A crime to outlive him

A crime to outlive him, part 4

As Bellatrix Black was falling over in her death throes, Rabastan and Rudolphus Lestrange were standing in Gringott's, surrounded by suspicious goblins, in the shape of their own father and mother.

(Both elder Lestranges had been dead for some years now. But the secretive Lestrange clan had never seen fit to reveal their fate, and the goblins knew nothing.)

"These," growled the leading Goblin, no longer trying to keep a polite surface, "are very peculiar documents."

"They are, Skendolkey. Which is why we have come down ourselves to deliver them."

"Why would all those wizarding houses have arranged for you to collect their properties or written extensive proxies for you? It does not look natural, and it certainly does not look right."

"Reflect on recent political developments, sir goblin, and you will find that nothing could be more natural."

"Then perhaps the Ministry should be informed."

"Tush, sir, that's arguing in a circle. You have been trying to show that there is something suspicious or illegal about these transactions. So far, you have failed. Without good reason to doubt the legality of our documents, you have nothing to report... what is it? Dearest!" For the person who looked like the elderly Mrs. Lestrange had suddenly keeled over, racked by nasty, dry, shaking coughs, that shook her aged frame like vicious blows. As her supposed husband bent over her, a helpful junior Goblin pushed over a comfortable chair. She sat weakly, with much show of help from her husband. Her claw-like hands reached into her old-fashioned handbag, fumbled, and brought out an opaline jar of potion. She unscrewed the cap... put the jar to her mouth and swallowed... the coughing slowly subsided...

(An excellent way to disguise the taking of Polyjuice.)

The person who wore Old Mr.Lestrange's face now took an air of burning indignation. "Goblin sirs," he said in the polite form of address that had been dead for more than a century, and that even the goblins had forgotten, "you see that my wife is being hurt by all this stress. I have to tell you" - this was said practically with clenched teeth - "that if her health suffers permanently, I will hold you accountable. I will be the one to go to the Ministry then." (Bluff, but effective bluff, since all goblins believed as a matter of faith that the Ministry was biased in favour of pureblood families.) "Meanwhile" - his voice rose in a cracked but effective crescendo - "can we please attend to the business at hand, instead of finding reasons not to?"

The goblin leaders' reply was to jolt from the bundle at a proxy from the Malfoy family, the next documents to acknowledge, and summon the most powerful Truth Test spellcaster on their staff. And that was the end of it: an angry red envelope exploded from the bundle of legal papers, and Lucius Malfoy's voice was suddenly roaring across the building and beyond, demanding to know why the Goblins were faffing around instead of performing their contractual duties. Everyone in the bank building and for a hundred yards outside heard every word.

After that debacle, the goblins became dispirited. They just took in the rest of the legal documents. And that was just as well, because it was among the last few of them that the most delicate ones - carefully faked by the cleverest Death Eaters - were found.

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Like a few other pureblood clans, the Lestranges have a private language, derived from medieval French and wholly incomprehensible to any outsider. It was in this private tongue that Rudolphus and Rabastan addressed each other as they left Gringott's - being careful to move as slowly as hundred-year-old muscles would allow, and to do nothing that did not suggest two old, irritable codgers.

"...and the thing is, the goblins hate the Ministry almost as much as they hate us. They were not going to just call in Scrimgeour. First they will hold a council of war, trying to see if they can find a way to turn this to their advantage. Then, when they come to the conclusion that there is nothing they can get out of that hole, they will send a message to the Ministry. By the time it gets to Scrimgeour, we'll be in France with the loot."

"When do you figure they'll find the fakes?"

"As late as possible, I hope. They'll get very angry then, and I'd as soon be very far away when they do."

"Even so, pardon me, but it just is too good not to laugh!"

"Oh, my Dark Lord, I am with you. When I think of the Chief Goblin's face..." And both Lestranges laughed, as they reached into their pouches for a dose of Polyjuice - charged, this time, not with the figures of an elderly couple, but with that of two of their younger nephews, now safely away at Durmstrang. They hid in a curtained doorway. Within a couple of minutes, two happy teen-agers could be seen practically skipping down Diagon Alley, laughing and making up rude rhymes about the Ministry of Magic and the goblins at Gringott's. Many bystanders smiled at the sight.

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As a matter of fact, it was Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic himself, who discovered the forged documents. He had summoned the leading goblins to a conference, without too much in the way of manners, and demanded to see the evidence. An experienced former Auror, he went through every line with care as his unwilling guests sat around, glum and silent; and it took him relatively little time to identify the fakes. He then proceeded to inform the goblins of what they had done - with great clarity and force.

"...not only are you dishonest, you are a bunch of idiots! Not only did you hope to get some advantage out of keeping the knowledge of this highly significant transaction from us - don't lie, Kannesix, what you did is obvious - but you allowed yourself to be diddled out of a good third of the money to which those villains had no right whatever, and, unless I read the facts very very wrong, out of a mountain of evidence that could have been produced in court!

"It's not as though you hadn't been alerted either. You knew perfectly well that Aurors and other Ministry authorities had given warning about the Death Eater escapees. You just wanted to see whether you could get some advantage out of this. Well, gentlemen, goblins are supposed to be very clever indeed, but I have to say, I never saw such a bunch of stupid and outwitted schemers in all my born days! Have your standards been falling of late?"

The goblins sat under the shower of criticism, silent and sullen. They had earned it; there was no dodging the fact. The relatives of two known Death Eaters had turned up at the bank with a mountain of highly dubious proxies, and demanded to empty nearly thirty accounts, all of persons known or suspected to have been Death Eaters: alarm bells had of course rung. The goblins could not of course refuse to obey legal documents, but they could and should have notified the Ministry immediately, so that the Lestranges could be arrested or pursued. Instead, they had chosen to play a solitary game - and had ended up losing comprehensively, both to the Lestranges and to the Ministry.

"Lord Minister, a word. No doubt we goblins deserve your strictures. No doubt we have done everything Your Lordship says we have. But, my Lord, do we not have more urgent matters to attend to? The Death Eaters are on the run with nearly two tons of gold and any amount of Muggle money, plus the titles to various estates and a number of suspected heirlooms. I and the rest of the Goblins are eager to catch up with them."

"Oh, so are we, Skendolkey. Never doubt that for a second. All the Ministries abroad have been warned, and the Aurors are on red alert. All our resources are committed to finding them."

"That is good, Your Lordship. Even we poor Goblins, in our own small way, are using our own resources for the same purpose. Of course our effort can never match the Ministry's, but..."

Scrimgeour's attention suddenly focused. "Efforts? To what purpose, Skendolkey?"

"Why, of course," retorted the Goblin with an attempt at an innocent expression, "to capture the Death Eaters and confiscate their resources."

"And hand them over to the legal authorities, I hope?"

"Of course, as Your Lordship wants."

"Alive, Skendolkey? Alive and in one piece?"

"As Your Lordship wants. But we would dearly, dearly like a little chat" - and the Goblin's lips drew back to show his sharp triangular teeth - "with the gentlemen who have caused us so much public loss of face."

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"They will not hand them over to us if they ever find them first," said the Minister to the tall, freckled, red-haired young man who had been taking notes in the background, so unobtrusive that even the sharp eyes of the Goblins had barely paid him attention.

"Is that what you think, sir?"

"I would say it's practically a certainty. You have seen their fury. Have them watched, Weasley. If they ever show suspicious patterns of behaviour, investigate them. And keep doing so even if they lead you up the garden path once, twice, three times."

"Sir? Yes, sir."

"Those Goblins want two things: they want the Death Eaters, and they want us not to be there when they find them. So they will set up a few meaningless incidents... start behaving as though they had found something important... only to disappoint our investigators when they find it's nothing to the purpose. So never mind if things seem hopeless, Weasley. They are our best line to the Death Eaters. They will find them before we do."

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Flames rose high in the night from Westerhorne Mansion, marking the last stage of Rudolphus and Rabastan Lestrange's progress through England. They had taken and already conveyed abroad everything that could be salvaged from the wreck of the Death Eater party; and by destroying several of the Death Eaters' homes and mansions, they made sure that what was left could not be used against them. A passer-by saw them grin at each other, then suddenly vanish.