"Some sources inside Gringotts Bank insisted Mr Flamel had long ago moved some of his most important possessions to the vaults of Brise-Roc, one of the most secure fortresses of the Goblin race in French territory..." She read aloud.
Well that was not the place she expected to find confirmation of the things she had learnt during the year, but apparently the Daily Prophet sometimes wrote the truth even if it was lost in pages and pages of rumours and slanderous accusations.
The question was now what to do. If Flamel was really dead, then the last person who could have elucidated the Philosopher Stone mystery had disappeared. But seen from another perspective, it was a disaster for Alexandra. The Potter Heiress had hoped to obtain some information on the Philosopher Stone, Dumbledore machinations or any kind of alchemic knowledge, despite the fact Atalanta had not managed to contact Flamel or one of his relatives in the last months. Right now, the little red stone she had had in her possession was useless: unless you counted obtaining grenadine syrup a success. No school book made more than a passing mention of Alchemy, and she had checked the list of books in store at Flourish and Blotts; no manual for Alchemy was sold there. With the reputation of her family in the dirt, going in Knockturn Alley would be the equivalent of killing her reputation in one strike. That just left Gringotts.
She had better hope the Goblins of England and France cooperated better than the non-magical human populations. Otherwise her chance to discover the basics of Alchemy and solve the mysteries of the school year were basically equal to zero. No one had been accepted in this third-class elective in the last fifty years at Hogwarts, she sincerely doubted she would be the lucky one to break this abyssal record of the British school.
Grabbing a piece of parchment, Alexandra began to write a note to Senior Accountant Grimjaw, the goblin managing her vaults. Given that she had had currently four exchanges of owls between her and her bank accountant, she didn't think the dangerous and apparently easily irritable goblin would mind too much if she asked for an appointment. Her message was still written to raise his curiosity just in case she proved wrong, through. Then came the messages for Hermione and Nigel. Alexandra had promised to keep them informed of any new developments, and these news entered this category.
After giving her letters to Atalanta who flew in the late morning at a thunderous speed, Alexandra descended the stairs but had not yet the time to reach the kitchen before being intercepted by her uncle.
"Girl!" Growled Vernon in a voice which would have made the shapeshifter Beorn laugh at an attempt so pathetic to intimidate someone. "We need to talk!"
Her uncle- by all the known deities of the universe how she felt a bad taste in her mouth every time she used this word-had done his best to be more threatening than usual, she quickly noticed. Despite not working on this day or for the rest of the week for that matter, Vernon Dursley was wearing a full grey costume, with the ties, the shoes and everything which went with them for the occasion. He was also bombing his huge torso like an Olympic athlete saluting the crowd before the finals, giving her the strange impression of a huge walrus preparing for a fight.
"And what is the subject of the conversation?" Alexandra asked as civilly as she could.
"In three days, one of my most important potential clients is coming to dinner." Vernon enounced in a tone which made limpid this was THE Day, with a big D, a lot of underlines and in capital letters. "I could very well sign the most important deal of my career. So everything needs to be perfect."
Alexandra could not stop smiling at that declaration. Every year, Vernon had at least twice of these dinners with clients organised, and every year the "biggest career contract was to be signed" came again. In reality, the miraculous contract rarely materialised. Vernon, Petunia and Dudley had a gift to be perfect hosts when they wanted to make the effort, and the repetitions beforehand to do so usually managed to charm their clients for the whole evening, but her uncle was by nature a very unsatisfied man. The month after the dinner, it was downright miraculous if Vernon, Petunia or Dudley were not vilipending the client and the contract, as it had been below the levels of income her uncle and the rest of the Dursleys waited for.
"You will be in your room, making no noise and pretending you're not there." Continued Vernon.
"Like I'm supposed my whole life you mean?" Replied Alexandra. "Don't bother, uncle. That was what my teacher at school qualified in the rhetorical questions category." She said as Vernon turned a violet colour and seemed ready to launch of his angry tirades he was known for.
"You don't have to worry," she added rapidly, as Vernon Dursley was now shaking in rage and fury. It was only a moment of time before he exploded and screamed murder, unless he had a heart attack before. Somehow, she doubted she would be that lucky. "I have an appointment with someone of my world in two days; if everything goes correctly, I will be gone for at least the rest of the week." She avoided the words 'goblins' and 'magic', knowing it would infuriate him. Alexandra also did not tell a bank was involved or that she would rent a room somewhere in Diagon Alley if Grimjaw didn't want to help her.
The relations between her so-called family and her being awful at the best of times, she wouldn't give them any information they could use against her in the future. The less ammunition anyone bearing the name Dursley had about one Alexandra Victoria Potter, the best it was in her opinion.
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