“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.”

“Mr. Grey shuffled his feet. “I know what we was told, but it don’t feel right, Bistle. I has a sense about these things. Me mam always said so.”

“Mr. Grey peeked around the corner and surveyed the corridor. It stretched off into dim infinity, dotted with floating globes of silvery light. Mr. Grey had been told that the globes were swampfire, encased in a timeloop charm so they were inextinguishable. He’d never even heard of swampfire, much less a timeloop charm, but then again, Mr. Grey had never been in a place quite like the Hall of Mysteries. He shuddered.”

“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.”

“Mr. Grey had been told that the globes were swampfire, encased in a timeloop charm so they were inextinguishable.”

“The third figure, a tall, old man with a pointed, white goatee, stepped past Mr. Saffron and walked casually down the corridor, scanning the doors.”

“Merlin nodded gravely. “Doing what is right is nearly always simple, Mr. Potter. But it is never easy.”