"Transform."
Rowan Mercer stepped into Diagon Alley and reshaped himself completely. His height, build, face, even his magical signature shifted until he became an unfamiliar adult wizard. Then, without the slightest hesitation, he walked straight into Gringotts.
The transformation magic he'd learned allowed full physical alteration now, not illusions or surface tricks. As long as the size difference wasn't extreme, he could become anyone. Even objects, if he wished. True, the transformation dulled his strength slightly, but that hardly mattered.
A sick adult could still crush children without effort.
A goblin clerk escorted him through the marble hall to a counter manned by an older goblin.
"How may I help you, sir?"
Rowan didn't answer aloud.
Imperius.
The goblin's eyes glazed over.
"Take me to the Lestrange vault."
"Of course," the goblin said with a strained smile. He motioned to a younger goblin to take over his station and personally led Rowan toward a side door.
Beyond it lay rough stone corridors lit by torches and lined with carts. Rowan climbed into one, and they plunged deep underground.
No alarms sounded. No wards reacted. Gringotts had noticed nothing amiss.
They reached the deepest level.
A chained dragon lay ahead, massive and scarred, guarding five of the most prestigious vaults in the bank.
It lifted its head, eyes narrowing. Then it sensed Rowan.
The dragon froze.
With a low whine, it backed away as far as the chains allowed, folded its wings over its head, and began to tremble.
Rowan didn't spare it a glance.
Even without revealing his true form, the aura he carried was enough. To a dragon, he was death wearing human skin.
"Open it."
The goblin placed his hand against the Lestrange vault door. The metal dissolved, revealing a dark tunnel.
Rowan dismissed the goblin and stepped inside.
"Impressive."
Gold piled from floor to ceiling. Galleons, enchanted goblets, elaborate armor, rare magical creature hides, priceless potions, and cursed artifacts. At the far end sat a skull crowned with jewels.
Even Rowan had to admit it. Compared to this, his own wealth felt modest.
He picked up a golden cup.
Instantly, it glowed red-hot and duplicated itself again and again.
Fire curses. Multiplication wards.
Classic Lestrange paranoia.
"Finite."
The magic evaporated.
Every curse in the vault collapsed at once.
Rowan took out a small container and calmly collected everything inside. Gold, artifacts, potions, the lot. Including Helga Hufflepuff's cup.
The Lestrange family had only one remaining heir. Bellatrix. And she was locked in Azkaban, likely for life.
Eventually, the vault would revert to Gringotts anyway.
Rowan saw no reason to let goblins profit from it.
Once finished, he had the goblin reseal the vault, rode the cart back up, erased the goblin's memory, and replaced it with a mundane withdrawal.
Then he walked out of Gringotts.
Whether the theft was discovered later didn't concern him. If the goblins noticed, they'd bury it. Publicly admitting a breach would destroy confidence in Gringotts itself.
And no one was coming to claim the Lestrange vault.
Rowan returned to Knockturn Alley, dropped the disguise, and unlocked his shop.
Someone was already waiting.
"Minister Fudge," Rowan said mildly. "What brings you here?"
Cornelius Fudge smiled, all warmth and calculation.
"Rowan, my boy. I thought we should have a little talk before certain announcements are made."
Rowan opened the door wider.
"Please," he said pleasantly. "Come in."