Disclaimer: A good patsy is worth their weight in gold, therefore it's quite sad that they can't be sold.
Note: They can be of course, both figuratively (sold out) and literally (sold out to slavers). I didn't state that above because it would have ruined my marvelous rhyme.
Old Friends
Amelia growled when she heard that the Gringotts representative was demanding a meeting with the Minister of magic, the sheer nerve of it.
"Show him in," the new Minister ordered.
"You're going to take this disrespect, sir?" Amelia asked.
"I'm going to take it," the Minister agreed, "unless throwing a tantrum will get me something."
"Understood, sir," Amelia sighed, "would it be alright if I sat through this meeting?"
"Want to make sure that I can hold my own in a negotiation?" he laughed.
"Something like that, sir," Amelia agreed. No way was she leaving him unsecured around a goblin, especially in light of several things she'd managed to learn about how Gringotts liked to do business.
"About time," the goblin sneered as it stormed into the office. It took a seat and propped its feet up on the Minister's table.
The Minister's gesture was the only thing that prevented the normally level headed Head of Magical Law Enforcement from losing her top.
"What can I do for you?" the Minister asked calmly.
"It's what I can do for you," the goblin retorted, "I'm here to talk business."
"Oh?"
"The Goblin Nation has found itself in possession of a large quantity of Ministry Scrip," the goblin said with a feral smile, "more then you can redeem."
"Interesting," the Minister replied with a placid look on his face.
"Isn't it," the goblin agreed, "I was thinking that we could hold off on redeeming it all right now for say . . . forty percent."
"Reasonable," the Minister agreed, "but I think we'll have to pass on that offer."
"What?" the goblin shouted. "We know that you don't have enough Galleons to redeem all of this Scrip!"
"No," the Minister agreed, "but we will at noon tomorrow when the Royal Mint finishes turning out my order. Feel free to come and exchange your scrip like everybody else."
"Fine," the goblin spat, "but understand that we won't settle for less than seventy percent if you can't exchange it all on the spot."
"I'm sure you think . . ." he cut off as the goblin slammed the door.
"What an unpleasant individual," he said with more than a hint of amusement, as he'd met human bankers that were cut from the same cloth.
"Yes, Minister."
"Be sure to post extra Aurors tomorrow," the Minister ordered.
"I will, Minister."
"And see if the Yard can send up an expert on counterfeiting."
"I'll see to it myself," Amelia agreed, a touch of respect coloring her tone, certain the magical world had finally gotten a minister worthy of his title.
IIIIIIIIII
Hermione frowned in annoyance when she noticed the majestic white owl displayed in the window. Honestly, that boy could be so thoughtless some times.
Her frown deepened when her eyes picked up a man with hair like spun gold, but then she began to smile. One bad turn did deserve another after all.
She followed him into a gap between the buildings and carefully drew her wand after assuring herself that there were no witnesses.
"Excuse me," Hermione called out.
"No autographs today," the man said with a sparkling grin.
"Obliviate." She looked down at the drooling idiot. "Obliviate, obliviate, obliviate, obliviate." Never hurt to be thorough after all.
That task out of the way, Hermione walked back to the main alleyway and into the Owl Emporium to spring an old friend from durance vile.
She emerged from the shop a few minutes later holding two cages; one containing the aforementioned owl, and another containing a squat neurotic brown owl.
She returned to the safe house a few minutes later and fixed Harry with a fierce glare.
"What is it?" Harry asked mildly.
"Look what I found in the alley," Hermione said with a wave at the snowy owl, "how could you leave her there like that?"
"Well," Harry said, "to be honest . . . I forgot."
"How could you have forgotten poor Hedwig?" Hermione scolded.
"Years of trying," Harry said tightly, "same way I did my best to forget a good number of our classmates."
"Oh." Hermine sighed. "Sorry, I was just so excited when I saw her that . . ."
"I know the feeling." Harry opened his hands to reveal a ball of orange fuzz.
"Is that?" Hermione asked breathlessly.
"I think so," Harry agreed, "not so big now is he?"
"Not yet," Hermione giggled.
IIIIIIIIII
The Minister gave a bland smile when the Goblins arrived the next day to exchange their Ministry Scrip for gold. To their surprise, that smile didn't disappear when they revealed just how much they were planning to exchange.
"Amelia," he called out, "did the Yard send over a specialist?"
"They did Minister," she agreed, "Beauxbatons class of eighty five."
"Wonderful," Nigel said cheerfully. "Inspector, if you would . . ."
"Chief Inspector," the man mumbled as he walked up and began inspecting the bills. "Hmmm." He pulled out his seldom used wand and flicked it in the direction of the scrip.
To the Goblins' horror, the majority of their Scrip flew into the air before piling itself in one of the garbage cans.
"What is the meaning of this?" The head Goblin demanded.
"Chief Inspector," Nigel prompted.
"Counterfeits," he replied.
"What proof do you have of that?" the Goblin asked in a haughty tone.
"Besides the fact that they all have the same serial number?" the Chief Inspector asked. "Instead of the coat of arms of the ministry over the logo 'As good a gold, backed by the Minister's honesty and integrity,' the watermark was changed to a smiley face with an enormous protruding tongue, and a logo reading 'This is a fake, suckers.' How about the fact that they were printed on the wrong kind of paper and used the wrong ink. If that won't do then . . ."
"Thank you Chief Inspector," the Minister interrupted, "I think that will be quite enough. How much do we owe them?"
"Four Galleons . . . ten if you include the scrip I'm iffy on."
"Alright," the Minister agreed, "here you are gentelbeings."
"This is an outrage," the Goblin screamed, "we won't stand for this, we demand . . ."
"Madame Bones," the Minister said calmly, "if you would."
"Yes, Minister." She raised her hand and clenched it into a fist.
The Goblins were suddenly aware that they were covered by a group of cold eyed Aurors.
"Perhaps." The head Goblin licked his lips. "Perhaps we could come to some sort of arrangement?"
"Perhaps," the Minister agreed, "what are you offering?"
"Make the exchange and we'll release Fudge's financial records," the Goblin offered.
"How about you give me that information and I'll tell you of a way that you might be able to recoup some of your losses?" the Minister countered.
"D . . . deal," the Goblin said in defeat.
"Excellent," the Minister said, "turn the information over to Amelia and I'll give you my solution."
"We would also like for Madame Fudge to be turned over to the Goblin Nation for trial and eventual execution," the Goblin added.
"Afraid that won't be possible," Amelia interjected, "the body of Madame Fudge was found in her bedroom, appears to be a drug overdose."
"Fine." The Goblin flung the file at Amelia. "Tell us your information Hue-mon."
"You have numerous secure vaults," the Minister said calmly, "rent them out as storage space."
"But . . . but we won't be able to make loans," the goblin protested.
"But you will be able to make your payments to the Ministry," the Minister retorted coldly, "debts must be paid after all." His smile deepened as he watched the goblin delegation storm out of the room, he'd just fulfilled the dream of every human that had ever been employed by Gringotts.
Seeing that the situation was under control, Amelia stepped back into the shadows to have a meeting with an old colleague.
"What is it?" she whispered.
"Someone decided to obliviate Lockheart until his brain started oozing out his nose," Moody whispered.
"The Author?" Amelia asked in shock. "What do you make of it?"
"Either you've got someone else running around doing bad turns to the less then wicked," Moody rumbled, "or the pretty bastard wasn't what he appeared to be."
"Check it out for me?" Amelia asked half hopefully.
"When am I supposed to do that?"
"Right," Amelia sighed, "you mind calling up a few of the old crew and using them?"
"Pay?"
"And overtime."
"Deal," Moody said with a grin, "I'll send you a bill at the end of the week."
"Appreciate it Mad Eye."
"You got any information to share about Bleeding Lily's family?"
"She had an Aunt that married an American soldier and went home with him as a war bride," Amelia replied, "Americans say that his records were lost. A little digging shows that they had a son. Only reason I can tell that the boy even existed was a mention in the local paper, every other record was either lost or destroyed in an accident of some sort."
"Convenient," Moody grunted.
"I thought so."
IIIIIIIIII
Ron was sitting in his bedroom staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out how he was going to spend the rest of his holiday when a screeching ball of feathers burst through his window and began tearing up the place.
"MUM," Ron shouted, "there's an owl in the house."
"Take its letter and bring it down to me," Molly called back.
"I don't think it has one," Ron called back, "and you're going to need to cast some repairing charms."
"What?" Molly squawked. She stormed up to the room, captured the owl, and set everything right, with the aid of a few spells of course. "Let's see here."
A short inspection of the captured owl revealed that it was carrying a business card stating that it's name was Pigwigeon (Pig for short) and that it would like nothing better then to become Ron's post owl. Molly thought it was a nice touch that the owl had been thoughtful enough to include a coupon for a free cage and an wide assortment of owl treats on the reverse of its business card.
"Can I keep him mum?" Ron begged. "Can I."
"We'll see," Molly said indulgently.
"But, muuuuuuum . . ."
"We can talk about it after your father has had a chance to check 'Pig' for curses and hexes."
"Yes, mum." Ron sulked for the next fifteen minutes until it was time for lunch, at which time he put the whole matter out of his mind in favor of devouring as much as possible. He was a growing boy after all.
AN: Lots of polish by dogbertcarroll. More by; , ubereng, bobman10000, Chris P, Kai Korhonen, Nicholas Dorn
