Auror Tests
“Oh – Harry!” said Mrs Weasley as he stepped into the messy kitchen. “You’re back already!”
“Yeah,” he said, noting the tone of surprise she hadn’t quite managed to hide. “Er – I think I’ll stay here for a bit longer, if that’s alright with you.”
“Oh, of course it is, dear,” she said, “we’re always happy to have you. You haven’t had lunch, have you?”
“No,” said Harry truthfully, only just now realizing how empty his stomach felt after only a piece of toast for breakfast. And, of course, all that retching. He sat at the cramped kitchen table at Mrs Weasley’s bidding and only when he smelt that familiar scent of flowers did he look up to notice he was not the only one sitting there. Ginny Weasley was looking at him with that familiar gaze of intensity that always made him feel like he was looking directly into the sun. “Er – hi, Ginny,” he said awkwardly.
“Hi, Harry,” she said, keeping her eyes on him for just a few more seconds before looking back at the edition of The Daily Prophet she was leafing through. Just at that moment, Ron walked in and sat down heavily next to Harry.
“Look at your hands!” said Mrs Weasley in an exasperated voice. “All covered in soil! No lunch until you’ve washed up, young man.”
Grumbling under his breath, her youngest son got up and went outside again to use the wash basin.
“Er – anything interesting happened in Quidditch this week, Ginny?” said Hermione with uncertainty, glancing over from her perch on one of the armchairs in the sitting room. “Are your favorite teams – er – doing well?”
Harry met Ginny’s eyes and they both stifled a grin. It was common knowledge that Hermione didn’t know the first thing about Quidditch, nor did she care, but he appreciated her all the more for that brave attempt to break the silence.
“Actually, Hermione, they are,” said Ginny, entertaining this new turn of conversation. “Europe has a fair number of slots in the World Cup this summer, so it looks like England might have a chance to make it. Look –” She held up the Quidditch section of the Prophet, covered in moving pictures and lists of statistics, for Hermione to see.
“Oh, really?” said Hermione, clearly not making the slightest meaning out of the statistics. “That’s good to hear.”
“Although I’ve personally always been a fan of Wales, they’re really good,” Ginny carried on, clearly enjoying Hermione’s poorly-dissimulated confusion. Harry was reminded of the poster of Gwenog Jones, Wales’s best player, proudly displayed in Ginny’s room. “I hope they’ll do okay, although –”
“Wales?” said Ron, entering once again with his hands now cleaned and dried. “Isn’t Gwenog Jones retiring, though? They’ll need a lot of luck to qualify without her.”
“Yes, well, she’s had a long career, hasn’t she? She’ll deserve a break,” said Ginny, as Hermione looked from one Weasley sibling to the other. “And besides, I liked the look of their new Beater, he’s got big shoes to fill but –”
“Do you mind if I borrow that?” said Hermione, interrupting Ginny and eyeing her copy of the Prophet.
“This?” said Ginny, looking amused at how quickly Hermione had lost interest in the conversation. “Go ahead. I’m heading over to the Lovegoods’ anyways, Luna said it’d be okay if I visited –”
“Oh, Luna said you could, did she?” said Mrs Weasley with a dangerous expression. “But I don’t remember giving permission, young lady, and the Lovegoods are miles away –”
“Let’s head upstairs,” said Ron in a low voice, casting a furtive glance at his mother. Harry and Hermione nodded and the three set off upstairs.
Following Ron and Hermione up the stairs, Harry had never felt the Burrow to be emptier. The first small landing led them past Mr and Mrs Weasley’s room on the left, and Ginny’s room on the right, with her window facing toward the orchard where Bill and Fleur had gotten married nearly a year ago. Up one more set of stairs led to an even smaller landing with Bill and Percy’s room on the left and Fred and George’s room on the right. The door on the right was, as usual, closed, and Harry had to be careful to avoid tripping over a ham sandwich and a cold cup of tea sitting just outside, either unwanted or simply unnoticed.
Finally at the top of the third flight of stairs was the room that Harry had always known as Ron’s room. Apparently, his brother Charlie had shared that room with him many years ago, but Charlie had been living in Romania for as long as Harry could remember, so now the space was claimed by Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
The room, however, was not built for three. It wasn’t even built for two. Ron’s modest bed took up just about half the space, the rest being used as a small cubby for all of their clothes and things, and a skinny strip of rug, barely a few feet wide, separating the bed from the door. It was difficult to imagine that there had once been two beds there – even during the summers when Harry had used the camp bed, instead of just sleeping in Ron’s, it had been a tight fit. The underside of Ron’s bed also had a pull-out drawer, inside which were kept only Hermione’s favorite books, Ron’s chess set, and Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, which he had taken with him to Grimmauld Place but now found its place back in the drawer.
Harry and Ron both flopped lazily on the bed. Crookshanks, who had been napping peacefully on it in the patch of sunlight from the window, jumped down and joined Hermione in sitting cross-legged on the floor with her back to the wall, immersed in Ginny’s edition of the Prophet.
“Anything interesting in there?” asked Ron, leaning back and stretching out so he took up most of the space Harry wasn’t occupying. “Except Wales’s team getting demolished, as always. I dunno how Ginny still expects they might qualify for the World Cup.”
Harry said nothing. It had been hard for him to rediscover his old interest in Quidditch since the war. It was as if nothing was as fun or as interesting as it had been before then. Even Hogwarts, which had once been his home, had seemed, for lack of a better word, smaller than before…
“Actually, yes,” said Hermione. Harry and Ron both raised their eyebrows. “I’m just looking at the job postings section. It looks like the Ministry’s trying to fill some empty positions since the war. They’re probably trying to get it done before the end of the summer, so they look like they’re bouncing back just as fast as Hogwarts…”
“Okay, cool,” said Ron. “The Ministry, though? Is that really where we want to work?”
Harry met Ron’s eyes and knew they were both remembering the grief they had been put through by the Ministry for the last few years.
“No, you didn’t let me finish, Ron,” said Hermione. “It says here they’re trying to fill two open spots at the Auror office.”
Evidently, she had said the right words: both Harry and Ron sat up eagerly. For nearly four years now, both of them had had the ambition of becoming Aurors – Dark wizard catchers.
“Okay,” said Harry. “Go on?”
“Well, that’s all it says, except that any applicant interested in an ‘exciting, action-packed work environment’ should show up ready for a series of aptitude and character tests next Wednesday.”
Harry and Ron looked at each other excitedly. Hermione, however, looked up at them and bit her lip.
“Well, that’s just over a week from now,” she said slowly. “But I’m not sure you guys should go.”
“What?” said Ron incredulously. “After it’s all we’ve wanted since we had Professor Moody? Why suggest the idea to us if you think we shouldn’t apply?”
“Well, that’s one of the reasons right there, isn’t it?” said Hermione. “You both were inspired to become Aurors by Professor Moody, and I understand that, he was really inspirational, but… just look where he ended up. And –”
But Harry thought this was a little unfair. “Cedric Diggory died and he wasn’t an Auror. He was only a student. Loads of people died without being Aurors. Dobby died, Colin Creevey, Fred –” He stopped himself, knowing that listing off people he had once cared for, but were now dead, was not going to do anything to improve his own personal “aptitude and character.”
“Well, you’re right, Harry,” said Hermione patiently, “But – but didn’t you just say you deserve a break? I’m just thinking, maybe… Maybe heading right back into battle isn’t the best idea. For any of us,” she added after seeing the look of exasperation on Ron’s face.
“What else am I supposed to do, then, Hermione?” said Harry. “I’ve been working toward becoming an Auror for years now, and I’ve got the experience. It’s not like I’ve got the qualifications for anything else.” There was a note of desperation in his voice as he said that last sentence, and he hoped neither of them had noticed it.
Hermione, of course, had noticed it. “Harry, don’t say that, I’m sure there are other jobs you could be perfectly qualified for –”
“Like what?” he said, a little more harshly than he had intended.
Ron, however, was not listening to either of them. “If it’s what Harry wants to do, I say he goes for it.”
“Alright then,” said Hermione, looking defeated. “If it’s what you two want, then I won’t stop you. Personally, I just think it’s a little grim when you remember why it is that the Ministry needs to fill two positions at the Auror office.”
Moody and Tonks. This was a low blow. “You know very well we don’t need reminding of that, Hermione,” said Harry icily.
Ron had a concentrated look on his face, as if he was doing some intensely complicated mental math. “Wait,” he said slowly, “if there’s two positions open… And there’s three of us…”
“Very well spotted, Ron,” said Hermione coolly. “I’m not applying for an Auror position. I’m not interested in a work environment like that.”
“What are you going to do, then?” said Ron.
“There’s a fair few other positions open there, as well,” said Hermione, “and some of them look rather interesting to me. There’s a vacancy at the Ancient Rune Translation Office, one at the Wizard-Muggle Relations Office, and a few in the Magical Number Theory Committee.”
“I see,” said Ron, snatching up the copy of the Prophet and scanning the Magical Number Theory Committee’s advertisement. “You thought being an Auror would be too interesting, so you decided you’d better go for the other extreme?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Just because my interests don’t involve blindly firing my wand at other people… Anyway, it looks like they’re having some kind of job fair at the Ministry next Wednesday. All of these offices are hiring on the same date… What do you say we go and make a day of it?” She folded up her copy of the Prophet and looked up expectantly at Harry and Ron.
Ron shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to try, does it?” He turned to Harry excitedly. “Hey mate, we’re gonna be Aurors, just like we always wanted! I wouldn’t be surprised if they gave us the job right away after seeing who we are!”
Harry grinned at his best friend, but couldn’t help noticing that sick feeling he felt rising inside his stomach. He had never done a job interview like this before. What would these character and aptitude tests entail? Would it be difficult?
Harry shook his head as if to clear it. He was being silly. Where had all his daring, nerve, and chivalry gone? The Sorting Hat had placed him in Gryffindor for a reason. His hands shouldn’t be sweating like this over a simple task.
---
His sense of anxiety did not ease over the next few days. In fact, if anything, it grew. He only wished there was someone he could consult with, someone who had been through the process of Auror training and could tell him exactly what the tests would be like. Some sick instinct in the back of his mind kept picturing the graveyard where he had dueled Lord Voldemort all those years ago, Aurors dressed up as Death Eaters to intimidate him, and wands held high ready to perform the Cruciatus curse…
Unfortunately, he could not speak to Moody or Tonks with a Resurrection Stone, and he could not speak to Kingsley Shacklebolt, the other Auror he had known, as he was piled high with all the new responsibilities of being interim Minister of Magic.
Ron did not seem to share this anxiety, or if he did, he concealed it well. He was, however, more sympathetic than Harry expected. At odd times while they were weeding the garden or repainting a stretch of fence, he had taken up the responsibility of offering his own words of encouragement. “Think about it, Harry, it can’t be anything worse than what we’ve been through… It’s normal to be nervous, remember how I used to get before Quidditch games, and then everything turned out to be fine? It’s just like that…”
Hermione looked impressed at this shred of insight. “It’s just like Ron said, isn’t it?” she said as the two of them washed the dishes the night before the big day. “I don’t think bravery means not being afraid. I think bravery means feeling fear, and still facing it. And you’re the bravest person I know, Harry, don’t try to deny it.” Harry personally thought this was going a bit far, but he kept his mouth shut, knowing better than to contradict her.
---
Despite his best friends’ advice, Harry had never felt less brave than he did the following morning as Hermione’s alarm went off and the three of them sprang out of bed in synchrony.
“Looking fit, Harry,” said Ron, admiring the smooth dark green jacket Harry had put on over his white button-down as they got ready. “I’m sure you’ll do great.” Harry forced a meek grin as his best mate slapped him on the back encouragingly.
“Yes, I agree,” said Hermione distractedly, buttoning up her own nice purple blouse. “But hurry, please, we really must be going, we want to make a good impression, don’t we? Let’s go!”
With that, the three of them rushed down the stairs, taking care to avoid the eggs and toast sitting outside George’s room. After reluctantly accepting a brief hug from Mrs Weasley, a “good luck” from Ginny, and a small handful of Floo Powder from Ron, Harry stepped into the green flames and spoke clearly, avoiding getting any ashes in his mouth: “Ministry of Magic.”
The Ministry of Magic atrium had been completely transformed since the last time Harry had been there. Instead of the characteristically disorganized hustle and bustle he had been used to, with wizards and witches milling about, grabbing a cup of coffee or tea before heading off to their offices, the general flow was drastically changed by the wizards and witches dressed in bright yellow robes directing newcomers to various different departments. Above the lifts at the end of the long atrium was an enormous, colorful sign reading: “WELCOME TO THE FIRST ANNUAL MINISTRY CAREER FAIR.” After a few seconds, the lettering dissipated, only to reform as the new sign said: “INTERESTED IN WORKING WITH THE MINISTRY? APPLY TODAY!”
“Blimey, look at what they’ve done to the place,” said Ron, appearing at Harry’s left and brushing soot off of the smart blue sweater he had placed over his own white button-down. “You reckon those yellow-robed blokes are here to direct us where to go?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Hermione, appearing on Harry’s other side and shaking bits of ash off the brim of her tall witch’s hat. “Well, the Wizard-Muggle Relations Office said they were only doing interviews until noon, so I’d better run. Good luck to you both!” She kissed Harry quickly on the cheek and, standing on the tips of her toes, did the same for Ron before being ushered off by a group of harried-looking yellow-robed wizards.
“Here for the career fair, are you?” said another one, walking up to Harry and Ron who had both been watching Hermione walk off with an enviable confidence in her stride. “Which department?”
“Er – the Auror department?” said Harry awkwardly.
“Magical Law Enforcement?” she replied; Harry was grateful he hadn’t been recognized yet.
“That’s the one,” said Harry. “That’ll be on Level Two, won’t it?”
“Not if you want to be an Auror. The tests are taking place down in the courtrooms on Level Ten. Go down the hallway leading to the Department of Mysteries and take a left –”
“We know where the courtrooms are,” said Harry. Realizing he sounded more uptight than he had intended, he added: “Thanks.” She raised her eyebrows but bustled off to help other newcomers as he grabbed Ron’s arm and pulled him forward to join the long queue to the lifts.
By the time he recognized the white-blond head a few paces in front of him in the queue, it was already too late to bail out, and all of the crowd behind him was pushing him forward. Reluctantly, he stood as far away from Draco Malfoy as he could, attempting to shrink into the other people waiting in the cramped lift and remain unseen.
Ron, who had not spotted his old arch-nemesis yet, had no such luck, and it didn’t help that he was several inches taller than the average person and his head was covered in thick, flaming-red hair. Harry watched the two make eye contact and it was difficult to decide which one of them looked more shocked and embarrassed. After a moment, it became clear that it was Malfoy, who looked away and tried to pretend he hadn’t seen Ron. To Harry’s disappointment, though, Ron turned back to him a moment later and began to whisper: “Harry, did you see who’s –?”
Harry shushed him inconspicuously so as not to draw further attention to himself. Fortunately, Malfoy continued to pretend they weren’t there and got off the lift only a few floors below the atrium. Harry let out a sigh of relief. Gradually, the lift began to empty as it descended, and by the time it had reached Level Ten, Harry and Ron were the only remaining occupants apart from a nervous-looking Unspeakable, working in the Department of Mysteries.
Once out of the lift, the two of them parted ways with the Unspeakable and continued down a hallway that Harry remembered vividly from a series of dreams he had had in his fifth year. He had been glad to be rid of them at the time; now he felt himself wishing he had seen his last of the lowest level of the Ministry of Magic. More recently still, he had been down there again with Ron and Hermione only a few months ago when they had successfully stolen Slytherin’s locket from Professor Umbridge.
Letting his imagination carry him away from him for a second, he allowed himself to wonder where she had ended up. If she was in Azkaban for all the crimes she committed. Or if she had managed to slither away, escaping from consequence yet again. The hatred he felt for her began to swell up inside him and it took a few seconds for him to snap back into reality.
He was now standing in the hallway outside of Courtroom Nine and the adjacent Courtroom Ten, the enormous, cavernous courtroom in which he had been tried for underage magic a few years ago. Lining both sides of the hallway were a few benches, but only two other people were sitting there. Perhaps the others had yet to arrive, or their tests were already underway. Or perhaps there were really very few applicants for the position, due to its track record…
“Harry! Ron!” came an excited voice from one of the two people sitting on the waiting benches as they sat down opposite them. “Long time, no see.”
It took Harry a few seconds in the dim light to identify the girl with the long dark plait sitting across from him as Susan Bones, one of the original members of Dumbledore’s Army. With a jolt, he realized the girl next to her was none other than Cho Chang, whom he had briefly dated in his fifth year.
“Hi,” he replied stiffly. Attempting to fill the uncomfortable silence that followed, he added: “So, you’re both trying out for the Auror office as well?”
“Well, yes,” said Susan Bones earnestly. “All because of your teaching, of course. Neither of us would be where we are now without Dumbledore’s Army.”
Harry was about to reply modestly that that couldn’t be true, that they shouldn’t attribute all their success at Defense magic to his efforts, but just then an official-looking witch dressed in the iconic dark red Auror robes came out of Courtroom Ten to say, “We’re ready for another applicant. Who’s next?”
“Oh, er, I’ll go next, I guess,” said Susan Bones, looking nervous but determined nonetheless. She took a deep breath and attempted to flatten the last few creases in her blouse as she stood up and followed the Auror witch into the courtroom.
Harry watched her go, wondering to himself what could be waiting behind those doors, if it was really as frightening as he was making it out to be or if he was just going insane ever since the war. Turning back to the others, he noticed Cho’s gaze lingering on him for a few more seconds than he expected.
“Er – how have you been?” he asked Cho, continuing his brave attempts to create small talk.
“Not bad, actually,” she said. “Although if I’m being honest, I’ve been struggling to find a job. I didn’t originally want to be an Auror, but after the last few opportunities fell through, I reckoned I’d better try at least…”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Harry politely. “What were the other opportunities you were looking at?”
“Er – well, Luna got me interested in Magizoology,” she said, “but I’ve never been all that good at Care of Magical Creatures, so I couldn’t get a contract.” Harry gritted his teeth, bracing himself for her to imply that it was all Hagrid’s fault, that if he had been a better teacher then she might have gotten the job, but she didn’t say anything of the sort. Instead, she just went back to tapping her foot. “Although, I don’t think I’ll have any better luck at this. Remember how I always struggled with the Disarming charm? I hope they don’t ask us to perform one of those in the tests.”
Certain that they would, in fact, be keen for applicants to demonstrate a simple Disarming charm, Harry said nothing more than: “Yeah, I’m a little nervous myself, honestly.”
“Although,” Cho continued thoughtfully, “I was thinking… If I don’t do well in these tests, I might as well try out for the Tutshill Tornados, right? I won’t have anything else to lose…”
Cho was interrupted by the arrival of another wizard in dark red Auror robes, this time emerging from the neighboring Courtroom Nine. “Who’s next?” he said in a gruff voice, perhaps believing that a more elaborate introduction would have wasted precious time. Cho got up and followed him out after Harry and Ron had both wished her luck.
Now alone in the corridor, Harry and Ron sat in worried silence. After a few minutes passed, he turned to Ron and asked, “What d’you reckon they’re doing in there?”
To which Ron replied helpfully, “Dunno.”
“I just hope it’s not too bad, though,” said Harry, mostly to himself. Ron didn’t seem to be much in the mood for talking at the moment: Harry saw that he was waving his wand and mouthing various incantations he had learned over the years, trying to get some last-minute practice in before the next round of tests began.
“I wonder if Hermione’s done already,” Harry wondered aloud, once again to himself. A group of four or five newcomers sat down a few benches down from them, evidently too intimidated to approach the famous Boy Who Lived.
---
After what seemed like an eternity, the same witch who had invited Susan Bones into Courtroom Ten returned and said, once again, “Ready for another applicant now. Who’s next?”
Harry stood up, his nerves mounting to a new extreme. Ron stood up with him and gave him a reassuring pat on the back, which somehow actually helped, before Harry followed the witch into the courtroom.
It was as if he had stepped into a messed-up fusion of two different memories. On the one hand, the cold, expansive, echoing chamber reminded him of his trial. But on the other hand, very little of what had been there during his trial – including the handcuffed chair on the wide court floor – remained. Instead, the majority of the room had been reorganized into a strange maze-like structure. It truly was the third task all over again.
“As I’m sure you’ve guessed, your task is to navigate through this maze, which is booby-trapped with various obstacles similar to scenarios you may face as an Auror. In order to pass, you must retrieve the chalice found at the other end of the room. You will be scored based on the success with which you pass through the obstacles and your general proven aptitude with Defense magic – so expect to be using your wand.”
Harry, who had already been holding on to his holly and phoenix wand somewhat tighter than necessary, tightened his grip even more.
“This task is designed to test your character, bravery, perseverance, stealth, and of course, adaptability in unexpected scenarios. However, in the case that you find yourself unable to pass by a certain obstacle or you feel in danger, simply shout for help, and one of us in the red robes will come help you. Oh, and one more recommendation: as I’ve mentioned, stealth is one of the criteria we will be using to judge you. Therefore, you’ll have a lot better chances if you stick to non-verbal spells. Any further questions?”
Harry gulped. This was a lot of information at once, and that last bit about only using non-verbal spells had only made him more nervous: they had always been quite difficult for him. Still, he shook his head in an indication that he was ready.
“Good lad,” said the Auror, pulling out a quill and a long strip of parchment. “And… your name is?”
Harry blinked. “Er – Harry Potter.”
The slightest involuntary twitch in her hand as she wrote the name on the parchment just under “SUSAN BONES” was the only indication of any surprise she felt at being in the presence of someone so famous. “Very well, Harry Potter,” she said, looking up from the parchment again. “Good luck.”
Before he could even so much as mutter his thanks, he was suddenly drenched in freezing water. All his muscles seized up just in time for him to look up to see where it was coming from, but the stream of water had vanished as quickly as it had started.
“Sorry about that,” said the Auror, and Harry could tell she meant it: She watched his teeth chatter with an almost pitiful expression on her face. “We had to make sure you hadn’t brought any enchantments with you or taken any potions to enhance your magical abilities. It’s a trick we learned from the goblins.”
---
The next moment, the lights had turned out and the courtroom had fallen into utter darkness. Harry groped around at the walls surrounding him for a moment before he remembered himself, pulled out his wand, and said “Lumos.” The Auror who had led him in had vanished, and he was alone at the start of the maze. The task had begun.
With a jolt he remembered that he was not to rely on verbal spells, and vowed to keep his mouth shut until the end of the task. Taking one last look around to see if he could make out any paths that looked clearer than the others, he started in on the maze. A loud crunching sound below his feet alerted him to the fact that the ground was littered with gravel. Thinking quickly, he managed to cast a passable Silencing charm on his shoes, which muffled the sound fairly well.
It was not long before he came across his first obstacle: a noise that sounded almost like the chirping of birds had alerted him that something was coming up. By the light of his wand, he could see a thick pack of flying animals, each one as black as night itself and barely larger than a small owl. The intense, almost confused flapping and, of course, the fangs, gave it away that these were Vampires.
Harry racked his brains for some shred of knowledge he had learned back in one of his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes that would help him ward off the blood-sucking bat-like creatures. They were getting nearer and nearer now… He thought of the Reductor curse, but then remembered he was supposed to be acting stealthy. He was suddenly reminded of Professor Quirrell’s turban, though he did not know why…
Garlic. It had been a common rumor that Professor Quirrell’s irrational fear of Vampires had led him to store garlic in his turban, though that had been quite far from the truth… Harry stooped low and picked up a small pebble from the gravel at his feet to attempt to transfigure it into a clove of garlic. He had flourished his wand a little too much – Professor McGonagall would have taken marks off for that – but sure enough, he was soon met with the strong odor of garlic, which he mashed between his hands and held in front of him like a shield. The Vampires reacted immediately, fleeing before him and leaving his path clear.
It was a few more turns before he came across his next obstacle. He thought of Ron as he scared away the enormous spider with a flash of startlingly bright light emanating from his wand. Next was a foul-smelling, eight-foot troll lumbering towards him with a sinister club clutched in his hands, which Harry easily Disarmed and, with a stroke of inspiration, levitated the club and let it drop over his head, rendering him unconscious.
Stepping over the thick body of the troll lying on the ground before him, he came directly upon his next obstacle: a cavernous pool of pitch-dark water. The effect was apparent as soon as he laid eyes on it. It was almost as if something had clicked off in his brain. The water looked so inviting and smooth; it was calling to him… Harry was overcome with an immediate desire to jump in and feel it embrace him, to sink into the depths and forget, forget everything and be forgotten… Or maybe just to take off his socks and dip his feet in…
He was just bending down to remove his shoes, as if in a trance, when he heard another voice in his mind. No, you shouldn’t go in there, it’s not safe… Don’t jump in the water…
Yes, do jump in… Think of how cool and comfortable it would be…
No, I don’t think I will… I’m not in the mood to get wet…
Jump in, now… You know you want to…
No, I don’t… I don’t want to…
Yes, you do, so jump in, NOW!
Shaking his head, Harry realized when he had felt this sensation before: when Professor Moody had cast the Imperius Curse on him in class. He had to snap out of it; that way was not the right way to go.
Turning aside, he stepped back over the troll’s thick legs and made a different turn than the one he had made before. And there it was, sitting in front of him. A large chest lined with silver decoration. He had reached the end of the courtroom; this chest surely contained the chalice he needed.
It was locked, as he had expected. Forgetting his need for secrecy and stealth, he said: “Alohomora!” To his surprise, the spell worked, and the lock clicked open.
Taking a deep breath, he lifted open the chest. There was the chalice, but something was wrong. A cold, clammy sensation had suddenly come over his entire body. He began to shiver as he realized the light of his wand had become dimmed, and the darkness had somehow thickened, deepened, surrounding him on all sides…
Then he saw it, rising out of the chest, shrouded in a dark mist. A dementor. A ringing sound was reaching his ears as if from afar, but no, it wasn’t a ringing sound, it was screaming, anguished, blood-curdling screaming, two familiar voices that he recognized, crying out in soul-wrenching grief…
“No! HARRY!”
“NOOOOO!”
It was Ron and Hermione. They were standing right outside the entrance hall to Hogwarts, covered in blood and dirt, looking at a corpse lying in the ground in the grass, several yards away, his corpse, Harry’s lifeless corpse… He wanted to cry out to them, to tell them everything was going to be okay, but no, everything wasn’t okay, they were surrounded by Death Eaters, the snake was still alive, the snake had to be killed, they needed to understand, Voldemort had to be killed, for neither could live while the other survived… But they were still screaming, screaming louder than ever, and he suddenly realized he was screaming too, his voice joining theirs in a chorus of anguish, anguish to which the only end could be death…
Tipping forward into the dark, welcoming abyss, his eyes rolled back into his head and he saw no more.