Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (94 page)

Harry felt a soft tug on his robes at that moment and looked down to see the closest Thestral licking his sleeve, which was damp with Grawp’s blood.

‘OK, then,’ he said, a bright idea occurring, ‘Ron and I will take these two and go ahead, and Hermione can stay here with you three and she’ll attract more Thestrals –’

‘I’m not staying behind!’ said Hermione furiously.

‘There’s no need,’ said Luna, smiling. ‘Look, here come more now … you two must really smell …’

Harry turned: no fewer than six or seven Thestrals were picking their way through the trees, their great leathery wings folded tight to their bodies, their eyes gleaming through the darkness. He had no excuse now.

‘All right,’ he said angrily, ‘pick one and get on, then.’

Harry wound his hand tightly into the mane of the nearest Thestral, placed a foot on a stump nearby and scrambled clumsily on to the horse’s silken back. It did not object, but twisted its head around, fangs bared, and attempted to continue its eager licking of his robes.

He found there was a way of lodging his knees behind the wing joints that made him feel more secure, then looked around at the others. Neville had heaved himself over the back of the next Thestral and was now attempting to swing one short leg over the creature’s back. Luna was already in place, sitting side-saddle and adjusting her robes as though she did this every day. Ron, Hermione and Ginny, however, were still standing motionless on the spot, open-mouthed and staring.

‘What?’ he said.

‘How’re we supposed to get on?’ said Ron faintly. ‘When we can’t see the things?’

‘Oh, it’s easy,’ said Luna, sliding obligingly from her Thestral and marching over to him, Hermione and Ginny. ‘Come here …’

She pulled them over to the other Thestrals standing around and one by one managed to help them on to the back of their mount. All three looked extremely nervous as she wound their hands into their horse’s mane and told them to grip tightly before she got back on to her own steed.

‘This is mad,’ Ron murmured, moving his free hand gingerly up and down his horse’s neck. ‘Mad … if I could just see it –’

‘You’d better hope it stays invisible,’ said Harry darkly. ‘We all ready, then?’

They all nodded and he saw five pairs of knees tighten beneath their robes.

‘OK …’

He looked down at the back of his Thestral’s glossy black head and swallowed.

‘Ministry of Magic, visitors’ entrance, London, then,’ he said uncertainly. ‘Er … if you know … where to go …’

For a moment Harry’s Thestral did nothing at all; then, with a sweeping movement that nearly unseated him, the wings on either side extended; the horse crouched slowly, then rocketed upwards so fast and so steeply that Harry had to clench his arms and legs tightly around the horse to avoid sliding backwards over its bony rump. He closed his eyes and pressed his face down into the horse’s silky mane as they burst through the topmost branches of the trees and soared out into a blood-red sunset.

Harry did not think he had ever moved so fast: the Thestral streaked over the castle, its wide wings hardly beating; the cooling air was slapping Harry’s face; eyes screwed up against the rushing wind, he looked round and saw his five fellows soaring along behind him, each of them bent as low as possible into the neck of their Thestral to protect themselves from his slipstream.

They were over the Hogwarts grounds, they had passed Hogsmeade; Harry could see mountains and gullies below them. As the daylight began to fail, Harry saw small collections of lights as they passed over more villages, then a winding road on which a single car was beetling its way home through the hills …

‘This is bizarre!’ Harry barely heard Ron yell from somewhere behind him, and he imagined how it must feel to be speeding along at this height with no visible means of support.

Twilight fell: the sky was turning to a light, dusky purple littered with tiny silver stars, and soon only the lights of Muggle towns gave them any clue of how far from the ground they were, or how very fast they were travelling. Harry’s arms were wrapped tightly around his horse’s neck as he willed it to go even faster. How much time had elapsed since he had seen Sirius lying on the Department of Mysteries floor? How much longer would Sirius be able to resist Voldemort? All Harry knew for sure was that his godfather had neither done as Voldemort wanted, nor died, for he was convinced that either outcome would have caused him to feel Voldemort’s jubilation or fury course through his own body, making his scar sear as painfully as it had on the night Mr Weasley was attacked.

On they flew through the gathering darkness; Harry’s face felt stiff and cold, his legs numb from gripping the Thestral’s sides so tightly, but he did not dare shift his position lest he slip … he was deaf from the thundering rush of air in his ears, and his mouth was dry and frozen from the cold night wind. He had lost all sense of how far they had come; all his faith was in the beast beneath him, still streaking purposefully through the night, barely flapping its wings as it sped ever onwards.

If they were too late …

He’s still alive, he’s still fighting, I can feel it …

If Voldemort decided Sirius was not going to crack …

I’d know …

Harry’s stomach gave a jolt; the Thestral’s head was suddenly pointing towards the ground and he actually slid forwards a few inches along its neck. They were descending at last … he thought he heard a shriek behind him and twisted around dangerously, but could see no sign of a falling body … presumably they had all received a shock from the change of direction, just as he had.

And now bright orange lights were growing larger and rounder on all sides; they could see the tops of buildings, streams of headlights like luminous insect eyes, squares of pale yellow that were windows. Quite suddenly, it seemed, they were hurtling towards the pavement; Harry gripped the Thestral with every last ounce of his strength, braced for a sudden impact, but the horse touched the dark ground as lightly as a shadow and Harry slid from its back, looking around at the street where the overflowing skip still stood a short way from the vandalised telephone box, both drained of colour in the flat orange glare of the streetlights.

Ron landed a short way off and toppled immediately from his Thestral on to the pavement.

‘Never again,’ he said, struggling to his feet. He made as though to stride away from his Thestral, but, unable to see it, collided with its hindquarters and almost fell over again. ‘Never, ever again … that was the worst –’

Hermione and Ginny touched down on either side of him: both slid off their mounts a little more gracefully than Ron, though with similar expressions of relief at being back on firm ground; Neville jumped down, shaking; and Luna dismounted smoothly.

‘Where do we go from here, then?’ she asked Harry in a politely interested voice, as though this was all a rather interesting day-trip.

‘Over here,’ he said. He gave his Thestral a quick, grateful pat, then led the way quickly to the battered telephone box and opened the door. ‘Come
on
!’ he urged the others, as they hesitated.

Ron and Ginny marched in obediently; Hermione, Neville and Luna squashed themselves in after them; Harry took one glance back at the Thestrals, now foraging for scraps of rotten food inside the skip, then forced himself into the box after Luna.

‘Whoever’s nearest the receiver, dial six two four four two!’ he said.

Ron did it, his arm bent bizarrely to reach the dial; as it whirred back into place the cool female voice sounded inside the box.

‘Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.’

‘Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger,’ Harry said very quickly, ‘Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood … we’re here to save someone, unless your Ministry can do it first!’

‘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 normally appeared. Hermione scooped them up and handed them mutely to Harry over Ginny’s head; he glanced at the topmost one,
Harry Potter, Rescue Mission.

‘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 said loudly, as his scar gave another throb. ‘Now can we
move
?’

The floor of the telephone box shuddered and the pavement rose up past its glass windows; the scavenging Thestrals were sliding out of sight; blackness closed over their heads and with a dull grinding noise they sank down into the depths of the Ministry of Magic.

A chink of soft golden light hit their feet and, widening, rose up their bodies. Harry bent his knees and held his wand as ready as he could in such cramped conditions as he peered through the glass to see whether anybody was waiting for them in the Atrium, but it seemed to be completely empty. The light was dimmer than it had been by day; there were no fires burning under the mantelpieces set into the walls, but as the lift slid smoothly to a halt he saw that golden symbols continued to twist sinuously in the dark blue ceiling.

‘The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening,’ said the woman’s voice.

The door of the telephone box burst open; Harry toppled out of it, followed by Neville and Luna. The only sound in the Atrium was the steady rush of water from the golden fountain, where jets from the wands of the witch and wizard, the point of the centaur’s arrow, the tip of the goblin’s hat and the house-elf’s ears continued to gush into the surrounding pool.

‘Come on,’ said Harry quietly and the six of them sprinted off down the hall, Harry in the lead, past the fountain towards the desk where the watchwizard who had weighed Harry’s wand had sat, and which was now deserted.

Harry felt sure there ought to be a security person there, sure their absence was an ominous sign, and his feeling of foreboding increased as they passed through the golden gates to the lifts. He pressed the nearest ‘down’ button and a lift clattered into sight almost immediately, the golden grilles slid apart with a great, echoing clanking and they dashed inside. Harry stabbed the number nine button; the grilles closed with a bang and the lift began to descend, jangling and rattling. Harry had not realised how noisy the lifts were on the day he had come with Mr Weasley; he was sure the din would raise every security person within the building, yet when the lift halted, the cool female voice said, ‘Department of Mysteries,’ and the grilles slid open. They stepped out into the corridor where nothing was moving but the nearest torches, flickering in the rush of air from the lift.

Harry turned towards the plain black door. After months and months of dreaming about it, he was here at last.

‘Let’s go,’ he whispered, and he led the way down the corridor, Luna right behind him, gazing around with her mouth slightly open.

‘OK, listen,’ said Harry, stopping again within six feet of the door. ‘Maybe … maybe a couple of people should stay here as a – as a lookout, and –’

‘And how’re we going to let you know something’s coming?’ asked Ginny, her eyebrows raised. ‘You could be miles away.’

‘We’re coming with you, Harry,’ said Neville.

‘Let’s get on with it,’ said Ron firmly.

Harry still did not want to take them all with him, but it seemed he had no choice. He turned to face the door and walked forwards … just as it had in his dream, it swung open and he marched forwards, leading the others over the threshold.

They were standing in a large, circular room. Everything in here was black including the floor and ceiling; identical, unmarked, handleless black doors were set at intervals all around the black walls, interspersed with branches of candles whose flames burned blue; their cool, shimmering light reflected in the shining marble floor made it look as though there was dark water underfoot.

‘Someone shut the door,’ Harry muttered.

He regretted giving this order the moment Neville had obeyed it. Without the long chink of light from the torchlit corridor behind them, the place became so dark that for a moment the only things they could see were the bunches of shivering blue flames on the walls and their ghostly reflections in the floor.

In his dream, Harry had always walked purposefully across this room to the door immediately opposite the entrance and walked on. But there were around a dozen doors here. Just as he was gazing ahead at the doors opposite him, trying to decide which was the right one, there was a great rumbling noise and the candles began to move sideways. The circular wall was rotating.

Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm as though frightened the floor might move, too, but it did not. For a few seconds, the blue flames around them were blurred to resemble neon lines as the wall sped around; then, quite as suddenly as it had started, the rumbling stopped and everything became stationary once again.

Harry’s eyes had blue streaks burned into them; it was all he could see.

‘What was that about?’ whispered Ron fearfully.

‘I think it was to stop us knowing which door we came in through,’ said Ginny in a hushed voice.

Harry realised at once she was right: he could no sooner identify the exit door than locate an ant on the jet-black floor;
and
the door through which they needed to proceed could be any one of the dozen surrounding them.

‘How’re we going to get back out?’ said Neville uncomfortably.

‘Well, that doesn’t matter now,’ said Harry forcefully, blinking to try to erase the blue lines from his vision, and clutching his wand tighter than ever, ‘we won’t need to get out till we’ve found Sirius –’

‘Don’t go calling for him, though!’ Hermione said urgently; but Harry had never needed her advice less, his instinct was to keep as quiet as possible.

‘Where do we go, then, Harry?’ Ron asked.

‘I don’t –’ Harry began. He swallowed. ‘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, ‘I’ll know the right way when I see it. C’mon.’