Eeeerrrrrrrrr, yeeeeah, terribly terribly sorry about my absence, I've been wrapped up in so may things is incredibly insane. So this goews out to everyone of you who are still sticking with me—especially 100HPobessed because she's been waiting forever patiently for just about forever for that chapter I promised her which still hasn't made an appearance.
Sixth year, almost 17 years of age, Katie Bell sat in Transfig class, seemingly the same as always, with a look of concentration on her face. Yet her eyes weren't cast down at her book or steered towards the blackboard. They were fixed upon the back of George Weasley's neck.
Odd. No need to say it; she knows it. Yet she sat there for a remainder of the 40 minute period determining whether or not it was worth the furtherment of oddities to just 'boing' one of the red curls resting there.
George didn't have curly hair; his red hair was a shaggy thing, slightly tamed at the best. It was thick and straight, certainly not prone to curl 'boing'ings. That's why she was transfixed on the curls found on the nape of his freckled neck.
She drummed her fingers against her cheek. Her chin had been resting in her hand, her quill dangling from her ring and pinky finger, slightly gnawed on during this particular moment of deliberation. Her lips pursed, not unlike the professor's at the front of the room, her brows knitted together, her ski-slope nose wrinkled, and all of this fell away when George turned in his seat, the usual smirk across his face.
"Are you getting any of this Katie-Kates?"
Her fingers drummed against the side of her face once again as her eyes examined the clear straightness of his hair, pondering how those baby, upward curls came to be. "No, not even a little," her eyes narrowed further with her answer.
"Yeah, me neither," he commentated before moving onto another subject of something or the other. She wasn't paying attention. She realized there were more baby curls falling along the side of his face, directly in fro nt of his ears. Her fingers drummed against the side of her face once again.
Damn those curls.
She gave small nods as he spoke, murmuring 'umhmm's and 'yeah-huh's until he turned around again with one of his trademark grins. That's when her hand completely ignored all direction from what little willpower she had left.
It escaped from underneath her chin and practically flew to the gentle ginger curls, completing a task it had been waiting to accomplish.
" 'Boing'?" Katie laughed uncertainly when he turned back around.
"Boing?" George repeated.
"Yeah," she shrugged her shoulders, forcing bother her hands into her lap, "You know," she continued on, more awkward before him than she ever was, "the sound curls make?"
"Kates," he started, tilting his head down and looking up at her through his undeniably, straight, shaggy bangs, "I don't have curly hair."
"Yeah I know, pssh, like I wouldn't realize that," she ended with an uneven, forced laugh. He cocked a ginger eyebrow at her while his deep brown eyes shined with a familiar mischievousness. "Well, you do have small curls," she confessed, reaching behind his head and pulling her forefinger over them, "Right there. And here," she said, flipping the ones near his ears. "And now you know."
He laughed congenially, rubbing the back of his neck "Thanks for the update. I guess I need a haircut then, huh?"
"NO!"
"Miss Bell?" Prof. McGonagall called from the front of the room after the said student's loud, unexpected outburst. "Would you like to share why you think there is something wrong with my lesson? It appears you've been discussing it with Mr. Weasley."
The blonde chaser sunk into her chair, her hair falling in front of her face, hiding her from the countless pairs of eyes turning her way. Especially from George's.
-------------------
The next week Katie found that George did, in fact, get a hair cut. And like the close friends they were, she told him straight away he looked like a dork.
"Well now you're just trying to hurt my feelings," George said at breakfast, splaying his hands over his ginger hair, pulling out his bottom lip in a mock pout.
"You look stupid," Katie stated across from him, spreading strawberry jelly across wheat bread.
"You don't have to be so blatant about it," he cringed.
"I'd call it truthful."
"In the most hurtful of ways."
She looked up to see him frowning at her. She still thought he deserved it, after all, she sat behind him in most of her classes, and now his curls were missing. Ergo, deserving.
However it wasn't that his hair looked bad. He didn't cut much length off; it was still untimely shaggy. In essence it was jus a trim that executed the curls she had been most oddly fixed upon.
But within the moment he was hunched over his breakfast, hands over his newly trimmed tresses, bits of ginger sticking up through his fingers, the top buttons of his oxford undone, tie lose, she caught sight of something else.
The subtle shape of his two collar bones and the equally elusive dip of bone inbetween the set. Once again she was transfixed. Over the next few weeks she had to train herself to keep her eyes at his when talking to her favorite redhead; he was sloppy with his dress habits, that collar bone always winking at her underneath a blanket of freckles.
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Sixth year had been a good year for Katie, academically that is—naturally with the exception of potions. She didn't have to take the OWLs like last year of the NEWTs that she would have to face the next. Yup, generally it had been easy sailing. A few hard classes here and there, but there were not standardized tests she had to fret about. No big assessment at the end.
Well, that's what she had hoped for. She was indisputably incorrect.
It was June, just two days before everyone left for the summer, and incredibly hot and sticky in the Great Hall even though the ceiling depicted a rather pleasantly windy day. Katie blamed the cauldron she stood behind. And that stupid flame underneath it.
Stupid heat source.
But then again it could've also could've been because of her nerves. She desperately needed to receive any passing grade. Even a poor. She would take a poor happily because that was above a troll. Getting a T would be absolutely destructive to her already suffering grade.
The chaser took a deep breath in an attempt of composing herself. She could do this. Easy. It was just a simple concoction, a second year task at worst. Yes, she could most certainly handle it.
She looked back to her potion; it was a bubbling electric blue mess. With a defeated sigh she fell back into her chair, looked up through the window to the blue sky, sending a silent prayer to Merlin and whoever else may hear.
Looking back now, Katie thinks that perhaps somebody did answer her desperate prayer, because when she lowered her eyes back down, she caught sight of none other than George Weasley. From across the Hall Katie could tell he had nailed every step of the complicated instructions given to them. Why he and his carbon copy were such wizzs at potions, she couldn't say she knew—potentially they were the biggest slackers she knew.
Lounging back in his seat he caught her eyes and sent her a quick wink. She sent a mixed look of desperation and envy. Katie answered his concerned questioning look by picking up the ladle, scooping up some of her catastrophe and letting it slosh back into her cauldron.
She could tell he was suppressing a laugh and scowled at him as he stood up once again and fumbled with his ingredients, pretending to busy himself with his own potion although he already had some flasked and labeled for grading. She watched him with the eye of someone experienced in pretending not to care. Out of the corner of her eyes she watched him add two pinches of roach legs, half a cup of crushed mandrake root and a full scoop of sugar. He pretended to be proud of the destruction due to his leftovers before sitting back down, the original flask safe by his side.
A minute later Katie jumped up, mocking an epiphany and instantly mirrored his silent instructions, beaming as her potion changed from electric blue to a dull pumpkin orange. She flasked and labeled it proudly. She stood up as George passed, falling into stride with him as they traveled the length of the Great Hall, handing their completed task together.
She had glanced up at him, a smile clear across her face. And although he gave her his usual grin back, the afternoon light slanting through the windows and through his hair, transforming his locks a blaze bronze, her attention was pivoted downwards.
She was a true right-handed girl, her left hand simply there for storage. And although the beater next to her was a right-y as well, his left hand served more purpose than hers. As such when they handed in their beakers, his irreversibly traveled across hers. It was freckled quite naturally, his hand that is. It was larger than hers and calloused from years of Quidditch and worn from years of testing new prank-products. It was beaten and bruised and battered, just like its pair to which she looked over to, gracefully flying across the statement page, swearing that its owner didn't assist in cheating or cheated himself.
Katie signed the same lie with her own signature, a moment behind him.
She was behind him in leaving the Great Hall, she practically bounded after him in leaps and skips.
"George you're absolutely fabulous!" she squealed, hugging his arm as she came up behind him, burying her face in his shoulder momentarily, "I mean really, only you would know how to fix that mess of mine from clear across the Hall."
"Well Katie it's not as hard as you think," he said in his jocularly drool voice, "You do make the same mistake everytime a cauldron is placed in front of you," he said, grabbing her hand just as she was going to let her arm fall back to her side. "If you conquered your severe ADD you would be able to count how many rotations you complete successfully."
Said ADD afflicted witch looked down at their hands and let a smile escape her lips, "Well you know I can't control my bored eyes from traveling to your wonderful physic."
"What can I say?" he sighed, "God wouldn't give it to me if he didn't want me to flaunt it."
Had her hand not been so happily encased in his, she might have slapped him.
-------------------
"She's ugly."
"That's unreasonable Kates."
"She's mean."
"Just because she said your pony tail wasn't flattering doesn't mean-"
"She's bitter."
"You're stubborn."
"She's obnoxious!"
"Because she abides by usual mannerisms?"
"You hate mannerisms!"
"You hate mannerisms."
"She thinks she's better than us."
"And sometimes I won't debate that-"
"George!"
"Katie-Kates?"
On her seventh year spring break, Katherine Ann Bell sighed extravagantly at the edge of the large pond (or small lake, whichever you prefer.) at the Burrow. Hands thrown up in the hair before resting on top of her messy, wheat colored hair. Her dark green eyes rolled up to the clear May sky before landing once again on her best friend. George Weasley. 18 year old George Weasley who was now going out with a stuck up, snobby, Mary-two-shoes, Ravenclaw girl that went by the name of Pricilla Abstein.
"She's no good for you," she stated matter-of-factly.
"Why?" the red head challenged, keeping his temper in tow simply by the amusement he found in the witch's behavior, following her to the end of the short dock.
Katie ran a hand through her hair, finding it as tousled as Pricilla had proclaimed, yet unable to find a stolid answer to give her friend. "She's you're opposite."
"So maybe opposites do attract," He offered with a crooked gin."
"Or just short skirts and pencil legs," she said quietly.
She watched as he gave her one of his coy, devilish grins, "You're jealous of her."
"Am not," she said stubbornly. "I'm disgusted with her. And disgusted with your type of girls."
"You're jealous that you have such a commitment to sport and Quidditch and of the sort that you can't ignore a hearty meal," he stated. "You wish you could let yourself get stick thin."
"What?" Katie scoffed with a laugh, "Please, if I wanted to be anorexic I would be anorexic."
"No you couldn't," he laughed, "even if you took Quidditch out of the equation you don't have enough will power to stick to vegetable greens. You wish you had her willpower to deny steak and hamburgers," he smirked, "You disgusting carnivore."
"You disgusting slab of mankind," she sneered before heading back towards the Burrow. That was, however, before George caught up to her, wrapped his arms around her waist and headed back towards the edge of the dock with the frame of and angry Katie Bell slung over his shoulder.
"This Pricilla thing really has your panties in a twist, doesn't it?" he said with a smile she couldn't see, slapping the side of her hip affectionately.
"This has nothing to do with my panties George William Weasley," Katie cried in a rather distressed tone. "Now put me down right this instance or I swear I will-!!"
What she swore she'd do was unheard as her hot head submerged underneath the surface of the lake.
"George William Weasley," she drawled after spluttering out lake-water, her hair plastered to her forehead, her green eyes narrowed beneath.
"Katherine Ann Bell," he said in a sin song voice, bent over with his hands resting on his knees. "You didn't fall in, did you? You know pond scum isn't a very appealing hair accessory."
With a scoff the just-turned 18 year old witch doogy-paddled—like a pro—to the edge of the dock and held her hand out to the redhead sporting a cheeky grin. "Help me up?" her eyes pleading more than her voice.
"If I must," George rolled his eyes, reaching his hand down to hers.
"Oh you must," she said, clapping her hand around his wrist and pulling as hard as she could.
"Uncalled for," he said while spluttering out similar water. "C'mon," he said with a small grin and a twitch of the head, "Let's get outta here."
As he pulled himself back up onto the dock, Katie Bell exhaled sharply.
In truth, Katie had never harbored any hate towards Pricilla Abstein until three weeks ago. Three agonizing weeks. But the agony didn't really stem from the well monetarily endowed Ravenclaw, well yes. But it wasn't from pet names or brazen observations or the possession of questionable eating habits or willpower that may have lead to such questionable things. It was rather because of the fact that she could show up from no where, any time, any occasion, and wrap her arms around him without anyone asking questions.
She let her head submerge halfway underneath the water, letting out a frustrated groan as George's wet tee clung to him like an extra set of skin. She let all the bubbles that rose to the surface pop resoundingly as she looked at the hand he offered her.
"You just want to see me in a wet tee, don't you?" she said with a scowl and a bit of a smirk.
"You got your show," he said coyly.
"Well you know," she said as she took his hand and he hauled her up back onto the dock, "I would have to report your misconduct to Pricilla and you two would no doubt cease to be a couple."
"Do what you must to quench your journalistic cravings," he said as the walked back to the overgrown grass and headed towards the big oak in the garden. "I was going to break up with her once we got back anyway," he took a moment to watch Katie appear to have a blank face. She accomplished that feat for the most part except for the fact that he could see her eyes laughing and dancing to an unknown beat. "I was afraid I was going to accidentally break one of her legs someday," he said, pulling her towards him and giving her a large hug. "You're so stupid sometimes Katie-Kates."
"Right back at'cha," she replied, somewhere secretly happy buried in his chest.
-------------------
"I have a problem."
"You have multiple problems," Katie said, looking up from her book to see none other than Fred Weasley, "Which is bothering you this time?"
"Apparently there's someone running around impersonating me," he said with a flop onto the couch beside her. "It's quite irksome you know," he said, turning his head towards her, brown eyes full force. "Help me out?"
"What would you have me do?"
"Well, I dunno," he turned his eyes up to the ceiling for a moment, "spend the day in Hogsmeade with me in plain sight. The whole day. Everyone know there's no one impersonating you, so then my identity will have clarified," he summed up with a warm grin, "You in?"
"To go on a date with you?" Katie clarified, quirking an eyebrow with a scoffed smile. "Quit the kidding."
"On the contrary, Katie-Kates," he said mischievously with a smirk to match, "I'm quite serious."
She narrowed her eyes at one of her closest friends, her smile retreating to a small curve, "Is this because Ange said no?"
"Nope."
"You know you're not getting any."
"Respectfully."
"I'll hang around with you," she concluded after a time of searching his face for any secret motive he may have been hiding. "You know, grab a butterbeer, sneak into the shrieking shack—the usual. Hand holding may be allowed under good behavior."
"It's a date," Fred said, holding a hand out to her, "Pleasant doing business with you as always."
She shook his hand with a smile, but she couldn't help but rather wish it belonged to his imposter and in a less than a week she found herself repeating the silent wish from within the Three Broomsticks.
"Ok Kates," Fred said, lounging back in his chair within the pub and looking at her through lowered eyelids. "I must tell you that I have just pulled one over on you. A prank of my highest caliber."
"What are you talking about?" she asked, an eyebrow cocked.
"Well there were underlying reasons I asked you accompany me here other than clarifying my identity," he smiled devilishly at her leering form. "You see, you and George deserve each other and my hopes were to make him green with envy so his freckled ass would get in gear."
"So…" Katie drawled out, crossing her arms in front of her chest, "You decided to take George and mine's lovely friendship and send it spiraling downwards?"
"Well the plan was for it to travel higher with vertical motions," he qualified, taking a sip of his butterbeer, "but yes, that would sum up my general plan."
"You Fredrick James Weasley-"
"-the great-"
"-are a complete asshole," she finished, taking a sip out of her own mug, "I accept a trial period of two weeks," she smiled across to him, to which he smirked back.
"Two weeks it is then," he held his mug up.
"Two weeks," she said, clinking her mug against his.
So for the next two weeks she partook in pet names, enjoyed surprise hugs, lavished cuddles in the redheads lap and was hardly irked when George asked Alicia on a date at the end of the allotted two weeks. The allotted two weeks of which soon became three before drifting into four, quietly sleeping into a month and a half. And when February rounded the corner, Katherine Ann Bell had herself her first true Valentine.
-------------------
By the next February Katie was back to her usual Valentine's Day rant. Proclaim the stupidity of such a holiday, that either way it was meaningless. If you were in her position, single and perhaps stubbornly so; it became Happy Singles Awareness Day, a day to rub it in your face that you didn't have that special someone to share it with. If you had found a special someone the witch fought that you should be treated special everyday, not just one out of the whole year—an argument no one could fight against reasonably.
So on that fateful early February day, Katie Bell, rising journalist, was baptized by the bell over to door upon walking into the most infamous of joke shops.
"Katie-Kates my loverly!" Fred yelled extravagantly, his arms held out towards her as he came from behind the counter. Before she could protest George joined in the back-breaking festivities.
"So do tell," George said, leading her towards the counter where he pulled out a stool for her to sit on. "The writing thing going well for you?"
"Yeah sure," she smiled as Fred placed some pastries on a porcelain plate in front of her. "No, I do not want canary cakes," she added quickly before continuing on, "I'm trying to follow what Umbridge is up to these days, no doubt she'll find another way to bring the school down."
"The Quibbler lets you write real stuff now?"
Katie punched George in the shoulder while he sniggered happily, "It's not my fault the Daily Prophet wouldn't take me!"
"Actually it is," George continued while Fred went off to tend to the new customer that walked in, "Had you written anything other than administration bashing for the school paper last year, you might find yourself in a more prestigious spot," he said with a cocked eyebrow, his trademark grin but with none the less sincere compassion.
But the witch rolled her eyes and let them fall on the small girl in the shop buying a special seasonal kit, spite practically written on the box. "A little cynical for a 10 year old?" she asked as Fred returned.
"Don't answer that," George said, "you'll only help her evade the truth I pushed into her plate."
"Thanks for that by the way."
"Oh anytime, I enjoy bring reality crashed upon my friend's head."
"A hobby you have conquered."
"I try."
"What are talking about?" Fred interjected.
"Katie writes for the Quibbler."
"Evidently."
"She could write for the Daily Prophet."
"No doubt," Fred concurred, "had she not bashed administration all last year."
"That's what I said!"
"Indeed?"
"Most certainly-"
"Ok, that's quite enough," Katie interrupted, standing up and readjusting the scarf around her neck. "I was going to ask you two to wallow in a carton of ice cream with me seeing we're all single and have got nothing to do tonight, but clearly-"
"Who said we don't have plans?" George asked uncommonly seriously.
This left her flabbergasted. "Oh, well…you know," she rubbed the nape of her neck as she inched closer and closer towards the door, "Suppose it's just me and my usual two boys tonight then."
"Aren't we your two boys?" Fred asked with a smirk, deciding to ignore what just occurred for the time being.
"Katie shook her head, hand on the doorknob, "Ben and Jerry have been paying me quite a few more visits than you too lately."
"You're a bloody tard," Fred said matter-of-factly after the door swung close.
"What?" his twin flabbergasted. "What did I do?"
"You're going over there," Fred said, pointing his finger at a nose exactly like his own, before heading into the backroom, leaving George with slumped shoulders.
Katie Bell did not expect to hear three resound knocks fill her tiny apartment that night. She expected to be exactly where she was for the next half of the night, slumped over her tiny kitchen table, papers and pictures spread over the whole area, quill in one hand, spooning herself some cookie dough ice-cream with the other in nothing more than old school sweat pants and a tank top with fluffy socks and messy hair. This could explain why she didn't jump to her feet to answer the door in such a state.
"Hello?" she called through a mouthful of iced delight.
"Katie-Kates? It's George—lemme in."
"George?" she asked more to herself than anyone as she padded towards the door, "I thought you had a hot date?" she called as she looked through the peephole to see none other than the redhead himself.
"Your words," he corrected as she let him in, "certainly not mine. You know I'm as single and lonely as you."
"I didn't say anything about being lonely," she placed her hands on her hips momentarily, watching him take off his coat and put some water on. "I remember I said ice-cream, not tea and scones."
"But it seems like you've eaten it all," he peered into the carton, "What else am I supposed to eat? You don't cook."
"I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich."
"You make anything into a mean burnt crisp."
"Whatever," she said, scraping the sides of the cartoon as she sat down once again.
He peered over her shoulder, "What are you doing?"
"Oh you know," she shrugged her shoulders and craned her neck to look at him, "making real stuff sound fabricated enough to make my editor happy."
"Kates," George sighed, taking a seat next to her, "I didn't mean it."
"It's true though," she realized, looking at the amount of paper, the piles of information in front of her that wouldn't be taken seriously and thought of the magazine her work would be installed in and instantly became more downcast than when the day started. "I've found myself in quite the spot." She gave a large sigh, stood up and walked around her small kitchen, "I'll never be taken seriously as a writer. And I love this George. I've always had my quill on parchment and everything I've ever had to say sounds so much better in ink. Now the ink it's scribbled in is disdainful and is mere drabble to every sensible person in the wizarding world. Because even if they're crazy enough to waste 2 sickles on this ludicrous publication, even if they read my words, right next to mine are just another whack jobs about horned horny toads. What does that say about my credibility?" she asked with a sigh, looking at someone she had known for more than half of her life, "I don't know what to do."
"Katie," he said softly, grabbing her hand from her side, "come here," he tugged her into his lap, pulling her close, "You're writing is sharp and strong and cynical more often than not. It's brilliant and witty and very creditable despite the publication that has the honor of printing your rhetoric. You say what you mean and that matters the most." he looked her in the eye with his big brown orbs, filled to the brim with nothing but sincerity, "You'll make things better. And it won't be just for your own benefit."
With a feeling of pink rising to her cheeks she pried herself away, the kettle luckily just starting to sing. "I'm starting to think you either like inflating my ego with nonsense, George," she called over her shoulder, "or rather you're falling for me."
"Either would end in dire consequences," he observed with a small smile, "and I have my intentions to steer far clear of those."
"A note-worthy goal," she laughed, handing him his tea just as he liked it.
-------------------
The next few years didn't offer either of the pair much hope of avoiding dire consequences. The war raged on and the two played their part. Katie soon become the editor in chief of the Quibbler, which allowed her not only to provide accurate stories about the trouble suffocating the world, but inscribe messages in codes for those members of the Order who weren't at the moment in direct communication with the safe hold. George, alongside his counterpart, did nothing but poke fun at the You-Know-Who at any given chance; neon lights illuminating such products such as You-Know-Poo, or something of the such, and speaking on Potterwatch. Katie was laughed at in the beginning, her claims of re-establishing the Quibbler as a legitimate publication turned into the butt of a joke. George still made jokes but lost an appendage he claimed to be fond of.
They tried to laugh things off over a cup of tea or hot chocolate or firewhiskey—whatever the occasion called for. However, when the dark lord was finally defeated, the last of their fears subsided, did the jokes stop. It was only after the final end did the magnitude of the outcome hit both like the Whomping Willow just had a free shot at the pair.
-------------------
Three months after the final battle, three months of perpetual heaving sobs did Katie Bell find herself in want of tears. Her ducts had gone dry but at night she would still find herself choking back tears that wouldn't come even if she let them reign free. George was in worse case, she could be the first to tell you. The Editor of the Quibbler found herself at the Burrow more than her won small flat, finding that the idea of strength in numbers wasn't a fallacy. Yet George stuck to himself, locked away in a quiet room which had previously screamed, whirled, whizzed and exploded when both inhabitants were inside.
Everyone had taken many shots of trying to coax him down. To get him to taste real food and smell fresh air. None had been able to achieve the main focus, Katie was one of the few that didn't get screamed out when she entered, usually spending the days in practically silence with him. But just to be within 2 feet of him made things seem somewhat more bearable, even if half of the words murmured between the pair were casual mannerisms. But another week later, finding herself sleepless in the middle of the night, all goals forgot, Kate padded down the hall into George's room.
"..Kates?" a familiar voice spoke out, now dry and coarse from sobbing as the door clicked closed behind her.
"Scooch over," she murmured as she came to the side of the lower bunk he slept on, almost hurdling over him to get to the other side. "what?" she asked when he repeated her name, "I like the wall side," she said to his quizzical look, putting a hand flat against the wall after settling her head next to his on the pillow, "You know, wall."
"How are you ok?"
Katie sighed, letting her hand fall from the wall and curling it in front of her as she turned on her side to face him, trapped between a person she knew so well and a blue plaster wall. She saw his brown eyes shine dully in the dimly moonlight room and the curve of his eyebrows on his sorrowed face.
"There are times when I sit at home, eating ice cream and bawling into the carton for a full hour. And after that, when I'm done being selfish, I think of you. I think that no matter how big my hurt is, yours must be exponentially greater. So I try and put the hurt away for a while, because even if you don't say it, even if you deny it, I have to be strong for you. But sometimes the pain doesn't stay hidden away where I tried to leave it."
"Because I look exactly like him?"
She rolled onto her stomach and propped herself above the ginger man lying on his back, "Because you don't deserve that kind of hurt."
When he didn't say anything after one excruciatingly long moment, the blonde lowered herself back down onto her stomach, only rolling back on her side when he spoke her name.
"Kates….you're not just saying that?" he had rolled onto his shoulder, facing her as well.
She gave a small smile of remembrance, "You're the one who told me I always say what I mean."
He gave a small laugh as he wrapped and arm around her waist and pulled her to his chest, into which she duly sobbed into, oblivious to the coo-ing words he was stringing together.
"…and I know he was you're really only real relationship but Kates, everything's going to be okay."
She pulled away from his chest so he could see the salty discharge running over her smile, "I know that you big dolt," she laughed before falling back into the crook of his arm, letting herself fall asleep there blissfully, a flutter of a kisses knighting her temple, nightmares finally absent.
-------------------
She drank her coffee as she usually did, light and excessively sweet, as he drank his as he usually did, black and excessively bitter. She read over the latest publication of the Quibbler on one end of the couch three days later as he did the crossword puzzle down to her left on the other end.
"In ink George?" she observed with an early morning smile, placing her coffee on the end table and flipping the page, "feeling clever?"
"Terribly," he smirked before crossing out an answer for the third time. "But unusually lazy and bored," he cast the paper aside, reached over, grabbed her hand and yanked her over to his side.
"Terribly obnoxious," she said from his lap, brushing his messy bangs off his forehead, letting her hand fall to the right side of his face. He grabbed her hand before it reached the hole that now stood in for his ear.
"I know how much you liked those curls," he explained, to which she could do nothing more than give him a small smile, letting her hand fall anyway, boing-ing the curls and pressing her lips to his promptly.
Once again my sincere apologies guys, quell my worries that you've all lost interest in me and drop me a line??
Lots o love!