Scarred from the Chamber of Secrets (Harry Potter Fan Fiction Retelling)

Chapter 3: Your Son Hijacked Your Car and Flew it to Steal the Boy Who Lived

Ron wasn't exactly the best driver, even if all he had to avoid were dense clouds and the occasional confused bird. After nearly falling out of the passenger side because Ron had to jerk the steering wheel to avoid an airplane, Harry decided to strap himself in with the seatbelt for the rest of the trip. Finally, by morning, Ron announced they were home by pointing to a single structure in the countryside. Staggering into the air, the building looked like a dozen boxcars piled on top of each other. Ron called it the Burrow. Harry had no idea why he called it that since it looked nothing like a hole in the ground where rabbits lived.

After a shaky touchdown onto a soggy pathway, Ron maneuvered the car into a shed filled with other knickknacks and garbage. Harry could barely get out of the car because a large painting blocked his exit.

"Just ignore that," Ron said dismissively as Harry brushed against the portrait. "This is all Dad's Muggle stuff. He loves Muggles. He stole that painting from a museum to try to figure out why the people in it don't move. Just stupid stuff."

"So you guys live here?"

"Not in this shed. Come on!"

Harry followed Ron up the soggy pathway to the Burrow. His shoes were soaked by the time they reached the front door. Ron placed his hand on the doorknob. Harry heard a quiet click as he thrust the door open. "What was that sound?"

"I unlocked the door."

"You keep your doors locked?"

"You know, in case any goblins come in."

"You mean garden gnomes?" a nasal voice said.

Harry stepped into the Weasley's living room. It was extremely spacious, with dozens of rugs intersecting over one another on the ground. Rocking chairs rocked themselves, pans organized themselves on the shelves, and cookbooks fluttered in the kitchen. In the middle of the room was a rickety spiraling staircase wound around a wooden pole that probably connected each boxcar together to keep the structure from toppling over. As Harry walked further into the living room, he saw the source of the nasal voice. "What are those?" he gasped.

"What?" Ron quietly shut the door and peered over Harry's shoulder. "Uh?"

Two tiny creatures sat stuffed together in a chair. They had pudgy faces that looked made out of clay, and they wore oversized sweaters, once with an F on it, the other a G. "We're Fred and George, your loving brothers," one of the creatures supposedly said. However, the creatures had tape across their mouths, painted with luscious red lips.

Ron didn't look too thrilled. "Fred, George, stop joking around. Those are obviously garden gnomes and not you. I can literally see the tops of your dumb heads behind the chair."

"But we're sitting in the chair," the garden gnome that was supposedly George said.

"They're always pulling pranks," Ron muttered. He peered into the kitchen. "Good, Mom's not down here."

Despite the weird garden gnomes, Harry thought the Weasley's home was awesome. It was the first wizard's house he had ever been in. It felt so much more homey than the stuffy Dursley house. Maybe he could ask Mrs. Weasley to adopt him. A tug from Ron and a patter of feet on the staircase snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Someone's coming!" Ron cried. He ducked beneath the kitchen table. "Harry! Hello! Hide!" He yanked Harry under the table with him.

"What's your problem?"

"Shush. Mom doesn't know I left."

"She doesn't know!" Harry screamed.

"There you are!" an angry, high-pitched voice screeched right behind them.