Tales of the Battle

Die Dumb

The young man rolled onto his side, retched, and coughed. He hawked loudly and spat soot-black phlegm onto the floor.

He was a burly black-haired brute with no discernable forehead. Both he and his pasty-faced blond companion wore singed and fire-blackened school robes.

The pale young man, Draco Malfoy, had already hauled himself to his feet. He stepped back in distaste as he watched Gregory Goyle struggle to stand. Goyle staggered and placed a steadying hand on Draco's shoulder.

'Are you sure that there's no troll blood in your family?' Draco asked acidly. Goyle vindictively pushed down hard, putting as much weight as possible onto his companion. Draco's his knees buckled and he struggled to stay upright.

There was the unmistakeable sound of spellfire coming from the castle grounds. The walls of the seventh floor corridor, where the two were standing, were shaking so much that a painting fell from the wall. It landed face down on the floor and the painting's subject, a full bearded wizard wearing a tartan tam o' shanter immediately appeared in the next painting.

'Re-hang me,' the portrait ordered.

His head buzzing with rages and confusion Goyle simply put his foot through the fallen canvas, taking vindictive pleasure from the reaction. Ignoring the angry screams of the painted figure he then broke the frame, and laughed cruelly.

As Malfoy looked down at the broken frame in bewilderment, Goyle clenched his fist and swung it around with the unstoppable force of the Hogwarts Express. There was a loud crack when it connected with Draco Malfoy's left ear and floored his fellow Slytherin. Revelling in the pleasant pain in his knuckles, Goyle glowered at the pale-faced coward.

'Crabbe?' Goyle asked.

'He's dead. He conjured Fiendfyre and couldn't stop it. We're lucky to be alive,' said Draco pleadingly. 'I managed to save your life, Goyle, you should be grateful.'

'Need wand,' Goyle demanded, holding out his hand.

'Crabbe knocked mine out of my hand when we were in the room of hidden things, it's gone,' whimpered Draco.

'Wha' 'appened t' the Mudblood 'n Potter? Did yer kill 'em?' Goyle grunted.

'They escaped! I've just told you that Crabbe knocked my wand out of my hand, you idiot! And Potter disarmed you! Don't you remember?' said Malfoy contemptuously.

Goyle growled and raised his fist again. Draco was a sly, sneaky and vindictive liar, he always had been and he always would be. But he had been useful in the past. He had shielded Goyle from the wrath of several teachers, but now, the Malfoys were out of favour with the Dark Lord. With the Carrows in charge of discipline Goyle had found new allies, and many pleasurable new ways to vent his aggression.

He no longer needed Malfoy, whose strength was in his tongue. Baiting and insulting filthy Mudbloods, half-bloods and Muggle-lovers was something Draco enjoyed. Goyle preferred a more physical approach. As they were both wandless, there was no contest. After years of snide sniping, Goyle could finally teach the snivelling little Malfoy a lesson. He chuckled in anticipation.

'Don't hit me! I'm on your side, remember?' Draco begged.

Goyle cracked his knuckles loudly and smiled cruelly. As a frightened Draco tried to push himself away, Goyle kicked him in the ribs.

'Didn't hit, kicked,' said Goyle. He chuckled at the subtlety of his joke while Draco simply cried in pain and clutched his side.

'Crabbe's dead, your fault. Yer shouldn't've stopped us killin' 'em. You're next, traitor,' Goyle grumbled.

A loud explosion some distance behind Goyle caused the walls and floor to shake alarmingly. Goyle turned to look for the source of the explosion. When he turned back he discovered that Draco had taken the opportunity to flee. Cursing under his breath, Goyle lumbered in pursuit, but Malfoy was both fast and slippery, and he was getting away.

Goyle was built for strength, not speed and he was wondering whether to continue the pursuit when, in the distance ahead of the fleeing Malfoy, a window broke. An Acromantula began tearing at the window frame, pulling at the walls in an attempt to get into the school. Malfoy slithered to a halt and turned. Goyle stopped running and watched.

Goyle glared, grimly gleeful, Malfoy was trapped.

When the spider finally broke in through the window and scuttled forwards, Goyle finally remembered that, like Malfoy, he was wandless. He turned and fled back in the direction they had come. It was a pity that he couldn't wait to watch that arrogant smart-mouth die, but without a wand, he needed to get as far as possible from the giant spider.

He ran back past the room of hidden things. As he did so, he was surprised by Malfoy dodging quickly around him and sprinting ahead. Goyle tried to grab him, but Malfoy was much too fast.

'I don't have to be faster than the Acromantula, just faster than you,' Malfoy shouted spitefully as he again outdistanced Goyle. Gregory didn't waste time trying to figure out what Malfoy meant. He simply tried to catch his quarry. It wasn't going to be easy, as Malfoy skipped rapidly over the rubble filling the corridor

Malfoy dashed past a huge gaping hole in the castle wall and then stopped. For a second, Goyle thought that he had a chance to reach his prey. Grunting in effort, he closed the gap. Malfoy was looking down at something, at someone. But before Goyle could get his hands on him, Malfoy fled like the coward he was, and sprinted towards the next corner.

Upon reaching the point where Malfoy had paused, Goyle saw a red-headed body carefully hidden in an alcove. He stopped. It was one of those Weasleys; perhaps the corpse still had a wand! He bent over the body and began to examine it. He was rifling through the pockets when there was a shout from the end of the corridor.

'Fred?' someone yelled. 'No! Fred! Leave him alone!' It was the other twin!

As the twin raised his wand, Goyle abandoned his search of the body and dived over the rubble, trying to find cover. He lay behind broken pieces of castle wall as hexes ricocheted off the walls around him. As he dodged backwards along the shattered corridor, moving from doorway to alcove, he finally remembered that he was heading back towards the giant spider from which he'd been fleeing. Hex after hex flew over his head. The Weasley was insane, firing spells almost at random. The blonde girl with him was trying to calm him down, but if anything she was more dangerous. She moved forwards determinedly and she was taking time to aim. Goyle was rapidly running out of places to dodge into.

He dropped flat behind a large pile of rubble; the wind whistled through the black maw where the castle wall had been blasted in. Goyle clenched his teeth and growled softly. He was angry and frustrated; he had nowhere to go and no wand.

The spider was slowly advancing behind him, the blonde and the crazy Weasley were in front. Then he recognised the girl. She was that useless Hufflepuff half-blood, she'd grown up, and cut off her pigtails, but it was her. He was being attacked by a blood-traitor and a stupid half-blood. And he was wandless! All he could do was throw rocks like some useless Muggle. He hissed in frustration.

In a last desperate act, he looked around for something to throw. Most of the rocks surrounding him were too large to use as weapons. He was searching for something, anything, with which he could defend himself, when a particularly accurate jinx from the blonde forced his head right down. Then he saw them, two heavy-looking old broom shanks buried under the rubble a little further down the corridor. He slithered backwards, grabbed them, and pulled. One broom was broken, but the other would probably fly.

Discarding the broken broom and holding tightly to the other, he rolled sideways and leapt through the hole in the castle wall, straddling the broom as he fell. Goyle heard the Weasley cry in frustration and despair as he made his escape.

As he hurtled towards the ground, he desperately tried to pull the ancient broom out of its dive. It was old and sturdy, but slow and had very limited manoeuvrability. He finally managed to level it only seconds before he hit the ground. Speeding along inches above the grass, he careened into a young boy. Knocking the boy flying and tumbling from the broom, Goyle bounced and rolled along the ground to land only feet from the person he'd hit.

The boy picked himself up clutching his side in pain, gasping for breath and cursing.

'I think you've broken my ribs,' he wheezed.

Dazed and bruised, Goyle wondered why the boy, who was obviously a Mudblood from his ridiculous Muggle clothing, wasn't attacking, or running. Instead, the boy was simply trying to identify him.

Goyle was still covered in soot and his school robes were burned and torn. His school robes ... Goyle looked down at them and realised that the robes were the reason that the boy had not attacked. He had assumed that they were on the same side. Finally seeing his chance, Goyle stepped forwards, punched the unsuspecting boy in the face, and grabbed his wand.

'Avada Kedavra,' he shouted and the boy collapsed, lifeless. Goyle peered happily down at his latest victim. He recognised him at last. It was that annoying, stupid little Gryffindor boy, the one who'd always had a camera with him. Mudbloods really were stupid, and now there was one less in the world.

That was his second, a Muggle, and now a Mudblood; his father would be proud. Goyle smiled. He sought, and found the old broom, remounted, and soared off to look for another dumb Mudblood to kill.

'Die, dumb,' he chuckled, remembering what Potter had said outside the room of hidden things. He wondered what Potter had been talking about.

It probably wasn't important. Potter would soon be dead.