Chapter Five

The Whomping Willow

The end of the summer vacation came too quickly. The Weasleys were looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts. On their last evening, Mrs. Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner, ending with a mouthwatering treacle pudding. Fred and George rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster fireworks; they filled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed.

It took a long while to get started next morning. They were up at dawn, but somehow they still seemed to have a great deal to do. Mrs. Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks and quills; people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands; and Mr. Weasley nearly broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny's trunk to the car.

How eight people, six large trunks, two owls, and a rat were going to fit into one small Ford Anglia seemed a mystery. Thankfully, Mr. Weasley added "special features".

"Not a word to Molly," he whispered to his children as he opened the trunk and them showed how it had been magically expanded so that the luggage fitted easily.

When at last they were all in the car, Mrs. Weasley glanced into the back seat, where Ron, Fred, George, and Percy were all sitting comfortably side by side, and said, "Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don't they?" She and Ginny got into the front seat, which had been stretched so that it resembled a park bench. "I mean, you'd never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?"

Mr. Weasley started up the engine and they trundled out of the yard. George had forgotten his box of Filibuster fireworks. Five minutes after that, they skidded to a halt in the yard so that Fred could run in for his broomstick. They had almost reached the highway when Ginny shrieked that she'd left her diary. By the time she had clambered back into the car, they were running very late, and tempers were running high.

Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch and then at his wife.

"Molly, dear —"

"No, Arthur —–"

"No one would see — this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed — that'd get us up in the air — then we fly above the clouds. We'd be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser —"

"I said no, Arthur, not in broad daylight —"

They reached King's Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr. Weasley dashed across the road to get trolleys for their trunks and they all hurried into the station.

The tricky part was getting onto platform nine and three-quarters, which wasn't visible to the Muggle eye. What you had to do was walk through the solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. It didn't hurt, but it had to be done carefully so that none of the Muggles noticed you vanishing.

"Percy first," said Mrs. Weasley, looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed they had only five minutes to disappear casually through the barrier.

Percy strode briskly forward and vanished. Mr. Weasley went next; Fred and George followed.

"I'll take Ginny and you two come right after us," Mrs. Weasley told Ron, grabbing Ginny's hand and setting off. In the blink of an eye they were gone.

"I've only got a minute," Ron said worriedly to himself.

Ron made sure that Hedwig's cage was safely wedged on top of his trunk and wheeled his trolley around to face the barrier. He bent low over the handle of his trolley and walked purposefully toward the barrier, gathering speed. A few feet away from it, he broke into a run and —

CRASH.

His trolley hit the barrier and bounced backward; Ron's trunk fell off with a loud thump, and Hedwig's cage bounced onto the shiny floor, and she rolled away, shrieking indignantly; people all around them stared and a guard nearby yelled, "What in blazes d'you think you're doing?"

Ron ran to pick up Hedwig, who was causing such a scene that there was a lot of muttering about cruelty to animals from the surrounding crowd.

"I dunno —"

Ron looked wildly around. A dozen curious people were still watching him.

"I'm going to miss the train," Ron whispered. "I don't understand why the gateway's sealed itself —"

The giant clock read ten seconds… nine seconds…Three seconds… two seconds… one second… It was gone, the train had left. Ron pressed his ear to the cold barrier. He couldn't hear a thing, and he became worried; what was he going to do? He didn't know how long it'll take his parents to get back to out, or even if they could.

He looked around. People were still watching him, mainly because of Hedwig's continuing screeches.

Ron, his eyes gleaming. Suddenly, Rom had an idea. He could fly the car to Hogwarts. Ron remembered his father telling him that underage wizards could use magic if the situation demanded it. Ron wheeled his trolley around to face the exit, hoping to follow the Hogwarts Express.

And he marched off through the crowd of curious Muggles, out of the station and back onto the side road where the old Ford Anglia was parked. Ron unlocked the cavernous trunk with a series of taps from his wand. He heaved his luggage back in, put Hedwig on the back seat, and got into the front.

Ron was sure to check that no one was watching, starting the ignition with another tap of his wand. Traffic was rumbling along the main road ahead, but their street was empty. Ron pressed a tiny silver button on the dashboard. The car around him vanished — and so did he. The seat was vibrating beneath him, and he could hear the engine purr.

"Let's go," said Ron's voice.

And the ground and the dirty buildings on either side fell away, dropping out of sight as the car rose; in seconds, the whole of London lay, smoky and glittering, below. Then there was a popping noise and the car, and Ron reappeared.

"Uh-oh," said Ron, jabbing at the Invisibility Booster. "It's faulty —"

He pummeled it. The car vanished. Then it flickered back again.

Ron slammed his foot on the accelerator; he shot straight into the low, woolly clouds and everything turned dull and foggy. The solid mass of cloud pressed in on him from all sides.

Ron needed to find the train to see which direction to drive. He dropped back beneath the clouds and twisted around in his seat, squinting at the ground. The Hogwarts Express was streaking along below them like a scarlet snake. It was heading north, according to Ron's dashboard compass. He would check on the train around every half hour to make sure he was heading in the right direction.

And he shot up through the clouds. A minute later, he burst out into a blaze of sunlight. It was a different world. The wheels of the car skimmed the sea of fluffy cloud, the sky a bright, endless blue under the blinding white sun.

"All I've got to worry about now are airplanes," said Ron in an amused tone.

He looked around the vast openness and started to laugh at the majestic wonder; for a long time, he couldn't stop. It was as though he had been plunged into a fabulous dream. This 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 he landed smoothly and spectacularly on the sweeping lawn in front of Hogwarts castle.

He made regular checks on the train as he 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 some of the fun was wearing off. The toffees had made him extremely thirsty and him had nothing to drink. Ron had pulled off his sweater, but he had stopped noticing the fantastic cloud shapes now and was 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 he been able to get onto platform nine and three-quarters?

"Can't be much further, can it?" thought Ron, hours later still, as the sun started to sink into their floor of cloud, staining it a deep pink.

He dipped back down for another check on the train. It was still right below him, winding its way past a snowcapped mountain. It was much darker beneath the canopy of clouds.

Ron put his foot on the accelerator and drove the car upward again, but as he did so, the engine began to whine. Ron gave a nervous glance. It was probably just tired, it's never been this far before. And he pretended not to notice the whining growing louder and louder as the sky became steadily darker. Stars were blossoming in the blackness. Ron tried to ignore the way the windshield wipers were now waving feebly, as though in protest.

"Not far," said Ron, to the car, "not far now," and he patted the dashboard nervously.

When he flew back beneath the clouds a little while later, he had to squint through the darkness for a landmark he knew. The view ahead was so amazing, it made Ron and Hedwig jump; silhouetted on the dark horizon, high on the cliff over the lake, stood the many turrets and towers of Hogwarts castle.

But the car had begun to shudder and was losing speed.

"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. He flew toward the lake. The car gave a nasty wobble. The smooth, black, glassy surface of the water was now a mile below. Ron's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The car wobbled again.

"Come on," Ron muttered.

He were over the lake — the castle was right ahead — Ron put his foot down. There was a loud clunk, a splutter, and the engine died completely.

"Uh-oh," said Ron, into the silence.

The nose of the car dropped. He were falling, gathering speed, heading straight for the solid castle wall.

"Noooooo!" Ron yelled, swinging the steering wheel around; he missed the dark stone wall by inches as the car turned in a great arc, soaring over the dark greenhouses, then the vegetable patch, and then out over the black lawns, losing altitude all the time.

Ron let go of the steering wheel completely and pulled his wand out of his back pocket —

"STOP! STOP!" he yelled, whacking the dashboard and the windshield, but he was still plummeting, the ground flying up toward him —

but too late —

CRUNCH.

With an earsplitting bang of metal on wood, he hit the thick tree trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam was billowing from under the crumpled hood; Hedwig was shrieking in terror; Ron let out a low, shaky, and despairing groan. His wand had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters. At that very moment, something hit his side of the car with the force of a charging bull, sending him lurching sideways, just as an equally heavy blow hit the roof.

"What's happen —?"

Ron gasped, staring through the windshield, a branch as thick as a python smashed into it. The tree he had hit was attacking him. Its trunk was bent almost double, and its gnarled boughs were pummeling every inch of the car it could reach.

"Aaargh!" said Ron as another twisted limb punched a large dent into his door; the windshield was now trembling under a hail of blows from knuckle-like twigs and a branch as thick as a battering ram was pounding furiously on the roof, which seemed to be caving in.

Ron decided to run for it, throwing his full weight against his door, but next second he had been knocked backward by a vicious uppercut from another branch.

At that moment, Ron was sure this would be the end for him as the ceiling sagged, but suddenly the floor of the car was vibrating — the engine had restarted, and the car shot backward; the tree was still trying to hit him; he could hear its roots creaking as it almost ripped itself up, lashing out at him as he sped out of reach.

"That," panted Ron, "was close. Well done, car —"

The car, however, had reached the end of its tether. With two sharp clunks, the doors flew open and the seat tipped sideways: Ron sprawled on the damp ground. The car was ejecting his luggage from the trunk; Hedwig's cage flew through the air and burst open; she rose out of it with an angry screech and sped off toward the castle without a backward look. Then, dented, scratched, and steaming, the car rumbled off into the darkness, its rear lights blazing angrily.

"Come back!" Ron yelled after it, brandishing his broken wand. "Dad'll kill me!"

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

"Can you believe my luck?" said Ron miserably to Scabbers, whom he was bending down to pick up. "Of all the trees I could've hit, I had to get one that hits back."

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

It wasn't at all the triumphant arrival he had pictured. Stiff, cold, and bruised, he seized the end of his trunk and began dragging it up the grassy slope, toward the great oak front doors.

Ron was sure the feast had already started. He dropped his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossed quietly to look through a brightly lit window. Ron peered in at the Great Hall.

The Sorting was taking place. 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, 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).

Last term, Ron had helped Gryffindor win the House Championship, beating Slytherin for the first time in seven years.

A very small, mousy-haired boy had been called forward to place the hat on his head.

At the staff table, Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, sat watching the Sorting, his long silver beard and half-moon glasses shining brightly in the candlelight. Several seats along, Gilderoy Lockhart was dressed in robes of aquamarine. And there at the end was Hagrid, huge and hairy, drinking deeply from his goblet.

Something was odd, the seat reserved for Professor Snape was empty. Professor Severus Snape was everyone's least favorite teacher. Cruel, sarcastic, and disliked by everybody except the students from his own house (Slytherin), Snape taught Potions.

"Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully. "Or he might have been sacked! I mean, everyone hates him —"

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

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 Ron he was in very deep trouble.

"Follow me," said Snape.

Not daring even to look, Ron 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 him 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.

He entered Snape's office, shivering. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars, in which floated all manner of revolting things. The fireplace was dark and empty. Snape closed the door and turned to look at him.

"So," he said softly, "the train isn't good enough for the ever humble Weasley! Wanted to arrive with a bang, did you, boy?"

"No, sir, it was the barrier at King's Cross, it —"

"Silence!" said Snape coldly. "What have you done with the car?" Ron gulped. This wasn't the first time Snape had given the impression of being able to read minds. But a moment later, Snape unrolled today's issue of the Evening Prophet. "You were seen," he hissed, showing him 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 and smiling still more nastily. "Dear, dear… his own son…"

Ron felt as though he'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…

"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.

"That tree did more damage to me than I —" Ron blurted out.

"Silence!" snapped Snape again. "Most unfortunately, you are not in my House and the decision to expel you does not rest with me. I shall go and fetch the people who do have that happy power. You will wait here."

Ron stared, white-faced. If Snape had gone to fetch Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House, he was hardly any better off. She might be fairer than Snape, but she was still extremely strict.

Ten minutes later, Snape returned, and sure enough it was Professor McGonagall who accompanied him. Professor McGonagall was angry on several occasions, but either Ron had forgotten just how thin her mouth could go, or he had never seen her this angry before. She raised her wand the moment she entered; Ron flinched, but she merely pointed it at the empty fireplace, where flames suddenly erupted.

"Sit," she said, and he 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 I had no choice, Professor, I couldn't get on the train."

"Why didn't you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have an owl?" Professor McGonagall said coldly.

Now she said it, that seemed the obvious thing to have done.

There was a knock on the office door and Snape, now looking happier than ever, opened it. There stood the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore was looking unusually grave. He stared down his very crooked nose at Ron, no doubt wishing he was still being beaten up by the Whomping Willow.

Author's Note: It seems out of character for Dumbledore to wish harm on a student like that, but I thought this would be funny to include.

There was a long silence. Then Dumbledore said, "Please explain why you did this."

It would have been better if he had shouted. He merely continued to peer at Ron through his spectacles.

"I'll go and get my stuff," said Ron in a hopeless sort of voice.

"What are you talking about, Weasley?" barked Professor McGonagall.

"Well, you're expelling me, aren't you?" said Ron.

"Not today, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore. "But I must impress upon you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to your family tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you."

Snape looked as though Christmas had been canceled. He cleared his throat and said, "Professor Dumbledore, this boy has flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree — surely acts of this nature —"

"It will be for Professor McGonagall to decide on this boy's punishment, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "He are in her House and is therefore her responsibility." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "I must go back to the feast, Minerva, I've got to give out a few notices. Come, Severus, there's a delicious-looking custard tart I want to sample —"

Snape shot a look of pure venom at Ron as he allowed himself to be swept out of his office, leaving him alone with Professor McGonagall, who was still eyeing him like a wrathful eagle.

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

"Not much," said Ron, hastily wiping the cut over his eye with his sleeve.

"Professor, I wanted to watch my sister being Sorted —"

"The Sorting Ceremony is over," said Professor McGonagall. "Your sister is also in Gryffindor."

"Oh, good," said Ron.

"And speaking of Gryffindor —" Professor McGonagall said sharply, Professor McGonagall gave a piercing look, but he was sure she had almost smiled. Her mouth looked less thin, anyway.

"I will not take any points from Gryffindor," she said. "But you will get a detention."

It was better than expected.

Professor McGonagall raised her wand again and pointed it at Snape's desk. A large plate of sandwiches, two silver goblets, and a jug of iced pumpkin juice appeared with a pop.

"You will eat in here and then go straight up to your dormitory," she said. "I must also return to the feast."

When the door had closed behind her, Ron let out a long, low whistle. Ron was sure he was going to be expelled right then and there. Even though he was to serve detention, he could not complain as he began stuffing his face with sandwiches by the handful. Ron could not help but think Professor McGonagall was impressed with him for his daring. She simply did not want to admit to the clever idea of arriving in a flying car.

Ron could not believe his luck. Fred and George must have flown that car five or six times and no Muggle ever saw them. Still, he wondered why he couldn't get through the barrier.

When he had eaten as many sandwiches as he could (the plate kept refilling itself) he rose and left the office, treading the familiar path to Gryffindor Tower. The castle was quiet; it seemed that the feast was over. He walked past muttering portraits and creaking suits of armor, and climbed narrow flights of stone stairs, until at last he reached the passage where the secret entrance to Gryffindor Tower was hidden, behind an oil painting of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said as he approached.

He didn't know the new year's password, not having met a Gryffindor prefect yet, but help came almost immediately; he heard hurrying feet behind him and turned to see Hermione dashing toward him.

"There you are! Where have you been? The most ridiculous rumors — someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying car!"

"Skip the lecture," said Ron impatiently, "and tell me the new password."

"It's 'wattlebird,'" said Hermione impatiently, "but that's not the point —"

Her words were cut short, however, as the portrait of the fat lady swung open and there was a sudden storm of clapping. It looked as though the whole of Gryffindor House was still awake, packed into the circular common room, standing on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs, waiting for him to arrive. Arms reached through the portrait hole to pull Ron inside, leaving Hermione to scramble in after him.

"Brilliant!" yelled Lee Jordan. "Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people'll be talking about that one for years —"

"Good for you," said a fifth year Ron had never spoken to; Fred and George pushed their way to the front of the crowd and said together, "Why couldn't we've come in the car, eh?"

Ron was scarlet in the face, grinning embarrassingly, but one person didn't look happy at all: Percy was visible over the heads of some excited first years, and he seemed to be trying to get near enough to start telling him off. Ron noticed at once and decided to evacuate.

"Got to get upstairs — bit tired," he said, and he started pushing his way toward the door on the other side of the room, which led to a spiral staircase and the dormitories.

Hermione, who was wearing a scowl just like Percy's.

He managed to get to the other side of the common room, still having his back slapped, and gained the peace of the staircase. He hurried up it, right to the top, and at last reached the door of his old dormitory, which now had a sign on it saying SECOND YEARS. He entered the familiar, circular room, with its five four-posters hung with red velvet and its high, narrow windows. His trunk had been brought up for him and stood at the end of his bed.

Ron grinned guiltily. Ron knew it was wrong to enjoy this kind of attention, but it was nice to be recognized the way his brothers were.

The dormitory door flew open and in came the other second year Gryffindor boys, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom.

"Unbelievable!" beamed Seamus.

"Cool," said Dean.

"Amazing," said Neville, awestruck.

He grinned, too! Neville, who was very clumsy, could not help but admire Ron's bravado.