Lemon Grass and Sleep

A NEW LEAF

It was shopping day for Hogwarts students, with booklists in hand they promptly would enter the shop free of any parent supervision to spend their pocket money on all the tricks they could stuff in their pockets. It was absolutely buzzing with activity, way more than we'd had all summer, and I adjusted the collar of my dress shirt as I helped Verity ring up customers at the register.

"Tom, I'm going to go restock," Glinda called out, a box of puking pastels in her hands as she marched into the madness.

"Good luck," I scoffed under my breath, going back to putting products in bags as Verity took money.

I glanced up after I finished, seeing Harry, Ron, and Hermione alongside some of their classmates I recognized. It felt goo to see them, to know they were okay-ish. The twins called out daily discounts and helped customers from the stoop of the spiral stairs, their suits glowing in the lighting of the shop as decorations whizzed overhead and fizzlers darted through the air.

It was moments like this they looked truly alive, thriving off the chaos of their little corner of Diagon Alley--completely in control of the madness. Ron appeared behind them, foot barely stepping onto the first stair.

"How much is this?" Ron asked, holding up some brightly colored package.

"Five galleons," the twins replied in unison, a proud look on their faces.

"Well, how much for me?"

"Five galleons," they repeated, confused looks overtaking their features. I let out a quiet snicker I made sure to hide behind my hand.

"I'm your brother," Ron replied irritably, lowering his hand slightly.

"Ten galleons," they burst out, teasing smiles pulling at their lips immediately.

Ron rolled his eyes, turning away to walk back down the stairs as the twins ascended. Fred looked down at me, leaning over the banister to send a wink my way. I felt my insides twist an an embarrassing way, immediately scoffing under my breath and turning away to bag some more items as a bashful blush ran over my cheeks.

"Love potions," I heard George call, "They really do work."

"Then again, seems like you might not need one," Fred teased.

"What do you mean by that?" Ron asked defensively, and I peeked back over my shoulder to look at them.

"Is it true you're dating Dean Thomas?" George pestered, leaning on the banister beside Fred.

"I've no idea what you're talking about," Ginny smiled, avoiding the question and putting the love potion back in its place before walking over somewhere else.

Students came and went, large groups stumbling in from the dreary outside to marvel at tricks and baubles galore. I hadn't even noticed the lot of them had left, my eyes only glancing around before i noticed Harry and them must've been gone ages ago. Closing time caught me off guard, and George tiredly went to the store room to do inventory with Glinda.

"Anything of note?" Fred approached the counter as Verity counted up the register for the day.

"No, but I ought to get a raise if business is going to continue like this," she replied, closing up the drawer with a satisfying clink.

"George handles the finances," Fred waved off.

"That's what you say every time," she deadpanned, "And I know you both do."

"Tom, do you hear something? I think a draft got in," he wistfully replied, walking away toward the stairs.

"I'll tell George," I mumbled, shaking my head with a smile, "He'll actually get you a raise."

"Good, I need more pocket money," Verity sighed.

"What year are you in?"

"Going into my sixth," she replied, "Same year as Harry."

"Oh, you're younger than I thought," I exclaimed, lining up the bags in the dispenser as I refilled it, "That's a compliment, by the way."

"I take it as such," she replied nonchalantly, "End of my shift, see you tomorrow."

"See you, Verity," I said lightly, watching her take her coat from the rack and layer up before stepping out into the dark outside.

I wiped my hands on my pants, sticky from handling candy and potion spills all day. My back muscles ached, telling me it was entirely past my time for lounging around. Muttering from the store room let me know that Glinda and George weren't quite done yet, so I suppose I'd get some dinner on the stove.

"Hello there," Fred called out as I stepped into the flat. He was sprawled out on the sofa, feet propped up on the arm rest, with a catalogue tossed over his face to shield his eyes from the light.

"How did you know it was me?" I asked, unbuttoning my vest and loosening my tie.

"Your steps," he replied simply, not elaborating at all.

"Why didn't you ever mention Verity was Ron's age?" I leaned onto the counters, ruffling through the cabinets to figure out what to make for dinner.

"Mm, never came up," he mumbled, words muffled by the pages.

"Well, I can't work tomorrow," I sighed, "I picked up a double shift."

"What?" Fred sat up for that, catalogue sliding into his lap, "Tom, that's way too much work."

"Well, I don't know," I muttered, "It's kind of fulfilling. What, you think I'll fall apart?"

"I mean, no," he sputtered, "But you don't have to do that--you don't have to work at all. The shop's doing great."

"I don't want to freeload," I retorted, pulling some pasta and sauce down.

"You're not freeloading, you're my partner," he replied, dissatisfied with my answer.

"Well, I picked it up because I wanted to," my words came out irritably, "Weren't you the one who said I could do whatever I wanted?"

I glanced behind me to see Fred sitting there with his shoulders slumped and his lips pursed, entirely frustrated that his own words had come back to bite him. He tossed the catalogue onto the coffee table with a sigh, standing to go into our bedroom. From the sound of rustling, I could guess he was changing clothes for the evening.

The water began boiling, and I watched the pasta swirl around in the pot as I poured it in. Honestly, what was he doing trying to tell me, a grown adult, what to do? Fred had been overjoyed when I'd gotten the job, why was he all up in a fuss when I decided to do it?

"Men," I muttered under my breath, mimicking Glinda's typical complaint.

"Tell me about it," Glinda sighed, coming through the door right as I had said it. "George is so particular about his inventory, I swear."

"He likes to be organized," I replied, "Nothing wrong with that."

"Organized my ass, he likes to alphabetize everything. I'm shocked his socks aren't color coded and assigned days of the week."

"They are," Fred faintly called from our bedroom.

Glinda let out a shocked laugh, only doubling down harder when George walked in. He was baffled by the reaction, hands reaching up to check if he had something silly taped to him or something.

"You have-" Glinda cut herself off with another round of laughter, "Your socks are color coded?"

If it was humanly possible, George would have had steam rising off his head with how fast he turned red. He stalked into his bedroom and closed the door behind him, leaving me to deal with the laughing hyena disguised as my best friend.