Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

“Who are we?” Lestrange let out another piercing laugh. She took a step forward and pulled off her hood. “Baby Potter, he still hasn’t figured out the situation. Do you need more help from me?”

She didn’t look like she did when Harry had seen her in the Pensieve. Azkaban had hollowed Bellatrix Lestrange’s face, making it gaunt and skull-like, but it was alive with a feverish, fanatical glow. She raised her wand high, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Bellatrix,” Malfoy said warningly. “The Dark Lord has ordered that Potter is his prey.”

“I know!” She licked her thin lips with the tip of her tongue, “I’ll handle it carefully.”

“We don’t have time to torture him here. Dumbledore’s people could come at any moment…”

“What are you going to do?” Harry asked, forcing himself to suppress the panic rising in his heart.

“We need you to get something below,” said Malfoy coldly. He waved his wand and the rope tied to Harry’s body was loosened. “Don’t play tricks, Potter, or you will regret it.”

“What do you need me to get?” Harry asked, rubbing his wrists as he stood up, feeling his legs trembling.

Seemingly out of disdain, they hadn’t taken his wand. He still had a chance.

“You jest, Harry Potter,” Bellatrix said.

“Nope, not jesting,” said Harry, his eyes flicking from Death Eater to Death Eater, looking for a weak link, a space through which he could escape. “You want me to go down and get something, but I don’t know what it is. If you want my cooperation, then tell me what’s kept in the Department of Mysteries and what Voldemort plans to do with it?”

As soon as he finished speaking, several of the Death Eaters let out low hisses of dissatisfaction.

“You dare speak his name?” whispered Bellatrix.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “He scares you, but I’ve got no problem saying Vol…”

“Shut your mouth!” Bellatrix shrieked. “You dare speak his name with your unworthy lips, you dare besmirch it with your half-blood’s tongue, you dare…”

“Did you know he’s a half-blood too?” said Harry recklessly, feeling his courage soar. “Voldemort? Yeah, his mother was a witch but his dad was a Muggle — or has he been telling you lot he’s pureblood?”

“Shut up, Crucio!”

Harry instinctively ducked to the side. The training worked, and he escaped Bellatrix’s curse.

Just as he was about to pull out his wand and fight back, Malfoy’s wand was steadily pointed at his face.

“Bellatrix, I said, we don’t have time, and he is the Dark Lord’s prey,” he said softly, looking at Harry from under the hood. “And you, Potter, stop challenging our patience…”

“He dared — he dares —” shrieked Bellatrix incoherently. “Filthy half-blood!”

“Wait until we’ve got the Prophecy orb!” said Malfoy.

“The Prophecy orb?!” Harry seized on the word. “You want me to go down and get a prophecy orb?”

This answer surprised him somewhat. He had always assumed it would be some kind of weapon.

“It is kept within the Department of Mysteries,” Malfoy replied, pointing his wand at Harry. “Get up and move forward!”

“What kind of prophecy?” Harry asked, trying to make his voice sound calmer.

“Do not play games with us, Potter,” said Malfoy.

“I’m not playing games,” said Harry, continuously stalling for time and looking for an opportunity to escape.

They passed through the security desk next to the fountain, which was deserted. The Death Eaters must have dealt with the security guard.

But surely the Ministry had more than one security guard. Where were they now? Had they not noticed what was happening in the hall?

“Really? Dumbledore never told you that the reason you bear that scar was hidden in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries?” said Malfoy sneeringly.

“What about my scar?” Harry asked.

“What about it?” said Malfoy, sounding maliciously delighted, without answering Harry’s question.

Several Death Eaters were laughing again, seemingly pleased with the current situation.

They came to the lifts. A Death Eater pressed the nearest down button and a lift clattered into sight almost immediately, the golden grilles slid apart with a great, echoing clanking. They dashed inside, and Harry saw Bellatrix stab the number nine button and the grilles closed with a bang.

The lift began to descend, jangling and rattling. Harry had not realized how noisy the lifts were on the day that he had come with Mr. Weasley — he was sure that the din would raise every security person within the building.

But nothing happened, and Harry’s heart sank along with the lift.

“What’s going on?” His mind was still on the topic just now. “What’s that prophecy? Why did you say it’s related to my scar?”

“Looks like Dumbledore never told you,” said Malfoy. “Well, this explains why you didn’t come earlier, Potter. The Dark Lord wondered why you didn’t come running when he showed you the place where it was hidden in your dreams. He thought natural curiosity would make you want to hear the exact wording inside the Prophecy.”

“Did he?” said Harry. “So he wanted me to come and get it, did he? Why?”

“Why?” Malfoy sounded incredulously delighted. “Because the only people who are permitted to retrieve a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, Potter, are those about whom it was made, as the Dark Lord discovered when he attempted to use others to steal it for him.”

“I mean, why did he want to steal a prophecy about me?”

“About both of you, Potter, about both of you,” said Malfoy. “Haven’t you ever wondered why the Dark Lord tried to kill you as a baby?”

Harry stared into the slitted eyeholes through which Malfoy’s gray eyes were gleaming.

He couldn’t help but wonder, Was this prophecy the reason Harry’s parents had died, the reason he carried his lightning-bolt scar?

The lift halted, and the cool female voice said, “Department of Mysteries.”

“Alright, here we are!”

The grilles slid open again and they stepped out into the corridor.

The light of the torches flickered in the rush of air from the lift, and Harry saw five more Death Eaters; and directly ahead, that plain black door.

After months and months of dreaming about it, he was here at last…

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