Dusk fell.
The sky gradually took on a faint, hazy purple hue, sprinkled with tiny silver stars.
Soon, only the lights of Muggle's town gave them any indication of how high they were above the ground and how fast they were going.
Harry wrapped his arm around the horse's neck and held on tight, trying to get it to go faster.
How much time had passed since he saw Sirius lying on the floor of the Department of Mysteries?
How long could Sirius resist Voldemort?
Harry could only conclude that his godfather had neither obeyed Voldemort's orders nor been killed.
Because he was sure … no matter what the outcome was, he would feel Voldemort's joy or anger flowing through his body, making his scars burn like the night Mr. Weasley had been attacked.
They were flying in the dark; Harry felt his face stiff and cold, and his legs, clamped tight on either side of the Nightwalker, were numb, but he dared not change his position lest he should slip. He could hear nothing but the rush of air in his ears, and his mouth was dry and frozen by the cold night air.
How far had they gone?
He was unconscious of this; all his hopes were pinned on the Night Finch, which was still flying steadily through the dark sky, hardly flapping its wings as it flew.
If they were too late …
He's still alive. He's still fighting. I can feel it. If Voldemort thinks Sirius won't give in … I should know … 'Harry's stomach shook. The Nighthawk's head suddenly dropped to the ground, and he slid a few inches forward along its neck.
They were finally going to land.
He thought he heard a scream behind him, so he turned his head nervously. He did not see the falling body. They were probably as surprised as he was when they changed direction.
The bright orange lights around them grew larger and rounder. They could see the rooftops of buildings, the headlights of cars like the shining eyes of beetles, and the windows all around them glowed a dull yellow.
Suddenly, they seemed to be rushing toward the sidewalk. Harry held on to Vernon with all his might, bracing himself for the sudden impact. Yet Ye Qi was like a shadow that lightly landed on the pitch black ground.
Harry slid off its back and glanced around the street. The overflowing dump truck was still parked not far from the old telephone booth, its original color indistinguishable in the drab orange glow of the streetlight.
Ron landed nearby, and then he fell off the night qi and fell onto the sidewalk.
"I don't want to do it again."
He said as he struggled to stand up.
He seemed to want to leave Ye Qi in large strides, but he couldn't see it, so he bumped into its hind legs and almost fell on his back.
"Definitely, definitely can't do it again. That's bad enough …"
Hermione and Ginny landed on either side of him.
The movement of sliding off the horse's back was more elegant than Ron's, but after returning to the solid ground, the relaxed expressions on their faces were almost the same.
Neville jumped down from his horse, trembling.
Luna gently slid off her mount. She looked very normal.
"Where should we go now?"
Luna asked Harry politely and with great interest. It sounded more like a fun day trip.
"This way," Harry said. He patted his horse gratefully, then led them quickly to the shabby telephone booth and opened the door.
"Come on in!" he urged his hesitant companions.
Ron and Ginny obediently walked in.
Hermione, Neville, and Luna squeezed in after them.
Harry glanced back at the Night Grasses, who were searching for rotting food in the dump truck.
Then he squeezed into the telephone booth behind Luna.
"Who's closest to the phone? Dial 62442!"
Ron's arm was bent awkwardly as he reached for the dial and dialed the number. As the dial turned back, a woman's cold voice came into the booth.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and what business you are here for."
"Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger," Harry said quickly. "Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood. We're here to teach, unless the Ministry can get him out first."
"Thank you," the cold voice said. "Dear guest, please pick up your badges and place them on your coat."
Six badges slid out of the metal slots where coins were supposed to be withdrawn.
Hermione picked them up and silently passed them over Ginny's head to Harry.
Harry glanced at the top of the list: Harry Potter, rescue mission.
"Dear guest of the Ministry of Magic, you will be examined at the security desk and have your wand registered. The security desk is at the end of the main hall. "
"Yes, sir!" Harry said aloud, his scar throbbing again. "Can we move now?"
The floor of the telephone booth suddenly shook. The sidewalk outside gradually rose past the window, and the foraging night grasses slowly slid out of sight. The darkness closed in over their heads, and with a dull grinding sound, they descended into the depths of the Ministry of Magic.
A thin beam of golden light fell on their feet, widened, and moved over their bodies.
Harry crouched as low as he could in the cramped space, clutching his wand, and peered through the glass to see if anyone was waiting for them in the main hall. But it seemed to be empty.
The light was dimmer than it had been in the day; there was no fire in the mantel set in the wall, but as the lift came to a steady halt he saw the golden symbol writhing irregularly on the dark blue ceiling.
"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening."
Said the woman's voice.
The door of the booth flew open, and Harry staggered out, closely followed by Neville and Luna.
The only sound that could be heard in the main hall was the steady roar of the golden fountain, which gushed ceaselessly from the wands of the wizards and wizards, from the arrowheads of the centaurs, from the tips of the goblins' hats, and from the ears of the house elves, and into the round pool.
"Come here," whispered Harry.
Harry said softly. The six of them were running at full speed down the hall, and he was in the lead, past the fountain, toward the security desk, where the wizard who had weighed Harry's wand had sat, but now it was empty.
Harry thought there ought to be a security guard, and believed it was a bad omen that no one was guarding the door. His sense of foreboding intensified as they passed through the golden doors to the elevator.
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