"Everyone! I've thought of a way. Do you still remember the creatures that pulled our carriages when we entered Hogwarts?"
As soon as Harry Potter returned to Gryffindor, he announced his discovery. The morale of Dumbledore's Army was low, and they needed encouragement at this time. Otherwise, their plan for outside activities might end up falling apart.
"Harry! Are you talking about those horses we could see only after the Goblet of Fire?"
Ron Weasley asked doubtfully. Those creatures were gaunt, their black skin stretched tight over bones, resembling skeletal beings.
"Strictly speaking, they aren't horses. They're Thestrals. There are over a hundred of them at Hogwarts, enough to carry all of us."
Harry Potter could already imagine what it would look like—him leading Dumbledore's Army, soaring through the sky on Thestrals.
"Then what are we waiting for? Let's start preparing in the next couple of days."
Several Gryffindors cheered loudly in excitement. None of them realized that the most dangerous places in the world were beside the Dark Lord and beside the Savior. And at this moment, Harry Potter was both.
The little lions wasted no time. They rushed to the library, researched Thestrals, and learned that these creatures preferred to eat meat. That perfectly matched what Harry had seen in the Forbidden Forest.
They gathered meat, lured several Thestrals, and tried riding them on short flights. After several test runs, everyone was finally ready.
When the holidays arrived, upper-year students were allowed to visit Hogsmeade.
But this time, they all gave up the trip. Instead, they rested well, waiting for nightfall to head for the Ministry of Magic.
Everything went smoothly. Each of them mounted a Thestral. The creatures had an excellent sense of direction—an innate instinct. All they needed was a destination, and the Thestrals would carry them straight there.
Under the night sky, more than ten Thestrals weaved between the tall buildings of London, swiftly delivering them to their destination. Once the task was complete, the Thestrals immediately returned to Hogwarts.
After hours, the Ministry of Magic was silent. Its facilities remained operational, maintained automatically by magic. Its defenses were aimed at Muggles rather than wizards, so the little lions slipped in easily.
"I think it should be here. Then this way… let me think… yes! Here it is."
Dashing Harry Potter led the way, charging ahead with Dumbledore's Army trailing after him. Though they stumbled through the Ministry, relying on impressions from his dreams, he eventually found the right place—a massive vault door at the end of a black-decorated corridor.
When they reached it, they discovered the door had already been opened, left only slightly ajar.
"This is bad. They must already be here. Once we go in, be careful not to focus only on finding the prophecy orb."
Harry warned his companions of the danger, then stepped resolutely inside.
How should one describe the Hall of Prophecy?The entire chamber was filled with shelves and crystal balls. The shelves were at least ten meters tall, packed densely with crystal spheres of every size. Each row stretched twenty meters, with gaps only wide enough for a single person to walk through. The main aisle was only slightly wider, enough for two people side by side. The entire space was consumed by shelves and crystal balls.
The shining Harry Potter and his army carefully lit their wands with Lumos. The reflected light from the crystal balls surrounded them like a starry sky.
"I feel like it should be around here. Everyone, look carefully."
Harry suddenly paused, his instincts tugging at him. The group raised their wands toward the shelves.
"Harry! This one has your name, along with Professor Sybill Trelawney's, and a date!"
Neville Longbottom had spotted a small crystal ball. Its tag dangled beneath like a windchime.
"This is it. This is what the Dark Lord has been after."
Harry was overjoyed. He hadn't expected to find the prophecy about him so easily.
"The child born that day is destined to battle the Dark Lord. Only one of them can live."
Professor Trelawney's voice echoed from within the orb, and the little lions gathered around to listen.
"Let me hear it!"
A silver hand suddenly reached out and snatched the prophecy orb from Harry's grasp.
What was happening? Only then did the little lions realize—the prophecy orb had been stolen.
The silver hand that had seized it wrapped the orb into its arm before its owner lit a wand.
Peter Pettigrew. His severed hand had been replaced by Voldemort.
"What are you doing here?"
Harry demanded nervously. His opponent was a Death Eater, and he was certain Pettigrew wouldn't be alone.
Sure enough, six Death Eaters emerged two by two from a nearby corridor.
"Thank you so much. We've been coming here every night for so long, searching for this prophecy orb, but we never made any progress. It seems only someone connected to the prophecy can actually find it."
Of course, this was a lie—a cover for Lord Voldemort. After all, he was now merged with Harry, and it wasn't yet the right time to reveal that his consciousness had returned.
Earlier that very morning, Lucius Malfoy had appeared at 4 Privet Drive. Since rejoining the Death Eaters, he was now able to access that address. His purpose had been to inform Pettigrew that his chance to earn merit had arrived.
They had rehearsed thoroughly—what should be said, what must not be said—like actors memorizing lines. And if words failed, they would simply fight. How far that fight went was another matter, and Pettigrew would always end up "educated" again.
It seemed Peter Pettigrew's fate was to be scolded and beaten wherever he went.
At last, night came. As soon as the Thestrals of Hogwarts took flight, Lucius Malfoy received word.
Thus, Pettigrew led half the Death Eaters to ambush in the Hall of Prophecy ahead of time.
It wasn't long before Harry and his army arrived. Their wands glowed with Lumos, and within moments they found the prophecy orb. But curiously, it wasn't Harry who located it—it was Neville Longbottom.
Reciting his rehearsed lines, Pettigrew slowly retreated while the six Death Eaters advanced, encircling Harry's group and cutting them off from him.
Once the Death Eaters closed in, the treasure hunt at the Ministry was already doomed to fail. But that was exactly what Harry wanted. Bringing the orb back to Hogwarts would have been foolish. It would inevitably end up in Dumbledore's hands.
"Harry! Don't let them take the orb!"
Neville roared, swinging his wand and casting Stupefy, knocking one Death Eater flying.
Damn it. A brawl was now unavoidable.
Pettigrew immediately turned and fled. His mission was complete—the orb was in his hands.
"Don't let him get away! After him!"
The little lions howled and charged, as if they had all drunk elation elixirs.
"They have seven Death Eaters."
Harry reminded his companions. Though he too wanted to give chase, his instincts forced him to caution them.
"We outnumber them."
The earlier voice rang out again. Dumbledore's Army burned hotter than the Theban Legion, their wands firing curses with startling accuracy and success.
"Diffindo!" "Reducto!" "Impedimenta!" "Stupefy!"
The little lions unleashed every spell they knew. This was the most exhilarating fight they'd ever had.
Pettigrew fled the wrong way. Instead of running toward the Wizengamot chamber, he bolted for the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. Forced by the little lions' barrage of spells, he stumbled into disgrace.
By the time they passed through, the shelves of the Hall of Prophecy had been completely destroyed, and every single crystal orb lay shattered into pieces.
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