The tension hadn't entirely dissipated.
To be honest, when Mrs. Weasley was angry, she was like a saber-toothed cat, exuding a terrifying aura of authority. This was especially true when the brown, plump chickens pecking around the yard scattered in all directions, startled by her forceful strides. The feeling was all too real.
Harry was certain he saw George's leg twitching unconsciously beside him, betraying a nervous soul beneath his seemingly carefree greeting.
"Er, thanks," Harry said, hoisting his trunk again and ignoring the pleading looks from George, Ron, and Fred. He quickly made his way toward the door.
He figured it was best not to get involved in this motherly lecture.
"Hold it right there! Fred, where do you think you're going?" Mrs. Weasley's sharp voice stopped her son, who had been smoothly trailing Harry toward the house.
"Wait, Mum, that's not fair!" Fred's eyes widened as he protested, "I've already had my ear twisted! George hasn't!"
"Hey! Fred?!" George's voice was filled with indignation at his brother's betrayal.
"Enough, you two troublemakers! Don't think you can just bicker your way out of this like you always do," Mrs. Weasley said, clearly experienced in handling their antics. Harry overheard her scolding as he moved away. "And you've gone and corrupted your younger brother! Ron!"
"I have to clarify, Mum, Ron was actually the mastermind behind this whole thing—" Fred tried to interject.
"Quiet! Trying to shift the blame, are you?" Mrs. Weasley's voice grew louder. "Do you have any idea how worried I was when I woke up this morning? Your beds were empty! Just a note on the kitchen table saying you were off to pick up Harry—in a car, no less!
"What if you'd had an accident? I was worried sick! I've lived all these years and never dealt with anything like this. Just wait until your father gets home and hears about this! Bill, Charlie, and Percy never caused this kind of trouble."
Harry had settled into the living room on the ground floor of the Burrow, but Mrs. Weasley's piercing voice still carried clearly through the door. Fred and George occasionally mumbled defenses, but their voices were so low that Harry could barely make them out unless he strained to listen.
Though he thought Mrs. Weasley might be slightly mistaken—after all, a flying car couldn't exactly crash into anything, not even an airplane flying that low—Harry wasn't about to argue with her in this mood.
Best to let Fred and George bear the brunt of it quietly… They'd be fine in their own home, anyway.
Rather than dwell on pointless worries, Harry was far more curious about the interior of this house, which so perfectly embodied the quirks of wizarding life.
Setting his trunk beside the sofa, Harry took a quick look around. The kitchen was much smaller than he'd expected, and he was surprised they hadn't used an Extension Charm to make it larger. He didn't think Mr. Weasley was the type to fuss over such details.
To be honest, Harry wasn't entirely sure whether this room was a living room or a dining room. In the middle stood a spotlessly polished wooden table with chairs.
On the wall hung a large clock, completely unlike any Muggle timepiece. Instead of hour and minute hands, it had a single pointer and no numbers. The edges were marked with phrases like "Time to make tea," "Time to feed the chickens," and "You're late."
There was also a large fireplace, its mantel lined with books. Harry glanced at them: practical magic books like Charm Your Cheese to Deliciousness, The Magic of Cooking, and One-Minute Feasts.
One book, set apart from the others, caught his eye: Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pest Control. More striking than the title was the cover—a curly-haired, blue-eyed wizard flashing a toothy grin.
The door creaked open.
"Oh, Harry, you like Lockhart's books too?" Mrs. Weasley said excitedly as she entered, spotting the book in his hands.
"Er, I just noticed it was set apart," Harry replied, placing the book back on the mantel. He didn't have any particular fondness or dislike for the beaming wizard on the cover.
"Oh, well," Mrs. Weasley said, sounding slightly disappointed. "He's truly remarkable, and he knows so much about dealing with household pests. That book is brilliant."
It was clear Mrs. Weasley wasn't giving up on convincing Harry to read it. She was trying to sell him on it—and Harry could tell she was a fan of Gilderoy Lockhart.
Case closed.
"Harry wouldn't read that kind of book, Mum," Ron said, strolling into the room with a glance at the book. "He's into magical theory or history… you know, proper magic stuff."
"Hold it!" Mrs. Weasley called after Ron and the twins. "Never mind that this book is about magic too—what are you lot up to?"
"Sleeping, obviously, Mum," Fred said with a yawn. "We barely got a few hours last night, and then we drove for ages."
Lucky for them, wizarding law hadn't yet invented rules against driving while exhausted, or Fred would've been in even more trouble.
"No, you're not! All three of you are going to clear the garden of gnomes, using Lockhart's methods," Mrs. Weasley said with a huff. "You chose to stay up all night, even though Arthur and I had already planned to pick Harry up on Friday."
"Good grief!" Fred's eyes widened. "Mum, you're not mad because you didn't get to pick Harry up yourself, are you?"
"Fred!"
"Sorry, we'll go deal with the gnomes right now," Fred said, turning on his heel under his mother's roar. He dragged his brothers toward the garden, with Ron trailing glumly behind.
"Use Lockhart's methods!" Mrs. Weasley called after them.
"Don't worry, Mum, we know what to do!" Fred shouted back.
"Oh, sure, if you think you know better than Lockhart," Mrs. Weasley said crossly. "But if I check the garden and find a single gnome left, you'll be sorry!"
There was no reply—the twins had already dragged Ron into the garden.
"As for you, dear, you must be exhausted," Mrs. Weasley said, turning back to Harry with her warm, motherly demeanor restored. "Make yourself at home. Percy's taken Ginny to town to shop, but when they're back, you can chat with them. Percy loves books too—you'll get along splendidly."
"I'd rather help Ron and the others," Harry said earnestly. "I've never seen gnomes in a wizarding garden before."
"Alright, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling as she ruffled Harry's hair. "You poor thing, you're so thin—living alone must be hard… Oh, I need to start dinner. Like I said, Harry, make yourself at home."
"Of course," Harry nodded, watching as Mrs. Weasley bustled into the kitchen.
He glanced down at himself. Honestly, he didn't agree with Mrs. Weasley calling him thin—he was nearly a head taller than Ron, with muscled arms and legs to show for it.
Though the Weasleys lived in a semi-wizarding community, their home felt like it belonged in a pure-wizard enclave, free from Muggle prying eyes. Even their garden was distinctly wizarding.
Well, it was also a bit chaotic. Weeds sprouted everywhere, the lawn growing with a wild beauty. Wooden stakes formed a makeshift fence, surrounded by a ring of gnarled trees. The flowerbeds were filled with plants Harry had only read about in books.
Among them were the Moonflowers Ron had given to the Granger family as a gift. The vines sprawled unchecked across the garden walls, though in the daylight, they lacked the starry glow Harry had seen at Hermione's house. The flowers were curled up, waiting for nightfall.
Now this was a proper wizarding garden—at least it was brimming with glowing magical plants.
It gave Harry ideas for the garden at the Potter estate.
But that brought up another issue. If he filled the Potter estate's garden with glowing plants, it would definitely violate the Statute of Secrecy. The Muggles in Godric's Hollow knew the Potters had lived there, and they'd notice if the recently restored house started glowing.
Hiding the estate from Muggle eyes with spells like the Muggle-Repelling Charm would be a major undertaking.
The more Harry studied wizarding magic, the more he marveled at its wonders—and realized his own ignorance. He wondered if Azeroth's great mages, like Jaina Proudmoore or Khadgar, felt the same awe when faced with the unknown. He made a mental note to discuss it with Alfred—Dobby's chosen alias for their mission—later.
After surveying the Weasley garden, Harry turned to find the twins and Ron crouched by the pond he'd seen from the flying car. Each had a frog in front of them, shouting excitedly as they urged their chosen amphibians to hop forward in a race.
Wizard entertainment could be so… absurd. Harry sighed.
"So, what about the gnomes?" he asked, walking over. "Aren't you supposed to be dealing with them? I doubt Mrs. Weasley will be happy if she comes out after cooking and finds you've spent the afternoon playing with frogs."
"Not the whole afternoon—the sun's almost down," Fred said, standing with a grin. "I know you're curious, Harry. Come on, follow me."
Harry complied without protest.
"See this hole?" Fred said, leading him to a peony patch and pointing at a hole about twenty centimeters wide. "That's a gnome burrow."
"And?" Harry glanced around. "Where's the knife?"
"Knife?" George, who'd followed them, looked puzzled. "What do you need a knife for?"
"Aren't we clearing the gnomes?" Harry's confusion mirrored George's.
"Ahem, my dear brothers," Ron interrupted, stifling a laugh. "You might not know this, but in Harry's mind, 'clearing' usually means—"
Ron didn't finish. He slung an arm around Harry's shoulders and made a slicing motion across his throat.
The meaning was clear.
"No, no, no, we're not that cruel," Fred said, waving his hands. "Merlin's beard, is this what tauren do? Listen, George—'clearing'!"
"I heard, Fred—'clearing'!" George mimicked, lowering his voice dramatically and mimicking the throat-slitting gesture.
Harry: "…"
Honestly, these two were like a two-headed ogre, sharing one body and bickering endlessly—sometimes even fighting themselves.
"Gnomes are pests that move into the garden uninvited and chew up plant roots, making a mess," George said with a shrug. "But even Mum, who hates them, wouldn't want us killing them. Watch this, Harry."
Crouching by the burrow, George patted the ground and called into the dark hole, "Hello? Anyone home?"
"…That's how you clear them?" Harry said, unimpressed. "What, are gnomes idiots?"
"That's not the full process, Harry, be patient," Ron whispered. "Look, one's coming out."
Sure enough, a creature about a foot tall, with a head half the size of its body, crawled out. Its skin was rough and tough, like a giant potato.
"Here's our uninvited neighbor, Harry," George said, standing and holding the gnome by its leg. "You read too many books, so I bet you haven't seen these harmless little things before."
"Let me go! Let me go!" the gnome screeched, flailing its free arms.
"So, what now?" Harry asked. "If you're not killing them."
"Just toss 'em," George said simply.
He swung the gnome's leg like a windmill, then released it at the peak. The gnome sailed through the air in an arc, shrieking all the way.
"That's it?" Harry said, eyes wide. "Won't they just come back? Their home's here."
"That's enough," Ron said, laughing as he grabbed another gnome that popped out and flung it after a wild spin. "Hm… Fred, I think I threw mine farther."
"I'm George, you idiot brother."
"Fine, George, but I won."
"…"
Harry rubbed his temples, watching the brothers turn it into a competition.
"It's like playing house," he muttered.
"What's that, Harry?" Fred, now in on the game, turned to him. "Come on, join us! These gnomes are coming out like crazy—watch out, they bite! Let's clear some gnomes!"
Fred's shout was like a dinner bell. Gnomes popped up all over the garden.
"Clearing gnomes? Where's the gnome-clearing?"
"Let me see!"
Harry: "…"
He couldn't believe these words were coming from the gnomes themselves.
The little creatures swarmed like cats drawn to a spectacle, only to be hurled—or kicked—away by Ron and the twins, one after another.
It was like Muggle football, with the tough-skinned gnomes as the ball. The three were now competing to see who could kick farther or higher.
But no matter how fast they tossed, the gnomes kept coming faster. It was hard to believe this small garden held so many.
"Hey, Harry, you joining or what?" Ron called, panting. "This is a game you've never played, and it's great exercise!"
"Fine…" Harry sighed, scanning the area. He picked up a wooden stick from near the wall and walked over.
Thwack!
"Nice one!" Ron shouted. "That's our Harry! That swing broke the record—that gnome's halfway up the hill!"
"Not halfway, he's definitely up there!" Fred said, shading his eyes dramatically. "Hope it doesn't bother the Lovegoods."
"There's a family up there?" Harry asked.
"Yeah," George said with a shrug. "But we don't really talk to them. They're a bit…"
"Nutty," Fred finished.
"Right," Harry nodded. "Hope that gnome doesn't wreck their garden."
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