Saturday, July 26th, 2014. 09:15 AM.

  28 Roseberry Avenue, Borough of Islington, London, UK

  Ron had taken Dara along when he did the pitch for Pixie Poppers. Said pitch being to conceal a Popper in one of the Pigs in Blankets Emily sent along to keep George from eating Dudley's breakfast. Dudley was thrilled, as he was down one in the current Prank War. It was even on the Saturday, so Iris and James could be present without raising suspicion.

  George had a half-dozen of the little appetisers, and, as usual, was wolfing them down, with the hopes of finishing them quickly and having a shot at Dudley's fried potatoes.

  James and Iris managed to hang on to their cool, but it was hard. Each time George picked up another one their breath stopped. It was like watching someone play Russian Roulette. Speed Russian Roulette.

  The Pop! was distinctive, but not particularly loud. The purple cloud enveloped George's head and left hand, swirled in a purposeful manner, and, with another Pop! adhered to him like iron filings to a magnet.

  George had no idea what had just happened. He shook his head a little, (lilac tinted hair a little stiff), and looked at his hand, where the sad remains of the Pig-in a-Blanket was still pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He dropped it and examined the small pale patch on each of the digits. He then pulled back the cuff of his robes, and looked at the sharp line that separated white and purple. Both hands came up to feel his face and hair. Then he dashed off to Randall's efficiency, no doubt to use the mirror in the bath.

  Iris was collapsed against her Dad's leg, holding on to keep from falling to the floor in laughter.

  James on the other hand, was standing perfectly still, eyes getting wider and wider, inhaling slowly, as he looked to be swelling like a balloon.

  Ron smacked him lightly on the back of the head, and advised, "Exhale, you thick little blighter."

  George and James could not have planned to synchronise their first whoops of laughter any better, and in perfect soprano/tenor counterpoint. They heard water running, then gargling and spitting, then another Whoop!

  He came back into the room, grinning like an idiot. "It stuck to my tongue!" He graced them with a view of that appendage. Iris gave up and slid to the floor, tears running down her face.

  James had gone too far in the other direction, having about exhausted his chestful of air, wheezing down to empty.

  Ron grimaced and smacked him on the front of the head this time.

  "Get it together, mate! I've got better things to do!"

  George had found a hand mirror in Randall's bath, and was examining himself more thoroughly. "Tell me everything, I mean, everything!" He caught sight of Dudley beaming beatifically, and snapped, "Oh, bite me, Big Man!"

  Ron filled him in; the Pixies, the Powder, the wasteful shame of all that magic going down the drain. He talked about his work with R&D, making sure to credit everyone on the project. Then he introduced Dara, and laid out the counter-spell she developed. That had George open-mouthed in awe.

  "And you just tweaked the Siphon Spell, right there, until you got the effect you needed?"

  Dara nodded.

  George narrowed his eyes slightly. "While you were 'tweaking' did you notice anything else that might be... profitable?"

  Dara grinned. "I've written up a full report, and my friend Kyinté and I brainstormed some possibilities. One would be a swizzle stick that removes all the alcohol from a mixed drink. Or remove it from one and add it to another. Or it could light up to warn you someone has poisoned your drink, while simultaneously purging the poison. A joke product, a medical use, and law enforcement evidence gathering, all with minor tweaks. And that's just one of the possibilities."

  George turned to Ron, grabbing the front of his robes. "Does she have a contract? TELL me she has a contract!"

  Ron had to exert himself to get George's hands loose, then pulled a slightly rumpled sheaf of parchment out of his robes. "All we need to do is determine fair compensation and sign it."

  George was examining his face again. "Find out what she wants. Then handle it as Level A recruitment."

  Ron wanted to whistle silently, but forebore. He caught Dara's eyes and nodded reassuringly. She was not going to be disappointed with Level A.

  "What's with the raccoon mask?" Indeed, the color had not stuck in a band across George's eyes.

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  "R&D, specifically the Psychological Screener, suggested that. It's not harmful to get in your eyes, but she thought purple eyes with purple sclera might be a jape too far. They worked up a supplementary spell to exclude those areas."

  George nodded. "Agreed. Good thinking."

  Dara said innocently, "Gosh, Mr. Weasley, I didn't hear any of our Beta Testers complaining."

  George glanced at her, then narrowed his eyes at Ron.

  Ron's Evil Weasley Grin was loud and proud. "Have you read anything about 'The Purple Gang' at the Cup?"

  George gasped as if he had been struck. "That was this? This is us? We... we've got to get this out, and ride the wave!"

  Ron said smugly, "Production Line is set up and awaiting the word. Distribution is waiting at the warehouse end of the Production Line."

  George goggled. "My brother," he said in amazement. Then, "Well, I'm off!"

  Ron resisted the straight line. "Don't you want to get that stuff off first?"

  "Are you kidding? Angelina and the kids are going to laugh themselves sick!"

  Ron knew that was right. "Here, let Dara clean just your hand. One last thing I want to show you."

  George saw his brother's serious expression and acquiesced.

  While Dara was working, she spoke without looking around. "Mr. Dursley?"

  Dudley stopped regarding his ennervated pre-teens, sprawled on the floor.

  "Yes, Dara?"

  "I was thinking that this spell might make a good feature for some of your appliances. It could be added to the filters, and warn the homeowners if something foreign or harmful starts coming through the pipes. And it could keep the water clean until you can track down the problem and address it."

  "Strengthen our warranty," Dudley mused. "Reduce maintenance." His face darkened slightly and he exchanged a glance with George, whose face was also set. "And no more incidents like that poor dishwasher."

  Dudley looked over to Ron, who had an air of triumph radiating from him.

  "Say, Ron?"

  "Yes, Dud?"

  "Does she have a contract? TELL me she has a contract."

  Moments later, Ron was showing George two vials whose contents were lilac-coloured. He shook one. It was granular and threw up a little dust.

  "The raw material, what we use in the poppers."

  He shook the other. It was still dust, but dust so fine, it flowed like liquid.

  "What Dara produces from her Siphon Spell. Now hold one in each hand."

  George took them, and his attention was immediately drawn to the refined one.

  "That...," he said. "That is strong magic."

  "Right?" said Ron. "Now, I don't know what possible use it is, but if we turn the bright lads and lasses down at R&D... and Dara... loose..."

  "Agreed." George gave Dudley a speculative look. "Catch."

  Dudley snatched the vials out of the air. "Guys, they don't come more Muggle than me..." He stopped abruptly.

  "It... tingles." His voice contained wonder. " Just a hint, but it is there. How..."

  George shrugged. "Dud, dude, you know there's magic back in your family line somewhere. It wouldn't take much, as strong as that stuff is."

  Iris scrambled to her feet, closely followed by James. "Dad, let me try!"

  Dudley looked doubtful, but dropped the vial into her cupped palms. She stared at it in fascination for a moment, then went, "YEEP!" and tossed it at James. He snatched it out of the air with one hand.

  "Did it hurt, Princess?" Dudley's voice was concerned.

  "No, Dad," she said crossly. "Please don't call me 'Princess.' It just felt... felt like that Joy Buzzer you gave George!"

  George snickered. "Dad still carries that thing everywhere. He wouldn't have a friend left in the world if he didn't usually shock himself."

  "Yeah," said Ron with a grin. "And have you ever been at the house for Bat'ry Changing Night?" Both Weasleys snorted. Ron looked at James, who was maintaining a stoic face by sheer willpower.

  "Ah, it ain't that bad," he said, sweat beading on his upper lip. "But I guess you need it back."

  Ron resisted temptation, and silently took the vial. George grinned understandingly.

  "Yeah, we Weasley Men are tough. Guys, I'm out of here." He stopped dead. "Wait. If Production is ready, you've already got a name?"

  Ron's grin was even more triumphant.

  "Pixie Poppers!" He paused. "Paint Your Pals like the Purple Gang!"

  "Brilliant." And with that simple word, George was gone.

  ***

  CODA

  The hit had gone down in Randall's shop, with both Erik and Krum, (in his Sergei Dimitrov persona) on site. After a good laugh, the three went back to painstakingly stripping down Harry's supercharged Firebolt to see what effects the speed run had on it.

  Harry himself had been barred from the shop twenty minutes into the first day of work. He had been firmly sent home with Viktor's Firebolt to use as a Teddy Bear for the duration. After the second violation of his parole, all the doors to the second level had been instructed not to admit him. As were the additional Security Staff Dudley had laid on. On George's advice, Dudley had hired a top-flight Troll firm, able to pass for Human(ish), and clued in on the Muggle World.

  Dudley had been a bit worried at first. But when the detail's commander first met Dudley, he had given a little extra Oomph! to his handshake, (just getting off with the right club, you know). Dudley's eyes widened, and the Troll smiled, a little nastily.

  Then Dudley smiled, absolutely delighted. And squeezed back.

  Less than thirty seconds later, the troll was asking, quite politely, if it could have what remained of its hand back. Dudley dropped the limp, broken thing, and helped the troll up off its knees, slapping it on the back.

  "Remarkable!" he said. "I haven't met any one who could take it like that in years! Quite a grip on you. Quite a grip. Should I get someone in to look at that?

  "No," grunted the commander. He added hurriedly, "Thank you. Will heal in few minutes."

  "Well, good for you! Say! Have you boys ever tried arm wrestling? Looking at those shoulders, it would probably be more of a match." Intrigued, one of the others said, "How do?"

  It took a little time to shake out the wrinkles, but it turned out to be a much more equitable contest. A few little rules had to be made. First, use of toothpaste and mouthwash were mandated, and to be added to the employment contract. No roaring in the other creature's face. Dudley's habit of whistling between his teeth was barred, due to the pitch hitting a resonance point in troll sinuses, and... it wasn't pretty. Leave it there.

  It was a match made... somewhere.

  Dudley got good at gargle-growling troll names, and the trolls called him Mr. D. They thoroughly enjoyed target-tossing Harry about. Distance, height, targeted building tops. Once they figured they were within tossing distance of Regent's Canal and the New River...

  Harry must have enjoyed it as well. He kept trying.

  The Trolls eventually came on full-time. The first thing Dudley did was get a clued-in dentist to work on those teeth. The smiles on those guys!