Cassian pushed the door open and didn’t even make it three steps in before Tonks’ pleas rang out.

“Headmaster! Please! Please! Plea-“

Cassian raised a hand. “What’s she harassing you about this time?”

Dumbledore looked over with the weariness of a man trapped under an avalanche of enthusiasm. “Thank Merlin,” he muttered, voice barely audible.

Tonks turned fast, hands on hips. “You’re late.”

Cassian grabbed Bathsheda by the arms and dragged her forward like a shield. “Deal with her. I’m too old.”

Bathsheda swatted his arm and stepped neatly aside.

Harry hovered near the door, trying not to laugh.

Tonks crossed her arms. “I asked first. I’ve got priority.”

“You didn’t even ask yet,” Cassian said. “You were still in the begging phase.”

Tonks narrowed her eyes. “You’re dragging poor Professor Bathsheedles into another dangerous thing-“

“Don’t call her that,” Cassian cut in.

Bathsheda raised a brow. “Please don’t.”

“-and I’m stuck babysitting a toad when I could be doing actual work,” Tonks finished, waving a hand. “I want a reward!”

Cassian sighed. “Let’s deal with her first. We’ll need her.”

He turned to Dumbledore. “What does she want?”

Dumbledore looked like he’d been losing this argument for a while. His shoulders sagged. “She wants to become a Professor. But we don’t have a vacancy.”

Tonks spun toward Cassian. “It’s your fault.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes. “What, for the staffing issue or your career choices?”

“You lifted the curse.”

“Oh, that. I’ve already had this conversation.” He turned to Harry. “Potter, I choose you this time.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

Tonks grinned. “Wotcher, Potter.”

“Hello, Tonks,” Harry said. Then his face shifted into something tragic and soft. “You know Defence Professor is Sirius. If the curse hadn’t been lifted, he’d be in danger.”

Tonks narrowed her eyes at Cassian. “Why’d you choose a student? He used Puppy Eyes. Super Effective.”

Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why does this feel like a Pokemon battle?”

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Let’s get to business. I’ve convinced the new Minister to let us borrow Miss Lestrange for a few hours. But we need to move quickly.”

“Did you work on your acting, Tonks?” Cassian asked.

Tonks grinned and let her face twist. Bones cracked, eyes darkened, and her hair bled to black in seconds.

“Oh, but Dromeda,” she said, voice sugary and sharp, “they do scream the loudest when they beg, don’t they?”

Cassian blinked. “Bloody hell.”

Tonks flicked her wand and shifted back, cracking her neck. “Convincing?”

He nodded. “Worryingly.”

Now that was a skill to master. Thoughts for later.

Tonks beamed as she dropped back into herself, cheeks pink with effort or pride.

“Ministry had already leaked Bellatrix Lestrange’s escape. It won’t spread, but Gringotts must’ve caught wind. If she shows her face, no one’ll ask questions. But I can’t be seen there.” Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, hands folded, as if this was all very routine.

Cassian nodded. “We’ll handle it.”

Tonks straightened, practically bouncing in place. “Right, so we break into the most heavily warded vault in Britain, impersonate a lunatic, steal an ancient relic, and get out before the goblins realise someone’s nicked the silver. Sounds like a normal day with Professor R.”

Dumbledore tapped the map. “The vault’s tied to lineage. The blood seal recognises Lestrange, but only if it senses a magical signature. That’s where the Cloak comes in.”

Cassian gave a nod. “Good. We’ll use it over the entrance point. Once inside, Tonks takes over. We’re backup. You’re lookout.”

Tonks cracked her neck, let her face shift again.

“Do try to keep up,” she said sweetly. “I haven’t got all day.”

Cassian blinked. “You’re too good at that.”

“I practised on my mum.”

“She still speaking to you after this?”

“She hexed the tea. Fair trade.”

Dumbledore watched them. “This won’t be easy.”

“How are we getting past the Thief’s Downfall?” Tonks asked, brows furrowed.

Cassian jerked a thumb at the fireplace. “We’ll see how it goes when we get there.”

Tonks narrowed her eyes. “That’s not a plan.”

“It’s a flexible plan.”

She looked like she wanted to throw something. Probably him.

He stepped into the grate, grabbed a pinch of powder, and looked back.

“Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes”

The flames turned green.

He vanished.

Others followed.

Cassian stepped out of the green flames, saw Fred and George were already waiting, grins locked in place. The door was bolted, the window shades half-drawn. Someone had upended a box of what looked like mini-howlers in the corner, one of them barked at his shoe and then exploded into glitters.

“If it isn’t our favourite Professor,” George said.

“And Professor R’s here too,” Fred added, snickering

Cassian deadpanned. “I told you not to draw attention. Why is the shop closed?”

Fred shrugged, unbothered. “We shut it from time to time. Need room to work. If we spent every hour flogging puking pastilles, we’d never invent anything new.”

Harry stepped out next. Tonks followed with a quick stumble, brushing ash off her collar. The twins spotted them both and perked up.

“Well, look who turned up,” Fred said, grinning wider.

“Hello, trouble,” George told Harry. “And you’ve brought your terrifying cousin.”

Fred whistled. “Merlin’s knees, you really are doing something illegal.”

Tonks gave him a sharp-toothed smile.

Kingsley stepped out of the Floo a few seconds after, dragging Bellatrix Lestrange by the chains, and wasn’t subtle about it either, runed cuffs, feet scraping, expression sour as vinegar. She’d been stunned, probably twice, judging by the droop in her jaw, but still managed to lift an eyebrow at the room.

“Bit crowded.”

Cassian raised a hand. “King.”

Bathsheda elbowed him in the ribs.

Kingsley gave him a look, half done already. “Did you finalise your plan?”

“More or less,” Cassian said.

“Two hours is all we got,” Kingsley warned. “You won’t get another chance.”

***

They moved toward the back door. The cloak covered Cassian, Bathsheda, and the real Bellatrix. A bit tight, but nobody elbowed anyone in the face, so it worked.

Tonks shifted again, smile wicked. She tugged a gauzy veil down and jammed a hat on top.

Harry watched all of it, arms crossed. “Why am I here if I’m not coming?”

Cassian shrugged. “Witness. And alibi.”

Potter sighed. Slumping.

And with that, they were off, Tonks in front, walking like she had a knife tucked under her tongue, the three of them shadowing her under the cloak. Cassian took Bellatrix’s voice and bottled it with a cork and a smirk.

Bathsheda slapped three runes across her collarbone. One shimmered gold, the others dull red. Bellatrix stiffened. Her limbs locked. Even her eyebrow twitched, then stopped trying.

“No wiggling,” Bathsheda muttered. “No fun for psychos.”

Now she couldn’t struggle even if she tried.

Cassian muttered, “We’re following a woman pretending to be a woman pretending she’s not the woman she actually is.”

Bathsheda snorted.

When they got to Gringotts, Tonks strode straight up to the counter, tilted her head, and murmured into the goblin’s ear. Goblin gave her a long look, sniffed, then slipped off the stool and disappeared through a side door.

Tonks folded her arms and waited, tapping a toe like someone who’d rather be strangling a house-elf.

The goblin came back. Two more followed. One beckoned sharply. Tonks didn’t waste a second. She followed him into the side corridor. Cassian moved with her. They passed three counting rooms and a ward post before the goblin stopped in front of a vaulted door, hissed something under his breath, and waved them in.

Inside, the room was all brass fixtures and iron trim. A magic reader hovered above it, faint lines of gold light drifting from its base.

A bloodline check.

Tonks stepped into the middle and pulled off one glove. She hissed when the needle jabbed her thumb, mostly a show. The glove Cassian had given her was thin as skin, soaked with Bellatrix’s blood, clung against her hand, matching every line. The reader drank the sample, blinked, then pulsed green.

The rune hummed. Then buzzed.

She tilted her head back, let her lip curl. “You dare question a Lestrange?”

Cassian watched the goblins. Not a single flicker. Just polite boredom.

Tonks dropped the glove, turned, and strode back toward the door. “Get me my vault.”

The goblins didn’t argue. Gringotts didn’t care about laws. Not human ones, anyway. Dark Lords, killers, war criminals… it was all the same to them. Credibility mattered. Vault rights mattered. And Bellatrix Lestrange, for all her sins, was rich enough to make dragons kneel. The goblins didn’t flinch when they saw her. Didn’t ask why she wasn’t frothing at the mouth or bleeding in Azkaban. They saw a vault key, a verified wand, and blood that matched. That was enough.

One led them back through the tunnels, torches flickering as the cart rolled down the track. When the cart pulled in, Tonks was already arguing with the goblin over vault protocol, her voice haughty and loud. The goblin barely looked up as the others slipped past in the shadow of the cart.

Only after they’d all crammed into the cart did Tonks settle in the front. The goblin didn’t say a word, just stared at the cart with a frown. He could swear it weighed more than it should’ve. His eyes narrowed. His hand hovered near the brake.

Cassian flicked his wand under the Cloak. The goblin blinked. The frown melted off his face like it had never been there. He muttered something under his breath and yanked the lever forward.

They lurched off the platform, wheels grinding hard against the rails. The tunnel swallowed them. The cart sped up, veering into tighter curves. The vaults blurred past.

Then the track dipped.

Ahead, a stone arch loomed, half-choked in fog. Water dripped from the top in a stream. The Thief’s Downfall.

Cassian tensed. “Keep still.”

The cart didn’t slow.

He raised his wand, shaped the shield and flattened it out like a dish. The stream hit the curve of it with a hiss. Light sparked across the surface, gold tinged with violet.

The water ran off. The shield worked. No alarms or wards cracking. They passed through. Cassian let the shield drop as they shot past the last arch. The tracks rose again. The cart slowed.

The goblin brought them to a halt outside a wide stone platform.

“Vault,” he said.

Tonks stepped off first. The rest slipped after her, staying under the Cloak. The goblin muttered something, pressed his palm to the edge of the door, and stepped back.

“Blood confirmed,” he said. “Fifteen minutes. Doors seal after that.”

Tonks gave him a snarl of a smile.

The vault opened, revealing shelves piled high with glittering trash. Jewels, goblets, cursed masks, too many things that looked like they’d scream if touched.

Cassian sighed. “Right. Let’s do this fast.”

He stepped inside first. Bathsheda followed, hauling Bellatrix along.

Tonks stayed by the door, checking outside.

“Check left,” Cassian said, already moving toward the back.

Bathsheda moved with her wand sending tiny pulses. She caught two cursed goblets, nudged them aside.

Cassian scanned the shelves. Piles of inheritance crap, bits of armour, a crown that definitely didn’t belong here. Nothing screamed Horcrux. Yet.

Bellatrix gave a rasp, her fingers twitching.

Cassian stopped.

There. Half buried under gold.

Helga’s cup.

He reached for it, but Bathsheda pulled him. “Back.”

She moved, tapping the air. Runes sparked.

“Flagrante,” she said flatly. “And Gemino.”

Cassian raised a brow. “Both? Clever bastard.”

“Sloppy work.”

She flicked her wand. One of the goblets near the front shimmered, split in two, then three, then hissed with heat.

“Classic trap. Touch one, it burns you. Drops another dozen. You drown in molten junk.”

Cassian took a step back, gulping. “Lovely.”

She didn’t bother with slow unraveling. Her wand snapped left to right, then down. Light sparked then snuffed out like someone had cut the fuse.

She rolled her shoulders. “Child’s play.”

Cassian stared at the now-still treasure pile. “Remind me to never touch your sock drawer.”

She rolled her eyes.

Cassian picked up the cup.

“Got it,” he said.

Bathsheda was already turning. “Let’s go before the goblins remember they hate us.”

(Check Here)

Why did the lurker cross the road? Nobody knows. They didn’t say.

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