Chapter 19

Looking for answers

1st June 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland

Another year was gone. The students had finally left the school, all the hilarious traps and end of term's pranks from the Weasley Twins had finally been dealt with. Everything which had been forgotten by distracted students had been sent by owl to their homes.

Except the Senior Professors of every course taught at Hogwarts, Hagrid, the ghosts, Peeves and the house elves charged of the maintenance, every person living all the year in the castle had left. The teachers were going to depart too, including the Headmaster himself for several conferences of the ICW and the Wizengamot. For two and a half months, Hogwarts was going to be silent and abandoned. Until the teachers came back for another scholar year of course.

Filius Flitwick turned the corner of the corridor and emitted a loud groan when he saw the five large and heavy trunks sitting in front of his office. One of his mottos when he was young had been to travel light. This time was long over, considering all the trunks had considerable space-expansion Charms and other enchantments on them which allowed him to transport in each the equivalent of a large library and everything he needed for his life in Scotland nine months of the year. These days, he felt more and more like those old teachers who had retired when he just took the post of Junior Charms Professor, transporting the equivalent of a complete house everywhere with him.

I don't travel light anymore. I am getting too old for this.

This feeling had come back more and more times this school year. To be fair, it had hardly come as a surprise: with the third year of the Weasley Twins at Hogwarts and the chaos which went with it, plus the arrival of Neville Longbottom the famous Boy-Who-Lived and so many children of many prominent Light and Dark families, Filius had suspected a certain amount of conflict was unavoidable.

His darkest previsions, however, had really been so far off-track it wasn't even funny anymore. Not being content limiting themselves to the usual problems coming with Quidditch matches, Houses Gryffindor and Slytherin had spent most of their year fighting with each other, openly or no. It had been worse during the war eleven years ago, of course, but more in terms of lethal curses sent in the corridors than in terms of hostility. The Slytherins had rallied around the children of several blood-purists like Draco Malfoy, while the Lions were supporting the Defeater of Voldemort. "Slimy snakes" had been now the used way to name a member of House Slytherin, while those speaking against the Gryffindors used expressions like "Scarface sidekicks", "noble idiots" or "suicidal lions". Even House Hufflepuff, renowned for its loyalty, unity and solidarity, had seen a few of its members like the young Smith Heir taking sides in the inter-House conflict. Most of the Badgers had stayed out it, fortunately for the stability of Hogwarts.

And then there had been his own House Ravenclaw, and the realisation how badly he had let his students destroy the very qualities of Lady Rowena along the last decade. Not that he could do a lot to remedy to this situation. With the headmaster busy to hold three positions at the same time, the real work of making sure the school functioned day after day was Minerva McGonagall and Filius responsibility. When one added to this phenomenal amount of paperwork the job of Senior Professor of Charms, the grading of papers and diverse other things like teaching the Choir of Hogwarts, there was little time to ensure the prefects of the Ravens did their job correctly and seriously.

Which they definitely had not.

If Filius had had any doubt in the subject, seeing the Ravenclaw common room ravaged by a short and violent battle on the first day would have reminded him how the House of the Wise had fallen. Just because one student having a dark family past had been chosen to enter their ranks.

Filius had really wanted to expulse these students having had the temerity to attack an eleven years old girl at twenty against one. It bore too many similitudes with his childhood as the child of an interspecies union for him not to feel enraged and furious at this situation. He still wanted to, for that matter. But he had been overruled. In the words of Dumbledore, expulsing these teenagers would "lead them to a dark path". And Dumbledore, acting in his persona of Headmaster of the school and Chief Warlock, had not only refused to cast out the culprits but had too forbidden Filius to talk to the press about the incident or inflict severe punishments. The contract signed the day he was hired being still binding, Filius had been forced to agree. One of his own students had died because he couldn't stop his quest of revenge. The others had one by one learnt their lessons. In blood, pain and detentions.

Nevertheless, it had forced him to consider him three things on that dreadful night. First, because Filius obviously hadn't done his job of Head of House properly here at Hogwarts, it had pushed him to consider who in the staff could share the blame. The list was long. Of the Senior Professors, Kettleburn was an infirm. Snape was busy protecting his Slytherins all year from the consequences of their bullying and abuse, all the while treating the rest of the children, teenagers and young adult like piles of dragon dung. Minerva was like him too busy with her role of Deputy Headmistress and Senior Transfiguration Professor to deal with the internal problems of Gryffindor House. Trelawney was a drunk. Muggle Studies, the program and the teacher were decades out of date. Binns had never taught anything worthwhile when he was living, and the tradition continued while he was dead. The real prize was going to Dumbledore in the end. Holding three prestigious positions, the man who was widely known thorough the world as the Defeater of Grindelwald had passed fifty-three complete days in the castle this year as its Headmaster. Under his watch this year, two teachers and a student had died. Not been sent to Saint Mungo's. Dead. Nevertheless, it had all been brushed under the carpet, and Filius doubted any kind of inquiries would ever been opened in the years to come. None of the three persons deceased had any family left alive that he knew of, after all.

The second thing had been that if he wanted something done, he had better do it himself. It was a lesson that been forged to him when he had begun to take his first steps in the duelling circuit, but he had allowed it to slip back in the recesses of his mind. With his dear colleagues unwilling to intervene in any way in the rapidly deteriorating situation of the magical school, he had decided to intervene in the magical education of a certain Alexandra Potter by teaching her duelling. Filius had not once regretted doing so. The girl was the perfect picture of her mother Lily Evans when she was angry or vindictive. The Potter Heiress was quite gifted in offensive spells , not to mention she had quite the gift to derail the little plans of Albus Dumbledore by her simple presence and little tolerance for the bullies and those who abused their authority in the castle. The cases of the mountain troll and the baby dragon were the most striking examples.

And the third... the third was the small chessman he had currently lying in his hands. From the outside, there was nothing extraordinary about such an object. In other circumstances, it would not have attracted his attention. Undoubtedly there were hundreds of such chess pieces owned by wizard families inside and outside Hogwarts. But this piece, this pawn, had been found on Devkins corpse when he was extracted from the rubble Alexandra Potter had used to indirectly kill him. As he had been the first on the scene, Filius had been able to examine the pawn and see the revealing spells casted by his wand signal a Protean Charm, a Life-Tracking Charm and dozens of other obscure incantations terribly difficult to cast even for a confirmed Charms Master like himself.

Filius long career on the Duellist circuit had introduced him to several quite famous duellists and a lot of infamous people around the years. It had given him a number of contacts which had made salivate the former Potions Master Slughorn. It had also taught him a huge number of rumours and legends surviving in the stadiums and taverns frequented by the circuit. Thousands upon thousands of things which were useless on a day per day basis.

The Legend of the Exchequer was one of those. In fact, it was not even a legend. More a tale to frighten people in the middle of the night, when all the common stories had been told and one wanted a horrific moment to shiver. Before May of this year, Filius Flitwick would have judged the existence of a group of wizards immensely powerful gathered in the goal of conquering the world ridiculous. The kind of thing one begins to invent when he has drunk too much Firewhiskey. Not to mention there had never been any clues about the existence of this mysterious organisation in hundreds of years, not to mention the ridiculous point that it had been supposedly created by a pharaoh having the ego of a pyramid. This had been before. This was now.

In spite of the warmth of the Scottish climate in this beginning of June, Filius Flitwick felt very cold contemplating the proof one of the most dangerous and secretive magical organisations which had ever been in existence had managed to send one of their agents in the premier school of the British Isles without anybody being the wiser. If the rumours had any truth in it, the pawns were their weakest members. And one of those had been able to conjure a series of obscure and terribly dangerous Dark Arts incantations. If Alexandra Potter had not had a lucky shot, nobody would have known anything and Devkins would have gotten away without anybody being the wiser.

Not that he knew much now. Only a name. And the dark feeling that whatever had been started this year, it was not over. Perhaps, over the summer, getting back in contact with old friends would not be that bad an idea. Now there was only to hope Miss Potter would stay out of trouble until the beginning of the new year...

3rd June 1992, Granger's Residence, England

"Well at least we know the Stone is a fake." Alexandra affirmed with conviction.

"Are you sure?" Demanded Hermione.

The two girls were currently examining the results of their last experience with the Stone in the kitchen of Hermione's parents. There was a lot of piled glass...and a syrupy red liquid that sure as hell wasn't blood. Or blood had changed taste and consistence in this reality. It wasn't alchemic. Which left...

"Pretty much. Unless grenadine is one of the core ingredients for making a Philosopher's Stone?"

The brown-haired Gryffindor girl made a negative nod.

"Didn't think so." The Potter Heiress sighed. "Goodbye, dreams of unlimited gold and immortality..."

Not that it had been a deception any longer. The Stone had had no magical capacity whatsoever in the various liquids it had been plunged. Crushing it had just been the last confirmation the two young witches needed.

"And the one Neville saw in the mirror?" Asked Hermione.

"Certainly a fake too. If the first was a trick, I don't see why the Headmaster wouldn't put a second fake in the mirror."

The black-haired Ravenclaw closed her eyes momentarily before reopening them with new determination.

"Well, too bad. We will have to find other means to become rich and famous."

"You're already famous in the wizarding world." Corrected the dentists' daughter.

"No, I'm infamous, my dear Granger." Joked the green-eyed girl.

"Fair enough." Hermione shrugged. "I have managed to crack the codes Devkins used for the papers you stole, by the way."

"Difficult?" Alexandra demanded. Given the lack of protection surrounding his office, the eleven-year old had expected unbreakable codes to be the order of the day to protect sensitive information.

"He used well-known ciphers of World War II. With the library computer, it was not exactly difficult to decode them." Hermione sniffed in a disdainful manner. "Either he believed Muggle technology had not made any progress, or he thought no one would ever have the opportunity to read these documents before he destroyed them."

"The latter I think." Alexandra said thoughtfully. "Like in a spy movie." Well, it was not that weird. Devkins had been a spy of sorts, indeed. "Anything interesting?"

"Not really, no. Everything is in a sort of coded language, and I was unable to find the references."

"Fine." Alexandra tried her best not to show her disappointment. "Keep them, it's always possible we will find more clues. Or we could dump them to Professor Flitwick in December."

"There is one thing though, but I don't know if it is important..." The tone of the Gryffindor was hesitant.

"What?"

"Professor Devkins worked for someone called Knight Summoner."

"Knight Summoner? That's a weird name..." The Potter witch frowned. "I don't remember seeing it as a nickname of any known Death Eater. Certainly an alias or an invented persona...do you have any idea who this 'Knight' work for?"

"I have only one word. The 'Exchequer'."

10th June 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland

The students gone, Hogwarts was a formidable way to meet someone without rousing any attention, mused Albus Dumbledore. Save the elves, the ghosts, Hagrid and the portraits, there was no one left anymore. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, he controlled four out of four of these. Which meant the meeting between himself and his visitor would stay between themselves.

"Firewhiskey, one hundred and twenty years of age." Gulped Alastor Moody with deep satisfaction. His old Auror friend was showing new scars and more grey hair than the last time Dumbledore had seen him. "May I ask how you put your hands on it?"

"Trade secret, I'm afraid." Smiled the Chief Warlock.

"You and your secrets, Albus." Growled the man infamously known everywhere in the British Isles as 'Mad Eye.' "You will have to offer me one for my retirement next year."

"Maybe." This was certainly an occasion worthy of it, but he was not going to say it straight in front of Moody. Otherwise everyone would ask for his bottles each week. "But you don't come at Hogwarts only to raid my liquor cellar."

"No." Told Alastor Moody. "There have been concerns in the Ministry, Albus. Your little dog-and-pony show at the End of the Year's Feast has alarmed many Neutral and Dark families."

"I understand." Said calmly the Supreme Mugwump. "That was-"

"That was stupid, Albus!" Growled the soon to be retired Auror. "Damn it! What were you thinking giving hundred of points to Gryffindor! You made a mockery of the entire system!"

"A point I'm well aware, I assure you." Said coldly Dumbledore. "Alas, some of our most...reluctant...Light partisans forced my hand. After years of Slytherin domination, half a dozen lords were impatient. They wanted Gryffindor and their precious children to win at any costs. In exchange, I have their support for several laws for the next decade and quite a few agents in Ministry departments where our presence was limited before."

"I see." Moody grimaced. "But you could have made it a bit more...subtle."

"I freely admit that when I agreed to this bargain, I had no idea Gryffindor was going to be in last place." Confessed Dumbledore. "But between the Twin Terrors, the New Marauders and diverse...events, the Lions lost so many points it was not an option. And I had not predicted Ravenclaw was going to win."

"The Neutrals are not going to love it." Warned the grizzling Auror.

"The Neutrals are never happy as soon as there is something breaking their precious traditions." Dumbledore expression turned almost predatory. "I might as well use their resentment to turn the current situation more...productive."

"Especially as the Dark Lord escaped again, you mean?"

Trust Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody to jump with his sole leg directly into the problem, thought Dumbledore.

"Especially as the Dark Lord escaped again." Repeated the Headmaster. "The Mirror of Erised proved ineffective against the wraith Voldemort has become."

"As long as no one is aware of your failure..." Grumbled the veteran of countless battles.

"I have already taken the steps needed." Reassured him Dumbledore. "Thanks to a judicious application of the Misdirection, Secrecy and Babbling wards, no one outside the castle will be able to take seriously the word of any student spreading rumours about a Forbidden Corridor."

"And those who assisted directly to the scene?"

"I have spoken with all but two of the Gryffindors and one Ravenclaw involved in the incident, and I am confident they share our views and will not scream on the roofs what has happened this year." The Headmaster caressed the phoenix perched on his knees and rolled his shoulders. "Still, I have made some 'suggestions' to avoid any slip of the tongue."

"And the three others?"

"One is a Muggle-born, thus what she can say to her parents won't matter at all. The second is living with the old Wolpert."

"This madman?" Sniggered Moody, which coming from him was supreme irony. "Fine and the third?"

"The last Potter."

"Ah." There was no smile anymore on Alastor scarred face. "Why didn't you order her elimination?"

"Killing her would lead to several...questions how we handled the Potter businesses and proprieties after the end of hostilities."

Moody ticked on half of his face.

"And I would lose the Potter vote plus the five minor Houses which still look to them despite James Potter's betrayal." Admitted reluctantly Albus Dumbledore. By itself, it was far from a large block but with Lucius Malfoy pushing for the elevation of many Dark clans to House status, every little bit counted.

"Politics." The word was thrown out Moody's mouth like an insult. "Fine. Do it your way. But at the first sign the Dark Lord is stirring again..."

"I will call you and the Order."Promised Dumbledore. "The Dark will not rise again. Not under my watch."

The noise of two glasses clinking concluded the important parts of this conversation.

2nd July 1992, 4 Privet Drive, England

"DUDLEY! PIERS IS HERE!"

Alexandra groaned, woken up once again at was in her opinion an undue hour by the strident and unpleasant voice of Petunia. So much for the hope of sleeping late at 4 Privet Drive again.

"Why is her voice so strident anyway?" She grumbled. "No one at Hogwarts, not even this bitch of Pansy Parkinson has that kind of voice..."

The problem was that Alexandra was forced to hear that voice every day since she had come back from Hogwarts, except the week she had passed at Hermione's home. And to her horror, her tolerance to the screams of her 'aunt' and her 'uncle' had grown slimmer the nine months she was away from Privet Drive.

The problem was she had not a choice. When Hermione had made her the welcome proposition to pass a few weeks at her home, she had not known her parents had planned a six weeks-long holiday in Germany for July. Nigel, on his side, was with his father diplomat in Norway for the rest of the period before coming back to Hogwarts. Alexandra had been forced to return to the Dursleys. Well, the raven-haired girl supposed she could have rent a room in Diagon Alley, but truly the state of cleanness in these places left much to be desired.

In the mean time, the least one could say about her relatives was that her going to a school of magic hadn't transformed them into pleasant beings. Vernon and Petunia were still the angry and bitter persons who wanted nothing "freakish" or "abnormal" to contaminate their way of existence. Dudley was fatter and more violent than he had been the previous year, brutalising other younger children now he couldn't put his hands on Alexandra anymore.

There may have been differences in 4 Privet Drive when Alexandra was away at Hogwarts. These changes had not concerned the Dursley family unfortunately. Even the little fact that Dudley had sent five of his own Smeltings 'comrades' at the infirmary had not perturbed Petunia, nor had Dudley's bad marks angered Vernon. Dudley, Piers and his gang were free to terrorise anyone who was in their way in Little Whinging, when they were not watching TV or eating the equivalent of food necessary for an adult elephant to survive.

"And there is still July and August to pass..." Alexandra sighed.

In hindsight, doing her holiday magical homework in the first week with Hermione had been a not very good idea. As she had planned to stay at Hermione's home the majority of her free time, writing her Potions essays while she had the subject fresh in her mind had been tempting. Too tempting.

Now, it was July the fifth, and she had already taken out the magical homework option out. In despair of cause, Alexandra had 'borrowed' two weeks before the school books Dudley had been required to buy and use at Smeltings. She was really happy to have done so. In the first month she had passed at Hogwarts, Alexandra had tried to find the time to talk about her Head of House or Professor McGonagall about the absence of non-magical subjects like mathematics or foreign languages at Hogwarts. She had not met a lot of success. Flitwick had explained to her that a very complicated Charm allowed wizards and witches to learn French, German, Spanish and the other foreign languages they needed at an accelerated rate. As for the rest, purebloods were tutored in the things they needed to know; matters like Pure-Blood customs and etiquette were primordial in the magical society. Mathematics, physics and chemistry were judged irrelevant, and as a result basically ignored. No wonder wizards were so far behind the Wizarding World in terms of living conditions and the Goblins ruled with a golden fist the finance sector.

Well, this was not going to happen to Alexandra. With nothing else to pass her time, she had decided to catch up with the normal courses. She wouldn't be able to pass the exams like a normal student, but at least she wouldn't be ignorant.

Groaning and hearing more strident screams from Petunia "Take a sandwich before leaving Dudley!", "Don't come home late, Dudley!", "Be careful!" Alexandra decided the possibility of all her relatives becoming silent for the next hour was extremely low. The young witch decided she had better stand up and go eat some breakfast, assuming any was left after the passage of the two pigs known as Vernon and Dudley. Alexandra stood up from her bed and began to search the clothes which she was going to wear today.

As she had nothing special planned today, she chose a grey T-Shirt and black jeans. Turning her to the right of her wardrobe, she noticed Dudley had once again thrown some of his own old toys and birthday presents in her room. How predictable of her cousin. Even when something was damaged or irredeemably broken, Dudley was throwing it here, no matter the little issue she also lived in it. Apparently, going down the stairs with them and sending them in the dustbin was too tiring for him. Every time of the year. Sometimes Alexandra despaired how low her cousin was falling. Then the mutual hostility kicked in again and the green-eyed girl didn't care anymore.

Seeing an opportunity to test her abilities before everyone come back upstairs, Alexandra tried to levitate the ruined remnants of a video game carton which had just found its way on top of the pile wandlessly.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The effect was... brutal. Instead of slowly rising at the height of her eyes, the carton shot to the ceiling with the speed of a missile and disintegrated itself against it.

That was bad. Since she had come back from Hogwarts, every time she tried to do wandless magic, the results were apocalyptic. This was not the first time experiments went badly, and initially she had thought the failure of her efforts were due to her lack of practise and concentration. But one hundred per cent of guaranteed destruction was way too high. Before Hogwarts, Alexandra never had this type of problem. Before Hogwarts, she was able to change her facial appearance at will, teleport, do levitation and do some funny (and completely useless) things. Right now, all of her pre-Hogwarts skills she had tested, only the modification of her visage and teleportation worked correctly.

"Before Hogwarts..." she whispered. That was the key she knew. Alexandra had not tested her powers without a wand while she was in Scotland. There was no reason to, not when she had a wand.

"A wand..." and suddenly the realisation came. What was Ollivander the wand-maker had said? That the wand chose the wizard or the witch? But she had not asked what else the wand could do when she used it. The teachers had been very clear a wand was used to channel the power of a human's magic, the right of owning one having been denied to creatures like goblins and centaurs. However, they never mentioned side effects. Not that it mattered a lot, knowing the quantities of things the teachers never bothered to tell or to do for the students the whole year. Still, she would have to ask Flitwick if the use of a magical wand could make a witch or a wizard weaker than he or she was in reality. She had only seen one wand-maker in Diagon Alley, a fact which guaranteed a monopoly in this business as Vernon would have said.

The other possible reason was that the deadly spell sent by Devkins had shattered her ability to practise wandless magic. This...wasn't more engaging, honestly. At least with the first hypothesis you simply had not to use your wand. How did you study a curse supposed to have been erased from history centuries ago?

A tap on the window interrupted her ruminations. It was a brown owl, no doubt carrying the newspaper of the day. After going to Hermione's home, she had made a little travel to the Daily Prophet where she had paid for a year-long subscription. The main newspaper of the Wizarding world was definitely of a very low quality compared to the non-magical ones (and yes, Alexandra included the tabloids in the lot) but at least it allowed her to keep in touch with important events.

She had not long to see if there had been something important today. Having relieved the owl of its package, the vision of the headlines made her gasp.

NICOLAS FLAMEL FOUND DEAD IN HIS HOME!

Beyond this big title was a vision of the famous alchemist and his wife Perenelle lying dead in their living room. Unlike most wizarding photos, this one was not moving at all, and there was a lot of blood (she thought it was blood, the wizards photos were still plain back and white, making details difficult). Not good. Not good at all.

The rest of the article was not sharing a lot of reliable information. Aside from remembering how famous the man had been for his contributions to alchemy and his association with Dumbledore, the journalist who had written the article, a certain Rita Skeeter, had been more interested in putting in a single page all the unlikeliest rumours she could find than reporting honestly and truthfully the facts. According to the writer, Nicolas Flamel had been involved in everything nasty which had happened in France, England and the rest of Western Europe these past six hundred years, passing from conspiracy against the British Ministry of Magic to weird alchemist experiment on animals. It was extremely nauseating to read. Internally she wondered if the paper had been redacted like this because Flamel was French and a foreigner or because this Skeeter woman simply loved treat people like dirt. The second page, finishing this insult to literature, was full of ramblings and rumours that even Lavender Brown, gossip queen of Hogwarts, would have found ridiculous in a magical school. Alexandra was going to abandon her lecture for something more educative, like catching up with a late breakfast, when one paragraph she had missed at the bottom caught her eyes.

"Some sources inside Gringotts Bank insisted Mr Flamel had long ago moved some of his most important possessions to the vaults of Brise-Roc, one of the most secure fortresses of the Goblin race in French territory..." She read aloud.

Well that was not the place she expected to find confirmation of the things she had learnt during the year, but apparently the Daily Prophet sometimes wrote the truth even if it was lost in pages and pages of rumours and slanderous accusations.

The question was now what to do. If Flamel was really dead, then the last person who could have elucidated the Philosopher Stone mystery had disappeared. But seen from another perspective, it was a disaster for Alexandra. The Potter Heiress had hoped to obtain some information on the Philosopher Stone, Dumbledore machinations or any kind of alchemic knowledge, despite the fact Atalanta had not managed to contact Flamel or one of his relatives in the last months. Right now, the little red stone she had had in her possession was useless: unless you counted obtaining grenadine syrup a success. No school book made more than a passing mention of Alchemy, and she had checked the list of books in store at Flourish and Blotts; no manual for Alchemy was sold there. With the reputation of her family in the dirt, going in Knockturn Alley would be the equivalent of killing her reputation in one strike. That just left Gringotts.

She had better hope the Goblins of England and France cooperated better than the non-magical human populations. Otherwise her chance to discover the basics of Alchemy and solve the mysteries of the school year were basically equal to zero. No one had been accepted in this third-class elective in the last fifty years at Hogwarts, she sincerely doubted she would be the lucky one to break this abyssal record of the British school.

Grabbing a piece of parchment, Alexandra began to write a note to Senior Accountant Grimjaw, the goblin managing her vaults. Given that she had had currently four exchanges of owls between her and her bank accountant, she didn't think the dangerous and apparently easily irritable goblin would mind too much if she asked for an appointment. Her message was still written to raise his curiosity just in case she proved wrong, through. Then came the messages for Hermione and Nigel. Alexandra had promised to keep them informed of any new developments, and these news entered this category.

After giving her letters to Atalanta who flew in the late morning at a thunderous speed, Alexandra descended the stairs but had not yet the time to reach the kitchen before being intercepted by her uncle.

"Girl!" Growled Vernon in a voice which would have made the shapeshifter Beorn laugh at an attempt so pathetic to intimidate someone. "We need to talk!"

Her uncle- by all the known deities of the universe how she felt a bad taste in her mouth every time she used this word-had done his best to be more threatening than usual, she quickly noticed. Despite not working on this day or for the rest of the week for that matter, Vernon Dursley was wearing a full grey costume, with the ties, the shoes and everything which went with them for the occasion. He was also bombing his huge torso like an Olympic athlete saluting the crowd before the finals, giving her the strange impression of a huge walrus preparing for a fight.

"And what is the subject of the conversation?" Alexandra asked as civilly as she could.

"In three days, one of my most important potential clients is coming to dinner." Vernon enounced in a tone which made limpid this was THE Day, with a big D, a lot of underlines and in capital letters. "I could very well sign the most important deal of my career. So everything needs to be perfect."

Alexandra could not stop smiling at that declaration. Every year, Vernon had at least twice of these dinners with clients organised, and every year the "biggest career contract was to be signed" came again. In reality, the miraculous contract rarely materialised. Vernon, Petunia and Dudley had a gift to be perfect hosts when they wanted to make the effort, and the repetitions beforehand to do so usually managed to charm their clients for the whole evening, but her uncle was by nature a very unsatisfied man. The month after the dinner, it was downright miraculous if Vernon, Petunia or Dudley were not vilipending the client and the contract, as it had been below the levels of income her uncle and the rest of the Dursleys waited for.

"You will be in your room, making no noise and pretending you're not there." Continued Vernon.

"Like I'm supposed my whole life you mean?" Replied Alexandra. "Don't bother, uncle. That was what my teacher at school qualified in the rhetorical questions category." She said as Vernon turned a violet colour and seemed ready to launch of his angry tirades he was known for.

"You don't have to worry," she added rapidly, as Vernon Dursley was now shaking in rage and fury. It was only a moment of time before he exploded and screamed murder, unless he had a heart attack before. Somehow, she doubted she would be that lucky. "I have an appointment with someone of my world in two days; if everything goes correctly, I will be gone for at least the rest of the week." She avoided the words 'goblins' and 'magic', knowing it would infuriate him. Alexandra also did not tell a bank was involved or that she would rent a room somewhere in Diagon Alley if Grimjaw didn't want to help her.

The relations between her so-called family and her being awful at the best of times, she wouldn't give them any information they could use against her in the future. The less ammunition anyone bearing the name Dursley had about one Alexandra Victoria Potter, the best it was in her opinion.

The expression on the face of Vernon Dursley changed from anger to what looked like joy in one second.

"Good, good." Vernon erupted, with the face of someone who had been told Christmas came early. "Tell your aunt the date of your return before you go."

As if the elder Dursley was interested in seeing her returning.

More like 'I can best prepare an excuse to sell to the neighbourhood for your absence and spread the nastiest rumours possible', was the unspoken affirmation. The Valar forbid the Dursleys cared about her well-being.

"DUDLEY! PIERS! MALCOLM IS HERE!"

The horrible voice of Petunia ended the conversation, and as Vernon Dursley moved to see if his spoilt his son wasn't lacking anything with his friends, Alexandra charged towards the kitchen hoping there was some food left.

There wasn't of course. Dudley had emptied the fridge leaving only the vegetables and some fruits.

6th July 1992, Gringotts Bank, London

"I have the feeling you are going to make the end of my life very interesting, Heiress Potter." Said Accountant Grimjaw in a tone which sounded really amused.

Alexandra raised an eyebrow at this affirmation and the old goblin grunted.

"When you were introduced here last year in my office, I hoped you were going to live a calm and boring life, leaving me small amounts of paperwork for the next decades. Tranquil enough for me to be your accountant for four or five more decades and then pass the mantle to my son and enjoy my retirement. "

"If the events which happened at Hogwarts during my first year are any indication for the future, life isn't going to be boring." She remarked.

"Indeed." Sighed Grimjaw, continuing to read the papers Alexandra had brought with her relating the most memorable moments so far having marked the magical school while she was present.

His lecture took a few minutes, giving her the opportunity to observe the office of her goblin accountant. There were not any major discrepancies. The piles of paperwork crowding the room were still present, the red desk had not moved at all, and the diverse pieces of furniture were littering with parchments, books and ledgers. Bankers at Gringotts did not love empty offices apparently.

"Well this is a fine piece of hippogriff dung." Told Grimjaw in a disgusted voice, making her almost jump in surprise as he finished his lecture.

"Even if only a quarter of what you imply is true, Dumbledore is losing really his touch with reality. Trolls, a dragon and a Cerberus?

However, most of the data you have linking him to his criminal activities with Nicolas Flamel are only rumours and gossips, Heiress Potter."

"I assume there's no way we will be able to send him to jail with the evidence I have?" Alexandra asked, more resigned than hopeful truth to be told.

Grimjaw laughed, although his eyes remained cold and without joy. "For any common wizard? Maybe, maybe not. Stealing from our race has never been made a felony or a crime by your Wizengamot, but the threat of any Goblin rebellion is generally enough to make the Ministry extremely compliant."

The tone of Grimjaw implied he and his fellow goblins deeply regretted it. Time for another Goblin Rebellion, perhaps?

"But we are speaking about Albus Dumbledore, the Grand Sorcerer and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. In the unlikely chance you would manage to find enough evidence against the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the Wizengamot or the Minister for Magic would exonerate him in less than a minute. Maybe less.

Not to mention the man is right now your official magical guardian Heiress Potter, which could give him the right to dismiss the charges in your name before entering a court."

"He has that much power..."

Grimjaw watched her with a surprised look.

"Exactly what sort of things do you learn about the Ministry in your school?"

"Nothing, our dear Professor Binns is still droning about the Goblin Rebellions. Professor Tiroflan is too lazy to open a book, never mind read it."

"Ah, that explains it." The goblin shrugged, having evidently learnt one way or another of Binns ineptness and Tiroflan's incompetence. "Your Headmaster controls about directly one-third of the Wizengamot at the moment. His direct power will decrease in the next years, as new heirs and heiresses including you will take their seats, but the majority of the Ministry administration is crowded with his supporters or people owing him favours. One or two request for vice of procedures is all that is necessary, at the end of the day. And the only possible opponents are people...who share conservative values about magical and blood purity."

Which was perhaps the understatement of the year to say these persons had been Death Eaters of the Dark Lord Voldemort in the last conflict.

Well, it was not like she had been ready or willing to enter the political arena at the age of twelve, or when she was adult for that matter. Moreover, with the number of Slytherins and Ravenclaws she had sent to the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts this year, it was more probable the politicians would be more tempted to sue or try Alexandra in a magical court than Dumbledore.

That still left the other subject...

"And the chances of finding any clues useful at Brise-Roc are?"

"I'm afraid no one here at Gringotts can answer that."

That was not the answer Alexandra had expected to hear.

"Isn't Brise-Roc a goblin fortress?" The young witch demanded with consternation in her voice.

"It is." Said Grimjaw. "Unfortunately, in the last seventy-two hours, no contact with our French redoubt has been made. The fortress is in full lock-down."

One look at the goblin face was enough to see how bad it was.

Alexandra had suddenly a very bad feeling in her stomach. Dumbledore or one of his associates making a burglary to obtain one Philosopher's Stone was one thing. Cutting an entire place where thousands of goblin warriors were no doubt garrisoned had far more unpleasant and worrisome implications.

"An expeditionary force is mustered as we speak." Continued the old accountant. "Our cousins from the continent are sending an expeditionary force of five thousands warriors and an entire group of human curse-breakers to assert the situation and claim back Brise-Roc if it is in hostile hands."

"You are aware it's a trap, aren't you?" Alexandra asked for the form. "So close to Flamel death, it can't be a coincidence. Someone is covering his tracks, and doesn't care how many wizards and goblins he has to kill to do so."

A loud sigh was confirmation enough Grimjaw had foreseen this.

"We have not the choice," told Grimjaw in a low tone where anger seems to fight with resignation. "There's enough gold stocked in our vaults there to trigger an economic crisis if it came out it was stolen. And while the defenders of Brise-Roc were surely taken by surprise and treachery" his voice snarled at the last two words, "the army we are sending will be ready for war."

"If you have the situation so well in hand, I don't see why you are telling me all of this." The Potter Heiress remarked with a point of disappointment in her voice. "After all, I'm not a Gringotts employee."

Alexandra was hardly a curse-breaker or whatever job the goblins hired wizards and witches for in their bank either. Truth to be told, after one year of magical education, the green-eyed witch doubted she knew anything which could be considered useful by the goblin bankers.

"This place is protected by several Runes creating an effect similar to an Oath of Silence." The smile of Grimjaw was disturbing. "You will not discuss these matters out of my office."

Taking a new inspiration, the old goblin continued in a tone which could be qualified as pompous.

"Several of the curse breakers we provide to our continental cousins have required assistants to accompany them, in order for them to be more concentrated on their curse-breaking tasks while the assistants do the unimportant job of cooking, cleaning and guarding the camp. Being gracious employers, we are of course delighted to provide them such help."

"Of course." Said Alexandra sarcastically. "And the real reason?"

"The curse-breakers we send to France are all highly suspected of theft and having forgotten their duty towards the branch of Gringotts London more than once. But according to your Ministry, we can't execute them on the spot for their betrayal, Gringotts has to provide proof of their misdeeds. It will be up to you to find the evidence of their betrayal."

"Why me?" The young witch asked after a moment of silence. "Surely you have investigators in Gringotts ready for that sort of scenario."

"But my superiors are certain the cursed-breakers we're talking about are aware of their identity and their methods. Oh, they send them anyway. But I think you represent a much better opportunity. An eleven year old human will not attract as much attention..."

Alexandra groaned internally. Sometimes, she thought, her curiosity was going to be the reason of her demise. But the Potter Heiress asked the fatal question.

"Assuming you're right, why should I be crazy enough to accept this little offer to spy on wizards who can destroy me with one hand tied behind their back?"

Given the large toothless smile Grimjaw wore, this question had been largely anticipated. Damn the Goblins.