Chapter 23. The Archway Behind the Veil

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place suddenly seemed crowded that Saturday as everyone stayed home. A table full of breakfast was served by the cheerful Kreacher, who was delighted to see the whole family around him. After a hearty breakfast of eggs and sausage, Harry felt he could skip lunch. Whistling between his teeth, Kreacher snapped his fingers and let the dishes float and clean themselves in the sink, then he swept and wiped the entire kitchen. Taking time to enjoy the quiet, Harry and Ginny sat down for a cup of coffee at the long kitchen table after their children had left.

"Like I said yesterday, Ginny, I have to go to the Ministry later today," said Harry. "I need to search the Department of Mysteries, and I need to go when no one is there."

Kreacher's large, bat-like ears perked up when he heard Harry's destination. Though the elf had been forgiven by Harry many years ago, he had once helped the Death Eaters lure Harry and his friends into the Department of Mysteries, resulting in the death of his former master, Sirius Black. With a guilty look on his face, Kreacher slipped into the pantry. Ginny, who had also infiltrated the Hall of Prophecy with Harry that day, looked as worried as the house-elf.

"Are you sure you want to go, dear? It's not a place we remember fondly."

"It's just one of the departments in the Ministry — it'll be fine," Harry said, trying to smile. "That place holds the only key to defeating Eisenbein. If I'm lucky, I might even find a way to eliminate him once and for all."

"All right, then. Take Albus to the Underground station when you leave," said Ginny briskly. "He has to meet his Slytherin friends at King's Cross. They will Apparate to Hogsmeade there with the help of those who can, rather than taking the Hogwarts Express."

"Please remind me, why do they have to go to Hogsmeade?" asked Harry, confused. However, then he remembered Albus talking about going somewhere last night. The details seemed to have escaped Harry because he was so lost in his own thoughts.

"Come on, dear — there was a letter from the Slytherin prefect a few days ago. Craig Bowker, their former prefect, is to be honored by them today. There must be a grave near Hogsmeade for that poor child. . . ."

"Elijah Zabini is their new prefect now, isn't he? I saw him once on my last visit to Hogwarts and I didn't like him at all," said Harry gruffly. "What if Albus just didn't attend this ceremony?"

"Your children need better care from you, Harry. Frankly, it seems that Albus has been blaming himself for some time now, believing that Craig died because of him. . . . Delphi Diggory killed that poor boy to take Albus away," Ginny said, looking grim. "You know how that feels, dear. It would be good for Albus to ease his guilt at this memorial service."

Harry remained silent. He had always felt guilty for surviving alone when so many others had died for him. Hadn't his parents sacrificed themselves to save him even when he was just an infant?

"You're right, Ginny. I'll take Albus with me."

When they had almost finished their cooling coffee, Albus poked his head into the kitchen, dressed in black dress robes.

"Er — Dad? We'd better go now."

"Okay, son. Come with me." Harry got up and put on his coat. Ginny, James and Lily followed him down the stairs to say goodbye before the door slammed shut. Once they stepped onto the sidewalk, their home shrank between the houses on either side and finally disappeared from view.

"Albus — you said you weren't that close to Craig Bowker, right?"

"No — actually, it's much better now, but I didn't have any friends back then except Scorpius," said Albus bitterly. "At least I knew Craig to be an exemplary prefect. He was fair to all students, regardless of their Houses, and for a Slytherin, he had no interest in the Dark Arts."

"I see. . . . I'm sorry he had to die at such a young age," Harry said, remembering Cedric Diggory, whose fate was very similar to Craig Bowker's.

"Right, Dad. Sadly, we seem to lose the good ones first."

"I couldn't agree more," said Harry. Oddly enough, it made him feel closer to his second son when he shared dark stories of death rather than happy ones.

"Take care then, Albus." Harry grabbed his son's shoulder when they reached the entrance to the small station.

"Yes, Dad," Albus said, a broad smile spreading across his face. "I'm gonna get you lots of sweets from Honeydukes."

"Here you go." Harry drew a small circle in the air with his wand, and in an instant a wreath of white roses appeared before them. "Thought you might need something to place on his grave . . ."

Having accepted the wreath and hugged his father tightly, Albus entered the station. Harry watched Albus's shrinking figure until his son disappeared down the escalator and out of sight, then he finally turned around. Making sure no one was on the street, he turned on the spot and Disapparated to the Ministry of Magic.

Moments later, he emerged from the darkness and stood in the Atrium. The empty hall was dark with no one around, and the steady trickle of the golden fountain was the only sound he could hear. Then a strong vibration and loud noise startled him as he walked toward the lifts, causing him to turn around and pull out his wand. But the Atrium was still empty; realizing it was coming from his coat pocket, Harry felt a little embarrassed. Faraday's name was on the screen of his phone when he pulled it out.

"Hello, Faraday?"

"Hey, Harry," began Faraday bluntly. "You're going to the Department of Mysteries today for a secret operation, aren't you? Hermione told me."

"Yes, that's right," said Harry anxiously, worried that he might be asked to run an errand for him. "It's nothing serious. I'll just look at the books there."

"NOTHING SERIOUS!" yelled Faraday. "We are at war now! Keep alert no matter where you are!"

He shouted so loudly that Harry had to take the phone away from his ear. Faraday seemed to be channeling the spirit of Mad-Eye Moody, who had always stressed the importance of constant vigilance.

"Okay, I'll take care of myself."

"I gave you an Anti-Disarming band — is it on your wrist right now?"

"Ah, about that . . ." He quickly rummaged through the pockets of his coat and found Faraday's gift with some silver coins. "Yes, I had it in my pocket."

"What's the point of just carrying it around? Wear it on your wrist!

"Er — all right . . ."

Faraday went on talking about his new invention while Harry wore the band around his wrist and tied a string to his wand.

" . . . now I'm trying to figure out how to counter the Stunning Spell. This device has a small sensor with a syringe attached to the heart that detects when the wearer faints and falls and automatically administers stimulants. The problem is that you run the risk of accidentally activating it when you lie down. I was testing it when I carelessly lay down on the sofa and couldn't sleep all night. It was like drinking a hundred cups of coffee at once . . ."

Paying little attention to his words, Harry attached his wand to the rubber cord and said, "Now it's on my wrist like you suggested, Faraday."

Harry glanced at the wand dangling from the rubber band on his wrist — Faraday's means of defense did not seem to be very reliable, but he did not mention it.

"Well done. From now on, wear it every time you go out," said Faraday eagerly. "Let me know if you use it in a fight. There may be room for improvement."

"Okay, thanks."

After ending the call, Harry turned off his smartphone. He didn't want to be surprised by the ringtone, especially in a place as dark and gloomy as the ninth level of the Ministry. The lift took him down one floor and a cool female voice said, "Department of Mysteries" and let the gates rattle open. A black-tiled corridor with no decorations or windows was dimly lit by torches, a black door looming at its end. Harry had only been here once before, but the place seemed strangely familiar. In his fifth year, he had dreamed of this corridor countless times through the eyes of Voldemort, whose soul had then been linked to Harry's.

He took his wand from his pocket and cried "Lumos!", igniting a bright light at the tip and moving on. Without him holding the doorknob, the black door swung open by itself, revealing a large, circular room beyond the threshold. Despite the blue candlelight on the walls and the light on his wand-tip, it took him some time to get used to the interior, which was painted black from floor to ceiling. On the black wall were a series of identical black doors without any signs. Harry would have felt helpless if this was his first encounter with this sight, but having fought the battle here before, he knew what to do.

"I wish to enter the Hall of Prophecy," Harry said, and the wall began to rotate with a great rumbling sound. As the dozen black doors shifted their positions, blue flames flickered between them. To reduce his dizziness, Harry kept his eyes on the front. Stepping forward, he pushed open the door in front of him as soon as the walls stopped moving.

A beautiful room sparkled as if encrusted with diamonds, and he felt dazzled inside. Hermione's attack on the night of their incursion had shattered most of the gleaming clocks there, leaving only the towering crystal bell to provide bright light — but it was enough to illuminate the room on its own. It was the same bell that had turned Crabbe senior's head into that of a baby when he had fallen headfirst into the jar of glittering matter. Harry paused for a moment to examine the mystical sights inside the bell jar, which was filled with a glistening bluish gas.

The shiny little egg floating inside cracked open to reveal a hummingbird. The tiny bird soared to the top of the small world it was trapped in, then sank back down. As it approached the bottom, it gradually transformed into a baby-like shape before sinking and encasing itself in its egg. Captivated, Harry watched the scene, which was amazing even by the standards of the Wizarding world, before realizing what needed to be done and taking a step past the bell jar. There was a door behind the crystal bell; taking a deep breath, Harry pushed it and it slid open without any resistance.

There was probably no place in the department that had changed as much from his memory as the Hall of Prophecy. Where once glass spheres had taken up all the shelves, books and other objects now filled them. However, as if someone wanted to claim that this place was still officially the Hall of Prophecy, on a small shelf attached to the wall were a dozen cracked glass orbs that had survived the last catastrophe. It was not unfounded that the Department of Mysteries, including Saul Croaker, still held a grudge against him, given the miserable state of the place.

Harry noticed a small metal sign next to each display case as he approached the shelves. Fortunately, the clutter in the room seemed to be sorted according to a certain criterion. The next shelf had only the letter Z on it. He found a black book with silver trim, written by someone named Zealot Zillian. He picked it up and opened it, but was immediately startled by the sharp scream and slammed his back against another shelf behind him. He closed the book, but a high, hideous scream continued to pierce his eardrums.

He threw the book on the floor, pointed his wand, and shouted, "Silencio!

There was no more screaming, but the book seemed to try to express its frustration by moving a little.

"Stupefy!"

A bright red spark Harry shot finally stopped the book from moving and made it droop. Having calmed his startled heart, Harry put the book back where it belonged and then walked past the shelves, looking for the letter D. It was likely that he would find any old books of the Dumbledores in the place marked D, but he had to look elsewhere as well. Then he realized that perhaps the book he was looking for was not written, but of a speaking kind, like the screaming one he had just encountered. As with Ekrizdis's journal, circumventing the powerful Record Obliteration Jinxes applied to the Fourth Curse required means other than writing it down.

This thought occurred to him as he passed the shelf marked with the letter I, and the large, empty section of the shelf caught his eye. His curiosity led him to reach for it, and to his surprise, he was able to touch the invisible books with his fingertips. Perhaps they were the copies of The Invisible Book of Invisibility that the manager of the Flourish and Blotts had mentioned a long time ago. . . .

Moving through the alphabet in reverse order toward the desired shelf, he felt a growing sense of anticipation. When he finally reached the display case containing the letter D, and examined the books and other junk on it, Harry noticed a red object that seemed to glow alone in the darkness. It turned out to be a surprisingly well-preserved stuffed phoenix, albeit with some dusty feathers. The phoenix, the size of a swan, seemed to be alive with its bright crimson wings outstretched. Harry kept looking around, thinking that the stuffed bird might be one of the ancestors of Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes.

Surely Hermione would have been fascinated by all the valuable antique books on the shelf. It was then that he noticed a blank section with a yellow note stuck to it. He removed the small scroll of parchment and read it aloud, "In connection with an unspeakable illegal curse, some of the books confiscated from Percival Dumbledore's library in this section have been permanently destroyed . . ."

Harry stared at the empty part of the shelf for a moment. He reached out to check the empty spaces just to be sure, but unlike before, there was nothing invisible there. Once again, his efforts had been in vain; he had thought that he would finally be able to prevent Eisenbein's dark intentions, but he failed. He was naive to think that the Ministry of Magic would leave evidence of the Fourth Curse behind, even though they had proven their incompetence many times in the past. Leaving the stuffed phoenix with its bright yellow eyes and outstretched wings behind, Harry turned helplessly and headed back the way he had come. Any further search seemed pointless.

Slamming the door behind him, he left the place with quick, angry steps, this time paying no attention to what was happening inside the crystal bell jar. Within moments, he found himself back in the large circular room surrounded by twelve black doors. A sudden impulse stopped him from asking for an exit; it would be too depressing to go back without an income. Still, if he could do at least one meaningful thing after coming this far. . . . Would he be able to lay a wreath on the grave of his own godfather, whose body had been lost forever and could never be buried?

"I want to go to the Death Chamber," said Harry — before he had even made a decision, his mouth moved on its own. Harry stepped inside as the door on the right swung open. The dark, rectangular room had appeared many times in his nightmares full of remorse, but when he actually entered it, he felt an unprecedented rush of emotion. In the dimly lit room, there was a sunken area in the center; the stone archway that had swallowed Sirius Black stood on the platform at the center of the stone pit. Despite the lack of wind, the veil covering the archway fluttered and moved on its own.

To reach the pit, Harry carefully descended the steep stairs. The objects, large and small, hidden in the shadows, gradually became visible with time. Perhaps this place had been neglected after the war and turned into a warehouse, just like the Hall of Prophecy. Throughout the pit, small and large objects covered with black cloth were left along the sloping walls — carefully circling them, Harry finally came face to face with the archway. Despite the cracks and crumbling everywhere, the archway had remained firmly in place for many years, and it would remain there even after Harry was gone, forever hiding the secrets of death.

Looking at the edge of the veil, which kept moving of its own accord despite the stagnant atmosphere inside, Harry drew a circle in the air with his wand. A wreath of white roses appeared on his hand, the same one he had given to Albus outside the Underground station earlier. In a moment of silence, he thought of Sirius Black, his kind, devoted and brave godfather, and then threw the wreath into the archway. The circle of white roses brushed through the swaying veil and into the arch — it vanished without reappearing on the other side, as if it had evaporated. As it turned out, Harry, like his son Albus, had ended up attending the memorial service for the deceased.

With nothing else to do, Harry sat down in front of the archway behind the softly rippling veil. Faint voices whispered and murmured from the other side of the veil. Like Harry knew better than anyone else, even if there was someone on the other side, he would never meet them, at least not in his lifetime. Still, he found himself unconsciously pricking his ears and listening, probably because he desperately wanted to talk to his godfather one last time.

"Hey, is anyone here?"

Someone spoke clearly in the midst of the unintelligible murmur. Harry jumped to his feet and stared at the veiled archway with wide eyes.

"Yes, this is Harry. Are you in there?"

"Harry? You mean — you're Harry Potter?" the mysterious voice said again. There was something familiar about the male voice, although it definitely wasn't Sirius's.

"Yes, I'm Harry Potter. Behind the veil, are you?"

"BEHIND THE VEIL? You don't want me to be dead, do you? Go around the archway and take a look at the back."

Listening carefully, Harry realized that the voice was not coming from the arch itself, but from something covered in black cloth just behind it. Harry did his best to calm his pounding chest as he circled the stone pit, wondering who it was. Dust and mold flew into his face when he grabbed a heavy black canvas and ripped it off. Beneath the thick black cloth he lifted was everything that had once been a sign of glory, from rusty trophies to marble busts with missing heads.

"Down here!" said the voice from beneath the large trophy. Before Harry lifted the golden trophy, he looked at the words on it, which read: Awarded to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore in Commemoration of His Defeat of Gellert Grindelwald. Harry held a rectangular object covered in a damp yellow cloth. To the touch, it felt like a picture frame, and when the cloth was removed, a grimacing wizard was indeed revealed within the portrait.

"Professor Dumbledore!" exclaimed Harry.

The picture showed a middle-aged Albus Dumbledore with long auburn hair and a beard. Although the man described in the portrait was different from the older Dumbledore he remembered, Harry had seen such an appearance of him in the Pensieve. Dumbledore, wearing a plum-colored velvet suit decorated with colorful star patterns, finally looked up at Harry with a frown — the lightning scar on his forehead immediately caught Dumbledore's attention.

"Ah, so you are the famous Harry Potter? You have been the subject of many stories I have heard — the stories told to me by my older self, that is," the middle-aged Dumbledore said. Dust flew everywhere in the picture as he coughed.

"Alas! I cannot remember the last time I saw the light. Has it been thirty years, perhaps?"

"It depends. How long have you been here?" asked Harry. He was pleased to see his old teacher, but he was also somewhat disappointed that this version of Dumbledore didn't have any memories of being with him. It seemed that this portrait of a middle-aged Dumbledore had been drawn to honor his victory over Grindelwald, as the trophy placed directly above it suggested.

"There is no precise answer to this question that I can give you. At least I have been informed that Cornelius Fudge ordered my removal from the wall," Dumbledore said, before adding, almost inaudibly, "Such a nitwit, blubber, oddment and tweak that Fudge is . . ."

The sight of Albus Dumbledore, as serious as ever but also full of playfulness, made Harry smile. It was nice to see him still around, even if it was not his older self who had been Harry's greatest mentor in his earlier years.

"That's just like Fudge — he had a very strained relationship with you at the end of his term," said Harry. "How did you end up here, anyway?"

"I cannot be sure — my involuntary wanderings have taken me to many places in the Ministry of Magic, all of them moldy and gloomy. I suspect the Death Eaters put me here when they took over the Ministry, to destroy all reminders of the victory over the Dark Side, including me." Dumbledore raised his hand and pointed to the archway behind Harry. "This veil allows you to easily throw away things you do not want. . . . I find it frightening to think how many incompetent witches and wizards work for the Ministry of Magic who are unable to cast even a simple Vanishing Spell." Shrugging his shoulders, Dumbledore added in a softer voice, "I may be partly to blame for my failure to be a better Transfiguration teacher. Be that as it may, it has allowed me to maintain my existence here."

"What happened next, Professor?" asked Harry. It amazed him to think that another portrait of Dumbledore had been wandering unnoticed through the various storerooms of the Ministry.

"Young man, that's what I want to know. How have things turned out in our world? On his last visit, my older self told me that Voldemort had returned and that another war had just begun . . . and he also said that Harry Potter, the Chosen One, was his only hope."

"Hmm, about that . . ." Harry told the story of what he had gone through during the last war, while Dumbledore listened quietly, his piercing blue eyes shining. When the story reached the point where his older self died, his eyes closed for a moment.

"To be honest, I thought I was dead by now," said Dumbledore calmly. "It still feels strange to me, however . . . to accept the fact that the real me is gone forever."

"I completely understand, Professor," said Harry sympathetically. He then told how he had located all the Horcruxes and destroyed them all to defeat Voldemort forever.

"I always thought you would succeed in the end, Harry," said Dumbledore proudly, his eyes glistening and watery. "I remember my older self telling me how much he trusted the Boy Who Lived whenever he visited the Ministry of Magic. . . . And you've finally done it — you've won!"

A polite smile spread across Harry's face, but it was strange to be praised for something he had done more than twenty years ago.

"The question is, Harry, why have you come here?" asked Dumbledore. Harry was reminded of the ongoing war with Eisenbein, an uncomfortable subject that had been pushed aside by their pleasant reunion.

"There is a new Dark wizard on the loose. Our world has been thrown into chaos again by a man named Eisenbein, who has appeared out of nowhere and claims to be Voldemort's successor."

"It's no surprise that something like this has happened again. My first thought was that Grindelwald's defeat would end it all. It just so happened that in the same year, Tom Riddle graduated from Hogwarts and began his journey to become the Dark Lord," Dumbledore said, his face serious and devoid of any playfulness, and Harry nodded quietly. It took Harry some time to speak up about the accusations Eisenbein had made against Dumbledore.

"Professor, I wonder what you know about the Fourth Curse."

"The Fourth Curse, you said?" Dumbledore frowned in thought. "As you may know, when I was a younger man, I went with Grindelwald on the quest for the Deathly Hallows. . . . We found out that Ekrizdis, another believer who was on the hunt for the Hallows, had something to do with such a curse in the legend, but I know nothing more about it."

Harry was disappointed and relieved at the same time. It turned out that Albus Dumbledore, who he had thought was the key to solving the case, knew no more than he did. However, it was also confirmed that Dumbledore hadn't used such a terrible curse on others.

"Well, sir, do you remember what books you had in your library as a child?" said Harry. "I've just checked the confiscated books from there, and some of them must have related to the Fourth Curse, although those records have now been discarded and no longer exist. . . ."

Dumbledore thought for a moment, then opened his piercing blue eyes wide and stared at Harry. "We were never allowed into our father's study for it contained too many dangerous books. But on second thought, just before this incident happened —"

In an instant, Dumbledore's auburn hair burned red and his speech became muffled. The fire then spread to the rest of the picture and its frame, causing black smoke to billow from them. Harry only let go of the burnt remains of Dumbledore's portrait when his fingers were blistered from the heat — the blackened painting fell to the floor and soon turned to soot and ash.

"Don't you think it would have been too easy to leave it as it is, Harry?" said a cold voice, mingled with mechanical sounds, from beyond the archway. "Forgive me, but I had to do this."

He turned and pointed his wand at Eisenbein, who was sitting silently at the bottom of the stone pit behind the veil. His entire body was wrapped in the Invisibility Cloak, and his face, as always, was misty under the hood. Harry's heart boiled with insane hatred like a cauldron of extremely hot and dangerous potions.

"Expelliarmus!" shouted Eisenbein, and bright scarlet light flashed from the wand in his silver hand.

The Disarming Spell struck Harry, and without time to react, the wand flew from his grip. . . . Then he felt a force tighten his wrist and his wand, which had been tied to the rubber band, flew back toward him due to its elasticity. Faraday's invention had worked! As soon as Harry got his wand back, he shouted the same spell at Eisenbein: "Expelliarmus!"

There was a flash of red light from his holly and phoenix wand that struck Eisenbein in the chest. He twisted his right arm, wrapped in black cloth like a bandage, and with a rattle, the wand flew from his silver hand. The rage and hatred that still simmered inside Harry gave way to joy this time. He had just successfully Disarmed and subdued Eisenbein, making himself the true master of the Elder Wand once again. He might have a chance to win this duel against Eisenbein if he used the upper hand he had gained. Eisenbein stared at Harry's wand, which was tied to his wrist with a rubber band, and his fallen wand on the floor.

"You won't fall for the same trick again. . . . Impressive, Harry — neutralizing the Disarming Spell with such a simple tool," Eisenbein said, pulling back the hem of the Cloak he was wearing. Under it, a shroud-like white robe was visible in the dim light. Harry noticed a red vial hanging from his waist with a pair of thin tubes leading up from it, along with several other wands. Finding the Elder Wand tucked into his belt among the other wands, Harry leaned forward in anticipation.

Before he could move, however, Eisenbein pulled out one of the wands other than the Elder Wand and pointed it at Harry in a threatening manner. It would be better for Harry if he attacked: Disarming Eisenbein's wands one by one would allow Harry to redeem himself for his last mistake by forcing his enemy to use the Elder Wand in the end. Eisenbein stepped aside, but did not try to attack in a hurry, leaving the veiled archway between him and Harry. Unlike before, there was no squeaking or hissing coming from his iron legs — he must have cast some sort of Muffling Charm on them.

"There's no reason for me to fight you here, Harry. . . . How absurd would it be for us to pick a fight like two immature children fighting over their toys because of this silly wandlore?"

"It was you who first declared war on us, and you destroyed Professor Dumbledore's portrait twice. And now you say you won't fight me?"

"There will soon be a chance for you to duel me properly. We will then be able to settle the question of the loyalty of our cherished Elder Wand once and for all. . . . You can trust me on that."

"No more nonsense from you!" shouted Harry. "You falsely accused Dumbledore of cursing you. Stop lying and confess now! Who cursed you? Why are you doing this?"

"Knowing who I am will solve all that," said Eisenbein casually. As they circled around each other, Harry felt something rough touch his foot. Looking down, he saw that he had reached the stone steps that led down to the pit from the entrance above.

"I was just about to find out who you are. . . . If the painting hadn't been burned, I would have known by now!" Harry shouted again in his rage. It was the third time he had lost Dumbledore. The last portrait of Albus Dumbledore had just been incinerated in his hands, and he still couldn't believe it.

"Sorry about that, but it will make your search for the truth more intriguing," said Eisenbein. Suddenly he stopped moving and turned his eyes to the archway between him and Harry. "Here's another intriguing thing. Have you ever seen a gate like this before?"

Harry did not answer and continued to point his wand at him. From where he stood, Eisenbein's body was partially obscured by the archway and the swaying veil, and he suddenly had an idea.

"Why don't you take a look inside?" said Harry in a falsely indifferent voice, "I heard some small voices behind the veil before you came. I wasn't brave enough to go inside, but if you're as powerful as you say you are, it wouldn't hurt to try."

Taking a moment to study Harry's expression, Eisenbein tilted his head slightly to one side. He stepped forward and gazed in awe at the arch behind the fluttering veil. Excited with anticipation, Harry waited with bated breath. He felt as if he had drunk a bucket of Felix Felicis to get rid of this troublemaker so easily. He kept a determined straight face, concentrating on Eisenbein's next move instead of showing such feelings. Eisenbein walked straight up to the veil, seemingly deeply fascinated by it, oblivious to Harry. As Harry watched the scene, his heart pounded with excitement, certain that his enemy would never be able to escape this time.

Then a sudden thought occurred to him: If Eisenbein entered through the archway, what would happen to his Cloak of Invisibility? Would he lose the Cloak as well as his dear godfather? Taking that risk was not an option for Harry: the Cloak was the only thing he had inherited from his father, an invaluable treasure passed down through generations.

Following the stone benches that ran around the chamber, Harry moved slowly to Eisenbein's rear; the Cloak of Invisibility would be taken from his behind the moment he passed through the veil. Quickly and quietly, Harry climbed onto the raised stone platform that supported the archway. But before his outstretched hand could reach the Cloak, Eisenbein entered the archway through the fluttering black veil. . . . Suddenly, a gust of wind blew from all directions, as if the cold, still air around him had been compressed by some unknown force. Harry almost fell forward as he reached for the veil, but the strength in his feet kept him from losing his balance. Leaning back, he felt the intense wind caress his body as it rushed through the black veil.

Harry stood up and walked carefully around the stone dais once the air in the chamber had settled. To his astonishment, he saw Eisenbein walk from the other side of the archway to the benches leading to the exit as if nothing had happened. With every step he took, a loud clanking sound echoed through the sunken pit. What had just happened left Harry in shock and awe — Eisenbein had just passed through the veiled archway, as dangerous as death itself, and he seemed completely unaffected.

"Harry, your godfather should be grateful for this veil," Halfway up the stairs, Eisenbein looked down at Harry and said. "You've seen for yourself — even death rejects me. . . . To me, death is nothing more than a blessing I can never obtain."

In the dim light, his hazy face stirred under the dark hood. For some reason, the shape of his face seemed to have become clearer after he had passed through the archway. Just as Harry began to notice a child's face under the hood, Eisenbein turned and walked up the rest of the benches.

"The same will soon be true for you, Harry. . . . In the face of coming hardships, even death will seem like a blessing to you."

With that, Eisenbein opened the door and left the chamber. Harry clambered up the stairs to follow him when he recovered from the shock.

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Harry. "What are you plotting? SAY IT!"

In the time it took Harry to open the door and walk back into the dark, circular room, Eisenbein was gone. Panting, Harry raised his wand and stared into the empty room. At that moment, an unexpected figure of bright light burst through the wall, and Harry stepped back in surprise. When he saw it bow its head before him, he realized it was Ginny's horse Patronus. The silver horse that lit up the black room opened its mouth wide and spoke in Ginny's voice.

"Harry, you must come home at once. It has been announced that Hogwarts will begin term as of today."