"Alright, here we go, one...two...three!" shouted the young boy, probably about twelve years old. Just as lunch was ending the man, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, came and rounded up thirty-some students, including himself, and locked them in...where, they weren't exactly sure. The last thing they knew before blacking out was unmeasurable pain, and a high, excited voice yell, "Crucio!"
Gregory tried to hustle up his fellow classmates, but most were unable to think clearly, let alone listen to someone so many years younger than themselves. "Please!" Gregory yelled again, louder and shaking some shoulders. "We can't stop now!"
"Why should we bother?" a girl, Benette from Hufflepuff, whispered darkly. "There's no point. We're already dead."
"No. We're. Not!" Gregory cried. "I'm not going to let it happen to m-"
"'To me'? What makes you so blasted special?" another boy, roughly sixteen, demanded. "Are you a pureblood?"
Gregory bit his lip. Yes, that's what he really meant, but he wanted to live, and the others too. "Yes, but I'm here just as you are, so why don't we-"
"You little jerk! You just want to save your own hide!" another girl shouted, about Gregory's age. "As if we aren't scared enough!"
Gregory stretched out his hand in the darkness towards this last voice, gripping an arm. "Is that why you think I'm trying to get all of us out? No, we should all get out! All of us!" He resumed his spot beside the door. "Ready?"
The rest of the students shuffled their feet to the door, ready to push.
"Good. One...two..."
The door swung open, towards the kids and knocking them on their feet. A man stood ready, his ginger hair resumbling a firey halo around his head. "It's a pull, not a push door. Now, follow me," he commanded, his wand at the ready.
"Where do we go first?" McGonagall ordered.
"You, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny head that way," Mad-Eye gruffly pointed to the left, where the screaming was mainly coming from, "Me, Kingsley, and Neville will head that way. Go."
Everyone looked at each other for a split second before moving. Who knows, it might be the last chance to do so.
Slowly the children followed the man with red hair, only able to identify him as the Devil. Who else would do this?
The man would glance back at them, sometimes with an angry look, other times with a sad look. Suddenly he spun around, right before a door, and told them, "I'm so sorry."
Suddenly he wasn't the Devil. No, this man was working for the Devil.