2. Girl Talk

The next morning, Angelina Johnson-Weasley opened her shop with a wave of her wand. The lock, developed by her clever husband, answered only to her voice speaking her own personal cant, "Angelohomora!" She stepped inside, reveling in the familiar odours: the waving and straightening, shortening and lengthening, tinting and bleaching, shrinking and enlarging potions for which she was becoming justly famous. She managed to be an hour early, even with that late-running game last night. One of her best customers had an early appointment, and Angelina would greet her personally, make some small-talk, turn her over to a more-than-capable assistant – then go home and crash.

As she was laying out the tools of her trade, she heard the door-bell tinkle.

"Hello, Angelina, nice game last night."

"Hermione, how you doing? How's Ron?"

"Fine. He's home again today, organizing things."

"It never was a strong point as I remember."

"He's getting better with practice. How're you and George?

Angelina returned to her sorting. "Mmm – never better. I seem to have garnered a very well-to-do clientele over the past year. Angelina's is now the 'in' place to have your nails done. All the Ministry witches think so. And the Wheeze is so popular! George's a genius. I tell you, that man – everything he touches turns to gold. And with Dennis helping him... "

There was a noise behind her, like a sob. She turned around. Hermione's face had taken on an odd crumpled look.

"What is it, baby?" Angelina put an arm around her shoulders and led her into the back room. Her preparations could wait. Hermione never, ever cried, but she was on the verge of floods just now. She gently settled her distraught sister-in-law on a comfortable couch and sat next to her.

"Angelina...I have made the biggest mess of things... and Ron thinks... it's all his fault. Now I have to sell my hair and – " The floods came and Angelina conjured up a quick cup of chamomile tea, a tray of biscuits, and a fresh handkerchief. Hermione took a big swig of tea, refused the biscuits pleading a tummy-ache, and swiped her face with the hankie. These minor rites helped to calm her, and she was soon pouring out the story, laying out their economic difficulties, their problems with Ministry funding, and the letter from Raglan's solicitors.

Then she got to the heart of her problem: "Ron didn't even want to tell me about it, but I saw the refusal on the desk, and – and – Angelina, it's all because of me, him not getting some compensation for that story. I lost him his proof!"

Angelina looked skeptical. Hermione had never lost a thing in her life.

Hermione's lip quivered, but she took a deep breath and continued more calmly. "You see, I have to use invisible ink to write my clients' notes in. For confidentiality, you know. Well, I left one of the ink-bottles on our desk overnight and – I think – I'm sure Ron made a copy of one of his stories with it. The ink takes a couple of hours to fade, so he didn't notice, and next day I mistook it for blank scrap and cut it up and used it for shopping lists and such. See?" She took some pieces of parchment out of her bag. "I sprayed every piece of parchment in the place with the revealing agent, and that's how I found these – though I'm sure I've thrown most of them away."

Angelina looked closely at the pages. It reminded her a little of felted paper that had been used over and over again to blot wet ink. There were obviously several sets of writing criss-crossing the parchment, but except for a few words, there was no telling what they said.

Angelina looked at her for a minute. "Now you know, Hermione, if Ron had filed these away right away, you never would have taken them for scrap." Hermione hiccupped and took a sip of tea. "Oh, baby, I'm not trying to blame Ron, but you know he is awfully Muggle-headed sometimes."

"Yes, it's one of the reasons I love him so. It keeps me from being homesick." She stifled a sob.

"How are your parents, by the way?"

"Fine, I guess. We don't get to visit much what with work and looking-for-work and...I dread having them see me like this. I'm just not myself lately."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, generally out-of-sorts. Take my job for example...I always thought I liked working with the underprivileged. But now – it's making me – sort of – sick. I mean, it all started when this mountain troll...well, he's only half-troll actually...and quite civilized...relatively speaking...came into the office. He needed help relocating. But...I don't know if it was his looks or the smell or what. Five minutes into the interview I had to excuse myself and run to the loo. He literally turned my stomach."

"Well, that is a natural reaction, given your experience with trolls."

"But now I can't seem to get out of bed mornings without worrying that it's going to happen all over again. And it does. Everything comes up. It's like a vicious circle, you know?

"Have you told Ron about it?"

"He's got enough to worry about. Augh! And I feel so fat...like all my clothes are shrinking...and I'm tired all the time..."

"You need a vacation, sounds like."

"But we can't afford..."

"I know." She patted Hermione's hand. "So how's about I keep these scraps of Ron's story? I'd like to show them to George. Maybe he can erase just your writing and leave us with Ron's. Then he can get some royalties from that shyster, Raglan, and afford a nice trip to your parents'...and maybe the Med?"

Hermione gratefully handed her the lot.

"Now what's this about you having to sell your hair?"

"Oh that. That's what I came to ask you about. I really want to get Ron a nice present for Christmas – a silver chain for his pocket watch. He's always leaving it around – you know – on the wash stand, the kitchen table, his desk at work. I'm so afraid he's going to lose it somewhere, and a chain would look soooo classy, hanging across the front of his vest – sort of Dickensian, I think. Anyway, when I went in to make the last payment on my wedding robes, I saw a nice chain in the window. Coincidentally, the proprietor asked me if I'd like to sell my hair to her wig department. It seems frizzy 'dos are coming back into style. She'll pay fifty Galleons for the lot."

"And you'd like me to grow it back for you afterwards."

"Oh, Hair-Growing Charms and potions don't work on me. The new hair is all brittle, and it just breaks off."

"Mmm – that's interesting. Some of my other clients have that problem as well. Are you by any chance a Virgo?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"I don't know, but every Virgo I ever met has trouble with speeding-up potions and the like. It's as if their bodies rebel against anything that's not strictly natural and above-board." She lowered her voice confidentially. "They are my some of my toughest customers."

"Well, I am a Virgo. And gosh," she blushed, "it took me forever to convince myself to do a Minusculum on my teeth. So... what do you recommend?"

"A wig." Angelina grinned, and she was gratified to see the corners of Hermione's lips turn up just a trifle at her lame joke. "But seriously, I'd be happy to style it for you afterwards."

"Yes, I'd trust you to give me a hairdo that Ron could live with – so – so he doesn't want to hex me first."

"He does like your hair long, doesn't he?"

"Yes. You know, it's funny. He's always playing with it – almost like a little child."

"That's not surprising...George's the same way...though he won't admit it. He just loves to do things with my hair. He especially likes to stick things in it when I'm sleeping."

"Like what?"

"Oh, teaspoons, feathers, knitting needles, slices of pizza..."

"He does not!" Hermione was giggling now.

"No lie. And once he charmed it to change colour, through all the colours of the rainbow, gradually, you know? I mean one minute my hair's black, then a kind of deep purple, then dark blue, then seven shades of green...each one ickier than the next...then yellow, orange, and then red then darkening to brown. Then it started all over again. I couldn't go out for days because the fool didn't know the counterspell."

"Hermione grinned and said shyly, "Ron says mine's the colour of dark chocolate...and honey...and caramel...all rolled into one."

"Well, he's right. You have a lot of natural highlights there. No wonder someone wants to buy it."

"Yes, but it's so frizzy. I can't do a thing with it. And we can't afford treatments..."

"I know, baby, and Ron would have a conniption if I gave you a charity-makeover."

"Yes. Well all that's moot anyway, since I'm going to have it cut."

"You really are?"

Yes, Angelina, I think this watch chain is much more important. Ron needs something to make him feel important...mature...respected..."

"A bit of a man about town?"

Hermione giggled and her eyes shone. "Something like that. It'll take his mind off our troubles, don't you think?"

I'm not so sure, thought Angelina later as she watched Hermione stride out the door and off down the street to her office.