Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

night.
    ‘It’s been absolute uproar,’ Percy told them importantly, the Sunday evening before they were due to return to Hogwarts. ‘I’ve been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers and of course, if you don’t open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders.’
    ‘Why are they all sending Howlers?’ asked Ginny, who was mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with Spellotape on the rug in front of the living-room fire.
    ‘Complaining about security at the World Cup,’ said Percy. ‘They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher’s put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite jacuzzi, but I’ve got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks.’
    Mrs Weasley glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Harry liked this clock. It was completely useless if you wanted to know the time, but otherwise very informative. It had nine golden hands, and each of them was engraved with one of the Weasley family’s names. There were no numerals around the face, but descriptions of where each family member might be. ‘Home’, ‘school’ and ‘work’ were there, but there was also ‘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 at the ‘home’ position, but Mr Weasley’s, which was the longest, was still pointing at ‘work’. Mrs Weasley sighed.
    ‘Your father hasn’t had to go into the office at 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 curse 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.
    ‘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 knowing 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 ‘travelling’; 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 had come 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 fire and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shrivelled cauliflower. ‘Rita Skeeter’s been ferreting