Hogwarts' Golden Glory

Before Ron could respond.

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from outside the window.

Harry turned his head and saw five or six garden goblins piled up on the windowsill.

The dirty little face was pressed against the glass, full of curiosity about what was inside.

"Ignore them," Ron said, continuing to rummage through the cards without looking up. "These guys are always peeking—hey!"

The goblin at the very top, wearing a tattered hat, suddenly made a face.

He drew a crooked heart on the glass with his dirty fingers.

The other goblins immediately burst into laughter, one of them even pulling out an acorn and waving it in front of Harry as if to show off.

"That's my collectible!" Ron jumped up and rushed to the window. "The acorn signed by the Bulgarian Seeker that went missing last week!"

Upon seeing this, the goblins immediately scattered like birds and beasts, fleeing in all directions like a group of frightened groundhogs.

The goblin chieftain, wearing a tattered hat, was the slowest runner and was grabbed by Ron by the waistband (if that tattered strip of cloth could be considered a waistband).

"Hand it over!" Ron shook the goblin upside down.

The goblin let out a pig-like scream and spat out a bunch of random things: a few rusty buttons, a moldy biscuit, and finally the precious signed acorn—which had been gnawed in half.

"You filthy little thing—" Ron was so angry he was incoherent.

The goblin seized the opportunity and bit Ron's finger hard.

He slipped away the moment he let go.

Before leaving, he didn't forget to take a copper nut from Ron's bedside.

A sudden "clang" came from the ceiling, followed by the sound of something heavy being dragged.

"That's...?" Harry looked up warily.

"Oh, it's a ghoul," Ron mumbled, sucking on his bitten finger. "There's one living in our attic. Don't worry, it's not a threat except for its love of wrestling and singing at night."

As if to confirm Ron's words, off-key singing suddenly came from the ceiling.

It sounded like someone was singing "A Pot of Fiery Love" with an iron bucket over their head.

Then came a burst of intense fighting sounds, like a ghoul battling its own shadow.

"It always does that?" Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Much funnier than Percy." Ron shrugged. "Last Christmas it stole Dad's mead, got so drunk it mistook the chimney for a toilet, and got stuck—"

Suddenly, Molly screamed from downstairs, "Ron Weasley! Don't talk about this in front of the guests!"

Ron made a face and lowered his voice: "Anyway, Fred and George often feed it leftovers, and now it's become their 'secret weapon.' Last time the Ministry of Magic came to search, the ghoul threw a dead rat on her head."

As they were talking, a piece of stale cheese suddenly fell down from a crack in the ceiling.

It landed precisely on Ron's Chocolate Frog card collection.

"Thanks, old man!" Ron shouted toward the ceiling.

Then, with a look of disdain, he picked up the greenish cheese with two fingers. "Looks like it's in a good mood today."

Harry curiously moved a chair over, stepped on it, and peered into the attic through the crack in the small trapdoor in the ceiling.

In the dimly lit attic, a ghoul with skin like a moldy potato sat cross-legged on a tattered cushion.

Use a bone comb to comb its sparse hair.

Noticing Harry's gaze, the ghoul suddenly grinned, revealing jagged, yellow teeth.

"Would you...want some music?" it asked in a hoarse voice, pulling out a rusty harmonica from somewhere.

Before Harry could answer, the ghoul began playing the Hogwarts School Song in a completely off-key manner.

At the same time, he used his toes to hold a fork and tapped a tin can as accompaniment.

Even more bizarrely, there were more than a dozen moving dolls hanging from the roof beams above its head.

The entire group consisted of twins who had made ghoul costumes out of old socks, and they were dancing a bizarre dance to music.

"Merlin's pants..." Harry stared in disbelief.

Ron climbed up to join in the fun: "George taught it to tap dance last week, and now it—"

The trapdoor was suddenly flung open.

The ghoul's overly excited face was shoved right in front of the two boys.

They were so frightened that they both fell off their chairs.

Accompanied by two muffled thuds and the ghoul's gloating laughter, Molly's roar came again from downstairs:

"You two! Either get down here, or you'll eat the ghoul's moldy cheese!"

......

Harry was already awake when the morning sunlight streamed through the crooked window of the Burrow.

He lay on the folding bed in Ron's room, staring blankly at the Chadli Artillery poster on the ceiling.

This was his sixth morning at the Burrow, but each time he woke up, he still needed a few seconds to confirm that he wasn't dreaming—that he had really escaped the Dursleys.

"Harry, are you awake?"

Ron's voice came from upstairs, accompanied by the creaking of the bed: "Mom's calling downstairs again."

Harry rubbed his eyes and saw Ron leaning halfway out of his four-poster bed with orange curtains, his red hair a mess that looked like it had been crawled over by a frizzy shell.

"I smell bacon."

Fred's voice suddenly came from the doorway.

He and George were already standing there at some point.

Both of them were wearing pajamas with strange patterns.

"We bet Harry sewed your socks again this morning, Ron," he said, winking. "Mom treats him like a second Percy."

Ron threw a pillow, but George nimbly dodged it.

Harry laughed as he got out of bed and put on the T-shirt that Mrs. Weasley had patched up three times—though each time it had some strange orange yarn pattern added.

The noise from the kitchen downstairs gradually became clearer as they descended the spiral staircase.

Mrs. Weasley is using her wand to direct at least five pots to cook simultaneously.

Ginny was sitting quietly in the corner shelling beans when she saw Harry and almost knocked over the bowl in front of her.

Good morning, my dear children!

Mrs. Weasley turned around, waved her wand, and the floating fried eggs landed precisely on five plates.

"Harry, darling, I noticed you've got another hole in your left sock."

Before Harry could answer, a ball of yarn flew from the living room and landed precisely in his hand.

"Actually, you don't need to..." Harry started to say, but was stopped by Mrs. Weasley's eyes.

"Don't be silly, child. Mending socks is just a matter of waving a magic wand for me."

As she spoke, she deliberately left the yarn in Harry's hand, "And you've done a much better job mending it than some people."

She gave Ron a meaningful look.

Ron pretended not to hear and was busy piling bacon onto his plate.

Harry sat down, and Mrs. Weasley taught him how to use a spell to accomplish the task.

In the Dursleyan household, this was once a punishment, but here it has become a kind of warm ritual.

"Harry!" Mr. Weasley strode into the kitchen, his glasses askew.

"I just thought of a brilliant question—how do Muggle washing machines distinguish between different colored clothes?"

Harry nearly choked on his orange juice: "Actually... they don't tell the difference. If you wash them together..."

"It will stain!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, then became puzzled.

"But why don't Muggles invent a spell to prevent staining?"