94 Diagon Alley

Harry pulled his arm out, but he just wouldn't listen.

"Harry, we're here to save Sirius!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Sirius," Harry repeated, still in a trance, his eyes fixed on the constantly fluttering drapery, "Alas..." He finally came to his senses; Sirius was caught, bound and tortured, while he was here staring at the arch? ? He took a few steps back and left the stone platform, his eyes abruptly averted from the curtain.

"Let's go," he said.

"I've been asking you - fine, let's go!" said Hermione, walking back around the stone platform. On the other side of the stone platform, Ginny and Neville were also gazing at the drapery, clearly fascinated. Gwen grabbed Ginny's arm, Ron grabbed Neville's arm, and strode resolutely to the bottom stone bench, climbing all the way back to the entrance of the room.

"What do you think that arch is?" Harry asked Gwen as they returned to the black circular room. "Does it feel the same as before the last Triwizard Tournament?"

Gwen shook her head first: "I don't know, if last year I felt a great danger." Then she affirmed, "This time something makes me feel that my soul is being Frozen - let's just say, that's worse than death."

Hermione shook, said nothing, and drew another X on the door.

The wall gradually stopped, and Harry pushed open a door next to him in desperation. "It's here!"

When he saw the beautiful, diamond-like jumping light, he immediately recognized this room. After his eyes gradually got used to the dazzling light here, he could clearly see that the dials of many clocks were shimmering. They vary in size, from grandfather clocks to travel clocks, hanging between bookshelves or standing on tables the length of the room. Because of this, a rapid, never-ending ticking fills the room, like thousands of tiny footsteps. The diamond-bright leaping light came from a towering bell-shaped crystal glass dome at the far end of the room.

Harry's heart skipped a beat once he knew they were on the right track. He walked ahead, following the narrow gap between the tables to the light source, as he did in a dream. The bell-shaped crystal glass hood was as tall as Harry and stood on a table, and it seemed to be filled with a churning, gleaming air.

"Oh, look!" said Ginny, pointing to the center of the bell as they approached.

In the flickering light, a small, gem-like egg floated. When it rose in the glass cover, it cracked with a snap, and a hummingbird emerged and went straight to the very top of the glass cover, but as the air flow fell, the bird's feathers were soiled again, Wet until it falls to the very bottom of the glass cover and is trapped in the egg again.

"Keep going, don't stop!" Harry snapped, because Ginny seemed eager to stop and watch the egg turn into a bird.

"Enough of your stay at the old arch!" she said, but she followed behind him, past the bell-shaped crystal glass to the only door behind it.

"This is it," Harry said again. His heart was beating so fast, he thought it must be affecting his language, "It's going through here—"

He glanced around at the others, who had all drawn out their wands, all of a sudden serious and urgent. He looked back at the door again. He pushed and the door opened.

Seven people came inside and they finally found this place. It's as tall as a church, and it's lined with towering shelves filled with little dusty glass spheres, but nothing else. More candlesticks were embedded in the shelves at certain intervals, and the dim light came from above, and the flames were blue like those in the black circular room. Those little glass **** gleamed faintly in the light. It's cold inside the house.

Harry stepped forward slowly and glanced down at a dark aisle between the two rows of shelves. He could not hear a sound, and he could not feel any movement, even the slightest.

"You said row 97." Hermione whispered beside him.

"Yes." Harry replied softly, looking up at the end of the nearest row. The candle glowed blue, and the silver number 53 flashed under the stand. "I think we should go to the right," Hermione whispered, glancing sideways at the row next to her, "By the way... it's 54. …”

"Everyone has their wands ready," Harry said softly.

They crept forward along the long aisle between the shelves, glancing back from time to time, it was almost pitch black in the distance. Small yellowed labels are affixed to the shelves under each glass ball. Some of the spheres glowed mysteriously flowing light, others were dim and dark, like extinguished light bulbs.

They walked through row 84...row 85 - Harry was trying to hear the slightest movement, but he couldn't hear anything, maybe Sirius' mouth was gagged, maybe he Already unconscious...or, a disgusting voice crept into his head: "Maybe he's dead..."

If that was the case, I could feel it, Harry reminded himself, his heart was beating in his throat, and I would know… "97!" Hermione whispered.

They stood together at one end of row 97, staring intently at the corridor next to the shelves, where Gwen was sure no one was there.

"He should be right there," Harry said, his mouth dry. "It's impossible to see clearly here."

He led everyone through between two rows of towering glass spheres, some of which shone faintly as they passed... "He should be around here," Harry said in a strong voice Xiao, he was convinced that every time he took a step forward, the figure of Sirius would appear on the pitch-black floor, "It's somewhere here...it's really close..."

"Harry?" Hermione tried to call him, but he didn't want to answer, his mouth was dry.

They have come to the other end of the row of shelves, exposed to more dim candlelight. There is no one here either. Only echoes and dusty silence.

"He might be..." Harry whispered in a hoarse voice, staring at the next aisle, "or maybe..." He immediately looked down the next aisle.

"Harry?" Hermione called again.

"What?" He became impatient.

"I...I don't think Sirius is here."

No one spoke. Harry didn't want to see any of them. He felt bad. He didn't understand why Sirius wasn't here. And he should be here. That's where Harry met him... He ran quickly in one direction past the rows of shelves, looking down them. One empty aisle after another flashed past him. His buddy stared straight at him, and he turned again, passed them, and ran in the opposite direction. There was no sign of Sirius anywhere, and no sign of a fight.

"Harry?" Ron shouted. "Did you see this?"

"What?" Harry asked, his tone eager this time—it must be a sign or clue that Sirius had been here. The others were standing a little inward at the end of the rack in row 97, and he strode up to them, finding nothing but Ron staring at a dirty glass ball on the rack.

"It's on this—it's got your name on it," said Ron.

Harry moved closer, Ron pointed to a small glass ball, it was dirty, like Ollivander's window that had not been cleaned in hundreds of years. But the shimmer inside makes it a little shiny.

"My name?" Harry asked blankly.

He stepped forward, and since he was not as tall as Ron, he had to straighten his neck to look at the yellowed label under the glass ball on the shelf. A date from about sixteen years ago was marked in fine print, followed by

S.P.T.toA.P.W.B.D.

DarkLord

and()HarryPotter

"What's this?" Ron asked. "How come your name is on this?"

He glanced at the other labels on the shelf.

"There's no name on the shelf," Ron said in confusion, "and no one else's."

"That long list of abbreviations should be Dumbledore." Gwen snapped his fingers to the alphanumerics. "But who is S.P.T?"

"Harry, I don't think you should touch it," Hermione shrilled as Harry reached over.

"Why shouldn't it?" he said, "It has something to do with me, doesn't it?"

"No, Harry," said Neville suddenly. Harry glanced at him. Neville's sweaty round face was slightly lit, and it seemed that he couldn't bear any more unease and anxiety.

"My name is on it," said Harry.

He thought about leaving him alone, so he took hold of the dirty little ball. He thought it was icy cold, but instead, it felt as if it had been in the sun for hours, as if warmed by its own light. Looking forward, even hoping that something dramatic would happen, that there would be something exciting that would finally make their long and perilous journey worthwhile, he took the glass ball off the shelf and stared. look at it.

Nothing happened. Six other people came and stood around him, and he brushed the thick surface of the glass ball with his hand.