"That is ghastly," George admits, reluctant to admit defeat after holding that bean on his tongue for a good few seconds. The taste was stained on, now, and the boy looked back into the box of beans for a rescue - but the risk of a second tragedy was too great. Better to just grin and bear it than prolong the suffering. "And you did tell me so. Fair enough."

He's willing to accept the snark with grace. An opportunity for a snide remark is better used on him than left to go to waste. Besides, he'd find his chance for revenge, even if Elsian didn't make it easy. He didn't have the same foolhardy quality as mister Henry - a total Ravenclaw, with that know-it-all attitude. They were the smart ones.

"I'm excited. This is the best thing in the world," he says, gesturing around himself at the train. He leaned over to look out the window, watching the ground fly past him as the locomotive steamed ahead on the tracks. It was sort of mundane, if you didn't know it was the Hogwarts express. He'd taken the train down to London to get to 9 and 3/4, but this one was the last ride. His legs ere cramped and ached with anticipation, eager to run around the castle, to see what mysteries would be hidden for him to discover. Probably lots. "I was a muggle so I never saw any magic before today. I've- do you want to see my wand?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, whipping it out from the inside of his robe and holding it out to Elsian with both hands - to look, not touch. He's got a death grip on both ends of it. The reddish wood is rounded and bumpy, fitting awkwardly in the boy's hands. It looks unwieldy.

"I reckon I'll be a Gryffindor, learn every spell. Too bad I can't show my mum any of the magic until I'm a grown up," he murmurs.

"The look on her face when we walked into Diagon Alley. Never seen her look like that."

The grin on his face was like that of a cat. Satisfied and slightly smug when the other admitted his words were fair. He snickered at the other boys excitement, shaking his head slightly.

"You? Excited? I never would have guessed," he teased sitting back in his seat. With how much energy the other boy had he could actually see the other being a Gryffindor. He seemed sure of it enough himself at least. Eyeing the others wand he took the time to think about what it meant.

"Phoenix feather right?" he asked with a curious look, "those are the pickiest wands I hear. Might be hard to use at first but I think you'll be able to just fine." he hummed with a small smile. "Guess that means you're capable of a large range of magic. How lucky~"

Eyes darted to the window, noticing how quickly the sky was darkening. It most likely meant they were close. This ride would be over soon enough and they'd be sorted. He wondered if he'd be able to see these two again like now. And if they did, would they be friends?

He pushed the thought away.

"you seem like you could be one of them." he agreed with a sharp nod, "you have that energy that I've heard they have at least...and the hard headedness~" he joked.

George nods and bends the wand carefully between his clenched hands, watching the wood flex with a quiet creak. He let it settle back into straightness on his thumbs. Then, he drew it up in one hand, swishing and flicking it recklessly. He flourished in one final twist, only for it to go flying out of his hand, pirouetting gracefully into the boy's opposite palm. The robe closes around it as George pinches it between two fingers and stows it away, safe again.

"Do you think so?" he asks, reaching up to press a finger to his lower lip and feel along the edge. His fingers wiggled restlessly as he thought. "I'd like to be a good wizard. A good, brave Gryffindor. Someone proper and heroic."

He imagined a cop in a bobby hat toting a gun on his belt instead of a torch. Something a bit more elegant, if he was going to end up as a heroic wizard. The darkness outside went unnoticed by the boy, in favor of more speculation on his house.

"I think I ought to be a Gryffindor, really. And you're clever, so I figured Ravenclaw," he murmurs, pausing a moment and letting out a considerate hum. "But you're so smug about it, I'd call you a Slytherin. I reckon that makes us mortal enemies 'til we're dead and all."

He nods, certain of this fact as he settles back into his seat. Recognizing the sight of the dark sky outside, his eyelids drooped a bit. Not enough time for a nap on the train. He'd have to look alive when it came to sorting, lest he confuse the hat.

He nodded though gave the other an odd look at the enemy talk. Granted, it took exactly five seconds before the look morphed into a pleased look, lips pulling into a sharp Cheshire grin.

"Darn, I should have let you suffer instead of sharing candy then..." he made a tsking sound dramatically, bringing his thumb to his lips and biting on his finger tip as if mourning the chance to be a better enemy.

"I'll have to try harder to be a good mortal enemy." he hummed thoughtfully, "Don't worry, I'll be sure to use my smugness whenever I beat you." he assured, smirking at the other happily.

Absorbed in the conversation he didn't even notice as the scenery started to slow down until the train actually pulled to a stop, tracks screeching slightly as it stopped. He could feel his body jolt forward slightly before relaxing against the seat as they finally settled.

Looking out the window he hummed, moving to get up when he heard the excited chatter of other people outside their cart.

"Guess we're finally here," he said, standing and opening their door with a small smile, giving the other two in the cart a small nod to the outside, "lets go shall we?"

"You didn't let me suffer," George admits, the fresh evidence pulling him back into thought. A Slytherin would delight in watching him flounder. Wouldn't they? Ambitious, cunning, a little bit evil, but maybe not sadistic. A Slytherin would offer a candy laced with poison, or goad you into lowering your guard with candy before putting a knife into your back. A smug and boastful sort of cruelty seemed to align more with the lions. That fact made him reconsider his hopes to be sorted into the house of lions - but only momentarily. The alternatives were much bleaker.

"That's a good attribute in a mortal enemy, if they're sporting about it," he supposed. He'd have to keep it in mind when he made any other new mortal enemies at school. He intended to have at least one by graduation.

The feeling of the train coming to a halt jolted him upright from his slouching. He patted down the sides of robe and made sure he was put in presentable order - he had his wand on hand, and the rest of his things could burn for all he cared. The wand was the bit that let him do magic. That was the bit that mattered.

"Last one there gets Ravenclaw," he warned, springing up from his seat and hurrying past a put-out looking Ravenclaw second-year on his beeline for the train door.