THE BURROW
ing back to Hogwarts. Someone’s idea of a joke. Can you think of
anyone at school with a grudge against you?”
“Yes,” said Harry and Ron together, instantly.
“Draco Malfoy,” Harry explained. “He hates me.”
“Draco Malfoy?” said George, turning around. “Not Lucius
Malfoy’s son?”
“Must be, it’s not a very common name, is it?” said Harry.
“Why?”
“I’ve heard Dad talking about him,” said George. “He was a big
supporter of You-Know-Who.”
“And when You-Know-Who disappeared,” said Fred, craning
around to look at Harry, “Lucius Malfoy came back saying he’d
never meant any of it. Load of dung — Dad reckons he was right
in You-Know-Who’s inner circle.”
Harry had heard these rumors about Malfoy’s family before, and
they didn’t surprise him at all. Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look
like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive boy.
“I don’t know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf. . . .” said
Harry.
“Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and
they’ll be rich,” said Fred.
“Yeah, Mum’s always wishing we had a house-elf t o do the iron-
ing,” said George. “But all we’ve got is a lousy old ghoul in the at-
tic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old
manors and castles and places like that; you wouldn’t catch one in
our house. . . .”
Harry was silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually
had the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; he
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