Waldosia/// George Weasley

Chapter 12

SMUT WARNING: Proceed with caution...

Clover had apparated into George's flat with a frown planted on her face, not liking the idea of having to be around the boy who visibly saw her episode earlier on. She quickly turned her sight away from the messy and bare walls over towards a slightly smiling George.

Poking him in the chest authoritatively, the blonde her narrowed her eyes and grumbled out, "I don't need you to take care of me. I'm fine."

George simply rolled his eyes, "If you were fine you wouldn't have been drowning  yourself in alcohol."

She watched as the ginger boy slowly walked away from her and into the kitchen area. He grabbed a jar full of strange-looking liquid and started back towards her.

"Drink," he pushed the jar forwards, but Clover stubbornly turned her face and refused it.

"I don't need you to take care of me," she repeated and went to reach for the wand tucked into her waistband, "Now if you don't mind, I'll be leaving-,"

"I'm not so sure about that," the right end of his lips quirked upwards as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Clover glared at him while beginning to raise her wand to apparate away, only to watch it turn into a rubber chicken right in her hand. Before she even had a chance to understand what had happened, George's voice cut in through her thoughts.

"Trick wand," he smirked while spinning her real wand between his fingers, "You really think I didn't know you would try to leave?"

She crossed her arms over her chest angrily, "I don't need you to take care of me."

"That's not what I'm trying to do," he shook his head, the smile on his face giving way to a genuine expression, "I just wanted to talk. I wanted to see how you're doing after-,"

"I told you I'm fine, George," she snapped in frustration, not wanting to talk about it.

A increasing pain began growing in her head from a combination of the stress from today and the alcohol in her body. Her eyes slowly drifted over to the liquid that was in George's hand, silently hoping he would offer it to her again. She would never ask on her own terms, not after she so stubbornly denied it.

However, George caught the subtle action and let out a genuine laugh at the pleading, yet headstrong look in her eye.

"Drink, then we'll talk," he held out the jar of sobering up potion and watched as she hesitantly took it.

Clover forced the potion down her throat until she felt all sense of rationality come back to her. She nodded at George, thanking him without physically having to thank him, and slumped down onto the only couch in the room. Her eyes had locked onto the record player she had seen last time, and willing to do anything to change the subject, Clover stood up and walked over to it.

Her hands raked through the various vinyl laying next to it, flipping past different records from different rock bands. It was only when she was holding Escape by Journey that she spoke next.

"Never pinned you as an American rock type of bloke," she chuckled under her breath while turning around and raising a curious eyebrow at him.

She watched as a smile ghosted across George's face, but was quickly replaced with a frown. He walked over to her and grabbed the album from her hands, "Don't touch that."

She startled from the abrupt change in his mood. George had taken the album and walked back over to couch , sitting with it while firmly holding it in his hands. His eyes were so intensely locked on it, almost as if he were replaying every memory he ever had with it over in his head. She should've been mad for the way he so rudely grabbed it from her, but she couldn't. Clover knew from the nostalgic, yet regretful look in his eye that he was only trying to hold onto his past. Instead, she put the rest of the vinyl down, not wanting to disturb anything else.