99. Thin Ice
"Mr Malfoy, I'm sure you've already wondered why you don't get paid for all the good work you do here," Mrs Shaw said to him one morning. "The point is that I seem to be unable to find your NI number or your bank account number. I know you've worked here before, but I can't find the contract. I don't want to bother Emma with this right now; she's got enough on her plate already. So if you could please help me with your National Insurance Number and that of your bank account?"
Draco nodded.
Maybe here was finally his chance to learn what a National Insurance Number was good for. The little card on which the code was printed had lain on the bookshelf next to his bed for almost a year. Confidently, he rattled off the sequence of letters and numerals.
"Well done," Mrs Shaw chuckled. "And do you know the number of your bank account by heart as well?"
"I'm afraid I cannot help you with that one," he said, trying to hide his bewilderment. What had he said that made her laugh? "I don't know about having a bank account."
"You have no bank account?" Mrs Shaw asked. The grin faded from her face.
"No, not that I am aware of."
"How can you not have a bank account?" Now Mrs Shaw seemed to be the one who was bewildered. "I thought you had worked for us before. Or was translating the French letters an assignment for Professor Monroe?"
"No, I worked for Mrs Highbury."
"So how did she pay you?"
"She gave me an envelope containing money at the end of each week."
"That's just..." Mrs Shaw paused, shaking her head. "Well, Emma might go and do something like that, but honestly... And that was fine by you?"
He had the impression that she expected him to say no, but he couldn't see why.
"I have to admit that the conversation we are having is a little bit beyond me," he said cautiously.
"Indeed?" For some inexplicable reason, her amused grin was back. "No offence, Mr Malfoy, but sometimes I can't help thinking you are not of this world. Seems you and Emma are a match made in heaven."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," she said, sobering up quickly. "Look, here is what you do, Mr Malfoy. The bank assistants will want to see proof of identity – a Birth Certificate for example – and something official with your current address on it. You'll take these two things and go to a bank of your choice and have them create an account for you. Then you'll come back to tell me the number of that account, and I'll take care that your wage gets transferred. Okay?"
He nodded, sensing that she would insist on things being done her way.
"May I ask you a question, Ma'am?"
"Sure, and stop calling me Ma'am. I'm Helen, or Mrs Shaw if you feel too uncomfortable addressing a forty-plus woman with her first name."
"Mrs Shaw," he said, trying to ignore the warmth in his cheeks. "I got the impression that you do not approve of the arrangement Mrs Highbury and I formerly had. What was wrong with it?"
"I didn't say Emma did anything wrong. It's probably just another symptom of her idealistic streak. I suppose whatever she and you agreed on was strictly between the two of you, and the library as an institution had nothing to do with it, which would certainly explain why I didn't find anything relating to you – no NI number, no bank account, and not even a contract. Library employees, whether they are temporary or permanent ones, aren't paid in cash. That's the regulation, and it's not negotiable."
"I see," he said although he wasn't sure he did.
"Now be a good boy and get yourself a bank account," Mrs Shaw said. Turning to leave, she added, "And I'll have a word with Emma. I know she'd love to make the world a better place single-handedly, but somebody has to remind her from time to time that this isn't achieved by paying a student out of her own purse."
...
100. A Wasted Day
His Birth Certificate tucked safely into the inside pocket of his parka, Draco strolled around and tried to decide which branch office of which bank he should use. He'd been to all of them.
Then again, how likely was it for the clerks to remember a customer who had changed money more than two years ago? Did it matter at all? He shopped frequently for stationery and toiletries in the pedestrian precinct. The shop owners or their employees recognised him, and there was no harm in it.
So, did caution slow him down? Or was he just looking for excuses?
Part of the problem was, like so very often, his ignorance of the customs outside the wizarding world. An account was, as far as he understood the matter, a detailed record about money gained and money spent. The Goblins at Gringotts kept such records. If you sent them a written order to transfer a certain amount of gold from your vault to somebody else's, they'd do that and add notes about the relocation to both the record belonging to your vault and the one belonging to the recipient's vault. He supposed Mrs Shaw had such or a similar procedure in mind when she had said she wanted his wage to be transferred. But where should the money be stored? Didn't he need a vault for that purpose?
He should have asked her for more detailed instructions right away. She might simply have given him the necessary explanations without wondering why he didn't know about something that was probably standard practice to her and her kind. If he went back to ask now, she'd think he was making fun of her.
He glared at the imposing building in front of him. He had already stood here twice today – around ten in the morning and about half an hour ago. Twice he had walked away in search of new branch offices that had miraculously popped up overnight. It was mid-afternoon now, he was cold, he was hungry, and the whole affair was becoming ridiculous.
What was the worst that could happen? Thanks to his lack of knowledge concerning the task ahead, he was likely to make a fool of himself. The clerks might have a good laugh at his expense, but they couldn't take out wands and start hexing him.
He took another moment to steel himself. Then he stepped through the heavy swing doors into the pillared, marble-tiled counter hall and walked straight up to the first clerk he spotted.
"Good afternoon, sir. My name is Draco Malfoy. I was told this morning to have you create a bank account for me so my wage can be transferred," he said. His unease came back as he watched the bored look on the clerk's face change to scrutiny. "I hope I delivered the message correctly," he continued nonetheless and put his Birth Certificate and his Resident's Library Card onto the counter. "Here is proof of my identity and an official document showing my address."
"This, young man," said the clerk and flipped the library card across the polished mahogany of the countertop, "is a piece of cardboard. As proof of address we would require something a little more trustworthy like, for example, an insurance policy or driving licence."
Draco felt nonplussed. He was sure he didn't have either of the two things the man wanted to see. He also couldn't think of a reply that wouldn't give away the scope of his ignorance.
The clerk gave the Birth Certificate a miniature push into Draco's direction.
"Feel free to come back with appropriate documents," he drawled. "Good Afternoon, Mr Malfoy."
The git simply left Draco standing at the counter and withdrew to a desk in the background where he sat down and started shuffling papers around.
Disconcerted, Draco watched the feeble attempt at appearing to be busy.
He took his Birth Certificate and the library card and slid them back into the inner pocket of his parka. He had been apprehensive about the encounter, but being snubbed like this had not been on his list of things to dread.
...
Back in the street, he took several deep breaths of wintry air.
He knew he was weak; he had accepted that truth about him years ago. Yet, it was still shocking to see how little it took to shatter his composure. Some random clerk's snotty behaviour was enough to make him painfully aware of the many occasions when he had suffered humiliation in the past and, almost equally embarrassing, when he had abased others.
Struggling to regain his self-control, he walked briskly down the street. Right now wasn't the best moment to get overwhelmed by shame or guilt. Dusk would fall soon, and he wasn't any closer to completing his task than he had been in the morning.
What should be his next step?
Should he try and go to another branch office or should he go back to the library? He had a valid excuse now to do the latter. He could approach Mrs Shaw with the question why a library card with his address on it wasn't sufficient proof thereof.
Did he have any other items that showed his current address?
In fact, he did! His address was printed on the report sheet from the examination board. The clerk hadn't mentioned GCSE report sheets as being more trustworthy than a library card issued by the head of the library of the university, but maybe it was worth a try.
He changed direction and headed home.
...
101. The Intercessor
Mrs Bates was mopping the floor of the entrance hall when Draco came in.
"Mr Malfoy!" she exclaimed, giving his boots a sharp look. "You're here early. What's the matter?"
Remaining at the threshold so he didn't have to step onto the wet floorboards, he told her about Mrs Shaw's request and the bank clerk's unwillingness to comply with it. While he talked, an idea struck him, and he ended with a plea, "May I ask for a letter that I can take to the bank office, Mrs Bates? Who, if not my landlady, should be able to confirm where I live?"
She was silent for almost a minute. Water dripped down from the cloth in her hand and formed a puddle on the floor.
"Well, I suppose I could write out something," she said at length. "Did they say they wanted to see the actual licence agreement?"
"I'm not sure." The clerk had used word the licence, but it had been part of a different term. "The man I talked to wasn't particularly helpful."
"Tell me about it. Clerks putting on airs can be a royal pain," she sighed. "What bank have you been to?
"I was to the one in the Victoria Building."
"You went there?" Mrs Bates asked, taken aback. "Why?"
"For no specific reason. I chose a bank house at random."
Mrs Bates shook her head, muttering something about having to arrive in a Silver Seraph in order to be accepted at such a posh place. She dropped the cloth into the basket at her feet and said, "You know what? If it's all the same to you where you open your account, you can come with me to the local office over in Queens Street. I'll have to go there anyway because of a little issue with the electricity bill. I meant to go tomorrow, but maybe I shouldn't put it off. Yes, I think I had better go now. You can come along if you like, Mr Malfoy."
"Does this mean you will tell the clerks in person that I live at your lodging house?"
"I know them, most of them anyway, and they know me. There shouldn't be much trouble," Mrs Bates said, peeling off the pair of yellow gloves she wore "I need to change, though. Just wait a sec. I'll be ready in a jiffy."
...
The bank office to which Mrs Bates went was situated no more than two hundred yards east of the point where Hind Green Close joined Queens Street. En route there, the woman kept complaining about a so-called electricity supplier. Draco tried to follow her tirade, but the number of unfamiliar expressions in it made that difficult.
She fell silent when they entered the counter hall. It was as large as the one that Draco had been in an hour earlier, but not nearly as handsome. The whole place was littered with advertising placards and racks crammed with brochures. A dull bluish carpet stretched from side to side, and the furnishings had been chosen for purpose rather than style.
Mrs Bates made a beeline for one of the clerks. He was approximately her age, balding, and wore rimless glasses.
"Angela, my dear, nice to see you," the man greeted her. "I hope you're well?"
"Hello Howard. Thanks, I'm fine. And you?"
"Fine, too. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of your presence?"
"I'm afraid it's only business. There seems to be some trouble with my electricity bill," Mrs Bates said and launched straight off into another wordy complaint about the electricity supplier.
The man named Howard listened patiently. After a while, he managed to insert brief questions, and Mrs Bates calmed down. She took various papers out of her handbag, and she and the man began discussing them.
Draco stood around and waited. Time trickled by. People walked in and out. They came to talk to other clerks or to use one of the three identical devices set into the far wall. CASH MACHINES it read in shiny capital letters above them. Draco ventured a little closer and watched people putting flat, rectangular pieces of plastic into the machines. Then they pressed buttons – what else had he expected? – whereupon the machines emitted stacks of banknotes. Rather intrigued, Draco edged nearer and nearer until a woman snapped at him to sod off and respect her privacy.
Embarrassed, he went back to where Mrs Bates and the clerk were just coming to a conclusion.
"I'm sorry you had to wait that long, Mr Malfoy," Mrs Bates said as soon as he appeared by her side. "Please meet Mr White. – Howard, the young man here is Mr Malfoy. He's been a lodger for two and a half years."
"Good afternoon, Mr White," Draco said. "How do you do?"
"Good afternoon, Mr Malfoy," Mr White replied affably. "So our formidable Mrs Bates has let you stay for two and a half years? That's impressive. You know, there are rumours about people having been kicked out within twenty-four hours of moving in."
"That foolish boy smoked pot! I can't have that in my house. What should the neighbours think of me if word got around about such goings-on?" Mrs Bates explained to Draco before she continued explaining about him, "Mr Malfoy has taken up a part-time job lately, and now he needs an account because nobody is willing to pay their workers in cash these days. Would you please see to it, Howard?"
"Of course, my dear," said Mr White to Mrs Bates, who nodded and moved a little aside with an untidy stack of papers in her hands.
Mr White was indeed very obliging. He even helped Draco fill in the forms. All in all, things went more smoothly than Draco could have hoped until the man asked Draco's phone number.
"I'm afraid I'm unable to provide one, sir," Draco said quietly. "I wasn't told that a phone number is necessary to get a bank account."
"I don't think Mr Malfoy could afford a mobile," Mrs Bates suddenly joined in the conversation. "He's a student, and his parents don't do much to support him."
"I see," Mr White said. "Although mobile phones aren't all that expensive anymore. I've seen one for forty-nine pounds at Tesco's the other week."
"You can get a mobile for five tenners now?" Mrs Bates seemed amazed. "But I'm afraid that's still a lot of money for a student."
"Yes, I suppose," Mr White agreed with her before he turned back to Draco and asked, "Maybe you could give me the number of your workplace?"
"Why don't you just use mine, Howard?" Mrs Bates cut in again. "Wouldn't that be the easiest thing to do? I'd gladly take a message should Mr Malfoy not be in."
"Well, that's fine by me, Angela," Mr White said and asked Draco, "Any objections, Mr Malfoy?"
Draco said he had no objections and, really thankful for the offer that cleared another obstacle away, he added to Mrs Bates, "This is very kind of you. I owe you a debt of gratitude."
"It's nothing, dear, don't mention it," she said while she put the now neatly arranged papers into her handbag. "Well, do you two think you can sort out the rest? You don't need anything written from me, do you, Howard?"
"Your word is good enough for me, Angela," Mr White assured her. "Don't worry."
"That's good because I really must ask to be excused. There's a salesman scheduled to arrive."
Mrs Bates and Mr White said good-bye quickly, but not without the due pleasantries. After she had left, the man finished filling in the forms and laid them out on the counter. Pointing with a biro, he told Draco where to sign.
Draco took the proffered biro. His signature turned out somewhat scrawled because he wasn't used to writing with biros, but Mr White didn't mind.
"Splendid," he said, as he reached for papers and biro. "Do you happen to have one pound on you that you could pay in, Mr Malfoy?"
Draco nodded. He always carried some small change for buying lunch and dinner.
"Lovely," Mr White said, accepting the coin. "We can get your account going right away."
He busied himself with a keyboard. Something rattled beneath the counter, and a moment later he laid a piece of paper in front of Draco.
"There you are, Mr Malfoy, your first bank statement." Indicating the respective columns with the biro, he explained the meaning of date, description, money in, and money out. "The balance is one pound at the moment as it should be. Overdraws will be marked OD. However, new customers are not allowed to overdraw within the first twelve months. The minimum operating balance is one pound during this period. Make sure to keep track. Bank statements will be sent to you monthly."
Draco gave a vague nod as he tried to commit the information to memory for later examination.
"It's all settled for now. You can give your employer your new account number," Mr White went on while he put Draco's Birth Certificate, the bank statement, the contract plus three additional pages of tiny print as well as an assortment of colourful leaflets into a sturdy folder. The folder he put into a jute bag and handed the whole package to Draco. "The credit check will probably take a week. It is a formality, but it has to be observed. I'll phone your landlady when you can come and fetch your debit card. Have a nice day, Mr Malfoy."
"And you," Draco said, feeling both dazed and relieved. "Thank you, sir."
"Thank you, Mr Malfoy, for doing business with us."
...
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to be continued
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Author's notes:
(1) The Silver Seraph was produced from 1998 to 2002. It was powered by a 5.4 L, 12V BMW engine and had a top speed of 230 km/h (140 mph). Prices started from about £155, 000.
(2) Tesco is a chain of supermarkets in the UK. They were the first to sell mobiles at discount prices, thus making them available to everyone.
(3) Many thanks go to my beta readers for their help and support.