Not mine, never mine. Always fun to play with though.
Thank you to all who took the time to review. For those who keep asking me to update soon, there will be a new chapter on the first weekend of each month.
J.K said that one galleon equals five pounds, approximately, so I am going to stick to that number. Please don't nit-pick my maths.
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On the twenty-eighth of November Vernon Dursley strode into the London branch of Barclays bank confidently, certain that taking a day off work would pay off in the longer term.
'These receipts from what we bought Dudley will show what Pet and I spent the money on. They won't be able tell which boy uses the things we bought, so they will be accepted without a problem. I wonder if I can get an increase of the allowance out of these idiots. Talk about the rate of inflation and how much extra it costs to outfit the boy and pay for boarding school. I am glad I thought to bring Dud's school receipts too.' He thought as he approached a teller. "Morning, er, Pam!" He said with what he thought was a charming smile as he looked at her name tag. "I have an appointment with a Mr. D. Claw please. The name is Dursley." He said as he handed over the letter they had received earlier that month.
Looking at the man, who had the appearance of a constipated walrus, and quickly reading the letter, the teller gave a polite smile and said "Thank you, sir, please be seated by the red door with the dragon picture and Case Manager Claw will see you shortly." She thought to herself 'Oh boy! If THEY are involved this should be good. I wonder if they would let me watch this time? I will ask the boss and tell him that this should be … educational. I could even call it training to deal with THEM.' She finished the thought with a small giggle, hurrying to ask her supervisor.
After a short wait Vernon found himself being led into an opulently appointed office with a large mirror behind the desk. Vernon shook hands with a tall, handsome man wearing a suit that, in his estimate, would have cost a month of Vernon's wages.
"Ah! Mr. Dursley. I am Mr. Claw, account manager for the Potter estate. Thank you for responding so promptly. Please be seated. Do you have the receipts that we asked for?" Daggerclaw asked in a friendly manner.
"Here you are. All ten years' worth." Vernon smiled as he handed over the folder. As Daggerclaw started reading Vernon continued. "Also, I wanted to ask if it would be possible to raise the amount we get. You see, it is getting more and more expensive to feed and clothe him properly and even though the boy has gone to boarding school, well, you can see from these papers that it is quite an expense to outfit a boy properly these days."
"Hmm… we can discuss that shortly." Daggerclaw replied, seemingly distracted. Vernon sat back, smirking, thinking that things were looking up for him.
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After reading through the papers that Vernon had given him and thinking about the answers to the questions he had asked as he read, Daggerclaw gently placed the papers on his desk and looked Vernon squarely in the face.
"Mr. Dursley. Do you think I am stupid?" Daggerclaw asked sternly.
"No, I…" Vernon trailed off, shocked that he had been caught out so easily.
"Do you think that I cannot tell that you have sat there and continually lied to me." He said in a soft but dangerous voice.
"Now see here!" Vernon spluttered. "You can't…"
"Be SILENT!" Daggerclaw shouted, dropping his glamour charm.
Vernon jumped to his feet, seeing that his host was no longer human. "You're one of those freaks! This was just a trick! You and that brat are trying to ruin me!"
"Actually, we were only trying to ascertain where the money you were given in good faith for the care of Mr. Potter has been spent. When I sent the letter to you, I was not going to look much further than the receipts. But you lying to me has me looking deeper and I am not liking what I am seeing. Just so you know, I already knew many of the answers to my questions already. For example, you have complained about how much it cost you to send a child to boarding school. I happen to know that young Mr. Potter parents paid his school fee's shortly after his birth and that Mr. Potter purchased all of his school supplies himself."
"With what? I didn't give him the money to do it." Vernon asked belligerently.
"With the help of a student fund. You don't need further details." Daggerclaw answered calmly.
"But…" Vernon was less used to being told 'no' than his son was.
"NO! That is none of your concern. Now be silent. You claim that you had Mr. Potter's uniform made by a tailor. This receipt lists four pairs of orange knickerbockers, two maroon tail coats and a straw boater hat with orange and maroon trim were personally fitted. Is that correct?"
"Er, yes." Vernon gulped nervously.
"What school has such a dreadful, colour blind, uniform?" Daggerclaw asked curiously. "It definitely isn't Hogwarts. It has grey trousers and jumpers, white shirts and black robes and ties with the school crest."
"Um…" Vernon was at a loss for words.
"We will leave that for now. We will now talk about child labor. You have had Mr. Potter working around your house and yard since he was old enough to follow your and your wife's' directions, is that true?"
"Well, yes. But we wanted to teach him about how he needed to work if he wanted things in this world. You know how boys are, always wanting things, eh?" Vernon nervously chuckled.
"I see. And your son?"
"What about Dudders?" Vernon asked, confused.
"Did you make him work for his… 'things', as you put it?" Daggerclaw asked in a deceptively calm voice.
"No, I didn't think he needed it like the boy… I mean, Harry!" Vernon hastily corrected himself.
"No? Hmm…" Daggerclaw pretended to look over some papers, taking several deep breaths so that he didn't take the morons head off in anger. "You see, I have here a list of 'things' that you claim that you have bought for Mr. Potter. But the reports that I have here show that they were used and broken by your son. For example, in the most recent receipts, a racing bicycle. It was ridden once and broken when a collision occurred between your son and an elderly pedestrian neighbor. Or the remote controlled airplane that was crashed into a car windscreen at a nearby park. Mr. Potter was reported to be on the roof of your house, cleaning the gutters at the time. Do you see where I am going with this?"
Vernon sat silently but broke out in a sweat.
"I also have here reports of you and your wife working Mr. Potter to the point of child slavery! I will base my thoughts on your expectations of a child working around the house and yard by what chores you give your son. Please list them."
"Dudley… doesn't do any." Vernon said softly. The magnitude of trouble was sinking into his head and he was dreading the outcome of their behavior. "We didn't think that he needed to do anything because he is our son. We actually want him!"
"And the reason for you overworking Mr. Potter?"
"We never wanted him, we were never asked. He was just dumped on us with only a note saying his parents were dead and that he had to live with us for our safety." Vernon snapped angrily.
"Very well. Let's discuss the particulars."
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After several hours Daggerclaw had had enough.
"After considering everything we have discussed I have made my decision. Even though he was too young, by law, to be working I am going to apply the standard junior minimum wage to the hours that Mr. Potter worked in your home. We have agreed that it averaged out to thirty hours of labor per week from his fifth to his eleventh birthdays. That comes to six thousand, two hundred and forty pounds per year, total for the six years being thirty-seven and a half thousand pounds. I am being generous here in not looking any closer so do not object, this can get worse for you if I choose to make it so. In addition to this you have been receiving two thousand, five hundred pounds annually for Mr. Potters care. That totals to an additional twenty-three thousand, seven hundred and fifty pounds to date, which, by the way, you did not declare to the tax office. The total before we take out food and basic care is sixty-one thousand, two hundred and fifty pounds! This is before I add in interest."
Vernon slumped in his chair, nearly fainting. He knew he didn't have even a tenth of that in his savings at the moment.
"Taking into account the food and care that you provided I am willing to deduct three thousand pounds from what you will need to repay Mr. Potter. While we are talking of repayments, you recently remortgaged your house. It was valued at fifty-eight thousand pounds and you borrowed fifty thousand against it. Unfortunately, that means that it's sale will not cover your debt. After fees, interest and other bank charges you will still owe the bank an additional seven thousand pounds for the mortgage."
"How do you know that! Vernon asked, amazed at the amount of information this being had.
"You obtained your loan and do your banking through Barclays, Mr. Dursley. The information is all here, I just had to look."
"I see." Vernon said, dejected. They know where every penny he had was.
"You and your wife will have to repay what is owed in the timeliest fashion possible. It is my decision that you will both be taken into Gringotts custody and work in our tunnels until your debt is repaid. A team are collecting your wife as we speak."
'That shouldn't be too bad,' Vernon thought, 'Miners earn a decent wage, we should be out within a year or two. Perhaps with some savings to start a new life away from Little Whinging.' Then another thought hit him.
"Wait! What about my son!" Vernon said desperately. "What is going to happen to him?"
"We are not entirely unfeeling. Your son was the product of your and your wife's abuse and mismanagement and, as such, will not be punished. His education and a small living stipend will be paid as a loan from the Potter trust on the understanding that Dudley will have to repay it once he begins gainful employment. It will not be to the amount that you currently lavish on him, but, if used carefully, the stipend will be sufficient to his needs. I will have a representative talk with the boy and check that the school he is attending suitable for his future prospects. He will be made a ward of the state and placed in foster care during his term holidays."
"Why can't he go to my sister Marge?" Vernon asked
"She is facing financial problems of her own and will possibly be unavailable to look after Dudley. We thought that this offer would be better for your son than for him to become settled with her and then uprooting him from her care to place the boy in the foster system with no resources to his name."
This was a generosity that Vernon had not expected. "Thank you." Was softly, but sincerely said.
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Having sat in the hidden room behind the mirror with her boss for the whole interview, Pamela was shaken by what she had seen. That was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.
"Now that you have seen THEM in action, is there anything you would like to say?" Mr Carlyon asked gently. Most employees were curious about THEM and were often shocked after seeing them in action.
"NEVER let me mess up with these guys!" She blurted. "I think that death would be preferable to their justice."
"You will be fine if you keep that in mind in future." Was all he said, leading the shaking woman away.
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Meanwhile, on Privet Drive.
Petunia Dursley was having a good day. Vernon was dealing with the bank and hopefully would be getting more money for them to spend on their son. And looking out the window she knew that Mrs. Number-seven would be the talk of the neighborhood today as there had been a strange man staying at her house for the last few nights while her husband was away. 'Hmm, perhaps I should have her over for tea today?' she thought as she tidied the house. 'Always good to get the gossip, I mean facts, from the source.' Her mundane day was interrupted by the arrival of several police cars. All stopped outside number four. She trembled with dread.
Answering the knock on her door she shrieked at the sight of the uniformed police officers. "Oh! Please tell me that no one is dead! Not my little Duddydums!" Petunia wailed.
The officers looked at each other in resignation, it was going to be one of THOSE ones.
"Are you Mrs. Petunia Dursley?" The female officer asked politely.
"Yes. Oh no! If it's not Dudley, then… Oh Vernon!" Petunia cried, bursting into tears.
"Ahem! No, Madam. We are not here to give you that sort of news." It was people like this that made her wonder why she became a police officer in the first place.
Mentally groaning Constable Rose Tyler began her memorized speech. "Petunia Dursley, you are under arrest…"
Petunia was only dimly aware of the policewoman speaking but came back to her senses when she felt cold metal circling her wrist.
"NO!" She screamed as she wrenched her arm free and hit Constable Tyler in the face.
Petunia was quickly tackled to the ground and handcuffed while she was screaming how that the police couldn't do this to her. Apparently, they could.
"In addition to the charges read to you we will be adding resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer!" Constable Tyler snapped as Petunia was escorted to the waiting police van and placed in the back.
Constable Tyler leaned into the car and said softly "Just to let you know, after we finish processing you, you will be handed over to Gringotts, where you will be reunited with your husband. Enjoy your ride." Petunia had to sit there as the police entered her house and came out carrying boxes of papers. She had to sit in handcuffs and suffer under the invisible stares of her neighbors. How would she ever show her face on Privet drive again, even if this was just a mistake. But Petunia knew that it was no mistake. They were doomed.
An older policeman called from the door.
"Get the photographer in here, call forensics and start questioning the neighbors. It's even worse than we thought!" was the last thing Petunia heard as she fainted into blissful oblivion.
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