Help Wanted (but not that sort) by Luvscharlie

Warnings: A bit of language, and this writer's first real attempt at mastering the character that is Luna Lovegood. I hope I did it well.

A/N: Originally written for redheadsarehot's request at the 2010 hpgeorgecentric fest on Live Journal where she asked for a George/Luna friendship fic, post DH, with a bit of after-war recovery and angst, and a preference for a bit of humour as well.

George had really had no choice but to put up that Help Wanted sign in the shop window after Ron had gone off to the Auror Academy. George saw little other option, but to advertise for assistance. Lee had been given his own Wireless program to host after the smashing success of Potterwatch during the war. And Verity was off taking care of her mother who had been injured and now needed round the clock care. If course, George hadn't expected there to be such an enthusiastic response. Of course, few businesses had succeeded the way Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had after the war, so it really shouldn't have come as such a surprise that so many witches and wizards were looking for employment.

The door to the shop was still locked and the applicants were lined down the street. George poured himself another cup of coffee and walked back to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He just wanted a few minutes of peace, before the daunting task that lay before him. It was different when Ron came to work at the shop; they were brothers after all. But putting some random stranger into a position that belonged rightfully to Fred… that was something completely different and George wasn't certain he was up to the task.

If Fred were here… George shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts. There was no use letting his mind wander there. It would only make things even more difficult. Fred wasn't here and wouldn't be back again, so he might as well go on out and get this over with. He walked down the stairs from his flat and through the shop, flicked his wand to release the lock and pulled open the door. He stepped outside to greet the first applicant, only to find Luna Lovegood standing before him… and no one else in sight anywhere.

"The last time I was out here there were people lined up down the block and around the corner," George said.

Luna simply nodded.

Okay, George thought, perhaps a direct question was the way to go. "Might you know where they went?"

"I do. Yes."

Sighing, George scratched his head. "Would you tell me, please?"

"I sent them home," she said matter-of-factly. "Now, where would you like me to begin?" She walked past him into the shop, clicking her tongue as she looked left and right. "Oh, dear. It is worse than I had feared. It's a good thing I sent all of those people home. I feel certain they did not have the sufficient knowledge to deal with a predicament of this magnitude."

"I just wanted someone to assist me in the shop, and yeah, it's a little on the messy side, but I've been busy and I haven't had all that much free time to keep it tidy," George responded, confused and a bit defensive… though he wasn't certain Luna was actually speaking to him. She seemed to be speaking more to herself.

She turned to him with a smile. "That's why I am here, George, to assist you."

Scratching his chin, and wanting to be direct, but not too direct—last thing he needed was a sobbing female on his hands. Even though Luna didn't seem the type, you never really could be certain about those things, so he preferred to err on the side of caution. "Erm, Luna, I didn't hire you."

Nonplussed, she looked at him with the same serene smile. "Oh, I know that, silly. Now, where should I start?"

He tried once again to be tactful. "But you don't work here."

"Oh, well, I didn't… until this morning."

Running a hand through his hair, exasperated at his inability to communicate effectively. George tried yet again, with a little less tact this time. "Luna, are you hearing me?"

"Oh yes, I cleaned my ears out just this morning. One can never be too careful that a family of marmodills might nest in there… and then you must wait until the babies hatch and oh, I've heard that's just dreadfully painful, and—"

George cut her off. "Yes, I'm glad to hear you're not infested with marmo-whatevers, but—"

"Marmodills," she said with the utmost showing of patience.

"Yes, those. But—"

"Oh, dear. I do believe I should start here. Whimsymums are so fertile. They just breed and breed and breed, and then, before you know it, you are overrun with the things. And they're so very delicate. I'll start by moving them out of doors." Luna cupped her hands over something that George was unable to see (and suspected was not truly there), and began to carry it most carefully towards the door.

He tried several more times that day to send Luna home. Each time he was unsuccessful. She wasn't any actual help in the shop as she mostly ignored customers and most of them stared at her and whispered behind their hands, but otherwise avoided her… except when she ran forward that one time to stop someone for crushing an invisible nitsy-sprite, that only showed itself to "worthy individuals."

Strangely enough, when he tried to pay her at the end of the day (because he wasn't sure what else to do, and boy, Fred would not have approved of that decision) for her "work", she looked offended.

"I'm here to assist you, George Weasley, at your dear sister's request," she said calmly. "It would not be beneficial to you if I took your coins. I cannot see how that would be of any help at all."

And with that, she turned and left, throwing a little wave over her shoulder.

Shaking his head, George put the Help Wanted sign back in the window before closing the shop for the night and considered all the ways in which he might murder his baby sister for enlisting Luna Lovegood to come to his aid.

It was a very interesting day. No doubt about that.

The next morning, George awoke to the sounds of chatter down below in the street. It was a good sign. People were still interested in the position available in the shop, and he certainly still needed assistance.

He padded to the shower, came out feeling somewhat, if not fully, awake, dressed and went down to open the shop. He stepped out into the brightness of the day… and there was Luna Lovegood… alone... again.

"I believe, George, if you would stop putting that sign in the window, I would not have to send these people home every day. It's very inconsiderate of you. Some of them were quite disappointed when I told them their services were not needed."

George splayed his hands wide in frustration; it was better than stomping his foot and looking like a child, though he was just this close to doing exactly that. "But I do need their services, Luna."

"You don't," she said indulgingly. "Your help has arrived," she retorted, strolling past him and into the shop.

"So it appears," he said with a sigh.

She turned back towards him with a large smile and nodded at the enormous wicker picnic basket, her right arm looped through the handle. "I think you've grown far too thin, so I brought you lunch."

If you lived in George's family, then you'd heard the story of virtually every moment that Harry, Ron and Hermione had spent in the year before Voldemort's fall. Ron certainly regaled them all with the tales, and for the most part, George had learned to tune him out. He'd gotten rather good at tuning out what he didn't care to hear about since Fred's death. There had, however, been no way to tune out the story of the horror of tea with Luna Lovegood's father—and that a majority of the horror came far before the Death Eaters arrived—in the form of some fairly horrendous tea.

So, he pasted a fake smile on his face. "Actually I planned to have lunch with my mother today." He smiled again in a way that made his face strain. Whew, disaster averted.

"Oh, that's lovely since I already invited her to join us. Funny though, she didn't seem to remember your scheduled lunch date. In fact, she declined to join us saying that she was going to be out of town with your father," Luna said.

Damn. Where were interfering mothers when one needed them? No gracious way to decline, I reckon. "Oh, I guess I must have gotten my days mixed up then. It was very thoughtful of you to bring me lunch, Luna." Lying hadn't worked, so he tried another tactic. "But, Luna, really, it's the least I should do—take you to lunch, I mean, since you won't accept wages for all you're doing for me." Whatever the hell it is you're doing.

George held his breath and crossed his fingers, every little bit helps, but Luna shook her head pleasantly and smiled. "That won't be necessary. We'll have a perfectly delightful lunch in your flat above the shop."

"But—but it's so messy up there. I'm not the best housekeeper and I'd hate to subject one of my sister's dearest friends to such… well, filth." That was no lie, the flat was disgusting and though he wasn't sure why, Ginny did quite adore Luna.

Luna made a tsking noise with her tongue and pushed him aside. She never slowed her pace as she walked up the stairs and out of view. He heard a sharp gasp from somewhere above. I did warn her! Luna said, "Disgraceful. Poor things, this is just disgraceful," and then the door to his flat clicked shut with a sharp slam.

And for the first time in a good bit, George Weasley smiled an honest-to-goodness heartfelt smile. He was, at least, going to get a clean flat out of Ginny's little attempt to cheer him… or kill him…. And by sending Luna, one really could not be sure of her true intentions; each seemed equally plausible. But, frankly, not stepping over days' old and very smelly laundry might actually cheer him a good deal. He wondered if Luna would do the laundry and change the sheets… ooh, and the sweeping up. No telling what she might find if she did that. It would be nice to sleep on clean sheets tonight and walk on clean floors… and if she cleaned the loo, he just might propose marriage… or something.

He remained rather happy throughout the morning rush at the shop, even overlooking his serious lack of a much needed assistant when some short, specky little bugger, probably no more than eight years of age, decided to set off an entire box of fireworks in the middle of the shop. The thought of Luna above him slaving away, cleaning and scrubbing and overall making his flat bright and shiny clean carried him through to lunch time quite nicely. It had a sedative effect in keeping him calm, somehow.

George thought he might even invite his mother over in the next couple of days so she could sleep with an easy mind at seeing how clean he was living… and get off his back about the things he should be doing in order to move on with his life. He was so tired of all the lectures, the surprise visits just to "check on you, dear, I do worry so". Though, admittedly, he'd given her reason to be concerned since Fred's death. It wasn't easy to go on living, when the one thing that you'd always had beside you was no longer there.

He was in such good spirits, that George even forgot about the ominous lunch contained in Luna's basket until his stomach growled and reminded him of the lateness of the hour. He sighed and started up the stairs to his probably-sparkling-by-now flat. He tugged open the door and nearly fell over a pile of dirty laundry… exactly where he had left it when he came downstairs that morning. Hmmm… that's odd.

He walked a bit farther into the flat and encountered a sink full of dirty dishes… exactly as he had left them. Perhaps, Luna started in the bedroom or the loo and simply hadn't got round to the washing up. Both of those rooms had been in a fairly disgusting mess, and maybe Luna was one of those witches who preferred not to clean with magic. She was an eccentric, so that wasn't too far of a stretch. George called out to her, curling his nose at the stench of his flat. It hadn't been nearly so noticeable until he'd expected it to be clean.

Luna came out of his bedroom carrying her basket, her nose smudged and cobwebs in her hair. "You have impeccable timing. I just rescued the last of them." She patted her basket to punctuate her statement.

Hmmm… 'rescued.' He considered that odd terminology to reference cleaning, even for Luna. "Rescuing, you say," George commented. "I wasn't aware my socks needed rescuing before you tossed them in the laundry."

Luna's eyes drew together in puzzlement. "Your socks? Whatever do you mean? Did you see a doxy in one of your socks? Oh my, I thought I had checked them all very thoroughly."

"A doxy?"

"Yes, of course. Poor things had nearly suffocated up here amidst the mess. I got here just in time." She looked down at the picnic basket looped on her arm and back up at him. "Of course, I do apologise, but the dear things were quite hungry, so I had to give them your lunch. I hope you aren't too disappointed."

George splayed his hands wide, (at least he had escaped eating the lunch), and smiled. "I'm glad to see you were able to do some good up here." Even if my socks and pants could walk out of here on their own and my dishes are growing something lethal.

"Yes, I quite believe I've cleared out the infestations here."

"So, you'll be moving along then?" George asked, finding with a bit of surprise that he was actually a bit sorry to see her leave. Luna was, if nothing else, entertaining.

However…

If she was going, he could at least make the most of it and inflict a bit of Luna-ness upon someone most deserving of the… er… pleasure of Luna's company. It had been a while since he'd pulled a good prank… but he was feeling quite mischievous today. "Come along then," he said. "The least I can do is help you release the doxies and buy you some lunch."

"That's very kind of you, George."

"You know, Luna, I've heard a rumour that there are some spiny-tailed worts that are in need of your assistance. Poor things are being horribly neglected."

Luna gasped and placed a hand over her mouth. "Oh, dear. I should assist them right away."

"We'll get a Portkey and I'll take you there immediately after lunch."

The door to the cabin came open after several loud rounds of knocking.

"Bloody hell, Vik, I gotta sleep some time, ya know? Some of us work jobs that don't revolve around Quidditch seasons. We can't be fucking half the night and then you show up first thing in the morning for—" Charlie drew up short, mouth gaping in surprise. "Oh, it's you? What do you want, Georgie?" Charlie asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Late night, with what was his name again? Vik? Would that be short for—"

Charlie reached forward and fisted his hand in George's shirt. "If you value your life, little brother, you'll keep that bit of information to yourself."

Luna stepped out from where she had been standing behind George. She sighed deeply. "Let go of him this instant, Charlie Weasley."

Charlie let go as much from shock at being addressed in such a way as anything. He leaned in close to George, and George could smell the Firewhisky, remnants of the previous night's liaison, no doubt. "Who the bloody hell is that?"

"Really smelly brother of mine, meet Luna Lovegood. She's here to take care of your little problem."

"Problem? But I don't have any problems."

George clicked his tongue in a see-I-told-you way, and shook his head.

Luna gasped. "I apologise for disbelieving you, George," she said. "I was just certain that a man who had devoted his life to the preservation of dragons couldn't possibly be so unfeeling towards the poor oppressed spiny-tailed worts. Simply because they are small lizards does not mean that they are any less important than dragons, you really shouldn't be such an—an—well, there's just no other word for it—arse about their plight, Charlie Weasley."

"Spiny-tailed whats?" Charlie replied, the early hour and Firewhisky still flooding his system making the experience all the more surreal.

"You've made the lady curse, Charlie. Shameful. Just shameful." George shook his head as though ashamed beyond belief at his brother's behaviour, though the smile that stretched across his face gave away his glee.

Luna pushed past Charlie into his cabin, and George couldn't stop himself from chuckling at the shocked look on Charlie's face. Things were happening so fast, it was clear that Charlie was off kilter, unable to get his bearings.

George took advantage of the confusion and gave a hardy bow. "You have a good day, big brother!" he said, and waved toward Luna, Apparating away, right before Charlie's hands could close around his throat.

That evening, after a thorough cleaning of his flat, George put the Help Wanted sign back in the shop window, and wondered what sort of interesting happenings (or people) tomorrow might bring.