For a long moment, nobody moved.

“We cannot simply let the dragon and you go,” one of the older goblins said at last. “If our wards become known, Gringotts will be compromised. That cannot happen.”

Cassian’s hand, that rested on Ash’s neck and kept her from letting loose, clenched.

“But,” the goblin went on, “we are willing to show leniency, Rosier. Sign a blood contract. Swear silence. You leave. The matter ends here.”

Cassian dropped his hand from Ash’s neck. “Is that your final answer?”

Every goblin in sight braced. Weapons aimed forward.

Bathsheda didn’t look up from the final shackle.

The one with the halberd shifted his grip. Then, without speaking, raised a hand.

The cuffs sprang. Metal loosened as the wards sloughed away. The chained dragon stumbled as the last one hit the floor.

Bathsheda stepped back and reached up, brushing its jaw with the back of her fingers. The creature stayed still. Too quiet for something that suffered that much. Although she could feel the creature’s involuntary shivers whenever a goblin spoke.

Cassian sighed, dropping his wand to his side. “Good call.”

The halberd stayed up. His jaw flexed. “Leave before I change my mind.”

Ash stepped in beside Bathsheda and dropped her head against her shoulder. The moment her weight touched down she vanished back into Bathsheda’s skin.

Cassian turned to the older dragon.

Its wings barely twitched. Scars lined the ribs. It didn’t raise its head.

“Too hurt to bind,” Cassian muttered. “Give him quiet till he wants more.”

Bathsheda nodded. “He needs rest.”

Cassian flicked his wand. The dragon shimmered, and a second later, the creature vanished. Ash’s tattoo flared red along Bathsheda’s arm before settling again.

Wouldn’t hold long. But long enough.

He turned back to the goblins. “I’m not alerting the Ministry. But don’t mistake my silence for permission.”

Goblins shifted.

“I was the one who drafted the law that made this illegal. Class Three creatures, protected under magical rights. That dragon counts. So this,” he pointed at the stone, the chains, the scorch marks, “this is a crime. Next time I hear it’s happening again, I won’t be quiet. I’ll burn this bank down one vault at a time.”

The younger ones looked uneasy. One near the back gulped hard enough to make a sound. The older ones didn’t move. Just clenched their jaws.

The goblin with the halberd only stared a moment longer, then said, “Bring the staff.”

Goblins murmured among themselves.

“The staff?”

“He can’t mean that one, right?”

“Which other could it be?”

One of the elders cut through their chatter. “Enough. Quickly, bring it.”

A younger goblin peeled off, vanished down. They were already close to the bottom, Lestrange vault sat near the lowest ring. Not many places lower. Whatever they were fetching was buried deep.

It took maybe three minutes. Then the runner returned, hauling something long and wrapped in red velvet. It was nearly Cassian’s height.

He placed it carefully in front of the halberd-bearer, then stepped back like the thing might explode.

The goblin unwrapped it without flair.

The staff was old. White wood, runed from top to bottom in a pattern that didn’t belong to any human script.

The goblin offered it to Cassian.

He didn’t take it right away.

“What is it?” he asked.

The goblin didn’t blink. “You’ll understand eventually.”

Cassian looked at the staff. Then the goblin. Then back at the staff.

“Of course I bloody will.”

The goblin stepped back. “We’re done here.”

Cassian slung the staff over his shoulder and turned without a word.

Bathsheda fell into step beside him.

The goblins didn’t follow. Didn’t stop them either. The tunnel stretched ahead, empty and echoing.

They walked in silence for a long while.

Cassian finally muttered, “I have a very bad feeling about this stick.”

Bathsheda didn’t smile. “Don’t let it hear you. Might develop a personality.”

Cassian looked down at it. “Gods help us if it starts talking.”

She bumped his shoulder. “You’d argue with it.”

He would.

***

The front door creaked open, the little bell above it giving a lazy jingle. Tonks was pacing near the counter, boots scuffing the floor. She didn’t look up right away, too busy muttering to herself about crazy professors and last minute shows.

Kingsley and Bellatrix weren’t around, probably long gone. Harry was over by the till, sitting cross-legged, losing a Gobstones match to the twins. Judging by the sulphurous cloud rising from one of the stones, Fred wasn’t playing fair.

Tonks spotted them and marched straight over, eyes scanning to see if they missed a limb or two. “What happened? Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Cassian said.

She didn’t look convinced.

“Where’s the cup?” he asked.

Tonks jerked her thumb toward the side table. “We put it there. Started to feel a bit odd, so we didn’t want to go near it.”

He walked over, glanced down. The thing sat right in the middle, squat and smug-looking. Same old Helga’s goblet, polished and full of issues.

Cassian reached for it. His fingers lit up, white light, clear as bone, and the moment he touched the rim, the cup screamed.

Not metaphorically. It let out a proper, nails-on-iron, dying-banshee shriek that rattled the glassware.

Tonks flinched. “What in the Azkaban was that?”

Cassian tilted his head. “Just a little cursed artefact and my new spell.” He gave the cup a small tap. “Bit touchy, this one.”

Harry edged over. “You can do it already?”

Cassian shook his head. “Can’t kill it yet. But I can make it squirm. Want a turn?”

Harry stepped back fast. “Maybe not.”

Cassian turned to him. “Where’s the spirit?”

Harry gulped loudly. Tonks looked at them, then Harry, but none of them said anything. Fred raised an eyebrow. George looked mildly offended he hadn’t been briefed.

Cassian didn’t explain. “Let’s go.”

***

They gave Dumbledore the update in less than five minutes. He didn’t ask for details. Just nodded and told them to “get some rest while the world catches up.”

Cassian muttered something about the world being terminally slow and headed out.

Bathsheda and Cassian walked down the sloped path toward Hagrid’s hut. Smoke curled from the chimney.

Hagrid was outside, trying to convince a shovel to stand upright in the mud. It refused.

“Got a moment?” Cassian called.

Hagrid looked up, wiped his hands on his coat, and grinned. “Thought you two’d vanished.”

“Temporarily,” Cassian said. “We’ve got something for you.”

Hagrid frowned but followed.

They cut into the forest. Until they travelled deep into it and found an opening. Bathsheda drifted a few steps ahead, already tracing something in the dirt with her foot.

“Yeh alright?” Hagrid asked, squinting at her.

“She’s prepping something. Don’t distract her,” Cassian said. “Tried that once mid-ritual, got turned into a desk lamp for an hour.”

Hagrid chuckled. “Still got the glow?”

“I do. Thanks for noticing.”

Bathsheda crouched and drew a symbol with the end of a broken branch. Then another.

Cassian sat on the nearest stump.

“How’s Grawp?” he asked.

“Talking more,” Hagrid said proudly. “And he don’t throw trees anymore. Least not when I’m looking.”

Cassian nodded. “Sounds like an improvement.”

“Oh, and he’s reading,” Hagrid added, like that was the kicker. “Got him some old Beedle stories. Likes the pictures.”

Cassian smirked. “We’ll get him on theory of runic sequencing next.”

“Don’t rush him,” Hagrid said. “One thing at a time.”

Cassian glanced over his shoulder. Bathsheda had moved on to the third ring now. Her sleeves were rolled, chalk flashing in her fingers. The ground shimmered faintly in the spots she’d marked.

“And how’s Maxime?”

Hagrid cleared his throat. “Still headmistressing. Sends letters. Brings wine I can’t pronounce. Think we’re getting serious.”

Cassian raised a brow. “Oh, that’s good. Did anything?”

“Knitted her a scarf.”

Cassian gave him a look.

“Used Yeti wool,” Hagrid said. “Real soft.”

“Romantic.”

Hagrid shrugged. “She said I was predictable.”

Cassian smirked. “That’s fine. Predictable’s the half of the marriage.”

Behind them, Bathsheda straightened, brushed her palms on her robes, then touched the inside of her left forearm.

A breath later, the dragon appeared. The old one.

Hagrid stepped back like he’d been hit.

“What-“

Cassian chuckled, watching him go through emotions.

Hagrid blinked, jaw slack. “Where-?”

“Gringotts,” Cassian said. “Chained under the vaults. Used as a security system. Left to rot when it couldn’t scare anyone fast enough.”

Bathsheda moved toward the creature. It didn’t flinch.

“We unhooked him,” Cassian said. “He’s weakened but still strong enough. Eyes mostly blind, tortured too much.”

Hagrid didn’t speak. His eyes were locked on the dragon, wide and soft.

Cassian watched him for a second. “Think you can manage?”

Hagrid stepped forward, slow and quiet like approaching a wounded beast.

“Those bastards,” Hagrid muttered, running a hand along the dragon’s jaw. The creature stayed there, letting Hagrid’s touch.

Cassian had long figured Hagrid had something most Magicks didn’t. The way creatures trusted him. Even the cursed ones. Even the old ones. Cassian had seen it enough times to know it wasn’t luck. Was half the reason he’d taught the man a few druid spells he’d learned two summers back. Basic wordless bindings. Soothing fields. Hagrid had a knack for animal magic, even if he was absolute rubbish with anything plant-based.

“He might not bond,” Cassian said, stepping closer. “Doesn’t mean he won’t settle. But he needs someone near him. Someone who won’t flinch when he breathes.”

Hagrid nodded slowly. His hand was still on the dragon’s jaw, thumb brushing over a patch of thickened scar. “I’ll stay with him. Won’t let him be alone again.”

Cassian gave a nod. “Didn’t think you would. Thought if anyone could love the poor bastard proper, it’d be you.”

Hagrid looked up, eyes wet. “Thank yeh. Really.”

Cassian didn’t say anything more. Just reached out and clapped his arm.

Behind them, Bathsheda stepped back from the ring she’d drawn.

“This patch is reinforced,” she said. “Trees won’t catch, creatures’ll keep clear. Should be enough to hold for now.”

Hagrid stood, brushing his knees. “Appreciate it.”

She gave a nod, tucking her wand away. “He still needs to fly. Don’t keep him penned in too long. And make sure he doesn’t wander close to the school. If he gets hungry near the greenhouses, Sprout will kill all three of you.”

Hagrid let out a breath like a laugh. “Won’t be a problem.”

“Right,” Cassian said, stepping back. “We’ve got one more cursed object in a biscuit tin. You good here?”

Hagrid nodded again. “Yeah. We’ll be alright.”

Cassian turned and started back into the trees. Bathsheda fell into step beside him.

Neither spoke until the clearing vanished behind the branches.

Only then did Cassian mutter, “I really, really hate banks.”

Bathsheda exhaled hard. “You think they’ll retaliate?”

“No. They’ll play nice until they don’t.”

She glanced at him. “And the staff?”

“No idea. I think it likes me. That’s probably a bad sign.”

She huffed. “I’m getting jealous.”

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