"Last stop: Gringotts."
Tonks didn't linger at the shop. The bureaucracy train had one final station.
Gringotts Wizarding Bank, the fortress of the Goblin Nation, stood like a snowy monolith over Diagon Alley. It was the only bank in the wizarding world, a place where gold was stored, treasures were buried, and Muggle money could be exchanged for real currency.
"Ugly little buggers," George thought, eyeing the scarlet-and-gold uniformed guards flanking the entrance. In this world, goblins weren't Tolkien's orcs or high-fantasy elves. They were short, leathery, and had faces like clever, vicious gargoyles.
They passed the bronze doors and the silver inner doors with their ominous poetry about thieves bleeding out in the vaults.
Inside, the vast marble hall was a hive of activity. Hundreds of goblins sat on high stools behind long counters, scribbling in ledgers, weighing gems, and sneering at wizards.
Tonks marched George up to a free teller and slapped down the stack of parchment from the Ministry.
"Asset transfer. Estate of Merton the Apothecary to his ward, George."
Goblins didn't waste time like Ministry clerks. The teller scanned the documents with black, bead-like eyes, stamped them with a heavy seal, and handed over a tiny golden key.
"Vault 352. The transfer is complete. Do you wish to visit the vault now?"
"No need," George said, pocketing the key. He knew there was about 500 Galleons in the shop's safe—enough walking-around money for now. "Just tell me the balance."
The goblin ran a long finger down a ledger. "Vault 352 currently holds thirteen thousand, two hundred Galleons."
"Whoa," Tonks whistled low. "Old Merton was raking it in. That's... what? Ten years of my salary? And I haven't even qualified for the full rate yet. I'm on 100 Galleons a month."
George kept his face neutral, though internally, he adjusted his expectations.
He had hoped for six figures. But 13,000 wasn't bad. Merton ran a black market shop, which was profitable, but he also brewed experimental potions. High-level alchemy was a money pit—rare ingredients like Acromantula venom or Unicorn horn could bankrupt a small family. Merton had likely spent a fortune on his research.
Still, compared to Tonks' salary, he was rich.
"That's plenty for a start," George thought.
"Alright, George," Tonks said as they walked back into the sunlight of the alley. "Your Hogwarts letter should arrive tomorrow morning. You'll make friends there, learn real magic... it's going to be great."
She ruffled his hair again. "I've got to head back to the office."
George's mind raced. He needed her.
Knockturn Alley was watching. The hags and warlocks knew Merton was dead. If they saw the Auror leave and never come back, the vultures would circle. He needed to plant a flag.
"Tonks," George said, looking up with wide, innocent eyes. "You did so much for me today. Without you, I... well, I don't know what would have happened. Please, let me make you lunch. As a thank you? You can't say no to an orphan, can you?"
"I..." Tonks hesitated. She was supposed to report back. But looking at the kid—scrawny, earnest, and holding onto his new key like a lifeline—she wavered. Plus, she remembered the breakfast crepe. "Well... I suppose I have to eat."
"Great! Come on!"
George led her back to the shop, his mind already curating the menu.
He needed to hook her. And the way to Tonks' heart was through her stomach.
The West had many virtues, but British cuisine wasn't one of them. The shortest books in the world, George mused, are Italian War Heroes, American History, and the British Cookbook.
He would use his secret weapon: Chinese takeout classics. Western-palate friendly, high flavor, zero risk.
An hour later, the shop was filled with mouth-watering aromas.
"What is this?" Tonks asked, her fork hovering over a plate of glossy, red meat. "It's amazing."
"Sweet and Sour Pork," George said.
"And this?"
"Kung Pao Chicken."
"And the eggs?"
"Tomato and Egg Stir-fry. A classic."
Tonks leaned back in her chair, patting her stomach, looking thoroughly defeated by the meal. "Kid, you're a wizard. Forget Hogwarts, you should open a restaurant."
"If you like it, you can come by whenever you want," George said casually, clearing the plates. "I'm always cooking."
"Oh, I couldn't," Tonks waved a hand. "I can't just mooch off you. You're... well, you're a kid."
"Tonks," George said, dropping the act for a second and looking her in the eye. "I live in Knockturn Alley. Alone. Having an Auror seen entering and leaving my shop regularly... it's better than any shield charm. You eating here keeps me safe."
Tonks froze. The realization hit her. Of course. It wasn't just lunch; it was protection.
She smiled, a genuine, lopsided grin.
"Smart kid," she said. "Alright. Deal. I'll come by for lunch when I'm on patrol. But on one condition: I buy the groceries. No arguments."
George smiled back.
Hook, line, and sinker.
Now he had a bodyguard. And soon, he would have a tutor.