Chapter 43: Flight and Mysteries

June 20, 2003 – Friday

Hogwarts Grounds

"Well, we'll have to fly, won't we?" said Luna, her voice as airy and unconcerned as ever, her eyes wide and thoughtful as though the prospect of soaring into the night was the simplest thing in the world.

Ron immediately looked skeptical, crossing his arms. "Look," he said, glancing at her sideways, "you might be able to fly without a broomstick, but the rest of us can't sprout wings whenever we—"

Buffy nodded in agreement, her expression calm but practical. "I have to agree with Ron. Not everyone has brooms, and Harry's is still under guard. Besides, Willow and Tara don't know how to use a broom." She glanced at the witches, who looked back with a faint grimace, clearly not eager to try something they hadn't been trained for in the middle of a dangerous mission.

Luna, however, was unfazed, her serene tone a stark contrast to the growing tension in the room. "There are ways of flying other than with broomsticks," she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I s'pose we're going to ride on the back of the Kacky Snorgle or whatever it is?" Ron demanded, his sarcasm bleeding through his words, though he still sounded half-worried Luna might actually suggest something that outlandish.

Luna's chin lifted slightly in a dignified response. "The Crumple-Horned Snorkack can't fly," she explained with patience, "but Thestrals can, and Hagrid said they're very good at finding places their riders are looking for."

Dawn's eyes lit up at Luna's suggestion. "Yes! Perfect, Luna," she agreed eagerly, her optimism cutting through the growing sense of dread, like a spark of hope they desperately needed.

Ron, on the other hand, looked far less convinced. "Those mad horse things?" he asked uncertainly, clearly recalling the eerie skeletal creatures with some unease. "Those ones you can't see unless you've watched someone snuff it?"

"Yeah," said Harry, his voice steady. He understood what it meant to see Thestrals—understood what it meant to ride them. There was no hesitation in him now, only resolve.

Buffy quickly did the math in her head, glancing around at the group. "We'll need at least six or seven," she said, her voice thoughtful. "There should be more than that in the herd."

They gathered quickly, snatching chunks of meat from the kitchens—raw and bloody, just the way the Thestrals preferred—and made their way out to the edge of the Forbidden Forest behind Hagrid's hut. The air was cool and still, the silence of the night broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves. The trees loomed tall and shadowy, their darkened trunks giving off an air of quiet menace. Soon enough, the eerie shapes of the Thestrals emerged from the darkness, their skeletal forms seeming to melt out of the shadows like creatures from a forgotten nightmare.

Dawn wrapped her arms tightly around Harry's waist as she climbed on behind him, her cheek pressing softly against his back. Harry couldn't help but feel a flicker of warmth at the contact, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smile. There was something reassuring about the way Dawn held him, a mix of trust and closeness that sent his heart racing, even as Buffy kept shooting them narrowed glances. Still, he was sure—beneath that fierce protective glare—Buffy was secretly relieved. Dawn had found someone, and more importantly, Buffy approved of him. Even if it meant he had to endure her overprotective stares.

Ron's voice broke the quiet, laced with apprehension. "How're we supposed to get on?" he asked faintly, his eyes wide as he gazed into what seemed to be thin air. "When we can't see the things?"

"Oh, it's easy," Luna said with her usual dreamy confidence. She stepped lightly over to one of the invisible creatures, her hands gliding along the smooth, bony surface of its hide. With a gentle tug, she pulled Ron over, guiding him to the Thestral's side. "Come here…" she murmured, her voice soothing as she helped him clamber awkwardly onto its back.

Nearby, Hermione had already mounted another Thestral and extended her hand to Ginny, pulling her up to sit behind her. The younger girl gripped Hermione's waist, her eyes wide but determined.

Buffy watched with a mixture of curiosity and sadness as Tara gently led Willow toward a Thestral, her hand resting on the invisible creature's neck. Tara's calmness, as always, was a steadying force. Buffy remembered Tara's quiet confession about her mother's death—that was why she could see the Thestrals. It still puzzled Buffy, though, why Willow couldn't see them. With all they had been through since she had arrived in Sunnydale—the horrors, the losses, the magic—it seemed strange that Willow hadn't crossed that grim threshold. But perhaps that was a good thing. Some thresholds were better left uncrossed.

Buffy mounted the last Thestral, its bony frame cold beneath her hands as she settled into place. Her eyes swept over the group. "Everyone ready?" she asked, her voice firm but soft, steadying them for the task ahead.

"This is mad," Ron muttered under his breath, his grip tightening nervously on the Thestral's neck. "Mad… if I could just see it—"

"You'd better hope it stays invisible," Harry said darkly, casting a glance over his shoulder at Ron. There was an edge of grim humor in his voice. "We all ready, then?"

They all nodded, their faces set with resolve. "OK," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "Ministry of Magic, visitors' entrance, London, then," he added uncertainly, his brow furrowing. "Er… if you know… where to go…"

For a brief, tense moment, the Thestrals remained perfectly still, as if contemplating their riders' uncertain commands. Then, with a sudden, sweeping movement that nearly threw them all from their perches, the Thestrals rocketed upwards into the night sky.

Dawn clutched Harry even tighter, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She had never experienced anything like this before—the sheer speed, the exhilaration of cutting through the air like a comet. The world below them became a blur as the Thestrals' wide, leathery wings barely seemed to move, yet they sliced through the night like arrows, streaking over the vast sprawl of Hogwarts.

The castle quickly vanished behind them, and soon the familiar outline of Hogsmeade disappeared into the distance. Mountains and gullies unfurled below them, the landscape like a vast tapestry of darkened valleys and shimmering peaks. The stars above were dazzling, and the night seemed alive with possibilities.

"It's beautiful up here," Dawn murmured into Harry's ear, her voice filled with awe as she took in the majestic sight around them. "I can see why you enjoy flying so much."

Harry couldn't help but smile at her words, his own heart lifting despite the dangers ahead. "Yeah," he replied softly. "Yes, it is." And for a moment, just a moment, everything felt right—soaring through the night with the people who mattered most.

Ministry of Magic

As daylight began to fade, the sky blushing in hues of gold and orange, they passed over the sleepy countryside. Small clusters of lights flickered below, signaling villages nestled in the folds of the hills, their windows glowing like fireflies against the growing shadows. Below, a winding road snaked through the landscape, and a lone car, its headlights blinking like beetle eyes, wound its way slowly home, oblivious to the strange creatures soaring above.

"This is bizarre!" Ron yelled over the rushing wind, his voice filled with both wonder and terror.

The twilight deepened, the sky slowly transforming into a dusky purple sprinkled with the first stars of evening. The silver pinpricks dotted the sky, growing brighter as the last rays of the sun vanished behind the horizon. Soon, the only clues they had of the world below were the lights of distant Muggle towns, like islands of warmth and civilization far beneath their speeding forms. The darkness of the night closed in, the world becoming little more than a blur of shadow and light, but the Thestrals flew on, cutting through the gathering night with a graceful, eerie silence.

They hurtled forward into the blackness, each rider lost in their thoughts, their destination looming ever closer. Hermione glanced down and suddenly noticed the Thestral beneath her had dipped its head, its wings beginning to angle towards the ground. Her breath hitched as she slid forward slightly along the creature's neck, the motion jolting her from the long, dreamlike flight. "We're descending at last," she murmured to herself, heart pounding.

The city below them grew clearer by the second. Bright orange streetlights began to grow larger and rounder on all sides, casting a hazy glow that illuminated the tops of tall buildings. Streams of headlights snaked through the streets like glowing veins, the pale yellow squares of windows flickering like lanterns in the night. The familiar sight of London came into view, vibrant and alive beneath the night sky.

Quite suddenly, the world seemed to lurch forward, and they were plunging toward the pavement. But as swift as the descent felt, the Thestrals landed with the grace of shadows, their hooves touching the ground so lightly it was almost imperceptible. One by one, they began to slide off their mounts, shaking off the intensity of the journey.

Ron, in typical fashion, toppled from his Thestral and sprawled ungracefully onto the pavement, groaning as he lay there for a moment, his limbs splayed. Luna, by contrast, slid off her mount with effortless ease, her usual calm serenity intact as she regarded Ron with amusement.

"Never again," Ron muttered, pulling himself up onto his elbows. "Never, ever again… that was the worst—"

Nearby, Hermione and Ginny dismounted with much more poise, landing softly beside Dawn and Harry. They exchanged weary smiles, their muscles stiff but grateful to be back on solid ground. Dawn, still clinging to the thrill of the ride, slid from the Thestral with a little more grace than before, her eyes glimmering with the aftershock of adrenaline.

Tara was the first to dismount from her Thestral, the soft thud of her boots barely audible on the ground. With a warm smile, she extended her hand to help Willow off, and the two of them shared a brief but tender kiss, their bond clear even amidst the tension. Tara's calming presence was like a balm in the darkened city streets, grounding them all for the task that lay ahead.

Buffy was the last to leave her mount. With the effortless agility of a Slayer, she simply hopped off, her movements fluid and controlled. She cast a quick glance around, her mind already on high alert, prepared for what they might face next.

"Where do we go from here, then?" Luna asked, her voice as serene as ever, cutting through the stillness of the night.

"We head for the visitors' entrance. From there… we fight." Buffy took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing as they swept over the darkened streets around them. The air was cool, laced with tension, and she could feel the weight of the impending confrontation settling in her chest. Her Slayer instincts hummed, alert and ready for whatever dangers the Ministry held within its walls. It was quiet—too quiet—but that only made her more focused. She had a mission, and she wasn't going to let anything stop them now.

She turned to the group, her expression firm, eyes burning with determination. "Over here," she said, her voice low but commanding. She led the way with swift, purposeful strides, navigating the streets until they reached the battered telephone box. The aging structure looked innocuous in the fading light, but they all knew it was the gateway to a world far more dangerous than any Muggle could comprehend. Buffy yanked the door open, the creak of old metal filling the tense silence.

"There's only so many of us that can fit," she said, glancing at the group packed closely together. "So, I think we should go down in three groups. Willow and Tara are with me. Harry, you take Dawn and Ginny. Hermione will take Luna."

One by one, they disappeared into the depths of the Ministry. It wasn't long before they were all standing together in the vast, echoing expanse of the Atrium. The grand hall was bathed in the eerie, golden glow of the fountain in its center, its statues gleaming in the dim light. The steady rush of water was the only sound, rippling through the silence like an unspoken warning. The place felt empty, deserted, but Buffy's senses told her they weren't alone.

"Come on," Buffy said softly, her voice barely a whisper, yet it cut through the air like steel. Without hesitation, she led the way, her footsteps quick but silent as they sprinted past the fountain, moving with the practiced grace of warriors on a mission. The hall stretched ahead of them, ominously quiet, as they made their way toward the security desk.

They passed through the gilded gates that separated the Atrium from the deeper, more secret parts of the Ministry, the golden bars glinting faintly as they clattered open. Harry quickly pressed the 'down' button for the nearest lift, the metallic sound of the grilles sliding apart echoing loudly in the stillness. The lift itself rattled into sight almost instantly, its golden doors clanging open as though it had been waiting for them.

Everyone dashed inside, cramming together tightly. The lift felt almost claustrophobic with all of them squeezed in, but no one complained. Harry stabbed the button for level nine, the Department of Mysteries. The grilles closed with a bang, the noise reverberating off the walls as the lift began its descent, jangling and rattling like old bones. Each creak and groan of the machinery heightened the tension, the air thick with anticipation.

When they stepped out into the dimly lit corridor, it felt as though they had entered another world entirely. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows on the stone walls, the flames dancing in the rush of air from the lift, as though welcoming them into the heart of the Ministry's secrets.

Buffy glanced at Harry, her voice steady but laced with the seriousness of the moment. "Do you know the way?"

Harry nodded, his face grim but resolute as he turned toward the plain, black door looming ahead of them. There was no mistaking it—that was their destination. "Let's go," he said, his voice hushed but determined, and he led the way down the corridor, his footsteps echoing in the stillness.

They were just a few feet from the door when Harry stopped abruptly, causing everyone behind him to halt. "OK, listen," he said, his voice quiet but urgent. "Maybe… maybe a couple of people should stay here as a—as a lookout, and—"

Ginny, ever sharp, raised her eyebrows at him. "And how're we going to let you know something's coming? You could be miles away."

"We're coming with you, Harry," Dawn interjected firmly, her voice carrying both determination and concern. She wasn't going to let Harry face whatever lay beyond that door alone—not after everything they'd been through.

Ron, his face set in hard lines, spoke up with a rare note of finality in his voice. "Let's get on with it."

Buffy, catching Harry's eye, gave him a small smile and nodded, her words carrying a weight of resolve. "In for a penny, in for a pound."

Harry turned to face the looming black door, steeling himself for whatever awaited them on the other side. His heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of dread and determination swirling inside him. Without hesitation, he walked forward, the door swinging open almost as if it were expecting him. He marched over the threshold, his footsteps echoing softly against the cold, black floor, the others following closely at his heels.

They stepped into a large, circular room that seemed to swallow the light. Every surface—from the floor to the ceiling—was a gleaming, impenetrable black, giving the unsettling sensation of being suspended in a void. The room exuded an eerie stillness, a palpable tension that made Dawn shiver despite herself.

"Someone shut the door," Harry muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as though afraid to break the oppressive silence.

Dawn reached back and pulled the door shut. The moment it clicked into place, she felt a wave of regret wash over her. The room was plunged into near-total darkness, the flickering light of candles providing only the faintest glow. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw that they were surrounded by about a dozen identical doors, each as black and featureless as the next. It was like standing in the center of a maze with no clear way out.

Suddenly, a deep, resonant rumble echoed through the chamber. The candles mounted along the walls began to move, the circular wall rotating slowly but steadily around them. Dawn gasped and instinctively reached for Harry's arm, her fingers tightening around his sleeve. She half-expected the floor to shift beneath her feet, to be thrown off balance, but it stayed solid and unmoving. Her heart raced in the deafening stillness, the strange, mechanical groan of the walls the only sound in the vast, oppressive room.

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the rumbling stopped, and the room was still once again. Everything had shifted, yet they stood in the same spot, surrounded by the same unyielding darkness.

"What was that about?" Ron whispered, his voice trembling with unease. The strange, disorienting experience left everyone on edge, their nerves taut like piano strings.

"I think it was to stop us knowing which door we came in through," Ginny replied in a hushed voice, her eyes darting around the room as though trying to decipher its secrets.

Buffy, her senses on high alert, nodded grimly. She knew Ginny was right; this was a trap meant to confuse and disorient, to keep intruders from finding their way back. "Willow," she said, her voice steady despite the tension, "do you think you can do a locator spell to find the door that leads back out?"

Willow looked around the room, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "It depends on what kind of wards this place has in place. The Ministry could have some serious protection spells layered in here."

"Well, that doesn't matter now," Harry said sharply, his determination overriding his fear. "We won't need to get out until we've found Sirius —"

"Don't go calling for him, though!" Dawn interjected quickly, her voice tinged with worry. Her grip on Harry's arm tightened. "We don't know who is with him—or what could be waiting for us."

"Where do we go, then, Harry?" Ron asked, his voice tight with uncertainty as he glanced around the disorienting, identical doors surrounding them.

"I don't—" Harry began, but his voice faltered, the weight of their situation pressing down on him. He swallowed hard, trying to shake the unease settling in his chest. "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 added hastily, determined not to let fear take over. "I'll know the right way when I see it."

Buffy, ever the leader, nodded decisively, her mind already strategizing. "Everyone pick a door. Harry, you stay in the middle, that way you can look at each door as they're opened."

Harry nodded, grateful for her calm resolve. They each moved to a different door, the tension thick in the air as they turned handles cautiously, peering into the unknown. Each door led to something different, but none were quite right. Slowly, they worked through the maze, until Harry's breath caught.

"That's it," he breathed, his eyes lighting up with recognition. He stepped through the open door, knowing immediately by the ethereal, diamond-sparkling light that danced throughout the room. "This way!" he called, his confidence returning as he led them forward.

They followed Harry into a long, narrow space, desks lined up in neat rows, their path illuminated by the shimmering light. At the far end of the room stood a magnificent crystal bell jar, towering over the desks and brimming with a swirling, glittering wind. It was mesmerizing, like something out of a dream—beautiful, but somehow unnerving.

"Oh, look!" exclaimed Ginny and Dawn almost in unison as they neared the bell jar, their eyes wide with awe. Inside the jar, caught in the sparkling currents, was a tiny, jewel-bright egg. As they watched, it slowly floated upward, cracked open, and a hummingbird emerged, its vibrant wings beating furiously as it ascended to the top. But as it reached the peak of the jar, the bird's feathers became ragged and heavy, its small body wilting, and by the time it drifted back down, it had been sealed once again within its delicate shell.

"Keep going!" Harry said sharply, pulling their attention away from the mesmerizing display. He led them past the bell jar to a lone door at the back of the room, the anticipation in his voice clear. "This is it," he said again, more certain than ever. "It's through here—"

Buffy, her senses heightened, nodded. "Wands at the ready. Harry, let me, Willow, and Tara go in first. Then follow us."

Harry gave a curt nod, trusting Buffy's judgment. The tension in the air thickened as Buffy stepped forward, her hand steady as she pushed the door open. Willow and Tara flanked her, their wands raised, ready for whatever might be lurking on the other side.

The door creaked slightly as it swung wide, revealing the room beyond. Buffy's sharp eyes scanned the space, her grip firm on her wand. Willow's brow furrowed in concentration, and Tara's quiet strength radiated beside her.

After a few heartbeats that felt like an eternity, Buffy called out, her voice calm but commanding. "Clear."

The rest of the group entered the vast, shadowy room, where towering shelves stretched endlessly upwards, each covered in a thick layer of dust and lined with small, fragile-looking glass orbs. The air was thick with an eerie stillness, broken only by the faint shuffle of their feet on the cold stone floor.

"You said it was row ninety-seven," Hermione whispered, her voice barely audible in the heavy silence, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile atmosphere.

"Yeah," breathed Harry, his gaze lifting to the end of the nearest row, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

Buffy's eyes scanned the rows, her Slayer instincts on high alert. "Okay," she said quietly, her voice a calm anchor in the tense moment. "Willow, Tara, Harry, Ron, Dawn, and Hermione, with me. Ginny and Luna, stay by the door."

The two girls nodded, their wands held tightly as they positioned themselves near the entrance, their faces set with quiet determination. The rest of the group turned toward the labyrinthine rows of shelves.

"We need to go right, I think," Hermione whispered, squinting down the next row, the numbers on the shelves barely visible in the dim light. "Yes… that's fifty-four…"

Buffy moved cautiously ahead, her senses alert to the slightest disturbance. "Keep your wands ready," she said softly, her voice a gentle command. "Willow, Tara, I suggest you prepare whatever spells you need." Her gaze lingered on the witches, trusting their power but knowing the danger they were walking into.

Willow and Tara exchanged a brief, knowing glance, their hands already flicking through the air in subtle movements as they prepared their defensive spells. The low hum of their magic filled the air around them, crackling with quiet intensity as they followed Buffy deeper into the rows.

They crept forward, the narrow aisles pressing in on them, each shelf lined with orbs that seemed to pulse with faint, forgotten magic. Tiny, yellowing labels were affixed beneath each one, detailing their contents, though most were too faded to read. Some of the orbs glowed faintly, a ghostly light swirling inside them like trapped memories; others sat dull and lifeless, casting long shadows across the dusty floor.

As they passed row eighty-four… eighty-five… the tension in the air grew thicker. Buffy's sharp hearing strained for any sound—any hint of movement beyond their group—but all she could hear was the muffled echo of their own footsteps. The stillness was unnerving, like the entire room was holding its breath.

"Ninety-seven!" Dawn whispered excitedly, her eyes wide as they reached the end of the row.

They gathered at the mouth of the aisle, staring down its length, the shelves towering above them like ancient sentinels. The soft light from their wands barely illuminated the far end, but it was clear—there was no one in sight.

"He's right down at the end," Harry said, his voice tight with nervous energy. "You can't see properly from here."

Buffy's jaw tightened as she gazed down the dimly lit row of shelves, her body tense, every muscle prepared for action. The air felt heavier, laden with anticipation, as if the very atmosphere of the room was aware of the growing unease. "Okay, just like before," she whispered, her voice low and commanding. Her fingers tightened around her wand as she led the group forward, their steps cautious as they moved between the towering shelves. The orbs surrounding them seemed almost alive, glowing faintly with soft, eerie light as they passed by, casting ghostly shadows across the dusty floor.

"He should be near here," Harry whispered, his voice tight with anxiety. He walked a little faster now, eyes scanning the rows desperately. "Anywhere here… really close…"

Behind him, Hermione's voice trembled slightly as she tried to cut through Harry's rising tension. "Harry?" she said tentatively, but Harry ignored her, his mind fixated on finding Sirius.

"Somewhere about... here..." Harry muttered, his voice barely more than a breath. His eyes darted from shelf to shelf, as though willing his godfather to appear from the shadows.

They had reached the end of the row, emerging into a space bathed in the dim glow of flickering candlelight. The silence was suffocating—dusty, echoing, as though the room itself had been forgotten by time. Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he peered down the aisles, his eyes wide with desperation.

"He might be…" Harry whispered hoarsely, moving quickly to glance down the next alley, and then the one beyond that, his pace frantic. His mind raced with possibilities, clinging to hope with every step.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice was soft but insistent, trying to reach him again.

"What?" Harry snapped, spinning around to glare at her, frustration burning in his eyes.

"I… I don't think Sirius is here," Hermione said quietly, her voice laced with sympathy and fear. She looked at him, her expression one of deep concern, her hand trembling slightly as she held her wand.

Buffy's gaze shifted between Harry and Hermione, her instincts telling her that Hermione was right. There was something off about the room, something that didn't fit the scene Harry had described from his visions. Buffy nodded slowly, her expression grim as she spoke. "I think 'Mione's right, Harry," she said gently, though her tone held a firmness, urging him to reconsider.

Harry bolted down the space at the end of the towering shelves, his heart hammering in his chest as he searched desperately for any sign of Sirius. The rows of glass orbs flickered past him, the dim light casting strange shadows, but every aisle he passed was eerily empty. He spun around and raced back the other way, past his companions, their worried eyes following his frantic movements. There was nothing—no sign of Sirius, no hint of a struggle, just the suffocating silence of the vast room closing in on him.

"Harry?" Dawn's voice broke the stillness, gentle but laced with urgency.

"What?" Harry's reply was sharp, his frustration bubbling over as he stopped in his tracks, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Have you seen this?" Dawn asked, her tone quieter now but carrying a note of confusion.

"What?" This time, Harry's voice was edged with eagerness, a sliver of hope rekindled. He strode quickly back to where Dawn stood, the others gathered around her at a small section of row ninety-seven. His pulse quickened, but as he drew near, all he saw was Dawn staring at one of the dusty glass spheres perched on the shelf.

"What?" Harry repeated, his earlier enthusiasm fading into a dull resignation. His gaze flickered over the glass balls, their soft glow barely visible beneath layers of dust, untouched for years.

"It's—it's got your name on it," Dawn said quietly, her voice filled with unease.

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion as he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as they focused on the sphere Dawn was pointing to. His breath caught in his throat. The glass orb glowed faintly, its light flickering like a long-forgotten memory. It was covered in dust, as if it had been left undisturbed for an eternity, yet there was no mistaking it—the label beneath was clear enough.

"My name?" Harry repeated blankly, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. He leaned in, his heart pounding louder as he read the faded, spidery writing on the yellowed label affixed to the shelf just beneath the orb. The ink looked as though it had been written some sixteen years earlier, but it was unmistakable:

S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.
Dark Lord and Harry Potter

Harry's stomach lurched, his mind reeling as the weight of the words pressed down on him. His name—here, in this strange, ominous place. What did it mean? His pulse quickened, a sinking feeling gnawing at the pit of his stomach.

"What is it?" Dawn's voice trembled slightly, her wide eyes mirroring the unease he felt. "What's your name doing down here?"

Harry's gaze drifted over the other labels, each one attached to a dusty glass orb, but his mind was consumed by the one with his name on it. As his eyes scanned the stretch of shelf, Dawn stepped closer, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"I'm not here," Dawn said softly, perplexed, her voice carrying an edge of disbelief. "None of the rest of us are here."

"Harry, I don't think you should touch it," Hermione's voice broke through the tension, sharp and full of warning, just as Harry's hand began to lift.

"Why not?" Harry responded, his tone laced with determination, almost defiance. "It's something to do with me, isn't it?"

The air in the room felt heavier, as though something unseen was pressing down on them. Dawn's hand shot out, her voice trembling slightly. "Don't, Harry," she said, her eyes pleading with him. Her tension was palpable—she looked as though she couldn't take much more of this thick, suffocating suspense.

Harry glanced at her, seeing the strain etched on her face, but the pull of the glass orb was too strong, too mysterious to ignore. "It's got my name on it," he repeated, his voice quieter now but filled with an unsettling sense of inevitability.

Feeling a rush of reckless determination, Harry reached out fully and closed his fingers around the orb's cool, dusty surface. He lifted it carefully from its shelf, expecting—something. Anything. But nothing happened. No blinding flash, no sudden jolt of magic. The glass ball sat heavy in his hand, and as he stared at it, a wave of anticlimactic relief washed over him. The others leaned in closer, their faces illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of the orb as Harry brushed away the years of dust clinging to it.

And then, slicing through the thick silence, a voice came from behind them, low and dripping with malice.

"Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me."

The words sent a jolt of shock through the group. Buffy spun around instantly, her body tensing as her Slayer instincts kicked in. Her grip tightened on her wand as her eyes locked onto the figure that had emerged from the shadows.

"Malfoy," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

Lucius Malfoy stood just a few feet away, his cold eyes gleaming with triumph. His wand was raised, aimed directly at Harry. The moment hung heavy in the air, crackling with tension as Buffy braced herself, ready for whatever came next. The room seemed to darken around them, the towering shelves of glass orbs closing in as they faced their enemy.

Author's Note: I debated having them finding another prophecy either for Dawn or Hermione. Either tying them into the Voldemort fight or for the First Evil. In the end I decided not to.