Harry Potter 06 - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

never done an honest day’s work in their lives and are taking advantage of how frightened everybody is, but every now and then something really nasty turns up. The other day Arthur confiscated a box of cursed Sneakoscopes that were almost certainly planted by a Death Eater. So you see, it’s a very important job, and I tell him it’s just silly to miss dealing with spark-plugs and toasters and all the rest of that Muggle rubbish.’ Mrs Weasley ended her speech with a stern look, as if it had been Harry suggesting that it was natural to miss spark-plugs.
    ‘Is Mr Weasley still at work?’ Harry asked.
    ‘Yes, he is. As a matter of fact, he’s a tiny bit late … he said he’d be back around midnight …’
    She turned to look at a large clock that was perched awkwardly on top of a pile of sheets in the washing basket at the end of the table. Harry recognised it at once: it had nine hands, each inscribed with the name of a family member, and usually hung on the Weasleys’ sitting-room wall, though its current position suggested that Mrs Weasley had taken to carrying it around the house with her. Every single one of its nine hands was now pointing at mortal peril .
    ‘It’s been like that for a while now,’ said Mrs Weasley, in an unconvincingly casual voice, ‘ever since You-Know-Who came back into the open. I suppose everybody’s in mortal peril now … I don’t think it can be just our family … but I don’t know anyone else who’s got a clock like this, so I can’t check. Oh!’
    With a sudden exclamation she pointed at the clock’s face. Mr Weasley’s hand had switched to travelling .
    ‘He’s coming!’
    And sure enough, a moment later there was a knock on the back door. Mrs Weasley jumped up and hurried to it; with one hand on the doorknob and her face pressed against the wood she called softly, ‘Arthur, is that you?’
    ‘Yes,’ came Mr Weasley’s weary voice. ‘But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!’
    ‘Oh, honestly …’
    ‘Molly!’
    ‘All right, all right … what is your dearest ambition?’
    ‘To find out how aeroplanes stay up.’
    Mrs Weasley nodded and turned the doorknob, but apparently Mr Weasley was holding tight to it on the other side, because the door remained firmly shut.
    ‘Molly! I’ve got to ask you your question first!’
    ‘Arthur, really, this is just silly …’
    ‘What do you like me to call you when we’re alone together?’
    Even by the dim light of the lantern Harry could tell that Mrs Weasley had turned bright red; he himself felt suddenly warm around the ears and neck, and hastily gulped soup, clattering his spoon as loudly as he could against the bowl.
    ‘Mollywobbles,’ whispered a mortified Mrs Weasley into the crack at the edge of the door.
    ‘Correct,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘Now you can let me in.’
    Mrs Weasley opened the door to reveal her husband, a thin, balding, red-haired wizard wearing horn-rimmed spectacles and a long and dusty travelling cloak.
    ‘I still don’t see why we have to go through that every time you come home,’ said Mrs Weasley, still pink in the face as she helped her husband out of his cloak. ‘I mean, a Death Eater might have forced the answer out of you before impersonating you!’
    ‘I know, dear, but it’s Ministry procedure and I have to set an example. Something smells good – onion soup?’
    Mr Weasley turned hopefully in the direction of the table.
    ‘Harry! We didn’t expect you until morning!’
    They shook hands and Mr Weasley dropped into the chair beside Harry as Mrs Weasley set a bowl of soup in front of him, too.
    ‘Thanks, Molly. It’s been a tough night. Some idiot’s started selling Metamorph-Medals. Just sling them around your neck and you’ll be able to change your appearance at will. A hundred thousand disguises, all for ten Galleons!’
    ‘And what really happens when you put them on?’
    ‘Mostly you just turn a fairly unpleasant orange colour, but a couple of people have also sprouted tentacle-like warts all over their bodies. As if St Mungo’s didn’t have enough to do already!’
    ‘It sounds like the sort of thing Fred and George would find funny,’ said Mrs Weasley hesitantly. ‘Are you sure –?’
    ‘Of course I am!’ said Mr Weasley. ‘The boys wouldn’t do anything like that now, not when people are desperate for protection!’
    ‘So is that why you’re late, Metamorph-Medals?’
    ‘No, we got wind of a nasty