Chapter 85 - The Weasleys's home

The kids roared with laughter and Harry settled back in his seat beside Thomas and Ron, grinning from ear to ear, but more than everything, he was happy to finally be free from that place.

"Let Hedwig out," Harry told Ron. "She can fly behind us. She hasn't had a chance to stretch her wings for ages."

George handed the hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig soared joyfully out of the window to glide alongside them like a ghost.

"So, what's the story, Harry?" said Ron impatiently. "What's been happening to you?"

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.

"This smells like the plot of some fantasy book and if I'm right, this won't be the last time you'll see that elf."

"Thomas's right about that. This does seem to be 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. I think whoever his master is, had punished him so many times that the elf himself will self-inflict pain to himself when he thinks he's doing something wrong."

Harry stopped and glanced at the twins as well as Thomas who were looking at each other and shaking their heads.

"What, you three think he was lying to me?"

"To be fair chances are that he was. I mean, the good old noseless guy is dead right?" Thomas said shrugging his shoulders.

"Well, Harry," said Fred, "let's put it this way, house elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's permission." Fred stopped for a second before he continued. "I'm not sure, but c'mon, this does smell like a plot or even as a bad joke. So I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you from coming back to Hogwarts. Which makes that 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."

"Harry for the love of god. Draco is just jealous of your fame. Besides the boy is not that bad, at least he didn't piss himself in the face of danger."

"But still Thomas…" Harry wanted to continue but George interrupted him.

"Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "I hope that isn't Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?"

"It is Harry. Draco's father asked me to meet him someday at my discretion."

"You didn't visit him yet?"

"I mean, I had better things to do this summer than to visit a bloody pure-blood wizard family with their noses up their asses."

"Tough luck Thomas. Also, Harry, 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. A load of dung, Dad reckons he was right in You-Know-Who's inner circle. I dare to say that the old Malfoy was kissing You-Know-Who's ass just to get richer."

Harry had heard these rumors about Malfoy's family before, and they didn't surprise him at all. Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive boy. But, from what Thomas told them, Malfoy, for once in his life was ready to face danger alongside Thomas and a centaur if not for Thomas creating a path out for the blonde 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, like crazily rich, and right now the richest family in the whole of Britain are the Malfoys," 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. . . ."

"Wait a minute, guys." Everyone turned towards Thomas, even Fred who was supposed to drive. "Can anyone get a house elf? Or do you have to have some status to get one?"

"Well, Thomas, you see, there are a few ways folks end up with house elves. It's not like shopping for candy at Honeydukes, that's for sure."

George leaned in from the back seat to join the conversation. "First, you've got the Family Inheritance way. Some wizarding families, usually the wealthy and old ones, have this tradition of passing down house elves through generations. It's like getting stuck with Great Aunt Muriel's antique teapot, but instead, it's a helpful but sometimes troublesome elf."

"Then there's the Gift or Bequeath option," Fred chimed in. "You know, when a wizard or witch has an extra house-elf or decides they don't need one anymore, they might pass it along as a 'gift.' It's more like re-gifting if you ask me."

George nodded, smirking. "And sometimes, when wealthy individuals kick the cauldron, they leave their house-elf to someone else in their will. It's like inheriting a piece of property, only it's a creature with pointy ears."

"But, Thomas, you've also got the Contract method," Fred continued, his face turning serious. "That's when someone hires a house-elf to work for them. They draw up a formal agreement, like a job contract, with all the rules and duties laid out beforehand."

George let out a sigh, crossing his arms. "And lastly, and this is where it gets a bit shady, some folks purchase house elves like cattle. Yeah, just like buying a broomstick or a potion ingredient. But, mate, it's not a very ethical practice. And of the wizards and witches don't support this method at all."

"So, it's not just about status. Anyone could potentially get a house-elf through one of these ways?"

Fred winked. "You got it, Thomas. Just remember, house elves aren't possessions or tools. They're beings with feelings and rights. Treat 'em right, and you might end up with a loyal friend or so they say."

Thomas nodded, thankful for the explanation. "Thanks, guys. That makes sense. I'll keep that in mind."

While Thomas and the twins were talking about the house elves, 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 from going back to Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Everything made Harry wonder if he had been stupid to take Dobby seriously? Then again, just as Thomas said, maybe just maybe the elf told the truth and instead Draco sent the elf to protect him. But then for what reason? However before he could think more about this, Ron's voice interrupt his thoughts.

"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 …"

"Ron?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Who's Errol?"

"Our owl. He's ancient like Dumbledore's age. 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 prefect," said Fred from the front.

"But Percy wouldn't lend him to me," said Ron. "Said he needed him more than I would ever need."

"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 are 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.

"I'm really curious what's this car? I mean it's clearing a muggle car, but who can it fly or better said drive in the air?"

Fred, George, and Ron look at each other as they tried to wrap their heads around the magical car their father had somehow acquired.

"I dunno, maybe Dad found some ancient wizarding charm or enchanted it himself," Ron mused, scratching his head.

"Or maybe he used some top-secret Ministry of Magic technology," Fred added, adjusting the steering wheel as the car veered slightly off course.

George shrugged, still looking bemused. "Whatever he did, it's a masterpiece. Flying without a broomstick is brilliant!"

Meanwhile, Thomas couldn't help but feel somewhat intrigued by the idea of magical engineering. In his own world, technology was far more advanced, and the idea of a flying car seemed like something out of a science fiction novel. But here, he was inside of one.

Deciding to let the matter rest, Thomas focused his thoughts on something else: communication. He missed talking to his friends and family back home, and an idea crossed his mind. Perhaps he could find a way to adapt Muggle technology to the magical world since that will definitely be an easier and faster way of talking with them than using letters with poor Dr. Whoo.

"Now that Thomas mentioned it, does your dad know you've got the car?" said Harry, already knowing 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. Otherwise, we should be writing our wills."

"What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?"

"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 antique shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare, which made Dad work overtime for weeks. Then was that one time, the wand of someone old Irish wizard got stolen by some thief who thought it was some kind of antiquity, but soon found it could create flames since for some bizarre reason the old wizard enchant it to always have the Incendio charm at the ready. That one almost forced the Aurors to interfere before any muggle could get their hands on the magical object."

"What happened with the tea set?"

"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 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 of stuff to cover it up …"

"But your dad … this car …"

Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's crazy 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 under arrest. It drives Mum mad."

"He sounds like a nice father."

"He sure his Thomas, but his hobby is not so … how to say it… interesting for most people."

"That's the main road," said George interrupting his twin brother, peering down through the windshield. "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, as Harry and Thomas 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 the two boys that weren't a Weasley 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 to be fair was probably the only reason the whole place still stood tall with all the additions it got over the years. 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," said Ron, embarrassed to show his not-so-beautiful house to his friends.

"Don't be like that Ron. As long as it feels like home, it will always be perfect, no matter how it looks." Thomas quickly said, hoping to make his friend feel better as well to forget about looking down on his home.

"It's wonderful," said Harry happily, thinking of Privet Drive and finding the difference between the one from the sky to earth as this place looked more like home than the place his friends broke him out from.

The boys didn't waste any time and they got out of the car in a hurry fearing that someone might see them.

"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 Thomas and no one need ever know we flew the car to London and back."

"Right," said Ron. "Come on, guys, I sleep at the top …"

Ron froze and his face turned into a nasty greenish color, with his eyes fixed on the house. The other boys wheeled around and they too froze at what they saw.

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 saber-toothed tiger ready to kill anything in her path.

"Ah," said Fred.

"Oh, dear," said George.

"My condolence guys," Thomas said, knowing very well how this will end up.

Not even ten seconds later, 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 her 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, Mum, but see, we had to …"

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! The car gone could have crashed. I was out of my mind with worry, did you boys even care? Never, as long as I've lived … you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy…"

"Perfect Percy," muttered Fred.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job …"

It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry and Thomas, who both backed away, fearing for their lives.

"I'm very pleased to see you, Harry, Thomas, dears," she said. "Come in and have some breakfast."

She turned and walked back into the house while Harry didn't know what to do now. So, after Harry gave Ron a nervous glance and the boy nodded back, Harry choose to follow her. Meanwhile, Thomas didn't know what to say. While he was honestly scared for his life a few minutes ago, he knew better than anyone did how hard it was for Mrs. Wesley to find that three of her boys were missing. Not wanting to make the kind yet fierce lady wait, he quickly caught up to Harry to the horror of the three Wesley siblings, who didn't dare move from their spots.

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