Chapter 21
Harry collapsed out of the fireplace, spluttering. It took a great effort not to throw up all over the soot-stained carpet, his mind still spinning.
“Merlin!” A red-headed woman with a flowered apron rushed into the room and kneeled down next to Harry. So much for sneaking in unnoticed. Mrs Weasley drew out a handkerchief and fussed over him, spreading the soot around more than actually removing it.
“Oh, I don’t know what I’m doing,” Mrs Weasley scrambled around in her pockets, fishing out her wand and waving it at Harry. “Tergeo.”
Harry’s mouth filled with the taste of soap studs but most of the soot vanished. He cleaned his glasses on his sleeve and hurried to his feet, looking at Mrs Weasley apologetically.
“I’m so sorry for the mess,”
“Don’t worry dearie,” Mrs Weasley said soothingly, “how did you-.” She turned her head and caught sight of Fred, George, Ron and Tim standing silently to the side. Her eyes narrowed.
“Hello mother,” Fred stepped forward, “need a hand with dinner? We’d love to help.”
“What have you done now?” Mrs Weasley said, crossing her arms.
“It’s nice to see you again, Mrs Weasley,” Tim reached out his hand and Mrs Weasley had to uncross her arms to take it. “I am sorry for our sudden appearance.”
Mrs Weasley softened. “You’re always welcome here. It’s Tim and Harry, right? Ron has told me so much about you.” Fred and George made to move out of the room and Mrs Weasleys gaze snapped back to them.
“Empty out your pockets,” she said.
“What?” Fred backed away from her, “We haven’t done anything.”
“How many times have I told you to stay away from the floo? It isn’t a toy.”
“We weren’t,” George protested.
“That’s what you said-.”
“They really weren’t using the floo,” Harry spoke up, shaking his head earnestly as Mrs Weasley turned back to him, “we didn’t have anywhere to stay so Ron sent us some floo powder. Fred and George were just making sure we got here fine. If we’re imposing…”
“Not at all,” it was a little startling how quickly Mrs Weasley shifted from suspicion to a motherly tenderness. “Ron has shared stories about that Gotham. I can’t believe muggles live like that. You must be starving.”
Harry felt like he should correct her but he was hungry. Mrs Weasley seemed a little intense but the only mothers Harry knew were Janet Drake and Aunt Petunia and they would never welcome him into their homes. Harry thought Mrs Weasley must be ok. This house was nothing like Drake Manor or number four Privet Drive. Every corner was overflowing with colourful knick-knacks, hand-knitted clothes and books. There were little signs of magic dotted around like how the knitting needles were moving independently in the air and how instead of the time, there was a clock with six hands pointed at HOME. Harry loved all of it.
Mrs Weasley led them into a dining room slash kitchen, filled with the smell of roast chicken and potatoes that made Harry’s mouth water.
“You can set the table,” Mrs Weasley pointed at Fred and George, “and Ron go and get Percy and Ginny.”
“What can we do to help?” Harry asked but Mrs Weasley ignored the question and pushed Harry and Tim towards the large central table. “You’re guests. Just stay there and I’ll bring over dinner.”
It was a little awkward to sit at the table as Mrs Weasley fussed over dinner. Fred and George filled with silence with rapid-fire questions about Gotham.
“Is it true that there is a bat that protects the city?” Fred asked, throwing a white tablecloth over the table.
“He’s actually just dressed like a bat,” Tim corrected.
“Is he a wizard?” George put down seven plates and sets of cutlery, “Or some sort of vampire-hybrid?”
“I don’t think so,” Tim fiddled with his fork, “it’s not like we’ve actually met him.”
“What about the woman who can control plants?” George threw a glass at Fred who caught it and set it on the table.
“Yeah, she’s real,” Harry nodded, accepting his own glass, “that’s Poison Ivy. She’s been pretty quiet in Gotham for the past year or so.”
“She took over the American football stadium two years ago,” Tim thanked Mrs Weasley as she brought over jugs of pumpkin juice and water. “No one really watches football in Gotham though so nobody has tried to take the land back. I think she’s built a whole house there now that she shares with Harley Quinn.”
“That’s nice,” Harry said, holding out a plate so Mrs Weasley could pile it up with roast chicken, potatoes, carrots and mushy peas.
Ron returned with two more redheads. The elder, Percy, barely acknowledged Harry and Tim.
“Can I eat in my room?” He asked Mrs Weasley, “I’m in the middle of writing an essay for potions.”
“You can leave after you finish your plate,” Mrs Weasley sat down and indicated for everyone else to do the same. The other red-head Ginny took the seat next to Harry, eyeing him up and down.
“First time using the floo?” She grinned.
Harry blushed.
Ginny leant forward, conspiratorially. “The first time Bill used the floor, he missed our fireplace entirely and ended up in some old ladies room, almost gave her a heart attack.” Harry muffled his snickers around a bite of chicken.
“Ginny is actually joining you at Hogwarts this year,” Mrs Weasley said, “I imagine she’ll be in your house, Harry.”
“I’m finished,” Percy put down his empty plate and stood up, “see you tomorrow, mother.” He left abruptly and Fred rolled his eyes.
“I don’t think he would leave his room if he didn’t have to eat.”
“He’s working very hard,” Mrs Weasley chastised, “it wouldn’t hurt to apply yourself a little more.”
“Mum,” George whined, “it’s the holidays. We haven’t even got our book lists for next year.”
Harry watched the discussion, reminded a little painfully of sitting around the Wayne dinner table.
“You still haven’t told me why you’re back in England,” Ron pressed Harry and Tim, “Did something happen?”
“Yeah, I…” Tim picked at his peas, “Can we talk about something else?”
“Have you read Lockhart’s new book?” Ginny jumped up and Mrs Weasley sighed.
“I hardly think…”
“Come on, mum,” Ginny rushed over to a crowded bookshelf and wrestled a book out from the bottom of a pile with a picture of a winking wizard on the front, “even you have to admit it’s not his finest work.”
“I think I saw that name at Flourish and Blots,” Tim examined the book with interest, “something about a book signing.”
“Yep,” Ginny’s grin widened, “he just released an auto-biography. Listen to this.” She put on a formal voice, clearing her throat. “At Hogwarts, the other students were often intimidated my brilliance. My own mother left shortly after I received my Hogwarts letter, knowing she would forever be in my shadow if she stayed.” Ginny put down the book. “Isn’t that the saddest thing you’ve ever heard.”
“Well, he’s a very successful man now,” Mrs Weasley snapped, “I think it’s a true sign of character that he’s managed to make something of himself from such humble beginnings.”
“It gets better,” Ginny flipped to another page.
She was interrupted from reading the next passage by the arrival of Mr Weasley.
“You’re not my children,” a balding man in tattered wizarding robes came through the door, his eyes landing on Tim and Harry.
“Ron has brought some friends to stay,” Mrs Weasley seemed pleased with the distraction, “this is Tim and Harry Drake.”
Harry shook Mr Weasley’s hand and the rest of dinner was spent answering questions about fairly basic muggle technologies.
“It’s just a children’s bath toy,” Tim said, sounding a little baffled, “there isn’t some deeper function.”
“Fascinating,” Mr Weasley said.
Mrs Weasley once more refused any help from Tim and Harry, telling Ron to show them where they would be sleeping.
“My bedroom’s up here,” Ron led them up a winding staircase that looked like it was held together by pure magic. He pushed open a door and Harry was assaulted by more orange than he had ever seen in his life.
“It’s not much.” Ron fiddled with his knitted maroon sweater. “We’ll have to set up some inflatable mattress on the ground and I know you’re probably used to something fancier but…”
Harry looked from the moving Quidditch posters on the wall and the view of an overflowing garden outside the window back to Ron. “It’s perfect.”