Harry Potter 02 & The Chamber Of Secrets (Illustrated) (9 page)

‘Come
on,
‘ Ron muttered.

They 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. They were falling, gathering speed, heading straight for the solid castle wall.

‘Noooooo!’
Ron yelled, swinging the steering wheel around; they 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 height 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 windscreen, but they were still plummeting, the ground flying up towards them …

‘MIND THAT TREE!’ Harry bellowed, lunging for the steering wheel, but too late -

CRUNCH.

With an ear-splitting bang of metal on wood, they hit the thick tree trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam was billowing from under the crumpled bonnet; Hedwig was shrieking in terror, a golf-ball-sized lump was throbbing on Harry’s head where he had hit the windscreen, and to his right, Ron let out a low, despairing groan.

‘Are you OK?’ Harry said urgently.

‘My wand,’ said Ron, in a shaky voice. ‘Look at my wand.’

It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters.

Harry opened his mouth to say he was sure they’d be able to mend it up at the school, but he never even got started. At that very moment, something hit his side of the car with the force of a charging bull, sending him lurching sideways into Ron, just as an equally heavy blow hit the roof.

‘What’s happen-?’

Ron gasped, staring through the windscreen, and Harry looked around just in time to see a branch as thick as a python smash into it. The tree they had hit was attacking them. Its trunk was bent almost double, and its gnarled boughs were pummelling every inch of the car it could reach.

‘Aaargh!’ said Ron, as another twisted limb punched a large dent into his door; the windscreen 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 -

‘Run for it!’ Ron shouted, throwing his full weight against his door, but next second he had been knocked backwards into Harry’s lap by a vicious upper cut from another branch.

‘We’re done for!’ he moaned, as the ceiling sagged, but suddenly the floor of the car was vibrating - the engine had re-started.

‘Reverse!’
Harry yelled, and the car shot backwards. The tree was still trying to hit them; they could hear its roots creaking as it almost ripped itself up, lashing out at them as they sped out of reach.

‘That,’ panted Ron, ‘was close. Well done, car.’

The car, however, had reached the end of its tether. With two smart clunks, the doors flew open and Harry felt his seat tip sideways: next thing he knew he was sprawled on the damp ground. Loud thuds told him that the car was ejecting their luggage from the boot. Hedwig’s cage flew through the air and burst open; she rose out of it with a loud, angry screech and sped off towards the castle without a backwards 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
our luck?’ said Ron miserably, bending down to pick up Scabbers the rat. ‘Of all the trees we could’ve hit, we had to get one that hits back.’

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

‘Come on,’ said Harry 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, towards the great oak front doors.

‘I think the feast’s already started,’ said Ron, dropping his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossing quietly to look through a brightly lit window. ‘Hey, Harry, come and look - it’s the Sorting!’

Harry hurried over and, together, he and Ron peered in at the Great Hall.

Innumerable candles were hovering in mid-air 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, Harry saw a long line of scared-looking first-years filing into the Hall. Ginny was amongst 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). Harry well remembered putting it on, exactly one year ago, and waiting, petrified, for its decision as it muttered aloud in his ear. For a few horrible seconds he had feared that the hat was going to put him in Slytherin, the house which had turned out more dark witches and wizards than any other - but he had ended up in Gryffindor, along with Ron, Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys. Last term, Harry and Ron had helped Gryffindor win the House Championship, beating Slytherin for the first time in seven years.

A very small, mousey-haired boy had been called forward to place the hat on his head. Harry’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, Harry 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 …’ Harry muttered to Ron. ‘There’s an empty chair at the staff table … Where’s Snape?’

Professor Severus Snape was Harry’s least favourite teacher. Harry also happened to be Snape’s least favourite student. Cruel, sarcastic and disliked by everybody except the students from his own house (Slytherin), Snape taught Potions.

‘Maybe he’s ill!’ said Ron hopefully.

‘Maybe he’s
left,
‘ said Harry, ‘because he missed out on the Defence Against the Dark Arts job
again
!’

‘Or he might have been
sacked
!’ said Ron enthusiastically. ‘I mean, everyone hates him -‘

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

Harry spun around. 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,’ said Snape.

Not daring even to look at each other, Harry and 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 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 Harry 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, ‘the train isn’t good enough for the famous Harry Potter and his faithful sidekick Weasley. Wanted to arrive with a
bang,
did we, boys?’

‘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 Harry the impression of being able to read minds. But a moment later, he understood, as Snape unrolled today’s issue of the
Evening Prophet.

‘You were seen,’ he hissed, 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 Artefacts Office?’ he said, looking up at Ron and smiling still more nastily. ‘Dear, dear … his own son …’

Harry 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 … he 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.

‘That tree did more damage to
us
than we -‘ 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.’

Harry and Ron stared at each other, white-faced. Harry didn’t feel hungry any more. He now felt extremely sick. He tried not to look at a large, slimy something suspended in green liquid on a shelf behind Snape’s desk. If Snape had gone to fetch Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor house, they were 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. Harry had seen Professor McGonagall angry on several occasions, but either he 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. Harry and Ron both flinched, but she merely pointed it at the empty fireplace, where flames suddenly erupted.

‘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? I believe
you
have an owl?’ Professor McGonagall said coldly to Harry.

Harry gaped at her. Now she said it, that seemed the obvious thing to have done.

‘I - I didn’t think -‘

‘That,’ said Professor McGonagall, ‘is obvious.’

There was a knock on the office door and Snape, now looking happier than ever, opened it. There stood the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore.

Harry’s whole body went numb. Dumbledore was looking unusually grave. He stared down his very crooked nose at them and Harry suddenly found himself wishing he and Ron were still being beaten up by the Whomping Willow.

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

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

‘We’ll go and get our stuff,’ said Ron in a hopeless sort of voice.

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

‘Well, you’re expelling us, aren’t you?’ said Ron.

Harry looked quickly at Dumbledore.

‘Not today, Mr Weasley,’ said Dumbledore. ‘But I must impress upon both 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 looked as though Christmas had been cancelled. He cleared his throat and said, ‘Professor Dumbledore, these boys have 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 these boys’ punishments, Severus,’ said Dumbledore calmly. ‘They are in her house and are 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 Harry and Ron as he allowed himself to be swept out of his office, leaving them alone with Professor McGonagall, who was still eyeing them 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, but Harry cut in: ‘Professor, when we took the car, term hadn’t started, so - so Gryffindor shouldn’t really have points taken from it, should it?’ he finished, watching her anxiously.

Professor McGonagall gave him 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, and Harry’s heart lightened considerably. ‘But you will both get a detention.’

It was better than Harry had expected. As for Dumbledore’s writing to the Dursleys, that was nothing. Harry knew perfectly well they’d just be disappointed that the Whomping Willow hadn’t squashed him flat.