He was watching Uncle Vernon hammering the letterbox shut

He was watching Uncle Vernon hammering the letterbox shut ... a hundred dementors were drifting across the lake in the grounds towards him ... he was running along a windowless passage with Mr. Weasley ... they were

drawing nearer to the plain black door at the end of the corridor ... Harry expected to go through it ... but Mr. Weasley led him off to the left, down a flight of stone steps ...

‘I KNOW! I KNOW!’

He was on all fours again on Snape's office floor, his scar was prickling unpleasantly, but the voice that had just issued from his mouth was triumphant. He pushed himself up again to find Snape storing at him, his wand raised.

It looked as though, this time, Snape had lifted the spell before Harry had even tried to fight back.

‘What happened then, Potter?’ he asked, eyeing Harry intently.

‘I saw—I remembered,’ Harry panted. ‘I've just realised ...’

‘Realised what?’ asked Snape sharply.

Harry did not answer at once; he was still savouring the moment of blinding realisation as he rubbed his forehead ...

He had been dreaming about a windowless corridor ending in a locked door for months, without once realising that it was a real place. Now, seeing the memory again, he knew that all along he had been dreaming about the

corridor down which he had run with Mr. Weasley on the twelfth of August as they hurried to the courtrooms in the Ministry; it was the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries and Mr. Weasley had been there the night

that he had been attacked by Voldemort's snake.

He looked up at Snape.

‘What's in the Department of Mysteries?’

‘What did you say?’ Snape asked quietly and Harry saw, with deep satisfaction, that Snape was unnerved.

‘I said, what's in the Department of Mysteries, sir?’ Harry said.

‘And why,’ said Snape slowly, ‘would you ask such a thing?’

‘Because,’ said Harry, watching Snape's face closely, ‘that corridor I've just seen—I've been dreaming about it for months—I've just recognised it—it leads to the Department of Mysteries ... and I think Voldemort wants

something from—’

‘I have told you not to say the Dark Lord's name!’

They glared at each other. Harry's scar seared again, but he did not care. Snape looked agitated; but when he spoke again he sounded as though he was trying to appear cool and unconcerned.

‘There are many things in the Department of Mysteries, Potter, few of which you would understand and none of which concern you. Do I make myself plain?’

‘Yes,’ Harry said, still rubbing his prickling scar, which was becoming more painful.

‘I want you back here same time on Wednesday. We will continue work then.’

‘Fine,’ said Harry. He was desperate to get out of Snape's office and find Ron and Hermione.

‘You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep; empty it, make it blank and calm, you understand?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry, who was barely listening.

‘And be warned, Potter ... I shall know if you have not practised ...’

‘Right,’ Harry mumbled. He picked up his schoolbag, swung it over his shoulder and hurried towards the office door. As he opened it, he glanced back at Snape, who had his back to Harry and was scooping his own thoughts

out of the Pensieve with the tip of his wand and replacing them carefully inside his own head. Harry left without another word, closing the door carefully behind him, his scar still throbbing painfully.

Harry found Ron and Hermione in the library, where they were working on Umbridge's most recent ream of homework. Other students, nearly all of them fifth-years, sat at lamp-lit tables nearby, noses close to books, quills

scratching feverishly, while the sky outside the mullioned windows grew steadily blacker. The only other sound was the slight squeaking of one of Madam Pince's shoes, as the librarian prowled the aisles menacingly,

breathing down the necks of those touching her precious books.

Harry felt shivery; his scar was still aching, he felt almost feverish.

When he sat down opposite Ron and Hermione, he caught sight of himself in the window opposite; he was very white and his scar seemed to be showing up more clearly than usual.

‘How did it go?’ Hermione whispered, and then, looking concerned. ‘Are you all right, Harry?’

‘Yeah ... fine ... I dunno,’ said Harry impatiently, wincing as pain shot through his scar again. ‘Listen ... I've just realised something ...’

And he told them what he had just seen and deduced.

‘So ... so are you saying ...’ whispered Ron, as Madam Pince swept past, squeaking slightly ‘that the weapon—the thing You-Know-Who's after—is in the Ministry of Magic?’

‘In the Department of Mysteries, it's got to be,’ Harry whispered. ‘I saw that door when your dad took me down to the courtrooms for my hearing and it's definitely the same one he was guarding when the snake bit him.’

Hermione let out a long, slow sigh.

‘Of course,’ she breathed.

‘Of course what?’ said Ron rather impatiently.

‘Ron, think about it... Sturgis Podmore was trying to get through a door at the Ministry of Magic ... it must have been that one, it's too much of a coincidence!’

‘How come Sturgis was trying to break in when he's on our side?’ said Ron.

‘Well, I don't know,’ Hermione admitted. ‘That is a bit odd ...’

‘So what's in the Department of Mysteries?’ Harry asked Ron. ‘Has your dad ever mentioned anything about it?’

‘I know they call the people who work in there “Unspeakables",’ said Ron, frowning. ‘Because no one really seems to know what they do—weird place to have a weapon.’

‘It's not weird at all, it makes perfect sense,’ said Hermione. ‘It will be something top secret that the Ministry has been developing, I expect ... Harry, are you sure you're all right?’
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