You're enveloped in the comforting scent of woodsmoke and honey, cradled in George's arms. The bedsheets are tangled among limbs, tousled and thrown through the heat. A golden glow paints the room, streaks of sunlight shining on George's still sleeping face.

It's early morning, diagon alley hasn't yet come to life, though the slow starting bustle of those rushing to work has already begun in the street below. And soon the masses will flow, the peaceful snuggles ceased by the working day as the bundle of Weasley Wizard Wheezes customers swarm into the shop below.

Tentatively, you reach your hand to George's scalp, running your fingers through the soft strands of his hair. His eyes flutter open at your gentle touch, his lips curving into an adoring smile.

"Morning love," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.