"Why did you ask us here, Borgin?" Selwyn demanded to know.
He said nothing, sliding the photograph towards the two men; he gave them a moment to view it before leaning back in his chair expectantly.
"A diamond?" Lestrange asked. "Is that real?"
"As the day is long," Borgin replied with a grin. "With the appreciation on these stones, it will be worth much more than the man is asking."
"Is it legit?"
"Since he came to me, I doubt it, but in a few years, it will be forgotten about, even if it is stolen. It's not as though anyone is going to be flaunting a stone like that, is it?"
Lestrange frowned, though the look of greed in his eyes was unmistakable.
Even amongst magical folk, owning such a stone was a symbol of status, and the likes of Selwyn and Lestrange cared for little more amongst their peers. Were it not for the Blacks and the Malfoys, the two men before him would be at the very top of the most prominent families.
"Why bring it to us?" Lestrange asked suspiciously.
"Because the two of you would appreciate it for what it is," Borgin answered simply. "With the others, it would be meaningless. Such a beautiful stone should be appreciated. I am an aficionado, first and foremost. It would be a crime for it to be left to gather dust."
"And what is the asking price?" Selwyn asked.
"Two-hundred-and-fifty thousand," Borgin answered. "In ten years, you will fetch at least triple that in return. Think of it as an investment."
Both men drew in a deep breath at the hefty sum.
"How long do we have to decide?"
"The gentleman is to return in two days to my shop."
Lestrange nodded.
"Who is this man?"
Borgin shrugged.
"I do not know; I have never seen him before."
"Well, what does he look like?"
Borgin frowned thoughtfully.
"I-I don't remember."
"You don't remember?"
Borgin wracked his brain for any memory of what the man had looked like, but he drew a blank. Oddly, he remembered that his visitor did not attempt to conceal his appearance with a hood or by any other means, but there was no recollection of what he looked like.
"Are you interested or not?" Borgin asked. "I will take it to Black and Malfoy if you aren't."
"We are interested," Selwyn answered. "I would meet with him when he comes back."
"As will I," Lestrange declared.
Borgin nodded as he stood.
"I am uncertain of what time he will arrive, but I will send for you when he does. Gentlemen, I bid you a good day."
With that, both left, and Borgin rubbed his hands together.
Neither man would be outbid by the other, and he anticipated a rather handsome pay-out coming his way in only a couple of days.
Still, it was rather troubling that he couldn't remember the man who had brought him the stone, though he would not let such a minor detail deter him.
He wanted his share of the gold, and with Lestrange and Selwyn competing for it, being considerably richer was an inevitability.
(Break)
Amelia read the file for the dozenth time, hoping that the more she did so, the clearer it would become.
It didn't.
Mr Anderson, the owner of the apothecary, had been found brutally murdered in the home above his shop, seemingly for no reason. His financial status had been good, and he was a well-liked man, so for him to be killed in such a way made no sense.
Those she had spoken with described him to be jovial, friendly, and non-confrontational. He seemingly had no enemies and hadn't ever been involved in anything illegal.
It truly was a mystery, and with so few leads to follow, Grimm was pressuring her to drop the case until, and if, any new evidence became available.
It was frustrating to say the least, but with nothing to work from, it seemed that she would be doing just that.
"Shit," she cursed as she closed the file, adding it to the stack of the cases that had never been solved. "It was personal," she muttered.
"What was?" Alastor questioned.
"Anderson's murder. He was tortured and stabbed twenty-three times. It has to have been personal."
"Aye, I agree, but with nothing to go on, what can we do? If someone knows something, they're not saying it. Would you if that was your fate?" Moody questioned, nodding towards the folder.
Amelia hummed.
"We're missing something," she murmured. "Someone would have seen something in Knockturn Alley. I mean, they may have made it look like a robbery, but they wouldn't kill him so viciously if they just wanted his stock."
"Maybe he had something else they were after," Alastor put forward. "Maybe they just took some of the stock to make it look like that's what they were after."
Amelia shrugged.
"Maybe," she sighed. "I don't know. I just have a gut feeling it wasn't a robbery. Anderson was killed for another reason; I just don't know why yet."
"You're tenacious, lass, I'll give you that, but until we get new information, our hands are tied. We are Aurors, not miracle workers."
"I know," Amelia huffed. "There's just always so much red tape."
"The same red tape that gives us the powers we have," Alastor reminded her. "It's all a game, and we must play it with the hand we are dealt. Trust me, the people who did that to him will do it again, and when they do, we will be all over them."
Amelia nodded, though his words brought her little comfort.
"What of your mystery man?" Alastor pressed. "Any closer to finding out who he is?"
"No," Amelia snorted. "It's like he's a ghost."
"Or an Unspeakable."
"Do you believe that?"
"I don't know," Moody replied thoughtfully. "He took out an entire pub full of crooks in less than a minute. If he's not a greycloak, he's bloody well-trained enough to be. If it is really bothering you, there is someone I can speak with and maybe show the photo to. He'll probably tell me to piss off, but it's worth a try."
"You know one of them?"
"Not as such, but I have my suspicions. He won't confirm it, but he might well be able to give me something."
"Thank you," Amelia said gratefully, retrieving the Anderson file once more, not quite willing to give up on it just yet.
Maybe she was wasting her time, but there was something about this particular case that wouldn't allow her to leave it be. Perhaps she was merely being stubborn, but she didn't believe so.
She'd come to trust her gut over the years, and it wasn't often that it had steered her wrong.
(Break)
Harry looked around at the progress that had been made on The Downed Unicorn, already pleased with the work that was being done, though he knew the business would need a rebranding to something less vulgar.
Thomas, the former owner and new manager, had proven to be a wealth of knowledge in the industry, and Harry had very much delegated the overseeing of the refurbishment to him.
It seemed to give the man a new lease on life, and he was working diligently to ensure everything was being completed to the highest standard, paying particular attention to the kitchen.
He was keen to serve food and was a passionate cook.
Harry didn't mind, so long as the business turned a profit, he was content with allowing the man to do as he wished.
Thomas had promised him the finest of establishments, and Harry was eager to see the finished product, having invested a considerable sum of gold into the project.
Perhaps he'd been a little hasty to do so, but having a legitimate business was a must for him.
It would not do for anyone to snoop into his life, even if there were those already attempting to do so.
He would perhaps need to do something about Amelia Bones, but for now, she seemed to be leaving him well alone.
Not that he could blame her entirely.
He had been rather reckless since he'd arrived and drawn more attention to himself than he was comfortable with.
For now, he intended to keep his head down, let the business get up and running, and then make some firmer decisions on what it was he wished to do in the long-term.
Well, after his business with Borgin was concluded.
Tomorrow, he would visit the man once more, and if fortune favoured him, Borgin would have secured a buyer for the diamond. With that, Harry would be financially secure for some time, though he would likely use the funds to fuel other enterprises along the way, if such opportunities presented themselves.
Borgin.
He couldn't say he trusted the man entirely and those he associated with even less, but where money was concerned, he was certain he could rely on the unpleasant trader to do what was best for his own business and his health should he involve himself in any double-crossing.
No, Borgin was of no concern, but those who would have the gold to buy the diamond would be of questionable character, and Harry would take nothing on face value.
He'd done so too many times throughout his life, and he'd learned his lesson the hard way.
"Thomas, I'm leaving for the evening," he informed the man.
"No problem, boss. I'll lock up when the lads downstairs are finished."
Harry nodded and apparated back to his home.
Thomas had operated in Knockturn Alley for years, so he wasn't concerned for him, though the murder of the owner of the apothecary only a few doors down gave him pause.
Harry had seen nor heard nothing that night, despite being in the almost silent pub, and such a brutal murder would not have been a quiet affair.
No, he was watching those he came and go closely, taking note of any faces he recognised or those that lurked a little too much for his liking.
Something was happening, and though he couldn't quite figure out what, he had his suspicions.
He would stay vigilant and act accordingly, even if he would prefer to be left out of the unpleasantness altogether.
Still, he had his business to protect, and with so much riding on it being successful, doing so was his top priority.
(Break)
"Alastor!" Albus greeted him enthusiastically as he entered the office.
Alastor offered the man a fond smile.
He'd once been the man's Transfiguration professor, and upon graduating, they'd stayed in touch, becoming fast friends outside of the school environment.
Alastor made a point to visit him at least a couple of times a month, and they often met for dinner and a catch up.
"How're things?" he asked warmly, accepting the proffered limb as the headmaster stood to greet him.
"Oh, the same as usual whilst trying to run Hogwarts. Even now, I don't feel ready to do this job."
Alastor chuckled.
He'd never met someone more capable of being in charge of the magical education for the children of Britain.
"What about yourself? I heard about the Anderson murder. It is rather troubling."
"Aye," Alastor agreed with a frown. "Something fishy is happening; we just don't know what. Bones is pulling her hair out trying to put the pieces together. We're missing something, Albus."
"As is the way of your line of work," the headmaster sighed.
Alastor nodded, and Albus slid his bowl of Sherbet Lemons towards him.
"I'll never understand how you enjoy them," the Auror grumbled, pushing it back politely.
The man chuckled as he unwrapped one of the sweets and popped it into his mouth, grimacing slightly at the tartness.
Alastor had made the mistake of accepting one once and had no intention of doing so again.
"Perhaps they are an acquired taste," Albus mused aloud.
"If you keep eating them, you won't be able to taste anything else."
"At my age, I've experienced more than enough of the wonders of food for it not to be a burden," Albus replied with a smile. "However, it seems that no matter how old I get or how long I spend on the job, finding a competent Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor never gets easier."
"Another one quit?"
Albus nodded tiredly.
"He could not handle the workload any longer."
"Maybe you should be looking for the man Bones is," Alastor snorted.
Albus frowned questioningly.
"Ah, I haven't spoken to you since it happened. The Selwyn group trial, it wasn't really us who apprehended them."
"No?"
Alastor shook his head.
"I sent Bones in to get some experience in reconnaissance, and it went pear-shaped quite quickly," he sighed. "Luckily for her, someone was there who wasn't willing to let her be killed. He took everyone in the pub down, Albus. All in less than a minute. Bones is still trying to figure out who he is, which is why I'm here."
The headmaster nodded, impressed by the man's apparent capability and gestured for Alastor to continue.
"Do you remember your old friend you introduced me to, a mysterious bloke who didn't say much?"
Albus frowned thoughtfully before nodding.
"Ah, Wilfred."
"That's him," Alastor declared. "Well, I was wondering if he would answer some questions for me. Bones and I think this man might be an Unspeakable, and Wilfred, well, he was, wasn't he?"
Albus deflated.
"He was and was being the pertinent description. He died last year, Alastor."
"Oh," Moody replied disappointedly.
"What makes you think this man is one of them?" Albus asked with a curious frown.
"Well, the fact he took down around two dozen people by himself and then tore through the protections around the pub like they were paper got me curious. That's impressive, but this is something else entirely," he added, removing the folded page from the newspaper from within his robes.
He slid it towards Albus, who peered at the article confusedly.
"Do you recognise that man?" Alastor asked, placing his finger next to the image.
Albus looked at the photo carefully, turning the page to see the distorted features from different angles.
"There is something familiar about him," he murmured. "I can't put my finger on it. I can't quite see enough of him. Why is he of interest to you?"
Alastor released a deep sigh.
It seemed they were once more at a dead end.
"That photo was taken at the trial," he explained. "When Bones noticed him, she said she thought it was the man who saved her. She only got a brief glimpse of him, but she seems certain. What's really strange is that when we spoke to Ivor to see if we could put a name to the face, the man didn't even pass through security. There was no record of him. He told us that only the Minister and a certain group of people were not required to check in with him."
"The Unspeakables," Albus said thoughtfully. "I suppose it is possible. From what you have told me, he does fit the profile, but pursuing him is not advisable."
"I told Bones the same," Moody huffed. "She's determined to discover who he is. You know what she's like, Albus. Excuse the pun, but she likes a dog with a bone. She won't let it go."
Albus hummed as he held up the photo to the light.
"There is one other I can discuss it with," he mused aloud. "I can't promise anything, but I will do so, even if it is only to warn him to urge his team to be a little more careful."
"Aye, thank you, Albus."
The headmaster offered him a smile.
"So, how is Amelia doing?"
(Break)
He'd waited until the alley had emptied somewhat, sticking to the shadows as he approached Borgin and Burke's. In the darker hours, Knockturn Alley transformed. There were some unsavoury characters who frequented it during the day, but at night, all manner of people and creatures could be found there.
Harry had seen hags, vampires, and even the odd goblin and felt the presence of many others he'd yet to lay eyes on.
It was as though the area transformed overnight, and even the Aurors reluctantly patrolled here.
After what happened in the pub shortly after he'd arrived, Harry could see why, but it was now his place of business, so avoiding it was not an option.
Ensuring the coast was clear, he entered Borgin's shop, keeping his wits about him to his surroundings.
It would not do to be caught off guard, though, those who were interested in purchasing the stone were not aware of the lengths he'd gone to ensure his safety.
"Ah, you're here," Borgin greeted him with an oily grin. "Come, I have two men who wish to discuss business with you."
He was peering at Harry curiously as though he was trying to cement his features in his mind.
It would do Borgin no good.
With some carefully crafted magic courtesy of the Department of Mysteries, none could remember his face clearly.
It was proving to be quite an asset.
"Please, allow me to introduce you to Lords Corvus Lestrange, and Commodus Selwyn. Gentlemen, this is…"
"Jack Smith," Harry introduced himself with a polite nod.
This was the company he would rather not be in, but with the nature of the transaction, it was unfortunately unavoidable.
"Jack Smith?" Lestrange asked. "A mudblood Smith or from the Hufflepuff line?"
"Does it matter when we are here for the same reason?"
"I suppose not," Lestrange grunted.
"Do you have the gold?"
Selwyn snorted.
"Do we have the gold? I think you are unaware of whom it is you are dealing with. The sum you are asking is of no consequence to us, but yes, I have brought a sum I believe will be most suitable."
"As have I," Lestrange growled. "Two-hundred-and-seventy-five-thousand galleons."
"I have brought three hundred thousand," Selwyn replied with a smirk.
Lestrange glared at him.
"I will give you three-hundred-and-fifty thousand."
Selwyn chuckled before offering an elaborate bow.
"If you want it so badly, it is yours," he acquiesced. "I do love seeing you spend such a vast sum. It makes my pockets feel all the fuller."
"You had no intention of buying it," Lestrange accused.
"On the contrary, you merely outbid me. I would be rather keen to own such a precious centrepiece, but alas, it wasn't meant to be. Well done, Lestrange. Very well done indeed."
"Ah, so it was you who intended to ambush the person who left with the stone," Harry broke in amusedly.
"Excuse me?" Selwyn asked with a frown.
"Lestrange was right, you didn't intend to buy it but steal it and keep your gold."
"How dare you!" Selwyn hissed.
Harry shrugged in response.
"Well, your plan has failed," he revealed. "The six men you tasked with carrying out the ambush won't be doing anything of the sort. I expect they will be in St Mungo's for some time."
Selwyn narrowed his eyes at him, and Harry caught the twitching of his wand.
In the blink of an eye, the man was propelled across the room and crashed into the wall. He fell, unmoving to the floor, with a dull thud.
In the meantime, Harry had not been idle. With another flourish, both Lestrange and Borgin were sent crashing into one another before being flung in opposite directions.
The former attempted to reach for his wand only to be hurled into the ceiling.
He, too, slumped unconscious, and Harry shook his head.
"Idiots," he sighed, rifling through their pockets and helping himself to the vast quantities of gold Lestrange brought along.
It was a tidy sum, and he set to work, altering their memories.
They'd remember nothing, and Harry would come away considerably richer.
He'd suspected something was off when he'd spotted the two leaving Borgin's shop only a couple of days prior and Selwyn returning later with six men, seemingly scouting out the area.
Harry had thought that perhaps the man was merely being cautious but having overheard him discussing his plan with his associates, he'd learned otherwise.
He only needed to look out for the same men the day he was due to meet with Borgin, and each had arrived earlier in the day, stationing themselves at various vantage points across the alley.
Still, they would recover from their injuries, and none of the other parties would remember enough to understand what had happened.
According to all three, there was no stone, no Harry, and no meetings held between them.
Carefully spilling some liquor on each and rinsing their mouths, he placed a portkey on Selwyn and Lestrange, sending them away from Knockturn Alley.
He left Borgin where he was and cleaned up the mess he'd made.
The man would believe he'd simply drank too much and passed out in the shop.
It wasn't perfect, but it would suffice for now.
With his work complete, Harry apparated away to three random locations across the country before returning home, throwing off anyone who would attempt to track him.
(Break)
She looked towards the apothecary a short distance away and shook her head. It was not often Amelia was stumped whilst working such a case, but this one had left her stumped and equally frustrated.
How someone as popular as Mr Anderson had been murdered in that fashion was beyond her, though it only proved that it could happen to anyone, even those that were seemingly well thought of.
"Don't dwell on it, lass," Alastor urged.
"I'm trying," Amelia sighed.
He gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze, visibly wincing at the sound of a commotion towards the other end of the alley.
"Merlin, what the bloody hell was that?" he asked as he drew his wand. "Come on, Bones, we'd best have a look."
"It came from Borgin's," Amelia replied as she followed.
They arrived to find the shop quiet, and the lights were turned off, but Amelia was not convinced of the peaceful façade on the outside.
"Something isn't right," she murmured, illuminating the tip of her wand and peering through the locked door.
The lights were off, and nothing seemed amiss, though the glimpse of a pair of feet sticking out from behind the counter spurred her into action.
"He's down!" she explained, setting to work at the lock.
It took a few moments to break through the security, and when she did so, Amelia found herself shoved aside by Alastor, who pressed her against the wall to avoid a gout of green flame that sprayed towards them.
"These aren't regular security measures," he said breathily. "Bloody hell, stay calm, Bones and take your time."
Amelia nodded gratefully, raising her wand and taking a tentative step into the shop, relieved to find no other nasty surprises waiting for them.
Skirting around the counter, she peered over the top to find the unconscious Mr Borgin, though as she knelt beside him, she wrinkled her nose.
"He's drunk," she murmured.
"Drunk?"
"He reeks of booze."
"Then what the hell was all that racket?"
Amelia shook her head, pausing as she felt the faint traces of a familiar magic.
"Wait," she whispered as she stood, slowly making her way into the back room.
At first glance, nothing seemed to be amiss, but the feeling she'd gotten from the shop floor was stronger here.
Murmuring under her breath, she tried to trace the magic, only for the trail to quickly go cold to where it all but dissipated.
"Shit," she groaned irritably.
"What is it?" Alastor asked curiously.
"He was here."
"Who was here?"
"The man from the pub, the one who saved me."
"Why would he be here?"
"I don't know," Amelia murmured, "but this place has been magically cleaned recently, and two portkeys were used. I lost the trace before I could figure anything else out."
Moody nodded appreciatively.
"That's some sharp work, Bones," he praised.
"Not sharp enough," Amelia sighed. "Let's wake him up and see what he can tell us."
Moody did the honours, rousing the drunken Borgin from where he'd evidently collapsed by dousing him with cold water.
The man sputtered incoherently, panicking with his eyes wide.
"What the hell are you doing?" he snapped confusedly, scowling as he noticed their red robes.
"We heard a disturbance and found you unconscious," Moody explained, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Unconscious?"
"Aye, we wanted to make sure you were okay. What happened?"
Borgin appeared to be confused again for a moment before shaking his head.
"I was having a drink with some friends," he said uncertainly. "That's right, we were drinking and playing cards."
"Which friends?" Moody pressed.
"None of your bloody business! Now, if you don't mind, I've got a headache and want to go to bed. Go on, bugger off."
He ushered them out of the shop on unsteady legs, slamming the door behind them.
"Well, that's gratitude for you," Alastor snorted. "Come on, we're still on duty."
Amelia was confused.
"He was there," she reiterated. "I know he was there."
"Maybe he is friends with Borgin," Moody replied with a shrug. "Even if he is, it's not like the cantankerous git is going to tell us, is it?"
Amelia said nothing else on the matter, but she was convinced there was more to it than Borgin having been drinking with friends.
The disturbance they'd heard was not that of a man passing out drunkenly, and the lack of mess they'd found only raised more questions.
Nonetheless, with Borgin fine and making no complaint, there was nothing else they could do.
It was frustrating, to say the least, and although Alastor was happy enough to simply move on, Amelia knew it would continue to bother her.
Why was the man with Borgin at such a late hour?
Was he just another criminal but one with a conscience?
She didn't know, and though she knew it was better left alone, she simply couldn't.
For her own satisfaction, she was more determined than ever to discover who the man was, and if no one else could help her, she would continue to look into it herself.
(Break)
Although the relationship between him and his brother had suffered over the years, Albus often made use of The Hog's Head when he wished to have a private meeting with prospective employees or with those who did not wish to venture to Hogwarts, where the walls had ears.
Here, he could ensure the utmost privacy, one of the few redeeming qualities of Aberforth's establishment.
Albus waited patiently for his guest whilst sipping his drink; a simple Butterbeer, a little sweet for most, but he rather enjoyed the brew.
It was only a few moments later that a gentle knocking sounded at the door to the room he had rented, and Albus opened it to be greeted by one of the very first students he had taught whilst he was the Transfiguration professor.
"Albus," the man growled, offering a nod as he entered the room.
"Clarence, it is good to see you."
The man hummed, removing his wand and proceeding to check every corner before casting a few privacy spells of his own.
Nodding satisfactorily, he placed his wand up his sleeve and took a seat.
"Can I interest you in a drink?" Albus offered.
Clarence shook his head.
"No, thank you. I don't suppose this is a social call. If it were, we wouldn't be here. What can I do for you, Albus?"
Albus offered the man a respectful nod.
It wasn't in Clarence's nature to stand on ceremony.
"Do you recognise this man?" he asked, handing over the photo he'd borrowed from Alastor.
Clarence frowned and took in the visage of the circled person.
"I cannot say that I do. Why are you asking?"
"He was at the Higgs trial and has garnered the attention of a couple of Aurors. Usually, this would be of no concern to yourself, but having followed up, it appears he did not check in with security. You know as well as I do that only the Minister, and those of your department are not required to do so."
Clarence nodded.
"And this pair of Aurors believe he is one of mine," he murmured. "Even if he was, you know I couldn't confirm it."
"But you could deny it."
"Would you believe me if I did?"
"If you tell me he's not one of yours, I will believe you."
Clarence hummed.
"These Aurors wouldn't happen to be Bones and Moody, would it?"
"You've been watching them?"
"No," Clarence denied, "but they were found in my department, responding to an alarm they had no business responding to. They were sent away with a flea in their ear, and now I discover they are potentially investigating one of mine."
"On the contrary, he is a person of interest," Albus explained. "Did you hear of what happened the night Selwyn, Higgs, and the rest of the group were apprehended?"
Clarence shook his head.
"Well, Bones is under the impression the man in the photo was responsible for their capture. He neutralised around two dozen people, single-handedly, in less than a minute."
"That is impressive," Clarence replied thoughtfully. "Fine, I will tell you this much, Albus. I can confirm that he is not one of mine. I've never laid eyes on him, but if he is as capable as he sounds, perhaps I would be interested in recruiting him, so long as he isn't wanted for anything nefarious."
Albus believed him, and he shook his head.
"He is not wanted, but I wished to meet with you to satisfy the curiosity surrounding him and implore you to urge your team to be more careful, if indeed he is known to you."
Clarence snorted as he handed back the photo.
"My team is the very best at what we do, Albus. I can assure you; none would ever know we were there if we did not wish them to. If you do discover who this man is, I may be interested in speaking with him, if you believe it is worth my time."
"I will bear that in mind."
Clarence nodded as he headed towards the door.
"This meeting never happened, Albus. If it were anyone else, I would be wiping your memory as we speak."
Albus chuckled amusedly.
Despite the truth behind the threat, Clarence always did have a flair for dramatics.
Nonetheless, Albus had learned what he'd come here for, and though it was perhaps not the news Alastor was hoping for, it was a better conclusion.
It would not do to provoke the ire of the Unspeakables by looking too closely in their direction.
They did not take kindly to such, and Albus would be certain to pass on that very message to Alastor at the earliest convenience.
(Break)
Harry knew that it was perhaps against his better judgment to do so, but running a legitimate business meant that he needed to have a business account. Unfortunately for him, it meant dealing with the goblins once more, something he was loath to do given his history with the deeply unpleasant creatures.
The one saving grace he did have was that there would be no animosity on their part towards him, though that meant little, considering goblins despised all magical folk.
Nonetheless, with no other option, it was into Diagon Alley he'd ventured, where he came upon a scene that gave him pause.
A large crowd had gathered outside the bank, many holding signs whilst they cheered loudly.
It was inaudible until Harry drew closer, and he could hear the words and read the signs.
"What's going on?" he asked one of the vendors selling copies of The Daily Prophet.
The man rolled his eyes.
"Some of the purebloods aren't happy that Gringotts lowered the interest rates for muggleborns," he explained. "They didn't really have a choice. No one was taking out loans with how much they were charging."
"Idiots," Harry muttered, shaking his head at the sizeable group.
Most pureblood families were rich enough that they'd never need a loan nor concern themselves with the interest rates of the bank. This demonstration was little more than principality and prejudice against those who had the option of using muggle banks.
"IT IS THE GOLD OF OUR FAMILIES THAT FUNDS GRINGOTTS, AND IT SHOULD BE US THAT REAP THE BENEFITS!"
The man who'd placed his wand to his throat was rodent-like, his beady eyes, pointed nose and weak chin somehow inspiring the other purebloods around him.
"OUR BANK, OUR RATES!"
The group echoed the sentiment, cheering it repeatedly.
Harry didn't know what they expected to achieve. The goblins would not be pressured by them, knowing there was no alternative, so they were wasting their time unless the Ministry intervened.
Harry frowned at the thought and realised just how alarming this development truly was.
It was clear to see that the gathered purebloods already harboured ill will towards muggleborns, and it wouldn't take much stoking of the embers to ignite the fire of hatred.
Instinctively, Harry reached for his wand as his gaze swept over the crowd.
Was Voldemort amongst them?
Pondering that troubling possibility, he realised that it was likely the man was already fostering relationships with many of the purebloods. It wasn't as though they simply decided to follow him overnight and on a whim.
No, Tom was either in Britain already or was in contact with some of the more prominent families who were naïve enough to believe in his ideology.
With that unsettling thought permeating, Harry carefully backed away from the crowd and navigated his way back into Knockturn Alley.
Gringotts could wait for another day when it was quieter.
He'd vowed not to involve himself in the conflict to come, and Harry had no intention of breaking that promise to himself.
The war had brought him nothing but misery, and he wanted no part of it.
(Break)
Dealing with spoilt purebloods was not what Alastor had envisioned his day entailing, but the somewhat sporadic protest had swelled in numbers, meaning the stronger presence of the Aurors was required.
It wasn't that they were being violent, but the disruption could take a sudden turn with little provocation.
"Get back!" Moody growled, shoving one of the more eager protesters who attempting to get past him.
Thankfully, they were to be relieved soon.
"Get your filthy hands off me!" the man snarled. "My uncle is Lord Goyle."
"Aye, and I'd put my foot up his arse just the same if he was acting like you. Shut up and enjoy your whinging."
The man gaped at him in disbelief but was quickly swallowed up by the crowd.
"Idiot," Alastor grumbled, pausing as he caught sight of a familiar face a short distance away. "Bones, isn't that…?"
Amelia squinted in the direction Alastor had nodded in, her eyes widening as she nodded.
"I think it is," she replied as he headed towards Knockturn Alley.
"Go on, get after him," Alastor urged.
Amelia did so, pushing her way through the crowd and entering the adjoining alley herself, catching a glimpse of the man as he vanished amongst the swathes of people.
"Bugger," she groaned as she made it through to the other side.
There was no sign of him.
It was as though, once again, he'd simply vanished.
She'd not heard anyone apparate nor felt the use of a portkey being activated nearby.
So, where had he gone?
Once more, Amelia was stumped, and giving a final glance around Knockturn Alley; she released a breath of frustration.
He was gone, and try as she might, she was still unable to remember exactly what he looked like.
(Break)
He peered carefully through the curtains of the living room above the pub, shaking his head as he watched the Auror searching for him. Harry had immediately sensed he was being followed by the tenacious redhead and had quickly navigated his way through the throngs of people, entering the pub via the backdoor.
Thankfully, she'd not been quick enough to spot him, and with the building still boarded up whilst the renovation was being completed, she'd not looked twice in this direction.
Still, it was becoming rather irksome that the woman simply would not quit, and Harry knew he would have to address the problem lest he spent the rest of his life playing this game of cat and mouse.
No, he couldn't do that, and with a nod to himself, he decided he would take the matter into his own hands.
If the Auror wanted to speak with him so badly, she would get her wish, though not on terms that would favour her.