He glanced at the sleek, black head of the Thestral beneath him, his throat tightening.
"Then… London, the Ministry of Magic, the Visitors' Entrance," he said uncertainly. "Er, if you know where that is."
For a moment, Harry's Thestral didn't move; then its wings suddenly spread wide, nearly unseating him. The creature crouched low before launching into the air with a powerful thrust. The sudden rush of motion forced Harry to cling tightly with all his limbs to avoid slipping off the bony ridge of its back. He closed his eyes and buried his face in its coarse mane as they soared through the highest branches of the trees, gliding into the blood-red dusk.
He turned slightly, catching a glimpse of Cho Chang's flowing black hair, which rippled like an inky waterfall in the evening breeze. Her delicate face was pale against the growing night. Glancing at the other members of Dumbledore's Army flying alongside them, Harry couldn't help but wish it was just him and Cho on this mission.
"What are you looking at?" a dreamy voice called from behind. Luna's light blonde hair seemed to shimmer in icy blue hues, reflecting the magical glow around her. Upon closer inspection, the Thestral she rode appeared to be encased in a thin veil of water, glimmering like a liquid cloak. Luna sat calmly, her posture relaxed despite the Thestral's movements.
Typical Luna, Harry thought with a mixture of admiration and envy. Already adept at elemental mimicry—one of the more advanced magical techniques—she made even this perilous flight seem graceful.
They soared past Hogwarts and the village of Hogsmeade, the mountains and valleys below growing darker as twilight deepened. Harry could see pinpricks of light from scattered villages, with lone cars winding along the roads, their headlights piercing the shadows as they climbed one hill after another.
"How much longer till we get there? Will we make it before midnight?" Angelina asked impatiently. She seemed uneasy with this mode of travel, clearly preferring the familiarity of a broomstick.
Harry glanced downward at the faint outlines of the landscape. Twilight had given way to a deep indigo sky dotted with a smattering of silver stars. The glimmers of light below suggested a town, though it was impossible to discern its name or precise location.
"Almost there, I think," Harry shouted over the wind, trying to reassure his companions. He felt a surge of gratitude toward the members of Dumbledore's Army who had chosen to accompany him on this risky mission. Though they were part of the same group, he had no authority to demand their help, and their willingness to aid him in saving Sirius filled him with warmth. The danger they faced—possibly even confronting him—was no small matter.
They flew on through the thickening darkness, the cold wind numbing Harry's face and stiffening his limbs. His thighs, clamped tightly around the Thestral's thin frame, had gone completely numb, yet he dared not shift for fear of slipping. The unrelenting rush of air roared in his ears, and his lips, chapped and frozen, felt raw. He had no sense of how far they had traveled, trusting entirely in the Thestral's instincts to guide them to their destination.
Parvati adjusted her scarf, her face flushed red from the biting wind. Her eyes glinted with resignation. She had initially thought this mission would be an opportunity to shadow some senior wizards, perhaps even impress Augustus, the enigmatic leader of their organization. But when she realized the operation was Harry's personal initiative, with no backing from the Slytherin faction, she regretted joining. A small group of students attempting to storm the Ministry of Magic and face off against Death Eaters seemed like a recipe for disaster.
The Thestral's sudden descent jolted Harry from his thoughts. He felt its head lower, tilting toward the ground, causing him to slide slightly along its neck. Behind him, he heard a startled scream and the sound of someone struggling to steady themselves. Bright orange streetlights began to glow larger and rounder as they approached. The tops of buildings came into view, their windows glinting like pale-yellow squares in the darkness.
With a surprisingly soft landing, the Thestrals touched down on a quiet street. Harry slid off his mount and scanned the surroundings. They were near an old red telephone booth, which stood out against the faded orange of the streetlamps.
Ron landed beside him, promptly tumbling off his Thestral in an ungraceful heap.
Susan Bones, her cheeks dimpling in amusement, pointed to the booth. "This should be it, right? My uncle brought me here once in first year. I think this is the entrance to the Ministry."
Hermione and Ginny landed with more poise than Ron, each sliding off their mounts with visible relief. Neville dismounted with a wobble, while Luna descended gracefully, her face serene.
"So, we enter the Ministry from here?" Angelina asked briskly, clapping her hands together as if preparing for a Quidditch match. "Anyone know how it works?"
"I do," Harry said, motioning for the group to gather around. "This way. Someone near the receiver, dial 62442!"
Ron awkwardly reached for the rotary dial and spun the numbers. A buzzing sound filled the booth before a cool, automated voice echoed from the receiver.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your names and your purpose."
"Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, Cho, Angelina, Neville, Ginny, Parvati, Susan, and Padma. We're here to save someone—unless your department can do that first!" Harry shouted defiantly.
"Thank you," the icy voice replied. "Visitors, please collect your badges and pin them to the front of your robes."
Eleven badges slid into view from a slot beneath the receiver. Hermione gathered them and silently passed one to Harry, who glanced at the topmost badge. It read:
Harry Potter. Mission to Save.
(End of Chapter and Novel)
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