At one side of the grand room, almost from floor to ceiling, there is a cascade of iridescent, blue light. Cold. Within the light shapes travel up and down. Stars are born and fly away.It is translucent, and on the other side another room, another world.
Harry Potter takes a deep breath. He has looked everywhere but in that other place. He steps into the light. It floats around him like gossamer and allows him through. He walks as if underwater, blinking.
A few minutes later, Professor Dumbledore (Gandalf!) strides into the room. Gown. Glasses. Cane. Finally prepared for the journey he must take and quickly. He takes a deep breath and steps toward the light, but he meets resistance. It is nothing more than a shining wall that affords an innocuous glance of the other side; simple paths, every one of which will lead to demons and tricks and shadows and beasts of all kinds.
Dumbledore looks at the fireplace. The flames have parted. Now, in place of the fire, it looks like a hell-dark, tree-lined path with the trees aflame on either side.
He looks back at the wall of light with trepidation.
“Let me pass,” he says.
A deep, disembodied voice echoes back in response. It says: “One has already been chosen.”
