George Weasley

To be fair, Rosmerta got herself into this situation. She’d planned to take a seat and wait for George to come downstairs, ask him how he’s been and then go on her merry way through Diagon Alley, but then this thing swallowed her whole and now she’s been stuck for the better part of ten minutes trying to get herself out. Her only saving grace is when George finally shows his face, and Rosmerta is quick to call for help. “Fuck — George Weasley, get me off of this thing or so help me God.” He does as much, and once she’s free she makes a big show of fixing herself and crossing disgruntled arms over her chest. “So I’ve gathered. Been here long enough for my arse to go completely numb, thanks very much for that. I come to see how things are going and this is the welcome I get? See if I keep coming around after that, kid. Unlikely,” she huffs, though her threat is empty. There’s something about George that has Rosmerta feeling like she constantly needs to check on him, and maybe it’s annoying but she just can’t help herself.

George couldn’t help the cat-like grin that spread across his face when he finally got a look at who it was he managed to trap in his definitely-not-placed-there-on-purpose bench. Rosmerta’s presence as of late, whether it was him frequenting her bar or she coming here (for some reason), was a welcomed one. He’d honestly thought he and Fred might’ve left a bad impression when they - years ago, and underaged - snuck into the Three Broomsticks and swapped a bloke’s drink with swampwater. He was glad it didn’t. “Sorry about that,” he offered, with an entirely unapologetic smile. “No offense, but this is a joke shop. You’re lucky your arse is just numb. Could’ve been on fire,” he quipped. “What are you doing here? Just out and about in the alley?”

— Hannah had been on a walk through Diagon Alley, she liked to walk through the streets. it reminded her of when she was younger and getting excited for school, when times where simpler and before they became what they were after and until now. The only difference now was there stood a store by the name of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes that she remember going during her last years of school. And so she decided to go in and have a look, and maybe pick up something to prank her coworkers with when she was bored.  As she walked around, she saw a bench and decided to take a seat to relax. it just so happen that luck wasn’t on her side and now she was stuck. As Hannah was about to call out for someone, in came George and felt embarrassed in the situation she was in. “ I..uh..yeah i should have remembered but been some years since i’ve actually been in here. I’ll probably say not that longer than five minutes. I was lucky I suppose in that case.”

“I should be offended- has it really been years since you’ve been here?” George was only teasing, of course. He knew his shop was more popular among younger kids or fellow mischief makers. He and Fred had always done their best to have products that catered to all sorts of clientele, from muggle whoopee cushions to harmless love potions, but he’d been straggling somewhat behind. Whenever he was inventing in one area, another inevitably fell behind, leaving some unavoidably out-of-date sections. But he was doing about as best as he could, now that he was on his own. “And with how often I patron the leaky cauldron - honestly, Hannah, I’m gutted.” He moved to flip the ‘CLOSED’ sign on the door, then turned to face her. “Was there anything in particular you were looking for? Just for you, I’d be willing to offer a special DA discount.”

“no. and even if i did - i’m perfectly capable of handling it.” she snaps, a little offended at being taken for a child, for someone incapable of taking care of herself. she sizes up the speaker - red hair, sure of himself. it’s a weasley, but for the life of her she can’t figure out which one. then his follow up makes her scoff. as ever - judged for her associations, for her past, for things she can’t control. laurel lifts her chin and stares the young man down. “it’s not just dark magic down there. and not everyone can come from the wholesomeness of your lot, so watch yourself mate. just - ugh. just forget it.”

George stared incredulously for a moment, and - he couldn’t help it - felt a sudden flash of anger at the comment regarding his lot, though it could’ve meant any number of things. “I’d be careful who you’re telling to watch themselves, mate. You don’t want to give the wrong impression.” A beat, and then he smiled quite sarcastically, and shrugged. “But hey, nothin’ to get your wand in a knot about. Just an observation. You’re the one standing in a daze at the entrance of this place and  I was obviously just a customer, so not exactly judging.” He held the parcel in his hand up for emphasis. “Though if you think Knockturn is some kind of beacon of prosperity, you might want to get your eyes checked.”

Max didn’t know why the Alley was so crowded today, but he didn’t like it. He knew it was a weekend, but this seemed to go far beyond the usual amount of weekend shoppers. Max watched as the person who had banged into him caused the scoop of ice cream to fly back into its cone, but it didn’t entirely fix the situation. “I agree,” he said, trying to pick off the flecks of dirt. It was a pointless task, but it felt better than not trying. He looked at the man as he spoke again, trying to place him. Something about him was familiar but Max couldn’t quite put his finger on it at first. “You’re the Weasley of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, aren’t you? Yeah, sure, let’s grab an ice cream. I’m gonna eat this one in the shop though.”

“That’s me, the Wheezing Wizard Weasley,” George said with a self-amused smile. “George, actually. And you’ve got this shop here, right?” he questioned, gesturing back to the apothecary shop he was about to enter before George had so rudely bumped into him. He circled back to lead them through the crowd, back to Florean’s. “Likely a wise move, mate. If I hadn’t knocked your ice cream onto the cobblestones, chances are it would’ve landed in a bin of black beetles. Seems a dangerous place to treat yourself to anything edible.”

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:   the ministry of magic   !

gwydion forbid that the ministry archives keep record of every printed issue of the daily prophet since 1883, but neglect to extend the same courtesy to even a single issue of the quibbler. merry had been greeted with no less than four flying memos when she had arrived to work at nine am sharp, each of them requesting an ultra specific article from january, 2009 - none of them providing any REASON for why it were needed. she had been searching for several hours, by now, with no luck ( in addition to three half searched boxes stacked upon her desk, there was an endless pile of those already searched pushed against the wall to her left ) when the ELEVATOR dinged, heralding the arrival of a welcome distraction. “good afternoon,” her smile was downright beautific, and she was very careful not to knock the precarious boxes she had been working on getting through even as she stood to look over them, “welcome to the ministry archives. my apologies, for the mess-” she gave a glance around, and continued with a degree of desperation to her voice, now, "i’ve spent more of my life than i ever wanted to searching for an issue of the quibbler i know we don’t even have on record. if you’re here ACCIDENTALLY, then please, for my sanity- at least pretend you aren’t, even for just a minute.” 

George had never been to the ministry much. Even though his father had worked there for so long, and now his brothers, the place always felt a bit too serious - he and Fred used to get the same feeling that if they ever came in and stayed too long someone would be tempted to arrest them simply for existing. Lately, however, George had been dealing with a bit of well-masked anxiety, and being struck with the idea to pay his father a visit was a sudden stroke of inspiration he didn’t- for some reason- ignore. So here he was, in the middle of a damn workday, to go and see his daddy because he wasn’t feeling well. George turned back a few times, battling between annoyance in himself and a complete fuck it attitude before he realized he didn’t have any idea where he was, or where he was going. Just as he was mentally cursing himself, an elevator dinged, and he had ended up... somewhere. “Uh...” the girl who greeted him was as polite as someone could possibly be with the amount of chaos around her. The sight of boxes of files almost made him nauseous. He couldn’t help it though, he laughed at her haphazard greeting. “Alright, well, in that case I’m definitely here on purpose to take up an indefinite amount of time on a completely unrelated task. But, sorry, I’m curious- which article of the Quibbler are people asking for?”

George couldn’t say how long he’d been pacing the second floor of his shop, staring idly at the passersby without registering any of the activity. One hand was in his pocket, fingers idly toying with two simple coins, the gentle tinkling sound of them joining and separating, over and over as they moved within the limited space of his trousers. Only as the crowds began to disperse and the light in the sky transitioned to complete darkness did he finally snap out of his daze. The shop was empty, save for the varying noises of his different products on display. Quietly (which was, what some might say, an unusual descriptor for George), he turned and began to descend the stars where he could hear a noise that was decidedly human. “Hey, we’re closed - oh.” A gentle huff of laughter escaped George as he saw some poor soul who had mistaken a his Booby-Trap Bamboozle Bench for a  real  seat. Their behind had sunk deeply into the wood frame, for all intents and purposes trapped without the ‘password’ to get out. George waved his wand in a strange pattern, and just like that, they were released. “Sorry. Word for the wise- you can’t trust much of anything in here. Trapped for long?”

the entrance to knockturn alley seems to stare at her, its darkness almost magnetic. she hasn’t been down it since her father last took her school shopping - how long ago now? eight years? nine, even? she’d taken to fending for herself quite early - her parents money, sure, but they never wanted to go along with her. not that she’d asked them after she turned fifteen. a pinch of floo powder and she’d be free for a day - two, if she managed to get a room at the leaky cauldron and felt like a trip to hogsmeade as well. but now, she just stares stupidly at the sign, cigarette drooping dumbly between her lips. the old family business was mere meters away. her past had rushed up to catch her unawares. “fuck me,” she mutters finally, still rooted in place - though she does take a drag from her cigarette, entirely unaware of anyone nearby. “no escape from who you are, i suppose.”

Knockturn Alley seemed more crowded than usual, George daring to make eye-contact with its traditionally shifty crowd instead of meekly looking away. He could still remember when they wanted so badly to sneak down this dark passageway, just to see what all the fuss was about, and maybe (definitely) get into a little trouble. As an adult, George could say definitively it wasn’t really that big of a deal. A bit dodgy maybe, but exactly the sort of place he could gather a few of the more dubious ingredients he was looking for. He was making his way back to the main street - or, at least, would have been if someone wasn’t blocking half of the unusually narrow exit. She looked... well, a bit lost. George sneaked a look over his shoulder to see if there was anyone in particular causing that expression on her face. “Oi, you alright? Got some creep following you or something?” He lifted an eyebrow at her words. “Sure, if ‘who you are’ is a shady alley.”

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” Max said loudly as he squeezed between all the people in Diagon Alley. He was just trying to get back to the apothecary without dropping his ice cream, but it seemed impossible. The Alley was unusually crowded that day. Just when he was reaching for the door handle, someone smacked into him from behind … and the ice cream toppled to the ground. “Oh, come on!” he yelled, entirely frustrated, and spun around to face the person.

Who gave a damn about a bloody book signing anyways? It was flashbacks to that absolute monkey’s arse Gilderoy Lockhart as the lines outside Flourish & Blotts crowded the streets. George was on his way back to his own shop when he, in his haste, knocked into someone and realized by the vocal response that he’d angered them. There was ice cream on the ground. The horror! With the flick of his wand, George raised the ice cream back to its cone, but there were speaks of dirt and rubble in it that he simply couldn’t fix. “Well, that’s a travesty.” He sighed, stowing his wand away once more. “Let me buy you another, then?”

When Pansy had left England there had been no cafes on Diagon Alley. The closest you could get was the Leaky Cauldron which, really, was nothing like a cafe. She had been pleasantly surprised to discover that there now was a cafe … and it was practically next door to the Daily Prophet offices. She spent practically every lunch break there, listening in on other people’s conversations while pretending to read. Or actually reading, if nothing interesting was being discussed. On this particular day the place was quite packed, so she walked determinedly up to a nearly-empty table and pointed to one of the empty seats. “Do you mind?” she asked, in a tone that suggested she was going to sit no matter what the answer was.

George didn’t mind a crowd, but being lucky enough to score a table at a popular place on his own was just asking for a stranger to take advantage of the open seat across from him. It was the only hour he had away from the shop, and actually wouldn’t have minded some company, although he was admittedly surprised at who he saw when he glanced up from his meal. He stared blankly at Pansy for moment, before finally responding. “I’m sure they have some bins in the back that would suit you more appropriately.” A pause, then a large grin. Whether it was fake or not was decidedly difficult to tell. “Joking, of course. It’s a mad house here. Just sit.” He took a large bite of his sandwich to keep him from saying anything more.

⧼   cameron monaghan, cis male, he/him /   severus and stone by radical face + a gentle joke to hear mom laugh, angrily tearing off the hand of a clock erratically moving between “lost” and “mortal peril”, wearing your worn dragon leather jacket during the quiet, cool mornings of diagon alley when everything is still and lonely in weasleys’ wizard wheezes .   ⧽   ━━   hey, isn’t that GEORGE WEASLEY? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the TWENTY-SIX year old pure blood WIZARD is a GRYFFINDOR alumnus who has gone on to be a SMALL BUSINESS OWNER . i’ve heard they can be quite WITTY & CREATIVE, but i don’t know… they came off very BRASH & IMPUDENT in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?   [   jess, 26, EST, she/her   ]

“I am never singular; I was born a pair to walk alone. My mirror shows the things I’m not, but it helps me feel at home.”