Beautiful Misbehaviour | George Weasley

Chapter 16

For the first time in a long time, Artemis felt some semblance of normalcy when she woke. This was odd because she'd most definitely never spent the night in George Weasley's arms before. She'd also never woken up in George Weasley's arms.

It was nice.

The open window cast a panel of grey, predawn light over their prone forms. It was what had woken Artemis in the first place. She was so used to being up and ready to run in a heartbeat that the simplest things — like light against her closed eyelids and loud sounds — could rouse her from the deepest slumber.

After a brief moment of simply revelling in how strange her life had become in a few short months, she shifted out of George's arms, intending to head to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. George's arms turned to iron. She barely managed to fight down a squeak of surprise when he pulled her against his chest and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

The feel of his slow breath on her skin was enough to tie Artemis' stomach in all sorts of delightful knots. Her head felt full and dizzy. Heat pooled in her stomach.

"Mornin'," George mumbled in her ear, pressing a lazy kiss to her throat that set off a kaleidoscope of butterflies in her ribcage. His voice was rough and grumbly from sleep, his speech the slightest bit slurred.

"Morning, George," Artemis murmured back. He sighed contentedly against her skin and shifted her closer still. Warmth flushed her cheeks as she felt all of the planes of his body, all the dips and curves, pressed against her. He seemed to be too bleary with sleep to feel anything but content and tired, "George," she spoke louder, "unless you were planning to spend the rest of the morning in bed with me, you should allow me to leave to go make my tea."

That woke him up with a jolt.

George rolled away from her and slung an arm over his eyes to block out the light. To her surprise, a little laugh escaped him, "Merlin, you're so ... so much."

"You seemed to like my muchness," she retorted, grinning slyly despite knowing he couldn't see her. She sat up and crawled off the bottom of the bed, stretching her limbs with a yawn. When she spared a glance at George, he had peeked an eye out and was watching her with a funny little smile. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, "Why are you eyeing me like a toilet seat you desperately want to send to your sister via owl?"

His smile split through the middle into a grin, "She told you about that, did she?"

Artemis nodded her head and smiled at the memory. It had been a month or two into the start of Emma and her fourth year — Ginny's third — and somehow Emma had gotten her hand on these special cigarettes made with the leaves of an Alihotsy tree. The three of them had snuck behind the greenhouses one Sunday afternoon and had barely been able to stand for the better part of three hours. It had all started with Ginny grunting something about the smoke tasting like 'poorly made muggle coffee' and ended with Emma recounting in detail how she'd taught Amanda Lane from Ravenclaw how to snog someone properly. Needless to say, the three of them had forgone the rest and steered clear of 'grown-up stuff' until they'd discovered Firewhisky two years later.

"You dodged my question, Weasley."

Artemis strode to her chest of drawers and plucked up a pair of sensible black trousers and the grey shirt she wore when she spent time in the brewing cellar. She had plans to brew another stock of Mandrake Restorative Draught with a crop secured with great hesitancy in the Black Market by Kingsley after there being a second victim of Transmogrifian Torture. Once was a coincidence, but twice? Twice was a pattern emerging. There was a Death Eater with a penchant for archaic torture, and it was best to be ready for such horrors before they came knocking on one's door.