Emma Potter

87; Welcoming the Weasly's

By twelve o'clock the next day, Harry and my school trunks were packedwith all school things and all our most prized possessions —For Harry; the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited from his father, the broomstick he had gotten from Sirius, For me; the enchanted map of Hogwarts wehad been given by Fred and George Weasley last year, the flute Sirius had given me, and 2 memory albums; one of my parents, and one to which I add every year.

We had emptied our hiding place under the loose floorboard of all food, doublechecked every nook and cranny of our bedroom for forgottenspellbooks or quills, and taken down the chart on the wall counting down the days to September the first, on which we liked tocross off the days remaining until our return to Hogwarts.

 The atmosphere inside number four, Privet Drive was extremelytense. The imminent arrival at their house of an assortment of wizards was making the Dursleys uptight and irritable. Uncle Vernonhad looked downright alarmed when Harry and I informed him that theWeasleys would be arriving at five o'clock the very next day. 

"I hope you told them to dress properly, these people," he snarled at once. "I've seen the sort of stuff your lot wear. They'dbetter have the decency to put on normal clothes, that's all." 

I felt a slight sense of foreboding. We had rarely seen Mr. orMrs. Weasley wearing anything that the Dursleys would call "normal." Their children might don Muggle clothing during the holidays, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley usually wore long robes in varyingstates of shabbiness. I wasn't bothered about what the neighbors would think, but I was anxious about how rude the Dursleysmight be to the Weasleys if they turned up looking like their worstidea of wizards. 

Uncle Vernon had put on his best suit. To some people, thismight have looked like a gesture of welcome, but Harry and I knew itwas because Uncle Vernon wanted to look impressive and intimidating. Dudley, on the other hand, looked somehow diminished.This was not because the diet was at last taking effect, but due tofright. Dudley had emerged from his last encounter with a fullygrown wizard with a curly pig's tail poking out of the seat of histrousers, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had had to pay for itsremoval at a private hospital in London. It wasn't altogether surprising, therefore, that Dudley kept running his hand nervouslyover his backside, and walking sideways from room to room, so asnot to present the same target to the enemy. 

Lunch was an almost silent meal. Dudley didn't even protest atthe food (cottage cheese and grated celery). Aunt Petunia wasn'teating anything at all. Her arms were folded, her lips were pursed,and she seemed to be chewing her tongue, as though biting backthe furious diatribe she longed to throw at Harry and me. 

"They'll be driving, of course?" Uncle Vernon barked across thetable. 

"Er," said Harry. 

We hadn't thought of that. How were the Weasleys going to pick us up? They didn't have a car anymore; the old Ford Anglia theyhad once owned was currently running wild in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. But Mr. Weasley had borrowed a Ministry ofMagic car last year; possibly he would do the same today?

 "I think so," said Harry.

 Uncle Vernon snorted into his mustache. Normally, Uncle Vernon would have asked what car Mr. Weasley drove; he tended tojudge other men by how big and expensive their cars were. But I doubted whether Uncle Vernon would have taken to Mr.Weasley even if he drove a Ferrari. 

Harry and I spent most of the afternoon in our bedroom; we couldn'tstand watching Aunt Petunia peer out through the net curtainsevery few seconds, as though there had been a warning about an escaped rhinoceros. 

Finally, at a quarter to five, we went backdownstairs and into the living room.Aunt Petunia was compulsively straightening cushions. UncleVernon was pretending to read the paper, but his tiny eyes were notmoving, and I was sure he was really listening with all hismight for the sound of an approaching car. Dudley was crammedinto an armchair, his porky hands beneath him, clamped firmlyaround his bottom.