Harry got to the shop the next morning at 8:50, carrying three piping-hot takeaway cups with him.

He dropped one off with Verity, who was cleaning out the Pygmy puff cage, and her wistful sigh was enough to make him snort. He took the other two into the manufacturing centre, where he'd told Malfoy they should meet.

The room was large, bigger than he'd been expecting. It was lined with magic-proof wood panelling and fibreglass, and it had about a dozen machines that did Merlin-knows-what spread out in two long lines.

The only light was provided by the windows, which spanned the entire ceiling, but it was pouring rain outside, so they weren't doing much.

Harry pushed himself up to a seated position on one of the many tables and kicked his feet as he waited.

He cast a Tempus. 8:55.

Looking around the room, Harry baulked at the dust covering every single surface. It certainly hadn't been used since Fred had died, maybe even before Harry's 7th year.

He cast another Tempus. 8:56

The door opened then, and Malfoy swept in, stopping in his tracks when he caught sight of Harry.

His eyes trailed down from Harry's favourite t-shirt—old and ratty, containing the Campbell's soup logo—to the pair of jeans he hadn't worn since Dean had dragged him to that muggle art class and they'd gotten stained, all the way to the frog-green wellies Luna had gifted him for his birthday.

Malfoy cleared his throat, averting his eyes and scanning the room. Harry supposed that was his version of polite.

"It's nice," Malfoy finally decided, nodding to himself.

He walked over to where Harry was sitting and, after a long moment's hesitation, eased himself up onto the table beside him.

"Oh, here," Harry said, handing over a cup.

"Oh. Thank you, Potter, but I don't drink coffee."

"It's tea."

Malfoy eyed him critically, lifting off the lid and sniffing it.

"Why?"

"It's good manners."

"When'd you get those?" Malfoy took a tentative sip and frowned, presumably because he realised it wasn't poisoned and he'd have no excuse to kill Harry in self-defence.

Harry was about to retort when Malfoy spoke again, apparently not needing an answer. "Is this Camomile?"

"Yeah."

He hummed lightly. "You've got decent taste."

"Nah, I can't stand the stuff."

Malfoy looked at him warily. "So you thought... Why not buy me the tea you hate because..."

"I thought, 'Why not get Malfoy the tea he drank practically every morning at Hogwarts?' actually. But next time I'll save the three quid and bring you one of the stale Canary Creams we've got in the back."

"You should really dispose of excess product when it's past the expiration date."

"Verity and I are waiting to see if the effects change over time. Fingers crossed we feed one to a canary and it turns into a small person."

Malfoy stared at him again, his eyes doing the thing where they tracked back and forth across Harry's face like they were trying to find the joke, even when it was obvious. He eventually must have given up, because he sighed and sat down his cup, facing Harry halfway as best he could.

"Alright. Typically for a case like this, what I recommend is a grand re-opening."

Harry coughed. "A what now?"

"Just listen. It's a great way to gauge consumer interest, it gives you a solid deadline, you can introduce new products easily, and plenty of people will be interested in seeing what all the fuss is about."

"But," Harry gestured weakly, "but I don't know how to do all that."

"So, you hire someone. Actually, let me rethink that, seeing as hiring professionals is against your delicate sensibilities."

Harry glared, but Malfoy paid him no mind.

"Most of it's simple. You set a date—I recommend at least two weeks before Christmas if you want to maximise profits—and then you release some products. The Prophet will eat it up, trust me, so you needn't worry about getting the word out."

Sighing, Harry put his head in his hands.

"Problem?"

"Just thinking about all the work I'll have to do on the office to get to some of Fred and George's ideas is making me nauseous."

Malfoy patted him on the shoulder rather harshly. "Chin up, Potter. In just a few short weeks you'll have this crusty old dump all to yourself."

With that he stood and exited the room, leaving Harry to stare after him.

He laid back on the work table, and a muttered, "Fuck," was the only sound he made until late that afternoon.

ϟ ϟ ϟ

It was the next day that he decided he needed a break from all the orange. He'd been going at it for hours, casting the spell over and over again, and it was causing a strain on his eyes.

Harry left the office and marched down the stairs, coming to a stop in front of Verity, who was reading the latest Witch Weekly with a rainbow ball of fluff perched on her shoulder. The shop was otherwise deserted.

"What the hell is that?" Harry asked.

"Hmm? Oh, it's an article describing 20 Surefire Ways to Woo Harry Potter. Beats me why they'd need the extra 19 if any of them were going to work but—"

He snatched it out of her hands, scanning the page with a frown. "This Says 5 Must-Try Glamours to Spice Up Your Sex Life."

There was a small smirk on Verity's face, and he took a brief moment to wonder what house she'd been sorted into at Hogwarts. He'd guessed maybe Ravenclaw up to that point, but...

"You sound disappointed," she said cheekily.

Harry threw the magazine back at her and pointed to the fluff. "I meant that. What the hell is that?"

"Pygmy puff, you like? I've named him Elton John. Say hi, Elton," she cooed, wiggling her finger at it.

"But it's rainbow," Harry said slowly, trying to emphasise his point. "Pygmies are pink. Purple, sometimes, but never anything like that."

"I've been experimenting. There's a yellow one in the back too, but he's a nasty bugger. Tried to bite my nose off."

Harry just gaped at her for a moment, and then he shook himself, an idea springing into his head clear as day.

"Hermione would kill me for this, she really would."

Verity raised her eyebrows.

"Do you think you could make more? I've started planning the grand re-opening," he shuddered, "and I've gotten nowhere so far with new products, but this is... perfect."

"He's not a product, Harry, he's a pet. But yes." She shrugged, the rainbow puffball rising and falling with her shoulders. "It's just a modified Crinus Muto. Fred and George taught me when they were still struggling to breed them fast enough for the demand."

"Brilliant," he murmured, mind racing with possibilities, not feeling nearly as stuck as it had before. "Could I look it over for a sec, though? Make sure it's healthy?"

Verity seemed to be fighting a heavily punctuated eye roll, but she eased Elton off her shoulder and into Harry's hands.

"Hey, little guy," he whispered, running a hand over its abdomen and feeling for anything concerning. "You're gonna be a bit hit, you know? Famous, even."

The Pygmy puff gave an annoyed little yawn and turned away from him.

Casting the spells Luna'd taught him to check for animal welfare, Harry felt relieved at the bold blue wisps of light that rose out of its head.

"You, my friend, are perfect." He spared Elton John a tiny grin.

Now he just needed a million or so ideas more.