Disclaimer: I have no claim on the Harry Potter characters and universe belonging to J.K. Rowling.

The Whomping Willow

I sit in the midst of the grounds, swinging my branches to and fro as I wish. The students have no respect for me, climbing down between my branches as though I’m some sort of a plaything. One year I remember it well, a large contraption of sorts landed right in the midst of all my branches, and in the process of trying to dislodge it, two little students screamed at me as I beat the car trying to knock it off of my trunk.

It was painful I tell you, a kind professor had to nurse me afterwards, and put my branches into slings. I never have felt right after that car landed on me, but what can I do? I’m just a tree, a willow tree. There are few who know the secret that my trunk hides, and even fewer who know how to stop my branches from waving, and for that I am grateful.

A kind word, a gentle touch, or even just standing by to watch me wave in the wind, will please me. I might just wave to you, or extend my branches for you to see my leaves, if you care to see them.