Chapter 10. The Sorcerer's House
It had been almost a month since Faraday Prewett had joined the Ministry of Magic. Although Faraday's major reforms to replenish the Ministry's vault had caused a great deal of backlash from the Wizarding community, they were still having some effect. Hermione had shown a huge pile of shiny gold coins in Gringott's vault when the American President of the Magical Congress had visited England with some members of the International Confederation of Wizards Quidditch Committee to usurp the right to host the World Cup. After the president had returned to his continent discouraged, Hermione began to show Faraday more kindness. The arrival of the new Treasurer also had a positive effect on Harry: He and Ron enjoyed riding his Firebolt in abandoned woods in the suburbs from time to time.
Then, one day, Harry found himself in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, which was more crowded than usual when he arrived for work through the fireplace. The four young men, wearing Muggle clothes like jeans and T-shirts instead of robes, were chatting among themselves and gazing in amazement at the magnificent hall and the golden fountain. On each of their carts was a cage-shaped metal box containing black desktop computers and large monitors. Surrounding the group were several wizards in navy blue robes, holding wands and placing magical shields around the machines to protect them. Seeing Teddy staring at the strange sight with interest, Harry approached his godson.
"Teddy, what is all this?"
"Ah, Mr. Prewett must've bought some Muggle equipment for his new department and also hired some Squibs to use it," said Teddy. "That Faraday guy seems to be quite popular with young witches and wizards these days. . . . Victoire says that some of the students even want him to install something called Why-Pie at Hogwarts.
"Really? Well, I hear a lot of young people are familiar with Muggle equipment these days. . . . It's a good sign that everyone's getting along."
"Not everyone, for sure." Teddy smirked with a meaningful look at the Ministry staff gathered across the hall. Their faces were dark and serious as they spoke in whispers. "Most of them are from Slytherin House, I think . . . because they just can't accept anything new by nature."
Harry took his time, examining each of the disgruntled people Teddy had pointed out without being too obvious. He recognized about half of them as Slytherins, but the rest as Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and even Gryffindors. One thing they all had in common, however, was that they were purebloods. The fact that so many people were unhappy with the ongoing reforms made Harry's heart sink.
"Teddy, don't come into the office today — go to Diagon Alley and find out what the public thinks. See if Eisenbein's name comes up."
"No kidding? Then I should change my style first," said Teddy happily, looking like his birthday had come early. Meanwhile, his sandy hair was rapidly turning a bright golden blonde.
"Keep your mind on the job, Teddy. If I hear that your undercover work is being neglected, you won't be out of the office for long," said Harry sternly.
"You can always count on me, Harry." Despite Teddy's best efforts to soften his expression, the corners of his mouth remained raised.
After letting Teddy go, Harry took a lift up to the floor where the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was located, and walked through a different corridor than usual to check on the security of where Markus Dolohov was being held. As Harry made his way to Auror Headquarters, having made sure that the door to the interrogation room was firmly closed, a loud voice came from the slightly open door, causing him to slow down in the hallway.
"Now Squibs are telling wizards what to do! Right in the middle of the Ministry of Magic!" That voice was most likely Baddock's, one of the young Aurors from Slytherin House. "Our tolerance has its limits! We can't just stand by and watch these blood traitors sell out the Ministry!"
There were a few murmurs from those who agreed with him.
"Then you can manage the budget in the Treasury instead of Mr. Prewett, Baddok." There was a cold voice from Edmund. "Mr. Potter is our greatest hero. These Squibs are actually helping him protect the Ministry's assets from Muggles."
Small voices of his supporters followed the statement.
"It's not a rule that heroes don't get senile," Baddock sneered. "This is exactly what Markus predicted. If this keeps up, we'll end up as house-elves ruled by Muggles and Squibs."
Sympathetic voices were louder than before.
"As it turns out, you're the one who's ruled by that petty criminal. Talk like that again and you and Dolohov will be locked up together in the interrogation room," said Edmund harshly.
Harry waited for the noise to die down before he entered. Although the Aurors, sitting in separate cubicles, pretended to be working, they could not hide the subdued mood. Even as Harry walked through the cubicle walls into his office, he could feel hostile glances flying his way. Harry had been unable to concentrate on his work all day. With only one of his minions in the interrogation room, Eisenbein was inching closer to destroying the world Harry had fought so hard to preserve. In the midst of the wave of change, Harry was neither able to fight it nor be swept away by it. . . .
With a heavy heart, Harry read through the reports piling up on his desk before heading to the Minister's office for the late afternoon meeting. Faraday, who had just agreed to attend the meeting, was in the lift with three other wizards from other departments when the door opened to let Harry in. He joined the group as several pale purple paper airplanes entered with him.
"Hello, Faraday. Everything going well?" asked Harry, standing next to him.
"Don't ask. Since the computers were just brought in today, we haven't started work yet, strictly speaking," Faraday grumbled, looking up at the paper planes flapping their wings above him. "Besides, these fluttering memos are giving me a serious headache. . . . Aren't we better off using messaging apps instead?"
"There's been a lot of improvement, though. When the Ministry used to have owls, there was droppings all over the desks." Hearing Harry's words, Faraday spat out a few curse words and closed his mouth, mindful of the people around him. Then something strange caught Harry's attention. A pair of wizards from other departments stood in the corner, staring at Faraday intently, both of them clasping their left wrists with their right hands. When their eyes met Harry's, they quickly released their hands and began talking about the weather.
"Remember, Faraday — I will always have your back. Whatever reforms you need to make, make them." In haste, the two wizards averted their eyes from Harry as he deliberately spoke aloud.
Once upstairs, Harry and Faraday went straight to the Minister's office. Ron and Hermione were already seated when they entered. Faraday skipped the greetings and spread out the thick papers and graphs in front of Hermione and said, "It's been a smooth ride so far. . . . As long as the tax revenues come in at the same rate as last month, we will be able to host the World Cup next summer without any problems."
"This is great! It's all thanks to you," said Hermione delightedly. "Now, let's talk about our national team's roster —"
"I'm not done yet," said Faraday bluntly, pointing to one of the graphs with a blue line going down. "Here is an estimate of our future revenues. Based on a weekly analysis, the Ministry's income is gradually declining . . . and if this trend continues, we may have to declare another default before we even host the World Cup next year."
Hermione looked stunned, as if she had just been hit by a fist on a spring. "But, but . . ." Hermione finally took a deep breath and said, "but why?"
"A recession is coming to the Wizarding world." Faraday pointed to the small numbers scattered throughout his report. "Lack of money supply seems to be the main reason."
"Lack of what?" said Ron. "But why is this happening? Obviously, the Ministry's vault has been refilled, you said. . . ."
"It is true that some of the funds were raised by selling items in the Ministry of Magic. However, the basic problem remains the same," Faraday explained. "According to the data, the theft of the Ministry's entire vault was the final fatal blow, but the signs have been there for some time."
"What signs?" Harry asked anxiously, feeling as if he were facing a healer who was telling him he was seriously ill.
"The magical world originally had an extremely closed economy; in other words, you only consumed what you produced," said Faraday. "Recently, however, the demand for outside goods has increased. To buy devices like smartphones, I guess . . ."
"Indeed — that's why business is so slow in our store," said Ron sharply.
"Exactly. In other words, wizards and witches are getting poorer and poorer as more and more gold coins pile up in the Ministry vault after being converted into Muggle currency," said Faraday. "Now that the remaining gold coins have been stolen, there is no way for money to circulate in your world. A typical recession, then."
"What's the point of circulating money?" asked Ron, and Faraday slapped his forehead.
"It would be easier to teach toddlers. . . . Because people don't spend money, stores lose sales and lay off clerks, and clerks lose their jobs and don't spend money, perpetuating the vicious cycle. It's only natural that the Ministry of Magic's tax revenue will also decrease, and then there won't be enough gold to pay for the World Cup, let alone our salaries . . ."
"No more shutdowns! If that happens, I'll be fired even faster than Fudge!" Hermione squealed. "Is there any way to increase the money supply, Faraday?"
"Well, let me think about it." Faraday sat motionless for several minutes before blinking. "Muggles have a way that works just fine, but since your situation is so unusual . . ."
"Just tell me," Hermione urged.
"Have you ever heard of Quantitative Easing?"
"Quan — what?" Ron blinked.
"Yes, I'm aware of it — I've been studying economics for some time now. . . . This practice involves central banks buying unlimited amounts of government bonds to inject liquidity into the market, right?" said Hermione breathlessly.
Her words deeply impressed Harry, Ron and even Faraday. "You sound like you've swallowed a whole book . . . yes, that's the correct definition according to the dictionary. I wonder how many of the words you've just said make sense to you, though."
"Could someone please speak English?" said Ron.
"A good way to think of Quantitative Easing is as a grandiose term for Muggles printing money whenever they need it," said Faraday patiently. "Although there are some side effects, such as skyrocketing real estate prices, it would be very effective in situations like yours, where the money supply is insufficient. The problem is that you use gold coins, while Muggles use paper money. There's no way to print gold . . ." Then Faraday suddenly lifted his head, his eyes glittering. "Or is it possible? You're all wizards!"
"If that were the case, no one would be working," said Harry. "We can't make gold even with magic."
"Is there absolutely no way? You can do alchemy with cauldrons and eccentric ingredients, I thought."
"Hey, don't you remember?" cried Ron suddenly. "The Sorcerer's Stone! It can turn any metal into gold!"
"It occurred to me, too. But the Stone was destroyed years ago, and Nicolas Flamel — the only person who could ever make it — died decades ago," said Hermoine skeptically.
"Exactly. Also, Professor Dumbledore was involved in the destruction, so the Sorcerer's Stone is as good as lost forever," Harry added. "That prevented the wrong person from getting the stone, but I had no idea it would be regretted only now. . . ."
"Wasn't Nicolas Flamel a Frenchman? He lived in France before England, so I think the formula for the Stone might still exist there," Ron pointed out.
"If we sit around like this, the Ministry of Magic will be bankrupt again," said Faraday firmly. "Let's go to that man's old house in France, like Ron suggested. . . . We should at least try."
"I always welcome another trip to France," said Ron happily. "I enjoyed my visit there last winter, but it'd be better if the weather was warmer."
"Don't get too excited, Ron. We're going there on business," Hermione said sternly before looking back at Faraday. "Besides, we've got some problems . . . The French and our Ministry of Magic don't get along very well right now. They may not be willing to cooperate."
"Why is that?"
"It's a little complicated — the French Ministry of Magic tried to collect taxes from our citizens every time they entered France after the British government did something called Brexit, and we refused to pay them."
"Nonsense! Since when do they care about Muggle laws?" complained Ron.
"The French Ministry is still frosty toward us. Only the United States and France did not send congratulations when we came to host the Quidditch World Cup," said Hermione.
"Are there any alternatives to the official channels?" said Faraday.
Hearing these words, Harry immediately thought of someone and made eye contact with Ron and Hermione. No one spoke, even though his two friends seemed to have the same thoughts in their heads.
"There is one, actually . . . a relative of ours," Hermione said finally, "who holds a fairly high position in the French Ministry of Magic."
"Then what are you waiting for? Let's book a flight right away!" Faraday pulled out his phone, then he burst out laughing. "A flight with you — I must be out of my mind. . . . Are we going to have to ride a broomstick?"
"Paris is too far for a broomstick — I'll get something else," said Hermione. "Be back here in the morning, you three. I'll contact the French acquaintance beforehand and arrange our transportation."
Harry put on his best Muggle formal wear he had for the next day and went to Hermione's office. Ron and Hermione were already waiting for him when he arrived.
"Where's Faraday?" asked Hermione. A rusty bucket on her desk partially covered her face as she wrestled with her wand, muttering some complex spells at it.
"He didn't come with me . . . hopefully he'll be here soon," Harry said, taking a seat across from Ron and Hermione, an old bucket between them. "Is this today's Portkey?"
"Correct. It was Luna who taught me that a bucket could be useful on long journeys — it makes you less dizzy, she said."
"Better to be dizzy than to leave any part of your body behind," Ron said, shaking a little. He had splinched his upper arm badly while Apparating a long time ago and always preferred Portkeys and fireplaces when moving.
Once Hermione had checked the finished Portkey and placed it carefully on the desk, Faraday came through the door. His index finger and thumb were gripping a flat, tiny object, smaller than a fingernail, while he held a black briefcase in his other hand.
"Sorry I'm late . . . I was just picking up SIM cards for overseas use," Faraday said, turning to Harry. "Give me your phone — I brought yours too."
"Er — yes, of course." Harry handed him the bulky smartphone from the depths of his robes. There was a cold feeling on the metal due to its lack of use.
"Just as I expected!" Faraday clucked his tongue as he handled Harry's phone. "There are few signs of use — and also, Dudley, me and Lily are the only ones who have their numbers saved . . ."
"The only phone numbers I know are those three. . . . My daughter keeps trying to contact me through this device, but the owls still feel comfortable with me."
"Comfortable? Has its definition changed lately?"
Having inserted a small chip into the phone, Faraday handed it back to Harry.
"We'd better get going. Harry, take one of my hands, and Ron, take the other. Take Harry's, Faraday." With everyone following Hermione's instructions, the four of them now stood side by side against a wall. Hermione took a deep breath as she pulled the bucket closer to her with her wand. "Are you ready?"
Harry, Ron and Faraday muttered in response. Possibly due to the tension, he felt warm sweat coming from the other two hands holding Harry's. A loud rattling sound came from the floor with the bucket shaking. Slowly, Hermione lifted one foot and lowered it into the vibrating bucket.
The sudden pull to the ground made Harry's arms ache as his whole body was yanked forcefully toward Ron and Hermione. Within seconds, Harry was falling from the pitch-black sky. Although it wasn't as dizzying as the other Potkeys, where you spin around and around, like Hermione had assured, it was still very uncomfortable to flail around without touching the ground. Screams from Ron, Hermione and Faraday mingled. Keeping his eyes closed, Harry tightened his grip on the other two.
"Why is it taking so long?" shouted Ron in the darkness. "I feel like I'm going to throw up!"
"Don't you dare!" shouted Hermione angrily. "I'll shut your mouth with a slug if you do!"
After another ten seconds of silence, Harry's feet finally touched the hard earth and the surroundings had become blindingly bright. It was an old-fashioned residential area where they had arrived. He marveled at the beautiful brick houses lining the gray marbled street and the clear blue sky, a sharp contrast to the dull ones common in London.
"Very good — no Muggles need to have their memories erased," Hermione said, looking around the empty street. There were no other people around, perhaps because it was a weekday morning.
"Here I am, France!" said Faraday happily as he snapped photos of the serene and beautiful scenery with his smartphone. Ron, however, didn't look good at all and was sitting on the bucket that had been pulled from the road with them, resting. His freckled face had turned pale from the rough ride.
"We should really take a plane next time," Ron said with a disgusted look on his face. "I heard they even serve you food on the planes. . . ."
"They also feed you when you're in the doghouse," said Faraday airily. "It's amazing how fast we got to France. . . . Nothing but magic can move you that fast."
"Time to move on. This is my first visit to the French Ministry of Magic, so we might get lost," Hermione said, pulling an old parchment map out of her robes. "We should go to a square called Place de Furstemberg."
"My God, you're going to find the way with that? Take out your phone, Harry."
Harry reluctantly pulled his smartphone out of his robes at Faraday's words.
"Tap the map icon on it to open the app, then type in Hermione's location."
Harry typed the correct spelling into the search bar with Hermione's help. Then a map appeared on the small screen with bold arrows next to their current location, indicating where they should go.
"I'm sure you can do that with magic," said Ron gruffly. "Tell Faraday about the Marauder's Map, Harry — it even shows the names of passersby!"
"So what? You had a mysterious name written with yours for years, but no one ever noticed," said Harry coolly. It was still one of Harry's deepest traumas that Peter Pettigrew had once climbed into his own bed in his rat form. "And thank you, Faraday — we should always learn what we can."
Heeding Faraday's advice, Harry walked along the path marked on the map, checking his smartphone regularly to see how it was changing. Hermione occasionally glanced down at her parchment map, as if wondering if they were on the right path, but she was satisfied when they turned a corner and saw a sign with the name of the square. As for Ron, he sometimes glared at the smartphone in Harry's hand, obviously displeased with the Muggle device that had brought a serious threat to his joke shop business.
Contrary to Harry's expectations, the meeting place was quite narrow. At the end of the narrow street, they came to a small empty lot, surrounded by buildings on all sides, with four trees planted neatly in a square in the middle, and a bronze drinking fountain in the very center of the trees.
"Looks like your informant hasn't arrived yet. . . . Typical — the French have little sense of time." As Faraday strode into the square from the front, grunting loudly, a slender woman suddenly appeared in front of the fountain.
A startled Faraday nearly fell, and the other three stopped as if frozen. Apparently, the fountain had a spell that made people around it invisible. Despite knowing this, Harry felt that Gabrielle Delacour had come from heaven, not earth. Gabrielle walked toward them as gracefully as if she were walking on water, wearing a floaty cream-colored robe that matched well with her silvery blond, waist-length hair. She stared at Harry with a dazzling smile the whole time, looking like her older sister Fleur, but more youthful.
"Enchantée, Gabrielle," Hermione said, leaving her male companions dazed.
"Nice to meet you, Minister," Gabrielle said. After glancing at Hermione, she gave Harry another intense look, her beautiful eyes twinkling. "And 'Arry — the 'ero who saved my life!"
Harry cleared his throat as Hermione looked at Harry displeased.
"Greetings, Gabrielle. I hope you are well."
He shook Gabrielle's hand and released it when she had held his for too long. Knowing Fleur for so long, he thought he had developed some immunity to the part veela's deadly charm, but that seemed to be a misconception. Taking a polite step back, Gabrielle shook hands with Ron, whose face had turned as flaming red as his hair, and Faraday, who was staggering slightly.
"I understand from your letter that your visit ees related to Mr. Flamel," said Gabrielle kindly. "I asked the person in charge of maintaining public property to get the right key. . . ."
Harry thought she had done so without any difficulty, since ordinary men would find it very difficult to resist her request.
"Well done," said Hermione stiffly. It seemed she was only interested in getting this job done as quickly as possible. "Let's go to his house right away. There are a lot of things I left behind in England."
It seemed as if Ron wanted to say that he was idle, but fortunately he didn't. While Gabrielle seemed to want to go with Harry, Hermione stayed by her side and continued talking. "Is Mr. Flamel's house now owned by the French Ministry of Magic In his later years, he lived in a house in Devon, England, before donating it to our Ministry."
"It would 'ave been easy if that were the case," Gabrielle sighed. "Our in'eritance laws are very different from yours, apparently. . . . That's why 'undreds of 'is so-called descendants came to claim the property, which was only natural given Mr. Flamel's age of nearly seven hundred years."
"He was seven hundred years old?" Faraday's jaw dropped.
"It's also possible to make the Elixir of Life with the Sorcerer's Stone, which makes you immortal," said Harry. Faraday licked his lips, as if his desire for the Stone had grown even more.
"No matter how big a house is, if it's shared by hundreds of heirs, no one will inherit anything," said Hermione darkly.
"There's no problem with the 'ouse itself. There was a rumor that eet 'ad a lot of gold 'idden away. Our Ministry of Magic shut down the 'ouse over 20 years ago because the 'eirs were all trying to get at eet. No one 'as been able to bring in their genealogies to prove their rights."
"Who could possibly have a seven hundred year old genealogy? It would be easy to do genetic testing," grunted Faraday. "Whether in Britain or France, the Ministry of Magic is equally incompetent. . . ."
"Genetic, you said? Does this have anything to do with Genie the Lamp Fairy?" Gabrielle's big blue eyes widened even more, but a wave of his hand indicated that Faraday was not going to explain. After a short walk, they reached a street lined with older buildings.
"This is the Café Abringer — one of the oldest wizard cafés in Paris," Gabrielle said, pointing to a small shop where people in robes could be seen through the window. "The Flamel 'Ouse is a little farther from 'ere . . . Ah, I can see it now."
Their first sighting was a rough stone house that wasn't painted at all, unlike other brick or marble houses. The four-story building had a few windows covered with opaque glass decorated with mosaics, making it impossible to see inside.
"You'd better hold your breath. . . . There will be a lot of dust since we 'aven't cleaned it in decades," Gabrielle said as she pulled a bronze key from her robes. With the key in place, she turned the door, which creaked open. "You may all enter."
There was no wallpaper on the stone walls in the dimly lit interior, creating a lonely and desolate atmosphere. In Harry's opinion, it was a house that had remained largely unchanged since the Medieval times. Gabrielle led them through the drawing room to an adjoining room with some old dusty furniture. At the end of the drawing room was a spiral wooden staircase that looked as if it would collapse the moment one stepped on it. Strangely patterned tapestries fluttered, and figures in dark tunics in the portraits hurried away from them as they passed.
"Mr. Flamel's research fascinated you, didn't eet? This ees the laboratory 'e used," said Gabrielle. Even without her explanation, it was obvious what the room was used for, as the large desk in the center, the wall cabinet, and another small desk were all filled with experimental equipment made of glass and steel.
"But is that all?" said Faraday, looking at the books on the bookshelf in the corner. "There are too few books for the accumulation of seven hundred years . . ."
"Let's not be disappointed yet, and you'd better step back from there."
Gabrielle pulled glass vials from left to right in a seemingly random order as she approached the desk by the window. Suddenly, steam erupted from the bookshelf Faraday had been standing in front of, creaking open like a door; the darkness behind it revealed a narrow staircase leading down.
"It would be a great idea to take the 'eritage list before we go down," Gabrielle said, and she pulled forward the small cabinet on the opposite wall, which concealed a small safe. When she turned the dial to open the safe, her eyes were drawn to a thick book and an empty glass bottle inside.
"This ees strange," Gabrielle muttered, picking up the book and the empty bottle. "It was said that there were four bottles of the Elixir of Life left here, but apparently there aren't any . . ."
"Please step back for a moment," said Faraday. He took out his briefcase and opened it on the desk. He then retrieved a small brush and inkwell from the desk and took out the flashlight. After thoroughly brushing the liquid from the inkwell onto the safe and nearby walls, Faraday lit his flashlight. The device then emitted an intense blue light, revealing fluorescent fingerprints on the walls and safe.
"Wow! How did you do that?" exclaimed Hermione in awe.
"That's an ultraviolet light — the kind investigators use to examine crime scenes." Faraday then illuminated the inside of the safe with the blue light, revealing more fingerprints. "There's evidence that this has been opened recently. . . . It appears that the contents of the glass bottle were stolen at that time."
"The claimants must've done this," said Ron seriously. "Perhaps there was some gold left in this house?"
"The gold in this house and in the basement was moved to our Ministry vault a long time ago," said Gabrielle. "If they had come to steal anything, they would have gotten nothing of value except a few bottles of Life Elixir. . . ."
"No, they could have had a better crop. Even gold is not as valuable as knowledge, and that is why we came here," said Faraday thoughtfully. His flashlight was also shining on the vials Gabrielle had just pulled to unlock the secret door, and there were the same fingerprints on them as well. "These thieves seemed to have known a lot — there are traces of the hidden door being opened. What were they looking for down there? Let's check it out."
They went down the stairs through the secret passage behind the bookcase. The stairs seemed to go on forever, going deep down. When Harry finally reached an open, bright room at the end of the descent, he gaped at the magnificent sight before him. With countless torches placed at regular intervals along the walls, the vast cellar looked like a massive underground palace. There was so much space under the vaulted ceiling that it was impossible to see across the room, and it seemed many times wider than the Hogwarts library. In every corner of Flamel's library, bookshelves were stacked high with books of all kinds.
"How fantastic!" exclaimed Hermione. It seemed as if she wanted to be buried under the books at any moment. "Not using this place is a crime against knowledge!"
"The thief must have thought the same," said Faraday flatly.
"Anyway, how are you going to find the information about the Sorcerer's Stone in here?" asked Harry. "Even Hermione will take years to read these books, no matter how hard she tries . . . and besides, most of the book seems to be in French, judging by the cover."
"What's here doesn't matter — what actually matters is what's missing . . . give me the list of inheritances, Miss Delacour."
Gabrielle handed Faraday a large book listing all the items Nicola Flamel had left behind. As Faraday scanned the pages filled with heirlooms and archives, he narrowed his eyes.
"These thieves must have been after the Sorcerer's Stone just like us . . . It would be possible to compare this list with the books and objects stored here within just a few weeks, assuming they knew more than we do now."
"So what?" asked Ron, looking confused.
"I can at least sort out the missing ones, can't I? Then I'll have to get those missing books from somewhere else . . . hoping that the books the thieves took contained information on how to make the Sorcerer's Stone," Faraday said, not taking his eyes off the list he was reading. "I'm going to stay here and do what I just said. . . . The job can be done by myself if I bring a computer and a scanner here."
"You can do whatever you want," said Gabrielle softly. "I just hope you can tell us how to make the Sorcerer's Stone if you find the secrets."
"Thank you, Gabrielle. You've helped us through some difficult times," Hermione said, looking back at Faraday. "But Faraday, will the Department of Treasury work without you?"
"As of now, I've already set up a computerized accounting system and hired several Squibs and Muggles with wizarding relatives who can use it," said Faraday confidently. "Plus, I can connect with them via video call if they need me. There are so many ways to get things done without ruddy owls."
"But the owls are so cute!" cried Gabrielle. "I have three of them at home."
"If cuteness had anything to do with efficiency, pandas would be sitting in offices," said Faraday gruffly. Then he turned to Harry, Ron and Hermione and continued, "For now, goodbye to you three. . . . In the meantime, I sincerely hope your vault doesn't get robbed again."
"It will never happen again." Hermione shook Faraday's hand, shuddering at the thought. Leaving Faraday downstairs, the others climbed the stairs.
"'Arry, would you like to join me for coffee if you're not too busy?" asked Gabrielle, shyly tossing her silvery blonde hair around as they stepped out into the street.
"I'm sorry — I'm busy at the moment," said Harry quickly.
"All right, too bad . . ." Gabriel's disappointed expression made Harry want to offer a word of comfort, but he managed to resist it. "Please let me know if you go back to France next time."
"Yes, we will," Hermione said, standing between them. "Thanks again for everything, Gabrielle."
"I was glad to help. Please say 'ello to my sister." One last time, Gabrielle looked at Harry with sad eyes and turned away.
"It's all over anyway," Ron said as the three of them searched for an empty bucket to use as a Portkey. "Is there any chance I could get a piece of the Sorcerer's Stone? I've always wanted one since I was a kid."
"Ron, don't be ridiculous," said Hermione coolly. "Besides, I'm still skeptical about figuring out how to make it. Anything we could think of, Dumbledore would have done the same. That means any information about the Stone in the basement library has been removed as well."
"Dumbledore was a human being, after all. Even a brilliant person like him could make a mistake," said Ron hopefully. "Ah, there's a bucket over there!"
There was indeed an old blue bucket with a broom leaning against the wall where Ron pointed. To make their way to London, the three of them packed the bucket and entered a dark alley.