Potter

Chapter 100

The weeks that had passed were filled with training, wedding planning, and after a discussion with the twins about recommencing my job at Weasley's Wizards Wheezes, work. It meant there was little time for sneaking off to Hogwarts– though I'd gotten exceptionally good at letter-writing– and more time for anything that happened to seem particularly overwhelming in the moment.

Presently, it happened to be work.

More specifically, the multiple vials of First Love Beguiling Bubbles an overexcited child had knocked over in his rush to the sweets. His father, a middle-aged wizard looking sufficiently exhausted, had offered his apologies and a weak smile before chasing after the boy. George insisted the father wouldn't have to pay for the damaged potions– "We all get a little excited about the canary creams," he'd assured with a wink–  even as the notable loss set off a plummeting deep inside my chest.

The vials could be saved– glass was easy to repair with magic, after all– but the potions, once spilt across the floor, had likely absorbed too much of the floor it had landed on to be considered sellable. So the spilt potion was scourgified, and the remnants of the glass repaired and levitated off to the back of the store by Verity.

"You becoming soft, George?" I asked after the father and son pair were out of earshot, and I leant back against the now-empty display table to stare at my friend. My arms crossed over my chest. "A year ago he'd be paying for the damage– and tipping well to do so, I'd imagine."

George shrugged. "A year ago, we were running the store out of Muriel's place," he reminded with a slight wag of his finger. "And as of today, we're living in a post-war world. A little grace can be afforded every now and then." His head tilted towards the pair, a small grin curling at his lips. "Besides, from the way the kid is staring at the candy, I'd say we'll more than profit this afternoon besides."

"If you're certain," I said, purposefully dragging out the words in a dry tone. George's eyes swung back to me, though the small grin remained.

"Since when did you become so shrewd, Flower? Aren't you getting married soon– shouldn't you be all hopeful and moony-eyed?"

"Not for another two months," I said. "And adding a ring to my finger doesn't subtract from my brain. Besides, everything I learned is from you– if I'm shrewd, you and Freddie are the two most astute business wizards I've met."

"Being that you've likely not met many, I'm not sure I can fully appreciate the compliment," Fred chimed, peering over from where he'd taken to standing at the foot of the staircase that led to the second floor of the store. "Though the sentiment is appreciated. What happened to the Beguiling Bubbles?"

"An overexcited six year old made a dive for the sweets," George said, eyeing said six year old as he spoke. "Nothing new. Didn't charge the father– though if the kid does put that ton-tongue in his mouth, I will charge him for that."

About two seconds later, a loud cry erupted from the kid as his tongue began to spill over from his mouth. The father stared on helplessly, and with a sigh, George nodded. "You'd think the no-sample sign would suffice," he told us, and hurried over to assist as the child began to bat at his tongue as if in the hopes that might make it shrink again. The father looked as if he were trying not laugh.

Fred's eyebrows had nearly disappeared behind his bangs. "I'd be lying if I didn't say I am enjoying that a tad bit more than I should."

"You and me both," I agreed with a sigh.

With George having shrunk his tongue down to its former size, the kid threw his small fists up in the air with a look of accomplishment and shouted, "AGAIN!"