Harry could not see the faces beneath those hoods. He could only see them advancing, setting fires everywhere as they went, and firing vicious curses at anyone who failed to get out of the way in time.
The Boy Who Lived felt his heartbeat quicken. Around him were his Gryffindor companions, and he had a wand in his hand as well.
He hid behind an overturned round table, waiting for the Death Eaters to come closer so he could hit them with spells such as the Disarming Charm or Petrificus Totalus.
There was no helping it. The strongest "vicious curse" he had mastered was Levicorpus, a prank spell that made people uncontrollably dance the jig.
Although curses and spells that controlled others were generally called vicious curses and categorized as Dark Magic, their destructive power varied enormously. Harry, who had just finished his third year, had only read a few scattered mentions of the Unforgivable Curses in books. He had never seen them in real life.
Ron beside him was pale. His situation was much the same as Harry's. The only vicious curse he knew was Slugulus Eructo, a spell that made people vomit slugs. Obviously, he knew it was not much use in a fight.
"If I die in battle, I'll leave my Cleansweep Five and my Wizard's Chess pieces to you." Ron panted heavily as he spoke to Harry, his pupils shrunk down to pinpoints. "But you have to take care of my parents when they're old, my ugly sister, and promise me this: my funeral has to have a professional team from Ghana too."
Compared to the broom and toys he was leaving behind, Ron's demands were endless. He kept chattering in Harry's ear, as though he were about to compete for a Guinness World Records title