Harry barely had emotion to spare for Bode, but his unfaltering gaze did not make him feel any more comfortable.
“Department of Mysteries,” said the cool female voice, and left it at that.
“Quick, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley as the lift doors rattled open, and they sped up a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor. Harry expected them to go through it, but instead Mr. Weasley seized him by the arm and dragged him to the left, where there was an opening leading to a flight of steps.
“Down here, down here,” panted Mr. Weasley, taking two steps at a time. “The lift doesn’t even come down this far … why they’re doing it there …”
They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to that which led to Snape’s dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes.
“Courtroom … ten … I think … we’re nearly … yes.”
Mr. Weasley stumbled to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock and slumped against the wall, clutching at a stitch in his chest.
“Go on,” he panted, pointing his thumb at the door. “Get in there.”
“Aren’t — aren’t you coming with — ?”
“No, no, I’m not allowed. Good luck!”
Harry’s heart was beating a violent tattoo against his Adam’s apple. He swallowed hard, turned the heavy iron door handle, and stepped inside the courtroom.
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