scriptions of where each family member might be. "Home," "school," and
"work" were there, but there was also "traveling," "lost," "hospital," "prison," and,
in the position where the number twelve would be on a normal clock, "mortal
peril."
Eight of the hands were currently pointing to the "home" position, but Mr.
Weasley's, which was the longest, was still pointing to "work." Mrs. Weasley
sighed.
"Your father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-
Know-Who," she said. "They're working him far too hard. His dinner's going to be
ruined if he doesn't come home soon."
"Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?"
said Percy. "If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement
without clearing it with his Head of Department first -"
"Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!"
said Mrs. Weasley, flaring up at once.
"If Dad hadn't said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that
nobody from the Ministry had commented," said Bill, who was playing chess with
Ron. "Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all
the Gringotts' Charm Breakers once, and called me 'a long-haired pillock'?"
"Well, it is a bit long, dear," said Mrs. Weasley gently. "If you'd just let me -"
"No, Mum."
Rain lashed against the living room window. Hermione was immersed in The
Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, copies of which Mrs. Weasley had bought for
her, Harry, and Ron in Diagon Alley. Charlie was darning a fireproof balaclava.
Harry was polishing his Firebolt, the broomstick servicing kit Hermione had given
him for his thirteenth birthday open at his feet. Fred and George were sitting in a
far corner, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of
parchment.
99
"What are you two up to?" said Mrs. Weasley sharply, her eyes on the twins.
"Homework," said Fred vaguely.
"Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday," said Mrs. Weasley.
"Yeah, we've left it a bit late," said George.
"You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?" said Mrs.
Weasley shrewdly. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard
Wheezes, by any chance?"
"Now, Mum," said Fred, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. "If the
Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel
to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"
Everyone laughed, even Mrs. Weasley.
"Oh your father's coming!" she said suddenly, looking up at the clock again.
Mr. Weasley's hand had suddenly spun from "work" to "traveling"; a second later
it had shuddered to a halt on "home" with the others, and they heard him calling
from the kitchen.
"Coming, Arthur!" called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying out of the room.
A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came into the warm living room carrying his
dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted.
"Well, the fat's really in the fire now," he told Mrs. Weasley as he sat down in an
armchair near the hearth and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shriveled
cauliflower. "Rita Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more
Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going
missing, so that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told Bagman he
should have sent someone to look for her ages ago."
"Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks," said Percy swiftly.
"Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn't found out about Winky," said Mr. Weasley
irritably. "There'd be a week's worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught
holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark."
"I thought we were all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible, did not conjure the
Mark?" said Percy hotly.
"If you ask me, Mr. Crouch is very lucky no one at the Daily Prophet knows how
mean he is to elves!" said Hermione angrily.
"Now look here, Hermione!" said Percy. "A high-ranking Ministry official like
Mr. Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants -"
100
"His slave, you mean!" said Hermione, her voice rising passionately, "because he
didn't pay Winky, did he?"
"I think you'd all better go upstairs and check that you've packed properly!" said
Mrs. Weasley, breaking up the argument. "Come on now, all of you. . . ."
Harry repacked his broomstick servicing kit, put his Firebolt over his shoulder,
and went back upstairs with Ron. The rain sounded even louder at the top of the
house, accompanied by loud whistlings and moans from the wind, not to mention
sporadic howls from the ghoul who lived in the attic. Pigwidgeon began twittering
and zooming around his cage when they entered. The sight of the half-packed
trunks seemed to have sent him into a frenzy of excitement.
"Bung him some Owl Treats," said Ron, throwing a packet across to Harry. "It
might shut him up."
Harry poked a few Owl Treats through the bars of Pigwidgeon's cage, then turned
to his trunk. Hedwig's cage stood next to it, still empty.
"It's been over a week," Harry said, looking at Hedwig's deserted perch. "Ron, you
don't reckon Sirius has been caught, do you?"
"Nah, it would've been in the Daily Prophet," said Ron. "The Ministry would want
to show they'd caught someone, wouldn't they?"
"Yeah, I suppose. . . ."
"Look, here's the stuff Mum got for you in Diagon Alley. And she's got some gold
out of your vault for you. . . and she's washed all your socks."
He heaved a pile of parcels onto Harry's camp bed and dropped the money bag and
a load of socks next to it. Harry started unwrapping the shopping. Apart from The
Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, by Miranda Goshawk, he had a handful of new
quills, a dozen rolls of parchment, and refills for his potion-making kit - he had
been running low on spine of lionfish and essence of belladonna. He was just
piling underwear into his cauldron when Ron made a loud noise of disgust behind
him.
"What is that supposed to be?"
He was holding up something that looked to Harry like a long, maroon velvet
dress. It had a moldy-looking lace frill at the collar and matching lace cuffs.
There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Weasley entered, carrying an armful of
freshly laundered Hogwarts robes.
"Here you are," she said, sorting them into two piles. "Now, mind you pack them
properly so they don't crease."
"Mum, you've given me Ginny's new dress," said Ron, handing it out to her.
101
"Of course I haven't," said Mrs. Weasley. "That's for you. Dress robes."
"What?" said Ron, looking horror-struck.
"Dress robes!" repeated Mrs. Weasley. "It says on your school list that you're
supposed to have dress robes this year. . . robes for formal occasions."
"You've got to be kidding," said Ron in disbelief. "I'm not wearing that, no way."
"Everyone wears them, Ron!" said Mrs. Weasley crossly. "They're all like that!
Your father's got some for smart parties!"
"I'll go starkers before I put that on," said Ron stubbornly.
"Don't be so silly," said Mrs. Weasley. "You've got to have dress robes, they're on
your list! I got some for Harry too. . . show him, Harry... ."
In some trepidation, Harry opened the last parcel on his camp bed. It wasn't as bad
as he had expected, however; his dress robes didn't have any lace on them at all -
in fact, they were more or less the same as his school ones, except that they were
bottle green instead of black.
"I thought they'd bring out the color of your eyes, dear," said Mrs. Weasley fondly.
"Well, they're okay!" said Ron angrily, looking at Harry's robes. "Why couldn't I
have some like that?"
"Because. . . well, I had to get yours secondhand, and there wasn't a lot of choice!"
said Mrs. Weasley, flushing.
Harry looked away. He would willingly have split all the money in his Gringotts
vault with the Weasleys, but he knew they would never take it.
"I'm never wearing them," Ron was saying stubbornly. "Never."
"Fine," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "Go naked. And, Harry, make sure you get a
picture of him. Goodness knows I could do with a laugh."
She left the room, slamming the door behind her. There was a funny spluttering
noise from behind them. Pigwidgeon was choking on an overlarge Owl Treat.
"Why is everything I own rubbish?" said Ron furiously, striding across the room
to unstick Pigwidgeon's beak.
102
CHAPTER ELEVEN - ABOARD THE HOGWART EXPRESS
There was a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when Harry awoke next
morning. Heavy rain was still splattering against the window as he got dressed in
jeans and a sweatshirt; they would change into their school robes on the Hogwarts
Express.
He, Ron, Fred, and George had just reached the first-floor landing on their way
down to breakfast, when Mrs. Weasley appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking
harassed.
"Arthur!" she called up the staircase. "Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!"
Harry flattened himself against the wall as Mr. Weasley came clattering past with
his robes on back-to-front and hurtled out of sight. When Harry and the others
entered the kitchen, they saw Mrs. Weasley rummaging anxiously in the drawers -
"I've got a quill here somewhere!" - and Mr. Weasley bending over the fire,
talking to -
Harry shut his eyes hard and opened them again to make sure that they were
working properly.
Amos Diggory's head was sitting in the middle of the flames like a large, bearded
egg. It was talking very fast, completely unperturbed by the sparks flying around it
and the flames licking its ears.
". . . Muggle neighbors heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those
what-d'you-call-'ems - please-men. Arthur, you've got to get over there --"
"Here!" said Mrs. Weasley breathlessly, pushing a piece of parchment, a bottle of
ink, and a crumpled quill into Mr. Weasley's hands.
"- it's a real stroke of luck I heard about it," said Mr. Diggory's head. "I had to
come 