Disclaimer – Everything you recognise belongs to JKR. All the rest is simply me playing in her sandbox.
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Hermione's Book Nook
Chapter 4
Harry stared at the letter in his hand. It had him transfixed. Half of him wanted nothing more than to rip it open and read it over and over and over again. The other half was still too dazed to think that he had something that his dad had actually touched, something with his very handwriting sitting in his hand. Whatever way he looked at it, the letter was momentous.
Around him, the few birds that chirped in the small park that he'd stumbled across down one of the side streets of Diagon Alley continued their merry tune. The numerous trees and shrubs swayed gently in the soft breeze. The grass under him felt soft. But none of it registered.
A soft hoot in the nearest tree brought unseeing eyes up. What could have been the second or even the twentieth hoot finally brought him out of his stupor.
"You're right, Hedwig," Harry said softly. "I'll never know if I don't open it."
Turning the envelope over, he carefully slipped a finger under the flap and began to ease it open. He winced slightly as one corner tore. Finally, with trembling hands, Harry pulled out a couple of sheets of parchment.
The writing, like that on the envelope, was somewhat messy, not unlike Harry's own, he reflected.
My dearest Harry,
I guess that this is one letter that you never have to read, but I'm writing it anyway, son, just in case. We live in uncertain times and the future, for the most part, looks bleak.
That bleakness is, of course, out there. Not in here where your Mother is making us her famous shepherd's pie or in here where you're currently sitting at my feet, begging me to let you ride your new toy broom that your Uncle Sirius gave you for your birthday.
No, in here in this little cottage, the world is perfect. Everything that your Mother and I ever wanted is here. Our little family. Together we're so very, very happy.
But unfortunately, beyond these four walls, the world is at war. Which is why I'm writing this letter. Just in case.
If something has happened to both your Mother and I, I know that your godparents and your Uncle Moony and even your Uncle Peter will make sure that you're loved and cared for, just the way that we would.
But I'd like to do more for you.
By the time that you read this (a time that I really, really hope never comes to pass), you'll have started at Hogwarts. You'll already know about your trust vault that we've set up for you for your schooling.
Eventually when you come of age, you'll inherit the Potter title and gain access to the Potter vault. That'll be a lot of money and a lot of responsibility, even for a seventeen year old. So, I'm going to do for you what my father did for me.
I've set up for you an Investment Vault at Gringotts. Just like your Education Vault, it has a hundred thousand galleons deposited in it. But unlike your Education Vault which will get topped up each year on September 1, the hundred thousand in your Investment Vault is it. No extra money at all. I've also included the deeds to a building in Diagon Alley.
With this money and building, your job is to learn how to invest wisely. Learn all of the ins and outs of business that you can. Find everyone who you trust implicitly to advise you, but overall, these decisions will be yours. Your Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus, as well as the goblins, will all be able to steer you well. Your Uncle Peter never did have a head for money, so you probably want to shy away from his advice.
I'd like to think that you'll invest well and wisely, but, if you happen to make some mistakes, learn from them. I know that I made my fair share, so you'll be in excellent company. And if everything goes pear shaped, then the goblins will use the Potter Vault to settle any debts and make sure that the building doesn't need to be sold off, however you won't get a second chance at this until you come of age.
If you're anything like your Mum, then I know that you'll succeed splendidly with whatever venture you set your mind to.
I know that this is a lot of responsibility to thrust on you, so my last piece of advice for you is to have some fun with it, listen to your heart as well as your head and don't stress over it.
I love you, Harry and I reckon I'm the proudest dad in the world. Always remember that.
Dad.
Harry's eyes lost the ability to see the paper as he read the last word. Tears filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. His dad loved him and was proud of him. They were words that he'd longed to hear his entire life.
Finally, he was able to dash the tears from his eyes and look at the letter once more. Ever so carefully, he flattened it out where his hand had scrunched one side.
After reading it again, a number of questions flashed through his mind, all clamouring for an answer. His grandparents did the same thing for his dad? What happened to them? What should he invest in? There was a building somewhere in Diagon Alley that he owned? A hundred thousand galleons was an awful lot of money. How much is that in muggle money? What did he know about businesses?
His dad had said to get advice. He had no idea how hard that was going to be. Sirius was in prison – something that Harry was still desperate to find out more about. Remus probably thought that he didn't want to talk to him anymore considering Dobby had been keeping their letters from each other. Even Peter was a lost cause – for some reason, owls couldn't seem to deliver any letters to him, instead they kept trying to give the letters to Ron Weasley.
The goblins, though, might be his best bet. Apparently, he had an account manager. He hadn't spoken to him yet, being too focused on the letter in his hand. Originally, he'd wanted to talk to a goblin about a Potter property to find somewhere to live …
His thoughts trailed off as he once again stared at his dad's letter. In a flash, he dove for the folder that came with the letter. Rifling through it, he came across the deeds to the building in Diagon Alley.
It took him a number of times of reading it through to puzzle out the legal jargon, but eventually, he found that he owned the building that housed shops 93 and 95 on Diagon Alley. What businesses were currently there, he had no idea. But finally he had a destination in mind. Maybe, just maybe, he'd found somewhere to live for the rest of the holiday.
After a short debate with himself, Harry decided that the rest of the parchment in the folder could wait. For now, the most important thing that he needed was some place to stay. Carefully folding the letter, he slid it away into its envelope before both it and the folder went into one of his bags. All he kept out was the parchment stating that he owned the building.
Then, with bags and broom in hand, he set off back towards Diagon Alley.
Reaching the intersection, Harry looked around. Witches and wizards wandered the streets, all intent on their business. He ignored them all though, desperately trying to determine how to work out the numbers of the shops. Each shop that he could see had their name prominently displayed either in fancy lettering across the window, a hanging shingle out in front or flashing multi-coloured letters emblazoned above their shop.
Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, Potage's Cauldron Shop, TerrorTours and Twillfitt and Tatting's were the closest to him, so he focused in on them. Of course, the window of Gambol and Japes proved a bit too much of a distraction and it was only after he'd perused every amazing item that he could see in the window and mentally added some of those things to the list of items that he wanted to buy that he remembered what he was looking for.
And then, in tiny bronze numerals above the door of TerrorTours, he finally found it – 46. TerrorTours was shop number forty-six. And it seemed, once he'd found one, he instantly found others, all in the exact same place. Twillfitt and Tattings was shop number 44, while across the alley, Potage's Cauldron Shop was number 41.
Looking further down the alley, Harry found Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment at number 45. With a smile, he began walking. As the numbers steadily grew, he found himself being constantly amazed at the wide variety of shops in Diagon Alley.
On his first visit the previous year with Hagrid, he hadn't had much chance to explore. Hagrid had been much too keen to only enter those shops that had what he needed on his book list.
As he passed wizarding camping stores, a junk shop, a second animal menagerie and all of the others, he vowed to explore them all over the remaining weeks of his holiday. Every now and again, a smaller alley, some bright and cheerful looking, others dark giving off a feeling of deep foreboding, split off. It was as he approached one such intersection, that he finally saw what he was looking for.
Shop 93 was set in the fork where Diagon Alley gently curved around and split from a second alley that led towards a group of houses. It was big, three stories tall. The windows were all dirt encrusted and the stone walls looked to be in dire need of a good scrubbing.
Harry's steps slowed as he took in the sight. His first impression was pure excitement. This was something that he owned. His second impression was less favourable. If this was what the outside looked like, he shuddered at what the inside must be like. Obviously, this place hadn't seen any human occupation for many, many years.
With some trepidation, he continued on until he could get a decent look at the shop beside it. Number ninety-five brought out a sigh of relief. While still maintaining that air of unkemptness, there were just a few hints that it had seen at least some care over the last few years. The windows, while still grimy-looking, were clean enough to be able to look into, for one.
Stepping up, Harry dropped his bag, cupped his hands around his eyes and peered inside.
The shop was barren, giving no clues as to what it once might have been. A long, wooden counter to one side was its only piece of furniture. Half a dozen shelves were set on the back wall. The wooden floor was covered in a dust so thick that Harry couldn't even tell what colour it once had been.
With a frown, he stepped back and looked around. It was then that he noticed a small passageway between this and the building next door. Sticking his head around the corner, he was met with the odd sight of a gate set back a couple of feet from the street. Retrieving his bags and broom, Harry decided to explore.
The gate gave a mournful squeak as he opened and closed it behind him. The temperature dropped and he shivered as he walked down the shadowed side of the building. The sight that greeted him as he left those shadows froze him in place.
The back yard, while small, was in impeccable condition. The patch of grass looked to have been recently mowed. The flower beds were well weeded. Even the small vegetable patch looked healthy and vibrant.
"Hey! Get out of our garden!"
Harry started, startled at the loud voice being yelled at him. Whirling around, he came face to face with a boy maybe two or three years younger than himself. He had shaggy brown hair, deep blue eyes and a mouth that was scowling indignantly at him. His deep green robes looked old and threadbare.
Before Harry had a chance to respond, a tall thin lady with long brown hair flowing over one shoulder appeared in the doorway behind the boy.
