‘Good thinking,’ said Harry. ‘OK, let’s try this one –’
Again, he strode directly at the door facing him and pushed it open, his wand still raised, the others at his heels.
This room was larger than the last, dimly lit and rectangular, and the centre of it 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 and descending in steep steps like an amphitheatre, or the courtroom in which Harry had been tried by the Wizengamot. Instead of a chained chair, however, there was a raised stone dais in the centre of the pit, on which stood a stone archway that looked so ancient, cracked and crumbling that Harry was amazed the thing was still standing. Unsupported by any surrounding wall, the archway was hung with a tattered black curtain or veil which, despite the complete stillness of the cold surrounding air, was fluttering very slightly as though it had just been touched.
‘Who’s there?’ said Harry, jumping down on to the bench below. There was no answering voice, but the veil continued to flutter and sway.
‘Careful!’ whispered Hermione.
Harry scrambled down the benches one by one until he reached the stone bottom of the sunken pit. His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked slowly towards the dais. The pointed archway looked much taller from where he now stood than it had when he’d been looking down on it from above. Still the veil swayed gently, as though somebody had just passed through it.
‘Sirius?’ Harry spoke again, but more quietly now that he was nearer.
He had the strangest feeling that there was someone standing right behind the veil on the other side of the archway. Gripping his wand very tightly, he edged around the dais, but there was nobody there; all that could be seen was the other side of the tattered black veil.
‘Let’s go,’ called Hermione from halfway up the stone steps. ‘This isn’t right, Harry, come on, let’s go.’
She sounded scared, much more scared than she had in the room where the brains swam, yet Harry thought the archway had a kind of beauty about it, old though it was. The gently rippling veil intrigued him; he felt a very strong inclination to climb up on the dais and walk through it.
‘Harry, let’s go, OK?’ said Hermione more forcefully.
‘OK,’ he said, but did not move. He had just heard something. There were faint whispering, murmuring noises coming from the other side of the veil.
‘What are you saying?’ he said, very loudly, so that his words echoed all around the stone benches.
‘Nobody’s talking, Harry!’ said Hermione, now moving over to him.
‘Someone’s whispering behind there,’ he said, moving out of her reach and continuing to frown at the veil. ‘Is that you, Ron?’
‘I’m here, mate,’ said Ron, appearing around the side of the archway.
‘Can’t anyone else hear it?’ Harry demanded, for the whispering and murmuring was becoming louder; without really meaning to put it there, he found his foot was on the dais.
‘I can hear them too,’ breathed Luna, joining them around the side of the archway and gazing at the swaying veil. ‘There are people in there!’
‘What do you mean, “in there”?’ demanded Hermione, jumping down from the bottom step and sounding much angrier than the occasion warranted. ‘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.
‘Harry, we are supposed to be here for Sirius!’ she said in a high-pitched, strained voice.
‘Sirius,’ Harry repeated, still gazing, mesmerised, at the continuously swaying veil. ‘Yeah …’
Something finally slid back into place in his brain; Sirius, captured, bound and tortured, and he was staring at this archway …
He took several paces back from the dais and wrenched his eyes from the veil.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
‘That’s what I’ve been trying to – well, come on, then!’ said Hermione, and she led the way back around the dais. On the other side, Ginny and Neville were staring, apparently entranced, at the veil too. Without speaking, Hermione took hold of Ginny’s arm, Ron grabbed Neville’s, and they marched them firmly back to the lowest stone bench and clambered all the way back up to the door.
‘What d’you reckon that arch was?’ Harry asked Hermione as they regained the dark circular room.
‘I don’t know, but whatever it was, it was dangerous,’ she said firmly, again inscribing a fiery cross on the door.
Once more, the wall spun and became still again. Harry approached another door at random and pushed. It did not move.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Hermione.
‘It’s … locked …’ said Harry, throwing his weight at the door, but it didn’t budge.
‘This is it, then, isn’t it?’ said Ron excitedly, joining Harry in the attempt to force the door open. ‘Bound to be!’
‘Get out of the way!’ said Hermione sharply. She pointed her wand at the place where a lock would have been on an ordinary door and said, ‘Alohomora!’
Nothing happened.
‘Sirius’s knife!’ said Harry. He pulled it out from inside his robes and slid it into the crack between the door and the wall. The others all watched eagerly as he ran it from top to bottom, withdrew it and then flung his shoulder again at the door. It remained as firmly shut as ever. What was more, when Harry looked down at the knife, he saw the blade had melted.
‘Right, we’re leaving that room,’ said Hermione decisively.
‘But what if that’s the one?’ said Ron, staring at it with a mixture of apprehension and longing.
‘It can’t be, Harry could get through all the doors in his dream,’ said Hermione, marking the door with another fiery cross as Harry replaced the now-useless handle of Sirius’s knife in his pocket.
‘You know what could be in there?’ said Luna eagerly, as the wall started to spin yet again.
‘Something blibbering, no doubt,’ said Hermione under her breath and Neville gave a nervous little laugh.
The wall slid to a halt and Harry, with a feeling of increasing desperation, pushed the next door open.
‘This is it!’
He knew it at once by the beautiful, dancing, diamond-sparkling light. As Harry’s eyes became accustomed to the brilliant glare, he saw clocks gleaming from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room, so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. The source of the dancing, diamond-bright light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood at the far end of the room.
‘This way!’
Harry’s heart was pumping frantically now that he knew they were on the right track; he led the way down the narrow space between the lines of desks, heading, as he had done in his dream, for the source of the light, the crystal bell jar quite as tall as he was that stood on a desk and appeared to be full of a billowing, glittering wind.
‘Oh, look!’ said Ginny, as they drew nearer, pointing at the very heart of the bell jar.
Drifting along in the sparkling current inside was a tiny, jewel-bright egg. As it rose in the jar, it cracked open and a hummingbird emerged, which was carried to the very top of the jar, but as it fell on the draught its feathers became bedraggled and damp again, and by the time it had been borne back to the bottom of the jar it had been enclosed once more in its egg.
‘Keep going!’ said Harry sharply, because Ginny showed signs of wanting to stop and watch the egg’s progress back into a bird.
‘You dawdled enough by that old arch!’ she said crossly, but followed him past the bell jar to the only door behind it.
‘This is it,’ Harry said again, and his heart was now pumping so hard and fast he felt it must interfere with his speech, ‘it’s through here –’
He glanc
ed around at them all; they had their wands out and looked suddenly serious and anxious. He looked back at the door and pushed. It swung open.
They were there, they had found the place: high as a church and full of nothing but towering shelves covered in small, dusty, glass orbs. They glimmered dully in the light issuing from more candle-brackets set at intervals along the shelves. Like those in the circular room behind them, their flames were burning blue. The room was very cold.
Harry edged forward and peered down one of the shadowy aisles between two rows of shelves. He could not hear anything or see the slightest sign of movement.
‘You said it was row ninety-seven,’ whispered Hermione.
‘Yeah,’ breathed Harry, looking up at the end of the closest row. Beneath the branch of blue-glowing candles protruding from it glimmered the silver figure fifty-three.
‘We need to go right, I think,’ whispered Hermione, squinting to the next row. ‘Yes … that’s fifty-four …’
‘Keep your wands ready,’ Harry said softly.
They crept forward, glancing behind them as they went on down the long alleys of shelves, the further ends of which were in near-total darkness. Tiny, yellowing labels had been stuck beneath each glass orb on the shelves. Some of them had a weird, liquid glow; others were as dull and dark within as blown light bulbs.
They passed row eighty-four … eighty-five … Harry was listening hard for the slightest sound of movement, but Sirius might be gagged now, or else unconscious … or, said an unbidden voice inside his head, he might already be dead …
I’d have felt it, he told himself, his heart now hammering against his Adam’s apple, I’d already know …
‘Ninety-seven!’ whispered Hermione.
They stood grouped around the end of the row, gazing down the alley beside it. There was nobody there.
‘He’s right down at the end,’ said Harry, whose mouth had become slightly dry. ‘You can’t see properly from here.’
And he led them between the towering rows of glass balls, some of which glowed softly as they passed …
‘He should be near here,’ whispered Harry, convinced that every step was going to bring the ragged form of Sirius into view on the darkened floor. ‘Anywhere here … really close …’
‘Harry?’ said Hermione tentatively, but he did not want to respond. His mouth was very dry.
‘Somewhere about … here …’ he said.
They had reached the end of the row and emerged into more dim candlelight. There was nobody there. All was echoing, dusty silence.
‘He might be …’ Harry whispered hoarsely, peering down the next alley. ‘Or maybe …’ He hurried to look down the one beyond that.
‘Harry?’ said Hermione again.
‘What?’ he snarled.
‘I … I don’t think Sirius is here.’
Nobody spoke. Harry did not want to look at any of them. He felt sick. He did not understand why Sirius was not here. He had to be here. This was where he, Harry, had seen him …
He ran up the space at the end of the rows, staring down them. Empty aisle after empty aisle flickered past. He ran the other way, back past his staring companions. There was no sign of Sirius anywhere, nor any hint of a struggle.
‘Harry?’ Ron called.
‘What?’
He did not want to hear what Ron had to say; did not want to hear Ron tell him he had been stupid or suggest that they ought to go back to Hogwarts, but the heat was rising in his face and he felt as though he would like to skulk down here in the darkness for a long while before facing the brightness of the Atrium above and the others’ accusing stares …
‘Have you seen this?’ said Ron.
‘What?’ said Harry, but eagerly this time – it had to be a sign that Sirius had been there, a clue. He strode back to where they were all standing, a little way down row ninety-seven, but found nothing except Ron staring at one of the dusty glass spheres on the shelf.
‘What?’ Harry repeated glumly.
‘It’s – it’s got your name on,’ said Ron.
Harry moved a little closer. Ron was pointing at one of the small glass spheres that glowed with a dull inner light, though it was very dusty and appeared not to have been touched for many years.
‘My name?’ said Harry blankly.
He stepped forwards. Not as tall as Ron, he had to crane his neck to read the yellowish label affixed to the shelf right beneath the dusty glass ball. In spidery writing was written a date of some sixteen years previously, and below that:
S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.
Dark Lord
and (?)Harry Potter
Harry stared at it.
‘What is it?’ Ron asked, sounding unnerved. ‘What’s your name doing down here?’
He glanced along at the other labels on that stretch of shelf.
‘I’m not here,’ he said, sounding perplexed. ‘None of the rest of us are here.’
‘Harry, I don’t think you should touch it,’ said Hermione sharply, as he stretched out his hand.
‘Why not?’ he said. ‘It’s something to do with me, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t, Harry,’ said Neville suddenly. Harry looked at him. Neville’s round face was shining slightly with sweat. He looked as though he could not take much more suspense.
‘It’s got my name on,’ said Harry.
And feeling slightly reckless, he closed his fingers around the dusty ball’s surface. He had expected it to feel cold, but it did not. On the contrary, it felt as though it had been lying in the sun for hours, as though the glow of light within was warming it. Expecting, even hoping, that something dramatic was going to happen, something exciting that might make their long and dangerous journey worthwhile after all, Harry lifted the glass ball down from its shelf and stared at it.
Nothing whatsoever happened. The others moved in closer around Harry, gazing at the orb as he brushed it free of the clogging dust.
And then, from right behind them, a drawling voice spoke.
‘Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me.’
— CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE —
Beyond the Veil
Black shapes were emerging out of thin air all around them, blocking their way left and right; eyes glinted through slits in hoods, a dozen lit wand-tips were pointing directly at their hearts; Ginny gave a gasp of horror.
‘To me, Potter,’ repeated the drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy as he held out his hand, palm up.
Harry’s insides plummeted sickeningly. They were trapped, and outnumbered two to one.
‘To me,’ said Malfoy yet again.
‘Where’s Sirius?’ Harry said.
Several of the Death Eaters laughed; a harsh female voice from the midst of the shadowy figures to Harry’s left said triumphantly, ‘The Dark Lord always knows!’
‘Always,’ echoed Malfoy softly. ‘Now, give me the prophecy, Potter.’
‘I want to know where Sirius is!’
‘I want to know where Sirius is!’ mimicked the woman to his left.
She and her fellow Death Eaters had closed in so that they were mere feet away from Harry and the others, the light from their wands dazzling Harry’s eyes.
‘You’ve got him,’ said Harry, ignoring the rising panic in his chest, the dread he had been fighting since they had first entered the ninety-seventh row. ‘He’s here. I know he is.’
‘The little baby woke up fwightened and fort what it dweamed was twoo,’ said the woman in a horrible, mock baby voice. Harry felt Ron stir beside him.
‘Don’t do anything,’ Harry muttered. ‘Not yet –’
The woman who had mimicked him let out a raucous scream of laughter.
‘You hear him? You hear him? Giving instructions to the other children as though he thinks of fighting us!’
‘Oh, you don’t know Potter as I do, Bellatrix,’ said Malfoy softly. ‘He has a great weakness for heroics; the Dark Lord understands this about him. Now give me the proph
ecy, Potter.’
‘I know Sirius is here,’ said Harry, though panic was causing his chest to constrict and he felt as though he could not breathe properly. ‘I know you’ve got him!’
More of the Death Eaters laughed, though the woman laughed loudest of all.
‘It’s time you learned the difference between life and dreams, Potter,’ said Malfoy. ‘Now give me the prophecy, or we start using wands.’
‘Go on, then,’ said Harry, raising his own wand to chest height. As he did so, the five wands of Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny and Luna rose on either side of him. The knot in Harry’s stomach tightened. If Sirius really was not here, he had led his friends to their deaths for no reason at all …
But the Death Eaters did not strike.
‘Hand over the prophecy and no one need get hurt,’ said Malfoy coolly.
It was Harry’s turn to laugh.
‘Yeah, right!’ he said. ‘I give you this – prophecy, is it? And you’ll just let us skip off home, will you?’
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the female Death Eater shrieked: ‘Accio proph––’
Harry was just ready for her: he shouted ‘Protego!’ before she had finished her spell, and though the glass sphere slipped to the tips of his fingers he managed to cling on to it.
‘Oh, he knows how to play, little bitty baby Potter,’ she said, her mad eyes staring through the slits in her hood. ‘Very well, then –’
‘I TOLD YOU, NO!’ Lucius Malfoy roared at the woman. ‘If you smash it –!’
Harry’s mind was racing. The Death Eaters wanted this dusty spun-glass sphere. He had no interest in it. He just wanted to get them all out of this alive, to make sure none of his friends paid a terrible price for his stupidity …
The woman stepped forward, away from her fellows, and pulled off her hood. Azkaban had hollowed Bellatrix Lestrange’s face, making it gaunt and skull-like, but it was alive with a feverish, fanatical glow.
‘You need more persuasion?’ she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly. ‘Very well – take the smallest one,’ she ordered the Death Eaters beside her. ‘Let him watch while we torture the little girl. I’ll do it.’
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