DRARRY - Wonderful Wheezes

Chapter Ten

Harry stared at the cans of beans on the shelf. Just how many types of bean were there? It seemed excessive at this point, honestly.

He picked three random ones and threw them into his cart next to the new lightbulbs for the We're Open! sign, some tinsel, and about fifty-yards-worth of garland. But he still had to look for proper cages for the Pygmy puffs to live in, a new music player to replace the one Verity had accidentally blown out, some No-Slip Elixir for the stairs, and—of course—a mallet to bash his head in when this was all over.

Harry hated shopping. It really lost its shine once you had to do it every bloody week to avoid starving to death. It was better, though, than his morning spent talking to Rita Skeeter about a press release for the grand reopening.

Three hours he'd spent there, a sheen of sweat on his brow and seeping through his shirt, Rita taking his statement about the shop without much hassle, but then turning the story to Fred and George and how everyone was getting on without Fred and how tragic the whole thing was, and Harry had decided sometime around 4 o'clock that maybe his mallet would be best used on her, instead. But even that was better than his afternoon spent using an entire Potion's Shop's stock of Scrubs Ahoy to spruce up Wheezes.

He'd dumped it on the floor, the shelves, the walls, and the stairs with enough gusto to cover the place in about two hours, but it has felt like working for the Dursleys again.

Then he'd gone to print out some of the signs Dean had designed for them.

There was one that read, 'Now hiring!,' in bright purple lettering, another saying, 'Come back December 5th for the grand reopening!' with lots of confetti, and a third that advertised the Pygmy Puffs, 'Meet your new best friend!' with a sketch of Elton on it.

They looked great, but after squabbling with the prints' shop for thirty minutes over sizing, and price-per-print, and Harry trying to explain why he didn't need a bulk order of any of the signs, he'd been ready to go home and curl up on the sofa for the next week and a half.

It was stacking up to be the worst day of his life and it wasn't even half over yet.

And, yes, that included that one when he died.

When he finally got back to the shop, it was all clean, and Verity was levitating the last bobble onto the giant tree he'd begged Hagrid to bring them.

"Don't you look fetching," she said.

"I've heard misery compliments my complexion."

She grinned, turning to the register to count up the week's profits. Elton was resting on her shoulder, nibbling on a chunk of celery.

"Everything all set up?" he asked.

"Floor is clean, lights are lit, posters are posted, stairs are unslippified."

He grunted in approval, resting his aching head against the wall. "Did the twins ever have a protocol for making Christmas crackers?"

"Big explosions, unnecessary gimmicks, and a load of disclaimers on the packaging, why?"

"I figure that's one of the easiest places to start with manufacturing. We don't have any leftovers from the last few years, do we?"

"Technically, yes, but unless you fancy your tongue getting tied up into the shape of a Christmas tree, or getting introduced to their er..." she gestured vaguely to Harry's lower half, "rather more intimate version of a Nutcracker, I don't recommend them."

"You're joking, aren't you?"

"Less than I'd like to be."

He blew out a puff of air, sinking to the floor in defeat.