The Interviewer • A George Weasley Fanfic

A Sort of Peace Treaty

It was the following day when George insisted on taking Jane to lunch. 

"C'mon, my treat," he said, standing behind her at his apartment as she did his dishes. She felt the need since the injury. "Besides, I'm tired of sitting around the apartment."

He slid his arms around her waist from behind and dipped his head into her neck, inhaling her scent and humming with satisfaction. She turned the faucet off as he pressed a kiss under her ear. He had been particularly affectionate since yesterday– since after the club.  

Jane sighed, wiping her hands on the dish towel. "Are you sure you're sure? With your knee and all?" 

"I'm fine, really," he insisted, moving his lips to her neck. "Mmm... I love how you smell."

She smiled a little and turned her head, just enough to brush her nose against his hair as he peppered kisses along her skin, still hugging her from the back. He was holding her as if she was bound to run away.

"Alright, fine," she gave in. "But we're staying in Diagon Alley since it's close. It's easier on your bones that way."

"Oh, I'm some old man to you, huh?" He smirked, watching as she twisted around in his arms to face him. 

She giggled, pushing onto her tiptoes to kiss his nose. It was nice laughing like this with him again after the whole ordeal at the masquerade. She felt a bit bad about their fight, but now that it was resolved, and she believed him, she was feeling far better. 

George seemed to be feeling better for the very reason that she was, but something about his overflow of attentiveness– or more so, tenderness– towards her in the past 24 hours told her otherwise. 

Either way, she felt better. 

So the two headed out to Diagon, dressed in light clothes and breathing in the summer air. George was clearly delighted to get out, even if he had been to the club two nights before. Jane smiled at his eager expression as they made their way past the shops and restaurants, browsing for lunch options. An expression that contrasted his previous state of sort of emptiness, his lack of understanding or comprehension the day before, after the incident at the club between him and Angelina. 

It was George's face again. It was back, and this comforted Jane, even when she was still confused as to why it was gone in the first place. 

They found their way to a charming lunch spot tucked between the broom shop and an ingredients store– Jane knew that it was a popular place for potion brewers. 

While they were eating, Jane looked up from her sandwich to see George smiling warmly at her, fork paused over his chicken salad. 

"What?" She said.

He shrugged a little, looking down, then reaching across to take her free hand in his. His thumb gently brushed her knuckles as he spoke. 

"I just..." he sort of sighs, just through his nose, and meets her gaze again: "I'm really lucky. To have you. Sorry... it's dumb. But I... I feel like I had to say it."

Jane paused chewing, touching her lips with her other hand to swallow before speaking, a bit of blush on her cheeks. "George..."

"I know, I know," he chuckled, blushing too now. "I'm sorry. But... after my injury, and... what happened the other night..." 

He flicked his eyes between her, that familiar deep brown filled with warmth–

"I just wanted to tell you," he finished, lips curved up at the corner. 

She blinked at him, that same warmth filling her chest now, and her right hand still clutching one half of her tomato and mozzarella sandwich. 

She parted her lips and said rather slowly, "This would be a lot sweeter if I wasn't holding sourdough."