“Good… Good, we’ll definitely have to find time to do that.”

More time alone with Waker… George wasn’t about to pass that up. Nodding as well, he tapped his fingers against his waist. “I’ve always got extra time for helpful young ladies.” He would take it when he needed as well; even if he were in the middle of an essay. He was more serious about school, sure, but it didn’t mean he refused himself a life out of coursework. George took her words as more a boost of confidence, figuring she might want more time with him beyond the trophy room. The boy could hope.

“Like Devlin Matthews.”

Blinking at the suggestion, his grin fell into a disgusted sneer before he could stop himself. Quickly forcing a smile back to his lips, George merely waited as she seemed to take a moment herself and reword it.

“That wouldn’t work. I’m a girl, and he’s… I’m sure he doesn’t care who talks about him. There’s enough gossip there. Maybe I could rework the letters in his name, though.”

So there was something there between Devlin and Waker. Trying not to let himself work ahead of the facts, pushing aside the sudden disappointment, George grinned as she laughed. “I don’t know, if you wore a mask and a cape and said you were Matthews, I’d believe you. As long as you keep his mannerisms, of course.” The little scumbag. Best to keep his thoughts to himself, though.

“I do like capes, too. The very streamlined ones.”

He loved how she was so easy going about everything, and wanted to reach out and kiss her for it. Restraining himself, he grinned wide and nodded in agreement. “Perhaps we should have a cape day, then. Red would be the best color to wear.” He had to support his house! Gryffindor all the way. It was interesting how belonging to something, even as intangible as a set of ideals wrapped up in a house, could make one strongly inclined to only feel affiliated to that one thing.

It happened that, for George, he couldn’t think of any better colors to want to wear. He was very loyal to all things; family, friends, house, all the way down to something so small that one might think him a bit mad for it. There was a reason he came out to Quidditch events done up as much as he did. It wasn’t that he necessarily liked painting his body, or the time spent after trying to get it off. It was a sense of pride…

“People will tear you down for being you. Or they’ll change and force you to change your perspective.”

Frowning slightly, George glanced down and focused briefly on the marble flooring before shaking his head a little. “Not the people who should matter.” Looking up again, he had that desire to reach forward and kiss her again. Resisting it, he let out a huff and rolled his eyes, trying to brush off the seriousness with a laugh. “Then again, sometimes the opinions that seem to matter the most are those that shouldn’t, right?” Shrugging, he had to glance away.

“Really?”

Watching her face, George was going to have to get ahold of himself. This was just ridiculous. Even through glass he wanted to just hold her. That sounded incredibly childish as soon as the words came to his head. His eyes softened as he nodded to her question, leaning forward slightly. Then the small reflection of himself in the case reminded him where he was and he blinked and glanced away, repositioning himself before he faced her eyes again.

“I once tutored a pair of students who didn’t get along at all…”

Watching her face and listening to the story, George found himself loosening up as well. He was himself as often as he could be, but he was also letting down his own guard the longer he talked with Waker. Something about the sincerity in her gaze, the way she held herself and didn’t back down… he trusted it, for better or worse. His eyebrows rose at the story, rather surprised at it, and how he hadn’t heard it before.

“It helped me with my own sense of compromise, too. And they passed potions.”

Laughing and nodding, George could accept that story. He had been hopeful for something personal and real, but she was a Ravenclaw. They took studies personally, right? “Maybe I should come and see you for potions tutoring.” A brief moment passed and he finally blinked, rubbing the back of his head. His mind was definitely on something other than studying.

“Congratulations, though, takes someone special to handle that sort of situation.” Thinking for a moment, tapping his chin lightly, he finally repositioned himself in trophy cup form.

“Is there an achievement that ye are particularly proud of?” After a breath, he grinned. “What is it, and why is it significant?” That should be a good curve ball. He waited for her, enjoying the time even if she was looking at it as just a helpful hand from George. He hadn’t expected Waker Nolan to be this real.

Waker's face seemed to recoil or stiffen at George's momentarily uninviting expression. Had it been the name that did it? Devlin's name? Resuming her own smile with only a hint of apprehension, she shook her head. "Are you saying we look alike? I look like a boy? Well, with a mask... and we are the same height, almost, he's a little taller, but..." Waker thought of what Devlin would do to her if she decked herself in many layers and pretended to be him for a week. It was tempting, in a sick way, this desire to infuriate him. But she would probably never live to see her seventh year. Beyond being well-connected, Devlin was a very skilled wizard, and Waker couldn't forget that no matter how much he changed. "I think my legs are a little prettier," she finished cheekily, and then regretted it. She sounded like one of those god-awful classmates who trimmed their school skirts to the bare minimum and fawned over so-and-so's abs. Her smile dropped a fraction and she looked the backs of her hands, holding her fingers out flat in front of her as if they had suddenly begun to do back flips or something equally interesting. She looked back up at George when he gave his input on capes.

“Perhaps we should have a cape day, then. Red would be the best color to wear.”

"Red?" She seemed to seriously consider it. Waker actually did like red, but she rarely decked herself in it head to toe. It was what she called an 'accessory color', because it was so vibrant and attention-drawing. She had the distinct feeling they weren't simply discussing garments, however. "And what's wrong with blue?" She wouldn't have done herself justice if she didn't go there. "I think red can be too... loud, sometimes."

“Not the people who should matter... Then again, sometimes the opinions that seem to matter the most are those that shouldn’t, right?”

It was possible that a truer statement had never been voiced. This was the first time during the brief but exceedingly interesting conversation that Waker agreed one million percent (yes), no questions asked or points left to be proved. She opened her mouth, blinked slowly, and then closed it (a habit she had developed some time ago amidst unofficial debates and civilized quarrels). "I think you've just won the game, sir." It was a rare moment for the Ravenclaw, admitting defeat. Her only solace was that George's point was the eternal problem that went hand in hand with Waker's. In the largest sense, that problem was human beings.

Waker waited for George to adjust, assuming he was trying to get back into the 'interview mood', for lack of better phrase. It was like a theater game. But Waker was someone whose only stage experience was limited more or less to spelling bees and formal recitals. She took secret joy in the boy's confirmation that he really believed she would do well during the real thing.

"Maybe I should come and see you for potions tutoring.”

"You could. I don't charge money like some people." She had heard rumors, anyway. Not to mention had witnessed a dodgy thing or two over the past few years. And nights. "But I won't stop badgering you until you get it right. I hear I'm very tiresome."

“Congratulations, though, takes someone special to handle that sort of situation.”

"Thank you, Mr. Geor-- Edwin. Trophy. Mr. Trophy." This was becoming far too much of a tongue twister. Waker reminded herself why she never had the silly aspirations of most teenage girls to go into acting. White lies and banter were one thing, but the stage seemed a bigger chore than tackling Advanced Potion Making in one evening.

“Is there an achievement that ye are particularly proud of?... What is it, and why is it significant?”

Waker had assumed that she'd sort of just explained an achievement. She shifted, willing her brain to shine its light on one success that was better than the others. All that came to mind was school, school, school. "Mmmm." Her mouth had become a tight line as she tried not to get flustered over it. George had posed a very real question, something that was bound to come up. It was something which she was technically prepared for, on paper, but she had suddenly realized in the span of two minutes that her personal records weren't distinguishing in the least. She knew she couldn't repeat a similar story to the tutoring one. "I... No." That wasn't acceptable. She heaved her shoulders, breathing huffily. "Well, yes. Yes! Discovering I was a witch was a wonderful achievement. But that's stupid because everyone here has done that, unless they have-- they're wizards instead. But, it was sort of a great achievement for me, personally, because it confirmed I wasn't just some crazy girl who could turn her grandmother's hair purple when she got really, really upset." She found herself smiling at the ground despite her absurdly bad answer. In her effort to become a perfect adult, she had almost forgotten what it was like to be a confused child. "Once I got the letter from Hogwarts, I knew I didn't have to be like her or my parents to be special... you know..." She trailed off rather un-Wakerishly. "Does that count? I can tell a much better one. Give me a moment."

“Are you saying we look alike?-“

His eyes widened a bit and he tried to cover himself. “No, of course not, I was just—”

“-I look like a boy? Well, with a mask… and we are the same height, almost, he’s a little taller, but…”

Rolling his eyes a bit, George ran his hand over his forehead before looking at her again. “You definitely don’t look like a boy, Waker. Besides, I wouldn’t k—” Stopping himself before he made a fool of himself, George pursed his lips and shook his head, laughing lightly. “I only meant that he’s quite… girly in some things he does, and that I don’t really pay much attention to the guy, so that most about his height could… pull him off.”

It was an attempt to cover himself in both what he’d said, what she might have thought he said, and to cover up what he had been about to say. He wouldn’t kiss Devlin, it wasn’t even feasible. George didn’t consider kissing apes. He wasn’t even sure if the boy showered regularly… Devlin looked like he could be a poster child for soap. Maybe it was the mangy, sporadic facial hair. Someone should introduce him to a razor that worked.

“I think my legs are a littler prettier.”

His eyes went down to her legs as an automatic response before he looked back up at her, grinning. “Quite.” That was all he felt he could say without elaborating more on his views.

“Red? And what’s wrong with blue? I think red can be too… loud, sometimes.”

He gave her a toothy grin, glad they had gotten to a lighthearted argument. He leaned in a little closer, his eyes flashing mischievously. “It is loud… Blue’s okay in some things, but it comes across as mellow. At least with red, people know you’re there with a  purpose in mind.” Sighing as he turned his eyes up to the ceiling, he added as if to exemplify his point, “I mean, people remember people when they do outlandish things in bright, odd colors.” For some reason; perhaps it was because they seemed to catch someone’s attention more than earthy tones.

“I think you’ve just won the game, sir.”

He liked winning… George was competitive as a nature, growing up in his family. In this, however, it wasn’t necessarily as black and white as ‘I win, you lose.’ Biting his lower lip in thought, he shrugged and let out a breath. He thought that winning that meant he had it figured out, and only cared about certain people’s opinion. He was still chained by the desire to be liked and appreciated, though, and doubted he’d grow out of it much at Hogwarts.

“You could. I don’t charge money like some people… but I won’t stop badgering you until you get it right. I hear I’m very tiresome.”

His grin was for something entirely different, though Waker might not have realized that at that point. She was very tiresome? He could only hope so. Licking his lips and trying to keep his grin from telling his thoughts, he merely nodded and fought to put on a thoughtful expression. “Well… I wouldn’t mind being badgered until I was exhausted. From tutoring. Of course. I take all of that very seriously.”

“Thank you, Mr. Geor—Edwin. Trophy. Mr. Trophy.”

She was too cute for words. If he could have, he would have leaned his chin on his knuckles and just watched her. Waker was very interesting, to say the least.

“Mmmm.”

It was good for Waker to get an idea of what would be asked in an interview. For the most part, what he had been told anyway, was that most were very similar to the next. They asked the same basic questions, or something along the same lines, and if you went prepared for general ones, then you could wing the others without stumbling over yourself trying to think of something.

“I… No… Well, yes. Yes! Discovering I was a witch was a wonderful achievement. But that’s stupid because everyone here has done that, unless they have—they’re wizards instead…”

There was something about Waker that just made George listen, made him curious and want to know more. She was willing to open herself up for this little exercise, and he wondered if she would have had it been any other situation. He didn’t think it was stupid, but it was easier to let her work through it herself to figure it out. While every Hogwarts student had at one time figured out they were magical, whether muggleborn or with wizarding lineage, George didn’t know many who would center on that accomplishment. It was a nice and different introspective idea.

“Once I got the letter from Hogwarts, I knew I didn’t have to be like her or my parents to be special… you know…”

He wanted the story to continue, wanted to find out more, wanted that look of dazed memories to come over her face again. Then she seemed to come back and when she asked if it counted, he sat up a bit and blinked, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “It’s an achievement, original in the choice to use it… I think it’s fine.” Grinning, he put his hands on his knees and shrugged. “I mean, if you want to tell another one, I—Edwin is all ears. Or… trophy…”

Waker was surprised and secretly pleased with the momentary struggle she seemed to cause. She knew she didn't look like a boy, and she knew George knew it, but it was amusing to watch him answer, particularly since, in general, he seemed much less uptight than she. Upon feeling this, though, she also felt sort of guilty for being humored, and smiled somewhat kindly to make up for it. "Devlin is girly?" She laughed. "I must not be as analytical as I think." She folded her arms and paused for a moment's reflection. "I don't believe I could pull off that... what do you call it?" She rubbed her cheeks with one hand. It wasn't quite a beard. "Not as well as Devlin. Maybe if I Spell-O-Taped my hair to face."

As George appraised her legs, Waker again felt dense for having mentioned them. Her cheeks were unbecoming with even the slightest tinge of pink. It made her look weak and bumbling... even if that wasn't always entirely bad. She was supposed to be cool and collected. Not fazed. Or perhaps habitually talking to trophies wasn't doing its magic for her charisma (and arguably, it wasn't).

“It is loud… Blue’s okay in some things, but it comes across as mellow. At least with red, people know you’re there with a  purpose in mind... I mean, people remember people when they do outlandish things in bright, odd colors.”

The red-versus-blue debate seemed much like the one pertaining to the future, in that Waker was not sure they would come to an agreement, but she found herself enjoying it more. Attempting to mirror the mischievous glow in George's eyes, she bounced back with another retort. "Mellow is a dependable quality, and it keeps everyone else in check. And blue has as much purpose as red. It's just not overbearing. It reveals itself in time. Timing is everything-- but I guess we already don't agree on that," she considered with a half smile. "Red can be... brash. Or make you look brash, I mean," she amended quickly, wanting to stress that she was talking about color and not a personality, though the opposite was true. "But... I should consider more red for my summer wardrobe. Blue can get boring."

“Well… I wouldn’t mind being badgered until I was exhausted. From tutoring. Of course. I take all of that very seriously.”

Unsure of his tone and expression, Waker considered his words for a long moment, and then decided that it was best not to think too much into what he'd said. "Right..." Her voice trailed off, slightly aloof for a moment, before she snapped into a seemingly much more responsive state. "Do you need help with potions? Not that I don't think you're on track--"

Focusing on the interview became simultaneously easier and more of a challenge, if it were at all possible. Waker felt more at ease, more inclined to play along and give real answers. But George's role as a trophy only became funnier as the interview became more sincere. She waited less anxiously than before for some kind of reply or input to her brief anecdote, and sighed inwardly when he deemed it worthy enough.

“I mean, if you want to tell another one, I—Edwin is all ears. Or… trophy…”

"Well, I don't want to take up too much of Edwin's time. His family might worry when he doesn't show up for dinner." Waker gestured to her watch. Though she had offered, she wasn't sure she could come up with a better idea that wouldn't have 'Ravenclaw' written all over it.

“Devlin is girly? I must not be as analytical as I think.”

He was quite a girl, in George’s opinion. The type of girl you felt pity for because the only thing they had going for them was some undesirable trait that most could care less for. Well… George could care less, and that was all that mattered to him. The boy was a sleeze bag. If he could get away with it, he would put him in his place. As of now, though, he had no reason to. Other than his intense dislike…

“I don’t believe I could pull off that… what do you call it?”

Making a face and laughing, he raised an eyebrow. “Scruff?” Like a dog. Yes… that was Devlin, all right.

“Not as well as Devlin. Maybe if I Spell-O-Taped my hair to face.”

Shaking his head, he put his hands on his hips and watched her, trying to imagine how it might look before he let out another laugh. “I don’t know, we could just shave a sheep and attach at random pieces of their wool to your face. I think that would be more along the lines of what he tries.” George was very straight forward with his facial hair. He rarely let stubble hang around, and the only thing he grew out were his sideburns that came below his ear lobe. He thought they were very nice as well.

“Mellow is a dependable quality, and it keeps everyone else in check. And blue has as much purpose as red. It’s just not overbearing. It reveals itself in time.-”

George opened his mouth to say that his boxers were blue, if that made a difference, but decided that best be kept to himself. Closing his mouth and smirking in enjoyment, he listened to her compelling argument. He actually couldn’t remember if his boxers were blue today, anyway. If he had said they were, she might have been interested in seeing them. Whatever color they were, they were clean… Then again, George couldn’t imagine Waker ever asking to see the color of a guy’s boxers.

“-Timing is everything—but I guess we already don’t agree on that… Red can be… brash. Or make you look brash, I mean.”

He was a bit ‘brash,’ come to think of it. Some would call what he did foolhardy, not often thinking of the consequences until after he had done something. Like the time he took apart his grandfather’s watch… and then was left with one little screw after. Always happened that way too. George had a drawer at home of ‘left over pieces’ once he had finished putting something back together. Age old mystery, same as where the other matching sock went after the laundry was done.

“But… I should consider more red for my summer wardrobe. Blue can get boring.”

“Blue does go nice with your hair, though. The right color of red, though, would bring out-” What would they help bring out? Pausing momentarily, his eyes looked over her face before he grinned. “Your eyes, more.” Yes, good catch. Girls liked hearing how pretty their eyes looked, right? George noticed eyes… and how cute they were, or sharp and intelligent, or mischievous, sure. He just didn’t often look so close as to memorize every detail.

“Right… Do you need help with potions? Not that I don’t think you’re on track—“

Grinning, unsure if she had caught on his hidden meanings, George merely shrugged. “More help would always be nice. I’m not really sure what I’ve got in there right now… having a hard time getting through the latest essay, personally.” It was amazing he was actually caught up to the latest essay, come to think of it.

“Well, I don’t want to take up too much of Edwin’s time. His family might worry when he doesn’t show up for dinner.”

Trying to keep the disappointment from his face, he managed to keep his smile though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re right, he needs to go home to the little trophies sometime soon…” Drumming his fingers on his knees, he leaned forward and tapped on the glass lightly. “Would you help me out of here, then? I think Edwin might get jealous if I take any more shelf time next to…” Glancing to the trophy next to him, George squinted and caught the name, sounding it out slowly and dramatically. “Clare…”

Turning his gaze back to her, he smiled wide and waited patiently. He could get out on his own, he just didn’t want to have to mess with it when the little handle was on her side. The hope was he could get Edwin back in the case and wipe off any prints before someone happened by to notice. He could just imagine the caretakers face (probably the last thing he would see before he keeled over) if he were to see George climbing out of the trophy case without a proper detention first.

"Scruff, yes," she agreed, unable to overcome the slight blush. There was always something about that word, especially since the strange conversation she'd had with Devlin, and her separate recollections of it with Fauna and Delilah.

“I don’t know, we could just shave a sheep and attach at random pieces of their wool to your face. I think that would be more along the lines of what he tries.”

"That poor sheep," Waker sighed, her shoulders shaking a little as she laughed silently.

Waker touched her hair briefly as it was mentioned, but kept her attention on George. She felt lost for a moment, knowing that he was studying her face. There was something oddly soothing in it, and also something exciting. And lastly, intimidating. Waker rarely had this sort of conversation, despite liking to chat and joke about things with her peers when she wasn't swimming in schoolwork. As soon as he mentioned her eyes, she closed them, but couldn't stop herself from sharing her teeth in a very genuine and ungaurded smile. "That's the first time I've heard my eyes go well with red," she laughed, opening them again a readjusting to the view.

She suddendly remembered the conversation she'd had with Delilah, about Atticus Pennyapple knowing the exact color of her friend's eyes, and Delilah doubting whether George had known. Waker's smile sobered and she studied the boy in a different way (but not a cynical one), tiling her head. She wondered whether her friend had not only not given herself enough credit, but had also not given George enough credit. Waker was on the verge of saying something about it, but was at a loss for what she could say without contributing to the fleeting awkwardness they'd just overcome.

“More help would always be nice. I’m not really sure what I’ve got in there right now… having a hard time getting through the latest essay, personally.”

"You're not sure?" She was glad for the distraction. Her face was disbelieving, but not unhappy. It was just such a foreign concept to Waker, to not worry half to death about one's grades. She had friends and classmates who lived a similar way, but George made it seem easy and carefree. "Well, first thing tomorrow, you should get a progress report from the professor," she advised. "And then we'll tackle that essay."

“You’re right, he needs to go home to the little trophies sometime soon… Would you help me out of here, then? I think Edwin might get jealous if I take any more shelf time next to… Clare."

Unsure whether she'd unintentionally offended him, as Waker was now paying closer attention to George's face and its reactions, she was quick to answer. "Maybe we can meet them sometime, the junior trophies," she suggested, reaching for the door of the cabinet. She shook her head and smiled as he read the name of the neighboring award. After opening the case for George, Waker lifted her wand and levitated the real Edwin Trophy in the air, lest the Gryffindor try to carry it around again. She waited with her other hand on her hip for the boy to vacate the spot. "Be careful. Clare is watching."

Then, smiling, she added offhandedly, "I hope Edwin's impostor isn't late for dinner, either."