Before she knew it, Harry had catapulted himself from a nearby stump, and in an instant, he was floating above the Forest floor, his body held aloft by something invisible. Neville, too, had managed to heave himself up into the air, though he looked as though he were trying to kick himself in the head, his legs flailing awkwardly. Luna was already hovering serenely about four feet above them; her legs stretched out in front of her as if she were sitting on an invisible chair.
Hermione could only imagine her, Ginny, and Ron's expressions as they watched this surreal sight unfold. Harry looked back at them, puzzled. "What?"
"How're we supposed to get on?" Ron asked faintly, staring at the space where Harry floated. "We can't even see the things."
"Oh, it's easy," Luna said, sliding gracefully back down to the solid ground and walking over to them with her usual calm demeanour. "Come here…"
One by one, she guided them to the Thestrals they couldn't see. When it was Hermione's turn, Luna took her hand and placed it on what she indicated was the Thestral's neck.
Hermione's heart raced as her hand reached out into thin air, trembling as her fingers brushed against something solid yet invisible. The sensation was utterly disorienting—her fingers traced the rough, leathery hide of the Thestral, but her eyes saw nothing but dark, empty space. Panic flickered at the edges of her mind, the fear of mounting a creature she couldn't see gripping her tightly. Luna's voice was calm and reassuring beside her, a steadying force in the midst of chaos. "Just here, Hermione, you're doing fine," Luna said softly, her hands steady as she helped Hermione find the stirrup. Despite Luna's comforting presence, the experience was deeply unsettling—feeling the strong, silent breath of the Thestral beneath her, knowing it was there, yet seeing nothing. With a deep breath, she swung her leg over, feeling the strong, bony frame of the Thestral beneath her. The creature shifted slightly, and Hermione's stomach lurched, a wave of nausea rolling through her. How was she supposed to stay on a creature she couldn't even see?
Luna remounted her Thestral quickly, her confidence contrasting sharply with Hermione's mounting dread. She had always preferred to keep her feet on solid ground. Flying was bad enough on a broomstick, where at least she could see what was holding her up—but this? This was pure madness.
"Ready?" Harry called, though Hermione wasn't sure how anyone could ever be ready for something like this. She barely had time to grip the Thestral's bony neck before it crouched low and shot into the air like a cannonball. A scream tore from her throat as the world dropped away beneath her, the trees below vanishing in a blur of green and gold. The Thestral's sudden upward thrust nearly unseated her, and she clung desperately to its invisible form, her legs and arms locking around it in sheer terror.
The wind whipped at her face as they rocketed higher and faster than Hermione had ever moved in her life. The only thing keeping her from plummeting to the ground was the bony ridge she could feel but not see beneath her, and it took every ounce of willpower not to let go, not to lose herself to the sheer panic coursing through her veins. The Thestral's wings beat only occasionally, but their speed was breathtaking, the landscape below them a dark blur in the gathering night.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the terrifying rush of air, the vertigo-inducing sense of nothingness around her. She had no idea where they were, only that they were flying at an impossible speed, and there was nothing she could do but hold on.
Hermione's knuckles were white from gripping the Thestral's neck, her entire body trembling with fear. Every time she felt the creature shift beneath her, her heart leapt into her throat. She could hear the wind roaring past her ears and feel the biting cold against her face, but the sensation of flying on something invisible—something she couldn't trust her eyes to confirm—was nearly unbearable.
"This is insane!" she thought, the words echoing through her mind. She had studied Thestrals and knew they were real, but experiencing one like this was something altogether different. The rational part of her brain fought with the terror that gripped her, trying to focus on staying balanced, on not slipping off the unseen back of the creature that was her only lifeline.
Somehow, she managed to steal a glance at the others—Harry and Ron bent low over their mounts, Ginny and Luna flying with a grace Hermione couldn't fathom. But the sight did little to comfort her. She was flying blind, and she was scared out of her mind.
As they streaked through the night, the Thestral suddenly tilted forward, and Hermione felt herself slide dangerously along its neck. Her breath caught in her throat, and she clung on for dear life, praying she wouldn't fall. She heard a shriek—whether it was her own or someone else's, she couldn't tell—but the descent was sharp and terrifying. The ground seemed to rush up to meet them, and Hermione braced for impact, every muscle in her body tensed.
Finally, it was over. The Thestral touched down with the lightness of a shadow, and Hermione felt solid ground beneath her feet again. Her legs were like jelly as she slid off the invisible creature, stumbling slightly as she landed.
Her heart still pounded wildly, and her hands trembled as she reached out for something—anything—solid to hold onto. The ground beneath her feet felt strange, as though her body hadn't entirely adjusted to no longer being airborne.
Ron staggered beside her, his face pale and his expression reflecting the horror of the journey they had just endured. "Never again," he muttered, looking like he might be sick. "Never, ever again. That was the worst—"
Hermione couldn't agree more. She was trembling all over, her fear and exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her. But as she looked at the others—Harry, who was still wide-eyed and alert; Ginny, pale but resolute; Neville, visibly trembling yet standing firm; and Luna, as unperturbed as ever—she forced herself to take a deep breath and focus.
"Where do we go from here, then?" Luna asked Harry in a politely interested tone, as though this were just another curious day trip.
"Over here," Harry said, gesturing toward a battered telephone box tucked away in a shadowy corner. He quickly led the way, opening the door and motioning for them to enter. "Come on!" he urged, his voice tense with urgency.
If Hermione hadn't just dismounted an invisible flying horse after a harrowing journey to London that had drained every last bit of her energy, she might have hit him for his impatience. But as it was, she simply followed, her legs shaky, her mind in a daze.
Ron and Ginny marched in obediently, followed closely by Hermione, Neville, and Luna, who all squeezed themselves into the cramped space. Harry was the last to force his way inside, and it felt as though the tiny box might burst at the seams.
"Whoever's nearest the receiver, dial six two four four two!" Harry instructed, his tone clipped.
Ron, his arm bent at an awkward angle, reached for the dial and spun it. A cool female voice echoed inside the box as the dial whirred back into place.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."
"Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger," Harry said quickly, "Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood... We're here to save someone—unless your Ministry can do it first!"
Hermione couldn't help but feel a pang of doubt at Harry's decision to announce their names openly. Was it really wise to let the Ministry know exactly who was breaking in? She didn't have the energy to argue, though, and besides, they were in too deep now. Perhaps Harry knew what he was doing… or maybe he didn't. Hermione stifled a hysterical chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. She imagined a group of Ministry officials waiting for them at the bottom, ready to slap them in chains, and Harry wondering aloud how they'd known they were coming.
She knew she was spiralling. She had to get a grip on herself.
"Thank you," said the cool female voice. "Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes."
Half a dozen badges slid out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. Still slightly dazed, Hermione scooped them up and handed them mutely to Harry over Ginny's head. She glanced down at the top badge: 'Harry Potter, Rescue Mission.'
They were definitely going to get arrested.
"Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wands for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."
"Fine!" Harry snapped. "Now can we move?"
The floor of the telephone box shuddered, and the pavement outside the glass windows began to rise, sliding out of sight. The scavenging Thestrals disappeared from view as blackness closed over their heads. With a dull grinding noise, they sank down into the depths of the Ministry of Magic.
A soft golden light began to seep into the box, starting at their feet and slowly rising up their bodies. Hermione peered through the glass, half-expecting to see a squad of Aurors waiting for them. But to her complete shock, the Atrium was empty.
"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening," the woman's voice said, unnervingly cheery.
The door of the telephone box burst open, and they all toppled out, disoriented and tense. The only sound in the vast Atrium was the steady rush of water from the towering golden fountain, where jets from the witch's and wizard's wands, the centaur's arrow, the goblin's hat, and the house-elf's ears continued to splash into the surrounding pool. The scene was eerily serene, starkly contrasting the tension buzzing through the group.
Hermione watched as Harry stood in the middle of the Atrium, momentarily transfixed by the opulence, before snapping back to the task at hand. "Come on," he said quietly, and the six of them sprinted off down the hall, Harry leading the way past the fountain and down a long corridor.
They passed through a pair of golden gates and reached the lifts. Harry jabbed the nearest 'down' button, and a lift clattered into sight almost immediately. The golden grilles slid apart with a great, echoing clank, and they dashed inside. As the grilles slammed shut, Hermione couldn't help but think that if anyone in the Ministry hadn't been aware of their presence before, they certainly would be now. The noise of the lift was deafening, rattling and jangling as it descended. She was sure the sound could be heard all the way to the streets of London above.
When the lift finally halted, the cool female voice announced, "Department of Mysteries," and the grilles slid open.
To Hermione's surprise, the corridor outside was eerily still. The only movement came from the flickering torches, their light casting long, ominous shadows. Was it just blind luck that they hadn't been caught yet, or was something more insidious at play?
"Let's go," Harry whispered, leading the way down the corridor. The tension in the air was palpable, each step echoing ominously in the silent hallway.
"OK, listen," Harry stopped abruptly, his voice hushed but firm. "Maybe... maybe a couple of people should stay here as a – as a lookout, and –"
"And how're we going to let you know if something's coming?" Ginny interjected, raising an eyebrow. "You could be miles away by the time we get the chance."
"We're coming with you, Harry," Neville added, his voice steady despite the slight tremor in his hands.
"Let's get on with it," Ron said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
Harry hesitated for a moment, a fleeting look of doubt crossing his face, but then he turned resolutely towards the door and walked forward. The door swung open silently as if it had been expecting them, and Harry stepped inside, leading the others over the threshold.
They found themselves standing in a large, circular room, the atmosphere heavy and foreboding. Everything was black—the floor, the ceiling, the walls—giving the impression of being swallowed by darkness. Identical, unmarked, handleless black doors were set at intervals around the room, interspersed with branches of candles whose flames burned an eerie blue. The cool, shimmering light from the flames reflected off the shining marble floor, making it appear as though they were standing on dark water.
"Someone shut the door," Harry muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Neville stepped forward and did as Harry asked. As soon as the door clicked shut, they were plunged into near-total darkness. The long chink of light from the torchlit corridor behind them vanished, leaving only the ghostly blue flames casting faint, flickering shadows. The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment, and the group stood frozen, surrounded by the ominous reflections on the floor.
Suddenly, a great rumbling noise echoed through the room, and the candles began to move sideways. The circular wall started to rotate, the doors and the flames blurring together into a dizzying whirl of light and shadow.
Hermione instinctively grabbed Harry's arm, her grip tight as though she feared the floor might also shift beneath them. But the ground remained solid, though the unsettling sensation of disorientation lingered. The blue flames became neon streaks as the walls spun faster and faster, and then, just as abruptly as it had started, the rumbling stopped. The room was still once more, the walls and doors back in place, but their sense of direction was completely thrown off.
"What was that about?" Ron whispered, his voice tinged with fear.
"I think it was to stop us from knowing which door we came in through," Ginny replied in a hushed tone, her eyes scanning the identical black doors.
"How are we going to get back out?" Neville asked, his discomfort evident in the tremor of his voice.
"Well, that doesn't matter now," Harry said forcefully, his determination overriding any sense of caution. Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes. It seemed Harry's sense of urgency was overtaking rational thought. "We won't need to get out until we've found Sirius—"
"Don't go calling for him, though!" Hermione said urgently, her voice sharp. Someone had to keep Harry grounded in reality, no matter how tenuous that connection might be.
"Where do we go, then, Harry?" Ron asked, a hint of exasperation creeping into his tone. It was a reasonable reaction, considering they were breaking into the Ministry of Magic based on nothing more than a dream.
"I don't—" Harry began, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "In the dreams, I went through the door at the end of the corridor from the lifts into a dark room—that's this one—and then I went through another door into a room that kind of… glitters. We should try a few doors," he said hastily as if trying to convince himself as much as the others. "I'll know the right way when I see it. C'mon."
Yes, because randomly opening doors in the Department of Mysteries was undoubtedly the safest plan, Hermione thought sarcastically. But there was no stopping Harry now. She joined the others in following him, clumping together in a tight group as Harry approached the door directly in front of them.
With his left hand on the door and his wand clutched in his right, Harry pushed the door open. It swung inward easily as though beckoning them deeper into the unknown.
At least he had the sense to keep his wand at the ready, Hermione thought, her nerves jangling as they prepared to step into whatever awaited them beyond the threshold.
After the darkness of the first room, the lamps hanging low on golden chains in the next gave the impression that this long, rectangular space was much brighter. However, it wasn't the glittering, shimmering place Harry had described. The room was eerily empty except for a few desks and, at its centre, an enormous glass tank filled with deep green liquid. The tank was large enough for all of them to swim in, and a number of pearly-white objects drifted lazily within it.
"What are those things?" whispered Ron, his voice tinged with both curiosity and unease.
"Dunno," Harry replied, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the objects floating in the tank.
"Are they fish?" breathed Ginny, stepping closer, her face pale in the unnatural light.
"Aquavirius Maggots!" Luna said excitedly, her eyes wide. "Dad said the Ministry was breeding them—"
"No," Hermione interjected, her patience fraying. The sight of those floating objects filled her with a deep sense of foreboding. She moved closer to the tank, peering through the glass. "They're brains."
"Brains?" Ron repeated, his voice a mixture of disbelief and disgust.
"Yes," Hermione confirmed, her tone grim as she studied the eerie scene. "I wonder what they're doing with them?"
"Let's get out of here," Harry said abruptly, his voice tight. "This isn't right. We need to try another door."
"There are doors here, too," Ron pointed out, glancing around the walls as doubt flickered in Harry's eyes.
"In my dream, I went through that dark room into a second one," Harry said, his voice uncertain. "I think we should go back and try from there."
They hurried back into the dark, circular room, the unease from the brain room still clinging to them like a cold mist.
"Wait!" Hermione said sharply as Luna moved to close the door of the brain room behind them. "Flagrate!" She was resigned to following Harry's asinine plan, but that didn't mean she couldn't bring some logic to the situation.
She drew a fiery 'X' in midair with her wand, which burned brightly on the door. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, the rumbling began again, the walls spinning rapidly. But this time, the red-gold blur of Hermione's mark remained visible in the swirling blue light, showing them the door they had already tried. Hermione couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction.
"Good thinking," Harry acknowledged, his tone appreciative. "OK, let's try this one—"
Once again, Harry strode directly toward the door facing him, wand raised, and the others followed closely behind.
This room was larger than the last, dimly lit, and rectangular. The centre of the room was sunken, forming a great stone pit some twenty feet deep. They were standing on the topmost tier of what seemed to be stone benches running all around the room, descending in steep steps like an amphitheatre. At the centre of the pit stood a raised stone dais, and on it was an ancient archway, cracked and crumbling, as though it might collapse at any moment. Hanging from the archway was a tattered black curtain or veil, fluttering slightly though the room's cold air was completely still.
"Who's there?" Harry called out, his voice echoing eerily in the empty chamber as he jumped down to the bench below. There was no answering voice, only the soft rustling of the veil.
"Careful!" Hermione whispered, her voice laced with worry, though she suspected it was in vain.
Harry scrambled down the benches one by one until he reached the stone bottom of the pit. His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked slowly toward the dais, his eyes fixed on the fluttering veil.
"Let's go," Hermione called from halfway up the stone steps, her voice taut with unease. "This isn't right, Harry. Come on, let's go."
Something felt incredibly wrong about the whole scene, a creeping sense of dread rising within her. But Harry, as usual, kept moving closer, seemingly mesmerised by the archway. Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen.
"Harry, let's go, OK?" Hermione said more forcefully, her voice tinged with desperation.
"OK," Harry replied, but he didn't move. Instead, he leaned in closer to the veil. "What are you saying?" he asked loudly, his voice echoing off the stone benches.
"Nobody's talking, Harry!" Hermione said, moving toward him, her heart pounding.
"Someone's whispering behind there," Harry insisted, frowning at the veil. "Is that you, Ron?"
"I'm here, mate," Ron said, appearing around the side of the archway, his expression mirroring Hermione's concern.
"Can't anyone else hear it?" Harry demanded, his voice rising with frustration.
"I can hear them too," Luna breathed, joining them around the side of the archway, her wide eyes fixed on the swaying veil. "There are people in there!"
"What do you mean, 'in there'?" Hermione demanded, jumping down from the bottom step as anger and fear surged through her. "There isn't any 'in there.' It's just an archway! There's no room for anybody to be there. Harry, stop it, come away—"
She grabbed his arm and pulled, but he resisted, his gaze still locked on the veil. Hermione looked worriedly at Ron, who returned her anxious glance.
"Harry, we're supposed to be here for Sirius!" Hermione said, her voice high-pitched and strained.
"Sirius," Harry repeated, his voice distant as he remained fixated on the archway. "Yeah…"
Finally, Harry seemed to snap out of it. He took several paces back from the dais and looked at Hermione. "Let's go," he said, his voice now steady.
"That's what I've been trying to—" Hermione shook her head in exasperation. "Well, come on, then!" She led the way back around the dais. On the other side, Ginny and Neville were staring at the veil, entranced. It was like the Veela all over again. Without a word, Hermione took hold of Ginny's arm while Ron grabbed Neville's. They marched them firmly back to the lowest stone bench and clambered all the way back up to the door.
"What do you reckon that arch was?" Harry asked Hermione as they reentered the dark circular room, the lingering eeriness of the veil still weighing on his mind.
"I don't know," Hermione replied, her voice firm with conviction. "But whatever it was, it was dangerous." She quickly inscribed another fiery cross on the door, marking it as they prepared to move on.
Once more, the wall spun, the disorienting blur of blue flames circling around them until it came to a sudden halt. Hermione watched as Harry approached another door, this time with more caution. He grasped the handle and tried to open it, but it didn't budge.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, sensing his frustration.
"It's… locked," Harry muttered, throwing his weight against the door in a futile attempt to force it open, seemingly forgetting he was a wizard.
"This is it, then, isn't it?" Ron said excitedly, joining Harry in his attempts to force the door open. "Bound to be!"
Hermione resisted the urge to let them continue their foolish efforts until they wore themselves out. As tempting as it was to watch them knock some sense into each other, she was too anxious about being caught to let it go on. "Get out of the way," she said sharply. She pointed her wand at the spot where a lock would have been on an ordinary door and said, "Alohomora!"
Nothing happened.
"Sirius's knife!" Harry said, suddenly remembering the blade. He pulled it out from inside his robes and slid it into the crack between the door and the wall. The others watched intently as he ran the blade from top to bottom, withdrew it, and flung his shoulder against the door again. It remained as firmly shut as ever. Worse still, they saw the blade had melted when Harry held up the knife.
"Right," Hermione said pointedly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We're leaving that room."
"But what if that's the one?" Ron asked, staring at the door with lingering hope.
"It can't be," Hermione insisted, her voice edged with sarcasm. "Harry could get through all the doors in his dream." She marked the door with another fiery cross as Harry reluctantly replaced the now-useless handle of Sirius's knife in his pocket.
"You know what could be in there?" Luna asked eagerly, her eyes wide with curiosity.
"Something blibbering, no doubt," Hermione muttered under her breath, causing Neville to give a nervous little laugh.
The wall slid to a halt, and Harry pushed open the next door, his heart racing with anticipation.
"This is it!" he exclaimed, a mix of excitement and relief in his voice.
Hermione peered into the room from behind Harry, her eyes widening as they adjusted to the dazzling light. The room was filled with a brilliant, diamond-sparkling glow. As her vision cleared, she saw that the light came from countless clocks, gleaming from every surface. There were large and small clocks, grandfather clocks and carriage clocks, all hanging in spaces between bookcases or standing on desks that lined the room's length. The relentless ticking of the clocks filled the space with a sense of urgency, like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. At the far end of the room stood a towering crystal bell jar, the source of the mesmerising light.
"This way!" Harry said, striding confidently toward the bell jar, the brilliant light reflecting in his determined eyes.
"Oh, look!" Ginny exclaimed as they drew nearer, pointing at the very heart of the bell jar.
A tiny, jewel-bright egg drifted along in the sparkling current inside. It cracked open as it rose in the jar, and a hummingbird emerged. The bird was carried to the very top of the jar, but as it fell, its feathers became bedraggled and damp again, and by the time it reached the bottom, it was once more enclosed within its egg.
"Keep going!" Harry said sharply, pulling Ginny away as she showed signs of wanting to stop and watch the egg's progress.
"You dawdled enough by that old arch!" Ginny retorted crossly, but she followed him past the bell jar to the only door behind it.
"This is it," Harry repeated, his voice filled with conviction as he opened the door.
They stepped into a room as high as a cathedral, filled with towering shelves covered in small, dusty glass orbs. The orbs glimmered dully in the light from candle brackets set at intervals along the shelves, their flames burning an eerie blue. The room was cold, the chill seeping into their bones as they edged forward, peering down the shadowy aisles between the rows of shelves. The further ends of the aisles were shrouded in near-total darkness, the tiny, yellowing labels beneath each glass orb barely visible.
"You said it was row ninety-seven," Hermione whispered, her voice tense with anticipation.
"Yeah," Harry breathed, looking up at the end of the closest row. Beneath the branch of blue-glowing candles protruding from it, the silver figure fifty-three glimmered faintly.
"We need to go right, I think," Hermione whispered, squinting to read the next row number. "Yes... that's fifty-four…"
"Keep your wands ready," Harry said softly, the tension in his voice unmistakable.
They crept forward, their footsteps muffled on the cold stone floor, glancing nervously behind them as they moved deeper into the room. The orbs seemed to watch them, some glowing with an eerie, liquid light, while others were as dull and dark as extinguished candles.
They passed row eighty-four... eighty-five... Hermione's stomach twisted with fear and uncertainty. Would they really find Sirius in row ninety-seven, or was this just an elaborate trap?
"Ninety-seven!" Hermione whispered urgently as they reached the end of the row.
They stood grouped together, gazing down the alley beside it. The silence was deafening, the oppressive cold pressing in on them. There was nobody there.
"He's right down at the end," Harry said, his voice laced with uncertainty. "You can't see properly from here." He led them deeper between the towering rows of glass spheres, their soft glow casting eerie, shifting shadows on the dusty floor.
"He should be near here," Harry whispered, his conviction wavering with every step. Each footfall echoed through the cavernous room, and with each one, he felt sure that the next would reveal Sirius, battered but alive. "Anywhere here... really close…"
"Harry?" Hermione called softly, hoping that this time, her voice would reach him, that he would finally see the truth staring him in the face.
"Somewhere about... here…" he muttered, his eyes darting from one dark corner to the next.
They reached the end of the row, emerging into another patch of dim candlelight. But there was nobody there. The silence was oppressive, the air thick with dust and the weight of their growing dread.
"He might be…" Harry whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking as he peered down the next alley. "Or maybe…" He hurried to the next one, the panic in his movements growing more frantic with each passing second.
"Harry?" Hermione said again, her heart aching for him, even as frustration bubbled up inside her.
"What?" he snapped, his tone sharp with desperation.
"I... I don't think Sirius is here." Hermione struggled to keep her voice gentle, though she was fighting the urge to shout, to finally make him see reason.
A heavy silence fell over them. Harry refused to meet their eyes, his shoulders slumping in defeat. They watched helplessly as he ran up and down the spaces between the rows, his eyes wide with desperation. Empty aisle after empty aisle flickered past, each one a crushing blow to the hope that had driven him here. He ran back the other way, his pace quickening as if speed could somehow change the outcome. But there was no sign of Sirius—no evidence of a struggle, no trace of anything.
"Harry?" Ron's voice cut through the heavy silence, a note of something strange in it. Hermione hadn't noticed, but Ron had begun to wander back through the aisles.
"What?" Harry's voice was thick with disappointment as he trudged back toward Ron.
"Have you seen this?" Ron asked, his eyes wide as he pointed at one of the dusty glass spheres on the shelf.
"What?" Harry repeated, his tone dull, as if he was barely paying attention.
"It's—it's got your name on it," Ron said, his voice tinged with disbelief.
They all moved closer, their eyes locked on the small glass sphere Ron had indicated. It glowed faintly from within, but the thick layer of dust covering it suggested it hadn't been touched in years.
"My name?" Harry asked, bewildered.
He stepped forward, craning his neck to read the yellowed label beneath the sphere. Hermione, her curiosity piqued despite the tension, stood on her tiptoes to peer at it as well.
In spidery, faded writing, the label bore a date from sixteen years ago, followed by:
S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter
"What is it?" Ron asked, his voice low with unease. "What's your name doing down here?"
Ron's gaze shifted along the row, scanning the other labels. "I'm not here," he said, his confusion evident. "None of the rest of us are here."
"Harry, I don't think you should touch it," Hermione said sharply, a sense of foreboding knotting in her stomach as she watched him reach for the sphere.
"Why not?" Harry shot back, his tone defensive. "It's something to do with me, isn't it?"
"Don't, Harry," Neville suddenly pleaded. His round face glistened with sweat, the suspense of the moment almost too much for him to bear.
"It's got my name on it," Harry insisted, his stubbornness driving him forward despite the warnings.
Hermione's frustration flared as she watched him wrap his fingers around the dusty orb. It was as if all her efforts to keep him safe, to guide him, were for nothing.
For a brief, heart-stopping moment, nothing happened. The others crowded closer, their breaths held as Harry brushed the thick dust from the orb's surface.
And then, from the shadows behind them, a drawling voice broke the silence.
"Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me."