Sitting on the bed of his boyhood bedroom, George ran his fingertips absently over the puncture-mark scars on the back of his hand, staring out the window on the slowly descending sun and the oncoming twilight. It was no way out of what was coming his way once it was dark, but somehow the memories of what had happened lightened his mood.
–
"What in bloody, screaming hell were you thinking?" Nox scolded George as she cleaned out his wounds a short hour later. He shrugged with his left shoulder and grimaced as the disinfecting liquid stung the back of his hand.
"Couldn't very well let it get away," he muttered back. Nox eyes bored into his.
"And that meant sticking your hand in its jaws?" she snapped back.
"Be easy on the boy," Fred told her in his usual cheeky tone where he was sitting on the remains of the wall, swinging his legs and not looking slightly affected by the scene. "Normally the fair maiden doesn't berate the hero for saving the day."
"The hero?" she screeched. "The hero? If stupidity is the same as bravery, then he bloody well is the greatest hero of them all!"
"Thank you," George retorted with a lopsided smile.
"It wasn't a compliment," she said, losing the last will to be gentle about his hand and rubbed the gauze hard over his swollen wrist and forearm, making him wince theatrically.
"So, now you got your nurse I'll might as well go get Dad and Bill," Fred said, jumping down from the wall and stretching his arms above his head.
"Oh, he ought to be in a jolly good mood now," George muttered darkly.
"Why?" Nox asked, her normal curiosity relieving her mind from worrying.
"Ah, our oldest brother, always very hero-y, had an accident like this," Fred told her. "Mind, it was his pretty little face that got the fangs."
"So you already got a werewolf in the family, jolly indeed," Nox said under her breath.
"Oh no," George said with a shaking chuckle. "Bill managed to get a werewolf to attack him without it even being a full moon. Left his face a mess and Mum had to accept his fiancé as her daughter-in-law."
"And other than that?" Nox said absently, beginning to wind a bandage around George's hand.
"And other than that he likes his steaks raw and are still victim of PMS, pre-moonal stress," Fred summoned up. "Was all fun and games with it until he went to the stage of crying over a small prank."
"I know," George sighed. "He used to be so cool, then just because his daughter turns up with her head screwed on the wrong way one day he becomes a bloody woman."
"I'm so glad I'm not related to you two," Nox said as she tightened the bandage, making George snort in discomfort.
"So, then I'm off. Should be back in a jiffy and a half." With a crack! Fred was gone and George moved his eyes to Nox bowed head. She blew her fringe out of her eyes and fastened the bandage, then leaned back on hers heels and looked critically on him.
"How do you feel?" she asked and removed his jacket from under his wrist, taking a good look on the blood-stains and trying to calculate how much blood he had lost.
"Great," he repeated with a pale grin.
"Really?" She cocked an eyebrow at him, not believing it the slightest.
"Really I feel like a mess," he admitted flatly. He had cursed himself well and proper in an insane moment to save Nox from harm in anger over Lucie's death, and his vision swam in and out of focus.
"You seem a bit pale," she said and handed him a bottle of coke.
"And I have a few freckles, my hair have a hint of red and I'm a trifle cocky at times?" he supplied as he placed the bottle between his thighs to open it one-handed.
"Along those lines," she agreed and came to sit beside him, leaning her back against the stone with a sigh. "If I weren't so glad you're alive I'd give you a proper walloping."
"Love you too, Noxy," he answered and forced himself to swallow more of the coke. Neither food nor drink was his first wish now, but he figured he needed the sugar at least. "You have a bit of mud there on your trousers." She broke out in hysteric giggles, she was covered in dirt, water and dead weeds to her armpits after her first flight from the crime scene, then a slow trot through worse terrain as her muddled mind tried to remember the way back.
"Yeah," she agreed with a last snort, her arms wrapped around her midsection. "A bit." They lapsed into silence after that, neither being in a mood to talk as they chased after their own trains of thoughts, staring straight in front of themselves.
A crack and two softer pops brought them out of their stupor. Nox lifted her eyes to see Fred floating over to them, two tall, redheaded men following him. The one on the right was obviously their father, with a receding hairline and a brown robe under a tattered, billowing cloak. The one on the left then had to be Bill, wearing a dark leather jacket and jeans in stark contrast to his father's image.
"Hi boy, how are you?" Mr. Weasley knelt down in front of George while Bill kept himself back a step, watching George accusingly. Nox staggered to her feet and removed herself a couple of feet as George contemplated his answer.
"Like shit," he concluded at last with a slight confirming nod.
"Well, can't expect any less," Fred agreed, sitting cross-legged beside his father and concentrating on George's face as if he was counting the freckles standing out against the dead-pale skin.
"Who's the girl?" Bill suddenly asked. Nox was pleased to hear his voice come out sounding human and not as the bark she had expected from his intimidating posture and the scars criss-crossing his face. The she realised she had been referred to as a girl for once.
"Nox Wolfe, paranormal detective," she presented herself and extended her hand, then retracted it to wipe some the grime off on her night-shirt chest, one of the last areas of her appearance that had remained close to clean. She also discovered, to her slight embarrassment, that her shirt had clung to her body due to the moist encounters of the last night and revealed the hint of feminine forms she possessed. "I... Work with Fred and George," she added as she shook Bill's hand briefly.
"Lucky you," he muttered and turned back to his brothers and father. "Can you walk or do we have to carry you?" he asked George, measuring up the shape of his brother with his eyes.
"I'm not exactly ready for a marathon, but I think I can get my feet under myself," George replied.
"Good," Bill said. "Then get up!" George managed with the support of his father to stand up and leaned back on the wall, sighing.
"Now what?" Fred asked, floating on his back and paddling with his feet to soar over them.
"Now you stop impersonating Peeves and we get this idiot to St. Mungo's," Bill answered with forced calm.
"Miss Wolfe should perhaps go back," Mr. Weasley put in, laying George's good arm over his shoulder.
"Oh, the nugget can take care of herself," Fred said, coming to land on his feet beside her. "Can't you, Noxy-poo?"
"Hmm," Bill said and turned to her. She subconsciously straightened her back, refusing to play the part of damsel in distress. "Yes, go back, pack your bags and I'll escort you to Mum's."
"But –" she began.
"Just do it, okay?" George said, a hint of plead in his voice, he obviously looked forward to get to this St. Mungo's.
"Okay," she agreed feebly.
–
George's lips curled into a grin, no doubt the worst was over.
