Dear Mister and Missus Weasley
"Ron!" Harry called, nearly running up to the window and pushing it up so they could talk through the bars. Since when was it so heavy? "Ron, how did you– what—?"
Harry's mouth fell open as the full impact of what he was seeing hit him. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an old turquoise car, which was parked midair. Grinning at Harry from the front seats were Fred and George, Ronald's elder twin brothers, and beside Ron was a sleeping, green faced Hermione.
"All right, Harry?" asked George. Harry shook his head frantically.
"What's been going on?" said Ron. "Why haven't you been answering our letters? And why've you got a black eye? Have you been alright? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles–"
"It wasn't me— how did he know?"
"He works for the Ministry," said Ron. "You know we're not supposed to do spells outside school–"
"You one to talk," said Harry, staring at the floating car.
"Oh, this doesn't count," said Ron. "We're only borrowing this. It's Dad's, we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with--"
"I told you, I didn't do it. I'll explain later, it'll take too long to explain now-- look, can you tell them at Hogwarts the Dursleys have locked me up and won't let me come back, and obviously I can't magic myself out, because the Ministry'll think that's the second spell I've done outside of school, so--"
"Stop gibbering!" said Ron. "We've come to take you home with us. Like we're gunna let you stay here,"
"What?" Harry said. Either he had heard wrong, or Ron had actually just said that.
"Tie that around the bars," said Fred casually, throwing the end of a rope to Harry.
"If the Dursleys wake up, I'll have much more than a black eye," said Harry quickly, as he tied the rope tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car.
"We're better off taking our chances." said Ron. "You'll only be getting worse the longer you're in there. You look dead, you know."
"Wow, thanks," Harry muttered through gritted teeth, tying a knot.
"Don't worry 'bout nothing," said George, "and stand back."
Harry moved back into the shadows near to Hedwig and Sly were placed, who both seemed to have realized how important this was and were as still and silent as possible. The car revved louder and louder, and suddenly, with a thick crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the windows as Fred drove straight up in the air. Harry ran back to the window to see the bars dangling a few feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. Harry listened out for anything, but there was no sound from the Dursleys' bedroom.
When the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron and Hermione, Fred reversed as close as possible to Harry's window.
"Get in," Ron said.
"But all my Hogwarts stuff-- my wand, and- and my broomstick, and what about Hydrus, and Hedwig, and Sly--"
"Where is your trunk?"
"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, but I can't get out of this room unless you can blow the door off quietly--"
"No problem," said George. "Out of the way, Harry."
Fred and George flung themselves through the window into Harry's room. George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock.
"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick," Fred explained, "But we feel they're skills worth learning, even if it is a bit slow."
There was a small click and the door swung open. "So, we'll get your trunk, you grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron and Hermi-nee-nee," whispered George.
"Watch out for the second-last step-- it creaks," Harry whispered back as the twins disappeared into the dark landing. Ron shook Hermione awake.
Harry dashed around the room, collecting his things and passing them out of the window to Ron and a groggy Hermione. Then he went to help Fred and George heave his trunk up the stairs. He'd heard Vernon cough a couple times-- they had to be quick.
At last, panting, they reached the landing, then carried the trunk through Harry's room to the open window. Fred climbed back into the car to pull with Ron and Hermione, and Harry and George pushed from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window.
Vernon coughed a few more times.
"A bit more," panted Fred. "One good push--"
George threw his shoulders against the trunk while Harry pushed pathetically, and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car.
"Okay, let's go," George whispered.
But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill, pulling up Hydrus's case first, then there was a sudden loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of Vernon's voice.
"THAT RUDDY OWL!"
Apparently Hedwig did not like that she was not first into the car. It was a rush to get Hydrus through the car window without Hermione shrieking as he snapped at her, getting Sly through without her slamming at the walls of her case to get at Fred's gold watch, and to get Hedwig's cage in before Vernon had gotten through all the locks on the door. The door slammed open as Hedwig was halfway out.
"Petunia!" Vernon yelled, waddling over furiously. "He's getting away! HE'S GETTING AWAY!"
Vernon grabbed ahold of Harry's leg when he'd tried to lunge himself out the window. Hermione and Ron were pulling on his arms. Harry used his other leg to kick at Vernon, getting a good hit in on his face, and with one final good pull, Harry had been laying across the backseat of the Wesley's car.
"Put your foot down, Fred!" yelled Ron, shutting the car door. They shot suddenly toward the moon.
Harry couldn't believe it-- he was free. He sat up quickly and stuck his head out the window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley were all staring up at the car, dumbstruck, in the view of Harry's window. He took in a breath of air-- it felt like the freshest he had ever breathed in his entire life. He opened up Hedwig's cage, and let her soar out the window. Hydrus had apparently slithered out the bars of his case and climbed up around Harry's neck. George handed the hairpin to Hermione, as she dropped her head on Harry's shoulder tiredly and wrapped her arms around one of his.
"So, what's the story, Harry?" said Ron impatiently. "What's been happening?"
Harry told them all about Dobby, the warning he'd given Harry and the fiasco of the violet pudding. He skipped out on the servant part of the summer, and the beatings. There was a long, shocked silence when he had finished.
"Very... fishy," said Fred finally.
"Definitely dodgy," agreed George. "So he wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"
"I don't think he could," said Harry. "I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall."
He saw Fred and George look at each other.
"What, you think he was lying to me?" said Harry.
"Well," said Fred, "put it this way-- house elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they get it from the magic of houses. That's why they're called house elves. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts, and he's real loyal to his family. 'Prolly someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?"
"No..." said Harry. Maybe he wasn't thinking hard enough, but he didn't think he knew anyone.
"Did Dobby have a house crest on him? People that keep elves make sure you know whose they are."
"Yeah, actually. He had one pinned to his shoulder, it was... it was.... I- I don't remember." Harry said. Maybe he'd gotten a few too many hits to the head.
"I'm glad we came to get you, anyway," said Ron. "I was getting really worried when you didn't answer any of my letters. I had invited you, Padma, Lisa, and Hermione over to stay for the holidays. Padma was out of the country with her family, and Lisa said she couldn't come. Hermione said she was busy with schoolwork, but then she said she could come, prolly hoping to see you, but when you didn't respond to any letters, we got worried that something was holding you up with the Muggles," Ron continued. "I thought it was Errol's fault you didn't get your letter at first, but--"
"Who's Errol?"
"Our owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes--"
"Ron, I don't know everything and everyone you do."
"The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect," said Fred from the front.
"But Percy wouldn't lend him to me," said Ron. "said he needed him."
"Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," chimed in George. "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 'till it's blinding. Oi, you're driving too far west, Fred," he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Fred twiddled the steering wheel.
"So, does your dad know you've got the car?" said Harry, guessing the answer was no.
"Er, nah," said Ron, "He had to work tonight. Hopefully we'll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it."
"What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway? Something to do with use of underage magic?"
"Pretty much. Well, er, sort of. He works in the most boring department," said Ron. "The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."
"The what?"
"It's all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare-- Dad was working overtime for weeks."
"What happened?"
"The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was downright frantic-- it's only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office. They had to do tons of Memory Charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up--"
"But your dad‐- the- this car--"
Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with Muggles; Our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes 'em apart, puts spells on it, and puts 'em back together again. If he didn't live there, he'd have to put himself under arrest for raiding the house. It drives Mum mad."
"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 outside..."
A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east.
Fred brought the car lower, and Harry saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.
"We're a little way outside the village," said George. "Ottery Saint 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, and Harry looked out for the first time at 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, Harry reminded himself, 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,"
"It's wonderful. I've never seen a house like this," Harry assured, slowly shaking Hermione awake.
"No, I've told you, I've got the worst motion sickness for flying..." She murmured.
"We're not flying anymore, Hermione," Harry said, and she walked, half awake, when they got out 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 going, 'Mum, look who turned up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see Harry and Hermione and no one 'll need ever know we flew the car."
"Right," said Ron. "Come on, Harry, 'Mione, the guest room and where I sleep are at- um- at the top...."
Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The other four 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 sabertoothed tiger.
"Oh–" said Fred.
"–dear," finished 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 and her ears, just barely longer than the twins', were twitching furiously.
"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.
"But mum, we had to--!" Ron started, but he was quiet very quickly. 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 have I even heard of--! You wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy--"
"Perfect prefect Percy," muttered Fred, and George elbowed his side.
"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" yelled Mrs Weasley, poking a finger in Fred's chest. "You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job-- what would we do then?! What?! And don't get me started on--"
It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry and Hermione.
"I'm very pleased to see you, Harry, Hermione," Mrs Weasley said sweetly. "Come in and have some breakfast. I'll heal up that bruise for you, Harry,"
"No, no, it's fine. I'd rather it heal on its own," He denied. The voices didn't remind him enough, to his surprise, of the stupid decisions he made because they were always chastising him for everything. But a bruise would definitely do that, he imagined.
Mrs Weasley turned and walked back into the house, slowly guiding Harry and Hermione inside.
The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden tables and chairs in the middle, and, like Hermione, Harry sat down on the edge of his seat, looking around. He had never been in a wizard house before, and it seemed she had been as amazed as he.
The clock on the wall opposite him 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 unless Harry's ears were deceiving him, 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."
"I don't blame you, dears," she said to Harry and Hermione, tipping eight or nine sausages onto their plates. "Arthur and I have been worried about you, too, Harry. Just last night we were saying we'd come and get you ourselves if you hadn't written back to Ron by tomorrow. But really," She shook her head in disappointment, adding three fried eggs to his plate, "Flying an illegal car halfway across the country! 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 as she scolded her kids.
"It was cloudy out, Mum!" said Fred.
"You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs Weasley snapped, and he lowered his head, ears low.
"They were starving him, Mum! And hitting him too!" said George. "Just look at him!"
"And you too!" said Mrs Weasley, but it was soon replaced with a softened expression that she started cutting Harry's bread and buttering it for him. With the flick of her wand, any head-pain he felt had been gone in an instant-- although he had to tell her he was sure many times, she agreed to let his bruise heal on its own as long as he was careful.
At that moment, there was a diversion in the form of a small, red-headed figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again.
"Ginny," said Ron in an undertone to Harry and Hermione, who had been snoring and drooling on the table. "My sister. She's been talking about you all summer, Harry."
"Yeah, she'll be wanting your autograph, Harry," Fred said with a grin, but when he caught his mother's eye, his ears fell once more and he bent his face over his plate without another word. Nothing more was said until all five 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 degnome the garden for me; they're getting completely out of hand again. You two can rest if you like, my children have always been reckless--"
"I'd like to help, Ma'am." Harry insisted, and Hermione stirred slowly.
"I'll be out in a minute... mhm..." She slurred, but she was back asleep in an instant.
"That's very sweet of you, dear, but it's dull work," said Mrs Weasley. "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. Fred groaned. "Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden." George elbowed him again, mouthing, "Shut it!"
Harry looked at 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, who Harry supposed was Gilderoy Lockhart, kept winking cheekily up at them all. Mrs Weasley beamed down at him.
"Oh, he is marvelous," she said, very dreamily. "He knows his household pests, alright, it's a wonderful book..."
"Mum fancies him," said George, in a very audible whisper.
"Don't be ridiculous, Georgie," said Mrs Weasley, her cheeks and ears very pink. "Alright, 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 with Harry and Hermione behind them. The garden was large, and in Harry's eyes, quite wild for a garden; But for a magical garden-- it looked exactly how he imagined one should be. The Dursleys wouldn't have liked it, and frankly, with how many times he pruned the roses, it nearly disturbed him too-- there were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting-- there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants Harry had never seen spilling from every flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs.
"Muggles love garden gnomes, too," Harry told Ron as they crossed the lawn.
"Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," said Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush,
"Fat little Santa–Clauses with fishing–rodss..." Hermione sang quietly, and she started giggling. Ron groaned, saying she'd been singing that ever since they picked her up.
He stopped and bent over peony a bush. There was a violent scuffling noise, and the bush shuddered as Ron straightened up. "This is a gnome," he said grimly.
"Geroff me! Geroff me!" squealed the little gnome.
It was certainly ugly. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobbly, 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.
"This is what you have to do," he said. He raised the gnome above his head as it still squealed, "Gerroff me!", and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Hermione's face, now fully awake, Ron added, "It doesn't hurt them-- you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way back to the gnomeholes."
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."
Harry learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes after a while. He decided to just drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank it's razor-sharp teeth into Harry's finger and he had a hard job shaking it off-- until it suddenly soared up into the sky.
"Wow, Harry-- that must've been fifty feet..." Ron said.
And before he knew it, the air was soon thick with flying gnomes. Hermione had taken to kicking hers, for she felt too tired to pick them up.
"See, 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 'cos Dad's too soft with them... he thinks they're funny, see.."
Just then, the front door slammed.
"He's back!" said George, looking terribly excited. "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?" asked George.
"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 keys keep 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 and his ears, now pink, pointed to the roof. He stared guiltily as 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 and 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'--"
"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, Harry and Hermione arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly!"
"Harry and Hermione?" repeated Mr Weasley blankly. "Wait- Harry who?"
He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped. "Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron's told us so much about--"
"Your sons flew that car to their houses and back last night!" shouted Mrs Weasley. "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..."
"Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to Harry and Hermione as Mrs Weasley swelled like a bullfrog, and suddenly apologised for screaming. "Come on, I'll show you my bedroom."
They 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. Harry just caught sight of a pair of brown eyes staring at him before it closed with a snap.
"Ginny. Ugh, she's been acting weird every time we bring you up," said Ron. "And I mean weird-- you don't know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up normally, talking for hours and hours. Think she's sick, eh?"
They climbed tow more flights until they reached a door with peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD'S ROOM.
Harry stepped in, his head almost touching the sloping ceiling and blinked. 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. Then Harry had realized that 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.
"Quidditch team? I didn't know you had one," said Hermione.
"The Chudley Cannons," said Ron, pointing at the orange bedspread, which was emblazoned with two giant black C's and a speeding cannonball. "Ninth in the league."
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 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.
Harry stepped over a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards on the floor and looked out of the tiny window. In the field far below he could see a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through the Weasleys' hedge. Then he turned to look at Ron, who was watching him and Hermione almost nervously, as though waiting for their opinions.
"It's a bit small," said Ron quickly, and his ears were pink. "Not like the rooms you had with the Muggles was too much bigger, though... and I'm right underneath the ghoul in the attic– he's always banging on the pipes and groaning, being extra dramatic that he's dead.."
But Harry, grinning, said, "This is the best house I've ever been in."
"It's amazing, Ron, and it's massive compared to my parents' house, you know. There's only floor there-- this is, what, four? I love how your family can manage this, even if it's with magic," Hermione rambled, wide-eyed. "It's brilliant."
Ron's entire face went pink.