“Did you hear them?” I asked Hermione, putting the mirror away.

“Yes. But we’re stuck here. It looks like the interior of the Ministry is connected by elevators like through space distortion. We’re not going to get there that easily. And it seemed like an easy option.”

Having launched the Architect’s abilities to the full, Rowena and I tried to walk along these spatial anomalies, and it helped — a semblance of tree roots formed in my head, which are an interpreted map. As I understood, without having a clear reference point, we were just wandering in this spatial anomaly linking the levels of the ministry together. What will they think of inventing next?

“I know where to go. Give me your hand — I’ll get through.”

Hermione materialized her hand, though I had to find it almost by touch. As soon as I took her by the hand, I immediately pulled her into my apparation, which was somewhat more difficult, but here Hermione helped to maintain this transfiguration of space without causing really great difficulties in its paired performance. Trusting the Architect’s abilities, I set off in the seemingly right direction, and after a couple of moments, we were thrown into a small dark hall with smooth black tiles on the walls. Several passageways were leading out of the hall, but only one led to the noise of spells and some kind of commotion.

“Remember my condition?”

“Of course.”

I pushed absolutely all my abilities to the max. At the same time, connecting Rowena’s computing power to the full, not forgetting to use her in controlling both magic and the body if necessary, I rushed into the paired apparation into the passage from where the noise was heard.

«And I will also try to implement at least a little magical effect, similar to the Delphine ritual.»

Effectiveness?

«Less than ten percent. Without potions, even an exact reproduction of the influence won’t bring a really meaningful result. But even a couple of percent is already good. How do we proceed?»

You already know – we rush in, assess the situation, attack as quickly and harshly as possible, simultaneously saving someone if necessary, and then try not to die.

«That’s a great plan. After all, it looks like the hat is never wrong.»

***

In a huge round hall with infinitely high dark vaulted ceilings, on the central platform, on a pedestal, stood a high ancient stone arch. It seemed as if the arch was covered with some kind of torn transparent fabric, or smoke, or maybe some kind of flowing water. Rows of benches rose from the platform in a circle like an amphitheater, and several passages led to the hall itself, where the benches ended. But that was not what the hall was notable for at the moment.

On the central platform, at the very pedestal with an arch, eight teenagers were grouped. They looked terrible: multiple scorch marks on clothing, traces of blood, bruises, and abrasions. Ginny Weasley, a red-haired girl, was sitting on the floor, leaning her back against the pedestal, occasionally helping her comrades put up a translucent gray dome of Protego Totalus. She could not stand, her legs were broken in several places and unnaturally twisted. Shoulder to shoulder with the girl sat a chubby boy of medium height, clutching a recently received wound with his hand, but no one had time to help, and he could not because he was unable to pronounce a single intelligible spell.

The red-haired twins looked a little better, quite deftly holding and updating the protection or sometimes transfiguring various objects that protected against spells, sometimes breaking through the protection. Another red-haired guy, tall and ungainly, was lying unconscious next to them, and his friend, Harry Potter, was helping the twins as much as he could. The pale blonde in a strange combination of clothes of different colors looked the best in this company. By some miracle, she managed to dodge the spells of the Death Eaters, who were now throwing spells at the teenagers’ defenses.

Harry Potter has never felt more helpless in his life than at the moment. Any decision will be wrong. A dozen and a half Death Eaters in black clothes and robes drove them like kittens. Playfully. While the guys who followed Harry to save his godfather could barely defend themselves from the Hall of Prophecies itself, not even finding time to negotiate, the Death Eaters easily threw spells even during their ridicule and mockery. No other than by a miracle, all the guys are alive… For now…

It wasn’t until the moment they were here and took up defensive positions at the pedestal with the arch that Harry realized the full meaning of Knight’s taunts about how “You want to go out against an adult wizard?” After all, Harry thought training made sense. After all, he learned an incredible amount of spells last year! After all, he and the guys trained so much! And now Harry realized the gulf of difference between a student, an ordinary wizard, a layman, or an employee of the Ministry’s peace department. Now, when none other than Barty Crouch Jr., standing ten meters away from the protection of the guys, held a wand at the temple of Sirius, who was kneeling, tortured and broken, demanding a ball of prophecy that Harry held in his hands, and his friends and comrades, like Sirius himself, shout: “Don’t you dare!”.

“I’m sick of it!” Crouch shouted, smiling furiously, licking his lips. “Stop playing with them! They’ve arranged Mordred knows what here!”

“Oh, our little Barty is upset,” a tall, statuesque witch with a crown of unruly black hair and a crazy smile in all thirty-two perfect white teeth spoke as if talking to a small child.

Bellatrix Lestrange, and it was she, lazily pointed her wand at the Protego dome, under which the teenagers were hiding. A spell or two came at the dome every second, either spreading out or breaking it cleanly, and Harry clearly understood that if the Death Eaters wanted to, they would have smeared them with a thin layer on the walls of the ministry long ago.

“Avada Kedavra,” Bellatrix lazily uttered the words of the Unforgivable Curse, and the bright green ray passed through the protection unhindered…