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The nose of the car dropped. They were falling, gathering speed, heading straight for the solid castle wall.

* 85 *

Hedwig was still angry with Harry about the disasterous car journey and Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck. So with one thing and another, Harry was quite glad to reach the weekend. He, Ron, and Hermione were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Harry, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier

"Can you believe our luck?" said Ron miserably, bending down to pick up Scabbers. "Of all the trees we could've hit, we had to get one that hits back."

"We'll go and get our stuff," said Ron in a hopeless sort of voice.

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He wheeled his trolley forward cautiously until it was right against the barrier and pushed with all his might. The metal remained solid.

"Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you know, but as long as you've spoken clearly -"

"Where did you come out?" Ron asked.

"We need to see the train to know what direction to go in," said Ron.

When they had eaten as many sandwiches as they could (the plate kept refilling itself) they rose and left the office, treading the familiar path to Gryffindor Tower. The castle was quiet; it seemed that the feast was over. They walked past muttering portraits and creaking suits of armor, and climbed narrow flights of stone stairs, until at last they 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.

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"As soon as I've found the Weasleys," said Harry.

"Selling?" The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin's face.

plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin. "An' I mean the on' one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer Y

`jealous?"said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore: half the courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself."

"Well ... all right ... you go after Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now, when you get into the fire, say where you're going

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throat loudly and become mysteriously deaf until the subject was changed.

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Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had "rescued" the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.

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"I think," said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very - frightening and - er -",

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". . . everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick -";

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