Dawn Rivera

The Department of Mysteries

Harry and Danny twist their hands around something, place their feet on a stump nearby and scramble clumsily in their air.

Neville has heaved himself over the back of one, and is now attempting to swing one short leg through the air. Luna is already in place, sitting side-saddled and adjusting her robes as though she does this every day. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Misty and I, however, are still standing motionless on the spot, open-mouthed and staring.

"What?" Harry says.

"How're we supposed to get on?" says Ron faintly. "When we can't see the things?"

"Oh, it's easy," says Luna, sliding obligingly from air and marching over to him, Hermione, Ginny, Misty and me. "Come here."

She pulls us over to another place and one by one manages to help us on to the back of our mount. All five of us are extremely nervous as she winds our hands into our horse's mane and tell them to grip tightly before she gets back on her own patch of air.

"This is mad," Ron murmurs, moving his free hand gingerly up and down. "Mad...if I could just see it - "

"You'd better hope it stays invisible," says Danny darkly. "We all ready, then?"

We all nod and I see eight pairs of knees tighten beneath their robes.

"OK..." Harry says.

He and Danny look down and swallow.

"Ministry of Magic, visitors' entrance, London, then," Danny says uncertainly. "Er...if you know...where to go..."

For a moment nothing happens; then, with a sweeping movement that looks like it almost unseats them, they rocket upwards so fast and so steeply that I have to clench my arms and legs tightly around my horse to avoid thinking of them sliding backwards off their bony rumps. I close my eyes and press my face down into the horse's silky Jane as we burst through the topmost branches of the trees and soar out into a blood-red sunset.

I do not think I have ever moved so fast: the Thestral streaks over the castle; the cool air is slapping my face; eyes screwed up against the rushing wind, I look round and see my eight fellows soaring along beside me; each of us are bent as low as possible into the necks of our Thestral to protect ourselves from the slipstream.

We are over the Hogwarts grounds, we have passed Hogsmeade; I can see mountains and gullies below us. As the daylight begins to fail, I see small collections of lights as we pass over more villages, then a winding road on which a single car is beetling its way home through the hills...

"This is bizarre!" I barely hear Ron yell from somewhere beside me, and I must agree it is, speeding along at this height with no visual means of support.

Twilight falls: the sky is turning to a light, ducky purple littered with tiny silver stars, and soon only the lights of Muggle towns give us any clue of how far from the ground we are, or how very fast we are travelling. My arms are wrapped tightly around my horse's neck as I will it to go even faster. How much time has elapsed since Harry saw Uncle Sirius lying on the Department of Mysteries floor? How much longer will Uncle Sirius be able to resist Voldemort? All I know for sure is that my uncle has neither done as Voldemort wants, nor died, for I am convinced I would feel it, just like in books. All those books couldn't be lying, could they?

On we fly through the gathering darkness; my face feels so stiff and cold, my legs numb from gripping the Thestrals's side's so tightly, but I do not dare shift my position lest I slip...I am deaf from the thundering rush of air in my ears, and my mouth is dry and frozen from the cold night wind. I have lost all sense of how far we have come; all my faith is in the beast I cannot see beneath me, still streaking purposefully through the night as it speeds ever onwards.