Almost an entire day with the bank's doors closed had put the Ministry into quite a state of shock. To preserve the security of their plans what limited floo access there was had been blocked up so that no word about what was happening would spread beyond the bank's triple double doors… but something wasn't right.
'Had Bankor said something when he flooed to inform them that I'd be arriving?' Barchoke wondered, and not for the first time, but he doubted it more each time he thought it. Bankor had been in charge of the crowds that morning and had stood strangely resilient - polite, yes, but still resilient to demands.
The Ministry had been like a vat of molten gold when he had stepped through the floo, the dross of the Goblin Liaison Office swarming around him like impurities bubbling up to the surface ready to be scraped off. Perhaps that had been why the foul Umbridge woman had shown up at the bank; there was no one who matched the definition of an impurity more than her.
All goblins knew of her - everyone who wasn't strictly human knew of her if they had the tiniest bit of intelligence - and the measures she's taken to make life more difficult. There had long been disgruntled voices saying they should end all dealings with her if she made any more moves against them. Regardless of her position in the Ministry or how it might strain the relationship between the two peoples, Barchoke was hard-pressed not to agree with them. They had been rolling over for wizards for far too long.
Impurities had their uses though; if you knew what you were looking for they could tell you everything you need to know. Gringotts maintained a gold purity standard of ninety-nine point nine five percent. Point nine nine was possible, and even achieved in the smelting process, but they added their own distinct impurities back into the mix; impurities never found in any smelting process ever devised or gold vein ever discovered - none they knew of at least.
While their knowledge of magic was severely limited, their records were clear about some things: alchemical gold was either pure dreck - the result of mixtures made by charlatans using concentrated urine to dye lesser metals to look like gold - or they were absolutely, positively, one hundred percent pure, there was no in-between. That was how they would prove what was real and what wasn't: impurities.
The Umbridge woman had run off and given the Minister of Morons an earful of how "disrespectful, insolent, and seditious" they had been at the bank. Perhaps he should thank her, just to infuriate her more; it had guaranteed him an immediate meeting with the man after all. Perhaps it was hearing of the "outrageous action against her" that kept the Minister so calm; the calm of a warrior on his toes. Strange the man had always seemed so blundering and flat-footed before, but he was not the only one who had changed.
Umbridge had expected to see him cower and quake, to stammer his apologies for them treating her so, and to tell them all he knew. Bankor might have done it yesterday had he been here, but it would not be coming from him today. She had not been pleased to have been sent away like a cart operator before an Overseers' meeting either, but he had the leverage here and he would only speak to the Minister himself. It was astounding how one good merger could change a goblin's perspective. They should have done it years ago.
The wizard he had been stuck with had proven so ignorant it was astounding. Perhaps he should stab Umbridge instead of thanking her, only he had left his dagger in his desk because even having it wouldn't send the right message. Cornelius Fudge had never once thought about where gold came from, why it was valuable, why having more was a problem, or the fact it wasn't found as coins. For one brief moment Barchoke thought it might've gone better with her still there, just so she'd know how deep the dragon dung she had stepped in really was, but she was such a contrarian she would have just called him a liar and demand he say it wasn't true.
"-We've recalled our overseas operatives who're qualified for the task and will be briefing them this afternoon," Barchoke said, detailing the finishing touches of the Gringott's gold-integrity plan. "With luck, before long they will come up with a faster method of determining whether any of the gold we have has been artificially created," he tried to give a reassuring smile there; he didn't feel that successful at it. Even with luck they still may be checking impurities for the better part of a year, if not longer.
He wondered where all the artificial gold created during Flamel's Famous Folly had actually gone. The records they had were mostly silent on it. It had been split up and distributed around Europe, that much was clear, but what had Gringotts done with their share? Surely the I.C.W. would want to know when they arrived. Had they taken the hit on their currency evaluation, melted it down, and mixed it into their own supply or had they done something else?
Barchoke remembered all the tiny touches of gold that could be found around Gringotts if you knew where to look. The gilding on chairs and tables, how the tiling on the floor and grooves between slabs of marble were all filled in with tiny amounts of gold, even the better sconces and lighting on the upper levels were made from it - perhaps that's where all that created gold had gone. He would have to have them check.
Still, checking impurities for years really was lucky when compared to some scenarios that had kept him up last night: tellers passing out leprechaun gold for people to use in their daily shopping and the havoc it caused when it disappeared by the day's end, cart operators exploiting their position to switch cartloads of galleons for fakes without anyone being the wiser, or - Gotts forbid! - their auditor teams opening the most high-wealth vaults only to find them standing completely empty. Even with his secretary beside him it had not been a restful night.
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