After returning to their shared room, Arabella was the first to notice the small gray feathery tennis ball before it collided with the side of her head. She massaged the spot furiously, looking up to see just what had hit her.
"It's Ron's owl!" cried out Lyla, rushing forward.
The owl was small enough to fit into the palm of her hand and whizzed excitedly around the room like a loose firework. It was only then that Arabella realized that the owl had dropped a letter at her feet. She bent down, recognized Ron's handwriting, then tore open the envelope. Inside was a hastily scribbled note.
Arabella, Lyla— DAD GOT THE TICKETS! — Ireland versus Bulgaria, Monday night. Mum's writing to your parents to ask you to stay. They might already have the letter, I don't know how fast Muggle post is. Thought I'd send this with Pig anyway.
We're coming for you whether your parents like it or not, you can't miss the World Cup, only Mum and Dad reckon it's better if we pretend to ask their permission first. If they say yes, send Pig back with your answer pronto, and we'll come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday. If they say no, send Pig back pronto and we'll come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday anyway.
Hermione's arriving this afternoon. Percy's started work — at the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Don't mention anything about Abroad while you're here unless you want the pants bored off you.
See you soon —
"Calm down, you!" Lyla said.
"Come here," sighed Arabella, getting to her feet. "I need you to take our answer back!"
The owl fluttered down on top of Nicolas's cage. The barn owl looked coldly up at it, as though daring the tiny owl to try and come any closer.
Arabella seized her eagle-feather quill once more, grabbed a fresh piece of parchment, and wrote:
Ron, it's all okay, Mum and Dad have said we can come. See you at five o'clock tomorrow. Can't wait.
She folded this note up very small, and with immense difficulty, tied it to the tiny owl's leg as it hopped on the spot with excitement. The moment the note was secure, the owl was off again; it zoomed out of the window and out of sight.
"Wow," was all Lyla could say.
Arabella swiftly turned to Merlin, who watched her carefully.
"Feeling up to a long journey?" she asked him.
Merlin hooted lowly.
"Can you take this to Sirius for me?" she said, picking up her letter.
"Hang on a minute!" said Lyla, racing forward. "We've got to tell him where we're headed!"
Arabella unfolded the parchment and hastily added a postscript.
P.S. If you want to contact me or Lyla, we'll be at our friend Ron Weasley's for the rest of the summer. His dad's got us tickets for the Quidditch World Cup!
The letter finished, she tied it to the snowy owls awaiting leg.
"We'll be at Ron's when you get back," Lyla said, stroking the bird gently. He nipped at her finger affectionately, then, with a soft swishing noise, spread his enormous wings and soared out of the open window.
The sisters watched him out of sight, then crawled under their bed, wrenched up the loose floorboard, and pulled out a large chunk of birthday cake. They sat there on the floor eating it, savoring the happiness and excitement that was flooding through them.
"We're going to watch the Quidditch World Cup," Lyla said dreamily.
It was hard, just now, to feel worried about anything— even Lord Voldemort.
By twelve o'clock the next day, both girls had their school trunks packed. Lyla had done her best to empty their hiding place under the loose floorboard of all food, double-checked every nook and cranny of his bedroom for forgotten spell books or quills, and taken down the chart on the wall counting down the days to September the first, on which he liked to cross off the days remaining until her return to Hogwarts.
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 anxious. Their father had looked downright alarmed when Arabella informed him that the Weasleys would be arriving at five o'clock the very next day.
"I hope you told them to dress properly, these people," he said at once. "I've seen the sort of stuff they wear… They'd better have the decency to put on normal clothes, that's all."
Lyla felt a slight sense of foreboding. She had rarely seen Mr. or Mrs. Weasley wear anything that the Dursley family would call "normal." Their children might don Muggle clothing during the holidays, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley usually wore long robes in varying states of shabbiness. She wasn't bothered about what the neighbors would think, but she was worried about how rude her father might be to the Weasleys if they turned up looking like their worst idea of wizards.
Their father had put on his best suit. To some people, this might have looked like a gesture of welcome, but Lyla knew it was because he wanted to look impressive and intimidating. Dudley, on the other hand, looked somehow diminished. This was not because the diet was at last taking effect, but due to extreme fright.
Lunch was an almost silent meal. Dudley didn't even protest at the food (cottage cheese and grated celery). Their mother wasn't eating anything at all. Her arms were folded, her lips pursed, and she seemed to be chewing her tongue.
"They'll be driving, of course?" barked their father from across the table.
The sisters shared a worried glance
"Er…," said Lyla.
She hadn't thought of that. Nor did Arabella. How were the Weasleys going to pick them 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 again?
"I think so," finished Arabella.
Normally, their father would have asked what car Mr. Weasley drove; he tended to judge other men by how big and expensive their cars were. But Lyla doubted whether he would have taken to Mr. Weasley even if he drove a Ferrari.
The two girls spent most of the afternoon in their bedroom; they couldn't stand watching the rest of their family 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, they went back downstairs and into the living room.
Their mother was compulsively straightening cushions. Their father, pretending to read the paper. His eyes remained frozen on one spot, and Lyla was sure he was listening with all his might for the sound of an approaching car. Dudley was crammed into an armchair, looking extremely pale.
"Come on," muttered Arabella, gesturing to the hallway. "I can't stand the tension. Let's wait in the hallway."
But five o'clock came and then went. Their father, perspiring slightly in his suit, opened the front door, peered up and down the street, then withdrew his head quickly.
"They're late!" he said in bewilderment.
I know," said Arabella worriedly.
"Maybe— er— maybe the traffic's bad, or something," added Lyla.
Ten past five ... then a quarter past five ... Lyla was starting to feel anxious herself now. At half past, she heard her parents 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 their father with a snort. "They'll take the girls and go. There'll be no hanging around. That's if they're coming, anyways… 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!"
The sisters jumped up at the sudden rise in noise. 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 Arabella. "What's the matter, Dudley?"
But their brother didn't seem able to speak. Arabella hurried into the living room, quickly followed by Lyla.
A series of loud bangings and scrapings were coming from behind the Dursleys' boarded-up fireplace, which had a fake coal fire plugged in front of it.
"W-what is it?" gasped their mother, 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 they can hear us, Dad— maybe they'll be able to let us out—"
There was a loud hammering of fists on the boards behind the electric fire.
"Lyla? Arabella, can you hear us?!"
The Dursley parents rounded on their daughters like a pair of angry wolverines.
"What is this!?" growled their father, nostrils flaring. "What's going on!?"
"They— it seems they've tried to get here by Floo powder," gasped Lyla, fighting a mad desire to laugh. "They can travel by fire— only you've blocked the fireplace—"
"Hang on," said Arabella approaching the fireplace. "Mr. Weasley? Can you hear me?"
The hammering stopped. Somebody inside the chimney-piece said, "Shh!"
"Mr. Weasley, it's Arabella... 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," Arabella 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 George's voice, very sarcastically. "No, not at all. This is exactly where we wanted to end up."
"Yeah, we're having the time of our lives here," said Fred, 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."
Arabella retreated to the sofa. Her father, 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 lose chippings. Their mother shrieked and fell backward over the coffee table; their father 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 Mr. and Mrs. Dursley!"
Tall, thin, and balding, Mr. Weasley moved toward their father, his hand outstretched. But their father backed away several paces, dragging his wife after him. Words utterly failed him.
"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 the girls. 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."
Arabella was ready to bet that her parents hadn't understood a single word. They were still gaping at Mr. Weasley, thunderstruck. Their mother staggered upright again and hid behind their father.
"Hello!" said Mr. Weasley brightly to the sisters. "Got your trunks ready?"
"They're upstairs," said Lyla, grinning back.
"We'll get them," said George at once. Winking at Arabella, he and Fred left the room. They knew where their bedroom was, having once rescued the sisters from it in the dead of night. Arabella suspected that the Weasley twins were hoping for a glimpse of Dudley; they had heard a lot about him.
"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 their father. His face turned purpled once more, and their mother looked as if she had begun chewing her tongue again. However, they seemed too scared to actually say anything.
Mr. Weasley was looking around curiously. 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 knowingly. "Ah yes, I can see the plugs. I collect plugs," he added. "And batteries. Got a very large collection of batteries. My wife thinks I'm mad, but there you are."
Vernon Dursley clearly thought Mr. Weasley was mad too. He moved ever so slightly to the right, screening his wife further from view, as though he thought Mr. Weasley might suddenly run at them and attack.
Dudley suddenly reappeared in the room. Arabella could hear the clunk of trunks on the stairs and figured that the sounds had scared Dudley out of the kitchen. Her brother edged along the wall, gazing at Mr. Weasley with terrified eyes, and attempted to conceal himself behind his mother and father. Unfortunately, their father's bulk, while sufficient to hide their skinny mother, was nowhere near enough to conceal Dudley.
"Ah, this is your brother," said Mr. Weasley, taking another brave stab at making conversation.
"Mhm," said Lyla, "that's Dudley."
Arabella exchanged a quick glance with Ron before quickly looking away; the temptation to burst out laughing was almost overwhelming.
"Having a good holiday, Dudley?" asked Mr. Weasley kindly.
Dudley only whimpered.
Fred and George came back into the room carrying two large trunks. 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.
"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!"
Their mother gave a little shuddering gasp. There was a whooshing sound, and Fred vanished.
"Right then, George," said Mr. Weasley.
With a second whoosh, George had cried "the Burrow!" and vanished too.
"Ron, you next," said Mr. Weasley.
"See you," said Ron brightly. He grinned broadly at his friends, then stepped into the fire, shouted "the Burrow!" and disappeared.
Now Arabella, Lyla, and Mr. Weasley alone remained.
"Well then," said Lyla, turning to face her stunned parents. "I guess this is it then— do send us letters when you can, okay? Remember what we showed you, Dudley?"
Their brother gave a stiff nod.
"Goodbye," said the scarlet-haired sister, and she too stepped into the billowing flames and vanished.
" . . . bye then," Arabella said before turning to follow suit. Before she could reach the fires hearth, however, Mr. Weasley put out a hand and held her back. He was looking at her parents in amazement.
"Your daughters just said goodbye to you," he said. "Didn't you hear them?"
"It doesn't matter," Arabella muttered to Mr. Weasley. "Honestly. They're just stunned…"
Mr. Weasley did not remove his hand from her shoulder.
"You aren't going to see either of your daughters till next summer," he said in mild indignation. "Surely you're going to say goodbye?"
Her father'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 she noticed that her tiny eyes darted to it from time to time.
"Goodbye," he said curtly.
"See you," said Arabella, putting one foot forward into the green flames, which felt pleasantly like a warm breeze. At that very moment, however, a horrible gagging sound erupted behind him, and her mother began to scream.
Arabella wheeled around. Dudley was no longer standing behind their 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, she realized that the foot-long thing was her brother's tongue— and that a brightly colored toffee wrapper lay on the floor before him.
Their mother 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. Their father 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 their mother screamed worse than ever and threw herself on top of her son, shielding him from Mr. Weasley.
"No, really!" said Mr. Weasley desperately. "It's a simple process. It was the toffee— my sons, Fred and George— real practical jokers— 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; their mother 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 her father, who had lost all his control, 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, their father once more snatched up another ornament.
"Arabella, go! Just go!" Mr. Weasley shouted, his wand on her father. "I'll sort this out!"
Arabella was curious as to how this would all play out, but her father's second ornament narrowly missed her left ear, and on balance, she thought it best to leave the situation to Mr. Weasley. She stepped into the fire, looking over her shoulder as he said "the Burrow!"
And in the next moment, Arabella had begun to spin very fast, and the Dursleys' living room was whipped out of sight in a rush of emerald-green flames.
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