Chapter Three

The Burrow

Ron was leaning out of the back window of an old turquoise car, which was parked in midair. Grinning from the front seats were Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers.

"Looks like we've hit the jackpot, Ronnie!" Fred said mischievously. "I hear Muggles who live in the London commuter belt are loaded. They must have tons of trinkets to bring back to Dad!"

"Or maybe we can pawn some fancy Muggle doohickeys and make some money for ourselves!" replied George in an equally mischievous tone.

Ron, grinning, jerked his head toward the front seat.

"Tie that around the bars," said Fred, throwing the end of a rope to Ron. Ron returned to the rear window and did just that, and Fred revved up the car.

Hedwig, who seemed to have realized how important this was and kept still and silent. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in the air. the bars dangling a few feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. there was no sound from the Dursleys' bedroom.

When the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron, Fred reversed as close as possible to window.

"No problem," said George from the front passenger seat.

Fred and George climbed catlike through the window room. You had to hand it to them, as George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock.

"Can you believe a lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick?" said Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow."

"That's right, Fred" replied George. "This particular skill is perfectly handy for our own brand of 'Muggle shopping!'"

There was a small click and the door swung open. The twins disappeared onto the dark landing.

Vernon coughed, but was otherwise undisturbed by the intrusion.

The Weasley twins has managed to scour various items from the Dursley's: Petunia's spotless cutlery, Vernon's power drills (Grunning's-brand, of course), and even Dudley's bicycle. It was unlikely this particular item would be missed, as Dudley was intensely adverse to physical exercise. However, perhaps the most difficult item to move was Dudley's television. It had taken the combines effort of the twins to move it. They had to be especially careful that they did not wake Dudley. Thankfully, they successfully stole the television while Dudley snored away. At last, panting, they reached the landing, to the open window. Fred climbed back into the car to pull with Ron, and George pushed from the bedroom side.

Vernon coughed again.

"A bit more," panted Fred, who was pulling from inside the car. "One good push —"

George threw his shoulders out of the window into the back seat of the car.

"Okay, let's go," George whispered.

There came a sudden loud screech from behind, followed immediately by the thunder of Vernon's voice.

"THAT RUDDY OWL!"

George whipped around, snatched up Hedwig's cage, and dashed to the window. Vernon hammered on the unlocked door — and it crashed open. For a split second, Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived.

"Petunia!" roared Vernon.

"Put your foot down, Fred!" yelled Ron, and the car shot suddenly toward the moon.

Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley were all hanging, dumbstruck, out of window.

The Weasleys roared with laughter.

"Let Hedwig out," Fred told Ron. "She can fly behind us. Knowing how Muggles can be, she hasn't had a chance to stretch her wings for ages."

George handed the hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig soared joyfully out of the window to glide alongside them like a ghost.

With their heist complete, the Weasleys were now driving back home, discussing their plans on what to tell their mother if she found out.

"We'll just tell her we found these lying around!" said Fred.

"Yeah, Muggles leave all sorts of items lying around outdoors" agreed George. "We just happened to notice them and bring them home for inspection."

The Weasley boys were also discussing the plans for the items. They agreed that these items were too valuable to pawn, but they could still be useful. After telling Mrs. Weasley where they found the items, they could pass on Petunia's cutlery for her own use in the kitchen. They talked about enchanting the bicycle so it rides itself. Of course, Mr Weasley would be deeply fascinated by the drill and television. He could analyze these items to get a better idea of how Muggles worked and relaxed, respectively. They went on for hours discussing the possibilities presented to them.

"It's not that we hate Muggles, though they can be a bit thick," said Fred. "We just love examining them in their natural habitat. If we have to steal from them to know how they function without magic, then we shall steal! That and the thrill of mischief is always fun!"

"Right, Fred," replied George. "Muggles might become a protected class thanks to our father, but we can still have our fun with them."

"Yeah!" exclaimed Ron. "It's not like we are Muggle-hating tosspots like Draco Malfoy from school!"

There was a long, shocked silence. Fred and George looked at each other.

"Yes?" said Ron.

"Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son? I've heard Dad talking about his family," said George. "Lucius was a big supporter of You-Know-Who."

"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, craning around, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung — Dad reckons he was right in You- Know-Who's inner circle."

Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive boy, and the fact that he came from a family that supported You-Know-Who…

"On to lighter subjects" said Ron quickly. "We now have Hedwig, the famed carrier owl! She would make a good substitute for Errol any day!"

"Yeah," said George. "But besides Errol, all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden…"

Ron said. "Our owl. He's ancient. He has collapsed on one too many deliveries . I tried to borrow Hermes, but Percy wouldn't lend him to me. Said he needed him."

"Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," said George, frowning. "And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room… I mean, there's only so many times you can polish a prefect badge… You're driving too far west, Fred," he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Fred twiddled the steering wheel.

"Hopefully we'll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it."

Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he'd have to put himself under arrest. Imagine how proud he will be to acquire new materials to tinker with!"

"That's the main road," said George, peering down through the windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes… Just as well, it's getting light…"

A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east.

Fred brought the car lower. He saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.

"We're a little way outside the village," said George. "Ottery St. Catchpole."

Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees.

"Touchdown!" said Fred as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard in front of Ron's house. It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW.

Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.

"It's not much," said Ron disparagingly.

They got out of the car.

"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs, and no one need ever know we flew the car."

"Right," said Ron.

Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The other three wheeled around.

Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.

"Ah, "said Fred.

"Oh, dear," said George.

Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket.

"So," she said.

"Morning, Mum," said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice.

"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" said Mrs. Weasley in a deadly whisper.

"Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to —"

All three of Mrs. Weasley's sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them.

"Beds empty! No note! Car gone — could have crashed — out of my mind with worry — did you care? — never, as long as I've lived — you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy —"

"Perfect Percy," muttered Fred.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job —"

It seemed to go on for hours, until she got to the subject they all dreaded.

"I suppose you brought back souvenirs as some sort of sick joke, no doubt!"

Despite himself, a pale-faced Ron pointed a trembling finger to the trunk. Fred and George shot dark looks at Ron. Mrs. Weasley stomped over to the trunk, waved her wand, and the trunk door flew open. When Mrs. Weasley saw the stolen items, she blushed in rage, resembling a plump red tomato.

"Out with it, boys" she snapped. "Where did you get these!"

Not wanting to snitch on his brothers anymore, Ron told the story he and his brothers agreed on:

"W-W-We s-s-saw them l-l-lying outside-"

"You honestly expect me to believe Muggles would just leave perfectly good household items lying outside!"

Ron had his shoulders raised so high, he looked like a cowering, lanky, ginger turtle trying to hide in it's shell.

"W-W-W-W-Well M-M-M-M-Muggles do t-t-t-tend to leave valuables lying in the open-"

"DON'T YOU LIE TO ME, RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!" shrieked Mrs. Weasley, absolutely beside herself with fury. "YOU AND YOUR BROTHERS FLEW TO SOME RANDOM MUGGLE HOME AND ROBBED THEM! WHAT CRAWLED IN YOUR HEADS TO MAKE YOU COMMIT SUCH AN ACT? DID YOU FATHER AND I NOT RAISE YOU RIGHT? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THE CONSEQUENCES WOULD BE IF YOU WERE CAUGHT? I'M CONFISCATING THESE ITEMS, AND YOUR FATHER WILL RETURN THEM WHEN HE RETURNS HOME!

Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse, and she had to stop to take a breather.

"Come in and have some breakfast. I will discuss your punishment later."

She turned and walked back into the house and Ron followed her.

The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle. The clock on the wall opposite the entrance had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens, and You're late. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts — It's Magic! And, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was "Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck."

Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like "don't know what you were thinking of," and "never would have believed it."

"flying an illegal car halfway across the country — stealing from perfectly innocent Muggles— anyone could have seen you —"

She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background.

"It was cloudy, Mum!" said Fred.

"You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs. Weasley snapped.

She started cutting bread and buttering it.

At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small, redheaded figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again.

"Ginny," said Ron in an undertone.

Fred grinned, but he caught his mother's eye and bent his face over his plate without another word. Nothing more was said until all four plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time.

"Blimey, I'm tired," yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. "I think I'll go to bed and —"

"You will not," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "It's your own fault you've been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the garden for me; they're getting completely out of hand again —"

"Oh, Mum —"

"And you two," she said, glaring at Ron and Fred.

"Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject —"

And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. George groaned.

"Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden —"

The cover of Mrs. Weasley's book. Written across it in fancy gold letters were the words Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests. There was a big photograph on the front of a very good-looking wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As always in the wizarding world, the photograph was moving; the wizard, Gilderoy Lockhart, kept winking cheekily up at them all. Mrs. Weasley beamed down at him.

"Oh, he is marvelous," she said. "He knows his household pests, all right, it's a wonderful book…"

"Mum fancies him," said Fred, in a very audible whisper.

"Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. "All right, you little degenerate, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it."

Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside. The garden was large, exactly what a garden should be. The Dursleys wouldn't have liked it — there were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting — but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants never seen spilling from every flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs.

Ron bent double with his head in a peony bush. There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and Ron straightened up

"Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" squealed the gnome.

It was certainly nothing like the Santa Claus-gnomes. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arm's length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down. He raised the gnome above his head ("Gerroff me!") and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso.

He let go of the gnome's ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

"Pitiful," said Fred. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump."

The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.

"They're not too bright," said George, seizing five or six gnomes at once. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay put."

Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.

"They'll be back," said Ron as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. "They love it here… Dad's too soft with them; he thinks they're funny…"

Just then, the front door slammed.

"He's back!" said George. "Dad's home!"

They hurried through the garden and back into the house.

Mr. Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn.

"What a night," he mumbled, groping for the teapot as they all sat down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned…"

Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.

"Find anything, Dad?" said Fred eagerly.

"All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle," yawned Mr. Weasley. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness…"

"Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" said George.

"Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr. Weasley. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it.. Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking — they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face… But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn't believe —"

"LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?"

Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley's eyes jerked open.

He stared guiltily at his wife.

"C-cars, Molly, dear?"

"Yes, Arthur, cars," said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly."

Mr. Weasley blinked.

"Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if — er — he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth… There's a loophole in the law, you'll find… As long as he wasn't intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn't —"

"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Three of your sons arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly!"

He looked around and jumped.

"Your sons flew that car to a Muggle house and back last night!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "They also stole trinkets from said home! No doubt they wanted you to enchant them like you did the car! What have you got to say about that, eh?"

"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Did it go all right? I — I mean," he faltered as sparks flew from Mrs. Weasley's eyes, "that — that was very wrong, boys — very wrong indeed…"

"You should not encourage this delinquency, Arthur!" snapped Mrs. Weasley. "You and your sons could get in serious trouble for this!"

"Regretfully, your mother's right, boys" said Mr. Weasley. "I appreciate your passion for Muggle goods, but you should not have stolen from them! How will this reflect on my work? How am I to push through the Muggle Protection Act if you act like this?"

"Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to himself as he silently slipped past Mrs. Weasley, who swelled like a bullfrog. He slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. He just caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes staring at him before it closed with a snap.

"Ginny" muttered Ron. He found it weird how she was suddenly shy. She was usually very talkative.

He climbed two more flights until they reached a door with peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD'S ROOM.

The ceiling sloped. It was like walking into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically. This was Ron's favorite Quidditch team, The Chudley Cannons. They were the ninth in the league, but Ron appreciated their underdog spirit. It reminded him of himself.

Ron's school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a pile of comics that all seemed to feature The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Ron's magic wand was lying on top of a fish tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat gray rat, Scabbers, who was snoozing in a patch of sun.

A deck of Self-Shuffling playing cards lied on the floor. Ron looked at the view from the tiny window. In the field far below a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through the Weasleys' hedge. Ron was watching almost nervously.

"It's a bit small," said Ron quickly. "And I'm right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he's always banging on the pipes and groaning…"

Ron's ears went pink. Ron would never tell his parents this for fear of being seen as ungrateful, but Ron resented the poverty in which he was brought up. It was difficult being raised in such a quaint environment, knowing that most of his classmates came from more well-off families. This was why Ron was so eager to rob the Dursleys; If he had only managed to pawn some of the valuables, he could have enough money to buy regular goods like the rest of his peers, rather than buying everything second hand. If he had found a way to keep the lion's share of the wealth, he might have even been the envy of his brothers, rather than simply living in their shadow. Sadly, his parents found out about this scheme, and his father was likely going to return those items.