Chapter 36
Albert felt like a teenager—at least in spirit. And even if only in spirit, he knew one thing: when it came to family, sometimes sacrifice was necessary.
So, when Ron explained the plan that required someone to sacrifice themselves, Albert didn't hesitate. "No problem," he said, then followed Ron's instructions and captured the opponent's queen. In an instant, the enemy knight charged toward him.
"Iron Shield!" Albert cast a protective charm just before the knight turned its blade and struck. The blow sent him flying off the chessboard, his shield spell shattering on impact.
"Albert! Are you okay?" Harry and the others shouted in unison.
"I'm fine," Albert replied quickly. "Nothing serious. I don't have anything else to do now, so I'll just rest a bit. Besides, getting down from here might take a while."
He sat down, subtly placing a hand over his ribs where the others couldn't see. With a whispered incantation, he cast a healing spell, focusing on his injuries. Within a minute, the damage from the blow had vanished—his ribs mended and whole again.
Soon after, Albert overheard Ron's voice—he was also volunteering to sacrifice himself for the sake of the game. Albert stood abruptly, wincing as pain shot through his chest. Perhaps it was because he moved too quickly, or because he had overexerted himself casting spells. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he raised his wand and launched another Iron Shield toward Ron.
But it was too late.
The white queen brought her arm down upon Ron's head, knocking him unconscious and dragging his body off the board. The protective spell had failed to stop the attack.
After Harry won the chess match, Hermione ran to Albert, her voice panicked. "Albert! I saw you cough up blood—are you okay?"
"Don't worry about me," he said with a weak smile. "It's just a shock. I don't think I'll be going with you any further. But I'll be fine. Madam Pomfrey will fix me up in no time. I'll stay here and watch over Ron. Go on, quickly."
Though Hermione and Harry were clearly worried, they nodded and hurried through the opened door into the next corridor.
Once they were gone, Albert slowly rose and made his way toward Ron.
He stepped around a fallen chess piece, carefully approaching his friend. Ron lay slumped against a toppled rook, a large purple bruise already forming on his forehead. Albert examined him—despite the fierce blow, it looked like Ron had only suffered a concussion. His bones remained intact.
Albert opened Ron's eyelids and studied his pupils, then checked his pulse. It was steady. He'd wake up soon.
Still concerned, Albert took out his wand and pointed it at Ron's face. "Clear as spring water," he murmured.
A stream of cool water flowed from the tip of his wand and splashed onto Ron's face.
Startled, Ron jolted awake, rubbing his eyes. "Is it raining?" he muttered in confusion.
It was a sign of the concussion—but thankfully, he was already beginning to recover. After a few minutes, Ron sat up and leaned against the fallen statue, watching as Albert picked up pebbles and transfigured them into wooden splints. Then, using a knife, he carefully tore fabric from his own robe to brace Ron's ribs.
Albert had initially planned to enter the final chamber with Harry to face Quirrell and Voldemort. But after recalling what had happened in the original story—how Harry had defeated Quirrell effortlessly, simply by touching him—Albert changed his mind.
He remembered the magical protection of his mother's love, which surrounded Harry like an invisible shield. Quirrell had crumbled into ash upon contact, and Voldemort had fled.
With that in mind, Albert knew he was no longer needed in the final confrontation. It was enough for him to play his part here—to sacrifice himself so Harry and Hermione could move on.
Ron, now more alert, turned to Albert and exclaimed, "You've got blood on your chin!"
"It's nothing," Albert said with a faint chuckle. "Just some internal shock. Madam Pomfrey will sort it out in a minute."
Still, something troubled Albert deeply. From the moment he stepped onto the enchanted chessboard, he felt his magical energy weakening—as if something, or someone, was draining it from him.
That was why his Iron Shield had failed so spectacularly.
He could've dodged the attack. But he had chosen not to. He had decided, from the beginning, to take the blow and play the role of the sacrificial piece.
Still, despite the strange magical drain, Albert knew he had more than enough power left. An extraordinary amount of magic still coursed through his veins.
Soon, the two boys leaned back against the broken statue, trying to catch their breath.
"Do you think Harry and Hermione have reached the Philosopher's Stone by now?" Ron asked. "What if they run into Snape?"
"I think they'll manage just fine," Albert replied quietly. "If it's just the traps we faced earlier, they shouldn't be too difficult. And Harry… well, this is his test."
Albert thought to himself: Dumbledore must have made preparations. If he were truly worried, he'd have kept the Stone himself and hidden it somewhere even safer. And besides, the protections weren't meant to stop an adult Dark wizard.
Still, Albert had a nagging feeling that Dumbledore hadn't anticipated Quirrell being possessed by Voldemort. If he had, he might have placed more aggressive wards—spells that could incapacitate Voldemort for years rather than merely delay him.
As the two sat in hushed conversation, Hermione suddenly burst back into the room from the opposite door.
Her face lit up when she saw Albert and Ron conscious. "We need to get to Professor McGonagall—now! We have to tell Dumbledore!"
The three of them raced back through the room of flying keys. Hermione explained what had happened along the way. After the chessboard, they'd encountered a troll—but it was already unconscious. Then they reached the final room, only to find a single potion left—enough for just one person to pass through the fire. Harry had taken it and gone ahead, while Hermione returned to fetch help.
When they reached the broomstick room, Albert quickly played a lullaby on the enchanted harp strapped to his waist, soothing the giant three-headed dog to sleep once again.
The trio hurried into the entrance hall—only to run directly into Professor Dumbledore.
He took one look at their ragged appearance and immediately asked, "Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?" Without waiting for a reply, he sprinted toward the fourth-floor corridor.
Watching him disappear around the corner, the students felt a wave of relief. Dumbledore was there now. Everything would be fine.
But as soon as Albert relaxed, the pain surged back all at once. Supporting one another, the three of them limped toward the hospital wing.
Madam Pomfrey was already waiting for them at the door, dressed in her nightgown and a heavy robe.
She ushered them in without a word, muttering anxiously under her breath as she led them to beds and began her examinations.
Albert shrugged off his dirty, torn robe and gently lay back on the mattress.
Finally, he co
uld rest.
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