Twelve and a Half Years Later: Boxing Day
Title: Twelve and a Half Years Later: Boxing Day
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Deathly Hallows & Previous Chapters
Characters/Pairings: George, Ron, Bill/Fleur, Victoire, Fred, Matilda (OC)
Rating: PG-13 for swears in multiple languages
Word count: 3,888 words
Summary: George and Ron have an idea
Notes: I own these characters. The rest belong to JK Rowling.
The Sankuru Serpent / Previous Chapters / Shall We Begin?
“Thanks very much,” said George Weasley, punching numbers on the register and handing a handful of coins to the customer. “Have a Happy New Year.”
“Thank you,” the little girl replied, poking her finger gleefully through the cage at her new pygmy puff. Her father, who had a look of resigned fear of what a new animal would do to his household, smiled weakly at George as he took the change and walked his daughter toward the exit.
George stared after them, his polite demeanor slowly melting away to impatient anticipation.
The little bell rang over the door, and the pair walked out into the snow.
“That the last one?” George whispered.
Ron Weasley, who was adjusting a shelf of Muggle “magic tricks,” took a glance around the shop. “Yeah, that was the last one.”
“Then lock the fucking door!” George yelled hysterically. “Now! Quick!”
Ron jumped to attention and bolted towards the door.
“What’s all the screaming about?” Verity asked, poking her head out of the back office.
“Closing shop while we still have a chance,” said George wearily.
The week before Christmas was traditionally wild with sales at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. But it was the day after Christmas when things always went to hell. Skiving Snackboxes and Self-Healing Finger Guillotines were a hard sell to most parents, but once children got a hold of a pile of spend-it-on-your-whim Christmas money…
Dingle Dingle.
“God damn it, Ron,” George muttered under his breath, dropping his head onto the counter.
“I tried as fast as I could, George,” said Ron as the door swung open.
“We’re closed for the night! Come back tomorrow!”
“You’d better not be closed,” came a voice from behind a pile of boxes and bags with legs. “We were saving the best for last.”
“Yeah, well, you probably should have saved the best for first, mate,” said George. “We’re bloody tired, and we’re closed.”
“Well, een zat case, we’ll just take our money elsewhere, won’t we, Bill?” said a voice from behind the walking pile.
“Yeah, and any offer that we have to babysit your son in the future,” said Bill Weasley, setting his load onto the counter. “In fact, we might just take him for ourselves. Could use another man in the family.”
“Hi, Daddy!” Fred Weasley called out, releasing himself from Fleur’s hand and running towards his father.
“He behaves so well,” said Fleur as her oldest daughter, Victoire, closed the door behind them. “Not at all like heez father. Matilda, no touching.”
Her younger daughter was reaching for a box of Rudolph’s Red Rear (Guaranteed Rash or We’ll Refund Your Cash!), and Fleur, holding her hand, tugged her back.
“Hello, Fleur,” said Verity, pushing aside the curtain and walking onto the sales floor. “Hi, Bill. Don’t worry about Rudolph’s. The box is sealed with a Child-Proof Charm. No one under the age of seventeen can open it.”
“Perfectly safe, love,” said George to his sister-in-law, lifting his son to sit on the counter. “But, yeah, pretty uncomfortable if it gets on your hands. Have a good day, kid?”
“Mm hmm,” Fred said with an animated nod.
“What did you buy?”
“Candy.”
“The man knows how to spend wisely,” George said with a smirk, bending over until he was an inch from Fred’s face. “Blow.”
Fred let out a puff of air into George’s face, which he inhaled deeply.
“Chocolate Frogs,” said George, nodding in approval as he ruffled Fred’s red hair. “Right after my own heart, good choice.”
Fred and Matilda giggled, but Verity and Bill rolled her eyes while Fleur just looked at George with mild disgust. George returned it with a cocked eyebrow. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Fleur,” he said. “We clean their poo and their puke. What’s a little chocolate breath between father and son?”
Fleur huffed. “If you say so…”
“What are these?” asked Victoire from the other side of the room.
George turned to his niece’s voice to see that she was looking at a stack of boxes. Now mostly gone after the shopping rush, half of the remaining boxes bore the likeness of a muscled man with long blonde hair an open ruffled shirt, gazing deep into the eyes of a brunette woman with a low-cut décolletage, while the others carried the picture of a fierce-looking wizard, sword by his side, wand held aloft in victory as he stood on a pile of dead trolls. A busty blond in tattered robes lay by his feet, clutching his leg and looking up at him worshipfully.
“Ah, yes,” he said, walking towards Victoire, who at ten years old was already showing a striking likeness to her mother, “Patented Daydream Charms. Extremely popular, as you can see. Your Aunt Hermione actually was just as interested in them when they were first released. How’d that work out for her, Ron?”
“Couldn’t tell you,” said Ron, “as I don’t think she ever got one.”
“That’s odd,” said George. “If I remember right, Fred offered her a free one, and we were one short at the end of the day, so I would assume that she picked it up.”
“I… I doubt it,” Ron replied, somewhat uncomfortably. “She might have given it to Ginny, she was showing some interest in it.”
“Uh huh,” said George slowly before leaning into Victoire. “Just didn’t want to break his little heart,” he whispered sympathetically, “She was probably daydreaming about Viktor Krum or Gilderoy… Oy! No chucking the merchandise!”
“I didn’t chuck anything!” said Ron, but he hid his hands behind his back as Victoire and the kids laughed.
“Yeah, whatever,” said George, bending over and picking up an undetonated Dungbomb. “Just be lucky this one’s a dud, or else I would have had you stay until the place was aerated.”
“What’s the difference between the two different boxes?” asked Victoire, holding one each.
“Nothing at all,” said George. “We just figured boys were as interested in them as girls, but wouldn’t be caught dead buying the harlequin romance packaging. It’s true, too. Sales have doubled since we introduced the male-centric box.”
“Maman, can I buy one?” Victoire asked Fleur. Despite her French-Veela looks, Victoire’s voice only carried a hint of her mother’s accent. George figured that was probably due to the fact that, with the exception of the occasional visit by Gabrielle or Fleur’s parents, Victoire was a Weasley, raised around the Weasleys and other English folk.
It still didn’t make her occasional slip into French, thanks in no small part to living with Fleur, any less interesting.
“Non,” Fleur said sternly. “You are far too young for any such thing.”
“But, Mummy…!”
“Give us your last baby tooth,” said Bill, “and then we can talk about it.”
Victoire pouted. “Not my fault that last molar hasn’t come out yet…”
“Probably might want to wait longer than that, even,” said Verity. “We’re actually talking about putting these in the restricted section.”
“Excuse me?” said Bill.
“Yeah, we’re looking at a children’s formula,” George admitted. “These things work almost too well. We’ve been getting more and more sales to… umm… creative clientele lately.”
“Creative how?”
“Creepy men and women,” said Verity. “Smell weird. Put the box under their robes as soon as they leave, like it’s some kind of contraband.”
“Yeah, they’re probably using them for more… umm…” George looked around nervously at the children, “more adult daydreams.”
“What are you…?” Fleur asked. Her eyes widened with dawning comprehension. “Dieu dans le ciel et tous ses oncles farfelus, Victoire, put ze boxes down maintenant!”
“They’re fine, they’re fine!” George assured.
“George Weasley, how defi you put these matériaux pornographiques out for petits children to acheter!”
“Ummm… I… um…” George stammered, helplessly looking between Verity and Bill. “I only caught half of that, sorry…”
“She’s not happy, mate,” said Bill. “That’s all you need to know.”
“Look, it’s not a big deal!” said George. “Seriously, we try our best to screen everyone who buys them. If they’re young enough to be daydreaming about, you know, holding their girlfriend out over the front of a boat to make her think like she’s flying, we’d know it. If they want to daydream about having a pony or a dragon, more power to them. If they’re forty-five with two days of stubble and a stain on their trousers, then…”
“C’est repugnant!”
“Okay, I caught ‘repugnant, I know what that means…”
“And as much as I’d love to hang around and listen to this delightful conversation,” said Ron quickly, “I think I’m going to make my leave. Hermione’s holding the fort with two toddlers and a mountain of new Christmas toys that make funny noises. She’ll tear my throat out if I’m not home soon.”
“She’ll tear your throat out, anyway,” said George. “So could you stick around for a few minutes? I want to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“Why don’t you and Freddy head home, love?” said George to Verity. “I’ll lock up.”
“But I didn’t get to buy anything!” Victoire said. “I still have Christmas money left!”
“Come on back tomorrow,” said George. “I’ll let you have one freebie and you can spend your money somewhere else.”
“Really?” Victoire asked, brightening.
“Pygmy Puff to X-Ray Glasses,” said George. “Anything you want. Except… um… except a Daydream Charm,” he added slowly, catching Fleur’s dark gaze, “which… will be off the shelves starting tomorrow. Scout’s honor, Mrs. Weasley.”
“Hmm,” Victoire mused. “I do like the Pygmy Puffs…”
“As does your Aunt Ginny,” said George. “Named him Arnold. Odd name, excellent choice, which we will handle tomorrow because the register’s locked for the night. Ron, can you stick?”
“Yeah, sure,” Ron sighed. “For a few minutes, anyway.”
“That’s all I need,” said George before giving his nieces hugs goodnight.
“Scout’s honor?” Ron asked. A few minutes after they had made their goodbyes to Bill, Fleur, Verity, and the children, Ron and George found themselves in the backroom of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. George’s office was even odder than the store itself. Walls were covered in posters and paintings. Bookshelves were stuffed full of odd assortments of toys and tricks, ranging from an exploded mushroom to a Muggle toy that looked to Ron like a snarling turtle, walking on his hind legs and carrying a pair of swords.
But that can’t be right, Ron thought. Who’d want a toy like that?
“Yeah, Scout’s honor,” said George, flipping his feet up onto his desk. “You always learn what to tell the customer to leave them satisfied.”
“But you were never in Crup Scouts,” said Ron.
“But Fleur doesn’t know that,” said George, tapping his temple. “And that’s what counts.”
“No, but Bill does know that,” Ron countered. “And that’s what counts.”
“Bloody hell,” George muttered. “You’re right. Goddammit, I’m going to have to get them off the floor, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, probably…”
“And they’re so good for business, too!” George whined. “God, they sell so bloody well!”
“Well, you could still sell them,” said Ron. “Just not to whoever’s looking for them”
“Yeah, you might be right there,” said George, considering, fiddling with a Muggle toy that looked to Ron like nothing more than a cube covered in colored squares. “After all, what broomstick does a kid want more: the one stacked thirty deep on the wall, or the one in the glass case behind the counter?”
“Leave them behind the counter,” Ron continued. “Advertise it. Say that they’re too strong to be left out in the open. People will line up because they think they’re getting into something really great.”
“And then when we come up with the children’s formula we can put those on the floor instead, and still sell the strong stuff on a per-customer request basis,” George said hopefully. “See what I’ve been saying, Ron? You got it in you!”
“Got what in me?” asked Ron. “You haven’t said anything like that.”
“I haven’t, have I?” George said quietly. “Bollocks, getting ahead of myself.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Your future, my boy,” said George. “Where you want to be, where you think you should be, and where I think you should be.”
“Okay?” said Ron, arching an eyebrow.
“I like what you’re doing around here,” said George. “I like your style, kid. You’re going places. You got spunk. You got moxie.”
“And since when did you start turning into an American version of Rita Skeeter?”
“Oh, come on, you little berk,” said George. “I don’t get a chance to give a rousing promotion speech very often. Let me have a shot, would you?”
“A promotion?” Ron asked. “Like what? There’s nothing to promote me to! You own the store. You manage this place, you manage the Hogsmeade location. The rest of us are just your lackeys, remember? There’s not a lot of middle ground.”
“Well, that’s going to change,” said George, “because I want to put you in charge of this location.”
Ron paused. “Wait, what?”
“Look, here’s the thing,” said George. “I love the Wheezes. I truly, truly do. But Fred and I… we were about the research and development. We were never the business types.”
“But you certainly have done well for yourselves…”
“No denying it,” George admitted. “But… after Fred died… things kind of went stagnant around here. We’ve been in business for fourteen years, Ron, and after our initial stock, maybe ten percent of what we’ve added to our inventory is original work. The rest are patents bought by others, or imported from third parties. That’s not how we wanted it to go.”
“George, you can’t help that,” said Ron. “Things got tough after Fred died. But you held this place together, even if you did have to resort to looking outside for assistance. It’s a wild success, and Fred would be more than proud of what you’ve turned it into.”
“What we’ve turned it into,” George sighed. “But, yeah, I suppose you’re right. But that doesn’t make it right.”
“Yeah, I suppose not…”
“We were never about the money,” said George. “You knew us. We weren’t… we weren’t accountants. My love for making jokes and toys got buried in forms and tax paperwork and contracts. And that has to change. I want to go back to the basics.”
“So what you’re proposing is…?”
“You get the Diagon location,” George explained. “Lee gets the Hogsmeade. You hire, you fire, you run the books. You triple your paycheck, plus get a larger share of the profits at the end of the year.”
“And what about you?”
“I still own, but I go back into development,” said George. “Figure out new product. Design, test, blah blah blah. Anything I find suitable comes direct to the two stores. And if you guys want to put in any new product from other companies it doesn’t happen without my approval. I might not have as direct a hand as before, but I still want to make sure that everything bears the Weasley stamp of approval.”
“Intriguing,” Ron said, his brow furrowed.
“Well, what do you think?” asked George. “Are you in?”
He had expected Ron to jump out of his seat in excitement. What George didn’t expect was uncomfortable silence.
“I… I don’t know…” said Ron.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” said George. “Ron, this is a sweet deal!”
“Yeah, yeah, it is…” Ron said slowly. “But… God, I don’t know. I was actually thinking of putting in my two week notice.”
“You… you what?”
“I’m thinking of quitting,” said Ron. “Doing the home thing full-time.”
George’s mouth dropped. “But… but why? I mean, you’re not going to work?”
“Look, Hermione’s doing the stay-at-home office thing right now,” said Ron. “Has been ever since Hugo was born. But it’s limiting her career, and it’s killing her because of it. She wants to go back to work at the Ministry.”
“So, you’re, what, going to let your wife make all of the money for the house?”
Ron glared at George. “Look, it’s not a big deal,” said Ron. “Hermione deserves to go as far as she can. She already makes more money than Dad ever did, and she’s only thirty-one. Hell, can you look me straight in the eye and tell me that she’s not going to be on the short list for Minister when Kingsley retires?”
George sighed. “Damn it, you have a point. You married a bloody genius, I’ll give you that. So what does that make you? Little Miss Homemaker?”
“Nothing wrong with it,” Ron said with a shrug. “Hugo’s old enough now where he doesn’t need a bottle and will actually eat the food that he’s given. And Rose… Man, you know how Rose is. She’s so much older than her five years, and she’s almost as much of a help with Hugo as anyone. She knows how to be an older sister.”
“She’s had training with Al,” said George with a chuckle. He was barely around any of them, but he knew that Rose and Albus, although just cousins, had taken on a brother-sister type relationship in the times that Ron and Hermione had gotten together with Ginny and Harry. The closeness of their ages had a lot to do with it, he supposed. Plus Rose had been an only child for a long time, and had quickly taken the younger Albus under her wing as a pseudo-sibling.
The fact that James was such a terror to his little brother on occasion probably had something to do with Albus appreciating Rose’s attitude towards him. So even at five, Rose already had the maternal thing going. Which was nice.
“And I’ve been studying up,” Ron continued. “Rose has been had a story read to her every night before bed, but she’s getting old enough where she’s ready to start some sort of formal education.”
“You?” George said. “You think you can teach her? Teach both of them?”
“Why not?” said Ron. “I’ve already been sitting in on Ginny when she’s working with James. It’s not like we’re going to be getting into really complex stuff. I only have to teach them the basics. Reading, writing, maths…”
“Well, you stink at maths!”
“Then why did you ask me to take over your store?” Ron countered. “If you don’t think I can do primary arithmetic, then there’s no way I’d be able to handle the accounting.”
“Touché…”
“It won’t be that tough, really,” Ron insisted. “Besides, you know Hermione. Every experience is an educational experience for her. When she’s home at night and during the weekends she’ll be teaching them both, even if she doesn’t know she’s doing it.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” George sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Fuck. You know you’re putting me in a bit of a spot here, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” said Ron. “Look, it wouldn’t have worked, anyway. I’m right miserable with a load on my shoulders.”
“Well, you’ve gotten better about it, at least,” said George, putting his elbows on his desk and resting his head in his hands. “Damn, I don’t know… I love this job, but I hate the bureaucracy of it. I suppose I’ll have to find someone else to run the place, because I don’t think I could do it anymore.”
“Maybe Lee could run both of them?”
“Oh, hell no,” said George. “He’s my best mate, I don’t want to put him in the same bind that’s driving me loony. Maybe I should toss an owl to Angelina. She’s been talking about getting out of her job at the Ministry…”
“Do you think Angie’d be able to handle this, though?” asked Ron. “She’s got a great business sense, sure. But she gets scary when she’s in charge of something; remember when she was captain of the Quidditch team? How’d that work out when she’s running a joke shop?”
“Fuuuuck…” George said, dropping his head onto his desk. “I don’t know nearly enough responsible people in my life.”
“What about Verity?”
“What about her?”
“Well, she’s been running the business end more than you have,” said Ron. “Why couldn’t you give it to her?”
George rolled his eyes. “Ron, you do realize that she’s in the same boat as you, right?”
“You’re going to be home more now,” said Ron.
“On and off, yeah,” George said. “But I’m hoping to take this thing international, you know? Fred and I, we only got around to the local materials. Just hearing what you and the others got yourselves into when you were going global… hell, that Titan Arum would give a Dungbomb some much needed competition…”
“So Verity runs the store during the day and comes home at night,” Ron shrugged. “When you’re out of town, you can leave Fred with me for the day. Him and Hugo’ll be learning at the same level, I could teach them both.”
“And Rose?” George scoffed. “Ron, I love you like a brother, but you’re out of your fucking mind.”
“Fine, then,” Ron insisted. “I’ll talk to Ginny. She can bring her lot over. One of us can handle the tots while the other one handles the older kids.”
“Like a little school?” said George, leaning back again. “A little Weasley school?”
“Well, I don’t know if…”
“No, wait…” George pondered. “That’s actually a damn good idea.”
“Me and Ginny handling all of the kids?” said Ron. “Sorry, mate, but six is probably going to be our limit.”
“Not if you talk Penelope into bringing Gid and Fab,” said George. “And Fleur into bringing Matilda, especially with Victoire heading off to Hogwarts next September. I could do my share when I’m not working on my experiments…”
“I could talk to the Dursleys,” said Ron. “Susan probably wouldn’t mind bringing Evan in. And Dudley… well, he’s not exactly the most educated bloke, but his work’s only seasonal; he could come in and do some basics during the winter.”
“…And I guarantee that Mum and Dad would want to toss their hat into the ring,” said George. “Maybe Harry’s aunt, too… By George, Ron, I think we’ve got something here. We’ll have our own little Hogwarts.”
“Hermione’s always said that the Ministry should start up some sort of primary school for wizards,” said Ron. “This is kind of a start, isn’t it?”
“Nah, they’d never go for it,” said George. “Muggles don’t mind having their government run everything for them, but I don’t think witches and wizards would be too giddy about having their kids forced into a public school system. This is just an exception to the rule.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Ron said. “Bloody hell, we’re actually going to do this, aren’t we?”
“Well, we obviously have a lot of people to talk to about it first,” said George, standing up. “I still have to see if Verity would mind running the shop. And if anyone’s uncomfortable with the idea…”
“I know Hermione’d be up for it,” said Ron, standing himself and taking his coat from its hanger. “Hell, my only problem’s going to be talking her out of quitting her job to write up course diagrams.”
“She’d better not,” said George, with an accusing point of the finger. “Only reason we got into this fucking mess in the first place is because your wife’s going to be Minister of Magic someday. She’d better not disappoint me.”
The Sankuru Serpent / Previous Chapters / Shall We Begin?