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Chapter 136: The Hall of Whispers
🕑 Added 2025-10-17 15:41:24 +0000 UTCHarry clambered swiftly down the stone benches, making his way to the bottom of the stone pit. Then, slowly, he approached the raised platform. His footsteps echoed through the vast chamber. The veiled archway now looked much taller from this angle than it had from above. The black curtain still swayed gently, as if someone had just passed through it.
“Sirius?” Harry called softly, his voice low now that he was so close.
A strange sensation crept over him. It felt as if someone was standing just behind the veil, or perhaps on the other side of the arch. Gripping his wand tightly, he edged around to the back of the platform, but no one was there. From this side, he could only see the tattered black fabric swaying faintly.
“Let’s go!” Hermione’s voice called out from halfway down the steps. “This isn’t the right room, Harry. Come on, quickly!”
She sounded frightened, more frightened than she had been even in the brain room. But Harry couldn’t take his eyes off the archway. Despite its ancient appearance, it had a haunting sort of beauty. The delicate sway of the veil stirred something deep in him. He felt an overwhelming urge to step onto the platform and pass through it.
“Harry, please!” Hermione’s voice was more urgent now.
“I’m coming,” he said, but he didn’t move. He’d just heard something, soft whispers and murmurs from behind the veil.
“What are you saying?” he called, louder this time, his voice echoing through the stone benches.
“No one’s talking, Harry!” Hermione insisted, hurrying toward him.
“Someone is,” Harry said, stepping aside as Hermione approached. He stared intently at the swaying veil. “Ron, is that you?”
“I’m right here, mate,” Ron replied, appearing from the other side of the arch.
“You really can’t hear it?” Harry asked desperately. The murmuring was growing louder, more distinct. Without realizing it, he had stepped up onto the platform.
“I can hear it too,” Luna said softly, moving to stand beside them. She gazed at the veil with wide eyes. “There are people in there!”
“What do you mean, ‘in there’?” Hermione snapped, jumping down the last few steps, her voice full of frustration. “There’s nothing in there! It’s just an archway, Harry, there’s no inside! Come away from it!”
She seized his arm and tried to pull him back, but he didn’t budge.
“Harry, we came here to save Sirius!” she shouted.
“Sirius…” Harry echoed, his voice distant, his eyes locked on the drifting curtain. What was he doing? Finally, the haze lifted from his mind. Sirius was captured, tied up, tortured, and here he was, staring at a piece of fabric. He snapped back to reality, stepping off the platform and tearing his gaze away.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“I’ve been saying that for ages, fine, finally!” Hermione muttered, brushing past him.
On the far side of the platform, Ginny and Neville were still transfixed by the veil. Hermione and Ron didn’t speak; they simply grabbed Ginny and Neville by the arms and led them firmly away, ascending the lowest level of the stone benches and climbing back toward the entrance.
“What do you think that archway is?” Harry asked Hermione as they returned to the black, circular room.
“I don’t know, but it’s definitely dangerous,” she said firmly, drawing another “X” on the door they’d just come from.
The walls spun again and then halted. Harry stepped toward a door at random and pushed, it didn’t budge.
“What is it?” Hermione asked.
“It’s… locked?” Harry pressed his shoulder against it, but it remained closed.
“This must be it, right?” Ron said, excited, pushing alongside him. “It has to be!”
“Stand back!” Hermione ordered sharply. She aimed her wand at the lock. “Alohomora!”
Nothing happened.
“Sirius’s knife!” Harry exclaimed. He fished it out of his robes and wedged it into the crack between the door and frame. The others watched as he ran the blade from top to bottom. Then he withdrew it and slammed his shoulder against the door again, still nothing. Worse, when he looked down, he saw the blade had melted.
“I don’t think this is the room for us,” Hermione said decisively.
“But what if it is?” Ron asked, glancing longingly at the door.
“It can’t be. Harry walked through all the doors in his dream, remember?” she said, marking this one with another “X” as Harry pocketed the ruined hilt of Sirius’s knife.
“What do you suppose is behind it?” Luna asked eagerly as the walls began to spin again.
“More whispers, I’m sure,” Hermione muttered. Neville gave a nervous chuckle.
The spinning stopped. Harry, feeling increasingly desperate, pushed open the door nearest him.
“This is it!”
The brilliant, diamond-like light dancing through the room was unmistakable. As Harry’s eyes adjusted to the dazzling glow, he could make out hundreds of ticking clocks. Some were enormous grandfather clocks; others were small and travel-sized. Some hung between bookcases, others sat on long tables that stretched the length of the chamber. All of them ticked incessantly, filling the air with a constant chorus of clicks, like thousands of tiny footsteps. The diamond-like shimmer came from the far end of the room, from a tall, bell-shaped glass dome.
“This way!”
Now that they were on the right track, Harry’s heart pounded. He led the group quickly between the tables toward the glass dome, just as he had in his dream. The bell jar stood at chest height on a table, filled with swirling, shimmering gas.
“Oh, look!” Ginny said, pointing to the center of the dome.
Within the flickering gas floated a small, bright, jewel-like egg. As it rose, it cracked open with a pop, a hummingbird emerged and soared to the top of the dome. Then, caught in the downward current, its feathers became wet and dirty, and it descended again, curling back into the egg.
“Keep moving, don’t stop!” Harry snapped as Ginny lingered to watch the transformation.
“Well, you spent long enough staring at that veil!” she retorted, but she followed him past the dome to the only door behind it.
“This is it,” Harry said again, breathless. His words barely formed properly through his racing heart. “He’s through here, ”
He glanced at the others. They all had their wands out, faces set and serious. He turned back and pushed the door open.
They entered.
They had found it at last.
The room was vast and silent, with ceilings as high as a cathedral’s. Towering shelves lined the chamber, each filled with dusty, dull-looking glass orbs. The only light came from blue-flamed candles spaced along the shelves, casting ghostly flickers on the globes.
Harry stepped forward cautiously, peering down one shadowy aisle between the rows. Not a sound. Not a stir. Not a single sign of life.
“You said it was row ninety-seven,” Hermione whispered beside him.
“Yes,” Harry replied quietly. He looked up to see a faint silver number, “53,” glowing at the end of the nearest row.
“I think we should head right,” Hermione murmured, peeking down the adjacent aisle. “Yes, this is 54.”
“Everyone, keep your wands ready,” Harry said softly.
They crept silently between the shelves, checking over their shoulders often. The aisle behind them fell quickly into darkness. Every orb sat on a small platform marked with a yellowing label. Some glowed faintly, others were murky and black like dead light bulbs.
They passed row 84... then 85... Harry strained to hear even the faintest noise. Maybe Sirius's mouth is gagged. Or maybe he’s unconscious... Or worse, maybe he’s already dead?
No, Harry told himself fiercely, heart pounding. I’d know if he were dead. I’d feel it.
“Row 97,” Hermione whispered.
They gathered at the start of the row, peering cautiously down the long, empty aisle.
“He’s at the far end,” Harry said. His throat was dry. “We can’t see from here.”
He led the way between the towering shelves of dusty glass. Some of the orbs flickered faintly as they passed.
“He must be close,” Harry murmured, convinced they were moments away from finding Sirius’s bound, ragged form. “Somewhere right here…”
“Harry?” Hermione tried to get his attention, but he didn’t answer. His mouth felt parched.
“Here… somewhere…” he muttered.
They reached the far end of the row, bathed in flickering candlelight. Still no one. Only echoes and dust.
“He might be…” Harry whispered hoarsely, peering down the next aisle. “Or maybe…”
“Harry?” Hermione called again.
“What?” he snapped, irritated.
“I… I don’t think Sirius is here.”
Silence.
Harry couldn’t look at anyone. A sick feeling twisted in his chest. Why wasn’t Sirius here? He had seen him here. In this very place.
He broke into a run down the aisles, scanning furiously left and right. Empty corridors blurred past. His friends stared after him. Then he turned and ran the other way.
No sign of Sirius. No trace of struggle.
“Harry?” Ron called.
“What?”
Harry didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want Ron to call him stupid or suggest they return to Hogwarts. His face burned with shame, as though he could hide here in the dark before facing the harsh light of truth.
“Did you see this?” Ron asked.
“What?” Harry said, his voice suddenly sharp, maybe a clue, a sign Sirius had been here.
The others were standing near the back of Row 97, gazing at something on a shelf. Harry hurried over. Nothing. Just Ron staring at a dusty glass orb.
“What?” Harry repeated darkly.
“It has your name on it,” Ron said.
Harry stepped closer. Being shorter than Ron, he had to crane his neck to see the label beneath the orb. Written in elegant script, it said:
S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.
Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter
“What is it?” Ron asked. “Why is your name on it?”
Harry looked around at the other orbs.
“None of the others have names,” he said, confused.
“Harry, I don’t think you should touch it,” Hermione said sharply as he reached out.
“Why not?” he said. “It’s got my name on it, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t, Harry,” Neville said suddenly.
Harry looked at him. Neville’s round face was sweaty and pale. He looked like he couldn’t take much more.
“My name’s on it,” Harry said firmly.
To hell with it, he thought, and grasped the dirty orb.
It wasn’t cold. Quite the opposite. It felt like it had been basking in sunlight, warmed by its own glow. Harry waited, hoped, for something dramatic to happen. Something to make this dangerous journey worth it. He lifted it from the shelf and stared at it.
Nothing happened.
The others gathered around. Harry wiped the dust from its surface, staring into the faintly glowing depths of the sphere…
They stared, unblinking, at the orb in Harry’s hand.
Then, from behind them to the right, a lazy voice drawled:
"Very good, Potter. Now turn around slowly, and hand it over."
Comments
Anna Haig
This seems like asking for copywrite issues
