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"Get into square offence formation! We'll be running that play again," Buck calls, gliding effortlessly across the pitch as he surveys his new team. "Heffron, Bill, back righthand corner of play."
Without more than a nod, Babe follows Bill out to the far right side of the pitch, surveying the blocks Bull makes as Buck runs drills with the rest of the chasers.
His eyes drift from the rather impressive catch Bull makes on the left hoop, righting himself after spinning himself completely upside down. (He must never skip leg day, 'cause damn, his ability to support the pure muscle of his entire body dangling off a broomstick should be commended). Unwittingly, Babe glances over to the bleachers, finding the target he'd been not-so-subtly scoping out the entire practice.
With his nose stuck in a textbook, blue and silver scarf wrapped high around his neck, Gene Roe doesn't fail in distracting the redhead once again. Babe can almost picture the light redness of his nose hidden amongst the warmth of his scarf and the way his chapped lips mutter the wordless spells he's obviously practicing on the muggle pen he's levitating in front of him. Gene much prefers to write with them instead of a quill —
"Ow, fuck!" Rubbing the back of his head, Babe turns on his broom to scowl at his best friend since birth and apparent babysitter, Bill Guarnere. Being a year older than him, Bill put in a good word with the future Gryffindor quidditch captain, Buck Compton, in their third year. Babe was welcomed to join the following season.
Wielding the weapon in question (his beater's bat) and a smug smirk, Bill lets out a classic Philly chuckle. "Stop droolin' over your boy and pay attention."
"He's not my boy," he huffs, crossing his arms, forcing himself to keep his eyes trained on Bill and not on the sixth-year aspiring healer with the hair so black it's almost blue and the accent as smooth as the chocolate he always gives Babe when he's feeling particularly stressed...
Bill snorts. "Yeah. Not your boy my ass. You gape at him like a fuckin' fish out of water."
"Aw, c'mon, Bill! I had to put up with ya following Frannie around like a lost puppy before ya figured it out," he protests, and Bill rolls his eyes.
"We didn't take four fuckin' years to figure it out."
Babe sighs. "He's just so — caught up in his work. He wouldn't want to take time for me."
"Then make time. Get yourself a bit banged up at the next quidditch match. Light bruising; the works," Bill winks. "Get'cha a couple of days in the infirmary. Where Doc volunteers. Where he'll take care of your sorry ass."
"Ah, I dunno," his eyes meander back to Gene's hunched form, a deep crimson flush rising to his cheeks when Roe looks up and gives him a small wave and an amused smile. "He'd be mad at me —"
Babe hears the warning shouts before he sees the quaffle, but nothing registers until he feels the grass of the pitch against his cheek and the searing pain spreading rapidly throughout his body.
******
"The one time ya take my advice, it's a joke."
Cracking open a bleary eye to bright fluorescent lights and a familiar face looming over his bed, Babe groans.
"What's broken this time?"
Expecting to hear the teasing voice of his best friend, he nearly jumps out of his skin when a thick Cajun drawl answers his question with a deep chuckle.
"Nothin's broken, Heffron. Just concussed," Gene comes into view, tracing a hand across Babe's forehead. "You've got a pretty nasty cut on your head too."
"Can I play in Saturday's match?" He asks hopefully, and Bill directs the same expectant expression at Roe.
"If you take it easy and fully heal by then, yes."
With a flick of his wand, Gene summons a roll of gauze and some salve, changing Babe's bandage with a few wordless spells. "I left some chocolate on the bedside table, Edward. Eat it."
Just as quickly as he appeared, he's gone.
Exhaling loudly, Babe turns to Bill with only a little more difficulty than he would've liked. "How stupid did I look?"
"The new kid who thought ya were an open chaser looked less stupid than you."
"Fuck."
"At least you get time with Gene," Bill teases, emphasizing the nickname. "He gave you chocolate."
"He always gives me chocolate," Babe states matter-of-factly, grabbing said candy bar and breaking off a piece. Through a mouthful of the treat, Babe frowns. "How the hell did I not break anythin' from fallin' that far?"
The corner of Bill's mouth quirks up into a dangerous smirk. "Doc used Arresto Momentum just in time."
******
"Everyone's worried about you," Gene muses, stirring the milk into his and Babe's tea with a circle of his finger. "I swear, half of Gryffindor was in here to check on you while you were sleepin'."
He grins. "I was just catchin' up on some missed sleep. Homework is kickin' my ass."
"I could help you," Roe offers nonchalantly, passing Babe his cup of tea. "I took all of your courses last year."
Babe nearly chokes on the sip of tea he just took. "Uh, yeah! That'd be great! Where — when —"
"Woah, woah, Heffron," Gene places a hand on his arm, pushing him back down into bed. "Don't get yourself all worked up."
Babe just about wants to die because the smirk that Gene is wearing should be downright illegal. "This Saturday sound good? After the match at the Three Broomsticks?"
"Yeah — I — I— yeah, I'll meet ya there."
"Good," the smile Gene gives him lights up the whole room, and goddamn, Babe has to remember to breathe.
But with a call of "Drink your tea!" and a final glance over his shoulder, Gene was whisked away, back to his volunteer duties.
******
Babe is, in fact, able to play in the quidditch match that Saturday. He manages to avoid getting hit in the head with anything else and even spots Gene spectating from the Ravenclaw section, holding a Gryffindor flag. Bill shot him a wink when he noticed, earning an exasperated eye roll from the redhead.
Despite all of their best efforts, Gryffindor lost to Hufflepuff. With Shifty Powers as their seeker, it's hard for anyone to win against the team, even though Don Hoobler gave him a run for his money.
Still, even without the victory high, Babe hurries off the quidditch pitch and back to his dorm, grabbing the bag that he'd packed beforehand. Stopping for a mere second at the mirror to make sure his hair looks at least slightly presentable, he realizes that he forgot to take a shower in the locker room.
"Shit," he swears, abandoning his bag and sprinting to the showers, stripping off his clothes as he goes.
It's the quickest shower he's ever taken, but at least he's clean. Attempting to dress in record time, Babe hops out of the bathroom with one leg in his pants, a sweater dangling around his neck, having not put his arms in yet.
"What the hell, Babe?" Bill laughs, his sudden appearance making Babe nearly fall over in fright. "Ya need help?"
"'M fine!" He insists, successfully buttoning his pants and shoving his arms into his sleeves. "My bag, I need my bag."
Tossing him the satchel, Bill leans against his bed frame. "So, off to Hogsmeade with lover boy?"
"It's not a date," he grumbles, shoving his feet into already-tied shoes.
"I didn't say it was."
"You basically did," Babe protests, slinging on his coat. "And besides, I haven't been to Hogsmeade at all this year, with practices and everythin' —"
Babe's eyes widen, and he's suddenly digging through his messenger bag furiously. "Shit, shit, shit..." producing a crumpled piece of paper, he groans. "No fuckin' way."
"What, you forget to send your Ma your permission slip?" Bill jokes, but the horrified look on Babe's face immediately tells him his guess had been spot on. "Fuck, ya did!"
"Bill, you gotta get me into Hogsmeade," he pleads, shoving the paper back into his bag. "I can't miss this."
"Jesus, calm down," Bill grabs his coat and scarf from where it's strewn across his trunk, grabbing Babe by the arm. "Ol' Gonorrhea's here to help."
Racing through the castle, the two of them soon arrive at the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, the One-Eyed Witch.
"This statue always freaked me out," Babe mutters as Bill cranes his head to look around the hallway.
"Shush," he instructs, then whispers, "Dissendium."
On the back of the witch, a small hatch opens to reveal a slide and a tunnel. Bill grins at Babe's dumbstruck expression, pushing him towards the passageway.
"C'mon, let's go."
"Where the hell did you find this?" Babe asks as they jog down the hallway, and Bill shoots him a toothy smile.
"Malark, Muck, and Penkala. Apparently Luz showed them."
They soon reach the exit, and when the passage opens into a basement filled with sweets, Babe again stares open-mouthed at Bill. "Honeydukes?"
"Go make puppy dog eyes with your boyfriend over some ancient runes," he teases, patting his best friend on the back. "Don't get too frisky under the table."
"Shuddup."
With a thumbs up from Bill, Babe's running up the steps, quietly slipping through the door to the basement. No one pays him much attention, thankfully, and he's soon out the door and off to the Three Broomsticks.
He practically barrels into the door, nearly out of breath and filled with nervous energy. It's just studying, he reminds himself. It's not a date.
But when he opens the door and finds Gene nursing a mug of Butterbeer (with extra ginger, as Babe knows he likes it) in a booth, he just about has a heart attack.
Babe forces his feet to move, and he somehow makes it over to the booth without tripping over his own two feet. "Hi, Gene."
The dark-haired boy looks up from his drink, a smile that makes Babe's brain go all fuzzy gracing his features. "Hey. Sorry I ordered without you."
Babe shrugs. "Eh, no big deal. I was late anyway."
"You're not late. You were playing quidditch," Gene reasons. "Don't worry."
"I was late, Gene. Ya know why? I forgot to have my Ma sign my fuckin' permission slip," he explains, exasperated with himself. "Bill snuck me in through some secret passage."
Eugene shakes his head amusedly, chuckling a bit. "Oh, Edward. Why didn't you send me an owl? We could've studied in the castle."
"No, it's okay," Babe grins. "This is — this is great."
Roe's lips twitch up into a small smile. "Alright. What're we studyin' today?"
"Muggle studies," the redhead groans. "It's cool and all, but I don't understand anythin'."
Patting the seat next to him, Gene nods. "Well, come over here. I can help ya with that."
******
"So the Muggles stick their bread into this machine, push a button, and wait for it to toast?" Babe repeats, glancing between the diagram of a toaster in his textbook and Gene's rather entertained face.
"Uh huh. You got it, Babe."
"Then it pops out when it's done?"
"Yup."
"Huh," Babe muses. "That's cool. Did ya have one growin' up?"
Roe nods. "Mm hm. My grandma was a witch, but my parents were both non-magical. Mama was a Squib, Papa a Muggle."
"When d'ya know you were magical?" Babe asks, his breath hitching when he turns his head and realizes his proximity to Gene.
"My sister fell and split her lip. I healed her," he says simply. "I was ten years old, but my grandma said she always knew."
"You have a gift, Gene," Babe smiles. "I knew I was magical by blowin' up my Ma's rose bush."
"I'd expect nothin' less from you," Eugene chuckles, his dark eyes darting up to meet Babe's.
"It kinda set my whole life in motion —" Babe laughs shortly. "Clumsy, destructive, bad at magic —"
"You don't give yourself enough credit, Babe," Eugene interrupts softly. "There are so many beautiful things about you."
Babe knows his face is a bright fire truck red. He can feel the heat spreading across his features, but nothing compares to the heavy pounding of his heart and the nervous way his knee begins to bounce. He hears himself giggle — giggle, for Christ's sake — and his palms begin to sweat madly.
Gene, to his credit, appears completely level-headed, save for the slight flush on his cheeks and the way his eyes study Babe even more intensely, waiting for his reaction.
"G-Gene, you called me Babe," he manages to stammer out, and he mentally face-palms himself for his stupidity. He can practically hear Bill's loud belly-laugh at his misfortune.
"I did? When?" Roe furrows his eyebrows, looking genuinely perplexed.
"Just now."
"Babe," Gene repeats slowly, testing the word out on his lips. "I guess I did."
A teasing laugh escapes Babe, and he smirks over at Roe. "Babe," he imitates in his best Cajun drawl, earning a long-suffering sigh from the other.
"Heffron, stick to the goddamn books," he pauses. "Unless you think we should take a break. I kinda wanted to take a walk in the snow if you want to come."
"Yeah, yeah —" Babe hops out of the booth, throwing his books, parchment, and quill into his bag, stuffing his wand into his back pocket. "Let's go."
"Ah —" Gene scolds, reaching around the redhead and slipping his wand out of his pocket, a simple act that has Babe's head spinning. "You'll break it. Front pockets are safer."
"What would I do without you, Gene?" Babe laughs, bumping shoulders with him as they walk out of the Three Broomsticks.
"You'd survive," Eugene replies, falling into step with Babe, surprisingly keeping up with the taller boy. "You might have a few more cuts and bruises, but you'd survive."
"I don't know that I would," he murmurs, just loud enough for Gene to hear it.
The raven-haired boy smiles softly, brushing hands with Babe as they stroll along, both of them holding their breath and just waiting.
It's only when Babe nearly intertwines their fingers and immediately pulls back like he's been shocked that the silence is broken. "Jesus Christ, Gene, your hands are freezing!"
Eugene glances down at his hands. "I didn't even notice."
"Why aren't you wearing gloves?" Babe questions incredulously. "I know my gloves are worn out, but I should not be able to feel how cold your hands are through them!"
Roe shrugs. "I guess I just forgot them. Didn't think of it."
The redhead scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're so busy taking care of everyone else that you forget to take care of yourself, Gene. Here," he takes Gene's left hand into his right, attempting to share some of its warmth. "Keep your other hand in your jacket pocket."
The smaller boy flushes prettily, the blush of his cheeks now nearly matching the redness on the tip of his nose. To Babe, he's never looked more beautiful.
For the next few minutes, they walk in silence again, comfortable but painfully aware of their interlocked hands. They soon come across a wooden bench underneath a large tree, the wide branches keeping the bench mostly free of snow.
"This is peaceful," Babe comments as they sit together, pressed against each other for warmth and closeness. "We should do this more often."
"Are you asking me out, Heffron?" Gene raises an eyebrow, smirking over at him. With a short, nervous laugh, Babe manages to speak.
"Yeah, I am. I mean, if you're okay with it."
Eyes sparkling, Gene rests a hand on Babe's thigh, leaning in ever-so-slightly. "Believe me, Babe. I'm more than okay with it."
Though the cold of winter stings their faces, their lips are warm when the meet, sweet and delicate, the soft promise of more between them. With Gene's frozen hands fisted in Babe's jacket, he lightly pulls him closer with a hand on his waist and another in Roe's hair.
It's heaven on earth, Babe thinks, and I'm holding an angel.
They break apart with the intention of catching their breath before kissing again, but the breathless, joyful giggles they laugh against each other's lips prevents them from doing so. That doesn't stop them from gripping the other tighter than they did before.
"We're a mess," Babe laughs into the crook of Gene's neck, brushing a light kiss to the open skin above his scarf. "We can't even get a damn kiss right."
"Practice makes perfect," Gene replies simply, and Babe laughs again.
"Jesus, you're gonna be the death of me."
"What, you can't survive without me and you can't survive with me?" He teases, a smile playing on his kiss-swollen lips. "Sounds like you've got yourself a bit of a problem."
"Then I guess if I'm gonna die, I'd better die happy," Babe remarks, swooping in to once again capture Gene's lips with his, dying and being resurrected all over again.