| Inked | (George Weasley)

Chapter Ninety-Five

Well, duh. They betrayed your parents. That's why they're dead.

Olive rolled her eyes at herself. That was probably the reason Missy had been so upset, and even why she spoke so little about their family. Perhaps they were close with the Benedicts, and talking about their parents brought up bad memories.

When she reached the top of the stairs, Olive walked zombie-like into the bathroom. Her face felt sticky and oily from laying face-down on the kitchen table all night. If she was going to spend a few more hours in bed, she wanted to feel refreshed (and not have to worry about finding any pimples on her face when she woke).

As she bent down to wash her face, not bothering to use anything but hand-soap and cold tap water, the stiff muscles in her neck and shoulders groaned in protest. Ollie paused briefly, eyes closed to prevent the soap from dripping into them.

"George was right..."

Turns out, Ollies did need to sleep, and not on a kitchen table. She should have gone to bed when he came to check on her, and waited until morning to talk with Missy. However, like most things she did, Olive liked to make things difficult for herself.

"What was I right about?"

Olive froze. Quickly she rinsed the soap from her face, opening her eyes to reveal her boyfriend leaning against the doorframe. He was giving her a drowsy, knowing smile, looking nearly exactly how he had last night... which was sleepy, shirtless, and in his pajamas.

The look she gave him, which told George everything he needed to know, caused the ginger to bite his lip to keep from laughing. She looked so tired, so annoyed, and so adorable that it was hard to take the glare he was receiving seriously.

"What are you doing up so early?" She asked plainly, squinting through the cold water that was dripping into her eyes.

"Oh, Olls." He ignored her question as he handed her a towel to dry her face, "Were you down there all night?"

"I fell asleep." Olive nodded, not feeling any more awake after splashing freezing water on her face, "At the table."

George shook his head at her, "Now how did that happen?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders, folding her arms as she stared pointedly at him, "Does it matter?"

"Perhaps not." He positioned himself in the doorway so she couldn't walk out, "You look grumpy."

Olive narrowed her eyes, "I am grumpy. I slept on a kitchen table all night, George. Everything's sore-"

Stretching his arms upwards, George let out a rather over-dramatic yawn. He was trying to annoy Olive, only mildly, and it was working. However, she was also standing in front of her very toned, very shirtless boyfriend. Before Olive could even stop herself or comprehend what was happening, she found herself staring.

And Olive liked to think she was allowed to stare every once in a while. George was her boyfriend, after all. Besides, Olive liked to think that there were more than just athletic benefits to playing Quidditch, and she was looking at one of those benefits right now.

George, having caught Olive staring, couldn't help the red tinge that colored his ears. The smug smirk that was previously on his face turned into a wider, slightly more bashful smile. He folded his arms over his chest, arching his brow at Olive questionably.

She didn't look too grumpy anymore.

"Can I help you?" He asked, his tone light despite the slight slur of his sleepy voice.