McGonagall led Harry out of the castle. The night wind was fierce—fierce enough to press his school robes against his body, fierce enough to make his hair stand on end, fierce enough that he could barely keep his eyes open.
McGonagall walked ahead at a rapid pace, the hem of her robes billowing behind her like a full, dark-green sail. She reached the base of the castle wall and tapped the stone three times with her wand. Nothing happened.
She tapped it three more times. This time, a tiny silver Phoenix appeared on the surface of the wall. The Phoenix spread its wings, flew out of the stone, and landed on McGonagall's shoulder. Tilting its head, it looked at Harry with one round black eye.
McGonagall reached into her pocket and took out a silver badge engraved with a Phoenix, pinning it to the collar of her robes. The Phoenix flew from her shoulder onto the badge and merged with the engraved design.
Harry heard a voice. It had not entered through his ears; it sounded directly in his mind, as though someone had gently knocked on a door deep within his consciousness.
"Come." He recognized that voice.
It was Dumbledore.
McGonagall grabbed Harry's arm. Her fingers clenched so tightly that his arm went numb, but she did not let go. The ground split open beneath their feet—not truly, but with that weightless sensation of falling while your feet were still planted on the ground.
The surroundings—the castle wall, the grass, the treetops of the distant Forbidden Forest, the gray-black sky—were smeared through the middle as if someone had dragged a finger across them. Every color ran together, impossible to tell sky from earth, earth from trees.
Then the colors separated again.
They stood in a narrow alley, barely wide