Outfit

It had been a couple of months since Quinn and George had exchanged two kisses in the Gryffindor common room - one purely as a means of 'demonstration', the second an attempt at 'examination'. The girl couldn't speak for this new-found piece of man candy, but her own initiation of lip-to-lip contact was a deliberate effort to repeat that momentary feeling of exhilaration. She'd been quietly craving another round, but Quinn had been treading carefully; Lou had expressed her opinion on the matter. Nobody wanted their best mate getting involved with the cousin (or a cousin so close he was pretty much a brother), and she'd tried to take it onboard.

But, in true Quinn style, she just couldn't help herself.

Mr and Mrs McAvoy were on holiday in Belgium, as was their annual tradition. She'd already taken advantage of the free house on numerous occasions already; nothing too raucous, just a few friendly gatherings and what not. The prospect of inviting George round was a recent idea - surely nobody could say anything. They were just mates, after all. No harm in hanging around with a mate, surely. And so, Quinn had owled her fellow Gryffindor: a casual offer to come round one afternoon, with a not-so-subtle request to keep the whole exchange secret. No point in ruffling any more feathers, eh?

All day in her head, Quinn had repeated the mantra: nothing too serious. So why had she spent the past two hours choosing an outfit? Hell, the girl had even tidied her bedroom - it was all very uncharacteristic. Despite picking out various combinations, she'd managed to shake herself out of such a ridiculous, adolescent girl mindset and throw on something that didn't matter. It was a diluted form of John all over again, and Quinn hated how some boys turned her from a bandit into a baby. She wasn't a nerdy, beating-heart Gryffindor, she was one of the lads, one of the party kids. Only a rare few saw her in such a state. After cooking a little bolognese to eat, she'd had a few mouthfuls before leaving it in the kitchen, proceeded to flick through a few magazines and sent a letter to Grace as she waited around.

Trotting down the stairs barefoot, Quinn absent-mindedly brushed her hair over one shoulder with nimble, blue nail-painted fingers. He wasn't late: the girl had simply given herself far too much time to prepare, which spoke volumes of how irrational she felt. Various thoughts of George tempting her into another kiss and Lou imploding with rage were wiped from her mind as a light tap was heard on the front door. Quinn froze, tapping her thigh with anxious, pursed lips. Stop being an idiot, it's no big deal. The blonde headed into the hallway, opening the large, rectangular door and leaning against it with a mischievous grin. "Decided to leave your cave then?"

He’d told Trent he was going to see a girl. That either meant he was going to go see an actual girl, or he was going to practice his wand flicking. Either way, it meant he had the day to himself. A little bit of time before heading back to more work. A little play before hitting the books, studying for N.E.W.T.s, spending countless hours on essays and—wait, we’re talking about George. So he’d do all of that, but on a less manic level.

Because who needs to do exceptional (and who needs career counseling) when they all ready knew they were going to hit the big times? Or he hoped, anyway. If Gryffindor could make it to the Quidditch cup… he could really show some scouts what was up. Practice was grueling, and he had invested more time into plays now that he was no longer fraternizing with the enemy.

George had checked the letter a couple of times on the train ride over. The reason Trent wasn’t aware of what girl he was hanging out with was in part due to Quinn’s desire to keep this meet up hush-hush. He wasn’t sure why… but then, girls requested weird things. And as moody as Lou was lately, he wasn’t going to ask her why Quinn wanted to keep it on the down low.

No use in risking his safety for something he could just bug Quinn about later.

The train ride was uneventful. Luckily, it was on time. He had the journey to think about his state of affairs. The quidditch match with Grace. Lunch with Waker. And now meeting up with Quinn. In between all of that, he’d had Trent-time. His break had been full and well spent. He still wasn’t sure how the ‘let’s be friends’ plan was going to work with Waker. But he knew he still wanted her around, even though it hurt. It was feeling less and less as time went on.

He had done it in the past himself. Eleanor knew that well enough. But that was for younger, stupider kids. Not Head Girl Nolan. It still bothered him; maybe he wasn’t up to par with the mystery Hogsmeadian. Maybe he wasn’t all that Laney molded him into. Maybe he just needed to stop thinking about it.

And so he tried, and he read the letter again as he tried to find her parents place. He liked that Quinn was so direct.

When he got to the door and knocked on it, his eyes glanced down his body to make sure his clothes were in order. Bending down, he retied his shoestrings; must’ve come undone on his walk over.

Grinning when she answered it, George glanced up at her and stood back up, dusting his hands off. “Something like that.” Glancing her over, an eyebrow rose. “So.” Stepping up to her, he put an arm around her, stepping inside and forcing her to turn with him as he did. “What’s with the secrecy?” Smirking, he watched her face.

Quinn couldn't help but grin as he appeared on her doorstep, looking effortlessly gorgeous as always. As he questioned her secrecy, she felt herself being pulled into George with forceful, strong arms - not that she protested in any way, shape or form. Already her shoulders tensed up; he seemed to make her luxuriously uncomfortable. Inviting Lou's cousin round whilst good old Henry and Lynette were away was an accident waiting to happen, but hopefully this would all be kept under wraps. Correction: it had to be kept under wraps.

"I just don't want you getting beaten up by my boyfriend; he's from Durmstrang, you know? He's already been scouted to play internationally; you're just a time filler till he gets back next week." The smirk painted all over the blonde's face explained that her comment was merely in jest- George would always be second best to her fantasy of a hulking Russian with colossal arms. Until said dreamboat arrived, her fellow Gryffindor was doing a good enough job of holding lustful attention, and alerting George of her ideal man was a lot more appealing than confessing how Lou would be most displeased if she were to find out.

Upon being charged into the hallway, Quinn was immediately met with another conundrum: upstairs or into her living room? She didn't want to seem presumptuous in leading him straight to her lair, and didn't want to be so readily available: he'd win if she gave in so easily. A free arm found it's way around George's neck, giving the back of his head a playful scratch as Quinn guided him into her living room, a homely affair with striped upholsteries and too many enchanted photograph frames to count. It had no glimmer of Quinn in it: this was purely mother's territory. Flopping down onto a sofa, Quinn hugged her knees giving the boy a wide grin. Her messy blonde hair was still pushed over one shoulder, and the mischievous glint in her green eyes was undeniable.

"How are you anyway, Carter?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Quinn had a feeling she'd be the last in a long line of girls he'd frequented over the holidays - not that there any ill feeling about it. Since their common room kisses, the two had hardly even spoken. Perhaps it was circumstance. Perhaps it was her accusations (and terribly false accusations) that he was a terrible kisser. Or perhaps Quinn had kept her distance in fear of upsetting the best friend. Reasoning aside, he was there, in her living room, and she was delicious nervous. "You had a good few weeks? I'm sure sitting on your arse all day with Trent knocking skulls has been really awesome." She giggled, again, arms wrapped round her knees as she found her comfortable spot in the crevasse of the sofa arm and cushion.

Boyfriend from Durmstrang. Laughing at that, George rolled his eyes and considered it a moment. Even if it were true… he was here now. “Once he gets back, you’ll know what real disappointment is.” George had a big enough ego that he thought he was pretty good at what he was good at. And in the minimal chance her fake story was true, George felt well enough about his abilities that she’d be comparing Durmstrang boy to George for the rest of the relationship.

It was good George was so full of himself. At least for him and his self confidence. “So what’s his name? Sven? Ivan?” Some other four letter name that wasn’t as stupendous as ‘George’? “Let’s call him twinkle-broom.” George allowed himself to be led to the living room, glancing around and nodding in mocking criticism. He wasn’t much for decoration and didn’t have a great opinion on that sort of thing. If the sofa was comfortable, then that was what mattered.

He paused to glance at a couple of frames before finally turning towards Quinn. Returning her grin, he shrugged at her question, moving over and plopping down next to her. “I’m good. Really not looking forward to classes starting back up.” Making a face, he glanced over her, finally settling on her eyes. Smirking, he laid back, attempting to get comfortable, nudging her with his knee. “They’re getting better, yeah. Almost summer time.” Almost time to be done with Hogwarts, get into the real world, and make something of himself.

It seemed so easy… so close to being there, and yet just out of reach. “Still stuck on a potion assignment.” The professor seemed to enjoy giving out ridiculous chapters to read. Though now that he was back on ‘friendly’ terms with Waker, maybe he could get some help with his coursework.

Bonuses all around. His eyes flickered to her lips and he licked his own subconsciously. “How about your break? Any crazy parties you didn’t invite me to?” One arm rested behind his head while the other laid between them. He used his pointer and middle finger to walk his hand down the side of the leather skirt, finger tip after finger tip, finally ending at her knee. George pulled his hand back to his own thigh, looking back up at her face. 

Quinn merely chuckled at his comments of 'real disappointment', shaking her head at George's inflated ego. Every time she saw him, the kid was bragging about something or other; not in a way that would be deemed annoying, or conceited, but cocky, and ultimately charming. "I call him big broom," she simply replied, raising a flirtatious shoulder and giggling in that coquettish McAvoy way. The girl eyed him like a hawk as he peered over the numerous photographs on the mantelpiece; a few were of Quinn as a child, others of her parents, grandparents and cousins she rarely spoke to. Even as a child, Lynette and Henry McAvoy's precious daughter still resembled a feral jungle baby, an untameable mane of golden locks covering wide eyes and a toothy grin.

"I can't wait for summer," she replied, rolling her head back onto the arm of the sofa, a groan of longing escaping from her lips. "I'm sick to death of doing homework I don't even understand, I can't even be arsed to ask Grace for help anymore. I know I'm going to fail, my parents know I'm going to fail, and most professors know I'm going to fail: I just don't even have the energy to try." She nodded towards the dining room, the French doors left open to reveal a mountain of books, quills and parchment smothering the usually pristine wooden table. Her scholastic belongings had been collecting dust for quite some time, and Quinn didn't have the effort (nor the concentration) to even tackle coursework. Last minute always seem so much more appealing.

She watched him lick his lips, scratching her cheek lightly: every little movement of his face was mesmerising, and the majority of her lust seemed to magically focus around George's mouth. Those lips had left Quinn rather pleased with herself. "I never invite you to my parties," Quinn teased, feeling his hand dance up her leg. "Don't want you embarrassing me. Got a reputation to keep up you know." She raised a nonchalant eyebrow not too dissimilar to the likes of Maeve Whitman and Kitty Li - all in jest, of course. As his hand retreated from Quinn's willowy leg, she immediately wanted another form of contact. Ugh, why did her craving have to be for him? Trust the Carters to inadvertently add another complication to her life! "I've been seeing the girls a lot, went to Fir's the other evening, visited relatives, few nights-out, y'know, the usual..." Quinn's routine in her spare-time was predictable by most peoples' standards, and she didn't want to bore her fellow Gryffindor with mediocre details.

Quinn gave a yawn, stretching out her bare legs onto George's lap as she reclined back, eyes half-sleepy when in reality, she was nowhere near fatigued. The girl was instead consumed by that sense of comfortable laziness, that pleasure grogginess that came with lounging around the house all day barefoot and snacking on far too many treats. "Don't mind me," she murmured confidently, giving him yet another smirk. "I've got used to having the house to myself."

“Big broom.” A loud laugh escaped him at that, grinning wide. “He must be good at sweeping things under the table.” What else would a dough head from Durmstrang be good for? Then again, some might consider George mediocre in intelligence as well. He just found other ways to show he knew stuff besides books and essays. And course work. And OWLs…

George could agree with her sentiment about homework. He supposed he could see some practical use for some of the things he was learning, but a lot of it seemed more in depth than they would ever really need to go. Or, rather, that a Quidditch player would ever need to know. Some part of him worried that wouldn’t come to fruition… His team just had to keep pulling through and doing well. “I’m sure you’ll pull it out in the end. I’d hate for you to be my water girl.”

Having had to endure an extra year at Hogwarts, he understood the lack of desire or energy. This time of year seemed to be the worst for it, too. Glancing to the pile of crap she nodded to, George made a face and shook his head. He hadn’t cracked a book during break. Perhaps he should have…

“But you’ll invite Lou?” Rolling his eyes, George sighed. “I’ll never understand your reasoning. I’m obviously the better Carter.” Glancing at her from the corner of his eyes, he smirked. He didn’t understand what it was with girls and their families. Waker went home for break to visit with her parents. Quinn went out to see relatives… Wasn’t this time for them to wind down, get some last minute parties out of the way, and forget about the looming N.E.W.T.s for as long as possible?

Moving his hand so to accommodate her legs, it went back to resting on top of her thigh, lightly tapping it as his eyes made their way back to her face. “You definitely have that lioness in her den attitude.” Shifting under her legs slightly, his own spreading out a little, George let his fingertips start to tease the skin he could reach without getting too friendly, his other arm tucked behind his head comfortably. “What are you planning for the summer?”

"You're second-best in the Carter clan," Quinn mused, her narrowed eyes like an aged sage that knew everything and anything about the universe. If only she was so knowledgeable. "A girl's best mate always comes first, surely you must know that by now, George?" Her tone was purposefully condescending, followed by a light laugh as she gave the boy a playful punch in the upper arm. Despite the year difference, Quinn never saw him as any wiser, or maturer, she simply saw him as an extremely good-looking chap that had found his way onto her sofa.

She could only simply grin at his comparison of the blonde to a 'lion in her den': it was unarguably true. Even when her parents were around, Quinn still strutted about in her tiny little palace of East London. Hogwarts was warm and welcoming, but there was no place like home. Whether it was stretching out on the sofa to have a chat with mum and dad, or cuddling up in bed with an abundance of pillows, she was a real home bird. The girl glanced at the menagerie of photographs on her wall; despite being an only child, she'd never felt an ounce of loneliness. Family had constantly been present throughout Quinn's upbringing, and no drop of love, attention or affection had been spared. It was perhaps this consistent interaction that had made Gryffindor's party girl such a loud, bold and bubbly individual. She had a lot to thank good old Henry and Lynette for.

Summer plans soon appeared on the conversational horizon, and Quinn exhaled longingly. It was all still a bit up in the air: travelling was a necessity, and whilst the girls had discussed it, no plans had been set in stone. "I'm thinking road trip, maybe India, maybe Belgium, maybe Ibiza. There's so many places I want to go, but everybody's being a bit vague. If it means me going it alone than so be it, won't have anyone to hold me back then." She gave George a wink with the last comment, biting her bottom lip lightly as two heavy-lidded eyes glanced at the unabashed movements of his fingers. That feeling, again. Quinn felt terribly light-headed.

Sitting up on the sofa, her legs still hanging on George's lap, she teasingly played with the sleeve on his t-shirt, looking down at the hem as an index finger brushed against the skin of his bicep. There was a reason Quinn had a penchant for Quidditch players: great arms. Returning her gaze back to his, she shrugged her shoulders, a cheerful grin on her face. "Come with me?" It was a simple enough request, and Quinn managed to execute it with a nonchalant casuality, as if it was no big deal.

Second best his arse. “I don’t think this is the first time you’ve been wrong…” Smirking, he couldn’t fault her for sticking up for Emmylou. That girl was something else, and not just because she was blood. Quite a firecracker… when she wanted to be. And George was happy to say she was single. Even if she wasn’t happy herself. But maybe George was too biased. Not only was he not a fan of Edmund, but he also had grown quite cold in regards to Ravenclaws in general.

It just meant he had to shine in Gryffindor even more. He wanted another chance against them in Quidditch as well. Then he would forget about the rules and just play the game.

However, that was thought for a different conversation and different situation. Right now, he was in the company of one of his favorite Gryffindor’s. Though he wouldn’t have agreed with her homebody attitude. Growing up, George had found every excuse to be out and about. Being home meant he had to do something or entertain someone else or (Merlin forbid) open a book. Plus he had his older brother to try and compete with, and it was just easier for him to be outside swimming, on his bike, climbing a tree, hovering on a training broom, or getting into trouble with the numerous gadgets around the house.

Even during the summers off he found reasons to be away. Helping coach a little league Quidditch team, spending time at the lake… odd jobs here and there. Just about anything to keep him out of the house. He had a lot of extra energy, though, and his mother had thrown him out into the wide openness of ‘out of my house’ at an early age.

“It sounds like everyone is planning trips this summer.” That was one booth he was planning on hitting up at the Career Fair. George wanted to go, he was just one of those who was still being vague. “Hold you back from what, getting kidnapped?” Shaking his head, he watched his fingers moving over her skin. “You know the girls would go with you… maybe you just need to give them your options.” Three girls, one bed? If it wasn’t possibly Lou, George would have all ready invited himself along.

Smirking as she started to reciprocate the touching game back, George held back the desire to flex under her touch. Raising an eyebrow at her request, George glanced over at her, feeling an odd(ly familiar) tightening in his abdomen. “To… Ibiza?” Biting his lower lip, he took a slow breath and held it, finally shrugging. “Why not?” His hand slid in between her knees, grasping on to her skin as he shifted once again under her, his upper body slightly more towards her now. “You only live once.”

"Yeah, it's not a question of them not wanting a big final blow-out before we're officially adults," Quinn explained, thinking out loud. It was terrifying to think about life after Hogwarts; there was a big, bad world out there offering plenty of internships and trainee position that Quinn simply wouldn't have the grades for. On the plus, at least her burgeoning journalist career was going swimmingly. Sure, it was only the school paper, but the Gryffindor had already bumped shoulders with Ian Cuddyer and had a very nerve-racking and a very heart-racing interview with Dominik Weidman coming up. Things could be a lot worse.

She felt her stomach tighten as a hand sloped in the crevasse between her knees, barely managing to suppress an involuntary clench of her muscles. He agreed to visit Ibiza, and Quinn could already picture the scene in her mind. Partying, pools and pandemonium, and well, it was very obvious that they wouldn't be just friends. It was a silly suggestion anyway; everybody would quickly learn of her little crush on George, and another best friend would be ranting at how selfish Quinn was, and how thoughtless such a girl could be. And they were right. Why was she determined to ruin it for herself and others by falling for all the wrong types of boys? She knew deep down that the prospect of a summer holiday with George was merely a pipedream, but there was no harm in entertaining the idea.

"You reckon people would be... okay with that?" Quinn trailed off, returning his raised eyebrow and a smirk forming once more. "Just you and me going off on a jolly? Nobody else to bother us?" Her hand moved to play with a strand of his short hair, his body shifting closer to hers. Why was it so deliciously tempting to lean forward and expand upon their brief common room kisses? What was it about George that made her suggest such secrecy and potentially dangerous meetings? If she knew that, well, Quinn would be the cleverest witch in Hogwarts.

Pulling an inch of his fair hair between index finger and thumb lightly, her hand fell once more to the nape of his neck, scratching a blue-painted nail delicately and longingly against his soft (and seemingly perfect) skin. It was fun to tease him for a change, to try make him nervous. Merlin only knew how many girls had fallen victim to his charms before Quinn - and even she knew that there would be another string to follow.

Her question forced him to think past her thighs. A small, thoughtful frown found its way to the area between his eyes. “I don’t see why people should be in our business.” Smirking at that, he glanced down once again, finally finding his way to his hand. “I mean, if they want to come along, I don’t mind peepers.” If anything, his smirk grew wider.

As far as George thought (which wasn’t always very far, he would even attest to that), Emmylou should be rather pleased with him. Wouldn’t she approve of this latest conquest commitment? It was one of her best mates, after all. She loved George (because she had no choice) and had to love Quinn. In fact, George might bring up the fact she had never mentioned it before then, and his disappointment in his cousin.

And Grace acted as if he was a Dementor come to steal her soul. Or her virginity. Either way, George couldn’t see where Quinn obviously could—who was going to have a problem with this?

He didn’t think of the fact that she might not want him to because she cared about Quinn and didn’t want to see her hurt. Because George didn’t think that far in advance. He was just in it for some fun.

He wet his lips as she started to play with his hair—it was only a matter of time. Her teasing fingers forced hair to rise, goosebumps down his arm close to her. “Do you think they wouldn’t be?” With a blink, he was eyeing her carefully, playfully, his fingers moving up towards their expected victory, his thumb spreading out over her skin, gently caressing it. Skirts were the best.

"I suppose," Quinn replied with a giggle, a thumb and index finger falling onto his arm for a playful stroke. "It is our business - nobody else needs to stick their nose in." Her face neared George's, biting her bottom lip purposefully. Quinn had this sort of exchange down to a tee: reeling them in with set pieces and intentional manoeuvres was more of a sport than an art. Despite the obvious flirtations however, Quinn couldn't shake the image of a disapproving Lou from the back of her mind. Her best friend was at the centre of the blonde's affections, but she just couldn't help herself. This boy, this charismatic, beautiful, perfect boy was giving Quinn the time of day, and if it meant getting over John, then it was full speed ahead. With a flutter of her eyelashes, Quinn managed to stave off the image of a frowning Emmylou, wagging a finger of disapproval. This would all be kept secret.

The Gryffindor party girl leaned forward, glancing at George's lap before returning his lustful stare. "You sure you could handle me on holiday? I've been told I can get pretty wild," she almost whispered, quite aware that her living room curtains were wide open for anybody to trot by and see that 'uncouth McAvoy girl' with another boy falling prey on her sofa. She had a reputation to keep up, right?

George's hands rose up her leg, and her stomach muscles tensed immediately, realising the direction that he was willing to take this in. Was she really ready to just give it all up to him like that? So easily? With no hard work? Quinn managed to contain a chortle. Of course he wouldn't - Quinn liked toying with her meal before digesting it, like a masochistic lioness with nothing else to do but tease gazelles on the savannah.

A lithe hand fell on George's belt buckle, unfastening it slowly as her lips were inches from his: again, another deliberate move to simultaneously frustrate and excite the boy. "If you're still a terrible kisser," Quinn said softly, her lips mere centimetres from his, "then you may as well just leave now."

George was watching her face, so he knew when she took a gander. Smirking at that, he raised an eyebrow. “As wild as sitting at home on a fine day outside?” Shrugging, he wondered what she thought of his party abilities. He had been expelled, after all. Not many students could boast that achievement. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out.”

She was so close, and yet she continued to play her owl and mouse game. Two could easily do that, though. A game of one-upping the other until there was nowhere else to go. It could be a very dirty game to play. A bedroom game of chicken (or in this case, living room). And both seemed unwilling to give up.

Her hand on his belt, however, did cause a reaction from the young man. His body tensed and he glanced down at her fingers, lips parted in surprise. Was the ante up? Was that her raise? Her hand was so close… and it was obviously exciting him. Finally his eyes found hers again, a little more eagerness there. His hand loosened its grip, having tightened on her inner thigh with her buckle play. Taking in a slow breath, he merely smirked.

“Never know until you try again.” It was just a belt buckle. He still had a button and a zip and boxers. He wasn’t some inexperienced fifth year. All ready his excitement was fading away. So George took it a step farther and his hand advanced to ‘under the skirt’ level. If Quinn wasn’t comfortable with it, she would make it known. If she was… then she might let his lips do the convincing instead of second guessing herself.

As George's hand crept up into a an area reserved for only the most charming (and bold) of boys, Quinn bit her bottom lip, eyes glancing awkwardly to the fireplace to avoid the Carter spell. She couldn't contain a short gasp of excitement, taken aback at the sudden increase in activities. For Merlin's sake, he'd only been in her living room half an hour. "Y-you're pushing your luck," she giggled breathily, her initial stammer causing much embarrassment. She was supposed to be keeping her cool, but for some reason, males like George always won. It must have been fused with their DNA, a certain enchantment that put girls in a reckless mindset in which morals and standards were blasted out of the nearest window.

It was all becoming a bit much. At his invitation to trial his viciously sweet lips once more, Quinn found herself furiously pressing her mouth against his. Sod the game playing when carnal attraction took over. There weren't enough potions in Professor Valliancourt's cabinet to quench Quinn's insatiable thirst for boys who were no good for her. She'd taken position atop George instantaneously, a thigh at each side of his legs. Fingers adorned with a multitude of gold and colourful rings pressed against George's cheeks, sampling his kiss in a maelstrom of fury and addiction. George was definitely not a terrible kisser. He never was.

The same fingers that glided across the plains of skin of Carter's cheeks fell to his shoulders, a hand ruffling her long blonde hair in a minute interval from her rather unabashed attack on the boy's mouth. "You're going to get me in serious bother." Her voice was a giggle - a giggle full of attractive promise and destructive charm. Just as John and George were bad ideas, Quinn knew that she herself was no better; she was the girl that so many mothers had warned their rosy-cheeked, apple-eyed youths about, the girl that tossed away her conquests when things got a tad too cumbersome. There was nothing mediocre about this new tryst with her best friend's cousin however.

George smirked, but pulled his hand back. He could go slower. She still had her tights in the way. Still, his mum might be very disappointed in him if he didn’t listen to the lady whose company he was sharing. He understood (or thought he did). Not that he’d pulled his hand all that far back. It was resting on her thigh below the edge of the skirt, caressing it before her lips made their first attack.

At first he was slightly shocked. It had just suddenly happened. Turning his lips more to hers, his hand gripped her thigh to keep her there, attempting to pull her in for a deeper taste. His fingers roamed to the next leg, grasping her hip, parting her lips as he returned her sudden interest. The free hand moved to her neck and into her hair, attempting to get a longer run in with her. Some part of him felt like showing her that he wasn’t terrible at kissing. Some part of him (the majority, if one were honest) knew she had obviously enjoyed it enough for a second bite (and therefore was not a terrible kisser).

When she shifted atop of him, his lips moved with hers. Hands quickly found places on her hips, her waist, her back, her thighs, grasping and pulling and holding her to him. Taking in her words with a breathless laugh, his eyes glanced over her close proximity, attempting to right himself. It had come on so suddenly after all. “Isn’t that the point?” His voice was different than usual, quieter.

George wasn’t thinking so clearly. Or maybe he was thinking too clearly. Either way, his lips found her neck, a hand on her hip and the other on her lower back, pressing her against him. And at that moment, he figured he might as well give her a lasting mark. Pulling back from his handiwork, George pressed his hips up against her, pushing himself out towards the edge of the sofa a little, his head resting on the back as he watched her (and all that hair).

“You could’ve called me over earlier in the break if this was what you had in mind, Quinn.” Merlin’s beard, she could have shown up in his dorm room for all it mattered. His cousin wasn’t even a blip on his thought radar. Very few things could be processed at that moment anyway, other than Quinn and her curves and the amount material in his way. And her lips. And her eyes, which he was watching as he re-wet his lips, leaning in suddenly for another round.

He wanted a longer break from Hogwarts. And more of them, if this was how they were going to turn out.

It seemed that George was admitting the potential danger he posed: good looking, unafraid, charming (in his own mischievous little way) and ruthless in his pursuit of all that was desirable. It was typical that such a specimen should be tied up for so long with a girl like Waker - they'd been another perfect couple that Quinn secretly envied. Luckily enough, their apparent coupled-up bliss was over, and George was free to confuse, attract and perplex the horde of girls that fell under his spell. As his lips waged war with Quinn's, she could only become more and more addicted to this strange, invisible substance he possessed. What was it about George Carter that really got her going?

A wicked mouth met her neck, and Quinn simply ruffled a hand through his hair, oblivious to the fact he was executing more than a kiss. She gave him a firm slap on the chest, gasping and letting out a long groan of lazy frustration. "George, you idiot," she murmured. It wasn't enough that she was messing around with her best mate's cousin, the boy only had to go and leave a visible mark of their unsavoury meeting. "How am I going to explain that?" Quinn giggled once more pointing to the red stain on her neck, half-annoyed, half-enticed by his unabashed savagery.

Despite the complaints, she found herself kissing George once more, both hands pressed to his face longingly as thick blonde locks fell between them. "Remember, we're keeping this completely secret," she whispered, her need to reiterate the fact making him all the more inviting. It was always a cliché, but a girl like Quinn always did want exactly what she couldn't have. Lou had made her feelings clear on the matter, so why was she still here locking lips with a one-way ticket to social Azkaban?

Her nimble fingers fell to the hem of George's t-shirt and pushed it up, waiting for George to co-operate by lifting his arms. It was all going way too fast for their first meeting alone, but Quinn never did things by halves. It was always better to cut to the chase, that way, everyone was happy in the long run. "I've got a free house for a fortnight," she blurted out, pressing her nose against his after another round of teenage lust-filled kissing. Quinn didn't know exactly why she said it, but there was an underlying feeling that they'd both benefit from taking advantage of such an 'opportunity'.

The mountain of school books on her dining table could wait: no amount of good NEWT and OWL results could top this.