Chapter 6: Wealth and Strategy
"The last stop is Gringotts," Tonks announced cheerfully.
Without lingering long at the shop, she whisked George away to Diagon Alley.
Gringotts, the only wizarding bank in Britain, was operated entirely by goblins and located at the north end of Diagon Alley. Aside from storing gold and valuables, it also provided currency exchange between Muggle and magical money.
Now that George had officially inherited the old wizard's estate through the Ministry of Magic, it was time to claim his assets.
As they approached the bank, George's gaze swept over the goblin guards in scarlet and gold-trimmed uniforms standing by the entrance. His nose wrinkled.
"So ugly," he muttered under his breath.
The so-called "fairies" and "elves" of this world were far from the elegant beings depicted in fantasy lore. These goblins looked just like the ones from the books—short, hunched, with sharp features and long fingers.
He followed Tonks up the pristine white steps and through the towering bronze doors. Beyond them, a second set of silver doors loomed ahead, engraved with ominous words warning against stealing from Gringotts—essentially promising death to would-be thieves.
Two goblin attendants stood on either side of the silver doors. Upon seeing Tonks and George, they bowed politely and led them inside the bank's grand marble hall.
The hall was vast and imposing. Dozens of goblins sat at high desks, writing, weighing coins, and processing documents for robed witches and wizards.
Tonks led George to an available goblin and handed over the official documents they had obtained from the Ministry.
"Transfer of inheritance to the underground vault," she stated plainly.
Unlike the Ministry's sluggish clerks, the goblins were quick and efficient. They examined the documents in silence, nodded in confirmation, and handed George a small, ornate key.
"This is the key to Vault No. 352. Please keep it safe," the goblin said curtly. "Do you wish to visit the vault to make a withdrawal?"
"No need. Just tell me the balance."
George tucked the key into his pocket. The old wizard had left 500 Galleons in the shop upon his death, which was more than enough for now.
"There are currently 10,352 Galleons in Vault 352," the goblin replied after glancing through the records.
Tonks, who had been standing beside him casually, let out a low whistle.
"Wow, brewing potions really is profitable. I'm only making a hundred Galleons a month right now. Once I'm fully certified, I'll get a raise to 140."
Her eyes showed clear envy.
At her current salary, she'd need nearly a decade—without spending a single Sickle—to save up that kind of money. Realistically, it could take twenty or thirty years.
George, who had been feeling disappointed, suddenly relaxed.
He'd initially assumed the old wizard would have at least 100,000 Galleons stashed away, so hearing the vault contained only a little over 10,000 had left him underwhelmed. But now, he saw the bigger picture.
Operating a potion shop and dealing in black market goods likely made the old wizard quite a bit of gold—more than a typical legal potioneer. But high-end potion research burned through resources like wildfire. Rare ingredients, experimental failures, and the cost of secrecy all added up.
All things considered, having over 10,000 Galleons left was not bad at all.
Compared to Tonks's income, it was an absolute fortune—enough to live comfortably for years.
Wizarding currency came in three denominations: gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts. One Galleon equaled seventeen Sickles; one Sickle equaled twenty-nine Knuts.
According to Dora's memories, a copy of the Daily Prophet cost five Knuts. A typical meal ran for two to three Sickles. Even a wizard's wand rarely cost more than ten Galleons.
As they left Gringotts, Tonks gave George another of her trademark head-rubs.
"Hogwarts should send you a new admission letter by tomorrow morning. Study hard, make friends—you'll have a great time there. I've got to head back to the Ministry, but I'll come by when I can!"
George hesitated for a moment before speaking, his tone sincere.
"Sister Tonks, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have been able to inherit the estate so smoothly. I want to treat you to lunch as a thank-you. Please don't refuse me, okay?"
Tonks opened her mouth to decline—she was about to say she needed to return to the Ministry. But when she looked into George's earnest eyes and remembered the delicious breakfast from that morning, she faltered.
"…Well, if you put it like that, of course I won't refuse," she said with a laugh. "Thanks for the invite."
It was already lunchtime anyway. Returning to the Ministry a little late wouldn't cause too much trouble.
George smiled, relieved.
He had several reasons for wanting Tonks to spend more time in the shop. Her presence would help deter the more dangerous elements of Knockturn Alley. Just the appearance of an Auror was enough to give dark wizards second thoughts.
But more importantly, George hoped to learn more magic from her before school started.
Knowledge was power—and power was survival.
Escaping from the experimental base had been hard enough. Staying free of pursuit afterward would be even harder. Every extra spell he learned might one day save his life.
Especially since he knew the original body—the real George—was running out of time.
"Fortunately," he thought, "I'm a decent cook."
He planned to pull out all the stops, serving Tonks a table full of mouth-watering dishes. If he could win her over with food, maybe she'd visit more often.
Dora, the clone's predecessor, had learned to cook as a house-slave for the old wizard. Combined with George's own casual culinary interest from his previous life, his skills were more than respectable. While not on par with a professional chef, his cooking had always impressed his friends.
He was also aware that British cuisine wasn't exactly world-renowned. That helped. He could prepare some of the most popular Chinese dishes with relatively little risk of offending Western palates.
After all, wasn't there a saying?
The world's thinnest books were British Cookbooks and American History Textbooks.
Tonks's eyes sparkled with surprise and delight as she tried one dish after another.
"What's this one? I've never tasted anything like it."
"Sweet and sour pork," George replied.
"And this?"
"Kung Pao chicken."
"Oh, this one's really good."
"Scrambled eggs with tomatoes."
After lunch, Tonks leaned back in her chair, patting her full stomach with a satisfied sigh.
"I didn't expect you to know how to cook Chinese food…"
George smiled as he cleared the dishes.
"If you liked it, Sister Tonks, feel free to come by whenever you have time. I can make all kinds of delicious dishes."
Tonks waved her hand dismissively.
"No, no—I can't do that. I'm not thick-skinned enough to mooch meals off you all the time."
In her mind, George had already gone through enough. She wasn't going to take advantage of a kid just because she outranked him.
But George quickly caught on to her reasoning and said seriously:
"Sister Tonks, don't feel embarrassed. Honestly, it helps me if you come by often—this is Knockturn Alley, after all."
Tonks blinked. Then the realization clicked.
"…Right. Makes sense."
"If you visit more, people will think I have protection. That alone will discourage a lot of trouble."
"In that case…" Tonks grinned. "Fine. I'll drop by for dinner when I can. But I'm not eating for free—I'll buy all the ingredients myself. You're not allowed to say no."