one would be a stickier situation, with Fifth Years going into panic mode and collapsing under the weight of library selections. Waker was determined and humbled, but not particularly looking forward to escorting airheads to the Hospital Wing to recover from exam-related PTSD. She had her own graduation trauma to worry after... and real problems, like Slytherins flooding the toilets in the dungeons, or third year girls creating Headmistress-unsanctioned cults in the name of Ian Cuddyer.

“He wouldn’t destroy a book, now, I don’t think... he’s quite evolved.” She smirked a little, eyeing George from the side. Her hand slipped over his, tickling the back of his palm, before sinking into it just barely, a masochistic ghost of girlfriends past. “And he is quite brilliant at writing.” She continued to talk as if George’s comments were entirely sincere, taking them at face value and skimming over the innuendo drenching each cute little word to leave his smart mouth.

When the waiter arrived, she moved her hand, and used it as an excuse to lean toward George, stepping purposely on one of his nicely-shoed feet. “I’ll have the seasonal soup, and some toast with pumpkin jam, please.”

She leaned back with an innocent smile and a clear-ringing word of thanks, using George as a support to find her posture. Her palm landed none-too-accidentally in the middle of his lap, and she was sure to press most of her weight into it just as the waitress turned to take his order. Finally, drawing her hands into herself, she turned her attention back to Phillip and Mr. Carter. "The one bad thing about autumn is that everyone's always passing around terrible germs. But they have the best soups this time of year, haven't they?"

He didn’t need reminded of how they were only in the first half of the year. An audible and unexpected sigh escaped George’s mouth as he pouted at the idea of a few more months cooped up at Hogwarts. He didn’t mind the school, usually, just the responsibilities it seemed to force upon him. George couldn’t wait to be a real adult and live on his own. A job was just a job right? He could do what he needed to to make sure he wasn’t stuck at home. It couldn’t be that tough.

His brother was doing it, after all, the school warped harpy who had a mini panic-attack if he didn’t separate his clothes into lights and darks. Come to think of it, George recalled a time he had stuck a red pair of boxers in Phillip’s whites just to see the boy lose his cool. Recalling the disaster made him grin, not noticing the looks his family gave him—first a disappointed sigh, then a manic grin? Maybe studying was a bad idea of the younger Carter.

“He wouldn’t destroy a book, now, I don’t think… he’s quite evolved.”

Laughing at that, he glanced up at the ceiling as if he could see the halo poised overhead. “At least not an important one… or one that is Waker’s.” Giving her a sly wink, he tried to play hard to hold with her fingers. If anything, his smirk stayed on his lips. “And thanks to Waker, I know my way in and out of the library stacks.” His eyes stayed on his brother and father, though he was sure it was as effective as if he were staring straight at her.

Oh yes. He brought up the stacks. Score for the Lion.

With the waiter there, George had to quickly decide between the three entrée’s he was considering, though they fluttered away as he felt the sudden growing pain on his foot. Letting out a shocked and quiet yelp, he instinctively attempted to push Waker back, trying to work his foot out from under her unforgiving weight.

He had no time to comprehend her order, much less consider how delicious pumpkin jam might taste, when he felt her hand hovering scarily close to his most precious body parts. His lips parted slightly as his eyes flickered downward, foreshadowing what was to come. Then the waitress diverted his attention by asking what he wanted, and as he opened his mouth to tell her, he felt the crushing weight which forced a high pitched groan to escape.

Clenching his teeth a moment, he pointed down at the menu, tapping his finger against something while leaning forward, attempting to push Waker’s hand away. It didn’t help that Phillip and Sam were looking at him as if he’d grown a third eye. He was able to choke out “P-please…” unable to look at the cute waitress for fear of what bewilderment he might see.

And Waker kept talking as if nothing was going on. George’s hand was well away from where it had been nestled, much to his disappointment, clenched in a fist as he tried to reposition. Sam seemed to pick up quicker, nodding in agreement with Waker. “Best time to keep yourself warm. Stew is good as well—George’s mum makes a fantastic duck stew, you’ll have to try it.”

Even imagining it made George’s stomach grumble in agreement. After all had ordered, George took his time contemplating revenge, sitting quietly and wincing now and again as his father and brother asked Waker questions.