At that moment, the diminutive Professor Flitwick was hurrying along the entrance passage with his back to the wall, trying to avoid being knocked over by the wizards rushing wildly in every direction as he tracked his quarry. But the wanted Death Eater he had glimpsed earlier had already melted into the crowd, leaving no trail to follow.
At last, at a fork where the flow of people thinned somewhat, Flitwick stood his wand upright on the ground by its tip. Once the wand naturally fell, he hurried in the direction its point indicated—though Flitwick did not possess much talent for Prophecy either, as a Ravenclaw, in moments like this he would still use a few of these techniques that seemed rather unreliable to wizards from other houses.
Repeating the process, Flitwick discovered with some disappointment that he had arrived at the exit of the Dueling Arena. Outside, countless wizards were swiftly leaving the dueling grounds on Flying Broomsticks or Flying Carpets. Even the stallholders and peddlers no longer cared about the goods they had on them as they fled at speed, skirting obstacles such as the Beauxbatons Rune Horses parked by the roadside, or someone's gray-white horse-drawn carriage.
Then, in a spirit of trying his luck, Flitwick's wand guided him back into the Dueling Arena—but to the basement of the Dueling Arena, where the rather chilly corridor tunnels shut all the clamor outside.
The deeper he went into the underground storerooms beneath the dueling grounds, the lighter Professor Flitwick's footsteps became. The space was enormous; the sloping roof and bare walls of massive stone carried on the idea of blending into the natural environment. The magical torches on the walls emitted a ghostly green glow, making this tall, spacious basement look even more sinister.
Because this place was not