Beautiful Misbehaviour | George Weasley

Chapter 9

The air was damp and cold, but the slushy snow had long since melted. Artemis tugged at the sleeves of her jumper to cover her fingertips, curling her arms around her middle. She let her foot lazily push at the marshy ground to keep the ancient swing in motion.

The creaking wood had been attached to a long, sturdy branch of a thick oak tree that stood tall about a hundred metres from Andromeda's back door, no doubt crafted by the late Ted Tonks' Muggle-born hands. Artemis had no doubt the man hadn't even thought of using magic when he'd constructed the swing for his daughter. Although she'd never met him, Andromeda's soft smile gave away how lovely he must be whenever the older witch spoke of him.

Aside from playing endless games of wizard's chess with Kingsley, Artemis had had tea with Andromeda a few times over the past month. More so to go over specific teachings the older witch was uninformed on, as it would be necessary if she intended to continue aiding the Order members that came stumbling into her home.

But the older witch also loved to talk about her family; it was clear how much she loved and missed them.

Artemis saw herself in Andromeda at times.

Her breathing hitched, her foot stilled, and her eyes burned.

No.

She couldn't think about her father, her mother, her brother. Not knowing was the worst of it all. Kingsley hadn't heard a thing on Apollo's whereabouts, nor whether Thomas still drew breath. The only thing Artemis could hold close was the knowledge that her mother was as safe from the dangers of the magical world as she could be. But Agniya was no stranger to the cruelties of Muggle men.

The stars winked down at her when she looked up into them, wishing she had the power to read the truth that shone within their molten cores. The art of reading the stars had always seemed so daft, but not anymore, not when Artemis would give her left arm for some sort of assurance that everything would be alright.

"Fred won't shut it with the stabbing jokes," a soft voice called out from behind Artemis.

She walked her feet in a circle on her toes to spin around the swing. George was slowly walking through the muddy grass to join her. His hair, which had grown longer since she'd last seen him, rustled in the frigid wind. His face still had a shadow cast over it, but nothing like when he'd run from the fireplace to see his twin.

"Maybe he did get hit in the head," Artemis joked.

"May I?" George shifted on his feet as he gestured to the large plank she was sat on.

Artemis stood and scooted to the side, allowing him to squeeze next to her. They lowered at the same time, and she squeaked out a surprised laugh when he weighed down the swing on his side, and she lurched up and against him. Then they were laughing.

As their laughter died, Artemis realized her hand was on his knee from when she'd felt herself shift and had reached out to steady herself. She was still deciding whether or not to move it when George hesitantly set his hand on the wood beside her hip, his arm warm on her back. It helped steady the rocking. It also made Artemis's stomach do all kinds of somersaults.

She left her hand on his knee, turning her gaze up to the stars again.

"I think I'll cut my other ear off if I hear cutastrophe in a sentence again," George mused.

"No!" Artemis felt warmth bloom in her chest as she began to giggle, "That's awful."

"That's not even the worst one!" George's voice lost the hesitancy that Artemis had found was nearly always present when he was speaking to her alone — or simply without Fred at his side, "There was stabbatical, piercespective, oh ... and I can't forget how much he went on about a car-knife-al."