HP Approaches the Magical World

"HP Approaches the Magic World ()"

"What do you think might be in there?"

Luna asked eagerly, as the walls began to turn again.

"Nagging, no doubt about it."

Hermione whispered back, and Neville smiled nervously.

The wall gradually stopped, and Harry pushed open a door next to him with some desperation.

"It's here!"

He recognized this room at once when he saw the beautiful, diamond-like flashes of dancing light.

After his eyes gradually got used to the dazzling light here, he could clearly see that the dials of many clocks were shimmering.

They ranged in size from grandfather clocks to travel clocks, hung between bookshelves, or stood on tables the length of the entire room.

Because of this, a rapid, never-ending ticking sound filled the room, like the sound of thousands of tiny footsteps.

The diamond-bright jumping light came from a towering bell-shaped crystal glass dome at the far end of the room.

"This way!"

Harry's heart beat violently once he knew they were on the right track.

He walked ahead, following the narrow gap between the tables to the light source, just as he had done in his dream.

The bell-shaped crystal glass, the height of Harry, stood on a table and seemed to be filled with a churning, sparkling air of air.

"Oh, look!"

As they approached, Ginny pointed to the center of the bell jar.

In the flickering light floated a small, jewel-bright egg. As it rose up in the glass enclosure, it snapped open, and a hummingbird emerged, rising straight to the very top of the glass enclosure, but as the air flow fell, the bird's feathers were stained again, Drenched until it reaches the very bottom of the glass enclosure and is again enclosed in an egg.

"Keep going, don't stop!"

snapped Harry, because Ginny seemed eager to stop and watch the egg turn into a bird.

"You've had enough of the old arch!"

She retorted, but followed him, past the crystal bell, to the only door behind it.

"It's here."

Harry said it again. His heart was beating violently, and he thought it must have affected his words, "It's going through here—"

He glanced around at the others, all of whom had drawn their wands, looking all at once serious and urgent.

He stared back at the door again, pushed it, and it swung open.

They came inside, and they found the place at last.

It was as tall as a cathedral, and filled with towering shelves filled with little dusty glass spheres, but nothing else.

More candlesticks were embedded in the shelves at regular intervals, from which came dim light, the same blue flames as those in the black round room.

Those little glass balls glow faintly in these lights.

It was cold inside the house... Harry walked forward slowly, and looked down at a dark passageway between two rows of shelves. He couldn't hear a sound, and couldn't feel any movement, even the slightest movement.

"You said row ninety-seven," whispered Hermione beside him.

"Yes."

Harry responded softly, looking up towards the end of the nearest row, where the blue flames of the candles and the silver numbers flashing beneath the brackets,

53.

"I think we should go right."

whispered Hermione, squinting a side row.

"By the way, this is 54."

"Everyone have your wands at the ready."

They tiptoed along the long aisle between the shelves, glancing back from time to time, where it was almost pitch black.

On the shelf under each glass ball, there is a small yellow label.

Some globules glowed with mysterious flowing light, others were vague and dark, like light bulbs that had gone out.

They passed row 84, row 85, and Harry tried to hear the slightest movement, but there was nothing.

Maybe Sirius' mouth was gagged, or maybe he was unconscious... Or, a disgusting voice entered his head: "Maybe he's dead..."

If so, I could feel it, Harry reminded himself, his heart pounding in his throat.

"97!" whispered Hermione.

They gathered at one end of row 97, staring intently at the aisle next to the shelves, which was empty.

"He's over there,"

Harry said that his mouth was a little dry, "It's impossible to see clearly when standing here."

He led the group through two rows of towering glass spheres, some of which glowed faintly as they passed.

"He's supposed to be around here," Harry said in a low voice, convinced that with every step he took, the tattered figure of Sirius would appear on the darkened floor, "somewhere in here...really Very close..."

"Harry?" Hermione tried calling him, but he didn't want to answer, his mouth was dry.

"Here, somewhere."

They had come to the other end of the row of shelves, exposed to more dim candlelight, and there was no one here either.

Only echoes and dusty silence.

"He's probably..." Harry whispered hoarsely, keeping his eyes on the aisle next to him,

"Or maybe..." He immediately looked down the next aisle.

"Harry?" Hermione called again.

"What?" He was a little impatient.

"I... I don't think Sirius is here."

No one said anything.

Harry didn't want to see any of them.

He felt bad.

He didn't understand why Sirius wasn't here when he should be.

He ran quickly across the rows of shelves in one direction, looking down them.

One empty aisle after another flashed past him.

His companions were looking straight at him, and he turned again, passed them, and ran in the opposite direction. There was no sign of Sirius anywhere, and no signs of a fight.

"Harry?"

"What?"

He didn't want to listen to Ron; didn't want to hear Ron tell him he was stupid, or suggest that they should go back to Hogwarts, but his face was getting hotter and hotter, as if he wanted to face the tall bright Before the main hall and other reproachful glances, secretly hid for a while in the darkness here.

"Did you see this?" said Ron.

"What?"

asked Harry, his tone urgent this time - there must be a trace or a clue that Sirius had been here.

The others were standing a little further in from the end of the 97th shelf, and he strode up to them, noticing nothing but Ron looking at a dirty glass globe on the shelf.

"What?"

he asked again gloomily.

"It has your name on it—it's on it."

Harry moved closer, and Ron pointed to a small glass globe, dirty as if it hadn't been touched in years, but gleaming slightly from the twilight inside.

"my name?"

Harry asked blankly.

He stepped forward, not being as tall as Ron, and he had to crane his neck to see the yellowed label pasted on the shelf under the glass globe.

It was stamped with a date about sixteen years ago in fine font, and the following was:

S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D.

The Dark Lord and(?) Harry Potter

"What's this?"

Ron asked, "Why is your name on it?"