Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is by J.K. Rowling.
2-The Flying Car and the Prisoner
So if there is ever a moral of this story to be found it is to never trust a group of redheaded boys who swear that they can learn how to drive a flying car in the course of a few hours. That is never a good idea. I should have told them that they were out of their minds, and that I was going to bed.
I never did claim that I was the brightest person now did I? So after everyone finally retired to bed, we still had to wait for them all to fall asleep. I was bunking with the youngest of the Weasleys and the only girl of the whole lot. She had finally turned eleven, and she would be making the famed first ride on the scarlet engine with us to Hogwarts.
She was a sweet girl a little on the shy side, but I could tell that she was desperate for some attention. She told me that she wasn't used to having friends who were girls, only the girl who lived over the hill from the Weasleys. Ginny informed me that even though she was a little strange, she still liked the girl. Luna Lovegood is her name.
I think that I've heard of a Lovegood before but I can't be certain. I don't pay nearly enough attention to all the wizarding politics as I should. Kingsley will drone on and on about that. You're going to be the head of the Pendragon estate along with your brother when you grow up, you should be spending more time learning about this.
He would lecture and I would pretend to listen. I don't see the point in worrying about all of that stuff yet I'm still young. I still have time. So finally around ten thirty Ginny falls off to sleep and I send up a silent prayer. The girl is sweet but boy could she talk a girl's ear off!
Silently I get up from the bed that Mrs. Weasley had conjured and put into Ginny's room. I glance over to make sure that the girl's still sleeping and creep over to my trunk. I pull on my clothes again, and open the door slightly, going out onto the landing.
After a few moments I close the door behind me, and continue to sneak down the stairs. I hit a particularly squeaky one, and I inhale a breath of air. After a few seconds of waiting no one comes. I guess that I was worried about nothing in the end. I finally get to the bottom, and make my way into the kitchen.
I see my favorite pair of twins beside my brother and me, sitting on the table pouring over what looks to be some sort of instruction manual. I come over to their side and peer at it as well. It looks sort of elvish but that can't be, muggles don't understand elvish.
"Are you sure that you're going to be able to drive the car?" I ask for probably the hundredth time. George rolls his eyes at me, while Fred puts his hand on my shoulder.
"Jamie you see how well our pranks turn out. We plan those like crazy and they all work out in the end. The same will happen with our rescue mission. Besides we're doing this for Harry." Fred soothes me. I sigh and nod my head.
"Where's Ron? Shouldn't we be going?" I question. George looks up from the manual again, and checks the time.
"Ron's room is all the way at the top. It always takes him longer to sneak down than anyone else." He says turning back to the page. Fred wanders back over to the living room to see if he can see his brother. Five minutes later Ron is standing beside me as we put our coats on.
"I can't wait to get behind the wheel. Dad's been promising for ages that he'd try it out but he's never gotten around to actually doing so." George grins. The twins lead us into a shed that they explain is their dad's workshop. Once they turn on the light, my eyes widen.
Before me is the greatest collection of muggle objects that I've seen in one room beside from an actual muggle house. "Blimey." I breathe. Ron just grins at me, and pulls me along to the back of the shop after the twins. They grab a set of keys from the hook, and turn the lights off again, going out the back door.
Once we get there, I'm greeted with a little blue four-door automobile. It looks like a lot of the other muggle cars that I've seen, but this one's special. This one can fly. Ron opens the backseat door, and climbs in. I follow behind him pulling the door closed once I'm in.
Fred slips behind the wheel before George can. "Fred!" George complains. Fred just grins at his brother, and tuts at him.
"You've got to be quicker than that Georgie if you want to fly the car." He smirked in response. Grumbling George got in beside him. After a minute the car sputtered to life, and Fred started pulling out from the parking space where the car has resided. He turns onto the main stretch of the road, and pushes harder on a pedal, and the car starts to go faster.
I grab Ron's hand tightly, and squeeze it in fear. Maybe I should have hugged my brother tonight. I may never see him again. Ron squeezes back and I realize that he's just as afraid as I am. Fred pulls a lever, and suddenly we're not on the ground anymore. The car is floating into the air, taking us along with it. Oh Merlin!
Finally I take a chance and glance out the window. All I can see are wispy clouds in the dark night, and the sky in front of us that the car's headlights are illuminating. I let out a whoop of joy. Holy Merlin we're flying! "Wicked!" Ron and I shout together.
George is cheering from the front seat, and Fred is now sporting a particularly smug look on his face. "Okay now which way to Surrey?" Fred calls out.
Three wrong turns and a pretty spectacular dive to avoid a group of geese later, we enter the airspace above Little Whinging, Surrey. It takes us a few minutes but we finally are able to find Privet Drive, after I hang half way out of the window to read the sign that's along the side of the road.
It's times like these when I really wish that I could use magic. This whole ordeal would be far easier, but I do have to admit it wouldn't be half as fun. We coast along until we find number four. It's a well-kept little house that looks exactly like all the others. I grin thinking about what we're about to do.
I almost couldn't believe it when Mr. Weasley had come home tonight for dinner and informed all of us that Harry had gotten a reprimand for using magic in the presence of a muggle. He's underage he can't be doing that! If Hermione were there, she would have blown a gasket.
We come to a stop in front of a barred window in front of the house. Fred makes sure to flare the lights in the window so that Harry could see that something was outside waiting for him. It took a few minutes but in the window appeared the image of a black-haired boy whose hair was sticking up in three different directions, fumbling to put on his glasses properly.
I couldn't help but grin largely at the sight. I hadn't seen my best friend in so long. Harry's eyes widen as soon as he has his glasses on properly. "Ron!" breathes Harry, creeping to the window and pushing it up so they could talk through the bars. "Ron, Jamie, how did you — What the — ?" Harry is speechless.
Harry's mouth has fallen open and I hear one of the twins snicker at his response. "Hey there boy wonder." I greet him with a grin.
"All right Harry?" George asks him, partially concerned and partially out of mirth.
"Forget that what's been going on?" Ron demands. "Why haven't you been answering my letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles —"
"It wasn't me — and how did he know?" Harry questions.
"He works for the Ministry," Ron explains. "You know we're not supposed to do spells outside school —"
"You should talk," says Harry, staring at the floating car.
"Oh, this doesn't count," Ron grins. "We're only borrowing this. It's Dad's, we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with —"
"I told you, I didn't — but it'll take too long to explain now — look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won't let me come back, and obviously I can't magic myself out, because the Ministry'll think that's the second spell I've done in three days, so —"
"Stop gibbering," says Ron. "We've come to take you home with us."
"But you can't magic me out either —" Harry tries.
"We don't need to," Ron explains, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning. "You forget who I've got with me." I grin at Harry's dumbfounded expression. Never doubt the Weasley twins, that'll always get you more trouble then it's worth.
"So are you coming or not?" I question, leaning against the window. Harry stares at me for a second then grins.
"Well I can't be letting you have all the fun now breaking the rules by yourself." Harry smiles. I beam at my best friend and nudge Ron.
"Tie that around the bars," Fred says, throwing the end of a rope to Harry.
"If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," Harry warns as he ties the rope tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car.
"Don't worry," Fred grins, "and stand back."
Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed to have realized how important this was and kept still and silent. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in the air.
I grip onto the back of the seat in front of me tightly for dear life. With a small crunch the bars are dangling from the end of the rope in the air. Ron and I scramble over to the rope, working together to heave the bars into the back of the car. By the time we're done the two of us are panting from the exertion.
Fred carefully reverses as close as he can to the window of Harry's room. "Get in," Ron says.
"But all my Hogwarts stuff — my wand — my broomstick —" Harry starts.
"Where is it?" I demand.
"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can't get out of this room —"
"No problem," George says from the front passenger seat. "Out of the way, Harry."
Fred and George climb catlike through the window into Harry's room. Ron and I watch as Fred and George pick the lock on Harry's bedroom door as if they were simply turning the handle.
"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick," says Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow."
There was a small click and the door swung open.
"So — we'll get your trunk — you grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron," whispers George.
"Watch out for the bottom stair — it creaks," Harry whispers back as the twins disappear onto the dark landing.
Harry dashes around his room, collecting his things and passing them out of the window to Ron. Then he went to help Fred and George heave his trunk up the stairs. Ron and I wait patiently for the three of them to come back. I start trying to make more room for Harry to actually sit in the back seat with the two of us. I can't help but be excited.
Is this what Kingsley feels when he goes about his Auror duties? I could understand wanting to put yourself in a risky position now. At last, panting, they reached the landing, then carried the trunk through Harry's room to the open window. Fred climbs back into the car to pull with Ron and me, while Harry and George push from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slides through the window.
A coughing noise could be heard.
"A bit more," pants Fred, who was pulling from inside the car. "One good push —"
Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slides out of the window into the back seat of the car.
"Okay, let's go," George whispers. But as Harry climbs onto the windowsill there came a sudden loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of Harry's Uncle Vernon's voice.
"THAT RUDDY OWL!"
"I've forgotten Hedwig!" Harry cries alarmed. I bite my lower lip in worry. We're going to be caught now. We were so close! I wonder what Kingsley will say when he comes to bail me out of muggle prison?
Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked on — he snatched up Hedwig's cage, dashed to the window, and passed it out to Ron. He was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door — and it crashed open.
For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle.
Ron, Fred, and I seized Harry's arms and pulled as hard as we could.
"Petunia!" roars Uncle Vernon. "He's getting away! HE'S GETTING AWAY!"
But the we gave a gigantic tug and Harry's leg slid out of Uncle Vernon's grasp — Harry was in the car — he'd slammed the door shut —
"Put your foot down, Fred!" Ron yells, and the car shot suddenly toward the moon. I again grip on Ron, but this time I have Harry to hold as well, and that thought alone is enough to make me smile. It's cramped in the car but it's worth it to see my friend again, and to know that he's okay now.
Harry turns around and shouts out the window. "See you next summer!" I grin at my friend and pull him into a tight hug as soon as his body's back inside the car. Harry grins at me and returns the hug tightly. The Weasley boys are roaring with laughter at Harry's smug comment to his family.
"Let Hedwig out," Harry tells Ron. "She can fly behind us. She hasn't had a chance to stretch her wings for ages."
George hands the hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig soars joyfully out of the window to glide alongside us like a ghost.
"So — what's the story, Harry?" Ron says impatiently. "What's been happening?" Harry goes on to explain about the appearance of Dobby the house elf. My brow is knotting at the mention of the elf. Only old rich families really employ house elves in their care any longer.
Luka, Kingsley, and I had made the decision years ago to let any remaining elves on my parent's estate free. Harry says that Dobby was warning him that he must not go back to Hogwarts, that Harry wouldn't be safe there. Ron thought that the elft was barmy for Hogwarts was the safest place to be.
I didn't exactly agree on account of what happened last year, and the fact that one Mr. Lockhart would not be employed as my professor. Harry also said that Dobby was holding his mail for he thought that Harry wouldn't want to go back if, he didn't think that his friends were writing him.
That got me mad. When I see that little creature again, I don't know what I'm going to do to him. He also explained about what happened with the violet pudding that had fallen onto his uncle's business guest's wife's head. There was a long silence that followed the end of this story.
In my opinion it was just outlandish enough to fit Harry. "Very fishy," says Fred finally.
"Definitely dodgy," agrees George. "So he wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"
"I don't think he could," Harry explains. "I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall."
We see Fred and George look at each other.
"What, you think he was lying to me?" Harry says.
"Well," Fred starts, "put it this way — house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?"
"Yes," say the three of us in the back, instantly.
"Draco Malfoy," Harry explains. "He hates me." Now I was thinking more along the lines of Moldy Wart but okay Malfoy fits as well.
"Draco Malfoy?" says George, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son?"
"Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" Harry says. "Why?"
"I've heard Dad talking about him," said George. "He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who."
"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, craning around to look at Harry, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung — Dad reckons he was right in You-Know-Who's inner circle."
I of course had already heard these rumors before, and I happen to know that they're true for a fact. Kingsley hates havening to associate with Malfoy's family but sometime it comes with the job. You can't pick who you get to serve.
"I don't know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf. . . ." Harry starts. They do.
"Well, whoever owns him will be an old Wizarding family, and they'll be rich," says Fred.
"Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing," says George. "But all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that; you wouldn't catch one in our house. . . ."
"I'm glad we came to get you, anyway," Ron says. "I was getting really worried when you didn't answer any of my letters. I thought it was Errol's fault at first —"
"Who's Errol?" Harry questions. Took the question right out of my mouth.
"Our owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes —"
"Who?" I question now.
"The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect," says Fred from the front. I grin at the sound of jealousy coming from him. I can understand the need for one's own owl. My brother borrows Di all the time.
"But Percy wouldn't lend him to me," Ron says. "Said he needed him."
"Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," George explains, frowning. "And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room. . . . I mean, there's only so many times you can polish a prefect badge. . . . You're driving too far west, Fred," he adds, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Fred twiddles the steering wheel.
"So, does your dad know you've got the car?" Harry wonders, guessing the answer.
"Er, no," Ron blushes, "he had to work tonight. Hopefully we'll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it."
"What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?" Harry asks. I already know the answer, but it's good enough to sit back and listen to everyone talk. Now that the adrenalin is running off, I'm beginning to get a little sleepy. Harry allows me to lean into him, and rest my head on his shoulder.
The boys go on to explain about their dad in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department. Fred laughs. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he'd have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad."
"That's the main road," George cries, peering down through the windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes. . . . Just as well, it's getting light. . . ." A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east. Great I've been up all night. I really could use some rest, but something tells me that I'm not going to be getting it.
"We're a little way outside the village," says George. "Ottery St. Catchpole."
Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees.
"Touchdown!" says Fred as, with a slight bump, we hit the ground. I grin happy to be back on the ground finally. As much as I like flying, I must admit that I like it on a broom much more. Now that it was light I finally got a good look at the house that I had been inside of.
It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which, I reminded myself, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.
"It's not much," Ron says.
"It's wonderful," says Harry happily, thinking of Privet Drive.
"Brilliant!" I grin. We get out of the car.
"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," Fred explains, "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, 'Mum, look who turned up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car."
"Right," Ron replies. "Come on, Harry, I sleep at the — at the top —" I turn to go inside as well, but I stop cold when I see who's coming at us. Ron has gone a nasty green color is eyes fixed on the house, and the twins have both winced.
Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.
"Ah," Fred says.
"Oh, dear," George returns. Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of us, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She is wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket.
"So," she says.
"Morning, Mum," George says, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice.
"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" growls Mrs. Weasley in a deadly whisper. I wince. I haven't heard this tone before. Kingsley only gets this disappointed air about him when one of us has gotten into trouble. Now that I've heard what it could be, I'm not sure which one is worse.
"Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to —"
All three of Mrs. Weasley's sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them. "Beds empty! No note! Car gone — could have crashed — out of my mind with worry — did you care? — never, as long as I've lived — you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy —"
"Perfect Percy," Fred mutters.
"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" yells Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job —"
It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry and me. "And you Jamie Pendragon. Don't you dare think that you can get away with this scot free as well! I've talked to Kingsley already. He was worried sick! I had to talk him out of coming back to England to find you! You should be ashamed of yourself." Mrs. Weasley says.
I bite my lower lip, and advert my gaze to the ground. Okay she has the guilt part down. I try to keep my tears back, but it just doesn't work. Mrs. Weasley finally turns onto Harry. I see him take a step back out of my blurry vision. "I'm very pleased to see you, Harry, dear," she says. "Come in and have some breakfast."
Harry glances to us, but Ron nods his head encouragingly. I can't seem to stop my tears from coming. I don't even know why. Mrs. Weasley turns back around when she realizes that I'm not following. She takes one look at my face, and her brow furrows in concern.
"Jamie dear what's the matter? I'm sorry for yelling, I was just worried about you that's all." Mrs. Weasley murmurs to me softly, while holding me by the shoulders. The touch doesn't help me at all though. It just makes me start to cry harder. "Shh… don't cry now love." She soothes.
After a few minutes the tears finally stop. Mrs. Weasley wipes my cheeks and eyes, and looks into them for a long moment. "What's wrong Jamie?" She asks me softly. I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. I try it again, and this time I'm able to talk.
"You sound like a mum." Is all that I can explain. Mrs. Weasley looks confused for a second then her eyes widen in realization. She sighs, and gathers me to her in a hug.
"Oh Jamie, I know you miss your parents. I miss them as well. They were dear friends. I know that I can't bring them back for you, but I want you to know that I'll always be here for you when you need me. I won't replace your mum, but I'll always be here." She tells me. I have to bite back the sob that threatens to burst forth.
When I'm finally able to collect myself we venture back into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley is now clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she mutters things like "don't know what you were thinking of," and "never would have believed it."
"I don't blame you, dear," she assures Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. "Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we'd come and get you ourselves if you hadn't written back to Ron by Friday. But really" (she was now adding three fried eggs to his plate), "flying an illegal car halfway across the country — anyone could have seen you —"
She flicks her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background. "It was cloudy, Mum!" Fred cries.
"You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs. Weasley snaps.
"They were starving him, Mum!" George complains.
"And you!" says Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him.
At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small, redheaded figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again.
"Ginny," Ron informs Harry in an undertone. "My sister. She's been talking about you all summer." I roll my eyes at that statement. Yes she does happen to have a fascination for my best friend, but I happen to think that it's healthy for her to have a crush at this age.
"Yeah, she'll be wanting your autograph, Harry," Fred says with a grin, but he caught his mother's eye and bent his face over his plate without another word. Nothing more was said until all five plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time.
"Blimey, I'm tired," yawns Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. "I think I'll go to bed and —"
"You will not," snaps Mrs. Weasley. "It's your own fault you've been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the garden for me; they're getting completely out of hand again —"
"Oh, Mum —" George whines.
"And you too," she said, glaring at Ron and George. "You can go up to bed, dear," she added to Harry. "You didn't ask them to fly that wretched car —"
Harry apparently didn't want to go to bed though. "I'll help Mrs. Weasley. I've never seen a de-gnoming before." Harry tells her.
"That's very sweet of you, dear, but it's dull work," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject —"And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. George groans, and I wince.
"Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden —" George starts. And I liked Mrs. Weasley so much. Why, why does she have to like that blubbering idiot?
Written across it in fancy gold letters were the words Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests. There was a big photograph on the front of a very good-looking wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. He kept winking cheekily at us from the back cover.
Oh Merlin how the hell am I going to get through this year? Just looking at his face gives me nightmares alone. Mrs. Weasley seemed oblivious to our distress; she just beamed down at his photo. "Oh, he is marvelous," she says. "He knows his household pests, all right, it's a wonderful book. . . ."
"Mum fancies him," says Fred, in a very audible whisper.
"Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," replies Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. "All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it."
The boys push back from the table and I get up to follow them. "If its okay with you, I'm just going to help out." I say softly. Mrs. Weasley jerks up from the book in front of her, and nods her head at me. She smiles softly at me, and shoos me out of the kitchen to catch up with the boys.
I caught up when the boys were standing in what I assumed was the garden. "Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know," Harry tells us as we crossed the lawn.
"Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," says Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush, "like fat little Santa Clauses with fishing rods. . . ."
There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and Ron straightens up. "This is a gnome," he tells us grimly.
"Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" squeals the gnome. It was certainly nothing like Santa Claus. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron holds it at arm's length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasps it around the ankles and turns it upside down.
"This is what you have to do," he explains. He raises the gnome above his head ("Gerroff me!") and starts to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry's face, Ron added, "It doesn't hurt them — you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way back to the gnomeholes."
He lets go of the gnome's ankles: It flies twenty feet into the air and lands with a thud in the field over the hedge.
"Pitiful," Fred states. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump." And thus the competition was born. I had de-gnomed a few gardens in my time so I wasn't that rusty. Harry quickly learned not to feel sorry for them for one of them bit him. He flung the gnome off of him with all his might.
"Wow, Harry — that must've been fifty feet. . . ." I say with awe. The air is soon thick with flying gnomes.
"See, they're not too bright," says George, seizing five or six gnomes at once. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay put."
Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched. "They'll be back," Ron warns as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. "They love it here. . . . Dad's too soft with them; he thinks they're funny. . . ." I can't help but smile at that. Mr. Weasley is a funny man, but I like him lots.
Just then, the front door slammed.
"He's back!" says George. "Dad's home!" We hurry through the garden and back into the house.
Mr. Weasley is slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He is a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He is wearing long green robes, which are dusty and travel-worn.
"What a night," he mumbles, groping for the teapot as we all sit down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned. . . ."
Mr. Weasley takes a long gulp of tea and sighs. "Find anything, Dad?" asks Fred eagerly.
"All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle," yawns Mr. Weasley. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness. . . ."
"Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" George asks him puzzled.
"Just Muggle-baiting," sighs Mr. Weasley. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it. . . . Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking — they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face. . . . But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn't believe —"
"LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?" Mrs. Weasley has appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley's eyes jerk open. He stares guiltily at his wife.
"C-cars, Molly, dear?"
"Yes, Arthur, cars," repeats Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly."
Mr. Weasley blinks. "Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if — er — he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth. . . . There's a loophole in the law, you'll find. . . . As long as he wasn't intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn't —"
"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" shouts Mrs. Weasley. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly!"
"Harry?" says Mr. Weasley blankly. "Harry who?" He looks around, sees Harry, and jumps.
"Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron's told us so much about —"
"Your sons flew that car to Harry's house and back last night!" shouts Mrs. Weasley. "What have you got to say about that, eh?"
"Did you really?" cries Mr. Weasley eagerly. I grin at the man. Oh yes, he is definitely becoming one of my favorite adults.
"Did it go all right? I — I mean," he falters as sparks fly from Mrs. Weasley's eyes, "that — that was very wrong, boys — very wrong indeed. . . ."
"Let's leave them to it," Ron mutters to Harry and me as Mrs. Weasley swells like a bullfrog. "Come on, I'll show you my bedroom." Harry and I quickly get up and scamper along behind Ron. I definitely don't need to see Mrs. Weasley blow up again like I just had a few minutes ago. I don't think that my nerves could handle it.
We slip out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry and I just caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes staring at him before it closed with a snap.
"Ginny," Ron sighs. "You don't know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up normally —"
We climb two more flights until we reach a door with peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD'S ROOM.
I step in, my head almost touching the sloping ceiling, and blink. It was like walking into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then I realized that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically.
"Seriously Ron? Are you sure that you didn't just steal the Chudley Cannons' locker room and use it as your bedroom instead?" I tease him. Ron scowls at me, and gives me a playful shove, into the room further. Harry steps in after us and takes in Ron's room.
I go over to the pack of self-shuffling cards, and start to mess with them, so that the cards have to reshuffle. Harry goes over and stares out the window, looking down at the yard far below.
"It's a bit small," comments Ron quickly. "Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I'm right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he's always banging on the pipes and groaning. . . ."
But Harry, grinning widely, says, "This is the best house I've ever been in." I grin at Ron as well.
"I think that you should change you Quidditch team, but your house is brilliant Ron!" I beam at him. Ron's ears go pink at our comments.