“Harry, go! Just go!” Mr. Weasley shouted, his wand on Uncle Vernon. “I’ll sort this out!”
Harry didn’t want to miss the fun, but Uncle Vernon’s second ornament narrowly missed his left ear, and on balance he thought it best to leave the situation to Mr. Weasley. He stepped into the fire, looking over his shoulder as he said “the Burrow!” His last fleeting glimpse of the living room was of Mr. Weasley blasting a third ornament out of Uncle Vernon’s hand with his wand, Aunt Petunia screaming and lying on top of Dudley, and Dudley’s tongue lolling around like a great slimy python. But next moment Harry had begun to spin very fast, and the Dursleys’ living room was whipped out of sight in a rush of emerald-green flames.
CHAPTER FIVE
WEASLEYS’ WIZARD WHEEZES
Harry spun faster and faster, elbows tucked tightly to his sides, blurred fireplaces flashing past him, until he started to feel sick and closed his eyes. Then, when at last he felt himself slowing down, he threw out his hands and came to a halt in time to prevent himself from falling face forward out of the Weasleys’ kitchen fire.
“Did he eat it?” said Fred excitedly, holding out a hand to pull Harry to his feet.
“Yeah,” said Harry, straightening up. “What was it?”
“Ton-Tongue Toffee,” said Fred brightly. “George and I invented them, and we’ve been looking for someone to test them on all summer. . . .”
The tiny kitchen exploded with laughter; Harry looked around and saw that Ron and George were sitting at the scrubbed wooden table with two red-haired people Harry had never seen before, though he knew immediately who they must be: Bill and Charlie, the two eldest Weasley brothers.
“How’re you doing, Harry?” said the nearer of the two, grinning at him and holding out a large hand, which Harry shook, feeling calluses and blisters under his fingers. This had to be Charlie, who worked with dragons in Romania. Charlie was built like the twins, shorter and stockier than Percy and Ron, who were both long and lanky. He had a broad, good-natured face, which was weather-beaten and so freckly that he looked almost tanned; his arms were muscular, and one of them had a large, shiny burn on it.
Bill got to his feet, smiling, and also shook Harry’s hand. Bill came as something of a surprise. Harry knew that he worked for the Wizarding bank, Gringotts, and that Bill had been Head Boy at Hogwarts; Harry had always imagined Bill to be an older version of Percy: fussy about rule-breaking and fond of bossing everyone around. However, Bill was — there was no other word for it — cool. He was tall, with long hair that he had tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing an earring with what looked like a fang dangling from it. Bill’s clothes would not have looked out of place at a rock concert, except that Harry recognized his boots to be made, not of leather, but of dragon hide.
Before any of them could say anything else, there was a faint popping noise, and Mr. Weasley appeared out of thin air at George’s shoulder. He was looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him.
“That wasn’t funny, Fred!” he shouted. “What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?”
“I didn’t give him anything,” said Fred, with another evil grin. “I just dropped it. . . . It was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to.”
“You dropped it on purpose!” roared Mr. Weasley. “You knew he’d eat it, you knew he was on a diet —”
“How big did his tongue get?” George asked eagerly.
“It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!”
Harry and the Weasleys roared with laughter again.
“It isn’t funny!” Mr. Weasley shouted. “That sort of behavior seriously undermines wizard–Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons —”
“We didn’t give it to him because he’s a Muggle!” said Fred indignantly.
“No, we gave it to him because he’s a great bullying git,” said George. “Isn’t he, Harry?”
“Yeah, he is, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry earnestly.
“That’s not the point!” raged Mr. Weasley. “You wait until I tell your mother —”
“Tell me what?” said a voice behind them.
Mrs. Weasley had just entered the kitchen. She was a short, plump woman with a very kind face, though her eyes were presently narrowed with suspicion.
“Oh hello, Harry, dear,” she said, spotting him and smiling. Then her eyes snapped back to her husband. “Tell me what, Arthur?”
Mr. Weasley hesitated. Harry could tell that, however angry he was with Fred and George, he hadn’t really intended to tell Mrs. Weasley what had happened. There was a silence, while Mr. Weasley eyed his wife nervously. Then two girls appeared in the kitchen doorway behind Mrs. Weasley. One, with very bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth, was Harry’s and Ron’s friend, Hermione Granger. The other, who was small and red-haired, was Ron’s younger sister, Ginny. Both of them smiled at Harry, who grinned back, which made Ginny go scarlet — she had been very taken with Harry ever since his first visit to the Burrow.
“Tell me what, Arthur?” Mrs. Weasley repeated, in a dangerous sort of voice.
“It’s nothing, Molly,” mumbled Mr. Weasley, “Fred and George just — but I’ve had words with them —”
“What have they done this time?” said Mrs. Weasley. “If it’s got anything to do with Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes —”
“Why don’t you show Harry where he’s sleeping, Ron?” said Hermione from the doorway.
“He knows where he’s sleeping,” said Ron, “in my room, he slept there last —”
“We can all go,” said Hermione pointedly.
“Oh,” said Ron, cottoning on. “Right.”
“Yeah, we’ll come too,” said George.
“You stay where you are!” snarled Mrs. Weasley.