Chapter Five

Sweat clung to the hairs at the nape of her neck, leaving Briar sticky and uncomfortable. She hadn't discarded her trench coat with its numerous pockets like the others had –she had scolded them, as with her experience the trench coats helped deflect spells and it carried the necessary equipment for the job.
"It's not like the war's still on, Chief." One of the men had told her. She had promptly told him to shut up and that she was going to make him file his own paperwork if he lost a limb. Briar hadn't been out in the field in ages –nearly half a year it seemed, she had always sent the Aurors out on their own as there's been very little fieldwork to since the war had ended. But recently there's been an influx of life-threatening mischief in the muggle world, attributed to some bored wizards who were making a game out of how many muggles they could trap in perilous places. It began with phone booths and elevators before moving onto mailboxes and trash bins before finally there was an incident with a garbage disposal. Finally, Briar had put her foot down at the apparent incompetence of her Auror's inability to capture these mischief makers and had decided she needed to teach these newbies the proper way to handle it.

"Chief, you're sure these clothes are what muggle men wear?" Finch grumbled, tugging at the unfamiliar denim. "It's chaffing my legs!"
"Obviously," Briar muttered, crossing one denim-clad leg over the other –she hadn't worn casual muggle clothes in ages. "Just because you're used to the breeze with those skirts of yours doesn't mean muggles are."
Finch turned a furious hue of red and sputtered as his other two colleagues, Wilson and Kelly, roared with laughter. Finch had previously gone undercover wearing a kilt on a rather windy day. "Kelly!" Finch whined, "You're supposed to be on my side!"
"Just because we're married doesn't mean I can't laugh at you!" Kelly retorted, flicking away her vibrant red hair as a breeze upset it. Briar rolled her eyes skywards, sighing. "You two are impossible to integrate into a muggle society! Look at Wilson for example, you'd never know he wasn't a muggle!"
Sure enough, the newest addition to the team had dressed appropriately, clad in a pair of jeans and a muted button-up –a perfect camouflage, unlike Kelly's vibrant hair or Finch's coiled beard. Wilson, who sat furthest from Briar, beamed over at her. He was a quiet man, handsome and not much younger than herself. Despite his age, he was a protégé at the top of his class, and had little to no casualties in his training.

Briar sighed to herself, "You lot need plenty more experience, just keep your eyes on the street."
Briar sipped casually from a mug. Kelly had been the one to choose an outdoor café across the street from a less-popular set of mailboxes which had been hit numerous times despite the constant surveillance. Briar was keeping a mental tally on how well her colleagues scored during this outing –as far as it seemed, Wilson was the highest scoring, whereas Kelly needed touching up in the transfiguration department and Finch ought to reconsider his line of work.
Briar sighed again, she hadn't been home much recently due to the sudden influx of work. It required constant management –her Aurors had gotten lazy and out of practice. She hadn't seen George much either since her outburst, it seemed like he was avoiding her –coming home from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes much later than normal, leaving the room as soon as she entered it, and he hadn't set foot in their bedroom since that afternoon. Although those experiments of his still chattered away in the cupboard, she noted.
"You alright, Chief?" Finch inquired, "You're scowling."
"I'm fine," Briar responded sharply, "Focus on your work Finch, you've been walking a fine line recently."
Kelly and Finch exchanged a glance, and both fell silent, turning their eyes back to the street.

It had taken another hour –and a Confundus charm on their waitress, before there had been any suspicious activity near the mailbox.
Three men had approached the mailbox, one stood further back from the pair, undoubtedly the look-out as the other two men fumbled around the mailboxes. "That's them," Finch nodded, "I saw them last time."
"We'll do this quietly," Briar muttered, drawing her colleagues' attention. "Kelly, get near the look out and shut him up –Wilson, look like you're going to mail a letter, and Finch you've got my back."
As instructed, Kelly was the first to rise, vanishing around the corner of the café and disapparating with a muted crack, and reappearing in an alleyway behind the lookout. Wilson was next, crossing the street and holding a stack of envelopes –the two men scrambled apart, watching eagerly for the result of their handiwork. Finally, Briar rose with Finch at her tail and she started towards the men –effectively cornering them.
Finch walked quicker than Briar –and he surpassed her stride in seconds. Briar hissed at him to get back, but it was too late –The pair of men had spotted them, recognising Finch instantly, and one had thrown a spell. Finch was too slow –Briar shoved him aside. Red stained the front of her trench coat, and she stumbled backwards, a searing pain shooting up her abdomen. She cursed, ignoring the wound and quickly stunning the man who had thrown the spell just as Wilson stunned the other.
"Ah, shit," Finch groaned, picking himself up from the cobble sidewalk, he brushed the dirt away from his knees. Finch took a single look at Briar and muttered something about helping Kelly and hurried around the corner. Briar ignored him, tucking her wand back into her sleeve. She glanced around –the street hadn't been busy thankfully, as it was growing late into the evening and most muggles had left their workplaces.
Briar started towards the men crumpled at Wilson's feet but halted as a surge of pain shot through her abdomen. "Fuckin' Finch," Briar muttered to herself, her frame bent to the pain and her hands scrambled to apply pressure to the wound. "I'm sending him back to training for another year, he's a fuckin' hazard –ah, damn." She cursed again, Wilson was at her side in a second but she waved him off. "Let's just get these guys out of here before they cause anyone concern."
"I've already sent for someone to pick them up," Kelly said, appearing from around the corner. "Finch's got the one bound and gagged already, and thanks Chief." Kelly offered a small smile, "He's already expecting the reprimand –but never mind that, let's get you to St. Mungo's."

Briar returned home after being admitted into the fourth floor of St. Mungo's for two hours where she sat enduring the excruciating pain of her skin being sutured back together. Although it hadn't been nearly as bad as the time she had to get her leg reattached due to an overly rambunctious troll. Nonetheless, she was in a fairly bitter mood when she returned home bundled up in bandages, a stack of paperwork and a ruined trench coat in hand, as well as an order to avoid any stress that may cause her flesh to split open again. "Avoid stress my arse," Briar muttered obscenely to herself, kicking off her boots with little regard for order, and stalking towards the kitchen.

"Briar?" George's voice echoed curiously, his head emerged from inside the stove as she entered the kitchen. Briar tossed her torn and blood-stained coat over a chair, and dropped her stack of paperwork with an unceremonious clunk.
"B-Briar?" George repeated, starting towards her.
"So you're not avoiding me now?" Briar muttered, cringing visibly as she lowered herself down onto a chair. George sputtered for a moment before replying, "Fred's coming over so I was making some –what the hell happened?"
The tank she had worn beneath her trench coat had clung to her wound and had to be cut away, leaving Briar with only the top half of her shirt while her abdomen had been bound by bandages.
"Briar, bloody hell," George sputtered, "Literally. Bloody hell –are you alright?"
"I've had worse," she brushed him off, half-tempted to leave the room –although the strain of lifting herself from her chair might just open the wound. Instead, she turned to her paperwork –transfer documents, she was sending Finch back to training, sparing him and anyone else from further damage –she hadn't been gentle when reprimanding him.

"Briar," George repeated, although she ignored him.
"Briar," George repeated again, stepping closer. When she refused to respond she heard him sigh. She didn't turn her eyes from her paperwork, half expecting to hear his feet pad away. Instead she heard him start towards her, "Blimey, BRIAR!"
She jumped visibly –wide eyed, she turned to him. George never shouted –she was the one who shouted. George towered over her, his arms folded over his chest and a stern expression unlike anything she's seen.
"We've been dating for four years now but that doesn't seem to mean much to you!" George shouted. "You've been so bitter and angry –I've tried not to start anything, but hell everything seems to piss you off! Do you even want to get married!?"
Briar fell silent, a knot had developed in her throat and a burning feeling surged up her torso. She hadn't ever heard George shout at her –he wasn't the sort of person to, but now he seemed like an entirely different person. …Perhaps that's how he's seen her?
George cursed suddenly, scrambling to grab a tea towel from the countertop. He knelt and pressed the towel to her abdomen and Briar realised that her wound had started bleeding again.
"George, i-it's fine, this is supposed to happen a few times it's just part of the procedure –ah shit, ow." She groaned, scrambling for her coat. She retracted a vial the healer who had been tending to her gave to Briar, and she downed it with a single gulp, shivering in revulsion at the taste. Gradually, the spread of blood across her bandages ceased, and George eased up the pressure.
"What's that stuff?" he asked, still knelt before her. "Blood-replenishing draught, it helps clot the bleeding," Briar explained, tucking away the vial in her coat.
The pair were silent for a moment longer, George's words still hung in the air. 'Do you even want to get married!?'
Did she? The answer came simply. Of course she did –you couldn't survive a war with someone and not want to afterwards. If anything, she couldn't picture a life without him.
"George-?"
George had slipped his arms around her waist and he had burrowed his face against one of the less sticky parts of her abdomen. Startled, Briar hesitated a second before slipping a hand through his brightly coloured hair, and she rested her chin atop her head. She closed her eyes as tears threatened to emerge. When had it been the last time they spared themselves a moment for each other?
"I love you, George," Briar told him, "I-I'm sorry. I really do want to get married."
George rose his head and stretched out a hand to lace his fingers through her curls. His lips pressed fervently against hers, warm and subduing, he enveloped her. Soon enough, they drew back for a breath and their eyes met. His, hazel and twinkling with mischief, while she with her startling blue gaze turned her eyes downwards, a blush working its way across her fairness of her face.
No works were spoken, and George eagerly sought out her lips, hungry, greedy. And Briar was all too willing.

Not long after, the couple lie entangled together, still damp from their shower. George had nestled his face against the crook of her neck, his snores rumbling against her skin. Briar gazed up sleepily at the ceiling, content. They had spoken about their insecurities and had since resolved them –it seemed Drew had gotten to George, and as a result, George had decided to lose the paunch he had developed although he had been too embarrassed to admit so. And Briar had admitted she had hid her ring away out of pre-marital nerves.
The ring which embezzled her forth finger yet again seemed to catch the light streaming in through the window, she admired the stone for a moment longer before allowing her hand to fall and rest against George's back where her fingers drew patterns. All was peaceful, the snores buzzing in her ear, the monotone thump-thump of the experiments in the cupboard –the smell of smoke.
…Wait! Smoke!?

Briar's eyes snapped open, and she let out a shriek. She jumped from the bed, rousing George in her panic. "The food, George!"
George cursed loudly, and drew up after her as she streaked down the stairs. Briar doused the fiery, spitting oil from the frying pan with a gust of water from her wand while George threw open the oven door and tossed the burning roast into the basin of the sink –waving away the smoke which followed.
"Bloody hell!" A high-spirited voice bellowed out –Briar squeaked, ducking behind a shirtless George –she wore nothing but bandages and an open housecoat, which she hurriedly tied up.
Fred emerged into the kitchen, throwing open a nearby window and grinning as he did. "Got a bit distracted, eh?"
Briar turned a furious red, and nestled her face into George's back as he laughed. "Just a tad, mate –you're a bit early, aren't you?"
"I figured I might help out since you lot went and had a bit of a domestic dispute although it seems you've worked it out!"
Briar peered around George and spoke rather sheepishly, "Er, George, Fred? My wound's opened up again."

A.N:

Fun fact! In the entire series of "Corruption," this is the first time Briar has told George, 'I love you.' Ironically, Briar is the name of a particularly prickly shrub, which was the inspiration for her 'prickly' attitude!

I do not own Harry Potter.

-Al.