Que Sera Sera

All too soon the three weeks had elapsed and Harry found himself anxiously waiting for the Weasleys to take him to the Burrow. Ron had sent him an owl and the contents of the letter ran thus:

Hey mate,

Hope you're managing to stay alive in that hell-hole they call your home. Never mind - you'll be picked up on Sunday, whether you like it or not. Pack and ready yourself by five, won't you?

- Ron.

PS: How come Ginny knows more about you than I do right now? You're telling me all about it - just wait till you get here!

It was now Sunday. Harry had packed using the spell he first saw Tonks perform just before his fifth year and which he and Hermione had perfected together later. He now fidgeted restlessly, playing with Hedwig, waiting for five o'clock - more probably six o'clock, knowing the Weasleys - to come round.

The Weasleys were not the most punctual of people, and he was hoping that this visit would be rather less eventful than the disaster before fourth year when Mr. Weasley had blown the fireplace apart.

He decided, wisely, to stay in his room until he received some distinct intimations of their arrival. At twelve minutes past five, he suddenly beheld Pigwidgeon fluttering in through his window, hooting urgently. Fearing the worst, he nearly tore up the letter in his haste to untie it.

Sorry mate, we're getting terribly late and I think it'll be six-thirty before we get there - with luck. Moody is making a terrible fuss out here, and Lu Hermione can't wait to get going. You do know she came here ten days ago, right?

See you soon,

- Ron.

Harry sighed, and settled down for another long wait, glad not to have informed the Dursleys, who would in any case be out of the house by five-thirty. He could already hear the battle cries that meant Aunt Petunia was stuffing Dudley into his coat.

The one thing that he really wanted to do was hex everything in the house to oblivion, but that was obviously out of the question.

He decided to practise Charms during the hour that he would definitely have to wait before the Weasleys turned up. The first requirement was, of course, a Silencing Charm so that he could conceal the instant evidence of his flawed charm work. But unfortunately it would also conceal the sounds of his rescuers' arrival, so that option was chucked out of the window.

"We're leaving! Don't break anything in the house, boy! If we return at ten and find anything destroyed, I will personally..." Harry did not care to listen to the rest of Vernon "Vermin" Dursley's bellowing, and so he drowned it out with a roar of his own - "LEAVE THEN!"

He resumed his former train of thought, trying to delay the stream of curses that would burst from him sooner or later in the absence of other distractions.

What was there left to do? Read? He had been doing that forever... well, since he had entered Privet Drive, anyway. He wasn't exactly Hermione, was he? There was a limit to how much he could read.

So he simply went on pacing the floor of his uncarpeted room, letting his boots make as much noise as possible. And then,

"STOP THAT YOU STUPID GIT!" Ron's unmistakable roar resounded through the house from the fireplace downstairs, making Harry jump, then whoop with delight. A shriek of, "Ron! You do not speak like that to your brother!" kept the noise level quite comfortably high. It took Harry some time to realise that Hermione's voice was adding strength to Mrs. Weasley's.

He decided to put an end to the argument, and called down the stairs, "Yoo-hoo...hello there! Could someone help me with Hedwig's cage? I can handle my trunk."

Of course, the bickering promptly gave way to squeals of delight, as something that sounded like a herd of rampaging Hippogriffs ascended the stairs. Before he knew it, Hermione had pulled him into a rib-cracking hug, causing his wand to topple out of his pocket. Ginny's laughter mirrored Ron's and his own, while another figure stood close by, shaking with silent mirth. Harry's breath caught, and his eyes widened momentarily - causing his rather imperceptive best friend to remark, "Let go of him, 'Mione, he can't breathe!"

Harry, face red enough to suggest near asphyxiation, laughed again, then stared at his reception committee. Moody, the four youngest Weasleys, their parents, Hermione, and someone else lurking behind the rest.

"Well, do I have to be accompanied by an entire battalion everywhere?" His bitterness was barely evident beneath the amusement.

Ginny laughed, but it was Luna's dreamy voice that said, "Couldn't you think that so many volunteered just because they wanted to be with you as soon as possible?" Harry stared again, giving Fred time to add with a look of mock outrage, "Ginny, George and me fought with Mum for days for the right of passage, Harry. You can't insult us like this, kiddo!"

"We challenge you to a duel! En garde!" chipped in George, flourishing his wand with glee.

Laughing at the sudden transition, Harry picked up his own wand from the floor.

A spray of orange fruity fluid burst from the wand-tip, and was followed by a loud flapping noise. Harry watched in amusement as his wand sprouted wings, flew into the middle of the room, and then exploded into a dozen bits, which clunked onto the heads of everyone present.

Arthur Weasley, taking a long look at the wand-shaped chunk that had landed on his head, exclaimed, "Licorice! You never told me that part!"