10 am
Gringotts

What was that smell on the wind?  No just the left of the bat guano and a hair below that breeze of baking pig snouts - yes. That sweet sweet smell.   Was that victory, perhaps? Was that the over indulgent, juicy, obscenely rich scent of rightous utter victory?  Of trampling opponents so soundly they might do well to banish themselves with their own wands?

You know? It might just be. 

Theodora stood on the great granite steps of Gringotts Bank, grinning like a cat.  Her eyes were squinted behind red-rimmed spectacles, a polite close-mouthed smile on her face.  It was a beautiful spring day and good Merlin did it not shine more brightly than the last ten April the twenty-seconds? A darkness momentarily clouded her countenance - there were still many retributions to pay before this was settled.  Retributions paid in humiliation, incarceration and blood.   Her grin returned, suddenly.  Because today she walked the streets of London free.

She lowered her eyes to her leather purse and peered inside.  There were rolls and rolls of heavy gold galleons, and shiny silver sickles, all wrapped in foil sealed with wax.  She'd withdrawn from her accounts which had been covered in the thickest of spiderwebs.  There was much to do to get settled in again.  And all under the watchful eye of the hitwizards who seemed to be constantly tailing her.  She ignored them as if they were only tall ferns.

But what the bloody hell was that? Just there causing such a horrible noise in the street in front of her.

She stomped her way over to the commotion.  "You foul little blaggards are soiling the perfectly picturesque ambiance! Cease this... this... Merlin, what is it that you're doing down there?"

"Watch where you're going, ducky!"

"Blasted hooligans!"

"No, Jillian, it goes through the other end..."

It seemed there was quite a sale going on at Subtle Subliminals; Unfortunately, Marietta wished to travel in the opposite direction of the hordes of homemaking witches.    She wouldn't have minded as much if every step was an effort to move not only her petite frame, but two large bags full of miscellaneous magical items.  While most were needed for research, she was still rationalizing the plum tea set carefully bundled away in her right bag.  A wayward broom handle disturbed her thoughts with its sudden proximity.  She ducked, the stiff handle brushing off the black hat veil sitting atop her head.  Feeling a sudden breeze upon her forehead, Marietta emitted a small shriek as she watched it roll along the alley. 

She scurried after it, wincing from the bright light of the sun.  She could feel its rays itching at her skin, and if not for the hat's immense sentimental value, she would have given up her quest immediately.   The hat seemed to take on an appearance of cruel intelligence, lingering almost within her grasp before a fresh burst of wind sent it toppling along on its upraised brim. She hastened after it, stooping to push through the crowd and keep the small object within her sight.

"OH!"

"MERLIN'S BEARD!"

"BY MOLOCH'S KNICKERS, I SWEAR!..."

Marietta's cheeks reached a bright shade of pomegranate while she mumbled apologies under her breath to those bowled over in her wake.  The sun was breathing upon her neck like a half-crazed velociraptor, and all Marietta wanted was her precious hat back.  Moisture began to form at the corners of her eyes from the frustration.  At the sight of Gringott's white marble steps, she began to involuntarily weep.  Sunshine was beaming off every polished grain, reflecting directly into her retinas.  And there, barely visible through her watery eyes, sat her hat smugly upon the step.   

Marietta lurched forward, flinging herself upon the inanimate object before it decided to run away once more.  Unfortunately the two large bags widened her surface area considerably.  For the two small boys playing jacks unknowingly in front of her hat, the last thing they saw was black fabric flying over head before a large bag on either side knocked them to the step.  They were a heap of legs, arms, shrunken heads and one black hat with veil attached.  Marietta's tears turned to those of joy as, lying on the steps of Hogwarts with two small boys being somewhat smothered beneath her, she placed the sacred hat back atop her head.

"You foul little blaggards are soiling the perfectly picturesque ambiance! Cease this... this... Merlin, what is it that you're doing down there?"

In a haze of newfound contentness, Marietta turned her gaze up to the fierce woman standing before them.  "I caught my hat," she replied, dreamy-eyed, with the smile of a child having just correctly spelled 'Gubraithian.'

Theodora squinted at the raven-haired woman.  "Aren't you clever."

She watched a moment longer as the poor orphan children - well they must be! where were their parents? - pushed themselves out from under the witch's cargo  and walked off looking ruffled and indignant.   She crossed her arms, certainly not going to give the woman a hand up.

"Tell me your name.  If you've fallen at my feet like some serendipitous gift, I might take note of it for prudence's sake.  That is why you're disturbing my peace, correct? You're delivering some omen? Some bit of information I did not even know I wanted to hear?  Speak, witch!"

Her booted foot tapped, and one of her eyebrows reached an almost feverish zenith.  Her fingers itched for the quill and pad wrapped tightly in concealment parchment in her breast pocket.  But without moving her head or wavering an eyeball, she could see three hitwizards who'd been tailing her since the morning.  If she was caught with so much as an inch of hairy sello-tape, Belisario would have all he needed to lock her back up.   

"Come now!" she prompted again.

"Aren't you clever."

"Thank you," Marietta replied as she shifted herself upright.  Fortunately Bourke had sealed the bags for her, preventing a calamitous aftermath from the chase.  The two boys scampered off in a manner that reminded her of her own Elijah.  Instead of playing Cobwebs and Catacombs with the twins, Marietta was left to deal with those society deemed her peers.  At times like today, Marietta dearly missed the Grimlish manor.

"Tell me your name.  If you've fallen at my feet like some serendipitous gift, I might take note of it for prudence's sake.  That is why you're disturbing my peace, correct? You're delivering some omen? Some bit of information I did not even know I wanted to hear?  Speak, witch!"

The idea of herself as a seer was not new to her imagination.  She had often spent long hours in the attic, staring into her sister's crystal ball in attempts to see the future.  Once, Marietta had even smuggled some herbs from her mother's dryings.  The smoke made her pass out, but unfortunately no visions occurred.  It was a bitter disappointment for the young girl, but which passed when it finally happened, if one would call her fantastic dream of her vampire lover a prophecy. 

"Come now!"

Marietta's feet twitched together at the woman's imperial voice.  Trained in instantaneous obedience by her former DoM head, she could feel her back arch slightly as she assumed a drill-like stance.  "Marietta Sofya Grimlish," she haltingly replied, "Born 1972. Scorpio.  99.8 Degrees."  Her arms hung limply to her sides, the bags only two inches from scraping against the marble.  The only movement visible was the slight rise and fall of her chest.  The idea that she might be an omen or gift from the gods was quite intriguing.  She had never thought of herself as such a being, but now she found it to be quite possible.  Afterall, if Psyche could become the goddess of Soul, why couldn't Marietta be a gift to the mortals?

Now what message did she have to deliver?  The hat had been a fortuitous circumstance.  "Regain what is lost," she began, attempting to divine her own circumstances to find the woman's message.  If Marietta was a goddess, then it was she who should be appeased to bring balance.  However, she had already appeased herself by finding the hat.  Digging into her own psyche, Marietta attempted to discover how the goddess gift was feeling.  Furious at her hat! Angry at the sun! 

"Or the Furies shall descend and tear apart the sun!"  Marietta could feel the goosebumps rising upon her covered flesh.  This wrathful goddess thing was all very well, but Marietta felt she shouldn't get too carried away.  She'd hate to be seen as one of the more narcissistic ones.  There should be a sense of morality in her prophecies as well, Marietta decided.  "And floss.  Daily.  Don't let your gums suffer for Ragnarok's sake," she finished, quite proud of her first edict.

At first, Theodora merely regarded this 'touched' woman like she might a person who suffered from acute Dragon Pox - with both physical and psychic distance.  Was crazy catching?  A recent study published by researchers from the Department of Mysteries said no, but Theodora's own observations in Azkaban Prison seemed to contradict it.  Likely the Department of Mysteries' study had been shabbily done - just one of the many things she intended to rectify the moment she took her rightful office.  She'd first have all the Unspeakables wear name tags.  That should clear up much of the confusion down on Level Nine. 

She quickly memorized the information Grimlish revealed and planned to begin a dossier as promptly as possible.

But moments later, Marietta Grimlish was a faucet of omens and tales!  Of sundered suns if she should not find again what she'd lost!  The woman, Seer or not, had confirmed her suspiscions.  If she did not quickly dismantle the current Ministry of Magic and retake her rightful position as Madam Minister of Magic, the world would crumble into a very messy pile of dust, wafting through the cosmos, littering the sky. 

Unacceptable!  Her nostrils flared and her eyebrows neared her browline.  She clenched her teeth and snatched the woman by her elbow.

"Quickly, you bat! Inside!" she hissed and all but hauled the younger witch bodily back into Gringotts bank, with nary a care about any cargo she might lose.   

As soon as they were inside, she veered away from the crowded main hall to a cloistered cubby behind a pillar. 

"What you say is true, whether you know it or not.  And I thank you.  After my very eventful schedule this week I had begun to lose focus.  Miss Grimlish: Take a letter!"

"Quickly, you bat! Inside!"

Without a moment's notice, Marietta found herself being hauled inside the marble halls of Gringott's.  Unfortunately, she lacked the wit to keep her hands tightly wrapped about the bags' handles.  As she flew backwards into the bank, Marietta cast a sad glance over at her abandoned luggage.  "Accio bags," she cried, using her one free hand to grasp the flying objects.  It was a miracle she could balance them as well as stay on her feet. As a goddess, Marietta supposed she was to bristle at such mortal handling, but was still too busy with the mental repercussions  to deal with the physical.  She merely noted to curse the spry elder at a later date.  That in itself was another issue.  What was she goddess of, anyway?

As they hurried behind the pillar, Marietta began to realize what was going on.  Her subject's brutality was merely overexcitement at being the recipient of her prophecy.  And now that she was sequestered in an alter-like niche, she was to be properly praised.  While Marietta wasn't one for ceaseless fawning, she was quite giddy with anticipation.  Perhaps Lucien would hear of her status and come racing back to her!

"What you say is true, whether you know it or not.  And I thank you.  After my very eventful schedule this week I had begun to lose focus.  Miss Grimlish: Take a letter!"

Clutching at her bags, Marietta came to the awful realization that she lacked parchment.  Scrambling for something to write on, Marietta cast a quick sealing charm on the contents before ripping out the side of her bag.  She withdrew her trusty quill and began instantly to set up a formal business letter.  In the midst of her scramblings, she wondered vaguely if perhaps she should be the one issuing letters, and if so, to whom should a goddess address herself?  Halfway through her wondering though, inspiration struck. 

She was the patron goddess of administrations!  It made perfect sense!  Marietta was already employed by the ministry, and she would have hated to give up her fieldwork for goddess-hood.  As a part-time secretarial goddess, she could do both! Marietta could hardly wait to tell her parents. With a giddy smile, Marietta licked the tip of her quill and began to write upon the torn strip of industrial parchment.

It didn't even pass near Theodora's consciousness that Marietta Grimlish, Possible Prophet, might not obey her rapidly.  And that is perhaps how Theodora Kingstreet was such an effective swayer of wills - her own will was so strong! She seemed to cause action by simply believing it must be inescapably true.  And just as Theodora herself soothsayed - Marietta Grimlish whipped out a quill and parchemnt.

"Dear Mr Marc Donnelly," she began to dictate.  The name belonged to an acquaintance of hers from her most recent residence at Azkaban.  They'd parted company in 2004, of course, and they'd spoken very little since.  But Mr. Marc Donnelly would be a very important private contractor  in the coming months during which Theodora would be seeking what was rightfully hers.

"I hope your time since you were a guest of the Ministry of Magic has treated you well.  Last we spoke you had been looking very pale.  I recommend three squares daily and a massage when possible," Theodora continued on, dispensing niceties deftly, as if she was not writing to a blood-thirsty murderer.

She leaned around to inspect Grimlish's work.  She squinted at the handwriting, astonished. 

"Satisfactory!" she was surprised to be able to say.   "Legible! My, you are a formidable woman, aren't you?  Well don't stop - I've got more."

"Marc, please make all haste to London.  I have great need to confer with you about Remembering Day  - I hope you have not already made plans for that week.  I'm afraid my recent schedule has not allowed me the lead time we might normally need for the task I'd like to employ you."

She paused, waiting on Marietta's quill.