Pointing was, actually, not an inconsiderable help. Not that George would admit it. Their shop was packed, busy, and sometimes hard to navigate because of the clutter and color. The twins tended to like it that way, and the kind of customers they tended to cater to most often did too. But still, spending all the time helping some little second year find where the Puking Pustules were every day wasn't George's favorite part of the job. They usually had to refrain from actually USING products on paying customers, since they'd pay less if they were throwing up, or covered in boils, or had feathers. So that made it a bit less fun.
Not that George didn't love his job, his shop, and his life.
George was, actually, in the back, going over the inventory logs. Charlie's new shipment had come - and been carefully spelled against the stench. Much as you could with dragon dung, anyway. Dead useful, and pricey, and they used it in half a dozen products - but it didn't smell like bloody roses.
He looked up from where he was sitting amidst a precariously balanced pile of boxes, grinning. "In the back - did you bring food?" he yelled back, not bothering to get up. He'd finish this box, at least. Probably wouldn't get much else done, now that Ang was over. But it would wait until tomorrow. He grinned at Ang when she walked in. His slightly shaggy hair was, inexplicably, not cropped ragged and much higher on the right side, over his ear.