To Dare

A/N: Thanks to EL and pyro for your kind reviews. Yes, this story is fully plotted and the initial draft is written. I'll be posting regularly now that AFF seems to be up and running again and I apologize profusely for my part in the long delay.

To Dare

Chapter Two

Thalassa took down the jar of Avalonis capsicum—fairy peppers—and dumped a healthy portion in the large granite mortar. She tapped the pestle with her wand. “Slow grind. Ten minutes,” she ordered. The pestle began to move around, occasionally giving a little hop to pulverize the dried peppers better. Assured that it was operating properly, she set about preparing the other components for her potion. This would be the last item she needed to work on today. All around the workroom were potions in various stages of production. The fact that she’d done an entire month’s worth of work in less than two days was a testament to her brutal efficiency. As she worked, she ruthlessly excluded all distractions from her attention, from the noise of customer traffic in the front of the shop to the worsening cramp in her left foot. That focus had served her well during the past few years while putting in long hours in St. Mungo’s potions lab, and when remaining deaf to the casualty reports.

The big cauldron bubbled steadily under her watchful eye when the door between shop and workroom opened.

“Thalassa,” Euryale called in her best ‘customer service’ voice. “There are two young wizards here to see you.”

Stirring the simmering liquid, Thalassa smiled. She could be grateful for this interruption. “If they’re a pair of redheads, you can let them back, Mother. I’ve been expecting them.”

“You know we don’t allow customers in the workroom. The potential for contamination…”

Without taking her eyes off the cauldron, Thalassa interrupted. “Mother, I assure you, these wizards know better than to touch anything. I’ve asked them to meet me here today. Please let them back.”

Euryale withdrew and after a moment showed the Weasley twins in. She smiled stiffly and warned, “We close in thirty minutes.”

Thalassa spared a quick glance in their direction. “Shut the door,” she mouthed as soon as Euryale turned away to wait on a customer. George quietly pushed the door to and followed Fred over to where Thalassa worked.

Fred sniffed the steam rising from the cauldron. ”Pepper-up?” he guessed.

“Right in one. Just give me a minute and I’ll be finished.”

“Nice set-up you’ve got here,” George remarked, looking around at the neat rows of shelves full of components, cauldrons of various sizes, scales, spacious worktables and other equipment all arranged for maximum efficiency. It looked a lot brighter than the old Potions classroom at school.

“Thank you. My father built this business from nothing,” she said with quiet pride. “He bought the building and converted it. I’ve changed very little since I took over. There, all done.” She doused the flame under the cauldron. “I’m glad you stopped by when you did. I’ve been working like a house-elf to get our regular stock finished. I received a massive special order yesterday that I have to complete in less than a month.”

“Hartwell’s is the premier apothecary in all of London for potions,” Fred grinned.

“Flattery, while appreciated, will get you nowhere,” she returned dryly. “I can’t say I’m not pleased to get the work, but it’s going to mean a lot of late nights.” She wiggled her foot to ease the cramp. “Come on, Dad’s books are over here.” She led them to a huge rolltop desk in the corner. Stacked in three neat piles were the eleven notebooks bound in black dragonhide. “I glanced through them Sunday. That first stack is mostly standard stuff, though he made some notes in the margins for ideas on variant formulae. The big stack in the centre is almost all his experimental work: all very straightforward, clear and concise. That last is a jumble of odds and ends: old ledgers of supplies and orders; lists of ingredients that can be substituted for one another; and several pages at a stretch that are completely incomprehensible.”

Fred leaned forward, intrigued. “Really?”

“Perhaps it’s a code of some sort.” George sounded as if Christmas had come early.

Thalassa laughed delightedly at the twins’ avid expressions. “I can see I had the right idea involving the pair of you in this. I don’t know when I’d have found the time to go through that lot properly.” She tilted her head toward the front of the shop and listened for a moment. “Hurry and get those packed up before Mother comes back. She’d go spare if she knew I was lending them out.”

George frowned and he and Fred began carefully loading the notebooks in the rucksacks they’d brought along. “If you don’t think you should...” he began.

She made a dismissive gesture. “Dad was always a bit paranoid about his books, but he willed them specifically to me. Mother won’t like it, but I can lend them out if I want to. I’d just rather not have to argue with her.” She turned away to check on the Pepper-up and found it was cool enough to bottle. “So tell me more about your new product line.” She pulled on a pair of thin dragonhide gloves and began carefully ladling the potion into the pre-labelled bottles.

Notebooks safely stowed out of sight, the three of them chatted comfortably about the new Wheezes products, the rising cost of raw materials, and consumer confidence until Euryale opened the connecting door and announced politely but firmly, “Closing time.”

“Thank you, Mother. If you’ll lock up the front, I’ll set the alarms and lock the back when we leave.” She capped the last bottle of Pepper-up and carried the ladle to the basin.

Euryale stood in the doorway; her pinched face a mask of disapproval. Thalassa looked up and faked a contrite expression. “Where are my manners? Mother, this is Fred Weasley,” he stepped forward and shook hands with the older witch, “and George Weasley.”

George also offered his hand. “Pleasure, ma’am.”

“Fred, George, my mother, Euryale Hartwell.” Thalassa lowered her voice as if imparting a particularly juicy piece of gossip. “Fred and George are very well connected at the Ministry. Their father is the head of his own department and their brother, Percy, is personal assistant to the Minister of Magic. Fred and George have their own shop here in Diagon Alley: Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes, down at number ninety-three.”

Euryale’s expression brightened considerably. “Oh, well, pleasure to meet you. I’ll leave you to your discussion, then. Thalassa, mind you, double-check the locks when you leave. It’s a rough lot that comes in upstairs.”

“I will, Mother. See you tomorrow.”

The twins held back their laughter until they heard the front door of the shop close. “Who’d have ever thought we’d be grateful to be related to Percy?” George gasped.

“We’ll have to pass up the next opportunity to play a prank on him and call it a fair trade.” Fred clutched his side.

Thalassa just shook her head and continued cleaning up.

“What’s upstairs anyway?” Fred asked when he’d recovered. “I didn’t pay any attention to the sign on the way in.”

“A magical tattoo parlour. Ian, the artist, does very professional work. It’s not nearly as dodgy as Mother thinks, even if Ian’s usually late with his rent. In case you missed it, she’s a terrible snob.”

“No, no, we caught that,” George smiled wryly. “You should’ve seen the look she gave us when we asked to see you. Brr,” he shuddered.

“Bet she could stare down a basilisk,” Fred grimaced.

Thalassa propped her fists on her hips and scowled. “Shut up. That’s my mother you’re talking about.” Then she relented. “Even if you are right.”

George tactfully changed the subject. “So what makes them magical? The tattoos.”

“They’re enchantments, similar to Chocolate Frogs, only they’re permanent. You activate the spell by touching the design and saying the charm. It comes to life, last about five or ten minutes, and then goes back to being skin art. I’m not sure how it’s done; only that part of the process is specially brewed inks. I traded Ian some supplies for a very nice design once.”

“You?” George stared, stunned. “Have a tattoo?”

Fred was mightily impressed. “Wicked. Care to show us?”

“I think not.” She threw them a mocking glance over her shoulder. “It’s rather large, you see. I don’t think I’d feel comfortable taking my clothes off for you just now.” Her expression softened into an impish grin. “Perhaps another day. Would you accept dinner instead?” Oh, Gods. Had she actually just flirted with them? And invited them to dinner?

Fred cleared his throat. “All right,” he agreed. “George?”

The younger Weasley twin shut his mouth with a snap. “Sure.”

“Good. You both like spicy food, don’t you? I put a batch of gumbo in the slow cooker this morning. There’s enough for three.”

A short walk and a trip on the Underground later, they arrived at Thalassa’s flat. She lived in a renovated warehouse in a Muggle neighbourhood of starving artists, writers, musicians, actors and other eccentrics. They trooped up to her third-floor, corner flat, stopping once or twice to exchange greetings with her neighbours. Each time, she introduced Fred and George with a vague, “Old school mates, working on a project together.” No one looked askance at the three of them in wizards’ robes.

“Here we are.” She stopped in front of the door with number thirteen on it. After making sure the corridor was clear, she pulled out her wand and traced a pattern on the door. She then used her key and pushed the door open. She reached over to press a row of buttons on the wall just inside the door and the room flooded with light.

For Fred and George, their first impression of Thalassa’s flat was one of space and order. Absent were the impossible angles and clutter that characterized most wizard dwellings. The décor, too, was bland by wizard standards, though still eccentric for a Muggle flat.

Hanging just beside the door was a large mirror with an ornate frame. Thalassa closed the door and glanced at her reflection. “Anything unusual?” she asked.

“No, mistress. All was quiet,” her image replied.

Further off to the right was a large table that would’ve been round, but one leaf was dropped where it was pushed against the wall. Beyond the table stretched a narrow, fairly modern Muggle kitchen. Bunches of herbs were hung to dry from strings that crisscrossed the space overhead.

To the left of the door was a cast iron cloak rack shaped like a small, leafless tree. An umbrella, a plain black cloak and a very fine, midnight blue cloak hung from the branches. Along the left wall were several sets of shelves containing books and Muggle artefacts that Fred and George recognized as devices to play various Muggle media. There were also stacks and rows of flat plastic cases in different sizes. Grouped in the centre of the room were a pink chaise lounge, a couch covered in green and blue patterned fabric and a squashy, blue-flowered armchair big enough to seat two people. Directly past the lounge area, heavy, blue velvet curtains from an old theatre divided the room. The curtains were open now, revealing a heavy, wooden worktable and an owl cage. Off to the right the back of a huge armoire could be seen and in the left corner was a fireplace.

“Why don’t you get that connected to the Floo network,” George indicated the fireplace with a nod, “so you don’t have to use Muggle transport?”

“It is connected, but only for outgoing traffic. Living alone, I can’t be too careful. It’s the same reason I’ve got anti-apparition spells on the flat. They’re not as strong as the ones at Hogwarts, but anybody powerful enough to break them is good enough to get to me somewhere else.”

They each gave her equally appraising looks. “Is there something about you we should know?” Fred asked.

“You’re not an undercover Auror or anything like that, are you?”

“No, of course not. What’s wrong with having a few security measures in place?”

“It’s just a little unusual, is all,” George answered, still looking at her curiously.

“’Constant vigilance.’ Isn’t that what Professor Moody used to say?”

“Yeah, only it turned out not to be Mad-Eye Moody after all,” Fred said.

“Yes, I heard something about that. Proves my point, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose we can’t argue with that.” George shrugged. “Still, it seems a little—paranoid to me. How much do you really need to be concerned with security any more?”

“I learned my paranoia early and well from an excellent set of instructors. Stout heart and pure motives are rarely adequate protection by themselves,” she said, as if that explained everything.

Fred walked over to the shelves and began inspecting the electronic devices. “Aren’t you afraid of a visit from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Should I be?”

“We won’t report you,” Fred assured her.

“Not to worry: none of my appliances are enchanted. Strictly Muggle-issue, purchased legally and used appropriately. Well, make yourselves comfortable while I go change.” She left them and walked into the area on the other side of the curtain, disappearing around the side of the armoire.

Fred began poking around the items on the shelves, reading the colourful labels of the little plastic boxes and pushing random buttons on the players. George turned away to investigate a door set into the wall that stretched between the kitchen and the blue velvet curtain. No candles automatically lit, so he felt around on the wall inside the door until he found a row of buttons like the ones Thalassa had used to turn on the lights in the main room. He was a little disappointed to find that the door just led to the loo—nothing interesting there. Except for special set-ups like the prefects’ bathroom at Hogwarts, Muggle facilities were basically the same as the wizard sort. Only the big claw-footed tub looked out of place against the sleek blue-and-green lines of the rest of the room. It was probably a modification Thalassa conjured, he decided.

Music suddenly blared from the other room. “Boll-ocks!” Fred cried. George returned to find his twin frantically pushing buttons and twisting dials, to no discernible effect. Thalassa came running out of the back of the room, hastily fastening her robe just as Fred pulled out his wand to perform a Silencing Charm.

“Stop! Stop! I’ll get it,” she yelled over the music. She turned a knob on the front of one device and the volume dropped to a reasonable level.

“Ye Gods! That was like a Howler,” Fred shook his head as if to clear it. “Too bad there’s not a bitty dial on those you can turn to make them quieter.”

“You can’t just use magic with all this Muggle stuff,” she scolded. “You should know that. It mucks up the inner workings somehow. I have enough problems getting this lot to work right with the security spells I have on the flat.”

“Sorry,” Fred apologized.

“No, it’s my fault. I told you to make yourselves comfortable.” She smiled. “I should have realized something like this would happen. I know you’re most comfortable getting into mischief.”

George laughed and slipped an arm around her waist in a casual hug. “You’ve got us there. Our priorities in life are mischief, Quidditch and food, though not always in that order.”

“Mm,” she nodded. “I’ll bet you’ve got another priority that you’re very gentlemanly not to mention. But,” she held up her hands as the twins smirked, “you make a good point. I promised to feed you and I always make good on my promises. I’ll just show you how to work these, shall I?” She demonstrated the operation of each of her media players and showed them which of the silver discs went in which machine. “Here, it’s not likely you’re familiar with these Muggle bands, so let me recommend a few of my favourites.” She pulled out half a dozen of the plastic cases and handed them to Fred. “What’ll you have to drink? I have butterbeer and pumpkin juice, of course, and cider and some Muggle beer or I can make tea.”

“Butterbeer,” they chorused.

“As you wish.” She fetched them two bottles from the refrigerator and then busied herself in the kitchen. Fred put one of the discs in the player and he and George then each selected a notebook to read.

Thalassa smiled to herself as she watched them going over her father’s notes. Their presence was comforting, somehow, and she realized she missed the company of wizards and witches close to her own age. She was friendly with the Muggles around her, of course, but she had to mind what she said and did. The label of ‘eccentric’ excused a limited amount of odd behaviour. She’d gone out with Ian once or twice, and although he was perfectly nice, they didn’t really have that many interests in common except for Muggle music. Hogwarts students, current and recent, shopped at the apothecary, but Thalassa only worked the front counter on Mondays. That tended to limit their interaction and besides, most of them were there to buy contraceptive potions, aphrodisiacs or other potions of an embarrassing nature. They didn’t generally want to stay and chat. Most customers learned quickly to make those sorts of purchases when Euryale wasn’t working if they didn’t want their personal matters gossiped about. Mondays ended up being a constant flow of uncomfortable exchanges.

Thalassa reflected that since she’d left school, her life had become very routine and solitary: four and a half days brewing potions or working on ledgers in the back of the apothecary and one day at the front counter. Evenings, Sundays and Saturday afternoons she ran errands, attended what few formal showings there were of her Muggle neighbours’ creative efforts, or just stayed in with a book or a rented film. Once a month, she attended the Diagon Alley Merchant’s Association meetings. She rarely got her broomstick out anymore and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had company over. Those dark, desperate months during the war had altered her routine, but not her isolation. It was past time she returned from her self-imposed exile.

“Supper’s ready,” she called and began setting the table. She served them the gumbo over rice with a green salad on the side and plenty of butterbeer to wash it all down. They ate like she’d spread a Hogwarts start-of-term feast in front of them.

“Ah, Gods,” Fred sighed finally, pushing his dish away. “I think I’ve died and gone to Paradise.”

George mumbled an agreement, wiping at his streaming eyes and nose. Both of them were flushed and sweating from the peppery heat of the gumbo.

“You’re sweet to say so,” she smiled wryly. “I promise next time I’ll remember to go easy on the hot peppers.”

“Not at all,” George choked. “The head rush is actually quite nice.” He took another long swallow of butterbeer. “You do realize that, just like strays, if you continue to feed us, you’ll never be rid of us?”

“I can think of worse fates,” she laughed, realizing she meant it, and finished her beer. “If you’ll clear the table, I’ll fetch my notes and we’ll get to work on your business problems.” She retrieved her copy of the Wheezes catalogue and rolls of parchment full of her neat script. Fred and George deposited their dishes in the sink, nicked the last two butterbeers and went to sprawl on the couch. Thalassa changed the disc in the CD player and levitated the chaise-lounge around so she could sit facing them.

“Right, then. Now that you’re fed and half-pissed, I’m going to get very bossy with you. Your most pressing need is an accounting system. Ideally, you should hire an independent goblin firm to keep your ledgers for you. They don’t come cheap, though.”

“Beyond our reach at the moment, I’m afraid,” sighed George.

“If you just had someone to set up the system and explain it to you, you could do the work yourselves. It just takes a bit of discipline to maintain. Didn’t you say your brother works at Gringott’s?”

“Yeah, but Bill’s just a curse-breaker. No help there,” he said glumly.

“Don’t you do the ledgers for the apothecary?” Fred asked with a hopeful look.

“Yes, I took a community-ed course sponsored by Gringott’s and the Diagon Alley Merchant’s Association. Ordinarily, I’d offer to help you straighten out your financial records, but I’m just not going to have the time until after I’m done with the order that came in the other day. You really shouldn’t wait that long. Isn’t there anyone you know that can help you out?”

George snapped his fingers. “That cousin of Mum’s, the squib. He’s an accountant. We don’t have much contact with him, but I think Mum still sends him Christmas greetings every year.”

“Is he familiar with wizard money?” Thalassa asked.

“I think so.”

“That may be your best bet then.” She made a few notes on her parchment. “Now, about this catalogue: it’s not very user-friendly. You need colour photographs and more detailed descriptions and your order form should be in the centre with a pre-addressed envelope.” She went on to outline suggestions for grouping certain products together, arranging the newer and more expensive products first and the older or less pricey items toward the end. “Your pricing is all wrong, too. You should adhere to basic Arithmantic principles and use numbers that promote wealth and success.”

They worked until nearly midnight. She talked to them about getting a loan from Gringott’s for buying their own delivery owls and making other improvements. She finally called a halt when she interrupted three of her sentences in a row with jaw-cracking yawns. “Gods, I’m knackered. Today was brutal, and it’s not going to get any better over the next few weeks.”

“Quite all right. You’ve given us a great deal to think on. It was a lucky day when we ran into you at the Leaky Cauldron.” Fred flashed her a grateful smile.

“It’s been a real pleasure, working on this. It takes me back to those days right after I left school. I missed my father horribly and I dealt with the grief by submerging myself in the process of getting the business back on its feet. Up before dawn every day to brew more stock; negotiating with our suppliers and the bank; living over the shop and eating cheese sandwiches to save money: I rather miss the pace.” She sighed nostalgically. “I’m not accustomed to having much leisure time.” She smiled and rolled up her parchments, handing them to George. “Feel free to send me an owl or stop by the shop anytime. I’d be happy to discuss any of my suggestions further, as much as time permits.”

“Oh, we’ll be ‘round to pick your brain, never fear,” George assured her.

“You should stop by our shop, too,” Fred invited. “We’ll give you the full tour.”

“You’re just hoping I’ll slip up and show you my tattoo,” she teased.

Wolfish grins spread across two freckled faces. “We live in breathless anticipation,” Fred drawled.

She threw back her head and laughed. “Oh dear, you two are so good for my ego.”

“Now that’s the best music I’ve heard all evening,” said George. “You should laugh more often.”

“I’m sure I said earlier that flattery would get you nowhere with me.” She grinned at him, pleased with the compliment despite her words. “Did you want to Apparate, or would you rather use my Floo?”

“The Floo will do nicely, thanks,” Fred answered.

“Won’t your neighbours notice that we didn’t leave?” George wrinkled his brow in concern.

Thalassa gave him a lopsided smile. “I’m surrounded by artists and musicians. They won’t notice, or care if they do notice, but thank you for your gentlemanly concern for my reputation.”

“That’s twice tonight you’ve accused us of being gentlemen.” Fred affected a disapproving scowl. “We must be slipping.”

“We’d better get out of here before she tells us we’ve become responsible.” George nudged his twin.

She led them back to the fireplace and lit a fire in it with her wand. As they followed, a broom hanging on the wall near the fireplace caught Fred’s attention.

“Is that a Silver Arrow?” he asked, stepping closer for a better look.

“Yes. It was my grandmother’s. She played Beater for the Holyhead Harpies back in the forties. I’m afraid it just gathers dust these days. I don’t have much opportunity to go flying anymore, and no place to go where I won’t be seen.”

“You should come out to the Burrow sometime before all the leaves are off the trees. We’ve space enough to fly.” George offered.

“I can’t even think about anything like that ‘til after August, but thanks.”

“You never told us your grandmother played professional Quidditch,” Fred said in a faintly reproving tone. “Who was she?”

“Ariadne Temple,” she replied. “I’m sorry. I rather thought you’d worked it out for yourselves.”

“Ari—of the Temple manoeuvre? Thalassa, we lived by her Strategies for Beaters. Why didn’t you try out for the House team?”

“Athletic ability isn’t always handed down, you know. To tell you the truth, I’m better at playing Keeper than Beater and we already had the best possible person in that position for all the time I would have been eligible to play.”

Fred and George exchanged an incredulous look. “Unbelievable,” Fred said, shaking his head.

“Gryffindor to the core,” George commented with a shrug. Thalassa took it as a compliment. They each gave her friendly hugs in parting. Moments later they were gone in a burst of green flame.

One thing’s for sure, she thought bemusedly, they haven’t lost any of the condition they built playing Quidditch. As she was dropping off to sleep that night, she realized she’d avoided contact with the patients up at the hospital for fear of seeing a red head and freckled face among them.


From the day the Hogwarts letters went out until the start of the term was one of the busiest times of the year at Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. This whole summer had been more frantic than usual and Fred and George were profoundly grateful for Ginny’s help around the shop. The morning after meeting with Thalassa, they managed to drag themselves in to work early to restock the shelves.

At a quarter to eight, Ginny Apparated behind the counter, perfectly put together and wearing the purple work robe they’d bought her. “’Morning, Fred. George,” she chirped.

Fred growled. “How do you manage to be so bloody cheerful this early?”

“Well, for one thing, I don’t pour myself into bed after midnight when I know I have to get up early the next day,” she said impishly. “Where were you two last night, or don’t I want to know?”

“Meeting with our business consultant,” George said, gesturing to the roll of parchments on the counter.

“Mind if I--?” she picked up the scroll.

“Go ahead,” he answered, but she was already looking through the pages.

“These are some really good ideas,” she commented after a few minutes. “Maybe if you implement these, you’ll be able to afford to pay me.”

“We pay you,” Fred protested.

“Yes, but you can’t really afford to. It’s a good thing I’m willing to take Wheezes products in lieu of part of my wages.”

“Have we told you lately that you’re our absolute favourite sister?” Fred said in a wheedling tone.

“I’m your only sister, you prat. At least I assume that I am. Who knows what Dad might’ve done in his youth…”

George choked back a laugh and changed the subject. “Speaking of earning money, we’d better open up.” He nodded to the windows where a crowd of young faces peered in.

“I’ve got it,” Ginny said, moving toward the front door. “You two had better get cracking on those fireworks.”

They groaned at her pun.

At lunchtime, Fred relieved Ginny of the counter and she went to the back to eat the take-away delivered from the Leaky Cauldron. She sat with George as he leafed idly through the parchments of suggested improvements.

“Gin, do you remember Thalassa Hartwell from school?”

“Is that who your business consultant is? Wasn’t she that blonde girl you fancied? Really big on Quidditch?”

“That’s her.”

“Mm-hmm. What about her?”

“Do you remember hearing anything about what she might have been doing during the war?”

“She runs the apothecary at the other end of Diagon Alley, right?”

“Yeah. So, did you ever hear anything?”

“No. As far as I know, they stayed open for business the whole time. Not everyone took an active role, you know. Most likely she just did her job.”

“Perhaps,” George said doubtfully.

“If it’s that important, you should just ask her.”

“It’s obviously a touchy subject for her.”

“Maybe she just needs a friend to confide in,” Ginny suggested.

He sighed. “You don’t know what she’s like. There’s no prying a secret out of her.”

“Oh, I know she knows how to keep her mouth shut. They say if you’re going to buy contraceptive potions at Hartwell’s, to do it on a Monday when the younger witch works the counter. Otherwise half the wizarding world knows your business before the week is out.”

“Ginny!” he yelped. “What the bloody hell do you need to know about where and when to buy contraceptive potions?”

“The same things every sixteen-year-old should know, not that it’s any of your business,” she replied evenly.

“I’m your big brother. I’m supposed to look out for you.”

“I don’t need you to look out for me. I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can,” he said dryly. “Found any old diaries lately?”

“No,” she snapped, stung. “And it’s a good thing, too, because you did such a brilliant job of protecting me the last time.”

He paled. “I’m sorry, Gin. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” She began to clear away the remains of her lunch. “So you promise to keep your nose out of my love life unless I ask, and I’ll promise not to tease you in front of anyone else about the fact that you still fancy Thalassa Hartwell after all this time.”

“Deal,” he agreed. “Still, I wish I knew what she’s been doing over the last couple of years.”

“Pathetic much, George?” she smirked.

He gave her a stern look. “You just promised not to take the mickey out of me.”

“In front of anyone else,” she reminded with a laugh.

His eyes narrowed. “Lunch break is over. I’m sure Harry will be popping in soon. You might want to wipe the gravy off your chin.” He chuckled as Ginny flew to the mirror to check her appearance.