𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝗼 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝗼𝐰; Harry Potter

thirty one.

"Get away from him—get away— Scabbers, come here—"

There was a loud thud.

"Gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat—"

Harry, Rose, and Hermione almost fell over Ron, they skidded to a stop right in front of him. He was sprawled on the ground, But Scabbers was back in his pocket; he had both hands held tight over the quivering lump.

"Ron—come back under the cloak—" Hermione panted. "Dumbledore—the Minister—they'll be coming back out in a minute—"

But before they could cover themselves again, before they could even catch there breath, they beard the soft pounding of gigantic paws... Something was bounding toward them, quiet as a shadow—an enormous, pale eyed, jet-black dog.

Roses jaw dropped. 'oh my god..' she mouthed. It was the same dog from the woods, months ago.

Harry reached for his wand, but too late— the dog had made an enormous leap and the front paws hit him on the chest; he keeled over backward in a whirl of hair; he felt it's hot breath, saw inch-long teeth—

But the force of it's leap had carried it too far; it rolled off him. Dazed, feeling as though his ribs were broken, Harry tried to stand up; he could hear it growling as it skidded around for a new attack.

Ron was on his feet. As the dog sprang back toward them he pushed Harry aside; the dogs jaws fastened instead around Ron's outstretched arm. Harry lunged forward, he seized a handful of the brutes hair, but it was dragging Ron away as easily as though he were a rag doll.

Rose's face conformed into horrid worry, as she slowly looked above her, breathing picking up. Her eyes widened greatly as she saw the darkening whomping willow.

She slowly started walking backwards, away from the moving tree.

Then, out of nowhere, something hit Harry so hard across the face he was knocked off his feet, again. He heard Hermione shriek with pain and fall too.

Rose flinched, very glad she moved away.

They had chased Scabbers into the shadow of the Whomping Willow and its branches were creaking as though in a high wind, whipping backward and forward to stop them going nearer.

And there, at the base of the trunk, was the dog, dragging Ron backward into a large gap in the roots—Ron was fighting furiously, but his head and torso were slipping out of sight—"

"Ron!" Harry shouted, trying to follow, but a heavy branch whipped through the air and he was forced backward again.

"Rose?" Hermione shouted. "When did you get over here?"

Rose shook her head. "Earlier. I didn't wanna get thrown around by a branch." She shrugged.

All they could see now was one of Ron's legs, which he had hooked around a root in an effort to stop the dog from pulling him farther underground—but a horrible crack cut the air like a gunshot; Ron's get had broken, and a moment later, his foot had vanished. Rose cringed from the crack, having it sound a little too familiar.

"Harry—Rose— we've got to go for help—" Hermione gasped; she was bleeding; the Willow had cut her across the shoulder.

"No! That thing's big enough to eat him; we haven't got time—"

"Guys—we're never going through without help—"

Another branch whipped down at them.

"If that dog can get in, we can," Harry panted, eyes darting here and there, trying to find a way through the vicious, swishing branches, but he couldn't get an inch nearer to the tree roots without being in range of the trees blows.