Book 1 - James Potter and the Hall of Elders' Crossing

“See how Mr. Pink does it?” Mr. Saffron said, following closely and glancing around.
“Knows to trust his information, he does. No sentry, no problems. Right, Mr. Pink?”
Mr. Grey trailed behind Mr. Saffron, frowning massively and watching the mysterious doors.
There were hundreds--maybe thousands--of them along the endless corridor. None had names or
markings of any kind. In the lead, Mr. Pink could be heard counting softly under his breath.
“Why do I have to be Mr. Grey?” Mr. Grey said petulantly. “Nobody likes grey. It’s hardly
even a color at all.”
The goblin ignored him. After several minutes, Mr. Pink stopped walking. Mr. Saffron and
Mr. Grey halted behind him, looking around the corridor with furrowed brows.
“Can’t be the place, Mr. Pink,” the goblin said. “There’s no doors in this section at all. Are
yeh sure yeh counted aright?”
“I counted right,” Mr. Pink said. He glanced down at the floor, and then scuffed at a section
of the marble tile with his toe. There was a chip in the corner of one of the tiles. Mr. Pink grunted
and knelt down. He probed the broken corner with a finger. He nodded to himself, then hooked his
finger into the hole and gave a tug. A rectangular section of the tile floor popped upwards, pulled
open by Mr. Pink’s tugging finger. He heaved and the rectangular chunk of floor slid upwards like a
long, vertical drawer, rising with a grating rumble until it touched the ceiling. It shuddered into
place. It was as wide and tall as a door, but only a few inches thick. Mr. Grey peered around it and
could see the endless corridor of the Hall of Mysteries stretching away behind it.
“How’d yeh know that was there?” Mr. Saffron demanded, slitting his eye up at Mr. Pink.
“She told me,” Mr. Pink responded, shrugging.
“She did, did she? Anything else you might know that you hain’t told us about, yet?”
“Just enough to get us there,” Mr. Pink replied. “You’re the lock breaker, Mr. Grey is the
heavy hand, and I’m the mapper. We all know what we need to know, and nothing else.”
“Yar, yar, I remember,” the goblin grumbled. “Let me get on with it, then, won’t yeh?”
Mr. Pink stood aside as Mr. Saffron moved closer to the slab of mysterious stone. He
studied it carefully, squinting and muttering. He laid one of his huge ears against it and tapped here
and there. Finally, he reached into a pocket of his black shirt and produced a complicated device
made of dozens of brass loops. He unfolded one and peered through it at the stone slab.