The Department of Mysteries.
This independent department on the ninth floor was the most mysterious place in the Ministry of Magic, and perhaps even in the entire magical world.
The wizards who worked in this department were generally known as Unspeakables. As for their projects, they were somewhat similar to Muggle scientific research.
Only what they studied was the most mysterious magic of all.
Subjects such as time, space, the mind, death, and so on, just like in the Muggle world, had always been quietly studied by specialized Unspeakables.
As for the results of that research, they could only be described as thought-provoking...
Following Cynthia's guidance, Tver walked through the pitch-black corridors of the Department of Mysteries, looking with interest at the various arrangements that all exuded mystery, yet also seemed a little deliberately theatrical.
Especially after they entered a spacious circular hall.
The circular hall was black from top to bottom, and set into the black walls were eleven equally black doors.
Rumble.
The door behind them shut automatically, cutting off the little light from the corridor. Only the candles on the round hall's walls gave off a ghostly blue glow.
At the same time, the black walls of the circular hall suddenly began spinning rapidly. The candle flames did not go out in the rotation. Instead, they dragged out streaks of fiery afterimages.
"This is meant to make people lose track of which door they came in through..." Cynthia explained calmly.
As the spinning gradually stopped, twelve identical black doors, including the one they had entered through, appeared before Tver.
"These doors have only the slightest differences. Only the most experienced Unspeakables can tell them apart."
Cynthia's voice echoed again in the circular hall, carrying a faint disdain for such a setup.
"Of course, although the magical fluctuations of the doors aren't obvious, they still provide us with guidance."
With a gesture, she led Tver toward the destination of their trip.
"This is the Hall of Prophecy you're looking for, and next door is the Hall of Death..."
"Is something wrong?"
Tver withdrew his attention from the door to the Hall of Death.
Just as Cynthia had said, each door was suffused with the magical fluctuation belonging to its own room. And on the Hall of Death's door, naturally, there was the aura of death.
"Nothing. Let's go in."
Cynthia frowned. Seeing that Tver had no interest in continuing the conversation, she could only suppress the doubts in her heart.
Ever since they met this time, she had felt that something was very wrong with Tver.
In the past, even when the shadow of the Curse loomed over him, even when studying all kinds of Dark Magic brought him severe negative emotions, Tver had always been able to adjust himself quickly.
At the very least, she could see that he was trying to adjust and maintain a calm attitude.
But now it was different. She could actually sense a self-destructive gloom from Tver.
It was not obvious, but for Cynthia, who had seen Tver at his lowest, that tiny change was enough to make her sensitive instincts uneasy.
Shaking her head lightly, Cynthia pushed the door in front of her open with force, as if venting her frustration.
"To reach the Hall of Prophecy, we first have to pass through the Hall of Time. And these..." She pointed at the clocks of all shapes and sizes displayed before them. "Are all the Time-Turners currently known in Britain."
The entire room was filled with continuous ticking, forming a strangely beautiful harmony.
At the far end of the room, a tall bell-shaped crystal dome gave off a sparkling light, completely out of place in the dark room.
But Tver's sharp eyes noticed a tiny egg inside the crystal dome.
He leaned closer curiously and finally saw what was inside.
An even smaller hummingbird hatched from the egg. It struggled to flap its wings, but the moment it touched the glittering air current at the top of the dome, its feathers instantly became dirty and ragged.
Finally, the air current carried it back down to the bottom of the dome, where it was once again wrapped inside the eggshell.
"That hummingbird trying so hard to fly upward is really adorable, don't you think, Tver?" Cynthia said with a bright smile.
Tver pointed at the hummingbird as it hatched again and began repeating its mission in a cycle.
"But for that hummingbird, no matter how much effort it puts in, it can't change its destined fate."
"...We're going to the Hall of Prophecy now!"
Cynthia swept past Tver in irritation and strode toward the only door behind the crystal dome.
Tver chuckled softly and quickly followed.
After the door was pushed open, darkness once again enveloped Cynthia and Tver as they entered.
To accommodate the tall shelves inside, this room was clearly much higher than the circular hall.
Unlike the crystal dome in the Hall of Time, however, this room relied on the many dusty glass orbs on the shelves to maintain a certain amount of light.
"These are prophecy orbs. They contain all known prophecies, but only the people involved in a prophecy can pick up its orb."
As Cynthia led Tver farther in, she said curiously, "I've checked through all the prophecy orbs. Aside from your ancestors, there really aren't any prophecies involving you."
In fact, as early as when she had first entered the Ministry of Magic, Cynthia had spent some time checking the prophecy orbs here. Aside from the one involving Voldemort, whom they were dealing with, she had not found any prophecy related to them.
After all, although there were many prophecy orbs here, most were dim, old prophecies from the past. And with seers becoming rarer these days, there naturally were not many new prophecies being made.
Tver felt somewhat helpless, but he nodded in understanding.
What he actually wanted was to search for any prophecy about himself. Or even to find the prophecy that had caused Death to inexplicably set its sights on him.
Unfortunately, either the prophecy had originally been made by Death itself, or it had been destroyed the moment Death noticed it.
In short, after who knew how many years, the possibility of Tver finding that prophecy was almost nonexistent.
"Then take me to Harry's prophecy orb," Tver said, somewhat lacking in interest, though he did not want to have come all this way for nothing.
After all, Harry's prophecy bore some similarity to his own situation. It would still be good to take a look and see whether he could find some kind of breakthrough.
Cynthia did not speak. Looking somewhat conflicted, she led Tver toward a corner.
There, a dust-covered glass orb appeared before them. What drew Tver's attention even more was the label fixed to the shelf beneath the glass orb.
S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.
The Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter.
The initials in front meant that this was a prophecy made by Sybill Patricia Trelawney for Albus Dumbledore, but the protagonists of the prophecy were the Dark Lord Voldemort and Harry.
It could also be called a miniature version of Death and Tver...
Seeing Tver suddenly fall silent, Cynthia took a deep breath.
"Is there something special about this prophecy?" she asked softly.
But Tver did not answer her. He only narrowed his eyes, as if trying to conceal the thoughts surging within him.
"Do you think prophecies truly can't be broken? For example, will Voldemort really be defeated by Harry?"
"Or..."
His voice became even softer, but it made Cynthia increasingly uneasy.
"Could Voldemort perhaps succeed, just that once?"