Harry Grey

Borgin & Burke's was easy enough to find, even half buried in snow as the alley was. The shop he was looking for, however, was not.

Harry looked around in bewilderment for a moment, trying to find the window with the big skeleton and the coffin, but came up empty. It was only on his second survey of the building next to Borgin & Burke's that he spotted the little sign. Old, worn, wooden – looking the same as it would sixty and even ninety years in the future – 'since 1504'. There was no other sign above it, announcing the name of the shop. The windows were ordinary windows, if boarded up.

Unsure, Harry looked around. Should he just – knock?

Nothing.

Still feeling unsure, though eager to escape from the cold, Harry tried the door handle. With a soft chime of the bell above, the door opened to reveal a small, dimly lit room behind it. Wand in hand, Harry slowly stepped inside, willing his eyes to adapt to the darkness faster.

The room looked nothing like the shop he knew. There were no shelves, barely any candles, not even a counter behind which the same woman would stand. The woman was there, though. Sitting in an armchair behind a low table, preparing two cups of tea. She looked, for all intends and purposes entirely the same as Harry remembered her – same hair, same eyes, same old funeral gown.

"Welcome," she said, giving him a familiar blank smile. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Hello," Harry said, holding out his hand. "I'm Harry Grey. I was hoping to work at The Coffin House?"

The woman's smile widened. "Oh, I am afraid The Coffin House does not exist, yet. But your assistance shall be most welcome. Please, have a seat. Perhaps we can discuss the details over a cup of tea."

She gestured to the armchair across from her.

"You may call me Lethe."

o️

A Visitor

He was still reeling from the revelation that his sister was not dead. Not dead. But he had seen her body. He had cried over it. Whose body had that been, then? Maybe the Necromancer was a fraud. But she had seemed so real. Everything had seemed so real.

Not dead. So someone had faked her death? Had his sister faked her own death? Or had someone kidnapped her and faked her death?

"I am so glad we have magic," he heard the other shopkeeper say. "It still surprises me how – unclean dying is."

"It is perfectly normal for a body to empty its bowels after death," the woman who had taken him to the back and told him she couldn't call his sister because she was not dead replied.

Not dead.

"You and I both know there are spells to prevent that."

He looked up and his eyes met green. Green, green, green. He thought he ought to be more afraid of the woman with the empty eyes and empty smile, but there was something about the other shopkeeper that terrified him in a way the woman didn't.

"It was neither planned nor did that scum deserve it. Besides, I was going to clean up, myself."

He heard a sigh. He saw the other shopkeeper sigh.

"I feel like I should tell you that killing someone for being a creep is a bit excessive, but then you will tell me how exactly he was being a creep and I don't think I want to hear it."

"'Are you twelve? You are so beautiful, you look like you are still twelve. I was looking for a Necromancer, but you are way too young for that. Would you like to come home with me? I promise to take good care of you.'"

A groan. "Lethe, please."

The woman tilted her head and he thought she should have looked confused, but she didn't.

"Perhaps I misunderstood and he meant twelve hundred, though even that seems awfully young."

How strange, he thought. What a strange conversation.

"Lethe, this is hardly the right topic to discuss in front of a customer," the other shopkeeper scolded, frowning. "Perhaps you should take a moment," he continued, now looking directly at him – he thought the man's face was contorted with concern. "You look like you're still in shock. Would you like a cup of tea? Lethe makes the best tea, I promise." The man turned to the woman. "Did you not offer him any tea?"

He tried to find his voice. "Ah, I – payment?"

"Oh no, dear." It took him a moment to parse through the words. Her unchanging bland tone was so at odds with what she was saying. "We do not charge for services not delivered. Do not worry about it."

"Oh."

"Are you sure you don't want to sit down?" the man asked, brows furrowed.

He mutely shook his head.

Afterwards, he couldn't recall how he had managed to leave the shop and return back home.

Not dead. His sister was not dead.

How strange, he thought, her body is still where I left it.

o️

Tom Marvolo Riddle

When Tom entered the shop, he was surprised to find it empty. He knew The Coffin House was never left unattended – at the very least, the shifting darkness would sit on the counter to keep an eye on things.

"One moment, please," came a familiar voice from the back and Tom relaxed.

He hadn't made a mistake then. Clairvoyance was not his strongest suit, but it had yet to fail him even once. Timing his visits to whenever the shopkeeper was out and Harry was behind the counter was no hardship at all.

"Oh. Hi, Tom." The smile that broke out on Harry's face washed over Tom like the first rays of light when the sun rose in the morning. "Come for another business deal on Messrs Borgin and Burke's behalf?"

"Not this time, no."

"Private shopping, then? You haven't bought anything in a while."

"Not that, either." He leaned closer. "Though I might be persuaded to purchase an item or two, if your sales pitch is convincing enough."

Harry furrowed his brows. "Huh. But then, what are you here for?"

"No more guesses?"

Harry shrugged.

"Can't I simply wish to see you, Harry?"

Harry had the audacity to look genuinely surprised at that. "Whatever for?"

"Perhaps I enjoy your company." Tom smiled his most charming smile and winked. "Quite a lot, actually."

"Oh."

Tom deliberately straightened up and turned to the side, pretending to consider the various animal bones sitting on the shelf. "How fare your pursues of the Forbidden Arts?"

"Still not a Necromancer, Tom."

Smiling to himself, Tom let his gaze wander along the shelves. "Your eyes would say otherwise, my dear. I have long wondered," he continued before Harry could voice his protests – he could see it clear on the other man's face out of the corner of his eyes, "why you never advertise your necromantic services."

"It's implied. Lethe never had a shortage of customers, either way."

"Is that so?" Tom hummed, turning fully back to Harry. "But how is one to know which kind of necromantic services you offer, then? For example, I was considering getting my future read."

Harry gave him an odd look at that. A curious thing that Tom had never seen on his face before.

"There is a Fortune Teller just across the street."

"But is Necromancy not also capable of divining the future?"

That, at least, however inexplicable, got him a smile. "Tom, you should know by now that the Knockturn Alley shopkeepers always try not to interfere with each other's business."

"That is too bad." He sighed theatrically, returning to his place in front of the counter, leaning his elbows on the top so he could gaze at Harry from beneath his lashes. "Well, tell me a story, then. What interesting things have you seen since we last saw each other?"

"Well, there was this one customer …"

o️

A Regular

He was chatting with Lethe about the foretold boom in their respective businesses, when her Eddie returned from outside.

"Oh, hello," the other Eddie greeted him. "Here again?"

"Just wanted to say thanks for the body you sent my way." Eddie flashed a smile at the other man. "I'm making good progress."

"I doubt it," Lethe told him.

"Of course, you do," he returned fondly.

"You just missed a certain person," Lethe then said to her Eddie.

"I did?" Eddie watched the other Eddie furrow his brows in contemplation and think for a moment, before realisation dawned. "Oh, bugger, that was today? Did you send me out on purpose?"

Lethe smiled her empty smile and said nothing.

Eddie looked between them, but knew better than to ask.

"Would have been funny to see –" the other Eddie glanced at him, "– the little kid, but it's probably better this way."

"He would not have recognised you," Lethe said.

"Really? But I look just like my father! Except for the eyes, of course. People kept telling me about that all the time, back when – you know."

"I dare say, even your closest friends would not recognise you, now."

"Well, if you say so. You want to buy anything, Eddie?"

"Not this time, thank you. It was lovely seeing both again."

"See you around, then." The other Eddie gave him a friendly wave.

Eddie smiled. His un-life was going splendidly.

o️

A Regular

"I want to make this one special," she told Harry and Lethe. "It is the last one on the list, after all."

"Of course," Harry said softly. "We will make sure of it."

"And you will come to us, afterwards?" Lethe asked.

"Yes, one way or another. I already arranged it all. E.L.M and Wizards knows, too, just in case, though I'm not sure how reliable they are – the proprietor did not make the best of impressions."

Lethe's empty smile widened. "Eddie is perfectly fine. And he would love an opportunity to come visit us."

"Well, if you sa–"

The bell above the door chimed and a cold wind swept over her. Lethe and Harry seemed completely unfazed, but she could tell whoever had just entered was no ordinary person. With great reluctance did she turn around and her eyes fell on a figure everyone insisted was dead – or the Ministry insisted he was dead, anyway.

If she were half the woman she was, she would have quivered in her boots in fright. But she didn't. This was The Coffin House, after all, and she had been frequenting it for three decades – ever since her daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren had been murdered. Even if the dreaded Dark Lord decided to kill her here and now, she was certain Lethe and Harry would see her revenge through to the end. It wasn't like she had much longer to live, anyway.

"Welcome," she heard Lethe say and if she turned around she would surely see the same empty smile Lethe always greeted the customers with. "How may we be of assistance?"

"I wish to kill a boy," the Dark Lord said in a voice too high to be menacing (in her opinion – she was old, she had a lot of opinions, even if she was careful to never assume and speculate).

"We can certainly provide," Harry said as calm and composed as ever. "Do you wish to do it, yourself, or shall we do it for you? Depending on the kind of service you are looking for, there are several different options available. I feel that I must inform you, however, that if the boy in question happens to be the so-called 'Boy Who Lived' we must regrettably decline as the protections surrounding the boy would put our services on entirely the wrong side of the law."

"The wrong side of the law?" the Dark Lord repeated and she almost got the impression that he was baffled by that statement.

Clearly not a frequent visitor, she thought to herself, completely unaware of The Coffin House's customs.

"Are you not already 'on the wrong side of the law'?" The Dark Lord eyed the items on display with a sneer. "Were the Aurors to come by, would they not arrest you immediately?"

"You misunderstand," Harry told him in the patient voice she knew he used for tricky customers.

"Death has His own laws," Lethe said.

The Dark Lord gave them one last sceptical look, then swept out of the shop.

"He didn't even acknowledge that he knew us," Harry said and perhaps she was imagining it, but she thought he was pouting. "It's been over twenty years since he last came in. I thought we were friends, once! At least he knew better than to try and force us into compliance."

"What an interesting body he has acquired," Lethe said. "I am afraid I have not kept up with the times, but you would know all about it, would you not?"

"I will tell you about it some other time," Harry said, before turning to her. "Are you alright? That must have been quite the shock."

"Dear me," she said, her voice a bit feeble. "I should have known better than to believe the rubbish the papers were spewing."

"Indeed," Harry said. "Would you like to sit down? Shall I prepare a cup of tea?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. I am not that fragile." She paused. "A cup of tea would be lovely, though, if Lethe were to brew it. You always know how to get it just right, my dear."

"Thank you," Lethe said, blank as ever – reassuring, in a way, how not even the Dark Lord could change that. "I am glad to hear that."

o️

A Regular

"Back again so soon, Eddie?"

"Times are changing." He sighed. "Been slow business ever since the war ended. Got to pass the time somehow."

"It isn't easy being undead these days," the other Eddie agreed.

"Is Lethe around?"

The other Eddie quirked an eyebrow knowingly. "She's entertaining a client in the back. Anything in particular you're looking for or are you just browsing today?"

"Always with the customer service, sheesh. We're old mates, aren't we, Eddie?"

The other Eddie sighed. "My name is Harry."

Eddie blinked. "Eh?"

"Harry Grey."

"Harry?"

"Yes."

Eddie stared.

Then he stared some more.

Then he threw his hands in the air.

"Seventy years, we've known each other! Seventy years and you never thought to tell me your real name?!"

"Names are scarcely given in The Coffin House," the other Eddie – Harry – said, sounding as if he was reciting something. "Though I wasn't aware you thought I was called Eddie. I usually correct people if I notice."

"Why does it say 'Eddie & Lethe', then?"

"Merlin knows why. She just decided to call me that and put it on the sign."

"Huh." He frowned. "You know, my name is actually Eddie."

"I am aware," Harry said, almost indulgently – or maybe that was wishful thinking on Eddie's part.

"Think that's a sign?"

There! That was a twitch on the other – on Harry's lips.

"We will never know," Harry said, clearly amused.

"Right, yes." Eddie turned away from the counter. "Alright, tell me what you've got that I haven't bought before."

o️

Two Visitors

Hermione stood before The Coffin House with confidence. She was the Minister For Magic, she had no reason not to be confident. Next to her, Ron didn't even bother hiding his nervosity. He had told her a little bit of what he knew about Necromancy, though his information had almost entirely been about the Lémure family and things were supposedly rather different down here, if the rumours were true. Hermione didn't know what that meant, having never interacted with any Lémure and no knowledge about the Forbidden Arts other than what the scarce few books she had been able to find on the topic had told her.

The shop must have been very old, if the sign reading 'since 1504' was to be trusted. A coffin and a moving skeleton were on display in the window, but the room behind them was hidden by a black curtain.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione steeled herself and pushed the door open.

A bell chimed softly.

The room was dark, illuminated only by candles burning with green flames. The shelves to either side were filled with strange tools and skulls and bones and other things Hermione tried not to think too hard about – as the Minister, she would have to do something about that. But not right now. She wasn't here on official business at the moment. She could ignore the most likely highly illegal objects and she could ignore the enticing old books on the shelf right next to the counter. (Oh, how she longed to read the titles written on the spines and flip them open and perhaps buy all of them! She had never seen a single one of these in her life, she was certain.)

Behind the counter were two people – a woman with eyes as white as her hair, wearing a black funeral gown that might have been considered 'modern' in medieval times – and a man with messy black hair that reminded her of Harry's. His eyes were green, too, but couldn't have been more different from Harry's. Harry had also never dressed as elegantly and certainly wouldn't have pulled the look off as effortlessly. Even in his forties, Harry had retained some of that boyishness she had always adored him for.

Hermione was generally good at placing someone's age, yet she found herself struggling with these two. Their physical appearances seemed to be both eternally young and middle-aged at the same time, but their aura and demeanour – their magic – told stories of centuries of experience. It was an odd contradiction and where Hermione had been certain immortality was no more than wishful thinking before, she found herself faltering, now.

"Welcome," the woman greeted her and Ron in a voice as bland and emotionless as the smile on her lips. "How may we be of assistance?"

Hermione didn't even glance at Ron as she took another deep breath – he wouldn't be of any help, she knew. Her husband was a bundle of nerves, who would blunder his way through a very awkward conversation and most likely not even manage to ask the question they had come here to ask.

"My name is Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley," she introduced herself briskly, eliciting two sets of raised eyebrows. Full names, she knew, always ensured that there was no room for confusion. "I am looking for Harry James Potter. He was last seen entering your shop. Perhaps you can help us locate him?"

There had been something off about Harry, recently. Hermione and Ron had tried their best to cheer him up, but she knew it hadn't helped. And then rumours of him being seen entering The Coffin House had reached her and she had realised she hadn't seen him in a while and all of a sudden, he was gone. Just – gone. No note, no trace, nothing.

"Harry James Potter may not wander this world anymore," the woman said in the same bland and emotionless tone and Hermione felt her breath hitch, "but as he belongs only to Death and not the dead, I am afraid there is nothing we can do."

"What?" she frowned. "What does that mean?"

"He has found his place in the world," the man who reminded her of Harry a little bit said quietly. "You don't need to worry about him."

"I don't understand – What –"

"Mione." Ron grabbed her hand. "I think we should leave."

She whirled around to face him. "What? No! They haven't given me any answers, yet!"

Ron glanced at the two shopkeepers, clearly uncomfortable and still so very nervous. "You can't argue with Necromancers, Hermione. Trust me. We're already lucky they've told us this much."

"No, Ron. I came here to get answers and I'm not leaving without them!"

The two shopkeepers weren't saying anything. She turned her head to look at them and found them watching – the woman with that same bland and emotionless smile, eyes eerily empty – the man with an amused quirk to his lips, green eyes almost glowing in the dim light.

This – more than anything else, more than the purpose of the shop and the creepy items on display and the way Ron was urging her to leave – this was what finally convinced her to let it go.

Later, she would wonder what had come over her.

Later, she would shake her head at herself and redouble her efforts to find Harry.

But she wouldn't return to the shop. Not even on official business. Or to buy their books.

(They would never find Harry, no matter how hard they looked. They would only see him again, finally, when it was their time to move on to the afterlife. And then, finally, they would realise it had been him behind the counter that day all along. But it would take many years, yet, for them to get to that point.)

(And in the meantime, The Coffin House remained the same as it always had.)