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Four Weeks of Summer Gone | ||||
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Category: Summer Jobs Challenge (2006-4) Characters:All Genres: Comedy Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 10 Summary: All Seventh Years at Hogwarts recieve a letter informing them to volunteer for a summer job as an assignment. Will they get the jobs they wanted? Will they get fired? Or will they find that a certain job isn't half as bad as they thought it would be? Harry, Ron,Hermione, and Draco find out. Hitcount: Story Total: 3814 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. Author's Notes: I think I found writing Ron's job the most hilarious. Hope you enjoy! |
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Harry Potter lay sprawled across his bed, one foot hanging over the edge and his pillow somewhere beneath it. An orange glow encased the room, pouring through the open window from the street lamp outside. He wasn’t tired at all, probably because he had slept the entire train ride back to King’s Cross Station. And so, instead of sleeping, he was tossing an old owl treat up and down, mouth open in boredom. He glanced over at the old clock he had fixed the year before. It read half past two, only five minutes more then the last time he had glanced over. Harry caught the owl treat again, glaring at it in disgust. This is what he got for sleeping on the train. He could’ve been sitting there happily, chatting with Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna . . . And Ginny. Harry shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the youngest Weasley. He wasn’t sure why, but lately he’d been feeling differently about her. Whether it happened between the Yule Ball at Hogwarts in fourth year, or his stay at the Burrow last summer, lately he’d noticed that she’d changed. Or rather, he’d changed. But either way, Harry wasn’t about to go up and snog Ginny senseless. One just didn’t do that to their best Mate’s baby sister. A sudden whooshing sound and the flapping of white wings soared through Harry’s window. He jumped, clenching his fists until he realized that it was Hedwig with a letter tied to her leg. He also realized that his right hand was spread with the insides of the owl treat, which held a strong resemblance to the pickled flobberworms the sixth years had used in Potions last month. Not to mention that the smell would make a wand melt. Grimacing, he looked around the small bedroom, trying to find something suitable that he could wipe his hand off on. After digging one-handed through his open trunk that was sitting by his desk, he came across a terrible pair of Uncle Vernon’s old socks. Without a second thought, he cleaned his hand and tossed the soiled sock to the other side of the room. Maybe Aunt Petunia would find it later. Harry grinned, then edged over to Hedwig who had patiently been holding out her leg for him to relieve her of her burden. Harry was quick to notice that the envelope was emblazed with the Hogwarts’ insignia. Frowning curiously, he let Hedwig fly over to her cage for a drink of water before sitting on his bed to read. Dear Mr. Potter, As you know, you will be attending your seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In addition, we would like to inform you of a new assignment that is to be completed by all seventh years in cooperation with the merchants of Diagon Alley and Hogwarts. It will be your responsibility to volunteer for any job that is available in Diagon Alley before the Summer’s end. You will work a 20-hour week for four weeks at any month that is suitable for your schedule. Keep in mind that your payment will be up to your employer. You are also reminded that this is in fact part of your education, and therefore it will be graded. It will also be an assignment without any form of magic, so work as hard as you possibly can! Be sure to volunteer for a job as soon as possible after reading this letter so you will have time to complete your four weeks of work. If you do not send one in by June 25th, Professor Flitwick- in charge of coordinating this assignment- will have no remorse in assigning a job for you. Sincerely, Professor Minerva McGonagall (Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts) Harry frowned slightly, his eyes trailing over the last two lines. A job? For four weeks of his summer he had to work a job? His first thought was that Dumbledore had probably come up with this idea in some disguised plan of protection. But an after thought told him that if Dumbledore wanted him to stay protected, the old wizard would have kept him with the Dursleys. Harry glanced at the letter again, unconsciously running a hand through his hair. What job appealed to him? Well, there was Quality Quidditch Supplies. He amused himself for a moment, imagining his paycheck being a new broomstick. Perhaps Ron should take that job. Harry, who had inherited a small fortune from his parents, could buy a broomstick anytime he wanted too. Though the Weasleys were extremely nice, they also happened to be extremely poor and did not have the luxury of being able to buy anything that was not absolutely necessary. Besides, Quality Quidditch Supplies held a large amount of Cannons merchandise, and Ron, who happened to be obsessed with the orange Quidditch team, would very likely find himself in heaven. He thought for a moment, and a vision of himself receiving free ice-cream and homework help in his third year from Florean Fortescue. Would Florean let him work at the ice-cream parlor? Harry shrugged in response to his own thought, and placed the letter on his bedside table. Reading the letter had made him somewhat tired, and Harry lay back onto the bed. He would write Florean Fortescue’s Ice-Cream parlor a volunteer letter in the morning. But in the mean time- Harry stuck a hand under his bed, blindly searching for his pillow- he would get some sleep. “Ron!” Ginny shouted in her Brother’s ear, all the while whacking him with an extra pillow. “Ron, will you stop being a lazy git, and get up? Mum has breakfast waiting.” Ron sat up, snatching the pillow from Ginny’s hands and throwing it across his room. “Breakfast?” he asked, springing from the bed. Ginny rolled her eyes and headed out the door. She should have mentioned food earlier. Maybe then she wouldn’t have had to yell so early in the morning. She sighed, stepping down the flights of stairs, the smell of bacon getting stronger every step. Mrs. Weasley was bustling around the small kitchen, busily making tea when she heard her daughter enter and sit at the table. “Good morning, Ginny. Tea?” Ginny grimaced. The thought of tea on such a hot morning was enough to make beads of sweat well in at her brow. “No, thanks, Mum. I’m good with pumpkin juice.” She stood up to fetch the jug from the refrigerator, dodging the eggs as they flew over her head, cracking themselves into a bowl. Ron came bounding down the stairs, nose in the air as he smelt the eggs sizzling in the pan. He stole the jug of pumpkin juice from Ginny, who had just taken it out of the back of the refrigerator, and sat down to pour himself a glass. “Morning, Mum,” he said as Mrs. Weasley set a plate loaded with eggs, toast, and bacon in front of him. “Where’s Dad?” Mrs. Weasley set another plate with reasonably smaller portions in front of Ginny, who had reclaimed the pumpkin juice. “Your father went to the Ministry early this morning. He said something about talking pants that tried strangling muggles.” She shook her head, turning over a second batch of bacon. Ginny looked quickly over to Ron, and the siblings shared a momentary smirk that was over when a loud smacking noise rang throughout the kitchen. “I’ll get it, Mum.” Ginny heard Ron saying something that sounded like, ‘Ruddy bird’ before she hurried over to the window and opened it. The family owl, Errol, gave a little shake of his feathers as she lifted him up and untied the letters from his leg. She put Errol gently into his cage before sitting down at the table with the letters. Ron had already shoveled half of his plate down by the time Ginny had sat back down. He only stopped eating when she handed him a letter and said, “Here, it looks like it’s from Hogwarts.” Ron’s eyes widened as he dropped his fork and reached for the letter. He didn’t notice that Ginny was opening the other letter. Instead, he slit open the envelope of the letter she had handed him and read silently. After a minute or two, his face reappeared from behind the letter. “Mum, did you know about this?” he asked, annoyed that Dumbledore was making the seventh years do summer jobs. Mrs. Weasley turned, confused as she took the letter from Ron’s outstretched hand. She too read it, muttering softly to herself. “I might have heard about this from your father a while back . . . Ron, it says you were supposed to send in a volunteer letter to a job two days ago.” Ron, who had already been planning to volunteer at Quality Quidditch Supplies, stood up and snatched the letter from his mother. “What? Oh, Bloody hell, they’re choosing a job for me. It’s all that idiot owl’s fault. If he hadn’t been so slow in bringing me the first letter, I could have chosen my own summer job.” For the first time since Ron had opened the letter, Ginny giggled. He glanced up at her and saw a second letter in her hand, already opened and everything. “Ginny . . . What does that letter say?” he asked in a warning tone. Ginny laughed again as she folded the letter and slid it across the table to Ron. With all the dignity that he still had, Ron glared at her and unfolded the letter. Dear Mr. Weasley, It seems that you have not sent in a volunteer letter. Due to this, I have given you one of the remaining jobs. Starting on July 1st, you will go to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. Make sure you arrive at 9:00 A.M. sharp, or expect a pay deduction. Sincerely, Professor Filius Flitwick (Charms Teacher of Hogwarts) Hermione sat outside, her Transfiguration book in hand as she finished up her foot-long essay on partial transfiguration spells and why they weren’t the most sufficient use of transfiguration. She was just writing her fourth inch over the asked length when a barn owl flew down from the sky and landed on her shoulder. Hermione gasped in surprise, then smiled when she realized that Flourish and Blotts had probably replied to her volunteer letter. Hermione coaxed the owl off her shoulder so that she could untie the letter from it’s outstretched leg. When she was finished, the barn owl flew off and into the clouds, hooting goodbye. Smiling now, she closed her eyes as she pulled the parchment out of the envelope. Dear Miss. Granger, I regret to inform you that your volunteer offer at Flourish and Blotts has been rejected. Their reasons were that they were afraid of you reading the books instead of actually working. Because it is now June 27th, I have taken the liberty in choosing a job for you. Starting on July 1st, you will go to Gambol & Japes Wizarding Joke Shop. Make sure you arrive at 9:00 A.M. sharp, or expect a pay deduction. Sincerely, Professor Filius Flitwick (Charms Teacher of Hogwarts) Hermione dropped the letter in shock, her eyes widening. This was a first, being rejected for anything that had to do with education. That itself was bad enough, but working at Gambol & Japes? Could things get any worse? “Hermione, honey. Could you empty Crookshanks’ litter box? It’s starting to smell.” Hermione turned, shouting back to her Mother inside the house. “Mum, I just cleaned it this morning.” Mrs. Granger paused, then yelled back, “Well, maybe he just used it!” Hermione sighed, folding the letter and putting it back inside the envelope. What were Harry and Ron going to say? Draco Malfoy was bored. Yes, that was right, bored. He had all the money in the world and he couldn’t seem to find something to do. He had only been home for a few days and had gotten the letter from Hogwarts saying he needed to apply for a bloody job. Draco was also stunned that it was all to be done without magic as well. It was as if he were a muggle! And so, being what he was, Draco volunteered for the most valued and respected one of all: Gringotts, the Wizard Bank. And just that morning he had received his acceptance letter. He smirked, thinking about what Potter and Weasley had volunteered for. Perhaps Potter would be stuck working in the Junk Shop. In Draco’s opinion, he certainly belonged there. Had it not have been for his stupid muggle-born Mother, he wouldn’t have even been worth as much as dragon dung. And then there was Weasley, with his stupid hair and too many freckles. Draco also thought that if his nose was any longer, it would droop off his muddy face. The kind off shop that Weasley would be working in would be . . . The Second Hand Robe Shop. Yes, Weasley barely had two knuts to rub together, let alone anything that was new. Hell, half Weasley’s things had to be as old as Merlin himself. Draco stretched, letting his shoes drag dirt onto the edge of the couch. He supposed that until July 1st, when he would be starting at Gringotts, he would have to resort to an old past-time to keep from being bored. “Wrinkley!” he drawled, an evil glint in his eye as he saw the house elf stumble in. “There’s mud on the couch. Clean it.” Yes, bullying the house elves; Such fun. On the first of July, Harry sauntered out onto the sidewalk in front of the Dursleys’ house. Even though Uncle Vernon had agreed, with much shouting on Harry’s part, that he was allowed to go to his job at Florean Fortescue’s, he had downright refused to give Harry any form of transportation. And so, Harry found himself signaling the Knight Bus. After a crazy ride that left him slightly nauseous, Harry bayed good-bye to Stan Shunpike whose acne looked as if it had finally cleared up. He then stepped off the bright purple bus, the Leaky Cauldron standing in front of him. After a moment of watching the Knight Bus zoom off down the street, Harry slid into the building, heading for the brick wall out back. With a few taps of his wand, he waited for the bricks to open the passageway to Diagon Alley. The bright shops and restaurants gazed down at him as he walked down the road, each displaying wonderfully colorful items. The closest shop to the Leaky Cauldron, The Cauldron Shop, held cauldrons of all sizes, the brass, pewter, and silver ones glinting in the morning sun. A group of wizards looked over the collapsible cauldrons, and Harry heard a short old man say, “Can this be used as a portable toilet as well?” He passed the Magical Menagerie where Harry saw a cage of large purple toads sitting next to a cat that was eyeing them in a way that made the toads squirm. In fact, it looked alarmingly like Hermione’s cat Crookshanks, with its ginger fur and slightly squashed face. And of course, Harry passed Ron’s twin brothers, Fred and George’s shop, Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. Had he not have been in a hurry to get to Florean Fortescue’s Ice-cream Parlor, Harry would have stopped in for a quick hello, and maybe even a few tricks. It was only a few minutes past 9:00 that Harry arrived at Florean’s Parlor. There were only a few customers, the oddballs that enjoyed ice-cream so early in the morning. However, while Harry had been eating his breakfast and Uncle Vernon watching television, the muggle weather man had said that they would all be greeted by a sunny day which would be sure to bring in customers. Harry headed for the backroom where Florean had told him to go to in his letter saying that Harry had gotten the job. There was a wooden plaque near the top of the door that read ‘employees only’. And so, taking a deep breath, Harry knocked lightly. “Yes, come in,” Florean called from inside. Harry turned the knob, opening the door and stepping inside. Florean was sitting at a wooden desk, his apron hanging on a hook behind the door. “Hello, sir.” Harry said brightly. “What do you want to have me do?” Florean stood up, stretching for a moment before reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a bright red apron with a blank name-tag on the side pocket. “I thought I’d have you working with the ice-cream. With such a handsome face, I’m positive that I’ll be roping in many young girls.” Harry blushed as Florean pointed his wand at the blank name-tag, and a second later he realized that his own name was now emblazed upon it. “Here you are, Harry. And now, I’ll show you what you are to do.” Florean guided Harry out of the office and behind the counter while Harry struggled with tying the apron behind his waist. “Okay, this is actually really simple. My four-year-old daughter could do it had she not needed a stool to help her reach the ice-cream, and the fact that she would have eaten half of it before it reached the customer.” Harry grinned, imagining himself going to get an ice-cream and finding that somebody had already taken a lick of chocolate. “So,” Florean rubbed his hands together. “The customer tells you what type of flavor he or she would like, how many scoops, the toppings, etcetera. Now, the ice-ream flavors are here.” He gestured to the fifty or so flavors of ice-cream that were on display behind the glass counter. “Now, because you are not seventeen yet, you will have to use the scooper. Just dip it in the cleaning potion after each use so the flavors don’t mix.” Harry nodded, then asked, “And where are the cones?” Florean opened a pantry door, showing Harry the homemade cones. “It’s somebody else’s job to bake the cones. You just stuff them with ice-cream.” “Okay, and what if the customer doesn’t want a cone?” Harry had finally succeeded in tying the back of the apron, and was now washing his hands in the sink. “There’s a stack of Styrofoam bowls over there. The spoons are in the drawer beside it. Oh, and you put the money in the cash-register. Anymore questions?” Harry grinned. “Do I get free ice-cream?” “It’s part of the employee benefits. Come on, nobody will notice,” laughed Florean. Ron frowned, glaring hatefully at the book Madam Malkin had given him. It was called, ‘Hemming and Stitches, by Jeana Wylander’. She had given it to him to read so that he could help hem the robes of the incoming customers. All in all, the book sucked. Not to mention that the bloody thing was really thick. It must have weighed a ton. What did Ron care about hemming robes? He stared down at the pages and tried once again to read the paragraph in front of him. Hemming without magic requires a steady hand. I find that with a nice, strong hand, the stitches turn out smaller and neater. With the neat-made charm cast upon the needle, one merely has to keep it steady and guild it as it sews at a lightening speed. Now, when you actually begin your Hemming, be sure to- “Okay, dear. How are you doing on that book?” Madam Malkin sauntered over to the counter where Ron was half-heartedly reading the volume. She took the book from his hands and glanced at the page number: 14. “Oh, dear! Mr. Weasley, you’ve been reading this for the past half-hour! What on Earth have you been doing?” Ron scratched his neck, sighing in boredom. He wasn’t even finished reading the introduction. He supposed he could have paid more attention to reading, but Madam Malkin could at least give him some credit. The typing in the book was minuscule! “Erm, I was . . . Reading,” Ron said lamely. Madam Malkin raised an eyebrow. It was obvious that she found his reply nonsensical. “Mr. Weasley. If you were reading, I have no doubt that you would at least be farther then page 14 in the book. Now, I expect you to be farther ahead the next time I come check, which will be in an hour.” She left the room while Ron rolled his eyes behind her back. A sudden image of Mrs. Weasley screaming at him for failing the assignment came to mind. Fine, if he was to read the darn book, he would read it. After reading the book for twenty minutes, Ron decided that hemming really wasn’t as bad as it seemed to be. In fact, with his exploding snap-trained hands, he predicted that it would be easy. He had always had steady hands, anyway. Why fight it? Besides, he was going to be stuck sewing robes for four weeks, he may as well have made the best of it. The next time when Madam Malkin entered the room, Ron was almost halfway through with the book. “Now, that’s better. Isn’t it easier when you focus?” She smiled down at him, taking the book away. “There’s a costumer that needs her school robes hemmed. I want you to try it.” Ron sighed as he held out his hand to accept the needle and thread she was handing him. It had the spell cast upon it just like the book said. With another sigh, Ron headed out of the backroom and into the shop where he spotted a witch standing on a stool, her robes way too long. She seemed to be about twelve years old. When she saw that a boy would be doing her hemming, the girl let out a soft giggle. “Aren’t you . . . a boy?” she asked, stifling laughter. Ron ignored the girl with great difficultly. Then, with red ears, he knelt down and held the bottom of the black robes off the floor. Taking the needle, he grabbed a spool of black thread and strung it through it. The little girl started to squirm, and Ron looked up at her in annoyance. “Look, kid. Call me a girl, I really don’t care because I didn’t choose this job. But would you hold ruddy still?” Perhaps it was his expression, for she stopped giggling and held still. The job took around ten minutes to complete. If Madam Malkin hadn’t been breathing down his neck the entire time, he might have finished sooner. But, after looking over his work, Madam Malkin smiled and said, “You did a fine job. I will give you all the hemming jobs today. Tomorrow you will work on embroidery.” Whatever smugness that had been on his face for hemming the robes correctly left when he heard the word ‘embroidery’. It’s only four weeks, its only four weeks . . . Hermione was hiding behind a rack of fanged frisbees. She knew perfectly well that it wasn’t exactly the best place to be even remotely near to, especially because of her bushy hair. But it was either snagging her hair or shirt on a child’s toy, or facing the two most immature beings. Well, in Hermione’s opinion anyway. “Hey, Lee!” shouted Fred Weasley, entering his enemy shop without any signs of remorse. “How many times do we have to tell you to get your arse out of here and into our shop?” Lee Jordan looked up from the magazine he was currently reading (Quidditch Illustrated) and laughed heartily when he spotted his best buddies from Hogwarts. “You both know this is only my summer job!” George stepped into Gambol and Jape’s as well, glancing around with a grin. “Wow, this place has really hit the dumps since our Joke shop, eh, Lee? We have all of the merchandise with our own little improvements!” He began inspecting a rack of fanged frisbees, as if looking for a way to improve them. Lee rolled his eyes at Fred and George. The two had hardly changed a bit since their legendary escape from Umbridge’s grasp. “Forget the merchandise, you twits, and check out this new issue!” Fred scrambled over to have a look at the magazine, but George stayed put, his eyes mischief-filled and mouth grinning. Since when did fanged frisbees come equipped with bushy, brown hair? Fred seemed to have noticed that his twin was missing out on the beautiful witches because he suddenly turned his head and half-yelled, “George, you idiot! You won’t find hot women in that rack! Come over here!” George sniggered, carefully sliding a hand through the rack and tapping the shoulder of Hermione, who immediately squealed. “You don’t know how wrong you are, Gred,” he stated as Hermione jumped up and into view. Fred’s eyes widened for a second before he regained his normal self and clapped his hands. “Hermione! Haven’t seen a hair on your bushy head in ages!” Lee looked unsurprised, knowing perfectly well that Hermione was working in the shop for a Hogwarts project. Instead, he asked, “Have you finished organizing the price tags, Hermione?” Fred and George stopped their trek around Hermione and grinned identical evil smiles. “What?” asked Fred, enjoying the look on Hermione’s face. George clapped a hand to his heart and pretended to rub his eyes. “Do my eyes deceive me? Is Hermione Granger, book worm of Hogwarts, queen of the Library, working at a Joke shop?” Hermione clenched her fists and a, “NO!” burst out from her lips. However, the bright green Gambol and Jape’s name tag on her chest said differently. “Errr! It’s not my fault! I got denied from Flourish and Blotts!” She suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth. “Hermione Granger, book worm of Hogwarts, Queen of the-” Fred was interrupted as Lee threw Quidditch Illustrated at Fred’s head, shouting, “Shut-up! Believe it or not, Hermione Granger, book worm of Hogwarts, queen of the Library is actually really good at working in a joke shop!” Hermione stared at Lee, her mouth slightly ajar before she realized that she must’ve looked like Ron and closed her mouth. “I-I am?” she asked uncertainly. Fred and George wore raised eyebrows as they too looked to Lee. “She is?” they asked together. But even as they said it, they knew Lee was probably correct. Hermione was said to be the brightest witch Hogwarts had seen since Lilly Potter. They had also heard from Ron that she had brewed Polyjuice potion in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom in their second year. When she really wanted to, Hermione was cleverly sneaky. “Hell, yeah. You stopped that firework from going haywire this morning right when you walked through the door. You suggested that if we sold the smaller pranks in groups of five for seven sickles and two sickles alone. So far, because of that, we’ve had more costumers.” Lee said this all as if Hermione should have known she was doing well in the first place. But it was all true. The second Hermione had stepped into the shop, she had become face to face with an angry firework that Lee had supposedly been trying to get rid of for the past hour. With a quick wave of her wand (even if she wasn’t allowed to use it for four weeks, this was a dire emergency) she had vanished it without breaking a sweat. An hour later Hermione had overheard a few kids complaining about the high price of the exploding snap cards and had suggested that Lee changed the price to five decks for seven sickles and two sickles for one deck. He also decided to do the same with the other small pranks. Within another hour, the small pranks began to sell faster then Lee ever remembered them selling. Instead of relying to Lee, she turned and gave Fred and George a very un-Hermione- like smirk. She had never thought that she would do so well in a joke shop. And even if most of the items in Gambol and Japes were considered detention worthy at Hogwarts, she found that she rather liked working there. “Yes, I’m working at Gambol and Japes. Got a problem and I’ll release an awful curse on you.” The twins didn’t need to be told otherwise. A stubby Goblin with a rather large nose watched as one of the workers came up to him wearing an angry expression. The worker had startlingly red hair tied back in a ponytail, and a fang was dangling from one ear. “Yes, Mr. . . .” the goblin paused, glancing at Bill Weasley’s name-tag. “Weasley?” he asked finally, in a nasty tone. Bill tossed aside the fact that the Goblin was being rude. He was allowed to be, and Bill couldn’t do anything about it due to the goblin being his boss. “That bloody intern, over there. Malfoy is his name. I can’t get him to do anything. He just sits there and says his father wouldn’t like him breaking a sweat.” The Goblin stood from his desk, and looked over to where Bill was pointing. A boy of seventeen with white-blonde hair was seated in a chair, smirking at the wizards and witches as they worked. He himself was doing nothing. “Do not worry, I know how to handle this.” The Goblin smiled evilly. The poor boy wouldn’t know what was coming. Bill grinned, then turned away from Draco. “Er, sir? I’m taking my lunch-break. I’ll be back in an hour.” The Goblin shrugged Bill away, then made his way toward the boy. He didn’t care what Bill did. He was a good worker, and would receive a hefty salary this year. The boy on the other hand, well, it was likely that he was going to receive a big, fat zero for his school assignment. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat outside a small restaurant eating sandwiches and crisps. They were all on their lunch-break, and were also enjoying the sunshine that was tickling their noses and backs. “And then, she said that I had made business for the day increase by four percent with my help alone! Can you believe it? All I did was hem robes!” Ron laughed, shoving a crisp into his mouth. Harry shook his head. “I still can’t believe you guys are working in Gambol and Japes and Madam Malkin’s. At least I get free ice-cream!” Hermione frowned at her friends, wondering why they both had to be such . . . such boys! “If that’s all the excitement that you’ve had today, you won’t believe what I heard before lunch.” Both Harry and Ron stopped arguing and turned to Hermione who was finishing her sandwich. “One of the costumers was telling me how she had gotten terrible service from a blonde boy in Gringotts. She seemed to think it best to inform his superior of his rude behavior. Apparently he was fired.” She eyed Harry and Ron who were looking at her, clearly confused. “Oh, for heavens sake! Malfoy was fired from Gringotts!” “What?” Harry gasped. Then he grinned. Malfoy would never hear the end of this. He knew that Ron would definitely be making sure of that. The trio continued to talk about Malfoy for the next few minutes until Harry noticed that he was due back at Florean Fortescue’s Ice-Cream Parlor. “Well, I’ll see you guys at four o’clock. I have to head back.” Ron sighed, wiping the crumbs from his shirt. “Yeah, I’d better go too.” They all said goodbye, and headed back to their jobs, each looking forward to the end of the day, and the end of the month when they’d get to see how they’d improved at their summer jobs. Even if it meant that four weeks of their summer would be gone. The End |
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