James Potter And The Morrigan Web by George Norman Lippert Page B

noisily through them.
    James was still frowning in confusion. “Professor,” he ventured, raising his voice over the sound of Flitwick’s ransacking of his own office. “Er… what does this have to do with me?”
    “Hm? Oh,” Flitwick glanced up at James and seemed to deflate a bit. “I apologize, Mr. Potter. This is all rather… mm-hmm. Quite.” He cast around the darkened room fitfully, and then sank into his doll-sized chair. Without looking , he waved his wand toward the chair behind James. “Please, do have a seat, young man. Perhaps some further explanation will suffice.”
    James lowered himself into the normal-sized chair, which was ridiculously overstuffed and smelled strongly of mothballs. Flitwick sighed.
    “Most people do not know this, Mr. Potter,” he said in a more subdued voice. “But I am not, strictly-speaking, one hundred percent human.” He paused, studying James’ face in the darkened room. “You are not surprised, I see.”
    James’ cheeks reddened. “Well, er. Not as such, professor. No. Some of the students have… er… made guesses.”
    Flitwick smiled at James-- a genuine smile this time, twinkling in his tiny eyes-- and then he laughed aloud. “Of course, of course,” he nodded. “Nor do I blame them. I will allow you the truth, Mr. Potter, as explanation of why I have called you here. I am part goblin, you see. One quarter, in fact. Tell me, were your classmates’ speculations correct?”
    James shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeeess… A bit. Some had thought maybe you were part… er. I really shouldn’t say, Professor.”
    “Oh do tell, James,” the Professor beamed, leaning eagerly forward. “In times like these, a good laugh is always welcome.”
    James’ face was burning now. “Well, Professor. Everyone really likes you, see? It was never meant to be disrespectful at all. Mostly we all think it’s really cool. But--”
    “Out with it, young man!” Flitwick interrupted, still grinning in anticipation.
    “Hinkypunk, sir.”
    Flitwick rocked back in his chair and let out a gust of jovial laughter.
    “Oh, I daresay, that would make a better story,” he admitted, still laughing and wiping his eyes. “Much better, indeed.”
    James smiled as well and shook his head. “I still don’t understand, Professor. What’s this have to do with…”
    Flitwick composed himself, although a ghost of a smile still curled his lips. He nodded. “Forgive me, Mr. Potter. I am delaying the inevitable. As I said, I am part goblin and goblins, as you may or may not know, are particularly good at the alchemical arts. A, er, relative of mine, in fact, is one of the best restoration artists in the world. His specialty is, unsurprisingly, magical portraiture. It’s in my blood, you see. Not everyone can do it. I can take no credit for it, although I have worked long and hard to hone my skills, meager as they may be.”
    Realization began to dawn on James. He looked hard at the tiny Professor across from him. “You… paint the portraits? All those magical portraits of the former headmasters are yours?”
    Flitwick raised his hands in a deprecating gesture. “By no means all of them, only the most recent. It is quite an honour, one that I inherited decades ago. I paint each portrait upon the death of the headmaster, using the skills handed down to me by my goblin forefathers. It is a rather secret art, combining both the artistic and the alchemical, although it can be taught even to non-goblins. You may recall Professor Jackson, of the American school, is rather an expert on the subject, even if he is a bit… well… uninspired .”
    James nodded emphatically. “Tell me about it.” He paused and looked aside, at the silhouetted shape on the easel. Suddenly he felt very curious to see it in the light. “So that’s… your most recent portrait? That’s… Headmaster Merlin?”
    Flitwick heaved a great, long sigh, turning to share James’ gaze. “Headmaster Merlinus,” he agreed.