WIMBOURNE WASPS

Not for the first time, an eruption was heard coming from beyond the river that bordered Ottery St. Catchpole, a distinctly British village that was often proudly described to backpacking tourists as picturesque, charming, and (most importantly) silent. It was a confusing occurrence, to be sure, but it transpired nonetheless. Those brave enough to investigate the occasional distant rumblings would discover that, over the stone bridge, and then over the second hill, concealed within the sparse apple orchard, there was nothing more than an innocent field where the occasional lonely goat preferred to graze. Well, at least, that was how such a place appeared to the non-magical. To the Muggles. While those gifted with the power to cast spells and bewitch the foundations of the earth were greeted by a sign for The Burrow and a leaning, ramshackle dwelling that attempted to shelter a formidable but friendly red-haired, freckle-faced family — The Weasleys.

On this particularly peaceful day at the Burrow, a plump, gray rat was scurrying through the grass. It darted from the house wearing a bright yellow paper hat and hid beneath a rubber tire, before rushing toward a discarded suitcase, sunken into the ground and half-covered in moss. It was their pet rat, Scabbers. He was squeaking and gnawing at the twine that kept the hastily painted hat in place when an unexpected cloud of sand burst from the house with a thunderous rumble, scaring away the chickens and flapping open the front door.

A woman was howling. Frightened, Scabbers cowardly sought an escape by squeezing his way into a hole at the corner of the suitcase. He swiftly got himself stuck. The rat had fattened up considerably over the summer months. Scabbers backed up, his pink tail wiggling in the sandy breeze, and chewed a slab off the edge so he could pop his way inside the suitcase where it was safe, peaceful, and surprisingly spacious. Inside the cramped Burrow, however, chaos reigned. Which was not at all uncommon.

Percy was the first to be seen, coughing roughly and waving his hand through the gritty air. He pulled the door closed while Errol, the feeble family owl, flapped his wings, crashing blindly into the walls. Charlie understood the squawk of pain and whistled before opening the nearest window so Errol could escape.

As the Weasley family walked about in hysterics, attempting to get their bearings, Fred and George stood in the kitchen wearing matching smiles.

"That was..." Fred began.

"...absolutely..." George continued.

"...fantastic!" they finished in one voice.

"Oh, my word, what a catastrophe!" their mother shouted.

Through the grainy cloud, Molly found a pot that had fallen to the floor and reached for her magic wand. She tapped the edge and muttered an incantation. At once, there was a slurping sound and all the sand in the house began to churn into a vortex toward her. As the pot filled, they were able to see the source of the sudden burst of unexplained sand. Standing in the kitchen was a tall man in a worn leather cap and goggles. Beside him, a dispirited goblin who seemed quite unaffected by the sand.

"I knew it — was him. Told you, didn't I?" said Arthur Weasley, through broken coughs. "You mark my words — I said — he'll make an entrance, that boy."

Molly cleared her throat with a more emphatic manner. "You finally come to visit, and you leave during a sandstorm? You could have at least Apparated to the back garden, Bill."

Their eldest son removed his goggles, as the sand was gradually drawn from every surface in the house.

"Sorry, Mum," said Bill.

"It's fine, dear. Just startled us, is all. We weren't expecting you for an hour. And you should have told us that..." Molly trailed off as she nodded in the direction of the goblin. She smiled apprehensively. "That you were bringing a guest."

Fred and George were busy measuring their height beside the goblin when he stepped forward. He raised his eyebrows and a fine film of dust was drawn to the pot from the cavernous wrinkles on his forehead. "Apologies for the intrusion."

"You must be Griphook," said Arthur with lively interest, shaking the goblin's hand. "We've heard a lot about you."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Sir." He faced Molly. There wasn't a smidge of delight in his expression. "And you, Madam."

"Tea?" said Percy with a flourish. He took down a cup from the shelf and offered it to their guest. It tipped forward, pouring sand onto the saucer before it was quickly swept up into Molly's pot. Percy tried to smile through the upsetting state of their home. "No trouble at all."

Griphook looked askance at the sandy teacup and shook his head.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Molly asked breathlessly.

"My visit is clerical in nature." Griphook handed Molly a small package wrapped in brown paper. She turned it over in her hands curiously.

"Don't unwrap it, Mum," warned Bill. "Best wait until the storm ends."

Arthur joined his wife at her side, both of them looking confused. Ron, who had been hiding under the breakfast table since the blast, crawled his way across the floorboards, sand coming off of him in small clouds. He stood beside the twins, who were suddenly very interested in the mysterious package.

Griphook turned to Bill and spoke to him in a series of snarls and snorts. Bill replied in a garbled tone before the goblin suddenly vanished from the room with a faint pop.

"Where'd he go?" Ron said, gawking at the spot where the goblin had been standing only moments prior.

Bill shrugged. "Back to Egypt, I'd imagine."

"Wait," Charlie began, "did he just speak in —?"

"Gobbledegook, yes," answered Bill.

"And you can understand him?" asked Fred.

"I can."

"I could as well," said Percy.

"Is that right?" Arthur inquired.

"No one bothered to ask. I learned Gobbledegook summer after second year."

"Why — would you do that?" Molly wondered.

"As an exercise in linguistic study, why else? Bill's goblin said take as long as you need."

"Bill's goblin?" Fred murmured. "Bill... you didn't tell us you'd bought a goblin."

"Must be expensive, them," said George contemplatively, to Bill's amusement.

"I'm through with this pointless conversation," said Percy in an unimpressed voice. He frowned at his brothers and headed into the thin cloud of departing dust coming from the living room. "I'll be in the den if anyone wants me."

"We have a den?" asked Ron.

"Percy is amazing," Fred spoke, in an equally unimpressed voice.

"He really is," George added, grinning.

Bill shook his jacket as all the sand finished transporting itself into the pot, then hugged Molly and Arthur. The twins eyed the curious package that was left on the kitchen table. The paper was stamped with red ink in the insignia of Gringotts Wizarding Bank — twin dragons flanking a crest of rubies, measuring scales, and keys. Before they could take a closer look, their mother swiped it from the table. She thrust the pot of sand into their arms.

"Fred, George... dump that in the cat box, will you?"

"I can do it," Ron offered, trying to take the pot from them.

"No, you don't," said Molly as she grabbed her youngest son by the top of his head and turned him toward the table. "Ronald Weasley, you sit back down and work on your penmanship."

"Fine," he said miserably.

Mrs. Weasley watched as Fred heaved the pot into George's arms and the two of them marched toward the wobbly staircase.

"Where are you taking that?"

"Percy's bedroom."

"Dumping it in the cat box, like you told us."

"Why is the cat box —?" Molly gave an audible sigh. "Nevermind. I don't want to know."