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

“All we need to know is where to go,” Mr. Pink said. “Once we get there, we’ll know what to do.”
The goblin nodded, remembering. “All right, then. Let’s go, Mr. Pink. You’re the mapper.”
“We’re there,” Mr. Pink replied. “It’s Grey’s job from here.” He turned and shone his wand ahead
of them. A horrible, monstrous face loomed out of the blackness, lit in the feeble silvery light. Mr. Grey’s
knees went watery.
“It’s jest a statue, yeh ninny,” Mr. Saffron growled. “It’s the dragon’s head we were tol’ about. Go
on and open it. Earn your share, Mr. Grey.”
“I hate that name,” Mr. Grey said, walking toward the dragon’s head statue. It was taller than he
was, formed eerily from the stalactites and stalagmites of the cavern wall. “I wanted to be Mr. Purple. I like
purple.”
He crouched and slipped his hands between the snaggle teeth of the dragon’s upper jaw. Mr. Grey
was unusually strong, but lifting the dragon’s jaw required every ounce of his formidable power. Sweat
streamed down his face and neck as he strained, but the statue wouldn’t budge. Finally, just as Mr. Grey was
certain he would tear his muscles loose from his bones, there was a glassy shattering sound and the jaw jarred
loose. The stalactites that formed the hinge of the jaw had broken. Mr. Grey heaved the jaw upwards until it
was high enough for the others to scramble through.
“Hurry!” he ordered through gritted teeth.
“Just don’t drop the blasted thing on us,” Mr. Saffron whined as he and Mr. Pink ducked into the
gaping dragon’s jaw.
The opening behind the dragon’s head was low and almost perfectly round. Stalactites and
stalagmites surrounded the space like pillars supporting a smooth, domed ceiling. The stone floor was
terraced, leading down to the center where a strange shape sat in the darkness.
“It’s not a chest,” Mr. Pink stated flatly.
“Nar,” Mr. Saffron agreed. “But it’s the only thing here, isn’t it? Think we can lug it between us?”
Mr. Pink descended the terraces, leaving the goblin to scramble after him. They studied the object
for a moment, and then Mr. Pink placed his wand between his teeth. He bent down, grasping the object, and
nodded for the goblin to grasp the other side. It was surprisingly light, though crusted with calcium and
mineral. Clumsily, they carried the object between them, hefting it up the terraces. Mr. Pink’s wand light
bobbed and jerked, making their shadows leap wildly on the pillared walls.
Finally, they heaved the object through the open jaw of the dragon’s head statue. Mr. Grey was
sweating profusely, his knees trembling. When he saw that his companions were out of the way, he released
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