Chapter 219 - Chain Reaction (1/2)
Most of the guests chattered and happily retired to the Ebony Hotel only a few hours before dawn. But those local retired to their own homes or stayed over with friends and family for the night. A nervous-looking potion master wobbled away as not long after he ran into an alley and began to shake as his face and body began to change into a round fellow with a bushy beard. Tugging on his bowler hat to hide his baldness, Gittins hurries away and apparated near the Monarch pub.
It was snowing rather fiercely and given the rough weather, the Monarch was largely empty at that late hour. Those few patrons that were still there were either half-asleep or passed out in the pub booths. Gittins glanced at the tall, gray bartender who was putting away the glasses and tankards for the night.
Scurrying past the penetrating gaze of the bartender, Gittins wilts under the gazes of Hyde and Floyd. The two burly wizards stare at him with their arms crossed to hastily remove his bowler hat to reveal his shiny crown. Nervously holding is bowler between his hands, he nods at the man before him.
The old weathered man with neatly cut hair in a warm Christmas sweater glances up from his crossword puzzle in the Daily Prophet, and asks, ”Do you know a five-letter word for a magical leopard from Africa?”
”No, sir,” Gittins almost squeaked.
”A Nundu,” Sanderson carefully explained as he filled out the word in his puzzle. ”It's a magical leopard-like creature with a breath so toxic and diseased that it can easily wipe out dozens of villages.”
Gittins loudly gulps as Sanderson adds, ”Why it even takes hundreds of gathered wizards to subdue even a single one of them.”
Finally raising his yellow wolfish gaze, Sanderson says, ”Well?”
”Four wizards left mid-auction and did not return,” Gittins drily said as he apprehensively licked his lips.
”Thank you, you may go now,” Sanderson said as Gittins didn't wait to be told twice, before rushing out the door and into the storm. It was safer out there, to be honest.
”Ye were right boss,” said, the large fore headed wizard, Hyde.
”Of course! The boss is always right,” murmured, the beady-eyed Floyd.
Sanderson didn't reply as he returned to his crossword puzzle. Things were lining up quite nicely now. The goblins were sure to hunt down the thieves effectively closing one more avenue for his unknown enemy to retreat too. And now, what is another fiver lettered name for a creature commonly known as an Asp? Oh, yes, a Viper.
*
Despite the late hour, Grok Gringotts steps into his luxurious, but simply furnished office and slams the door shut locking his attendants and guards out. Ignoring the fine desk with a rather inviting chair, Grok grabs a pinch of sparkling powder and tosses it into the fire. The flames roar green as he shouts, ”Headmaster Albus Dumbledore!” Stepping inside, Grok instantly swirls away to only emerge in a large circular room full of funny noises.
Grok ignores the curious silver instruments that whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. Nor did he bother to glance up at the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames at the late hour. But he did, however, wrinkle his nose at seeing the shabby, tattered wizard's hat– the Sorting Hat. It was quite old and desperate need of a good wash.
Standing on a gold perch a mid-sized chick withers red and golden plumage, Fawkes, the phoenix stared down at him. ”Do you know, where the Headmaster is?” Grok asked as the bird gave a soft chirp. Before Grok can begin to curse the blasted bird, Dumbledore emerges from the headmaster's private chambers hastily tying a fluffy blue moon and starred robe around himself. His long nightshirt peeked over the end, but not enough to cover his boney pale ankles nor the fluffy red slippers he was wearing.
Peering through moon spectacles, Dumbledore tosses his nightcap back and says, ”And how can I help you at this late hour, Grok Gringotts?”
”I'm sure you will be informed in a few hours, but I'd like to inform you in person, Nicholas Flamel and his wife, Perenelle are dead,” Grok firmly said. ”You have my sincerest condolences.”