Chapter 109: I Am a Gryffindor!
Neville and Hannah exchanged a look and shook their heads. They had no idea how it had started. One minute they were practicing their Strengthening Charms, the next there was smoke in the corridor, students were running and screaming, and a stone statue had crashed through their door. It had been a confusing, chaotic fight, and it had ended just as confusingly.
"This is a problem," Doro said, her chubby face somehow managing to look troubled. "Before he left, Ryan only told me to protect Hogwarts as best I could."
"Protect Hogwarts? But won't you be in danger?" Hannah asked, her heart going out to the adorable little golems.
"Of course not," Doro said, giving the witch a strange look. "As long as we're inside Hogwarts, we can repair ourselves. If we're badly damaged, we just go back to the Adventurers' Club to heal. We're not like you fragile creatures of flesh and blood."
"So, what's your plan?" Doro asked, assuming Neville and Hannah were the leaders of the group. "Are you taking these students to a safe place?"
"There are no safe places right now," Hannah replied, her voice firm. "The only way to be safe is to end this."
"Hannah's right," Neville agreed.
"Then you will help us protect Hogwarts!" Doro chirped excitedly. "Charge!"
"Wait! We have wounded here!" one of the medic golems snapped.
"Oh," Doro said, and casually pulled out an orange, peeled it, and began to pass out slices, popping one into her own mouth. "Hurry up, then," she said, her mouth full. "We're on a schedule!"
In the hospital wing, Ron Weasley, who was perfectly healthy and could probably do ten push-ups without breaking a sweat, was still being held for observation by Madam Pomfrey. And today of all days, it was the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Quidditch match. Ron, a lifelong fan, was pacing anxiously, wishing he had a pair of Omnioculars.
He was so engrossed in his frustration that he barely noticed the sounds of commotion from outside. He opened a window to see what was happening, and a thick cloud of black smoke billowed in, choking him and making his eyes water. "What's going on?" he coughed, and instinctively ran back to his bed, grabbing his wand from his pocket. The feel of it in his hand was a small comfort. He looked out the window again and saw the smoke pouring from the castle. A fire? But how could a thousand-year-old magical castle catch on fire?
He saw a student stumbling down the corridor, and he stepped out to help, recognizing the boy's face. But as he put his wand away, the student looked up, his eyes empty, a chillingly blank smile on his face. He raised his wand, and a jet of red light shot out, hitting Ron square in the chest.
An agonizing pain seized him, and he collapsed to the floor, his body curling into a tight ball. He couldn't even manage a cry, his every nerve screaming in torment.
"The Cruciatus Curse," a soft voice said from beside him. Ron didn't recognize the voice. Unforgivable Curse, his mind screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. He saw a pair of shoes in front of him, shoes that looked vaguely familiar. A wave of terror washed over him, and his body tried to recoil, but his mind was filled with a chorus of voices from his past: You have great courage... you don't have to blame yourself... you are a true Gryffindor...
With a surge of strength, he reached out and grabbed the person's trouser leg.
"Meaningless, foolish bravery," the voice said, and the person kicked his hand away and walked on, as if Ron were nothing more than an insect beneath his feet.
But before he had gone more than a few steps, a shaky, weak jet of red light shot out from behind him, sizzling harmlessly against the wall. The figure turned to see Ron, leaning against the wall for support, his wand clutched in a hand that was bleeding from where his own nails had dug into the flesh. He had no strength left for a proper Stunning Spell.
He saw Ron's mouth move, and heard the faintest of whispers. "I am a Gryffindor. I am Ron Weasley."
"Foolish," the figure said with contempt, and raised his wand again, unleashing a fresh wave of agony. A moment later, he walked away, moving through the castle with an unnerving familiarity.
Ron lay on the floor, unmoving.
On the Quidditch pitch, the three professors waited, their eyes on the clock.
"It should be time soon," McGonagall said, her voice taut with anxiety.
"I still think we should have stayed in the castle," Professor Sprout fretted.
"Patience," Snape said, his voice calm, though his mind was a raging volcano. "According to the plan, Dumbledore will lift the Anti-Apparition Jinx on the pitch. We will then Apparate to the third-floor corridor. Our mission is to block the exit. He must not be allowed to escape." He repeated the words, his voice a low, intense hiss. "He must not escape."
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