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.
'Mr. Prescott!' Hubert yelled over the sound of the now agitated crowd. 'I really must insist that you allow me… Mr. Prescott! This is highly irregular!'
Prescott led his crew out of the main entrance and across the courtyard. The crowd of students had grown considerably, and the noise of their passage had become quite loud. Everyone had seen the exterior of the Alma Aleron's Garage, but very few had been inside or seen what it housed. The babble of worry and curiosity was a dull roar.
'This could be bad, James,' Harry said, keeping his voice below the noise of the crowd.
'What can we do?'
Harry merely shook his head, watching Prescott turn the corner, leading the group toward the canvas structure overlooking the lake. He turned, framing himself before its canvas walls. His crew arranged themselves in position, lowering the boom microphone over him and adjusting huge white umbrellas to reflect the sunlight on his shadowed side. Prescott turned slightly, showing his best side to the camera as Vince squatted slowly, focusing. It was, James had to admit, a very dramatic moment.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' Prescott began, raising his natural orator's voice, 'my crew and I, and all of you, have been the victims of an elaborate hoax. This is no simple school of sleight of hand and card tricks. No, I have witnessed within these walls true magic of the most astounding and blood-chilling variety. I have seen ghosts and watched actual levitations. I have observed doors appearing magically in otherwise solid stone walls. I have seen beasts and giants that boggle the mind. Today, we have been played for fools, deceived by a pack of wizards and witches--yes, actual magical people--who believe they can fool us with parlor tricks. But now I will reveal the truth of this place. Behind this canvas is a form of uncanny magic that will shock and astound you. When this truth is revealed, Mr. Rudolph Finney, detective for the British Special Police, will be inclined to launch a full-scale, official investigation into this establishment, with the help of police agencies from all across Europe. After today, ladies and gentlemen, our lives will never be the same again. After today, we will be living in a world where we know, without a doubt, that witches and wizards are real, and that they walk among us.'
Prescott paused, letting his words echo over the stunned crowd. Then he turned toward the area where McGonagall, Hubert, Sacarhina, and Recreant were gathered. Finney stood next to the Headmistress, frowning
