The bludger twitches angrily in the trunk, the chains straining against the assault. Cyrus tightens her grip on the bat, releasing the bludger from the trunk. It flies up its angry chittering getting quieter. Cyrus walks out to the middle of the field, watching the bludger zip through the air. The bludger turns quickly, zooming directly for Cyrus. Taking a deep breath she holds back the bat, the loud angry crack reverberating through the quidditch pitch before the bludger zips away.
“Nice work Sterling! However its no fun with just one.” George calls out into the pitch, pressing the clasp holding down the second bludger.
A wicked smile pulls at Cyrus’s lips as the second bludger flies towards her. Another loud crack echoes, the bludger heading straight for George. He quickly ducks down, grabbing the other bat. Hitting the bludger towards Cyrus, who playfully hits the bludger up into the air again. “Come to check out the competition?” Cyrus chuckles, keeping her gaze on the bludger.
“Something like that, I promised to bother you back to your common room.” George chuckles, looking up into the sky. “Looks like I’m going to bother you practicing as well.”
“Great” Cyrus drags out sarcastically, a playful smile letting George know she doesn't mean it.
Almost an hour passes of them practicing with the bludgers. Cyrus’s dark brown hair sticks to her face drenched in sweat. Pushing the wet mess out of her face she laughs. “I think this is more than enough Weasley.” Cyrus chuckles.
“I guess you’re right.” George pants Shaking his head, spraying Cyrus in his sweat.
“Gross man!” Cyrus grunts, planting her feet firmly into the ground, her arms open wide. One of the bludgers flies directly into her stomach, Cyrus quickly wraps her arms around the ball holding it against herself.
“There's a spell for that.” George chuckles while he waves his wand, the bludger flying directly into its holding place.
Grunting Cyrus straps down the bludger. “It feels like cheating. Plus if you don’t have bruises are you really playing?”
Once the balls were secure Cyrus splays out on the ground, pulling out her thin green wand. A slight wave and the quidditch trunk closes, locking up.
“You must have known you were going to be placed into Slytherin when you got your wand.” George collapses on the ground next to Cyrus. She hums questioningly. “Your wand is green and has snakes on it.”
Cyrus flips her wand looking at the handle, the two gold snakes creating the handle. “Yeah I guess. I didn’t even really think about it. Both of my parents are Slytherins, I think there’s a Ravenclaw cousin or aunt or something like that.” Cyrus laughs talking about the Ravenclaw family member. Putting the wand back into her sweats.
George hums in agreement, “My entire family is Gryffindors.”
Cyrus raises an eyebrow, turning her head to look at the Weasley. “Why are you hanging out with me?”
George turns to face Cyrus, something flashes through his eyes but Cyrus could not catch it before it was gone. A soft smile pulling at Georges eyes, the apples of his cheeks pushing up to his eyes. “You seem fun.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere George. What prank do you want help with?” Cyrus laughs her eyes catching on his smile. Everything about him screams softness and warmth, well everything except his antics. Georges face changes to one of confusion. “That has to be the reason, right?”
“I mean if you want to help, I don't mind. Honestly you seem fun, less of a” George falters not finding the right words
“You mean I’m not a Blood purist?” Cyrus scoffs turning to look at the clouds slowly scrolling the sky. “Trust me, last thing I want to think about is that.”
“Whadda mean?” George questions, Cyrus turns back to look at George.
“You don’t know?” Cyrus questions, watching how Georges hair sticks to his head, the softness of the red drawing her in wanting to touch it. Sighing Cyrus closes their eyes, capturing the moment for later. “My mother is a purist, unfortunately she is a half-blood and is using me to ‘regain the family name’. I want nothing to do with the pureblood socialite life.” Cyrus groans
“I know we aren’t ‘socialites’ but we are one of the sacred twenty-eight.” George reminds Cyrus.
Cyrus scoffs loudly, “Shit I’m sorry, but you do realize your family is the joke of the pureblood social scene.”
“Hey you only really said she was a purist.” George laughs sitting upright, checking how he smelled. He scrunches up his nose. “Dude I stink, we should go shower.”
Cyrus sits up, leaning over to smell Georges polo shirt. Her nose resting against the apex of his shoulder, taking a slow sniff. The scent of sweat heavy but under that he smells like freshly made spiced caramel and gunpowder. Hiding the heat in her cheeks she scrunches her face, shoving his arm. “Stink? You reek!”
“You’re the one who put his nose in it!” George laughs. “What about you huh?” George leans over smelling Cyrus’s shoulder. “Okay, yeah I reek!” Georges face pink he quickly gets up. Trudging towards the quidditch locker rooms.
*** George’s Pov ***
George watches as Cyrus opens his arms, the bludger flying into his arms like an excited puppy. A smile pulls at his lips as he pulls out his wand, wordlessly spelling the other bludger back to its home. “There’s a spell for that.”
“It feels like cheating. Plus if you don’t have bruises are you really playing?” Cyrus grunts shoving the bludger back into place. George chuckles, remembering the large bruises across his own body.
George watches as Cyrus pulls out his thin green wand, peaking out from between his fingers gold snakes wrapping the handle. Another physical reminder as to why he needs to fix these feelings he is having. “You must have known you were going to be placed into Slytherin when you got your wand.” Cyrus hums questioningly, his eyes blinking slowly. George continues his thought pulling his gaze away from the grey eyes.
George’s gaze however falls onto Cyrus’s hands on his wand, how he seems to mostly hold the thin wand with his finger tips. Cyrus laughs talking about something pulling George out of his thoughts, as Cyrus puts the wand away. Not knowing what to say he just states that his family are Gryffindors. Inwardly groaning George looks up into the sky.
“Why are you hanging out with me?” George turns back to look at Cyrus, his face now towards him.
With Cyrus now looking at him all he wants to say is ‘because I like you.’ He plays the scenario in his head of saying that, Cyrus’s face lighting up, finally kissing. “You seem fun.”
Everything melts when Cyrus laughs “What prank do you want help with?” confused George continues looking at Cyrus, he hasn't planned anything that might need outside help. “That has to be the reason, right?” George can hear the uneasiness in Cyrus’s voice.
“I mean if you want to help, I don't mind. Honestly you seem fun, less of a” George inwardly groans. less of a git? less of an ass like the rest of your house.
“You mean I’m not a blood purist?” Cyrus scoffs, turning away from George. Inwardly he is beating himself up, “Trust me, last thing I want to think about is that.” Confused George asks for clarification, realizing how close their hands are. Cyrus turns back to look at George. His entire demeanor seems to change when he talks about his family, George notes. Everything seems tighter, proper, deliberate. Its so different from what he has observed over these last two years.
Reminding Cyrus about Georges family seems to have pulled him out of the uptight mood. Laughing he sits up, the movement causing his own scent to waft up to his nose. “Dude I stink, We should go shower.” Quickly the flashes of Cyrus in the shower goes through his mind.
Cyrus sits up, leaning onto Georges shoulder taking a sniff. The spot where his nose pressed into Georges shoulder burning from the touch. “Stink? You reek!” He shoves Georges shoulder.
George wonders what Cyrus smells like, taking the opportunity. “What about you huh?” Leaning in the same way Cyrus did, he rests his nose against his shoulder. ‘Even sweaty you smell amazing.’ The scent of warm leather, mahogany and amber tickle his nose. The heat on his face telling him he is blushing he quickly stands. “okay, yeah I reek!” turning towards the locker rooms he heads that way.
The walk to the locker room is oddly quiet George looks over his shoulder, Cyrus is carrying the trunk to the equipment closet. As he reaches the doorway for the locker room he watches Cyrus turn towards the castle. Sighing George enters the locker room, yanking off his polo shirt and jeans he tosses them onto the bench.
The cold water hitting his back yank him out of his own thoughts. Cyrus’s muscular hands and engorged veins trailing up his arm. The way Cyrus’s hair sticks to the back of his neck. His thin neck, his collarbones calling to be marked. George slams his forearm against the tiled wall, leaning further into the cold water.