When the ticket inspector signaled to him, Ron, and Hermione that it was safe to walk through the magical barrier between platforms nine and ten, however, he found a surprise awaiting him on the other side: a group of people standing there to greet him whom he had not expected at all.
There was Mad-Eye Moody, looking quite as sinister with his bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye as he would have done without it, his gnarled hands clutching a long staff, his body wrapped in a voluminous traveling cloak. Tonks stood just behind him, her bright bubble-gum-pink hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the dirty glass station ceiling, wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend THE WEIRD SISTERS. Next to Tonks was Lupin, his face pale, his hair graying, a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers. At the front of the group stood Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, dressed in their Muggle best, and Fred and George, who were both wearing brand-new jackets in some lurid green, scaly material.
“Ron, Ginny!” called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying forward and hugging her children tightly. “Oh, and Harry dear — how are you?”
“Fine,” lied Harry, as she pulled him into a tight embrace. Over her shoulder he saw Ron goggling at the twins’ new clothes.
“What are they supposed to be?” he asked, pointing at the jackets.
“Finest dragon skin, little bro,” said Fred, giving his zip a little tweak. “Business is booming and we thought we’d treat ourselves.”
“Hello, Harry,” said Lupin, as Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry and turned to greet Hermione.
“Hi,” said Harry. “I didn’t expect . . . what are you all doing here?”
“Well,” said Lupin with a slight smile, “we thought we might have a little chat with your aunt and uncle before letting them take you home.”
“I dunno if that’s a good idea,” said Harry at once.
“Oh, I think it is,” growled Moody, who had limped a little closer. “That’ll be them, will it, Potter?”
He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder; his magical eye was evidently peering through the back of his head and his bowler hat. Harry leaned an inch or so to the left to see where Mad-Eye was pointing and there, sure enough, were the three Dursleys, who looked positively appalled to see Harry’s reception committee.
“Ah, Harry!” said Mr. Weasley, turning from Hermione’s parents, whom he had been greeting enthusiastically, and who were taking it in turns to hug Hermione. “Well — shall we do it, then?”
“Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur,” said Moody.
He and Mr. Weasley took the lead across the station toward the place where the Dursleys stood, apparently rooted to the floor. Hermione disengaged herself gently from her mother to join the group.
“Good afternoon,” said Mr. Weasley pleasantly to Uncle Vernon, coming to a halt right in front of him. “You might remember me, my name’s Arthur Weasley.”
As Mr. Weasley had singlehandedly demolished most of the Dursleys’ living room two years previously, Harry would have been very surprised if Uncle Vernon had forgotten him. Sure enough, Uncle Vernon turned a deeper shade of puce and glared at Mr. Weasley, but chose not to say anything, partly, perhaps, because the Dursleys were outnumbered two to one. Aunt Petunia looked both frightened and embarrassed. She kept glancing around, as though terrified somebody she knew would see her in such company. Dudley, meanwhile, seemed to be trying to look small and insignificant, a feat at which he was failing extravagantly.
“We thought we’d just have a few words with you about Harry,” said Mr. Weasley, still smiling.
“Yeah,” growled Moody. “About how he’s treated when he’s at your place.”
Uncle Vernon’s mustache seemed to bristle with indignation. Possibly because the bowler hat gave him the entirely mistaken impression that he was dealing with a kindred spirit, he addressed himself to Moody.
“I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house —”
“I expect what you’re not aware of would fill several books, Dursley,” growled Moody.
“Anyway, that’s not the point,” interjected Tonks, whose pink hair seemed to offend Aunt Petunia more than all the rest put together, for she closed her eyes rather than look at her. “The point is, if we find out you’ve been horrible to Harry —”
“— and make no mistake, we’ll hear about it,” added Lupin pleasantly.
“Yes,” said Mr. Weasley, “even if you won’t let Harry use the fellytone —”
“Telephone,” whispered Hermione.
“Yeah, if we get any hint that Potter’s been mistreated in any way, you’ll have us to answer to,” said Moody.
Uncle Vernon swelled ominously. His sense of outrage seemed to outweigh even his fear of this bunch of oddballs.
“Are you threatening me, sir?” he said, so loudly that passersby actually turned to stare.
“Yes, I am,” said Mad-Eye, who seemed rather pleased that Uncle Vernon had grasped this fact so quickly.
“And do I look like the kind of man who can be intimidated?” barked Uncle Vernon.
“Well . . .” said Moody, pushing back his bowler hat to reveal his sinisterly revolving magical eye. Uncle Vernon leapt backward in horror and collided painfully with a luggage trolley. “Yes, I’d have to say you do, Dursley.”
He turned from Uncle Vernon to Harry. “So, Potter . . . give us a shout if you need us. If we don’t hear from you for three days in a row, we’ll send someone along . . .”
Aunt Petunia whimpered piteously. It could not have been plainer that she was thinking of what the neighbors would say if they caught sight of these people marching up the garden path.
“’Bye, then, Potter,” said Moody, grasping Harry’s shoulder for a moment with a gnarled hand.
“Take care, Harry,” said Lupin quietly. “Keep in touch.”
“Harry, we’ll have you away from there as soon as we can,” Mrs. Weasley whispered, hugging him again.
“We’ll see you soon, mate,” said Ron anxiously, shaking Harry’s hand.