'Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes,' said Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush. 'Like fat little Father Christmases with fishing rods ...'

There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered and Ron straightened up. 'This is a gnome,' he said grimly.

'Gerroff me! Gerroff me!' squealed the gnome.

Amelia jumped back. 'Jesse Christ! I thought they were scary in Goosebumps!'

It was certainly nothing like Father Christmas. It was small and leathery-looking, with a large, knobbly, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arm's length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside-down.

'This is what you have to do,' he said. He raised the gnome above his head ('Gerroff me!') and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry's face, Ron added, 'It doesn't hurt them – you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way back to the gnomeholes.'

He let go of the gnome's ankles: it flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

'Pitiful,' said Fred. 'I bet I can get mine beyond that stump.'

Harry learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. He decided just to drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp teeth into Harry's finger and he had a hard job shaking it off until –

'Wow, Harry – that must've been fifty feet ...'

'Ten out of ten whoo!" shouted Amelia as she threw her own gnome.

The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.

'See, they're not too bright,' said George, seizing five or six gnomes at once. 'The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay put.'

Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.

'They'll be back,' said Ron, as they watched the gnomes disap- pear into the hedge on the other side of the field. 'They love it here ... Dad's too soft with them, he thinks they're funny ...'

Just then, the front door slammed.
'He's back!' said George. 'Dad's home!'

They hurried through the garden and back into the house.

"Wait why am I running, he isn't my dad?" Amelia shook her head chuckled and walked in. 

Mr Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing