Happy Hoppy

Friday morning. Ron manned the shop, while George was away somewhere being George. Outside sprightly spring sunshine (promising light showers later), was enticing early shoppers to stroll along Diagon Alley or to prowl Knockturn Alley.

However, it was both the wrong time of day and the wrong day of the week for a joke shop. Students usually showed up in the afternoon, and, apart from the hols, mostly on Saturday. Apprentices and journeymen (and -women) normally reached the point where they wanted to stuff their master's toilet with firecrackers on Wednesday. On Friday morning they were counting off the minutes until they'd sit in front of a butterbeer at the Leaky. Owl orders tended to flood in Mondays and Tuesdays and taper off towards the weekend.

So Ron was all alone in a room full of fake wands, Skiving Snackboxes, Ton Tongue Toffees, Champagne Fountains, Weasley Clocks (the royalties they had to pay to their mother were making his accountant's heart bleed every month) … scrolls upon scrolls of EMU forms, rules and regulations – damn that Fudge and his fubar paperwork! –, and his ledgers.

Normally, Ron really liked his job. He loved his brother. He was incredibly proud of the shop. And his work … he'd never admit it to anyone but Lois, but book keeping, having long, long columns of galleons, sickles and knuts add up perfectly, left him with a sense of quiet accomplishment and contentment.

Not today, though. For the third time in as many minutes he glanced out of the window and up into the sky, hoping to catch sight of one of the shop's scoundrel owls, bearing news from St Mungo's. It seemed that Hermione was always in and out of the hospital these days. That couldn't be healthy.

"Dammit," Ron grumbled his favourite Muggle curse. He hated having to stay behind and wait. Hated it. Lois wasn't even a witch, and she got to be there! Harry was there, too, although he couldn't even see. Snape was there, of course, and Ron supposed he couldn't complain about that. The git was married to her, after all. But dammit. He was worried about Hermione, too.

"Measuring magic," he muttered. "And how's that supposed to keep Hermione from blowing herself up?" He scowled at his ledgers. He might be good with numbers and have a knack for strategy. But magical theory was beyond him.

He rose from his chair and aimlessly circled the shop. His legs itched as if he'd been hit by a mild version of the Tarantellagra jinx. Unable to settle down again, he stepped outside. Fresh air. His mum swore by it. Unfortunately, outside Ron found not only fresh air, but a huge, sparkling poster about Cornelius Fudge's un-campaign to be elected president of the European Magical Union.

At least the sight of Fudge's unctuous smile made him return inside and sit down at the desk again to pore over the new set of forms that had only been delivered last night.

Merlin, they had to apply for yet another concession? Ron groaned and picked up the enchanted magnifying glass to study the fine print. If he didn't know better, he'd almost start thinking someone was trying to bureaucratise the Wheezes out of business.

oooOooo

The doorbell danced a jig and Ron wondered where it had picked up the tune it played – the melody sounded suspiciously like "Short People", a Muggle song that Ron hadn't understood at all when he'd first heard it.

But he promptly dropped his gaze – sometimes House-elves came in to do the shopping for their masters and mistresses.

Nothing.

But the door kept singing. Ron blinked and lowered his gaze another foot. What in Merlin's name was that? The diminutive creature that had entered the shop was even smaller than a House-elf, standing barely higher than Ron's knee. With its long, golden hair and rosy-cheeked glow it could have been a cherub. Only it was thin, dressed, and had no wings. And it was crooning under its breath.

Ron frowned. "If you're going to Diagon Alley" – sung to the melody of "If you're going to San Francisco"? Was this one of those Happy – Hippo – Hoppies that Lois had told him about? She'd also called them "flower children". That would at least explain why it was so small.

He cleared his throat. "Good morning. How can Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes be of service?" he asked politely.

The blond creature whirled around to face him. Angelic blue eyes peered up at him. In a high, melodic sing-song voice, it replied:

"Buying samples for the master,
don't forget the Pleasure Plaster,
Must have something of everything,
or the master's whip will sting."

"You want to buy everything once?" Ron gaped at the little hoppie. "Why? And how are you going to carry all that stuff?"

"All and sundry,
most of all the candy.
Higglety-pigglety into the bag
everything goes and then on my back."

The hoppie showed Ron a small, brown bag. It didn't look big enough to hold more than a lolly. But then, at first glance you wouldn't think that Hermione's beaded bag contained a whole library, either.

"Well, if you're sure …" Ron trailed off, eyeing the little man dubiously. Then he remembered his manners and added: "Err… if you need help getting something off a shelf, just holler and I'll get it for you, right? And … uh… one piece of everything, that's what you said, yes? You wouldn't mind if I started preparing the bill right away, would you? Even with a Quick Quotes Quill that'll take me a while."

The hoppie bowed deeply.

"Please just chill –"

The chanted reply turned into a proper song, trilled at the top of the hoppie's voice.

"– Prepare the bill,
and your wi–"

Abruptly, the creature fell silent, hopped from one foot to the other, muttering: "Master says no singing. No. Singing." The hoppie sniffed. "Bill will be fine, good sir. And now I must collect my purchases, please."

oooOooo

A/N: "Scoundrel owl"/Sceloglaux is the genus of the laughing owl of New Zealand, extinct since 1914. Maybe some of them survived in secret ... maybe Luna and Rolf discovered some and saved them, giving them to Ron and George. However it came about, it seems to be the perfect kind of owl for a joke shop to use.

More about the "hoppie" in the next chapter. For the time being, you're invited to guess what that's all about.

Thank you for reading and for your very kind comments!