Bill’s table caught Charlie’s with a huge bang, and knocked one of its legs off. There was a clatter from overhead, and they all looked up to see Percy’s head poking out of a window on the second floor.
‘Will you keep it down?’ he bellowed.
‘Sorry, Perce,’ said Bill, grinning. ‘How’re the cauldron bottoms coming on?’
‘Very badly,’ said Percy peevishly, and he slammed the window shut again. Chuckling, Bill and Charlie directed the tables safely onto the grass, end to end, and then, with a flick of his wand, Bill reattached the table leg, and conjured tablecloths from nowhere.
By seven o’clock, the two tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs Weasley’s excellent cooking, and the nine Weasleys, Harry and Hermione were settling themselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky. To somebody who had been living on meals of increasingly stale cake all summer, this was paradise, and at first, Harry listened rather than talked, as he helped himself to chicken-and-ham pie, boiled potatoes and salad.
At the far end of the table, Percy was telling his father all about his report on cauldron bottoms.
‘I’ve told Mr Crouch that I’ll have it ready by Tuesday,’ Percy was saying pompously. ‘That’s a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he’ll be grateful I’ve done it in good time. I mean, it’s extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We’re just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman —’
‘I like Ludo,’ said Mr Weasley mildly. ‘He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favour: his brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble – a lawnmower with unnatural powers – I smoothed the whole thing over.’
‘Oh, Bagman’s likeable enough, of course,’ said Percy dismissively, ‘but how he ever got to be Head of Department … when I compare him to Mr Crouch! I can’t see Mr Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what’s happened to them. You realise Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?’
‘Yes, I was asking Ludo about that,’ said Mr Weasley, frowning. ‘He says Bertha’s got lost plenty of times before now – though I must say, if it was someone in my department, I’d be worried …’
‘Oh, Bertha’s hopeless, all right,’ said Percy. ‘I hear she’s been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she’s worth … but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr Crouch has been taking a personal interest – she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr Crouch was quite fond of her – but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However,’ Percy heaved an impressive sigh, and took a deep swig of elderflower wine, ‘we’ve got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Co-operation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we’ve got another big event to organise right after the World Cup.’
He cleared his throat significantly and looked down towards the end of the table where Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting. ‘You know the one I’m talking about, Father.’ He raised his voice slightly. ‘The top-secret one.’
Ron rolled his eyes and muttered to Harry and Hermione, ‘He’s been trying to get us to ask what that event is ever since he started work. Probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons.’
In the middle of the table, Mrs Weasley was arguing with Bill about his earring, which seemed to be a recent acquisition.
‘… with a horrible great fang on it, really, Bill, what do they say at the bank?’
‘Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure,’ said Bill patiently.
‘And your hair’s getting silly, dear,’ said Mrs Weasley, fingering her wand lovingly. ‘I wish you’d let me give it a trim …’
‘I like it,’ said Ginny, who was sitting beside Bill. ‘You’re so old-fashioned, Mum. Anyway, it’s nowhere near as long as Professor Dumbledore’s …’
Next to Mrs Weasley, Fred, George and Charlie were all talking spiritedly about the World Cup.
‘It’s got to be Ireland,’ said Charlie thickly, through a mouthful of potato. ‘They flattened Peru in the semi-finals.’
‘Bulgaria have got Viktor Krum, though,’ said Fred.
‘Krum’s one decent player, Ireland have got seven,’ said Charlie shortly. ‘I wish England had got through, though. That was embarrassing, that was.’
‘What happened?’ said Harry eagerly, regretting more than ever his isolation from the wizarding world when he was stuck in Privet Drive. Harry was passionate about Quidditch. He had played as Seeker on the Gryffindor house Quidditch team ever since his first year at Hogwarts and owned a Firebolt, one of the best racing brooms in the world.
‘Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten,’ said Charlie gloomily. ‘Shocking performance. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland were slaughtered by Luxembourg.’
Mr Weasley conjured up candles to light the darkening garden before they had their pudding (home-made strawberry ice-cream), and by the time they had finished, moths were fluttering low over the table and the warm air was perfumed with the smells of grass and honeysuckle. Harry was feeling extremely well fed and at peace with the world as he watched several gnomes sprinting through the rose bushes, laughing madly and closely pursued by Crookshanks.
Ron looked carefully up the table to check that the rest of the family were all busy talking, then he said very quietly to Harry, ‘So – have you heard from Sirius lately?’
Hermione looked round, listening closely.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry softly, ‘twice. He sounds OK. I wrote to him the day before yesterday. He might write back while I’m here.’
He suddenly remembered the reason he had written to Sirius and, for a moment, was on the verge of telling Ron and Hermione about his scar hurting again, and about the dream which had awoken him … but he really didn’t want to worry them just now, not when he himself was feeling so happy and peaceful.
‘Look at the time,’ Mrs Weasley said suddenly, checking her wristwatch. ‘You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you, you’ll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup. Harry, if you leave your school list out, I’ll get your things for you tomorrow in Diagon Alley. I’m getting everyone else’s. There might not be time after the World Cup, the match went on for five days last time.’
‘Wow – hope it does this time!’ said Harry enthusiastically.
‘Well, I certainly don’t,’ said Percy sanctimoniously. ‘I shudder to think what the state of my in-tray would be if I was away from work for five days.’
‘Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?’ said Fred.
‘That was a sample of fertiliser from Norway!’ said Percy, going very red in the face. ‘It was nothing personal!’
‘It was,’ Fred whispered to Harry, as they got up from the table. ‘We sent it.’
– CHAPTER SIX —
The Portkey
Harry felt as though he had barely lain down to sleep in Ron’s room when he was being shaken awake by Mrs Weasley.
‘Time to go, Harry, dear,’ she whispered, moving away to wake Ron.
Harry felt around for his glasses, put them on and sat up. It was still dark outside. Ron muttered indistinctly as his mother roused him. At the foot