The Interviewer • A George Weasley Fanfic

Her Bountiful Future

The little scrap of paper pinched between Jane's pointer finger and thumb felt so strangely powerful at that moment; 11 digits that made up a phone number only a call away.  

She was in George's apartment again, a new usual spot for her– ever since his injury, she had felt like hanging around was best in case her boyfriend needed her for something. Now, she had an odd sense of excitement as she stared at the phone number given to her by the Ministry receptionist after offering to reach out to his Daily Prophet photographer friend only a couple of days before then. 

"I still can't believe it," Jane said aloud now, raking her free hand through her hair as she continuously stared at the number. "It almost seems... too easy. Was it too easy? Is this some kind of weird setup?" 

"It's not a setup," George said plainly from the couch, a book propped open in his lap.

"I mean, photos!" She blurted. "Real, actual photos from the war! Not to mention all the other possibilities... people involved, locations, god, maybe even letters, or documents!" 

George idly flipped the page of his book, seeming surprisingly calm. Then again, Jane felt like she was overdoing it on the excitement, considering this was just about pictures and not the actual publishing of her book yet– but pictures certainly changed the game a fair amount. 

She was honestly too excited to even question George's lack of excitement at that moment. 

"You're not going to be accomplishing anything until you actually call him, you know," he pointed out. 

He was right, but she was still rambling. "Photos just... they totally boost the marketing, and they really paint a picture for whatever you're writing... I mean, a literal picture, of course, but–" 

"Jane," George cut her off, looking up from the couch. "Call him." 

Jane closed her mouth at last with a gulp, nodding. He was right. She had to get this in motion one way or the other, and she absolutely could not screw anything up. It was too good of an opportunity. 

So, sucking in a breath, she walked semi-confidently over to the phone and picked it off the received, still clutching the scrap of paper in her other hand. Her eyes scanned over the digits as she typed in the number, heart still beating excitedly. 

Pressing it to her ear at last, she listened to the low buzz of three rings before the sound of a strikingly upbeat voice picked up on the other end of the line. 

"Afternoon, what can I do you for? Apologies, I don't recognize this number..."

"Ah, yes, hello, um– sir..." Jane greeted awkwardly, already scolding herself with a silent squeeze of her other hand, "I'm Jane. Jane Forrest. I believe your friend... uh, Oscar... mentioned me?" 

A pause, then a gasp of realization ringing in her ear. 

"Oh, that's right!" The man replied. "Miss Forrest! Please, please, call me Noah! I am so very happy that you called." 

"Yes, me too."

"Thank you for reaching out," he went on. "Oscar knows I'm a little frazzled half the time, so I forget to do the calling myself. It's best to get in touch with me this way, you see." 

He chuckled a little at himself and Jane joined out of sheer manners. Her other hand had set the piece of paper aside to twirl the phone cord as an anxious habit. 

"Well, I'd love to meet with you... Miss Forest," he said, adding her last name a little awkwardly. "Would you like that?" 

"Yes!" She babbled, then quickly cleared her throat to collect herself. Be cool, be cool. "Yes, that would be fantastic. Oh, and call me Jane."