Tea at St. Mungo's
by Rose Black
AN: Just a vignette, otherwise I never would have finished it. I meant to write another "Lupin talking to the werewolf" scene (but somehow different from the others), when I noticed that Bill, Fred and George went to go get tea as well as Our Trio — but they didn't end up in the Closed Ward.
The first paragraph is taken verbatim from p. 507 (American Ed.) of Order of the Phoenix Chapter 23, Christmas on the Closed Ward.
Fledge, this is old. I did not just write this. I'm going to write more of Fleur. Really.
Mrs. Weasley let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley; Bill muttered something about getting himself a cup of tea and Fred and George leapt up to accompany him, grinning.
Bill glanced at the twins, who gave him a crafty look back. The three sped down the hall until Mrs. Weasley could be heard only faintly in the distance. "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND…" Fred groaned.
"You've no idea what it was like this summer; staying in your posh flat."
"It's worse than ever," George agreed. "All we did was put some Bulbadox Powder in Ron's shoe —"
"And she took on like we'd blown up his head," Fred finished. "We reckon it's because —"
"You know, she's not getting on well with him." George lowered his voice. "Sirius. So she takes it out on us." His expression changed to one of mild outrage. "Bit unfair, that."
"Well, would you rather they carried on together?" asked Bill. "I saw that row they had over Harry, and I could do without another."
Fred shrugged, as if to indicate that both options were equally disruptive to him. In what could almost be a reply, George said, "It wasn't even very much powder. He only went over all itchy."
Bill sighed resignedly. "Look, let's go get some tea." The Visitors' Tearoom seemed almost too cheery—there were even more Christmas decorations up there than in the Lobby downstairs, and the general sterilized whiteness was rather overwhelming. In one corner were a few stands of sympathy and holiday cards "For the Relative You Forgot!"
The boys sat down with their tea at a spindly little table near a window. The view, as the window proved to be nonmagical, was not much.
After a half-hearted attempt to impress upon Bill how awful Umbridge was, the twins fell silent. Bill realized that they were different than they used to be, somehow. They weren't any less joking — in fact, they seemed to have acquired a large range of alarming new pranking aids. They had a sense of purpose, one more than just causing havoc.
"So…are you doing all right in school, then?" Bill asked. "Apart from Umbridge, I mean." Instead of answering right away, Fred and George looked at each other uneasily.
"To tell the truth, Bill…"
"And please don't tell Mum —"
"We're not doing so well this year."
"You're taking your N.E.W.T.s this year," Bill replied warily. "What do you mean, 'not so well'?"
"Well," Fred gave George a sideways glance, "we've done a bit of prioritizing, and —"
"We've decided that the way we're going doesn't necessarily lead to N.E.W.T.s."
"Self-employment, we mean."
"But we're staying for Mum's sake. You saw how she carried on when we were banned from Quidditch —"
"We didn't, obviously, but we got the letters —"
"So it's really for our own sakes; but she'd go mad. She's got one kid who turned out a dud —"
"She doesn't need two dropouts as well."
"But what are you planning?" Bill asked. "How are you employing yourselves?"
"It's not exactly a new idea," said George; "in fact, you may have heard Mum talking —"
"— shouting —"
"— about it last summer —"
"— and it isn't very popular with her."
Bill blinked. "You mean, you — you've actually started a — a joke shop!"
Fred nodded, a bit smugly. "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes."
"Wow." Bill leant back in his chair. "Do I give you the 'elder brother' talk or the 'ardent admirer' one first?"
George grinned. "'Brother'. Get the worst over first." Fred looked suddenly thoughtful.
"Worst over first—let's remember that, it'd go really well on something."
"Ha! Sounds like some sort of homework thing."
"Like those planners Hermione gave Ron and Harry."
"We could make something for Hermione."
"Ahem." The twins looked at Bill. "You do realize that you're going to have to get money from somewhere first?"
"Oh, don't worry, that's covered."
"Just can't say where it came from. Sorry!"
Bill shrugged. "As long as it's legal…also, you know Mum wanted you to do something worthwhile. Her definition, not mine," he added as George opened his mouth indignantly. "Not just for fun, but to do something important, make some money—you don't want a load of stuff no-one wants on your hands."
"Oh, they want it," Fred replied. "We've done market research and testing and all sorts of things, and we're assured of a good clientele."
"We've got an owl-order catalog, you know," George put in.
"And where are you basing this operation?" Bill asked. "You can't be planning to keep it at home."
The twins faces cracked into wide grins.
"You'll never believe it —"
"We were looking at a place in London —"
"It actually went up for sale —"
"We've got a shop — 93 Diagon Alley!"
"Ah — well, then, it seems that I have no arguments left." Bill grinned back. "So, what's it like in the joke shop business?"
For the next half hour they discussed various new products that the twins had created over the past few months at school. They were in the middle of a discussion about the relative merits of Doxy fur over Glumbumble wings in a fever-inducing potion when Bill glanced at his watch.
"Merlin's beard! We've been here practically an hour."
"Even Mum couldn't shout for that long," George said.
"I hope," added Fred as they stood up. "Like we need to be yelled at for opening the door the wrong way."
Luckily, Mrs. Weasley was in fact done shouting, and was again fussing over her husband. As the twins walked in with Bill, she looked up momentarily, ascertained that they hadn't got into any trouble, and returned to arranging the blankets on Mr. Weasley's hospital bed. Lupin and Mad-Eye were chatting quietly about a book that they both had read, each keeping one eye on Mrs. Weasley. Just as George shut the door, it was opened by Harry, Ron and Hermione. Bill gave them a questioning look: Ron looked a bit embarrassed, while Hermione looked pensive and embarrassed. Harry seemed behind a mask—just as he had all summer, Bill reflected.
"There you are!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "You were an awfully long time getting tea, Ron." She abandoned her efforts to straighten up the bed and swept over to them, making sure with motherly concern that nothing had happened to them while they were out.
"Noticed you missed us," said Fred under his breath, burying his hands in his pockets. George had a similarly grudging expression on his face, though he crossed his arms.
Bill stepped over to his mother. "Sorry, Mum, I've got to leave early — Gringotts work, you know." He kissed her on the cheek.
"It's Christmas, Bill," she replied, and kissed him back.
He looked rueful. "Wish the goblins knew that. I'll see you later tonight." As he closed the door behind him, he heard Hermione say, "We're so sorry, but we couldn't get away…would you like some of these signed photos, Mrs. Weasley?"