The Department of Mysteries, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
Sudden shapes were emerging from behind the endless shelves of prophecies. The black, empty eyes of the undead glinted eerily in the darkness.
“To me, Potter,” the zombie appearing to be the leader croaked in a throaty voice. They were trapped, cornered by too many zombies to count.
“Where’s Sirius?” Harry asked frantically. Many of the zombies cackled evilly, and one zombie with a rough voice called “The Zombie Lord always knows!”
“Now give me the prophecy!” The Head Zombie wheezed.
“Never!” But he was outnumbered. The zombies crowded around him, their rancid breath hot on his neck, wafting into his nostrils.
“RUN!!!!!” Harry tried to fight the throng of zombies as he let his friends escape, but there were many. Far too many. Harry fingered the prophecy in his hands. Without thinking, he threw as far as he can
across the room. It shattered with a smash. Temporarily, the zombies turned in horror to the shards of glass strewn across the marble floor. Harry ducked and swiveled around the zombies, their greyish-green hands reaching for him moments too late. With a sigh
of relief, Harry found his friends in the lobby and disappeared out into the night. A very, very close call.