"What d'you mean you don't trust us?" Fred asked.

"It's nothing short of insulting, really," George said.

The twins stood on a tall snow-covered hill overlooking the distant village of Ottery St. Catchpole. In Fred's hands was a worn sled.

"If you think I'm about to get on that, you're mental," Ron said, pointing a gloved finger at the wooden contraption.

"It's a simple matter, really."

"We've already tried it out loads of times."

Hermione sighed loudly, crossing her arms. She opened her mouth, then thought better of it. Turning to Harry, she looked back and forth from him to Ron. Harry shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"Right, so who wants to go first?" Fred asked, dropping the sled down and patting the seat invitingly.

"I think you're daft, but I'll do it," Ginny said, stepping forward.

Hermione pinched Harry in the back.

"Ow! Fine, I'll go, too!"

Harry stepped forward. Fred sat down in the back of the sled. Harry took the spot in the middle. Ginny hopped to the front, wriggling in between Harry's legs. Harry gulped. With a fixed determination, he mentally began to list off every Chaser in the International Association of Quidditch.

Fred patted Harry on the back, "Well what a merry maiden voyage this is!"

"What? Maiden?" Hermione spat, stepping forward, "But you said-"

"George!"

"I've got ya, mate!" George replied, pushing the sled forward with a mighty shove.

The sled tilted over the crest of the hill then tipped downwards. The hill seemed much steeper than before, Harry thought. They shot down the hill, the wooden sled rattling them blind. They sped faster and faster.

"Alright, hold on, now!" Fred cried, wrapping his long arms around Harry and Ginny.

Just as they were about the hit the bottom, all three of them were pulled into the nauseating grip of apparition. They appeared back at the top of the hill, but instead of the sled rocketing faster down the slope as the twins had anticipated, it spun madly like a top. It twirled sharply until it hit a stump buried in the snow. The sled slammed it, sending its occupants rolling.

Harry bumped and rolled. He kept rolling. Panicking, Harry realized he was tumbling down the mountain once more, but now as a one-man avalanche. There was a blur of snow, sky, and howling Weasleys. Harry was careening down the slope straight into Ottery St. Catchpole.

"Oi, Harry! Watch out for the post there!" George yelled, cupping his hands.

"Bank left!" Hermione shouted.

"No, just keep going! We ran out of milk!"

"Fred!"

"What? Mum wanted us to pick some up in town."

Harry's hands desperately tried gripping for traction, anything to slow him down. It was a wild tumult of ice, he felt like a runaway locomotive, unable to stop himself. Finally, his back connected with a bicycle, and it fell on top of him, a handlebar plunging into his gut. Harry coughed and shoved the bicycle off of him. He panted heavily, wiping a spot of blood from his nose. He laid on the ground, the world still spinning around him.

"Way to go, Harry!" George shouted, clapping.

Ron whistled and cheered. Hearing the praise up on the hill, Harry gave a weak thumbs up then fainted.

The group at the top eventually stopped clapping. They lapsed into silence.

"You didn't kill him, did you?" Ginny asked.

"He's only playing. He's fine, AREN'T YOU HARRY?" Fred shouted down the hill.

Harry did not stir. Everyone turned to Ron, who rolled his eyes and groaned.

"You know what? You lot can bugger off," Ron grumbled, offering them all a rude hand gesture before taking the long walk down the hill.