CHAPTER FIVE
Mrs. Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks
and quills; people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits
of toast in their hands; and Mr. Weasley nearly broke his neck, trip-
ping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny’s
trunk to the car.
Harry couldn’t see how eight people, six large trunks, two owls,
and a rat were going to fit into one small Ford Anglia. He had reck-
oned, of course, without the special features that Mr. Weasley had
added.
“Not a word to Molly,” he whispered to Harry as he opened the
trunk and showed him how it had been magically expanded so that
the luggage fitted easily.
When at last they were all in the car, Mrs. Weasley glanced into
the back seat, where Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Percy were all
sitting comfortably side by side, and said, “Muggles do know more
than we give them credit for, don’t they?” She and Ginny got into
the front seat, which had been stretched so that it resembled a park
bench. “I mean, you’d never know it was this roomy from the out-
side, would you?”
Mr. Weasley started up the engine and they trundled out of the
yard, Harry turning back for a last look at the house. He barely had
time to wonder when he’d see it again when they were back —
George had forgotten his box of Filibuster fireworks. Five minutes
after that, they skidded to a halt in the yard so that Fred could run
in for his broomstick. They had almost reached the highway when
Ginny shrieked that she’d left her diary. By the time she had clam-
bered back into the car, they were running very late, and tempers
were running high.
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