When Arthur arrived at the Great Hall of Hogwarts, he looked around but didn't see any sign of Harry or Ron.
Those two… Their car is clearly faster than the Hogwarts Express, yet they're still not here. Don't tell me they got lost?
A moment later, Snape entered with a face dark as storm clouds, leading the new first-years into the hall.
As for Professor McGonagall, she was probably still at the castle gates, waiting for Harry and Ron's "grand" arrival.
While the Sorting Hat began its yearly ceremony inside, Professor McGonagall witnessed a sight outside that would shake her for the rest of the year—
A car dropped out of the sky and slammed straight into the Whomping Willow.
It was said that there were only three such rare magical trees in all of Britain—one at the Ministry of Magic, one in the wild, and the third right here at Hogwarts.
The Whomping Willow, with its limited but very real intelligence, went berserk at having its branches broken, thrashing its trunk and swinging its limbs furiously, as though ready to hit a home run with the car.
Fortunately, the enchanted vehicle had its own self-preservation instincts.
Sensing danger, it jerked backward, though not before the branches scraped deep gouges across its body.
Once it reached a safe distance, the car seemed to lose its temper too.
After all, these two idiots who couldn't even drive had practically wrecked it.
Fuming, it opened its doors and flung Harry and Ron out—along with their luggage—before spinning around and flying off angrily in the direction of the Burrow.
When the two boys scrambled to their feet, the first thing they saw was Professor McGonagall's very, very serious face.
Harry swallowed hard and said weakly, "Professor McGonagall, I think I can explain—"
"Then explain it in the Headmaster's office," she said curtly, turning on her heel and gesturing for them to follow.
Back in the Great Hall, Dumbledore had just finished his welcoming speech and left—probably after receiving McGonagall's message—leaving Snape to hold down the fort.
Professor Lockhart, freshly introduced to the students, looked eager to help.
But one glare from Snape sent him right back to his seat.
Snape was in a foul mood. He was being paid as a professor, working like a deputy headmaster, and worrying like the headmaster himself.
And now that peacock who'd stolen his class was flouncing around in front of him.
If Snape had his way, he'd whip out his wand right now and teach Lockhart a real lesson in a live "Defense Against the Dark Arts and Counterattack" duel—
A name, incidentally, that he had come up with after much deliberation and a little help from Arthur.
Arthur had wanted to borrow a name from S.H.I.E.L.D. or something similar, but decided that might look like word-padding, so he went with something simple instead.
During the Sorting Ceremony, Luna was—unsurprisingly—sorted into Ravenclaw.
As for Ranni, thanks to Arthur's influence, she'd developed a bit of a cleanliness obsession.
The Sorting Hat had to take another bath this year before she would even wear it.
Overwhelmed by her aura, it hurriedly placed her in Gryffindor.
Ranni's reasoning was simple: Where her king went, she would follow.
After the feast, Arthur and the others waited in the Gryffindor common room until Harry and Ron trudged in, heads hanging low.
The two recounted what had happened—how the entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters had closed, leaving them no choice but to take the car.
The good news was, since the term hadn't officially started, there were no points to deduct.
The bad news: they were still in deep trouble and would face disciplinary action soon.
"I just don't get it," Arthur said, intrigued. "Harry, your owl was with you. When you couldn't get through the barrier, why didn't you just write to the professors and wait for help? Or at least to Hagrid? You weren't in any rush—class hadn't started yet. You've got money, right? You could've just stayed at a nearby hotel."
Harry and Ron both froze.
After a long pause, Harry muttered, "Maybe because someone thought a thirteen-year-old could handle flying a car."
Ron's face turned scarlet. "Don't remind me. Dad's going to kill me when he sees that car."
"Maybe," said one of the twins who had just appeared out of nowhere, "you should be more worried about Mum."
"Yeah," said the other, grinning. "She's way scarier."
Thinking of his mother's temper, Ron swallowed nervously.
He silently vowed that he would definitely not be going home for Christmas this year—
At least delaying death was still a kind of survival.
Arthur checked the time and stretched.
"All right, it's late. Get some rest. If you're hungry, you can always sneak to the kitchens. If you don't know the way, George and Fred can show you. You'll need your strength for the storm that's coming tomorrow."
"Storm?" Ron asked, confused. "Is it going to rain?"
"I think he means," George said, smirking, "that after tomorrow's school-wide announcement, everyone will know what you did."
"Not to mention," added Fred, "you'll get letters from home yelling at you."
"Oh, and guess what—did any Muggles see you flying that car?"
"If they did," said George with mock solemnity, "you'll be front-page news in the Daily Prophet."
"So that's what Arthur meant by 'social death,' huh?"
By the end of their banter, they'd painted Ron's impending doom in vivid detail.
Ron had never imagined that one day he'd become famous across the wizarding world this way.
As for Harry—well, he was the Boy Who Lived. Fame clung to him like his shadow.
To many Gryffindor alumni, this incident probably just seemed… very Gryffindor.
Eventually, hunger won out, and the two dragged the twins off to the kitchens.
They hadn't eaten since morning, and after being scolded by McGonagall, they were starving.
Meanwhile, Arthur returned to his dorm, washed up, and went straight to bed.
After spending all day on the train, he was too tired to venture into the Lands Between tonight.
Ranni, however, refused to stay in the school dormitory, choosing instead to live in Arthur's "Zen Garden."
He didn't mind—after all, carrying your wife around with you sounded kind of nice.
He had just closed his eyes when his long-silent system suddenly pinged.
[Congratulations, Host, on achieving the Life Achievement: "Apprentice of Magic—"]
Arthur: "???"
The damned system hadn't made a sound in half a year; he'd thought it was dead!
When he'd first bonded with it, he'd rack up achievements every few days while playing Elden Ring.
But after that, nothing—no new achievements beyond the ones built into the games themselves.
(System, grumbling internally):
'Back then, I made lots of achievements so he'd manifest more items. Who knew he'd find such ridiculous loopholes in the manifestation mechanic? Every time I help him materialize something, it drains my energy. If I give him more achievements, I'll crash!'
The system's chime drove away his drowsiness. Sitting up, Arthur said, "System, start a new game!"
[Game extraction complete. Congratulations, Host—you've obtained 20 Minutes Till Dawn.]
"You again!? The Time-Devouring Curse!"
No wonder he said that—this game was dangerously addictive.
You'd start playing, blink, and suddenly hours had vanished.
It was a simple bullet-hell action game: you controlled a lone character fighting off waves of Lovecraftian horrors in the dark, absorbing XP to grow stronger, unlocking new skills, and surviving until dawn twenty minutes later.
Each level-up offered five random upgrades, and combining them unlocked even more powerful abilities.
Different characters, different weapons—each with their own flair.
In short, a roguelite game that ate time in neat twenty-minute chunks.
He recalled that, in his previous life, all the playable characters were female.
"System, can I extract one of the characters from the game?"
[…No.]
Arthur sighed in disappointment, opened the system interface, and started a new run.
Another sleepless night began.
Sure enough, the next morning, Harry and Ron's little adventure had spread through the entire school.
During breakfast, Harry's owl brought the Daily Prophet.
Right on the front page was a moving picture of the Weasleys' car.
Thankfully, Arthur had cast a Muggle-Repelling Charm on it, so only one homeless man had actually seen it flying.
No one believed him, of course—people just thought he was drunk or crazy—until an Auror from the Ministry arrived and quietly erased his memory.
Watching the owls swoop in with armfuls of letters, Arthur rose calmly and pulled Ranni and Hermione away from the Weasley boys' end of the table.
He knew what was coming.
Sure enough, Ron's family owl soon dropped a scarlet envelope right in front of him.
"Oi! Look, everyone—Ron's got a Howler!" shouted Seamus, who, judging from his enthusiasm, had received more than a few himself.
"Better open it quick," warned Neville gravely. "I ignored one from my gran once. It wasn't pretty."
With trembling hands, Ron broke the seal—
and Mrs. Weasley's voice exploded through the hall:
"RONALD WEASLEY! HOW DARE YOU STEAL THAT CAR! YOUR FATHER'S NOW BEING INVESTIGATED AT WORK BECAUSE OF YOU! IF YOU PUT ONE TOE OUT OF LINE AGAIN, WE'LL DRAG YOU STRAIGHT HOME!
Oh—and Ginny, dear, congratulations on making Gryffindor. Your father and I are so proud of you."
The entire Great Hall roared with laughter. Even outside the hall, people probably heard it.
Hopefully the Hufflepuffs, whose dorms were nearby, didn't mind the noise.
Arthur just chuckled and shook his head—not out of schadenfreude, but at the irony.
Expecting Ron to follow rules? Unless you locked him in Hufflepuff and cut off all contact with Harry and the twins, that was never going to happen.
With Harry around, Ron's life at Hogwarts was destined to be eventful.
And honestly, mischief ran in the family.
Charlie was off in Romania raising dragons, the twins were dedicated to inventing prank products, and only Percy could be called "normal."
Their father, Arthur Weasley, worked at the Ministry of Magic's Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.
Technically, he was the department head—but the "office" consisted of exactly two people.
Arthur's fascination with Muggles bordered on obsession, and he often violated his own "Muggle Protection Act."
How else do you think that flying car came about?
So Arthur suspected that Arthur wasn't actually in too much trouble—"internal review" probably just meant writing a report.
After all, under Minister Fudge's "leadership," the Ministry was a bureaucratic mess, and only a few departments took their jobs seriously.
Arthur's was definitely not one of them.
Arthur sometimes couldn't wrap his head around it—
How could the wizarding world forbid Muggle inventions while Hogwarts itself offered a Muggle Studies course?
Was this what they called strategically despising the enemy while tactically respecting them?
All signs pointed to secret ties between the upper echelons of the wizarding and Muggle worlds—
After all, one of the Malfoys' ancestors had even courted a queen.
And yet, certain "pure-blood" families still despised all Muggle contact, obsessed with preserving the so-called purity of their lineage.
Ironically, these same families controlled most of the wizarding world's economy.
But that was a thought for another day.
As for Harry and Ron—their little escapade had officially blown over,
and life at Hogwarts carried on into a brand-new term.
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