It was, unfortunately, Harry's uncle who returned first. Harry groaned as his uncle's car pulled into the driveway and two very large, beefy people heaved themselves from the front seats. One of them had a mustache and carried a bag under his arm. The other was equally mustached and held a small bulldog under hers. Harry kicked a balled up pair of his old socks across the room in frustration. Where was Hedwig?
"AS I WAS SAYING MARGE, PETUNIA MAKES A WONDERFUL GOULASH."
"I'M SURE IT WILL BE DELICIOUS, VERNON."
Their booming voices easily carried throughout the entire house. Yes, thought Harry, it was easy to believe they were related just by the sound of their voices- but he didn't have time to crack any more jokes at his relations' expense. As panic began to fully set in Harry found himself drawn to the far corner of his little room. No way would he be going downstairs. No way.
"BOY! GET DOWN HERE! WE'VE GOT COMPANY!"
Harry heaved a massive sigh of resignation and was on the verge of turning his bedroom doorknob when there came a loud shriek at his window.
"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT THAT BLASTED OWL? I MEAN, UH, TELEVISION! THE BOY IS ALWAYS WATCHING TELEVISION, MARGE, YOU UNDERSTAND."
Harry couldn't care less about anything Uncle Vernon had ever told him about anything, so he promptly let Hedwig in, caressed her snowy head, snatched the rolled up note from her leg, and tore it open eagerly. Aunt Marge was loudly commenting about Harry's worthless layabout ways downstairs, but he didn't care. Any news at all would have drowned out even Vernon's beefy voice.
"Caught us just in time, Harry! Dad says he'll come to pick you up tonight, if that's alright.
-Ron"
Harry froze. Then he re-read Ron's reply just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Tonight? But that must surely mean-
"QUITE RIGHT, MARGE, AND- AAAAAAUGH!"
Harry dashed downstairs to find all of his very distant relations in various states of fear at the sight of a tall, balding, red-haired man stepping out of their fireplace. Arthur Weasley surveyed the muggle home enthusiastically like a small child in a candy store. Spotting Harry on the staircase he gave a jovial little wave.
"Harry! How are you?"
The idea of anyone greeting his nephew with such joviality must surely have been torture to Uncle Vernon.
"WHO THE RUDDY HELL ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?"
Arthur Weasley jumped about a foot.
"There's no need to shout, man, I'm right next to-"
"-he's come to pick me up, Uncle Vernon," Harry interrupted quickly- criticism was not something Uncle Vernon was used to receiving. Vernon's head swiveled mechanically to glare at Harry.
"CAME HERE FOR YOU, EH? COME TO PICK YOU UP, EH? YOU WON'T FOOL ME WITH ANY OF THOSE HALF-BAKED STORIES, BOY! AND YOU-" his head snapped back to Mr. Weasley so fast it even made Harry dizzy. "YOU'RE GOING TO PAY FOR THE FURNITURE CLEANING IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO!"
Arthur Weasley looked a bit taken aback. He scanned the room, smiling and nodding awkwardly towards Dudley, who was cowering in his mother's arms, taking in all the excess ash he'd inadvertently scattered over everything. He grinned apologetically towards Uncle Vernon and made to draw his wand.
"Not to worry, not to worry! I'll have everything right in a jiffy!"
"OH NO YOU DON'T! NO MADMAN IS GOING TO SHOOT UP MY BROTHER'S FAMILY!"
Aunt Marge charged Mr. Weasley and tackled him to the floor. Petunia and Dudley screamed. Vernon roared "DAMN RIGHT, PETUNIA!" and joined the fray himself. Then there was a large explosion and both Marge and Vernon were blasted back. Several picture frames and decorative ceramic vases broke from the shockwave. Mr. Weasley pulled himself up again and dusted off his robes.
"Go get your things, Harry, we're leaving," he ordered. Harry didn't dare disobey; for once Mr. Weasley truly looked like a madman. He raced back up the stairs and tried to ignore the shouts and bangs erupting from the first floor as he crammed his belongings into a spare pillowcase so he could just throw everything in his school trunk still locked in the cupboard under the stairs. He had just about finished when there was a particularly loud explosion and the power went out. He emerged onto the landing to find, fortunately, that the cupboard under the stairs(among other things) had been blasted open. He darted in under the cover of a dust cloud and piled his pillowcase into his trunk. Then, Hedwig and her cage in one hand and the trunk in the other, he moved as carefully as he could back into the living room.
"Harry, go, go!" Mr. Weasley ordered. He threw a pinch of some glittering green powder into the fireplace and Harry ran into the emerald flames that suddenly erupted and shouted "The Burrow!" just as Uncle Vernon popped out from his cover, screamed something incoherent, and fired his shotgun in Harry's general direction. The last thing he saw was Mr. Weasley leaping aside to dodge the gunfire before everything became one green nauseous blur. Then he tumbled out of the fireplace in the Weasley's home.
"Harry!"
Harry looked around, bewildered. It seemed like the entire Weasley family, except for the two eldest brothers, was there waiting for him. Ron helped him to his feet.
"What happened, mate? You're covered in dust," said Ron as he began patting Harry down to get the worst of it off.
"Long story, Ron," replied Harry. "My uncle challenged your dad to a game of get out of my house and it became pretty violent."
Everybody laughed.
"Well, Harry," said Fred and George in unison, "we'll haul this up to Ron's room for you." They grabbed Harry's trunk and, at first, feigned being unable to lift it. Soon though they were gone. Harry pretended not to notice Ginny staring at him the entire time Fred and George were performing. Finally Mrs. Weasley swept up behind him and began ushering him forward into their home. Ron rolled his eyes.
"Harry dear, you look like you could use a decent meal. Come on, supper's nearly finished. Into the kitchen, all of you!"
Harry shot a sideways glance at the Weasley's special clock as he was being gently shoved towards something that smelled delicious and was not entirely unsurprised to find that Mr. Weasley's hand was now pointed to "mortal peril". In fact they were halfway through dinner when Mr. Weasley burst into the kitchen, covered in dust and clutching a stitch in his side.
"How did it go, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley nonchalantly.
"It could have been worse, Molly," said Mr. Weasley. He looked at Harry. "It's a good thing your Uncle's such a horrible shot. And as for that sister of his... I've met dementors who've been kinder than her."
Everybody laughed.
"So what happened then, Mr. Weasley?" asked Harry.
"Well, your Uncle turned tail and retreated once I managed to disarm him," said Mr. Weasley, taking his seat at the head of the table and helping himself to some beef stew. Then he shrugged and added, almost as an afterthought, "Had to blow your Aunt up though."
Harry nearly choked. Everybody else laughed.
"I'm... sorry?"
"Blew 'er up, 'arry. Sorry," said Mr. Weasley thickly, mouth half-full of potato and carrot.
Harry didn't quite know how to feel about this, so he just sat and stared awkwardly. Mrs. Weasley placed a chunk of bread into his gaping mouth and patted him on the shoulder in a motherly fashion. He turned to look at Ron, who wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye and began to explain.
"Dad'll just say a mad house-elf did it. The Ministry did some digging after that incident of yours last year and found that house-elves actually have been known to act sporadically when given conflicting orders from their masters. And as your house set the precedent for house-elf attacks I'm sure they'll overlook this incident. Dad does have some pull at the Ministry, after all."
This was clearly not the explanation Harry had been looking for.
"Relax, Harry, they'll put her right eventually!" Ron reassured him.
Eventually, thought Harry, still avoiding Ginny's constant gaze. He hoped it would be sorted out by the time he had to return for next year's summer holidays.