A/N: This chapter is one of those that went through major changes. To avoid getting confused in future chapters, those of you who have read this before, read it again! (Sorry if you don't really want to, I know it can get boring ^_^)

Chapter Two

Powers of the Unexpected

Harry woke up the next morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, in fairly good spirits. He had slept peacefully for the rest of the night, having no dreams to torment him whatsoever. Besides, the idea of leaving the Dursleys soon was enough to keep him happy under any circumstances.

Walking down the stairs, however, Harry's good mood was diminished immediately as he collided headfirst into Dudley Dursley's fat-filled tummy. He let off an astonished 'ooff', nothing but bulgy flab in his face, and literary bounced backwards. Dudley jumped back hurriedly, whining to his mum about Harry's clumsiness. He had been completely unhurt in the collision; his layer of protection in the form of tummy-fat had shielded him.

While Aunt Petunia yelled at him from the kitchen, Harry struggled to keep his balance, and tried to stop himself from throwing up. He thought he was going to be sick: experiencing blubber right in the face was not an enjoyable event.

Uncle Vernon greeted him in the usual way as Harry arrived at the breakfast table, still feeling nauseous and woozy. ("Comb your hair, you look like trash!") Dudley, still complaining about Harry, was immediately awarded with an extra large potion of grapefruit. He started on it like a pig and gobbled it up within a few seconds, smacking his lips and giving off a humungous burp. ("That's my Duddlekins!" Aunt Petunia gushed proudly.)

Harry had came back for the holidays a months ago, amazed that Dudley had managed to maintain his diet. He did look like he had lost some weight, but in Harry's opinion, the now slimmer Dudley could still match up in size to a baby whale.

"This 'carrot food' is getting Dudley nowhere,' Uncle Vernon grunted from behind his morning paper. He had been forced to cut down his food intake considerably in order to accompany Dudley in his new food regime, and wasn't happy about it to say in the least.

Dudley turned to his mum with a pleading see-even-dad-thinks-so-please-can-I-have-more-food look on his face. Aunt Petunia sighed like a person in enormous pain, than pushed her plate of grapefruit over to her son.

Harry stared down at his piece of grapefruit incredulously: it was smaller than the size of a plum. He picked it up and swallowed it in one go, feeling like he had eaten nothing at all. Not willing to endure any more of the Dursleys' dirty looks, he was about to excuse himself from the table when Uncle Vernon put down his paper and growled at him to stop.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?"

"Up to my room. I've still got some homework to do …"

Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes in annoyance. He hated any word that had a connection to Hogwarts, however slight, and 'homework' was one of them.

"Well, you're going nowhere, boy," Uncle Vernon smirked, putting his gruesome face right up close to Harry's, who could smell his foul breath. "Mrs Figg needs some help in her house today, and you're spending the whole day there. Or else."

Harry couldn't resist a groan as he backed away. "But I received this letter from my friend Ron and he's asked me to stay over for the rest of the summer," he explained frantically, "and they're picking me up today. If it's fine with you," he added hastily.

"Oh, so now you're thinking you can just have things your own way, without considering others, is it? Getting stubborn, aren't we?" Uncle Vernon bellowed, his face turning purple in world record time. Dudley smirked from his place at the table; he loved seeing Harry being bellowed at by Uncle Vernon.

"No I just asked if it was okay," Harry argued, trying to keep his temple down, and failing miserably. "All I want is to go to Ron's house, then you'll get rid of me, and I'll get rid of you; isn't that what everybody wants?"

"YOU KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT IN THIS HOUSE, BOY!" Uncle Vernon yelled so loudly, Harry could picture his hair being blown back by the wind coming from his Uncle's spitting mouth.

Uncle Vernon suddenly turned back to his normal skin colour, and his breathing pace slowed down. "Spending the rest of the summer at those, those THINGS' house … well," he smiled sweetly …

"No."

Harry felt hatred boil up inside him quicker than a volcano's lava. He mentally counted to ten, trying to control his desire to put his arms around that fat piece of trash's neck and squeeze hard.

Suddenly Uncle Vernon made a sound like a bullfrog being stepped on, and his arms flew to his neck so fast, Harry thought someone must have pulled a string. Uncle Vernon started spluttering, his arms clutching his neck, staggering all over the face in agony. Aunt Petunia and Dudley both jumped up shrieking, and ran unanimously over to them, screaming recklessly. They tried to relieve Uncle Vernon, who obviously looked like he was being strangled. Harry stood at the side, his mouth and eyes as wide as saucers as he watched, unable to figure out what in Merlin's beard was going on. 

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT?" Aunt Petunia screeched, her arms around her husband's neck, who was turning a deep blue.

Harry didn't know if he was shocked at the fact that Aunt Petunia was swearing for the first time, or that Uncle Vernon was dying, or maybe both, but he backed away in surprise, wishing desperately for it all to stop.

Uncle Vernon landed with a huge THWACK on the floorboards, but his pain seemed to have gone. The three Dursleys lay on the ground in a confused heap; Uncle Vernon panting like a huge buffalo, Aunt Petunia hugging her husband in relief, and Dudley wailing like a baby.

"YOU MURDERER, WHAT WERE YOU TRYING TO DO, KILL ME?" Uncle Vernon gasped, his gigantic chest heaving up and down. Dudley recoiled from his cousin, his piggy eyes widened in fear. "You tried to curse Daddy … " he mumbled, his voice still shaky.

"I … I wasn't doing anything …" Harry was lost for words. He truly had not put a spell on his uncle. "I didn't even have my wand, how could I have done it?" A thousand confused thoughts were flying around in Harry's head.

"I've had enough of your abnormality!" Aunt Petunia shrieked as she got up with weak knees, loose curls coming out of her usually tight bun.

She was just about to walk over to Harry and seize him by the shoulders when Uncle Vernon moaned a warning. "No, Petunia, don't, you don't know what he might try on you …" he pleaded.

Aunt Petunia stopped dead in her tracks and backed away quickly with cowardice.

Harry sighed in frustration. He had had enough of this nonsense. He hadn't done it. He couldn't see any Ministry of Magic owls swooping down on him anyway. Needless to say, he was unnerved, but it was best now to take advantage of the situation. "Look," he said in a reasonable voice. "My school's not going to expel me anyway, so you might as well give in. Just grant me permission, and you'll be safe."

"Is that a threat, you good-for-nothing prat?" The fear in Uncle Vernon's voice was poorly disguised. He got up from the floor, helping up Dudley.

"Well, maybe I should just call my godfather over to help me with Mrs Figg's chores. He's really strong, being capable of murder and all, you know …"

If Harry thought that his previous Sirius-related remarks were good, then that last one was a masterpiece. Uncle Vernon immediately relented.

"Okay, okay, you can go … but just do some chores over at Mrs Figg's until whatever time you have to be picked up, okay?"

"And stay away from my Dudley!" Aunt Petunia added.

They were just going to leave when Uncle Vernon turned around, looking like he had swallowed a bag of green apples. "Uhh, these friends of yours … how are they coming to pick you up?" Obviously the fireplace incident was still clear in the Dursleys' mind.

Harry laughed out loud. "Don't worry," he assured them. "They'll be coming by car." 

***

Harry knocked on the door of Mrs Figg's, half expecting Snowy or Mr Paws to attack him in the face when the door opened, which was what had happened the last time. Mrs Figg's cottage was an old fashioned, three-room flat two streets away. He had previously been there for quite a number of times, especially when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were taking Dudley out, and couldn't trust him in the house alone.

As much as Harry had explained that he would be perfectly all right in the house by himself, his resentful relatives had always thought they would come back to find the house reduced to rubble, or worse. 

The rusty old door opened, and Mrs Figg's lined, thin faced appeared. She also wore glasses perched on her long bony nose, and wore a lacy apron frayed and yellow with age. Harry caught the all-too-familiar cabbage-like stench as he stepped in through the threshold.  

Mrs Figg's flat looked the same as the last time he had been in there. There were cats everywhere, some lying on the crocheted covers of the mismatched chairs, others on the old pine shelves, or just curled up snugly in a dark corner somewhere. The ceiling was low, and the few windows around the house did nothing to lighten up the room, nor the atmosphere. Mrs Figg led him into the kitchen and twenty pairs of sharp, intense feline eyes followed.

The thud thudding echoed eerily around the house as the ancient old lady's walking stick hit the floorboards. Harry felt an unexpected shiver go down his spine. He had never felt this way before; the only strong feeling he had had in this place previously was 'Urgh, cabbage, get me outta here!'

"Now, you can start with the washing over here at the sink, I take it you know how to wash dishes?" Mrs Figg inquired in her croaking voice, peering down at Harry behind those gold-rimmed glasses of hers.

Harry started on the breakfast dishes in the sink, angrily cursing the mad old lady: couldn't she do her own dishes herself? He cleaned and scrubbed away furiously, sensing rather than seeing Mrs Figg's deep grey eyes bore a hole in his back as she stared deeply at him. 

He finally turned around in frustration, not being able to stand the goose pimples on his back anymore.

"What?" Harry demanded heavily, staring back at Mrs Figg.

"Nothing … just that you remind me of a girl that I once knew …" she replied lightly, a dreamy-looking expression on her face.

Harry stared.

"She was very … very beautiful …"

Now Harry's eyes were virtually falling out of his sockets in shock. Mrs Figg actually complimenting him? It was very extraordinary, a very un-Mrs Figg-like thing to do. Also, the remark was not unlike what he got from some of his teachers at Hogwarts, in reference to his dead mother, Lily Potter. He could remember very clearly what Hagrid, the Hogwarts groundskeeper had said to him: "Yeh look like yer mum, Harry, yeh've got her eyes …"

(A/N: I'm not sure if Hagrid ever said that in the actual books, I just made this up to suit the passage … so don't go pelting me with reviews saying I've got it wrong.)

What Mrs Figg had just said and what Harry had always heard in the wizarding world were dangerously similar. Surely Mrs Figg didn't have a clue who his parents were …

Then suddenly Harry remembered what had happened last year in the wizarding world, where he had been reminded of Mrs Figg twice, even though the old lady was a Muggle. At the World Quidditch Cup, the tent he had stayed in had closely resembled Mrs Figg's flat. He had just passed it up as a coincidence. The second time, Dumbledore had mentioned an 'Arabella Figg' when he had told Snape to find some wizards to join them in their fight against Voldemort.

But Mrs Figg couldn't possible be a witch, she was an old faggot with nothing else on her mind but cats, cats and cats. On the other hand, how many Figgs' could there be? In the wizarding world, it was generally expected for the unexpected to happen …

"You awake?" Mrs Figg's croak penetrated Harry's perplexed thoughts. Nah, she couldn't be a witch … Harry thought as he glared at the old woman who was hunched up and clenching her walking stick tightly in one hand. Still, he might ask, just to make sure …

"Uh, this may seem strange, but what's your first name?" He realised how totally stupid and irrelevant the question was once it left his mouth.

Mrs Figg looked confused. "Why do you ask?" she mumbled. "Well, if you really want to know, my first name is Arabella …"

Harry felt his stomach tighten and he literally dropped the plate he was carrying. The china plate, already cracked at the edges and still covered in soapsuds, fell for the ground before Harry could stop it.

But the plate never touched the floor. It slowed down about a few inches from the floorboards, then turned swiftly around and flew straight into the outstretched hands of Mrs Figg.

"God, be careful," she chided, examining the plate delicately. "This is one of my favourite china pieces …" She frowned at the crack on the side, pointed her walking stick at it and said, 'Reparo'. The crack disappeared.

Harry was too surprised to say anything. He backed away slowly, his eyes never leaving Mrs Figg's calm ones.

"For god's sake, Harry Potter, don't freak out. I think it's time I tell you who I really am." Mrs Figg pulled back a chair from the nearby kitchen table and sat down swiftly, suddenly lithe and agile, even though she was without the aid of her walking stick. She beckoned for Harry to do the same.

"I reckoned from the instance you were interested in my name that Dumbledore had already spoken of me in front of you," she began casually. "Tea, Harry?"

Harry, amazed at what she had to say and stunned at her sudden spurt of politeness, accepted the tea distantly through a sea of raging thoughts. 

"Your … voice -" he started, still finding it hard to form words. "It's different …"

"Yes, it's gone back to normal, hasn't it? I was getting quite tired of that overworn voice box. In fact, I think I'll change my alarming looks back to normal right now as well." A different voice said. This voice was higher, sweeter and younger-sounding.

And with that, Arabella Figg taped herself with her walking stick (which Harry could by this time figure out was a concealed wand) and whispered something Harry couldn't quite make out. She changed in front of Harry's disbelieving eyes.

Harry gaped at the person sitting in front of him. What had been a wrinkly old lady with gaps in her teeth had transformed into a pretty woman in her mid-thirties, who had straight brown hair and olive-coloured skin.

"Wow … you're a witch …" was all he could say.

"Quite a difference, heh?" the woman said, smiling to reveal straight pearl-like teeth. "Much as I hate to admit it, Mrs Figg was foul. No dress sense whatsoever." She taped herself again and her piniform and apron were immediately transformed into jeans and a sensible blouse.

"Much better. Now, down to business." Arabella said, and her expression immediately turned sombre. "Dumbledore assigned me here, just so I could be there just in case you needed me. By some strange turns of events, I had to be an old grouchy lady so that the Dursleys would be able to trust me with you. I wasn't supposed to reveal my true witch identity." She frowned, taping her forehead pensively. "The Headmaster seems to think that it would be appropriate to show myself now: "As soon as Harry starts to mention something out of the ordinary, you will know that he has some suspicions. Waste no time and explain everything to him," were his exact words."

"So …" Harry said, unsure of what to say, gratified at what great lengths Dumbledore had went to in order to maintain his safety. "You did all this so I would be safe?"

Arabella ran her long slender fingers through her hair. Her face looked distant, as though she was recalling something from her memory of long ago. "It was also for your mother." She said. Harry gaped at her.

"I knew your mum. She was a kind and beautiful woman. We were best friends all through school, and kept in close contact even afterwards when she had married her childhood sweetheart. Quite swept her off her feet, I think James Potter did …"

"You knew my father as well?"

"Of course! They were both Head Girl and Boy of their day! They were so cute together … him playing with her fiery hair while she did his homework for him …" Arabella trailed off abstractedly, then returned her gaze at Harry. They were filled with sympathy. "Lily and James Potter were very important to me … then – then he killed them, just like that …" Arabella said, her voice shaking. Harry saw that her face was contorted in bitter hatred, and her fists were clenched. Suddenly he couldn't hold back the tears that had been forming in his emerald eyes.

He wiped his eyes quickly with the back of his hand, and felt Arabella pat him on his back in a motherly sort of way.

"Maybe one of these days I'll tell you some things that had happened to your parents when they were in Hogwarts. I don't think now is a very good time …" she said.

Harry nodded, and felt better.   

"Now, is there anything you want to ask me? Anything that you have doubts about? Remember that you can always call on me for help when you run into trouble while here at Privet Drive." Arabella's eyes were genuine, sincere.

Harry considered telling her about his weird dreams: Nah. She wouldn't be able to understand; only Sirius knows the state of my nightmares … he thought.

"Err … there is something I think you might be interested in, that happened today. It all started when my friend Ron wanted me to stay over at his place for the rest of the summer …" and Harry told Arabella the incident of him *strangling* Uncle Vernon.

Her reaction was unexpected. Arabella stood up so suddenly, her chair toppled over backwards. "Nonwander," she managed to articulate.

Harry though he must have heard wrongly. "Huh?"

"You're a Nonwander, Harry!" Arabella exclaimed, clapping her hands on Harry's shoulders in excitement.

"A what?" Harry asked, confused by her behaviour.

"A Nonwander, Harry! Someone who is able to perform specific spells without the aid of a wand!" Arabella squealed, her amber-coloured eyes dancing in enthusiasm.

"I can perform spells without a wand?" Harry asked, still befuddled. "Then how come I've never done it before?"

Arabella managed to calm down, and sat down again. "A Nonwander," she explained, "has the power to perform specific spells only if they desire it greatly. That's why you've never done this before, Harry; you've never wanted to strangle your Uncle so badly like this morning. I suggest to you that you never do that again, you could get someone hurt," she said with a smile on her face.

"Wow, how come I've never heard of this Nonwander thing? How come I haven't seen any Nonwanders yet?" Harry tried to contain his excitement.

"A Nonwander is extremely, extremely rare. In the history of magic, so far, with the exception of you, there has only ever been two Nonwanders."

"That's it? Two?" Harry was amazed. "Who were they?"

"Well, the first one was Godric Gryffindor. It was him who invented the term, thinking that soon there would be Nonwanders all over the world. But he was wrong." Arabella told him. She hesitated when he asked who the other person was.

"The other Nonwander was – James Potter."

"My father?" Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Yes, James. And he did put it to very good use during his time at Hogwarts, I believe. Sneaked quite a few feasts from the kitchens, he did …" Arabella chuckled. "I'm sorry that no one has ever mentioned to you that he was a Nonwander, we had thought it'll be too much for you … but now obviously there's no danger of that."

"Wow … wait till Ron and Hermione hears about this …" Harry said.

"But you mustn't go around telling everyone. Nonwanders' powers are very mysterious. We don't want people coming up to you, befriending you just so they could exploit your powers. Also, Voldemort could be anywhere."

Harry mentally took note of her not being afraid to say Voldemort's name. Sirius, Remus Lupin, Dumbledore, all those light wizards hadn't been afraid to either.

"You know, Harry Potter …" Arabella began, cupping her face in her hands and staring at Harry with rapt admiration. "You're practically the boy with the works. You defeated Voldemort, the darkest wizard in a century when you were a baby; you escaped from him in your first and fourth year, sort of in your second year too. You're the only one to have ever survived a death curse, you can talk to snakes: a Parselmouth, and you're a Nonwander: you can perform specific and possibly potent magic without the aid of a wand. God, I wouldn't be surprised if all the girls at Hogwarts were throwing themselves at you …"

"Arabella … stop it …" Harry said, blushing. "You'll gonna give me a swelled-up head …"   

***

The Dudley couldn't believe their eyes that afternoon when Harry came back from Mrs Figg's, grinning mysteriously from ear to ear. Usually when he came back he would be covered in grime and utterly miserable, but today he was in high spirits, and was spotless from head to toe. In fact, Harry also seemed to have had a good lunch, which angered the Dursleys even more: all they had had for their meal were celery and carrot sticks.

"I had a really good morning, didn't you?" Harry said as he smirked at his relatives, burping heavily for good measure. "Mrs Figg was lovely. The chocolate cake she baked me was scrumptious, but my favourite had to be the triple-fudge strawberry sundae with chopped nuts and caramel."

He watched his fuming cousin carefully, and was pleased to see that Dudley's mouth was wide open in desire, and drool was pouring out by the buckets. The truth was that Mrs Figg did feed him that; with the aid of a few charms she had whipped up a meal in no time.

Harry went upstairs and made sure everything was packed up: his suitcase of books, his precious broomstick, and Hedwig's empty cage. He hoped Hedwig would know where to find him when she came back from her trip. Making one last check to see that he had cleared every nook and cranny of his room, he dragged his things down the stairs.

The Weasleys were due to come at four. Ron had said they would be 'coming by car' but somehow Harry got the feeling it was too ordinary to be true.

The Dursleys, meanwhile, were rushing around the living room in a frenzied state of anxiety and panic. Poor Dudley remembered all too well the pain and terror he had went through upon the previous visit of the Weasleys, when his tongue had swelled up to a foot long.

Harry's thoughts were rudely interrupted by a blaze of sound echoing throughout the room. It sounded like the doorbell being rung repeatedly. The Dursleys jumped about a mile off the ground, particularly Dudley, who let out a yelp and left the room as fast as his fat little legs would carry him.

Uncle Vernon, also with his hands over his ears, crept over to the front door timidly, giving Harry an 'if-these-are-those-stupid-Weasleys-than-you-are-dead' look. Aunt Petunia hid behind her bulky husband, shivering from head to toe. Uncle Vernon wrenched the door open with a determined look on his face, followed by his wife who peeked out from behind his plump shoulder like a timid mouse …

"AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!" The chiming of the doorbell had been a whisper compared to their shrieks.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Harry ran over to them hurriedly with a crazy thought that Voldemort might have just arrived at the front door.

He pulled out his wand, stepping over the Uncle Vernon-Aunt Petunia heap on the ground, only to find …

"Ron?

Ronald Weasley's guilty face appeared from behind the door.

"I'm really sorry, Harry … it was Fred's idea, really …" he hastily explained, the crimson colour on his face matching his fiery crown of hair. Ron held up a Halloween mask in his skinny hands.

"We thought it might be funny if we … er … gave your relatives a bit of a surprise … you know …"

Harry took one look at the rubber mask and had to restrain himself from laughing out loud. The mask was obviously Muggle-made, depicting a very stereotyped kind of witch, complete with hairy warts and dangling eyeballs.

"We just thought it'll be funny, I never thought they'll freak out like this …" Ron's eyes darted nervously over to the quivering lump on the ground. Dudley's desperate cries could be heard from the kitchen. "And the funny little button at the door, what was that?" His face lit up. "Could it have been a Door Dell? Dad's told me about those. I hoped it worked."

"Worked?" Harry grinned. "It nearly deafened us."

"Wow, Harry - no offence, but your relatives sure are chicken …" another voice said. George and Fred Weasley appeared from behind Ron, identical mocking grins on their freckled-filled faces.

"Getting all hyped up over a rubber mask … blimey …"

Uncle Vernon stood up shakily, a nerve twitching madly on his purple face. The three wizards hadn't bothered to wear any Muggle clothes, to add to his fury. He had had enough. "OUT NOW!" he yelled, his face screwed up in hatred. Aunt Petunia stood up with a forbidding look on her face.

"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, YOU LITTLE TWERP, BEFORE I KILL YOU!"

Harry opened his mouth in indignation, but George pushed him aside and advanced on Uncle Vernon, a frown on his face.

"Hey Mr Vernon, that wasn't fair. You shouldn't have yelled at Harry, it wasn't even his fault!"

"I DON'T CARE! JUST GET OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW! NOW!" And with that, Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry's suitcase and threw it out of the door.

"GET OUT, I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AND THOSE WEIRDOS AGAIN!" He pushed Harry over the threshold, a ruthless look in his piggy eyes.

It was too much for any ordinary, self-respecting fifteen-year-old wizard.

"Fine! I hate this hellhole of a house anyway!" Harry yelled in reply, his eyes blazing up in flames of emerald-coloured fire. "I'm leaving!"

"C'mon Harry, let's go," Ron mumbled quietly as he dragged Harry away from the door. Fred grabbed the suitcase that was lying on the gravel driveway, giving Uncle Vernon the dirtiest looks he knew.

"And don't come back!" The front door shut firmly behind them.

Harry walked over to the roadside with the Weasleys, feeling crushed. He had to discuss the idea of leaving the Dursleys permanently with Dumbledore; he didn't think he could stand another day with his disgusting relatives without blowing their heads off. Not only had his uncle insulted his friends, they had also had one of their biggest fights ever. And all over an innocent prank …

"Now … let's see, where's that carpet?" Fred stopped to extract something from his voluminous sleeve. Out came a large …

"Carpet?" Harry tried to put his jaw back in place, staring at the purple contraption floating about a foot off the ground in front of him.

"Dad has a whole bunch of these at home that he confiscated from that what's-his-face … that Ali Baba guy? … anyway, we … er – borrowed one," George said a bit too quickly. "It's in perfect condition too."

Harry eyed the carpet a little dubiously, worried abut getting into trouble again, like that Ford Anglia fiasco back in his second year. "You sure it's legal?"

"Err … no," Ron replied a little guilty. "But it's got an invisibility booster installed, so no one should see us … it'll be perfectly safe." But he didn't look too sure.

"Oh, come on, don't chicken out on us," Fred said, hopping onto the carpet. It didn't look as though it'd support the weight of four teenage boys, a heavy suitcase, a broom, and an owl cage.

Praying that there were no prying Muggle eyes around, Harry clambered rather awkwardly onto the carpet with his luggage, followed by Ron and George. Surprisingly, the carpet didn't even sag under all the extra weight. It did, however, fly off so quickly Harry nearly slipped off.

"Urgh," he said with amazing calmness, one hand clutched firmly onto the carpet for dear life, the other holding the suitcase, and somehow managing to tuck his Firebolt and cage under his arms. It wasn't as bad as he had thought, not much different than riding a broom, really, but he didn't have the comfort, control and balance that his Firebolt usually provided him with. Harry thought he could just hear Dudley scream, "Mum, they're flying off on a magic carpet!" before the carpet gained height with frightening speed, and soon Number Four of Privet Drive was just a tiny little dot, amongst the rest of Little Whinging.

"We're still able to see ourselves, but no one else can," Fred explained confidently as they soared through the clouds. "Don't worry, Dad won't notice a thing when we get home. He had wanted to drive over to Privet Drive himself-"

"But we reassured him that we'll be fine getting you to Ottery St Catchpole by broomsticks." George continued. "He's being rather worn out lately anyway. Not to worry about getting caught, Harry," he said, helping to share Harry's load, so that he wouldn't have to struggle so much.

After a while, Harry finally was able to relax on the carpet. Fred and George were bubbly and excited about having smuggled Harry from the Muggles in a flying carpet. 

To pass the time, the Weasleys told Harry what they had been up to during the holidays. Fred and George, thanks to Harry's contribution of his Triwizard Tournament prize money last year, had being busy making plans for their joke shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Ron had been practising his flying in the past few weeks. He had been hoping to make it into the Quidditch team.

Quidditch was a highly popular wizard game played on broomsticks, with seven players on a team, three hoops on each side and four different balls whizzing around. Harry played Seeker for his house Gryffindor, and he couldn't wait to start the season. He hadn't played at all last year, due to the Triwizard Tournament, and was determined to win the Quidditch House cup this year.

"I reckon I could make it onto the team if I tried really hard," Ron said, "Even Ginny admits I'm improving."

Harry blushed, remembering the bizarre events in his second year at Hogwarts, when he had saved Ron's younger sister, Virginia Weasley's life. Ginny had had an immense crush on him since her first year at Hogwarts, and Harry hoped very much that she would go easier on him this year.

"You're blushing, Harry," Ron said sternly. For some reason, he didn't look too pleased.

"No, I'm not," Harry replied hotly. "Why would I be?" he looked up uneasily to see the Weasley twins with identical evil sneers.

"Oh, give him a break, Ronniekins. Harry has no interest in our little Ginny, he's got another fish to fry," George alleged meaningfully, shooting his twin a meaningful glance, causing the both of them to burst into laughter.

"Who are you talking about?" Harry asked furiously amidst the chuckling.

"Oh, no one, really." Fred tried to hold back a snort. "Just a particular beautiful, sixth year Ravenclaw seeker with long black hair …" his words trailed off, leaving Harry speechless.

Cho Chang. Who else could it be but beautiful, smart, sporty, sensitive and sexy Cho-

"Harry! Snap out of it!" Ron waved a hand in front of Harry's face. He looked at him with disgust. "Eww. You've been drooling, Harry."

Harry shook himself, clearing all thoughts of the pretty Ravenclaw. "I do not like Cho," he stated quite unconvincingly.

Ron raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Right," he agreed sarcastically. "And our bushy-haired, nerdy friend isn't cut out to be a prefect." The last sentence was delivered rather harshly, and Ron's whole face changed from mischievous to forbidding. Harry sensed that it had more to do with Hermione Granger than him denying he liked Cho.

"What's Hermione got to do with this?" Harry asked, puzzled. Then he remembered how indifferent Ron had sounded in his letter telling him of Hermione's good news. "Don't tell me that you're jealous of her?"

Ron's face was perilously scarlet. "So what if I am? She's been doing nothing but bragging about her wonderful piece of grimy badge all summer, d'ya think I could stand her?" Ron turned away from Harry; hands folded resolutely over the lovely Firebolt, an obstinate look in his eyes.

"Ron, you're not making sense," Harry said, surprised at the sudden change of mood in the atmosphere. "You shouldn't be mad at Hermione over such a small matter."

Ron whipped his head around faster than you could pull a string, his face of unmasked anger. "Why shouldn't I be mad at Hermione?" he spat. "She's the one with the perfect brains and the perfect grades and the perfect prefect badge!" Fred and George exchanged questioning glances.

"Ron, this is ridiculous. Why should we care so much about being made prefects? I mean, we haven't exactly been angels, have we? And Hermione deserves it. She's been working hard for her goal, and now that she's got it, you're jealous of her?" Harry reasoned. "How 'bout we forget about this absurd prefect-thing?"

"Don't tell me what to and what not to do!" Ron whispered back in a dangerously soft voice, his face matching his fiery hair in colour. "You're not my brother."

"But we are," George and Fred interrupted. "Stop being such a baby, Ron. We don't expect you to be like Charlie and Bill and Percy. I mean, so what if the teachers preferred you to Hermione? So what if you failed to be what Mum wanted? I mean, it's not as though you were on your best behaviour and had failed to be made a prefect …"

"Thanks a lot, brother dears," Ron yelled sardonically. "I really needed that!" He slammed his hands into his lap, narrowly missing the broom - as though to emphasise his feelings - with more force than was necessary, his jaw set in a stubborn jut. It seemed that Fred and George Weasley had touched a raw nerve.

Harry made to approach his best friend, but was stopped by the twins running their fingers across their throats and making choking sounds. It seemed best to let Ron cool down.

The rest of the carpet trip was spent in silence. Slowly the scenery below them became familiar. The carpet started to head for the ground, and Harry felt that familiar drop of the stomach, as though he was making a dive for the Snitch. Finally it touched down onto the ground, and all four passengers and Harry's luggage tumbled out roughly.

Harry stood up, a little tipsy, to look out to see his favourite place in the world (next to Hogwarts, of course): The Burrow, where all seven of the Weasleys lived. (Bill and Charlie, the oldest sons, were overseas). It was a cosy, friendly place, even though it looked like rooms being added to a stone pigsty, and Harry knew he loved every inch of it, including the crooked seven storeys.

"I've got Harry's things," Ron said stiffly, as he grabbed Harry's suitcase, broom and cage with surprising strength and headed for the house without a glance backwards.

"Don't worry, Harry," George said, noticing his concerned expression. "Ron's being like this ever since Hermione arrived with her prefect's badge. Nothing to get so worked up about, if you asked me, but then again …" he shook his head, "some mysterious things can never be explained, and younger brothers are one of them."

Fred rolled the carpet back into his sleeve, and quickly fished out three broomsticks from the nearby cardboard.

"But wouldn't your Mum think it was dangerous to fly over England on broomsticks?" Harry asked worriedly.

George shook his head. "Don't worry," he said, "Mum and Dad've been so busy they'd hardly notice. Trust us." Saying that, the twins made their way in through the Burrow's back door, to return the carpet in secret.