THE WHOMPING WILLOW
Harry gave a hollow laugh. “The Dursleys haven’t given me
pocket money for about six years.”
Ron pressed his ear to the cold barrier.
“Can’t hear a thing,” he said tensely. “What’re we going to do? I
don’t know how long it’ll take Mum and Dad to get back to us.”
They looked around. People were still watching them, mainly
because of Hedwig’s continuing screeches.
“I think we’d better go and wait by the car,” said Harry. “We’re
attracting too much atten —”
“Harry!” said Ron, his eyes gleaming. “The car!”
“What about it?”
“We can fly the car to Hogwarts!”
“But I thought —”
“We’re stuck, right? And we’ve got to get to school, haven’t we?
And even underage wizards are allowed to use magic if it’s a real
emergency, section nineteen or something of the Restriction of
Thingy —”
“But your mum and dad . . .” said Harry, pushing against the
barrier again in the vain hope that it would give way. “How will
they get home?”
“They don’t need the car!” said Ron impatiently. “They know
how to Apparate! You know, just vanish and reappear at home!
They only bother with Floo powder and the car because we’re all
underage and we’re not allowed to Apparate yet. . . .”
Harry’s feeling of panic turned suddenly to excitement.
“Can you fly it?”
“No problem,” said Ron, wheeling his trolley around to face the
exit. “C’mon, let’s go. If we hurry we’ll be able to follow the Hog-
warts Express —”
69