The Old Squib

In the darkness, Allen and the others got out of the carriage and continued dragging Harry, who was lying on the hover disk, through the iron-barred gate outside Hogwarts Castle.

Filius Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw, was standing in the open space outside the gate with a piece of parchment, checking the student list. Behind him, several tall, armed Aurors watched his movements warily, making sure he was carefully verifying every wizard who entered Hogwarts.

"Name?" Professor Flitwick asked as Allen and the others approached, but he immediately explained to the bewildered group, "Sorry, Allen, but this is required by the Ministry of Magic. We have to check the name of every wizard who enters Hogwarts. Everyone must state their name, with no exceptions."

"Sorry, Professor Harris, it's the rule..." A young armed Auror recognized Allen and apologized repeatedly, but still had Allen's group complete the required procedure.

"Wait! This says Harry Potter. What happened to him?" Professor Flitwick asked, looking at Harry lying on the hover disk, his face twisted in pain and almost unable to speak. As one of the Hogwarts professors who cared more about his students, he could not help but be alarmed at Harry's miserable state.

Tormented by pain, unable to speak, and desperate for relief, Harry pointed to a spot three inches below his lower abdomen. Professor Flitwick hurried forward and reached toward Harry's injured area.

Harry was a little embarrassed, hesitation showing between his brows, and for a moment he was at a complete loss. Suddenly, hearing a click from beside him, Harry turned his head and saw that the loony girl had somehow taken out a camera again and was pointing it at him. Harry's face instantly flushed scarlet.

Click, click—the sound of the camera's shutter kept ringing out. Hermione pressed her lips