THREE

A FRIEND MAY BE WAITING
BEHIND A STRANGER'S FACE
MAYA ANGELOU, LETTER TO MY DAUGHTER

BY JULY, Aspen was part of the furniture. She knew every product, from Headless Hats to Nose Biting Teacups, like the back of her hand, most probably due to the fact she counted them all almost every morning whilst taking inventory. Verity, who she saw most days, actually talked to her too, usually about the bands she likes or what boy she was crushing on, but it was a relief during the shifts that dragged on. Most importantly, she'd become what could probably be referred to as 'friends' with both Fred and George.

She spent almost every morning taking inventory in the cramped stock room with George. At first, she wondered if it would be awkward at all, given the fact that he was younger than her, but she didn't notice the gap at all. He may have been only eighteen, but he spoke to her like they'd been friends her whole life, and it was a strange sense of relief to have a friend who didn't generally just talk about boys.

And although she worked during the day, and didn't often have time to speak to her colleagues as she ran around after small children who caused more trouble than good, she ate her lunch with Fred most days. For a while they ate in the staff room, a small room through the back that barely had room for the both of them. Some days, rather than face the tiny space, they would eat out, grabbing food from stores that were situated around the corner and embracing the summer weather while they ate. After a while, it was Fred who offered that they eat in his apartment, which was adjacent to the office.

Aspen, who'd lived alone for five years now and was well acquainted with a kitchen, usually cooked for the two. George often expressed how jealous he was - his lunch was almost always with Verity, and between them, they had the culinary skills of a dormouse - so she made him leftovers to keep behind in the fridge.

That Saturday afternoon, she was making macaroni and cheese. It was simple, but she'd had a long day already and needed something easy before she tore her hair out. Already that day, a small child had thrown up on her shoes, and later, an angry mother had yelled at her about the price of Canary Creams. She'd decided she'd take that one up with the twins another day.

"What're you making?" Fred asked, bounding through the front door and into the kitchen. It seemed he too was relieved to leave the busy shop floor for a break, even despite his absolute passion for the place.

"Mac and cheese. All good?" She enquired, praying he'd agree. She would probably scream if he said he didn't like it.

"Obviously."

It was quiet for a moment and she finished preparing the food, plating it up and leaving a serving for George on the countertop - he'd eat it in the following hour, she supposed. Then, she sat adjacent to Fred at the table, passing him a serving before gleefully digging into her own. He quickly shouldered off his suit jacket, tossing it over the back of his chair as he snatched his fork from the table.

"Fuck, I needed this," she groaned, shovelling forkful after forkful into her mouth hastily.

"Wow, Andrews, you really are such a lady," Fred teased, smirking at her overenthusiastic eating before stabbing his own bite of the pasta.

"Can a girl not eat her delicious lunch in peace, huh?" She huffed, words vaguely slurred as she spoke through a mouthful of food.

His laughter danced around the kitchen, reverberating off the walls as she let out another food-induced moan of delight. He dug in then too, happily scarfing down the meal she'd prepared without another word of teasing complaint. There was a peaceful silence then, interrupted only by the disturbing smacking of fervent chewing.

"Could this day pass by any slower?" She asked as she scraped the bowl clean, her tongue gliding across the prongs of her fork.

"I don't know what you mean," he replied defiantly, never the one to back down. "I find every day in this store an absolute pleasure."

She raised her eyebrows then, obviously not accepting his overly-joyous answer.

"I find that hard to believe, Fred. Just last week you were complaining about the teenagers that knocked over your displays with their experimentation of some spell they'd learnt from Flitwick."

Fred scoffed, grabbing both their plates before standing to dump them in the sink. With a wave of his wand, the sink turned on with a dramatic splash, and the sponge began cleaning the dishes for him. Satisfied, he turned back to face Aspen, leaning back against the countertop nonchalantly.

"That was a slight exception to the statement. After all, there is nothing worse than a seventeen year old who's just become legal. They never stop casting stupid spells for the bloody sake of it."

"You're eighteen, Weasley. I can guarantee you were one of those spell-casting arseholes just last year."

He rolled his eyes, tucking his arms over his chest as Aspen swivelled in her seat to face him. This was how most of their lunches went - playful arguments that amounted to not much at all. They usually kept them up until one of them reluctantly gave in, or more likely, their lunch break ended.

"Hey! I was a delight! Just ask my mum," he teased, making Aspen release an unexpected snort of disbelieving laughter. "George on the other hand..."

"Oh please, George is far more of a delight than you are. You practically live to wind me up, you little prick."

He feigned disgust at her jesting insult, placing a hand to his heart as if he were truly hurt by her words. She'd gotten used to his dramatics, and found that he quite often played into her jokes far more than anyone else she'd met would dedicate to.

"Maybe you deserve it. I'd never piss Verity off like this, so you must be doing something wrong, Pen."

She smiled to herself at the nickname. He'd never used it before, usually sticking to some variation of a petname or her last name, Andrews, because he swore he liked to assert his authority over her. Maybe this was proof that they really were becoming friends, she figured, and secretly she made note to tell Alessia, who would be more jealous than she could fathom.

"Verity still calls you Mr Weasley, for Merlin's sake. If you want me to start doing that, I want a significant pay rise. Or some ice cream or something. I could really go for some dessert right about now," she mused, her stomach rumbling faintly at the thought of the sweet treat.

Fred laughed, jumping up to sit on the countertop and narrowly missing a smack to the head against the ceiling due to his height. Once situated, he swung his legs ever so slowly, careful not to smack his heels against the cupboard doors, which were already a little scorched with what looked like the remnants of gunpowder against the pale wood.

"The pay rise is a no go. I reckon George would kill me, and I'm not willing to take the hit on my own wages," he quipped, as if she were being serious. "I'll take you up on the ice cream though. I know Fortescue's is boarded up now, but there's this muggle place in Soho that does really good sorbet."

"Sorbet's hardly creamy, Weasley," she remarked, scoffing at the very suggestion. "Besides - what are you doing in muggle London? I'd have thought you couldn't go two minutes without a bit of magic in your life."

She was surprised at the suggestion, really. Fred and George had always seemed like two people set on spending every waking minute in the Wizarding world. They barely went two minutes without using their wands for something or other, and naturally that was pretty frowned upon in muggle surroundings.

"It's a nice break from all this madness, don't you think? No You-Know-Who or Death Eaters or any of that nonsense." He shrugged, as if it were obvious. "Plus, I went on a date there - saw some weird musical show thing. She really seemed to like it, but I thought it was pretty rubbish if I'm honest."

Aspen hoped she wasn't blushing at the mention of a date. If she were honest, the thought of her bosses going on a date or even being romantically interested in anyone was an odd image, and it was not something she'd considered often. Once or twice, following Alessia's teenage fascinations on the twins, Aspen had contemplated the idea of the duo being attractive, or 'fit', as her sister would insist. It had grossed her out a little, especially considering they were four years her junior, but inevitably it was a fact she had to admit she agreed with. It was undeniable that they were handsome, but even still, the prospect of Fred on a date was uncomfortable.

"If you say so. So are you asking me to come with you?" She smirked at the question, arching an eyebrow as she glanced up at him.

"I am. As long as you address me with my rightful name, that is."

She snorted in disbelief, giggling a little at his wording before she nodded in defeat. His face lit up with glee at the very notion of his success, and he threw a fist into the air to celebrate. In fact, his exaggerated delight had taken her mind almost completely off of the tricky day she'd had at work, and she felt the day's first proper signs of joy tingling through her veins as she laughed at him.

"About time!" He cheered, making her laugh harder at just how excited he was over something so trivial.

"You're literally ridiculous, you know that?" She asked, lips tugging into a smile before she glanced at the clock and ruined the gleeful mood. "Fuck."

"What?" He asked, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"Looks like it's our turn to face the sea of annoying children again," she complained, and he jumped off the counter, rubbing his hands.

"See you out there!" He called, already scurrying off in too good a mood to be working.

Reluctantly, she pulled herself from the seat, trailing after him at a considerably slower pace. Still, she was more rejuvenated than she had been before, and not just down to the food. Fred Weasley was an unstoppable force of energy, and really, she rather liked it.