To the Burrow
By twelve o'clock that Sunday, the atmosphere inside number four, Privet Drive was extremely tense. The imminent arrival at their house of an assortment of wizards was making the Dursleys uptight and irritable. Uncle Vernon had looked downright alarmed when Harry informed him that the Weasleys would be arriving at five o'clock the very next day.
Lunch was an almost silent meal. Dudley didn't even protest at the food (cottage cheese and grated celery). Aunt Petunia wasn't eating anything at all; her arms were folded, her lips were pursed, and she seemed to be chewing her tongue, as though biting back the furious diatribe she longed to throw at Harry.
"I hope you told them to dress properly, these people," Uncle Vernon snarled at once. "I've seen the sort of stuff your lot wear. They'd better have the decency to put on normal clothes, that's all."
Harry said nothing.
"They'll be driving, of course?" Uncle Vernon barked across the table.
"Er..." said Harry.
He hadn't thought of that. How were the Weasleys going to pick him up? They didn't have a car anymore; the old Ford Anglia they had once owned was currently running wild in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. But Mr. Weasley had borrowed a Ministry of Magic car last year; possibly he would do the same today?
"I think so," said Harry.
Uncle Vernon snorted into his mustache. Normally, Uncle Vernon would have asked what car Mr. Weasley drove; he tended to judge other men by how big and expensive their cars were. But Harry doubted whether Uncle Vernon would have taken to Mr. Weasley even if he drove a Ferrari.
Harry spent most of the afternoon in his bedroom; he couldn't stand watching Aunt Petunia peer out through the net curtains every few seconds, as though there had been a warning about an escaped rhinoceros. Finally, at a quarter to five, Harry went back downstairs and into the living room.
Aunt Petunia was compulsively straightening cushions. Uncle Vernon was pretending to read the paper, but his tiny eyes were not moving, and Harry was sure he was really listening with all his might for the sound of an approaching car. Dudley was crammed into an armchair, his porky hands beneath him, clamped firmly around his bottom. Harry couldn't take the tension; he left the room and went and sat on the stairs in the hall, his eyes on his watch and his heart pumping fast from excitement and nerves. But five o'clock came and then went. Uncle Vernon, perspiring slightly in his suit, opened the front door, peered up and down the street, then withdrew his head quickly.
"They're late!" he snarled at Harry.
"I know," said Harry. "Maybe— er— the traffic's bad, or something."
Ten past five... then a quarter past five... Harry was starting to feel anxious himself now. At half past, he heard Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia conversing in terse mutters in the living room.
"No consideration at all."
"We might've had an engagement."
"Maybe they think they'll get invited to dinner if they're late."
"Well, they most certainly won't be," said Uncle Vernon, and Harry heard him stand up and start pacing the living room. "They'll take the boy and go, there'll be no hanging around. That's if they're coming at all. Probably mistaken the day. I daresay their kind don't set much store by punctuality. Either that or they drive some tin-pot car that's broken d— AAAAAAAARRRRRGH!"
Harry jumped up. From the other side of the living room door came the sounds of the three Dursleys scrambling, panic-stricken, across the room. Next moment Dudley came flying into the hall, looking terrified.
"What happened?" said Harry. "What's the matter?"
But Dudley didn't seem able to speak. Hands still clamped over his buttocks, he waddled as fast as he could into the kitchen. Harry hurried into the living room. Loud bangings and scrapings were coming from behind the Dursleys' boarded-up fireplace, which had a fake coal fire plugged in front of it.
"What is it?" gasped Aunt Petunia, who had backed into the wall and was staring, terrified, toward the fire. "What is it, Vernon?"
But they were left in doubt barely a second longer. Voices could be heard from inside the blocked fireplace.
"Ouch! Fred, no— go back, go back, there's been some kind of mistake— tell George not to— OUCH! George, no, there's no room, go back quickly and tell Ron—"
"Maybe Harry can hear us, Dad— maybe he'll be able to let us out—"
There was a loud hammering of fists on the boards behind the electric fire. "Harry? Harry, can you hear us?"
The Dursleys rounded on Harry like a pair of angry wolverines.
"What is this?" growled Uncle Vernon. "What's going on?"
"They— they've tried to get here by Floo powder," said Harry, fighting a mad desire to laugh. "They can travel by fire— only you've blocked the fireplace— hang on—" He approached the fireplace and called through the boards. "Mr. Weasley? Can you hear me?"
The hammering stopped. Somebody inside the chimney-piece said, "Shh!"
"Mr. Weasley, it's Harry... the fireplace has been blocked up. You won't be able to get through there."
"Damn!" said Mr. Weasley's voice. "What on earth did they want to block up the fireplace for?"
"They've got an electric fire," Harry explained.
"Really?" said Mr. Weasley's voice excitedly. "Eclectic, you say? With a plug? Gracious, I must see that... Let's think... ouch, Ron!"
Ron's voice now joined the others'. "What are we doing here? Has something gone wrong?"
"Oh no, Ron," came Fred's voice, very sarcastically. "No, this is exactly where we wanted to end up."
"Yeah, we're having the time of our lives here," said George, whose voice sounded muffled, as though he was squashed against the wall.
"Boys, boys..." said Mr. Weasley vaguely. "I'm trying to think what to do... Yes... only way... Stand back, Harry."
Harry retreated to the sofa. Uncle Vernon, however, moved forward.
"Wait a moment!" he bellowed at the fire. "What exactly are you going to—"
BANG.
The electric fire shot across the room as the boarded-up fireplace burst outward, expelling Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, and Ron in a cloud of rubble and loose chippings. Aunt Petunia shrieked and fell backward over the coffee table; Uncle Vernon caught her before she hit the floor, and gaped, speechless, at the Weasleys, all of whom had bright red hair, including Fred and George, who were identical to the last freckle.
"That's better," panted Mr. Weasley, brushing dust from his long green robes and straightening his glasses. "Ah— you must be Harry's aunt and uncle!"
Tall, thin, and balding, he moved toward Uncle Vernon, his hand outstretched, but Uncle Vernon backed away several paces, dragging Aunt Petunia. Words utterly failed Uncle Vernon. His best suit was covered in white dust, which had settled in his hair and mustache and made him look as though he had just aged thirty years.
"Er— yes— sorry about that," said Mr. Weasley, lowering his hand and looking over his shoulder at the blasted fireplace. "It's all my fault. It just didn't occur to me that we wouldn't be able to get out at the other end. I had your fireplace connected to the Floo Network, you see— just for an afternoon, you know, so we could get Harry. Muggle fireplaces aren't supposed to be connected, strictly speaking— but I've got a useful contact at the Floo Regulation Panel and he fixed it for me. I can put it right in a jiffy, though, don't worry. I'll light a fire to send the boys back, and then I can repair your fireplace before I Disapparate."
Harry was ready to bet that the Dursleys hadn't understood a single word of this. They were still gaping at Mr. Weasley, thunderstruck. Aunt Petunia staggered upright again and hid behind Uncle Vernon.
"Hello, Harry!" said Mr. Weasley brightly. "Got your trunk ready?"
"It's upstairs," said Harry, grinning back.
"We'll get it," said Fred at once. Winking at Harry, he and George left the room. They knew where Harry's bedroom was, having once rescued him from it in the dead of night. Harry suspected that Fred and George were hoping for a glimpse of Dudley; they had heard a lot about him from Harry.
"Well," said Mr. Weasley, swinging his arms slightly, while he tried to find words to break the very nasty silence. "Very— erm— very nice place you've got here."
As the usually spotless living room was now covered in dust and bits of brick, this remark didn't go down too well with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon's face purpled once more, and Aunt Petunia started chewing her tongue again. However, they seemed too scared to actually say anything.
Mr. Weasley was looking around. He loved everything to do with Muggles. Harry could see him itching to go and examine the television and the video recorder.
"They run off eckeltricity, do they?" he said knowledgeably. "Ah yes, I can see the plugs. I collect plugs," he added to Uncle Vernon. "And batteries. Got a very large collection of batteries. My wife thinks I'm mad, but there you are."
Uncle Vernon clearly thought Mr. Weasley was mad too. He moved ever so slightly to the right, screening Aunt Petunia from view, as though he thought Mr. Weasley might suddenly run at them and attack.
Dudley suddenly reappeared in the room. Harry could hear the clunk of his trunk on the stairs, and knew that the sounds had scared Dudley out of the kitchen. Dudley edged along the wall, gazing at Mr. Weasley with terrified eyes, and attempted to conceal himself behind his mother and father. Unfortunately, Uncle Vernon's bulk, while sufficient to hide bony Aunt Petunia, was nowhere near enough to conceal Dudley.
"Ah, this is your cousin, is it, Harry?" said Mr. Weasley, taking another brave stab at making conversation.
"Yep," said Harry, "that's Dudley."
He and Ron exchanged glances and then quickly looked away from each other; the temptation to burst out laughing was almost overwhelming. Dudley was still clutching his bottom as though afraid it might fall off. Mr. Weasley, however, seemed genuinely concerned at Dudley's peculiar behavior. Indeed, from the tone of his voice when he next spoke, Harry was quite sure that Mr. Weasley thought Dudley was quite as mad as the Dursleys thought he was, except that Mr. Weasley felt sympathy rather than fear.
"Having a good holiday, Dudley?" he said kindly.
Dudley whimpered. Harry saw his hands tighten still harder over his massive backside.
Fred and George came back into the room carrying Harry's school trunk. They glanced around as they entered and spotted Dudley. Their faces cracked into identical evil grins.
"Ah, right," said Mr. Weasley. "Better get cracking then."
He pushed up the sleeves of his robes and took out his wand. Harry saw the Dursleys draw back against the wall as one.
"Incendio!" said Mr. Weasley, pointing his wand at the hole in the wall behind him.
Flames rose at once in the fireplace, crackling merrily as though they had been burning for hours. Mr. Weasley took a small drawstring bag from his pocket, untied it, took a pinch of the powder inside, and threw it onto the flames, which turned emerald green and roared higher than ever.
"Off you go then, Fred," said Mr. Weasley.
"Coming," said Fred. "Oh no— hang on—"
A bag of sweets had spilled out of Fred's pocket and the contents were now rolling in every direction— big, fat toffees in brightly colored wrappers. Fred scrambled around, cramming them back into his pocket, then gave the Dursleys a cheery wave, stepped forward, and walked right into the fire, saying "the Burrow!" Aunt Petunia gave a little shuddering gasp. There was a whooshing sound, and Fred vanished.
"Right then, George," said Mr. Weasley, "you and the trunk."
Harry helped George carry the trunk forward into the flames and turn it onto its end so that he could hold it better. Then, with a second whoosh, George had cried "the Burrow!" and vanished too.
"Ron, you next," said Mr. Weasley.
"See you," said Ron brightly to the Dursleys. He grinned broadly at Harry, then stepped into the fire, shouted "the Burrow!" and disappeared.
Now Harry and Mr. Weasley alone remained.
"Well... bye then," Harry said to the Dursleys.
They didn't say anything at all. Harry moved toward the fire, but just as he reached the edge of the hearth, Mr. Weasley put out a hand and held him back. He was looking at the Dursleys in amazement.
"Harry said goodbye to you," he said. "Didn't you hear him?"
"It doesn't matter," Harry muttered to Mr. Weasley. "Honestly, I don't care."
Mr. Weasley did not remove his hand from Harry's shoulder.
"You aren't going to see your nephew till next summer," he said to Uncle Vernon in mild indignation. "Surely you're going to say goodbye?"
Uncle Vernon's face worked furiously. The idea of being taught consideration by a man who had just blasted away half his living room wall seemed to be causing him intense suffering. But Mr. Weasley's wand was still in his hand, and Uncle Vernon's tiny eyes darted to it once, before he said, very resentfully,
"Goodbye, then."
"See you," said Harry, putting one foot forward into the green flames, which felt pleasantly like a warm breath. At that moment, however, a horrible gagging sound erupted behind him, and Aunt Petunia started to scream.
Harry wheeled around. Dudley was no longer standing behind his parents. He was kneeling beside the coffee table, and he was gagging and sputtering on a foot-long, purple, slimy thing that was protruding from his mouth. One bewildered second later, Harry realized that the foot-long thing was Dudley's tongue— and that a brightly colored toffee wrapper lay on the floor before him.
Aunt Petunia hurled herself onto the ground beside Dudley, seized the end of his swollen tongue, and attempted to wrench it out of his mouth; unsurprisingly, Dudley yelled and sputtered worse than ever, trying to fight her off. Uncle Vernon was bellowing and waving his arms around, and Mr. Weasley had to shout to make himself heard.
"Not to worry, I can sort him out!" he yelled, advancing on Dudley with his wand outstretched, but Aunt Petunia screamed worse than ever and threw herself on top of Dudley, shielding him from Mr. Weasley.
"No, really!" said Mr. Weasley desperately. "It's a simple process it was the toffee— my son Fred— real practical joker— but it's only an Engorgement Charm— at least, I think it is— please, I can correct it—"
But far from being reassured, the Dursleys became more panic-stricken; Aunt Petunia was sobbing hysterically, tugging Dudley's tongue as though determined to rip it out; Dudley appeared to be suffocating under the combined pressure of his mother and his tongue; and Uncle Vernon, who had lost control completely, seized a china figure from on top of the sideboard and threw it very hard at Mr. Weasley, who ducked, causing the ornament to shatter in the blasted fireplace.
"Now really!" said Mr. Weasley angrily, brandishing his wand. "I'm trying to help!"
Bellowing like a wounded hippo, Uncle Vernon snatched up another ornament.
"Harry, go! Just go!" Mr. Weasley shouted, his wand on Uncle Vernon. "I'll sort this out!"
Harry didn't want to miss the fun, but Uncle Vernon's second ornament narrowly missed his left ear, and on balance, he thought it best to leave the situation to Mr. Weasley. He stepped into the fire, looking over his shoulder as he said "the Burrow!"
His last fleeting glimpse of the living room was of Mr. Weasley blasting a third ornament out of Uncle Vernon's hand with his wand, Aunt Petunia screaming and lying on top of Dudley, and Dudley's tongue lolling around like a great slimy python. But next moment Harry had begun to spin very fast, and the Dursleys' living room was whipped out of sight in a rush of emerald-green flames.
Harry spun faster and faster, elbows tucked tightly to his sides, blurred fireplaces flashing past him until he started to feel sick and closed his eyes. Then, when at last he felt himself slowing down, he threw out his hands and came to a halt in time to prevent himself from falling face forward out of the Weasleys' kitchen fire.
"Did he eat it?" said Fred excitedly, holding out a hand to pull Harry to his feet.
"Yeah," said Harry, straightening up. "What was it?"
"Ton-Tongue Toffee," said Fred brightly. "George and I invented them, and we've been looking for someone to test them on all summer..."
The tiny kitchen exploded with laughter; Harry looked around and saw that Ron and George were sitting at the scrubbed wooden table with two red-haired people Harry had never seen before, though he knew immediately who they must be: Bill and Charlie, the two eldest Weasley brothers.
"How're you doing, Harry?" said the nearer of the two.
The young man grinned at him, holding out a large hand, which Harry shook, feeling calluses and blisters under his fingers. This had to be Charlie, who worked with dragons in Romania. Charlie was built like the twins, shorter and stockier than Percy and Ron, who were both long and lanky. He had a broad, good-natured face, which was weather-beaten and so freckly that he looked almost tanned; his arms were muscular, and one of them had a large, shiny burn on it.
Bill got to his feet, smiling, and also shook Harry's hand. Bill came as something of a surprise. Harry knew that he worked for the wizarding bank, Gringotts, and that Bill had been Head Boy at Hogwarts; Harry had always imagined Bill to be an older version of Percy: fussy about rule-breaking and fond of bossing everyone around. However, Bill was— there was no other word for it— cool. He was tall, with long hair that he had tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing an earring with what looked like a fang dangling from it. Bill's clothes would not have looked out of place at a rock concert, except that Harry recognized his boots to be made, not of leather, but of dragon hide.
Before any of them could say anything else, there was a faint popping noise, and Mr. Weasley appeared out of thin air at George's shoulder. He was looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him.
"That wasn't funny Fred!" he shouted. "What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?"
"I didn't give him anything," said Fred, with another evil grin. "I just dropped it... it was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to."
"You dropped it on purpose!" roared Mr. Weasley. "You knew he'd eat it, you knew he was on a diet—"
"How big did his tongue get?" George asked eagerly.
"It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!"
Harry and the Weasleys roared with laughter again.
"It isn't funny!" Mr. Weasley shouted. "That sort of behavior seriously undermines wizard-Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons—"
"We didn't give it to him because he's a Muggle!" said Fred indignantly.
"No, we gave it to him because he's a great bullying git," said George. "Isn't he, Harry?"
"Yeah, he is, Mr. Weasley," said Harry earnestly.
"That's not the point!" raged Mr. Weasley. "You wait until I tell your mother—"
"Tell me what?" said a voice behind them.
Mrs. Weasley had just entered the kitchen. She was a short, plump woman with a very kind face, though her eyes were presently narrowed with suspicion.
"Oh hello, Harry, dear," she said, spotting him and smiling. Then her eyes snapped back to her husband. "Tell me what, Arthur?"
Mr. Weasley hesitated. Harry could tell that, however angry he was with Fred and George, he hadn't really intended to tell Mrs. Weasley what had happened. There was a silence, while Mr. Weasley eyed his wife nervously. Then two girls appeared in the kitchen doorway behind Mrs. Weasley. One, with very bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth, was Harry's and Ron's friend, Hermione Granger. The other, who was small and red-haired, was Ron's younger sister, Ginny. Both of them smiled at Harry, who grinned back. He got curious for a moment when he noticed Ginny glance behind him, a spark of disappointment glinting in her brown eyes when she didn't find what she was looking for. Her smile, as kind as her mother's, did not falter, however.
"Tell me what, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley repeated, in a dangerous sort of voice.
"It's nothing, Molly," mumbled Mr. Weasley, "Fred and George just— but I've had words with them—"
"What have they done this time?" said Mrs. Weasley. "If it's got anything to do with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes—"
"Why don't you show Harry where he's sleeping, Ron?" said Hermione from the doorway.
"He knows where he's sleeping," said Ron, "in my room, he slept there last—"
"We can all go," said Hermione pointedly.
"Oh," said Ron, cottoning on. "Right. You're right; Deli'll be here soon anyway." Ginny seemed to perk up at the mentioning of the latter. "Might as well get comfortable while we wait for her."
"Yeah, we'll come too," said George.
"You stay where you are!" snarled Mrs. Weasley.
Harry and Ron edged out of the kitchen, and they, Hermione and Ginny set off along the narrow hallway and up the rickety staircase that zigzagged through the house to the upper stories.
After being snapped at by Percy, the four of them continued their way up to Ron's room as they chatted about, trying to keep their voices at an adequate level enough so they weren't too loud, but could hear each other above the shouts from the kitchen below that echoed up to them. It sounded as though Mr. Weasley had told Mrs. Weasley about the toffees.
The room at the top of the house where Ron slept looked much as it had the last time that Harry had come to stay: the same posters of Ron's favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, were whirling and waving on the walls and sloping ceiling, and the fish tank on the windowsill, which had previously held frog spawn, now contained one extremely large frog. Ron's old rat, Scabbers, was here no more, but instead there was the tiny gray owl that had delivered Ron's letter to Harry in Privet Drive, and to Delilah in Holmes Chapel. It was hopping up and down in a small cage and twittering madly.
"Shut up, Pig," said Ron, edging his way between two of the four beds that had been squeezed into the room. "Fred and George are in here with us, because Bill and Charlie are in their room," he told Harry. "Percy gets to keep his room all to himself because he's got to work."
"Er— why are you calling that owl Pig?" Harry asked.
"Because he's being stupid," said Ginny, "Its proper name is Pigwidgeon."
"Yeah, and that's not a stupid name at all," said Ron sarcastically. "Ginny named him," he explained to Harry. "She reckons it's sweet. And I tried to change it, but it was too late, he won't answer to anything else. So now he's Pig. I've got to keep him up here because he annoys Errol and Hermes. He annoys me too, come to that."
Pigwidgeon zoomed happily around his cage, hooting shrilly. Harry knew Ron too well to take him seriously. He had moaned continually about his old rat, Scabbers, but had been most upset when Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, appeared to have eaten him.
"Where's Crookshanks?" Harry asked Hermione now.
"Out in the garden, I expect," she said. "He likes chasing gnomes. He's never seen any before."
"Percy's enjoying work, then?" said Harry, sitting down on one of the beds and watching the Chudley Cannons zooming in and out of the posters on the ceiling.
"Enjoying it?" said Ron darkly. "I don't reckon he'd come home if Dad didn't make him. He's obsessed. Just don't get him onto the subject of his boss. According to Mr. Crouch... as I was saying to Mr. Crouch... Mr. Crouch is of the opinion... Mr. Crouch was telling me... They'll be announcing their engagement any day now."
"Have you had a good summer, Harry?" said Hermione. "Did you get our food parcels and everything?"
"Yeah, thanks a lot, " said Harry. "They saved my life, those cakes."
"Have you got anything from Deli?"
Harry shook his head. "Haven't gotten any letters lately, but I got a small case for my glasses, for my birthday, and a small handkerchief to clean them."
"About time you got one too," said Hermione with a teasing edge to her tone.
"What about you?"
"Just one letter last week to say she'd be coming today. Didn't say what time exactly, but she said she'd be here before dinner," Hermione replied.
"And have you heard from—" Ron began, but at a look from Hermione, he fell silent.
Harry knew Ron had been about to ask about Sirius. Apart from Delilah and himself, Ron and Hermione had been so deeply involved in helping Sirius escape from the Ministry of Magic that they were almost as concerned about him as he was. However, discussing him in front of Ginny was a bad idea. Nobody but themselves and Professor Dumbledore knew about how Sirius had escaped, or believed in his innocence.
"I think they've stopped arguing," said Hermione, to cover the awkward moment, because Ginny was looking curiously from Ron to Harry. "Shall we go down and help your mum with dinner?"
"Yeah, all right," said Ron.
The four of them left Ron's room and went back downstairs to find Mrs. Weasley alone in the kitchen, looking extremely bad-tempered.
"We're eating out in the garden," she said when they came in. "There's just not room for eleven people—"
"Twelve people," Ginny corrected. "Delilah will probably be here soon."
"Right, right." Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Well, could you two girls take the plates outside? Bill and Charlie are setting up the tables. Knives and forks, please, you two," she said to Ron and Harry, pointing her wand a little more vigorously than she had intended at a pile of potatoes in the sink, which shot out of their skins so fast that they ricocheted off the walls and ceiling.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," she snapped, now directing her wand at a dustpan, which hopped off the sideboard and started skating across the floor, scooping up the potatoes. "Those two!" she burst out savagely, now pulling pots and pans out of a cupboard, and Harry knew she meant Fred and George. "I don't know what's going to happen to them, I really don't. No ambition, unless you count making as much trouble as they possibly can..."
Mrs. Weasley slammed a large copper saucepan down on the kitchen table and began to wave her wand around inside it. A creamy sauce poured from the wand tip as she stirred.
"It's not as though they haven't got brains," she continued irritably, taking the saucepan over to the stove and lighting it with a further poke of her wand, "but they're wasting them, and unless they pull themselves together soon, they'll be in real trouble. I've had more owls from Hogwarts about them than the rest put together. If they carry on the way they're going, they'll end up in front of the Improper Use of Magic Office."
Mrs. Weasley jabbed her wand at the cutlery drawer, which shot open. Harry and Ron both jumped out of the way as several knives soared out of it, flew across the kitchen, and began chopping the potatoes, which had just been tipped back into the sink by the dustpan.
"I don't know where we went wrong with them," said Mrs. Weasley, putting down her wand and starting to pull out still more saucepans. "It's been the same for years, one thing after another, and they won't listen to— OH, NOT AGAIN!"
She had picked up her wand from the table, and it had emitted a loud squeak and turned into a giant rubber mouse.
"One of their fake wands again!" she shouted. "How many times have I told them not to leave them lying around?"
She grabbed her real wand and turned around to find that the sauce on the stove was smoking.
"C'mon," Ron said hurriedly to Harry, seizing a handful of cutlery from the open drawer, "let's go and help Bill and Charlie."
They left Mrs. Weasley and headed out the back door into the yard.
They had only gone a few paces when Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat, Crookshanks, came pelting out of the garden, bottle-brush tail held high in the air, chasing what looked like a muddy potato on legs. Harry recognized it instantly as a gnome. Barely ten inches high, its horny little feet pattered very fast as it sprinted across the yard and dived headlong into one of the Wellington boots that lay scattered around the door. Harry could hear the gnome giggling madly as Crookshanks inserted a paw into the boot, trying to reach it.
Meanwhile, a very loud crashing noise was coming from the other side of the house. The source of the commotion was revealed as they entered the garden and saw that Bill and Charlie both had their wands out, and were making two battered old tables fly high above the lawn, smashing into each other, each attempting to knock the others out of the air. Fred and George were cheering, Ginny was laughing, and Hermione was hovering near the hedge, apparently torn between amusement and anxiety.
Bill's table caught Charlie's with a huge bang and knocked one of its legs off. There was a clatter from overhead, and they all looked up to see Percy's head poking out of a window on the second floor.
"Will you keep it down?!" he bellowed.
"Sorry, Perce," said Bill, grinning. "How're the cauldron bottoms coming on?"
"Very badly," said Percy peevishly, and he slammed the window shut.
Chuckling, Bill and Charlie directed the tables safely onto the grass, end to end, and then, with a flick of his wand, Bill reattached the table leg and conjured tablecloths from nowhere.
"Well, that was quite a show," a familiar voice rang through the garden, making everyone stop their doing at once.
The voice had that usual softness to it, however, with an edge of authoritative strength in it. With an edge of pride, beauty, as well as an unintentional seductiveness, it soared through the air like a nightingale singing its nightly rose symphonies.
They all looked behind Harry and Ron, both who turned as well to see the source of the voice, and all smiled when they caught full sight of the young British-American witchy hybrid. There she stood, a few feet away, a warm and slightly amused smile on her face as she watched them, only to be looked at in return, her changes regarded in awe. Calm and composed, had her friends noticed she appeared to have remained, though they also noticed how more sure of herself she had visibly become. Though she always hid it, they knew she had always felt a little insecure and self-cautious, even though it had always seemed the opposite.
Now, rather than hiding underneath the largest clothes anyone could ever be seen wearing, she stood there tall and head held high in a pair of washed-out jean trousers that, although looked to still be a bit larger than her actual size, were more fit than the ones they had seen her wear in the past. Along with it, she wore a black tank and a cropped denim jacket that had its sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Apart from her face and hands, this was probably the most skin they had ever seen her reveal— her neck, collarbone, and her forearms. In addition to her beauty revelation, her dark hair was pulled back, though not in her usual braid, nor ponytail usually tied down near the nape of her neck. No. It was tied up into a neat bun, only a few rebellious curls falling to the sides of her face. She looked good. A bit sickly pale, possibly a bit slimmer than the last time they had seen her, and clearly having passed a few sleepless nights, but she looked good all the same, her warm smile compensating that.
The youngest Weasley was first to react.
"Deli!"
The young redheaded girl jumped gleefully before running to the brunette and throwing her arms around her as soon as she reached her. The older witch chuckled under her breath and returned the embrace lightly.
"Hey, little red. It's nice to see you again."
Hermione was next, hugging the girl fiercely, but then looking at her with stern eyes once she pulled away. "What is wrong with you?! First, we talk almost every day, then, suddenly, you stop calling at all, only answering the phone once when I called you two weeks ago, then you go MIA on me again, only to respond to one letter Ron and I sent you last week."
Delilah regarded the girl with a sheepish smile as she rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah... sorry about that. I was... a little out of it at first, but then I got really busy," she told her. She made sure to emphasize a few words, hinting her that most of it had to do with her being what she was.
Hermione blinked, understanding what she meant. But then she glared. "That's no excuse! We're your best friends! You should at least let us know what's going on instead of going missing in action."
Delilah chuckled and shook her head. "Sorry."
Then, before anything could be added, the twins practically shoved their way to her.
"Lee-Lee!" they exclaimed, sandwiching her between them.
Delilah sighed, but smiled all the same, trying to fight back a grimace as they almost squeezed the breathing life out of her; they were strong for young regular wizards who didn't have another type of supernatural in their blood that would give them an enhanced strength.
"You guys are still awesome, but what would be more awesome right now would be breathing."
They laughed and let her go, stepping back as Ron stepped forward and embraced her too.
"Have you any idea what I've had to endure with Hermione being here? It's enough with Fred and George pulling pranks on everyone, now she's teamed up with Ginny to make my life miser—" Delilah laughed when Hermione glared at Ron and hit him upside the head. "Ow! I mean, I really missed you too, Deli."
Delilah laughed lightly and patted him on the shoulder when he pulled out of the embrace. "I missed you too, Ron," she said, waving at Bill and Charlie who stood by the tables, smiling warmly and waving back.
She stepped toward the two eldest and waved before turning to the three that completed her golden quartet. "So, what have I missed?"
By seven o'clock, the two tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking, and the nine Weasleys, Delilah, Harry, and Hermione were settling themselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky. To somebody who had been living on meals of increasingly stale cake all summer, this was paradise, and at first, Harry listened rather than talked as he helped himself to chicken and ham pie, boiled potatoes, and salad. Delilah wasn't eating much, as usual, but she remained silent all the same and ate quietly.
At the far end of the table, Percy was telling his father all about his report on cauldron bottoms.
"I've told Mr. Crouch that I'll have it ready by Tuesday," Percy was saying pompously. "That's a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he'll be grateful I've done it in good time, I mean, it's extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We're just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman—"
"I like Ludo," said Mr. Weasley mildly. "He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favor: his brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble— a lawnmower with unnatural powers— I smoothed the whole thing over."
"Oh, Bagman's likable enough, of course," said Percy dismissively, "but how he ever got to be Head of Department... when I compare him to Mr. Crouch! I can't see Mr. Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what's happened to them. You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?"
"Yes, I was asking Ludo about that," said Mr. Weasley, frowning. "He says Bertha's gotten lost plenty of times before now— though must say, if it were someone in my department, I'd be worried..."
"Oh Bertha's hopeless, all right," said Percy. "I hear she's been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she's worth... but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr. Crouch has been taking a personal interest, she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr. Crouch was quite fond of her— but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However—" Percy heaved an impressive sigh and took a deep swig of elderflower wine. "— we've got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we've got another big event to organize right after the World Cup."
Percy cleared his throat significantly and looked down toward the end of the table where Delilah, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting. "You know the one I'm talking about, Father." He raised his voice slightly. "The top-secret one."
Ron rolled his eyes and muttered to Delilah, Harry, and Hermione, "He's been trying to get us to ask what that event is ever since he started work. Probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons."
In the middle of the table, Mrs. Weasley was arguing with Bill about his earring, which seemed to be a recent acquisition.
"... with a horrible great fang on it. Really, Bill, what do they say at the bank?"
"Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure," said Bill patiently.
"And your hair's getting silly, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, fingering her wand lovingly. "I wish you'd let me give it a trim..."
Delilah bit back a laugh. "I think it looks rather great," she said softly, causing both Bill and Mrs. Weasley to look up at her in surprise. "You know, if you ever went to America looking like that, you'd fit in rather easily."
Bill grinned, while Mrs. Weasley looked a tad bit disappointed that someone else agreed with her son.
"I like it too," said Ginny, who was sitting beside Bill. "You're so old-fashioned, Mum. Anyway, it's nowhere near as long as Professor Dumbledore's..."
Next to Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Charlie were all talking spiritedly about the World Cup.
"It's got to be Ireland," said Charlie thickly, through a mouthful of potato. "They flattened Peru in the semifinals."
"Bulgaria has got Viktor Krum, though," said Fred.
When name reached her ears, Delilah frowned slightly. Why did the name sound familiar?
She opened her eyes and squealed, but then started panicking when she saw she was in a room she did not recognize. A bedroom more precisely. After a few confused seconds of looking around, a door opened and a... shirtless guy walked in. They looked at each other and screamed. Delilah was completely freaking out that she threw herself onto the floor and hid under the bed that was right in the middle of this gigantic room.
"Who're you and vat 're you doing 'ere?" he asked.
"Can you put on more clothes before I answer any of whatever you just said?" she pleaded. "Because, hiding under a bed is really not all that comfortable."
He sighed. "I'm done," he said.
Delilah hesitated a bit but then finally got out of her uncomfortable hiding spot. The boy standing before her was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey, yet he had quite an innocent look on his face, making it evident that he was probably around sixteen or seventeen years old.
Once he had a better sight of Delilah, his eyes widened. He cleared his throat and grabbed her hand. "I am Viktor Krum," he said, planting a small kiss on it, making Delilah slightly blush.
She smiled, relieved that he wasn't a creeper. "Delilah Hawkins," she said.
He smiled back then smirked. "So vat exactly vere you doing 'ere in my bedroom?"
Her blush darkened as she put her hands in the pockets of her jeans and giving him a sheepish smile. "I was learning how to Apparate... but I guess I put in a little bit too much of a Deliberation."
Delilah blinked owlishly, feeling a faint blush creep onto her cheeks. Oh...
"Delilah, are you alright?"
She blinked again and turned to see Hermione looking at her with worried eyes.
"You've gone red— wait, are you blushing?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Delilah muttered, turning toward her plate and scarfing down her food in a way she had never done before. When Hermione's attention had strayed, she calmed down and resumed eating normally... well, what's considered normal for her.
"Krum's one decent player, Ireland has got seven," said Charlie shortly. "I wish England had got through. That was embarrassing, that was."
"What happened?" said Harry eagerly, regretting more than ever his isolation from the wizarding world when he was stuck on Privet Drive.
"Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten," said Charlie gloomily.
"Shocking performance, actually. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland was slaughtered by Luxembourg," Delilah added.
The boys stopped eating and stared at her in shock.
"What? I've been a Gryffindor Chaser for two years. That, and I've lived with one girl and three boys over the summer; I'm not exactly ignorant when it comes to Quidditch."
"Three boys?" Hermione and Harry repeated.
Delilah nodded. "Daren, Seth, and Will."
"Who the bloody hell is Will?" Ron blurted.
"Ronald, watch your tongue," Mrs. Weasley scolded before returning to her arguments with Bill about his looks.
My Goddess, she isn't done with that yet?
"Will's my brother's best friend. Apparently, the little guy's been to Hogwarts for the same amount of time as Seth, and has been practically glued to his side."
"Never seen him," said Fred.
"Never even heard of him," George added.
"William Eberhardt?"
Fred and George thought for a moment, then a glint of recognition flashed through their eyes at the same time as they shared a mischievous grin.
"Ah, Sir William."
Delilah raised an eyebrow. "So you do know him."
"Yeah, he hates it when we call him Sir William."
Delilah groaned. "Please tell me you two didn't pull a prank on him."
"... well, it wasn't meant for him," said Fred.
"He was just there at the wrong time," said George.
"Or rather the right time for the prank—"
"But the wrong time for him."
Delilah groaned, shaking her head. "I can't believe you two." She sighed. "I'll just hope you don't pull a prank on a baby, next time."
"Already have."
"What?"
Ron groaned while Ginny and the twins laughed.
Delilah merely chuckled, shaking her head once again, "I don't want to know."
Mr. Weasley conjured up candles to light the darkening garden before they had their homemade strawberry ice cream, and by the time they had finished, moths were fluttering low over the table, and the warm air was perfumed with the smells of grass and honeysuckle. Harry was feeling extremely well fed and at peace with the world as he watched several gnomes sprinting through the rosebushes, laughing madly and closely pursued by Crookshanks.
Ron looked carefully up the table to check that the rest of the family were all busy talking, then he said very quietly to Delilah and Harry, "So— have you heard from Sirius lately?"
Hermione looked around, listening closely.
"A few times," Delilah admitted. "I haven't checked my letters recently, so I don't know if he sent me any more, though I doubt it. He'd blow his cover if he sent so many."
"Yeah," said Harry softly. "He sent me some, twice. He sounds okay. I wrote to him yesterday. He might write back while we're here."
He suddenly remembered the reason he had written to Sirius, and for a moment was on the verge of telling Delilah, Ron and Hermione about his scar hurting again, and about the dream that had awoken him... but he really didn't want to worry them just now, not when he himself was feeling so happy and peaceful.
"Look at the time," Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, checking her wristwatch. "You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you 'll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup. Harry, Delilah, my dear, if you two leave your school lists out, I'll get your things for you tomorrow in Diagon Alley."
"Oh, Mrs. Weasley, you really don't have to, I can—"
"Nonsense, dears," Mrs. Weasley cut the young witch off with a wave. "I really don't mind. I'm getting everyone else's anyway. There might not be time after the World Cup, the match went on for five days last time."
"Wow— hope it does this time!" said Harry enthusiastically.
Delilah nodded in agreement. "That'd be awesome."
"Well, I certainly don't," said Percy sanctimoniously. "I shudder to think what the state of my in-tray would be if I were away from work for five days."
"Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?" said Fred.
"That was a sample of fertilizer from Norway!" said Percy, going very red in the face. "It was nothing personal!"
"It was," Fred whispered to Harry and Delilah as they got up from the table. "We sent it."