WEASLEYS’ WIZARD WHEEZES just dropped it. . . . It was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to.” “You dropped it on purpose!” roared Mr. Weasley. “You knew he’d eat it, you knew he was on a diet —” “How big did his tongue get?” George asked eagerly. “It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!” Harry and the Weasleys roared with laughter again. “It isn’t funny!” Mr. Weasley shouted. “That sort of behavior se- riously undermines wizard–Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons —” “We didn’t give it to him because he’s a Muggle!” said Fred indignantly. “No, we gave it to him because he’s a great bullying git,” said George. “Isn’t he, Harry?” “Yeah, he is, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry earnestly. “That’s not the point!” raged Mr. Weasley. “You wait until I tell your mother —” “Tell me what?” said a voice behind them. Mrs. Weasley had just entered the kitchen. She was a short, plump woman with a very kind face, though her eyes were presently narrowed with suspicion. “Oh hello, Harry, dear,” she said, spotting him and smiling. Then her eyes snapped back to her husband. “Tell me what, Arthur?” Mr. Weasley hesitated. Harry could tell that, however angry he was with Fred and George, he hadn’t really intended to tell Mrs. Weasley what had happened. There was a silence, while Mr. ‘53‘