𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑

the one with the beatle

"I am the Commander,
no one fights for me."

•

RITA SKEETER WROTE A very nasty article about the lax security of the World Cup the next day in Daily Prophet,because of which Mr Weasley and Percy had to go for work even though it was a holiday time.

Neither were home much of the following week. I spent a lot of time refereeing the Quidditch match the boys played, occasionally writing to Remus and less frequently to Sirius. Mostly, I attempted to find a way to convince Dumbledore to let me in on the Triwizard Tournament this year. I wrote him a letter. Maybe if he knew I already knew about the Tournament, he'd believe some of the things I would say to him and let me play. When I wasn't doing anything of that sort, I was locked in Fred and George's room, developing puking pastilles with them.

"It's been an absolute uproar," Percy told us importantly the Sunday evening before we were due to return to Hogwarts. "I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders."

"Did you do a funeral for the quill?" I asked innocently. Percy frowned and it took him a while to understand me.

"Why are they all sending Howlers?" asked Ginny, who was mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with Spellotape on the rug in front of the living room fire.

"Your father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who," she said. "They're working him far too hard. His dinner's going to be ruined if he doesn't come home soon."

"Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?" said Percy.

"What mistake?" I asked, which he ignored. He mostly ignored me.

"If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first -"

"Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!" said Mrs Weasley, flaring up at once.

"If Dad hadn't said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented," said Charlie, who was playing chess with Ron.

"Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts' Charm Breakers once, and called me 'a long-haired pillock'?" Bill asked from next to me, looking up from my copy of Standard Book of Spells, grade 4, which we were covering with brown paper.

"Well, it is a bit long, dear," said Mrs Weasley gently. "If you'd just let me -"

"No, Mum."

Rain lashed against the living room window. Hermione was immersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, copies of which Mrs Weasley had bought for us in Diagon Alley. Charlie was now darning a fireproof balaclava. Harry was polishing his Firebolt, the broomstick servicing kit Hermione had given him for his thirteenth birthday open at his feet. Fred and George were sitting in a far corner, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of parchment. Ambitious.

"What are you two up to?" said Mrs Weasley sharply, her eyes on the twins.

"Homework," said Fred vaguely.

"Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday," said Mrs Weasley.

"Yeah, we've left it a bit late," said George.

"You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?" said Mrs Weasley shrewdly. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?"