Confident | Fred Weasley

Chapter 122 | Starting Over

Sarah pointed her wand at a shelf on its side, and with a steady hand, levitated it back to its feet. She prodded the air with her wand a few times and the shelf shuffled into its nook against the wall accordingly.

"I think that's it," Sarah called, looking around at the shop.

It was the first time that she had been to the shop in months. When she arrived with Fred an hour ago, it had been a mountain of overturned shelves, scorched walls, and destroyed products. The destruction of the shop was somewhat saved by the fact that George and Capri had scooped up the Pygmy Puffs before the shop had been ransacked months ago.

Now, the floors had been scrubbed clean, the shelves were repaired and stood up, and the spell damage on the walls had been cleared up. The shop was yet to be restored to its previous glamour, as all the shelves and displays were still empty, but it was certainly a start.

"Nice one," Fred appeared from around the corner, dragging a mop and a bucket full of 'Salem's Shining floor scrub', a crystalline blue sludge that had done wonders. "Now, all we have to do its fill these shelves."

"What about those boxes in our house?" Sarah asked, tucking her wand into her belt buckles. Not having to be concerned about her safety was a wonderful feeling.

"Ah, those will be gone in minutes once we have our second Grand Opening," Fred answered, balancing the mop against the bucket and straightening up, "Lots of work to do before then."

Sarah hummed, "I'm happy to help out, you know. Not as if I've got anything else to do."

Fred, who had been analysing a bleached smudge on his rust-coloured jumper, looked up, his eyebrows raised, "You do have other things to do."

"I do?" Sarah questioned distractedly, shrugging off her own jacket. The cleaning had rendered her far too warm.

"Yeah," Fred said it as if it was obvious. "You have to go get your record label back."

Sarah draped her jacket over the counter, laughing slightly, "Easier said than done."

"What d'you mean?" Fred asked, scratching his jaw, littered with a light stubble, "Just send Betsy an owl?"

"She's still in America," Sarah informed him, slumping into a seat behind the counter, "And I only got that deal because I won a competition. I have no clue how you normally get a deal, and I don't know who to ask either."

"Send her an owl anyway," Fred insisted, his elbows leaning on the counter, "She really liked you. She might come back to Britain if she knows you're interested."

Sarah frowned, fidgeting with her sleeves, "I dunno, Fred, I just-"

She cut herself off, unsure of what to say. Fred scrutinised her for a moment.

"Come on, out with it," He finally said, prodding the tip of her nose with his finger, trying to draw a smile from her.

"What if I'm not meant to be a singer anymore?" Sarah asked, her voice quiet, "What if I'm supposed to have some other career, or be a housewife or something?"

They fell into a contemplative silence as Fred considered how to respond. How did you convince someone who had faced so many setbacks in their career not to give up? There were times over the last few months where even he had considered calling it a day.

"You're not meant to be a housewife, so let's completely disregard that," Fred began, and waved a hand as if he was pushing something to the side. "You'd die of boredom if you were stuck at home all the time."

Sarah inclined her head, "True."

"Now, if you want to work at the shop in the meantime, then George and I definitely won't complain," Fred continued, their eyes meeting, "but you have to get a record label. We'll figure out how to do it. I'm not letting you give up on your dream, alright? You've wanted this since you were little."