There was a loud hammering of fists on the boards behind the electric fire.
“Harry? Harry, can you hear us?”
The Dursleys rounded on Harry like a pair of angry wolverines.
“What is this?” growled Uncle Vernon. “What’s going on?”
“They — they’ve tried to get here by Floo powder,” said Harry, fighting a mad desire to laugh. “They can travel by fire — only you’ve blocked the fireplace — hang on —”
He approached the fireplace and called through the boards.
“Mr. Weasley? Can you hear me?”
The hammering stopped. Somebody inside the chimney piece said, “Shh!”
“Mr. Weasley, it’s Harry . . . the fireplace has been blocked up. You won’t be able to get through there.”
“Damn!” said Mr. Weasley’s voice. “What on earth did they want to block up the fireplace for?”
“They’ve got an electric fire,” Harry explained.
“Really?” said Mr. Weasley’s voice excitedly. “Eclectic, you say? With a plug? Gracious, I must see that. . . . Let’s think . . . ouch, Ron!”
Ron’s voice now joined the others’.
“What are we doing here? Has something gone wrong?”
“Oh no, Ron,” came Fred’s voice, very sarcastically. “No, this is exactly where we wanted to end up.”
“Yeah, we’re having the time of our lives here,” said George, whose voice sounded muffled, as though he was squashed against the wall.