THROUGH THE TRAPDOOR
Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed
no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped
along the wall. Twice, Ron only just noticed in time that Harry
and Hermione were in danger. He himself darted around the
board, taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black
ones.
“We’re nearly there,” he muttered suddenly. “Let me think —
let me think . . .”
The white queen turned her blank face toward him.
“Yes . . .” said Ron softly, “it’s the only way . . . I’ve got to be
taken.”
“NO!” Harry and Hermione shouted.
“That’s chess!” snapped Ron. “You’ve got to make some sacri-
fices! I make my move and she’ll take me — that leaves you free
to checkmate the king, Harry!”
“But —”
“Do you want to stop Snape or not?”
“Ron —”
“Look, if you don’t hurry up, he’ll already have the Stone!”
There was no alternative.
“Ready?” Ron called, his face pale but determined. “Here I
go — now, don’t hang around once you’ve won.”
He stepped forward, and the white queen pounced. She struck
Ron hard across the head with her stone arm, and he crashed to the
floor — Hermione screamed but stayed on her square — the white
queen dragged Ron to one side. He looked as if he’d been knocked
out.
Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to the left.
283