The wandlight showed him the trunk of a thick tree; 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 lethally through the air and he was forced backward again.

 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 leg had broken, and a moment later, his foot vanished from sight. 

"Harry -- we've got to go for help --" Hermione gasped; she was bleeding too; the Willow had cut her across the shoulder. Amelia had also been hit, blood seeping through the back of her shirt.

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

"Harry -- we're never going to get through without help --" 

Another branch whipped down at them, twigs clenched like knuckles. 

Amelia was quick to stick her middle finger up at the tree. "What a dick."

"If that dog can get in, we can," Harry panted, 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 tree's blows. 

"Oh, help, help, " Hermione whispered frantically, dancing uncertainly on the spot, "please ... " 

Crookshanks darted forward. He slithered between the battering branches like a snake and placed his front paws upon a knot on the trunk. 

Abruptly, as though the tree had been turned to marble, it stopped moving. Not a leaf twitched or shook.