A/N: This is a fic that was written by me and a schoolfriend, known as hospital-music on deviantart. We wrote this for a friend, and I'm afraid it's a little blatantly self-insert, but hope it's fun nonetheless. A link to the full explanation behind our writing exploits can be found at my LiveJournal (link on my profile).
Chapter One: In which George Weasley Apparates, parakeets are mentioned, Chaubauxdeux makes a mess, and a woman's nightgown is worn.
The moment George Weasley Apparated into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the entire store froze. Lee briefly entertained the thought that it was because everyone was so shocked to see George there – it was the first time he'd been inside the shop since the battle at Hogwarts – before he realized that a five year old had gotten into the box of Freezing Flashes.
It only took George a moment to recall the counter jinx, and a minute later he was at Lee's side, grinning in such a way that it was almost as though he had never been gone. (Of course, the grin was tighter now, and there was the matter of the missing ear, not to mention a certain noticeable absence that Lee knew better than to mention). Lee spared a moment to wonder how difficult returning to the shop must be for George, before taking a deep breath and getting down to business.
"Hey, Weasley," he said, flicking his wand to summon a clipboard from beside the till. "Just got a couple things you need to check. We've had a bit of a problem with a couple of our love potions – something involving parakeets, I believe..." He flipped through the stack of papers quickly, scanning for the correct page. "Ah, here. Yes, a Miss Dwight attempted to slip the potion into her crush's tea when a parakeet flew down and drank the entire cup. The bird would not leave her for a full twenty-four hours and she suffered several minor wounds from passionate pecking in the facial area. A similar thing seems to have happened in two other instances as well – parakeets both time."
"Interesting," George mused, "There must be something in the love potion that attracts parakeets. Or maybe it is the combination of the potion and a certain type of tea? We'll have to look into that, Fred -" There was an awkward pause, a flash of pain in George's eyes, before he continued, "-sorry, Lee. Some sort of Parakeet Attraction. That would be a hit, wouldn't it?"
Lee pretended not to have noticed George's slip, instead jotting down a note in the margin. "We'll have to visit the complainees for research purpose, I suppose?"
"Oh yes," George replied, and reached up to flick through the pages. "Wait – what's this? Our sales have gone down? But it doesn't make sense!"
Lee grimaced. He had been hoping to work up to this unwelcome news, but of course George had managed to get straight to the point. "It's that new shop that opened up a month ago – Archie's Muggle Toy Shop. Imitation Muggle toys are all the rage right now."
"Muggle Toys?" George repeated. There was a moment's silence as he contemplated this, and then, "Oh I get it. You-Know-Who was so anti-Muggle that now everyone is determined to prove themselves against him that they are all pro-Muggle. Therefore, Muggle Toys. I should have thought of that."
"Well, you have an excuse," Lee replied awkwardly.
George didn't answer him, but Lee hadn't expected him to. Instead he continued on as if Lee hadn't said a thing. "I guess I'll have to visit Mr. Archie himself, then."
"Ah, Fred Weasley, how wonderful to finally meet you, m'boy!" The older wizard gripped George's hand in a firm grip, shaking it energetically. George cringed. You'd think by now I'd be used to this, he mused, and it was a moment before he spoke.
"It's George. Mr. Archie Humbucker – may I call you Archie?" he inquired. Slipping into business mode was the easiest way, lately, for him to keep from missing his usual business partner. Behind him, Lee examined the shop of Muggle toys, moving from counter to counter, taking a mental inventory. To his dismay, most of what he saw was unfamiliar.
"Of course you can. Mr. Humbucker makes me feel old," he stated, agreeably. "What can I do you boys for?"
"What's this?" Lee asked from the other end of the store, holding up a cylindrical object and shaking it.
"Don't shake that, m'boy, it's called a kaleidoscope! You look into it at light, and it sparkles! All the rage right now, my dears, all the rage." Archie leaned against his sales counter. While most members of the wizarding community seemed to have aged years over the past few months, Archie stood in direct contrast to the norm. Good business had been good for him. Once a crotchety old man, he now sprung across the sales floor with all the vigour of a young wizard to land, cross-legged, on the counter beside the till. George winced. Some things may have changed, but Archie Humbucker had not lost his penchant for Muggle women's nightclothes, and they in turn had not lost their ability to deliver a healthy breeze to his privates.
"Ah, yes. We're here on business, actually," the redhead stated, averting his gaze away from the offending area. "Been considering opening a Muggle toys division of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and, to avoid nasty competition, wanted to come openly to ask if you have any advice to give. I'm sure you've got plenty of wisdom that could save us from some - erm - unfortunate mistakes." George and Lee had considered more covert operations, but in the end, forthright honesty had won. This, while partly due to a hopeful sense of idealism, was mostly the result of George being unable to bribe his younger siblings into performing this research for him. It figured, he supposed. They weren't ten years old anymore.
To his dismay, Archie shifted, taking the nightdress with him. His eyes narrowed. "Oh. I see."
"So therefore," George continued, blithely ignoring Archie's glare, "You wouldn't mind if we looked around, would you?" He lifted a fist-sized yellow duck from the bin to his right. "For instance – I've never seen one of these before. What does it do?"
Archie's eyes gleamed with pure delight. "Squeeze it."
George had no idea what to expect – maybe the duck would turn purple or expel water or light up or explode – but the high-pitched squeak startled him and he fumbled with the toy before dropping it.
"Blimey," he gasped, and a grin lit up his face. "That's brilliant!"
Archie's eyes narrowed again. "They're mine. You can't sell them."
George raised his hands in self defence. "All right, all right!" Glancing across the store, he called, "Oi, Lee. What's that you're looking at?"
At that moment there was a loud, metallic crash, and Lee sprung up from the floor, tangled in several large, silver springs.
"You idiot!" Archie cried out, and sprang from the counter in indignant rage. "You'll wreck them all!" He disappeared into the maze of aisles, leaving George alone beside the front desk. George glanced idly over at the leather bound sales book that sat upon the counter, then pursed his lips and whistled high C. With a flash of purple-dyed feathers (the result of an experiment gone wrong), a small owl alighted on the counter.
"Hello, Chaubauxdeux," George grinned. "This book here, please." He watched as the owl sank his claws into the leather and lifted into the air. The book was heavy though, while Chaubauxdeux was a relatively young owl, and several shelves of tiny glass baubles and oddly proportioned blond dolls were knocked to the ground before the owl and book disappeared out the door.
Across the store, Archie leapt onto a shelf to glare at George, a finger pointing at the door "You!" he barked. "Out! Now!" This may have been more intimidating had he not been clad in the Muggle nightgown.
"Mais oui," George replied. "Au revoir!" Then, having used all his knowledge of the French language, he gestured to Lee and strode to the exit.
"What on Earth are these?" Lee asked, pausing to study the dolls that lay scattered across the floor. All were incredibly skinny, had impossibly long necks and tiny feet, and were dressed in what appeared to be designer clothes.
"Bar-bee-dolls," George sounded out. "I wonder what they have to do with Australian barbeques."
"I wonder why anyone would want a doll dressed like a slut," Lee snorted.
George shrugged. "Muggles. Who knows what goes on in their heads?"
"I don't get it."
It had been several days since the adventure in Humbucker's Muggle Toys, and George had spent hours in his study pouring over the ordering forms Chaubauxdeux had retrieved (fine, stolen) from the cross-dressing wizard's desk.
"Don't get what?" Lee popped into the study with a puff of blue smoke, and coughed. Since taking a position as a shop assistant, he'd become increasingly fond of showy entrances, health hazards be damned.
"These - these toys!" George exclaimed, and added under his breath, "If you can even call them that."
"What's wrong with them?"
"They're so....so boring. Oh so boring. Incredibly, stupendously, fantastically boring. Here, look at this one - this doll doesn't move on it's own, and if you pull the string on the back, it says one of five phrases. Five. And these balls here? All they do when you drop them is bounce. And get a load of this chessboard - if you lose a piece, you just set it off to the side. No explosions or struggles. No fun."
"Blimey. I almost feel bad for those Muggles," Lee said with a sympathetic nod. "So, what are we gonna do?"
"Well, we can't sell any of these. People just won't buy them. I guess we've got to do some more research - Archie must've known we'd be coming, and planted a fake record trail for us. Yes, that must be it. I mean, come on. Mechanical hamsters? Plastic broomsticks that don't fly? Give me a break. They're Muggles, not stupid - nobody's gonna want to play with any of this stuff." If George Weasley had a beard, he probably would have stroked it just then. "So, plan B."
"We have a plan B?"
George grinned and, for a moment, looked more like his pre-war self. "We go incognito, my friend. To a real Muggle toy shop. See how they do it, firsthand." He cracked his knuckles. "This oughta be fun."
"That, or this is a horrible idea," Lee was less than enthusiastic. The last time he had seen George with that look in his eye, a particular corridor had found itself the sudden host of a portable swamp.
"Aren't those the best kind?"