Chapter 71: Strange Rules
"In fact, there are gnomes in Muggle gardens too," Ron said. He bent down and began rummaging vigorously through the peony bushes. The branches trembled and petals scattered everywhere. Suddenly he grabbed something and yanked it out.
"Look! There it is. It looks like a tiny Santa Claus—fat and round, holding a fishing rod."
George covered his forehead. How much did Ron hate Santa Claus? Gnomes looked nothing like Santa Claus—actually, they hardly looked human at all. They were dirty and round, like oversized pebbles. At best they could be described as vaguely humanoid, though their features weren't too grotesque. In fact, they were far better-looking than house-elves.
"You've got to do it like this!" Ron demonstrated. He grabbed the gnome by its ankles, lifted it over his head, spun his arm in a wide circle, and finally hurled it forward.
The gnome flew far away and landed with a thump behind the hedge.
"This doesn't hurt them. It just makes them dizzy so they can't find their way back to their holes."
"You're terrible at this," Fred said disdainfully, glancing at Ron. Then he threw a gnome past the tree stump in one smooth motion.
Harry tried to catch a gnome but accidentally got bitten by its sharp teeth. Becoming more cautious, he turned to see what George was doing.
"You're cheating," Ron said when he noticed George's method.
George took out his wand and waved it gently without saying a spell. One by one, the gnomes began floating up from the ground. A small whirlwind lifted them high into the air and carried them far away.
Compared with Ron and Fred throwing them by hand, George's wand sent them flying much farther and far more efficiently.
"A wizard should use a wizard's methods," George said disapprovingly. "If someone wants exercise, they can follow a proper training plan—add gravity to themselves and do full-body training. For ordinary chores like this, it's better to practice magic control. Otherwise, in peaceful times, how many chances does a wizard even get to train or fight?"
As for the underage magic restrictions?
Just like Ron's father once said about the department he worked for: "The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."
How many people actually worked in the Improper Use of Magic Office? George remembered it being only one or two.
When George studied the laws of the magical world, he found loopholes everywhere. You couldn't expect such a small group of people—each with extraordinary power—to create perfectly complete laws unless they forced everyone to take Veritaserum before making decisions.
After reading several legal books, George had already mastered most of the ways to get around magical restrictions.
"You're right," Fred said gloomily as he threw the gnome in his hand far away.
With George "cheating" using magic, the gnomes were soon cleared out.
"I wonder if they'll find their way back," Ron said uncertainly as he watched the gnomes being blown away by the whirlwind.
"They always used to come back before, because my dad was pretty tolerant toward them. Even if people think gnomes are amusing, it's hard to find a better place than this."
Just as Ron was speaking, the door suddenly slammed open with a loud bang.
"Dad's back," Fred said happily as he walked toward the house through the garden.
As they entered, they saw Mr. Weasley slumped in a kitchen chair. A pair of glasses lay on the table in front of him.
His eyes were closed. He was tall and thin, slightly stooped, and his hair wasn't as bright red as the children's. His green robes were wrinkled, and he looked utterly exhausted.
"I'm completely worn out," he said while reaching for the teapot, seemingly unaware of the people entering.
"I searched nine houses overnight. That old fellow Mundungus Fletcher nearly shot at me when I turned my back. What rotten luck…"
Mr. Weasley drank the entire pot of tea in one go and let out a long sigh.
"Dad, did you find anything?" Fred asked curiously.
"Just a few weakened keys and a biting kettle," Mr. Weasley said with a tired yawn.
"There were also some troublesome items—like several strange ferrets. Thank goodness they're not under our department's jurisdiction. They've been sent to the magical laboratory for inspection."
"Why would anyone weaken keys with a spell?" Ron asked, unable to understand.
"They just want to make fun of Muggles," Mr. Weasley said with contempt.
"They sell ordinary keys to Muggles and then secretly weaken them with magic so the keys shrink. When people need them, they suddenly can't find them anymore."
"It completely confuses Muggles. They can't accept the fact that magic made their keys disappear, so they insist they must have lost them. They always ignore magic right in front of their eyes, even though we truly exist. With magic, you simply wouldn't believe—"
"Just like cars, right?" Mrs. Weasley said as she walked in, holding a fire poker. She had just come from the stove, and the metal rod was still smoking.
Mr. Weasley's mouth opened slightly. His words seemed stuck in his throat.
He looked at his wife guiltily, his eyes wandering nervously.
"C-cars, dear? What are you talking about?"
"Yes, Arthur, that car," Mrs. Weasley said angrily, lowering her voice.
"Imagine a wizard buying an old car and telling his wife that he only wants to study Muggle technology for work—to examine the internal structure of automobiles."
"And then he secretly uses magic to turn that car into a flying car."
"Oh, dear, don't worry," Mr. Weasley hurriedly explained. "You probably don't know this, but technically it's not illegal. Of course, he should have told his wife beforehand. But there's a loophole in the law. As long as he doesn't actually fly the car, it isn't considered illegal."
"Arthur Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley shouted. "You deliberately left that loophole in the law when you wrote it! Just so you could mess around with those Muggle contraptions in the shed?"
"And let me tell you—Harry came here this morning riding in that so-called magical car that supposedly can't fly!"
George held his forehead and fell silent for a moment.
"No wonder the laws of the magical world are full of loopholes," he thought.
"So the laws were written by the employees themselves—and every one of them left a bunch of backdoors for personal use. No wonder the magical legal system is riddled with holes."
Of course, the same thing happened in the real world too. The people who created laws often left loopholes for themselves.
But in the real world, an entire legal system would never be written by just one or two people in a single department.
With personal interests and limited oversight, the legal code of the magical world had practically become a sieve full of holes.
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