Chapter Text
The end of the summer vacation came too quickly for Kenny’s liking. He was looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts, but his month in South Park had been the happiest of his life. It was difficult not to feel jealous of Stan when he thought of the Cartman's and the sort of welcome he could expect next time he turned up on their doorstep.
On their last evening, Mrs. Marsh conjured up a sumptuous dinner that included all of Kenny’s favorite things, ending with a mouthwatering cheesecake. Shelly rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster fireworks; they filled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed.
It took a while to get going the next morning. They were up at dawn, but somehow they still seemed to have a ton to do. Mrs. Marsh ran around in a bad mood looking for spare socks and quills; people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with pieces of toast in their hands; and Mr. Marsh nearly broke his neck, tripping over a Underpants Gnome as he crossed the yard carrying Shelly’s trunk to the car.
Kenny couldn’t see how six people, four large trunks and three owls, were going to fit into one small Prius. He hadn't thought, of course, about the special features that Mr. Marsh had added.
“Uh, don't say anything to Sharon,” he whispered to Kenny as he opened the trunk and showed him how it had been magically expanded so that the luggage fit easily.
When they were finally all in the car, Mrs. Marsh glanced into the back seat, where Kenny, Stan, Shelly, and Gary, who was riding with them, were all sitting comfortably side by side, and said, “Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don’t they, Randy?” She got into the front seat, which had been stretched so that it was as wide as a park bench. “I mean, you’d never know it was this roomy from the outside.”
Mr. Marsh started up the engine and they drove out of the driveway, Kenny turning back for a last look at the house. He barely had time to wonder when he’d see it again when they were back — Shelly had forgotten her box of Filibuster fireworks. Five minutes after that, they skidded to a halt in the yard so that Shelly could run in for her broomstick. They had almost reached the highway when Shelly shrieked that she’d left her wand. By the time she had clambered back into the car, they were running very late, and tempers were running high.
Mr. Marsh glanced at his watch and then at his wife.
“Sharon, honey —”
“No, Randy —”
“No one would see — this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed — that’d get us up in the air — then we'd be flying above the clouds. We’d be there in ten minutes and no one would ever know —”
“Randy, not in broad daylight —”
They reached the train station at 11:45. Mr. Marsh dashed across the road to get carts for their trunks and they all hurried into the station.
Kenny had caught the Hogwarts Express the previous year. The tricky part was getting onto platform nine and three-quarters, which wasn’t visible to the Muggle eye. What you had to do was walk through the solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. It didn’t hurt, but it had to be done carefully so that none of the Muggles noticed you vanishing.
“Gary first,” said Mrs. Marsh, looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed they had only five minutes to disappear casually through the barrier.
Gary strode briskly forward and vanished. Mr. Marsh went next; Shelly followed.
“I’ll go next and you two come right after us,” Mrs. Marsh told Kenny and Stan, setting off. In the blink of an eye they were gone.
“Let’s go together, we’ve only got a minute,” Stan said to Kenny.
Kenny made sure that Lemmiwinks’ cage was safely wedged on top of his trunk and wheeled his cart around to face the barrier. He felt perfectly confident; this wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as using Floo powder. Both of them bent low over the handles of their trolleys and walked purposefully toward the barrier, gathering speed. A few feet away from it, they broke into a run and —
CRASH.
Both carts hit the barrier and bounced backward; Stan’s trunk fell off with a loud thump, Kenny was knocked off his feet, and Lemmiwinks’ cage bounced onto the shiny floor, and she rolled away, shrieking indignantly; people all around them stared and a guard nearby yelled, “Hey, what the hell are you kids doing?”
“We lost control of the carts,” Kenny gasped, clutching his ribs as he got up. Stan ran to pick up Lemmiwinks, who was causing such a scene that there was a lot of muttering about cruelty to animals from the surrounding crowd.
“Why can’t we get through?” Kenny hissed to Stan.
“I don’t know, dude —”
Stan looked wildly around. A dozen curious people were still watching them.
“Shit, dude, we’re gonna miss the train,” Stan whispered. “Why the fuck would the gateway seal itself —”
Kenny looked up at the giant clock with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ten seconds . . . nine seconds . . .
He wheeled his trolley forward cautiously until it was right against the barrier and pushed with all his might. The metal remained solid.
Three seconds . . . two seconds . . . one second . . .
“It’s gone,” said Stan, sounding stunned. “The train left. What if my Mom and Dad can’t get back through here? Do you have any Muggle money?”
Kenny gave a hollow laugh.
“The Cartmans haven’t given me any money in about six years.”
Stan pressed his ear to the cold barrier.
“I can’t hear anything,” he said tensely. “What are we gonna do, dude? Jesus Christ, I don’t know how long it’ll take my Mom and Dad to get back to us.”
They looked around. People were still watching them, mainly because of Lemmiwinks’ continuing screeches.
“We should go and wait by the car,” said Kenny. “We’re attracting way too much atten —”
“Dude!” said Stan, 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, right? 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 mom and dad . . .” said Kenny, pushing against the barrier again in the vain hope that it would give way. “How are they supposed to get home?”
“They don’t need the car!” said Stan impatiently. “They know how to Apparate! You know, just vanish and reappear at home! They only use Floo powder and the car because we’re all underage and we’re not allowed to Apparate yet. . . .”
Kenny’s feeling of panic turned suddenly to excitement.
“Can you fly it?”
“Hell yeah I can,” said Stan, wheeling his trolley around to face the exit. “C’mon, let’s go. If we hurry we can follow the Hogwarts Express —”
And they marched off through the crowd of curious Muggles, out of the station and back onto the side road where the Prius was parked.
Stan unlocked the cavernous trunk with a series of taps from his wand. They heaved their luggage back in, put Lemmiwinks on the back seat, and got into the front.
“Make sure no one’s watching,” said Stan, starting the ignition with another tap of his wand. Kenny stuck his head out of the window: Traffic was rumbling along the main road ahead, but their street was empty.
“Okay,” he said.
Stan pressed a tiny silver button on the dashboard. The car around them vanished — and so did they. Kenny could feel the seat vibrating beneath him, hear the engine, feel his hands on his knees and his seat belt tight across his chest, but for all he could see, he had become a pair of eyeballs, floating a few feet above the ground in a dingy street full of parked cars.
“Let’s go,” said Stan’s voice from his right.
And the ground and the dirty buildings on either side fell away, dropping out of sight as the car rose; in seconds, the whole of Denver lay, smoky and glittering, below them.
Then there was a popping noise and the car, Kenny, and Stan reappeared.
“Shit!” said Stan, jabbing at the Invisibility Booster. “It’s fucking busted, dude —”
Both of them pummeled it. The car vanished. Then it flickered back again.
“Hold on!” Stan yelled, and he slammed his foot on the accelerator; they shot straight into the low, woolly clouds and everything turned dull and foggy.
“Now what?” said Kenny, blinking at the solid mass of cloud pressing in on them from all sides.
“We need to see the train to know what direction to go in,” said Stan.
“Dip back down again — quickly —”
They dropped back beneath the clouds and twisted around in their seats, squinting at the ground.
“I can see it!” Kenny yelled. “Right ahead — there!”
The Hogwarts Express was streaking along below them like a scarlet snake.
“We're headed north,” said Stan, checking the compass on the dashboard.
“Okay, we’ll just have to check on it every half hour — hold on —”
And they shot up through the clouds. A minute later, they burst out into a blaze of sunlight.
It was a different world. The wheels of the car skimmed the sea of fluffy cloud, the sky a bright, endless blue under the blinding white sun.
“All we’ve got to worry about now are airplanes,” said Stan.
They looked at each other and started to laugh; for a long time, they couldn’t stop.
It was as though they had been plunged into a dream. This, thought Kenny, was surely the only way to travel — past swirls and turrets of snowy cloud, in a car full of hot, bright sunlight, with a giant stash of candy in the glove compartment, and the prospect of seeing Shelly’s jealous face when they landed smoothly and spectacularly on the sweeping lawn in front of Hogwarts castle.
They made regular checks on the train as they flew farther and farther north, each dip beneath the clouds showing them a different view. Denver was soon far behind them, replaced by neat green fields that gave way in turn to wide, purplish moors, a great city alive with cars like multicolored ants, villages with tiny toy churches.
Several uneventful hours later, however, Kenny had to admit that some of the fun was wearing off. The candy had made them extremely thirsty and they had nothing to drink. He and Stan had pulled off their sweaters, but Kenny’s T-shirt was sticking to the back of his seat and his sweat beads kept rolling down to the end of his nose. He had stopped noticing the fantastic cloud shapes now and was thinking longingly of the train miles below, where you could buy ice-cold pumpkin juice from a trolley pushed by a plump witch. Why hadn’t they been able to get onto platform nine and three-quarters?
“We can’t be much further, right?” croaked Stan, hours later still, as the sun started to sink into their floor of cloud, staining it a deep pink. "I'm gonna check on the train, again.”
It was still right below them, winding its way past a snowcapped mountain. It was much darker beneath the canopy of clouds.
Stan put his foot on the accelerator and drove them upward again, but as he did so, the engine began to whine.
Kenny and Stan exchanged nervous glances.
“It’s probably just tired,” said Stan. “It’s never been this far before. . . .”
And they both pretended not to notice the whining growing louder and louder as the sky became steadily darker. Stars were blossoming in the blackness. Kenny pulled his sweater back on, trying to ignore the way the windshield wipers were now waving feebly, as though in protest.
“We're not far,” said Stan, more to the car than to Kenny, "almost there,” and he patted the dashboard nervously.
When they flew back beneath the clouds a little while later, they had to squint through the darkness for a landmark they knew.
“There!” Kenny shouted, making Stan and Lemmiwinks jump. “Straight ahead!”
Silhouetted on the dark horizon, high on the cliff over the lake, stood the many turrets and towers of Hogwarts castle.
But the car had begun to shudder and was losing speed.
“Come on,” Stan said cajolingly, giving the steering wheel a little shake, “we're almost there, come on —”
The engine groaned. Narrow jets of steam were issuing from under the hood. Kenny found himself gripping the edges of his seat very hard as they flew toward the lake.
The car gave a shaky wobble. Glancing out of his window, Kenny saw the smooth, black, glassy surface of the water, a mile below. Stan’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The car wobbled again.
“Come on!” Stan begged.
They were over the lake — the castle was right ahead — Stan put his foot down.
There was a loud clunk, a splutter, and the engine died completely.
“Fuck,” said Stan, into the silence.
The nose of the car dropped. They were falling, gathering speed, heading straight for the solid castle wall.
“AHHHHHH!” Stan 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 altitude all the time.
Stan 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 windshield, but they were still plummeting, the ground flying up toward them —
“WATCH OUT FOR THAT TREE!” Kenny bellowed, lunging for the steering wheel, but too late —
CRUNCH.
With an earsplitting 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 hood; Lemmiwinks was shrieking in terror; a golf-ball-sized lump was throbbing on Kenny’s head where he had hit the windshield and his nose was definitely broken again; and to his right, Stan let out a low, despairing groan.
“Are you okay?” Kenny said urgently.
“My wand,” said Stan, in a shaky voice. “Dude, look at my wand —”
It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters.
Kenny 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 Stan, just as an equally heavy blow hit the roof.
“What’s happen — ?”
Stan gasped, staring through the windshield, and Kenny 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 pummeling every inch of the car it could reach.
“Aaargh!” said Stan 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 caving —
“Run!” Stan shouted, throwing his full weight against his door, but next second he had been knocked backward into Kenny’s lap by a vicious uppercut from another branch.
“We’re dead!” he moaned as the ceiling sagged, but suddenly the floor of the car was vibrating — the engine had restarted.
“Reverse!” Kenny yelled, and the car shot backward; 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 Stan, “was a close one. Thank you, car —”
The car, however, had reached the end of its tether. With two sharp clunks, the doors flew open and Kenny 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 trunk; Lemmiwinks’s cage flew through the air and burst open; she rose out of it with an angry screech and sped off toward the castle without a backward look. Then, dented, scratched, and steaming, the car rumbled off into the darkness, its rear lights blazing angrily.
“Come back!” Stan yelled after it, brandishing his broken wand. “My dad’s gonna kill me!”
But the car disappeared from view with one last snort from its exhaust.
“Did that just really happen?” said Stan miserably, bending down to pick up his broken wand. “Out of all the trees we could’ve hit, we had to find one that hits back.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the ancient tree, which was still flailing its branches threateningly.
“Come on,” said Kenny wearily, “let’s just get up 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, toward the great oak front doors.
“I think the feast already started, dude,” said Stan, dropping his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossing quietly to look through a brightly lit window.
“Hey — dude — come and look — it’s the Sorting!”
Kenny hurried over and, together, he and Stan peered in at the Great Hall.
Innumerable candles were hovering in midair 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, Kenny saw a long line of scared-looking first years filing into the Hall. He then swept his eyes over the Ravenclaw table and saw that Kyle was among them, easily visible because of his vivid red hair. Meanwhile, Professor Victoria, a bespectacled witch with her hair in a golden bush, 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). Kenny 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 that had turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other — but he had ended up in Gryffindor with Shelly, Stan had been proclaimed a Hufflepuff, just like his parents, and Kyle was made a Ravenclaw to the surprise of no one even though they had just met him. Last year, Kenny, Kyle, and Stan had helped Gryffindor win the House Championship, beating Slytherin for the first time in seven years.
A very small, mousy-haired boy had been called forward to place the hat on his head. Kenny’s eyes wandered past him to where PC Principal, the headmaster, sat watching the Sorting from the staff table, his tight, dark blue, polo shirt and reflective Oakley’s shining brightly in the candlelight. Several seats along, Kenny saw Harrison Yates, dressed in robes of aquamarine. And there at the end was Chef, huge and hairy, drinking deeply from his goblet.
“Hang on . . .” Kenny muttered to Stan. “There’s an empty chair at the staff table. . . . Where’s Garrison?”
Professor Herbert Garrison was Kenny’s least favorite teacher. Kenny also happened to be Garrison’s least favorite student. Cruel, sarcastic, and disliked by everybody except the students from his own House (Slytherin), Garrison taught Potions.
“Maybe he’s dead!” said Stan hopefully.
“Maybe he quit,” said Kenny, “because he didn't get the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again!”
“Or he maybe he got fired!” said Stan enthusiastically. “I mean, everyone hates that cum-sucker —”
“Or maybe,” said a very cold voice right behind them, “he’s waiting to hear why you two little assholes didn’t arrive on the train today.”
Kenny spun around. There, his black robes rippling in a cold breeze, stood Herbert Garrison. He was a thick man with sallow skin, a hooked nose, square glasses, and grey hair that was missing completely on top of his head, and at this moment, he was smiling in a way that told Kenny he and Stan were in very deep trouble.
“Follow me, ‘cum-suckers’,” said Garrison.
Not daring even to look at each other, Kenny and Stan followed Garrison 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 Garrison 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 Garrison’s office, shivering. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars, in which floated all manner of revolting things Kenny didn’t really want to know the name of at the moment. The fireplace was dark and empty. Garrison closed the door and turned to look at them.
“So,” he said softly, “the train isn’t good enough for the famous Kenny McCormick and his faithful ass hat, Stan Marsh. No, we just wanted to arrive with a bang, didn’t we, boys?”
“No, it was the barrier, it —”
“Shut up!” said Garrison coldly. “What did you slack-jawed monkeys do with the car?”
Stan gulped. This wasn’t the first time Garrison had given Kenny the impression of being able to read minds. But a moment later, he understood, as Garrison unrolled today’s issue of the Evening Prophet.
“You were seen,” he hissed, showing them the headline: FLYING PRIUS MYSTIFIES MUGGLES. He began to read aloud: “Two Muggles in Denver, convinced they saw a car flying over the Post Office tower . . . at noon in Fairplay, Mrs. Betty Bayliss, while walking her dog . . . Mr. Allen Fleet, of Sioux Falls, reported to police . . . Six or seven Muggles in all. I believe your father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office?” he said, looking up at Stan and smiling still more nastily. “Oh my . . . his own son . . .”
Kenny felt as though he’d just been walloped in the stomach by one of the angry tree’s larger branches. If anyone found out Mr. Marsh had bewitched the car . . . he hadn’t thought of that. . . .
“I noticed, in my search of this illicit vehicle, that considerable damage seems to have been done to a very valuable Whomping Willow,” Garrison went on.
“That tree did more damage to us than we —” Stan blurted out.
“Can it, Marsh! Before I bend you over my knee in front of that tree!” snapped Garrison again. “Unfortunately for me, you two brats are not in my House and the decision to expel you does not rest with me. I’m gonna go and fetch the people who do have that happy power. Wait here and try to resist the temptation to slobber on each other’s assholes.”
Kenny and Stan stared at each other, white-faced. Kenny didn’t feel hungry anymore. He now felt extremely sick. He tried not to look at a large, slimy something suspended in green liquid on a shelf behind Garrison’s desk. If Garrison had gone to fetch Professor Victoria, head of Gryffindor House, they were hardly any better off. She might be fairer than Garrison, but she was still extremely strict.
Ten minutes later, Garrison returned, and sure enough it was Professor Victoria and Professor Mephesto, the head of the Hufflepuff house, who accompanied him. Kenny had seen Professor Victoria 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; Kenny and Stan 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.
Stan launched into the story, starting with the barrier at the station refusing to let them through.
“— so we had no choice, Professor, we missed the train.”
“Why didn’t you boys send us a letter by owl?" Mephesto asked.
"I believe you have an owl?” Professor Victoria said coldly to Kenny.
Kenny gaped at her. Now that she’d said it, that seemed like the obvious thing to do.
“I — we didn’t think —”
“That,” said Professor Victoria, “is obvious.”
There was a knock on the office door and Garrison, now looking happier than ever, opened it. There stood PC Principal.
Kenny’s whole body went numb. PC Principal was looking unusually grave. He stared down his very straight nose at them, and Kenny suddenly found himself wishing he and Stan were still being beaten up by the Whomping Willow.
There was a long silence. Then PC Principal said, “Boys, please explain to me why you did this.”
It would have been better if he had shouted. Kenny hated the disappointment in his voice. For some reason, he was unable to look PC Principal in the eyes, and spoke instead to his knees. He told PC Principal everything except that Mr. Marsh owned the bewitched car, making it sound as though he and Stan had happened to find a flying car parked outside the station. He knew PC Principal would see through this at once, but PC Principal asked no questions about the car. When Kenny had finished, he merely continued to peer at them through his spectacles.
“We’ll go and get our stuff,” said Stan in a hopeless sort of voice.
“What are you talking about, Marsh?” asked Mephesto.
“Well, you’re expelling us, aren’t you?” said Stan.
Kenny looked quickly at PC Principal.
“Not today, Mr. Marsh,” said PC Principal. “But I do express to you both, the seriousness of, of your actions. I will be writing to both your families tonight and I must also warn you, that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice, but to expel you.”
Garrison looked as though Christmas had been canceled. He cleared his throat and said, “PC Principal, these boys have shit on the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, they caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree — surely this should mean —”
“It will be up to Professor Victoria and Professor Mephesto to decide on these boys’ punishments, Herbert,” said PC Principal calmly. “They are in their Houses, and are therefore, their responsibilities.” He turned to Professor Victoria and Professor Mephesto. “I'm going back to the feast to give a few speeches. Herbert, there’s some really delicious-looking desserts I know you’ll love —”
Garrison shot a look of pure venom at Kenny and Stan as he allowed himself to be swept out of his office, leaving them alone with Professor Victoria, who was still eyeing them like a wrathful eagle, and Professor Mephesto, who's rage was much more subtle.
“You’d better get along to the hospital wing, Marsh, you’re bleeding. And McCormick, that nose looks broken, you should go, too.” Professor Mephesto instructed.
“It's nothing,” said Stan, hastily wiping the cut over his eye with his sleeve.
“Yeah, it’s nothing, Professor,” Kenny tried to gingerly wipe away some of the blood caked on his face.
“Now on to the topic of points —” Professor Victoria said sharply, but Kenny cut in: “Professor, when we took the car, school hadn’t started, yet, so — so Gryffindor and Hufflepuff shouldn’t really have points taken from them — right?” he finished, watching the two professors anxiously.
Professor Victoria 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.
"Or Hufflepuff,” Professor Mephesto added, and Kenny’s heart lightened considerably. “But you will both get a detention.”
It was better than Kenny had expected. As for PC Principal’s writing to the Cartmans, that was nothing. Kenny knew perfectly well they’d just be disappointed that the Whomping Willow hadn’t squashed him to death.
Professor Victoria raised her wand again and pointed it at Garrison’s desk. A large plate of sandwiches, two 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 respective dormitories. No sleepovers and no late night gallivants for either of you, boys,” she said. “We must also return to the feast.”
When the door had closed behind them, Stan let out a long, low whistle.
“I thought that was it for us, dude,” he said, grabbing a sandwich.
“So did I,” said Kenny, taking one, too.
“Can you believe our shitty luck, though?” said Stan thickly through a mouthful of chicken and ham. “Shelly must’ve flown that car five or six times and no Muggles ever saw her.” He swallowed and took another huge bite. “Why couldn’t we get through the barrier?”
Kenny shrugged. “We’ll just have to watch our steps from now on, though,” he said, taking a grateful swig of pumpkin juice. “Wish we could’ve gone up to the feast. . . .”
“They didn’t want us showing off,” said Stan sagely. “They don’t want people to think it’s cool to get dropped at school in a flying car.”
When they had eaten as many sandwiches as they could (the plate kept refilling itself), they rose and left the office. Stan gave him a wave and headed in the opposite direction while Kenny treaded the familiar path to Gryffindor Tower. The castle was quiet; it seemed that the feast was over. He walked past muttering portraits and creaking suits of armor, and climbed narrow flights of stone stairs, until at last he 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 he approached.
“Uh—” said Kenny.
He didn’t know the new year’s password, not having seen a Gryffindor prefect yet, but help came almost immediately; he heard hurrying feet behind them and turned to see Kyle dashing toward him.
“Dude! There you are! Where the hell have you been? Where’s Stan? Why weren’t you on the train? There’s been crazy rumors flying around — someone said you guys got expelled for crashing a flying car —”
“Well, we weren’t expelled,” Kenny assured him.
“You guys really did fly here?” said Kyle, sounding almost as severe as Professor Victoria.
“Skip the lecture,” said Kenny impatiently, “and tell me the new password. You’re basically in Gryffindor with how much time you spent in our common room last year, so I know somebody’s already told you.”
“It’s ‘wattlebird,’ ” said Kyle impatiently, “but that’s not the point —”
His 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 of Gryffindor House was still awake, packed into the circular common room, standing on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs, waiting for him to arrive. Arms reached through the portrait hole to pull Kenny inside, leaving Kyle to scramble in after him.
“Fuck yeah, dude!” yelled Larry Feegan. “Inspiring! What a way to kick off the school year! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people’ll be talking about this for years —”
“Good for you, dude,” said a fifth year Kenny had never spoken to; someone was patting him on the back as though he’d just won a marathon; Shelly pushed her way to the front of the crowd and said almost angrily, “How come you turds didn’t tell me you were taking the car?” Kenny was scarlet in the face, grinning embarrassedly, but he could see one person who didn’t look happy at all. Kyle was visible over the heads of some excited first years, and he seemed to be trying to get close enough to him to start yelling at him. Kenny nudged Shelly in the ribs and nodded in Kyle’s direction. Shelly got the point at once.
“You should get to bed — you look like shit,” she said.
The two of them started pushing their way toward the door on the other side of the room, which led to a spiral staircase and the dormitories.
“ ’Night,” Kenny called back to Kyle, who was wearing a scowl.
They managed to get to the other side of the common room, Kenny still having his back slapped, and gained the peace of the staircase. They hurried up it, right to the top, and at last reached the door of his old dormitory, which now had a sign on it saying second years. Shelly gave him one more pat on the shoulder, looking like a proud older sister and they said their good nights. He entered the familiar, circular room, with its five four-posters hung with red velvet and its high, narrow windows. His trunk had been brought up for them and stood at the end of his bed. Lemmiwinks was already sitting on the window sill, owlish eyes looking sternly at him and Kenny grinned guiltily at her.
“I know I shouldn’t’ve enjoyed that, but —”
The dormitory door flew open and in came the other second year Gryffindor boys, Timmy Burch, Mark Cotswold, and D.P. Petuski.
“Timmy!” beamed Timmy.
“Cool,” said Mark.
“Amazing,” said D.P., awestruck.
Kenny couldn’t help it. He grinned, too.