Fireworks
Private for George. Rating: Adult. Pegging.
"It was lovely to see you again, Mabel. Do keep in touch."
It was all Muriel could do not to plant a foot in the woman's backside and physically shove her through the Floo, she'd been so hard to get rid of. Mabel Filibuster was the matriarch of the Filibuster empire, three years widowed and struggling to deal with the handover of the family business from her late husband to a son who had grown up with more money than he knew what to do with, had no concept of how to handle it and was pixie-dust addled besides. She had told Muriel all about it in great detail over tea and macaroons.
It was the first time they'd seen each other since the organisational committee for the No Brats, Just Hats charity gala that had occurred mere weeks before Filibuster Senior's passing. Muriel couldn't help but wonder if the gala had had something to do with it. Possibly the sight of so many wealthy, pureblood women in ridiculous hats cheerfully betting on Mummy races (the bandaged, transfigured kind, not the kind with children, hence the name of the event) had sent him into a spiral of mental deterioration from which he would not recover.
Whatever the reason for her husband's passing, Muriel had had to endure three hours worth of Madam Filibuster's business and familial woes. Having not seen the woman in so long, she was at quite a loss to understand why she'd been picked for such a dubious honour. Not least because the largest threat to her family's firework empire lay in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
Perhaps that was it. Perhaps Mabel wanted George to buy them out. Hand over the name of the family business in return for an owner with a bit more sense, and live on the dividends. Well. It might work, except that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was still struggling, and taking over a company like Filibuster's would mean George had absolutely no time for anything else.
Which would never do. There was no way in Merlin's name Muriel was going to let Mabel Filibuster sink her claws into George. His soft and tender spots were reserved for hers.
Speaking of which, were was he? He'd told her he would be coming by, and part of her irritation with Mabel had been wanting to get rid of her before George arrived. Merlin knew how much longer she would have stayed if he'd come through the Floo, all charm and smiles, when she'd just finished telling Muriel about her son and his tendency to disappear for three days at a time on pixie-dust benders.
Gods, she needed a drink. Afternoon tea wasn't supposed to leave one with that urge, was it?