“You’ll have to kill me,” whispered Sirius.
“Undoubtedly I shall in the end,” said the cold voice. “But you will fetch it for me first, Black. . . . You think you have felt pain thus far? Think again. . . . We have hours ahead of us and nobody to hear you scream . . .”
But somebody screamed as Voldemort lowered his wand again; somebody yelled and fell sideways off a hot desk onto the cold stone floor. Harry hit the ground and awoke, still yelling, his scar on fire, as the Great Hall erupted all around him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
OUT OF THE FIRE
I’m not going. . . . I don’t need the hospital wing. . . . I don’t want . . .”
He was gibbering, trying to pull away from Professor Tofty, who was looking at him with much concern, and who had just helped Harry out into the entrance hall while the students all around them stared.
“I’m — I’m fine, sir,” Harry stammered, wiping the sweat from his face. “Really . . . I just fell asleep. . . . Had a nightmare . . .”
“Pressure of examinations!” said the old wizard sympathetically, patting Harry shakily on the shoulder. “It happens, young man, it happens! Now, a cooling drink of water, and perhaps you will be ready to return to the Great Hall? The examination is nearly over, but you may be able to round off your last answer nicely?”
“Yes,” said Harry wildly. “I mean . . . no . . . I’ve done — done as much as I can, I think . . .”
“Very well, very well,” said the old wizard gently. “I shall go and collect your examination paper, and I suggest that you go and have a nice lie down . . .”
“I’ll do that,” said Harry, nodding vigorously. “Thanks very much.”
He waited for the second when the old man’s heels disappeared over the threshold into the Great Hall, then ran up the marble staircase and then more staircases toward the hospital wing, hurtling along the corridors so fast that the portraits he passed muttered reproaches, and burst through the double doors like a hurricane, causing Madam Pomfrey, who had been spooning some bright blue liquid into Montague’s open mouth, to shriek in alarm.
“Potter, what do you think you’re doing?”
“I need to see Professor McGonagall,” gasped Harry, the breath tearing his lungs. “Now . . . It’s urgent . . .”
“She’s not here, Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey sadly. “She was transferred to St. Mungo’s this morning. Four Stunning Spells straight to the chest at her age? It’s a wonder they didn’t kill her.”
“She’s . . . gone?” said Harry, stunned.
The bell rang just outside the dormitory, and he heard the usual distant rumbling of students starting to flood out into the corridors above and below him. He remained quite still, looking at Madam Pomfrey. Terror was rising inside him.
There was nobody left to tell. Dumbledore had gone, Hagrid had gone, but he had always expected Professor McGonagall to be there, irascible and inflexible, perhaps, but always dependably, solidly present. . . .
“I don’t wonder you’re shocked, Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey with a kind of fierce approval in her face. “As if one of them could have Stunned Minerva McGonagall face on by daylight! Cowardice, that’s what it was. . . . Despicable cowardice . . . If I wasn’t worried what would happen to you students without me, I’d resign in protest . . .”
“Yes,” said Harry blankly.
He strode blindly from the hospital wing into the teeming corridor where he stood, buffeted by the crowd, the panic expanding inside him like poison gas so that his head swam and he could not think what to do. . . .
Ron and Hermione, said a voice in his head.
He was running again, pushing students out of the way, oblivious to their angry protests and shouts. He sprinted back down two floors and was at the top of the marble staircase when he saw them hurrying toward him.
“Harry!” said Hermione at once, looking very frightened. “What happened? Are you all right? Are you ill?”
“Where have you been?” demanded Ron.
“Come with me,” Harry said quickly. “Come on, I’ve got to tell you something . . .”
He led them along the first-floor corridor, peering through doorways, and at last found an empty classroom into which he dived, closing the door behind Ron and Hermione the moment they were inside and leaning against it, facing them.
“Voldemort’s got Sirius.”
“What?”
“How d’you — ?”
“Saw it. Just now. When I fell asleep in the exam.”
“But — but where? How?” said Hermione, whose face was white.
“I dunno how,” said Harry. “But I know exactly where. There’s a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls, and they’re at the end of row ninety-seven . . . He’s trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there. . . . He’s torturing him. . . . Says he’ll end by killing him . . .”
Harry found his voice was shaking, as were his knees. He moved over to a desk and sat down on it, trying to master himself.
“How’re we going to get there?” he asked them.
There was a moment’s silence. Then Ron said, “G-get there?”
“Get to the Department of Mysteries, so we can rescue Sirius!” Harry said loudly.
“But — Harry . . .” said Ron weakly.
“What? What?” said Harry.
He could not understand why they were both gaping at him as though he was asking them something unreasonable.
“Harry,” said Hermione in a rather frightened voice, “er . . . how . . . how did Voldemort get into the Ministry of Magic without anybody realizing he was there?”