No Turning Back Now.

“In!” Snape said, opening a door halfway down the cold passageway and pointing.

We entered Snape’s office, shivering. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars, in which floated all manner of revolting things I 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 us.

“So,” he said softly, “the train isn’t good enough for famous Harry Potter and his faithful sidekicks, Samuels and Weasley. Wanted to arrive with a bang, did we, boys?”

“And girl,” I said under my breath.

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

“You were seen,” he hissed, showing us 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... 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...”

I felt as though I’d just been walloped in the stomach by one of the mad tree’s larger branches. If anyone found out that Mr Weasley had bewitched the car... I 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 me-“ I 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 people who do have that happy power. You will wait here.”

I all sat staring at each other, white faced. I didn’t feel hungry anymore. I now felt extremely sick. I tried not to look at a large, slimy something suspended in green liquid on a shelf behind Snape’s desk, that, under any other circumstances, would’ve been cool. If Snape had gone to fetch Profess McGonagall, head of Gryffindor house, we 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. I had seen Professor McGonagall angry on several occasions, but either I had forgotten just how thin her mouth could go, or I had never seen her this angry before. She raised her wand the moment she entered. The three of us flinched , but she merely pointed it at the empty fireplace, where flames suddenly erupted.

“Sit,” she said, and we backed into chairs by the fire.

“Explain,” she said, her glasses glinting ominously.

I launched into the story, starting with the barrier at the station refusing to let us through.
“... so we had no choice, Professor, we couldn’t get on the train.”

“Why didn’t you send a letter by owl? I believe both you and Mr Potter have an owl?”

Professor McGonagall said coldly.

I 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 Professor Dumbledore.

My whole body went numb. Dumbledore was looking unusually grave. He stared down his very crooked nose at us and I suddenly found myself wishing Ron, Harry and I 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. I hated the disappointment in his voice. For some reason, I was unable to look Dumbledore in the eyes, and spoke instead to my knees. I told Dumbledore everything except that Mr Weasley owned the bewitched car, making it sound as though we had happened to find a flying car parked outside the station. I knew Dumbledore would see through this at once, but Dumbledore asked no questions about the car. When I had finished, he merely continued to peer at us through his spectacles.

“We’ll go and get out stuff,” I said in a hopeless sort of voice.

“What are you talking about, Samuels?” barked Professor McGonagall.

“Well, you’re expelling us, aren’t you?” I said.

“Not today, Samuels,” said Dumbledore. “But I must impress upon all of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to all three of 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 –“'

“And girl,” I muttered again.

“- have flouted the Decree of the Restriction of Under-age 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’ – and girl’s – 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, Ron and I as he allowed himself to be swept out of his office, leaving us alone with McGonagall, who was still eyeing us 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 get Sorted –“

“The Sorting Ceremony is over,” said McGonagall. “Your sister is also in Gryffindor.”
“Oh, good,” said Ron.

“And speaking of Gryffindor –“ 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 I’m sure she almost smiled. Her mouth looked less thin, anyway.

“I will not take any points of Gryffindor,” she said. “But you will both get a detention."

It was better than I expected. As for Dumbledore’s writing to my parents, that wasn’t much. I knew perfectly well that they’d just brush it off like it was nothing, and just tell me not to do it again.

Professor McGonagall raised her wand again and pointed it at Snape’s desk. A large plate of sandwiches, three 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.

“I thought we’d had it,” he said, grabbing a sandwich.

“So did I,” I said, taking one, too.

“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.” He swallowed and took another huge bite. “Why couldn’t we get through the barrier?”

Harry shrugged. “We’ll have to watch our step from now on, though,” he said, taking a grateful swig of pumpkin juice. “Wish we could’ve gone up to the feast...”

“She didn’t want us showing off,” I said sagely. “Doesn’t want people to think it’s clever, arriving by flying car.”

When we had eaten as many sandwiches as we could (the plate kept re-filling itself) we rose and left the office, treading the familiar path to Gryffindor tower. The castle was quite; it seemed that the feast was over. We walked past muttering portraits and creaking suits of armour, and climbed narrow flights of stone stairs, until at last, we 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 we approached.

“Er –“ I said.

We didn’t know the new year’s password, not having met a Gryffindor perfect yet, but help came almost immediately; we heard hurrying feet behind us and turned to see Hermione dashing towards us.

“There you are! Where have you been? The most ridiculous rumours – someone said you’d been expelled for crashing a flying car.”

“Well, we haven’t been expelled,” I assured her.

“You’re not telling me you did fly here?” said Hermione, sounding almost as severe as Professor McGonagall.

“Skip the lecture,” said Ron impatiently, “and tell us 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 Gryffindor house was still awake, packed into the circular common-room, standing on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs, waiting for us to arrive. Arms reached through the portrait hole and pulled Harry, Ron and I inside, leaving Hermione to scramble in after us.

“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 on you,” said a fifth year I had never spoken to; someone was patting me on my back as though I’d just won a marathon. Fred and George pushed their way to the front of the crowd and said together, “Why couldn’t you’ve called us back, eh?”

Ron was scarlet in the face, grinning embarrassedly, while I was enjoying having the attention. I could, however, see one person who 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 us off.

“Got to get upstairs – bit tired,” said Ron, and the two of them started pushing their way towards the door on the other side of the room, which led to a spiral staircase and the dormitories.

“Night,” Harry called back to Hermione, who was wearing a scowl like Percy’s, and I.

“Hide me,” I muttered to the twins, as I started to push my way behind them, and away from Percy, towards the stairs.

I managed to get to the other side of the common-room, still having my back slapped, and gained the peace of the staircase. I hurried up it, right to the top, and at last reached the door to my old dormitory, which now had a sign on it saying ‘second years’. I entered the familiar, circular room, with its five four-posters hung with red velvet and its high, narrow windows. My trunk had been brought up for me and placed at the end of my bed, just like everyone else’s.
I grinned as I flopped down on my bed, my hands behind my head.