Harry's emerald-green eyes were vacant and bewildered. His mind was blank and pleasantly warm, and he felt as though he were lying in soft, comfortable clouds.
A gentle voice kept whispering in his ear, telling him what to do.
With a stiff smile on his face, Harry walked out of the tent and wandered through the streets and alleys of Hogsmeade.
He passed through a heavy iron gate and entered a lavishly decorated room, furnished with exquisite sofas and coffee tables.
Most striking of all was the magnificent fireplace built into the hall. It looked less like a fireplace than a sealed doorway.
Grinning foolishly, Harry stepped into the fireplace, grabbed a handful of glittering powder from the silver bowl beside it, and tossed it at his feet.
With a whoosh, green flames shot up from below, engulfing him.
"The church!"
The green flames roared into a terrifying whirlpool, and Harry vanished in an instant.
Ring! Ring!
Ministry of Magic, Floo Network Authority.
Mrs. Edgecombe jerked her head up. A brass bell was ringing frantically, indicating that an illegal fireplace was being used for transport.
She watched an automated typewriter clacking away nearby.
Before long, a slip of paper emerged. Mrs. Edgecombe picked it up, glanced at it, and immediately grew serious.
Holding the slip, she deftly threaded her way through the busy office. One unfortunate colleague was pressing a brass receiver hard against his ear.
He was responsible for monitoring Floo Network communications, but lately, a group of Indian wizards had been using it to chat. Heaven knew where they had learned their English; their accents had an indescribable quality.
The poor monitor was suffering terribly. Worse still, when Mrs. Edgecombe had greeted him yesterday, his own speech had picked up that same accent!
Taking care not to