It was as though they had been plunged into a fabulous dream. This, thought Lyla dreamily, was surely the only way to travel— past swirls and turrets of snowy cloud, in a car full of hot, bright sunlight, with a fat pack of toffees in the glove compartment, and the prospect of seeing Fred's and George's jealous faces when they landed smoothly and spectacularly on the sweeping lawn in front of Hogwarts castle.

They made regular checks on the train as they flew farther and farther north, each dip beneath the clouds showing them a different view. London was soon far behind them, replaced by neat green fields that gave way in turn to wide, purplish moors, a great city alive with cars like multicolored ants, villages with tiny toy churches.

Several uneventful hours later, however, Lyla had to admit that some of the fun was wearing off. The toffees had made them extremely thirsty and they had nothing to drink. It had gotten so uncomfortably hot that all the occupants of the car had pulled off their sweaters, but Lyla couldn't help but notice how her T-shirt continued to stick to the back of her seat. They all had stopped noticing the fantastic cloud shapes now and were thinking longingly of the train miles below, where you could buy ice-cold pumpkin juice from a trolley pushed by a plump witch. Why hadn't they been able to get onto platform nine and three-quarters?

"Can't be much further, can it?" croaked Arabella, hours later still, as the sun started to sink into their floor of cloud, staining it a deep pink. "Ready for another check on the train?"

It was still right below them, winding its way past a snow-capped mountain. It was much darker beneath the canopy of clouds. Ron put his foot on the accelerator and drove them upward again, but as he did so, the engine began to whine.

"It's probably just tired," said Ron with a tight smile. "It's never been this far before…

And they both pretended not to notice the whining growing louder and louder as the sky became steadily darker. Stars were blossoming in the blackness. They all tugged their sweaters back on, trying to ignore the way the windshield wipers were now waving feebly, as though in protest.

"Not far," said Ron, more to the car than to his passengers, "not far now," he said gently, patting the dashboard nervously.

When they flew back beneath the clouds a little while later, they had to squint through the darkness for a landmark they knew.

"There!" Lyla shouted, making everyone else jump. "Straight ahead!"

Silhouetted on the dark horizon, high on the cliff over the lake, stood the many turrets and towers of Hogwarts castle.

"Come on," Ron said cajolingly, giving the steering wheel a little shake, "nearly there, come on— "

The engine groaned. Narrow jets of steam were issuing from under the hood. Arabella gripped the edges of her seat very hard as they flew toward the lake. The car gave a nasty wobble. Glancing out of his window, they could see the smooth, black, glassy surface of the water, a mile below. Ron's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The car wobbled again.

"Come on," Ron muttered again.

By some miracle or another, the car made a rather bumpy touch down next to a large patch of trees. Ron guided the car until it was underneath an ancient-looking willow. Everyone let out a long-held breath of relief.

"Well," breathed Lyla, opening her door and stretching her aching limbs, "that went pretty well, didn't it?"

No sooner had the words left her mouth, however, as something that sounded like a snapping whip came crashing down.

"Noooooo!" Arabella screamed, feeling the car shudder and buck. Another whip came crashing down on the back of the car. Scrambling from the chaos, Lyla had only a split second to see a gigantic tree branch come crashing down into the hood of the car, causing thick black clouds of smoke from its shattered front.

The car seemed to rebel at being battered around, revving its engines ferociously and opening all its doors at once. With whatever remaining energy it did have, it sent both Arabella and Ron sprawling across the grass, quickly followed by their luggage and screaming owls.

"Are you okay?" asked Arabella urgently.

Ron mumbled something back, but it was clear that whatever had happened, he'd knocked his head against something.

Dented, scratched, and steaming, the car flicked its lights angrily and turned to rumble off into the darkness.

"Come back!" cried Lyla horsley, clambering to her shaky legs, "come back, you! Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are going to kill us!"

But the car disappeared from view with one last snort from its exhaust.

"My wand," said Ron in a shaky voice. "Look at my wand— my wand!"

It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters. Slowly, Ron rose, gripping at his left arm and staring down at his wand with utter dismay.

"Can you believe our luck?" he said miserably, bending down to pick up a sleeping Scabbers. "Of all the trees we parked under, we had to get one that hits…"

He glanced over his shoulder at the ancient tree, which was still flailing its branches threateningly.

"Come on," said Arabella wearily, "we'd better get up to the school..."

It wasn't at all the triumphant arrival they had pictured. Stiff, cold, and bruised, they seized the ends of their trunks and began dragging them up the grassy slope, toward the great oak front doors.

"I think the feast's already started," said Ron grumpily, dropping his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossing quietly to look through a brightly lit window. "Hey— come and look— it's the Sorting!"Both sisters hurried over and, together, peered in at the Great Hall. Innumerable candles were hovering in midair over four long, crowded tables, making the golden plates and goblets sparkle. Overhead, the bewitched ceiling, which always mirrored the sky outside, sparkled with stars. Through the forest of pointed black Hogwarts hats, Lyla saw a long line of scared-looking first years filing into the Hall. Ginny was among them, easily visible because of her vivid Weasley hair. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, a bespectacled witch with her hair in a tight bun, was placing the famous Hogwarts Sorting Hat on a stool before the newcomers.

Every year, this aged old hat, patched, frayed, and dirty, sorted new students into the four Hogwarts houses (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin). Both girls could well remember putting it on themselves, exactly one year ago, and waiting, petrified, for its decision as it muttered aloud in his ear. A very small, mousy-haired boy had been called forward to place the hat on his head. Lyla's eyes wandered past him to where Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, sat watching the Sorting from the staff table, his long silver beard and half-moon glasses shining brightly in the candlelight. Several seats along, she saw Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in robes of aquamarine. And there at the end was Hagrid, huge and hairy, drinking deeply from his goblet.

"Hang on..." Arabella muttered. "There's an empty chair at the staff table... Where's Snape?"

Severus Snape was Arabella's least favorite teacher. It also appeared that she happened to be Snape's least favorite student.

"Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully.

"Maybe he's left," said Arabella hopefully, "because he missed out on the Defense Against Dark Arts job again!"

"Or he might have been sacked!" continued Ron enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates him."

"Oh, you two are just awful," sighed Lyla sadly, shaking her head in disappointment.

"Or maybe," said a very cold voice right behind them, "he's waiting to hear why you three didn't arrive on the school train."

Lyla spun around before she could stop herself. There, his black robes rippling in a cold breeze stood Severus Snape. He was a thin man with sallow skin, a hooked nose, and greasy, shoulder-length black hair, and at this moment, he was smiling in a way that told Harry he and Ron were in very deep trouble.

"Follow me," demanded Snape coldly.

Not daring even to look at each other, the trio of second years followed Snape up the steps into the vast, echoing entrance hall, which was lit with flaming torches. A delicious smell of food was wafting from the Great Hall, but Snape led them away from the warmth and light, down a narrow stone staircase that led into the dungeons.

"In!" he said, opening a door halfway down the cold passageway and pointing.

They entered Snape's office, shivering. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars, in which floated all manner of revolting things Lyla didn't really want to know the name of at the moment. The fireplace was dark and empty. Snape closed the door and turned to look at them.

"So," he said softly, "care to explain why the train wasn't good enough? Wanted to arrive for your second year with a bang, did we?"

"No, sir, it wasn't that at all," pleaded Arabella, her pupils dilated with fear. "It was the barrier at King's Cross, it —"

"Silence!" seethed the potions master coldly. "What have you done with the car?"

Ron gulped loudly. This wasn't the first time Snape had given Arabella the impression of being able to read minds. But a moment later, she understood, as Snape unrolled today's issue of the Evening Prophet.

"You were seen," he hissed slowly, showing them the headline:

FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES.

He began to read aloud:

"Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower... at noon in Norfolk, Mrs. Hetty Bayliss, while hanging out her washing... Mr. Angus Fleet, of Peebles, reported to police... Six or seven Muggles in all. I believe your father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office?" he said, looking up at Ron smirking nastily. "Dear, dear... his own son…"

Lyla felt as though she'd just been walloped in the stomach by one of the mad tree's larger branches. If anyone found out Mr. Weasley had bewitched the car... she hadn't thought of that…

"I noticed, in my search of the park, that considerable damage seems to have been done to a very valuable Whomping Willow," Snape went on without missing a beat.

"That tree did more damage to us than we—" Ron blurted out.

"Do not interrupt me, Mr. Weasley!" snapped Snape again. "Most, unfortunately, you and Miss Arabella are not in my House, and the decision to punish you does not rest with me. I shall go and fetch the people who do have that happy power. However, you Lyla Potter will be seeing me alone in my office very, very soon…"

Lyla felt a horrible wave of fear wash over her.

As Snape swept from his office, the three friends gazed at each other without saying a word. They no longer felt hungry, their appetites spoiled by Snape's cold rage. As they waited, Lyla found her gaze traveling to the bottles that lined her Head of House's office. She tried not to look at a large, slimy something suspended in green liquid on a shelf behind Snape's desk, feeling even more ill.

Ten minutes later, Snape returned, followed silently by McGonagall. She looked furious, her mouth nothing more but a line of disapproval. She raised her wand the moment she entered, causing both Ron and Arabella to flinch. However, all she did was merely point it at the empty fireplace, where flames suddenly erupted.

"You three, Sit," she said, and they both backed into chairs by the fire.

"Explain," she said, her glasses glinting ominously.

Ron launched into the story, starting with the barrier at the station refusing to let them through.

"— so we had no choice, Professor, we couldn't get on the train."

"Why didn't you send us a letter by owl?" asked Snape slyly.

"I believe you have an owl, do you not?" asked McGonagall coldly, gazing at the Potter girls with narrowed eyes.

Arabella gaped at her.

"I — we didn't think —"

"That," sighed McGonagall, "is quite obvious."

There was a knock on the office door, and to everyone's shock, there stood the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore.

Lyla felt as if someone had just dumped a bucket of ice-cold water down her back. Shooting Arabella a quick glance, she could see her sister was very much feeling the same emotions of numbness. Dumbledore was looking unusually grave. He stared down his very crooked nose at them, and Lyla suddenly found herself wishing that the whomping willow was still beating down on them. She'd take that tree any day now if it meant never having to see the disappointment in the old wizard's eyes.

Then Dumbledore said, "Please explain why you did this."

It would have been better if he had shouted. Lyla hated the disappointment in his voice. For some reason, she was unable to look Dumbledore in the eyes and spoke instead to his knees. She explained everything to Dumbledore (except that Mr. Weasley owned the bewitched car), making it sound as though she, Arabella, and Ron had happened to find a flying car parked outside the station. She was aware that Dumbledore would most likely see through this at once, but Dumbledore asked no questions about the car. When Lyla had finished, he merely continued to peer at them through his spectacles.

"We'll go and get our stuff then," said Arabella in a hopeless sort of voice.

"What are you talking about, Potter?" barked McGonagall with surprise.

"Well, you're expelling us, aren't you?" asked Arabella with an equal amount of surprise.

Lyla looked quickly at Dumbledore.

"No, no, not today, Miss Potter," said Dumbledore calmly. "But I must impress upon all of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to both your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you."

Snape's beetle dark eyes glittered, as though Christmas has arrived early

Dumbledore turned to face both Heads of Houses.

"Professor McGonagall, I must go back to the feast, I've got to give out a few notices. Come, Severus, there's a delicious-looking custard tart I want to sample of—"

"You'd better get to the hospital wing Ara, you're bleeding."

"Not by much," replied Arabella, hastily wiping the blood that covered her face with her sleeve.

"Has the Sorting Ceremony already finished?

"The Sorting Ceremony finished minutes ago," said McGonagall curtly, "and yes, Weasley, your sister is also in Gryffindor."

"Oh," Ron let out a long sigh. "Good, good,"

"You three will eat in here and then go straight up to your dormitory," she prompted, waving her want in one graceful movement. And sandwiches materialized onto the position's master's desk, along with a couple of desserts too... "I must also return to the feast."

When the door had closed behind her, Ron let out a long, low whistle. "I thought we'd had it," he said, grabbing a sandwich.

"So did I," gasped Lyla, numbly reaching for a sandwich.

"Can you believe our luck, though?" said Ron thickly through a mouthful of chicken and ham. "Fred and George must've flown that car five or six times and no Muggle ever saw them."

"Why couldn't we get through the barrier?" groaned Arabella miserably.

Lyla shrugged, patting her sister delicately on the shoulder. "We'll have to watch our step from now on," she said, taking a long-desired swig of pumpkin juice. "Wish we could've gone up to the feast though..."

"She didn't want us showing off," said Ron sagely. "Doesn't want people to think it's clever, arriving by flying car."

"Don't be stupid," sighed Arabella irritably. "I bet she doesn't want us making a scene in the Great Hall…"

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