Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three
Iolanthe
Chapter Sixteen
Harry Potter OM, Member of the Wizengamot
Harry let himself in and took a look around. Everything seemed to be in place. He checked the charms he'd left to alert him to intrusions, his favorite being the mirror that faced the door, which could be queried by waving his wand to show the people who had come in, one after another, as far back as one wished to go. Harry didn't get any surprises, so he was confident no one had breached his security measures since his last visit.
Harry intended to spend fifteen or twenty minutes at the flat, then floo to the Leaky Cauldron to meet Ron and Hermione. He hadn't decided whether to use the floo to contact Hannah and ask her to give them one of the smaller private dining rooms or to sit in the big room so they'd be seen. One would give them reasonable privacy for discussing his encounter with Georges Lestrange, and his working theory that Lestrange needed Fabio's facilities for some purpose other than the importation of specialized magical materials. The other would show anyone watching that Harry, Ron and Hermione were having what appeared to be a working lunch, presumably for the purpose of discussing subjects of mutual interest.
Harry eventually decided the message could best be delivered if he were to arrive a few minutes early, sit at the bar, then go on into the private dining room upon Ron's arrival. He used his floo and called for Hannah, who confirmed she had a dining room available, and she'd keep it for Harry's party.
Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed that no one he could connect to Georges Lestrange was hanging around the Leaky Cauldron while Harry sat at the bar nursing a butterbeer. Hannah was fully occupied with the lunch rush, and Neville was at Hogwarts, so Harry was left to his own thoughts. One concerned the flat, and what he would do with it. He wasn't using it much anymore, splitting his time almost equally between Greengrass Manor and #12 Grimmauld Place. With the new Potter Manor nearly ready for occupation and the Black estate available as well, Harry thought Potter family life had evolved past the flat's expiration of usefulness.
On the other hand, it was a handy staging area for all kinds of London activity, very convenient to Diagon Alley, and could be useful as alternative housing or guest quarters if something precluded using #12.
Harry was in the midst of sorting out all of the self-contradictory options when the door opened, admitting Ron and Hermione. Harry got off his stool and greeted his oldest, best friends, grabbed his butterbeer, waved to Hannah, and led the way to the private room.
"What's with the privacy fetish, Harry," Hermione asked.
"You, of all people," Harry replied.
He wasn't officially in public life at all, at least until he formally accepted Slughorn's duties, and Ron's position as an investigator for the Wizengamot had no covert attachments. Hermione, on the other hand, headed up the Department of Mysteries, whose staff avoided letting anyone know just where they worked and never spoke about what they did.
Ron laughed heartily, a gratifying response to Harry, and Hermione turned scarlet.
"I just meant…," she tried, before giving up.
There was a knock on the dining room door, and Hannah Abbott peeked in.
"Hullo, Hermione, hullo, Ron, hullo, Harry," Hannah said, "Drinks? Another butterbeer, Harry?"
Everyone was ready for a small butterbeer, and Hannah ducked out, returning minutes later with a tray and the butterbeers, silverware and napkins.
"Lunch special with meat," said Ron.
"Same," said Harry.
"The meatless special please, Hannah," Hermione said, giving the other two a slight frown. As it turned out, the lunch special with meat was spaghetti and meatballs, and the meatless special was spaghetti in a red sauce without meatballs, making the nutritional content only marginally different. Ron and Harry kept that observation to themselves, drawing on long experience with Hermione. There wasn't any need to get a promising lunch off to a bad start, in their estimation.
When everyone was comfortable and the formalities satisfied, Harry got to the point.
"I have an actual agenda," he said.
"Oh, Harry, I thought you were going to say you just wanted to spend some quality time with us," Ron responded, eliciting a, "Ronald!" from Hermione.
"Anyone have any idea what is going to come up at the Wizengamot this afternoon?" Harry asked. "Kingsley asked me to attend, unusual enough in itself, but I asked Fabio if he'd heard anything, and he had no idea. It just seems odd, all the way around. Nothing from Kingsley, and Fabio not getting pestered to commit his vote."
Ron didn't sit as a member, but as a full-time investigator, he attended most sessions, either because he had material to present, or could be called upon as a subject matter expert for background information. He was usually well-informed about the business before wizarding Britain's highest legislative body.
"No idea," Ron said. "It is odd. They do sometimes have those routine sessions to approve a final budget or pass a resolution to honor some achievement. What about you, Hermione? Anyone come to you with anything?"
"No, and I'm not just saying that," Hermione said.
"How would we know?" said Ron and Harry in unison.
"Sometimes I really hate my job," Hermione said, more to herself than the two of them.
"Okay, time will tell," Harry said, as a waiter arrived with plates of spaghetti swimming in sauce.
"No meatballs?" he asked, and Hermione raised her hand.
"Second agenda item," Harry began. He told them of his encounter with Georges Lestrange at Greengrass Manor.
"Apparently it's been going on for a few months," Harry said. He continued the story, ending with his working theory of the basis for Lestrange's quest to acquire Fabio's businesses.
"So you think he wants the logistics capabilities?" Ron asked. "Any idea why?"
"All kinds of things come to mind," Harry said, "But some form of smuggling seems the most likely. Contraband. Drugs, money, people."
Hermione and Ron twirled strands of spaghetti around the ends of their forks. Harry let the problem simmer as well while he cut the meatballs down to an easily-edible size.
"Could be all of it," Ron offered. "All of the above. Who are the mysterious backers? Is the capital legitimate, or the fruits of something hinky?"
"Possible," Harry said, before closing his mouth over a fork full of meatball, spaghetti and tomato sauce.
"This hasn't come across my desk, Harry," said Hermione, "Not Georges Lestrange nor his business. I can look and see if there is anything in the files.
"Why does it have to be anything but an acquisitive businessman with money to spend?" Hermione asked. "What was that Fabio quote?"
"The access to capital mistaken for business skill?" Harry asked.
"Exactly," Hermione said, giving in to a little laugh.
"Could be," Harry said. "I don't think so. There was something in his voice, like desperation. Not saying it actually was desperation, he just sounded like he knew he had to get the deal done. It could be a negotiating technique. And he did draw his wand."
"I'll keep an open mind," Ron said. "Let me read some files and see if anything looks interesting."
"I can't promise anything," Hermione said, which was very much what Harry expected. "But you can give our love to Daphne and Iolanthe and tell Kendra and Fabio we are working on this. If they keep that last part to themselves."
Harry was free until the Wizengamot was called to order, which would probably be at four that afternoon, but Ron and Hermione were gainfully employed and needed to get back to their jobs.
Harry paid for lunch and took the floo back to the flat. Protocol required members to wear robes when sitting in session, so most members of the Wizengamot left the appropriate robe in the cloakroom. Harry had commissioned a robe from Madame Malkin, a plain black silk number devoid of ornament, except for an Order of Merlin rosette embroidered in the upper left quadrant. The robe was in the cloakroom outside the Wizengamot chamber, so as long as Harry allowed himself to pass by the cloakroom and retrieve his robe from his personal closet (which was actually a metal locker reminiscent of the shower facilities at the gym), he had time for a little fresh air and thinking time.
Harry apparated to his usual spot on the fringes of Hyde Park, wand at the ready, and took a quick look around. Not seeing anyone in his immediate vicinity, he struck off down a paved walkway as he slipped his wand into the sleeve of his shirt. Harry thought over what he'd discussed with Ron and Hermione. Hermione had made a good point—Fabio could be right in that Lestrange did nothing more than demonstrate the phenomenon of a businessman with access to a pool of capital, possibly his, more likely some other person's, who confused that with business skill.
Neither Ron nor Hermione had heard or read material that put Lestrange on their list of things to look into. Ron's point about the uses of the Greengrass floos was a good one. If Lestrange had the right connections, he could be envisioning the creation of an international transportation service for many kinds of contraband. Witches and wizards were used to moving about freely, since they seldom came to the attention of muggle customs and immigration officers. All could be in play, or none. Maybe Lestrange was working both the muggle and magical sides. Maybe he was just trying to buy a little respect, via the purchase of Fabio's ultra-respectable business.
Analysis would have to wait, Harry decided. According to his watch, it was time to head for the ministry.
Harry found a quiet spot and apparated to Grimmauld Place. Greeting Kreacher, he continued on to the salon, and the fireplace. Harry correctly guessed Daphne would be at Greengrass Manor, her duties at St. Mungo's done for the day.
"Harry?" said Daphne's voice, speaking through the floos.
"Yes. Just about to head to the ministry for the session. What has been happening out there?" Harry asked.
"All quiet," Daphne said. "Mother and I are taking Iolanthe to Utica tomorrow. It all just came together. Father told me about your conversation. He's ready, if you say the word."
"What a day," Harry said, with a little exasperation coming through. "Are you two coming back here, or should I come to Greengrass Manor?"
"It's easier for us if we're here in the morning. Do what you think best. Just keep me informed," Daphne summed up.
"Got it," Harry said. "I'll be in touch."
After throwing on a fresh shirt Harry floo'd to the ministry and made his way to the Wizengamot chamber. Donning his robe, he went inside and worked his way to the bench furthest to the rear. When Harry turned seventeen he became a member of the Wizengamot, a fact that escaped his notice for several years afterward. Dumbledore might have informed him, had he lived a bit longer, or Professor McGonagall, or Remus Lupin, but the chaos of Voldemort's second ascension and the bloody fight to defeat him and his followers obviated a rational, organized approach to bringing the newly-emancipated orphan into the magical fold.
Harry had learned of his status when, after he had returned from what he thought of as his 'sabbatical year' of travel, he had noticed the provisional identification card issued by ministry administration when he commenced auror training, gave his name as 'Harry James, Lord Potter.' He'd thought that seemed odd, but stuck the card in his wallet and focused on keeping up with the others in the auror trainee class.
It wasn't until a permanent card was issued, on his completion of training, that he thought to ask why his name was shown as 'Lord Potter.' The clerk behind the high desk who had handed him his card, in return for his signature on the receipt form, didn't know, but he did show Harry that Lord Potter appeared on the receipt, just as it did on his card. The clerk advised him to go up one step further on the personnel section chain, and there followed several days of climbing the ladder and diverting to parallel chains before someone advised Harry to check with protocol.
Once he arrived at the protocol unit, he was escorted by a friendly aide directly to the Chief of Protocol, who invited Harry to sit down, have tea with the Chief and the Head of the Magical Heraldry Office, and discuss his issue with his title. Harry explained that he did not know he had a title, nor did he know what he had done to deserve one.
The Chief of Protocol and the Head, Magical Heraldry (for short) explained that he didn't have to do anything to deserve his title. That is the nature of titles, they advised. Both were completely in sync on that detail, leading Harry to believe they rather liked titles, for their own sake, as well as the fact that no one who inherited a title needed to do anything at all in life, besides living long enough to hold their title.
That was also the day Harry learned he was not only Lord Potter, but Lord Black as well. Harry had been aware Sirius had left him his properties and the other odds and ends of his estate, but he did not know until the Chief and the Head informed him that a title came with the real estate.
Harry had attended a few sessions of the Wizengamot, mainly those where a friend or colleague would be getting an award or other public recognition. When he became Head Auror his presence was required more often. Harry tried to stay neutral whenever the members were divided, in recognition of the fact the Head Auror had to remain outside of factional disputes if he were to be seen as fair in his dealings with both winners and losers. He also tried never to forget that today's loser is tomorrow's winner, and the Head Auror would want to be acceptable to tomorrow's winner when the tide changed.
Taking a seat against the back wall, Harry looked around the Wizengamot chamber. He recognized most of the members. Some were natural glad-handers and would be circulating and chatting with acquaintances until called to order. Others were chronic crammers, scanning this or that document as if an exam loomed. Harry spotted Hermione, who was among the latter group.
Ron Weasley appeared at the end of the row where Harry sat and worked his way down.
"Ron," Harry said, sliding over.
"Done any research?" Ron asked.
"Found a quiet place and did some thinking," Harry said. "Enough to have formed a working theory."
"Let's talk afterwards," Ron said.
"Anyplace in particular?" Harry asked.
"Your flat?"
"Sure," said Harry. "I can make tea, I think."
"Sold," Ron said. "I'll meet you there, directly after."
The Wizengamot came to order, Kingsley Shacklebolt presiding. It was a regular session, so there were bits of routine business up front. With no major crises looming those were disposed of fairly quickly. There followed a debate on finance that Harry had some initial trouble following. He wasn't a financial expert, and when the subject moved into currency controls and capital movement he usually thought about something else. When he had need for any of that, he was confident the goblins at Gringotts Bank would be able to tell him what he ought to do.
Harry wasn't sure what was different about this debate, though. He watched carefully, listening not just to what the speakers were saying, but for nuance, word choice, anything that would reveal more than the words, whether or not the speakers intended to.
Harry picked up the gradual emergence of a pattern. Lenard Nott, a lawyer, took a position favoring the liberalization of the restrictions on currency movements, specifically, the thicket of rules governing exchange between the magical and muggle denominations, both pounds and foreign. The rules as written, he said, were outdated and impinged on the ability of wizard-run businesses to grow and bring prosperity to British wizarding families.
The ministry's position held that caution must be applied to any measure that had the potential to expose magical society, that the current regulations were appropriate and balanced between maximizing freedom to trade while protecting against exposure, in accordance with international agreements.
Harry tried to stay focused on Nott's orations. He wanted to remember as much as he could, and he would be able to think about the word choice and emphasis later. At one point, Harry noticed something on the edge of his vision, and looked over at Ron, who was looking straight at him. Ron raised one eyebrow, and shifted his eyes to Nott, who as speaking, then back to Harry. Harry nodded, once, slowly, then returned to watching the debate.
Nothing was decided. Nothing was framed as a motion and put up for a vote. The debate was the opening curtain of a play that had more acts, and scenes within acts, to go, before the final curtain came down.
Ron was waiting at Harry's flat when Harry got there. Kingsley had pulled Harry out of the cloakroom and around the corner to a little anomaly in the corridor to ask if he felt ready to take up his new duties. There would be a formal swearing-in, which marked the beginning of the new official's term of office, which was necessary to give the strength of the executive, the Minister for Magic, to the department head's decisions. The nature of the new job precluded a public fuss, so the ceremony would take place in Kingsley's office, with only the junior ministers and other department heads in attendance. In theory, Harry's new department did not officially exist, was never referred to directly in the press, and its head was not named or acknowledged. The system was surprisingly effective at concealing the department's members' identities, as Slughorn's anonymity had demonstrated.
"Get anything out of that?" Ron asked when Harry walked out of the fireplace.
"Tea?" Harry asked, in return, heading for the kitchen.
"Merlin, I guess so," Ron replied. "Not your usual watery substitute, either. Put some Kreacher in your recipe."
"You want Kreacher, you have to go to #12," Harry said, as he pointed his wand at the kettle. The lid started rattling almost immediately.
Harry brought the pot with the steeping tea, two cups and two saucers to the table in his living/dining room. He double checked his locks and cast muffliatoso he and Ron could speak freely.
"It sounded to me like Nott was making a case for adding galleons to the currency exchange boards at all the hotels and tourists traps in every major city on Earth," Harry said. "Taken to its logical extreme. What did you think?"
"Pretty much the same as you," Ron said. "The question is, why? It's not like the world is lacking in ways to move money around. Do you ever read the muggle financial press? Financial institutions can move billions around, financing this or that. Trillions if two or three of them go in together. Occasionally they bump up against some regulation or ethical violation, pay a big fine and go on moving money."
"What if they don't want to bump up against regulations anymore?" Harry asked. He took a sip of tea. He took a bit more before putting his cup down.
"What if they'd like to put the money someplace for a day or two, but have it at hand if they wanted it back, to finance a tourist hotel on a slippery slope somewhere? If there were half a billion lying about, ill-gotten gains, let's say, and it could become galleons for seventy-two hours, then reappear as some muggle denomination, preferably in a location at some distance…" Harry was lost in thought again.
"Gringotts?" Ron wondered.
"Oh, I hope not," Harry answered. "Two things occurred to me just now. Gringotts is behind it, or they want no part of it but are being intimidated into passivity."
Ron opened the file that had been in front of him on the table.
"Lenard Nott, of our magical Notts, finished at Hogwarts and studied magical law according to wizarding custom, clerking at an established firm, taking some formal classes, doing some second chair duties, finally getting called to the magical bar. He continued his studies in muggle law, eventually becoming one of a very few wizard lawyers qualified to work in the legal liaison field where muggle and magical law and interests bump up against one another. He has had some interesting clients, although no hint of impropriety has attached to him or his firm," Ron summarized.
"May I hazard a guess that his interesting clients are not murderers or thieves, but corporations with names like 'AzwackoCorp' and 'LaStorFa?' Harry asked.
"Very close, Harry, uncomfortably close," Ron replied.
"They're small, closely held, and have peculiarly friendly relations with ruling circles in countries with abundant natural resources, correct?" asked Harry.
"They don't do a lot, but they're listed in partnership papers for mines, oil and gas exploration, and construction consortia," Ron said. "Their chief executives appear on daises with presidents and prime ministers, give an occasional interview to a reporter for a friendly financial publication, and invariably act as boosters for the benevolent local government, which welcomes investment, tourists, and cooperation with all peoples and their leaders."
Harry leaned on his elbows and looked down into his tea cup. He wished he'd paid a bit more attention in Professor Trelawney's Divination classes, so he'd at least know if reading tea leaves had any validity.
"I have to ask, Ron, and you have to tell me the truth, as you best understand it," Harry said. "Does Fabio Greengrass figure in this? Has Nott's enterprise outgrown its money-launderer and they've decided to squeeze him out?"
Ron sighed and looked at Harry.
"It doesn't look like it to me, but I don't know enough to rule it out completely," Ron said.
"Hermione?" Harry asked.
"Hermione won't comment, as usual," Ron answered. "She will tell me if I'm completely outside the boundaries of what's reasonable. I gave her the opening, in a place where we could speak freely, and she didn't wave me off. I believe, for now, she agrees with me. There is no evidence Fabio is complicit."
Harry continued to sit at the table, thinking through the swirl of issues, the knowns and the best-guesses, and how they might go about turning the unknowns into something, anything but a blank.
"I think I need to talk this over with Kingsley," Harry said.
"Kingsley asked you to attend the session?" Ron stated, before turning it into a question.
"He did," Harry replied.
"May I suggest, Harry, as your oldest friend, you may want to leave Kingsley out of this?" Ron asked. "In your new job, Kingsley will trust you to observe the big picture, see these things at an early stage, monitor the situation and excise them before they get so big they threaten the entire magical order, keeping him out of it. There are important people, not a lot of them, both muggle and magical, who are aware of what we suspect Nott and his clients are doing. At the moment, they have to stay on the fence. They don't know which way the coin will land."
"Nott wants to put his reforms through as an ordinary adjustment to new conditions to encourage enterprise," Harry said.
"Benefiting everyone," Ron added. "Kingsley has to represent everyone. One of the drawbacks to that is the reality that if Nott's project is as we suspect, by the time the criminality becomes obvious, it will be difficult, if not impossible to stop. Too many people will be compromised. The new arrangements begin to look normal. Never mind they facilitate varieties of corruption we probably haven't envisioned yet."
"There are a couple of people I have to talk to," Harry said. "I hate to run you out, but time might be important. You've really come through, Ron. Can I presume to give you some advice?"
"Of course," Ron said. "And you've never asked permission before and it hasn't stopped you, but…"
"Yes. You have me there," acknowledged Harry. "Your inquiries may have triggered alarms. Do you want anyone watching your back? Officially, or unofficially?"
"This was all from the files," Ron said. "I haven't talked to anyone. Did my own searches and pulled what I wanted to read. The clerks were in the stacks, but they wouldn't have seen what I was looking at, and if they had, I doubt they could put it together."
"If you're sure," Harry said. "Can I encourage you to give Hermione enough to grasp where this could go? We're in unknown territory here. It could get rough."
"We'll talk. She's scary though. Nott and company have more to fear from her…" Ron shuddered just a little. Harry thought it looked genuine and wondered what trauma Ron was remembering.
After Ron left, Harry used the floo to return to Greengrass Manor. He was eager to get Fabio to his study and probe a little more into his relations with Lestrange. That there was a connection between Lestrange's drive to acquire Fabio's operations and Nott's shadowy clients seemed obvious to Harry, but he fought to keep in mind that the full picture had yet to emerge. Investigators were always in danger of wasting time chasing false leads while the obvious solution stared them in the face. Harry had seen more than one investigation collapse with no positive results because someone had been convinced of his own inerrant instinct.
Nevertheless, his absence from the family for the entire day precluded jumping directly into more business. He sat down with Daphne and Iolanthe to have a sandwich of leftover roast from dinner on Mad Monk bread and listen to whatever they had on their minds.
Iolanthe described her dinner in a nearly complete sentence: "Ap-pul puree dinner!"
The appropriate praise was generously supplied by both parents and grandparents.
Daphne and Kendra had called Lawrence Davis, who'd said, "Tomorrow okay?" when they'd asked about open dates for art shopping. They'd accepted immediately and Kendra was clearly anxious to get to Utica, and probably would have left directly and spent the night if Iolanthe wasn't due for a good night's sleep.
Harry had looked for Fabio at the Wizengamot, but only glimpsed him, briefly, across the chamber, and had been pulled aside by Kingsley before he could speak. He was eager to engage Fabio in conversation, to probe his thoughts on Nott's presentation, but kept his peace until he was able to get Fabio alone in his study.
"Mr. Greengrass," he began, "I found the subject matter this afternoon to be a bit more interesting than I normally would, thanks to our encounter with Georges Lestrange. Is there a connection there?"
Fabio didn't say anything right away. Eventually, he took a deep breath, then sighed. Harry thought he looked sad, as if he were on the verge of crying.
"Last year," Fabio began, "Georges Lestrange started making it a point to speak to me whenever our paths crossed. Social events or business lunches. I was more than busy enough with business, weddings and grandchildren, so I didn't put a lot of thought into it. He was just another trader. We had our own product lines and we didn't have a lot in common, so I didn't see anything sinister.
"Then, a couple of months back, the first buyout offer arrived. I turned him down. The next offer was more generous. It seemed to be a personal affront when I wouldn't take the money. I don't need the money. More money won't do anything for my family, and not having my suppliers to court would be a big chunk out of my fun allotment.
"Now he's resorting to threats, as you saw. Honestly, Harry, if you weren't my son-in-law, I think Kendra and the girls and I might have a problem, or worse."
Harry didn't say anything right away.
"Mr. Greengrass, is there a connection between Lestrange and Nott's project?" Harry asked.
"I honestly don't know," Fabio said. "Circumstances point that way. Nothing I've seen or heard confirms or precludes."
"Alright, then, at a slight angle from that," Harry began, "Are you now, or have you ever been involved in, or approached to become involved in, the movement of illicit funds, either internationally or between muggle and magical institutions in Britain?"
"No, Harry," Fabio said. "No one has tried to recruit me. Maybe I'm naïve, but that kind of thing hasn't even occurred to me. Although, with our offices and floos and the customary cash transactions we do, it does seem obvious, doesn't it?"
"Not necessarily," Harry said, "It all depends on one's perspective. Nott's reforms may have broad appeal. The percentage of people abusing the system he is proposing would be small, but the amounts of money they could hide would be sufficient to destabilize not just governments, but regions.
"I have another call to make before I call it a night. Mind if I use your fireplace?" Harry asked.
Fabio waved his hand and Harry took some floo powder, dropped it and said, "The Mill," disappearing with the green flames.