"Hey, Harry! We've been waiting for you. Not to criticize, but you really need to work on your stair-climbing speed."
Bell, who had been playing building blocks with his little brother, greeted Harry warmly.
"Ron! Jack! How are you two doing?"
Yet Harry did not respond to Bell, the host, right away. Instead, he looked toward a corner of the living room.
In that corner, the teammates who should have been fighting downstairs were all sitting motionlessly on the floor. Neville and Rose looked all right, aside from their pale faces. Ron and Jack, however, appeared to be in much worse shape.
Jack was black and blue all over. Harry had only identified him through elimination. And perhaps it was just an illusion, but Harry kept feeling that the man seemed to have gotten a whole size fatter than before.
Ron, meanwhile, was filthy and covered in soot. His red hair had been singed black, with several patches seemingly missing. His clothes had become little more than beggar's rags, covered in holes of all sizes burned through by fire, nearly exposing everything.
"Not... not bad. For now... hiss! I'm not dead yet."
Jack struggled to move his swollen lips. The motion tugged at the injuries on his face, making him suck in a sharp breath.
"Ron? How are you?"
Compared to Jack, Harry was naturally more concerned about his good friend. Seeing Ron with his eyes tightly shut and not making a sound, Harry was terribly worried.
"Ron kept making a huge fuss, so he was hit with a Sleeping Charm. He's asleep."
Just as Harry's worry nearly made his heart burst, Neville, who sat beside Ron, explained.
The moment they had entered the living room and seen Bell, Ron had begun cursing Bell at the top of his lungs.