The Heiress

I nearly twisted myself into the ground spinning around to scan the room. I didn't see anything, not even shadows on the wall.

"Fucking hell!"

"Ron, what is it? What's wrong?"

"There was someone here two seconds ago."

I ran to the door and flung it open. I could see the shimmering, crackling energy of the wards around the doorframe. There wasn't any way he could've gotten out that way without my hearing something. I remembered the cup the bloke had held in his hand, and I slammed my fist on the door. A Portkey. Of course. It was probably how he'd been able to get into the room in the first place.

"There was someone else here? Who was it?"

"He said his name was Gregory Whetwistle."

"Whetwistle? As in -"

"Apparently." I walked to her bedside. "I don't know if tonight was the first time he came in, or what, but -"

"I don't think it was." she was shivering a little. "Yesterday, I ... I thought I heard someone speaking to me. Touching my forehead and calling my name."

My face blazed hot enough to heat the room. "Uh, no. That was, um, probably me."

"You were in here last night?"

I nodded.

"And the night before? Doing the same thing?"

"Uh ... yeah."

She broke into a wide smile. "Oh, Ron! That's so -"

"- Bloody idiotic! What are they on about over here?" I raked my hand through my hair and turned my face away. "What's the use of wards if blokes can just Portkey in and out whenever they bloody well choose!"

Her smile faded. "What do you suppose he wanted with me?"

"He was going on about money ..." I began, when I noticed something on the bed. Wedged between the blankets was a folded square of paper. I plucked it out and lit my wand to give it a closer look.

"What is that?"

"A letter, I think, for you. At least I think it's for you." I glanced at her. "It's addressed to 'HARMIONIZE GRAINGER.' It looks like it was made with one of those Muggle machines that makes the letters all the same size."

"May I?"

She took the paper from me and squinted at it. She threw me a look and I got closer, holding my wand up so that she could see better.

"Thank you. Hmmm ... yes, it does seem to have been written with a typewriter or a word-processing machine. Not a very good, one, I'm afraid. The ink is smudged and I can barely make it out."

Hermione looked at it for a minute longer and began to read aloud:

Dear Ms. Grainger,

My name is Gregory Whetwistle. My father, Edward B. Whetwistle Sr., left you the family fortune some years ago. I have been getting very frightening correspondence regarding this fortune. My life has been threatened and there is evidence that my youngest daughter is being poisoned by an unknown source. I must speak with you at your earliest convenience.

Gregory Whetwistle

She turned her face toward me. "His life threatened and his daughter poisoned? That sounds dreadful!"

"He was going on about something like that. Thought I'd been hired to murder him."

"Why in the world would he think that?"

"Er ... no idea. It was rubbish." I decided not to mention the part where I actually had threatened him. It would only confuse her.

I tapped my wand on the paper. "This is probably rubbish, too. 'Gregory Whetwistle' might not even be this bloke's name. He might be some sort of blagger looking to get you to sign away your Galleons."

"The Galleons!" she was shaking again, and I didn't think it was because she was cold. "Ron, what happened down there? Did you get hurt?"

I told her about the hex and what Bill had said, but I didn't mention my leg. Compared to what she'd gone through, it was a fleabite. She seemed shocked to hear about the curse, but not particularly angry or afraid.

"I agree with Bill," she said. "Put in this light, it does seem as if the letter I was sent was a warning of some sort."

"But why not just come out and say the bloody things had a curse on them? Would've driven the point home a little better, don't you think?"

I half-expected some Hermione-esque rebuttal, but she didn't say anything. In another second, I realized she wasn't looking at me, but rather over my shoulder, her mouth falling open in surprise. I heard a shout from the doorway, but before I could turn more than halfway around, everything went black.

~*~

"Rennervate!"

I'd been Stupefied a few times during the war. I'd been caught in the cross-fire the first time, and the spell had rebounded on me the other times. The one thing I noticed about coming out of it was that you remembered everything in a rush. It isn't like being sick and getting your memory back bit by bit or getting hit upside the head and having it all come back to you in fragments. So when I blinked open my eyes and the memory of everything that had happened that night came flooding into my head like a tin of overturned custard, I knew exactly what had happened to me in Hermione's room.

"Oi, Ron, can you hear me?"

I tried to turn my head toward the voice, but I wasn't able to move anything except my eyes. I'd had brushes with Binding Charms, most of them voluntary and rather fun. I could tell I wasn't about to have one of those experiences. I was fully clothed, for one thing, and besides that, it was Harry talking.

"Libero."

I opened my eyes one at a time. I recognised the same little room in St. Mungo's I'd been in when my leg was hurt, but I was in a chair this time, and Harry was sitting on a bed, his chin in his hands.

"D'you think you could tell me why the bloody hell I was called down to St. Mungo's at four in the bloody morning to arrest a trespasser in Hermione's room?"

Harry always sounded a little out of sorts when he was woken up before he'd wanted to be. Though he didn't look particularly tired, which made me think that maybe something else was interrupted. I put that thought out of my head as quick as I could.

"Well, I came down to ..."

"Maybe you didn't hear me," said Harry, his voice getting sharper. "I don't bloody want to know why you were here. I reckon I know what you've wanted my cloak for. And I'd thought that by giving it to you, you'd manage to go about things without getting caught."

"I was just going to say that -"

"- Because the Mediwitch who found you in Hermione's room Stupefied you and firecalled me instead of getting a gang of Aurors down here because she recognised you from the other day. If she hadn't, you'd be in a holding chamber at Headquarters right now."

My head started to pound. I understood why Harry might be upset, but I wasn't exactly overjoyed to be up and about so early in the morning, either. "Fine! Throw me in if you want. If you're not going to listen to me, you might as well!"

I held my hands out so that he could bind them again. Harry just grunted at me, and I put my hands down.

"Thanks. Anyway, I was, uh ... visiting -"

"'Visiting,' as in going into a warded room unauthorised."

"Well, if you want to get specific about it, yeah. And some bloke was in Hermione's room -"

"A bloke." Harry's eyebrows went up. "A mysterious stranger who just happened to appear out of bloody nowhere."

Something about the way he said that made me sit very still. I could see dark shadows underneath his eyes. Maybe he had been sleeping after all.

"Are you saying don't believe someone else was in her room?"

Harry just gave me another one of those searching looks.

"What did he look like? Was he tall?"

"Not really. Medium, I'd say."

"Thin, heavy or what?"

"Thin."

"What sort of hair?"

"Dark. Not much of it, from what I could see."

"What about his clothes?"

I thought for a second. "It was pretty dim in the room, so I didn't really get a good look, but I know he was in Muggle clothes."

Harry shut up and looked at me in silence for a long minute. Getting up, he walked to the door and leaned out.

"Oi, Brock, bring him in."

He stepped aside, and the young bloke, Urdsmore, walked in. Behind him, floating a few inches above the ground and as stiff as a board, was the man who'd been in Hermione's room. His eyes became wide when he saw me.

"That's him," I said, not taking my eyes off his face. "How'd you catch him?"

"We didn't. One of the Mediwitches found him hiding in a broom closet off the main corridor," said Harry. He gestured at Urdsmore to put Whetwistle down, and he landed on the floor with a thud.

"When Brock questioned him, the first thing out of his mouth was that he'd just narrowly escaped being murdered by a man who has been sending him letters and has attacked his family," said Harry. "He described his attacker as being tall and redheaded and threatening to decapitate him within three seconds. He wants to know how he can file a complaint."

"What - oh bugger that, he was in Hermione's room! He used a bloody Portkey! If I hadn't been there, who knows what he might've done."

"Right. But you weren't supposed to be there. That's the problem. I've got two trespassers and one claiming the other was trying to kill him." Harry pointed his wand straight at Whetwistle's head. "Libero lingua."

" ... Er ... hello?" Whetwistle appeared shocked that he was able to talk, but he didn't look too happy when he realised that he couldn't move anything but his mouth. He looked at me and started moving his lips like a ship's rudder.

"That's him! That's him! That's the one who has been threatening my life!"

"Bloody hell, I have not! I don't even know you!"

"Of course you don't! Your kind never knows anything except how to ... to ... shoot to kill!"

"All right, calm down, both of you." Harry put a hand on my arm and shoved me a little toward the back of the room. "Who are you exactly, why were you in Hermione Granger's room, and why do you think anyone is trying to kill you?"

While Harry spoke, I gave this Whetwistle person a good stare. He was in faded Muggle clothing and scuffed shoes, but they hung on him well and made him look less like a mad git and more like the type of bloke who'd had money once and was holding on tight to the memory. I supposed he was about Charlie's age or maybe a little older, and I reckoned on the older side because his wiry hair was pulled so tight over his head that it almost lost the effect of being hair at all. His eyes were small, dark and had all the intelligence of wet rocks. To look at him, you wouldn't think he'd have the sense to put up a Shield Charm if it were raining outside, yet he'd gotten past Hermione's wards with what had to be a pretty sophisticated Portkey.

"Are you an authority of some kind?" he asked Harry. "Is that why you're asking me these questions?"

"Er, yeah. I'm an Auror. So is he." Harry gestured to Urdsmore. "Now, why -"

"Is he an ... what is it? An Hour, too?" Whetwistle was looking at me.

"Auror." Harry and I traded glances. "And no, he's not."

"Fine. If you are what the magical world considers ... police officers or some such, then I shan't say a word until my solicitor is contacted," Whetwistle said. "I am allowed to do that, am I not? I suppose that in the wizarding world, accused criminals have some sort of rights ..."

"Sir, you're in a lot of trouble right now," said Urdsmore. "You were found in possession of an illegal Portkey, which you used to gain unlawful entrance into a warded room. We're giving you a chance to explain yourself. Perhaps you didn't know what you were about, and -"

"I knew perfectly well what I was about," Whetwistle said, sounding offended. "I wanted to get a message to Ms. Granger, and then that madman" - another glare at me - "came out of absolutely nowhere and threatened my life. That is all I have to say at the moment until my wife or my solicitor are contacted. If that is not an option, then I suppose I am at your mercy. I have no idea how your kind treats its prisoners, but I assume it's in a very ... novel way."

"Your kind? In that note you left on Hermione's bed, you said that you were Edward Whetwistle's son," I said. "What's with this 'your kind' bilge? We're wizards."

"You are wizards. I am not," he said, talking through his nose in a way that made me want to punch him. "I am a Squib, as my very dearly departed father was so fond of reminding me. He tossed me out with only a few shillings to my name when I was a boy. I know all too well my heritage, but for all that, I consider myself an ordinary Muggle. I truly have no idea what the laws or customs of the wizarding world are. It simply has been too long."

Urdsmore started to say something, but Harry waved at him to shut it.

"No one here is going to hurt you," said Harry, moving between me and Whetwistle, "but we need to know what it is you want with Hermione Granger. She's here in this hospital under odd circumstances, and we can't take any chances."

"Yes, yes, I know all about what my father did with his money," he said. "I am sorry about that, but I mean her no harm. Far from it! If something happens to her, you see, then there will be no hope for me or my family!"

"You knew about the hex and you didn't report it to the Ministry?" Even from where I was standing, I could see Harry's eyes glinting dangerously. "Practising questionable magic is a crime, and if you knew about it, you're just as guilty as the person who placed the hex in the first place."

"I tried to warn her! My solicitor and I even went to that odd bank that you wizards use with all the trolls, and such."

"Goblins." Harry's frown deepened. "You went to Gringotts and you told them that they had cursed gold in their vaults?"

"Yes! And they turned us out! Even when we showed him my father's letter, they said that since the person in question was deceased and had turned over his fortune to someone else, it was up to the heir - or the heiress, in this case - to order an inventory of the vault."

"Look, Gringotts is pretty strict about safety," said Harry. "If you'd mentioned that they had tainted Galleons, there would have been something done."

"I am only telling you what I was told. Perhaps there has been a change in their procedures. This was several years ago, after all," Whetwistle said. "I do remember that we spoke to a rather disagreeable troll - gobblin, whichever. Quite rude, but I imagine they all are."

That sparked a memory in my brain, and I thought back to something Warren had pointed out when we'd first started researching the vault.

"Harry," I murmured. "A word, yeah?"

Harry gestured for Urdsmore to keep an eye on Whetwistle and followed me to a corner of he room.

"What is it?"

"When Warren and I started looking into this vault, there was a notation on the scrolls that there'd been a dispute."

"What sort of dispute?"

"It wasn't clear," I said. "It could've been anything - someone trying to claim the vault, someone saying that the gold inside of it was stolen ..."

"Or hexed ..." Harry's eyes flashed to Whetwistle for a second. "Gringotts would really not investigate something like that?"

"Without concrete proof, maybe not. Most people who file inquiries are trying to pull one over on the goblins."

"But he said he had proof. His father's will."

"The goblins are a little nafty about what they consider 'proof.' If he really did try to warn them, they would've put down a notation about it in the official record, which they did, and they probably would have tried to contact the owner of the vault to get authorization for an inspection."

Harry thought that over. "And if Hermione was turning away owls from the bank, she might not have known they were trying to contact her to do that."

"Plus, Warren told me that certain Goblins are tied to high-security vaults by Death magic. If they let something bad inside and it's found out, off they go - for good." I bit my lip. "I'd bet anything that Whetwistle talked to Grubkinder. He had charge of that vault, after all, and he'd have the most to lose - literally - if the bank had opened an investigation then and there."

We both stared at each other awhile and then turned to look at Whetwistle again. Harry rummaged in his robes and brought out the crumpled parchment that Hermione had been sent months ago. Unraveling it, Harry stooped and held it in front of his face.

"Did you send Hermione Granger this letter?"

"Of course not. If I'd known where to find Ms Granger, I would have gone to her personally. I tried to get Owen to find out where she was, but -"

"Who's Owen?"

"My solicitor. Please, just let me ring him. He knows just as much about this whole sordid mess as I do. He can corroborate everything I've been saying, and he is a wizard like yourselves."

I could hear Harry gritting his teeth. Then with a curt nod, he directed Urdsmore to free Whetwistle's from the waist up. Whetwistle took a deep breath and shook his hands out the way a person would do if they'd accidentally touched a spider web. Then he took a small metal thing out of his pocket, pressed something on it and held it to his ear.

"Hello? Owen? Greg, here. Yes, sorry to wake you, old chap, but I seem to have gotten into a bit of a jam ..."