"Orders from Ireland-" Verity checks the parchment held in her hand, and recites in clear voice: "Firehay from Donegal, stunned dungbeetles from Monaghan, live firebeetles from Ballymena; sixty galleons-worth each."
Fred nods in assent.
"Orders from Scotland: stinksap from Strathpeffer, rubber from Edinburgh, stickleglue from Muir of Ord, moonstones from Turiff, hundred, fifty two, hundred and twenty galleons worth each."
George nods along with Fred.
Verity looks up at them from her parchment and says seriously, "We are running out of truffles and pastilles. Should I add them to the list?"
"Oh no," Fred says, "We'll get those from honeydukes."
George nods. "Why let slip the chance to help our distant relatives share some gain from our business?"
"Your relatives?" Verity sure isn't the quickest broom in the shed, but they couldn't blame her for this. She's a muggle born, so she might not be well-versed with all the intricacies of pure blood family ties. If you trace back long enough, almost every pure blood family is related to one another.
They sure don't bother with explaining her all that. "Yeah," Fred says impatiently, "Flume and Weasley clans merge if you trace back to the bronze ages. Anyway, what else?"
Verity looks as if she isn't sure if it was a joke, but nods anyway, shaking blonde fringe away from her eyes as she prepares to reel off:
"Orders from Poland: Pigsnouts from, um..Podlaskie, hippogriff feathers from Mazo- Mazowie-eckiee.."
Fred sighs. Thing is, Verity herself must read the order to them, because they've put a charm as such. They turned a little strict after they found out she'd secretly ordered an extra box of instant tan powder. It wasn't serious pilfering, but they'd contemplated throwing her out anyway. But then George reasoned that they won't get anyone as compliant to do the somewhat dumb, menial tasks that they make her do, because it gets a little crazy for them with the managing of the customers and the making of all the products.
Fred leans in towards her to read, "Mazowieckie."
Verity nods, flushing. "Mazowieckie."
"Send the order right away." Fred says, and they make to move away. A gaggle of third years seem like they need some help around the sticky trainers section.
"Um."
They turn back together. Verity eyes them both with wide blue eyes, twisting her fingers together.
"I..I actually wanted to know if I could um..put in few more hours at work."
Fred raises a brow. "Are you still trying to atone for the tan powder?"
"No, no," she says quickly, flushing deeply. "It's just..I, well. My foster parents don't want me anywhere near them anymore, ever since they found out that we're under serious threat from someone who wants to..who wants to kill muggle-borns and all. So, I decided to rent an apartment and..I could do with some extra galleons." her eyes are downcast, hesitant to meet theirs.
"So, you want us to raise your pay for the extra hours you've decided to put in."
Verity looks up at Fred, hurt. She quickly composes herself. "Well, sorry if it's too much to ask for." Gone are all traces of blush as Verity now looks like she wants to curse Fred to oblivion.
"Hey that's all right," George says quickly. Fred and Verity both whip their heads towards him. "You can put in an hour extra daily. We'll raise your pay by hundred galleons."
Fred's reaction to that spontaneous decision made without consultation with him is only an amused smile. Fred eyes him for a few lingering seconds, and George is almost about to turn to him and snap a 'What?' when Fred turns to Verity and shrugs. "Yeah, well. All right. We anyway need some help with charming a few puking pastille cauldrons to vanish all the sick."
Verity wrinkles her nose. Fred rolls his eyes. "You won't actually be vanishing sick. You just got to charm the empty cauldrons to vanish anything that's put in it, so it could vanish sick when it's got to." Verity's mouth opens in a comprehending 'o'.
"If that's all," Fred turns, and George follows. Those third years seem like they're about to trample down the sticky trainers section.
"So," Fred asks, "How can I trust you to be a dependable business partner?" he immediately sets about wrestling a frightened third year boy off the wall. The boy looks green for a few seconds before grinning in wonder and shouting a fervent 'Man that was so cool!'
"What?" George says this time. "Don't put the trainers on the wrong foot or you'll be thrown off the wall instead of being stuck to it!" he throws the warning at the younglings. They nod at him seriously.
"You just agreed without asking what I had to say about it." Fred accuses.
"Yeah, well, got any problem if I decide not to be a twat like you?"
Fred only laughs. "Right profits you'll bring us if you keep up with all the charity."
"Fred. A hundred galleons is nothing to us now," – he stops, and they somehow know that they're going to chorus 'Touch wand' (and they do) – "But it'd mean a lot to her." George continues in an uncharacteristically Molly-ish tone, "Try being a little more thoughtful, especially during these..these times."
But Fred knows that he can loosen up and be a right prat about things and not care. Because George would always be there to balance things out.
He doesn't say that out loud, though. He only resorts to a below-the-belt, "Stop pulling a Percy, now."
George narrows his eyes. "What?"
"Stop being a pretentious twat."
"You're the twat! God, Fred! You are-"
"You are!"
"-the one who is a-"
"Oh shut your trap, you sound like a girl."
"-right tactless, insensitive git!"
But they are laughing, laughing as they haul a few squealing third years up and drop them down a spiralling slide that descends down straight into a tickling bath.
The third years scream their way down, before erupting into peals of laughter when they are dunked into the tickling bath. They can see them rolling and jerking around in helpless squeals.
They both are thoughtful, these times notwithstanding.
That is why they are grinning as they stand shoulder to shoulder, finding joy in watching other's joy.
And George knows that Fred is not as insensitive as he lets on.
Because after his eyes leave those third years who are laughing silly, they settle on him, turning gentler, and George returns the gaze, before turning his attention away.
Because even after George walks over to the group of students huddled around pygmy puffs even though they don't seem like they need any assistance, he could still feel his eyes lingering on him.
It, once again, makes him want to turn to him and snap a 'What?'
But something tells him that he shouldn't.