The Interviewer • A George Weasley Fanfic

These Masks

one week later 

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Jane lifted her hand to knock against the door of the twins' flat on a sunny afternoon, purse slung over her shoulder and a relaxed smile on her face. 

She heard shuffling footsteps- relatively slow footsteps- and the door opened to reveal a shirtless George in sweatpants, leaning against the frame with one hand and gripping a walking stick with the other. 

Jane frowned, but playfully. "You should not have answered. I thought Fred would do the brunt work." 

"He's out," George replied, then added, "and I'm fine. I've got this undeniably-sexy cane to assist me."

"Yes, I do love the 80-year-old man look." She stepped inside, standing on her tiptoes to peck his cheek with a kiss. 

He frowned, closing the door. "Does it really look like that?"

Jane grinned, turning to eye his bare torso. "I wouldn't be concerned when you're packing full artillery with that abdomen."  

George chuckled and watched as she dropped her purse on the couch before heading to the kitchen. 

"Sit down," she commanded him over her shoulder- "I'll put a kettle on the stove. Have you eaten? I can make you a mean grilled cheese. Or an omelet, maybe?"

He sighed, sinking onto the couch again. "You take far too good care of me."

"You can owe me," she said, grabbing the kettle. "I expect a trip to Paris in the near future."

"Or we could just revisit last week," he replied, "perhaps I could pay my dues in a similar way?"

Jane blushed, biting her lip in a smile as she fiddled with the stove. "You're such a twit."

"Fred's out for a while."

"Stop it, George," she fought her smile.

"Make me?" he challenged. 

She scoffed, turning to him. He had one arm stretched over the back of the couch, that signature smirk on his face as he eyed her in the kitchen. Jane could see him purposefully spreading his legs and slouching more "comfortably" against the cushions. 

She rolled her eyes at him and turned back to the kettle. "You need to rest. How's the pain level?"

"Could be better," he answered, "but then again, I haven't taken my potion today, yet."

Jane lit the stove's flame with a flick of her wand. "The one Angelina gave you?"

"Yeah, I've been slowly upping the dosage," he said. "It's been helping."

Jane swallowed and adjusted the kettle over the flame. The woman's name bit at her, but she pushed the feeling away.  

She fixed him a meal (despite him insisting she needn't make one for him) and they sat on the couch, her in a cross-legged position and him on the other end sipping at his tea and munching on the sandwich she constructed while scribbling on some shop paperwork he was behind on. 

Jane worked away at her own cup of steaming tea, eyeing him across from her with a small smile. He looked cute in just sweatpants, his jaw fixed as he scrawled on the various sheets of parchment, holding the pen in his teeth once and a while as he used both hands to sift through the papers. 

The sudden sound of an owl fluttering by the open kitchen window inturrupted her daze, and they both perked up. 

"Mail," Jane concluded when spotting the envelope that had dropped onto the floor.