Waker pointed her wand at the base of a silver cauldron, muttering her second Scouring Charm in thirty seconds. The Ravenclaw wasn’t sure exactly which part of the subject they would be studying, so in true Waker fashion, came prepared for all scenarios. She had arrived to the empty laboratory fifteen minutes early to clean cauldrons—the school supply was always a bit dodgy and grimy, at best— and to leaf through the Sixth Year source material. Her copy of Advanced Potion Making was in great condition, save the absurd number of color-coded Spell-o-Tape sticky notes plastered to seemingly every page.

Pulling out three more books from her bag, which seemed to magically house much more than it physically should have been allowed, she deposited them in a neat stack atop the free part of the lab table. When all was prepared, she took a few steps back and leaned into one of the many vacant stools. She would leave the Heating Charm for if and when they actually needed the cauldrons. But at least now they were cleansed and shiny (er, shinier).

She didn’t know why things like this made her feel relieved— it certainly seemed she was endlessly working up toward something, and once she achieved it, it only started over again— but there was still that inexplicable sensation about schoolwork and routine that was calming, if nothing else. More importantly, it struck her as purposeful… or so Waker had trained herself to believe.

Waker was not a person who was necessarily cut out for a teaching role. She enjoyed tutoring when the students actually put in effort, and found that the sessions often helped her as much as it helped them (if in ways not directly linked to test performance). But professor-assigned group work was still a challenge for the girl. The high level of trust involved, not to mention the compromising of her own grades, occasionally caused a streak of unpleasantness in the Ravenclaw.

Today, however, was not about group work. It was about helping someone—a friend? Did they talk often enough to be friends? She didn’t know. But he had certainly done her a huge favor in the process of discovering her slightly mortifying habit. For whatever reason, Waker had felt compelled to offer help to George Carter with whatever it was he needed, and to do a sincere job of it.


outfit

He had had Waker Nolan on his mind since they spent time in the Trophy room together. George had noticed her before, sure; they had had classes together for the past year, and he had seen her around school and knew of her since he started. But he hadn’t really talked with her so indepth before. After he did, though, he found her intriguing, enjoyable, and beautiful. So when she offered to help him with his Potions course work... he couldn’t quite deny that he needed any bit he could use.

George had put off his Potions work, as a matter of fact, just for this meeting. As he shuffled together the few pieces of parchment he had made notes on, scattered here and there, he rolled them up and put them under his arm, his quill between his teeth. He winked at a fellow friend in the common room before he headed out, checking his outfit as he left. George had left his tie in his room, and undid the top couple of buttons on his collar shirt. Stuffing the parchment into his trouser pocket, he worked on rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, still clamping on the quill as he jogged lightly down the stairs.

It was a bit stuffy in the school, in George’s opinion, and had left his jacket upstairs. Once his sleeves were rolled, he put the quill behind his ear, smirking to himself before pulling the parchment out of his pocket, attempting to straighten it out a little. He contented himself with humming his way down to the dungeons.

Once he was to the potions class room, he knocked lightly on the door before stepping in. “Miss Nolan?” Grinning, he closed the door behind him, tapping his rolled up parchment against his free hand. Stepping towards her, he tossed the parchment towards the books before holding out a hand. If he knew her a little more, he would have given her a hug like all his other girl friends. As it was, though, he didn’t know how she would feel about that. “Thank you for agreeing to help me out. I am not lying when I say I can use all the help I can get.”

Leaning against the table, he glanced her over, nodding towards her. “You make the uniform look more like a chosen outfit. Very nice, Waker.” And then he looked around, his eyebrow raising at the appearance of books. Books? He was supposed to open a book? A slight confused frown came to his face, but he merely stared quizzically at the set up. “So... ah, are we going to be breaking down the books to find out what they’re made of?” Grinning a little, he glanced back to her.

Books made him a little uneasy; he couldn’t comprehend things very well when he read them. They gave him a bit of anxiety, come to think of it, though he didn’t like to mention that. He could make jokes and put on a good front. No need for Waker to think less of him or think he was less of a man for it. He could handle his fear of textbooks.

Waker’s face tilted toward the door, her eyes sweeping from the table to George. She returned his smile and shifted a little in her place atop the desk; at least sitting on low-rise tables was not in the same category as talking to inanimate objects, she thought silently. She didn’t speak until the Gryffindor approached and held out his hand, at which point she blinked at his fingers, and then at George’s face. Shaking her head slightly at her own uncharacteristic inanity, Waker finally extended her hand for a somewhat overly-polished-but-still-awkward handshake. It was clear that she was more used to shaking hands with adults.

“Thank you for agreeing to help me out. I am not lying when I say I can use all the help I can get.”

“I don’t think anyone would lie about that.” She was unable to prevent another small smile. Many of the people Waker helped would rather jump off cliffs than rewrite essays or boil potions. “It’s no problem. You helped me, remember? And you may even be helping me further, in the future.” She thought briefly again of their mock interview, and of the boy’s uncle at the Ministry, whose contact George had already generously offered. She appreciated it very much, but hoped it wouldn’t come to that, for she was determined to get an internship without bothering lots of people in the process. But either way, Waker knew she had a lot to be thankful for.

“If we’re going with formal titles, though, do you prefer Mr. Carter or— I’m so sorry, I compulsively like to beat dead horses— Mr. Trophy?” She pondered, raising a brow. “Maybe Mr. George.” As she said it, Waker’s eyes moved to the quill stuck behind the Gryffindor’s ear. It amused her, and also reminded her of boys who kept cigarettes there, most notably in old films. It seemed to suit his hair, at any rate, if that made sense. Although Waker felt it was not imperative to mention this— in other words, she should not have been thinking about it in the first place. But, at any rate: “A quill habit? That must be slightly less detrimental to one’s lungs.” And better for one’s grades. “Just as cool, of course,” she assured quickly.

“You make the uniform look more like a chosen outfit. Very nice, Waker.”

This was somewhat unexpected, at least from Waker’s standpoint. Her mouth was open a ridiculous two seconds (also known as a lifetime) before she could even think of something to say in return. She liked to dress well, but still professional while she was in school, and that often, unfortunately, meant donning some variation of the school uniform even outside of the classroom— at least Mondays through Fridays. Adding detail was the least she could do. When Waker did get a chance to change, she took it. But she sincerely doubted that George wanted to hear about any more of her quirky perfectionist habits, particularly those extending to her day wear. Still, it was nice to discover that she exhibited some sort of character in her clothes. Assuming that’s what the boy had meant.

“Oh, right. Thank you,” she managed, finally. She looked down at her blazer and realized her Ravenclaw palette paled in comparison to George’s own clothes, which seemed much less ‘let’s study!’ (Though they did do his Quidditch toning justice, she knew). Waker futilely found herself wishing she had changed beforehand. She was beginning to believe that George Carter, much like Delilah, was in dangerous possession of that indecipherable quality that inspired bolder behavior in others. They were contagious personalities. But, as much as it appeared an ideal time for Waker to insist that she was not always so boring, she knew it wasn't. She had a mission. There was studying to be done, and that came first, no questions.

“So... ah, are we going to be breaking down the books to find out what they’re made of?”

Watching the boy’s frown morph into a small smile, Waker wondered whether he was a touch apprehensive, or if she was simply too suspicious of people in general. She decided to give a light answer, hoping to encourage him. “Absolutely. We’re discovering new elements hidden in parchment and binding glue.”

Abandoning her place on the desk, Waker approached the stack of books. Her hand hovered over them before finally settling on the rolled sheets of parchment George had set down. “May I…?” She asked, looking over her shoulder so that she could see him from the corner of her eye. She hoped to gather some idea of where they should start. She was almost beyond the capability of finding schoolwork daunting.

George questioned his hand shake when she gave him that look. Maybe he should have just done what he would normally do to his friends–get up and give her a hug. Doing that now, though, would be odd and possibly more awkward than a hand shake. Maybe he could just see how the study session went. If it turned out well, he’d give her one at the end. Done, he felt better. Any worry was brushed aside–on that, anyway.

“I don’t think anyone would lie about that.”

He eyed her a moment, an obvious want to express what he thought about that statement, but keeping it to himself. He merely smiled and shrugged. George was of the opinion that most guys who had two knuts to their name would make up any excuse to get a little extra ‘help’ from Waker.

“It’s no problem. You helped me, remember? And you may even be helping me further, in the future.”

“I hope so.” It came out before his brain could get off of what it was thinking of, and he blinked, laughing a little before running a hand over his face. “I am more than happy to help.” Dropping his hands, he gave her a genuine smile.

“If we’re going with formal titles, though, do you prefer Mr. Carter or– I’m so sorry, I compulsively like to beat dead horses– Mr. Trophy? Maybe Mr. George.”

Laughing and leaning against the table with the palm of his hands, he tilted his head a little. “Have you met many dead horses?” Biting his lower lip, he gave her a look that some authority figure had probably seen on him a time or two; that look that said he was up to no good, but trying to play it off as nothing. “I was just trying to appear like more of a gentleman. Sexy Keeper would be all right with me, if you don’t feel comfortable with George.” Winking, he laughed to show he was just kidding. Unless she really wanted to call him that.

“A quill habit? That must be slightly less detrimental to one’s lungs... Just as cool, of course.”

It took him a brief moment to realize what she was talking about, long enough for a fleeting look of confusion to cross his face before comprehension dawned on his face, his eyebrows raising and his eyes rolling with his wide grin. “Ink in the lungs actually makes you cough more than smoke.” Winking at her, he lifted the quill from his ear and glanced at it, putting it back. It was a better place than his pocket; there, it could stab him in the thigh (or somewhere else he didn’t need a quill tip).

“Oh, right. Thank you.”

From the way she hesitated with that, George couldn’t tell if he was being too forward with his compliments or if she just wasn’t used to them. He doubted it was the latter, considering... He nodded, however, in response to her thanks. He meant it; he wouldn’t have said it just to be nice. Well... he might, depending on the person, but he did mean it towards Waker.

“Absolutely. We’re discovering new elements hidden in parchment and binding glue.”

His eyes sparkled with sudden mischief. He leaned over, getting closer to Waker, and grabbed a book, grunting as he picked it up. “Let’s start the fire then, I’ve been waiting for this lesson since I started here!” Best to play it all off like it was a joke. That way, he didn’t have to admit how he felt about books and studying in general. Humor was the best medicine, and the easiest cover up. Sarcasm was key, though.

“May I...?”

It might have been the way she walked, or that innocent yet not look over the shoulder, but George stared, his eyebrows up just a little with a bit of a dazed look on his face. She really was gorgeous. Then he blinked and looked to what she was touching, and he shrugged. “Sure.” He forced a grin and moved closer, leaning across the table. “Have at it, Waker.”

“I hope so. I am more than happy to help.”

Waker narrowed her eyes a little, wondering what the cause for laughter was. She could guess, but she… couldn’t. She was generally good at analyzing people, or at least picking out things that were suspicious, but in certain situations, she wouldn’t allow herself to ‘go there’. And then there were times when she simply couldn’t begin to process what was running through another person’s head. Her face relaxed, and she decided to return his smile. He was friendly, that was all. Very friendly.

“Have you met many dead horses?”

“Of course, how else would I beat them? Metaphorically?” She nearly scoffed. “No, really, just that one in that god-awful watercolor painting on the sixth floor. He’s rather… quiet. But his ex-rider is completely obnoxious, even with his head about to be decapitated.” The thing about magical paintings was that even the eternally doomed were more than animated. On more than one occasion, when quite alone, Waker had gotten into full-fledged debates with a few of their subjects. The portraits were the worst.

The smile that preceded the words ‘Sexy Keeper’ was one that Waker couldn’t classify, but she knew it was magnetic, intended or not. Oh, this George was a tricky one, wasn’t he? It was more difficult than one assumed, for Waker to repeat the words and maintain casualness. And she didn’t, not entirely. “Oh, Sexy Keeper…” She looked down at her hands for a moment and shook her head, trying not to go pink as she smiled. She looked back up apologetically, and more sober. “I already know one of those. I think we’ll have to stick with George.”

Waker was pleased to see that she had momentarily confused the boy with her cigarette analogy. In her mind, this evened the score.

“Ink in the lungs actually makes you cough more than smoke.”

“And here you are, not even scratching your throat.” Waker had never got around to trying either, although, perhaps surprisingly, she wasn’t entirely opposed to attempting to smoke at least once in her life, if only to see whether it tasted as bad as it smelled. She had to admit, though, habitual smokers made it look easy and appealing. That was probably why so many people forwent their health. Oh, and the nicotine.

She had to hand it to him. He seemed quite at ease, replacing the quill. And with everything in general. Much like she had in the trophy room, Waker found herself wondering what it was like to be that comfortable with one’s self, to be that easygoing.

“Let’s start the fire then, I’ve been waiting for this lesson since I started here!”

Waker didn’t move out of his way, but was slightly bewildered for moment when George suddenly reached for the book and playfully proclaimed that they carry on with her faux plan. Even taking into account their banter, she had assumed that they would get right down to the studying, just she always she did: with a calmness and a pattern. But it didn’t seem hold true now. She was torn between remaining riveted, discouraging him, and smiling. The result was neither and all three.

She stared at him, not unlike a reproachful teacher, and gingerly took the book from his hands without asking. “That part isn’t for a while. Fortunately, the preparation just happens to correspond with the sixth year coursework. Convenient, I know.”

Setting the book down, Waker waited for permission and then spread out George’s notes, perusing them for a good starting position. After a moment, she reached for the same book she’d taken from him, and flipped it open to somewhere near the middle. One page, two pages, three pages… “Here,” she mumbled. She turned to him fully, holding the book open in her hands, and leaned against the lab table. “Do you want to sit down? I usually,” She trailed off, gesturing to the nearest stool.

Waker drew her wand, summoned a second seat from the other side of the table, and charmed it to nudge at George’s legs, hoping to (harmlessly) trap him between the stool and the desk. She dragged her own closer and sat down facing him, so that she was parallel to the table instead of sitting in front of it like an obedient student. Like she would in class.

The Ravenclaw laid the book out next to her, flat and open to the correct page. She leaned slightly toward George. “The effects of the Confusing and Befuddlement Draught are… pretty clear. We can agree on that, right?” She waited a moment, smiling a little humorously, and then continued. “But like with most potions, it’s a sensitive concoction, and if you add too much of one ingredient, or not enough of something, the results can be quite dodgy.” To say the least. “If we have eight ounces each of sneezewort, scurvy-grass, and lovage, and we want to make the largest batch possible, how much scurvy-grass do we measure out?”

Waker gestured to a lengthy paragraph in the book, which explained the ratios and their importance, though without a chart, which she felt she would have included, had she authored it. She then gave her wand three waves, so that beakers full of said ingredients sitting at the back of the lab table each gave a little jiggle in turn. Granted, they would not use nearly so much if and when they actually started the potion, lest they be expelled for attempting to create enough draught to drug half the school. “I think most people work better with a visual aid. Especially in potions. I’m sort of surprised they didn’t include one in here.” The content was ancient, even if the book was new.

“Of course, how else would I beat them? Metaphorically? No, really, just that one in that god-awful watercolor painting on the sixth floor. He’s rather… quiet. But his ex-rider is completely obnoxious, even with his head about to be decapitated.”

Chuckling at that, he leaned against the counter top. Why hadn’t he figured out how much fun Waker was before her sixth year? Glancing her face over, he merely rolled his eyes and laughed. “I think that even in paintings, horses can’t talk, so I’d expect him to be quiet…” Nudging her a little, he grinned. “Unless you can hear him talk. Then kudos to you for that.” His face showed how much that would entertain him. “I will have to stop on the way back up and have a talk with the rider, then. And horse, sounds like.”

“Oh, Sexy Keeper… I already know one of those. I think we’ll have to stick with George.”

It was cute how she said it. She wasn’t afraid to, which was surprising, and nice. Some girls would have rolled their eyes and refused to humor him. Then she took it a step further and made a joke out of it. His eyes lit up and he laughed, shaking his head. “You all ready know a sexy keeper, huh? And it’s not me? Shame.” Maybe she had moving posters all over her wall near her bed of some dreamy Quidditch keeper that she had loved since the first game she’d heard…

Then again, George didn’t think she was really that into the game to begin with. “George is another name for sexy keeper anyway, so it works out.” Nodding as if he was completely serious, he shrugged as if it was no big deal. He just hoped she was only teasing him. He liked to have girls thinking he was cute.

“And here you are, not even scratching your throat.”

“Takes talent and practice, that’s all.” Leaning over as if he was letting her in on a secret, he also spoke softer. “Trick is to start young… Blame it on puberty.” Winking, he sat back up and glanced to the books again. “Not that you could do that, but…” Shrugging a little, he turned his eyes back to her face, giving her a half grin. He had no desire to start smoking; as much fun as it looked, he just didn’t want to spend the money. He would prefer buying it on worthwhile things.

“That part isn’t for a while. Fortunately, the preparation just happens to correspond with the sixth year coursework. Convenient, I know.”

She did a good job of not hyperventilating when he talked seriously (and he had been serious) about torching the textbook. He let his hand fall down to the desk, bookless, smiling after her. “Lucky us!” Clasping his hands and pulling them closer to his chest, he leaned against the table. “I should have paid attention more to sixth year potions before, if it involved that.” Winking, he moved a hand to rest his chin on. Watching her look over his notes, he glanced around the room. What could he get into…

“Here… Do you want to sit down? I usually”

Blinking, he glanced back. He’d been a bit mesmerized. As the stool suddenly pressed against him, he grunted and was forced to sit down on it so he could breathe. Laughing, he glanced down at it and then back at her. “I suppose I do want to sit…” Pushing out a little, however, he turned to face her like she was facing him. He let her knees brush hers slightly before he sat up a little more in his chair, leaning his elbow on the table and his chin on his palm again.

“The effects of the Confusing and Befuddlement Draught are… pretty clear. We can agree on that, right?”

Glancing to her, he raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I think you confused me with that question, but yeah, sure, clear as mud.” Grinning a bit more, he let her continue. Dodgy results, though? He liked the sound of that! Mixing things together with the possibility of the ending not turning out right… Maybe he could make a befuddled draught explode! His eyes lit up at that thought, but he kept it to himself. She might refuse to teach him anything if he constantly interrupted her…

“If we have eight ounces each of sneezewort, scurvy-grass, and lovage, and we want to make the largest batch possible, how much scurvy-grass do we measure out?”

Blinking a bit, he frowned in slight confusion. Wait, did she mean that you only had eight ounces each? Or that the recipe called for eight ounces in one batch? Glancing down to the page, he took in a slow breath and rubbed his chin in thought. “An equal amount in comparison to sneezewort and lovage…?” If they were equal… then depending on how big the ‘largest batch’ was going to be would determine how much of each you would use. Or rather, how much you would use and then measure out the same amount of the others.

Was he thinking way too much into it? He tried not to let his confusion show, but he glanced to the things she made move. Was that eight ounces? Moving his hand from his chin to rub the back of his head, he sat up a little more, glancing once again at the list in the book, his breath coming out a little noisier than he meant.

“I think most people work better with a visual aid. Especially in potions. I’m sort of surprised they didn’t include one in here.”

He started feeling frustrated as he attempted to read the book. His throat went dry and he tried to make up for it by grinning like a fool, sitting up straighter. “Worthless books, right?” His attention went from her face to the beakers, frowning once again as he looked at them. He ran what she had said over his mind again and tried to decide if he’d just heard how she worded the question wrong or not. “If there isn’t… if the book isn’t helpful, then maybe it would be better if you just… taught me without it?” He could be hopeful.

“I think that even in paintings, horses can’t talk, so I’d expect him to be quiet…Unless you can hear him talk. Then kudos to you for that.”

“I meant neighing. He doesn’t make horse sounds. Because he’s rather dead, you know?” She asked, feeling slightly foolish for her previous choice of words, but smiling all the same as she imagined the day she became batty enough to argue not only with painted people, but with animals. Perhaps if she kept herself on edge long enough, it would happen. "I’m not quite that crazy yet, thanks. Although I've still technically met him.”

“I will have to stop on the way back up and have a talk with the rider, then. And horse, sounds like.”

“He may possibly attempt to convince you to quit Quidditch in favor of jockeying. And you may possibly accept, simply to spare your ears. And I can’t be held accountable.” Waker stared back pointedly, though not quite directly. Her face was turned slightly away from his, but she finally decided to return George’s nudge (with slight delay), before quickly busying her hands with… whatever was on the desk.

“You all ready know a sexy keeper, huh? And it’s not me? Shame… George is another name for sexy keeper anyway, so it works out.”

Waker made a hmm noise, some cross between pondering and affirmation. “He plays for the fifth Hogwarts house. The library’s team. They always win, you just don’t know it.” Her eyes drifted to him momentarily. “Gorgeous, that one.” Then, second-guessing herself, she amended: “I mean, not that you aren’t— right. George, Sexy Keeper, interchangeable, got it.” She nodded once, with conviction, but let her eyes roam anywhere that weren’t his.

“Takes talent and practice, that’s all. Trick is to start young… Blame it on puberty. Not that you could do that, but…”

Waker was suddenly reminded of the absurd(ly mortifying and pointless) argument she’d had with Nina while jogging around the lake. It had ended quite disastrously, and she almost shuddered recalling it now. She decided not to bring it up. Offending George for his weird choice of friend didn’t seem the best idea at the moment. “I see,” she murmured, echoing his hushed tone. “I would ask for lessons, but… I’ve apparently passed the age limit? And we have… a lot to get done. For school.” Always for school.

“Lucky us! I should have paid attention more to sixth year potions before, if it involved that.”

With her eyes still on the paper, Waker smiled to herself. Perhaps she was turning into a hypocrite, but she couldn’t find it in her heart to fault him anymore for repeating the year. If it were someone else, someone less nice, she certainly would have been more militant. It made her slightly uneasy that she wasn’t.

“I suppose I do want to sit…”

Waker was glad to know the little charms like the one that made chairs insufferably annoying, or jars of potion ingredients squirm. They were much more common and less difficult than the sort of magic she one day hoped to perform, but they were— in their owns ways— much more practical, and a bit humorous. She looked at their knees touching, but reflexively straightened when George did, staring at him indecipherably for a second, and then focusing on the book.

“I think you confused me with that question, but yeah, sure, clear as mud.”

What she had been able to coolly prevent thus far, a small flush, finally crept into her cheeks. It was the most inopportune and illogical time, as they had both clearly been joking and George was smiling, but something caused it. Waker sometimes felt a bit, well, cheeky in a bad way. And quite often it was linked to her habit of coming off as more than a little presumptuous in times like this, when she was left in charge. In her element. The unofficial expert. “Sorry,” she said at length, for no reason at all. Apologizing and admitting to being wrong were two things she had never quite mastered. “If I get annoying, let me know.”

“An equal amount in comparison to sneezewort and lovage…?”

“Not quite,” she said softly, giving him time to consider it. Figuring it in one’s head was difficult. It often took Waker a decent amount of time, and she was in the business of reading pages to the point of photographically memorizing them. “Don’t stress, it’s…” She trailed off. Telling someone else not to stress out was almost ironic enough to be painful.

“Worthless books, right? If there isn’t… if the book isn’t helpful, then maybe it would be better if you just… taught me without it?”

Waker was surprised that he had suggested this, but not displeased. Usually people wouldn’t dream of suggesting an alternative, but had to be dragged into trying to find the solution. “Sure. Yes, absolutely,” she said after a moment, seeming enthusiastic, but still mild. She closed the book with a resounding thud, and pushed it off to the side. Leaning over the table, she grabbed one of the containers, and held it out to George. Then she grabbed the second and third. She settled back onto her seat, seeming to weigh each of the containers in her hand like a set of scales, as if unsure which she wanted to discuss first, and then held out another for him to take.

“Scurvy-grass,” she said, gesturing to the one she’d just handed off. “On its own has the strongest concentration, and also the least utility of the three main ingredients. So we need the least of it. The ratio of the potion is four parts lovage, two parts sneezewort, one part scurvy-grass. Four-two-one or one-two-four, if you prefer it the other way. Since we require the most of lovage, we’ll automatically want to use all eight ounces of it, no?” Waker set down the single container in her hand and pointed her wand at it. It immediately multiplied itself into eight small one-ounce containers, forming two militaristic lines of four on the table. “Four parts,” she explained, pointing at each pair.

Next, she took the container of sneezewort from George’s hand, and let it multiply into an identical cluster of eight. She waited ten seconds, waved her wand again, and banished half of them. “Two parts.” She gestured to the four remaining ounces.

Finally, it was George’s turn. Waker’s eyes moved from his hand to his face. She hoped he wouldn’t think she was ridiculous for using the same sort of magic that muggle ‘magicians’ alluded to while multiplying innocent rabbits in the depths of their black hats. She was fairly confident that he would be able to produce the answer (two ounces of scurvy-grass), but if not, she had a few more ideas to explore.

“I meant neighing. He doesn’t make horse sounds. Because he’s rather dead, you know? I’m not quite that crazy yet, thanks. Although I’ve still technically met him.”

Grinning at that, George nodded, exaggerating it a bit. The dead horse did or didn’t make horse sounds? “Technicalities still count, so…” Nodding slightly, he thought about where that painting was. He had looked at them more when he was younger. Once he gained friends, he stopped paying them much attention, unless they were talking to him. Then, he glanced their way. Some caught his eye more than others.

Vaguely, he recalled the one she was talking about, but he never really had reason to pause and examine it more thoroughly, or get in a discussion with the annoying rider. Though now that he knew he was obnoxious… well, George wanted to meet him. A little enjoyment for later, then. As long as no one started saying that George Carter was talking to paintings like a mad man… “And you know it’s a him… how?”

“He may possibly attempt to convince you to quit Quidditch in favor of jockeying. And you may possibly accept, simply to spare your ears. And I can’t be held accountable.”

Jockeying, did she say? Smirking at that, he wondered briefly why they hadn’t attempted to mix the two sports. Winged horses instead of brooms, how much fun would that be? Clearly you’d have to make sure that there was no one on the pitch below, in case the animal had a sudden need to let go of things no one would want dropped on their head, but it could be interesting at the very least. “Held accountable? When I am being pulled by my ear to Knox’s office for trying to incorporate jockeying into Quidditch, I’ll tell them the entire thing was your idea.” He liked that she returned the nudge, though.

“He plays for the fifth Hogwarts house. The library’s team. They always win, you just don’t know it… Gorgeous, that one… I mean, not that you aren’t—right. George, Sexy Keeper, interchangeable, got it.”

She was even cuter when she got flustered. Grinning at that, he glanced upwards to the ceiling. “Perhaps, then, I should try out for the library team. I think I could knock this gorgeous keeper out of the way. Unless he gallops between paintings and hangs out in trophy rooms. Then, maybe, he might have me beat.” Sighing, he grinned at her.

“I see… I would ask for lessons, but… I’ve apparently passed the age limit? And we have… a lot to get done. For school.”

His eyes lit up mischievously. “Have you hit puberty then? And that’s as deep as your voice got? Terrible shame, that.” George knew that boys and girls went through different ways of ‘the change,’ and that girls didn’t particularly get a different voice. He had witnessed enough girl’s go through it, and enough guys as well, to never have to see it again. He was just giving her a hard time. “For school… too bad it’s just for school.” Sighing, he glanced to the things spread out over the table.

When she apologized, he waved his hand a bit, laughing. “You’re not annoying, don’t apologize.” It was simple enough, in his opinion. He didn’t see how she could get boring…

“Not quite… Don’t stress, it’s…”

Frowning a bit, he grit his teeth. Not right. He tried to think of what she could have meant, but for some reason the only thing he could think of was ‘what if there was water and white shirts involved?’ Mentally hitting his head, he tried to focus on the problem at hand, not on what he wished was happening. His eyes glanced to her, and all he could see was the image in his head, so he glanced back to the problem at hand, staring at the book.

“Sure. Yes, absolutely.”

When the book shut, he let out a breath, a small smile coming to his lips as he glanced back to her. “Cool.” Something satisfying settled in the pit of his stomach at the way she easily abandoned the book. Accepting what she handed him, he glanced at it, raising an eyebrow. Right… Now on to the hands on. His eyes flickered to her and he pushed away any certain thoughts. Hands on learning with potion ingredients.

“Scurvy-grass… On its own has the strongest concentration, and also the least utility of the three main ingredients. So we need the least of it.”

As she explained it, George frowned, concentrating on her words. Four-two-one. He could remember that. If it was the strongest, you needed the least, made sense. Nodding to show he was following her, he shrugged and nodded at what he considered to be a rhetorical question. Most of lovage would mean it was the least strongest, then. Looking at what she had done, his eyebrows rose in slight admiration. Very precise. “Okay… four parts.” So they just doubled it, so then it would be eight-four-two, if he wanted to be really precise. At least, that was what he thought…

“Two parts.”

He glanced to her hand that reached over and took the sneezewort from his hand, smiling as she divided it again. Nodding at what she had done, he looked up to her face. Picking up the last bit, the scurvy-grass, he felt as if he might actually know what was happening. “One part…” Since he wasn’t sure exactly how much to measure out with a spell, he picked up the little measuring spoon and dumped out two ounces of it as neatly as he could, putting the top back on the ingredient when he was finished.

“And you know it’s a him… how?”

Waker opened her mouth and knitted her brows together, tilting her head a little. She shook it, looking at the boy as if she were simultaneously considering the question and silently accusing him of being up to no good. “I can just tell,” she said finally. “It wasn’t a very graceful dead horse.” Not that females always had grace or that males lacked it; Waker could be quite offended when people suggested that she couldn’t do things as well as males, but she could also dish out unnecessary jibes.

“Held accountable? When I am being pulled by my ear to Knox’s office for trying to incorporate jockeying into Quidditch, I’ll tell them the entire thing was your idea.”

If George had been serious, Waker might have blanched or attempted to argue. She was always trying to be seen in a good light by the school staff. As it were, her reply was brazen.  “And when it goes global and I make a fortune…?”

“Perhaps, then, I should try out for the library team. I think I could knock this gorgeous keeper out of the way. Unless he gallops between paintings and hangs out in trophy rooms. Then, maybe, he might have me beat.”

The Gryffindor seemed almost to enjoy her momentary awkwardness. Waker wasn’t sure whether this made her feel better or simply more anxious. She shook her head again, but instead of speaking, merely pointed a reproving finger at him, only it was not so stern as she wished, and maybe a little bit surrendering.

“Have you hit puberty then? And that’s as deep as your voice got? Terrible shame, that.”

Waker rolled her eyes upward, cheeks bunching just a little as another smile threatened to intervene. “I have to be a convincing girl, no?” Of course, there was no way she was anything else. 

“For school… too bad it’s just for school.”

“What else?” She asked, palm touching the cover of a book as she stared at its title. She glanced around the dungeon, which seemed suited for little more than trivial science experiments. “I don’t think there are many non-academic adventures to be had down here.” She shrugged. “But we’ll make it bearable, studying. And our grades will thank us.”

Relieved to know she wasn’t bothersome (yet), Waker smiled and then carried on watching George as he considered the answer to the potions question. When the book was discarded in favor of the containers of ingredients, Waker wondered whether she hadn’t chosen too literal of a path—but when it came down to it, this was how one brewed a potion, was it not? Or it was how Waker brewed potions. Measuring was a favorite pastime.

When it was George’s turn, Waker’s eyes stayed fastened on his hands as he methodically measured the correct amount of the last ingredient. She wasn’t too concerned that he hadn’t done it her way, with the multiplying and banishing spells, because his answer was correct.

“Perfect,” she announced, smiling at him quite genuinely this time. Maybe she hadn’t given him enough recognition. He certainly understood what they were doing, he just did it in his own way. “I think we can move faster now, actually, since you definitely seem to get the basics.”

Waker gingerly took the closed container from his hand, leaned over to set it at the back of the table, and grabbed a smaller, emptier one to hold the two ounces of scurvy-grass. “We’re really not supposed to make this much,” she informed him. “But…” She looked over her shoulder to the door, which George had closed earlier, and then back toward the table. It was much easier to measure out large amounts that cleanly fit the ratio, as they had done. Waker scooped the single ingredient into the cup and sprinkled it quickly into the cauldron, which was already heated. It turned lilac purple.

“Oh, look at that,” she said shamefully. “I suppose we’ll have to stick to the book’s silly ratio now.” She settled back into her stool and winked, which seemed much more of the Gryffindor’s territory, but she felt she deserved a go at it for abusing her laboratory privileges. There would be a few minutes’ waiting to do before they could add the other components. "When it turns blue, you'll be adding the next bit."

“I can just tell… It wasn’t a very graceful dead horse.”

“Of course not. I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen a lot of dead horses, graceful or not, but I’ll take your word on it.” His grin showed how much he was enjoying himself. The pointless stories they could come up with… Ah, it was well worth it. And he was always up to no good, if he could help it. “Rest the not so graceful male horse, then.” Now he’d have to make a pit stop and take a look at this thing on his way back upstairs.

“And when it goes global and I make a fortune…?”

Raising an eyebrow at her, George tried to think of a good comeback to that, and failed. Licking his lips, a smug look in his face, he leaned closer to her. “Then clearly I will have all ready asked you to marry me.” Winking at her, he glanced towards the things she had set up. He was tooting his own horn a bit too much, perhaps, but he thought it was all in good fun. “So, to make sure we have all my ducks in a row… if jockey quidditch goes global, will you marry me?”

“I have to be a convincing girl, no?”

His eyes happened to stray a little before he bit his lower lip, shaking his head. “I think you are quite convincing, Waker…  So good job. You should go into acting.” He didn’t have quite the restraint she did, and a smile did break loose over his face.

“What else? I don’t think there are many non-academic adventures to be had down here.”

His face said what he wanted to say. First, it was that look of ‘you’re joking, right?’ Then it turned into ‘No, you’re not joking.’ Finally, however it moved to a compliant disbelief. His attempt at being obvious clearly didn’t hit the mark. Resisting the urge to rest his head on the table before banging it repeatedly on the hard countertop, he merely sighed. “I’m sure there are a few… If that’s a challenge, I would gladly show you how you’re wrong.” Their grades would thank them? Since when did their grades start having conversations and the ability to have emotion?

“Perfect… I think we can move faster now, actually, since you definitely seem to get the basics.”

He grinned when she gave him a boost to his confidence. It quickly fell when she mentioned moving faster. Normally that would appeal to him, but as it was in regards to his studies… it just didn’t sound as much fun anymore. “Hm…” He supposed it was good to understand the basics, since that was something they really pressed on them in the first year. Crossing his arms and resting them on the table, he watched her.

“We’re really not supposed to make this much… But…”

Glancing from Waker to the door and back, he raised an eyebrow and gave her a half grin. Maybe he was rubbing off on her? Biting his lower lip, he leaned closer to her, tapping his fingers against his arm. “It’s all for a good cause… I haven’t been the interested in potions in a while. You’re doing fantastic.” And she was! But he was more or less trying to give her that pat on the back and little bit of encouragement, in case she considered backing out of the bigger than necessary batch of potion.

“Oh, look at that… I suppose we’ll have to stick to the book’s silly ratio now.”

George had watched her as she dumped in the first ingredient. It was a nice color, and he wasn’t sure if that was what one wanted when they made it. Judging by her reaction, he still couldn’t tell if it was right or not. The way she winked made him a little fluttery in the stomach, and he smiled and shrugged a little. “We split it up into the ratio, right?” He did not want that book back out again.

“When it turns blue, you’ll be adding the next bit.”

Glancing from her and back to the book, he resisted the desire to sigh. Turning the page, he glanced over what it said for the specific potion. He started to combine the next ingredient into one easy sprinkle mess, glancing towards her. “Blue, huh? How do you know, besides memorizing, whether a color is good or bad in a potion?” He glanced down into what he was holding, and once it turned blue, he slowly added the new ingredient in, watching it turn a darker blue. “Is… that right?”

“Then clearly I will have all ready asked you to marry me… So, to make sure we have all my ducks in a row… if jockey quidditch goes global, will you marry me?”

Waker didn’t like to think of herself as an easily intimidated person, but she was no Gryffindor. She often walked a fine line between elusive humor and unnerving conversation. But then, that was the definition of teenage flirting. And George was certainly an extreme case of daring. His sudden closeness, coupled with his expressions, and the question that came out of his mouth (even if it were only a joke), were altogether disarming. She had thought it several times already, but it was worth reminding herself: he was simultaneously more candid and harder to read than a lot of people Waker had encountered in her life. 

“Mmm,” she seemed to consider, but only to stall for time. She was still at a loss for words, a feeling which made her nervous. But it was important to choose carefully! George’s question was now making her wonder all sorts of things, mostly whether there was more to the way they seemed to get along. As far as Waker was concerned, George could make a professional career of his ability to surprise her.

Stock still, only the girl’s eyes moved—her lids fluttering down to meet her cheeks, which then caved in a sort of domino effect, and bunched in silent amusement, revealing smiling teeth. It was a great façade for embarrassment, which she had discovered in her short time keeping the boy company. But it also betraying. It made her feel a bit silly, to give away what was always carefully wrapped in aloofness. Waker wasn’t used to smiling so often, not quite this legitimately. It was sort of a facial aerobics.

Finally, she tamed her expression, trading down for the calculatedly nonchalant one she frequented most often, and looked at him again. “Thinking ahead? I'm rubbing off on you." Or possibly the other way around, is what she really wanted to say. "If jockey Quidditch goes global, and I marry you, do I get to choose where we live?” Finally. She was in control of her voice again. She avoided a direct answer to his question with, well, another question. She placed a finger on her cheek, the others nestling naturally under her chin. “Actually, scratch that. I am choosing. Children raised in Barcelona are much pleasanter than the ones here.”

“I think you are quite convincing, Waker…  So good job. You should go into acting.”

It was perhaps the most hilarious thing she had heard all semester, because Waker felt she was one of the last people in the school suited for the stage. But, in a way, it was true. She was very good at putting on a fearless face for teachers and adults, and weaseling her way out of discussing certain things with certain people. And, like now, she liked to tease. “That would ruin the plan to move to Spain,” she sighed, shaking her head repentantly. Her preference for planning (everything) was probably painfully obvious by now.

“I’m sure there are a few… If that’s a challenge, I would gladly show you how you’re wrong.”

Folding her arms, Waker raised both brows. The word challenge caught her like a hook. She loathed to admit it, if only for the inherently juvenile and self-indulgent quality it tended to inspire in her, but even outside of the classroom, Waker found great personal joy in rising to a challenge. And the series of looks on George’s face were too persuasive. “If you don’t get us expelled, you’re welcome to show me how I’m absolutely wrong. Only, we both know I’m not.” Waker placed a hand over her heart, almost solemnly. She had a fleeting desire to want to be wrong. Ridiculous!

There seemed still to be a hint of uncertainty pertaining to all things school-related, and yet George also seemed encouraged. The looks on his face were ever-changing, but always lively, and rather winning. Waker determination to make this a good experience had not waned in the least. Perhaps it would lend itself to more studying in the future. And group assignments which were not as insufferable as usual? Sounded like a goal. The girl privately celebrated George's compliment, and decided that maybe she wouldn’t make as miserable a teacher she imagined—not that she was the least bit interested in remaining at Hogwarts for the rest of her life, kicking it with the kids. There was too much to be done in the Wizarding World itself.

“We split it up into the ratio, right?  Blue, huh? How do you know, besides memorizing, whether a color is good or bad in a potion?”

“Yes, exactly. Lucky for us, the professor’s store is already nicely cleaned and chopped for most standard potions. We don’t have to get too messy with this one.” She wrinkled her nose a little, though Waker had very few qualms with 'taking one for the team' when it came to cutting up vile ingredients. She’d rather do it herself and be safe as opposed to sorry. It was what dragonhide gloves were for! (Not that she doubted George’s ability. Some of her classmates, though, were hopeless when it came to the hands-on part of potions.)

“I’m afraid there’s not much of a way around memorizing certain things,” she explained with a frown. The question was so honest and logical that Waker was downright annoyed at not being able to provide a good answer. “But scurvy-grass, like a lot of other cabbage family ingredients, is usually dissolved and ready for mixing when the water develops a blue tint. I like to condense what the book says and copy it onto flashcards. I just force myself to remember the basic properties of the most standard ingredients— like the ones in the school supply.” It sounded terribly dull, she knew. “It’s not as enthralling as some activities, I know. But if you ever need to waste time… you'll save it later.”

Waker nodded, encouraging George as he added the next ingredient. “Now stir it a half-dozen times, clockwise. Make sure you scrape the bottom so that it mixes well. Sneezewort is harder to dissolve. It doesn’t fancy being a liquid. I don’t blame it.”

“Mmm.”

He was of the opinion that he caused a lot of people to stop and ponder a response to many things he said. In his experience, that wasn’t necessarily a good sign… especially if it came from an authoritative figure. His parents had constantly been tripping over their words of punishment and lecture to George for eighteen years, and he still didn’t know when to accept enough as enough. Perhaps it wasn’t necessarily that he didn’t know when to stop as much as he didn’t see there a point in stopping. Why would the option be there if it wasn’t to be explored? Generally speaking, of course. Some things, some subjects, he wouldn’t approach the same way of course, always those exceptions…

“Thinking ahead? I’m rubbing off on you… If jockey Quidditch goes global, and I marry you, do I get to choose where we live?”

She had the most adorable grin. He resisted the urge to lean forward and really make it awkward. He wanted to, but could show restraint from time to time. Especially since, as far as he knew, she was just playing with him and they would be quite professional from here on out. Then she said she was rubbing off on him and his immediate response was inappropriate, so instead he merely laughed and licked his lips, nodding in agreement. “Do you get to choose?” An eyebrow arched as he pretended to ponder the question.

“Actually, scratch that. I am choosing. Children raised in Barcelona are much pleasanter than the ones here.”

Children? A pink tinge appeared on his cheeks, the only sign that he was a bit flustered over that response. “Are you saying I’m not as pleasant as those raised in Barcelona, Waker?” Grinning, he leaned forward a little more, closing the space between them just a little more. “And how did you become an expert on the subject of what children are more pleasant depending on where they are raised?” His eyes flickered over her face while he grinned at her. “I’ve heard good things about Barcelona, though… So I can agree to that. As long as we have a pool.”

“That would ruin the plan to move to Spain.”

Faking a concerned expression, he let out a tsk as he tapped his chin similar to how she had before. “It could… though, if you are this convincing now, by the time the children are around-” The thought gave him a little chill that he was able to suppress. Children?! No… no, he couldn’t--who would-- right then, he could joke. “-you can make them believe they are in Barcelona, forcing them to be pleasanter.” His family had grown up all around each other, and he was used to heading over to his grandparents house when he was younger for the weekend or an afternoon for his parents to relax. He didn’t know if he could relocate, even if he had the easy ability to apparate back home.

“If you don’t get us expelled, you’re welcome to show me how I’m absolutely wrong. Only, we both know I’m not.”

That left him a lot of options. His eyes lit up at the acceptance of a challenge and he bit his lower lip while looking into her eyes. “We both know that, huh?” A slow grin spread across his face and he leaned over, squeezing her knee, friendly. “I’ll show you when you least expect it, then.” Pulling back, he looked to the assignment with a bit more vigor than he had previously. This was going to be a fun afternoon--and he had permission from her to show her how she was wrong. Maybe he was rubbing off on her as well. Doubtful, but he could still inflate his ego a little more.

“Yes, exactly. Lucky for us, the professor’s store is already nicely cleaned and chopped for most standard potions. We don’t have to get too messy with this one.”

George did much better when he was allowed to handle everything. Books made no sense to him, but he had been tinkering with enough things since he was young to feel rather comfortable with anything he could do with his hands. “That doesn’t sound so lucky. I like getting messy…” Another wink came out in her direction, and George briefly wondered why he was flirting so hard. She was great, sure, but he was like a wooed little lamb.

“I’m afraid there’s not much of a way around memorizing certain things… But scurvy-grass, like a lot of other cabbage family ingredients, is usually dissolved and ready for mixing when the water develops a blue tint.”

He took in what she said, repeating it in his head a few times before he nodded slowly. Scurvy-grass was like cabbage, who knew? Well… clearly Waker. Maybe it was edible by itself without any horrible side effects? Not that he was likely to dive in to that… He didn’t like cabbage.

“…I like to condense what the book says and copy it onto flashcards. I just force myself to remember the basic properties of the most standard ingredients-- like the ones in the school supply… It’s not as enthralling as some activities, I know. But if you ever need to waste time… you’ll save it later.”

He liked looking at things that way; it could help procrastination, attempting to see things differently. By doing it now, he would cause a less stressful day later on. It would also ensure he kept up on his studies… which, he was proud to admit, he had done very well for his sixth year repeat. “Flashcards, huh? But you have to read the book first to make them useful right?” As nice of an idea as it was to shorten the book, if he had to read it and understand it to be able to do that… well, he’d be more likely to be stepped on by a giant tumbling out of the fireplace.

“Now stir it a half-dozen times, clockwise. Make sure you scrape the bottom so that it mixes well. Sneezewort is harder to dissolve. It doesn’t fancy being a liquid. I don’t blame it.”

Stirring clockwise as she said, going slow so it gave him ample time to scrape everything up for the mix, he lost count as he glanced at her. His mind fled for a brief moment as his hand stalled in the stirring. “I don’t know…” A grin came to his lips. “I like when things are wet.” Pausing a moment, he blinked and glanced back to the potion, eyes wide. How many times had he stirred?! Two? Four? Three and half? Glancing sideways at Waker, he tried to play it off. Maybe he’d get lucky… “G-Going into the lake, for example. A ton of fun…” One, two, three more turns and he stopped, glancing to her. “Done as ordered, ma’am.” Grinning, he held the spoon, unsure if she wanted him to continue stirring or not, or what the next order would be.
 

Waker discovered that she enjoyed the face that George was making while he considered her question. The Ravenclaw continued speaking, insisting that they would have to move to Spain, that it was simply mandatory, but she was as watchful of his countenance as she was mindful of his words. Now that there was a fathomed sports empire and Barcelonian family, there was no turning back from the tale. Granted, Waker felt a little guilty (and awkward) due to the Gryffindor's sudden blush. Perhaps she was too concentrated? It could very well be a trick of the light... in the dungeons... where windows did not exist. Completely logical, Waker.

“Are you saying I’m not as pleasant as those raised in Barcelona, Waker?"

"That's exactly what I'm--" She paused, and looked at him accusingly. She had accidentally let her mouth get ahead of her mind in this forward state, something which she was always cautious not to do. "Not... saying," she finished, looking slightly criminal, but apologetic. The second half of her sentence had sounded more like a question. She shrugged and then rounded her shoulders with a regenerating exhale. George's closeness made it a little more challenging to carry on in that same brazen tone. "I'm sure you were always bundle of joy," she noted, with lighthearted suspicion and a tilt of her head.

"And how did you become an expert on the subject of what children are more pleasant depending on where they are raised? I’ve heard good things about Barcelona, though… So I can agree to that. As long as we have a pool.”

This question was actually one that Waker was hesitant to answer, because she did have an answer. "Well, my parents are pediatricians. Muggle healers for children," she clarified, just in case. She knew George came from a Wizarding family. "I can tell you that some of the children raised in Britain are..." But it was best to leave those thought to herself. Raised by the human definition of worker bees, and without siblings, Waker had always felt a bit odd around other children. She had always been more of a miniature adult, to be sure. But to even mildly regret having parents who were entirely selfless in their undertaking was ugly and unspeakable. "Well, it may just be the sore throats and ear infections affecting their natural pleasantness. A pool, however, is a must."

“It could… though, if you are this convincing now, by the time the children are around- you can make them believe they are in Barcelona, forcing them to be pleasanter."

At this, Waker had to laugh. It was such a clever suggestion, that she began to legitimately ponder the outcome. And then abruptly, inwardly stopped herself. "That's a very scientific theory, George. I guess things here aren't so bad," she admitted. In reality, Waker actually no plans to move away from the only wizarding community she knew. "A vacation home, then? Since England is Barcelona, we'll tell them they're in London when we go to the beach. Not that I condone lying."

“We both know that, huh? I’ll show you when you least expect it, then.”

Waker silently welcomed this, but said nothing. She merely nodded once, an ambiguous response that neither confirmed nor denied that she believed George's promise. She had, of course, already suggested that he would be wrong, but whether her words were true was disputable. She held the Gryffindor's gaze for as long as she could manage without quavering, and then gracefully forfeited, lowering her eyes to his hand on her knee. Despite the fact that she had not anticipated George's touch any more than she had days before in the library, when her he had kindly touched her shoulder, or even moments ago while hovering over the book, Waker didn't tense up coolly or shift away this time. It was sort of nice, if she were honest with herself.

“That doesn’t sound so lucky. I like getting messy…”

Waker was becoming increasingly more aware of George's words possibly having double meanings, but this time she couldn't help purposely countering with a much less... imaginative... answer. "Even if I'm terribly partial to soap," she prefaced, "I know there's a difference between fun-messy and messy-messy. Cutting up ingredients?" She frowned. "Messy-messy to the messiest and most mundane degree. But I'll admit that it's kind of fun, wearing those gloves."

“Flashcards, huh? But you have to read the book first to make them useful right?”

"That's the idea," she admitted, smiling. "But for other things, like History..." Waker stopped and looked toward the door again, to make sure Greyfriar wasn't looming in the corridor. "If you have to get through a million books in a night, and there's absolutely no way around it, sometimes it helps to read the first and last paragraph of each chapter, and the first and last sentences of each paragraph in between. Browsing topic sentences will give you the general idea of something, the cause and effect, and how it relates to the present. Those dates and numbers aren't quite as vital as knowing who did what and why. But for Potions, all of those random facts in between are vital, so..." It was a double-edged sword, studying. Waker would be hard-pressed to admit it, but it was very possible to take in too much information and miss the big picture, just as it were possible to be too vague in detail.

“I don’t know… I like when things are wet. G-Going into the lake, for example. A ton of fun… Done as ordered, ma’am.”

Waker watched George not watch the cauldron, and suppressed a smirk. "You swim in the lake?" She asked, simultaneously impressed and iffy. It had to have been against the rules, not to mention more than a little dangerous. When he finished stirring, Waker grabbed his hand and directed it back to the cauldron, trying to gently force the spoon back into their potion. "Brilliant stirring, sir, but that was only five times."

“That’s exactly what I’m-- Not… saying.”

Grinning knowingly, he shrugged a little and tried to hide his amusement with an innocent tilt of the eyes. “Of course not.” She was good at catching herself, though. She said what she meant and just as easily added something on to make it opposite. He liked that wit and quickness.

“I’m sure you were always bundle of joy.”

Laughing at that, he shook his head. “I doubt my family would agree.” George thought he’d been perfectly normal, and an all around good kid. His parents told him on a regular basis they were so happy he was growing up. Just because he had a natural curiosity for why things worked the way they did didn’t mean he’d been a ‘bad’ kid… just one who was constantly taking things apart and handing any left over pieces he had after to his parents (or, rather, hiding them in easy to find places), and then having to explain why the faucet was a little wobbly or how the new tools had ended up thrashed.

“Well, my parents are pediatricians. Muggle healers for children.”

He was amused that she had to explain that, and reframed from rolling his eyes. His grandfather was a muggle surgeon… he had a fair idea of what a pediatrician was. He kept that to himself, however, preferring her to explain it to him.

“I can tell you that some of the children raised in Britain are… Well, it may just be the sore throats and ear infections affecting their natural pleasantness. A pool, however, is a must.”

The disappointment showed on his face when she seemed to cut herself short. “It could just be the parents raising them.” Smirking, he shrugged again. He’d been raised to have manners, and when he was in certain situations, he was the most polite he’d ever been. As a whole, though, he tried to avoid those situations… Much more fun to be spontaneous and carefree. George was glad she agreed about the pool, though. How it would have ever worked out if she hadn’t, he didn’t know.

“That’s a very scientific theory, George. I guess things here aren’t so bad… A vacation home, then? Since England is Barcelona, we’ll tell them they’re in London when we go to the beach. Not that I condone lying.”

Laughing, he nodded and put his hands out to show what was on his mind with gestures. “I’ll make Big Ben with the sand and make the clock hands move.” Magic was amazing in its capacities. Their poor, fake children, though! Biting his lower lip, George glanced at her and leaned forward on his elbows. “Did you grow up in Barcelona, then?” He was making an assumption, not knowing much about her history, other than what she divulged.

“Even if I’m terribly partial to soap… I know there’s a difference between fun-messy and messy-messy. Cutting up ingredients? Messy-messy to the messiest and most mundane degree. But I’ll admit that it’s kind of fun, wearing those gloves.”

She enjoyed a fun-messy? That certainly peeked his interest… Maybe he’d have to push that limit, find out what sort of things she categorized as being fun-messes. He all ready had a few ideas… “And handling the sharp instruments. Paring knifes and gloves, can’t get much more fun with potion ingredients than that.” Maybe she would find running through the rain fun? Playing a playful game of tag in the mud? Kicking around a quaffle… His mind started to go other places and so he focused on the books to remind himself they were supposed to be studying. A tiny voice whined in his head that they were studying something.

“That’s the idea… But for other things, like History…”

As soon as History was mentioned, George felt a bit of a nervous twitch start in the corner of his eye. Rubbing it, he nodded to show he was listening to what she was saying. He’d done the worst on his History exam for his OWLs… He could not absorb the information any other way than reading about it, and he just did not do that. She made studying for it sound easy, though. Chuckling as she said it was different with potions, he merely rolled his eyes and gave her a playful smirk. “So you should read everything for Potions, since otherwise you might miss something.” Though he missed it even if he took the time to read through. His attention span when it came to coursework was horrible.

“You swim in the lake?”

“Now and again…” He had gotten in enough trouble over it before, recalling the first time he’d nearly drowned while testing that bubble head charm. Smirking a little, he shook his head at the memory and focused on waker. “It’s rather fun, good way to cool off… you should try it sometime.” Especially since it was getting warmer out.

“Brilliant stirring, sir, but that was only five times.”

When she held his hand, he nearly dropped the spoon, but he let her guide him back to the potion, a bit of an embarrassed chuckle coming out. “Just making sure you were counting…” The blush tinged his cheeks again as his attempt to smooth over his mistake failed. He glanced to her hand that was over his and he moved it slightly so that he was able to entwine his fingers with hers. With that, he did another stir, scraping the bottom of the cauldron well for good measure. When he was done, he took a brief moment to glance in her direction, a small smile on his lips. “Six…” Now what?

“I doubt my family would agree.”

Waker had only been joking with him, but now she was curious. George certainly lived up to his Gryffindor nature, and was arguably a lot more openly playful and less uptight about the rules than she, but Waker was having trouble imagining a younger version of George who terrorized his parents. Though, to be fair, that was probably not what he'd meant. Most children had been handfuls at some point in their lives. Even children raised in Barcelona. And, well, Waker. "Did you serve a juvenile sentence in Azkaban, then?" She asked, smirking a little.

“It could just be the parents raising them.”

George's reasoning was actually the most likely answer, but Waker had the habit of overestimating a small child's personal responsibility for sound judgment and morality. Still, she nodded in light agreement. "That's true. And you know... in the privacy of their own homes, I'm sure all of those parents probably sit at the breakfast table and sob over not being served a second slice of chocolate cake at half-past seven in the morning." And the children? Were as good as parrots.

“I’ll make Big Ben with the sand and make the clock hands move.”

Waker's eyes followed his arms as he demonstrated. He was quite intriguing. She recalled having made her own sand castles, ones with obsessively crafted tower-tops formed with those dangerously jagged, neon plastic buckets that looked as if they'd lost a war with a pile of Legos. It never ended well, usually because Waker had to forfeit to bits of sand trying to blind her or creep into her swimsuit. Or other children baring lethal hand-held shovels. "I've never built sand castle with magic," she lamented. "What'll we do about all the London rain?"

“Did you grow up in Barcelona, then?”

"Close," she promised. "Colchester." The second word sounded flat, as if the syllables themselves were a major let-down, and Waker's small frown confirmed as much. "Birthplace of many lovely stereotypical Essex girls," she explained sarcastically. "And home to an only-sometimes rubbish football team. Apparently." Waker sighed. There were actually very beautiful and historical bits of Colchester. It was a very old place, proclaimed the oldest town in Britain. But that title was not as alluring when one lived there. Like anywhere else, it had its quirks and its flaws. "We do have a very nice zoo, though," she reasoned. "And you? Since we've ruled out Spain?"

“And handling the sharp instruments. Paring knifes and gloves, can’t get much more fun with potion ingredients than that.”

"A fondness for knives... that seems very grounded." Waker sounded quite serious as she made fun of him. She doubted very much that George was serious, or harboring some sort of extended potions knife collection under his pillow. Even many of the hands-on parts of class weren't the most riveting of activities. "Chopping up roots is always sort of satisfying, isn't it? But I'm shocked at the laboratory weapons they give to some of our peers." Proportionally, there should have been far more Nearly Headless Nick's floating around the school, in Waker's opinion. The number of times she had witnessed near-catastrophic accidents, ones that would surely make the Hospital Wing implode... even she had lost count.

“So you should read everything for Potions, since otherwise you might miss something.”

"It's not so daunting after a while. But it's no Teen Witch," she admitted, thinking of the abandoned magazine she seen found in the library that same day. It was always reassuring to know that her classmates were making the best of the school's resources. In truth, she didn't mind reading fluffy magazine articles to pass the time, but only after she had finished with more important things. Girls who determined which shade to dye their hair based on multiple-choice personality surveys stuck between ads for control-top tights and sleek hair potions were another issue.

“It’s rather fun, good way to cool off… you should try it sometime.”

"Hmmm. Something tells me I should stick to pools. With chlorine, life-guards, and visible floors." She stared, waiting for a convincing response. She fairly resolute in not daring to jump into the lake, even if only recently, while running to her death, it had seemed tempting. "I'll come watch, though, if you start a Hogwarts swim team. You can't let those Durmstrang blokes one up you."

“Just making sure you were counting…”

If George was uncertain or nervous, Waker pretended not to notice. She kept her eyes on their hands, and the spoon, almost blearily so, telling herself that it was all in the name of education. Her own blush didn't arise until George moved his fingers, but Waker persisted, concentrating on the final stir of the cauldron. The potion's blue subtly faded to milky white, and then yellow. "Six..." She echoed him quietly, leaving her hand where it was for longer than necessary, focusing dazedly, and finally withdrawing. "Good. Right, so. Next we..." She was losing it, forgetting her place again. Her mental bookmark seemed to fade and Waker squeezed her eyes in annoyance at herself. This was happening to frequently lately. She hoped he wouldn't think her dense. "Sorry."

Reaching for her wand more quickly than was natural, mostly to cover for her momentary lapse of memory, Waker flicked it at the cauldron, coaxing the heat to ease. "It needs to cool just a little and then we can add the last part," she said quickly, awkwardly, as if the mental exertion of spouting facts would keep both their minds clear of other things. She wasn't as entirely convincing as she usually sounded when reciting these things. "The effectiveness of Lovage can be ruined by too a high a temperature. I think it's because..." She pondered it for a moment, and then shook her head, finally reaching for a Herbology book atop the abandoned stack. She began to flip through, looking for the answer that was just out of reach.