[60] The House on the Corner

One morning a week later, Hall was working in his study. To the rest of the family, it looked like he was diligently studying.

Ron, wand in hand, burst in, eager to drag Hall out.

"Merlin's beard! Hall! Are you planning to spend the whole holiday in your study?" Ron couldn't understand how anyone could give up a precious holiday to read. "Hurry up — didn't we agree to go to Harry's house?"

It was Hall who'd wanted to visit Sirius before the holidays. He'd told Harry he wanted to see his place, and that's how they'd arranged the time. But now Hall looked completely unwilling to move.

Hall sat before the bookshelf, flipping through stacks of documents, his eyes scanning the dense text for errors. Hearing Ron's eighth urging of the day, he sighed and put the documents down.

"I'll be right back after I've gathered my things." He tidied up, opened a drawer, placed the documents inside, and cast a protective spell.

This was the contract he'd negotiated with the goblins. As Hall had expected, they were very interested in his proposal and had wanted to bypass him and cooperate directly with the apothecary. The apothecary refused. The goblins could only turn back to Hall for further consultation. Their desire to make money had been ignited, and they weren't willing to settle.

However, the goblins had conditions — they needed Hall to prove his abilities. Prove he was worthy of cooperation.

What Hall had in his drawer now was the first batch of insurance clients from St Mungo's, in cooperation with the goblins. A doctor and a healer were acting as guarantors. That was where insurance took effect fastest and spread most rapidly. After the first few patients had part of their medication expenses reimbursed, more patients began buying. Even patients who were already cured and ready to be discharged were still willing to buy. After all, even the doctors and nurses themselves had purchased it.

What they didn't know was that every time someone bought insurance through a doctor's referral, that person received a commission. There was a commission for selling insurance and another for selling medication. The healers and staff of St Mungo's were having a very satisfying holiday.

The medications they sold were all certified and top-notch — just slightly more expensive than others. In the wizarding world, there was no such thing as deliberately prolonging treatment to make money. At most three bottles — if the medication hadn't cured the patient, the apothecary's reputation was ruined. So the healers had no qualms.

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Within a week, St Mungo's sales team had become highly proficient. The goblins, seeing initial success, began large-scale promotion. Gringotts, in bustling Diagon Alley, didn't need Hall to find promotional methods. Even the most basic approach — a poster at the entrance — generated top-tier publicity within a day.

Hall could relax for now. His collaboration with the goblins was primarily to promote his future potion company, even though it was still just a small, unopened workshop.

In the wizarding world, there were no potion companies. St Mungo's potions were either made by their own pharmacists or supplied by long-time apothecaries. When Hall learned this, he knew his opportunity had arrived. Even if all he could sell under his company's name were healing potions.

Hall's original intended partner had been Sirius Black — rich, idle, and clueless about management, the perfect choice for business. The ideal dupe. However, when Lucius Malfoy approached him seeking cooperation, Hall chose him instead — primarily for his connections in the Muggle world. Since the cooperation with Sirius was nonexistent, switching was perfectly normal.

Since Hall didn't intend to cooperate with Sirius, there was no need to go to his house. But Ron and Harry couldn't resist each other's company, exchanging letters daily. Harry was confined to Black's old house and couldn't go out. Even with Sirius's company, he became extremely bored. Ron had mentioned Harry's invitation more than once. On his thirteenth mention, Hall finally agreed.

Harry and Sirius lived at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place — the Black family ancestral home, in a Muggle neighbourhood of London, protected by the Fidelius Charm.

When Hall and Ron stood in Grimmauld Place, looking between numbers eleven and thirteen, there was nothing there.

"Did Harry give the wrong address? There's no twelve," Ron said.

Hall took Harry's letter from Ron. He pulled out a bottle of Revealer and poured it on the letter. A moment later, the ink dissolved, transforming into a name.

"James Potter," Hall read aloud.

As soon as he finished speaking, a noticeable spatial distortion appeared between numbers eleven and thirteen. The distance between the two houses began to increase, and when Ron and Hall came to their senses, a house stood before them. Beside the door: Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"It was just hidden," Hall explained.

The two stood before the door. This centuries-old mansion, even in the bright afternoon sun, seemed eerily sinister. Through the doorframe, Hall could see the interior was overgrown with weeds. The iron rings on the door gleamed coldly.

Ron grasped the rings and knocked. A crisp sound rang out. The door slowly opened. An ancient aura wafted over, carrying a subtle, almost imperceptible magical fluctuation. The entire house reeked of decay and ruin, much like the Black family in its fading glory.

They stepped inside. Hall sensed a distorted fluctuation behind him and immediately turned. Behind him was only a vast expanse of white — the path they had come from was gone.

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