Flitwick's store (named, simply, "Flitwick's Store") was where jokesters like the twins got their material from if they were building from scratch. It was a small building packed to the rafters with prime goods, but really made its money with state-of-the-art computer software that could add specialized effects to movies, or even simply edit them, giving them their professional look.
Ron and Harry entered, calling out a greeting. An old and wizened head poked out from the back storeroom. It squinted in their direction and stepped out. Flitwick, though also old and wizened, was not this old man. "Who are you?" Ron blurted, tactless as ever.
"Ollivander," the old man replied. "The silent partner to this business. Who are YOU?"
"Er. Fred and George Weasley sent-" Ron began to reply, but was cut off by Ollivander.
"Weasley, eh. Filius told me to expect you two. He said to tell you that we didn't need any help around here after all, but that they needed people over at the set and that he'd saved you positions." Ollivander ducked back into the storeroom abruptly.
Harry and Ron exchanged bemused glances. "Excuse us," Ron called out, "but we-"
Ollivander's head stuck out of the room, and said, "The set is in the Leaky Cauldron down the street. Good day."
It was a very clear dismissal. The two boys exchanged a look and shrugged at teach other. Leaving the store, Harry said, "May as well."
The Leaky Cauldron was an inn, the fanciest one outside of London. It cost two hundred pounds a night for its cheapest room, and so only the richest travelers stayed there and rarely for more than a day. It was a large stone building, old and with a personality that was palpable.
They walked in, Harry smiling slightly at the doorman, who waved at him. Seamus Finnegan was a friendly classmate that had gotten a summer job. The front hall of the Leaky Cauldron was vaulting, gilt with mobiles of planets and stars that were so realistic Harry almost thought he'd been hurled into outer space. The floor beneath them was marbled black and resounded with Harry and Ron's footsteps as they approached the front desk.
A pretty young woman stood behind it, her name-tag reading Penelope Clearwater. She dimpled a smile at Harry and Ron and waved a finger at them. "Now boys," she said, "no one's to sneak in to bother the actors. Don't you think you're the first two to try!"
Ron asked, "Actors?" He shook his head. "No, we're looking for Mr. Flitwick. Fred and George Weasley-"
"Oh!" Penelope leaned down under her desk, glossy chestnut curls bouncing. She came back up with two nametags and beamed at Harry and Ron. "I was told to expect you." She handed the name tags, similar to her own save that theirs' read 'Fred Weasley' and 'George Weasley'. "Miss McGonagall said to send you to her as soon as you arrived. She's just down the hall, conference room 3A. Have fun, boys!"
"But we're not-" Ron began to protest, but gave up when Penelope started to hum. He hadn't noticed that she was listening to a discman as her thick hair hid the earpieces and the discman was beneath the desk. He stuck his nametag on, giving up. Apparently the world wanted him to be Fred today, and Harry George.
Ron and Harry set out for Conference Room 3A. "Do you think I'll ever get to complete a sentence?" Ron asked plaintively. Harry shook his head and smiled as if he were holding back laughter.
"Actors and sets," Harry mused. "Definitely another movie." The Leaky Cauldron had been used as the setting for many movies.
Ron nodded in agreement as they reached 3A. Harry knocked at the door, and a Scottish voice briskly called out, "Come in!"
Harry opened the door slowly, and Ron entered first. Miss McGonagall was a stern woman with black hair swept up in an emerald green beret, sitting behind a table covered in papers. She was either in her late fifties or early sixties, but retained youthful vigour in addition to rock hard dignity. Her eyes snapped from Ron to Harry and then their nametags. She smiled, but it only reached her mouth; her eyes looked too weary for happiness.
"Weasleys," she nodded. "Sit down." They did, across from her. "Mr. Flitwick highly recommended you both as bright, able workers. The pay is six pounds an hour, and the hours you are required to work will vary. We need a gofer for Mr. Dumbledore and for the technical team; it does not matter which of you takes either job."
Harry said, "Excuse me, but we're not-" and felt Ron's sharp elbow digging into his ribs.
McGonagall looked at them quizzically, but before she could question them, a girl's high-pitched shriek split the air. She sighed and massaged her temple as if this were an hourly occurrence. She stood and walked into the hall, heading for a room further down, where the scream had originated. Harry and Ron followed behind her, Harry rubbing his side.
"Sorry," Ron apologized, "but I had to stop you. We could be making money, Harry, and pretty good money too! All we've got to do is pretend we're Fred and George. Piece of cake."
Harry frowned, then nodded. He disliked deception, but would do anything Ron asked of him.
Ahead, McGonagall was pulling open a door and was conversing with someone they couldn't see in a low voice. A young woman pushed past McGonagall and stomped down the hall. Her face was a thundercloud and she was muttering, "… don't care HOW much they pay me, never EVER again…" Her nametag read 'Katie Bell'.
Ron said, "Bet you anything one of us'll wind up with the job she just quit." And he pushed Harry forward so that he was the first one McGonagall saw when she looked back at them.
"George Weasley!" McGonagall called.
Harry looked down at his nametag in dread. Yes, it DID read 'George Weasley'. He threw a half-hearted glare over his shoulder to Ron, and then went bravely forward.
McGonagall took him by the shoulder as soon as he was in grabbing reach, as if to keep him from running. He could finally see who it was that had caused the trouble: a bushy-haired girl, who looked to be his age, with a defiant chin and blazing brown eyes. "George Weasley, Hermione Granger," McGonagall introduced them crisply. "She'll be in your care from now on, Weasley. Miss Granger, DO try to keep this one for longer than an hour." McGonagall turned and whirled off, leaving the two teens to stare at one another.
Hermione Granger took a look at Harry's face, sniffed, turned back to go into her room, and slammed the door behind her. Harry sat down outside of her room. It was going to be a long day.
A/N: I actually have no clue about appropriate working wages in pound denominators, so let's just pretend that 6 pounds an hour is equivalent to 8.50 or so Canadian, alright? Unless anyone would care to enlighten me… please, enlighten me! Especially about the 'two hundred pounds a night' – is that too much or too little? Ah, I hate money.