The feast had begun, and as soon as Jerry and Hermione took their seats, they immediately started scanning the Great Hall, their eyes darting around anxiously.
The longer they searched, the more worried they became.
"They… they haven't arrived yet, have they?" Hermione whispered, her voice tight with concern.
Jerry swallowed hard.
"Should we tell Professor McGonagall?" he asked, fidgeting nervously.
Hermione bit her lip, torn. If they informed McGonagall, the truth about the flying car would come out, and the consequences would be severe.
But if they didn't say anything and something had happened to them…
Ted, noticing their distress, spoke calmly. "Don't worry. I'll have Anzu look for them."
With a flick of his fingers, he picked up a napkin, murmured a quick incantation, and tossed it into the air.
The napkin folded itself into a delicate paper crane, fluttering its wings before zipping out of the Great Hall.
Anzu, perched on the table and nibbling on a stolen French fry, let out a long, dramatic sigh before reluctantly flapping his wings and taking off.
About ten minutes later, Azu returned, swooping down onto Ted's shoulder with an indignant squawk.
"Caw!~"
Hermione leaned forward urgently. "Well? Did you find them?"
"They're alive! Caw! Professor McGonagall got them. Caw!"
Jerry and Hermione exhaled in unison, relief washing over them.
Ted, however, wasn't satisfied. "And? What kind of shape are they in?"
Anzu cocked his head, struggling to find the right words.
His vocabulary wasn't the best, and after a few seconds of deep thought, he simply hunched his shoulders, scrunched his neck, and tilted his beak downward—mimicking the universal posture of someone utterly defeated.
Jerry paled. "That bad?"
Bad was an understatement.
The Weasleys' enchanted Ford Anglia had barely limped into Hogwarts' airspace before it completely gave out.
Without warning, the engine sputtered, the magic flickered, and the car began plummeting toward the ground.
Harley had gripped the wheel so hard her knuckles turned white, but nothing she did helped.
The car spun out of control, nose-diving toward the castle grounds before crash-landing directly into the Whomping Willow.
The ancient, temperamental tree—planted back in their father's school days—had no intention of letting such an offense go unpunished.
The moment the car hit its branches, the Whomping Willow erupted in fury, its limbs swinging wildly.
The vehicle was violently tossed to the ground, and its three unfortunate passengers were sent tumbling out, landing in a bruised, tangled heap.
Ron's wand snapped clean in half during the chaos.
As if insulted by the whole ordeal, the car, miraculously coming back to life for one last dramatic act, revved its engine, flashed its headlights, blared its horn like a battle cry—then sped off into the Forbidden Forest, disappearing into the night.
Speeding Car: I'm free! Bye-bye-bye!
The commotion had not gone unnoticed.
Within minutes, Professors McGonagall and Snape arrived, catching the trio red-handed.
By the time Harley, Ron, and Neville were dragged into the castle, they looked like they'd survived an actual war.
Their robes were tattered, their faces smudged with dirt, and they were shaking from head to toe.
The Whomping Willow, meanwhile, had suffered heavy casualties—a sizable portion of its branches were broken, and its usually formidable crown now had a bald patch.
Professor McGonagall stood before them, her lips pressed into a thin line, her stern gaze colder than a Dementor's breath.
"Explain," she said curtly, voice sharper than a Severing Charm.
Snape, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with barely contained rage.
His teeth were clenched, his hands twitching, as if resisting the urge to strangle them himself.
Neville visibly shrank, his cheeks trembling.
Ron, already pale, somehow managed to turn even whiter.
Harley, being Harley, stepped forward, attempting damage control. "Professor, it's my fault. We—"
"No!" Neville suddenly interrupted, voice trembling.
"No, Professor, it was me! I—it's my fault!"
Ron, still shaking like a leaf, hesitated for only a moment before raising his hand. "Yes! Me too! The car—it's from my family—"
McGonagall's lips twitched for a second, her expression unreadable.
For a brief, fleeting moment, it seemed like she was trying not to laugh.
Instead, she exhaled through her nose, looking at them with something between exasperation and reluctant amusement.
"I see," she said dryly.
"So, let me get this straight—you three, what, made some sort of pact? A sacred vow to share the punishment?"
Harley cleared her throat.
"Professor, please... can we not take points from Gryffindor? We already caused so much trouble on the first day, and we don't want to ruin things for everyone else."
She made sure to sound appropriately remorseful, even giving McGonagall her best pair of sad puppy eyes.
"You can punish us however you see fit—just, please, don't let the whole house suffer."
McGonagall's stern expression softened—just a bit.
She was the embodiment of Gryffindor pride, after all.
Though she didn't outright say she forgave them, she also didn't scold them further.
Instead, with a flick of her wand, she conjured a plate of self-refilling beef sandwiches and three glasses of pumpkin juice, setting them down before the boys.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and left the office.
As soon as she was gone, Ron practically collapsed into his seat, rubbing his face.
"Oh my Merlin, Harley, you're a genius."
Harley grinned, puffing out her chest. "Obviously. Didn't you see the way she smiled?
McGonagall has a soft spot for students with house pride. This was all part of my plan!"
Neville stared at them both. "I feel like I learn something new about you two every day."
Meanwhile, back at the Great Hall, Ted's enchanted paper crane fluttered back, landing gently in his hand.
After quickly reading the note, Ted smirked.
"They're fine," he said, leaning toward Jerry.
"But I'll stash some extra food. You bring it to them later tonight."
Over in McGonagall's office, Harley put down her sandwich mid-bite.
"Alright, eat less. There's more food coming later."
Ron, already mid-chew, swallowed and waved a dismissive hand. "You go ahead and ration. I'm eating now, and I'll eat again later."
With that, he picked up another sandwich in one hand, his pumpkin juice in the other, and fully committed to his feast.
Although it was a shame that I couldn't attend the Sorting Ceremony and missed Ted's supposedly tear-jerking new school song, the rest of the night passed without further incident.
The next morning, the Great Hall buzzed with chatter over breakfast. Everyone was discussing last night's events.
"So, why do you think the entrance to Platform 9¾ was blocked?" Harley asked, frowning as she buttered her toast.
Ted gave her a knowing look. "Haven't you already figured it out?"
Harley and the others exchanged confused glances, but Ted just smirked and went back to his porridge.
Harley, however, wasn't about to be distracted.
She leaned forward, an unmistakable spark of pride in her eyes.
"Flying the car was incredible, though! You should've seen it—zipping through the sky, Hogwarts glowing in the distance. It was like something out of a dream."
Ron groaned, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, a dream that turned into a nightmare the moment we crashed into the Whomping Willow."
He held up his wand, the once-proud instrument now bent at an unfortunate fifteen-degree angle, a few strands of unicorn hair poking out from the break.
"It's not completely broken," he said, trying to sound hopeful.
"Just... folded."
Neville grimaced. "That looks awful."
Ron sighed. "It's the only one I have! This was Charlie's old wand. If I tell Mum I broke it crashing Dad's car, she'll snap my neck faster than a Bludger to the face."
In the end, he had to make do—wrapping it in spellotape and hoping for the best.
"You're basically an alchemist now," Ted teased.
"That's the simplest kind of magical transmutation—taking something broken and forcing it to hold together with sheer desperation."
He smirked. "You might as well start drawing runes on it. Maybe reinforce it with a few charms. Who knows? You could create the first-ever Weasley-brand hybrid wand."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Ha-ha. Very funny."
As Harley and Ron recounted their adventure, Hermione's face grew redder and redder.
Finally, she snapped, "You three are absolutely reckless! Why didn't you try to contact an adult? The Floo Network exists for a reason! Do you have any idea how much worse things could have been? You could've died!"
Ron groaned. "Alright, alright, we get it—"
"Do you?" Hermione interrupted, furious.
"Because from where I'm standing, it sounds like you nearly got buried under that tree! Oh wait—correction—you would've been buried inside it!"
The trio shared uneasy looks.
In hindsight, maybe hurtling toward Hogwarts in an enchanted car wasn't the best idea.
Ron huffed. "Snape, at least, seemed more upset about the tree than us. You should've seen his face! I swear, he looked like he was going to eat us alive."
"He did threaten to expel us," Neville added, still a little pale at the memory.
Ron waved that off.
"He can't expel us—only Dumbledore can. Unless Snape suddenly becomes Headmaster, there's no way he has that kind of power. And I swear on—"
He glanced at his broken wand, reconsidering.
"—I swear on my leg that Snape will never be Headmaster."
Ted coughed to hide his smirk.
If only Ron knew how ironic that statement would be one day.
But truth be told, Snape's fury made sense.
He probably felt like a strict father whose daughter had hopped onto the back of some reckless boy's motorcycle—only for them to crash straight into a tree.
The sheer rage was almost paternal.
If only Ron and Neville knew what Ted was thinking.
They'd probably protest: She's the one who drove us into the tree!
At that moment, a flurry of wings filled the air as the morning post arrived.
Owls swooped in, dropping letters and packages onto the tables.
A single, flaming red envelope landed in front of Ron.
His face drained of all color. "Oh no."
A Howler.
He gulped.
This was not going to be good.