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Sacarhina smiled charmingly and stepped forward, threading her arm through Fi
"…" Sacarhina said. She paused, then closed her mouth and tried to look down at it, which produced a rather odd expression. Fi
"Are you quite all right, Miss?"
"Miss Sacarhina is feeling just a tad under the weather, Detective Fi
Fi
Prescott was very nearly hopping from foot to foot. "Perhaps we should just begin the tour, then, shall we? Of course, I know my way around the castle a bit now. We can begin as soon as… as soon as…" He realized he still had tissues jammed into the collar of his shirt. He grabbed at them and stuffed them into his pants pockets. "Miss Sacarhina, you had mentioned that there would be someone else? An expert in explaining things to the uninitiated? Perhaps now would be a good time to introduce this person?"
Sacarhina craned her head forward, her eyes bulging very slightly and her mouth open. After a few seconds of strained silence, the Headmistress cleared her throat and gestured toward the open courtyard. "Here he is now, I suspect. You know how Mr. Hubert tends to be rather late sometimes. Poor man will forget his own head one of these days. Still, he is a genius in his own way, isn't he, Brenda?"
Her mouth still open, Sacarhina turned to follow McGonagall's pointing hand. At the opening of the courtyard, another vehicle was entering. It was ancient, its engine choppy and puttering a pall of blue smoke. Fi
"That's a Ford Anglia, isn't it?" Fi
"Oh, our Mr. Hubert is very good with engines, Randolph," McGonagall said crisply. "Why, he's almost a wizard, really."
The driver's door squeaked open and a figure clambered up out of it. He was very large, so that the car rose perceptibly on its springs as he arose from it. The man squinted at the stairs, smiling a little vacantly. He had long, silvery blonde hair and a matching beard, both of which were offset by a gigantic pair of black, horn-rimmed glasses. The man's hair was pulled back in a natty, almost prim ponytail.
"Mr. Terrence Hubert," McGonagall said, introducing the man. "Chancellor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Welcome, sir. Do come and meet our guests."
Mr. Hubert smiled and then glanced aside as the passenger's door of the Anglia screeched open.
"I hope you don't mind, everybody," Mr. Hubert said, adjusting his glasses. "I've brought my wife along with me. Say hello to the folks, dear."
James gasped as Madame Delacroix climbed awkwardly out of the car. She smiled very slowly and deliberately. "Hello," she said in a strangely monotone voice.
Hubert gri
Sacarhina coughed, her eyes widening rather alarmingly as she watched Delacroix join Mr. Hubert in front of the Anglia. She nudged Recreant with her elbow, but he was as mute as she was.
"Chancellor?" Prescott said, looking back and forth between Hubert and McGonagall. "There's no chancellor! Since when is there a chancellor?"
"I do apologize, sir," Hubert said, climbing the steps with Delacroix by his side. She gri
Prescott's face was tight with suspicion. He stared at Hubert, then at Madame Delacroix. Finally, he held up his hands and closed his eyes. "All right, who cares? Mr. Hubert, if you are our guide, then guide away." He threw a glance over his shoulder at the camera crew, gesturing wildly with his eyebrows, and then followed Hubert into the gigantic open doors. "Chancellor Hubert, can you tell us and our audience what you do here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"
"Why, of course," Hubert said, turning as he reached the center of the Entrance Hall. "We teach magic! We are, in fact, Europe's premiere school of the magical arts." Hubert seemed to notice the camera for the first time. He gri
Prescott was staring very hard at Hubert, his cheeks reddening. "I see. Yes, so you admit that you teach actual magic within these walls?"
"Why, certainly, young man. Why ever would I deny it?"
"Then you do not deny," Prescott said in a pouncing sort of voice, "that these paintings, which line this very room, are magical, moving paintings?" He gestured grandly toward the walls. The cameraman spun and walked as quickly and smoothly as he could toward a group of paintings by the doorway. The boom microphone operator lowered his apparatus, so as to be sure to capture Hubert's response.
"M-moving paintings?" Hubert said in a distracted voice. "Oh. O-ho yes. Well, I suspect they could be said to move. Why, that painting there, no matter where you are in the room, the eyes in the painting are always upon you." Hubert raised his hands mysteriously, warming to the subject. "They seem, in fact, to follow you everywhere you go!"