| Inked | (George Weasley)

Chapter Eighty

When Olive woke up the next morning, she immediately got a flashback from Christmas her fifth year.

She was in the Gryffindor Tower.

The Ravenclaw sat up, rubbing her sleepy eyes as she looked around at her surroundings. Early morning light shone in through the windows, telling her she'd only been asleep just a small handful of hours. Unlike the usual atmosphere of the Gryffindor Common Room, it was dead quiet, the only sound the quiet crackling of the dying fire in the fireplace.

Olive was on the couch, her shoes somewhere, wearing not the jumper she came in with the night before, but one of George's. Her curls were knotted, and she was positive she had pillow marks on the side of her face.

Next to her, under a mess of blankets and ginger hair, slept George Weasley. His quiet snores were comforting, his face slack and peaceful.

"Oh Merlin." Olive whispered, running a hand down her face. She had made sure not to touch the fire whiskey, only having one butter beer. However, they had been dancing and fooling around all night - all the Gryffindors were. Shortly after her and George's massive public display of affection (one that still caused a pink flush to color her cheeks) it had been hours of music, fireworks, and various forms of partying.

She hadn't passed out from being drunk the previous night, but from pure exhaustion. She was pretty sure that besides a handful of Gryffindors, she would be the only one in the common room who was not hungover.

Which, she liked to think was a major improvement from last time she went to a party.

"Good morning, Olive."

The Ravenclaw nearly jumped out of her skin, turning her head to find the source of the groggy voice. At first she thought it was George, but one glance at the still sleeping lump on the other side of the couch told her it was his brother.

Fred was sprawled on a chair that also faced the fireplace, just a few feet away from the couch. His shirt was inside out, and Olive was pretty sure that he wasn't wearing his own shoes (luckily they weren't hers).

"You look like you had a good time last night." She kept her voice quiet, not wanting to disturb the many sleeping, hungover figures scattered under pillows, blankets, and party streamers around them.

Fred ran his fingers through his hair, which was already sticking up in all directions, "It would be even better if I could remember half of it. You were smart to stay away from the firewhiskey."

He rubbed at his temples, obviously sporting a nasty hangover from the night before. Olive wanted to laugh at how comically grumpy he looked, but decided against it. She had been in a similar predicament a few months ago and knew exactly how he felt.

"Is George asleep still?" Fred asked, nodding to the couch lump.

Olive looked over, finding the younger twin rolling over, his limbs tangled in the blankets. One of his arms managed to find Olive, wrapping around her and pulling her into him. She blushed, shooting Fred a glare as he watched with a smirk.

"Guess so." She whispered, her voice an octave higher. Ollie now found herself resting on, from what she could tell under the mess of blankets and pillows, George's chest. He was warm, his embrace comforting.

"You two are something." Fred pushed himself up, wanting to get up from the chair. However, the second he started to move his eyes squeezed themselves shut, a green hue replacing pale skin. Practically collapsing back into the chair, he sighed, "If there was one thing I can remember from last night, I'm glad it was your lovely snog-fest."