a/n hiiii i'm here!!!
long update today so settle in if you have the time. i shall be back soon with more. i hope you all enjoy. happy reading!
song suggestions: Televised by HUNNY & She Doesn't Get It by Rec Hall
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fan art embedded within the chapter by Dralamy! find her on instagram, tumblr, & patreon @ /Dralamy
~*~
Standing in front of the floor length mirror, Jolie spun around for the third time, inspecting her reflection. She undid the four buttons of her thin slim-fitting cardigan. Then, buttoned them back up again.
"I said keep. It. Buttoned," Daphne groaned.
Madeline nodded her agreement. Jolie pouted, pulling at the hem of her skirt.
"But is it too much?" she asked no one in particular. "It is. Let me just have another look through the wardrobe and I'm sure I can—"
"Don't even think about changing again," Daphne warned.
"Besides, you've only got ten minutes," Madeline informed her.
Jolie heaved a hopeless, frustrated sigh.
Right after Potions, George had only had time to wink at her before she had practically dragged Madeline back to their dorm, needing her roommate's assistance in getting ready for her and George's date. Daphne had arrived in the girls' dorm soon afterwards, panting as if she'd sprinted all the way from the fifth floor. She probably had.
So far, Jolie had haphazardly yanked on a combination of about seven different outfits from various pieces of clothing that Daphne and Madeline had strewn across her bed.
The one she currently wore—a matching green cropped cardigan and skirt with a lacy, cream vest beneath—was winning the popular vote.
As Jolie fidgeted with the top button of the cardigan, Daphne sat at Madeline's bed whilst the latter waved her wand carefully throughout the room, practising her charms to levitate the discarded articles of clothing back to Jolie's bed.
Inwardly, Jolie felt a shred of pride for her roommate. Madeline was getting better with Charms.
Tea Kettle was purring loudly at the end of Jolie's bed as her paws assiduously kneaded at a rejected cable knit jumper.
"Nine minutes now," Daphne sing-songed, patting the empty spot next to her on Madeline's bed.
Jolie grunted, sliding her palms down her skirt before making her way over to Daphne and plopping down onto the bed.
Daphne shifted to face her, grinning like a madwoman as she wielded a blush brush and began carefully blotting it to Jolie's cheeks.
Madeline came to stand behind Jolie and tugged the elastic from the end of her plait. Her roommate began undoing her messily woven hair, running her fingers through Jolie's locks before starting to brush it out.
Both of her friends giggled when a tangle snagged, and Jolie hissed.
"Merciless wenches," she grumbled.
Madeline chuckled as she continued to brush out Jolie's hair. Daphne smiled as she fished out a tube of lip gloss from Jolie's makeup bag. She untwisted the cap and pulled out the applicator, gently swiping it over her lips.
"You still love us," Daphne said through a half-smile, her eyes concentrating deftly on applying the makeup.
Jolie only grinned, trying to keep still.
She could pretend to complain all she wanted, but she knew very well that having her friends pamper her a bit before a date made her a very lucky witch.
Once the girls claimed they had finished their work, Jolie stood and went to gaze at her reflection one last time in the mirror.
She looked good, her hair voluminous and wavy from her plait, her skin radiant and polished. She just wished the anxious fluttering in her stomach would abate.
After making sure that everything was in order—her uniform and prefect badge folded and sitting in wait for her at the end of her bed for later, she turned to her friends.
"Well?"
Daphne rolled her eyes and Madeline laughed.
"You're stunning and you know it," Daphne told her again, shaking her head. "Now, go! You'll keep him waiting."
Jolie shrugged, pulling her in for a hug. "Thank you—both of you."
She let go of Daphne and pulled Madeline in, ignoring her dormmate's raised brows. Jolie didn't often give hugs—not in the manner Daphne gave them out, anyway.
As she gave Madeline a squeeze, she muttered, "Besides, if he's going to surprise me with a date in one day, I think I'm allowed to make him wait just a bit."
Madeline breathed a laugh as they pulled apart. "Hear, hear!"
The girls all giggled.
Jolie scooped up Tea Kettle, the cat's claws catching in the wool of the jumper she still kneaded. She kissed her furry head despite Kettle's attempts to get away.
Daphne hissed, pulling the cat out of Jolie's arms with one hand, and waving her wand with the other to remove Tea Kettle's shedding fur from Jolie's clothes.
"Go, you cruel witch," Daphne sighed, grinning as Tea Kettle gave a long, pitiful meo-o-o-ow, voicing her irritation at being held.
So, with only five minutes to spare, Jolie waved goodbye to her friends and proceeded to the courtyard.
~*~
George sighed as he stretched his arms across the back of the bench, awaiting Jolie's arrival. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time, trying to quell the growing pit in his stomach.
Last time he'd waited for her to meet him, it hadn't exactly gone well.
But five o'clock was still five minutes away—just thirty seconds passing since the last time he'd checked.
He rolled his neck to either side, trying to loose the building tension there. He stretched his legs, the heels of his dingy white trainers gritting against the stone.
After Jolie had left the Potions classroom earlier and Fred and Lee had wished him luck, George had raced from the dungeons all the way to the seventh floor, to Gryffindor Tower. He'd changed from his school uniform into a basic pair of brown trousers and his old, faded quidditch jumper.
Last year, sometime in May, she had told him that the muted yellow stripe across the chest of the crimson jumper brought out the gold flecks in his eyes. She'd said it so casually. But George hadn't forgotten the rare compliment.
He'd had his clothing planned out for most of the day. As well as everything else.
Because, for this date, he actually had a definitive plan—thank Godric.
He'd had the logistics, setting, and accoutrements already set up for them since lunch.
Now, he just needed her to show up.
Behind him was one of the arches that revealed the expanse of the courtyard—surprisingly still lusciously green despite the cooling weather. First and second years cackled and yelled, playing Gobstones, Exploding Snap, and countless other activities. The sky was a bit overcast, but the usual October chill didn't seem to be quite as cold today.
Two younger girls bustled past him in the corridor, a Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, murmuring rather loudly. George couldn't help but eavesdrop a bit.
"—so dreamy..."
"He's putting his name in the Goblet, you know—"
"Diggory?! Is he, really?"
"Yes! Imagine..."
George heard nothing more as their voices floated further down the corridor, out of range for his ears.
He raised his eyebrows to himself.
So Cedric Diggory planned on trying to enter the Tournament?
He wondered if Jolie knew that. Wondered if she'd care.
Probably.
From what he'd witnessed since last school year, she seemed to be on friendly terms with him. And that was fine.
It was—the subtle twisting of his stomach be damned.
George stifled a groan as he wiped his hands over his face.
It was ridiculous, honestly.
He knew first hand that Cedric was a decent wizard. Hufflepuff's seeker had been outgoing and kind to George and his family back in August. And George didn't figure Cedric had any plans at all to cross any lines with Jolie. He was with Cho Chang, after all.
Plus, Jolie was absolutely allowed to have friends of the opposite sex.
It wasn't George's place whatsoever to oversee who she consorted with. She was her own person—could make her own choices.
He just hated that he couldn't control the burning of jealousy that overtook him at times.
He'd been in relationships before. Several, actually. But not once had he ever felt truly jealous of another wizard when it came to his own significant other.
For some reason, since he'd first felt it at her family's gala back in April, George realised the thought of Jolie smiling at any other bloke—or, Merlin help him, another wizard making her laugh—made him bloody seethe.
It didn't bother him when she was with Theo. If only because George knew she'd had the chance to entertain him and, instead, had outright rejected him.
But she had been romantic with Cedric. And she'd briefly entertained the idea of having Cassius Warrington court her—had kissed him only over a month ago. Along with Roger Davies. And one of Diggory's twat-faced friends. And even Cho Chang...
George had to physically shake his head, trying to expel his slow rising temper.
She had done all of that before she'd chosen George.
Really, she already had chosen him. He'd just been too much of a wanker to write her back over the summer.
It was likely that none of the girls' stupid snogging game would have happened if he had just told her how he was feeling before the start of the school year.
He ran his hands through his hair, sucking in a deep breath.
George checked his watch again.
A whole minute had passed.
Wonderful.
He began bouncing his knee, needing something to shake off his increasing nerves.
Then, suddenly, he heard a young boy's voice, whispering: "Is that one Dad?"
Another youthful voice, a girl's: "Dunno. One way to find out, though."
George shut his eyes.
An abrupt culmination of many first year's shouts came from behind George's back.
"GEORGE!"
Only one voice said something different, calling him 'John' instead.
George cracked a smile despite himself, turning around on the bench to find five of the seven first years in Jolie's Flock.
"I knew it was you!" Jimmy whooped.
"So it is," George breathed.
"Oh, he did not," Natalie scoffed, rolling her eyes.
A dark haired Hufflepuff boy had his arm linked with Emma's. George remembered Jolie mentioning that the young Slytherin girl had become 'best friends' with a boy called Kevin, whom he'd yet to meet.
George gave the boy a smile. "You must be Kevin."
The boy nodded, grinning a bit bashfully.
"If you know Kevin's name," Laura interrupted, talking to George, "do you know his name?"
She pointed at Jimmy.
George feigned offence as he gasped. "Why, of course. That's Jimmy."
"What's my name?" Emma laughed, jumping up and down just once.
"I wouldn't dare forget it, Emma," George laughed.
Natalie, the witch that purposefully called George by the wrong name, pointed at Laura. "And her name?"
"Laura, obviously," he answered.
Laura beamed at him. Natalie raised her chin at him.
"How about my name?" she inquired.
George grinned widely. "Obviously I know your name. We met on the train, Mikayla—"
Natalie sucked in a deep gasp as the other kids erupted into a fit of giggles and guffaws, Jimmy going as far as falling to the grass and screeching the name 'Mikayla!' as though it were the funniest thing he'd heard in all his eleven years.
The sound of their laughter was contagious. After amending that he did, indeed, know Natalie's name, George found himself laughing along with them when even Natalie began to giggle.
Once it had waned slightly, Emma stepped up and held out a hand towards George as she spoke to Kevin.
"Kevin, this is George," she began their introduction once more, "but we have to call him 'Dad' because he and Mum are together—"
"Oi, I thought Laura said they're not together yet—!" Jimmy piped up, still laying on his back in the grass.
"Yet!" Natalie pointed out.
"And I said Mum said that!" Laura told him. "Then I said I reckon she's lying—"
"She wouldn't lie to us!" said Kevin.
"She lied to us about there being elves here!" Jimmy argued. "We've seen no such thing—"
"'They come out in the night to clean,' she says," Natalie mocked, apparently trying to mimic Jolie's distinguished tone. "How gullible does she think we are? I'll bet she thinks we still believe Father Christmas is real—"
"But—Father Christmas is real," Jimmy said.
Everyone went quiet. George disguised his laugh with a cough. Then,
"NO!" Jimmy screamed, horrified.
Natalie began to offer him a careful apology, hiding her smile and bending down to pat him on the shoulder as he sat up and kicked his feet, pretending to throw a tantrum.
"Anyway, I saw Mum and Dad about to kiss in the corridor that one time—" Emma shouted over the commotion, only whispering the word 'kiss' as if it were a curse.
"I thought she said she was taking him to Professor McGonagall—" Kevin countered.
Jimmy halted his play-tantrum to say, "That's right! Because he was in trouble!"
"For what?" Laura gasped.
The children kept at it, talking over each other until they were one, high-pitched voice of questions, arguments, and testimonies.
George's neck was sore from whipping his head back and forth to watch the volley of their breakneck discussion. Pun intended.
They were all arguing about the status of he and Jolie's relationship and, yet, none of them had asked him a single question. The thought made him breathe a laugh.
Natalie abruptly snapped her head towards him.
Apparently, he'd laughed too soon.
"So is Mum your girlfriend?" she asked, her tone almost accusing.
George slowly opened his mouth to respond.
"Have you two kissed?" Laura giggled.
Jimmy squealed before George even said anything. Natalie shushed him.
"Are you going to get married?" Emma cooed, drawing out the last word.
The children erupted into a fit of noise once again; shrieks, gasps, and laughter coming from each of them.
Dear gods above, George was getting a headache.
The questions kept rolling in. And just as he began considering the idea of getting off the bench and sinking to his knees in prayer to some long-forgotten gods for these uncivilised beasts to leave him be, the voice of an angel saved him.
His saviour.
"I think that's enough interrogating for one day," Jolie called to her Flock as she appeared through the archway of the third floor corridor.
George breathed a sigh of relief.
He had half a mind to get up and go hide behind her—if it weren't for the kids all running for her with newer harrowing questions.
He checked his watch, finally free from the First Year Flock's torment.
Five o'clock on the dot.
Ever the punctual witch, she was.
He stood from the bench as he watched her easily dodge questions and roll her eyes. The children were speaking so fast, George couldn't even make out what they were saying.
So he took the time to drink Jolie in.
She sure cleaned up nicely in thirty minutes. He hadn't a clue why she'd even been worried.
Seeing she wore a fitted cardigan that hugged all her curves so lusciously, and a matching skirt that was probably just missing the dress code's standards, George tried not to feel underdressed, tugging a bit awkwardly at the hem of his jumper.
He half hoped she was a little nervous too.
Something Natalie said made Jolie snap her fingers at the little witch. George grinned.
"Now, run along," she was saying to all of them. "I may not have my badge, but I can still take House points—"
That might've worked on most children, but of course not these menaces.
"Is Father Christmas real?" Jimmy suddenly hollered.
Jolie went still, her face draining of colour.
Natalie sighed. "Tell him the truth."
Jolie pressed her lips together, glancing over at George with an expression that both said 'Help' and 'Did you have something to do with this?'
When her brown eyes met his, he shook his head slowly in false solemnity, then waved his hand; a wordless gesture for her to go ahead and tell him.
Age eleven was a bit too old to think that a great fat man was sneaking into one's home in the night anyway.
Jolie's shoulders slumped a bit as she looked back at Jimmy.
Carefully, she said, "No, darling, I'm sorry. He's not real."
Jimmy threw his head back and groaned loudly. The other first years tried to hide their giggles as they patted his back. The Gryffindor boy straightened and put his hands on his hips. He held up a finger as he announced,
"I've got some choice words for my parents in my next letter!"
Jolie winced as a few of the others let out what George could only describe as war cries.
"Best to go start drafting it now," George called to Jimmy as he finally began to make his way closer to Jolie. "Writing it in the height of emotion will convey your thoughts properly, I reckon."
Jolie frowned. "I don't think that's a good—"
"Let's go!" Jimmy screamed at the others.
They all shrieked unintelligibly before breaking off in a full on sprint towards the Grand Staircase.
"No running!" Jolie shouted after them.
Not a single one listened as they disappeared around a corner, a few of them skidding slightly.
Standing at her side now, George wrapped an arm around Jolie's waist, turning her around to face him as she clicked her tongue. Thankfully, she relaxed into his arms, but still arched a brow at him.
"Did you tell them anything that I should know about?" she asked, her tone sharp.
He smiled down at her. "Why, of course not. A gentleman never kisses and tells."
"Ah, because you're the epitome of a gentleman, are you?"
"Indeed," he hummed. "Anyway, I wouldn't have been able to get a word in even if I'd wanted to. Those twits choose talking over breathing."
"Funny—I know someone just like that," she remarked, tauntingly angling her head to the side as she looked him up and down.
He gave her glare that contained no ire. "Ha-ha. Hilarious."
She laughed, the sound of it sending a wave of joy throughout his limbs. He dropped the sarcasm, smiling as he pulled her closer and brought both hands to her neck, tilting her face up to his.
"You look beautiful."
"So do you," she said, then rose up on her toes and planted a kiss to his lips.
He tried to deepen it, but she pulled away too quickly, giving him a teasing smile. He slid a hand down her arm, grasping her hand.
"Ready to go?" he asked.
She nodded as he interlaced his fingers with hers.
The courtyard forgotten far behind them, George continued to pull her along down the corridors, further and further from the staircase. She gave him a confused look as he led them through the third floor.
Then, she tutted, "You're not going to tell me where we're going, are you?"
"Naturally."
"Remember, I need to be back before the first curfew—"
"You wound me with your incessant reminders," he playfully chided as they walked. "I'm a gentleman, remember? You'll be wearing that Pinhead badge and giving out detentions right on schedule—"
"Insult my prefect status again and you'll have a detention," she huffed.
He looked over, smiling lasciviously at her. "At least tell me you'll be privately overseeing it. Taking you over a desk is a lovely idea—"
Her free hand came up and pinched his arm. George flinched away as he breathed a laugh.
"I was joking!"
He wasn't.
"You weren't," she said, rolling her eyes.
He shrugged. No point in denying it.
After turning a few more corners throughout the third floor, they came upon a wide alcove that spread out into a balcony. He led her across the threshold into the clear, open air, clouds hanging low above them.
Two brooms rested at an angle to their left, the handles propped onto the stone. He and Fred's brooms.
Once Jolie had agreed on their date tonight, George had promised Angelina an entire week's worth of Charms homework in order to get out of today's practice. And once he'd had the idea of flying with Jolie—he'd had to promise her and Fred another week to use his twin's broom.
With any luck, the extra coursework would be worth it.
He gestured at them.
"We'll get there faster if we fly," he offered casually.
She tore her gaze away from the brooms, looking back at him with wide, gleaming eyes.
"You planned this?"
He nodded, trying to keep his smile from looking too sheepish.
She dropped his hand and strode over to the brooms, grabbing up the nearest one—his broom. He had hoped for that. George withheld an enamoured sigh.
He went over to join her, picking up Fred's. She smiled up at him, looking almost giddy.
"Now, I know it's not your posh Nimbus-whatever," he grunted, "but the Cleansweep still gets pretty good speed—"
She rolled her eyes. "Just tell me where we're going, will you?"
"All you have to do is follow me," he told her with a grin, making his way to the edge of the balcony.
She trailed alongside him.
George straddled his brother's broom, making sure his feet were properly set apart to get a good lift-off over the balcony's rail. Jolie did the same, making sure her skirt was properly tucked beneath her and the handle so that the hem wouldn't lift as she flew.
When he was sure everything was ready, he spoke.
"We're not going far but be careful. If you accidentally cross the wards, you could get in trouble—"
He cut himself off when he glanced to his side and found only empty stone.
A laugh trilled from above him.
George looked to the skies.
Jolie was hovering two or three metres up, several feet away from the balcony, yards and yards of open air below her. With an ascent so deathly silent, he was starting to think she had quite a bit more flying lessons than she'd ever let on.
He was blinded for a moment as the clouds parted slightly, revealing a masterpiece of bright rays slicing through the October shadows and a soft glow of the sinking sun.
George almost forgot how to breathe as he beheld the view.
She was just a silhouette as the low sun illuminated behind her. His eyes focussed, and he saw her golden hair rustled slightly in the gentle breeze, flowing to one side as wispy tendrils fluttered around her pink cheeks and wide smile. She had only one hand on the broom whilst the other rested on her thigh; the picture of relaxed ease.
Jolie drummed her fingers against her leg as she smirked down at him.
"I'm waiting," she sang.
He puffed out a laugh, blinking a few times.
He desperately hoped that mental image of her would stay forever burned in his mind.
Kicking off the stone, he cut through the wind, flying to her side.
"My apologies, princess."
In response, she only narrowed her eyes at him, but her smirk remained.
He flew closer, near enough for their thighs to brush. He stretched out a hand and swept the errant wisps of blonde from her face, leaning in as if to kiss her.
Then, he murmured, "Race you."
He only had time to see her eyebrows shoot up as he snatched his hand back and steered forward, keeping his chest low to the broom and cutting through the sky.
As the castle grew smaller beneath him, he could hear the whistling of another broom's bristles tailing him. His broom.
She certainly wasted no time.
"Cheat!" she shouted from behind.
George did not turn around as he threw his head back and laughed.
The whipping wind on her face made Jolie feel alive.
She knew she was originally meant to be following after him, but she'd left George behind in just a handful of seconds after he'd called for a race.
Even so, it seemed that they had come to a silent ceasefire in their competition as they'd been flying for a handful of minutes now. (She would've beat him, anyway).
Now, he flew only a couple of feet behind her, just an arm's length away.
Jolie could feel him watching her as she tilted her head back and let the wind gust through her hair, loosening the waves that her plait had created throughout the school day.
Flying above the cover of clouds, she held her free hand out and reached down to touch the plush-looking swirls of vapour, uncaring of her skirt's hem as it threatened to fly up from between her thighs. Even if it did, the clouds would conceal her, keeping her from giving any onlookers below an unexpected view of her knickers.
She splayed her fingers through the cool mist of the clouds, the thick mist leaving a sheen of microscopic droplets against her skin. As she flew, the wind chilled her dampened hand to the point it almost burned—but she didn't care.
The sun was still a while away from setting, the rays warming her face against the cool air as it shone brightly above the low-hanging clouds.
She turned her head to the left, peeking a look at George from over her shoulder.
Her stomach swooped.
Fiery red hair glinted like shimmering bronze and brilliant, glittering rubies in the sunlight. His freckled cheeks and nose were flushed pink from the biting wind. He was peering forwards, concentrating on whatever destination they headed for, his eyes gleaming like gold against the rays of unfiltered sunlight and that quidditch jumper she loved so.
His elbows were loose, his grip on the broom's handle lazy and effortless. One white trainer hung limply in the air as he flew, not even bothering to keep both his feet in the bipod.
He looked like he lived upon a broom, each of his mannerisms emanating a preternatural grace. And the colours of him—the reds, pinks, oranges, and golds—made it seem as though he were meant to be in the late afternoon skies.
A shudder went through her.
He was magnificent.
George caught her staring, his amber eyes locking onto her pointed gaze. He smirked.
Adjusting her hold on her broom's handle to keep from veering, she tried not to roll her eyes.
She knew he could see her appreciation for him—it was likely written all over her face. But Jolie could only bring herself to smile, unable to muster up any semblance of a witty remark before she looked back to the wide open sky before her.
Jolie didn't know what she'd been expecting when George had asked her on a date for this evening—but it wasn't this.
This was perfect.
If they did absolutely nothing else except fly until the sun sank down into the horizon, she would be content.
But he interrupted her thoughts with a low whistle, the sound coming from a few metres behind her. She slowed her broom and turned to find him gesturing downwards.
Evidently, they had arrived.
How he knew the right spot over the thick cloud cover, Jolie hadn't a clue. But as he disappeared into the mist, she followed after him.
She blinked several times as they descended, letting her eyes adjust to the pale, overcast light beneath the clouds. The air was colder above the great Black Lake. Still, she flew low enough to see her rippling reflection in the calm, smooth surface of the dark water.
Jolie watched him head for the nearing shore. Gripping the handle of her broom with both hands, she bent her elbows, sinking her chest close to the handle as she picked up speed, ushering forwards with a burst of magic.
She sped past him, reaching the rocky shore first. Her feet touched the ground, pebbles crunching as she dismounted.
She wasn't about to have him claim he'd beaten her; despite them both having seemingly forgotten about the so-called race.
He touched down just after her, standing a few feet away, grinning widely.
"I suppose I should've known you'd still try to beat me," he called, laughing as he tossed his broom into a soft patch of grass.
She shrugged, striding over to him with her broom in tow. It was an effort to keep her legs from trembling, her limbs feeling like jelly after their flight.
She bent down to place her broom gingerly next to his. "A shame you cheated and I still beat you."
He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind as she stood straight, humming into her hair. She exhaled deeply, squeezing his strong arms in her hands as she leaned back into his chest.
One of his arms released her waist, his hand coming up to move her hair to one side before his arm returned to latch around her. He nuzzled into the newly exposed side of her neck, his cold nose making her raise her shoulder to get him out.
She felt him smile just as he pressed a warm kiss to her skin.
"I didn't even know my broom could go that fast," he muttered against her neck. "My mistake for trying to race with a Chaser."
While she wasn't an actual Chaser for any quidditch team, she didn't really fancy correcting him.
Jolie slid her arms beneath his, forcing him to let go of her as she turned to face him. He grinned down at her, and she smiled back, stepping closer to steal a bit more of his warmth.
She glanced around at where they were, only knowing they were on the shore of the lake, the castle in the distance.
"So," she drawled, "what exactly are we doing here?"
"Making up for lost time," said George.
She arched a brow at him in question.
In answer, he stepped back and aside, giving her the full view.
Jolie blinked rapidly as she took it all in.
There, several yards away, just behind where George had been standing, was the giant oak tree. Beneath its branches was a large gingham blanket, a picnic basket—an actual wicker picnic basket!—sitting atop it. Just beside it sat a neatly wrapped bundle of pale pink flowers.
It was picturesque. A perfect replica and more of everything he had laid out for her last school year.
The day he had told her that he loved her.
Her throat went raw, making it difficult to swallow.
Then, it had been a dreadful day; everything had gone wrong in only a matter of an hour. Her elder sister had renounced the family name. The threat of her aunt and uncle's possible arrival had loomed. Her father had forced her into a courtship that she did not want.
And George...
She couldn't tear her eyes away from the setup, unable to meet his gaze as shame burned low in her belly.
Ever since that Saturday last May, Jolie had hated herself for signing that paper—she should've refused. She'd had the option; even if, either way, Jacques would still be courting her.
If she hadn't signed it herself, the courtship would've been her parents' doing. Not hers.
At the time, standing in Dumbledore's office, remaining in their good graces had seemed easier. It had even seemed right as her father's eyes still held the sorrow of losing his eldest daughter.
But once she had seen George's face, seen his expression when she'd told him what she had done, Jolie had desperately wished she could go back in time and redo it.
In her peripheral vision, she saw him shift awkwardly on his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets.
She pressed her lips together. He cleared his throat.
"If you don't... I just thought that—maybe we could have a do-over, is all," he murmured.
Her heart clenched.
He was giving her one—a redo.
Did that mean he'd been wanting one, too? Had the memories of that day plagued his holiday as much as it had hers?
George was willing to start over. He wanted to make up for lost time. Was willing to recreate the way it should've been.
Gods, she loved him. This wonderful, beautiful, thoughtful boy.
"But we don't have to stay if you don't want to," he said quickly, continuing. "I know that day was—difficult for you. And—"
"George," she muttered, her voice barely a rasp through the lump in her throat.
He hadn't heard her.
"—probably wasn't a good idea," he rambled on, already beginning to move back to the brooms. "It actually seems rather stupid now that I'm thinking about it—"
"George."
He finally shut his mouth, freezing his movements as she reached out and gripped his jumper in a fist before he could walk past her. He stepped closer. She loosened her grip but did not let go of him.
"It's not stupid," she told him softly. "Not at all."
"No?" His voice was barely a whisper.
Jolie wanted to laugh as she shook her head. She made sure to meet his eye as she told him, "It's perfect."
His shoulders looked to actually slump with relief. "You're sure?"
A laugh did bubble out of her now.
He was effectively fulfilling a wish of hers that she hadn't thought possible. How could he think it was anything less than perfect?
Her expression sobered as he continued to watch her earnestly. She let go of his jumper and reached for his hand with hers, walking away from the brooms and tugging him along with her.
In lieu of a reply to his question, she pointed at the picnic basket as they walked, looking over her shoulder at him.
"At least tell me there's food in there. I'm starved."
George smiled widely, lengthening a few of his strides to walk alongside her. He draped an arm over her shoulders as hers wrapped around his waist. She slowed her pace as she peered up at him.
"Roast chicken and whatever else the elves prepared for dinner," he told her.
She raised her eyebrows at him. "You got the house-elves to help?"
He nodded. "I went to the kitchens, asking them to wrap up a couple of plates for dinner. Then, I must've said your name aloud because two of them were particularly enthusiastic to help. Tinky and Mipsy. Heard of them?"
As he said their names, she gasped. He grinned down at her.
"You remembered," she breathed in awe.
Jolie had known Tinky and Mipsy for many years, Tinky being a cousin of both Carrow house-elves and Mipsy being Theodore's late mother's former elf. She had only briefly told George about them last school year.
George gave her another shrug that might have appeared humble if his expression hadn't been oozing with pride.
"They were all happy to help. Even set all this up for us whilst we were in lessons," said George. "Though, you can specifically thank those two for the fancy picnic basket and extra puddings."
They arrived at the edge of the blanket and George let his arm drop from her shoulders. He bent down and retrieved the bouquet, holding it out to her. Jolie took the flowers, her cheeks aching from a smile that was impossible to quell.
The pink flowers turned out to be a bountiful, beautiful bunch of wide-bloomed peonies.
"No daffodils, this time," George pointed out a bit sheepishly. "In such short notice, Longbottom said they'd take too long to bloom since they're not in season."
Neville. He'd asked for Neville's help. Jolie would have to thank him later, too.
She held the peonies to her face, inhaling deeply, smelling the fragrant petals that George had once told her he could smell in his Amortentia.
"They're perfect," she said softly, looking up at him. "Thank you."
One of the flaps of the wicker basket was open, only revealing the top of a bottle of sparkling cider and a small bowl of various seasonal fruits.
As she took it all in, standing up close now, the October chill suddenly disappeared, an invisible blanket of cosy warmth enveloping her.
Brows raised, she looked over at George to find him lowering his wand. A Warming Charm.
Before she could comment, he gestured at the picnic basket.
"And the food is under a Stasis Charm," he said. "Wouldn't want your treacle tart going cold, would we?"
Her eyes must have widened comically because he laughed at her.
George was sickeningly proud of himself.
As much as he'd beat himself up about not planning their Hogsmeade date a few weeks back, he didn't think he could've done better than this even if he'd tried. According to Jolie's reactions, he'd definitely done well.
After the mention of treacle tart, she had plopped right down onto the blanket and patted the spot next to her. He'd immediately obliged.
In all honesty, he hadn't asked the school's house-elves for much else other than dinner and treacle tart for pudding—but they'd outdone themselves.
He would have to bring the surplus of leftovers to Fred, Lee, and Theo later in the greenhouses.
George had taken the initiative to pull out the contents of the picnic basket, some of the platters surprising even him. Those elves had to have put an Extension Charm within the basket.
Tinky and Mipsy had packed them a feast.
On one side of the basket, there was a Cooling Charm. In it sat a bottle of sparkling cider and ceramic cups, sealed glass bottles of pumpkin juice and water, a little handheld bowl of clotted cream, and wrapped silverware atop a chilled bowl of blackberries and quartered slices of figs. Beneath it all was a small tub of, what Jolie had called, a Greek salad. It was filled with leafy greens, cherry tomatoes, cucumber, tart olives, and crumbly cheese all tossed in an oil and vinegar dressing.
The other side was for the hot dishes, a careful heated Stasis Charm in place. There were wrapped plates of warm roast chicken with tender potatoes and carrots, buttery green beans with garlic, and a covered boat of rich brown gravy. And, best of all, the puddings.
Sure enough, there was an entire pan of treacle tart along with small plates of apple tart, sticky toffee, and steamed sponge cake.
As George had laid out as much of the food that would fit before them, Jolie had laughed aloud.
"Why, look at you," she'd said. "I thought this was meant to be spontaneous!"
He had only laughed with her.
They had talked, joked, and giggled as they'd picked through as much as they could, eating until their stomachs were sated after filling their plates with just a bit of everything.
She told him about Daphne's idea for their Halloween costumes—some kind of 'decades' theme. He told her about Ludo Bagman and the letter from Fred and George that the man had yet to respond to.
Once they finished, he now rested on his side, holding himself up on an elbow as his legs sprawled out to the end of the blanket. He examined the splendour of the golden, setting sun finally peeking beneath the clouds, casting a warm glow all throughout the grounds. Overhead, the branches of the oak tree created patterns of shadow, like dark autumn leaves had fallen all around them.
His eyes shifted over to Jolie, observing his witch, finding her basking in the reflection of the sun upon the still surface of the Lake as the light refracted toward them.
She was a work of art.
Her lashes fluttered as she blinked against the light, sitting with her long legs bent slightly at the knee, pressed together to keep from flashing her knickers. Not that George would have minded.
She had unbuttoned her cardigan earlier, letting the sun warm the expanse of her chest and neck. The subtle swell of her tits dipping beneath a trim of lace on her vest was nearly impossible to tear his eyes from.
But, it proved wholly possible as she reached over to the fruit bowl and plucked up a blackberry.
Her eyes flickered up to meet his just as she placed the ripe berry between her full, rosy lips. His abdomen clenched when those lips closed around the tip of her forefinger, sucking off the dark juice, her cheeks hollowing faintly.
Tease.
She reached for another berry, grabbing it daintily between her fingers. His arm shot out and he grasped her wrist, intercepting her from bringing it to her lips.
He pulled her hand to his lips instead. She leaned forwards, smirking as his mouth parted and she placed the blackberry on his tongue.
The delicate fruit's flesh tore slightly on his teeth, the juice a perfect culmination of acidic tart and nectarous sweet.
Quite like her, he thought.
Before she could pull her hand away, he closed his lips around that same index finger of hers, suckling gently at it. He watched her eyes flash. His lips twitched up in a wicked grin.
She didn't remove it, watching him with darkening eyes.
"Naughty," she softly scolded, grinning at him.
His front teeth nipped the very tip of her finger in agreement. She breathed a laugh as she finally pulled her hand away.
"You started that, and you know it," he bid, raising an eyebrow at her.
She placed a graceful hand to her chest, giving him a look of the falsest incredulity.
"Me?" she huffed. "I'd never. I'm a sensible sort of lady—"
"Are you, now?" George asked on an exhale, sitting up and grabbing a slice of fig from the bowl.
"Indeed," she murmured through a smile, her eyes not leaving his. "You've just a filthy mind."
"Me?" he echoed, smirking as he brought the fig to her lips. "I've no such thing."
She arched a brow at him, but still opened her mouth and leaned forward to capture the fruit. He swiftly pulled it back, though, placing the quartered slice between his teeth as his hand cupped her cheek, gently pulling her to continue leaning forward.
George watched her smile widen right along with his just before their lips met, her teeth biting the sweet slice of fig in half. Careful not to bite down on his half, he held her to his lips, ignoring his fig as his lips caught against hers.
The candied juice from her half of the fruit dribbled into his waiting mouth as her lips parted, his tongue seeking entry. He felt her gasp softly as their tongues slipped against one another's. His slid along the roof of her mouth before he pulled back slightly, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth as she swallowed her fig. She shuddered.
His hand snaked around to the nape of her neck, his fingers threading through her windswept hair as he pulled her even closer, deepening the kiss.
He shifted his tongue to gather the half-slice of fig that he'd carefully kept aside and, when her tongue slipped into his mouth, he pushed the fruit onto hers.
She exhaled softly through her nose, a small laugh as she bit into the fig.
A droplet of juice seeped from the corner of her mouth when she went to swallow, starting to drip towards her chin. George pulled back and watched it slowly slip past the line of her jaw, making its way down her neck.
He dipped his head, licking broadly up from the base of her throat to her jaw, then sliding the tip of his tongue over the juice's path from her chin to the corner of her mouth, licking it off her skin, his cock twitching at the sound of her sharp gasp.
Fisting the collar of his quidditch jumper, she pulled his mouth back to hers, kissing him with a slow, deep, languorous pull of exploratory tongues, nipping teeth, and swollen lips.
She tasted vaguely of treacle tart, blackberries, and figs; tantalisingly sweet.
Utterly perfect.
Without pulling away from her lips, he reached out with his free hand and grabbed another blackberry, glancing to the side just once to make sure he dipped it in the clotted cream. She didn't even seem to notice the action.
He gently fisted the hand in her hair, pulling her head back from his mouth. She was smiling devilishly as he watched her chest rise and fall whilst he traced the cream over that enticing swell of her tits.
He drew it all the way up to her chin before bringing the blackberry to her mouth. Her lips closed around it. George clicked his tongue.
"Share."
She parted her lips, revealing the berry still held gently between her teeth.
He grinned at her and she grinned back.
"Keep it there for me," he murmured.
Then, he tightened the fist in her hair further, making her lengthen the expanse of her neck as his other hand gripped her the dip of her waist.
With slow, careful ministration, George bent his head and licked away the melting cream over her tits, suckling softly at her skin as he followed the trail up.
A gust of a breathy moan slipped from her throat as he dragged his teeth over her collarbone.
He traced her reddening skin with the tip of his tongue, soothing the spot before he placed a kiss to the hollow of her throat.
She groaned, trying to say something. But it was incomprehensible with the berry still between her teeth. He breathed a laugh as he licked up her neck, following the path of cream.
As he reached the top of her throat, he let up his hold on her hair. His teeth dragged against the line of her jaw, and he revelled in the soft mewl she let out.
The sound had his erection twitching against his thigh.
Finally, he reached her mouth.
The moment his lips touched hers, she angled her head forwards and released the berry, letting it fall into his open mouth. She wrapped both arms around his neck, holding him close as she kissed him.
Gripping her hair in a fist once more, George pulled her head back as he bit down on the fruit. He swallowed the seeds as the deep purple juice trickled into her mouth. He heard her swallow it.
"Good girl," he whispered against her lips, then kissed her again.
He had to suppress a smile when she melted at his words, her arms nearly going limp save for the fingers she had clenched in his hair.
He should have known from the moment he'd met her that a swot like her would love being praised.
His cock was actually throbbing now, begging for some attention.
They had gotten each other off in his dorm just a few days ago, sure. But George hadn't been inside of her since May. And fucking hell, he wanted to feel her.
Would she let him fuck her? Let him fuck her here?
Gods, the thought actually made him breathe a moan into her mouth.
But, as if in answer to his unspoken question, she placed a hand on his chest as she pulled back, keeping him from chasing her lips. She sucked in a deep breath.
"Not here," she said on her exhale.
George had to stifle a disappointed groan as he nodded.
It wasn't her fault. He had meant to just tease her a bit in return—hadn't expected it to go quite that far. Or for his cock to get quite so stiff.
Apparently, playing with their food was more arousing than he'd initially thought.
But she was right. The bridge was just a two-minute walk from them. With the sun not yet beneath the horizon, there was a possibility of anyone going on an evening stroll.
Still...
George nodded again as if to convince himself that it would be a bad idea. He tried thinking of un-arousing things—something he noticed he had to do often with her.
But of course, she noticed the outline in his trousers and raised a brow at him.
"See?" she said. "Filthy-minded—"
She cut herself off with a laugh when he reached for her, wrapping his arms around her, guiding her to sit between his outstretched legs—partly to hide his erection from her, and partly to let her feel it.
With her back flush against his chest, he felt each laugh fill her lungs.
"You're just as bad," he amended, smiling against the crown of her head.
She shifted her shoulders to peer up at him. "I am not. You're incorrigible."
"No," he tutted. "I'm hard."
The juvenile wizards they were, both he and Jolie snickered before they let out a peal of laughter, shoulders shaking and stomachs aching.
As it eased—their giggles and his prick—George checked his watch. They still had another hour before she needed to be back to the castle for her rounds. Much less time before the sun would fully set, however.
"It'll get dark soon," she commented.
His stomach sunk at the subtle prompting, not wanting to leave just yet.
But, she grinned at him, reaching for her wand that sat beside the picnic basket. Leaning back against him once more, she gave it a small flourish as she whispered an incantation. George propped himself up, the heels of his hands against the blanket as he surveyed her movement.
A tiny spark shot out of the tip of the wood, ascending about just a few centimetres before it popped. The soft pop came from the tiniest firework George had ever seen, the spark exploding into a tiny quaffle-sized sphere of glittering gold light.
"Holy..." he breathed.
"Just wait," she whispered.
As if on cue, several more pops sounded, even smaller fireworks igniting in a rainbow of colour within the original golden light.
She laughed softly and George peered down at her face, marvelling at the glow of blues, pinks, and purples that shifted over her delicate features.
She didn't seem to notice him watching her, her dark eyes flitting between each tiny spark of light. They illuminated the spatter of freckles across her nose, the radiance of her skin. Colourful light danced over her blushing cheeks, between the length of her dark lashes. The hints of tawny in her dark brown eyes seemed to shine.
Absolutely beautiful.
"Is it a charm?" he asked.
She nodded, still observing the lights.
"Where'd you learn it?"
He wanted to learn it too. He'd never seen a spell that created sparks like these—no heat, nor threat of danger. Small and simple, yet unending.
"Coloratum Lumos creates different coloured lights from our wands, you know?" she muttered.
He bobbed his head for her to go on.
"Well, I switched out Lumos for Ignis. Fire instead of light. Then, added minima so it would be contained—it's a mouthful, I know."
George blinked. And blinked again.
"You... You created it?" he queried. "When?"
Even with the glow of colour from the lights, it didn't hide the flush that grew on her face.
"Just—over the past few weeks. Whenever I was bored. It's just Latin mostly. And it could be a bit of a safety hazard," she muttered. "I probably should've talked to Professor Flitwick about it first."
"No... it's brilliant."
She smiled.
"I'd hoped you would like it," she said quietly. "I figured—well, I thought it might be a safer and lengthier alternative for you lot's distractions for Filch."
George held her tighter, his heart thumping in his chest hard enough to steal him of proper breath.
Jolie had created a charm—a spell. With him in mind.
"It's perfect," he whispered.
He couldn't take his eyes off her as she lowered her wand, letting the little show of light continue on its own. The shimmering fireworks and sparks slowly rose, igniting again and again, the sound fading as the lights spread out above them.
As she watched it all unfold, George gathered her hair to one side, giving himself space to rest his chin on her shoulder. She tilted her head back, breathing out a long, contented sigh. Locking his arms around her waist, he kissed the patch of skin between the collar of her cardigan and her neck as her thumbs caressed his forearms.
He smiled as she kissed his jaw just once before she turned back to the flickering sparks.
She had always told him that he talked too much. And, personally, George thought he talked just enough. But, in moments like these, the silence felt too gratifying to interrupt.
Their unintended reticence along with the multitude of colour seemed to create its own magic. It hummed through his veins, setting his blood alight with serenity.
Filthy-minded or not, George wanted moments like this to last forever.
He had always known Jolie to be the slightly surly type. When he'd begun to get closer to her, he'd known she would be good at teasing, good at fretting. Good at nagging, even.
And this all still rung true.
What he hadn't known, however, was just how affectionate she could be.
He never would have expected Jolie Carrow to be the type to give gentle caresses, or soft kisses to his cheek. Never thought she would call him things like 'love' or 'darling'. Nor did he imagine that she would cuddle against him, accepting each of his subtle embraces.
Or create new spells for him.
But now that he knew, George feared he would never get enough of it.
As though she could hear his thoughts, she turned her head to look at him, the diminishing sunlight still warming her face.
"I love you."
George's chest suddenly felt much too small for his heart. He planted a kiss to her jaw, then her neck, making her grin.
"I love you," he told her, pressing another kiss to her cheek, "so much. Even when you lie about being sensible—"
She gasped and he tightened his hold around her, keeping her from rounding on him as he laughed. She glared weakly up at him but settled against his chest once more with a long sigh.
After a moment, as the sparks went higher still, she asked, "Have you and Fred made any progress in figuring out a way to enter the Tournament?"
"Perhaps," he replied following a beat of silence.
She huffed against him. "I'm hoping that means 'no'."
George rolled his eyes.
In truth, he and Fred had figured out a way to trick the Age Line—hopefully. They just had to find out how to nick the Potions ingredients without bloody Snape noticing. But if Jolie knew that, she'd be livid.
So he just said, "We'll see." Then, to change the subject before she pushed, he asked, "Did you hear that Diggory is entering the Tournament?"
To his surprise, Jolie nodded.
"He's been talking about it during prefect meetings."
"And you don't care?"
She turned her head and frowned up at him. "Not particularly. Why?"
George pursed his lips and shrugged, the movement making her shift against his chest.
"You give Fred and I so much shit about it, I just figured—"
"You and Fred," she hissed, "are not and will not be of age to enter. Cedric is considered an adult. He can make his own decisions—"
"And if he gets chosen?" he pressed. "Will you not be worried for him?"
"Of course I will."
George tried not to bristle. Foolish jealousy.
"But he can take care of himself," she continued. "I trust that the school board has implemented enough precautions to keep the champions safe. If he or Jacques are chosen, I imagine they'll be fine—"
"Jacques?" He couldn't hide his surprise.
"Yes. Jacques," she breathed. "He's also of age. And attends Beauxbatons, so he'll be here. You knew that."
George blinked.
He had known, in theory, that the French git was a Beauxbatons student. And that Beauxbatons Academy would be boarding at Hogwarts at the end of October. But he hadn't ever really put two and two together.
He also knew that Jacques was gay, according to Jolie.
But George had seen himself that the French minister's son had played his part well in the many press photos; looking at Jolie as if she was a slice of perfection.
Granted, he supposed it wasn't hard to look at her that way. She was objectively attractive in likely all perspectives. But he still couldn't bring himself to trust Jacques.
Not yet.
Evidently, he'd have the chance to meet him to find out just how trustworthy he could be.
"What's wrong?" she asked after he was likely silent for a bit too long.
Regardless of being able to process through his feelings on Jolie's false former flame, George still felt a bit prickly after hearing she would be wasting any worries over Diggory.
But, he responded, "Nothing. Why?"
"You've gone quiet, meaning you're either scheming or angry," she answered plainly.
After a long moment, George finally sighed. "Just... Would you be worried about me if I were able to enter the Tournament? If I was chosen?"
"George, if I let myself worry over you, I'd be constantly ill," she said without reluctance. "Have you seen the trouble you get into?"
"What?"
She breathed an incredulous laugh. "Sneaking out, smoking on school grounds, putting Lee in hospital with a swollen tongue, pranking Filch and others with Dung Bombs and firecrackers—you're a nightmare!"
George blew out a dismissive breath—though, she might've had a bit of a point.
"And don't even get me started on watching you play quidditch," she went on. "You take on bludgers hard enough to crack stone."
He laughed as she shook her head.
"So, I can't be worrying about you. Because if I did, I'd likely waste away," she told him. "And besides, I reckon you'd rather me scold you later than to try and force you to stop being such a trouble-maker."
He hid his smile in her hair. "Alright, alright. You've made your point."
She hmphed. Prissy thing.
"Though, speaking of quidditch," George murmured, "can I expect to see you at the Gryffindor matches this year?"
"Perhaps," she muttered.
"And you'll at least come to a few practices," he prodded, pushing his luck a bit. "I won't even be offended if you bring your coursework."
She huffed a laugh. "As if I'd be able to get anything done."
He smiled wider at the admittance; the thought of her unable to tear her eyes away from the pitch, away from him.
"I suppose I could come observe," she said primly. "I could bring Madeline—she still doesn't really know a thing about quidditch."
"Gods, Fred will be cowed."
She laughed. "Nothing new there."
"So, you'll come?" he asked. "First match is in—"
"I know when the first match is," she laughed. "And don't expect me to cheer you on during that one."
George rolled his eyes. "Right. Slytherin's very own cheerleader—"
"Shut up," she huffed. "Anyway, I have Astronomy tomorrow evening, but I might be able to come visit the pitch on Thursday. I'll see if I can get Madi to tag along."
He smiled, pressing several kisses to her cheek until she was giggling, trying to wrench herself out of his grasp.
"Can't wait, darling," he hummed.
"I won't be a distraction for you?" she asked, arching a brow.
"Oh, you definitely will," he admitted. "I'll just have to deal with Angelina about it later."
She laughed.
Long after Jolie's fireworks had disappeared and the sun had sunk behind the distant castle, they packed up the basket, blanket, and flowers. To George's dismay, because of the Extension Charm on the basket, they couldn't shrink it down.
This was the least of his worries, however, when he realised that he'd forgotten about the folded parchment in his pocket.
Godric, he was such an idiot.
That had been what this whole date was about! His inquiry. So he could court her.
But she was already walking towards the brooms, the bouquet of peonies in hand.
If he asked her now, it would be obvious that he'd forgotten. It wouldn't feel as sentimental or special.
Fucking hell.
She called after him from several yards away. She needed to get back to her dorm to change into her uniform before rounds.
George wanted to kick his own arse for getting so bloody distracted.
He'd been so engrossed in the moment with her that he'd gone and blown it—he would have to start all over again. She was already so busy with school and prefect duties; it was hard enough to get time with her.
If they'd had sanctioned times to be together like they had last year...
An idea formed.
Shoving the uncomfortable wicker basket up his shoulder, he strode over to her.
"You know," he started casually, watching her pick up his broom, "you should start joining me on Tuesday nights."
She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Joining your... tradition?"
"Well, you don't have to smoke, of course. But just come hang out? You could bring Daphne. And Madeline, even."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "I want more time with you."
Her expression softened. "Me too—but, George, I can't. I'm a prefect—"
"That could help us, though!" he countered. "Since Theo lost his badge, we haven't had a prefect to save us should we ever get caught."
"And if I get caught?"
"I'd never let that happen. We'll set up trip wards—we'll always know if someone's coming. Plus, you already have an excuse to be there! You have rounds on Tuesdays. And—"
She crossed her arms, a small smile forming. "You sure seem to benefit greatly from my—what did you call it? My Pinhead badge—?"
"Oh, I was joking!"
"Very funny," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Either way," he sighed, "I just thought we—"
"Say you love prefects—"
"What?" he spat. "No—"
"You love prefects," she taunted, "because they're so helpful—"
"I love a prefect that just happens to be you—"
"Say it and I'll join you."
He glared at her as she smirked up at him, an evil gleam in her eye.
"If I say it, you'll come spend time with us?"
She nodded.
"Every Tuesday?" he clarified.
"Unless I'm busy otherwise. Yes."
George exhaled deeply. "Fine. I love—"
"No! Say 'I, George—' Wait, what's your middle name?" she suddenly asked.
He scowled at her. "Fabian."
She gave him an approving nod, grinning from ear to ear.
"Alright. Say 'I, George Fabian Weasley, love all prefects because they are astutely helpful and absolutely not pinheads—'"
"Oi, that's way more than what you originally said—!"
"You have to say it!"
He glared harder at her. She smiled wider.
"I, George Fabian Weasley," he finally grumbled.
She nodded for him to go on, biting her lip to keep from laughing.
"—love all prefects," he went on, "because they are astutely—helpful."
"And?"
He groaned. "And—absolutelynotpinheads."
"What was that?" she cooed, holding her hand to her ear.
"You are cruel—"
"Sorry, say that again," she cut him off. "I couldn't hear you. They're what—?"
"Godric—They're absolutely not pinheads," he spit out.
She pressed her lips together tightly, holding in a laugh. He sighed, holding his hands out.
"Well? Happy?"
"I am, actually," she hummed, moving to straddle his broom. "And I just cannot wait to tell Fred and Lee—!"
"You wouldn't—you evil witch!" he shouted after her as she kicked off into the sky.
It was all George could do not to drop the sodding picnic basket as he clamoured for Fred's broom to try and catch her.
~*~
Leaving Fred and Lee cackling in the kitchens as George tried to shove them off, Jolie grinned to herself as she waltzed towards the Slytherin common room.
The date had been beyond all her wildest, dizziest daydreams.
She felt as though she was floating—or, better yet, still flying through the open air, George hot on her broom's bristles as they shouted obscenities at each other between gasping breaths and broken laughter.
Everything had been perfect.
The picnic, the flying, the flowers, the conversation—him.
George was perfect.
Jolie was convinced she could never love another person more than she loved him.
Muttering the password, she slipped into the common room and glanced at the large grandfather clock in the corner. She still had time before she and Eric would head to the first floor.
As she made her way into the room, she noticed a familiar head of coiffed, white-blonde hair peeking over the back of the sofa.
Veering from her path towards the girls' dormitories, she strode over to the surfeit of seating.
Sure enough, Draco sat at the end of a velvet sofa, uncharacteristically slumped in his seat as he read. He seemed to be so immersed in his book that he hadn't noticed her walking up.
Jolie sank down next to him and rested her head on his shoulder, breathing a long sigh.
He flinched a bit, but his shoulders relaxed when he saw it was her.
"You reek of nature," he said by way of greeting.
She smiled. "Well. We were outside."
"How was your date?" he asked, sounding less dismayed than she'd expected.
"Wonderful," she answered honestly, trying to keep from sounding too wistful lest he make fun of her.
But he only said, "Good."
She glanced up at him. "What are you doing out here?"
He lifted his book slightly in answer, his thumb still holding it open from the bottom of the spine.
"Your dorm too crowded?" she asked.
He cleared his throat, sounding a bit awkward. "No, erm, Blaise has a... friend in there."
Jolie raised her eyebrows, sitting up to gauge his expression. "Who?"
He gave her a sheepish look. Jolie's stomach sank with dread. If Daphne was back with him—
"Tracey Davis," Draco answered.
Jolie nearly sagged with relief.
"Just—don't tell Theo or Daphne," he said quietly. "Things have just recently been getting back to normal."
Jolie nodded, understanding.
Though, she truthfully didn't think Daphne nor Theo would care in the slightest. Theo had briefly had a fling with Davis over a year ago, and Daphne was... preoccupied as far as Jolie knew.
"Are he and Davis—a thing?" she asked carefully.
Draco shrugged. "He hasn't talked much about witches since... you know."
She sighed, feeling a pang of sympathy for Blaise.
While she did not agree with the way he'd handled himself during Daphne's visit to meet his mother, he was still one of her friends. And losing someone like Daphne Greengrass had to hurt. Deeply.
Jolie rested her temple against Draco's shoulder once more, content in the silence as he began to read again.
The action was familiar. Throughout their childhood, Jolie had sat with him like this, sometimes reading the pages with him as their parents chatted for too long after dinner parties or quarrelled about their opposing politics.
Though, Jolie had long stopped reading along with him once he'd begun to read faster than she could keep up with. That had been years ago now.
The only thing that was missing was Theo.
He would normally be the one to break the silence, asking to play a game of chess, or mimicking their parents silently, acting out whatever they were saying with great, dramatised caricatures. It never failed to make Jolie and Draco dissolve into fits of laughter.
At the moment, he was probably getting ready to meet the twins and Lee in the kitchens, if he hadn't already found them.
Jolie gently jutted her shoulder against Draco's arm, garnering his attention.
"Why are you out here alone? Where's Pansy? Or even your cronies."
Draco sighed. "Crabbe and Goyle are in detention with Sprout—for eating the Shrivelfigs they were meant to be harvesting."
Jolie snorted, unsurprised. "And Pans?"
He sighed again, longer this time. "We got into an argument. She's angry with me."
"Oh, Merlin. What now?"
Draco slammed his book shut and shifted to face her, evidently rearing to tell someone about it. Jolie sat up and raised a brow.
"I told her about the Quidditch World Cup, you know? When everything happened?"
Jolie nodded, trying not to wince.
She and Theo had discussed at length whether or not they believed Lucius Malfoy had anything to do with those attacks. They feared the worst.
But she continued to listen. She'd never heard him talk about that night.
"Well, I ran into Potter and his goons," he said, his tone gaining vitriol as he spoke. "I'd forgotten about it, honestly. Because I don't give a rat's arse about them—"
Jolie pressed her lips together to keep from objecting.
"And I told Pansy what I'd said to them, and she asked me why—why I'd warned them!" he spat.
"You warned them—?" Jolie began to ask.
"No!" he cut her off. "I did not warn them! I was mocking them."
"What'd you say?"
Draco huffed. "I told them to run along like the cowards they are! Told Granger she wouldn't want to have her knickers shown off in midair—since they were holding the Muggles upside down—"
Jolie's stomach turned, but she stopped him.
"You... you told them to run? And told Hermione Granger what those wizards would do to her if they didn't?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Obviously. That's what I just said—"
"So, you warned them to—"
"No! No! It wasn't a warning—I did not warn them—"
"Alright!" she hissed, holding up her hands. "Alright, I believe you, Draco. Settle down."
She didn't believe him. It sounded conclusively like he'd warned them.
But he'd never do such a thing again if she showed she suspected him of it.
Draco shut his mouth in a tight, grim line, anger practically seeping from him as he slouched against the sofa and crossed his arms.
Jolie felt her shoulders slump a bit, recalling her memory of the times she used to spend with him and Theo.
Lately, it seemed that so many of the ties between her friendships had begun to stretch thin. She couldn't remember the last time she, Daphne, Pansy, Draco, Blaise, and Theo had spent time together—aside from mealtimes.
And now they had Madeline. The witch that had fit right in with them, a solitary Serpent finally finding her equals.
They needed to spend more time together. All of them.
"I think we all need a bit of respite," she said quietly. "A break from relationships, school, and responsibilities. Don't you?"
He cocked a brow at her. "You think Pansy and I should break up?"
"No," she laughed. "I just mean, when's the last time we all spent time together as a group of friends? It's been ages."
He sighed. "It has."
"Don't you think we need that?"
Draco nodded, but his arms were still crossed petulantly over his chest.
Big baby.
She rested her head against his shoulder again, patting his elbow.
"I reckon we should spend this Saturday in the Astronomy Tower or—"
He scoffed. "As if I'd have the time. Pucey's been running us all ragged with quidditch practice."
Jolie rolled her eyes at the mere mention of Adrian's surname.
"Any free time I've got is spent on the pitch," Draco went on. "He's got the whole thing booked every weekend."
"I'm sure you could find some time—"
"There is no time," he interrupted her. "I'm not even joking—this past Sunday, my bloody eyeballs were sore from looking for the snitch again and again and again for upwards of eight hours."
Jolie breathed a laugh. "Oh, you poor darling—"
"Shut up. No one should ever be on a broom for that long. Thought my balls were going to shrivel up and fall off..."
But Jolie straightened as Draco continued his whinging, his earlier words echoing over and over in her head as she drowned out his voice.
An eight-hour practice on Sunday.
"Wait—Draco," she stopped him, "you said this Sunday? You had quidditch practise?"
He nodded, looking a bit annoyed at being interrupted.
"And... Pucey was there?" she asked.
He frowned at her but nodded again. "Obviously. The captain is kind of expected to be there, considering he booked it—"
Jolie couldn't hear any more of his explanation.
Her ears were ringing.
Her stomach twisted.
Her heart pounded, her chest feeling as if it were on fire.
Madeline Lilith had said she was going out for a walk with Adrian on Sunday.
Yet, if Adrian had been at the pitch...
Jolie's stomach roiled as she remembered his reaction on Monday at the prefect meeting—when she'd told him to stop stealing Madeline away.
He had pretended to not know what Jolie had been on about.
But... he hadn't been pretending at all.
His questioning had been genuine. Real confusion and uncertainty in his eyes.
So, who had Madeline been with? Had she gone somewhere by herself? Was she going behind Adrian's back with someone else?
If so, good riddance.
But the only person she'd seen Madeline with other than Adrian was Fred.
And if Fred had been spending time with her in secret—well, it wouldn't have been a secret at all. He would have been boasting about it from the moment he found another soul to tell.
Unless... could he keep a secret like that?
And if he was, why?
Perhaps—
No. No more maybes.
Jolie wouldn't jump to conclusions.
She only knew what she knew—nothing more. She wouldn't cross any wires from what she knew to be true.
For one, she knew that Madeline had not been on a walk with Adrian on Sunday.
Secondly, Jolie knew that she did not like liars.
Lastly, no matter where she'd gone or whom she'd been with on Sunday... Madeline had lied to her about it.
And Jolie was going to find out why.
~*~
a/n i hope you enjoyed this chapter!
i've been aching to move the plot along so i can get some angst in here. you all know how much i love making these characters sad (not forever tho)
and how bout that fan art?? guys, i'm fr it had me kicking my feet and screaming. Dralamy is the BEST.
thank you all SO MUCH for your support! your comments and votes mean the world to me and i can never thank you enough.
thank you so much for reading. i'll be back soon with another update.
xx Ana