THE BURROW
“The what?”
“It’s all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you
know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like,
last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an an-
tiques shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and
tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare — Dad was
working overtime for weeks.”
“What happened?”
“The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the
place and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs
clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic — it’s only him and an
old warlock called Perkins in the office — and they had to do
Memory Charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up —”
“But your dad — this car —”
Fred laughed. “Yeah, Dad’s crazy about everything to do with
Muggles; our shed’s full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts
spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house
he’d have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad.”
“That’s the main road,” said George, peering down through the
windshield. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. . . . Just as well, it’s get-
ting light. . . .”
A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east.
Fred brought the car lower, and Harry saw a dark patchwork of
fields and clumps of trees.
“We’re a little way outside the village,” said George. “Ottery St.
Catchpole.”
Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red
sun was now gleaming through the trees.
31