Look After You

I spent the summer months with Fred and George, working seemingly ceaselessly until the crowds lulled in September. With students headed back to Hogwarts, there were fewer and fewer customers to handle, and actual manual labor turned to inventory and stocking for the Christmas rush. Fred and George spent most of their time inside the flat, experimenting with new materials to make their products bigger and better. To be honest, most of these new formulas were boarder-line catastrophic; I'd had to help both of them re-grow their eyebrows multiple times. The frequent explosions had become such a major part of day-to-day life, they didn’t even make me jump anymore.

It was the third week of October and it was raining. The shop was drafty and, though we had no customers, I kept the horrid magenta robes on, regardless of how badly they clashed with my hair. The Twins were experimenting again; I could hear the muted screeches of Doxies even from my place on the lower floor. My quill scratched away at an inventory list of a shipment we'd just gotten in. Cardboard boxes were everywhere, and my mind wandered as I recorded each item.

Summer had been fun. Only three days after I had first arrived, the three of us opened the shop together. Business had been slow at first, but the neon pink and green fliers in the windows, accompanied by a small, active display of Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs attracted the curious. Soon enough, business was, as they say, "booming". Fred, George and I fell into our beds completely exhausted every night, only to rise again at seven-thirty the next morning to do it all again. It was a comfortable lifestyle that suited me fine.

A few of our old school friends frequented Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Lee Jordan came almost every week. (His mother worked at Gringott's and Lee had taken a summer internship there. Fred and George pleaded with him to come and work with us, but he declined. I still question his sanity; goblins terrify me). Angelina Johnson came in sometimes, too. This was far less enjoyable, though, because she never talked to anyone but Fred. George felt a bit slighted at first, but he got over it. He'd never been that close with her, anyway, he said.

The entire Weasley family visited all the time, too. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had come in with them last time. They both stood in the middle of the floor, looking about with wide eyes. Harry'd meandered over, closely inspecting the Edible Dark Marks in the barrel by the till.

"They're horrible," I told him from my spot behind the counter, "I puked for an entire day. Serves me right, I suppose. I offered to be a test subject. How've you been, Harry?" He glanced up, smiling slightly.

"Good, I guess. Hoping for a quiet year." He grinned and shrugged, obviously knowing that, with his track record, it was a complete impossibility.

"Good luck with that," I laughed, ringing up a trick wand for a boy who looked to be about thirteen, "The way things are going right now, I'm not sure anyone'll be having a quiet year. Be careful with this, you." My warning fell on deaf ears – the kid scurried off with his purchase clutched in his fist.

"Have you heard anything new?" Harry whispered, leaning toward me over the counter. I shook my head.

"Nothing specific. My mum wrote a few weeks ago about a freak bridge collapse somewhere in Surrey. I'd bet my life You-Know-Who was behind it, but there don't seem to be any real leads." I shrugged and shook my head again.

"I heard about that," He said, "It wasn't too far from my aunt and uncle's house. Maybe twenty or thirty kilometers."

"Scary." I said with wide eyes. He didn’t say anything, just nodded and looked around. Fred and George appeared from the doorway of the back room, saw with who I was speaking, and made a beeline for the counter.

"Watch it, Harry, you've got some admirers." I grinned.

"Harry!" Fred said jovially, grasping Harry's hand for a shake.

"Lacey," George said in an undertone, "D'you think you could restock the Skiving Snackboxes? And the Punching Telescopes, they're getting low, too."

"Sure." I sighed, pointing my wand at the till to lock it in my absence.

He grinned and ruffled my hair in gratitude, then loped away to join Fred and Harry near the front windows. I migrated to the back room and began shuffling through boxes, looking for a supply of Snackboxes and Telescopes. I made a mental note to tell the Twins that we were running low on backups, then carried what we had back into the front room. There was a line growing at the counter, and I made a point of passing close so that I could tell them I would be over to help in a moment. It was a fairly good-natured group; they all simply smiled and nodded.

I was stacking the new boxes on their proper shelves when I became aware of someone standing quite close. I glimpsed a maroon tee-shirt from the corner of my eye and didn’t bother turning around.

"Hello, Ronald." I said, attempting to fix a dent in one of the Punching Telescope boxes without magic.

"Still not married to one of my brothers, then?" He said quietly.

"Bite your tongue, you bloody git. I'm eighteen." I jabbed an elbow in his direction, but he twisted out of the way.

I saw him shrug, "So?"

"So, I'm not getting married for at least another ten years. And it won't be to Fred or George, I can guarantee you that."

"Why not?" He was grinning now. Stupidly.

"Have you seen how they keep house?" I threw my now-empty hands into the air, "Half the wall-paper's burnt off!" I turned and strode away, threading in and out of customers, trying to lose Ron. It didn’t work. I took my place behind the till, and he stood next to me, still talking.

"Well, maybe the place just needs a feminine touch." He suggested.

"Shut up, Ronald." I said pleasantly, wrapping one girl's purchases in brown paper and handing them to her over the counter.

He shook his head and walked away, carrying things he was obviously expecting to get for free. A few moments later, I saw him shelving things again, a scowl across his face. I chuckled to myself. Fred and George hadn’t been too keen on giving things away, I supposed. Rightfully so, actually. The little git (which I say endearingly, of course) had his arms full.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had disappeared shortly after which I sort of regretted because I had wanted to tell Harry that I'd finally gotten my Patronus to work. (I'd never been able to do it in Dumbledore's Army meetings last year). Not that it really mattered. I hadn’t come in contact with any dementors since fifth year. Not that I was complaining.

I was jarred from my thoughts by the sound of the entrance-bell. I half expected to look up and see that it was summer outside, that the streets were bustling and deliciously sun-drenched. Then I remembered it was October and the weather was slightly wetter than I liked.

The woman who entered the shop was squat and nondescript. She didn’t say anything as she wandered up and down the aisles, looking at the various displays. She left without buying anything and, before I could turn my attention back to my inventory list, there was an explosion upstairs and George screaming "FRED, DON'T FUCKING LAUGH! MY BLOODY ROBES ARE ON FIRE!"

I sighed and left my list where it lay, instead opting to go upstairs and survey the damage. Pointing my wand at the front door, I locked both it and the till, then strode into the back room and bounded up the spiral staircase.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as I had expected. Half of Fred's face was blackened and George was still trying to put the flames on the sleeve of his robes out but, other than that, nothing was amiss. Other than the usual things, that is.

"Aguamenti." I said lazily, pointing my wand at George. The flames went out and he sighed, flashing me an appreciative grin. I paired my own smile with a roll of my eyes and went over to see if Fred's eyebrows needed re-growing. They didn’t.

I flopped down onto my couch for a few minutes, watching as the Twins tried to magically clear the smoke from the room. Once the air was decently clear, they pulled their own stools up to sit.

"We've had an owl from home." Fred said, rolling his wand between his fingers.

"Really?" I said, sitting up a bit straighter. I was usually more interested in letters from the Borrow than from my own family, and this was the first we'd had in a couple of weeks.

"Things are getting a bit hot, now." George said, shaking his head, "Murders, every time you turn around. Stan Shunpike was arrested last month."

"Who?" I searched my brain for a reason this name should be familiar to me. There wasn't one.

"Conductor of the Knight Bus." Fred clarified. I nodded like I knew what he was talking about.

"He was bragging about being close with You-Know-Who," Said George angrily, "The stupid prick. Now he's claiming that he was Imperiused. I don't believe him, personally."

I didn’t reply. If I had known this Stan, maybe I would’ve been able to take an argument one way or the other, but I didn’t. Therefore, I didn’t really care.

"Lacey, we've got to ask you something." Fred said.

"I'm not a polygamist." I stated blandly, looking between he and George.

"What?" They said in unison. I figured they didn't understand this word in the Wizarding World and told Fred to continue, disappointed that my spur-of-the-moment joke had fallen so flat.

"Well," He said uncertainly, "George and I, we're sort of part of a, ah… resistance, of sorts. Against You-Know-Who."

"And last year in the orchard, you said that resistance was going to need all the help it could get and you were right. We sort of do." George added in a rush.

"You were schnockered when I said that," I muttered. He winked.

"Well, yeah. Mad-Eye told us that we're going to be needing help. And, well, everyone figured we should recruit you. Since you're so close to the family and everything. If you weren't part of it, you'd find out about it sooner or later, anyway," Fred said thoughtfully, "Mum wasn't too keen on the idea, but Dad talked her down."

"Part of what? The resistance?" I said.

"Of course," George grinned, "It's called The Order of the Phoenix." His voice went low with some sort of reverence and he and Fred glanced at each other.

"Cute." I snorted.

"Lacey, this is serious." Fred said, scowling at me, "Dumbledore's part of it. Lupin and Mad-Eye, too. It's heavy stuff, and everyone –"

"Except Mum, that is." George interrupted.

"Everyone wants you in on it." Fred concluded.

My thoughts whirred almost audibly as I considered what they'd said. Like-Dumbledore's-army-only-bigger-and-not-fighting-Umbridge-who-else-knows-about-it-why-doesn't-Mrs.-Weasley-want-me-to-join-why-hasn't-Fred-gotten-the-black-stuff-off-his-face-yet?

"Dangerous?" I asked.

"Frightfully perilous." Fred nodded.

"I refuse to go on any sort of suicide mission. How would you explain that to my parents? 'Oh, dreadfully sorry. Lacey was trying to keep tabs on a really horrible wizard when she was captured by his followers and tortured until she died. Terrible loss'. Lovely." I raised my eyebrows at the thought.

"No suicide missions." They agreed in unison.

"I'm in, I guess." I shrugged.

"Wicked." They broke into identical grins and pumped their fists. Some of the soot coating Fred's face flaked off and fluttered to the carpet. He didn’t seem to notice.

"Fred," I sighed, "Do me a bloody favor and wash your face. You look like Lee, and it doesn't go well with your hair."

He grinned and stood, strolling of toward the bathroom, singing something that sounded suspiciously like "Lacey's in the Order". I shook my head and stood myself. Those inventory charts weren't going to finish themselves. George watched me as I headed toward the staircase.

"Please try not to set yourself on fire," I said in a matronly tone. He only saluted me sarcastically, and I set off down the stairs.