Harry Potter 02 - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

had gone a nasty greenish colour, his eyes fixed on the house. The other three wheeled around.
    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 sabre-toothed tiger.
    ‘Ah,’ said Fred.
    ‘Oh dear,’ said George.
    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 the 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! Car gone … could have crashed … out of my mind with worry … did you 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, who backed away.
    ‘I’m very pleased to see you, Harry, dear,’ she said, ‘Come in and have some breakfast.’
    She turned and walked back into the house and Harry, after a nervous glance at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed her.
    The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle and Harry sat down on the edge of his seat, looking around. He had never been in a wizard house before.
    The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like ‘Time to make tea’, ‘Time to feed the chickens’ and ‘You’re late’. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking and One Minute Feasts – It’s Magic! And unless Harry’s ears were deceiving him, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was ‘Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck’.
    Mrs Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like ‘don’t know what you were thinking of’ and ‘ never would have believed it’.
    ‘I don’t blame you, dear,’ she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. ‘Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we’d come and get you ourselves if you hadn’t written back to Ron by Friday. But really’ (she was now adding three fried eggs to his plate), ‘flying an illegal car halfway across the country – anyone could have seen you –’
    She flicked her wand casually at the washing-up in the sink, which began to clean itself, clinking gently in the background.
    ‘It was cloudy, Mum!’ said Fred.
    ‘You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!’ Mrs Weasley snapped.
    ‘They were starving him, Mum!’ said George.
    ‘And you!’ said Mrs Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him.
    At that moment, there was a diversion in the form of a small, red-headed figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again.
    ‘Ginny,’ said Ron in an undertone to Harry. ‘My sister. She’s been talking about you all summer.’
    ‘Yeah, she’ll be wanting your autograph, Harry,’ grinned Fred, but he caught his mother’s eye and bent his face over his plate without another word. Nothing more was said until all four plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time.
    ‘Blimey, I’m tired,’ yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. ‘I think I’ll go to bed and –’
    ‘You will not,’ snapped Mrs Weasley. ‘It’s your own fault you’ve been up all night. You’re going to de-gnome the garden for me, they’re getting completely out of hand again.’
    ‘Oh, Mum –’
    ‘And you two,’ she said, glaring at Ron and