Fraternizing With the Enemy

Chapter 4: Sum Up

A soft knock. Ron opened the portrait, seeing Arkinea standing there looking down at the floor, holding an envelope.

“I believe I owe your brothers an apology,” she said, looking up.

Ron looked back into the common room. “It’s for you,” he called to the twins.

As they reached the portrait hole, they waved Ron away. The younger boy moved away, but not out of earshot.

“I came to apologize for my actions the other day,” Arkinea admonished herself. “I had no right to react the way I did.” Holding out the envelope, she added, “I brought this for you.”

Fred hesitated before taking the envelope, saying, “It’s all right. I’d probably have done the same if I had...if I were in that situation.”

“Thank you,” George said.

“Thank you for understanding,” she replied, turning to leave. “I think I will be seeing you soon.”

They watched her go, then turned to their younger brother, waving the envelope at him. George and Ron looked at it expectantly, while Fred ran his hand under the loose flap and extracted a piece of paper fitting perfectly inside. Turning it over, they all exclaimed at the value. Ginny, who had been reading and ignoring them successfully until now, made her way over to their huddle and demanded to know what was going on; when they showed her, she nearly screeched in astonishment.

“What’s going on?” Harry yelled over the Weasleys’ exclamations, having just come down from his dormitory.

“You wouldn’t believe this!” Ron called. “Come look!”

Harry joined the four Weasleys, thinking this must be important if Ginny was here too. She usually avoided her brothers in search of other entertainment. In fact, since they’d started term Harry hadn’t seen her at all until this moment.

“What?” he asked.

No sooner had the word escaped his mouth than a piece of paper was shoved in his face. He spluttered at the sudden obstruction, but took the paper. It was a Gringott’s check with the name Delia Sykon typed at the top. It read: Pay to the Order of Fred and George Weasley; one hundred and fifty thousand galleons; 150,000 g; Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes; Arkinea Sykon.

“Merlin’s beard,” Harry gasped, the unfamiliar phrase coming naturally at the moment.

“I know!” Fred exclaimed. “It’s great isn’t it?”

“We could buy Diagon Alley with this much money!” George cried.

“Don’t get your hopes up, brother,” Ginny said. “Mum’ll demand a share of it, you know that.”

The twins grinned deviously. “Not if she doesn’t know about it,” they sang together meaningfully.

“You two!” their sister cried, exasperated. “All right, I won’t say anything. On one condition.”

“What is it?” George asked sullenly.

“My first purchase is free,” Ginny stated.

“You got it, sis!” Fred replied cheerfully.

“You’re the best,” Ron laughed.

Harry was speechless. Even with all that his parents had left him, he’d never even dreamed of so much money in his life. Well, maybe dreamed, but certainly never seen. And now the family whose youngest son had envied the Potter fortune had a fortune of their own.

Fred and George drug Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Harry all to Hogsmeade the very next day to begin shopping for property. Finding none to their liking there, they spent the next week searching through Diagon Alley, Vertick Alley, Horizon Alley, and even Knockturn Alley, but still found nothing. Finally, and completely by accident, they stumbled upon a For Sale advertisement indicating a small space in Fyne Alley. Upon arriving at the property in question, they learned that the space had been a tearoom run by an elderly lady who had died recently. She had full legal ownership of the property and no heirs, so had requested in her will the specifications of sale, that the place be sold for twenty thousand galleons and all the money go to charity.

“Man, that’s a steal!” Ron exclaimed.

Ginny was suspicious, though. “There’s got to be a catch. It’s dirt cheap but it hasn’t sold yet. Why?”

“You’re so gloomy,” Fred sighed.

George’s spirits could not be dampened, however, and he inquired at the shop next door how to acquire the property for himself.

“We have to go to the bank and talk to Gorda,” he reported upon his return. “She’s the goblin who was left in charge of the property.”

“I think Ginny’s right,” Hermione put in. “There’s got to be a catch. This is too easy.”

“You mean other than the fact that it took us over a week to find this place?” Fred inquired sarcastically.

“Even that was too easy,” Ginny said.

“Not to mention cliché,” Hermione added. “You search in vain and just when you think all is lost, you stumble upon this amazing opportunity. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think this is just a tad bit out of the ordinary.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Hermione,” Harry copied her. “But don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit?”

“I may be,” she admitted. “But better to be safe than sorry.”

“At least someone agrees with me,” Ginny stated.

“The more I think about it, the more I’m thinking you may be right,” Ron said, looking thoughtful.

“Aha!” Ginny cried triumphantly.

“But,” Ron continued, eyeing his sister. “I think we should at least go talk to Gorda. She may be able to shed more light on the subject. Maybe the place did belong to some nice old lady and that’s it, or maybe there’s more to it. We’ll never know if we don’t give it a chance.”

Hermione smiled at Ron with admiration. “Ron’s right,” she agreed. “I’m glad at least one of us is seeing things sensibly.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Harry said after a moment of silence. “Let’s go.”

Leaving Fyne Alley, the party made their way to Diagon Alley and Gringott’s bank, where they sought out the goblin, Gorda. When, at last, she would see them, she turned out to be unusually tall. She wore a rumpled violet dress under the standard issue hunter green pocketed apron. Sticking out of one pocket was a manila folder closed by clips on either edge. It appeared to have very little in the way of contents, as it seemed thin and wrinkled. The lady goblin walked toward them, motioning to a small office door, through which the party followed.

“I understand you are interested in the Fyne Alley property,” she said, sitting in a tall chair behind the desk.

“Yes,” Fred replied. “We were a bit apprehensive because of the price. We were told you could explain.”

Gorda drew the thin folder out of her apron pocket and laid it flat on the desk.

“That has been a slight problem in selling this property,” she explained. “You see, people looking into the property have second-guessed things because of the price first. What makes them refuse is not only the oddities about the place, but the late owner’s family.”

She paused, drawing out a photograph from the folder and pushing it across the desk for the party to see. The people were still, a Muggle photo, the paper yellowed and crumbling. The faded ink showed a beautiful ebony-tressed woman, probably no more than thirty, sitting on a wooden rocking chair under a tree. A young boy, six or seven by the looks of him, sat smiling on her lap fiddling with her long plait, while she ruffled his hair, the same dark colour of her own. At sight of the boy, both Harry and Ginny gasped, looking at each other and then swiftly looking away.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, sounding worried.

“I think...” Harry began feebly. “I think I know who that boy is...”

He reached carefully for the photograph, not wanting to damage it, and turned it over. Written with a fountain pen, by the appearance of the strokes, a scripty hand wrote: Melanie and Tom, March 1937.

“What?” the Weasley brothers asked simultaneously.

Gorda made a strange noise in her throat, one Harry recognized as disbelief. “Young man, that is impossible,” she stated professionally. “That boy is now all but dead. Unless you have visited the past...” She chuckled.

“No, I’m sure!” Harry protested. “It’s Tom Riddle!”

The lady goblin gasped. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Erm...” Harry began, rummaging through his mind for a reasonable explanation.

“Harry used to, er, admire him,” Ginny interjected.

“Before he found out he was You-Know-Who,” Ron added.

A thoughtful look crossed Gorda’s face as she replied, understanding, “Ah, yes. Many young wizards admired Tom Riddle before he became known as the Dark Lord.”

“I can certainly see why people don’t want the property,” Ginny said. “The woman in the picture was his mother, I presume? And she was the owner of the shop, yes?”

“Very perceptive, young lady,” Gorda answered, smiling.

“We’ll take it!” George blurted out unexpectedly.

“We will?” Fred asked.

“Yes! Don’t you see?” George exclaimed. “So many people will come to see what crazies bought the Riddle place and...”

“It’ll be great for business!” Fred finished. Turning to the lady goblin, he asked, “What do we have to do?”

“This is so unexpected,” she replied, shocked. “There’s only one form to sign and money must change hands, but that is all. We never actually expected to be able to sell the place.”

She withdrew a single sheet of paper, an ownership document, from the manila folder, telling the twins that all they had to do was write and sign their names on the lines provided, and the property would be theirs. They took turns signing the document and a check, they handed both to Gorda. After looking them over, something caught her eye.

“Mr. Weasley, this is for twenty five thousand,” she said. “The property is only twenty thousand.”

“We’re aware of that,” George said.

“Keep the change,” Fred added, grinning. “It goes to charity, right? Keep a bit for yourself. Five thousand is nothing if our business kicks off.”

“You are very generous, sirs,” the lady goblin said as she detached a yellow paper from the back of the ownership document, a carbon copy. “Everything is ready for you. The shop was cleaned and emptied upon Madame Riddle’s death. Upkeep has been taken care of by the owner of the apothecary across the street. He has the key.”

“Thank you very much,” Fred said.

As the party turned to leave, the lady goblin called them back. “One moment please,” she began. “Before you go, you should know that there are strange enchantments lingering about the place. They are precautionary in nature only, but not even the most powerful of wizards have been able to break them. It is believed that they were the creation of the late Madame Riddle, but no one can be sure. Perhaps you know of someone who can shed more light on this matter,” she finished with a meaningful glance at the twins, who in turn glanced at each other.

The Weasley boys thanked Gorda again, and the party made their way out of the bank and toward Fyne Alley once more. When they arrived at their new property, they immediately began searching for the apothecary, but to no avail.

“What is it with this place?” Ron exclaimed. “Across the street, she said. Ha!”

“In this place, nothing is as it seems,” said a rough, quiet voice.

Ron started, turning to face the voice’s host. “You—,” he spluttered. “What are you doing here?”

Emerald eyes met his own. “I have no quarrel with you, boy,” said the girl in her quiet voice. “I come to help.” She looked at the twins. “I see you have bought the Riddle place. If you seek the key, you will find it.” She pointed toward a small place with pink doilies in the windows. “I will send my Frimiare to assist you with the enchantments. Goodbye...friends.” She sneered this last word with a distasteful glance at Harry, who had been staring at her.

Fred and George glanced at each other and muttered, ”Interesting.”

Hermione led the way to the pink doily place and down a flight of stairs to the right of the building.

“No wonder we didn’t see this,” she mused, eyeing the vine- and moss-covered stone steps warily.

At the foot of the stairs, there was a plain wooden door with Please Knock painted in white at eye level. Hermione did as the message requested and shortly thereafter a bald little man opened the door to let them in. The party followed him inside as he took his place behind the counter. The place was dark, walls paneled in a dark redwood, shelves of the same. The floor was bare cement, its colour indistinguishable in the flickering yellow light. The many cages were mostly empty, only a few housing rats or mice. Several aquariums sat behind the counter, each hold some sort of reptile.

“What kin I do ye fer?” the shopkeeper asked after allowing them a few moments to look around.

Fred stepped up to the counter and spoke. “We were told that you were entrusted with the key to the Riddle shop.”

The man looked thoughtful, then replied, “Ah, yes. Ol’ Melanie’s place. Good woman, she. I have th’ key, yes. What would ye be needin’ with it?”

“Well, you see, my brother...” Fred paused to snag George by the sleeve and pull him close. “My brother and I have bought the place for our own shop.”

“I see. Well, I’ll be needin’ proof o’ that,” the man said.

Fred nudged George, who produced the sheet of paper given them by the lady goblin. At sight of this, the man nodded as if in approval before retreating into a room behind the counter. He returned moments later, carrying a thick chain from which dangled a large tarnished silver key, which he handed over to the twins. Fred thanked him in response.

“Take good care o’ ol’ Mel’s place, y’hear?” he said.

“Of course, sir,” George replied.

At this, the man gave them a broad smile and said, “Off ye go th’n. Go git yer shop fixed up.” He shooed them out of his own shop, encouraging them. As the party trooped up the overgrown stairs, he called, “Good luck!” and went back inside.