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

As they settled onto the cart, a low, bone-deep roar echoed up from the dark. The whole track shuddered. Bathsheda went still behind him.

Cassian twisted toward the goblin. “What was that?”

The goblin, still dazed from the charm, answered flatly, “The vault warding systems report to the bank core. Each vault’s traps are custom, but they’re tied into our control lattice. You removed them. Successfully, yes, but it triggered a flag.”

Cassian clicked his tongue. “So the bank knows something’s off.”

“Bank core will dispatch an audit team,” the goblin added. “Five minutes, perhaps less. They will not negotiate.”

Cassian frowned. It wasn’t the roar that bothered him. They could handle a dragon. It was what came after… the politics, the fallout. Goblins weren’t sentimental about rules, but they were vicious about reputation. If this went sideways, the Ministry would drop them faster than a cursed ring. Blame them for the break-in. Say they helped Bellatrix escape. Say anything to keep their robes clean.

He was about to say let’s go, get back to the cart and out before someone started locking doors, but then he saw Bathsheda’s hands.

Tight fists. Nails digging in. She was staring back into the dark, at the tunnel they’d come from.

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t look at him. “He’s hurting.”

Cassian frowned. He reached for her hand and felt it.

Ash was awake. And furious.

He looked at Tonks. “Take Bellatrix and go. We’ve got something to finish.”

Tonks blinked. “What? No. We’ve got the cup. Job’s done.”

Cassian stood, already raising his wand. “There’s one more thing.”

Tonks stared. “You’re serious.”

He didn’t wait for her to argue. He turned, and Bathsheda was already moving.

Tonks, still grumbling under her breath, hauled Bellatrix behind her to the cart. The goblin gave them a blank look, then jolted the lever again.

The wheels screamed as they sped off, wind howling through the tunnels.

Cassian walked with Bathsheda towards the loudest noise in depths of the Gringotts. Then the tunnel opened and there stood a giant creature.

It crouched at the end of the track, chained to a carved platform, metal biting into the front limbs. Its wings hung in torn sheets. Eyes milky and unfocused, but its head followed the vibrations as they came. It snarled, deep, rattling.

The scales were dull, cracked at the edges. Burn scars ran in uneven slashes across its face, like it had been taught to fear pain more than freedom. It growled, deep and constant, like something too tired to roar properly. But it didn’t lunge.

Bathsheda reached for her forearm. The magic unfurled in her palm. Her sleeve split, thin threads of crimson light twisting out from under her skin.

Then Ash broke free. The Ridgeback hit the ground like a thrown anchor. Scales shimmered crimson-black. Her eyes flared furious.

The chained dragon bellowed again. Louder now.

Ash responded in kind. The sound cracked through the tunnel like stone breaking. She prowled forward, staying in the chained dragon’s line of scent.

The chained dragon stilled. Ash let the creature ease then she stepped closer.

The chained dragon huffed fire and smoke, almost rasping. It didn’t attack.

Ash turned her head slightly. Then growled again.

The chains cracked.

Cassian stepped toward the nearest binding. Thick steel, runed with something goblin-made and ugly.

He tapped the runes with his wand. They flared in warning.

Ash let out an angry roar.

The dragon blinked.

Then lowered its head.

Cassian was about to move again to help Bahtsheda, who had already begun unbinding the creature, when goblins clustered at the vault’s edge, weapons drawn. Their armour layered rune-metal, scarred and old. Most held short weapons. The one in front, taller than the rest, had a halberd in his grip, and it looked like he knew how to use it.

Cassian turned, wand in hand. Bathsheda crouched near the chained dragon, murmuring under her breath. The beast’s head twitched toward her, claws flexing against the stone. The runes hissed when her fingers brushed them.

“They’ve layered this with memory-binding,” she muttered. “This chain remembers the magical signature of goblins. It punishes anyone trying to break it. Especially him.”

Cassian grimaced. Of course they’d made the bindings sentient. Of course they had.

“Can you-“

“Yes.”

Ash padded up beside Cassian, smoke hissing between her teeth. She growled, forcing the nearest goblins to shift back a half-step. He rested a hand on her nose.

“Easy, girl.”

The lead goblin’s voice cut through the steam. “Rosier. What’s the meaning of this?”

Cassian gave him a long smile. “We’re animal rights activists. Got an anonymous tip about a tortured dragon. Bit grim, isn’t it? If you let him go now, we won’t press charges.”

The goblin snarled. “Enough. Someone’s stolen something.”

Cassian gasped. “Stolen? From Gringotts?” He raised both arms and turned out his pockets, one after the other. “You’re welcome to check. I don’t have anything stolen.”

Another goblin stepped forward. “Theft or not, you’ve broken the rules of Gringotts.”

Cassian’s smile slipped.

“No,” he said, flat. “You’ve broken the law.”

The halberd lifted slightly. “Mind your tone.”

“Two years ago,” Cassian went on, “the Ministry passed the Magical Beings Protection Act. That includes Class Three magical assistants. Elves, dragons, giants and a few trolls. Anything with sentience and proven memory. They’re not just assets anymore. They’ve got rights.”

The lead goblin didn’t blink. “Gringotts is sovereign. You’ve no jurisdiction here.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed.

“This bank stands on British soil. And the fact the wardnet didn’t flag your treatment of that dragon tells me you’ve built something clever. Something custom. You’ve buried him deep, past the ward thresholds. External access and magical scan blocked. That’s hiding a crime.”

He stepped forward. Ash followed him, wings twitching.

“I think we should have a look at whatever’s keeping him below detection.”

The goblins didn’t answer. Didn’t move either.

The chained dragon let out a noise like stone cracking. Cassian heard chains grind, metal biting into scale.

“Last warning,” the goblin said.

“Let us go. You can have your vault. We’ll take the creature.” Cassian said, eyes cold.

The goblin didn’t speak.

“Choose fast.” Cassian gritted his teeth.

Two goblins at the back stepped away from the line. One lowered his weapon. Another whispered something sharp in Gobbledegook that earned him a glare from the halberd bearer.

One of the goblins broke rank.

He leaned forward, teeth bared. “We can kill them. They have noticed our wards. We cannot let them leave.”

Ash’s head snapped up at the sound. Heat rippled through the tunnel.

Cassian glared. “You really want to explain two dead professors to the Ministry?”

“Only if you are found,” the first goblin said.

That shut everyone up for a beat.

Before Cassian could reply, the lead goblin lifted his halberd. The metal rang as he struck halberd’s butt down hard against the stone.

“Enough. Their name carries weight,” the goblin said. “Enough that killing them would not stay quiet. Enough that this would not remain internal.”

The others stilled.

The lead goblin turned his gaze fully on Cassian. His eyes were old.

“Cassian Rosier,” he said. “The Goblin race admires you. Your courage in your battle against evil is known.”

Cassian blinked.

Bathsheda did too, turning for a half beat.

The goblin went on. “We have watched your work. Your efforts toward House‑elves and other bound creatures. We have not forgotten.”

Cassian stared at the goblin. “You’re admiring me while holding weapons at my head. Pick a lane.”

The goblin’s mouth twitched. “We do not wish to fight you. Your role has not yet ended.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

The goblin didn’t answer.

Another goblin stepped forward instead. Younger and nervous. “Leave now,” he said. “We will ignore today’s transgression.”

Cassian laughed, sharp and humourless. He shook his head.

“No. We’re not leaving without the dragon.”

Weapons tightened in grips.

Cassian took a step forward, slow enough that no one mistook it for a charge.

“And I don’t trust you,” he added. “Not after this. You know better than most what was done to your people,” Cassian said. “The theft. The laws written to keep you small. The way Magicks treated goblins like clever tools instead of equals. It was wrong. The discrimination was wrong. The violence was wrong.”

The lead goblin’s jaw tightened.

“And now you have done the same,” Cassian continued. “You took a sentient creature, hurt it, hid it, and told yourselves it was necessary. That it was business. That it was tradition.”

He looked from one goblin to the next. “Did you forget the pain? Or did you decide it only mattered when it was yours?”

Silence fell hard.

One of the older goblins answered.

“Pain is remembered,” he said. “But survival is enforced.”

He tapped the haft of his weapon against the stone. “Dragons were weapons long before they were symbols. This one was purchased to deter incursion. It failed. We contained it.”

Bathsheda looked up sharply. “Contained?”

“Broken,” the goblin corrected. “So it would not be used against us.”

Cassian’s voice cut in. “The same could be said about you. Your crafts. What makes you any different then? Would you be okay if some race stronger chained you, forcing you to craft for them? Protect them?”

The goblin’s eyes looked away.

Cassian didn’t look away from the goblins. “You can stop this now. Let us take him. Or you can prove that power always teaches the same ugly lesson.”

Bathsheda placed her hand against the final chain.

The lead goblin tightened his grip on the halberd.

“If she breaks that,” the younger goblin said, fast now, “the lattice will reclassify the chamber. Emergency protocols will engage.”

“Meaning?” Cassian asked.

“Measures, plural,” the goblin said. “The bank will respond as if under siege.”

Ash lifted her head. Fire churning in her jaw.

Cassian nodded. “Then this is your last chance to make it an internal correction instead of a public disaster.”

He looked straight at the lead goblin.

“You can release one dragon and rewrite the record. Or you can explain to every magical government why Gringotts tortures sentient races under London.”

For a long moment, nobody moved.

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