The Interviewer • A George Weasley Fanfic

Desperation

THAT NIGHT - 10:13 P.M.

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"How's that? Tighter? Looser?"

"I think... I think that's good. It feels good."

Jane ran a hand over George's freshly wrapped gauze that swathed his right knee, just replaced for the night by a bandaging charm she had murmured under her breath with a flick of her wand.

George laid sprawled upon his back on the couch in the twins' flat in a red tee-shirt and cloth shorts, the kind that just fell above his knees, where one of them was carefully propped up on a small pillow as his head was sporting its own on one end of the comfortable sofa.

Jane was on her knees beside him, eyeing him with concern as he twisted to look at her again, smiling tiredly.

"Stop worrying," he ordered. "You worry too much."

"Easier said than done," she spoke softly, keeping her hand on his bandaged knee for a moment. "Are you sure you'll be alright? I- I wish I had some painkiller potions in my purse or something of the sort..."

"I'll be fine," he assured her, his gorgeous features glowing in the moonlight that was the only source of light then; the living room was dark otherwise, but it was a peaceful dark.

Fred had gone to bed in the room down the hall; Tala was staying overnight, too. She had also expressed regret that she didn't bring her back up meds for any accidents (being her anxious healer-self) but George brushed her off, too, saying it was a sweet gesture, but they need not worry. Jane was far past that now.

"I just feel bad that..." George inhaled slowly, his chest rising on the couch until it fell back down again, "...I have to be so needy right now. Considering I can't really move... it's so... annoying."

Jane laughed softly. "It's not. Everyone slips up sometimes. I'm happy to help you work through this near-death experience."

George smiled and lifted a hand to cup her cheek. She returned the expression and raised her own palm to cover his as his thumb brushed just under her eye. His own eyelids were heavy.

"You're so pretty, Jane," he murmured tiredly.

"You are now becoming subject to sleepy-talk," Jane scoffed, slowly standing up.

"No, no, I'm not..." George yawned, his arm recoiling from her face as she rose, "...you really are. So, so pretty, like a... like an angel."

Jane felt warm and she smiled down at him. God, he was perfect.

"I'm kind of hot," he said, bringing a hand to his forehead, "July is a bitch."

"Here, let me take this off for you..." she offered, reaching down to his shirt, "...so you don't have to sit up."

"Oh, feeling saucy tonight, are we, darling?" George smirked as she pulled his shirt over his head.

"You're an idiot," she rolled her eyes as the shirt slipped off and caused his hair to get all messy. It was undeniably adorable. "That better?"

"Mm." George smiled with satisfaction.

She was about to bundle up the shirt in one hand before she looked at it, smirked, and turned around while he was looking at his bandages a moment. She quickly tugged off her tank top and threw on George's shirt, which fitted her loosely and fell to about mid-thigh. She turned back around right as he looked up.

He blinked at her, scanning the young woman's figure in the red garment. "Oh."

"I needed a sleep shirt," she shrugged innocently.