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Gryffindoll 
Braeden's face filled with hope as Deus pulled out his wand and directed it at the evil tree. He was sure he'd be out of this mess in no time now; the Gryffindor boy knew no one who was better at wandwork than his best friend. Deus simply could not fail.
But he did. And the spell didn't work, and the tree was still waving its branches menacingly at the young Gryffindor who jumped and ducked each time another branch came at him. Nooooo! Whyyy?! Why couldn't the spell have worked?! This wasn't fair! Now he was doomed to die in the hands - or, rather, branches - of a stupid murderous tree! He'd always hoped he'd die a little more heroically than this. But, of course, this was just Braeden being dramatic now.
"If I die here today thanks to this stupid tree," started Braeden, his expression looking like he'd just witnessed the grim reaper sign his death certificate, "I just want you to know… I never really thought there was anything wrong with you lusting after trees last class. And--and you were the best partner I'd ever had in a three-legged race." Whew! There. He'd let his innermost dark secrets out! Now he could die in peace.
Amadeus was close to having a panic attack, especially after hearing what Stonem believed to be his very own last words. He had never been made out to be a hero before and now, he was suddenly thrust into a situation where Braeden, his best mate, could be seriously hurt, or even killed. "Think! C'mon, think!" He murmured to himself frantically, his eyes locked on the tree as his wand arm began to shake slightly. What other spells had he learned after taking seven damned years of charms lessons? Was he a Ravenclaw or not?
"I think I've got something!" Amadeus called out, more to reassure himself than anyone else of the spells possible success. Locomotor mortis: the leg-locker curse. It worked on the legs of innocent witches and wizards everywhere. Why couldn't it work on the branches of the whomping willow? Branches were essentially limbs, yes? Amadeus peered at the tree, which looked angry and bored with waiting for the next attack. It seemed as if it were about to swing at Braeden with nearly all of his branches. It would flatten him into a pancake!
He murmured the spell in a hurried manner and a jet of light shot from the tip of his wand, hitting the bellicose tree directly in the middle of its thick, gruesomely entwined roots. Would it work? Would the spell last long enough for Braeden to run off? Deus stared at the willow, quivering with anticipation.