Lady Tonks, Lord Potter

Good people

Depositing the now-useless portkey into the receptacle the witch quickly made her way through the International Portkey station, filled out the endless amount of forms, and still could not believe her luck; she'd actually landed the assignment. All of the other reporters at the American Wizarding Journal had tried to land the job but her editor, through luck or fate, had assigned her. There were a few disparging remarks about her age, but she couldn't help it if she was twenty and got the assignment while the other forty-somethings and those older than her complained. So what if she had only been out of school for a few years? Ignoring the menory she took a calming breath. Consulting her little map before leaving the station she ducked into the bathroom, adjusted her hair and makeup, hoping she looked quite professional, and selected a Floo that read 'Diagon Alley' above the fireplace entrance.

She'd read about Diagon Alley, of course, but the reality of actually being there was something altogether different. Witches, wizards and goblins seemed to be everywhere, popping in and out of the shops, purchasing mementos from little stands from carts alongside the street, but the overwhelming feeling she got from the crowd was one of excitement. The official ceremony wasn't until the weekend, and as it was only Tuesday it appeared that everyone had decided not to wait until the ceremony to celebrate. Making her way down to her destination, Gringotts bank, she stopped and purchased a little rosette from one of the vendors. Instead of something garish like the ones from the Quodpot and Quidditch events the rosette was simply a furl of red ribbon, albeit with a small, black griffon figure in the center. Affixing the rosette to her robe the witch made her way through the streets, pausing to let several children run past, and eventually found herself at Gringotts.

The British Gringotts was nothing like the Gringotts branch in New Orleans; that was simply a normal bank with goblins, normal sized ceilings and furnishings. Gringotts in Diagon Alley was something out of one of the wizarding stories, very grand and imposing. Taking a quick breath she hurried over and stood in the shortest line, waiting patiently but still quite nervous. After what seemed like an eternity she stepped up to the small desk and watched as the goblin peered at her over small spectacles.

"How may Gringotts help you today?"

She cleared her throat. "I'm Enid West, I have an appointment with Effie."

The goblin leaned over the desk and gave her an irritated scowl. "I will let Administrator Ælfgifu know you have arrived. Sit over there, please."

As she hurried over to the seat the goblin had indicated Enid mentally kicked herself; it was common knowlege that Lord Potter's goblin administrator used a nickname, but she'd forgotten and used it instead of the goblin's real name owing to nerves. It was a mistake that she hoped would not come back to haunt her. How could she tell her editor that there was no way possible to write her story on the thirtieth anniversary of the Battle of the Many if she never even got to speak to Potter's goblin advisor? Thankfully, her wait was short, however, and she soon followed a small female goblin through the grand floor of the bank to a small door, up three flights of stairs, down a hallway and soon stood in front of a door, checking and re-checking that she had her enchanted notebook.

"Enter."

As the female goblin left Enid grasped the doorknob, took a deep breath and entered the room.

"Ah, Miss West." The goblin at the desk sat down her quill and smiled at her. "Right on time. Please come in, have a seat. I'll join you in a moment."

The imposing grandeur of the Gringotts lobby had led Enid to believe that her meeting would occur in a similar room; the reality, however, was far different. The office was lit by bright sunlight that entered through what seemed a wall of windows, several plants in pots scattered throughout the far wall, gathering sun. The chair which she was directed to was something more of a squashy armchair that her grandfather loved, and once she sat down she hurriedly took out her notebook and enchanted inkpen. Glancing over she watched, only for a moment, the goblin shuffling parchment about the desk, and took a moment to further look around the room. Behind Ælfgifu's desk was a bookcase filled with objects; books, picture frames, a floating Quidditch snitch in a glass case, and if she was right several pictures that must have been drawn by a child owing to the crayon images. It was a very pleasant, cozy room, nothing like her impressions of the bank.