Hesitant Confessions PV George Henry Closed

George was wandering the campground, occupying himself with the few things that he had bought. Bothering Cadmus had become boring. Bothering his friends in the tent hadn't become boring, but he didn't want to make it boring so early into the summer, so he was forced to seek out other sources of entertainment. Searching for a friend, new or old, George broke out the finest outfit he had with him for their time at camp - his athletic shorts, and a grass-stained short-sleeved t-shirt. He looked ready for some summer fun, certainly.

The students from Durmstrang had a more grim air than the ones from Ilvermorny did. Unlike their American friends, some of the Durmstrang students hardly spoke any English, and they had odd dark clothes and strange accents. George wasn't sure oif it made him a bad person to judge someone for their accent. There was something cartoonishly evil about darkly dressed teens from the school that teaches Dark Arts. Their accents brought to mind Bond villains.

Perhaps it was a testament to his moral development that George was worried about discrimination now. He had been quite openly suspicious of "the Americans" for the full duration of Lear's mysterious sabbatical. But there were still some pockets of evil lurking in the young Hufflepuff's heart - things like his love of annoying poor Willow, who he'd spotted relaxing on the grass, watching the other students shuffle around below. Her position on the Quidditch team offered her an elevated social status which was reflected by the careless ease with which she watched the plebeians filter by, far beneath her.

That was until George marched up to disrupt her evening of relaxation. He was disappointed she'd seen him coming - she would have made quite the face if she had opened her eyes to see George right in front of her. She would have been almost as shocked as George seemed to be when he saw her offer a hug. He hesitated a moment before leaning in to accept it, closing his eyes and giving her a hearty squeeze, trying to make sure he hugged her just as well as he'd hugged Alan. Those were friendship-building hugs. They did work, those hugs.

When the hug was finished, George brushed himself off, not seeming to realize his habit of wiping off any part of himself that made contact with Willow. "Same thing as you. Bored," he said, sitting down on the grass and patting the spot on the ground beside him to invite Willow. "I'm surprised you guys aren't practicing non-stop. These Durmstrang guys look like they might be a bit serious about their sports." he said, with a sympathetic smile.

"Do y'know who their keeper is? Have you been doing any research on 'em? Or just trying to enjoy the summer?" George pointed up at the sun, squinting to keep it out of his eyes. "Oh, that reminds me, I'll need your autograph. Might be worth something after this game, huh?"

Interacting with @George Henry

Willow was really perplexed by George's standard for physical affection. She could understand the not wanting his hands touched, but seriously, last time he didn't want a hug, then at her birthday he gave her a hug, then now it seemed like again he didn't want a hug from her. Going so far as to brush himself off after their hug again. She couldn't help but roll her eyes as she sat back down next to him upon invitation. "I seriously don't have cooties." She looked over and stuck his tongue out at him cheekily.

Though, the air seemed to be sucked out of her as her breath hitched when he mentioned the Durmstrang game. It had been looming over her head since she found out about it and the cloud seemed to get darker and bigger as the day approached steadfast. "I mean, their keeper is someone I'm not really concerned about. The chasers are the ones I gotta look out for. But, we can't really do much research. Their stupid school doesn't release like any information. They're so secretive so it's hard to really strategize." She sighed and slumped back to lay on the grass. "We haven't been doing as much practice because we don't want to wear ourselves out before the game. You know Jack is part of the team now? He's actually going to be on the sidelines this time instead of the stands. Although, we have to hope we don't need him because that means someone went down." She knew George and Jack were friends but she wasn't exactly sure about how close they were.

A small, choked laugh bubbled out of her. "I mean, maybe it'd be worth something. Depends on how the game goes." She sighed, "I don't know, the game is a big deal but also I'm just trying to get some time with everyone before the summer. I know it's only a month but I'm still going to miss everyone. Even you." Despite his consistent teasing and apparent disgust by his touch, she was just a bit fond of the journalist in the making. "Do you have any plans for the summer?"

"I do," George said solemnly, giving a cheeky smirk that he hoped would deflect from the slight redness in his cheeks. All his hard work giving that hug undone by the smallest of gestures. Trying to stay on top of social situations really was exhausting, but the challenge of it was really the most fun part. He squirmed a bit, trying to find a comfortable spot to set himself into the grass before giving up and accepting that he might end up with grass-strained pants.

"I guess that makes sense," he murmured, stretching out on the ground, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned back on his hands. Not very heartening to hear that. Foreign schools were a curious subject, and Durmstrang was the most curious of all. Even after all the business with Plott, the foreboding shadow of Durmstrang was still the most outwardly sinister in terms of magic schools. Although, it could be that the only reason why it seemed scary was because he didn't know anything about it. It would make sense for the students to be secretive to avoid giving up their intimidation factor. "I heard. I won't be hoping that someone goes down, but it would be quite the sight to see him start playing during the championships. I'm not sure he'd be able to go on if the team lost while he was playing."

There was a pause as he visualized the post-victory celebrations, or post-defeat commiseration. "There'll be a riot in the dorms either way," he concluded. When willow mentioned missing him, George seemed confused. Pretty much the only thing he'd actively done to her were to annoy her, make her cry, and try to smooth it over with gifts. The Hufflepuff standard for "friends" really needed some adjustment. But that could wait until they were done chatting. "I'm just in a tent with Jack and Jake and Alan, so I'll probably hang out with them for now, and then... I don't really know what I'll do when I get home. Probably just wait until I can go back."

He pursed his lips after he said that. It sounded quite sad out loud, even though he'd been quite content with that plan before it came out of his mouth. He quickly backpedaled. "Not really," he said. "It will be nice to see the people from my town again, and my mom and dad. Oh, and my brother. Him too. I'm just deciding who I'll miss the most from here."

He took out his autographing supplies as he spoke with Willow, setting a tiny ink pot and a small blue quill beside himself in the grass. "Forgot paper," he said, with a thoughtful hum. Professional journalist in the making, this one.

Interacting with @George Henry

"Good thing I got my cootie shot from the hospital wing before camp. Otherwise, I'd be covered in your gross boy germs. Maybe you should look into getting one too." Cooties were the stupidest thing in her mind, the idea that the different genders somehow had special germs, it seemed silly to her. She wondered if there was some other reason why George didn't like to be touched. There was only one reason to find out. "Do you or do you not like hugs? Because I genuinely never know whether or not to hug you and I don't want to make you uncomfortable but I seem to do every time." Her eyes held a genuine concern, especially for a fellow Huffle she wouldn't want to make them adverse to her presence because of a hug she could live without.

From her position sprawled out on the grass she rolled her head slightly to look up at him as he talked. "I mean... knowing the bare minimum about Durmstrang, I know they're brutal. I wouldn't doubt that Jack would have to play. It would be nice though, to play with him. We don't plan on losing, no matter what we at least fight until the bitter end." Huffles were loyal to a fault, and that extended to Quidditch. Playing until every single one of them was down in a messed up sense of loyalty of representing their house, and now their school. Backing down or forfeiting would not be an option. She sat up slightly onto her elbows at the mention of sharing a tent with Jack. "Does he ever talk about me? N-No reason, just curious. Because... we're now on the team together and all that." A faint blush scattered across her cheeks. Her relationship with Jack was confusing at best. From the kiss in the Great Hall, to him attempting to save her in a fire that night, staying by his bedside the entire night waiting for him to wake up. She felt some sort of attachment to him, but she couldn't figure out what it was.

She fully picked herself back up off the ground as he talked about home, it seemed like it was a conversation that should garner more attention than being sprawled out on the grass. "You're close to the people in your town? I don't really talk to anyone from my town except for my family. Especially now that I go here. You know the whole... muggle witch thing kinda skeeves people out in my area." She shrugged nonchalantly, as if it wasn't a big deal that her family was the picturesque idea of a family of witches isolated from a town. It was just how she lived, and she didn't necessarily see anything wrong with it, besides the creeping loneliness that always seemed to settle in when she went home.

Her eyes settled on the quill and ink pot, and eyebrow raised. "Where... where do you expect me to sign? Your forehead?" She shook her head, "Literally caught an artist the one time I didn't bring my sketchbook with me. I could've ripped out a paper for you." She made a small hum in thought. "I mean, I could always just sign something and give it to you the next time I see you Mr. Journalist." It perplexed her how he had a whole ink well and quill, but no paper to write on.

"I'm afraid there's no shot that could rid me of gross boy germs. It's an inherent part of being a gross boy," he lamented, head bowing with the solemn weight of this truth. It was self-evident and could not be denied, not by any marvel of magical science, which sounded like an oxymoron when he thought of it. At her next question, his shoulders rose up slightly, though he played off the anxious change in body language as just a shrug, forcing relaxation a moment later. "I like hugs, it just depends on who it's from," he explained. "Not that your hugs aren't good or anything. I mean, I like them from... I don't know, my mom."

That was about the only person who he'd like a hug from at any given moment, although he'd slowly been weaning himself off his dependence on familial love. Being too attached would surely affect him academically as he tried to spend more and more time at Hogwarts, and less time in the horrible bucket of muggles that was Walkerburn. "That's good. That you'd fight 'til the bitter end, not that they're brutal." The bitter end wasn't good exactly, but it was a fair sight better than giving up, which is what the lower rungs of Hufflepuff would likely do by instinct.

"Yes, all the time. He never shuts up about you," George said, reacting quickly as he spotted the faint colour of blush spreading over young Willow's cheeks. It was a very easy opportunity to get her hopes up. He fluttered his lashes and took on a sort of playful, sing-song tone, hoping she'd catch on to him after a few moments and realize he'd fulfilled his obligation to annoy her. "He said he hopes someone gets bludged so he can play with you, and then he'll score all kinds of points and he'll hang upside down on his broom so you two can kiss each other or whatever. But you'll have to do that in your tent, Alan and I will be playing cards later in ours."

He offered her the ink pot and quill more insistently - the tools of his own undoing, ready to make her revenge permanent wherever she decided to spill it. "Just do it right on," he said, offering his arm. "I don't really talk to anyone but my family either. There's not much reason to go back after you get here. It just feels like you're missing out." He shrugged. His family was irreplaceable. His friends? A whole other story. "I'd stay here all the time if my mother wouldn't go absolutely mad. If I don't write each month she thinks I'm dead."