Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes
Amidst the usual bustle of Diagon Alley—the chatter of eager shoppers, the clinking of coins exchanging hands, the rich aroma of fresh parchment mingling with the scent of Butterbeer from the nearby pub—one storefront stood apart from the rest, as if demanding attention with its very existence.
Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.
Hermione had heard all about the shop’s booming success through Ron’s enthusiastic letters, each one filled with exclamations about how their brothers were revolutionizing the joke industry. But no amount of second-hand accounts could have prepared her for the sheer spectacle before her.
The massive, gaudily painted sign above the entrance flashed in dazzling bursts of colour, shifting from a brilliant magenta to an eye-watering orange in rapid succession. Words danced across its surface in swirling, animated script: “Uncontrollable Laughter Guaranteed!” and “Mayhem in a Bottle – Only 5 Galleons!” As if that weren’t enough, a towering, enchanted mannequin of a red-haired wizard—undeniably Fred or George—stood just above the doorway, winking and tipping an oversized top hat as he occasionally performed a dramatic bow.
Above the building, fireworks crackled and exploded in midair, their shimmering sparks rearranging themselves into cheeky messages before vanishing into nothingness. “New! Skiving Snackboxes – Fool Any Professor!” one proclaimed in looping golden letters. Another exploded into a giant, glowing grin with flashing words beneath it: “Trouble Has Never Been So Fun!”
The windows were just as chaotic, packed with a dizzying array of products. One display featured a cauldron spewing neon green smoke, with a sign that read: “Fainting Fancies – Collapse on Command!” Nearby, a row of Extendable Ears slithered off their stands, stretching toward the street as if eager to eavesdrop. Every available inch of space was bursting with colour, movement, and an overwhelming sense of organized mischief.
Shaking her head with an amused smile, Hermione adjusted the strap of her bag and stepped inside. The moment she crossed the threshold, she was met with an explosion of sights and sounds. The store was packed with customers—young students eagerly browsing shelves stacked with Skiving Snackboxes, Nosebleed Nougat, and Puking Pastilles, while older witches and wizards marvelled at the more eccentric displays like the new Perpetually Pranking Portraits, which winked and jeered at unsuspecting passersby.
A loud pop echoed through the store, followed by a high-pitched shriek of laughter. Hermione instinctively turned toward the commotion, just in time to sidestep a whizzing puff of rainbow-colored smoke that shot past her and dissipated into the air. A moment later, a group of young boys erupted into gleeful giggles, clutching their newly acquired Decoy Detonators like prized possessions. One of them pressed the small device again, sending another burst of harmless—but blindingly bright—purple mist into the air, much to the delight of his friends.
The shop was alive with movement, every corner bursting with colour and chaos. Shelves stocked with Sneakoscopes and Shield Hats lined the walls, while stacks of brightly wrapped Skiving Snackboxes teetered precariously on enchanted displays that adjusted their height to tempt potential buyers. A floating sign near the ceiling gleamed in shifting golden letters: “Buy One Puking Pastille, Get the Second Half Off! (Literally.)”
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our favourite bookworm,” a familiar voice drawled from behind her.
Hermione turned, already knowing exactly who she would find. Fred Weasley stood leaning against a nearby shelf, arms crossed over his chest, his signature grin firmly in place. A few feet away, George appeared beside him, mirroring his brother’s stance with an equally mischievous glint in his eyes. The two of them looked entirely in their element, dressed in matching maroon and gold waistcoats—though, knowing them, the colour-shifting fabric was probably charmed to change at random intervals.
She rolled her eyes, though the affectionate smile tugging at her lips was impossible to suppress. “I take it business is booming?”
“Booming, exploding, and occasionally backfiring,” George replied cheerfully, nodding toward the far corner of the shop.
Hermione followed his gaze and spotted a young wizard struggling to remove a pair of Ever-Sticking Spectacles from his face. No matter how hard he pulled, the glasses remained stubbornly in place, the charm clearly working a little too well. Nearby, an exasperated shop assistant was flipping through a product manual, muttering under her breath as she scanned the pages for the proper countercurse.
Fred smirked, rubbing his hands together. “Ah, music to our ears.”
Hermione shook her head, a mixture of amusement and exasperation flickering across her face. “Should I even ask what went wrong?”
George, ever the picture of nonchalance, waved a hand dismissively as if the situation barely warranted concern. “Oh, that? Nothing major,” he said, his tone light and unconcerned. “We made some tiny adjustments to the adhesive formula—purely for scientific innovation, mind you—and may have, accidentally, made them slightly… permanent.”
Hermione’s brows shot up, her gaze flicking back to the unfortunate boy still clawing at the Ever-Sticking Spectacles attached to his face. His frantic movements had only grown more desperate, his muffled complaints barely audible over the steady hum of the shop’s activity.
Fred, watching the scene unfold, smirked and clapped his hands together. “On the bright side,” he continued, the mischievous glint in his eyes only sharpening, “they’re incredibly theft-proof now. No one will ever be able to steal them off your face.” He grinned at Hermione, as if expecting her to be thoroughly impressed. “That’s an improvement, if you ask me.”
She let out a long-suffering sigh. “I think I’d rather not ask you.”
Fred only chuckled, clearly undeterred. With an effortless shift in conversation, he turned his full attention back to her, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “And you, Hermione? What brings you to our humble establishment? Finally giving in to the undeniable allure of mischief?”
Hermione arched a single, unimpressed brow. “I just got back from France yesterday,” she answered smoothly, neatly sidestepping his bait with practiced ease. “Thought I’d stop by and see how the two of you were faring in the world of responsible business ownership.”
At her words, the twins exchanged a glance—one of those silent, perfectly synchronized looks that only years of brotherly mischief could refine. Then, as if on cue, they both burst into laughter, the sound so loud and unrestrained that a few nearby customers turned to see what was so amusing.
“Responsible?” Fred wheezed, clutching his chest as if she had just delivered a fatal blow. “Oh, Hermione, you do crack us up.”
“Truly, the funniest thing we’ve heard all day,” George added, wiping away an imaginary tear as he shook his head in mock disbelief. “Responsible! Us! Can you imagine?”
Hermione sighed, though she didn’t bother hiding her smirk. “I should have known better than to expect a serious response.”
“But to answer your question,” George said, finally composing himself, though the grin never left his face, “we’re thriving. Turns out, Hogwarts trained us exceptionally well in the fine art of controlled chaos.”
Hermione crossed her arms, tilting her head in skeptical amusement. “And by controlled, you mean…?”
Fred waved a hand dismissively, his expression far too relaxed for someone managing what was essentially a legally sanctioned danger zone. “Oh, you know—most customers leave the store mostly intact, and our employees only suffer minor hex-related injuries on occasion.” He flashed her an easy grin. “That’s about as controlled as we get.”
Hermione’s lips twitched. “Reassuring,” she deadpanned, though the sarcasm in her voice did little to deter either of them.
George, as if sensing an opportunity, leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Oh, don’t worry, we offer excellent medical coverage.”
Fred nodded sagely, crossing his arms as though discussing a thoroughly reasonable workplace policy. “And hazard pay. Can’t forget hazard pay.”
Hermione sighed, shaking her head. “You two really are ridiculous.”
She let her gaze wander around the shop again, taking in the dazzling array of magical products stacked on the shelves, the enchanted advertisements flashing overhead, and the steady stream of customers filtering in and out. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was every bit as successful as she had imagined—and then some.
“I still can’t believe how much this place has grown,” she admitted. “I knew from Ron’s letters that you two were doing well, but seeing it in person is…” She trailed off, struggling to find the right word.
“Breathtaking? Revolutionary? An absolute stroke of genius?” Fred supplied helpfully.
“Chaotic,” Hermione corrected, though there was clear admiration in her voice.
Fred placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Oh, Hermione, your praise is overwhelming.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but her attention drifted momentarily as a memory surfaced.
She had just returned from France the previous evening—a holiday tradition her parents had upheld for as long as she could remember. Every summer, they would pick a different region to explore, immersing themselves in the culture, the history, and, of course, the food. This year had been Provence, a picturesque escape of lavender fields and sun-drenched villages. She had spent the last few weeks wandering cobbled streets, visiting ancient castles, and indulging in fresh pastries at quaint little cafés.
It had been… nice.
Peaceful.
But it had also been strange.
For the first time, she had felt a sense of restlessness, an ache for something more. She had realized—somewhere between visiting the Palace of the Popes and sailing down the Gorges du Verdon—that home wasn’t just a place anymore. It wasn’t just the house she had grown up in, or the destinations her parents took her to every summer. It was this. The world she had found beyond their ordinary lives. The friendships, the magic, the ridiculous, wonderful nonsense of people like Fred and George Weasley.
Maybe that was why she had come here first—before visiting the Burrow, before unpacking her trunk—why she had needed to see this place with her own eyes.
“So,” Fred said suddenly, breaking through Hermione’s thoughts with his usual effortless charm. “How was France this time? Learn anything exciting? Master the art of eating an entire baguette in one sitting?”
“Or,” George added, wiggling his eyebrows in that infuriatingly mischievous way of his, “did you finally give in and try a little mischief, just for the fun of it?”
Hermione let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “France was lovely, as always,” she said, deliberately sidestepping George’s suggestion. She had spent years perfecting the art of ignoring their bait, though the twins still made it difficult at times. “This year, we went to Provence—it’s absolutely breathtaking. The lavender fields stretch on for miles, and the scent is everywhere. The towns are charming, all cobbled streets and markets full of fresh bread, flowers, and the best fruit you can imagine.”
Fred sighed dramatically, leaning against a shelf. “Ah, to be rich and sophisticated.”
George smirked. “Truly, an elegant life you lead, Hermione. But we both know what we really want to hear about. Any chaos? A little mayhem, perhaps? Tell me you at least knocked over a ridiculously overpriced bottle of perfume in some posh shop.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Not everything is about mayhem, you know. We visited Roman ruins, spent a day in Avignon—oh, and my parents went on a few vineyard tours.”
Fred perked up instantly. “And you?” he asked, his grin widening. “Did you go on any of these vineyard tours? Swirl the wine, sniff it, mumble something about ‘oaky undertones’?”
Hermione huffed. “No, I did not. I stuck to sparkling water while my parents discussed tannins and aging processes.”
George placed a hand over his chest, feigning disappointment. “A tragedy, truly.”
“But,” Hermione continued, lifting her chin, “I did eat an unreasonable amount of cheese.”
Fred gasped, clearly scandalized. “Hold on, I think the real tragedy here is that you didn’t bring us back any of this allegedly excessive cheese.”
George nodded in solemn agreement. “Shameful, really. Neglectful, even. You spend so much time with us, and yet, you still fail to anticipate our most basic needs.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched in amusement. “Oh, stop your whining. I did bring you something, actually.”
Both twins straightened instantly, eyes lighting up with curiosity.
Fred clutched his chest again, this time in mock sentimentality. “Hermione,” he said, voice thick with exaggerated emotion, “you shouldn’t have.”
“Oh, but I did,” she said smugly, reaching into her bag. She pulled out a small, neatly wrapped package and handed it to them. “It’s a box of Calissons d’Aix—a specialty from the region. They’re made with almonds, candied melon, and orange blossom.”
George eagerly unwrapped the package, revealing the delicate, diamond-shaped confections inside. He picked one up with a reverence usually reserved for magical artifacts. “Well, well, well,” he murmured, inspecting it as though he had just uncovered a priceless treasure. “Would you look at that? She does care.”
Hermione smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”
Fred popped one into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before humming in satisfaction. “Not bad, Hermione. Not bad at all.” He swallowed and flashed her a cheeky grin. “You might just be growing on us.”
Hermione shook her head, knowing full well she had grown on them a long time ago.