Book 1 - James Potter and the Hall of Elders' Crossing

the upper jaw. It slammed down and shattered, producing a cloud of gritty dust and a deafening crash. Mr.
Grey collapsed backward onto the stony floor of the cavern, faint with exertion.
“So what is it?” Mr. Saffron asked, ignoring Mr. Grey’s heaving breaths. “It doesn’t look like it’s
worth a fortune.”
“I never said it was worth a fortune,” a voice said from the blackness behind them. “I merely said it
was enough to take care of you for life. Funny how many meanings a phrase like that can have, isn’t it?”
Mr. Saffron wheeled around, seeking the source of the voice, but Mr. Pink turned slowly, almost as if
he’d expected it. A shape formed out of the darkness. It was draped in black robes. The face was obscured
behind a horrible glinting mask. Two more similarly dressed figures emerged from the darkness.
“I recognize your voice,” Mr. Pink said. “I should’ve known.”
“Yes,” the voice agreed. “You should’ve, Mr. Fletcher, but you didn’t. Your years of experience are
no match for your innate greed. And now it is too late.”
“Wait now,” Mr. Saffron cried, throwing up his hands. “We had us a bargain. Yeh can’t do this!
We had a deal!”
“Yes we did, my goblin friend. Thank you very much for your services. Here is your cut.”
A flash of orange light leapt from one of the masked figures, striking Mr. Saffron in the face. He
stumbled and clutched at his throat, making thick choking sounds. He collapsed backwards, still writhing.
Mr. Grey stood shakily to his feet. “That’s not right. You shouldn’t have done that to Bistle. He
only did what you asked.”
“And we are only doing what we promised,” the voice behind the mask said pleasantly. There was
another jet of orange light and Mr. Grey collapsed heavily.
The three masked figures drifted closer, surrounding Mr. Pink. He looked around at them
hopelessly. “At least tell me what it is,” he said. “Tell me what this thing is that you made us get for you, and
why you made us do it instead of doing it yourselves.”
“Your last question, I am afraid, is none of your business, Mr. Fletcher,” the voice said, circling him.
“As they say: if we told you, we’d have to kill you. That would not be living up to our end of the bargain.
We promised to take care of you for life, and we intend to fulfill that promise. It may not be much of a life,
granted, but beggars cannot be choosers.”
A wand appeared, pointing at Mr. Pink’s face. He hadn’t used the name Fletcher for years. He’d
given it up when he’d given up being a crook. He’d tried so hard to be good and honest. But then he’d been
approached about this job: an inside job at the Ministry of Magic, a job so perfect, with a payoff so grand,
that he simply couldn’t turn it down. Sure, all his old friends in the Order would be disappointed in him,
10