Chapter 7. A Work at Home
Shell Cottage, where Bill Weasley and his family lived, was a tiny but beautiful house perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. Since the walls were painted white and covered with shells, the cottage blended into the landscape as if it had been there all along. Harry could only hear the chirping of seagulls and the soft sound of seawater caressing the smooth surface of the cliff below as he walked on the grass with Ron. Hermione was only visible as a black silhouette because of the dark sky and the late hour, sitting on the low stone wall surrounding the house. The shadows they cast overlapped as Ron ran and hugged her, casting a wider shadow on the grass. Harry slowed down so the two of them could spend some time alone.
"Hermione! Why didn't you contact us sooner? You had me worried to death," Ron said, finally letting her go. "The reporters thought I was hiding you, but I was actually the one looking for you the most . . ."
"My secretaries and I were in a hotel in the Muggle world. The reporters prevented me from contacting you — they would have intercepted the owl if I had sent you a letter." The wind blew Hermione's hair behind her back as she said this. She looked years older in the setting sun, with wrinkles and deep shadows under her eyes. "We've tried to find out what's going on by checking the Gringotts account, but to no avail. The goblins claim they have never shared their ledgers with wizards."
"How are we supposed to know what happened when they act like this?" said Harry indignantly. "Even if the goblins claim that the Muggles took the Galleons, how can we be sure that they didn't do it themselves through their own play?"
"We said exactly the same thing," Hermione said as she leaned against the stone wall. "And they got very upset . . . They said the goblins had been carefully protecting the magical world's property for hundreds of years, but how could we suspect them now? That's why Ragnok broke his promise to me and agreed to the interview with the Daily Prophet in a rage — he had agreed not to reveal that the Muggles had done this at first."
"So is it really true that Muggles did this?" said Ron, his mouth hanging open. "As always, I assumed it was one of Rita Skeeter's tall tales . . ."
"I'm not sure either, to be honest," said Hermione uneasily. "The Ministry keeps the gold in the old Lestranges' vault that we broke into a while back. . . . Voldemort himself put some very powerful defensive charms on it — something terrible will happen to anyone who rashly touches it."
"All we have now is the word of the goblins," said Harry firmly. "It's too early to be sure until we see their ledger. There's no way we can solve this case without securing it somehow."
"That's why I brought us here: Bill has a better understanding of goblins than anyone we know," said Hermione. "Besides, since Bill's children aren't here, I think we can stay here for a few nights. Shall we go in now?"
They straightened their clothes, which had been ruffled by the sea breeze, walked past the stone wall and through the small garden and stood in front of the cottage. Hermione knocked on the door, and the bustling footsteps inside grew louder. The door opened soon after, revealing Bill Weasley, with deep pink scars across a good part of his face.
"Come in, we've been waiting for you."
"My apologies, Bill — we've arrived on such short notice," said Hermione sheepishly.
"I'm always glad to see the three of you. Feel free to drop by anytime," Bill said, smiling broadly and opening the door wide.
"Hullo, Bill."
"Good to see you, brother."
Harry and Ron also greeted Bill and followed him into the house with Hermione. In the small hallway leading to the kitchen, they could already smell the delicious smell of grilled meat. When the kitchen door opened, Fleur, wearing a white apron and setting cutlery and forks on the table, raised her aged but still beautiful face.
"Eet's been too long, 'Arry! And Ron and 'Ermione too," said Fleur pleasantly.
Having led them to their seats, she put on thick dragonskin gloves and took a large piece of meat out of the oven and placed it on the table. Meanwhile, Bill poured the wine into their glasses.
"These days, 'Ermione, eet's all about you een ze newspapers," Fleur said as she cut her roast beef into a mouthful. "Where 'ave you been?"
"I've been hiding out in several cities to avoid reporters," said Hermione. "Meanwhile, I tried to contact the goblins to resolve the current situation, but things didn't go well. . . ."
"It was about the ledger, wasn't it?" said Bill, frowning slightly, and Hermione nodded. "Yeah, I thought so too. . . . Gringotts goblins have employed me for thirty years, but I've never really looked at their books."
"Bill, why are the goblins acting like this?" asked Harry. "What right do they have to prevent the Minister of Magic herself from seeing the ledger of the Ministry's vault?"
"It's a complicated matter," sighed Bill. "You may have heard of these goblin rebellions over the last few hundred years in history class. . . . It was always their reaction to wizards invading their professional domains. We'll eventually drive the goblins out if we take over their jobs, they say."
"Well, then they should have done their job properly!" snapped Ron, angrily slicing the tendon from his steak. "Now that we have been robbed of our gold on their watch, what could they possibly complain about?"
"According to the goblins, Ron, it was the Ministry's wizard guards who failed to stop the intruders from entering Gringotts and its main hall, not their own," Hermione explained. "Also, while the goblins are responsible for maintaining the vaults, the Galleons were withdrawn strictly in accordance with our laws. In other words, the Muggles only robbed the Ministry of Magic because there were loopholes in our legislation. Therefore, no ledger could be shared, since there was no wrongdoing on their part."
"Then 'ow are you going to find out there was a loophole eef you don't have access to ze ledger?" Fleur wondered, shaking her beautiful head and then gently stroking Bill's arm with her hand. "Ah, these creatures are soo awful . . . I admire ze way you deal with them, Bill."
"Bill, things are serious now," said Harry. "Hostility to Muggles in our world is growing rapidly from all sides. More radical measures are being actively demanded not only by purebloods, but also by half-bloods and even some of the Muggle-borns."
"That's right, Bill," Ron muttered, chewing on his steak. Swallowing what was left in his mouth, he continued, "I've also heard rumors that the shopkeepers of Knockturn Alley are planning a vote of no-confidence in Hermione. They think the Ministry needs a pureblood to run it again."
"How did you find out about this?" said Hermione sulkily.
"As your advisor, I was just doing my job," Ron replied.
"Bill, if we don't solve this problem soon, all the reforms we've made in the last twenty years since we defeated Voldemort will be for nothing," said Harry sternly. "Is there any way to convince the goblins to show us their ledger?"
"Well, let me think for a moment," Bill said, his nose wrinkled as he thought. "There are only two possible solutions, it seems. . . ."
"Which are?" asked Hermione excitedly.
"The first way is to offer a reward equivalent to borrowing the book. The Goblins' greatest desire at the moment is to regain full control of Gringotts; their constant complaint is that we restrict their freedom."
"Yes, I saw it in the paper too. Ragnok said something similar," Harry said. Ragnok, the Head Goblin, had insisted in yesterday's Daily Prophet on replacing the wizard guards at Gringotts with goblins again.
"There are still security measures in place at Gringotts that were put in place during the Death Eaters' regime," said Bill. "The goblins have suppressed their discontent until now, fearing your mighty power which had defeated Voldemort. But now they've realized something."
"And what exactly is that?" asked Ron.
Bill nodded to Harry, Hermione and Ron. "That you can never be as cruel as the Dark Lord, and I think they're sure by now that there will be no retribution for raising their voices."
"Those slimy gits! Let's take them by force, Harry!" said Ron indignantly. "We need to show them we can be tough!"
"What makes us different from the Death Eaters if we do that?" Hermione said coolly, turning to Bill. "I'd like to hear about the second option, Bill."
"The second option is somewhat similar to what Ron just said, though less violent," Bill said, nodding again at Harry, Ron and Hermione. "You three have broken into the Gringotts vault before. Just like then, you could sneak in and steal the ledger."
"But we can't, Bill! My policy is to treat all magical creatures fairly, and you're suggesting we do such a mean thing?" snapped Hermione.
"It won't matter if we don't get caught," said Ron casually. "We infiltrated there under worse conditions, didn't we? The beginning is the hardest."
"No way!" yelled Hermione.
They glared at each other, then turned to Harry. Harry's instinct told him that he would have the deciding vote on the matter, as he always did in arguments between them. The others had almost finished eating when Harry looked around the table without saying anything prematurely.
"I'll have to think about it some more," said Harry. "Bill, Fleur — thanks for the dinner. Please let us clean up."
When Bill and Fleur had left the kitchen, Hermione tossed the empty plates into the sink and cleaned them with a wave of her wand, Ron opened the oven and cleaned it, and Harry wiped the table. The clatter of the dishes echoed in the background as everyone was deep in thought.
Once they'd finished their work and returned to the table, Hermione finally said, "My resolve remains firm, and I'll give the goblins what they want in exchange for the ledger."
"I know you were the best student at Hogwarts, Hermione," said Ron seriously, "but the reality of society is different from that of Hogwarts: Playing by the rules doesn't necessarily make you a good politician."
"Sorry, but I know what makes you a bad politician!" snapped Hermione. "Bullying, deceiving and exploiting weaker creatures surely makes you one!"
"Goblins are different from house-elves. We have a give-and-take relationship with them, so they are not one-sided victims," said Ron. "Besides, I'm not sure sneaking in and stealing a book is such a terrible thing. Tricks can be used to gain people's support — your admired hero, Nobby Leach, is also believed to have fixed Quidditch matches to help the English national team win."
"Really?" Hermione said with a perplexed look on her face. "That wasn't in the books I read!"
"That's probably because you only read the books Mr. Leach recommended," said Harry. "Based on my recent research, what Ron said is true. At least we know more about Quidditch than you do."
"Spit out your thoughts, Harry," Ron went on, "Last week in Diagon Alley, I heard a lot of people complaining that wizards were losing prestige. It seems absurd to give in to the goblins at this point."
"I know there is a lot of political pressure," said Hermione with dignity.
"What good is knowledge without action?" Ron slammed his fist down on the table. "Do you want to see a Slytherin take your place? Imagine Malfoy abusing all the power you have now!"
"Compared to when we were young, Malfoy is very different. He's matured a lot since becoming a father; he's doing a fine job raising his son," Harry said, keeping Scorpius's ingrained good manners in mind. "And we need to make cool, unbiased decisions for the good of all wizards and witches."
"So Harry — what do you think?" Hermione said desperately as she leaned over to him. "I'll do whatever you say. Ron, do you agree?" Ron looked unhappy but nodded anyway.
"The first thing I need to do is get some fresh air. . . ." With a swing of his wand, Harry sent two jugs of iced pumpkin juice flying in front of Ron and Hermione. "Wait here for a while."
The flowers in the front yard had lost their color under the night sky; Harry's cheeks were chilled by the salty wind blowing off the calm sea, which stretched out like a vast black blanket. However, Harry did not notice the cold at that moment as he walked past the flower beds and toward the small mound. Dobby's grave, originally covered only with red earth, was now, after many years, overflowing with beautiful flowers, through which a flat white gravestone could be seen. The faded inscription on the gravestone had been engraved by Harry himself many years ago, and he read it aloud: "Here lies Dobby, a free elf."
Harry's eyes filled with tears as he looked at the white stone shimmering in the moonlight. It was here at Shell Cottage that he had lost a dear friend, Dobby, and gained a new one by becoming Teddy Lupin's godfather. Standing on the cliff where death and birth intertwined and land and sea met, his mind was confused and disoriented. In the deepest vaults of Gringotts Bank, he and his friends had nearly died because of Griphook's treachery, but he also knew that it had been caused by his attempt to deceive the goblin in the first place.
In his memory, good and evil had been clearer when he and his friends had fought Voldemort long ago. Yet the Muggles, once considered the ones to be protected, were now a threat to the Wizarding world, and Harry's good-natured neighbors were leaning ever more toward the pureblood supremacy that had once plagued them so terribly. He lived in a different world now, and how should he react? Was he capable of changing to fit into today's world? If not, would he remain in the shadow of his old glory, forgotten like his old enemies? For a long time, Harry stood by the grave, missing Dobby, the purest being he had ever known.
"Thank you, Dobby. I've made my decision."
A wreath of white roses bloomed on Dobby's gravestone as Harry drew a circle with his wand. Ron and Hermione were already standing together in the garden when Harry stood up and turned around.
"The decision is made," said Harry quietly. "A sincere approach is what I'm looking for. Let's give in to the goblin and get the book."
"I'd call it political suicide. Perhaps Rita Skeeter would come up with a more creative term, though," Ron grumbled for the tenth time that morning.
Hermione and Bill had gone to Gringotts together, and Fleur had gone to visit a friend, leaving Harry and Ron alone in the cottage, who were sitting in the living room. By this time, Hermione should be standing on the steps of Gringotts, preparing to present the results of her negotiations with the goblins to the reporters and citizens gathered there. The two of them should stay at Shell Cottage, check the morning paper, and then leave to meet her elsewhere.
"A press conference like this is bound to have some political repercussions," Harry said, glancing out the window. The sun had just risen, illuminating the dazzling ocean far below, which seemed to be littered with thousands of sparkling glass grains. But there was still no sign of an owl in the clear sky, where bits of cloud floated leisurely. "That's why you and I are staying here. This decision has to be Hermione's alone, so if there are any problems, I can always step forward and fix them."
"Maybe you should run for the Minister of Magic," Ron said as he lay down on the sofa. "You'd be a hundred times better as one than Malfoy."
"Isn't it silly to worry about Malfoy being the Minister, Ron, when he's probably not even considering it?" Harry pointed out. He turned his head out of the window again and thought he heard the flapping of wings in the distance. Indeed, there was a small gray dot approaching the cottage from the other side of the sky, and it was growing in size. "The papers are on their way — make sure you have your change ready."
Ron dug into his pockets and pulled out a few bronze coins. Meanwhile, a large barn owl with gray feathers flew closer, landed on the windowsill, and clawed at it. The owl held the morning paper in its beak. When Harry opened the window, the owl cleverly flew directly to Ron, whose hand held coins, and dropped the newspaper on his lap.
"Oi, here's your Knut." Ron picked up a bronze coin and placed it in the small leather pouch tied to the owl's leg. But the owl, still dissatisfied, cackled at the other Knuts on the table, and Ron hastily secured them with both hands. "I've just paid! First Muggles, now ruddy owls — are you all trying to rip us off?"
"The owl's got a point, Ron." Harry picked up four more coins and put them in the owl's pouch. "Deliveries within the city usually cost one Knut, but five Knuts if there is no owl post office nearby."
"How do you know so much?" Ron asked, brushing the gray feathers from his lap after the owl had returned to the sky.
"Ginny writes for the Daily Prophet, remember? Besides, the first time I got anything from an owl was on a rocky island in the middle of the ocean," said Harry. A smile spread across his face as he remembered the fateful day Hagrid had rescued him from the Dursleys and handed him a handful of Knuts to pay for the newspaper.
Sitting side by side on the sofa, they opened the newspaper on the table and began to read in silence. Just above Rita Skeeter's article on the front page was a picture of Hermione standing on the white marble stairs.
The Humiliating Statement by the Minister of Magic
Another shameful statement was made this morning by Minister Hermione Granger, who has reportedly been missing since the Ministry of Magic was declared bankrupt last week, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. It must have been a long and difficult week for the employees of the Ministry of Magic under her control who have not been paid, and for the citizens whose lives are precarious without a government. And today, after much deliberation, Madam Granger finally announced her decision to stand outside Gringotts Wizarding Bank: SUBMIT TO THE GOBLINS.
"The Ministry of Magic has accepted Gringotts's request," Hermione Granger announced at today's press conference. "As suggested by Mr. Ragnok, we have decided to entrust the security of Gringotts once again to the goblins and give them full control of the bank. In return, Gringotts has pledged its full support in bringing this latest matter to a successful conclusion."
Despite the fact that the details of the full support mentioned by the Minister are unknown, public opinion is generally critical of the statement. "This is a shameful day for the British magical community," said Mr. Blaise Zabini, 42, one of the citizens at the press conference. "This century we had finally taken control of the goblins, but now we are letting them loose! With a Minister like this, it's no wonder the Muggles look down on us."
With Gringotts's control extinguished by the day's decision, the Minister left the conference without answering any further questions. Meanwhile, Harry Potter, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, is currently on indefinite leave, while the whereabouts of the unidentified Muggles who emptied the Ministry of Magic vault at Gringotts Bank last week remain unknown.
Having finished reading the article, Harry looked up at Ron, who maintained a calm expression except turning slightly pink around the ears. "Well, that's all we can hope for now," said Ron. "At least there's no talk of impeaching Hermione, is there?"
"Maybe it's in another article," Harry said and read the paper to the end, but there were no more critical remarks. "Yeah, you're right. That's a pretty mild tone for the Daily Prophet, isn't it? Hermione may have made a deal with the press . . ."
"Could Rita Skeeter have been threatened by her? Like before?" said Ron curiously. In the past, Rita Skeeter had gone through a hard time when Hermione had discovered that she was an unregistered Animagus.
"I don't think so. . . . This Skeeter woman completed her registration as an Animagus a few years ago. Looks like she's been offered another lure."
Harry tore up the front page of the newspaper and put it in his pocket. Then he grabbed Ron's arm, who was still sitting on the sofa. "Ron, come on — Hermione must be there already."
"Harry, I still don't understand. Why do we have to go to the Burrow when I like it here?"
Harry led him to the fireplace as Ron stood up.
"Think about it, Ron. The book that Hermione got from the goblin must be with her now. And yet you suggest we take it to Bill's house, who works at Gringotts? He'll be in a difficult position if the goblins discover that we have broken our promise and go wild."
"Right, you could get into a lot of trouble if you get on the wrong side of the goblins," Ron shuddered. "But still, why does it have to be the Burrow? Mum still scares me at times . . ."
"All in all, it's the right place if you want quiet, secluded countryside. Besides, there are no children to distract us."
Despite Ron's reluctance, Harry made him stand in front of the fireplace.
"You go first, Harry. . . . I need some time to steel myself."
From the flowerpot on the mantelpiece, Harry took a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the fire. The orange flames turned emerald green as they grew brighter. Harry stepped into the fire and shouted, "the Burrow!
He felt like he was being swept away by a powerful tornado with his body spinning rapidly. He heard so much noise that it sounded like there was a storm with a lot of lightning right next to him. Trying to feel less dizzy, Harry held his arms close to his body and closed his eyes. A shiver ran down his exposed hands, neck and face for a moment — in a flash, Harry's feet landed on the warm, hard floor, barely balancing, and he opened his eyes.
"You've heard me, Hermione. None of the neighbors responded positively to today's speech. Ah, Harry, welcome home." Molly Weasley looked at Harry and smiled broadly, but her smile quickly faded as she turned her eyes to Hermione, who was sitting across from her at the table. "Why in heaven's name did you make such an unfavorable arrangement? Sooner or later, even the house-elves will try to take advantage of us if this continues . . ."
"The house-elves have done so much for us, Molly! I'll be so happy to give them anything they ask for," said Hermione sulkily.
Molly let out a long sigh. "Well, at least they haven't done anything for me. I wish we had a house-elf here every time I iron Arthur's robes . . ."
Harry sat as far away from them as possible so as not to get caught up in the argument, and above the table he saw today's Daily Prophet, which he had just read.
"Harry, read the front page if you have time. My daughter-in-law seems to have gotten herself into a lot of trouble," said Molly reproachfully.
"How often has the media run a positive story about us? This is exactly what I expected," said Harry casually. "Actually, the article didn't criticize you as harshly as we feared, did it, Hermione?"
"I made a deal with Rita Skeeter," said Hermione with a grin. "I had to meet the paper's demands to avoid further accusations."
"And what was that exactly?" Molly asked, crossing her arms.
"Due to the current shutdown, the Ministry of Magic is no longer subsidizing the Daily Prophet," Hermione explained. "As a result, I have temporarily raised its prices to appease the reporters."
With an unhappy expression on her face, Molly slapped her hand to her forehead. "You want me to pay more to read this rubbish? Then I'll have to cancel my subscription. . . . Arthur's pension was cut off this week; we can barely get by on potatoes and onions from our garden."
"Look on the bright side, Molly — at least Hermione got that book from the goblins," Harry said, pointing to the leather-bound book in front of Hermione. "Hopefully this situation can be resolved quickly so we can all get our salaries and pensions back."
"You mean this old book? And you gave up so much just to get that?" said Molly, staring at Hermione in disbelief. "I know you love books, dear, but —"
"It's not just a book, it's a Gringotts ledger!" cried Hermione. "If we look at it, it will tell us how those Muggles stole from us, and maybe even help us catch the culprits."
"Well, all right then. We'd better do something as soon as possible, though," said Molly stiffly. "The listeners were just expressing their opinions about your decision on the radio, and nobody seemed to like it. I could almost hear your approval ratings dropping . . ."
"At least Xenophilius Lovegood will like it." Hermione offered a weak smile. "His megazine has long argued that the Ministry of Magic should atone for Cornelius Fudge's oppression of goblins."
"Yes, I remember that too." Harry smiled as he remembered Luna Lovegood's huge, protruding eyes as she held her father's distinctive magazine. "The Quibbler once called Fudge a Goblin-Crusher, and even suggested that he had cooked them in pies."
"I don't think it's a good thing to be praised in that magazine," said Molly gloomily. "Are there any other newspapers that are so out of touch with public opinion? And Xenophilius and Luna seem to be obsessed with spiders these days. . . . When we visited them a few weeks ago, they talked for an hour and a half about spider rights —"
The conversation was interrupted by a soft whoosh, followed by a thud from the fireplace behind them. Before getting up, Ron groaned and covered his knee with his hands.
"Come here, Ronnie. There's something on your nose," Molly rushed to her son and began rubbing the end of his soot-stained nose — she had to raise her arms all the way up because Ron was much taller. "Still so sloppy — I can't believe you fell on the hearth rug at such an age!"
"Geroff — Mum! I'm not a kid anymore," Ron said as he struggled and pulled away from her arms. "I may not look it, but I'm the Minister's Special Advisor!"
"And yet you left your wife out there to be ridiculed?" snorted Molly. "I know you're all kind-hearted, but you shouldn't come off too easy. Everyone seems to want to make a fool of the Ministry these days . . ."
"I was against this press conference from the beginning, Mum. That's all I can say."
"Sure, Ron. I try not to, but my mind wanders to politics every time I see your faces. . . . Come on, Arthur's home too." Molly led the way out of the kitchen and into the living room and said, "Look who's here, Arthur!"
"Welcome, children!" exclaimed Arthur Weasley, sitting as usual in his sagging armchair. His once slim body had put on some weight, but he still wore horn-rimmed glasses, and his hair, which had been balding for some time, now remained only at the back of his head.
"Hello, Dad," said Ron.
"Good to see you, Arthur," said Hermione.
"Long time no see," said Harry.
Arthur quickly raised his hand as the three of them were about to cross the living room and said, "Please don't take your wands out here!"
It was then that Harry noticed a strange black object on his lap that looked like two large plates glued together at an angle.
"It's a laptop, isn't it? I've seen my parents use one," said Hermione knowingly.
"Yes — I got it cheap from a Muggle shop and you wouldn't believe how useful it is!" said Arthur proudly. "May I ask you to refrain from using magic here in the sitting room? It has such a sensitive nature . . ."
"Well, Arthur, how nice it would be if you treated me like that?" Molly snapped, sweeping the cushions off the sofa with a flick of her wand.
"Molly, please! You turned the power off again!" Arthur yelled, hastily pulling the laptop away from his wife and her wand.
"It's been a week since I couldn't use magic here! I know how much you love Muggles, but you can never make me one!" Molly shouted and turned to Harry, Ron and Hermione, patting the empty sofa across from Arthur's armchair. "Come and sit down — ignore him and make yourselves at home."
Harry, Ron and Hermione sat next to each other on the sofa and looked at the Weasleys. Arthur put his laptop down on the floor, but continued to stare at it anxiously, while Molly sat in another chair with a cold expression on her face.
"Er — Arthur, what were you doing with the laptop anyway?" asked Hermione cautiously.
"Oh, I was trying out the video call feature," said Arthur. His face instantly lit up as the subject turned to the Muggle invention. "Muggles have done some pretty impressive things, haven't they? Incredibly ingenious. . . . Nowadays, some Muggles don't even leave their homes to work, because they can communicate and hold meetings with these machines. And they call it work- at-home — simply fabulous. . . ."
"What makes you so curious about how others work when you are a retired man?" said Molly coolly. "And your beloved Muggles are supposed to be the ones who took away your pension, remember, dear?"
"Be patient, Molly — it's only been a week since that happened," said Arthur. Then he turned to Hermione and asked hopefully, "Dear Minister, you'll have it sorted out soon, won't you?"
"Well, I-I hope so . . ." Hermione stammered, her hands clutching the ledger she had borrowed from the goblins on her knees. "Actually, that's what brought us here — to solve the Gringotts incident. That is, we came here to do work-at-home of our own."
"Ha! Look at that, Molly! You can learn a lot from Muggles these days," said Arthur triumphantly. "Please let me know if you need a video call. You can use my laptop anytime!"
"Actually, this is something only the three of us should be doing," said Harry quickly. "It's important that no one knows we're here. If the media finds out, we could all get in trouble."
"Sure, Harry. I'll get rid of the reporters, even if I have to set off the ghoul in the attic . . . I knew we could always count on you," said Molly. She stroked Harry's disheveled hair as she sat on the arm of the sofa. "You've been through so much and still they never let you rest . . ."
"Er — Mum," said Ron. It looked like Hermione had poked him in the side. "We have to go up to my old room — to — to start working. There's a lot to do . . ."
"Yes, son. Enjoy your work at home!" Arthur chuckled. The three of them got up at the same time and headed for the stairs.
As far as Harry could remember, Ron's old bedroom just below the attic had not changed much: It was full of posters of Chudley Cannons, with Quidditch players in bright orange robes, hanging from the walls and sloping ceiling. Over the years, the charm had worn off, and the players on the broomsticks were now whirling and waving much more slowly. On the windowsill was a dried, empty fish tank and a small, unoccupied cage. The sun, now quite high in the sky, shone through the window, casting a little light on the bed.
"I miss Pig sometimes — still, he had a happy life, I think," Ron said, staring at the cage that had once held his now-dead owl, Pigwidgeon.
"I understand. He was a very passionate owl," said Harry. A corner of his heart ached as he remembered his own dear owl, Hedwig, who had beautiful snow-white feathers; it was always hard for Harry to bond with other owls after her death.
"It's still a mess in here," Hermione muttered, waving her wand in the air, and then the stacks of old spell books, comics, and toys on the floor flew away on their own, neatly tucked away in boxes. "Let's get started, shall we?"
In the middle of the bed, Harry and Ron sat side by side with Hermione between them. Harry summoned a small table and helped Hermione put the book on it.
"Just like the good old days, isn't it?" Ron said, a grin spreading across his face. "We made plans to find the Horcruxes right here in this room, remember? There you were, Hermione — sitting on the floor, wondering what to pack between the piles of books . . ."
"That's right, Ron. It's quite a historic place," said Hermione with a smile. From her small beaded bag, she pulled out two more books, smaller than the ledger, but still thick and large. One was the British Ministry of Magic's Law Book, and the other had the title Gobbledegook-English Dictionary on the cover. "Anyway, it's just these three books that we need to review today. Seems simple enough, doesn't it?"
Within half a day, their confidence had turned to disappointment, and from disappointment to despair. Using the Gobbledegook dictionary, they spent the rest of the morning searching the ledger for records of deposits and withdrawals from the Ministry vault over the past week. However, when they began to compare the transaction details with the ledger's contents in the afternoon, a problem arose: Despite the repeated deposits and withdrawals, the Muggles did not appear to have committed any violations of the Wizarding law.
"Strange, indeed — the vault's balance decreased only because the Muggles were conducting normal transactions . . ." said Ron doubtfully. "My hunch was right after all! The goblins stole the gold themselves and then framed the Muggles instead!"
"If that were the case, they would have manipulated this ledger to make it look like the Muggles stole the Galleons, wouldn't they? There's no point in leaving them as normal transactions," Hermione pointed out. "I wish these were runes! These Gobbledegook words make me feel like my eyes are going to fall out . . ."
"I quite agree," Harry said, rubbing his burning eyes.
Because of the goblins' small hands, the crooked letters were very small, and Harry felt nauseous as he read each word and number. Trying to keep his stomach full of kidney pie and pumpkin juice in peace, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After a few hours, Ron's body retreated to a half-lying position, and Harry was too sleepy to keep his eyes open. Only Hermione kept her attention on the books, and after another hour she finally gave up.
"We're done for!" Hermione groaned as she rubbed her bloodshot eyes with the back of her hand. "Soon my name will be listed in A History of Magic as the worst Minister ever!"
"Don't worry, Hermione," said Ron reassuringly, patting her shoulder as he lay beside her on the bed. "You'll always find Cornelius Fudge under your name."
"And don't forget Pius Thicknesse!" helped Harry. "It's harder to be the worst Minister ever than the greatest, isn't it?"
"And you say that to comfort me?" Hermione sat on the bed and tugged at her bushy hair in frustration. "Being compared to them is a very serious problem in itself! Besides, look how I am now: I made a huge concession to the goblin, and the book I was given turned out to be worthless. When they find out, the voters will start to miss Fudge!"
"Hermione, I'll have my Aurors keep an eye on all Muggles withdrawing money from Gringotts from now on. Hopefully this will prevent similar incidents in the future," Harry suggested. "And with the current shutdown reducing expenses, the Ministry's vault will be refilled soon enough. Wouldn't all this be solved without having to look at that damn book?"
"Maybe you're right, Harry," said Hermione weakly, the watery look in her sunken eyes unmistakable. "We can get back to where we were if we tighten our budget . . . but the Quidditch World Cup won't happen if we can't fix this. Then my lifelong dream will be nothing more than a fantasy!"
"Come on, Hermione! Going abroad is good for a breath of fresh air," said Ron. "Do you remember when Argentina hosted the Quidditch World Cup a few years ago? The D.A. members reunited in the Patagonian Desert, and it was great fun!"
"Yes — anyone can watch the World Cup, Ron, regardless of nationality. But if we hold it in England and our national team wins, my tenure will be remembered for a hundred years," sighed Hermione. "What would Nobby Leach think of this? It would be an international disgrace if we gave the hosting rights to the United States, and we may never see a Muggle-born Minister in Britain again . . ."
"I've been thinking about it for a while, but there are limits to entrusting our budget solely to goblins," said Harry thoughtfully. "There may be a need for a new department within the Ministry of Magic to deal with taxes."
"Exactly! Then we can prevent an incident like this from happening again!" Hermione exclaimed, her face brightening. "Muggles have been doing this for centuries — why didn't I think of it? The financial experts may be able to help us solve this case!"
"So you're going to put me in charge of this new department, aren't you?" Ron said with interest.
"Appoint you? But why?" Hermione squinted at her husband.
"Let's see — you were once doing that spew stuff, remember? I was in charge of its finances as treasurer," said Ron seriously, straightening his slumped posture.
"First of all, what we did wasn't spew," said Hermione irritably. "It's S-P-E-W, which stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. How many times do I have to tell you that?"
"And secondly, you did nothing more than collect the joining fees as treasurer." Harry gave Ron a sarcastic smile.
"Even that simple job you did poorly," Hermione added coolly. "I found out later that our collection tin was empty. You used every single Sickle we got at Honeydukes, didn't you?"
"All right, all right! I get the point!" said Ron in a grumpy tone after giving in to his friends' objections. "So who's going to be the new Treasurer? No wizard would do it right, would they? Arithmetic and accounting are considered tedious tasks only for goblins and Muggles in our world. . . ."
"I know that, but I still can't leave our budget in the hands of goblins again . . ." Hermione said, her face darkening. "It would be much better if we left the Ministry's bank account to the house-elves instead of those stingy, irresponsible bastards."
"What, house-elves? Are you mental?" Ron raised his voice. "They would give money to anyone who asked for it! Don't you remember what happened in the Hogwarts kitchen?"
Harry was deep in thought while the two argued. An image of a train compartment flashed through his mind as he had just heard Ron utter the word "accounting," but he couldn't remember why. . . . At least not until —
"Yes, accountant!" Harry shouted as a sudden realization hit him. "Ron, think back to our first meeting on the Hogwarts Express. You told me that your Mum has a second cousin who's an accountant!"
At first Ron looked confused, but his eyes widened. "Yes, you're right! We hardly ever talk about him, but Mum has a second cousin who works as an accountant. . . . Though he probably hasn't contacted our family in a long time, since he's a Squib."
"Are you sure, Ron?" Hermione also clapped her hands in delight. "We could put a Squib in charge of the new department without worrying about exposing our world. Why didn't you think of this before?"
"It never occurred to me that I had such a relative," Ron said, scratching his chin. "To be honest, I don't even know his name. Let's ask Mum — she'll know."
Their immediate reaction was to leave the room and run down the uneven stairs to the kitchen. Molly was humming and examining something in the pot as they entered the kitchen, breathing heavily.
"Ah, there you are — just about to call you in for dinner." Molly smiled, turing to find them. "I made some onion soup. Did it smell good all the way up there? Why did you rush down?"
"We're here to work — I need to ask you something," said Ron. "Don't you have a second cousin who's an accountant, Mum? Is there any way we can get in touch with him?"
"Faraday Prewett, you mean?" She took a moment to think before answering. "But why are you trying to contact him, Ronnie? I've only met him a few times myself . . . he's a squib, you know."
"He could be the key to solving our problem," said Hermione. "We desperately need Muggles' accounting knowledge."
"Is that so? I'll look for his business card — I think I have it somewhere . . ." Molly pulled a tin can out of the gap between the books on the mantelpiece and looked inside. "I wish Arthur had learned how to manage money from the Muggles, but instead he got the whole house greasy trying to figure out how airplanes stay up. . . . Ah, here you go."
Harry, Ron and Hermione read the business card Molly had given them together: It contained the address of Faraday Prewett's office in a luxury residential area in central London and his job title as a stockbroker.
"What does a stockbroker do? Do they break things called stocks?" asked Ron, looking confused.
"This job also involves money management. It's similar to being an accountant in many ways, I think," said Hermione. "By the way, Molly, where did you meet him?"
"At our Great-Auntie Muriel's funeral last year. I hear his inventions are flying off the shelves in Diagon Alley — very popular with young witches and wizards these days. . . . It's basically a container you can put Muggle machines in, and they don't break when magic is around."
"Yes, I noticed that Lily brought it along with her new Muggle device," Harry said, remembering a small box wrapped in wire mesh that his daughter had recently purchased along with her smartphone. "They said it was called a Faraday cage, but I didn't know it was made by Mr. Prewett."
"Come to think of it, he must be the only person in the world with the last name Prewett. My family is extinct except for him in the male line," said Molly bitterly. "And I'm pretty sure his real name wasn't Faraday — he must have changed it after he invented that Faraday cage. Squibs usually change their names, after all . . . since most Muggles find their original names odd."
"Thanks for the information, Mum. We have to go to his office tomorrow." Ron kissed his mother's cheek. "I hope he'll be a big help."
"I hope so too, Ron. Now, you and Hermione — please put the plates and cutlery on the table. And would you please go out and call Arthur, Harry dear? Gosh, I've got to smash that lap-toffee thing, really!"