WEASLEYS’ WIZARD WHEEZES Next to Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Charlie were all talking spiritedly about the World Cup. “It’s got to be Ireland,” said Charlie thickly, through a mouthful of potato. “They flattened Peru in the semifinals.” “Bulgaria has got Viktor Krum, though,” said Fred. “Krum’s one decent player, Ireland has got seven,” said Charlie shortly. “I wish England had got through. That was embarrassing, that was.” “What happened?” said Harry eagerly, regretting more than ever his isolation from the wizarding world when he was stuck on Privet Drive. “Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten,” said Charlie gloomily. “Shocking performance. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland was slaughtered by Luxembourg.” Harry had been on the Gryffindor House Quidditch team ever since his first year at Hogwarts and owned one of the best racing brooms in the world, a Firebolt. Flying came more naturally to Harry than anything else in the magical world, and he played in the position of Seeker on the Gryffindor House team. Mr. Weasley conjured up candles to light the darkening garden before they had their homemade strawberry ice cream, and by the time they had finished, moths were fluttering low over the table, and the warm air was perfumed with the smells of grass and hon- eysuckle. Harry was feeling extremely well fed and at peace with the world as he watched several gnomes sprinting through the rose- bushes, laughing madly and closely pursued by Crookshanks. Ron looked carefully up the table to check that the rest of the family were all busy talking, then he said very quietly to Harry, “So — have you heard from Sirius lately?” ‘63‘