THE WHOMPING WILLOW
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 windshield, 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 al-
most 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 cav-
ing —
“Run for it!” Ron shouted, throwing his full weight against his
door, but next second he had been knocked backward into Harry’s
lap by a vicious uppercut 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 restarted.
“Reverse!” Harry yelled, and the car shot backward; the tree was
still trying to hit them; they could hear its roots creaking as it al-
most 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
sharp c