There was a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when I awoke next morning. Heavy rain was still splattering against the window as I got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt; we would change into our school robes on the Hogwarts Express.
Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and I had just reached the first-floor landing on our way down to breakfast, when Mum appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking harassed.
"Arthur!" she called up the staircase. "Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!"
Harry flattened himself against the wall as Dad came clattering past with his robes on back-to-front and hurtled out of sight. When we entered the kitchen, we saw Dad rummaging anxiously in the drawers — "I've got a quill here somewhere!" — and Dad bending over the fire, talking to Amos Diggory's head.
". . . Muggle neighbors heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what-d'you-call-'ems — please-men. Arthur, you've got to get over there —"
"Here!" said Mum breathlessly, pushing a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a crumpled quill into Dad's hands.
"— it's a real stroke of luck I heard about it," said Mr. Diggory's head. "I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off — if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur —"
"What does Mad-Eye say happened?" asked Dad, unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up his quill, and preparing to take notes.
Mr. Diggory's head rolled its eyes. "Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says he was creeping toward the house, but was ambushed by his dustbins."
"What did the dustbins do?" asked Dad, scribbling frantically.
"Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell," said Mr. Diggory. "Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please-men turned up —"
Dad groaned.
"And what about the intruder?"
"Arthur, you know Mad-Eye," said Mr. Diggory's head, rolling its eyes again. "Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? More likely there's a very shell-shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he's had it — think of his record — we've got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department — what are exploding dustbins worth?"
"Might be a caution," said Dad, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed. "Mad-Eye didn't use his wand? He didn't actually attack anyone?"
"I'll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window," said Mr. Diggory, "but they'll have a job proving it, there aren't any casualties."
"All right, I'm off," Dad said, and he stuffed the parchment with his notes on it into his pocket and dashed out of the kitchen again.
Mr. Diggory's head looked around at Mum.
"Sorry about this, Molly," it said, more calmly, "bothering you so early and everything . . . but Arthur's the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye's supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night . . ."
"Never mind, Amos," said Mum. "Sure you won't have a bit of toast or anything before you go?"
"Oh go on, then," said Mr. Diggory. Mum took a piece of buttered toast from a stack on the kitchen table, put it into the fire tongs, and transferred it into Mr. Diggory's mouth.
"Fanks," he said in a muffled voice, and then, with a small pop, vanished. I could hear Dad calling hurried good-byes to Bill, Charlie, Percy, and the girls. Within five minutes, he was back in the kitchen, his robes on the right way now, dragging a comb through his hair.
YOU ARE READING
The Weasley of Slytherin: The Goblet of Fire
Fanfiction(Y/n) Weasley, starting to feel disconnected from his family, is staring his fourth year at Hogwarts, and with that brings new adventures, new threats, and new feelings.
