Terry had started shouting rather loudly upon the receipt of his letter from the Ministry, even jumping a little excitedly on his sofa in his excitement. Getting the letter made it even more real than seeing his name on the announcement.
So he had one week to prepare. One week to work out how to fit his clothes and hair products (it took work to get his hair looking suitably dishevelled) and everything into his trunk. This was going to be a journey of discovery, he told himself, he was going to learn about himself and who he really was as a person. Or something like that.
"I'm looking at it right now, Hickins. One trunk only. And no magical attachments. But there aren't any size restrictions, so I will make sure to take the one grandaunt Iris had with her on the Africa expedition. It should hold most of the autumn collection. Yes. Yes. No, I think that will be quite unnecessary. Why thank you, I'm sure I can fit a bottle of it in there somewhere. Excellent. Good day, Hickins."
He smirked, feeling not a little bit pleased with himself.
"No magical items?" George read aloud from the parchment in hand, obviously outraged. "'Your trunk will be searched for forbidden content, which, upon finding, will be confiscated until you leave the house.' Now, that's a bit strict."
"Are you going, then?" Lee asked from the back room. A loud band sounded off, and a rather clumsy show of fireworks followed, shooting out from the room. One whizzed by George's head.
"Well, of course I am. Never miss a chance to cause a little mischief, and advertise for this fine shop."
"Naturally."
George examined the portkey for a moment before returning his attention to the letter. "Do you think fake wands and Canary Creams count as 'forbidden content'?"
Lee's head popped out, and he flashed a grin at George. "I'd say anything that comes from this shop will have been blacklisted."
Rita Skeeter was rather amused. Locked inside a house with a twelve Bright Young Things, including Harry Potter and that brat Granger? The only one over thirty? Well, how positively delicious.
The wording of the note was unfortunate, but more for the Ministry than for her. One trunk without wizard space, indeed, but they didn't say anything about shrinking one's belongings. And she could think of a few things she'd like to take that would transfigure quite easily into hairpins.
"It's a pity you won't be there, Bozo," she murmured, "but I suppose you'll be able to see it all from the outside, won't you?" Her dimwitted photographer took a full three minutes to realise she'd been talking to him, and by that time she was laughing and he didn't understand why.
Ah. If nothing else, she'd have some intelligent conversation without having to talk to herself.
Comments 9
Terry had started shouting rather loudly upon the receipt of his letter from the Ministry, even jumping a little excitedly on his sofa in his excitement. Getting the letter made it even more real than seeing his name on the announcement.
So he had one week to prepare. One week to work out how to fit his clothes and hair products (it took work to get his hair looking suitably dishevelled) and everything into his trunk. This was going to be a journey of discovery, he told himself, he was going to learn about himself and who he really was as a person. Or something like that.
This was going to be fantastic.
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He smirked, feeling not a little bit pleased with himself.
Sales would skyrocket.
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"Are you going, then?" Lee asked from the back room. A loud band sounded off, and a rather clumsy show of fireworks followed, shooting out from the room. One whizzed by George's head.
"Well, of course I am. Never miss a chance to cause a little mischief, and advertise for this fine shop."
"Naturally."
George examined the portkey for a moment before returning his attention to the letter. "Do you think fake wands and Canary Creams count as 'forbidden content'?"
Lee's head popped out, and he flashed a grin at George. "I'd say anything that comes from this shop will have been blacklisted."
"Best start packing now then, eh?"
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Rita Skeeter was rather amused. Locked inside a house with a twelve Bright Young Things, including Harry Potter and that brat Granger? The only one over thirty? Well, how positively delicious.
The wording of the note was unfortunate, but more for the Ministry than for her. One trunk without wizard space, indeed, but they didn't say anything about shrinking one's belongings. And she could think of a few things she'd like to take that would transfigure quite easily into hairpins.
"It's a pity you won't be there, Bozo," she murmured, "but I suppose you'll be able to see it all from the outside, won't you?" Her dimwitted photographer took a full three minutes to realise she'd been talking to him, and by that time she was laughing and he didn't understand why.
Ah. If nothing else, she'd have some intelligent conversation without having to talk to herself.
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