A.N.: Sorry I haven't updated in a while; I've been under the severe mental trauma that dissertation-year brings! But I thought I'd treat you all! Please review.
The Eldest of the Pleiades
35
Tuesday began early for Maia, almost with the dawn, especially with the children who had risen early, excited and ready to have some more fun; so, while Kreacher helped Mrs Weasley get things prepared for a buffet breakfast for everyone, Maia and George kept the kids entertained at the playground, teaching them how to play hopscotch, and use the little wooden yo-yos Maia had commissioned her carpenter-friend to make, which she had painted with bright, pretty designs; they also played Kneazle-Kneazle-Nogtail again, and in the 'quiet' tent, when they had yawned, tired, but energised and wanting food, George set a few of the littler kids in front of Tangled, and Maia taught a few of the older girls how to use the prettily-carved crochet needles she had also commissioned, which had been paired, in the party-crackers, with enough yarn and the pattern to create a flat crocheted owl or tiny heart. There was, of course, more colouring, and Maia sat writing in her journal while she kept an eye on everyone, and George played Exploding Snap, Jenga and his board-game with the boys.
The morning was a lazy one, again drenched in sunshine and laughter; the buffet-style breakfast consisted of the traditional full-English items, as well as French-toast, leftover puddings from the evening before, crêpes which thoroughly impressed a lot of the kids, especially since they could put anything they wanted on them.
The jar of Nutella Maia had bought, intending to use it to spread inside some of the crêpes, went missing.
They soon found it again, along with Opal, Daisy, little were-girl Beroe and Thomas each bearing a teaspoon, helping themselves to the hazelnut spread!
People started to trickle away after lunchtime, thanking everyone involved in organising it for the party; everyone, even Neville's most cantankerous relatives, had enjoyed themselves immensely, and it was with a few screaming tantrums and a lot of tears that the children who had bonded with each other over the course of the previous day were torn from each other's company by their parents.
"Parents," Maia sighed, shaking her head, hands in her pockets, as a red-faced, tearful Gloria was prised off of Memory, and her brothers, sisters and cousins were rounded up—George had to climb an old cherry-tree to retrieve Absalom, Christian and pretty Embeth, while Oscar was scooped up on broomstick, legging it toward the Big House to evade having to go home, and Hattie, Quentin and Mavis were retrieved from the hencoop.
"Always take the fun out life," George agreed, cradling a crying Sibylla against his hip, clutching his t-shirt.
"D-don't know why we h-have t-to have them," Sibylla sniffed tearfully.
"Me neither. Glad I never had any!" Maia said. "Here you go, take one of these goodie-bags. I thought that'd cheer you up!" Sibylla took the goodie-bag George had lured her out of a linen-cupboard in the Hobbit-hole with, a tremulous smile on her lips.
"—I DON'T WANT TO GO!—"
"Daddy, can't I stay—"
"—never see them again—"
"—they get to go to school, they don't have to take lessons with you, Mother!—"
"Get up, Peregrine."
"I've been Permanently-Stuck to the grass."
"—HE'S BEING KIDNAPPED!—"
"—someone got me with a Jelly-Legs Jinx, I can't walk…"
"—we'll just have to stay here—"
"Stranger! Stranger! Stranger!"
"—I'm not going with you; I don't know who you are!—"
"—you say you're our dad!—"
As the Knight Bus was flagged down outside the gate for the teenagers who were expected home; the goodie-bags were used to lure the kids toward the Hobbit-hole for Floo access; and Noah tried to take Opal home with him; the tantrums were abated only with promises that the children could see each other very soon for play-dates and invitations to birthday-parties; Remus received commitments from the seven parents who had been uncertain about enrolling their children in his were-school, seeing the way their children were treated by everyone at the party, something they hadn't expected; and Maia had to use her little bag to transport all Neville's and Harry's presents back to Grimmauld Place due to the sheer number of them (presents being mandatory); Ron's prefect-badge went missing; and given the adults who had to had already set off for work very early in the morning after a full-English Mrs Weasley had organised especially, those who remained at one o'clock Tuesday afternoon were mostly the Grimmauld Place regulars, and a few of Neville's relatives, whom Maia and the twins coaxed into helping them with a project that had developed over the previous day.
Basil (the Longbottom almost massacred by a half-dozen under-sevens for eating the last of the Sparking Sprinkles) was especially good at Herbology, just like his great-nephew, and though he lamented his brother Algie not being there to help out, he nevertheless got them started with what they needed for the coming festival.
They worked for the afternoon at the Hobbit-hole, immediately trying to put into place the changes they had deemed necessary after observing how things had run the previous day. The additions to the playground; making the uncovered dining-area outside the food-stalls bigger, with the addition of a second section to the dining-marquee; adding tall poles topped with large golden, glowing bubbles on top around the camping-areas, with sign-posts featuring glowing lettering; an area for a little petting-zoo (farm-animals would be conjured on the day, including a baby donkey, rabbits, lambs, little goats and chicks) and a corral for the winged-palomino foal one of Chumley's brothers had volunteered to bring, a very good-natured little foal who was now the size of a horse, strong enough to take small children for a little fly around the corral, for a small price, the full earnings he would contribute to the school; and, "for the ladies", as Fred had smirked, full-sized cardboard photographs of Cedric and Harry in their Champions uniforms, for people to take their photograph with if they so wanted, again for a small price.
Several other things were added to the festival's plans: but that afternoon they refined the organisation of the meadows; the menus for food available from the food-stalls; a craft-station for inside the 'quiet' tent with a call for child-friendly volunteers to work the crèche; while Violet, after Angelina had suggested she could volunteer by moderating impromptu Quidditch-matches, had promised to get in contact with a few professional Quidditch players to see whether they would give flying-lessons to the older kids and sign autographs—all money going to the school; Chummy's eldest niece had said she'd volunteer to do manicures using Maia's nail-products, and Chummy's sister next in age to her had volunteered to come and do makeovers using Maia's products, having a bit of a thing for cosmetics herself; and Ailith sent word that she'd tracked down three more acts, including an Irish group that did jigs and dances, a much-beloved children's entertainer who could get even the surliest child to interact onstage, and two professional Latin-ballroom dancers to do a performance as well as give a lesson with their full band, and an amateur dance-contest was put on the bill; and additions to the playground were mulled over and tweaked.
With the runaway-children, an idea had formed between Maia, Sirius and George to keep track of children who would be coming to the festival, and Sirius was set to work on it over the next two weeks, as well as hyping up the festival on the wireless so people would buy tickets.
"I thought we were supposed to be taking a break now that the party's over," Fred yawned.
"Don't forget, we might have an influx of orders," George said, glancing at him. "Everyone will have received their letters from Hogwarts by now."
"We'll have to provision time to get them all sent off," Maia said, yawning luxuriously; she'd slept well, and had had a lot of fun yesterday. There wasn't the same sense of urgency now that the birthday-party was over, but she knew the festival loomed.
As did her exam results. A knot formed in her stomach every time she thought about them; she had been absolutely fine whilst sitting the exams, had been distracted in the immediate aftermath, and as so often happened, the prospect of receiving her results was the only reason she was getting slightly anxious about them.
As Fred said, "Who cares if you've failed everything? They're Muggle credentials. You're a witch."
"It's a matter of principal," Maia said, eyeing him. "Anyway, what if my wand was snapped and I was forbidden to do magic? At least I'll have something to fall back on. I can become a cryptologist or go to university and win a Fields Medal in mathematics."
"A Fields Medal?" Hermione asked curiously.
"They don't have the Nobel for maths," Maia said, shrugging, and Hermione raised her eyebrows that, yes, Maia had once aspired, or people had aspired for her that she could win something at the Nobel level. "That's what my year-two teacher said in my school report—once she'd got done telling Aunt Diane that I'd most likely become leader of a large crime syndicate if I continued to go astray with Rosie—that I could win a Nobel Prize."
"You, win a Nobel Prize?" Hermione frowned, eyeing Maia slightly appraisingly.
"—leader of a large crime syndicate?" George grinned, as Fred giggled.
"Mm. I think she had visions of me being the next Al Capone. Of course, with my knack for numbers, I could easily have hidden the cash and paid basic taxes, thus avoiding Azkaban—I mean, Alcatraz," Maia said, laughing at herself.
"Who's Rosie?" Fred asked curiously.
"Oh, a girl in my class," Maia smiled sadly. "She was to me what Fred is to you, George."
"You've got a Fred?" George grinned, eyeing his twin-brother.
"I used to," Maia smiled sadly; she hadn't seen Rosie for years. "She moved away halfway through year-three… And she had my raspberry-scented gel-pen and my lobster Teeny Beanie Baby…"
"Not that you hold a grudge or anything," Fred laughed.
"I was very attached to that gel-pen," Maia said. "And the lobster. His name was Toad."
"Er…"
"Yes, I know, wrong species entirely, but still aquatic! And I'd gone through a Wind in the Willows phase," Maia sighed, dusting her hands off. "Diane even found me, I don't know where, a miniature Romany caravan, like Toad has in the book. The lobster lived in there, until I took him to Rosie's house when I was invited for tea. And then I forgot him there, and they moved."
George rested a hand on Maia's shoulder compassionately. "Mai…this explains so much about you!" She shot him a wry look, and knocked his hand off her shoulder; George grinned, laughing.
"How are things going over here?" Mrs Weasley asked; they were sat in the 'quiet' tent, poring over their journals and workbooks, jotting down ideas for crafts kids could do, that they could reasonably charge a few Sickles for. "Boys, Maia, have you had any ideas?"
"A few, actually," Maia said. "Mostly for girls, though—"
"I don't know, decorating tea-cups and mugs or plates and cakes would appeal to both," George said thoughtfully.
"What other ideas?" Mrs Weasley asked.
"Well, I thought, what with teaching the girls to crochet earlier today, what if we could have kids embroider a handkerchief—not a complex design, perhaps just their initial and a ring of flowers or the outline of a dragon," Maia said, and Mrs Weasley made a thoughtful noise. "And then I can show kids how to make a simplified design of my friendship-bracelets, and the little flower hair-clips the little babies were all wearing last night."
"We'll definitely do a colouring-competition," George said, glancing up. "That really kept a lot of them quiet yesterday."
"What about a story-writing contest?" Mrs Weasley suggested.
"We'd have to read them all," Fred said grumpily.
"Or a poem? Fewer than a hundred words, something about the festival. We could read them overnight and announce the winners next-morning. And, I was thinking about this last night when the kids were exchanging all the sweets they got in their party-crackers… When I was in…what, year one, year two? My teacher had us all write something about, if we appeared on a Top Trumps card, what would it say?" Maia said, smiling reminiscently; she still had her Top Trump card! "All we'd need is a load of coloured card, gold and silver inks and a camera, and we could have kids create their own Chocolate Frog Card. I was going to mention it to Remus as something the kids could do in arts-and-crafts at school, to build up their confidence, maybe make them start thinking what they'd like to do later in life. But for a Sickle or two, kids could make their own Chocolate Frog Card—I read somewhere that Professor Dumbledore considers being on one his greatest achievement."
"I always wanted to be on a Chocolate Frog Card," George sighed dreamily.
"I can see it now," Fred grinned. "'Fred and George Weasley, Inventors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, whose joke-shop Weasleys' WizardWheezes continues to be the most popular destination for Hogwarts students on Hogsmeade visits. Fred enjoys TheDoors, sunset walks on the beach, and frisky women. George married a total goddess, together had ten children; and both enjoy gifting their other brothers' kids with free merchandise'."
"Fred, do you want to make a Chocolate Frog Card?" Ginny asked gently, gazing innocently at him. He paused thoughtfully, as everyone chuckled.
"Ten children?" Maia said, glancing at Fred, half-laughing. George made a thoughtful face.
"Well, someone would have to wrap the owl-orders," he said, and Maia laughed.
"Maia, draw up the design for a Chocolate Frog Card, that's a good idea," Mrs Weasley said. "You know, we could ask that…that portrait-artist in Diagon Alley to come and donate an hour of their time or so to doing portraits for them."
"Nah, that's alright; I can do an hour," George said, glancing up at his mother.
"What about the shop?"
"We've decided, if the festival's two days, we'll split our inventory half and half, so we'll open the stall from about noon to five, or whenever we sell out for the day," Fred said. "Then we can either help out with other stalls for a little while, carry a donation bucket around the camping-areas, or watch some of the acts."
"Mm," Mrs Weasley nodded. "Yes, that's a good idea. Maia, you'll do the same—and after you close up, you can help out with the arts-and-crafts or the food stalls. We're about to head off in a little while. Kreacher's at home preparing a light dinner—" The twins snorted; there was no such thing as a 'light dinner' when teenaged males needed feeding—"so you should all be home by five, and not a minute later, I want you showered and everything before dinner. We all need an early night."
"Whether we want one or not," George remarked under his breath, as Mrs Weasley bustled away.
"We should get back, you know," Maia said thoughtfully, gazing out over the meadows. "We've done all we can do here today; we just need a little break before the madness begins again, and we might have orders to send off."
"Very true," Fred said, yawning and stretching luxuriously. "And we've all got work to do. Do you need anything in Diagon Alley, Maia?"
"I've already got all the books I need," Maia said. "All of the equipment, too. What colour are the Hogwarts uniforms, anyway? I've got black from school, I hope I don't have to buy a load of new stuff—I suppose I can just Transfigure the colour to match."
"We wear black uniform," George said, glancing at her. "You'll just have to switch your old school emblem for whichever House you end up in. And the robes from Madam Malkin's. And once you're Sorted you can get a few ties from the student shop, too."
Maia had been wondering about it, the Sorting. She knew a hat belonging to Godric Gryffindor had historically Sorted every student since it was created, to take the places of the Founders when they were dead and gone, preserving their wisdom and judgement. It was like the best and worst kind of personality-test one could take; the Hat saw everything.
"I've decided I'll ask to be in Gryffindor," she said thoughtfully, taking a bite out of a peach, eyeing the rippling grasses of the meadow in a warm breeze, the stream sparkling. The twins laughed.
"Yeah? Think you asking will matter?" Fred chuckled.
"What if you go by way of the rest of your family, end up in Hufflepuff?"
"I want to be in Gryffindor," Maia repeated, shrugging. "I would have thought choice has a lot to do with where you end up, as much as perceived ability and personality-traits. Because those can change. Hufflepuff wouldn't be a bad second-choice… I'm not sure Cho's statement that I should be in Ravenclaw should be taken as a compliment or not."
"For a Ravenclaw…well, I didn't think much to her," Fred said, frowning.
"Maybe she's book-smart. Can churn it all out in essays but doesn't have a leg to stand on otherwise," George said thoughtfully.
"Suppose. There's book-smart, like Hermione, and then there's street-smart…guess you could say Harry's like that, listening to his gut and his heart more than his brain," Fred said.
"And then there's Maia-smart," George smirked, glancing at Maia; he caught her eye and winked, as Maia blushed.
"Yep. Genius-smart. Dumbledore-smart. Book-smart and creative-smart, Muggle-smart and legal-smart, with a great sense of humour, compassionate to minorities…"
"Wonder what your Chocolate Frog Card would say?" George said thoughtfully, eyeing her lazily with a warm, subtle grin.
"Well, that'd be telling," Maia smiled, winking.
"The only drawback would be, of course, that people might ever find out you were a prefect," Fred grimaced, and Maia rolled her eyes.
"Yes, but I didn't uphold the responsibilities of the position," she reminded him. "Colour-changing toupees; turquoise hair; octopi; erased test-papers; turning the water in my water-bottle into gin…" The twins laughed.
"Are we ready to go?" George asked, glancing around.
"I think so," Maia said. "There's not much more we can do here."
"Yeah, I'm ready to go home," Fred yawned. "S'pose we'll have to set an afternoon aside to get our stuff in Diagon Alley."
"We can do that after the festival," George said, also yawning, and the chain-reaction led to Maia stifling a yawn. "Best get that out of the way first. I think we should get ourselves some nice dressrobes."
"Mm. Or commission Maia to make some for us," Fred grunted, shooting Maia a grin.
"Acid-orange alright with you?" she smiled.
"With the loudest, most offensive print you can find," Fred grinned, and Maia chuckled.
"Maybe a thong and a garter."
"That's not eveningwear, darling."
"Depends where you're going!"
"How about a new bowtie?"
Maia raised her hands to her face, shaking her head, feeling the warm metal of her rings—one on her left middle-finger and thumb, one on her right forefinger, middle-finger and thumb.
"Thank you for that image," she said, stifling a shiver.
"What?!"
Maia had collapsed on the grass in a fit of giggles at the image that conjured up. Resurfacing, she wiped her eyes, grinning, still giggling a little, "We're not doing a Radio Rock charity calendar by way of The Full Monty, you know!" Sirius had barked a laugh at her reference.
"What's this?" Sirius asked, wandering over.
"We're doing a nude calendar to raise money," George grinned. "I'll be in a bowtie, Fred can carry one of our First Aid envelopes, you seem to have a handle on working the Gryffindor tie," George said, eyes wide and earnest.
"You in?"
"Oh, yeah. My body is a temple; people should worship it," Sirius said, preening. Maia choked on a snort, bursting into giggles. "What is this, Maia?" She knew she shouldn't encourage Sirius, but sometimes he'd just come out with the best liner, she had to laugh.
"Violet said the Harpies' calendar has already collected about twelve-thousand Galleons," Fred remarked.
"Yes, but the Harpies' calendar featured seven well-oiled, waxed girls riding wood—oh, that did not come out right," Maia said, pulling an absurd face at the unintentional innuendo that had the twins giggling and Sirius smirking. She rolled her eyes, grinning. She chuckled. "What I meant was, why would people pay good money to see you three partially-naked?"
"What are you trying to say?" Maia just grinned, laughing softly as she climbed off the grass, dusting off the seat of her skirt.
"We should get back to the house."
"Maia, what did you mean?" She just laughed, ignoring the boys as they bantered quickly, and, making a last sweep of the meadows, they Apparated away to Grimmauld Place.
They had a day of idleness on Wednesday, Sirius reinstituting the Day Off he had enforced with Maia at the beginning of the summer. Although, Maia did go out to celebrate in the evening, having received already seventy-six orders for First Aid kits by the time they returned to Grimmauld Place on Tuesday-afternoon, with requests streaming in for owl-order catalogues from both companies, twelve orders for pocket-wirelesses.
Somehow it worked out that Fred remained behind while George Apparated with Maia to Diagon Alley; but Maia didn't mind one bit. In fact, she actually enjoyed it even more, having George all to herself. And George didn't seem to mind either, not in the slightest. Having skipped out on dinner in favour of seeing what they could find in Diagon Alley, they enjoyed tapas at a tiny hole-in-the-wall Spanish tapas-bar, with only old stools and a ledge running around the room, on which little dishes of Spanish sausages with onion; croquetas; some kind of spicy ratatouille with chicken; meatballs; battered shrimp, salted almonds and tuna empanadias were balanced, with a basket of bread and a dish of garlic mayonnaise. They were served with a glass of ice-cold sweet sherry. The tapas was new for George, who didn't get much variation from good old-fashioned English cooking, from his mother and from Hogwarts dinners, but, having many relatives and thus a constant excuse for a party amongst the Weasley clan, George had developed a taste for sherry.
"Lots of garlic," Maia grinned, slathering a slice of fresh bread with the garlic-mayonnaise.
"As long as you're both on it, it doesn't matter," George grinned, helping himself to some too.
"I can't believe we've never been in here before," Maia said, looking around the tiny little place. "It's wonderful."
"Fred likes the Sunflower," was all George said, shrugging, and that was true. With Fred around, they had a tendency to go where he wanted; it wasn't that Fred didn't ask where they wanted to go, they just had a habit of not bothering to look anywhere else. But George had smelled the albondigas from the cobbled street, and, as Gandalf said, "always follow your nose", he sniffed out the little bar in a side-street—not even a side-street, really, it was a tiny alley between two shops that had a few doorways and one large window-display along it; the bar door was old, very low, half-buried with time, the flagstones worn to a shine, the walls painted a rich terracotta, exposed beams and soft, warm lighting, and one wall devoted entirely to different sherries.
The owner came over when Maia went back to the bar to ask for another half-glass of sherry each for her and George, because she'd told him how wonderful the place was, and the three of them fell into discussion about where he was from, where Maia had been in Wizard Spain, where George wanted to go and where the owner recommended he go, the recipes Maia had included in her book and whether there were any famous joke-shops in Spain.
When they had finished their sherry (the tapas having been demolished almost greedily hours before, just sitting in the warmth and fragrant air, talking to each other, other patrons, the owner) they went up to the bar to pay their bill; the owner waved them away. He gave them two crumbly almond cookies as something sweet after their tapas, but refused to let them pay.
Spanish hospitality, Maia smiled, waving back at the owner as she and George left.
"Definitely going back there. That food was amazing! It was really nice of him to write off our bill," George said thoughtfully.
"It was," Maia smiled. "I'd definitely go back—and demand to be allowed to pay this time, it was wonderful. Try the biscuit."
"Yummy," George smiled, licking icing-sugar from his lips. Maia noticed how luscious they were, and then glanced away, blushing slightly… Without intending to, Maia had started feeling like…well, as if this was a date neither of them had realised they were going on until Fred had backed out of their drink. As if his thoughts were in the same vein, George said, frowning slightly, "Never would have found that place if we'd been with Fred…"
"No," Maia agreed. It would have been the Sunflower for a Butterbeer and peanuts. There was nothing wrong with that, of course; she loved sitting outside the Sunflower and people-watching. But the tapas-bar, so authentic, so secret, had felt…well, like something special. Just for the two of them. Even if they had found it, it wouldn't have been the same with Fred there.
Again, mirroring Maia's thoughts, George murmured, "Wouldn't have been the same with him there…" Maia didn't feel like she needed to verbalise her agreement; when George reached for her hand, she let him thread his fingers through hers, and they strolled down Diagon Alley in comfortable silence, sometimes stopping to examine evening stalls, sometimes new window-displays, chatting about everything and nothing, as they tended to, but also about the boys' shop, whether Maia was going to open a shop of her own somewhere down the line, their new ideas for products, their delight over the number of orders they had received, and they paused outside Madam Malkin's, at the full Hogwarts uniform modelled in the window.
"I thought I was done with uniforms," she sighed softly.
"It's only during school-hours," George said, shrugging slightly.
"I thought all-hours are school-hours at a boarding-school," Maia smiled.
"Nah. Most of us change out of uniforms after lessons—especially if we've come from Potions or Herbology," George chuckled. "And on weekends especially, we all usually go out of our way to look…well, doable." Maia laughed, grinning.
"Mm, I see. So you pack your leather-trousers, then."
"Well, I know you have a taste for men in leather."
"Me?"
"Cesare Borgia, anyone?"
"Yes, please!" Maia grinned. George winked, leading her away from Madam Malkin's, and Maia laughed; given a brief glimpse of his bottom as she caught up to him, she smiled to herself.
"Enjoying the view?"
Maia glanced up and cleared her throat, blushing. "Maybe." Letting go of her hand, George wrapped his arm around her shoulders; she looped her arm around his waist, as natural a thing as anything, and they decided to wander back to Grimmauld Square at their own pace, rather than Apparate.
Fred was in a state when they returned to Number Twelve.
"Where have you been?" he demanded, wild-eyed. "I've been waiting for you! You were supposed to be home hours ago!"
"Well, Fred, we—"
"I don't want to hear it! Just get upstairs, now!" He sounded almost tearful then, and, shooting a curious glance at each other, they followed Fred upstairs.
"Oh."
"Oh, dear."
"Help me! Help me, help me, help me!" Fred croaked, gazing wide-eyed around the attic. Not just the workshop, but the parlour, and every other room, was filled with owls. Every breed, every size, amber eyes glowing, hooting and jostling each other, bearing post. Feathers and droppings littered the floor.
"Fred!" Maia slapped him lightly across the face, and he blinked, his eyes clearing slightly of the shell-shocked panic that had flooded his features. "Pull yourself together! We're prepared for this—" At the owls that had started rising from their perches, nipping each other, jostling and trying to fly at Fred and George with their post, Maia said sternly—"Enough of that!" The owls settled.
"They started arriving this afternoon," Fred moaned, eyeing the owls with wide eyes. "Only we've been downstairs. I got about twelve orders off before more started arriving. Look at my hands!" Fred looked indeed like he had been attacked by more than a few of the owls who wanted to deliver their orders first.
"George—get a bottle of All Better. And the brown paper and baker's string," Maia said. "We'll do a handful of orders at a time, go through all these owls systematically. Now…" As George used their All Better healing-paste to heal the deep cuts all over Fred's hands, Maia, ordering the owls to remain put, freed a dozen of their order-forms; she checked them all over to separate requests for other Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products, Pleiades Inc. products or requests for owl-order catalogues from First Aid kit orders, and started putting going through the order-forms, prioritising the First Aid kits first.
Popping downstairs to the store-room, Fred returned with armfuls of all the different kinds of First Aid kits (which now included the Quidditch League colours as well as Hogwarts', and she had also done a dozen juicy-coloured 'fairytale' dragon-hide ones with special fairytale stationery and stickers inside). Maia wrote out invoices and dealt with the money; Fred used the brown-paper and bakers' twine to wrap each delivery; and George, with the better handwriting of the two, addressed the parcels.
"By the way, have you two had garlic?" Fred asked, after an hour had passed, and Maia chuckled as George's lips twitched; he shot her a covert wink, and they continued working.
It was amazing how many Hogwarts students had sent off for the First Aid kits. George reckoned it was because, "They're new. At a boarding-school, when you hear of something cool, the first one to get it in the post is automatically the coolest kid in the class. 'Course, these are actually really cool, and useful, so it's no wonder we've got so many orders."
"And they're individual," Fred said, tipping Maia a slight bow of the head. "If two kids get the exact same contents in their envelopes, I'll be much surprised."
"Hey, did we tell you about our ideas for candles?" George asked, smiling, as he finished addressing a parcel with a flourish, the owl that had delivered the order-form fluttering over to take hold of it.
"Candles? Bit romantic for a joke-shop," Maia smiled.
"Well, we thought, you know, it's actually a lot of work to put a meal on the table for your bloke's dinner," Fred said.
"And it's not always appreciated," George added.
"So we thought, why not let the disgruntled housewife have her fun?" Fred grinned.
"The candles are scented like a full roast, or apple -and-blackberry pie," George smirked. "Light one and it'll fill the entire house with the scent of a full roast-dinner."
"Imagine your old-man's face when he gets home and smells that," Fred grinned. "The hope, the delight, the anticipation—"
"The empty dinner-table," George added, with a rakish grin and a soft chuckle. "And, we thought, we'll do one that smells like a full-English—"
"Because there's really nothing better than the smell of a full-English breakfast," Fred grinned. "Light the candle in the morning, your old-man will wake up thinking he's got a treat—"
"—before you set a bowl of soggy cereal in front of him," George smiled. Maia smiled, shaking her head; it really was a good idea, though she wondered whether people mightn't just buy the candles for the smell of them.
"Put my name down for an apple-and-blackberry pie candle," she said, going through another set of orders.
They worked until late; several more owls fluttered in the window while they were still trying to clear out the back rooms of the others. They went through all the orders for First Aid kits—the last, for two shaving-bags, a clutch-purse and two envelopes, one a magpie-emblazoned Montrose Magpies one, and one a juicy-red dragon-hide Snow White one, obviously paid for by a parent; then Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products; then the twins helped Maia put together orders for her products (an order-form for both Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and Pleiades Inc. products included as a tear-out in Witch Weekly), and by one a.m. they had the last parcel—two Poppy-Romp blushes, 'After Sex' and 'Misbehave' Pucker Up lip-crayons, three nail-lacquers, a red polka-dot bag, a bottle of Rum Punch highlighting liquid and an advance-order for a set of two-way journals—wrapped and sent off with its owl.
Maia stayed up a little later than the twins, doing the books, tallying up the total orders they had received, solely for First Aid kits; three hundred and sixty-two, not including the seventy-six from Tuesday.
Over Thursday and Friday-morning, they received a further two hundred and thirty-six orders. Just in case their stocks ran low at the festival, they made up more. Mrs Weasley was thrilled they'd had so much success with the First Aid kits. The twins and Maia went over all of the orders on Friday-afternoon, tallying up how many of each design they had sold, to better judge which designs were more popular, though with only two variations for the boys' shaving-bags, they weren't likely to stop production of one in favour of the other, and each of Maia's clutch-purses were unique, so it hardly mattered; they got the style Maia sent them.
They had also sent off over two thousand owl-order catalogues between their two companies since their appearance in Witch Weekly, and also from Hogwarts students who had ticked the little box on the First Aid kit order-forms that asked whether they wished to receive full order-catalogues and further information on new products (for a Knut apiece, to cover the cost of printing).
Maia received more orders for fairytales; more recipe-cards; her knitted animals; lots of wirelesses and cosmetics; she even had a few requests for employment opportunities. She had written back, explaining her circumstances as a current student, but promised to keep their letters for future correspondence for job opportunities.
So, after heartily enjoying their delayed-weekend party for Harry's and Neville's birthdays, their noses were inexplicably and without mercy thrust back to the grindstone.
They didn't have leisure just to sit around and wait for owls to drift in through the window with order-forms, though.
Though her list of tasks from Mrs Weasley had, because of the advent of the birthday-party, been cut down, one of them still included the designing of a child- and parent-approved uniform for Remus' were-school. And she and the twins had both come up with new ideas for products during the party, and Maia especially was keen to get to working on them.
On Saturday-evening, they paused; they had another reading of The Talon, which Maia had again pieced together beautifully. Hermione had thought it a good idea they each keep a copy of every issue, not even to show other people, just to have, for future employment prospects. Maia did agree that taking part in putting together even a nonsense-newspaper was something that employers would look at and think, That's original. That requires research, good writing, sometimes humour and artistic talent, the ability to meet a deadline.
Maia had come up with a wealth of ideas for her Opie stories; and there was a review of the Frabjous Chizpurfles' gig; a poll on the best dessert at the party; who had worn the most outrageous party-outfit; at the last minute, the twins put in an announcement that they had reached seven-hundred orders for First Aid kits, and the game of Tiddlywinks was written about by Ted Tonks, who had chuckled over the copy of The Talon that had drifted around the party, and had wanted to contribute his odd little pieces of knowledge about the Muggle world. Maia had suggested putting a 'Factoid' feature in The Talon on a regular basis, not just with Muggle facts but Wizard too.
Dean Thomas had wanted to contribute some artwork and a piece on football, hearing that it was they who had put The Talon together, and in the same letter, Seamus, with whom Dean was now staying for the rest of the summer, had contributed the lyrics to a classic Irish Wizard jig. In fact, more than one of the party-guests had expressed an interest in The Talon, and not just the younger ones. Now, when people asked how much a copy was, they were pausing, considering… The only thing that drew them back from committing to selling The Talon as opposed to giving copies away was that…well, Maia didn't know how long they would continue to contribute to the paper, or whether they would at all.
Cedric suggested that they put a note in with each copy, saying that, if they so desired, people could make a financial as well as/or a literary donation to The Talon; at the moment, Cedric suggested, they could put any profits, instead of splitting them and getting about a Knut each, into the were-school. So, in their small way, they could contribute.
A small piece had been done by Neville, who had liked the five ring-fireworks in the Opening Ceremony, to go alongside the twins' firework-display at his birthday-party; Cedric had done a review of Treasure Island; and, for the young readers, a 'maze' was illustrated by George in the back with the other word- and rune-games, which the kids had to use colouring-pencils to try and get their way to the Triwizard Cup in the centre, past obstacles. Maia put in a tiny square with a poll typed inside it, a choice of eight different flavours, two of which she was going to put into a special Halloween lip-gloss set; she also contributed her illustrated Opie: Misadventures of a Girl Stowaway story; an order-form for several of her photographed products; an excerpt from The Little Mermaid; the concept-design for her polished, inlaid Vanishing Boxes; a copy of the poster designed to advertise the festival; and the designs for the were-school uniform, again, with a small square in which a poll was set up, for people to vote, and another small rectangle left empty for people to write their comments. She had learned how such a little square could be connected with her journal, which would record each time a specific box had been struck through, in each copy of The Talon, and would record reader's comments in her journal, a very cool spell.
George had put 'Drogo the Extortionist' on his own Chocolate Frog Card; the list of tradable Chocolate Frog Cards was amended to include those other children/teenagers had to trade; the results of the myriad tournaments at the party were recorded—Tiddlywinks Champion; Jenga Master; Chess Whiz; Chopsticks Kaiser; Domino King; Hopscotch Hero; Skipping-Rope Tsar; and the winner of the twins' game. Information regarding the 'League' teams for the tenpin-bowling tournament was added after the names were all drawn out of Maia's hat. Several charms—joke; cleaning; decorative—were illustrated and described; Mal had sent Maia information on when specific bands were releasing new records; Remus had contributed a Defence spell; Sirius added a crossword and an excerpt from his first-year journal, which he was working his memoirs around—it had everyone near wetting themselves with hysterics; and a small elaborate frame at the topmost corner on the front page featured one solitary number.
A countdown to the first of September.
Moving photographs of how to do specific crochet designs; an embroidery pattern for a Snitch; an 'Adopt-a-Bunny' advertisement for Maia's hand-knitted animals; the twins' newest memoir of their misdeeds; three comic-strips (one from George, one from Dean Thomas, one from Chummy's niece Althea); a review from Angelina about her week-long Quidditch training-course in early-July; and Maia had come up with a banner to put at the bottom of every back-page, in homage to the creators of The Talon, the 'First Nine'; her, the twins, Neville, Cedric, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Opal and Harry. She had recreated everyone's Thinking Caps (they always wore the same hats during readings, even if their costumes changed) in watercolour, with their pennames inked in swirling calligraphy beneath on Opal's trailing diaphanous veil, which shimmered subtly in the painting.
The note about donations to The Talon, all of which would go to W.I.N. to contribute toward the were-school, was added prominently below the banner on the front-page, with a piece on the birthday-party (featuring, thanks to Fred, a reprint of the photograph Sirius had showed everyone) and all its attractions, with a 'reprint' of Harry's piece on conjuring a Patronus (the previous Talon issues having exhausted the topic of Dementors and their removal from Azkaban; Hermione had contributed statistics on how many Dementor-attacks there had been during the War, an agonisingly high number) and a bit by Neville on tending to Fanged Geraniums, Singing Marigolds and Ticklish Tulips—the seeds in the party-crackers all being said flowers; and the beginning of a piece on the history of the Olympics by Maia, with her suggestion that, to make the modern games more interesting for those not sports-inclined, "athletes should return to the ancient ways, playing their various sports naked, and covered in olive-oil. It would cut costs on team uniforms (let's face it, Team GB should be taken out and shot for appearing in front of the world in those god-awful white-and-gold, flashback-to-the-80s tracksuits), and provide a lot of entertainment".
A.N.: Please review! I put in a Nutella moment, my thoughts on the Opening Ceremony, and Maia and George's first 'date'.