"Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!" Mrs. Weasley cried when they returned to The Burrow. She had evidently been waiting for them in the front yard and came running toward them, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.
"Arthur - I've been so worried - so worried -"
She flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, Dudley saw the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops.
You're all right," Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr. Weasley and staring around at them all with red eyes, "you're alive...Oh boys..."
And to everybody's surprise, she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into such a tight hug that their heads banged together.
"Ouch! Mum - you're strangling us -"
"I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs. Weasley said, starting to sob. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough OW.L.s? Oh Fred...George..."
"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay," said Mr. Weasley soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back toward the house. "Bill," he added in an undertone, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says..."
When they were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.
"I knew it," said Mr. Weasley heavily. "Ministry blunders...culprits not apprehended...lax security...Dark wizards running unchecked...national disgrace...Who wrote this? Ah...of course...Rita Skeeter."
"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans -"
"Do us a favor, Perce," said Bill, yawning, "and shut up."
"Lockhart's done us no favors," Arthur said, irritably. "Listen to this: Famed author and adventurer Gilderoy Lockhart was one of the first to emerge from the woods and gave a statement to gathered members of the public waiting for news. "It was Death Eaters," he stated. "I personally pursued one into the woods where he fired the Dark Mark—must have been no more than 10 feet from where I was, protecting a number of Hogwarts students. I expect he didn't want to risk tangling with me and scarpered. With the Death Eaters back in sizeable number, they must be rallying around Lucius Malfoy as their new commander."
Questions were raised about security at the World Cup, of which Gilderoy Lockhart—a harsh critic of Minister Fudge-was scathing. "Shocking, of course. You have a gang of masked hoodlums terrorizing muggles and attacking people at a major event and where were the Aurors—nowhere to be seen! It was down to regular Ministry of Magic personnel and volunteers such as myself to contain the mess. Fudge knew Lucius Malfoy is at large—no, I don't buy that he has fled to Spain—and it's clear he is reorganizing You-Know-Who's old gang."
"Really, there is no proof—absolutely no proof that they were Death Eaters!" Percy said, furiously.
"It's likely they were though," Bill said, fairly.
"Percy's right," Mr. Weasley said. "Suggesting it was organized by Lucius Malfoy and that Malfoy is picking up where You-Know-Who left off is just blatant fear-mongoring."
"Molly, I'm afraid I'm going to have to go into the office—Lockhart's idiotic statement is going to cause no end of trouble," Mr. Weasley said.
"I'll come with you, Father," said Percy importantly. "Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person."
He bustled out of the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley looked most upset.
"Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office; surely they can handle this without you?"
"I need to show the Ministry my support, Molly. Fudge is under immense pressure—and this just adds more fuel to the fire."
Dudley spent the rest of the day playing four-on-four quidditch with Ron, Fred, George, Ginny and Dean. Charlie was an excellent flier and Dudley could see why he was considered a Gryffindor legend. Still, he had an embarrassing moment when he fell for Ron's Wronski Feint and crashed into a bush. Ron had flew off, grinning proudly, while Fred, George and Bill jeered Charlie.
Neither Mr. Weasley nor Percy was at home much over the following week. Both left the house each morning before the rest of the family got up, and returned well after dinner every night.
"It's been an absolute uproar," Percy told them importantly the Sunday evening before they were due to return to Hogwarts. "I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders."
"Why are they all sending Howlers?" asked Ginny, who was mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with Spellotape on the rug in front of the living room fire.
"Complaining about security at the World Cup," said Percy. "They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher's put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite Jacuzzi, but I've got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks."
On Friday, they gathered in the sitting room to tune in to the first episode of The Lockhart Hour—the first episode of the radio show that Gilderoy Lockhart had been given—with an interview with Ballycastle Bats seeker Mildred Marchbanks.
"I bet it spends the entire hour talking about himself," Ron muttered.
Dean timed it with his watch. Ron was wrong. Lockhart spent 27 minutes talking about himself—his upcoming new book (Lockhart's Guide to Wizarding Fashion), his own career as a seeker for Ravenclaw and his work for the Dark Arts Defence League—16 minutes talking about the game between Ireland and Bulgaria (including his claim that he saw the snitch earlier on and that Krum could have caught it then) and the rest of the time speaking about the riot and his theory that it was Malfoy who was involved. Poor Mildred Marchbanks didn't get interviewed at all, and the only times she really got to speak was when discussing Ireland and Bulgaria's respective performances."
"He really is an arrogant pillock," Ron said, scathingly once it was over.
"Ron! Gilderoy Lockart is an excellent wizard—why if he hadn't been with you in the words …" Molly Weasley said. She had always been a fan of Lockhart.
"I suppose," Ron said. He had grudgingly admitted Lockhart had shown some bravery in apparently chasing a Death Eater by himself.
Percy told them all about the difficulties at the Minsitry, complaining bitterly about Rita Skeeter being on the war path. None of the Weasley's seemed to like her much. Bill claimed she had once called him a "long-haired pillock" in an article about Gringott's Curse Breakers.
Luna too, criticized her. "Daddy doesn't like her either," she informed them all. "He says she is too close-minded. He invited her to do a report on Lesser-Spotted Blimpy Bugs once—her response was quite rude. Daddy says he won't invite her to write for the Quibbler again."
Dudley had met Rita Skeeter before and she had written about him in the past. He had no problem with her—the articles hadn't criticized him. She seemed to quite like himself and Lockhart.
Rain lashed against the living room window. Hermione was immersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, copies of which Mrs. Weasley had bought for them all in Diagon Alley. Charlie was darning a fireproof balaclava. Dudley was organizing his Gobstone collection Fred and George were sitting in a far corner, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of parchment.
"What are you two up to?" said Mrs. Weasley sharply, her eyes on the twins.
"Homework," said Fred vaguely.
"Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday," said Mrs. Weasley.
"Yeah, we've left it a bit late," said George.
"You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?" said Mrs. Weasley shrewdly. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?"
"Now, Mum," said Fred, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. "If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"
Everyone laughed, even Mrs. Weasley.
"Oh your father's coming!" she said suddenly, looking up at the clock again.
Mr. Weasley's hand had suddenly spun from "work" to "traveling"; a second later it had shuddered to a halt on "home" with the others, and they heard him calling from the kitchen.
"Coming, Arthur!" called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying out of the room.
A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came into the warm living room carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted.
"Well, the fat's really in the fire now," he told Mrs. Weasley as he sat down in an armchair near the hearth and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shriveled cauliflower. "Rita Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago."
"Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks," said Percy swiftly.
"Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn't found out about Winky," said Mr. Weasley irritably. "There'd be a week's worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark."
"I thought we were all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible, did not conjure the Mark?" said Percy hotly.
"If you ask me, Mr. Crouch is very lucky no one at the Daily Prophet knows how mean he is to elves!" said Hermione angrily.
"Now look here, Hermione!" said Percy. "A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr. Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants -"
"His slave, you mean!" said Hermione, her voice rising passionately, "because he didn't pay Winky, did he?"
"I pay, Dobby," Dudley said, to nobody in particular. "One Galleon a week and a day off a month. Where does he go on his days off, anyway?"
Nobody answered him.
Mrs. Weasley broke up the argument by suggesting they go and pack.
The rain sounded even louder at the top of the house, accompanied by loud whistlings and moans from the wind, not to mention sporadic howls from the ghoul who lived in the attic.
"Do you think, Lockhart's right?" Dudley asked. "That Malfoy organized all that stuff at the World Cup?"
"I wouldn't put it past him," Dean said, darkly. "That whole family's rotten to the core."
"More pressure on Fudge isn't it?" Dudley said, packing away his socks.
"Dad reckons Fudge will see it out—there's too many people loyal to him. Still, Fudge has never liked Dad much. It won't be a bad thing if he gets replaced."
"Your dad should run, he'd be a great Minister," Dudley said.
Ron looked pleased at the praise to his dad, but he shook his head. "Nah, I reckon dad is happy where he is. He loves pottering about with muggle items."
There was a knock at the door and Mrs. Weasley appeared. She was carrying two robes slung over her arm and a package.
"These are for you, dear," she said, handing a pair of robes each to Ron and Dean. "I think Gilderoy Lockhart has prepared yours—dress robes. You need them this year."
Ron, tentatively, unfolded his robes. "They're not too bad," he decided, showing them off. Really, they looked pretty similar to his Hogwart's robe except were a dark shade of red in color with a gold trim and had golden buttons to fasten them up. "Actually, they're pretty nice," he admitted.
Dean had unfolded his own. His were of a similar cut to Ron's except were dark blue in color and had laces to do up the front rather than buttons.
"What are yours like, Dud?"
Dudley's package had a note attached.
My friend, Dudley,
I know you will need dress robes this year, so I took the liberty of getting some from my own personal tailor. Consider it a sign of our friendship!
Yours
Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin 2nd Class, Order of Merline 3rd Class, Former Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Honorary Member of the Dark Arts Defence League, Host of The Lockhart Hour on the Wizarding Wireless Network and Seven-Time Winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award.
Dudley opened the package and sighed, heavily. Inside were robes of periwinkle with silver trimmings. The collar was open to reveal his chest and it came with an outer cloak of periwinkle with a silver underlay. There was also a matching beret with a small peacock feather in it.
"He doesn't expect me to where this, does he?" Dudley said in disgust. Both Ron and Dean burst out laughing at the sight of them.