happening?’
Harry told them all about Dobby, the warning he’d given Harry and the fiasco of the violet pudding. 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 can’t usually use it without their masters’ permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone’s idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry and Ron together, instantly.
‘Draco Malfoy,’ Harry explained. ‘He hates me.’
‘Draco Malfoy?’ said George, turning round. ‘Not Lucius Malfoy’s son?’
‘Must be, it’s not a very common name, is it?’ said Harry. ‘Why?’
‘I’ve heard Dad talking about him,’ said George. ‘He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who.’
‘And when You-Know-Who disappeared,’ said Fred, craning around to look at Harry, ‘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.’
Harry had heard these rumours about Malfoy’s family before, and they didn’t surprise him at all. Draco Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look like a kind, thoughtful and sensitive boy.
‘I don’t know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf …’ said Harry.
‘Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and they’ll be rich,’ said Fred.
‘Yeah, Mum’s always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing,’ said George. ‘But all we’ve got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that, you wouldn’t catch one in our house …’
Harry was silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; he could just see Malfoy strutting around a large manor house. Sending the family servant to stop Harry going back to Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Had Harry been stupid to take Dobby seriously?
‘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 thought it was Errol’s fault at first —’
‘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 —’
‘Who?’
‘The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made a 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,’ 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.
‘So, does your dad know you’ve got the car?’ said Harry, guessing the answer.
‘Er, no,’ 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?’
‘He works in the most boring department,’ said Ron. ‘The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts 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 hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic, it’s only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office, and they had to do Memory Charms and all sorts to cover it up …’
‘But your dad … this car …’
Fred laughed. ‘Yeah, Dad’s mad 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 straight under arrest. It drives Mum mad.’
‘That’s the main road,’ said George, peering down through the windscreen. ‘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 and Harry 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 and Harry looked out for the first time at Ron’s house.
It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigsty, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several storeys high and so crooked it looked as though it was held up by magic (which, Harry reminded himself, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lop-sided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read The Burrow. Round the front door lay a jumble of wellington boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.
‘It’s not much,’ said Ron.
‘It’s brilliant,’ said Harry happily, thinking of Privet Drive.
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 going, “Mum, look who turned up in the night!” and she’ll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car.’
‘Right,’ said Ron. ‘Come on, Harry, I sleep at the —’
Ron had gone a nasty greenish colour, 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 sabre-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,