AN
Complete in 4 parts. I'll post the first half this weekend and the second half next weekend.
Head up, the narrative is not linear!
Harry James Potter
Heart still racing from the fright from the encounter with the old hag, Harry slowly pushed himself off the door he had been leaning against and looked around. His heart sank. Of course, he hadn't managed to enter a normal shop. The alley just outside the door was dark and dingy and he should have known better than to expect a shop next to Borgin & Burke's to be any better.
Somehow, Harry had managed to miss the giant skeleton in the shop window when he had frantically fled from the hag. And the big, wooden coffin right next to it.
Swallowing dryly, Harry slowly turned his head. The shop was dimly lit by a mix of black and crimson candles burning with cold, green flames. The shelves on either side displayed an odd assortment of tools and skulls and – preserved things Harry did not wish to examine further. The bottom of the shelf to the right was an all-consuming darkness that seemed to shift whenever Harry turned his head. At the back, opposite the door, was a counter. Behind that counter stood a woman Harry hadn't noticed before – eerily still and silent, watching him with empty, white eyes. Her hair was as white as snow, her skin of an unhealthily pale complexion. She wore a horribly outdated funeral gown.
"Welcome," she said, her voice void of emotion. "How may we be of assistance?"
️o
A Customer
The shop had finally deigned to put on a proper front with window displays and acquired a proper sign, too, she noted with satisfaction. 'The Coffin House', it read and below, in smaller letters 'Eddie & Lethe'. The old witch had found herself a co-owner then, eh? And what a co-owner it was! When she finally entered, the young man was entertaining another customer. Handsome he was, with his hair stylishly unruly and a pair of nice glasses framing his lovely green eyes. He had the most confounding aura of boyish youth and weathered age – it was marvellous.
A bit clumsy, still, she noted as she watched him fumble with the tools, and clearly not quite over his squeamishness with preserved organs (she thought she even heard him mutter, "You're in your fifties. Act like it, for Merlin's sake!") – but he fit right in nonetheless. There was something … Other about him. Touched by Death, perhaps, she mused as she gazed into those green, green eyes.
"Welcome," he greeted her with a warm smile. His face was made for warm smiles – so unlike Lethe, she mused. "If you could please wait a moment? I will be with you shortly."
"Of course," she said in her most practiced, sultry voice, perfect smirk on her lips that made him blush an endearing shade of red. "It will be my pleasure."
️o
A Customer, soon-to-be Regular
"So then I tried preserving the body like the Egyptians did," he told Lethe, who was smiling blankly but Eddie was fairly sure she was listening attentively. "Have you ever met an undead mummy, by the way? They're really fascinating. Too bad the Goblins won't let me near the pyramids anymore."
"They really are," Lethe said and her voice was as lovely and emotionless as he had expected it to be. "Unfortunately, we do not see them around here much often, anymore."
"Huh. Anyway. So that didn't work, either. I was hoping you could help me out, here. Your shop is all about raising the dead, after all."
The bell above the door chimed softly and he turned to watch a young man with messy black hair that failed to hide an interesting lightning-bolt-shaped scar and lovely green eyes enter, a large package held in his arms, another one floating behind him.
"Welcome back, Eddie," Lethe greeted the newcomer.
Eddie? He blinked. But he was Eddie.
"Stop calling me that," the young man grumbled as he walked past them and disappeared into the back of the shop. Oh! He remembered what the sign above the door said, now. This was the co-owner, then? How funny, that they would share the same name!
Lethe turned back to him. "I can recommend a few techniques for you to try and some rituals." She waved her hand and several old books came floating from the shelves, followed by some odd tools he had never seen before and several vials filled with strange liquids. "I am afraid, however, that you might not see any success with these, either, as there is nothing that can be done if one does not have an aptitude for the Art of Necromancy."
"We will see about that. Preservation shall prevail, just you see!" Eddie fished out several Galleons from his pockets. "Thanks for these! I'll see you around."
o️
Tom Marvolo Riddle
Perhaps entering a dark side alley when you were clearly still a child hadn't been the best idea, but Tom was rather desperate at this point. Ignoring the leers thrown his way from the unsavoury clientele of Knockturn Alley, Tom hurried along until he finally stood before The Coffin House. If his housemates could be trusted, the shop was all about Necromancy. Surely, they could help him.
The gigantic skeleton and the coffin in the display at the front weren't promising, but the inside of the shop was a different matter. The entire atmosphere changed when Tom entered – dark and eerie and silent in just the right way. Green flames spent sparse light on numerous shelves that Tom didn't get the chance to look at before he noticed the woman standing behind the counter.
"Welcome," she said in a blank tone, all empty smile and empty eyes. "How may we be of assistance?"
Her eyes were white, Tom noted, as was her long, long hair. She was wearing a funeral dress that was both extremely old-fashioned and perfectly suited to her at the same time.
Tom licked his lips. "I am looking for protection against death."
The woman blinked slowly.
"Do you –" Tom faltered. "Is this not what this shop is for?"
"I am afraid not," the woman said in the same blank tone as before. "Our shop is all about honouring Death and working with Him – never against Him."
"Oh."
"If you are looking to set up protective wards, there is a shop across the street and four buildings to the left. Or perhaps Borgin & Burke's right next door may be of assistance – they sell all sorts of antiques, some may have been spelled with protections."
"I – thank you." Tom looked around, somewhat desperately to his shame, and his eyes fell on a bookshelf next to the counter. "Could I – May I take a look at your books?"
"Of course. Feel free to browse our collection. You may take as much time as you need."
"Thank you."
Tom left the shop with several heavy books shrunken to fit in his bag and the goal to return for some of the odd items he had seen on display once he knew what they were meant for. He considered, briefly, entering Borgin & Burke's to look for the protective antiques the woman had mentioned, but his limited funds were already almost exhausted and he still had school supplies to buy.
Another day.
o️
A Client
The Coffin House was his last chance. If the old witch from the Fortune Teller shop had told the truth, then he would – he would finally be able to talk to him again.
The shop was dark, the shadows shifting oddly, but he couldn't leave now. Not when he had already tried everything else.
"Please," he told the two people behind the counter – a white-haired woman and a black-haired man. "Please, I need to talk to my husband! You need to help me! I will do anything!"
"Welcome," the woman said, her voice as empty as her smile. "We will gladly be of assistance."
"Please forgive the insensitive question," the man said, "but is your husband dead?"
"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, oh, he is."
"In that case," the woman said, "That will be one Galleon paid in advance and another Galleon per the hour."
"Of course, of course. Here, take it. Just let me talk to him."
"Take a seat, my dear," the woman said, her tone suddenly gentle.
He followed her gesture and saw two armchairs he hadn't noticed before, a pot of tea and two cups on a table between them. He blinked. The shelves were gone. He could hear the man greeting another customer from the other side of an unassuming door.
When had he entered the backroom of the shop?
"You wish to see your husband? Then I will need his name, please, and the most recent memory you have of him – something neutral, preferably, nothing negative."
"I – Yes. Of course. Anything."
"Close your eyes, then, and think of him."
o️
A Client, soon-to-be Regular
In all her years she had never once set foot in Knockturn Alley. She had always been a respectable woman of good standing and, truthfully, turned up her nose at the folks that frequented Knockturn Alley. And now look where she had ended up.
An ordinary woman would have turned up her nose at the shady figures lurking in the corners and the run-down buildings and the non-existent filth. (She was surprised at how clean the street was, actually – it was no dirtier than Diagon Alley and Diagon Alley was a busy, busy street.)
She did no such thing. She held her head high and pretended to belong there. The people here might not be earning an honest living, but they were still people, hag or vampire or – well, Necromancer.
The Coffin House looked no different than its neighbours, nestled between the infamous antique shop and a store that did not advertise what it was selling. The only thing setting it apart was a small, worn sign reading 'since 1504' – no other shop down Knockturn Alley could boast of such a thing. She thought the coffin displayed in the window a bit misleading, for she was sure the Undertaker's was a different shop altogether. The skeleton turning its head to follow her movements, however, was most fitting.
She registered the chime of a bell first, the green light of the candles second and the shifting darkness spread across the countertop across the door third. Ignoring the items displayed on the shelves left and right, for she had not come to purchase any trinkets, she approached with a confidence she didn't feel. There was a short man with unruly black hair and a charming smile turning towards her and away from the bookshelf he had been dusting.
"Welcome," he greeted her with a warmth she hadn't expected in a place like this. "How may we be of assistance?"
Not one for dallying small talk, she decided to address her issue directly. "My daughter, son-in-law and my grandchildren died in a freak accident just last week. I wish to speak with them."
She noted the way the man twitched at the words 'freak accident', but refrained from speculating. Did they know already what she was only suspecting? Or was there perhaps another reason? Too many possibilities lay in a single reaction. Truly, speculations and assumptions had never done anyone any good.
"Oh, of course. If you would follow me, please. Lethe is in the back, preparing tea."
The man led her through a door to the side behind the counter and into a small, cosy backroom where a woman with white hair and white eyes was sitting in an armchair, pouring freshly brewed tea into two cups.
She did not make assumptions about the origins of the woman's ancient funeral gown, merely noted the way it seemed to fit perfectly.
"Welcome," the woman greeted her with a smile so empty, she wondered why the woman bothered at all. Perhaps it was part of the ambiance. "Please, take a seat. Tell me about the people you wish to see."
The chair was just the right side of comfortable without being overbearing, angled in a way that allowed her to keep an eye on the door as well as the woman next to her. The tea was brewed to perfection.
Yes, she thought to herself as she conversed with the Necromancer, she had made the right decision after all.
o️
Tom Marvolo Riddle
"I am Tom Riddle," he introduced himself. "I work for Borgin & Burke's."
"Oh, I know," the man with the unruly hair and the unnaturally green eyes said, a cheeky smile on his lips. "Everyone around here knows it all – no secrets stay secret for long in Knockturn Alley, I'm afraid."
"I would hardly call my employment a secret."
The man laughed. He had a nice laugh, Tom noted. "Right you are. I'm Harry, by the way. Harry Grey."
The way he stuck out his hand told Tom that Harry Grey was clearly not a pureblood. Tom shook the offered hand anyway, examining the way its warmth felt oddly misplaced. As if it was an afterthought rather than the actual warmth of a living person.
"If Messrs Borgin and Burke have business with us, we'll have to wait for Lethe to return. She's currently out acquiring new body parts," Harry said, still using that warm, cheerful tone he had greeted Tom with. "She should be back before nightfall." The man winked. "Need to sample the goods before Judas arrives. He has a standing order to get first-pick of any new parts that come in."
Tom smiled his most charming smile. "That's fine. Mister Burke's business is not at all urgent. I must ask – is this Judas you speak of a vampire?"
Harry nodded. "Got it right in one. But don't ask him about his name, if you ever run into him. He's quite sensitive about it."
"Because of Judas the Damned?"
"Mhm. He once told me he actually liked his name, originally. But ever since the whole vampire business, people always assume he's the one from the bible and that kind of soured his opinion."
"How fascinating. You must meet the most curious people, working here."
Harry shrugged. "I have the sneaking feeling that Lethe arranges our working hours in a way that gives her the more … unusual kinds, but our customers range from the lowest scum to the truly desperate and anything between. Before you ask," and here Harry wagged his finger at Tom in an almost childish gesture, "I can't tell you about them. Customer confidentiality and all. Judas doesn't mind, of course, or I wouldn't have mentioned him."
"Of course." Tom leaned forward and into Harry's space. "Is it true that Judas the Damned was the first vampire?"
"No, that would be Cain, if the tales told on these streets can be trusted."
"Interesting." Tom tilted his head to look at Harry through his lashes and carefully lowered his voice just so. "You truly know everything, Harry."
He watched Harry blush with no small amount of satisfaction.
"Flatterer," Harry mumbled.
"Well, now I really must come back if only to listen to whichever story you may be allowed to tell me." Tom took a step back, not missing the way Harry startled. "I hope I will see you around, Harry. Have a lovely day."
"You too," he heard Harry say faintly and then he was out of the door.
Burke wouldn't be too pleased with him, but that was fine. Tom knew how to handle the cranky old man. He replayed the conversation with Harry in his mind and smiled.