Playing With Fire (Harry Potter x Lord Voldemort)

Consequences of Mistakes

Harry Potter had made many mistakes in his life. None had ever been as bad as this. The Boy-Who-Lived was going to die, and he had no one to blame but himself. He should have just waited, he should have listened to Ron and Hermione. Instead, he ran headfirst to the Ministry of Magic, blinded by his need to save Sirius' life. He should have known something was wrong when neither Ron nor Hermione followed him through the Floo.

Harry had left no room to argue after telling his friends to alert the order before he threw himself into the green flames. He had tumbled out, landing with no grace into the very eerie, very empty Atrium. He used his hands to push himself up, feeling the polished dark wood under his digits. The Atrium's appearance was much more sinister when empty. There were no crowds to fill in the spaces and Harry couldn't remember it being this large.

He only took a few steps before turning around to gaze at the floo. No one followed him through the fireplace and Harry realized his big mistake immediately, thinking he could do this alone. Surely they would follow him in, tell him how stupid he'd been thinking he had to save everyone. Thinking that he, alone, had to shoulder this burden. He wished they would come through and tell him.

Every second wasted waiting, however, was another second Sirius was being tortured. He didn't have to think twice.

He began to run through the room, the ornate fireplaces on both sides of him inactive. The bubbling noise from the water in the large fountain was the only sound other than his worn sneakers, they padded heavily against the wood. Not a single flying memo was seen, nor whir from the offices above heard. Harry's hearing became hypersensitive, and any action he made he could account for, even his breathing was loud.

His wand dropped into his hand as he neared the desk for security, it was out of fear rather than habit. This was so odd, so odd. He could remember having his wand checked here just last year, the anxiety he felt then was palpable. Now it was bordering on panic. Where was everybody? He knew he didn't have time to ponder.

Pushing on he passed the desk without another thought, letting himself through the golden gates. He beelined to the elevator directly in front of him. He supposed the trip would be a very short one, as he was the only living being here. His elevator wouldn't need to visit every floor, there was only one stop for him.

He stepped into the open lift and grabbed the handle on the strange mechanism with a shaking hand. He turned it until the golden hole sat neatly over the number 9, the doors closed in response.

Much like any other form of magical transportation, Harry was unable to brace himself. The lift simply went down, Harry was immediately thrown off balance as he was expecting any other direction. His mind was racing, he had to remind himself that this elevator didn't need to dodge others to get to its destination. It was only logical that it would descend easily to level 9, as the Atrium was level 8.

Taking a deep breath, Harry raised his wand. He would be ready. His heart was beating so fast and it only seemed to go faster when the lift came to a stop. A loud dinging indicated his arrival and the scissor gates folded themselves in response.

"Department of Mysteries." rang out. The robotic voice did nothing to ease his growing restlessness, not when he was staring at the door. The same one he'd been seeing in his dreams.

Sirius.

Harry ran. He couldn't hear screams, and that only pushed him to go faster. Screaming meant he was alive, screaming meant still breathing. Silence was the worst sound in this scenario.

Harry ran so fast that the black tiles on the floors and walls melted into each other. All he could see was his goal, the door. Still holding his wand, Harry reached for the handle with his free hand. The door gave way, there was no time for subtlety.