Snape and Albus stepped into a room that, like the round room, was lit only by the blue fiery light of candles on the wall. As Albus’ eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed that the room was filled with rows upon rows of shelves, each with countless glass spheres on it. People were crammed everywhere, between every row of shelves; indeed, there seemed to be at least as many people as spheres in the room. Broken glass littered the floor.
Suddenly, Albus leaped into the air. He had been sure he had felt something bump into him from behind. He turned around, but saw nothing there. Sufficiently creeped out, he looked to Snape.
“This is the Hall of Prophecy, Potter. Once again, this room is so large and compartmentalized that we would never get through it without direction. But these thestrals will help us to successfully navigate through the parts you need to see.”
Nervous energy began to pulse through Albus’ veins. “But sir, where are they?” Snape put out his hand and appeared to rest it on something--an invisible surface of some kind. Albus ventured over, put out his hand, and felt something leathery under his hands--the coat of a thestral. With Snape’s help, he hoisted himself up onto the winged creature. Slowly, Albus felt himself rise above the heads of the sinners, gliding gently over to the first shelf at the end of the room. Gentle as it was, he still found it rather unnerving to fly around with the feeling that there was nothing under him.
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