Chapter 3: A Clean Break
"It looks like… he's really dead."
After waiting in silence for five minutes, George finally dared to push open the door and step inside. He cautiously approached the twisted body on the floor, knelt down, and checked the man's breathing.
Nothing.
The dark wizard Merton was truly dead.
George let out a deep breath.
There was no way he could have defeated someone like Merton in a direct confrontation. The man might have been in his seventies or eighties, but he was still a dangerous dark wizard. One Armor Spell to protect his body, followed by a simple Stunning Spell, could've been enough to incapacitate George in an instant.
Anyone who had lived that long in Knockturn Alley, with as many enemies as Merton surely had, must have had more than one trick up their sleeve.
George's plan had only succeeded because it was a total surprise. His victory wasn't thanks to superior skill or strength—it was luck, timing, and the fact that Merton never saw it coming.
Now came the next step.
George quickly crafted the right expression—panic, shock, fear—and burst through the front door of the shop. He ran in the direction of Diagon Alley, heart pounding, careful not to cry out in Knockturn Alley. Yelling there might attract more danger than help.
Once he crossed the invisible threshold into Diagon Alley proper, he shouted:
"Oh no! Help! Mr. Merton was injured in a potion explosion! Please—someone come quickly!"
He looked every bit the frightened, devastated child. His voice cracked with feigned panic, and his eyes darted wildly, as though unsure what to do.
It worked.
Within moments, two Aurors who had been patrolling nearby arrived at a brisk pace.
"Take us there, now!"
Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley were high-risk zones. Aurors patrolled the area almost constantly, especially with the start of the Hogwarts school year bringing parents and young witches and wizards into the shops. Any disturbance here risked drawing unwanted attention from the press—something the Ministry of Magic worked hard to avoid.
Back at the potion shop, the investigation was already underway.
A young witch with bubblegum-pink hair stood in the middle of the room, reporting her findings to a middle-aged man with a lion-like mane of hair and sharp eyes.
"Director Scrimgeour, after analysis, no magical activity was detected on the secondary wand. No property appears to be missing. Cause of death has been identified as an accidental explosion during potion brewing. No foul play suspected."
The pink-haired witch looked about eighteen or nineteen, her pale, heart-shaped face serious as she handed over her notes.
The middle-aged wizard nodded approvingly. "Well done, Tonks. Seems Mad-Eye's been training you properly. If you keep this up, you'll make a full Auror in two years."
"Mr. Moody's temper is awful, but it's an honor to study under him," Tonks replied with a small, proud smile.
Despite his retirement, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody was still one of the most respected Aurors in the wizarding world. More than half the dark wizards in Azkaban owed their incarceration to him. Tonks knew how lucky she was to be his protégé—even if it meant dealing with his paranoia and gruff attitude.
George, standing nearby and pretending to grieve, was quietly absorbing everything.
"Scrimgeour… the Head of the Auror Office. That must be the Rufus Scrimgeour, who later replaces Fudge as Minister of Magic."
His thoughts raced.
"And Tonks… Nymphadora Tonks. A Metamorphmagus. Didn't she eventually marry Remus Lupin?"
Bits and pieces from his past life came back to him. Scrimgeour had taken a firm stance against Voldemort after becoming Minister—right before being murdered by the Dark Lord. Tonks had a unique magical talent, able to shift her appearance at will, and was fiercely brave. She eventually joined the Order of the Phoenix and died in the final battle.
But right now, she was still just a trainee Auror. And clearly not yet the battle-hardened warrior she would become.
Still, this wasn't bad news. George had done his research—Scrimgeour and Tonks were among the more reliable members of the Ministry.
Not all Aurors could be trusted. The Ministry was riddled with corruption. A less scrupulous Auror might have taken one look at Merton's estate and found an excuse to seize part—or all—of it.
But these two?
He had a decent chance of getting what he was owed.
"What a poor child," Tonks said, her voice soft as she glanced at George. "Taken in by an old wizard, only to end up orphaned again…"
She looked at the thin, scarred boy and felt a pang of sympathy.
Scrimgeour, however, snorted lightly. "It might not be a tragedy. Perhaps it's the best thing that could've happened to him."
He didn't elaborate, but George could tell what he meant.
This man had seen a lot in his years. One look at George's bruises and gaunt frame was enough to guess the truth. He didn't buy the "accident" narrative one bit—but as long as there was no evidence of foul play, he wasn't about to press charges.
Better to let the kid go. Let him have a fresh start.
"Child—Dora, is it?" Scrimgeour approached and crouched to meet George's eye. "With Mr. Merton's unexpected death, you are his only known heir. That means two things. First, you'll inherit the shop and the assets stored at Gringotts. Second, there's no one left to teach you magic. You'll need to attend Hogwarts."
Both points were exactly what George had hoped for.
He nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. I understand."
He didn't bother faking any more grief. Scrimgeour clearly wasn't the type to be fooled, and George had no intention of insulting the man's intelligence with bad acting.
Instead, he made a single request.
"Sir… I'd like to change my name. I don't want to be called Dora anymore."
He hated the name. It wasn't his. He didn't even feel connected to it. If possible, he wanted to go back to calling himself George—his original name, one that felt right.
Scrimgeour didn't even flinch. "That can be arranged. Miss Tonks will handle all the inheritance paperwork tomorrow. She can help with the name change, too."
"Leave it to me!" Tonks stepped forward, ruffling George's hair gently. Her voice was warm. "We'll sort it all out tomorrow."
She'd picked up on the subtext between George and her superior. The boy might not have said it outright, but she could see he was tougher than he let on.
"Thank you, Miss Auror," George replied, his tone sincere.
Getting Tonks on his side wasn't just a polite gesture—it was strategic. Having an ally in the Auror Office might come in handy someday.
Knockturn Alley wasn't a friendly place. Inheriting a dark wizard's estate made him a target. He might as well be walking through the street with a bag of Galleons strapped to his back.
Few would strike openly. But in the shadows? Anything was possible.
"What a sensible boy," Tonks murmured.
Polite, composed, and surprisingly mature for his age.
Most adults didn't mind children. What they really hated were unruly children—and their unruly parents. But a quiet, courteous boy like this? That was someone they'd be willing to help.
(End of Chapter 3)