BOOM. A thunderclap of sound rocked the air behind the Burrow, causing multiple ripples in the backyard scrying pool.
BOOM. A gnome poked his head out of a patch of Mrs. Weasley's mood-lilies and clapped his hands over his ears, grumbling angrily and causing a shower of crackling purple sparks to rise from the blooms.
"Oy, Harry, these have got to be the best ever! Betcha Hermione and Mum would explode faster than a Blast-Ended Skrewt if they caught us trying these out!"
Harry smiled giddily at his friend, mirroring Ron's rakish grin.
"They're pretty terrific, Ron. How many do you think we've got left?"
Ron frowned judiciously into a small black bag, then weighed it in his hand.
"I'd wager three hundred at least; just enough for another match, eh Harry? Or are you up to it?" Ron asked wickedly.
"Hah! Bring it on!" Harry cried, jumping back onto his broom and rising almost instantly into the air.
Ron dumped the bag out in his hand, revealing hundreds of iridescent gold spheres just about the size of fish eggs. He leaned in close and whispered, "Viktor Krum…and the Chudley Cannon Chasers, Falmouth Falcon Keeper, one Kenmare Kestrel Beater and one--"
"And one Wimbourne Wasp Beater!" Harry shouted from above.
The orders were given. Immediately the balls flew up into the air, coalescing and changing color to form six Quidditch players, clothed in their respective uniforms and sitting high atop flying brooms. Then Ron unlatched a battered old box of Quidditch balls, tossing them into the air.
Shortly after, another BOOM shook the Burrow, signifying the end of the match. The explosion caused by the breakup of the many tiny balls was considerably louder, although not as long, as Ron's satisfied sigh. The two boys sat on the ground next to their brooms, exhausted and plastered with sweat.
"Finally got that git Krum, didn't we Harry?" he said happily.
"Sure we did, Ron," Harry answered, looking at him carefully. "Why did you pick him again? I thought we were going to use the last set of Mimic-Orbs for the whole set of Chudley Cannons."
"Harry, as much as the Cannons are the best team in the league, Krum has to be beaten! We have to practice our skills against him to get better! It's our—our—duty, Harry!" Ron gestured helplessly with his hands.
"So are you saying he's the best, Ron?" Harry asked slyly.
Ron colored furiously, spitting a vehement "Never!"
"Are you sure you're not still just jealous of him because he took Hermione—"
"Did I just hear my name?" Hermione said from behind them, causing them both to turn around with a jerk.
"Oy, I think I got whiplash," Harry complained, rubbing his neck.
"Er, Hermione, when did you get back? Is Mum here?" Ron asked rapidly, trying to ignore his thumping chest as he stared up at Hermione.
"What, not even a 'hello, Hermione, thanks for going out to get food to cook for us' or 'My, what a kind witch you are—good to see you back'? Honestly. And the two of you—you're both covered in sweat! What were you doing, using Mimic-Orbs to make poor imitations of Quidditch players and being proud 'cause you beat them?"
"They're not poor imitations! They're like the real thing! And we beat them, five times, easy as—oops." Ron halted, then smiled sheepishly at Hermione.
"Ah-HA. Just as I thought! You know those are not to be used to imitate people! You could be held in the Juvenile Wizard's Brig for at least three weeks! And how in Merlin's name did you even rack up the Galleons to buy that many?" Hermione put her hands on her hips, fixing a burning stare upon them both.
Ron could already feel his face melting off. "Well, you see, Hermione—Harry here made great pals with this girl at my brothers' joke shop—"
"Oh! You met Dabra already?" Hermione interjected, looking suddenly as if the whole world were a library and it rained books everyday.
"Dabra? I thought it was Debra…" Ron asked, turning to Harry.
"I just talked with her for a little bit…she didn't recognize me at first, and it was kinda cool to introduce myself for once." Harry said, not looking at Hermione or Ron.
"Yeah, he talked with her and all the sudden it was like WHAM—do you want any extra stuff from the Joke Shop, boys? Fantastic, Harry—you should talk to girls more often!" said an enthused Ron.
"Well, I can't believe you already wrangled something out of that girl. She's supposed to be quite intelligent, you know; Fred and George hired her because she was able to enchant a telephone to dial itself and have its buttons change numbers every three seconds to confuse the person using it. Do you realize how complicated that is? She's Muggleborn, like me, apparently her parents figured she was magical when she was only three and found some old Squib to teach her. They actually renamed her "Dabra," instead of her original birth name, to be a nickname for "Abracadabra." If you ask me, that's going a little overboard, but I suppose—"
"Enough, Hermione!" Ron moaned. "What'd you do, read a book on this girl?"
"Honestly, Ron, I just talked with Fred and George about her and want to get to know her. Is that such a crime?"
"Hermione, I just think we could talk about something else! Something interesting, --like--Quidditch!" Ron yelled to a retreating Hermione.
Harry thought he heard a dry "hah" from Hermione, but he couldn't be sure. He lay back down on the grass, closing his eyes to the afternoon sun, and starting thinking back about Dabra. Just from the brief talk he had with her, it seemed she was very intelligent, like Hermione had said. It had been really great to finally meet someone—some girl—not starstruck by his scar. Or "scarstruck," as Ron had once termed it.
"I can never have a conversation without her blowing up at me, mate," Ron said glumly. "It's like having a human Howler walking around with you—awful."
Harry took a moment to remember Ron was speaking of Hermione.
"Yeah, I think she's probably just tired from going to the Wizard Mart with your mom. Last time she went Mrs. Weasley had her carry something like four bunches of extra-large nightshade, a Muscular Mushroom, and maybe a bushel of apples," Harry said.
Ron whistled. Being the youngest boy, he'd gone for years on shopping trips with his mother, only to come back with sore arms, scratches from some of the feistier plants, and a huge headache.
"Maybe I'll go check on her then, mate. You know, try to get her back in a good mood before tonight."
"Right," said Harry, smiling to himself, with eyes still closed. "Go put her in a good mood."