In Search of Sirius: The Land of the Living Dead

Chapter Nine: The Palace of Bones

Harry looked very small and alone as he approached the Palace of Bones. It seemed less serene now. Perhaps that had been a glamour laid on it by the Warden, to lull visitors into a false sense of security. It was still just as beautiful in the setting sun, but its shimmering surfaces now appeared treacherous rather than gentle. The intricate towers reminded Harry less of lace and more of needles.

The Warden appeared and barred the path, his squat legs astride.

"Oh," he said snidely, "you're back."

"I've got the things," Harry told him. "Look: grain, wool, salt. Just like you told me."

The gnome-like man snickered. "So, you have the entrance fee. If you wish, you may enter. Do you ask to enter?"

"Yes."

"On your head be it. I believe there is an ancient curse in your world: be careful what you ask for, because you might get it. Rather apt, really."

Harry ignored this. "What do I do after that? How do I find Sirius?"

"Not my problem, boyo. Go on then, if you're going. I have better things to do than hang around here all day talking to you." The Warden stepped aside, and bowed floridly. "Proceed."

Rather hesitantly, Harry did so. The great ivory gate remained firmly barred in his face. However, a much smaller door set within it swung open even before he could raise his hand to knock. Harry had to stoop in order to pass through.

He wasn't sure what to expect. It wasn't, however, what he found.

A dusty track stretched into the distance. It scored a path across a bare and windswept plain. A red sun pulsed in the sky, and the whole scene was suffused with its baleful light. Harry chewed his lip, and then began to walk. He felt very uneasy. Sirius, he thought, to keep his courage and his hopes up.

He did not have to walk far before the path forked sharply both to the left and to the right. Ominously, a hangman's gibbet stood in the centre of the three roads. At its foot, beneath the swinging noose, dozed two creatures. They looked, to Harry's eyes, quite identical. Each was about four feet high, dressed all in black, and every bit of their skin that Harry could see was covered in a dense mat of curling hair. He paused. He did not know which way to go: perhaps he should ask these creatures? On the other hand, he noticed, the one on the left had a business-like machete hung around its plump waist, and the one on the right dangled a hangman's hood.

The decision was taken away from him. Even as he stood there, they both leapt up. The one with the machete began to wave it menacingly. Harry stumbled backwards.

"What do you want?" demanded the one on the right. Not really into small talk then, thought Harry.

"Why are you here?" asked the one on the left.

"I'm, I'm looking for my Godfather, Sirius. Do you know which way I would need to go to find him - please?"

They smiled, baring sharp little teeth. "Yes. But in return for this information, we want a little something from you." Harry had been expecting this. He really thought the inhabitants of Mag Mell ought to learn the value of the concept of "gift".

"What?" he asked cautiously, hoping it wasn't his right leg or something trivial like that.

"It is very easy. All we want is for you to tell us something about the future."

"If what you say is wrong, you will be beheaded."

"If what you say is right, you will be hanged."

They bared their teeth at him again.

Great options, thought Harry despairingly. "But hang on! I already paid my entrance fee!"

"What of it?"

"You have gained entrance."

"Now you want to know which way to go."

"A quite different matter, oh yes. Quite different."

Harry ruffled a hand through his hair. There had to be some way through this. It had to be a riddle of some kind, with some clever answer. Where was Hermione when you needed her? He sat down with his head in his hands. All sorts of answers went through his head, and none of them would get him out of this mess.

Time was passing. Harry began to feel deeply nervous. His brain was overheating, and the more desperate he became to find an answer, the less coherently he could think. Ron, Hermione and Snape were all waiting for him outside, and it couldn't be that long before Voldemort's shade awoke from its little nap. He thought, and thought. It was a hundred times worse than his OWL exams.

He had to say something about the future. How did he even know what was right or wrong about the future? Except, he thought bitterly, that I'm pretty much guaranteed to meet some grisly end, either hanging from a noose or with my head rolling round at my feet. At least - well - he couldn't be beheaded if he said he was going to be beheaded, could he, because then he would have been right about the future, and in that case they would want to hang him. And in that case -

Harry considered this carefully. He turned the scenario over and over in his head. He could see no flaw in his logic (which did not, of course, mean that there wasn't one). Then he took in a deep breath.

"All right," he said. "This is my statement about the future. I will be beheaded."

The one on the left bawled with fury and buried his machete in the ground. "I can't behead him!" he howled. "Or he will be right, not wrong!"

The one on the right sat down heavily with his arms folded and a truculent expression on his face. "I can't hang him either! Because then he will be wrong, not right!"

"Well," said Harry, with rising hope. "I've made a statement about the future, just like you asked. Tell me which way to go."

"LEFT," the one sitting sulking snapped without so much as looking up.

Harry scooted off in that direction, looking over his shoulder as he ran. He didn't trust these two executioners not to throw the machete at his back in a tantrum.

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Outside the Palace of Bones, night had fallen. Snape had insisted they sit within a circle inscribed in witch- fire.

"And if you step outside," he advised coldly, "don't expect me to come running out to save you."

"Save us from what?" Ron asked in foreboding.

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Do you really want to know?"

Ron looked queasy, and glanced nervously around. Snape took no notice; he was drumming his long fingers impatiently on his knees.

"Professor Snape," Hermione ventured quietly. "How long do you think we have before...before...you-know-who comes back?"

Snape looked at her dispassionately. "Another couple of hours. And at that point, Miss Granger, we will be leaving."

"But what about Harry?"

"If we do not leave at that time, he will only return to find our corpses anyway. The dark lord will raise the land against us. And this, Miss Granger, is a very dangerous land."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. They had no way of telling the time. But however heavily time pressed on them, it still seemed to be ticking away far too fast.

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The path stretched on and on. Harry's spirits sank. This place was desolate, as though everything fruitful had been burned out of it by that dark red sun. He walked, and walked.

He could see something, though. It looked like a very small, stunted tree. Harry trod up to it and inspected it. It had words carved deeply into its scabby grey trunk.

"WELCOME TO EREBUS."

This meant nothing to Harry. Once more, he wished for Hermione and Ron: Hermione because she would probably have known what the sign meant, and Ron because his steadfastness always put heart into Harry. He sighed and took a step forward, past the tree -

- and, with a yell, he found himself toppling into a cavernous pit. He tumbled headlong through empty darkness. It was so black, he did not even see the ground rushing towards him. He slammed into it, and lay there winded for long moments. It felt as though every bone in his body was broken.

Finally, groaning, he managed to sit up. He patted his limbs; everything did seem intact, if battered. He looked around.

This place lay under a swathe of shadows, as though draped in reams of dusty linen. Again, it was bland and bare; there was no indication of what to do next or which way to go. Harry dragged himself to his feet.

Three figures appeared through the greyness. Harry's eyes widened. At first he had thought they were women, but they looked like no woman he had ever seen before. Their hair writhed and hissed like nests of serpents. Black wings beat the air behind them. In their hands, they carried long, thick whips with several scourges attached to each. And their eyes - Harry recoiled from their eyes, which gleamed with the most profound malevolence, and ran constantly with blood. The blood dripped down their cheeks and fell unheeded onto their black robes.

"Who are you?" he stammered fearfully.

"We are the Furies," one of them replied. Her voice was edged with deepest sorrow. "We are the Angry Ones. But our anger is righteous."

"We serve justice," the one in the middle said. Her snakes hissed as if in pride. "For what mortals do that is wrong, it is necessary that they suffer. They must be punished."

"For any wrong that has been done, for any hurt inflicted, payment must be made from the torment of your own flesh and heart." Blood dribbled from the third one's pitiless eyes.

"And we," said the first, "are here to make you pay."