Chapter Two: Secrets of Industry
In which Billy Stockwell meets two strange men in the oddest office he has ever seen, Roarke gets a very odd letter, and the chief of Gringotts makes some rather rude and disturbing remarks to an exasperated Minister of Magic.
BANK business entity formed to maintain savings and checking accounts, issue loans and credit, and deal in negotiable securities issued by government agencies and by corporations. Banks are strictly regulated and fall into the following three categories according to the legal limitations upon their activities. COMMERCIAL BANK: SAVINGS AND LOAN ASSOCIATION: SAVINGS BANK
MALICIOUS MISCHIEF intentional damage or destruction of another person's or business's property. Insurance can be purchased by the owner of the property to protect against this exposure.
- Barron's 'Dictionary of Business Terms'; Second Edition: Jack P. Friedman, Ph.D., CPA General Editor
***
Billy Stockwell double-checked the address given to him, looking up at the small office building he stood in front of. It seemed the same as any other sooty, old, five or six storey stone office building in London, but something about it felt a trifle odd to him. The only décor on the façade was a small frieze along the stone roof, but he couldn't tell at this distance what the figures were doing. Billy sighed, and tucked the paper with the address into his coat pocket as he decided to just go in and face the music. He had felt odd all weekend, unable to shake the feeling that he was, well, missing something. Billy remembered vividly watching the sapphire he had been working on last Friday shattering as he slipped while cutting it, but after going up to see the Master Cutter and discussing what had happened, nothing. He barely recalled opening the door to the Master's office; then all of a sudden it was Monday and he was due back in the shop.
Nerves. You really, really screwed that up. But why have I been sent here? Billy was unclear as to why he had been sent to this place, knowing only that the Master had personally put him into a cab that morning, said it would be explained to him later, and told the driver where to go. The driver hadn't said a word to Billy as he steered through the London traffic, seeming to slingshot around Piccadilly Circus with even more recklessness than the average cabby. Billy could have sworn they actually went through the square, rather than around it, and the statue of Eros had simply side-stepped them gracefully.
The cabby dropped him off on a quiet tree-lined street near the Victoria Embankment, but sped off before Billy paid him. The Master must have already given him the fare when I was picked up…. Billy walked up the steps and glanced at the small brass plaque with the building number next to the left door, double-checking he was really where he was supposed to be. He had the impression, for a moment, that he seemed to be entering one of the barristers' offices that littered the neighbourhood, but there was no official title or even formal house name. The plaque simply read '42' in an older style block text.
Billy slowly turned the brass handle on the heavy wooden door and stepped inside to find a bilious green marble hallway lit by large heavy antique lamps hanging from the high panelled ceiling. There were no doors whatsoever in the hallway, but a fair-sized staircase was at the far end, curling upwards with a slow and lazy bend to the left. Billy walked to the foot of the stairs, then paused at the bottom step. He glanced back at the doorless corridor nervously, and his feeling of simply missing something intensified. Shaking himself, he almost angrily turned to march upstairs in a determined fashion. His footsteps echoed loudly off of the stonework.
The stairs seemed to go up several flights of the building without opening onto any floors, then ended at a rather small corridor. This corridor was panelled with dark wood, like the ceilings, and also lit with the heavy lamps from the entry. There were no doors here, either, save a single one Billy could just make out at the very end of the passage. He made no sound on the hall's thick red carpet as he went to the door, and knocked.
After a moment the door opened, and Billy heard a man call out his name and invite him in. He stepped forward, jumping as the door swung closed behind him of its own accord. Someone called out his name again, this time in a questioning voice, then asking him to come into the next room. Billy stepped out of the small entry way into the open door on his left.
The room was gigantic; at least two stories high, and absolutely covered with bookcases and barristers cabinets that seemed to be stuffed with scrolls of some sort, not files. Billy gaped as he took in the look of the place. The walls and ceiling were painted a rich red, and the wainscoting and lamps were gold. One wall was almost half covered with a white marble fireplace that was practically tall enough to stand in, were it not for the roaring fire. On the mantle were two rampart lions in the same gold colour as the wainscoting on each side of the fireplace, and the oddest collection of whatnots Billy had ever seen. There was a telescope, numerous ancient looking books, some with their seams bursting, a brass cup-looking object with what appeared to be bottle-rockets sitting in it, a stuffed raven, a large red ball of some sort that looked slightly beat up, a huge jar of jelly-beans, several antique looking bottles with rounded stoppers and labels written in an elegant, sweeping calligraphy, and finally several pictures which seemed to be moving in the twinkling of the firelight. Weird.
"Mr. Stockwell?"
Billy turned from the fireplace towards the voice he had heard earlier inviting him in. At the far side of the room against the windows, which were draped in red velvet the same shade as the walls and tied back with thick gold cords, was a large desk that seemed to be covered in more of the same books, scrolls and odd items as were on the mantle. In front of the desk were two large leather sofas and a low stone table. Behind the desk, of all things, was a large cage holding what was without question a pair of owls, sleeping side by side on a perch.
A man was walking around the desk towards him, smiling and holding out his hand.
"Thank you for coming," he started in a deep voice Billy could hear a faint Scottish lit in under the obvious British-boarding school tones, "please, do sit down."
Billy shook the man's hand as he came to a stop in front of him and grinned at Billy, shaking his hand firmly. He appeared to be in his early forties, with grey just starting to show slightly in his black hair. His eyes were almost as dark as his hair, but had a friendly look to them. The obvious laugh lines on his face made Billy relax slightly and give his own small smile in return as he dropped the man's hand. The gentleman was dressed in an elegant black suit, paired with a deep blue shirt and regimental tie of the seemingly endless colour scheme of red and gold, but he seemed a little uncomfortable in the clothes as he took a seat on the opposite sofa and fiddled with his coat as he settled.
"Mr. Stockwell, thank you for coming. My name is Mr. Black, and I have been asked by your employer to ask you a few questions about an incident I believe you were witness to a few days ago."
"I...I'm sorry? Mr. Black, you said? I'm not sure what you're talking about."
Mr. Black smiled at him again and simply said, "Yes, well, when my colleague gets here we'll see what we can do to help you remember. Tea? Or do you prefer coffee like most of the Americans I've met?"
Help me remember what? "Um, coffee, yes please."
Mr. Black stood up gracefully and wandered though a small door at the far side of the room Billy could have sworn wasn't there when he looked before, calling out casually behind him as he went, "So, where in America are you from, then?"
"I'm from Massachusetts, originally."
"Ah, I've been there. Where about?"
"Salem."
Billy heard a snort of laughter that was quickly swallowed. What's so funny?
Mr. Black walked back out carrying two cups that he placed on the stone table, smiling again at Billy. "Well, quite the reputation that town has. Historically, I mean."
"Oh, you mean the witches and all that? Yeah, people still come in droves to get into all that. Lots of them are just nuts."
"'Nuts'?"
"A little crazy. They're really into the whole 'witches and wizards' thing; come to 'be one with their fallen brethren' or something. Take a walk around the town any Saturday night and you'll find all sorts of people holding 'rituals' in the graveyards. Whatever; they have a right to do what they want to. From what I understand, though, those people have very little to do with 'real' Pagan or Wiccan practises and beliefs. These are just people seeing if the book of spells they picked up in a tourist booth for five bucks might work after they've had too much beer. It's especially bad," he continued, hearing the outer door open and shut faintly," during the full moon. That really brings out the fruitcakes."
Mr. Black chuckled as he leaned back and threw an arm casually over the back of the couch. "Well, full moons do bring it out of some people," here he looked past Billy towards the door with a grin, "don't they?"
Billy turned to see a man was walking in through the doorway to the entry hall, giving Mr. Black a rather dry look. Billy gave a little start; although this man looked pleasant enough, he gave Billy an uneasy feeling for some reason.
"Mr. Stockwell, this is Mr. Lupin. Who is late."
Mr. Lupin ignored Mr. Black and came forward without a sound to shake Billy's hand, smiling softly at him.
"A pleasure, Mr. Stockwell."
"Mr. Lupin," Billy said, hearing the nervousness in his own voice. It was surprising; there was absolutely nothing threatening about this man who seemed the same age as his colleague, though his short hair was entirely silver and his eyes seemed a little sunken, thanks to darkish circles around them. He was thin and pale, but his face was quite young looking, and his eyes had the same amused twinkle Mr. Black's had. Billy couldn't fathom why his hand seemed frozen as he dropped Mr. Lupin's and sat back down. Mr. Lupin, dressed in a dark grey suit practically the same shade as his eyes that he also seemed uncomfortable in, sat next to Mr. Black and set a small square wooden box on the stone table in front of him.
Mr. Lupin must have noticed Billy looking at the box oddly, having never seen anything like it, and said in his soft, somewhat hoarse voice, "It's an apothecary's box. An antique one."
Billy just looked at him and gave a small nervous nod, having no idea what an apothecary was, let alone an apothecary's box. Mr. Black looked at the box and gave another of his low chuckles.
"Does the apothecary know their box has gone missing?"
Mr. Lupin smiled at Mr. Black and reached forward to start opening the heavy brass latches on the box.
"If the apothecary had waited for the apothecary's husband to come down to breakfast before they left for the day, as the husband had requested the previous evening when the apothecary was so kindly preparing the contents of the box, the apothecary would have been able to provide a more suitable container for the husband's use."
"The husband sleeping in again, was he?"
"Last in the shower, actually," said Mr. Lupin, removing a bundle wrapped in a plain cloth and placing it on the table between Billy and himself. "The young apothecary's habits of lingering in the bathroom for extended lengths of time have not improved this semester while they were at school, and the apothecary's husband has been too pre-occupied assisting old friends with their work to complete the repairs on the plumbing, leaving us all the mercy of the young apothecary's schedule and the single operating shower."
"I suggest the apothecary's husband get a move on with his "I'll take care of it myself" tendencies or Christmas may not be so happy this year."
Billy felt himself staring at the two men in their elegant but uncomfortable suits as this bizarre conversation went on casually across from him. Mr. Lupin caught his eye and smiled the same vague, soft smile he had when he came in and unwrapped the bundle. Billy's nervousness over the man returned as he saw two harsh white scars on the man's hand emerging from his immaculately pressed French cuff. How the hell did he do that?
Before Billy could say anything, Mr. Black clapped his hands and sat forward as the bundle opened.
"Ah good. Mr. Stockwell, these are, without question, some of the finest scones you will ever eat, I promise. Mr. Lupin's lovely wife makes them when I ask her in my nicest tones. I insist you have one as we continue our conversation. Would you prefer a currant one, there, or you might want to try one of these cherry ones. I prefer the cherry ones, myself," he smiled, taking one up and breaking the rather large pastry in two, placing half on his saucer and biting into the other half with a large smile.
"There is also cranberry," smiled Mr. Lupin. Billy looked up into the man's eyes and found himself oddly captivated. While something in the back of his head screamed at him not to touch any of the scones under any circumstances, Billy reached forward and slowly picked one up, neither knowing nor really caring what flavour it was.
"Thanks…" he said, sounding a little uncertain to his own ears, but the silver haired man just smiled a little wider and with a touch more kindness. Billy bit into the scone, and he had to admit to himself that he had never tasted anything like it. Wow; that's really delicious!
He smiled at Mr. Lupin for the first time, who was now slowly eating a scone himself.
"These are great; your wife a professional cook?"
Mr. Black chuckled again, but Mr. Lupin simply continued to smile. "After a fashion," he said, softly. There was silence for a long moment as the men ate the scones and watched each other, until Mr. Black moved forward to rest his arms on his knees and said, "now, about last Friday night…."
***
Billy blinked a few times in the fading winter sunlight. For some reason he was standing on a quiet tree-lined street, but wasn't sure why. I was supposed to have an appointment….no, no; I did meet with someone, just like the Master Cutter asked me. Didn't I?
Glancing up at the street marker, Billy saw that he was in fact where he was supposed to go. He looked over his shoulder at the building behind him, but there was no sign on it, simply a small brass plaque that read '42'. What is wrong with me? I feel like I haven't been able to focus on anything for days now!
Just at that moment, the door to Number 42 opened, and a man who looked vaguely familiar stepped out. He turned back to the door and seemed to mutter something at it, then quickly came down the steps and smiled at Billy. The smile looked very familiar….
"Mr. Stockwell, thank you so much for taking the time to come and speak with me," he said.
"You're welcome, Mr. Black," Billy said, trying for the life of him to remember how on earth he knew this man's name. But it didn't really seem to matter….
"You'd best walk up that street towards St. Bride's Church; see the spire just there? You can easily catch a cab on Fleet Street. Shall I walk you there?"
"No, no thanks. I can manage."
"Right then. Again, thank you for your help. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm due for another meeting. Goodbye!"
Mr. Black turned quickly in the direction opposite of where he had directed Billy and was out of sight in the blink of an eye. Slowly Billy turned, and fixing his eyes on the spire of the church Mr. Black had pointed out, started walking, grateful that something seemed solid and real around him.
***
Roarke let herself into her flat, and promptly allowed all of the bundles she had been leading before her to fall to the floor with a flick of her wand as soon as the door had closed. Stepping over the bags in front of her, she pulled her cloak off and tossed it in the general direction of the coat rack behind the door, and stepped into her rooms with a happy sigh. That's it; the last of it. We'll see if I can't startle Malcolm with a truly inspired Christmas gift this year.
Smiling at the idea of her brother's delighted face, Roarke went down the hall into the front room to check if there were any messages. She was surprised to see her brother's owl, Boinn, perched on the back of a chair. The lovely grey owl turned her head quickly at the sound of Roarke coming in, and flew over to her to land on her outstretched arm.
"Hello, my lovely bunny," she cooed at the owl, "how is my lovely sweetie today?" Boinn hopped across Roarke's arm to settle on her shoulder so she could bend down and nibble at Roarke's cheek for a moment, then settled against her head with a soft grunting sound. Malcolm had always shared Boinn with Roarke, as Roarke didn't really want an owl when she went to Hogwarts. In fact, she never did get a pet of her own. When she was eleven she had really wished she could bring Bessie with her to Hogwarts, but dogs were not allowed as familiars. The only pet she ever really wanted was a cat, but she knew how much her father hated them, so she never asked for one. Malcolm had told her, once she confessed this to him, that of course mum and dad would get her a cat if she truly wanted one, but she firmly refused to ask. Roarke knew how Sirius' cats watched Remus with suspicious stares whenever he stepped into a room they were in, and couldn't bear the idea of a pet who was terrified of Remus, simply because of who he was.
Roarke smiled as she reached up one hand to sritch at the owl's neck happily, still cooing at her, as her other hand reached to take the note Boinn had for her. The owl snuggled closer and pressed her warm side against Roarke's face, making her give a small sneeze as Boinn gave her feathers a happy little rustle.
"Sweetie, please don't do that; it does tickle!" giggled Roarke. She had a momentary mental image of Malcolm pretending to look horrified as he insisted this 'nonsense talk' from his 'sensible sister' directed as his 'dignified pet' stop at once. Roarke turned to Boinn and asked 'if shnookums would like an owl treat' while she summoned the jar holding the treats to her. Then with a sigh, she looked at Malcolm's note. Let me just guess what this is.
Firecracker-
I've been asked to work late tonight. I know, I'm terrible, the world's worst brother, and a total heel. But be that as it may, I still won't make dinner with you. My heart is breaking, and lord knows my stomach is livid with me. Parkinson asked for me to stay. If it were anyone else, you know I'd tell them to just sod off. But I know you understand why I can't do that, however tempting, with the charming, eloquent, and oh-so-understanding Parkinson. Not until I find another job, at least. Forgive me, and I'll come see you as soon as I can.
Much love-
Malcolm
Well, that does it. Even my own brother can't keep a simple dinner date with me. Bloody Ministry and bloody, evil, Parkinson; that bigoted ass. Roarke moved to sit on the couch and coaxed Boinn down onto the sofa next to her. The owl sat on a cushion and blinked at her.
"Well, Boinn, it's just you and me. You stay here, as that nasty man who claims to love you so much won't be home to give you a proper dinner."
Boinn blinked a few times, and then leaned over to give Roarke one more nibble before she tucked her head under her wing and went to sleep.
"Oh, just perfect," mumbled Roarke. She stood up carefully so she wouldn't jostle the owl and wandered into her small kitchen. She looked blankly at the pasta she was going to prepare for her and Malcolm and then turned back to wander back into the sitting room, unwilling to bother with it now. She considered Apparating home to Exeter to have dinner with her sister and her parents for a moment, but decided she didn't feel up to it. She wanted to talk to Malcolm about things, and Annie was no substitute for her brother's calm sensibility and heartfelt advice, though she was excellent company. Most of the time; she's a little broody for me at the moment. And if Dad asks one more time if I've decided what to do with myself, however sweetly, I shall scream.
Roarke stood in front of the fire contemplating who she should contact to see about having dinner with when she heard a tapping at her window. She quickly went over to let in a large and rather dour looking eagle owl. She chuckled a bit, thinking of Professor Malfoy, then took the note the unknown bird handed to her before it sailed back out of the window without waiting for payment. Private owl? I've never seen it before…
Roarke opened the scroll and read the contents with a small frown.
Dear Miss Lupin;
I do so hope this finds you in most excellent health.
I am aware that you have already politely declined to accept a position as a Curse Breaker with Gringotts. However, as you are no doubt aware, Gringotts only offers such positions as they are available to those two individuals who score the top marks on the Charms N.E.W.T.s in any given year, provided their previous work is also of an acceptable nature. This makes our pool of acceptable individuals extremely limited, but considering the nature of the work, it is necessary. We would like to ask you, with deepest respect, to reconsider your original denunciation of our request.
In consideration of your reticence, we would like to ask you to consider, prior to accepting any permanent position, a temporary position with us to address a particular problem we feel an individual of your formidable skills would be most qualified in dealing with.
Witches of your talents in this area are extremely rare, as I am sure you are cognisant of. We are aware that the English Quidditch League is actively seeking your participation, but as the season will not start for several months, perhaps we will be able to convince you to accept our offer of a temporary assignment so as to provide you an option, should you wish it, to continuing your illustrious career as a Beater.
Please, contact me at your convenience and allow me the opportunity to speak with you in person, before you refuse our offer again. I would be most, most grateful.
With respect -
Slipnod
Roarke stood with the note for a while, wondering if it might simply be a joke. Goblins were vengeful by nature, and to the best of her knowledge never re-offered any position that had been refused. Her original offer from Gringotts had come from a different goblin, but perhaps it wasn't so odd that it was another who was re-extending the offer they had made to her a few days after her graduation from Hogwarts. While Roarke had easily refused the offer at that time, she was now surprised to find herself intrigued by this offer.
Perhaps…perhaps a temporary job wouldn't be so bad. Then I can really see what it's about. Bill Weasley was wonderful to talk to me about it, but I really didn't want it. Now…now I don't know. I don't know what I want to do…. I suppose there's no harm in simply speaking with this Slipnod to find out exactly what he needs.
She was spared thinking about it further by a 'pop' coming from her fireplace and a loud yell coming from the head of Tarquin Noyes.
"GRYFFINDOR BANG-UP AT THE CHESHIRE CHEESE! GET OVER HERE, LUPIN!"
Roarke laughed and went over to kneel in front of the fire and grin at the rather red face of her former house captain, absently tossing the note from Slipnod on the table.
"Hello, gorgeous," he said in a sing-song and slightly sloshy voice, as Roarke came into his view.
"Hello yourself, sexy. What are you up to then?"
"With the exception of your perfect, dreamy, self, I have the entire team from my last year here. Get in the fire, girl, so we can celebrate, once again, our flattening Slytherin and the look on Snape's face for the rest of the year." Tarquin gave an amused chortle even as he wiggled his eyebrows at her.
"What, again? We did beat them without you, you know. Besides, it sounds like you started long before you thought to invite me," said Roarke in a teasing, dry voice.
"Rubbish. You've been OUT haven't you? I've been trying to get you for a good hour. You won't believe how many 'not here' charms I've had to cast to keep the Muggles from calling the police about some loony screaming into the fire. And I thought Boinn was going to sail through the fireplace and claw my eyes out if I interrupted her sleep once more, as I could distinctly hear her crabby old mumbling coming from the room. I still love her, bless her. Now, get over here so I can show these Muggles what a real girl looks like."
"Tarquin, it's nice to hear you're as eloquent and charming as always."
"Roarke, I can charm the feathers off of a Hippogriff if I've the mind to; stop making me look bad and get over here."
"Well get out of my fire and I can do just that," chuckled Roarke.
***
As Roarke Lupin changed into a set of Muggle clothes and took herself to the Cheshire Cheese, Sirius Black trotted up the main staircase of the Ministry of Magic, pondering what Billy Stockwell had told him and Remus that morning. He made his way quickly through the offices towards the entrance to the Minister's private apartments. Katie's scones, laced carefully with a memory restoration potion, had worked brilliantly. Billy easily recalled the events of the 'insane midget' incident outside of the Leakey Cauldron despite the Memory Charm the Ministry gave him, and without the Memory Charm actually breaking to alert the casters that something was up. Brilliant girl. Glad you're on our side.
But there really wasn't much else to learn from what they already knew, except for the small sketch Sirius had tucked away in his robes, although he wasn't sure what it really would mean in all of this. He gave a smile to the Minister's Secretary, who returned the look and silently stood to let Sirius into the Minister's apartments by lowering the wards on the door.
"Dexter?" called Sirius, not seeing anyone as he came in.
"Down here, Sirius," came the Minister of Magic's voice from the depths of the rooms. Sirius wandered down the dim hallways until he came into a large den the Minister used for private meetings. Several owls lined the wall next to the window, all looking very bored but important, and they turned as one to watch Sirius as he moved through the shadows to the fire. Dexter Tanner, the 146th Minister of Magic, sat slumped in a chair with a large martini, staring into the flames of the fire that lit the room.
"Lovely day, Dex?" asked Sirius as he sat down across from the Minister, smiling at the house elf who appeared out of nowhere to offer him a scotch with ice, his preferred drink.
Tanner gave a grunt and took a sip of his own drink before looking over at Sirius with a smile.
"How did I get this job again?" he asked.
"By being too damn respectable," replied Sirius happily.
"Oh yes, I'd forgotten. Well, how was your meeting with Mr. Stockwell?"
Sirius sighed and shook his head. "Dex, I hate to say this…"
"But you didn't learn anything we didn't know. I thought that was what was going to happen."
"Well, we did get one thing your goons seemed to have missed, but I'm not sure what it means."
Dexter sat up and leaned towards Sirius with a hopeful look. "Sirius, in about one minute the Chief of Gringotts is going to be here to ask if we've had any luck in dealing with this situation. I would be grateful for anything we could tell him. Have you met Kentvicks?"
"No, actually."
"Consider yourself lucky. Now, what have you got?"
Sirius took the small piece of parchment he'd brought with him out of his pocket and laid it on the table in between himself and the Minister. Dexter leaned farther forward to peer at it, and then looked back up at Sirius with a dejected look.
"This says what?"
"I've no idea. But the Muggle says it made him feel odd."
"But it's just a…."
At that moment, the door to the room opened again and Sirius stood up along with Dexter as a rather old and decidedly nasty looking goblin marched into the room and came to a halt a few metres from them.
Dexter gave his most political smile and stepped forward.
"Kentvicks, thank you for coming."
The goblin gave a sneer and then looked at Sirius darkly.
"What are you doing here?"
"Kentvicks, this is Mr. Si…."
"Sirius Black, yes I know exactly who he is. Substantial deposit but wastes his life squandering it on odd ventures. No business sense, though I suppose that Azkaban is to blame for his eccentricities. I pray his son has more sagacity to him, should anything remain of Mr. Black's account for the young man to inherit when the time comes, and then we can put the money to better use."
Sirius smiled through clenched teeth at the little old goblin and sat back down. Dexter waved Kentvicks forward, but he refused to move and hissed at the house elf who tried to offer him a drink.
"Mr. Black," continued the Minister of Magic, giving a tense smile, "has been speaking with Billy Stockwell to try and ascertain if there is some detail of Friday's incident that may have been missed…."
"Oh," said Kentvicks slyly, "are your Enforcement Wizards unable to perform such a simple task as questioning a Muggle?"
"Mr. Black," continued Dexter in overly polite tones, "is an expert in evaluating unique situations."
Kentvicks gave an unpleasant laugh, then glared at Dexter Tanner. "Now you understand one thing, Tanner," he growled. "This is serious. I don't care how many old school mates you try to drag into solve it, but I expect the Ministry to get it settled as they promised, or we will deal with it."
Dexter lost a little colour, but kept up his smile. "Kentvicks, I assure you that the Ministry will honour its commitments to Gringotts, and this unpleasantness will be dealt with forthwith."
Kentvicks gave a snort and turned to leave. He stopped at the door and faced Tanner again, this time with a darkly unpleasant look.
"Tanner, my patience is wearing thin. This cannot go on. Should the Ministry fail to resolve the situation in an acceptable timeframe, I shall have no choice but to close Gringotts until the matter is settled to our satisfaction. Explain that one, you incompetent buffoon. You are costing me more money each day than you will see in a lifetime. I will expect a full restitution from the Ministry on this, or we shall be driven to alter our rates yet again." He paused for moment, then looked at Sirius.
"And you: 'Malicious Mischief' is a very serious charge. I am quite aware that it is in your and Tanner's tame werewolf's hands to speak with our good comrades on the Continent. I will be forced to take action in an effective manner should your little legal platitudes fail. Remember that gentlemen, and good night."
The door slammed behind him, and Sirius and Dexter sat in silence for a long minute, listening to the sound of Kentvicks' retreating feet. Another door slammed, then Dexter looked over at Sirius.
"Does he mean what I think he means?" asked Sirius carefully.
Dexter nodded dejectedly. "He's already 'interviewing' if you can call it that. Can you just see the scene now? What a way to be kicked out of office; responsible for forcing Gringotts to close, and trolls to be loosed on Diagon Alley and other parts currently unknown. Dear gods."
Sirius looked at Dexter as he rubbed his eyes, then said softly, "Dexter? You do realise what else is probably happening?"
"Gods yes. Another run on Gringotts, and yet one more bloody goblin rebellion. At least Professor Binns will be happy."