Edmund was in a bad mood. One of the assignments for Transfiguration involved a partner; normally, he would've gone with any of the usual suspects in his troupe, but no, they'd been placed in allocated duos. And Edmund nearly flipped when he saw his pairing. George Carter - the most unlikeable Gryffindor to ever grace Hogwarts. There had always been some tension surrounding the two ever since the Waker scenario, and after their brief spat on the Quidditch pitch it was clear that the two didn't get on.

His brief fling with Waker was the first scenario of romantic seriousness for Edmund, and her decision to end it knocked his confidence to put it mildly. Give it a few months and bam, she was with George Carter. Edmund was far too proud to ever show his slight annoyance over the situation, and carried on like everything was normal. It wasn't that his feelings for Waker lingered (the two were friends at best), but it was the fact that Edmund Klint had lost something, that he wasn't the greatest at everything possible. His suave, marginally arrogant charm had taken a beating, and perhaps he wasn't the glint of every girl's eye in Hogwarts.

Things had only complicated further with Lou's arrival. Most people were aware that Carter and Klint were officially a couple, and Edmund couldn't have been happier. But as for George? Well, nobody would appreciate a rival moving onto a relative. Some could have viewed Edmund's relations with Lou as a low blow against George, but the Ravenclaw had nothing but feelings of sincerity (and extreme attraction) to his new girlfriend. And if George didn't like it, then he could go take a running jump.

Sitting at a desk, leaning back nonchalantly, Edmund had already created an academic set-up that would suggest work was to be solo. Surrounded by a semi-circle of open textbooks and piles of parchment, he'd already begun the task in hand alone. Carter and co-operation were two words that did not go together.

The pretty-boy-Quidditch-fumbler was going to be his partner. George was chalking it up to more bad luck for the year. After retreating from a trophy shining detention, having missed his meal for it, he’d made it to the transfiguration classroom with little issue. Minus the whole end of the world assignment thing. He wasn’t sure what Ramsay was getting at, but he didn’t care for it one bit.

Though George tried not let on how badly his breakup bothered him, the increase in misbehavior and lack of classroom integrity had shown through. He knew he wasn’t really going to use his education for something spectacular. He would pass his N.E.W.T.s, get what he got, and then start in somewhere. He didn’t have big Ministry dreams. The closest his dreams came to that were those of being offered a spot on a professional Quidditch team.

Still. Seeing his partner all ready working, George made a face and glanced around. On top of everything, George had all ready heard about Lou and this twig. And George had all ready given his opinion, a few times, on the type Lou should be consorting with. Walking by, George flipped one of the books over, accidentally knocking over a thing of ink. A half hearted jump forced him to stand straighter, and a grimace escaped him. “Whoops.” He did feel bad, though—he just tried not to let it show. Leave Klint to clean up his own messes.

Lesson learned, anyway: don’t leave your ink open.

Sitting in a chair across from Klint, George slumped back and attempted to come off as nonchalant as possible. If Waker could go and screw someone thing, then George could act like it didn’t bother him. He was waiting on his Valentine’s Day prospects anyway. “What’s the subject again?” Pulling the quill from behind his ear, George pushed the chair on to its back two legs.

Edmund glanced up, his brow heavy and frowning. A puddle of navy blue ink appeared on the floor next to his table, and he breathed out slowly. Now that was on purpose. Edmund didn't even look at Carter as he stooped to the floor, picking up the bottle with the few lingering drops of ink and throwing a bit of scrap paper on top of the puddle. Getting back to his seat, Edmund shook his head slightly, still furious about his pairing with the git of a Gryffindor.
"Well done, Carter," he muttered, his eyes flicking up to meet his partner's. "That's another ten arsehole points for you right there." Edmund wasn't scared of George, but there was a mutual feeling of simmering animosity. And it was about to boil over if Carter made another idiotic move like that.

Edmund purposefully ignored Carter for a good ten seconds before answering his question, finally looking up and leaning back in his chair. His own expression was bland, unconcerned and uncompromising; Edmund had very little time for people like George.
"Brilliant, I've been given a partner who doesn't even know what the assignment's on," he sarcastically replied, raising his eyebrows with disdain. "It's transfiguration as a means of lawful protection. Or is that a bit too much for you to process?" Edmund shook his head once again and put his eyes back down to his work, etching out a few more lines. It was times like this that the real Ravenclaw came out in him - if Lou could see him now she'd be laughing her head off. Or possibly cringing at how badly her cousin and her boyfriend got on. Probably the latter.

Edmund was in no mood to be taking rubbish off people - especially when it was George. They were rivals on the Quidditch pitch, and had always been frosty ever since he got with Waker. It was difficult. Edmund didn't want to admit that Waker was the key reason for hating George, but that's what it really boiled down to. He'd lost out to somebody else, and whether it had been Waker or Moaning Myrtle, Edmund hated to lose.

Rolling his eyes at the awful attempt at a compliment, George merely smirked, his gaze dark as he assessed Klint. “I’m going for that award at the end of the year. Vote for me.” George gave him a thumbs up symbol. He’d have to work hard to outdo his first sixth year attempts, and though he was half a year behind, George felt like he could overcome it. What better time to let the arsehole flag fly? Perhaps, then, he should have attempted to knock the ink over on to the parchment Edmund was all ready working on.

That was a level above George, though.

Leaning back in the chair, bouncing slowly back and forth, he waited impatiently for Edmund to talk. If the Ravenclaw didn’t know the assignment, this was going to be a very unfortunate pairing. Or short lived, anyway. A laugh escaped George before he twirled his quill between his fingers. “That’s your job, Klint.” Why pay attention to the assignments when someone else was going to for him?

Raising his eyebrows in reply, George gave a tight lipped smile as he let the chair come back down noisily on to all four legs. “It might be too much. I don’t pay much attention to lawful anything.” Around certain people, George could put his guard down, be himself. Around someone like Klint? He had to be ready to jump when Klint said sit. This was exactly why he disapproved of Lou’s choice. What was there to the twig anyway? Besides being a studious Ravenclaw who occasionally played Quidditch well all right.

As tired as he felt, George had to keep up pretenses. Leaning over the textbooks to what was left of the ink, he dipped his quill tip in and made a point of splattering a few drops on to the edge of Edmund’s parchment before drawing it back. “How far did you get then? Is it just an essay, or do we have to present?” Picking up a piece of parchment from Edmund’s pile, George started to tap the edge of his quill to it.

"You've been an arsehole for the past seven years, why is Snark waiting to the end of term to officially title you?" Edmund sighed, not even bothering to look up at the cretin he'd been assigned. And so, the animosity had failed to clear in all of their schooling lives during Hogwarts. Edmund sometimes liked to think that he was old enough and mature enough to let some grudges die - but then there were people like George Carter, and the word 'grudge' came to mind synonymously. He almost enjoyed disliking people when they were as tragically boneheaded as Carter.

He couldn't help but shake his head at George's next comment - yet he refused to acknowledge him with eye contact, instead gazing into a textbook. He made Edmund furious just by being there. His job? Was this idiot for real?
"Probably why I'm actually going to graduate with some decent grades," he muttered indifferently. "I mean, what are you going to do? I know a lot of professional Quidditch players are thick, but even the worst teams won't sign someone who can't read or write." He shrugged his shoulders, a sarcastic look of sympathy spreading to his face. "I heard the school needs a full-time caretaker. Sounds right up your street, George." He just couldn't help digging the Gryffindor, and felt a modest surge of pride. As long as Carter knew he wasn't king of Hogwarts, Edmund was content.

He tried to ignore the intentional drops of ink staining the corners of his parchment, and immediately snatched back the sheet George took.
"Here, have some scrap paper," he replied bluntly, sliding over an old History of Magic work sheet from the days of Professor Lumpkin. "Let's not pretend you have the capability to write something worthwhile."

“Because it’s more official that way.” His tone had the hint of ‘duh’ at the end, a dark smirk fixed on his face. “Same reason she hasn’t crowned you dunce at Quidditch. All in due time.” George had really sunk into the Klint-appointed title in the last couple weeks. It was easier to put his time into being a jerk than letting what he was feeling out and about. That would only invite in pity and laughter, neither of which he wanted directed at him.

His best mate knew what happened, but he’d left the rest to try and figure it out for themselves. Why did the Head Girl and her steady boyfriend break up? No one would suspect Miss Perfect of indecency. That helped George with his act as well. He even had something lined up for Valentine’s Day.

Eyes narrowing at the old rub, George interlaced his fingers and cracked his knuckles, eyeing Klint carefully. The smirk had a hint of snarl in it, but he forced it to stay.  “Your mum wasn’t up to snuff? Should’ve worked on her knob shining a bit better.” Then he rethought it and a laugh escaped him. “Or her feather dusting, I guess.” Snark looked like she could use a few feathers ruffled, after all.

Clearly Klint’s parchment was very important to the young lad. Accepting the scrap paper, George continued to flick his quill towards Klint, watching a drop here, another there, hoping he’d score and land on some skin. Or a textbook. That would have gotten him a scolding before.

“Writing is for those who can’t get out and do something.” A small circle was quickly made on his scrap. “Makes sense why you’d focus on it. I mean, I was able to take Waker-” it was harder to say than he wanted to let on; he hadn’t even expected that to be where he went with the conversation, “- to a whole new level that she hadn’t even dreamed of with you. That’s how I get where I’m going. Action.” Quill settled behind his ear before his fingers interlocked behind his head, leaning back in the chair as nonchalantly as possible.

"Yep, dunce, you've got the right," Edmund murmured with a sigh, simply humouring the absolute cretin he'd been assigned to. Momentarily however, he looked up, as if remembering something, a smile gently falling onto his lips. "Oh, except that, we beat you last match? Even though we were two beaters and a keeper down." Edmund smiled mockingly, a faux sympathetic expression painted all over his face. "Seems like your quite the captain, mate. Training and inspiration and all that malarky, you've got it down to a tee." His eyes fell back down to the work and task at hand. In Edmund's eyes, George was such an idiot that he didn't even realise it.

At the 'your mother' joke, Edmund simply rolled his eyes. He could admit himself that, at times, he was quite the lad, cracking jokes and playing macho, but this? "Seriously George, are we actually stooping to digs at each others parents? Come on kid, I know you can do better than that. I'll give you a couple of minutes to think one over, let's get that brain cell working, eh?" He gave quiet snort of laughter, writing out a few more words. His insults were getting worse and worse.

Until he mentioned Waker. Edmund gritted his teeth immediately, fingers tightly clenched around a dark grey quill. In that split second, all he wanted to do was punch the Gryffindor straight in the face with a side-dish of a hex. Generally speaking, he was furious. It wasn't so much that he cared for Waker in that way still (or at least, that's what he told himself) but it was the fact he'd lost out - to this piece of mediocrity. How was she with such a boneheaded brawn bag?

Edmund sat up straight, taking a deep breath to compose himself. He hated the fact that George had pushed the one button that set the Ravenclaw pretty boy onto a whole new level of angry - a whole new level Waker had apparently not even experienced with Edmund. Had she really told George that? Had she been making fun out of him this whole time? Adolescent nerves and paranoia were getting the better of the poor soul, and Edmund needed to lash out to cover up his own angst.

"You have no idea what even happened between Waker and I..." he muttered, teeth still clenched and brow so tightly knotted he could have imploded right then due to sheer tension. A picture of Lou automatically flashed into his mind, and he was beyond tempted to bring her into this. But Edmund was better than that - his girlfriend was better than that.

Yes, George’s smirk was short lived. In fact, it fell right off into a slight scowl at the reminder of the previous game. The loss stung… and George had taken it as a direct hit on his coaching abilities. Teenagers weren’t as easy to manage as children. Still, they had tried. It had just been a good snitch catch… It was a low blow to take a dig at his captain skills, though, and a dangerous route to trek. George was on edge as it was.

Watching Edmund for a moment, eyeing him, sizing him up, considering multiple ways of destroying him, he finally took a slow breath and tried to reason. Surely he wasn’t that stupid, to insult the team Lou was on. “One on one, I don’t think you could score on me, Klint.” And he barred his teeth in a fake grin. If Edmund knew what was good for him, he would take that as a hint of how bite sized he was in George’s eye.

His stab at Edmund’s mother was deflected (quite poorly, George might add). Smirking, raising an eyebrow, he merely shook his head. “Remember, I don’t use my brain.” Tapping it, winking towards Edmund, his smirk dropped. He was going to be the caretaker—or had Klint forgotten his original joke all ready?

And then he had it. Able to get Klint back for the painful knife twist about his captain capability. It would make it easier to focus his energy as well.

“You have no idea what even happened between Waker and I…”

Giving Klint a sympathetic look, shaking his head as if he was sad to inform him of something, a sigh escaped him before he tucked the quill back behind his ear. “You can tell by the things a girl doesn’t know by what she hasn’t gotten before.” Lifting his hand up, finger pointed towards Klint, he shook it once at him, an invisible wand shot. “Much more prepared now. Sometimes it just takes a real man.”

"One on one? Obviously I couldn't score," Edmund laughed nonchalantly, rolling his eyes - a deliberate attempt to condescend George's intelligence once more. "I'm a beater, we don't attack the goal," he murmured, stressing each Quidditch-related term as if talking to a five year old. "No wonder your team lost if you've been relaying that sort of information. When you're a captain, it usually helps if you know the basic rules of the game, Carter." Was this kid serious? Did he really find himself amusing? Edmund found his jokes weak, unsupported and most of all, unconvincing. Carter would never be a 'funny guy', he should leave that role to Gryffindors like Quinn and Hector - two Gryffindors that were a lot more likeable than the thuggish specimen Edmund had been paired with.

In regards to the amazingly terrible 'your mum' dig, Edmund continued his work, noticing George tap his own hollow cranium from the corner of his eyesight.
"Remember, I don’t use my brain." The statement had all the intelligence of prehistoric man, and if George wanted to play caveman, Edmund was more than happy to let him go with it.
"Evidently," Klint replied, the smirk on his lips letting out a sigh of boredom.

And that was when things got nasty.

Edmund felt his sarcasm boil over into an unrelenting anger when Waker was brought into the conversation. Was he really talking about... doing it? Did he have so little respect for his girlfriend that he was waving around her private matters for Edmund to hear? George undoubtedly knew that the two were close despite their fling over the summer - and that's what made the whole exchange an inch more spiteful. It was true, Edmund and Waker had never gotten anywhere past a heated kiss, but how did George know that?

Immediately, images of the two laughing and joking about Edmund's removal as 'romantic interest' came into the Ravenclaw's mind. Had she really been telling George about all of that business? Weren't they... friends? In the back of his mind, Edmund knew that fracturing his friendship with Waker was all part of George's ploy, but his own insecurity cemented it into the realm of belief. And Edmund was lost for words.

He gazed up, frowning at George with clenched fists. If this wasn't Transfiguration, Edmund would've smacked his smug little face as hard as he could. But this was in class, and Edmund was, after all, a Ravenclaw. He didn't want to seem so angry as to disrespect Lou - he literally worshipped the ground she walked on, and the majority of his seething frustration was based around George bettering him at something - and the fact that one of his best friends had been laughing behind his back this entire time.
"You seriously have that little respect for your girl?" he finally managed to mutter, seconds away from turning over the desk and storming out of the classroom. Edmund was trying to not let his temper get the better of him, and so far, he was failing miserably.

“Sounds like you get a lot of beater-”  George moved his hand in an up and down motion, fist gripped as he smirked. “-practice in.” Maybe a little too much. Dropping his hand, he closely followed Klint. Whatever gets him out of a challenge—such a cowardly bird. “Lot of Captain envy, Klint? Didn’t stack up against Monroe, that much is obvious.”

Digs at his intelligence didn’t phase George any more. After being kicked out and forced to repeat his sixth year, he decided it didn’t matter. Even the smartest girl in the school had fallen for him. For a short while, sure, but it had happened. And now, he could talk about what they did without feeling [much] guilt or remorse. Or mostly guilt.

“You seriously have that little respect for your girl?”

Frowning slightly, he shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. His mouth opened to respond, to correct him, but then Klint turned all female and had to scurry out of the way, toppling backwards in the chair as he tried to get away from the flying textbooks, quills, ink, and, oh yeah, desk. Scrambling, George finally stood up and blinked in shock. He wasn’t not running after Edmund like he was a girl, even if he was acting like it.

Instead, he dusted his hands off and picked up the bit of work Edmund had been working on. After righting his chair, he sat down and balanced a textbook on his knees, frowning down at the ink mess on his white shirt. He should have known that would come back at him. And maybe his partner would too, after he was done having his period.