That went well. Far better than his spell casting to be sure.

"I'm not gettin' off, I could be sat on you for days," Finnegan said, his voice laced with feigned malice. "What are you going to do about i-"

He froze, not knowing why he believed George, why he obeyed the order to be still without question, why he even cared about a butterfly, why he even bowed down a little to let George try to capture it. All of those things were a mistake and he knew it, yet he did them anyway.

No sooner than the butterfly had escaped an invisible hand yanked the crumpled leather from his hands and left him disarmed. The ceasefire was over.

Reflexively he brought his head down to dodge the incoming blow. Instead, the odd bit of leather flew way over his head and landed somewhere in the tall grass, far away from either of them. Finnegan gave George a dumbfounded look, unsure what to make of the boy's actions. "I accept your surrender," he noted eventually.

Without being asked to he got off the older boy's stomach and rolled to the side until he laid on his back in the tall, dry grass. After he'd carefully stowed his wand, he tucked his hands under his head and stared up at the darkening sky. A choir of crickets sounded in the distance near to where a little pond was. Soon the mosquitoes would be coming out in droves, but for a few minutes all would be well. A light summer breeze made waves in the grass and rid him of the last of the petals that had nestled in his hair.

"That thing you did there," Finnegan started, lazily turning his head to face George, "the disarming, that was pretty swanky. How'd you do that?" He turned to face the heavens again. "You're going to have to teach me that one day."

One day turned out to be today. Finnegan listened while George explained, and when he was finished, Finnegan remained quiet for a moment. He listened to the sound of his own breathing, felt the steady rising and falling of his chest, the grass tickling his arms, the cool air brushing against his skin. For the first time in a long while he felt confident that things were going to be alright, that he'd be alright.

"George," he said in a low, pensive voice. "Why don't you like incendio? No offense, but I figured someone like you would love to set things on fire. I would love to," he concluded with a sigh. "Besides, I imagine it'd be quite handy to fight off those clapjaws."

"That's the wisest course of action," George said, making sure he had the last word on his surrender. He would let the boy keep his pride for now - no doubt there would be plenty of opportunities to embarrass him in the years to come. Finally, his lungs were blessed with a rush of cool night air as the weight on his stomach rolled off. His belly felt uncomfortably wet from the residual lemonade, the fabric stuck to his skin with sugar, but at least it wasn't catching the breeze in an unpleasant way. He was happy to just lay there in the remains of his bouquet.

The older boy lifted his head to look at Finnegan in return as he spoke. "It's the summoning charm," he said, nodding in agreement. "Yeah. It's one of my favorites, really. It's made me much lazier. Basically, you just say 'accio,' and move your wand like this - and just like that..."

"Accio," George said, bringing the flat football back to them and letting it fall on the grass between, offering a deterrent for any of them to act out of line. The first to sass would be the first to get slapped. "It's advanced, so please don't try it. I don't want you to accidentally bewitch a football into a bludger. I'll teach you in your third year. Or your second, if you smarten up. I could do it in my second..."

He laid his head down and shut his eyes, enjoying the smell of the flower petals he had spread using Finnegan's face. It was the first time in a little while that George had felt alright, too. His head was clear, unbothered by the burdens he had accumulated in the preceding months. Of course, then Finnegan had to open his mouth and ask about the fire.

The older boy opened one eye at first, judging Finnegan's face to ensure he was serious before he dignified him with the full breadth of his gaze. Compared to the carefree glee of their wrestling match, it was plain to see that George was now measuring his expressions very carefully. "It's-" he murmured, pausing to push himself halfway upright and prop himself up on his elbows. "Ah- well..."

He was very, very sick of talking about it. But it just kept coming up. He didn't hold any anger toward the not-even-first-year about it, though. It was probably better for him to find out now than it was for him to find out doing something stupid. "Well... not to, you know, ruin your fun," he began, "In my first year... someone set the common room on fire, and a lot of us got really hurt. So... I just don't want for anybody to get hurt. That's all. I'm sorry if I overreacted."

He gave a soft smile. He was nailing this. His chin tickled with the beginnings of a grey beard, he was certain, after displaying that amount of emotional maturity. The momentary swell of pride was quelled by the surfacing of a particular part of that traumatic memory. But he didn't want to incriminate himself before the boy even got to school - George intended to have a friend for at least the summer.

"You can really hurt people with magic. Even by accident. Magic's really fun, of course, and I'm not saying don't have fun or anything..." George said, with a helpless shrug as he laid back down in the grass. He couldn't find a proper way to express what he was trying to say and not sound cliche. "Just... don't start fires you can't put out, is all."

It was strange to hear the boy sounding so serious and morose. Though he hardly moved, Finnegan paid close attention to everything George was saying and by the end he realized he had never even thought about how he might put out any fires he could have started. Was there even a spell for that? He thought it best not to tell George just how reckless and inconsiderate he had been.

Had it been an accident or had someone deliberately tried to kill every single Hufflepuff? The latter option was terrifying, but frankly so was the former. If accidents like that could happen while he was at school, who was to say it couldn't happen again?

Lost in thought, he idly twisted some of the grass around his finger and chewed on his lips. So far his mind had never wandered down the darker paths, the flipside of magic, all the havoc that could be wrought with either a miscast or evil intent. Though he hated to admit it, and certainly didn't say so aloud, he was forced to conclude that George had been right. It was half mad to try to cast a fire charm without knowing how to put it out.

"I'm sorry you got hurt," he said before he rolled over onto his side to look at the Hufflepuff boy. Twilight was already upon them and it was starting to get difficult to make out the boy's features. It was clear that the event had scarred the teenage Hufflepuff and thought Finn wondered what exactly had happened he decided not to press the matter.

"Sometimes I just get excited that I'm a wizard, an' sometimes I still think I'm dreaming... Though I don't think I could dream up someone as ridiculous as you," he said with a snort. His voice dropped to a near inaudible murmur. "Flowers... really?

"I should head back," he said after another bout of silence had passed. Though he doubted the people he shared a tent with would go looking for him, he thought it best not to try his luck. After he had dusted himself off picked up the remains of the deflated soccer ball and crumpled it up in his hands. "You know," he said as he looked down on George with a faint smile playing at his lips, "I think losing this was well worth it."

He stepped away from George and back into the circle of flickering lights eminating from the campgrounds. Brushing through the foliage the sound of his footfalls grew ever fainter until they were all but swallowed up in the dying sounds of the encampement.

"It's okay," George said, smiling at the younger boy. Some days it wasn't, but today it was. He tucked his hands behind his head and shut his eyes, smiling softly as he listened to the other boy speak. He grinned proudly when he was told he was beyond imagination. Now that was the height of flattery. "I know. I'm just too good to be true, really."

His eyes opened for the sole purpose of winking at Finnegan and shutting again, the boy remaining settled as he enjoyed the shared silence. He could hear Finnegan getting up and sat up as well so he could at least give the younger boy a proper goodbye. "I'll fix it, I promise," George said, knowing that were quite unlikely. "There's some sort of charm for inflating footballs, there must be."

George lifted himself up and stood up from the ground, brushing off the back of his shorts with one hand. "It was good meeting you, Finnegan! Don't forget what I said - think Hufflepuffy thoughts!" he called after his new friend, patting himself down to ensure he had his wand with him before he set off to his own tent. He'd been out much later than he had intended - hopefully the other members of his tent weren't all back yet, so he could slip off to bed without dealing with them too much. (After a few chapters of 'Basics of Broom Sports' of course.)