Author's Note: This chapter needed a massive face-lift before I pronounced it fit for posting. It should make up for the last chapter, if only in size, being more than three times as large. There remains a small portion of sappiness which I again decided to keep. But as compensation, we will at last see Hermione demonstrate the cleverness with which she has saved Harry's arse more times than we can count in canon (and who knows how many more times in fanfiction).
Also, one reviewer questioned the Potters' need to economize when they have Harry's massive inheritance from Sirius to add to his original treasure. It should be remembered that this story was plotted before OotP, so I did not incorporate Sirius' death into the matrix. Moreover, we did not learn until HBP that Harry had inherited his godfather's wealth. So that aspect of the story remains as when it was first conceived, with the Potters facing much the same financial woes as any other newlyweds. If they were rolling in wealth, the story could not have unfolded as it was initially plotted -- indeed, it would not have been the same story at all. All will be made clear in time. This is, after all, a tale comprising both romance and mystery. As to that, the latter aspect is about to heat up, so let's get to it, shall we?
Despite her self-confessed (and borderline scandalous) conversion to coffee, Ginny made the best cup of tea Hermione had tasted in ages. It was with no small pang of guilt that Hermione realized precisely where she had last had so savory a cup as this -- at the Burrow, the weekend she and Harry had attended Ron's 20th birthday celebration. Merlin, had it really been that long? Could Hermione honestly say that she had been so busy that she had not found the time to visit her dearest friends in the wizarding world for nearly six months?
Delicious though the tea was (Ginny was undoubtedly using the same preparatory spell as her mother), something was still not as it should be. Something was missing. Nor did Hermione have to prod her brain to divine what that something was. As Ginny bent her head to sip from her own cup, Hermione quietly drew her wand and pointed it at the doorway. She gave the wand a little twist to compensate for the bend in the hallway as she said, "Accio," in a barely audible whisper. A moment later, Hermione deftly caught the small object that zoomed into her hand at the terminus of its flight from the kitchen. She removed the lid, spooned out a dollop of honey and plunged it into her tea, and hastily slipped the pot under the table between her feet before Ginny's eyes rose once more.
For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the soft, musical clink of cup on saucer. Ginny reached out for a biscuit from the platter provided by Hermione. Tossing her long, red hair aside with a graceful flick of her head, Ginny took a delicate bite before raising her cup again. Hermione's hand was cupped unobtrusively over the lid to the honey pot, concealing it from view as she waited for an opportunity to slip it under the table to join its companion. The moment Ginny's eyes fell onto the contents of her cup --
"You know," Ginny said casually, her cup hovering an inch from her lips, "I've seen you dipping honey from that pot a hundred times, yet it's always full to the brim. Where did you get it?"
Ginny's soft brown eyes smiled as she sipped deeply from her cup, and Hermione was relieved that Ginny appeared to have taken no offense at her mother's prize recipe being altered in this manner (as Molly almost certainly would have).
"Harry gave it to me," Hermione said as she selected a biscuit from the assortment on the platter and nibbled at it almost absently. "For our one-week anniversary. It's really some wonderful Charm-work, and I told him so. I've been taking honey in my tea for ages, and he said he'd see to it that I never ran out."
"Now that's the kind of husband I'm holding out for," Ginny declared. "Mum always says nothing's too good for her only daughter. And truth be told, I am quite the catch, if I say so myself. Poise, charm, grace..." She ticked these off on her fingers, from the smallest on up. She stopped when she reached her index finger, which, paired with her thumb, was still holding the half-eaten biscuit. She regarded this object momentarily with a sort of exaggerated awe, as if its presence were something entirely unexpected -- then, to Hermione's astonishment, she proceeded to stuff the whole into her mouth, smacking her lips loudly. She followed this with an energetic gulp of tea, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand in a frighteningly accurate burlesque of Ron, and said brightly, "And, of course, manners." She winked at Hermione, who nearly sprayed the biscuit platter with tea as she burst out laughing.
"I'm so glad you came over today, Ginny," Hermione said gratefully. "You always seem to be my personal Pepper-Up Potion whenever my spirits need a lift."
"What are sisters for?" Ginny replied sincerely.
"I really hope things work out between Ron and Luna," Hermione said earnestly. "For her sake as well as Ron's. It's been only her and her dad for so long now. Having you for a sister and Molly for a mother would be wonderful for her. I'm lucky enough to still have both of my parents, of course. But Luna and I both grew up without any siblings, and I honestly can't tell you what it's meant to me having you in my life these last seven years."
"I feel the same way," Ginny said warmly. "Having nothing but brothers for so long, I never knew what I was missing until that first Summer you came to stay at the Burrow, right before I started at Hogwarts. I was so scared, not knowing if I'd be good enough, what with Bill having been Head Boy and Percy flashing his prefect badge like it was the Order of Merlin. And who could I talk to about it? Not my brothers, certainly. And Mum? Well, she'd have tried to understand, of course, but I really don't think she remembers just how frightening your first year at school can be.
"And then you turned up, and suddenly I knew everything was going to be alright. I couldn't put it into words then -- I'm not sure I can now -- but as I look back on it today, that was one of the turning points in my life. Bigger even than Tom Riddle, I think. I mean, it was no lark being possessed by Voldemort -- " Ginny gave the slightest hint of a shudder, her smile flickering momentarily, " -- but in the end, he was just a shadow...a bad dream that came and went. But I knew, somehow, that you'd be a part of my life forever...that I'd finally found the sister I always wanted.
"Of course," she added slowly as her cheeks began to glow with the famous Weasley blush, "there was a time when I thought we might actually become sisters -- as in, sisters-in-law."
"You never!" Hermione said through a scandalized grin. "You seriously thought that Ron and I -- "
"Well, not seriously, no," Ginny admitted with a chuckle. "I guess you could say it was more of a double-edged fantasy. See, I reckoned if you and Ron took up, that would leave Harry for me. I did rather fancy him then, I hardly need tell you. Bloody hell, I still can't believe I sent him that embarrassing singing valentine..."
"His eyes are as green as a fresh-picked toad," Hermione warbled throatily in a dead-on imitation of the singing dwarf who had literally sat on Harry bodily to deliver his musical message in their second year (Ginny's first).
"Stop it!" Ginny shrieked, her indignation quite undermined by an uncontrollable fit of the giggles. "I'm warning you! Just because I haven't used the Bat-Bogey Hex since school doesn't mean I've forgotten how!"
Hermione laughed so hard that she kicked over the forgotten honey pot, which was still sitting (uncapped) under the table following her unsuccessful attempt to conceal its presence from Ginny. She snatched it up, though not before a small puddle of honey had spilled out and onto the braided throw rug under her feet. Hermione set the pot on the table, pointed her wand down and said, "Scourgify!" The spilled honey vanished. As she moved to replace the self-sealing lid, a soft bubbling sound was heard as the pot re-filled itself to the very top. Ginny observed this with interest before lifting her eyes up questioningly toward Hermione.
"I still don't know how he did it," Hermione answered Ginny's unspoken query as she regarded the re-filled pot with a dreamy smile. "One of these days, I'll find the answer."
"You do know," Ginny said with a soft smile, "that there's never been anyone for Harry but you." Hermione looked up, her eyes glowing like soft, dark jewels. "After Luna and I became mates, she told me all about Cho. It was obvious that Harry only fancied her for her looks. He never really knew the real Cho. Once he finally saw past her outer shell, there was no contest. But he had to learn the hard way, didn't he? Boys only look at the outside straight off. It takes them a while longer to see past the oyster to the pearl inside.
"But for her part, Cho was never fooled. She saw the connection between you two straightaway. So did Krum. Funny, but it never occurred to him at the start that Harry hadn't spotted what he'd seen all along. But he was older, so I suppose he'd already learned what Harry had yet to learn. But he knew your heart, Krum did. And he knew that Harry wouldn't stay a stupid, blind prat forever.
"And Ron?" Ginny sighed almost mournfully. "Well, he was in flat-out denial for years, wasn't he? But he was never fooled...not really. We all saw it, Hermione. Easy as spotting a giant in a roomful of house-elves. You and Harry."
Ginny leaped across the table, her eyes fastening on Hermione's.
"I don't know what's behind Harry's absences, luv. But I won't believe that he's doing anything wrong, or hurtful. Not without proof -- more proof than an unnaturally tidy hairbrush, at any rate."
"So, what should I do?" Hermione asked in a small, almost pleading voice. Her eyes had left Ginny's as she concentrated almost imploringly upon the honey pot cupped in her hands, as if seeking comfort and reassurance from its familiar feel.
"Do what you always do." Ginny reached across the table and tapped her finger emphatically against the smooth side of the honey pot. Hermione looked up to see her friend's mouth twitching with the merest suggestion of a smile, her soft brown eyes challenging. "What did you just tell me you were going to do about this?" She tapped the side of the honey pot again, underscoring her question.
"I said," came Hermione's almost breathless reply, "that I'd find the answer."
"Right," Ginny nodded sharply. "All through school, no one was better than you at finding answers to questions. Use that marvelous brain that netted you all those O.W.L.'s and N.E.W.T.'s. The post-owl has dropped a mystery into your lap. Solve it."
Hermione sat very still for a few moments before her lips, heretofore pressed into a taut line, curved into a mirror of Ginny's knowing smile. She gave a short nod, and Ginny's smile widened triumphantly.
The seed of a plan was germinating in Hermione's brain even as she bade Ginny goodbye and watched her Disapparate back to the Burrow. Banishing the Apparation Chest back to the mantel, Hermione set her and Ginny's cups, saucers and spoons on the now-empty biscuit platter and carried them into the kitchen. Placing them in the sink, she did not draw her wand, but turned on the tap and began to wash them very slowly and methodically, Muggle-fashion.
Having grown up in a Muggle home, Hermione was no stranger to household chores performed without benefit of magic. In fact, she had found over time that certain ritualistic tasks bestowed a sort of calm detachment in which body and mind acted independent of one another. As her hands skillfully cleaned and put away china and silver, her mind was humming like the well-ordered machine it had been for as long as she could remember. There had never been a problem she could not solve by applying simple reasoning, common sense, and organization. Ginny was right. This was just another homework problem or O.W.L. question to be solved. So long as she considered it in that light, she knew she could trust her mind to find the answer. And, indeed, she found upon reflection that she needed to view this situation in a clinical, detached manner. To do otherwise, she realized with a suppressed shudder, might well reduce her to a trembling mass of protoplasm treading dangerously close to hysteria.
Thus, locking her emotions fast with a sort of ethereal Colloportus Charm, Hermione detached her mind from her body, freeing her thoughts to soar beyond the confining walls of the kitchen like a bird on the wing. As her hands worked mechanically, washing and rinsing the cups and saucers with unhurried care, her eyes stared intently through the small window over the sink, fixing on the blank surface of the high fence surrounding the small back garden. There was a time not too long ago when that wall had been obscured by all manner of flowers and shrubs and assorted verdure. It now shone stark and bare, the back garden having fallen into a state of neglect in direct proportion to Hermione's increasingly busy work schedule. Using the fence like a telly screen, Hermione imposed the images flickering in her mind onto the sun-dulled wood, where they came alive in a manner so as to allow her to audit her thoughts from the perspective of an unbiased observer. In this detached manner, she examined her dilemma from every angle, separating minute details from surrounding dross much as a beachcomber would sift grains of sand for hidden treasure. By the time the last cup was dried and replaced on its hook in the overhead cupboard, a fully formed plan was imprinted on Hermione's brain, ready to be implemented.
Wasting not a moment, she dashed into her and Harry's bedroom, emerging a minute later with her old Hogwarts school bag slung over her shoulder. Having been her constant companion for seven years, the worn but still sturdy satchel now served her in her Ministry job in lieu of a standard briefcase. Hermione patted the bag with an affection reminiscent of that which she once lavished on the now departed Crookshanks. Adjusting the strap on her shoulder for optimum comfort, she approached the hallway mirror and, catching up her brush, essayed the delayed task of taming her wild hair before venturing forth on her mission of discovery.
"Sleekeazy's would do wonders for your condition, my dear," the mirror said, repeating a mantra of which Hermione had long since wearied unto exhaustion.
"I'm off to Diagon Alley," Hermione said in a casual voice. "And when I've finished my business, I think I'll pop into the furniture shop and look over their selection of mirrors." As Hermione tugged the brush forcefully through her hair, her lips compressed into a thin, hard line, the mirror gave a dignified sniff but otherwise declined reply.
Nodding at her reflection with something less than satisfaction, Hermione moved to place the brush on the table beneath the mirror. She paused, surveying with a frown the cluster of brown hair tangled in the brush's bristles. She drew her wand, pointed it at the brush and said, "Evanesco!" The hair vanished. She set the brush down slowly, staring intently at the empty bristles. She closed her eyes as her mind reverberated, It's not what you think. It's not what you think.
But another voice, echoing deep in the recesses of her mind, countered: But what if it is?"
"No," Hermione said aloud. "I won't believe it. Not until..."
She left the thought unfinished. Turning away from the mirror, she glanced through the doorway to the corner where her desk sat with its neat, ordered stacks of parchment, capped bottles of varicolored inks, and precise rows of quills in guages varying from bold to razor-thin. Nothing was ever out of place in any area Hermione claimed as her own. Organization was the watchword by which she lived. Lying precisely in the center of her desk blotter was the scroll that was her Ministry report. Though she had not gone into the office today, this was by no means a skive-off day. The atmosphere here at home was more conducive to organized thought than the Ministry, what with people passing from office to office, Interdepartmental memos zooming hither and yon, and various other disturbances that popped up in the course of a normal day. It was Hermione's standard practice to retreat to her homely corner to fashion reports such as this one in an atmosphere free of distraction. Even with her having had to start over following Harry's unexpected display of husbandly affection, the report was now done and ready to present to Madam Bones. The head of MLE was expecting the report tomorrow morning, but it was not out of character for Hermione to finish an assignment early. Everyone agreed that the Ministry's newest addition would go far in her chosen field, perhaps as far as the Minister's chair itself.
But, uncharceristically, Hermione did not enter the parlor to take up her report for delivery. If she felt guilty over this slight dereliction, it was only a shadow of what she was feeling in regard to the mission she was about to undertake. Clearing her mind, she cast her thoughts out until a clear image of the winding pavement of Diagon Alley appeared, as vivid as if she were viewing it through her kitchen window. A relieved smile spread across her face as she saw that the rain that had cast its pall over Godric's Hollow all week did not extend as far as London. Dispensing therefore with umbrella or macintosh, Hermione concentrated. Her body leaping forward to join her outstretched consciousness, she Disapparated with a soft "pop." When she opened her eyes a moment later, she was standing before the white marble facade of Gringotts Wizarding Bank.
She walked up the polished steps with purposeful stride and entered, the uniformed guardian bowing her inside. She quickly found an unoccupied goblin, stepped up to his station and said pleasantly, "Potter vault, please."
"Your key?" the goblin inquired as he set aside his quill and capped his bottle of ink.
Hermione produced the duplicate key Harry had given her on their wedding day almost one year ago. He had, in fact, offered it to her the day he proposed, drawing it from the same pocket from which he had produced the magnificent engagement ring he had placed on her finger only moments before.
Hermione had quietly declined to accept the key then, preferring to wait until she had the unquestioned legal right to claim her fiancee's "worldly goods." The pain that had appeared almost immediately in Harry's eyes then had been manifest, and as that memory flooded her thoughts now, Hermione began to doubt the validity of this first phase of her greater endeavor. Nor did staring at the diamond on the third finger of her left hand, its polished facets glinting in the torchlight, serve to strengthen her faltering resolve.
But before these nifflers of doubt could erode the walls of her defenses to the crumbling point, the goblin was pushing her through a doorway and into one of the self-propelled carts which bustled the bank's many and varied patrons through the endless miles of underground passages to the treasure vaults hidden far below the streets of London. Her mind a jumble of conflicting thoughts, Hermione found herself lurching to a halt before her destination in what seemed mere moments (though she knew from experience that it was a journey of many minutes' duration).
Climbing from the now motionless cart on unsteady legs, Hermione inserted her key in the lock and turned it. The door opened noiselessly on well-oiled hinges, and she entered while the goblin waited beside the cart, an indifferent scowl on his face as he scrutinized a gold pocket watch attached to a chain running to his waistcoat pocket.
In her brief tenure in the Magical Law Enforcement division of the Ministry, Hermione had learned certain basic rules by which the activities of a "person of interest" could be determined in situations where solid evidence was lacking. In cases where money was a factor, whether giving or receiving, the rule was simple: Follow the golden trail. If there was any foundation at all to Hermione's suspicions, then the logical place to begin her journey was here at her and Harry's vault.
The contents of their vault -- a small fortune in gold Galleons, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts -- varied only marginally from that which Harry had found on his first trip to Diagon Alley (in the company of Hagrid) more than eight years ago. It was true that Harry (or Molly Weasley, acting on his behalf) had found it necessary to withdraw some small portion of his inheritance any number of times during his seven years at Hogwarts, which necessarily depleted the vault's contents to a certain degree. But since their marriage, both Harry and Hermione had made regular (and occasionally substantial) deposits, including Harry's generous signing bonus from the newly-formed Darbyshire Dragons of the British Quidditch League, augmenting their savings to an aproximation of its former, pre-Hogwarts state.
They would need every Galleon they could save, and then some, if they were to realize their dream of someday owning a proper home. The wizarding world being but a scattering of islands in a vast Muggle sea, secure housing in a venue apart from unwanted scrutiny was a costly commodity, the price of which was rising steadily year by year. Moreover, the goblins who administered the affairs of the only wizarding bank in Britain were far more circumspect than their non-magical counterparts when it came to lending money. A witch or wizard wishing to acquire any sort of living accomodations must be prepared to offer up fully half of the purchase price before the bank would consider supplying the balance. Sirius had offered to provide the needed sum from his own vault, but Harry would have none of it. He was determined to make his way in the wizarding world on the strength of his own acumen, abetted by hard work, and accepting no help save that of his wife. Hermione applauded her new husband's independence, vowing to make whatever sacrifices were required in support of their life's goal. Thus, the newlywed Potters agreed that, by depriving themselves of certain luxuries for a time, they would be able to amass the necessary down payment for their Dream House all the sooner. When that happy day finally arrived, the victory would be all the sweeter for that they had earned it together.
But one aspect of the Potter vault had changed dramatically since Harry's bachelor days. Gone were the untidy piles of uncounted coins which had met Hermione's disapproving eye upon her first visit in her new capacity as Mrs. Harry Potter. A silent vow made that day (exclusive of the one spoken aloud at their wedding) was fulfilled upon their return from their Caribbean honeymoon, which results Hermione surveyed now as she entered the unlighted chamber and conjured candles with a wave of her wand.
Spread out upon three wooden tables were row upon row of drawstring bags, each color-coded and neatly labeled with its contents. The surface of each table had been divided into numbered squares, in fashion not unlike a chessboard, the chief difference being that each row contained ten squares instead of eight.
Upon the first table sat neat rows of bags the size and color of small pumpkins. Each of these bags contained 493 Knuts. This sum was further divided into 17 smaller bags of 29 Knuts each, all contained within the larger bag. Each orange bag represented, therefore, 17 Sickles, or one Galleon.
The bags occupying the second table were roughly half the size of those on the first table, and were a pale grey in color. These contained 170 Sickles, internally divided into ten bags of 17 Sickles each. Thus, each bag was the equivalent of 10 Galleons.
The bags arranged in crisp rows upon the third table were smaller still, though only marginally so. They were of a butter yellow and contained 100 Galleons each, in groupings of 10.
Hermione smiled with satisfaction as she surveyed the results of her organizational skills. Before the implementation of this system, it had been next to impossible to track the comings and goings of monies flowing in and out of their vault. Wizards, Hermione thought, clucking her tongue. If logic and common sense were currency, some of them wouldn't have the price of a cup of tea.
Shaking her head, Hermione opened her school bag and withdrew a small square of folded parchment. She unfolded it and spread it out until she could read the figures thereon (all neatly inscribed in her own hand). This was her and Harry's personal ledger sheet. Neither of them made a deposit or a withdrawal without the exact amount being recorded in the same permanent ink used by the Ministry for all of its important documents (the same ink with which her twice-written report had been rendered).
Feeling her heartbeat increasing by the moment, Hermione surveyed the three heavily-laden tables, comparing the evidence of her eyes with the figures on the document. She sighed with relief to see that all was as it should be. Every bag of carefully counted coins was accounted for. Hermione felt a great weight slide from her shoulders. If Harry were doing anything along the lines of her suspicions, he could not proceed without funds. Polyjuice brothels were as costly as they were despicable, and even the fame of the hero of the wizarding world would not serve in place of hard coin where these low women were concerned. Laughing inwardly at her own foolishness, Hermione folded the parchment and turned to exit the vault. But in the course of turning, her eyes swept the left-hand wall of the vault -- and she froze as if struck by a Stunning spell.
Attached to the wall by means of a Sticking Charm was a large, flat square of parchment. Hermione stood rooted to the stone floor, her eyes fixed on the document before her. She felt her blood suddenly run cold. Very slowly, she unfolded the parchment in her hand and held it up beside the larger one. Her eyes ran up and down the columns of numbers, comparing the figures on the two sheets. This she did three times, hoping with each new viewing that she had somehow been in error. But she had known from the start that she had not been mistaken.
The figures on the two sheets did not match.
Hermione stared at the large sheet with a mixture of confusion and trepidation. The sheet hanging before her was an enlarged counterpart to the ledger in her hand, but with a critical difference. In order to ensure an exact tally of funds, Hermione had placed a Protean Charm on the vault, linking its contents to the ledger sheet on the wall. Any change in the former was automatically recorded on the latter in bold, indelible script. It was fine-tuned to a degree that, should she take a Knut from her pocket and drop it on the floor, the sheet would instantly record the increase to the vault's assets.
Hermione had intended to extend the Charm to the smaller sheet, only to be reminded by the goblins that the many protective spells guarding the Gringotts vaults rendered such an extended link impossible. Thus, whenever she or Harry made a deposit or a withdrawal, it was necessary for them to enter that transaction upon their personal ledger by hand. It would never have occurred to Hermione that the figures on the two sheets would not match. In her haste to prove Harry innocent (and herself a foolish worry-wart), she had trusted to the sheet in her hand, giving no thought to comparing the smaller sheet with the larger one.
Hermione approached the third table bearing the yellow bags of neatly sorted Galleons. According to the sheet in her hand, there should be five rows of ten bags each, totaling five thousand Galleons. That was the figure written on the small sheet which Hermione now held so tightly that her knuckles showed white; moreover, that was the sum to which her eyes now bore witness.
But that total was not reflected on the larger sheet hanging on the wall. What had gone wrong? Had she made an error in casting the Protean Charm?
No. She reviewed the elements of the spell in her mind, ticking off the steps one by one. This was hardly the first time she had employed this spell; though it was N.E.W.T. level, she had mastered it early in her fifth year, making good use of it in the formation of the D.A. under the nose of Professor Umbridge. It had served her flawlessly then, and she was absolutely certain that her spellwork here had been equally flawless.
Could the Gringotts security spells be interfering with Hermione's spell? She shook her head. She had spoken directly to the chief security goblin before beginning the complicated process of casting the Charm, and he had assured her that any spell cast inside the vault would not affect, nor be affected by, those in force outside the vault.
Then what was the answer?
Hermione suddenly recalled Ginny's admonition to her earlier that day. The post-owl has dropped a mystery into your lap. Solve it.
Hermione walked slowly back and forth between the enchanted parchment and the Galleon table. Logically, if the spells outside the vault were not affecting the ledger, then the only answer that seemed to fit was that another spell had been cast inside the vault. Pushing from her mind the thought of who had cast that spell (who apart from herself and Harry had a key to their vault?), Hermione addressed the more significant problem of determining what kind of spell had been performed. Had it been cast over the enchanted parchment, or over the vault itself so as to fool the parchment into reflecting something other than what was? Magical objects could be hoodwinked by a powerful wizard -- Barty Crouch Junior, in the guise of Mad-Eye Moody, had Confunded the Goblet of Fire into forgetting that only three schools were participating in the Triwizard Tournament, allowing Harry's name to be entered (also by Crouch) under the name of a fourth school. Had Hermione's Protean Charm been likewise deceived?
But speculation was pointless. Hermione preferred to act. Drawing her wand, she waved it slowly around the vault. In her Advanced N.E.W.T. Charms class at Hogwarts, she had learned a variety of spells designed to detect the presence of magic. These were but one means of many employed by the Ministry's Improper Use of Magic office in the interests of monitoring underage wizardry. Hermione had long suspected that an umbrella of such spells had been cast over Number 4 Privet Drive, alerting Mafalda Hopkirk to Harry's occasional outbursts of magic, as when he had lost control during the holidays preceding his third year and inflated his Aunt Marge to the size of a weather balloon. (It had likewise detected the Hover Charm cast by Dobby, for which Harry had been unfairly blamed.)
With the passage of time, traces of lingering magic would dimish to a point where detection became almost impossible. But if this spell were still fooling the Protean Charm (as evidenced by the differing figures on the two parchments), it was still active and would prove no match for Hermione's counter-spells. Prodding her wand with silent commands, Hermione probed the confines of the vault for the spell that her reason told her must be present.
And there it was -- the unmistakable signature of a spell -- a Transfiguration spell!
This revelation put a new tail on the unicorn. Being in the employ of the seat of government for all of Great Britain, Hermione well knew that it was a serious breach of wizarding law to Transfigure common substances into precious commodities like silver and gold. These metals were valuable only because they were scarce; if gold were as common as the cobbles paving the streets of Diagon Alley, it would likewise be worth no more than those common stones and therefore have no value as a medium of exchange. One of the numerous spells infusing Gringotts was a Charm that would reveal if gold brought in for deposit had been conjured by magical means (this had been implimented following Ludo Bagman's attempt to pay off a debt to some goblins in Leprechaun gold following the Quidditch World Cup). Anyone caught trying to pass Transfigured gold at Gringotts would quickly find himself passing time in a cell in Azkaban.
But, as with most laws, whether wizard or Muggle, this one was not without loopholes. A wizard was allowed to Transfigure silver and gold in limited qualtities as long as he was not intending to introduce it into the wizarding economy. Weathy families like the Malfoys commonly ate off gold plates and drank wine from silver goblets, all wrought by their own magical skills in tribute to their inflated egos. (These differed vastly from the goblin-forged silver goblets owned by Sirius, which were worth far more than the metal of which they were composed.) If these families did not attempt to sell such items, they were at liberty to surround themselves with the wealth of Midas if it struck their warped fancy.
Therefore, if someone (Hermione still would not attach a name to the spell-caster) had Transfigured a base metal into gold inside the vault, it would not be a transgression of the law -- nor would it be detected by the bank's security spells, which did not penetrate beyond the outer boundaries of the vault. But it had not been sufficient to bamboozle Hermione's Protean Charm. Her enchanted ledger knew the difference between natural gold and the Transfigured variety.
Her path now clear, it was with a sense of inner pride that Hermione summoned forth another spell from her school days. Harkening back again to the era of the false Mad-Eye Moody, Hermione recalled the day when Draco Malfoy had attacked Harry behind his back -- only to be seen by "Moody" and promptly Transfigured into a snow-white ferret as punishment for his cowardly act. Professor McGonagall had appeared a minute later and set Malfoy to rights with a counter-spell. Employing that spell now, Hermione waved her wand over the contents of the Galleon table, producing a sound like a whip-crack. Giving the table an appraising look, Hermione saw that no difference had been wrought to the naked eye. But whatever lay unseen in one or more of those yellow bags had now been restored to its original state.
Hermione now began to search her mind for another spell, one which she remembered from her N.E.W.T. exam. It was a variation on the Vanishing Charm, designed to separate elements mixed at random. If, for example, one had accidentally poured the wrong ingredient into a beaker to produce an unwanted solution, the spell could be fine-tuned so that only the offending substance would be vanished, leaving the original contents unaltered. Gringotts goblins likewise used spells of this nature to ferret out counterfeit coins -- those composed of metals other than silver and gold -- from genuine Galleons and Sickles with which they might be intermingled to forestall detection. If she could remember the spell (it was very complex, worthy in itself of the Outstanding N.E.W.T. she had earned in Advanced Charms), she intended to employ it in the same manner as the goblins. Turning the pages of her memory one by one, Hermione at last found that which she sought. Fixing the words in her mind, she waved her wand in a complex pattern over the table before her. She completed the action by flicking her wrist so that her wand whipped the air with a crisp snapping motion. There was a sharp report, louder than the first had been, the sound magnified within the confines of the vault. Her ears smarting, Hermione blinked hard. When she opened her eyes and surveyed the table, she gasped.
As Hermione had known in her heart from the beginning, the parchment on the wall had not lied. The contents of the table had altered dramatically. The entire back row of bags had effectively vanished -- the bags remained, but they were now lying flat and empty, their contents magically vanished. Hermione gaped at the four rows of butter-yellow bags that a moment before had been five, realizing the terrible truth:
One thousand galleons had gone!