Chapter 83 — Another Train

Ron offered to take Harry home with him. Harry reminded him that he had to return to the Dursleys, and Ron explained that he had not meant forever, although Fred thought he ought to be clearer about that sort of invitation.

George caught Ginny’s trunk before it slid off the trolley. People were beginning to object to the amount of station we occupied, so I moved my luggage towards a wall and waited until Harry followed.

‘Would tomorrow make a difference?’ I asked him. He looked down at the permission form protruding from his pocket, then said Uncle Vernon had not exactly arranged a welcome for tonight. I suggested ringing to find out what he expected; Hermione and I could call home too.

Hermione had been studying the departures board. She asked Ron how we would get to Devon, and he pointed towards Percy, who had been counting trunks while his brothers moved them.

‘Paddington,’ Percy said, gripping the nearest handle to keep it still. ‘We have time to get across London if we leave reasonably soon.’ He looked at Fred on the final word, but Fred was busy claiming responsibility for a case which belonged to someone else.

Another railway journey would leave very little of the afternoon Ron seemed to be offering. I pointed out that we would need to stay the night, and he brightened as though I had finally understood the invitation.

‘Of course. Mum said I could bring people. We’ve got room.’ George asked where, and Ron told him there would be plenty wherever his brothers were not. Hermione caught my eye, smiling behind the hand she had lifted to her mouth.

Neither of us had been to the Burrow. Harry’s descriptions had left me with several incompatible pictures: a house, a collection of rooms balancing on a house, and an enormous kitchen with beds somewhere above it. I said I would like to come, provided Emma agreed.

We found the telephones in the main concourse. There were people waiting, coins to find and a brief dispute over which twin was holding my coat. By the time Emma answered, Percy had begun consulting his watch often enough to make the call feel expensive before I had said anything.

‘We’re back, and everything’s all right,’ I told her. ‘There’s been a slight change of plan.’ She said my name in a tone which required me to explain that nobody was trapped anywhere and that I was proposing something voluntary.

I described Ron’s invitation, the next train and our return the following afternoon. Behind me, Fred began working out how many nights might reasonably fit into the word slight, until Hermione moved him away from the telephone.

Emma let me finish. ‘I had been looking forward to seeing you tonight,’ she said, and that stopped the explanation I had been preparing about the Burrow’s fireplace.

I offered to come home. For a moment she said nothing, leaving me listening to the station noise and wondering why I had assumed permission was the only thing she might want to discuss.

‘You can also enjoy visiting your friends,’ she said at last. ‘I would like to know where you’ll sleep, and how you intend to get back.’ Ron supplied the first answer loudly enough for the next telephone, and I repeated it at a more useful volume.

Harry reminded me that the Weasleys could send us through the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. I explained the route to Emma and promised to telephone when we were back in London. If anything changed before we left the Burrow, I would send a message.

‘And dinner tomorrow?’ she asked. I promised to be there, hearing her shift the receiver before she told me to thank Mrs Weasley. ‘Welcome back, love. Even if I have to wait another day.’

Hermione received permission after a conversation containing more precise questions than mine. Harry’s call was much shorter; when he returned, he pushed the Hogsmeade form deeper into his pocket and said he was expected tomorrow evening.

‘I’m not to expect him to collect me.’ He shook his head when I asked about the form, explaining that he would ask in person. I checked that we had all our bags while Percy began organising the journey to Paddington.

We bought the extra tickets there. Arthur’s children took turns explaining what would happen if we missed the train, their accounts becoming less reliable as they passed along the line. I bought sandwiches before we boarded, and Ron accepted one with visible relief while assuring me that his mother would feed us.

I told him I was prepared to believe both meals existed. He considered that a sensible position and unwrapped the sandwich as London began passing the windows for the second time that day.

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The buildings grew lower and the spaces between them wider, until the railway ran through fields. Ginny left the seat beside her brothers and came to sit opposite me, placing her clasped hands on her knees before she spoke.

‘I never thanked you properly.’ For a moment I thought she meant the sandwich. Then I saw how tightly she was holding her fingers, and told her she had thanked me in the hospital.

She said everyone had been there and she had not known what to say. Harry looked up beside the window, drawing a brief glance from her before she turned back to me.

‘I remember waking up. You were on the floor, and I thought—’ She stopped, pressing her hands together again. I said I had not been looking particularly impressive, and she told me it was not funny.

She was right. I apologised as the train rattled over a junction, and Hermione steadied the cup between us while Ginny found the rest of what she wanted to say.

‘I know what you did. Harry told me, and I remember enough of what Tom said before everything went dark.’ She swallowed, then made herself meet my eyes. ‘Thank you for coming. For stopping him.’

I told her I was glad she was here to say it. Her fingers loosened, and after a little while she began describing the garden at home to Hermione, including the parts Ron was supposed to weed and generally did not. I let the conversation move with her.

At the next stop, Harry leaned closer. ‘That was better than telling her you weren’t impressive,’ he said quietly. I assured him I had noticed, and he returned to watching the platform outside without adding anything else.

The light had begun to thin by the time we reached the station where Arthur was waiting. Molly stood beside him, scanning each doorway until she saw Ginny. Ron waved so enthusiastically that he almost caught Percy with the case containing his trophy.

‘We’ve brought people!’ he announced as we climbed down. Molly observed that she could see that, then hugged him before gathering Harry, Hermione and me into the welcome as well.

She heard about the telephone calls while Arthur helped with the luggage. Sleeping arrangements were settled over the trolley, with a firm announcement that nobody would be put in the shed, whatever Fred had promised. Emma’s thanks received another hug for me and instructions to tell her we were very welcome.

Arthur stopped beside me when the others moved ahead. ‘I don’t think I’ve said enough to you either,’ he said quietly, following my glance towards Ginny. Molly had an arm around her shoulders as they walked.

I said she was all right. ‘Yes, because you went down there.’ His hand rested on my shoulder, careful rather than hearty. ‘You and your friends will always be welcome with us.’

My thanks came out more formally than I intended. Arthur seemed to understand; he gave my shoulder a brief squeeze, then went to rescue the trunk George had balanced on the trolley’s edge.

An old, square pickup waited outside, with doors to an enclosed passenger compartment behind the front seats. Harry stopped when he saw it, and Arthur described it as a practical replacement before Harry could ask much more than whether he had another car.

Arthur opened a rear door. The inside was considerably larger than the outside had suggested, with facing seats and space for knees, cages and trunks. I looked from the frame to the far bench before climbing in.

‘Only space this time,’ Arthur told me, noticing the inspection. Molly added that it stayed on the road, and Ron and Harry became absorbed in fastening their seat belts. Nobody asked whether a flight could be arranged as an exception.

The road narrowed as we travelled, bringing hedges close to the windows. Arthur took the turns without looking for signposts, and the last stretch was slow enough for me to distinguish individual leaves beside the glass. Beyond a gate, the lane bent towards a house which seemed to have grown whenever someone needed another room.

Its upper floors leaned at different angles, and I could not immediately work out which part supported which. A chimney stood at a slant I would have rejected from a ruler, while warm light shone through the lower windows.

Ron told us it was the Burrow, then watched my face as we climbed out. I took a moment to look properly: the vegetable patch, an untidy shed and a dark gleam of water beyond the garden. Somewhere inside the house, a pan clattered before anyone had opened the door.

‘It’s wonderful,’ I said. Ron began explaining that it was a little small, so I reminded him that we had all just fitted into a pickup and I was willing to trust the arrangements. He grinned and took one end of my trunk.

The kitchen was warm enough to make me want to remove my jumper immediately. Chairs crowded a wooden table, and Molly sent people upstairs with luggage while checking the supper she had left cooking. Arthur unfolded a second small table from near the wall and started moving chairs to make it fit.

Hermione nudged me and pointed to a clock. There were no hours on its face; nine narrow hands carried names and tiny photographs, most gathered at Home. Two pointed elsewhere, and Harry nodded when I asked whether they belonged to Bill and Charlie.

One photograph shifted as though its owner had turned away. I leaned closer without touching the glass, noticing a second clock on another wall which announced that it was time to feed the chickens.

Ron came back downstairs and declared that one hopeful, since the chickens had already been fed. Hermione was still studying the family clock when she asked whether it showed if someone was in trouble.

‘Sometimes,’ Molly said. Her hand rested briefly on Ginny’s chair before she moved it to make space for another place setting. ‘It doesn’t tell you what to do about it. Arthur, the bread, please.’

We sat wherever a chair could be made to fit. My elbow touched Harry’s, and Hermione moved her glass each time Percy reached for the potatoes. Ron began apologising for the crowding until Molly put a plate in front of him, after which he had more immediate business.

I had visited larger dining rooms where nobody seemed to know what to say. Here, three different conversations crossed my plate before I finished my first helping, and George offered to show me something in the shed which Molly immediately forbade. I accepted another helping and decided I was very glad Emma had said yes.