"They say what?" Harry demanded.
"We regret to inform you that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes has missed its latest mortgage payment," Ron repeated dispassionately. "You have until October 1st, 1999, to complete the payment, or the property will be forfeited—"
"I'll shove the payment up their fucking arses!"
"—to Gringotts Wizarding Bank automatically. Furthermore, in order to ensure proper economic success for the whole of Diagon Alley, unless the owners of the property can prove that the shop is still profitable by December 31st, 1999, it will be foreclosed. The Ministry is happy—"
"Oh, happy, are they? I'll bet, yeah. The absolute fucking wankers."
"—to send an inspector around to monitor the shop's proceedings and send back reports on the patronage, net income, and potential for growth. If this letter has been sent in error, please contact..."
"Of course it's a bloody error!"
"We haven't kept up with the payments," Ginny murmured, sitting at the other end of the kitchen table and staring determinedly at her tea. "Most of the money the shop made went to Fred's funeral. And some to the War Orphans' Trust Fund. Anyway, there's not much left now, and I don't think we remembered."
"Well, I'll pay it," Harry said. He didn't mind. How could he? He'd helped start the shop, after all, so there was no reason he couldn't keep it going.
"What would be the point?" Ron's face was bleak as his words.
"It was Fred and George's shop..." Harry tried, having the strangest feeling that if he made one wrong move everything around him would explode.
"I know that. Do you see them here?"
"George, he... We could keep it running."
That's what they'd been doing so far, and there was no reason it couldn't still work. Verity was experienced enough with the day-to-day proceedings that she didn't need his help, and there hadn't been many customers to keep up with.
"You think you could invent new products?" Ron asked. "Advertise? Convince wizarding children that they simply must have a telescope that punches you in the eye? I can't think of a single person who could do that besides them, Harry, and certainly not you."
"We— we can't just give up," he insisted, looking hopelessly between Ron and Ginny, the confidence draining out of him. "What if George wants it someday?"
Ginny stood, pulling Harry into a tight hug. She smelled like peppermint, and also like she might be desperately in need of a shower. He couldn't bring himself to mind.
"I think it might be best for all of us to let go," she said. "We can't keep it going forever without them. It'd be a money pit, and the Ministry knows it."
"I'd be happy to—"
"I know you would. But maybe just," she looked back at Ron, biting her lip, "don't."
His chest clenched, begging him to do something. Ginny wouldn't meet his eyes, and he knew she was probably struggling to hold on.
She never cried in front of them. He didn't know why, or what she was trying to prove, but she didn't. She would lock herself up in her room and turn the music up full blast, only coming out hours later when she could pretend nothing was wrong again. And he didn't want to force her to, because he still loved her, even if they weren't together.
Their breakup hadn't been much, just the culmination of months spent grieving and the realisation that they'd stopped being able to take care of each other, let alone themselves. It hadn't been permanent when they proposed it, exactly, but it felt pretty permanent now.
And then Ron and Ginny had taken up residence at Grimmauld Place, needing to be away from the Burrow but also wanting to have each other close by, since no one but their family could understand what they were going through. Harry had worried at first they'd been doing it just for him, just because he was handling everything poorly, but it didn't matter, because it'd ended up being best for all of them.
At least, he'd thought it was had. But now Ron and Ginny were ready to give up. He couldn't let it happen. The shop was Fred and George's lives' work.
Even if it had been on the decline, that was to be expected. George's heart hadn't been in it. No one's had.
Harry had to come up with something. His mind kept going to the last time he'd seen the Weasley's, a little less than a week before, how broken Mr and Mrs Weasley had seemed.
Harry couldn't let this get taken from them too. And George would be devastated to lose the shop, even if he didn't care about it right now.
Harry did what he always did when he needed someone to talk to. He fire-called Hermione.
She answered immediately, flames sizzling, frazzled expression coming clearly into view. Her bushy brown hair plumed around her face in a half-knotted bun. "What's wrong? Is Ron okay?"
"He's fine, Mione. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Everyone's fine. I know I usually call later, but I was too keyed up.
The tension eased from her shoulders, and Harry took a breath. Usually, they started with the other stuff and Hermione would accidentally-on-purpose mention Ron later, pretending she didn't care how he was doing. Starting the conversation with Ron as the topic left him unsure of how to proceed.
"Why are you calling, then?" she asked. "Are the nightmares..."
"The Ministry wants to close Wheezes."
"They want to what?"
"Thank you! And Ron and Ginny are convinced we should just let it happen."
Her lips thinned into a tight line, and she huffed out a breath through her nose. "Well, what are you going to do about it? Force them?"
"Fred wouldn't want the shop to close. You know that. And part of me thinks..."
"Yes?"
"It would break Mrs Weasley's heart to lose this too, even if she doesn't know it. We can't do that to her."
Hermione let out a slow sigh. In the background, he could hear the news, blasting something or other about the Labor Party, and Hermione's mum humming to herself like she always did when she was doing the ironing. She didn't have much of her memory back yet, but she'd nevertheless grown very fond of her new British neighbour who invited her to tea twice weekly, and she seemed wonderfully oblivious to any odd behaviour said neighbour might be exhibiting, like talking to fireplaces.
"Yes, of course. I know you're right, I do, just—" Hermione sighed. "What do you have to do to stop it?"
"Pay this month's mortgage."
She blinked at him. "Are you leaving something out or have your accounts suddenly been drained?"
"I also have to prove that the shop is still an economic asset to Diagon Alley — however the fuck I'm supposed to do that. They're going to send some Ministry hack to survey me while I try to pull a business plan out of my arse. And, Merlin. I'm going to have to hire people to think of product ideas. A whole new line of merchandise to launch if we want to improve sales."
"Well, I can't help with the first bit," she said, "but maybe you could visit the office. You know they were always drafting ideas up there. I bet there are some you could still use. Pay the mortgage first, and then get the hack in there so they can see how proactive you're being." She paused, looking at him. "Are you really doing this for Mrs Weasley?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
She shrugged, but it was clear there was something else.
"Go ahead, out with it. What do you think is going on here? Therapise me."
She smiled ever so slightly. "I haven't seen you this... engaged with anything in a long time. I think maybe a project's good for you, and I think you probably know that too."
"I'm doing this for me, then?"
"I don't know. The shop was your investment. Maybe a part of you feels like you'll be losing them if you let it go. And maybe you're tying up your feelings about the war in it all too. I have no idea what I'm saying, really. Don't take it too seriously. I haven't gotten to the Emotional Grievance Over Your Best Friend's Dead Brother's Shop Foreclosure portion of my studies yet."
He gave her a tired smile. She was going to make a wonderful Mind Healer, that much he was sure of. He was glad she'd found somewhere to study in Australia and that she was happy, but he missed her terribly.
"I should probably go now. Lots to do."
"Alright, Harry." She bit her lip, looking down at something he couldn't see, then back up at him. "Ginny... and Ron, they're doing okay, yeah? I just... I feel so guilty being away."
"They're fine, Mione. I promise."
And eventually, that wouldn't be a lie, just as long as he could figure out how to save the shop.