Chapter Text
Ron was sat in the back office, muttering under his breath as he - rather indignantly - did the summer inventory. He was scribbling down the list by hand, flicking his wand to move things around in the room, using spells to find out quantities and placements of products in the connecting storeroom. George had banned him from working the shop floor, again, after he managed to cast (and hit, rather spectacularly if he said so himself) a bat-bogey hex on yet another Daily Prophet reporter. The fuckers bloody deserve it, who the hell harasses someone at their work of all places? For a sodding article? Ron just wanted them to leave WWW out of it, out of their vile gossip columns. It wasn’t only unfair that the Prophet hounded him the way they did, but frankly amoral.
The redhead was stabbing the inventory list hard enough with his pen that it went through the piece of paper, ripping a big hole in the middle and scraping the clipboard underneath. Ron drew in a deep, annoyed breath, closing his eyes as he released it, pinching the bridge of his scrunched nose.
This bloody day, I swear.
With a shake of his head he grabbed a new sheet and started copying what he had already noted down, crumpling up the ruined page and blindly tossing it to the direction of the bin. Or at least towards where he had last seen the bin. The bin was somewhere there anyway.
He ran his hand through his hair, pulling at the strands in the back of his neck in frustration. A part of him - even if it was a rather small, insignificant part of him - knew that there was a possibility that he may have, perhaps, potentially, overreacted. Again. Merlin’s saggy bollocks. Ron let his chin fall to his chest, head hanging in frustrated embarrassment.
George came bounding in through the door just then, carrying a large, opened cardboard box of the new WonderWitch starter packs. They hadn’t spoken since the incident, which was a good few hours ago already. The older brother let out a long, low whistle.
”I have to give it to you Ronniekins, your bat-bogey is nearly as good as Ginny’s nowadays, your hatred towards the press is truly inspiring,” George jested, as he placed the carton down next to the desk his brother was sat by. ”Take these to the storeroom when you’re done, yeah? I only needed a few for the display window. I closed the shop already, I just need to count the till before we leave.”
Ron didn’t reply, just huffed in response. He couldn’t give a damn if he was behaving like a moody teenager. He felt like a moody teenager, so it was only appropriate. Besides, he had never been known for his patience and levelheadedness. George sighed, turning to face Ron with his hands on his hips, somehow managing to look both stern and gentle at once. He looked eerily like their mother.
”They’re scumbags and we all know it Ron, I hate them as much as the next Weasley does, but this is our business, you can’t just lose it every time they prod at you a little.”
Ron let out a humourless bark of laughter.
”A little? A little? George he bloody asked me if I’m a top or bottom! He literally wanted to know if I take it up the arse or not!” The younger wizard protested, waving his hands wildly in the air. Turning to look at his brother Ron could see George trying his best to suppress the grin that was tugging at the corners of his mouth.
”Well, first of all, that’s a hardly a question that even needs asking, you can’t simply attack people just because they don’t possess common sense,” he replied, then ducked down as Ron threw the pen at his head, ”but I get it, Ron. I genuinely do. The fuckers basically stalk you, ask you about things they have no business knowing, they’re bastards. But you only fuel their fire when you react like this.”
Sometimes Ron hated that everything that had happened during and since the war had matured George so much, and not only because they had all been children in a world of cruel chance, forced to grow up far too fast. He knew his brother was right about this. He could practically see the headlines already; enraged Ronald Weasley attacks another reporter, would a boyfriend finally tame the hotheaded war hero? Couldn’t they just be teenagers again, planting portable swamps and setting off fireworks at people they despised?
“I just don’t understand why they’re so bloody invested in my love life,” he grumbled, picking up a new pen from the desk. George made a duhh face at Ron.
“People adore relationship gossip, it sells the papers, and you’re the only single member of the Golden Trio, of course they’re going to be invested. Harry and I are old news already, and Hermione is having to dodge the press just as much as you when it comes to Pansy,” George pointed out while he picked up the crumpled piece of paper his brother had tossed on the floor.
“But they don’t let reporters in the Ministry or St. Mungo’s,” Ron mumbled, pushing his face into his palms. If he hadn’t he would’ve clocked George’s silent scoff.
“You’re more than welcome to quit and become a healer if you so desire brother dear, or go back to being an Auror,” he quipped back. Ron moved his hands to the sides of his face to glare at the older Weasley.
“And what? Leave you here to run things into the ground by yourself? I don’t bloody think so,” he retorted, making George let out a little laugh. “And, by the way, I want a notebook for this, I hate the clipboard.”
“Noted,” George replied with a smirk, nudging Ron’s shoulder as the younger brother rolled his eyes, full of feigned annoyance. George grabbed a chair from beside the door, bringing it over to the desk and sitting down opposite of Ron.
”Let’s continue that tomorrow,” he said, gesturing at the inventory list, ”I actually have something I need to discuss with you.”
Ron glanced at George warily.
”I promise I’ll reel it in from now on,” Ron replied, hoping to convince his brother he wasn’t going to go off again. He genuinely felt bad. But George just shook his head, a surprisingly somber expression taking over his face. The playful glint in his eyes was suddenly gone, their shade of brown somehow dimmer than before.
”This isn’t about today.”
Ron squinted, pointing an accusing finger at his brother.
”If you even dare to suggest that you’re so much as thinking of breaking up with Harry, or anything along those lines, I will actually murder you,” he started, voice nearly a hiss. George gave him an incredulous stare, his gaze bordering on abhorrent.
”Of-fucking-course not, are you thick? Why would you even say that?” He asked, face twisted into a sneer, sounding genuinely offended. Ron leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
”Okay, well, what then? You’re being weirdly serious, you never want to discuss things this… solemnly.”
George observed his brother carefully, his brows and mouth strict, straight lines. Then he took a deep breath, eyes flickering between Ron’s face and the inventory list on the desk.
“I’m just gonna come out and say it,” George declared, and then made no effort to continue. Ron gave his brother an exasperated look, shaking his head in annoyance. What the hell was he stalling for?
“Well? Say it then? You’re starting to freak me out.”
George ran his hand through his air, squaring his shoulders, finally opening his mouth, and—
”I’ve sold 50% of the company.”
Thick silence filled the space in the office.
Huh?
Ron blinked. And blinked again. He felt like a cold, wet wave had washed over him. George had done what?
”You’ve sold half of the company,” Ron said, slowly, not quite believing the words himself.
”Yes,” George confirmed with an accompanying nod.
”You’ve sold half of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,” Ron reiterated, his voice still holding its skeptical edge. Surely George wouldn’t, at least not without discussing this with him first? Surely not? But George just kept nodding.
”Correct.”
It was quickly becoming apparent to Ron that his brother was, in fact, not kidding about this.
”To who?” He asked frantically.
”Now, this is where I need you to be levelheaded,” George started, lifting his hands warningly in the air, palms towards the younger man in an attempt to keep things calm, as Ron felt an angry scowl taking over his face. Oh sweet Merlin, this could not be good.
”To who, George?”
Ron heard the pitch in his voice going up but he couldn’t help it. His head was light, gut twisted into knots, like waiting for the big drop on a rollercoaster. George pursed his lips, then took another big breath before he spoke.
”Blaise Zabini.”
Ron froze, not moving an inch in his seat. He felt like his stomach had now dropped through the ground, a nauseating, swirling sensation replacing it. George sold their company to a Slytherin? A stuck up, morose, tedious, wrong-side-of-the-war Slytherin who probably couldn’t come up with a joke or a prank to save his life? What the actual fuck?
”You sold Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes to Blaise fucking Zabini?”
”Ron—”
But the younger man was shaking his head furiously, lifting his hands up in the air.
”No, don’t Ron me! We don’t know him, we know basically nothing about him! I thought if you ever sold it would be someone we trust! He’s a bloody Slytherin, hell, he was a baby Death Eater at Hogwarts George! How can you sell your life’s work, how can you sell Fred’s—”
George’s voice sliced the air like a knife.
”Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
The hurt in his tone was raw. It felt burning and sharp, like a hot blade pressed against Ron’s heart. He shouldn’t have said that.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t— I don’t know why I…” he half-apologised, trailing off. He avoided looking his brother in the eye.
Always with my damn foot in my mouth.
“It’s okay,” George said - although voice still strained, “I knew you’d be upset if I sell, I won’t hold it against you. But I want a business partner, sole ownership is fucking tough and you know it. Besides, Blaise has incredible business sense, he brought Fortescue’s back from the brink of bankruptcy—“
But Ron cut him off.
“We aren’t going bankrupt! We are fine! And you have me!”
“I know, but the plan is to expand, we want that Hogsmeade location, and that’s what I need a business partner for! I need financial support, and I need someone who knows how to manage and expand businesses. It’s not going to be an easy defeat.” George paused, giving Ron a long, stern look. ”And as much as I know you hate to hear this, I’ve gotten to know Blaise in recent months—“
The younger brother let out on offended yelp.
“Months?! How long have you been plotting this behind my back?”
“—and he isn’t just a great entrepreneur but a very decent man as well,” George finished.
Ron scoffed loudly as he started rubbing off seemingly invisible stains on the desk.
“Zabini wouldn’t know decent if it hit him in the fucking face,” he muttered, eyes cast down.
George placed a hand on top of Ron’s, to stop his fingers from trying to dig into the wooden surface of the tabletop.
“When’s the last time you’ve spoken a word to him? Sixth year? In 1997? It’s been eight years Ron! Besides, his mother may be a gold digging husband poisoning sociopath, but his family was never Death Eaters.” Ron heard the attempted humour on his brother’s voice, but he was not the slightest bit amused.
“He’s a Slytherin George!”
The older Weasley threw his arms in the air in over-exaggeration.
“Who bloody cares! You’re friends with Pansy and Theo so stop it with the double standards! Theo’s dad actually was a Death Eater!”
Okay, yes, fair point, I guess. Not that Ron would ever admit that out loud. But it wasn’t the only reason why Ron couldn’t think of a worse person to sell their company to. So he doubled down.
“But Zabini is arrogant, he’s always been like that! A stuck up dickhead who thinks he’s better than everyone! He hasn’t even made an effort to meet Hermione and she’s been going out with Pansy for seven months!”
Four, publicly.
George shook his head.
“The whole point of surviving the war was to forgive and forget!”
“But they’re the ones who did all the shit the rest of us need to forget!” The younger brother replied, gesturing wildly at himself when he got to the rest of us. George scoffed.
“Just because you have some kind of personal vendetta—“
Ron felt annoyance bubbling in his chest as his volume went up in offence, interrupting his brother. “I do not have a personal ven—“
George stood abruptly, his voice just as loud as Ron’s now.
“Oh stop it, you clearly do! This shouldn’t be personal, this is nothing personal!”
Ron got up out of his seat now too.
“Nothing personal? You’ve made your mind up about this without any consideration of what I think or how I feel! What do I know anyway, I’ve only been running this place with you for four bloody years!”
Both of their chests were rising and falling with heavy breaths, lungs filling with hot frustration. George stared at his younger brother for a long moment before he let out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair.
“Ron, please. I couldn’t have ever done this without you. You were there for me when I needed you and I love you, you’re my only little brother. You pretty much saved my life. But this isn’t about feelings, it’s about what’s best for us and for the company. I’m selling half to Blaise, it’s a done deal. He’s coming over tomorrow to sign the documents.”
The younger Weasley grabbed the clipboard from the table, throwing it on the floor.
“Fucking fine, see if I give a rat’s arse!” He bellowed, throwing his hands in the air as he started storming towards the door leading to the shop floor. “Screw this, I’m fucking leaving!”
George didn’t move to come after him.
“Blaise is coming tomorrow and you have to be here, don’t be—“
The office door slammed shut with a deafening bang.
Late.
Ron knew that’s what George said. Don’t be late. He stomped through the shop, unlocking the front door with shaky hands, and once he managed to open it the redhead practically dove into the crowds in Diagon Alley. Normally he would’ve just used the fireplace in the office to get home, but the situation warranted a dramatic exit.
Ron needed a drink, a strong one. But who could he ask to the pub with him? Harry was out of question even if he was Ron’s best friend, he could hardly complain about Harry’s boyfriend to Harry, Ron didn’t want to put him into an uncomfortable position. And the raven haired saviour of the wizarding world had probably known about George’s intention to sell and had said nothing about it, so Ron was pissed off at him by proxy. Some best friend he was. Theo and Pansy were friends with Blaise, and Hermione would never go to the pub on a weekday so they were all out. Ginny was at training camp and Luna - well, as much as Ron loved his sister’s wife, he just really needed someone who wouldn’t want to discuss the alleged invisible mating rituals of demiguises.
But Neville was nearing the end of term, surely he could pop out for a pint or two. Ron took out his Nokia to tap out a message to the man in question.
Hogs head in 30 min? I need 2 rant.
It only took a minute for his phone to buzz as the reply came in.
C u there at 8.
Ron shoved his phone back into his back pocket with a huff, and started walking with brisk, irritated steps towards the Diagon Alley Floo station.
Fuck Blaise Zabini.