Clever Mischief

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Clever Mischief: Chapter 2: Setting Up Shop
Date: August 22nd, 2005
Location: Zonko's Joke Shop
Characters: Fred and George Weasley
Rating: Any age
Complete



"It's really quite different," Fred Weasley said, leaning against the counter. The wood, once red and shiny, was dull and cracked in a number of places. Dust reposed thickly upon the empty shelves and the stained floor.

George glanced at his twin. "What is?"

"Standing on this side of the counter." Fred waved around the echoing space. "We used to come in here when we were kids."

"And try to nick things."

"And we always failed. Zonko must have had eyes like old Alastor Moody."

George chuckled. "Never thought I'd see the day he'd sell his business to us."

"Never thought I'd see the day Diagon Alley bit it."

Bit it wasn't the half of it. Death Eaters had decimated the magical corridor long before Harry had finally gotten rid of Voldemort, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes razed to the ground with all the rest. The twins had spent months at the Burrow, irritating their mother and entertaining everyone else who stopped by. The twins believed in keeping people happy no matter what the circumstances, no matter how dark their collective future looked. As long as you could laugh, they argued, you had a reason to keep on fighting.

And then threat was over and everyone set back to rebuilding. But Fred and George didn't want to rebuild their shop. They didn't want to watch as a once great part of their world was remade from rubble. Instead they volunteered their services to hunt down the remaining Death Eaters, vowing that this time none would slip through the Ministry's fingers. There would be no obsequious Malfoys buying their way into respectable society once again, no malicious MacNairs performing barbaric jobs with sadistic glee. Fred and George weren't heroes. They would never have made it through Auror training. But they were determined, willful, and damned near encyclopedic when it came to a working knowledge of practical potions and hexes.

And so the years went by and the Death Eaters were discovered and turned in one by one until at last the twins had retired to Canada. They settled into the West Coast wizarding scene there, doing absolutely nothing more than was necessary to keep them in food, clothes, and entertainment. They'd seen too much badness, they told themselves. They didn't want to live in a world haunted by memories of fallen friends and horrors witnessed that they still had nightmares about.

Buying the shop in Hogsmeade had been a spur of the moment decision, but they both believed it was a good one. George had still insisted on subscribing to the Daily Prophet while they were in British Columbia, and once a week the previous seven days' papers would arrive through their transatlantic Floo Network for them. When Fred had seen the advert for shop space in Hogsmeade he'd been intrigued. When George realised that the shop space belonged to Zonko, they'd looked at each other significantly. The Weasley twins knew a sign when they saw one. They'd packed up their life in Canada, said goodbye to their friends, had a last tumble with those they were on friendlier terms with, and headed back to England. Back home. They'd spent all summer squatting at the Burrow, rebuilding their stock from scratch and from memory. And now they stood in the shop, the keys old Zonko had handed over that morning in their possession at last. They had just enough time to refurbish the shop and restock its shelves before school began once more. Tall and lean, with red hair pulled into ponytails reminiscent of Bill's and a certain grimness underlying their easy expressions, the twins were twenty-seven now and undeniably grown up.

"It'll drive the professors spare, knowing we're right in their back garden," Fred said with a smirk, levitating the first stack of paint tins into the shop.

"Certainly. Especially since they haven't any idea we're back."

"Or even that the shop has been bought by those with Zonko's mission near and dear to their hearts."

"Pity Dumbledore isn't about, though," George said quietly. "I rather think he would have approved."

Fred saluted with his wand, for once not entirely joking. "Good man, Dumbledore," he said, unconsciously mimicking one of Hagrid's favourite phrases. "We should design a prank in his honour."

"He would have liked that."

"Excellent."

"D'you have anything in mind?"

"Don't I always?" Fred said in a wounded tone.

George laughed and cuffed him across the ear as he walked by. "Silly me. Scourgify."

Dust flew into the air and the twins choked simultaneously, sneezing and hacking as the grime from months of neglect exploded all around them.

"Mum makes this look so much easier," Fred wheezed, flapping his hand in front of his face.

"Open a window!" George gasped.

It took them the better part of the day to clear away the dust and repair the broken floorboards and shelves, preparing the shop for a thorough repainting in the morning. And then they would start to bring in their stock. Soon they would be ready for business once again, though in an entirely different place, with a new clientele of eager students sneaking down from Hogwarts.

Fred collapsed dramatically, sliding down one scrubbed-clean wall as he wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. "I quit! That's all a man can do in one day."

"Absolutely," George sighed, sitting down next to him.

"Tell me the shipment arrived from BC."

George cleared his throat and assumed his most-practiced Canadian accent. "A two-four each of clear, cold Keith's."

Fred laughed. "One thing I'll give Muggles- they know beer."

"And how."

"Come on then. Homeward bound." Fred sprang to his feet again, offering George his hand and hauling his twin to his feet.

George looked around once more. It was so strange being back after all this time. Back to England, back to Hogsmeade, back to the joke business. "It's really quite different," he said as he followed Fred out. "But I think it's going to work."