The Interviewer • A George Weasley Fanfic

Sober

FRIDAY, JUNE 30th - 2:17 P.M.

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Jane had been reading the same paragraph in one of her favorite books over and over for about ten minutes.

Her mind was far elsewhere, and instead of being distracted by the text scrawled across the pages of the recent muggle-written The Perks of Being a Wallflower in front of her, she was distracted by the thought of what was to come that night.

Closing the book with a hard sigh, she stared out the window.

How was she supposed to see George?

Her mind had been replaying the series of events that led her to the immense pit in her stomach that deepened with every reminder of him seeing her that night:

One: his girlfriend returned from a trip cut short right after Jane and George were staring at each other a bit too comfortably over a bottle of rum.

Two: She up and left without another word, vanishing with no hints as to why and where she went.

Three: He tried to call her multiple times for reasons she wasn't aware of.

And four: he broke up with his girlfriend.

Jane's heart started hammering again; something it had been off and on ever since she awoke that morning. Mere mental images of George and being around him sent her into a fit of sharp breathing and scattered thoughts, leading the girl to desperately calm herself and hastily find a distraction.

Yet, so far, distractions were running out.

She had already re-organized her sock drawer three times and re-read a third of Through the Looking Glass. She spent a good twenty minutes attempting to hover two objects at a time with her wand and she filled and drained a glass of water with it as well... repeatedly.

Perhaps it wouldn't be too bad. Right? Perhaps if she simply didn't talk to him, nothing would happen. She would have everyone else around them as well, so it wasn't just the two of them alone...

Sighing, she realized the rest of the group would find it suspicious if they weren't talking. Ginny already joked about George wishing she were here in the past couple of weeks so he could continue to "bug" her. They knew Jane and George were close.

Turning her head, she glanced at her closed closet doors. Breathing in, she walked over and slowly opened them, looking down.

In the corner, crumpled up where she couldn't find it and think of things, was George's sweatshirt from weeks before. He had forgotten he left it. She hadn't returned it because, well; that meant she had to see him.

Staring at it, she let out a hard breath.

Shit, thought Jane repeatedly. Shit, shit, shitballs.

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9:03 P.M.

"Oh, Janey," Benji sighed. "Oh, Janey, Janey, Janey..."

"I know, okay? I know. I'm terrified. No, I'm not. I'm fine. I'm not going to let him make me terrified just to be around him."

"Babe, you can't control your feelings about this," Benji told her over the phone as she fixed herself up in the mirror with one hand. "I know you. You're chewing your nails again, aren't you?"

Jane removed her thumb from her lips.

"Look," he said. "Just don't talk much to him. Say a polite hello as to not raise any suspicion to your pals, then nod and smile and laugh and banter with their silly little stories and under NO circumstances, be alone with him."