Fic: "Contrefaire" for meddow

Apr 13, 2007 13:21

Title: Contrefaire
Author: magnolia_mama
Recipient: meddow
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): Ron, McGonagall, Tonks, Umbridge (non-speaking), assorted minor characters
Summary: Ron and Professor McGonagall find themselves caught up in a bank robbery.


Contrefaire

Ron studied the contents of the scroll one last time, his lips moving rapidly as he read what was written there to himself, committing it again to memory. He'd read and re-read it so many times he could probably recite it in his sleep -- hell, he'd conceived the idea it contained, developed it, then wrote it, so he already had more than a passing familiarity with it -- but this was no ordinary scroll. What he held in his hands could potentially change the sport of Quidditch forever, or, at least, the fortunes of the Chudley Cannons. If anything happened to this scroll and the information it contained, if it fell into the wrong hands or was somehow lost and unrecoverable, the consequences could be devastating -- catastrophic even, in light of his devotion to the Cannons.

Hence the steps he was undertaking to ensure the scroll's security. First he had memorized what he'd written, reading it over and over and re-creating the accompanying illustrations in his mind until he could faithfully reproduce the entire thing without checking his progress against the original. Then he had purchased a small vault at Gringotts solely for the purpose of storing the scroll, the task which had brought him here today.

"C'mon, I ain't got all day," growled the goblin who had escorted Ron to vault 329. "Just put it in there, willya, so I can lock up? It's nearly elevenses."

"Keep your shirt on," Ron snapped in reply. The interruption had disrupted his concentration so that when he tried to recall what he'd just been studying he couldn't, and consequently felt a recoil of panic. His palms felt clammy as he hurriedly re-read the last few sections. He was being ridiculous, he knew, but this scroll could make or break his future as a broom designer.

At an irritated jingle of coins from his companion he rolled up the scroll, tied a red cord around it, and set it on the shelf. Once that was done he closed the door to the vault and inserted his key into the double lock, turning it counter-clockwise. He then stepped back so the goblin could do his part, exhaling loudly when the door faded into the surrounding stone and vanished. He pocketed his key, then climbed in the cart behind the goblin.

As they ascended to the surface and Gringotts' main hall, Ron mentally reviewed the remaining errands he had for that morning. He needed to stop by Quality Quidditch Supplies to get some broom epoxy and pick up a few staple items at the grocer's. Fred and George had asked him to stop in and look at their new range of products, and then he was going to stock up on owl treats for Pig at Eeylops. Once that was all taken care of, he was going to meet Harry for lunch. Then, that afternoon, he had an appointment with Ragmar Dorkins, general manager of the Chudley Cannons. Dorkins had loved the rudder Ron designed for the squad three years before -- their first winning season in a decade helped -- so when Ron asked for a private meeting to discuss a broom redesign he was interested in granting the Cannons exclusive use of in exchange for the necessary Galleons to build, test, then produce the invention, Dorkins had been more than accommodating, clearing his entire calendar for the day. Then, that night, after he'd dazzled Dorkins with his design and the ink on the contract had dried, Ron intended to celebrate.

He was so caught up in his scheme for the day that he didn't notice how unusually quiet the main hall was, or the hooded witches and wizards holding all the tellers and patrons at wandpoint as he passed through, headed for the outer vestibule. Nor did he hear the swish of robes as a Full Body-Bind spell was voicelessly hurled his way. The last thing that occurred to him, as his limbs locked rigidly into place and his body began its long topple forward, was that he was going to have one hell of a shiner from crashing head-first into the edge of that table.

* * * * *
A small cry escaped Minerva McGonagall as Weasley hit the table with such force the crack echoed through the main hall. Something bumped her arm and she looked over to see Nymphadora Tonks, Bound and Silenced, purse her lips in a furtive hushing gesture. Minerva nodded in understanding, then turned away from the sight of Weasley's ghostly pallor and blood trickling from the gash the edge of the table opened above his eye before it overcame her. She prayed this would all be over with quickly, so she could go to his aid.

Minerva had come to Gringotts today to check on the status of her investments. Her late husband had been a dilettante of various futures markets, particularly those of the exotic and black market variety, and through a fortuitous combination of shrewdness and luck had managed to amass a small fortune before his untimely death. Upon her solicitor's advice Minerva had sold the lot and re-invested the proceeds in less lucrative but nonetheless licit ventures. She then entrusted the safekeeping and maintenance of her portfolio to Gringotts, and only came in twice a year to receive an accounting of her earnings. Filius often liked to joke that these biannual visits to "count her Knuts" were proof of what a true Scot she was.

She'd been waiting in queue when she spotted Tonks and that dreadful Dolores Umbridge enter the bank. Dolores headed straight for the president's office while Tonks, seeing Minerva's gesture of greeting, came over to say hello. She hadn't seen Tonks in over a year, and though the younger woman had not been a member of her House, Minerva fondly remembered what a bright student she'd been, and so enjoyed having a few moments to catch up with her.

They had nearly reached the head of the queue, and Tonks was regaling her with a wild tale involving Rufus Scrimgeour and an amorous Crup, when the doors leading from the outer vestibule burst open and all hell broke loose.

They must have been planning the heist for months, Minerva had thought later, appraising both their audaciousness and the methodical, almost clinical way the robbers went about taking control of the bank and everyone in it. To the best of her memory, Gringotts had only ever been robbed once before, and in that case it had been a single individual trying to get his hands on a specific item. No one had ever tried to hold up the bank in broad daylight like this.

Whoever they were, their familiarity with the building and its security system was impressive. Later Minerva would remember looking up from the floor, where Tonks had pushed her as the first hexes started flying, and seeing three of them dispatch the entire contingent of security trolls in a matter of seconds, while a fourth sealed the outer door, two more staked out posts at the doors leading to the vaults and offices, and the remaining robber stood in the center of the main hall surveying the mayhem. Then, before the dust and debris had begun to settle and anyone could react, the entire team, at a signal from the figure in the center, Summoned every wand in the room.

"Damn!" Tonks shouted, lunging for her wand. She got hit with a Stunning spell for her trouble.

Once everyone had been disarmed, the robbers set about immobilizing them. They worked efficiently, in pairs, communicating nonverbally through a series of signals and gestures Minerva could see but not interpret. In minutes they had the staff of tellers and clerks sequestered out of sight while the bank president, his protests made impotent by a Silencing spell, had been brought out from his office and pinned against a marble pillar. Dolores was also brought out, and Minerva was mildly gratified to see her erstwhile adversary dropped roughly to the floor in the midst of a group of gayly-dressed, dark-skinned witches.

By now Tonks had emerged from the Stunning she'd got, though she, too, was Silenced and immobilized. It was just as well, Minerva thought as one of the robbers arranged them side-by-side against the wall; Tonks might be an Auror, but they still had no idea what the robbers' intentions were.

Two of them had gone over to Weasley and, hooking a hand under each arm, dragged his limp body across the floor and dropped him a few feet from Minerva and Tonks. One squatted down to examine him, then beckoned the ringleader over. When she came close -- for Minerva could now distinguish an obviously female shape beneath the drape of the robes -- Minerva studied her intently for any identifiable features, but with the woman's face entirely concealed except for her eyes, Minerva was unable to discern anything of value.

Weasley's presence had clearly agitated the robbers, if the heated exchange between them was any indication -- none of which Minerva was privileged to hear, thanks to a quickly-cast Muffliato spell. Ron Weasley was well-known though the wizarding world, of course, thanks to his part in bringing down You-Know-Who some years before. He was not as easily recognizable as Harry Potter, but it was not coincidental that ginger had become a very popular hair color among young (and some not-so-young) witches since the war ended and he was inducted into the Order of Merlin in gratitude for and acknowledgment of his bravery. What he'd been doing since the war Minerva couldn't guess; she saw him at most once or twice a year, and his activities didn't attract much notice from any of the major media outlets. She wondered what had brought him here, and why he'd had such an intent look on his face before he'd been waylaid.

The robbers appeared to have concluded their conference. Either Weasley was regaining consciousness on his own, or one of them had performed a Renervate spell. He groaned, licking his lips, then gingerly raised a hand to his brow, his fingertips probing at the large red-and-purple knot there. "Wha' 'appened?" he croaked.

"Silence, Mr. Weasley," the ringleader said, the first audible words any of them had spoken in the five minutes since the ordeal began. "I don't want to have to Silence you if I don't have to. Just listen, and maybe you and everyone else here will come through this unharmed."

"Bit late for that, don't you think?" Minerva jerked her head around in astonishment. Tonks was still beside her, though looking very differently than she had only moments before. She bent her leg and rested her wrist atop her knee, her hand dangling in a relaxed manner. She caught Minerva's gaze and winked. "You've already knocked him out cold, haven't you?"

The robber's eyes narrowed. "An unforseeable accident. I forgot you were a Metamorphmagus."

Tonks grinned. "An unforseeable accident. Let's hope there aren't any more."

"On your feet," the robber said, waving her wand at Tonks. "The only way I can guarantee you won't do anything stupid is to take you with me. Get up." She then aimed her wand at Minerva, who flinched inwardly. "Finite Incantatem," she said, releasing Minerva from the spells that had kept her bound and mute. "You too, Headmistress."

Minerva rubbed at her joints as Tonks helped her to her feet. She was much too old to be forced to sit on a hard floor in one position for long, and she was stiff and sore as a result.

In the meantime, the ringleader had directed her two companions to assist Weasley as he sat up then, with nearly as much stiffness as Minerva had done, got to his feet. He turned so pale it was nearly green and he wavered, but one of the robbers took his arm to hold him steady and soon his face regained some of its natural color. He blinked rapidly and peered at Minerva. "Prof'ssor McGon'gall? Tonks? Wha --"

"I asked you not to speak, Mr. Weasley," the ringleader said. "You either," she added, addressing Minerva. "We've got a job to do, and the sooner we can get it done and get out of here, the sooner we can let you all go."

Minerva opened her mouth, wanting to say something, anything, to express her abject disapproval of this witch, her companions, and what they were doing, but restrained herself at a sharp jerk of Tonks' head, and instead pressed her lips together firmly. She was quite certain she knew the ringleader now -- she'd heard enough of the witch's voice for it to ring a bell -- but she couldn't yet identify her. Once she could, Minerva was determined to make her and her accomplices pay a very high price for their brigandage.

The three robbers, one of them assisting Ron, who was obviously in rather a lot of distress, led Minerva, Tonks, and Weasley over to where Dolores Umbridge and the bank president had been ordered to stay. "Up," the ringleader said to Dolores, waving her wand to release her from the Binding spell. Having grown even wider and squatter than she had been when she had terrorized Hogwarts, she struggled to get up, puffing and wheezing the whole time. No one lent a hand.

The ringleader had not, however, released Dolores from the Silencing spell, a fact Minerva discovered with inappropriate glee when Dolores made several attempts to berate the robbers but no sound issued from her mouth. Her face grew purple with rage, her eyes bulged dangerously, and flecks of spittle flew from her lips, several of them landing on the ringleader's cloak.

She nonchalantly looked down and brushed them off. "If you think I'm going to let you utter one word before we're through, you are very mistaken," she said calmly. "Now," she continued, turning to address the bank president, who had also been released from the spell binding him and helped to his feet, "if you would be so kind as to lead us to Senior Undersecretary Umbridge's vault?"

The president, a young-looking, nattily-dressed goblin with dark, slanting eyes and a pompadour, scrutinized her. "Why should I help you?" he asked with a noticeable accent.

"Perhaps because this is the first time Gringotts has been held up?"

"So I should further tarnish this establishment's reputation by openly abetting the plunder of a high-ranking official's vault?"

"Would it make any difference if you knew that that same high-ranking official recently drafted a resolution that would tax all businesses not owned wholly by humans at double the current rate?"

The goblin's eyes widened momentarily, then narrowed as he stared at Dolores. "Hm," he said, rubbing his chin. "That is a tempting inducement."

Minerva had not believed Dolores' face could possibly have turned any darker with rage, but it did. She took a threatening step in the goblin's direction, her fists clenched, but one of the other robbers grabbed her before she could go any further.

As for herself, Minerva no longer knew what to think. Dolores had been such a thorn in her side all those years ago, never mind the torment she had inflicted on the students, that Minerva found it difficult not to take a small portion of pleasure in the woman's humiliation. On the other hand, she could not in good conscience condone what was happening. Something needed to be done to stop this before it went any further. Tonks was being watched like a hawk -- Minerva admired how relaxed she seemed, presuming Tonks' casual air to be an affectation she'd learned through her work as an Auror -- so no doubt any attempt she made to wrest control from the robbers would be stopped before it ever got off the ground.

Perhaps, Minerva thought, if she could signal Weasley, he could distract their captors so Tonks could do what she'd trained for years to do. She stared hard at him, calling up her fiercest Head of House glare in an effort to catch his eye. Weasley, unfortunately, appeared to be completely oblivious to her; in fact, he looked quite befuddled, as though he'd been hit broadside with a Confundus Charm, his gaze darting erratically here and there as he appeared to be mumbling to himself. Even the robber keeping watch over him found his behavior perplexing, if his worried glances in Weasley's direction were any indication.

With a small sigh, Minerva turned her attention away from Weasley and back towards the ringleader and the bank president, whom she realized with a start were now speaking in Gobbledygook, a language she could easily recognize but not understand. She could interpret body language, however, and the goblin was clearly disturbed by what he was being told.

"Yes, yes, I see," he snapped, reverting back to English. "You've made a very compelling case for yourself." He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat, a gesture that instantly brought several wands to bear on him, until his hand emerged to reveal a monocle, which he positioned over his left eye. "Come with me, then. Oh, and --" He gestured towards Dolores, who was now in the throes of a fit of apoplexy. "-- you'll need to bring her along as well."

"We'd planned on doing so anyway," the ringleader said. "We'd hate for her to miss this." She signaled to the other members of her gang, no doubt instructing them to remain behind to guard the doors and remaining captives, then their small group -- the three robbers, Dolores, Weasley, Tonks, Minerva, and the bank president -- exited the main hall and entered the section of Gringotts where all the vaults lay.

* * * * *
Ron's head throbbed with each beat of his heart. An act as simple as blinking sent shock waves of agony reverberating behind his eyes until he saw stars. Every now and then he had to stop to catch his breath before the incipient nausea overcame him. No one seemed to mind, though, and Tonks remained nearby to offer support if he needed it.

Despite everything, Ron was aware enough of his surroundings to realize that Gringotts had been held up and he, Professor McGonagall, Tonks, Dolores Umbridge, and a goblin had been stripped of their wands (save the goblin, who wouldn't have had one to begin with) and taken hostage. He'd gathered from the snippets of conversation he'd managed to pay attention to that they were now headed to Umbridge's bank vault. Beyond that, though, the cloaked and masked figures accompanying them had declined to reveal any further information.

Ron really wasn't interested in the heist anyway. Ever since he regained consciousness he'd had snippets and fragments swirling around in the back of his head, dancing just beyond his grasp. Something about a broom, that much he knew, and an almost overpowering sense of urgency, as though a voice deep in his subconscious -- a voice that sounded disturbingly like a blend of his mum's and Hermione's -- trying to tell him something very important. In a way, it was like being back in Potions and hearing Professor Snape bark at him, "Pay attention, Weasley!" So he tried to pay attention, as much as the pain in his head would let him, but he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be paying attention to, which only made his head hurt all the more.

The cart taking them into the bowels of the bank came to a juddering stop, jerking Ron forward with enough force that he had to clap his hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting all over Tonks. "Apologies," the goblin said, though he didn't look at all sorry. Rather than waste precious strength on glaring at him, Ron settled for climbing gingerly out of the cart and following the others to a row of niches carved into the stone.

"Madam Secretary," the robber who seemed to be in charge said in a voice Ron swore he'd heard before, "you can either give me your key, or I can have it taken from you."

Ron was no lip reader, but judging by the venomous look on Umbridge's face he reckoned the curses spewing from her mouth would have set even his ears on fire. It was also apparent that she had no intention of cooperating, so one of the other cloaked figures went over to her and began patting her down, oblivious to her furious swatting and attempts to evade him.

"This is an outrage!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed. "There's no call for assaulting her that way."

"I'm afraid there is," the goblin said, examining his fingernails. "Vault keys are protected from Summoning Charms whilst on bank premises."

"But surely --" She winced and closed her eyes as a hand was thrust down the front of Umbridge's robes. "Surely there's a less... intrusive means of acquiring her key?"

He shrugged. "You're welcome to have a go, if you'd like."

Ron thought McGonagall was seriously considering it for a moment, and then when she looked at him he thought she was seriously considering asking for his assistance, but the hand emerged triumphant, the key glittering in the gloom. Umbridge lashed out, trying to get it back, but the robber held it high above her head and took it to the one in charge.

Recognizing his cue, the goblin activated the charm that revealed the door to the vault. The haze that had hung low over the horizon of Ron's awareness had been gradually dissipating, and he couldn't help thinking the goblin was oddly accommodating, almost as though he was part of the scheme to rob the bank. If this was true... Ron gulped. If he was right and the goblin was an accomplice, then they were all lost. The goblins had been operating Gringotts for as long as anyone could remember, and though a few stalwarts still kept their Galleons squirreled away at home -- and fewer still kept them in overseas banks -- nearly everyone in wizarding Britain had entrusted Gringotts with every Knut they owned.

Ron remembered enough from History of Magic to recall that relations between goblins and wizards had never been easy; the latest goblin uprising had occurred in his parents' lifetime, and they had never really declared their opposition to Voldemort, though Ron knew they hadn't supported him, either. Was the plundering of Umbridge's vault the first step in another rebellion? Were those goblins hiding behind the hoods and masks? Ron struggled to recall everything he'd learned about previous uprisings and how they'd started, which wasn't much, really, as he'd had Hermione to learn it for him. Try as he might, though, errant thoughts about Quidditch and brooms and something about a scroll kept distracting him and further aggravating his headache, so he gave up.

Ron glanced over at Tonks. For an experienced Auror deprived of her wand, she seemed rather relaxed. Granted, she nearly always looked relaxed. He'd never forget the time he witnessed her win a duel against a Death Eater by transforming her features so rapidly it threw her opponent's concentration off-balance; the whole time, she'd had a huge grin on her face and was clearly taking delight in deflecting the Death Eater's weakening curses while her face seamlessly morphed from one caricature to another. In the end, she finished off her opponent with a flamboyantly cast Disarming spell and a triumphant shout.

At present, Tonks was the epitome of grace under pressure. If she was coming up with a plan to overpower their captors, she was doing a fine job of hiding it.

Although their guard remained nearby, he appeared to be more interested in the goings-on at the entrance to Umbridge's vault, where the goblin and the ringleader seemed to be engaged in negotiations of some sort. Taking advantage of the attention lapse, Ron muttered under his breath to Tonks, "Why don't you do something to stop them?"

Without looking at him she responded, "What would you have me do?"

"You're the bloody Auror! Didn't they teach you how to deal with situations like this?"

"Yeah," she whispered. "They taught me to be patient and wait for the right opportunity."

Ron was about to retort when he saw the guard's head turn in their direction briefly, before turning away again. The negotiations had concluded and the goblin and two of the robbers, one of them pulling Umbridge by the arm, had entered the vault. That left Ron, Tonks, Professor McGonagall, and one robber remaining outside. Ron thought that surely the three of them could overpower him, take his wand, and stop this before it went any further. He had a nagging urge for parchment and a quill to try to make sense of the jumbled images floating before his mind's eye, and wanted to get out of here and back to his flat so he could numb himself with a handful of Igraine's Migraine Malady Cure tablets and a double shot of Firewhisky. If Tonks honestly believed there'd be a better opportunity than this, he couldn't imagine what it might be.

Two short strides brought him up behind the guard. With Tonks' shout of "No, don't!" ringing in his ears, Ron hooked one arm around the man's neck and tried to wrest away his wand with the other.

A scuffle ensued, most of which passed by in a hazy blur, though Ron recalled throwing at least one punch before he found himself on the cavern floor, subdued, with at least two wands aimed at him and his head pounding even worse than before. He looked beyond them to see Tonks at the other end of one wand, and the other belonged to...

"What the--?" Ron sputtered as he recognized the now-unmasked robber to be a former classmate. "Finch-Fletchley? Have you gone mad, robbing Gringotts?" He looked up at Tonks. None of this made any sense. "Where did you get that wand? Have you had it all along? Are you in on this?"

Tonks pocketed her wand and held out her hand to assist Ron to his feet. "It's not --"

"Well, well," said a female voice, and Ron recognized another familiar face, though it was one he couldn't put a name to. In her hand she carried a large book. "I suppose the Kneazle's out of the bag now."

"Miss Greengrass, perhaps you'd better explain what's going on here," Professor McGonagall said, the expression on her face so severe Ron thought her face might crack.

"You're in charge, Tonks, why don't you fill them in," said another familiar voice, and Ron got another shock to realize that the third robber was none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"You're in charge?" Ron blurted. He looked around at all of them, his mind reeling. This didn't add up. He'd known Tonks and Shacklebolt for years, had never had reason to doubt their character, had fought Voldemort alongside them, for Merlin's sake. Finch-Fletchley, while he might have been a bit of a smug prat at Hogwarts, was hardly the sort to turn to a life of crime. Daphne Greengrass he didn't know well at all, but she didn't look like Ron's idea of a bank robber either. He looked beseechingly at Professor McGonagall. "Don't tell me you're with this lot, too."

She grimaced. "I assure you, Mr. Weasley, I most certainly am not."

"It's not what either of you think," Tonks said. "Come with me." She indicated they should enter the vault. Inside, Ron found Umbridge surrounded by more Galleons than he had ever set eyes on in his life, her previous rage evaporated. She looked up with a scowl, but made no other response. In the flickering light Ron thought he saw the glint of tear tracks on her cheeks.

"To answer the most important question," Tonks began, "despite what it looks like, this isn't a bank robbery. Any theft that has occurred involved only one person, and has been going on for at least three years, if not longer."

"I don't understand," Professor McGonagall said, though she was looking at Umbridge. "Why all the subterfuge?"

"This was meant to be a combination training exercise for Finch-Fletchley and a sting operation," Shacklebolt said.

Ron looked at Finch-Fletchley in astonishment. "You're an Auror?"

"Trainee Auror, yeah."

"Didn't think you had the stones for it." He ignored Finch-Fletchley's glower.

"This is his first time working in the field," Tonks added. "As for Daphne, she's an accountant for the Wizengamot. Several months ago we got a tip-off about monies disappearing from discretionary funds in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." At this, the goblin made a hissing sound. "Daphne was able to pinpoint the cause of the disappearance and help us devise a scheme to catch the embezzler." Umbridge cowered as everyone turned towards her.

"Miss Greengrass isn't an Auror, is she?" Professor McGonagall asked. "She appeared to be the one directing the operation above."

Tonks grinned. "That was the idea. Actually, Kingsley was the one really in charge. We just kept her front and center so no one would be watching him, in case anything went wrong."

"Such as Weasley here getting knocked unconscious?"

"Sorry about that, mate," Finch-Fletchley said sheepishly. "We couldn't risk anyone getting out, and I didn't realize it was you until too late."

Ron self-consciously touched his fingertip to his temple. The blood had dried, but the area was still swollen, hot, and tender. "It's all right, I reckon."

"We'll get you to St. Mungo's as soon as we're done here," Tonks said.

"I still don't understand why you had to pretend to be robbing the bank, or take Weasley and me hostage, for that matter," Professor McGonagall said. "Surely there would have been an easier method to get down here?"

"Actually, the only 'hostage' we needed was the bank president." Tonks indicated the goblin. "We knew he wouldn't just let us in here without a compelling reason, and we had to convince everyone else that we had one."

"Everyone else?" Ron asked. "Oh, the --" He pointed upwards. "The other people in the main hall."

Tonks nodded. "If they thought the goblins would reveal the location and contents of their vaults to just anyone, even a team of Aurors, no one would do business here anymore."

"What's happened to them?" Professor McGonagall asked. "Are they still being held?"

"That's where you and Weasley come in," Shacklebolt said. "Everyone saw the two of you and Tonks taken hostage. You're all already war heroes." He smiled. "Today you'll become heroes once again."

Ron rubbed at the back of his neck. His head was really pounding now, and no matter how hard he tried to concentrate, he just couldn't stop thinking about brooms. "What are you on about?" he asked Shacklebolt.

"You're going to make them believe that you managed to overpower us and free the bank president before we could force him to open any of the vaults," Finch-Fletchley explained.

"Looking like that?" Ron asked with incredulity. "If anyone recognizes Shacklebolt, the game is up."

"Fortunately, I know a Disguise Charm or two," Shacklebolt said. With a wave of his wand, he transformed his features. "Only my wife could recognize me now."

"What about Dolores?" Professor McGonagall wanted to know. "I don't think she'll go along with your scheme." They all looked at her, looking very despondent in the midst of her ill-gotten gains. If she hadn't been such a nightmare at Hogwarts, Ron might have felt sorry for her. On the other hand, she'd obviously stolen a lot of Galleons from those who needed and deserved them more.

"Simple," Daphne said, and before anyone could react she'd hit Umbridge with a spell that put her to sleep. "You'll just pretend she got knocked out in the struggle. By the time she wakes up, she'll be securely locked away."

"What's to happen to her?" Professor McGonagall asked.

Daphne held up the book she'd been carrying. "We'll reconcile the information in this ledger with what I found in the audits I did. I wouldn't be surprised if she has more than one vault -- possibly here, but maybe not," she added hastily at a harrumph from the goblin. "Either way we'll find the Galleons, and return as much as we can to where they belong. As for her, she'll undergo some behavior modification at St. Mungo's. There may be a trial, but she won't likely spend any time in Azkaban."

"Give her community service at a halfway house for centaurs," Ron muttered.

"Now, now, Weasley," Professor McGonagall said, though he could tell she was amused. "I have one more question: did you plan this to go the way it did? I can't imagine you expected to find Weasley or me here today."

Tonks grinned. "Actually, we knew you'd be here, Headmistress. You're a creature of habit, and your habit is to come here the last Tuesday before the start of term each year. The tricky part was coordinating your visit with one from Umbridge. It was Finch-Fletchley's idea to trick her into thinking the security of her vault had been compromised."

"And Weasley?"

Tonks gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm really sorry what happened to you up above, Ron. I hope it didn't cause permanent damage." She twirled her wand around in her fingers. "He was the wild card. We knew there'd be one or two, but the thing about wild cards is that you never know about them until they're already in play. It was good experience for Finch-Fletchley, though, learning how to adapt to the situation without panicking."

"So glad I could be of service," Ron said.

"You'll be rewarded for your trouble," Shacklebolt said. "All of you."

"Quite handsomely," the goblin added. He scowled at Umbridge's prone form. "She's always been a thorn in our side, with her resolutions and statutes limiting how we conduct business. I can't begin to count the Galleons I've lost in revenue thanks to the taxes she's had imposed on Gringotts. I'd hoped we were rid of her a few years ago, but she was even worse after she came back."

"And to find out she was embezzling from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures --" Daphne began.

"Yes. That was particularly galling."

"We thought you'd be more willing to cooperate if you knew of our suspicions."

"I assure you, no one outside this vault apart from the other members of our team will learn of your cooperation," Tonks said. "We could not have found two better witnesses than Professor McGonagall and Ron Weasley."

"What about her?" Ron asked, indicating Umbridge. "Unless you plan on modifying her memory, she'll likely say something."

"She might," Shacklebolt agreed. "But given the nature of her crime and her prior conduct, she'll not likely find anyone who'll sympathize with her enough to believe it."

"Those who might don't do business with us anyway," the goblin said wryly.

"If we're settled on our plan, then, we should return to the surface," Finch-Fletchley said. He reached inside his cloak and took out Ron's and Professor McGonagall's wands and returned them to their owners.

Between the six of them, they sorted out the final arrangements for transferring Umbridge into the hands of the authorities, then Ron conjured a Mobilicorpus spell to carry her to the cart that would take them all back up to the surface. As he was climbing in behind the others, he heard Professor McGonagall ask Tonks, "How on earth did you manage to get your wand back?"

To which Tonks replied with a cheeky grin, "Tricks of the trade."

* * * * *
It took several hours to sort everything out once they returned to the surface. A team from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had retaken control of the main hall while they were down below, taking the other "robbers" into custody and gathering evidence and statements from witnesses. Minerva feared she might be subjected to another Binding spell when she, Tonks, and Weasley emerged into the main hall and found themselves confronted with a phalanx of wands. Fortunately for them, Arthur Weasley, head of the department, had come to supervise the investigation and, recognizing his son, immediately deduced what had happened (though it helped that he had been made privy to the plan, as Tonks later explained to her).

Dolores Umbridge was taken to St. Mungo's under heavy guard, the contents of her vault were confiscated, and a pair of Aurors were appointed to try to ferret out any other vaults she might possess under false identities. The bank president was not so accommodating as he had been earlier, but Minerva understood he had his business' reputation to protect.

She was pleased to see Potter amongst the crowd of gawkers; apparently Weasley had had plans to lunch with him, and when he didn't show, Potter came looking for him. Weasley seemed pleased to see him too -- no surprise there -- but it didn't escape Minerva's notice that he also seemed increasingly disoriented. He'd taken quite a nasty fall earlier, and no doubt all the excitement had drained him. She watched him carefully, and though his face grew increasingly pale, he held himself together very well. After the crowd thinned, leaving only the investigators and a couple of witnesses still giving their statements, he made his way over to an unoccupied bench and sat down heavily, resting his elbows on his thighs to support his head in his hands. Feeling rather knackered herself, Minerva joined him.

"You handled yourself very well down there," she said.

He looked up. "Huh?"

"You didn't lose your head. You didn't try anything… heroic."

"Did you miss the part where I tackled Finch-Fletchley?"

"I've seen you in action before, Weasley. For you, going after just one person is rather subdued."

He laughed. "I was too busy trying not to pass out to do much else."

She glanced up at the angry knot on his head. "You really ought to have that looked at. Hasn't anyone offered to take you to St. Mungo's yet?"

"Dad and Harry both did, but I'm fine. Nothing a stiff drink won't cure."

"You could have a concussion."

"I'm fine, really. You should know what a hard-headed lot Weasleys are." Minerva tried to hide her smile. "I just --" He sat up with a groan and ran his fingers through his hair. "I…"

"What's the matter?"

He shook his head slowly. "Dunno. That bump really did a number on me. Ever since I regained consciousness, I haven't been able to stop thinking about brooms."

"Brooms?"

"I know. It's mad, isn't it? Gringotts gets held up, sort of, and we find out Umbridge has been embezzling money from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for years, and all I've got on my mind are brooms."

Minerva didn't know what to tell him. "Well, you've always been a very devoted Quidditch fan. And didn't you design a new rudder a couple of years ago?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Maybe your mind simply latched on to something familiar to keep you alert with everything that was going on around you."

"I reckon so." He shrugged. "It's as good an explanation as any I've come up with." He got to his feet, wavering slightly, but regained his equilibrium. "I think I'm going to head home and lie down for a while."

"Will you be all right?" Minerva asked. "Maybe someone should see you home."

He smiled at her warmly, the first genuine emotion she'd seen from him all day. "Thanks, Professor, but I think I can walk the three blocks to my flat. After all, I helped thwart the first daytime heist of Gringotts ever attempted. I'm a bloody hero." He turned to walk away, then paused and turned back. "There is one thing bothering me, though."

"What is it?"

"Does the number 329 mean anything to you?"

springen 2007

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