Zane stood in the center of the classroom with a wand in his hand. A few dozen other students sat along the wall, watching in amazement as the bust of Godric Gryffindor floated and bobbed around the room, apparently at the behest of Zane's waving wand. There was a gasp and sigh of amazement from Prescott's crew. The cameraman squatted slowly, zooming in on the action.
"Aha!" Prescott said excitedly. "Real magic! Being performed by children!"
"Just as promised," Hubert said proudly. "Mr. Walker here is among the best in his class. Mr. Walker, what year are you, by the way?"
"First year, sir," Zane said, grinning happily.
"Excellent form, my boy," Hubert replied. "Try a loop, why don't you?"
The students applauded politely as the bust raised and spun slowly in the air. Then, suddenly, it dropped, falling onto a mattress which had been placed in the center of the floor.
"Oh, too bad, Mr. Walker. So close," Hubert chided.
"It wasn't my fault!" Zane yelled. "It was my backstage! Ted, you dolt, you yanked when you were supposed to swoop! How many times do I have to explain that!"
"Hey!" Ted objected, bursting noisily out of a closet at the rear of the room. He held a handful of wires in his hand, all of which snaked up to a series of pulleys attached to the ceiling of the closet. "You want to try coming back here and working these controls in the dark? Huh? Besides, Noah is the one to blame. He was slow with the cross pulley."
A voice from the depths of the closet yelled angrily, "What? That's it! I want to be on stage next time. I've had it with this 'assistant' role. I want to wear the hat!"
"Nobody's wearing the hat, Noah," Zane said, rolling his eyes.
"Well, somebody needs to wear the hat!" Noah cried, his face appearing around the doorway of the closet. "How does anybody know who's the magician and who's the assistant?"
"Boys, boys," Hubert placated, raising his hands. "We only have one hat per classroom, and Miss Morganstern is using it to practice the rabbit trick. Mr. Prescott, Mr. Finney, would you like to see the rabbit trick?"
"Why, yes," Finney said brightly.
"No!" Prescott yelled.
Tabitha Corsica had pushed herself to the front of the students crowding the doorway. Her face was red with anger. "Mr. Prescott," she began, "you--"
Hubert turned slowly to face Tabitha. "This is hardly the time for autographs, Miss Corsica."
"I'm not here to get his autograph, Chancellor…," Tabitha spat, raising her arm to point at Hubert. There was a small notebook and a pen clutched in her hand. She stopped in mid-sentence, staring at the two items. The cover of the notebook was pink and had the word 'autographs' printed on it in white script.
"There will be plenty of time later for such things, Miss Corsica. But I'm sure Mr. Prescott is flattered by your, er, interest."
"Chancellor Hubert?" Petra interjected, peering into a black top hat which was sitting atop a ridiculously glittery table. "I think something might be wrong with Mr. Wiffles. Do rabbits usually lie on their backs like that?"
"Not now, Miss Morganstern," Hubert said, flapping his hand dismissively. "Mr. Prescott, I believe you wanted to see our sawing-in-half room?"
But Prescott was gone, stalking past the suddenly silent Tabitha Corsica and heading down the corridor behind her. The crew scrambled to chase him as he poked his head into each room. At the end of the hall, he gave a muffled shout of triumph and waved for his crew to join him in the furthest classroom.
"Here!" Prescott yelled, gesturing wildly with his right arm. The crowd poured into the room, followed by the watching students, who were beginning to grin. "Right before your eyes! A ghost professor! Make sure you get plenty of footage of this, Vince! Proof of the afterlife!"
There was no gasp of surprise this time. Vince moved in close, focusing carefully with one hand.
"Ah, yes. Professor Binns," Hubert said happily. "Say hello to the nice folks."
Professor Binns blinked owlishly and passed his gaze over the crowd. "Greetings," he said in his thin, distant voice.
"It's just a projection on smoke," Vince, the cameraman, announced.
"Well," Hubert said, a bit defensively, "he's not meant to be seen quite so close to like that. The students are usually well back from him. Creates a nice sense of mystery and the supernatural, really."
Ralph was among the students seated in the classroom. He addressed the cameraman with a note of annoyance. "You're ruining the effect, you know. You don't have to go and spoil it for everybody."
"Greetings," Binns said again, passing his gaze over the crowd.
"Impossible!" Prescott shouted angrily, striding toward the front of the room. "It's a ghost! I know it is!"
"It's a projection, Martin," Vince said, lowering the camera. "I've seen these before. It's not even a very good one. You can hear the projector running. It's right there, under the desk. And see here? Dry ice machine. Makes the smoke."
Finney cleared his throat near the door. "This is getting rather embarrassing, Mr. Prescott."
"Greetings," said Professor Binns.
Prescott turned wildly. He was obviously coming rather unraveled. "No!" he shouted. "This is all a setup! It's his fault! He's trying to trick all of you!" He pointed at Hubert.
"Well, that is what we do here," Hubert said, smiling politely. "We're in the business of tricks. Although we prefer the term 'illusion', if you don't mind."
"It's maaaaa-gic," Delacroix suddenly said, a bit inanely. She gave a ghastly grin.
"I see what you're all trying to do here," Prescott said, still pointing at Hubert, and then McGonagall and even Sacarhina and Recreant, who shook their heads vigorously. "You're trying to make me look like a madman! Well, my public knows me better than that, and so do my associates. You can't hide everything! What about the moving staircases? Or the giants? Hmm? Or…" Prescott stopped, his finger still in midpoint. His eyes went unfocussed for a moment, and then he grinned maliciously. "I know just the thing. Just the thing indeed. Vince, Eddie, the rest of you, come with me."
Hubert followed as the crew clanked and jostled through the crowd of students. "Where are you going, Mr. Prescott? I'm your guide, if you recall. I'll show you whatever you wish."
"Yes?" Prescott said, spinning back toward Hubert. The curious students had parted for him and his crew, so that Prescott glared back between them, glancing from side to side. "Will you show me…," he paused dramatically and tilted his head up, "the Garage?"
"The…," Hubert began. He blinked, and then looked aside at Professor McGonagall. James suddenly felt Harry's hand tighten on his shoulder. Something was wrong. "The… Garage?" Hubert repeated, as if he was unfamiliar with the word.
Prescott's grin grew predatory. "Aha! Weren't prepared for that, were you? Yes, I had myself a good long look around the grounds while you were all busy this morning. Peeked here and there and got quite an eyeful! There is a garage," he said, turning to face the camera, "that penetrates the very fabric of space and time, creating a magical portal between this place and another place thousands of kilometers away! America, if I may be so bold as to guess! I have seen it myself. I have been inside the structure, and smelled the air of that far-off place. I have seen the sunrise of that land, while the sun here was high above the horizon. It was no trick, no illusion. These people would have us believe that they are mere tricksters, while I maintain, as I have witnessed with my own eyes, that they are dabblers in a form of magic that is purely and simply supernatural. Now I will prove it!" With a flourish, Prescott turned and marched away, heading back to the Entrance Hall. Harry fell in line next to Hubert, but couldn't get his attention.