"Seems he's really dead."
After waiting five minutes with no movement from the dark wizard, George cautiously pushed open the workshop door.
He checked for breathing—confirmed the kill—then exhaled in relief.
A septuagenarian dark wizard would've crushed him in a fair fight. A simple Protego followed by Stupefy would've ended things. Those who survived to old age in Knockturn Alley always had tricks up their sleeves.
His victory wasn't about strength—it was exploiting total lack of suspicion.
Feigning panic, George bolted from the shop—not shouting in Knockturn Alley (that'd attract vultures before Aurors)—and sprinted toward Diagon Alley.
"Help! Mr. Mulpepper's been hurt—potion accident!"
His演技 (acting) was Oscar-worthy—a boy distraught over his "father's" mortal injury.
Two patrolling Aurors swiftly intercepted him.
"Show us. Now."
Diagon/Knockturn's 24/7 Auror presence wasn't for safety—it was PR. Especially during back-to-school shopping season.
"Chief Scrimgeour—no secondary wand traces, no missing valuables. Ruled homicide out. Verdict: Potion mishap."
The pink-haired, heart-faced witch (early 20s at most) delivered her report inside Mulpepper's Apothecary.
The grizzled Auror nodded approvingly. "Thorough work, Tonks. Moody's training shows. Two more years like this, you'll make full Auror."
"Professor Moody's... intense. But learning from him's an honor." Pride tinged her voice.
Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody—retired legend, Azkaban's top contributor. His mentorship was the envy of every trainee.
Eavesdropping, George's mind raced.
"Scrimgeour? Future Minister after Fudge gets ousted? And Tonks—Metamorphmagus, later marries Remus Lupin? So she's just graduated now..."
His mental timeline adjusted. Scrimgeour's hardline anti-Voldemort stance would eventually get him killed, while Tonks—currently a rookie—was decades younger than her werewolf future-husband.
Irrelevant details. What mattered: these were by-the-book Aurors. A stroke of luck.
Corrupt ones might've "confiscated" Mulpepper's vaults for "evidence."
"Poor kid. Orphaned twice over." Tonks eyed George pityingly after reading his file.
Scrimgeour snorted. "Might be the best thing that's happened to him."
His experienced gaze noted the boy's malnourished frame, the old scars peeking from sleeves. Knockturn Alley "adoptions" rarely ended well.
"Listen, Dora—" Scrimgeour crouched to George's eye level. "—as Mulpepper's sole heir, you inherit his shop and Gringotts holdings. But without a guardian, Hogwarts becomes mandatory."
George nodded—both points aligned with his plans.
He didn't fake grief. Scrimgeour would've seen through bad acting. Instead, he made one request:
"Sir... could I change my name? 'Dora' doesn't... fit."
"Of course. Tonks will handle paperwork tomorrow—name change included." Scrimgeour assumed trauma motivated this.
"Leave it to me!" Tonks ruffled George's hair warmly. She'd pieced together the unspoken context.
"Thank you, Auror Tonks." George bowed slightly.
Cultivating Auror connections was prudent. Inheriting Knockturn Alley assets made him a target—having Ministry allies deterred opportunists.
"Such a polite boy." Tonks' smile deepened.
Most adults didn't hate children—they hated brats. Well-mannered ones often found doors magically opened for them.