AN: There are calls in reviews from people saying I should plot everything out in outline form, as if I were in grade school, so I could run through the chapter in a predictable and linear way. The kind of writing I'm doing, the kind that most clearly reflects real life, is impossible to segment that way. Chapters here are more for convenience than structure. The closest thing I have to compare this to is the A Song of Ice and Fire series (Game of Thrones, which I've been reading) by George R.R. Martin, though I make no claims as to the comparative quality of my work in relation to his.
Nevertheless, it's a story with a thousand moving parts, multiple story lines, each moving in their own way and in their own time. You can't plot something like that out in the manner people want; it simply has to develop on its own and in its own way. So, if you think this is disorganized and jumbled, it both is and it isn't. I know exactly what's going on; you just have to hold on for the ride and try to figure it out, because I'm not going to tell you – that's boring.
.o0O0o.
There was a ripple of movement on the far side of the lobby behind the tellers, but he couldn't tell what it was. Moments before it'd sounded like someone had shouted, but from his seat in the unwelcome visitor's section he couldn't understand what it said, or even what door it'd come from.
The frizzy-haired dentist stood and tried to peer over to see what the disturbance was. There was nothing to occupy himself with in the small clutch of chairs, not even a single magazine, old newspaper, or tabloid so goblin-watching was the best he had.
His two goblin buddies – which made them seem so much more cheerful than saying 'those two goblins who'd like nothing better than to kick me out' – looked at him quickly in case he decided to move towards a door. While he carefully didn't take a step in any direction, he did rock back and forth heel-to-toe as if to loudly proclaim his right to stand… before quickly resuming his seat, crossing his legs, and putting on his most innocent expression.
Maybe he could read one of those books he just bought. There's no way whatever was going on could have anything to do with his Hermione. He drummed his fingers on the back of the chair next to him and looked around. He doubted they had tea, but maybe there was a coffee machine somewhere he could get to. Just as he was debating whether to ask one of his goblin buddies if they knew what cappuccino was there was another ripple of movement and a goblin buddy boy band tramped straight out of the bank and into the street beyond. They'd certainly be new kids on that block.
Looking back to the lobby at large he noticed something odd. All the tellers were gone, though the people waiting in line were still standing there. One-by-one the goblins popped back up again a few moments later, slammed the large book they used shut before shouting "Teller closed!" causing the book itself to disappear in a puff of smoke.
There was definitely something strange going on, but even the robed lollygaggers didn't seem to know what it was. The lobby started buzzing as talk increased each time a here again, gone again teller closed shop. His stomach then dropped several inches as he saw who walked in surrounded by those not-so-friendly goblin guards and hustled through to the far side of the lobby. Numbly he stood to see another ripple of movement across the way become a scarlet and gold line of goblins moving through and politely telling everyone to leave before hustling them towards the door. Well, as politely as goblin guards did things that is.
The only one who seemed to get special treatment was him. One of the new goblins separated from the line and made their way over as the triple set of double doors were closed and locked. He dropped back into his chair. This was it; the sinking feeling told him so. They were going to tell him something horrible had happened. He never should've let her come here. Now he was going to be condemned to be the only Granger left, again.
"Wendell Granger?" the new goblin asked and the man looked blearily up at him.
"Dan," he said automatically. "Everyone calls me Dan. Where's Hermione?"
The goblin glanced down to his slip of paper before wadding it up and putting it in his pocket. "Your daughter's a witness being held for questioning involving a breach of international wizarding law, and treaty with the Goblin Nation."
Relief like he'd never known washed through him and all he could do was laugh. If he hadn't been sitting down he wouldn't have been able to stand and he didn't know if the tears in his eyes were from the relief or the humor of the situation. His Little Puckle was a Granger after all, and was at least knee deep in shit. Well, if she got herself into it then she could get herself out. Grangers always did. After all, they didn't call you a witness this early on if you'd done something wrong.
When the giggles subsided he looked back up at the goblin in front of him. "So," he asked, kicking his feet up to rest on the chair opposite him. "Do you guys have a cappuccino machine?"
.o0O0o.
"Just relax and everything'll be fine," Lester said gruffly as he tried to calm the kids down.
It didn't work any better this time than it had before. The boy was still pacing back and forth like a caged animal and worrying about everyone but himself while the girl was staring off into space with her eyes bugged out like she'd just killed her own parents. It might've been a mistake to tell her what could've happened to her father earlier, but at least she was sitting down.
While he had to take responsibility for the girl's quiet state of shock, not that he knew how, he blamed Barchoke for the boy. Goblins had no patience, so while prompting them to tell what they knew and then repeating "Faster!" at them seemed the most orderly thing for him to do, it only made the tale disjointed and the kids worse before they got stuffed in here.
It was a wonder the boy hadn't snapped at him. Then again, it could've been Barchoke running off as soon as he had the boy describe the Stone itself that saved them from it. He understood the goblin's rush but there were better ways to do things.
The metal door squealed as it opened and a third kid was shoved inside in a ginger blur.
"That's my son!" an angry Arthur said from the hallway.
"Then get inside," the goblin guard said. There were too many of them to know any by name unless they shaved their head and swore vengeance upon you, but then you probably didn't have long enough to learn it.
"Ron!" Harry cried as he stopped his pacing to help the boy off the floor.
"Is this the one you want?" the guard asked as Arthur Weasley came sheepishly into the room, probably wondering if he'd ever leave it again.
"Yeah, he's the one," was all Lester had time to say before the door was slammed shut and was bolted from the other side. He'd never been on this side of the questioning process before; he didn't like it.
"What's going on here?" Arthur asked him as the boy seemed to come to his senses.
"Bloody hell!" the ginger boy exclaimed. "That bleedin' goblin almost tore my arm off."
"Watch yourself, boy," Lichfield said. "There are no runes in this room."
"Wha?"
Lester left the other kids to fill the new one in as he turned to the parent. "Does your family have a litigator?"
"No," Arthur answered, "We've never needed one. What's going on?"
"These kids stepped in something big, up to their necks by the look of it," he said by way of explanation. "I can't give you specifics right now–"
"The Socer–!" the ginger kid cried before Harry could stop him with a hand over his mouth. At least one of them was taking 'Don't say a word about that thing' seriously without going catatonic.
"They're here as witnesses, not as criminals," Lichfield clarified. "Otherwise those guards never would've had leave to go into Diagon Alley to get you. I would've come myself but had these to look after," he nodded to where the kids were.
"Yes, well, they certainly caused a stir up there," the balding Arthur agreed. "If it weren't for seeing Ginny and the boys home safely Molly would be here too. I expect she'll make her way back here shortly."
"There'll be no way in or out of this building by now," Lester said, trying to keep the ominous implications out of his tone. "It'd take a rampaging dragon to get through those doors."
"Have you seen Molly when she's angry?" Arthur asked.
"Come on," Lichfield said with a grin. "I've got papers for you to sign." It was a stroke of luck the girl was a witch of non-magical heritage and without a magical guardian so she could sign them herself, once the boys brought her around again.
.o0O0o.
"They're not gonna kill you," his secretary said as Barchoke rummaged through the cabinets in his office for a suitable tie. He couldn't go in there looking like he had any sort of blood running down his shirt – be it red or green. "Overseer Gutripper might, but he's never liked you; the others won't, at least not right away," she clarified.
From the depths of the cabinet Barchoke withdrew a rumpled black tie that'd do fine. It'd only look like he spilled ink on himself, though he supposed they could still strangle him with it. If that happened the most he could hope for would be a young goblin to be named Tiechoke one day, in honor of the event, so he wouldn't be completely lost to history. Though if Gutripper did it the kid would probably be named Stabbed-in-the-Eye-and-Skullf–
"They'll be way too pissed you called an emergency meeting in the first place," Secretary Trixie's voice cracked as she said the obvious. "So they're more likely to rip you apart verbally before they do it literally."
Besides the alluring voice that drove goblins wild, she'd started telling him what was going on in the bank behind the scenes. If she hadn't he would've blundered his way into an Overseer's Inquisition already by treading on too many toes since he'd gotten the boy's owl. As it is he wasn't far from it even now. He should really think of some way to get things started with her; so far this was their most personal conversation they've ever had and it was completely one-sided.
"Just remember you've got a very good reason for calling them together," she advised as he took the tie by the wide end and flicked it at the desk, making it crack like a whip and come back completely rumple-free.
"You do have a good reason right?" she asked, her eyes alight with undisguised interest. "No one wants a dead goblin's secretary. If you die I'll be back to polishing knuts for a living."
"Well I certainly don't want you polishing anyone else's knuts," Barchoke said before he could stop himself. His eyes bulged when he realized what he'd said and he struggled to get them back in his skull. He'd been spending way too much time with Lester, he decided as he hurriedly tried to get his tie around his neck.
In a flash Secretary Trixie's hand clutched the ones doing battle with his tie and his eyes flickered up to hers. This was it, he decided. She was going to stab him for what he said; secretaries were notorious for stabbing perpetrators of unwanted advances. He was going to die before he ever reached the other Overseers.
After a moment she swatted his hands away and started doing up his tie by herself, still with a peculiar look on her face. Did other secretaries do this or was she thinking that if she was the one to kill him she might become secretary to the one who took his place? If he was going to die, he'd prefer it be for something more heroic than a secretary saving her job.
As she tightened the tie against his throat Trixie asked him the most personal question he had ever heard from another goblin. "Are you interested in mergers and acquisitions?" she asked with an appraising look in her eye.
He tried to keep his blush from showing as he straightened his collar. "Who isn't?" he replied, examining himself in the mirror on the inside of the cabinet door, studiously not looking at his secretary.
"Huh," she said thoughtfully as she quickly looked him up and down again. "Interesting. Guess you shouldn't die then," she said with a shrug as if to say it didn't matter to her before sauntering her way over to open the door for him, as sleek as any cat he'd ever eaten.
Gotts knew he wasn't going to die today, he decided as he put his suit jacket on and buttoned it up smartly as if it were armor. He had a merger he desperately wanted to make. He paused for a moment before going to his desk and taking out the vicious-looking dagger presented to him on the day he'd been appointed Overseer. He had never used it before, never taken it with him before now.
Barchoke placed it in his inside suit pocket and glanced up to see Trixie looking at him like she'd never seen a male before. He smirked. As he strode purposely out of his office he knew that this was the day life truly began for Overseer Barchoke.
All his confidence was lost between the fourth and fifth floors as he was flipped, spun, and corkscrewed into place. The fliplift might be the quickest way to get from floor to floor but it wasn't something to take when your mind was on something else. Overseer Fillast, commonly known as 'the Director' since he oversaw the day-to-day operations of the building itself, may claim it was working as intended but Barchoke would never see why they couldn't just make the damn thing go straight up and down without all this flipping about.
Just once he wished the humans Overseer Bankor kept bringing over from the Ministry to discuss monetary policy would complain about the thing so they could both throw their support behind getting something to replace the repurposed closet-thing. He suspected it was some sort of human pride that kept them from it. Then again, Bankor wasn't known as 'the Little Minister' just for his work liaising with the Goblin Liaison Office; he was far too diplomatic to step on anyone's toes, which made him perfect for dealing with the Ministry but lousy for everything else. Odds are he had them take the stairs just to avoid the issue.
He was dawdling, he knew, but resting his head against the pale green of the tiny room was better than what waited for him. It wasn't 'Director' Fillast or 'Minister' Bankor he dreaded seeing, it was 'the Enforcer,' Overseer Gutripper, the head of Security. Suddenly Barchoke wished he'd brought his files with him, they always made him feel safe. It was too easy to get lost in files though, and digging for figures to cover an uncomfortable moment always made you look weak. He had everything he needed in his head, so as long as he kept his head attached to his shoulders he'd be fine.
Barchoke took a breath and felt the blade in his pocket; it was oddly reassuring to have, even if he didn't know how to use it. It was exceedingly rare for anyone above the rank of cart operator to die by dueling or acts of vengeance – unless you were a guard or Overseer Gutripper was involved – so learning to defend yourself once your family moved Up was unnecessary, not like those who lived Below.
Those at his level had something different to fear: death by mismanagement. While those below him might be demoted, transferred, or outright fired, termination of management, when called for, tended to be swift and brutal, and he didn't think there'd be the same indecision around replacing him as there was about Grand Overseer Largrot, who only kept his position at the top because the Overseers couldn't agree on who should succeed him. No one had yet distinguished themselves or had something working against them.
Pushing open the fliplift's door, Barchoke tried to regain the flash of confidence he'd had in his office as he strode out into the hall. While where he worked on level four had been designed to illustrate the wealth they's been gained in their post-Halfwit "recovery," level five, where the Grand Overseer ostensibly held court at their monthly meetings, was designed to impress upon management precisely what had been lost.
Torches flickered in iron sconces jutting from the drab and unfinished heavy stone blocks forming the entire level. The ceiling was lost to shadow, an illusion, of course, used to give the feeling that those who entered had somehow found their way into a muggle cathedral or ancient castle. Even the temperature and humidity were different, giving the feeling of a wintry storm in the offing.
Some enchantment on the entirety, combined with the sight of the large double doors to the Grand Overseer's Chamber, evoked this profound sense of longing, of grief too long denied, of exclusion, it almost made you weep at the magnitude of it; and that was before ever learning the truth behind the feeling. It had done precisely that the first time he'd been here on the day his father was promoted from teller to account manager and he'd embarrassed himself in front of the Grand Overseer at the time when he was still a child, though the great goblin had smiled at him knowingly then.
All promotions were done here, it was a naturally humbling place, making you feel connected to the Grief of the People and know your place in alleviating that grief was minuscule, no matter what you did. There was no place for humility or grief today though; Barchoke tried to steel himself as he walked forward, his steps ringing on the cold stone floor. Humility would get him killed if he didn't stand his ground and grief would be compounded as Secretary Trixie would be left destitute and Hammerhand stripped of his compensation and thrown Below to be harried and abused before "wandering" into the dragon pits at feeding time.
He wasn't a child anymore, he reminded himself; he was Overseer Barchoke of Gringotts Bank!
The great wooden doors opened easily with a push, the sound of their movement cutting off conversation in the great chamber within. The great stone meeting hall was uncommonly dark, its windows drawn; an unexpected change to offset the Ministry onlookers who were sure to be attempting to discover why the bank had been closed in the middle of a business day. It made the polished black table dominating the center of the room gleam ever more brightly in the flickering firelight.
Barchoke glanced around and saw immediately that everyone was in attendance. 'Director' Fillast was to one side, communicating in whispers to his ever silent brother Braglast, the Dodgy Deals "supervisor" unbound by the same illegality reporting stricture as everyone else, and with Overseer Lognot who was in charge of Confidential. 'The Little Minister,' Overseer Bankor, was on the other side of the room speaking to 'The Human,' Overseer Barnabas Marsh, the puffed up pureblood in charge of the Hogwarts Accounting Department. Pudgy Overseer Slaggran of Personal Accounts and Overseer Alkrat of Corporate Accounts had been standing by the door, though they cut off their conversation and moved to their seats as soon as he entered.
Only Overseer Gutripper and Grand Overseer Largrot were already seated; Gutripper as if poised to strike while the not-so-Grand-as-he-is-rotund Largrot had already fallen asleep in his chair. The scarlet and gold draped guards positioned on both sides of the doorway saluted the slumbering Grand Overseer and departed, closing the doors behind them. The double doors were barely closed, and scarcely half their number seated before it began.
Gutripper's dagger flashed and embedded a third of the way to its hilt into the polished stone table, causing the obese Grand Overseer to snort himself awake as the irate security goblin stared daggers at Barchoke. It was commonly known that goblin steel took in that which made it stronger – at least the elder blades did somehow – but less well known was how the blades they forged even today gouged through solid stone. The Overseer for Hereditary Accounts violently pushed aside the childish wish to have been one of the lucky few already seated as the first accusation flew.
"What gives you the right to order my Enforcers about?" the lean stern-faced goblin demanded.
Barchoke forced himself to stare directly into the Security Overseer's mismatched eyes. While his left was a foggy-white orb with a pink blob in the center – no doubt blinded in one of the many matters of vengeance that kept him occupied Below, if the vicious scar that crossed it was anything to go by – the other blazed red with barely constrained hate. Barchoke found he liked the odd red coloration much better in the goblin's rumored and estranged son, Auditor Axegrind, though it could be the fact he outranked the auditor that helped with that.
"Your Enforcers?" Barchoke asked as he made his way to his chair, directly opposite Gutripper at the end of the table closest the doors. Custom might dictate the topic at hand must be dealt with once the table'd been gouged but it didn't mean he couldn't get further away from the overly aggressive goblin, and thankfully the table was rather wide at their end. There were more gouge marks around Gutripper than all the other overseers combined.
"Was the entire bank relocated to Down Below without my knowledge?" Barchoke asked with a confidence he didn't feel. "And here I thought Up Above they were called Guards." A few of his companions taking their seats chuckled, giving him strength to continue. "I needn't have to remind you that just because you train them in the old ways doesn't mean they're your own personal army. Anyone from a cart operator up can call upon a guard at need, and that's precisely what I've done."
Barchoke chose to address the other Overseers as he concluded on this topic. "Provided this council hasn't secretly voted to strip itself of the power in the last week and a half, I fail to see how I've done anything wrong in this regard."
The overly-large Largrot gave an indeterminate grunt and an underhanded wave, spelling the end of the issue, so unless Gutripper had a plan where murdering them all, declaring himself King, and going on a murderous rampage didn't end with the Ministry counter-attacking and devastating the entire People he had no choice but to withdraw his dagger and his complaint.
While the half-blind Overseer did withdraw the dagger he still kept it ready to gouge again, though that was common with him, as was the stare he gave the one who defied him. Barchoke wished it hadn't been directed at him though, it was rather unnerving.
"You took one of my delivery boys – I mean curse breakers – and have him play delivery boy," Overseer Alkrat quickly stammered; his darker skin, odd manner of speech, and funny little mustache marking him out as the strangest amongst them, human included.
"Why-why-why you do this?" The only foreign goblin ever to make it so high in management, he seemed to take it in stride that he'd never be Grand Overseer, even if he had somehow managed to boost the efficiency of Overseas Exploitation by three hundred percent.
"Curse Breaker Weasley was not recalled, reassigned, or commandeered," Barchoke said patiently, glad to have the distraction for once since it allowed him time to get his thoughts in order. "He was merely on-hand and asked to facilitate a remote deposit and withdrawal delivery involving his childhood home. Who better to do it than a person who once lived there?"
"I did not say it is wrong," Alkrat held his hands up in front of him as he shied away from his previous question. "I just say it is odd. Do you not think it is odd?" he asked no one in particular, "I think it is odd," he answered himself quickly and tried to pretend he'd never spoken at all in his life.
"Why are we here?" the human asked with an air of boredom, as if he too might fall asleep the next time Largrot nodded off if they didn't get to the point of the meeting soon.
"Yes, why-why-why am I here? It is the daytime," Alkrat asked, happy to join in on someone else's question. "Why am I not in Cairo?"
"And why is the building closed?" Overseer Slaggran asked, waving his pudgy fingers at him. Once known as 'the stellar teller,' the now-unremarkable Slaggran was well on his way to becoming another Largrot, though not by becoming Grand Overseer; they already had one fat incompetent leader, they weren't going to replace him with another. "We don't make money with a closed building," he wheezed.
"Gringotts bylaws clearly dictate," Barchoke firmly stated, "that Overseers may only meet in council once the bank has been closed and all Overseers must be recalled when a Breach is discovered which rises to the level of an Existential Threat."
Reactions to this bombshell were about what Barchoke predicted: the proper Overseers were shocked, the human and foreigner confused, Gutripper had a rictus snarl, and Largrot had fallen asleep again. Only Supervisor Braglast showed no reaction, but he never did. Barchoke wondered if torturing the tiny goblin would even get a word out of him.
Gutripper's dagger flashed, embedding into the table again as Barchoke willed himself not to jump. Immediately he tried to calm himself by calculating just how many more table gouges the overzealous Enforcer had left to make before the table around him crumbled completely.
"Existential Threats are tantamount to a declaration of war," the vicious goblin declared. "No Breach has ever risen to that level and I resent the implication my guards," Gutripper sneered, "are negligent in their duties, ill-equipped, or unable to counter any threat they may encounter!"
Barchoke's insides churned, he felt like he was going to puke – or die – 'No! Not today.'
"I have no doubts about the competency or capabilities of your guards, Overseer Gutripper," Barchoke said with a smile just on the formal side of panic. "They have always performed admirably and bring honor to Gringotts and are a credit the People and your training."
The compliment seemed to throw the unruly goblin.
"I–," Little Minister Bankor started to say before halting, with a gesture to Gutripper's dagger still in the table. Clearly he was loathe to tread on toes or formality while there was still a hint of an unfinished question. And while the issue was still unresolved, Barchoke had done that by design; he only wondered if Gutripper would allow him his dramatic effect.
Overseer Gutripper glanced to the Little Minister, then back to him. The eternally perturbed Enforcer might not know how he was being played, but he knew that he was. For a second time his dagger was removed from the hard stone table and Barchoke had no doubt it would be in his skull next if he didn't handle this correctly.
Bankor cleared his throat before speaking.
"As you know," he said in a placating tone, "through my contacts with the Ministry I am kept well informed about the issues-of-the-day here at home as well as events throughout the wider wizarding world." The soporific effect of the milquetoast Minister's voice drew a rasping snore from their obese boss as he continued.
"I can assure you, the Ministry is considering no new restrictions, strictures, or curtailments at this present time, nor are they likely to attack us," he said with a smile. "And I would know if any of the Ministry money has gone missing – though I cannot say the same for their Personal Accounts," Overseer Bankor was quick to add.
"That's good to know," Barchoke acknowledged, "I have no doubts as to the thoroughness of your servicing of the Minister of Magic." The human seemed to be the only one to pick up on what he meant by that. "But it wasn't your department we're here to discuss. The Ministry at large may be unaware of this Breach," Barchoke let the suspense build for a moment, "but the issue is well known within the halls of Hogwarts–"
Almost as one the Overseers' eyes converged on the human amongst them as Barnabas Marsh's brow became… marshy as the formerly pompous pureblood suddenly wasn't so confident.
"–And it deals with Confidential Affairs," Barchoke cried, pointing at Overseer Lognot, seated beside the now emotionally-drained Marsh.
Lognot's eyes bulged and he became as white as parchment. Gutripper turned to leer at the goblin in question. Lognot having full-time control of a dedicated contingent of guards had always been a point of contention between Security and Confidential Affairs, and he was a much closer target – one his dagger could actually reach. Grand Overseer Largrot woke again with a snort.
.o0O0o.
It was a quiet and nervous group surrounded by Gringotts Guards who followed Lichfield down the same rough-hewn hallway back to the same small room as before. The girl had gone from petrified to jittery. He nodded courteously to the bald goblin who held the door for them.
"Thank you for your service and swift death to your enemies," he said as he handed the box carrying wands over before the metal door closed them in. Lichfield didn't know who the guard had declared vengeance upon but as long as it wasn't him he didn't care.
After glancing up at the runes near the ceiling he turned to Arthur. "I'm sorry your kid got dragged into this, but I think it's better I take it from here."
"I can't leave Ron alone," Arthur replied; the kid didn't seem to enjoy the prospect either.
"I know you want to protect your kid," Lichfield gruffed when it looked like the other kids were going to join in the argument. "But you wouldn't tend to him yourself if he got a bad case of spattergroit, would you?"
"O–of course not," Arthur said, obviously wondering what that had to do with anything.
"Well, that's what we got here," Lichfield said. "They're infected, I'm the healer, and you're the concerned parent. The only way I can do my job is to get you out of the way before – no, that won't work," he said, thinking of the Overseers somewhere above them. "They won't like being compared to a bizarre fungal infection if they overhear that bit."
"I thought you said this room was protected," Harry interjected.
Lichfield quieted him with a finger to the lips and a look.
"Why can't I stay?" Arthur asked, clearly confused.
"What we're dealing with here isn't Ministry justice," Lichfield tried to explain. "It's Goblin justice, Gringotts rules, and cut-throat office politics."
"Do they actually cut throats?" the girl asked, still a little wide-eyed.
"They have," he replied, "but only Barchoke will have to worry about that if you're wrong. He's putting a lot of faith in you," Lichfield said to Harry with a look saying they'd better be right. "Even being recognized as their litigator," he said to Arthur, "it'll be a stretch for me to be able to go in there with them since goblin justice doesn't use them. They won't care if you're this one's father or not–"
"–I have a name, you know," the ginger kid interrupted.
"–And I'm sure it's pretty," Lichfield shot back, "but they won't care who you are either, only what you know. But again," he pressed Arthur, "you won't be allowed in at all, and you being there will make it tougher for me to get in. The only chance we have to get an outsider in the room with them is for me to go alone."
Arthur looked at the kids, the concerned and uncertain parent look written all over his face. The image of a dark haired, dark eyed girl he had never gotten the chance to meet swam in front of him for a moment. She would have been about the same age as Harry's parents. Mentally he shook himself. 'Work now, grieve later,' Lichfield told himself. It gave him an idea though.
"Arthur," he said, drawing the other man's eyes to him. "Has the family ever steered you wrong?"
The man blinked at him for a moment and then smiled. "Under your protection?" he asked.
"Someone's got to act like the guardian the kid's never had," he said with a shrug as Harry gave him a curious look.
"You protect Ron from them and me from Molly and I'm willing to go with you on this," Arthur said. "But what am I supposed to do in the meantime if I can't leave the building?"
The girl's brain finally seemed to snap.
"Dad," she said, turning to Arthur Weasley. Maybe a trip to Saint Mungo's for mental healing was going to be the next order of business once the building reopened.
"Could you find out what happened to my dad and make sure he doesn't get into any more trouble?" the girl asked, quieting his concerns for her sanity. Barchoke already had one mad litigator working for him, Lichfield didn't need the competition.
"Having him not speak at all would be ideal," he told Arthur with a look, earning a nod from the girl.
"I'll do what I can," Arthur said. "You really think they'll let me walk out there?"
"Only one way to find out," Lichfield replied as he jiggled the door handle and stepped back.
The iron door opened a few inches.
"What?" a goblin from the hallway demanded.
"Mr. Weasley appears to have no knowledge the Overseers are interested in," Lichfield said to the cracked door. "Please have someone escort him to the lobby's waiting area until his son is ready to leave. I will be staying to represent the others."
There was a moment's pause. No doubt the guards were fairly uncertain about what exactly was going on and what precisely was expected of them. Detaining witnesses was one thing but a witness's parent? He was hoping his role in prior Ministry-based investigations would convey he knew what he was talking about, or at least he'd be the one to blame if his request ran contrary to Overseer wishes. After all, if they did, the lobby wasn't that far away and the man could be dragged back in here easily enough.
The door opened the rest of the way in one smooth motion and the goblins peered cautiously inside. Just because they appeared to be wandless and held captive in a warded room a level below the bank while the entire building was shut down was no reason for them to be lax.
As Arthur disappeared with a metallic bang the boy finally turned on him.
"What's going to happen to–," Harry asked before he silenced him with another finger across the lips.
When he had the kids' attention he put his hands over his eyes for a moment before removing them. He gestured they should to the same, and then again when they stared at him stupidly. The kids momentarily blindfolded, Lester withdrew his emergency wand from behind his ear, and with a flick it became visible.
Extending his wand to the runes around the ceiling, he silently cast the charm he'd learned in school. The line of runes faintly glowed before settling again. With a flick he made his emergency wand invisible again and stashed it somewhere the kids would never look for it.
"Well, they're charged," he said as the kids uncovered their eyes again. "So whatever the wards do they're working. We'll just have to take Barchoke's word we won't be overheard. Now if the door opens, your mouths shut – got it?"
"What's going to happen to Hagrid?" Harry asked in lieu of agreement, though truth be told Lichfield was more worried about the ginger kid's mouth getting that kid into trouble.
"I don't know," Lichfield said truthfully. "That depends how much he knew about the breach and what his role was. What did he do?"
The same looks past between the kids he remembered giving Charlus when they were young and didn't want to tattle on a friend.
"The last thing I want to do is cause the gentle giant any more grief," Lester said. "He's had enough of it as it is."
Harry looked over to the girl again. What was the name of his cuddle-bunny? Something strange. Hermany? Hermanonie? Hermeneutics? He really should learn it now the girl was his client, even if he wasn't being paid. He pulled out the retainer agreements and looked through them. Ah! Hermione; he'd been close.
"You might as well come right out and say it," he pressed. "Because if everything goes right I'll be seeing it shortly enough, and for once I'd like to get through this before we get interrupted."
"Hagrid was the one who took the Sorcerer's Stone from vault 713 last year," Harry admitted. "But it's not his fault," the kid said. "He did it for Dumbledore."
"He'd do anything for Professor Dumbledore," Hermione agreed. "He wouldn't even ask why–"
"Exactly," the boy cut in again. "He'd never think he'd be asked to do anything illegal. He trusts him."
"And Professor McGonagall, Flitwick, and the others," the girl said panicking for her favorite teachers. "There's no way they'd do something like this knowingly."
"Then we have to hope they were being duped," Lichfield said. "This deals with issues way over my pay grade, so there's really nothing I can do if they weren't."
"What's illegal about that old stone anyway?" the Weasley kid asked. "I wish I'd gotten my hands on it."
"Ron," the girl chided. "The Stone is highly dangerous and only let out of Gringotts for very specific reasons," the girl said, surprising the hell out of Lester. "I thought they were doing research."
"Just how much do you know about the damn thing?" he asked the frizzy-haired girl.
"I read the entire Flamel Agreement last year at school," she said.
Barchoke was right; she should be chained to a desk somewhere in Legal.
"How can the Stone be dangerous?" the ginger asked. "Who wouldn't want unlimited gold and to live forever?"
"That's how it's dangerous," the girl explained.
Lester pulled out a gold coin from his pocket and held it up.
"How much is this worth?" he asked the Weasley.
"Er– a galleon," the kid replied. "Seventeen sickles?" he asked uncertainly.
"With that stone out there you wouldn't be able to buy a knut for a thousand galleons."
"But it's gold!" the kid cried.
"And gold only has value if it's rare," that girl Hermione explained. "If anyone could make as much as they wanted then gold would be worthless. But wait!" she cried. "Why would he be stealing from Harry if he could get the Stone?"
"Good question," Lichfield said. "Only the old man will be able to tell us. Maybe he couldn't get the Stone right away, or it was his way to put all the money back before Harry caught on to what he did, or maybe he just wanted a more ready supply once he drained the kid dry. And that's discounting the possibility of wanting to live forever."
Suddenly the boy looked very angry. "I should've known he never would have destroyed the Stone," Harry said. "With Voldemort after it," the Weasley kid cringed at the name, "I never thought he'd lie about it."
"Setting aside You-Know-Who–," an astonished Lichfield couldn't believe he just said that.
"Isn't You-Know-Who rather important?" the girl asked.
"I'm trying to keep myself to one panic-inducing emergency at a time," he replied, suddenly feeling the need to sit down. Why did it feel like he was juggling boulders when it came to this kid? Charlus would be laughing his ass off in whatever afterlife there might be with how much grief Harry was giving him. He supposed it was payback for being such an annoying little shit when he was younger.
Lester settled into one of the chairs with a grateful sigh. He felt like he had aged another fifty years. Just an hour ago he was happily pursuing a case of abandonment against one of the most powerful and well respected people in the country and now he was in the middle of an international incident of catastrophic proportions – two of them actually, though he hoped one of them could wait.
"The old man destroying the Stone is probably the best and worst thing he could do," he said as the others took seats. "If he did it means he could make only a limited supply of gold, but we may never be sure if it was actually destroyed. If he hadn't, then it'd be left out there somewhere for us to find and destroy ourselves so we could be sure it's gone."
"He had it so the only way to find the Stone was to not want to use it," Harry said. "What are the chances he didn't make any gold at all?"
"Then what was the point of stealing the Stone in the first place?" he asked. "Look, we're not going to find out the truth here, that's for the I.C.W. and Gringotts to do. I'm supposed to be telling you three what to expect the next time the door opens."
The lumps and bumps of the conversation behind them, Lester outlined what would hopefully be happening next and what was going to be expected of them.
"Memories?" Hermione asked. "You mentioned them before, but how do you look into someone's memories?"
"With a penseeve," the ginger kid said.
"It's pronounced 'siv,'" Lester corrected.
"I always heard 'seeve,'" he said.
"It's 'siv;' it's a pun for someone with a lot on their mind – forget it, goblins won't use them for something like this."
"Why not?" Ginger asked. "I think they're brilliant."
"They don't use them because you can't stick that many people in a memory without running out of elbow room," Lichfield explained. "What goblins prefer is – well, it's rather uncomfortable."
"More uncomfortable than having your memory pulled out?" Harry asked. "I had trouble blinking for an hour after that."
"Imagine that about half a dozen times but having to relive snippets of your life over again in between and you'll have a vague idea of what's going to happen."
"I'm never going to be able to blink again."
.o0O0o.
Mr. Granger looked up from his Arcane Book of Arcane Arcaneness as the balding, kinda pudgy, red-headed man and his goblin buddy approached his chair-fort.
"Halt, who goes there!" he cried, peering between the cushions.
"You're to wait here until we're through with your son," the goblin buddy said to the man before turning to leave, brazenly disrespecting the honor of his fort-o-chairs.
"Er–," the wacky wizard said in his wacky wizarding way as he gazed upon the Granger Chair-Fortress of Solitude. "Was this their doing or yours?"
Mr. Granger's frizzy head popped out of the top, still wearing his throw pillow hat as he contemplated the question.
"I get bored really easily and they left me alone," he told the man. "So if I tell you the truth you'll think I'm weird."
"Wonderfully weird," the man agreed as he began tearing apart the fort chair-by-chair. "I'm supposed to keep you from talking."
"Unlike what my daughter would tell you, I actually can guard my tongue when I need to – but good luck nonetheless," the dentist said noncommittally. "Though now they think I'm crazy there's really no need," he nodded to where the formerly-hovering goblin buddies were now standing far across the lobby at the doors themselves.
Mr. Granger frowned as his Hat of Command slumped off his head and tumbled to the floor. He resigned himself to his fate and joined the fort razing. Once the chairs had been arranged in a completely different way than when he'd gotten there, he turned back to his interior design friend.
"So what's going on with the kids?" he asked.
"Apparently they've got a bad case of spattergroit," the ginger man said as he sat.
"Ah, well then," he smiled. "They're sure to have it licked in no time. The lawyer-man had a very potato look to him." Taking a seat by the ginger man, Mr. Granger poked his shoulder. "So, what do you do when you do that voodoo that you do so well?"
.o0O0o.
Lognot slammed the table so hard Barchoke wondered if he broke his hand.
"Impossible! Impossible!" the bulging-eyed Overseer cried, darting nervous glances from one person to another. "We have six hundred years of security protections in place–"
With a snagging, ripping sensation Barchoke drew his dagger and plunged it into the table in front of him.
"You had six hundred years of them in place before you became Overseer and decided to cut costs!" Barchoke cut him short. He felt his blood sing as he thrust an accusing finger at the goblin from Confidential like it were a spare dagger. "For six hundred years guards were housed between Above and Below, trained there, flowing in and out of your special department – until you changed that."
Gotts how he was enjoying this! Was this how his forefathers felt when they had faced their foes?
"Now you have a set division," Barchoke pressed. "You have them living at that tower, eating with them, talking with them, befriending them, washing their sheets and cleaning their floors – they're not their jailers anymore, they're their friends – their servants!"
Spittle flew from his lips as he pursued his panicked prey but he didn't care; nothing mattered but devastating the opposition. The fact he had always got along with Lognot, always respected his quiet demeanor, made his attacks all the more pleasant for being unexpected.
"This Breach could have happened at any time! How many Stones are there," Barchoke outlined the horrifying scenario just popping into his head. "One, two, a hundred? The one you say we have under lock and key: is it really there, a fake – or one of a thousand others?"
"Impossible!" the lone Overseer said as he stared at him in disbelief, as if the word held some power to make it all go away. "What game is this?" he cried. "How can you know so much about Confidential Affairs?"
"Because you read like an empty ledger," Barchoke shot back, insulting Lognot's father by spitting on his name. "Confidential Affairs is now the most misnamed department outside the Ministry's Centaur Liaison Office, and you must be held to account for it."
"You're taking the word of children," the wide-eyed Lognot panted, desperately seeking any kind of escape. "Why would the Stone be at Hogwarts? How did it get there? Was that one real or a fake? We don't even know if it was even there!"
"I assure you," Barnabas Marsh was quick to insert as fear the issue might focus on him again spiked. "The Hogwarts Accounting Department knew nothing about the Stone being held at Hogwarts. The Board of Governors will be furious."
Barchoke had no doubt the human would go running to them as soon as the building reopened. If that was his game, Barchoke decided to let them really know fear.
"That child is none other than Harry Potter," Barchoke declared. "He described the Stone, the protections around it – he had held it in his hand!" He looked from Lognot to the human Marsh, to Little Minister Bankor. "If he's prepared to stand up and call the Chief Warlock to account for abandonment and fraud – and have the evidence to back it up – what makes you think he's lying now? Who do you think the public will believe – him, or some goblin they've never heard of who keeps shouting 'impossible' in order to make his problems disappear?"
With more of a tug than he'd thought it'd take, he withdrew his dagger from the table and held it in an underhand grip. As the others sat in silence he glanced over to Overseer Gutripper, noticing that he held his in the same way. It certainly made it easier to gouge the table if nothing else. The goblin's expression was unreadable; he took that to be preferable to his usual malevolence.
The first to recover was the last one he expected.
"FRAUD!" the Grand Overseer roared, trying to slam his corpulent fist on the table and missing my inches. "Pull the files, drag him in, seize every knut he has!" Largrot demanded.
The table resounded as two daggers impacted as one and Barchoke was astounded to find that his was one of them. He gouged the table on the Grand Overseer – he gouged the table on the Grand Overseer! He's never seen anyone do that, not ever.
To allay his growing panic he glanced at the other dagger embedded in the table and up to Gutripper who held it. His face still had that unreadable expression but he hadn't opened his mouth either to speak an objection or to shout him down – he just watched.
He might have gouged the table on the Grand Overseer but he hadn't been the only one. Barchoke had trodden on too many toes this meeting that if he turned back now, if he looked weak, they'd gladly tear him apart and blame the whole thing on him for his audacity. All he could do now was hope that Gutripper saw the threats as he did because only together could they fend off the objections of Marsh and Lognot if they chose to support hiding from the real danger and chasing after fraud instead of going after the Stone.
For one brief moment Barchoke wanted to laugh at the madness of the situation. The whole meeting now boiled down to needing Gutripper to support him, the one goblin who wouldn't spit on him if he were dying of thirst.
"A Breach of the Flamel Agreement far outweighs any accusation of fraud," Barchoke said, trying to work moisture back into his suddenly dry throat. "The Goblin Nation stood surety on his behalf. We are the ones who will face the world's ire unless we take this matter in hand. We must investigate the claim and bring our findings to the appropriate authorities to contain the situation."
Barchoke's eyes darted from one Overseer to another gauging their thoughts. None seemed to like the prospect. Finally he met Gutripper's eyes again before the other goblin turned to the Overseers.
"I concur," Gutripper said with a twitch in his bad eye. "Even we cannot fight the whole world at once, and none of your talk," he said to Bankor, "will keep the Ministry at bay or keep the galleon afloat for a single day if he's right."
He was relieved when Gutripper withdrew his dagger and let his point stand. Largrot looked around as if unsure why everyone was still there when he'd given them an order, though if the fat goblin had spared a moment to think he would've realized it was the first time he'd tried to give an actual order in years. The Grand Overseer's power had been in custom, in name, in fear, but not in truth, not for years. The Overseers had simply decided things amongst themselves but deferred to him if required for fear of being cut down by others. Now, left out on his own, Largrot seemed truly lost.
All they had to do now was move to the Pit, see the evidence, and deal with the technical details of how to respond.
"Um–," the odd foreign goblin said to break the following silence, "You will be telling us of this Agreement now, yes? My friend and I are lost. Aren't you lost?" Alkrat asked Overseer Marsh quickly. "I am lost," he answered himself.
Barchoke could have groaned; this was going to take forever.
.o0O0o.
"The Agreement is what's been keeping Flamel from being killed," Hermione said. "Why would he break it now?"
"He's immortal," Ron pointed out the obvious. "They can't kill him. It's a wonder why he kept the Stone at all if they won't let him use it."
"He didn't keep it, Ron," she said testily. "Gringotts did. Haven't you been listening?"
As the wait stretched on and on they eventually made their way back to the topic of Flamel, though Harry had only paid it half a mind.
"True immortality like that doesn't exist," Lichfield declared. "And there's a big difference between not getting old and not being able to die," he said humorlessly. "A lot of people tried to kill him before Flamel landed here, the French were particularly livid. How many governments do you know would enjoy having their currency become worthless overnight? That's what we're facing here on a global scale," he told Ron, who finally seemed to get how big of a deal the Stone really was.
"But as to your point," he continued with a finger pointed at Ron. "With the darkest magic you could gain a kind of immortality, sure – but you'd still age and your body could still be killed. You think you're pretty now? Imagine what you'd look like in six hundred years."
"Then what's the point of living forever if you're going to be all old and wrinkly?" Ron asked the wrinkly old man.
"That's why you make the Stone," Lichfield explained. "It keeps you young and healthy, but even that kind of immortality has a price: once you start taking the Elixir you can't stop or you're dead. Time doesn't like to stand still and the Stone only stops the clock for seven years, after that it'll rush to make up the difference, if not take more from you. It's a horrible way to die. That's one of the reasons I didn't like it when Barchoke told me about the Agreement years ago, the only real decision Flamel has left is to decide when to die."
Harry thought it a really depressing way to live: locked up in a tower on some remote island, free to do whatever you wanted as long as you didn't leave. You couldn't write anyone without a team of people looking over it, nothing you made could leave without being scrutinized for years just to make sure you didn't pass along your secret; and while people could visit, they'd be made to forget their trip out of fear of you doing the same, with few exceptions. It was a wonder why Flamel had bothered to live as long as he did in the first place.
"That's why he gave the Stone to Dumbledore," Harry said finally, remembering what the man had told him at the end of last year. "If he'd decided he didn't want to live anymore, it'd make sense to give the Stone to someone he trusted. Mrs. Weasley said they'd been working on cures for decades – he must've done it so he could continue on without him."
"It's a good working theory," Lichfield nodded. "It's probably what your professors thought he was doing, and why they'd be so keen to protect that area of Hogwarts. They may have even thought he'd gotten the go-ahead. The I.C.W. will investigate to make sure. If that's really the case, they'll end up looking like fools and the whole country will be embarrassed on the world stage, but it's better than being hauled off to Azkaban."
"What's Azkaban?" he asked curiously.
"It's a wizarding prison," Hermione answered. "From what I've read it's worst sort of place imaginable."
"It's the guards you want to watch out for," Ron said. "They'll suck out your soul if they get the chance."
Surely the Ministry wouldn't use some sort of soul-sucking vampire as prison guards, would they? If so, Harry'd rather put himself under goblin jurisdiction like Flamel did. When he looked to Lichfield for confirmation though what he saw was the grizzled old lawyer giving him the same kind of look he had when he was debating whether or not to bring something up.
Whatever it was the old man wasn't saying got pushed aside as the iron door to the room opened and a lean, hard goblin with a buzz-cut and a nasty scar over a milky white eye entered the room, scanning it for any threat. Lichfield put his hands flat on the table and slowly stood; he didn't look like he'd been anticipating this particular goblin to be the one to show up.
"Overseer Gutripper, I'm–"
"Barchoke's pet," the goblin interrupted. "I've heard of you. Why are you here?"
The fact the grizzled old bailiff didn't respond with a quip, the new arrival had the same rank as Barchoke, and the scar of his made Harry pretty sure this was the infamous goblin in charge of security.
"These three are clients of mine in regards to a civil issue of Mr. Potter's which may result in criminal fraud charges if our case is successful," Lichfield explained calmly. "Since ours has been a joint inquiry, I would ask to be with them when they are questioned, in case any new issues are uncovered – like this one has been – which may be helpful to our case."
Slowly Lichfield handed over the legal retainer paperwork to the Overseer. This Gutripper glanced at forms and tossed them back on the table before scrutinizing the three of them.
"Which of you has the insane father waiting in the lobby?" Gutripper asked Ron and Hermione as Harry noticed a faint pink blur in the center of his blinded eye.
"Er–," Ron said uncertainly.
"He's not dead, is he?" Hermione asked timidly.
"Take him to the Pit," the goblin commanded, pointing to Ron as others from the hall sprang forward. Ron seemed petrified, though whether from fear or what Lichfield said to do earlier was tough to say.
As he got to the doorway, Gutripper glanced back at the litigator. "Do I need a leash?" he asked before leaving the room.
"I'll be back – hopefully. Don't worry," Lichfield muttered as he picked up the retainer paperwork and scurried after them, leaving Harry and Hermione alone.
She sprang up as soon as the door was closed, pacing back and forth with her hands to her mouth like she wanted to puke. Harry stood as well since it seemed odd to sit, but really didn't know what to say. He felt like he should do something with his hands, like put one on her shoulder or something to help calm her down but quickly discarded the idea. Doing anything restrictive might also make her panic.
Barchoke had warned him that dealing with goblins was really nothing like what he'd seen with him and Lichfield, but Harry hadn't thought it'd be this different. It was almost like they were from a completely different planet.
'Well,' Harry thought, 'they are a different race of Being. The question is what do they want?'
He was kind of surprised at how quickly that changed things in his head. While it gave him some ideas to go on, none of them helped with the issue of Hermione's dad. They asked who had the crazy father but then took Ron first. Was that because they took his 'Er' as an answer, because they thought Mr. Weasley was crazier than Mr. Granger, or–
"I think they just want your dad out of the bank as quickly as you do," Harry said finally, his stomach squirming hoping he was right. After all, once they were through with the child the parent had no reason to stick around.
"You don't say something like that if they're already dead or were planning to kill them," he went on to say. "They just took the wrong person. Ron has Lichfield with him and I'm sure your dad will be fine."
Whatever he said must've been right because the next time her pacing took her near him she darted towards him and hugged him for all she was worth. Once again Harry didn't know what to do with his arms and hands. Comforting Dobby was one thing, but this was Hermione; she–
With a settling feeling in his stomach Harry knew exactly what was going on. Hermione's world had been completely turned upside down and he was her portable little island of calm. Glad for once that he could return the favor of being that for her, Harry put his arms around her and held her like it seemed she needed. It somehow made him feel taller.
Her hold on him shifted after a moment so it wasn't so tight, but she didn't let go.
"Thanks, Harry."
.o0O0o.
AN: Ending things here was a tricky decision to make. Of course, I wanted to wrap up the entire issue in one go and had resolved not to split things up again, but also wanted to try and post something as soon as I could if I could conceivably do it in a timely fashion. That last little moment where Harry's able to be there for her in a way he should've been in canon, but never was, was a really good note to end on though. It's not an explicitly romantic moment, though them being together gives it that undertone; it's much more of a caring and comforting moment encompassing every aspect you could possibly conceive of about their relationship as a whole without having to say anything about it, so that's why I decided to end it there.
Anyway, thanks for reading.