DISCLAIMER: I don't own one damn thing. Not one! It is all own by JK Rowlings and publishing companies and stuff, and if you offered me money I would most certainly refuse.
CHAPTER THREE
Janice, wishing for a shower, stormed into the unfurnished entry area and stopped to wait for the children lagging behind her. She no longer felt fresh and vibrant, in fact, she felt quite filthy and rather insane. She wanted to run through the administrative office screaming "unclean!" like some sort of Biblical leper.
Also resisting the urge to roar out across the parking lot for the children to hurry up, she busied herself with re-flipping her hair and rubbing away the smudges of lipstick that bled around her mouth. She studied her reflection in the window (which was in need of cleaning, too) and felt herself calming down.
She took a moment to remind herself what a hero she was. She was the Shepherd, shepherding the poor meek weak sheep who had never before had a proper shepherd to shepherd them, and damn it, she was going to shepherd, whether they liked it or not!
And then she looked down at the breast of her polyester pantsuit, and spotted an indefinable chunk of God-knows-what.
The next thing she saw was her sensible pump kicking the front door, and her mouth was open wide to scream all of the obscenities she'd ever learned-
"Mrs. Wilson!" George called sweetly, bounding up to her, "You've forgotten your purse!"
"But we fetched it for you!" Fred added.
They were awfully cute children, the nasty little things. At least their miserable parents had been kind enough to hand them down good-looking genes. She reminded herself once again of the trials they had already endured- that terrible house, their unkind elder brother…
…and their eyes were so big and innocent…
Regardless, George and Fred each held up a strap of the purse to her and she didn't want to take it. She didn't trust the eagerness with which they were returning it, nor the way Ron was looking so pleased, as if they'd performed some kind of amazing task.
Don't be silly, Janice told herself. Really- what was she afraid of? That Fred had been purposely sick in it?
She took it from them with her thumb and forefinger and shook it back and forth. It felt the same; weight, texture, everything. Nothing appeared to be soaking through the fabric from the inside.
She gave the three of them what she believe to be an intense, piercing glare, but they only beamed back at her.
She narrowed her eyes.
They smiled at her.
She pursed her lips.
They smiled at her.
She put her hand on her hip.
They smiled at her.
"Well," said George cheerily, surveying the building, "Shall we go in?"
She blinked once.
They smiled at her.
She loudly cleared her throat.
Fred cleared his throat louder. "We're running late, Mrs. Wilson. Shall we?"
She gave Fred, who at this point was most definitely her least favorite, what she hoped was an extra-super-duper piercing glare.
"Is something the matter, Mrs. Wilson?"
Her bottom eyelids twitched.
"Alright, children," she replied slowly, "away we go."
Fred and George were a marvel in the offices of CSD. They bounced around the room and received pats on the head and a pinching each on the cheek from the plump and merry receptionist. They were called "strapping," by the office manager. They were hit left and right with silly twin questions by nearly everyone working. One young female filing clerk fawned over them for quite a prolonged period of time, and as Janice guided the four of them into a receiving area/waiting room, she was close after them, calling, "Wait! One more guess! You're Fred, and you're George-"
Janice slammed the door in her face.
"Now," she said gently, "you'll stay here and watch the television for a few minutes while I get your affairs in order. Don't worry, it's okay to be upset. No one will think less of you for crying."
"Really?" asked Ron meekly.
"Of course, darlings."
"Alright."
She had said the wrong thing. There was a sudden change over the Weasley children, and was it ever heart-wrenching! The reality of the situation had finally hit. Janice felt immediately guilty for being so cross with them as the poor twins began to wail, clinging to each other until both of them were red, and screaming, "I don't want to lose you, brother!"
Ron joined them in a tight group hug, and Fred and George having the same voice and he being their brother, their wailing were so harmonious that Janice had a fleeting thought that, if they added one more, the boys would make an excellent barbershop quartet.
The sister stood back from them, looking oddly annoyed.
Poor little girl, Janice thought, she is simply too young to understand that she most likely will never see her parents again.
It was time for Janice to be strong for them. It was time for her to work her soothing magic! "It's all going to be alright, Fred, George. There, there."
"NO IT WON'T!" One of them cried.
"Come now. Don't worry, you'll be able to visit each other regularly."
"NO!" shrieked all three at once. The echo was deafening off the sparse walls and high ceilings of the waiting room.
"We'll let you say goodbye before you're taken to your homes."
"No! You can't do this! It's not right! We'll die!"
"Come along, now. You'll be just fine. Don't be frightened."
It was no use. Soon the three were on the floor, writhing and bawling as if they were being tortured, or perhaps the world was ending. Janice wasn't quite sure what to do; she'd never experienced a tantrum of this magnitude. She had another fleeting thought, and that was to accuse the children of faking it, because the way Ron was howling like a grumpy werewolf certainly didn't sound very convincing. But of course she couldn't- how would that look?
"We'll try to find someone to take all of you." Janice bribed. Please shut up, she thought.
"Really?" George bawled.
"Well, at least you and your twin brother."
The wailing increased several thousand decibels. Ron beat the floor with his fists, and Fred began to beat mournfully on Ron, and George was crying meaningfully at Janice, that she should give him a hanky from her purse.
"I don't have a hanky in my purse."
"Honestly, you three," Ginny said, "You should leave the poor woman alone."
All three of them stopped for a moment to smiled at her.
"Who asked you?" Ron said, and the three commenced once more.
Luckily, Hercules, her coworker and knight in expensively tailored armor, appeared from his office around the bend. His golden hair, pulled back into a lush ponytail, always seemed to be windswept from his milky-smooth skin. He walked with confidence in his stride, his navy suit clinging seductively to his body in all the right places. Janice felt herself nearly swooning.
"Ah, I know it's hard," he declared loudly as he came up to the children, his voice kind yet firm, "But it will all turned out better in the long run."
The children appeared not to have heard, but Hercules was not fazed. Janice sighed and felt her heart begin to race.
"Fear not, children," he declared flamboyantly, "for Hercules Lockhart is here to counsel you!"
Ah, the magic Mr. Lockhart worked each and everyday! It was truly amazing. Janice thought she might giggle, or shriek with glee like a little school girl. The very moment the words came glistening out of his mouth, the children were silenced. They helped each other off the floor. Fred and George looked quickly at one another, then at Ron. Their faces were still very red.
"Lockhart?" said one.
"Any relations to Gilderoy?" blurted the other.
Mr. Lockhart's face darkened. "Yes."
And then the three of them exploded with laughter. Soon they were on the floor again, rolling around and nearly suffocating.
Mr. Lockhart batted his eyes as he surveyed the commotion. "What on earth is so funny, Mrs. Wilson?"
"Why, I don't know, Hercules," Janice cooed, standing very close to him, "I'm divorced, you know. You may call me Miss Fleggenheimer."
Mr. Lockhart regarded her nervously. "Okay… Miss… Fleggenheimer… now, who do we have here this afternoon?"
"I think I'm going to be sick again!" Fred howled, clutching his sides.
Ginny rolled her eyes, wandered to one side of the waiting room, and took a seat.
"Wait till Mum finds out!" Ron choked, tears streaming down his face.
"I am going to be sick!" George called, and somehow the three of them managed to haul themselves upright. Janice didn't stop them as they drug George out of the room.
"Quite a handful, they've been…" Janice whispered huskily, glancing quickly at Ginny, who was flipping through a magazine, "My, Mr. Lockhart, that is a lovely new suit you're wearing!" She took a step closer and fingered his shoulder pads.
"Thank you- er- Madam- but I say, er- the children?"
"What about them?"
"Surely you shouldn't let them just run about."
"Oh I'm sure the little bastar- little darlings can find their way to the restroom on their own," replied Janice, dismissively waving her hand, "But until they return…"
Mr. Lockhart pried her hands away. His eyes were tense. He saw that Janice was insulted and smiled brightly at her. "Why, Mrs. Wil- Miss Flegg- may I call you Janice?"
"Oh, certainly!"
"Well, Janice, you never answered my question. Who are these new children?."
She rattled off their names.
Mr. Lockhart's smile fell. "And their last name?"
"Oh, um," Janice consulted her trusty notepad. "Weasley."
Mr. Lockhart looked as though he'd seen a ghost. His face turned a unattractive (yet unmistakably sexy, Janice thought) shade of greenish-gray. He batted his lush eyelashes and clicked his well-kept fingernails together. "And er- what are you doing with them?"
Why? Janice thought with annoyance, why such an interest in the damn children? What about me, me ME? but out loud: "They're scheduled to be introduced to their respective caseworkers, of course, and then we're shipping them off… why?"
A delicious smile, formed with supple and perfect lips, spread across the face of Hercules Lockhart. He took a step closer to Janice, looking deep into her eyes. "Oh, Miss Fleggenheimer…"
"Yes?" said Janice breathlessly.
"Oh… Miss… Fleggenheimer…"
"Yes! Oh what, yes?"
"Miss Fleggenheimer… a… beautiful woman like you shouldn't be so bloody stressed…" Mr. Lockhart whispered, toying with a little piece of her flippy hair. "You should let me take care of them."
"I should?" gasped Janice, in ecstasy. His HAND IS ON MY WAIST!
"You should."
"Be my guest… but be warned… they're awful stinking disgusting brats…"
Just like that, the passion was gone. Mr. Lockhart went to the door and opened it, waving for Janice to leave. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow morning then," He chirped, patting her rather roughly on the back.
"What? But Hercules-"
"Call me Mr. Lockhart, Mrs. Wilson. See ya!" He pushed Janice and her gaping mouth out of the room and slammed the door shut.
He turned, nostrils flaring like an angry bull, and crept toward the little girl. He came inches from her face. She ignored him, scowling at an extremely old issue of Good Housekeeping.
"How on earth do you Muggles read this rubbish?" she asked him without looking up, "You mind backing up a bit? You're invading my space."
He growled at her.
"Look, I don't mean to be rude, but your breath is dreadful."
Mr. Lockhart straightened himself up and self-consciously breathed into a cupped hand, taking a healthy whiff. "It does not!"
"It does."
He polished his teeth with his index finger. "How about now?"
"Ugh."
He faltered for a moment, shocked. "Well- do you have a Breath-Saver or something? How long has it- did you notice it when I came into the room? I mean is it that bad?"
"As long as you stand far away, I can't smell a thing."
"Alright- here?" Mr. Lockhart asked, standing a few paces away.
Ginny crinkled her nose. "A bit farther… a little farther… yes, right there."
"Good. Now," he sucked in a long breath and wagged his index finger in the air, waiting for the words to come.
They didn't.
"Now… you listen here… I… well I…what I meant to say is… what were we just talking about?"
"Your stinky breath," Ginny answered promptly, "Sir."
"Before that, you insolent little dung beetle!" Hercules Lockhart shouted, preparing to lunge at her.
"Ah ah ah!" Ginny warned, "stay back."
He stopped, feeling his irritation beginning to fester. "I remember now. Do you know who I am, little girl?"
"My name is Ginny," she said, picking up an issue of Martha Stewart Living, "Sir. And you are Mr. Lockhart."
"Well," said Hercules, puffing out his chest, "I know who you are!"
"I'm impressed," she said, flipping a page, "Geez…really how do you Muggles read this trash?"
"QUIET!" He flipped his golden ponytail off of his shoulder and narrowed his eyes, "I, my miniscule bunny-nugget, am not a Muggle."
"Then why are you a social worker?"
He brought his hand dramatically to his chest. "I, you little rabbit-pellet, am a Squib!"
"Oh, I see. That's why you have a Muggle job."
"No!" Hercules insisted, "It is because I like helping snot-nosed little… little- unpleasant children like yourselves," He stood tall and proud, his chin raised so high that he couldn't see passed his cheeks, "Let me tell you who I am! I am the brother of Gilderoy Lockhart, the Greatest Wizard in All the World!"
"Hmm." said Ginny indifferently, not taking her eyes off the magazine. "My mum reads his books."
"Of course she does! Every witch reads his books. Your mom's a witch, isn't she, Ginny? And so are you. And your brothers are-"
"-idiots. Which has what to do with what, may I ask?"
"Let me tell you a story, my darling."
"Can I finish this article first? I'm learning how to make candlesticks out of-"
"No you may not!" Hercules roared, tearing the magazine out of her hands and throwing it across the room. "Listen to me! Once upon a time, there were two little boys, and one of them was a wizard, though the other was not. The younger boy was very sad, but the older was very supportive and always willing to share with his younger brother all of the stories and-and- trials- and- and- tribulations of being a wizard, and all of the horrible monsters he had to fight, and…and…a long time ago your father raided my house and confiscated my brother's enchanted hair curlers!"
He paused, staring intensely down at her for a reaction.
She looked up at him, bewildered.
"Well?" he demanded, "What do you think of that?"
"That wasn't a very good story at all. You jumped around a lot and it really had no point."
"YES IT DID!" Mr. Lockhart roared. Ginny waved her hand in front of her face and crinkled her nose. Hercules took a step back. "Your father is evil incarnate! My brother walked around with limp and lifeless hair for days!"
"And?"
"And I know this is all a big mistake, but I'm going to single-handedly make sure that you are not returned home! I'm going to take you to live with- with- with single-toothed mountain people, where no one will ever find you!"
Ginny raised her eyebrows and shook her head. "I don't know what my mother would think of that, Mr. Lockhart."
Just then there were several explosions, then the shriek of a woman shot throughout the building, along with a gale of wind that caused the doors to fly open and the blinds to be torn from the window sills. Papers, pencils, folders and little jars of White-Out were suddenly flying about the room as if in a tornado, and the sound of the wind was deafening. Other screams followed, and Hercules and Ginny ran out to see what was all the commotion, their hair flapping madly around their faces.
Mrs. Janice Wilson had opened her purse.