Chapter 92: 21st September 1991, Saturday: Part 3

These events all built up to where George was currently standing thirty yards away from the Whomping Willow whilst performing a few stretches in preparation for the sprint. He had woken up that day with red eyes and a body covered in bruises which meant that he couldn't afford to wait any longer. Today was a Saturday which meant he had the entire day free to complete this task so he put on Dominic's tinted aviators to hide his eyes and set off early in the afternoon when everyone else was eating their lunch.

George carefully navigated through the castle on a specific route he'd determined to have the lowest amount of student traffic. After a week of completely mapping out the dungeons, George found a long and winding path which was known for confusing students who happen to lose their way. Students rarely used this inefficient way to leave the castle so it became the best candidate for his escape route. He had made the right decision since he didn't cross paths with a single student on his way out of the castle.

Once he had gotten outside, conveniently but not surprisingly, there were very few students anywhere near the tree since it had a reputation for being one of the most dangerous areas other than the Forbidden Forest. With all these factors considered, George felt relatively confident that there wouldn't be anyone watching him until lunch was over in about fifteen minutes. He finished his warm-up exercises and lowered his body to the ground like a professional sprinter. With a final deep breath, he pushed with all of his strength and launched himself toward the Whomping Willow. He took large strides as he bounded toward the tree whilst carefully avoiding the uneven ground.

Once he reached the point where he was shadowed by the canopy, George could see the hole that led to the secret tunnel. His frequent surveillance had been successful since he was directly beelining toward the hole, he simply had to continue running in a straight line. As George neared the trunk, he heard the sound of wood bending and branches rustling above him. The Whomping Willow had finally noticed him and was most likely preparing to swing a branch in his direction. Judging by the distance between himself and the hole, the tree would not have the opportunity to strike him before he escaped. His meticulous calculations had been correct but he wasn't about to slow down just in case there was something he had overlooked, his hubris would not be the death of him.

When George was only a few feet away, he leapt off the ground and dived forward with his arms outstretched. He passed the threshold of the muddy hole and tumbled over the roots before coming to an abrupt stop in the dark cavern. After another second passed, George heard the loud bang of branches hitting the ground outside the entrance which caused dried mud and dust to fall from the ceiling. He coughed a few times and dusted his shoulders before slowly standing up.

Even though everything had gone according to plan, George looked at his body and checked that he hadn't received any further injuries. His bruises were mildly bleeding but that had been expected since running could open them easily. The only real tragedy was the broken sunglasses on the floor which must have been crushed by his body when he had fallen. He picked the aviators up and a tinted lens fell out, they were way beyond his skill to fix with the repair charm. George's expression sank as he realised he had broken one of the few items he felt sentimental attachment toward.

That day Dominic saw George's eyes was a good memory, it was perhaps the first time George truly felt like he was a part of a family. Whether Dominic had an alternate motive aside, it was still an event worth remembering. George picked up the fragments and placed them gently in his enchanted sack so he could fix them at a later date, maybe he could ask Hermione to help him fix them after Halloween.

After placing the sunglasses on a blanket in his sack, he looked toward the exit of the tunnel and saw a large branch lift itself off the ground and return to its passive position. Considering the time between his dive and the sound of the branch hitting the ground, George felt that the combat roll wasn't necessary and his glasses didn't need to get smashed. He didn't regret his choices since risking getting hit by the branch would result in a whole lot more than his aviator's breaking. Hopefully, anyone who saw the tree move in reaction to George would simply think that it had been attacking a squirrel or a bird which wasn't improbable since that was a daily occurrence.

George looked in the other direction and saw a long dark tunnel with seemingly no end. His eyesight was great in the dark, but, even he couldn't see the end since it was pitch black. Because there shouldn't be anyone crossing his path from this point onwards, George felt no need to pull out another pair of sunglasses to hide his eyes.

He unsheathed his wand from his sleeve and cast, "Lumos!", to produce a glowing white light so he could avoid tripping over roots.

George kept on walking for a dozen minutes down the dirty tunnel without any sign of reaching its end. The tunnel was crude in its construction as the roof varied in height and the walls in width, some areas could have two Hagrids walking side by side comfortably whereas other parts could only have a single Hagrid walk down if he sucked in his gut and crab-walked. One consistent element was the path which was incredibly uneven and covered in roots which acted as the perfect tripping hazard for anyone who wasn't paying attention. It was due to this incredibly uneven footpath that George didn't consider running to get to the house faster.

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On the way to the Shrieking Shack, George wondered about the method of construction to produce such a long tunnel with magic. He thought that the most likely possibility was the use of plant-controlling magic to move the dirt aside because some of the roots around him had grown in very unnatural directions. If that was the case, George could imagine how effective the same magic could be in combat to slow or even incapacitate a large group of enemies with roots and vines, this had to be another piece of magic to research when he had the time.

George chuckled at himself once again for adding more to his to-do list, it seemed that he really couldn't help himself. He decided during the walk to end his holiday on Monday since two weeks without mentally exerting himself ought to be enough rest. George had intended on having another week of rest but he doubted that he could restrain himself that long. It was probably for the best to end it early and have a week every month where he relaxed. Otherwise, he'd probably start sleep-working.

He kept walking for nearly twenty minutes and finally came across the end of the tunnel, there was an old wooden ladder connected to a trapdoor on the ceiling. Whilst excited to see the famous Shrieking Shack, George continued to use his wand like a flashlight and climbed the ladder one-handed. Every other step gave way under George's weight as he awkwardly ascended the disintegrating ladder until he reached the trap door. He had to push it open with his shoulder since the rest of his limbs were clinging on to what little footholds remained.

The door creaked as it swung open and hit the ground which sent two decades worth of stagnant dust into the air. George kept climbing the ladder whilst holding his breath until the dust settled, for now, he couldn't see a thing even with his wand glowing. Once the floating dust fell to the ground, George recognised that he was standing in the basement of the Shrieking Shack. He looked around and saw what he guessed were the remnants of a series of wine cabinets lining the walls. He walked up to one of the still-standing cabinets and saw dozens of empty wine bottles either broken or filled with dust. He pulled out one of the intact bottles and tipped it upside down, orange rust-like residue poured out of it.

George smirked and thought to himself, "if there had been some half-decent bottles left by the previous resident, then Remus and the rest of the Marauders would have probably drank it all. I'll have to ask Remus if he has a stash hidden under all this dust when I see him next, although, I doubt he would tell me since I'm only eleven."

George slid the bottle back and walked through the wine cellar until he came across a rickety set of stairs that lead up to the ground floor. The wooden steps were predominantly rotten and half of them had already snapped, the bannister had completely rotted away and was hanging from the few screws that still retained it to the wall.

Always up for a challenge, George carefully navigated up the remaining steps whilst being very careful to disperse his body weight. He had thought the ladder was in bad shape but this poor excuse for a staircase was somehow in even worse condition. He was taking all the lessons he had learnt from watching Indiana Jones and those techniques worked surprisingly well. He reached the top of the stairs without causing a single board to break, unlike in the movies, and had avoided those imaginary crocodiles waiting below. At the top of the steps was another trap door that had been left wide open, he could see dim sunlight illuminating a dusty chandelier right above him.

Now standing on the ground floor, George stopped casting the Lumos spell and put away his wand since the light bleeding through the gaps in the wooden panels bordering up the window was bright enough for him to see clearly. He was currently standing in the middle of a narrow helical stairwell, he looked up and saw that it spiralled two floors high. Ahead of him was a poorly maintained living room that had the majority of the furniture stripped out and replaced with massive piles of decomposing rubbish. The remaining furniture, which consisted of a few chairs, a cabinet and a grandfather clock, was either damaged beyond repair or completely rotten.

There was a large stone fireplace at the far right of the room but it was completely unusable because of the sheer quantity of logs and twigs stacked in the alcove and the flu had a massive hole in it where some of the wall's foundations had collapsed. There was a large boarded-up window next to the front door at the opposite end of the room, the glass was broken and was letting the chilly September breeze into the house. The window had the curtain pulled shut to block out the light but it had been predominantly devoured by moths leaving nothing but a few strands of fabric.

George was looking into the room whilst wondering if it would be suitable for transforming. He could overlook the filth, but the floor was covered in jagged pieces of rotting and mouldy wood. Even though his skin was extremely thick whilst in his other form, George didn't like the idea of laying on this disgusting ground with his bare skin. He had a pretty low bar but the smell alone was too much, this room was a biohazard and should be quarantined. There were no marks that looked to be caused by a werewolf which suggested Remus must have not transformed in this room either. If he had, George would have thought less of the man for reducing himself to that level.

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