"Harry, could you please fetch the tablecloth from the kitchen-the purple-and-blue checked one? It's in a basket. If there's a feather duster on top of it, please put the duster on the table," Molly Weasley said, smiling.
"And if you suddenly hear strange banging or explosions upstairs, don't worry. That's just our household ghoul, who never settles down, burning off some energy, or those two little troublemakers having another go at the walls."
"Oh, all right, I'll go right now!" Harry, who had been moving a table with magic, snapped out of his daze and finally lowered it onto the earth. He turned toward the Burrow, muttering, "Tablecloth... tablecloth..."
Ron Weasley, who had been assigned to weed the garden, suddenly raised his head. His eyes darted as he seized the chance to take a break. "Mum, I'll go with Harry!"
"You don't need to go, Ron. Harry's a bright young man; he won't get lost-oh, unless you're planning to shirk your work and run away, leaving your sister to deal with the rest of the weeds alone?" Molly Weasley glared at her youngest son. Ginny hadn't even complained about being tired, so why was he already thinking of running off?
"Of course not! I was just worried Harry might get frightened by the mirror on the cupboard. It likes saying strange things when people aren't paying attention." With his little scheme exposed, Ron went back to battling the weeds, crestfallen.
Ten seconds later, he gave his unusually hardworking sister, Ginny Weasley, a puzzled look. She wasn't going anywhere today, yet she had put on light makeup, and her cheeks looked rosy-not the kind of red that came from the exertion of pulling weeds. Strange. Ginny was acting far too strangely today!
Ron narrowed his eyes. Just as Mum had said,