Tom was gone—fled to safety somewhere unknown, taking only what he could carry. Up and down the entire length of Diagon Alley, stretching from the Leaky Cauldron entrance all the way to the distant curve where the cobblestones disappeared from view, nearly every shop was hauling stock out their doors like refugees fleeing an advancing army.

Far in the distance, barely visible through the haze and chaos, the gleaming scarlet form of the Hogwarts Express sat waiting at the alley’s small platform station.

The magnificent steam engine was pouring thick columns of white smoke into the bright afternoon sky, prepared to carry yet another load of rescued merchandise away to safer locations.

“People saw it with their own eyes—at the Quidditch World Cup final, when Professor Watson and that dark witch Cliodna crossed wands—”

A group of them had gathered to stand before the large display window of Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour. They watched in somber silence as the chaos continued to unfold across the alley before them. Percy’s voice was grave while he was explaining.

“The Ministry made that formal announcement to the entire wizarding world just this morning: that You-Know-Who has returned. The prisoners who escaped from Azkaban during the mass breakout are all notorious Death Eaters. Everyone with any sense believes—correctly, I think—that You-Know-Who won’t simply accept this challenge lying down. That he’ll choose to retaliate against the Ministry and soon.”

Percy paused, his eyes tracking a family hurrying past with armfuls of hastily grabbed possessions.

“And if he and Professor Watson come to direct blows here in Diagon Alley, the destruction would be absolutely catastrophic. Beyond anything we can even imagine.”

Understanding appeared slowly in Harry’s green eyes. He finally grasped fully why all these people were so desperate to flee, why they were abandoning businesses that had stood for generations, leaving behind inventory and infrastructure they’d spent lifetimes building.

And objectively speaking, when he really thought it through, they weren’t being paranoid or cowardly.

At the Quidditch World Cup final, Harry had been there in person. He had watched with his own eyes as Professor Watson faced off against Cliodna in that overwhelming duel. The image of that battle where everything reduced to silence in the wake of their clashing powers was still seared into his memory.

If Professor Watson and Voldemort truly came to full combat in Diagon Alley, throwing everything they had at each other without restraint—there was simply no question about the outcome for the surrounding area.

Every single stone of it would be reduced to ash and rubble.

“Hasn’t Professor Watson considered this possibility?”

The suffocating sense of impending doom hanging over the alley had even managed to extinguish George’s usual irrepressible humor completely. He stared at the abandoned shopfronts stretching in both directions with a kind of helpless, blank bewilderment.

“If Diagon Alley is destroyed—where will ordinary wizards do their shopping? Where will families buy their children’s school supplies? Hogsmeade Village is charming, certainly, but it can’t hold a candle to this place in terms of selection or scale. This is the commercial heart of magical Britain.”

Percy Weasley had been through enough hardship and upheaval by now that he carried himself with a steadiness and gravity, he hadn’t possessed even a year ago. The young man who had once been so concerned with rules and appearances had been tempered by reality.

“Some of the shopkeepers who heard the news early this morning have already rushed to the Ministry to file formal complaints and protests,” Percy said, adjusting his glasses with one hand. “They demanded meetings with Minister Bones, with department heads, with anyone who would listen. They want compensation guarantees, protection assurances, something to make this bearable.”

He shook his head slowly.

“But I suspect that Professor Watson won’t be moved in the slightest by their objections or concerns. When he believes something is necessary, nothing will change his course.”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchanged glances among themselves. None of them said a word aloud, but they didn’t need to.

Among all the young witches and wizards currently enrolled at Hogwarts, they were among the very few who truly knew Professor Bryan Watson on anything approaching a personal level.

And they all understood with certainty: once Professor Watson had set his mind firmly to something, once he’d decided on a course of action he believed was right and necessary, he did not waver.

But for all that understanding, George’s question wasn’t wrong or foolish.

If Diagon Alley were completely destroyed in the coming confrontation—where would wizarding families buy their children’s textbooks and cauldrons? Where would new Hogwarts students come each summer to be properly fitted for their first wands? Where would the community gather, trade, interact?

Diagon Alley wasn’t just a shopping district. It was a cultural institution, a cornerstone of British wizarding life.

“This decision from Bryan and the Ministry…”

Mrs. Weasley wrung her hands anxiously. Her round face was creased with worry and uncertainty.

“It doesn’t seem entirely prudent, does it? I mean—of course, standing up to You-Know-Who is absolutely the right thing to do, the necessary thing. We can’t just let him terrorize the country unopposed. But even so….”

She trailed off, unable to fully articulate the complicated tangle of thoughts and feelings churning inside her.

She wasn’t the only one troubled by this. Even Remus was turning the question over carefully in mind, his brow were furrowed with concentration.

If Diagon Alley were indeed consumed in war, transformed into an active battlefield between the Ministry’s forces and Voldemort’s Death Eaters, there were at least two devastating problems that would need addressing:

First, the catastrophic financial losses that would be suffered by these merchants and shopkeepers.

And second, perhaps even more critically, the massive disruption to ordinary wizarding life and commerce that such destruction would cause. The ripple effects would spread through the entire magical community.

“What are all those people doing down there?”

The others had fallen into worried, contemplative silence, each lost in their own troubled thoughts.

Ron broke that silence suddenly, squinting with his hand shading his eyes at the long queue of witches and wizards toward the massive, grand white marble building in the near distance—a queue that looked from this vantage point like a colony of ants marching in formation.

“They’re probably trying to withdraw their gold galleons from Gringott,” Remus said calmly, needing only a single glance at the scene to understand exactly what was happening and why.

“They’re afraid their money will be caught in the crossfire when the fighting starts?”

Harry’s question was reasonable, but Remus shook his head slowly, his expression was growing even more somber.

“I suspect it goes considerably beyond simple fear of physical destruction, Harry.”

He paused, gathering his thoughts to explain clearly.

” You know fines and penalties aren’t exactly uncommon in wizarding law—the Ministry has always made strategic use of financial punishments for various law-breaking activities. But the complete seizure of personal assets, the total confiscation of an individual’s entire accumulated wealth and estate—”

Remus’s voice dropped lower.

“As far as I know, studying both recent history and the older records, there’s absolutely no precedent for it. Not in modern times. Not even during Grindelwald’s war or the previous conflict with You-Know-Who. This is genuinely unprecedented in scope.”

“What does that mean?” Ron asked, his face showing genuine puzzlement. “Why does it matter whether it’s happened before or not?”

Hermione’s brown eyes went wide with something caught between awe and deep unease.

“It means your money is no longer entirely your own, Ron. It means that if you were to do something that the Ministry judged wrong—and if they deemed the offense serious enough to warrant full confiscation under their new powers—they could go straight to Gringotts and simply take every single Knut, Sickle, and Galleon you have without so much as a word of warning to you. Seized. Just like that.”

Ron hadn’t even managed his gasp of shock before Hermione, still staring intently at the long queue of witches and wizards stretching before Gringotts’ grand entrance, bit her lower lip hard. A new question was clearly forming in her mind, troubling her.

“But I can’t make sense of it—why would the goblins agree to cooperate with the Ministry’s unprecedented decree? Why would they voluntarily participate in something like this? Surely this does enormous, perhaps irreparable damage to their cultivated reputation for neutrality and absolute vault security?”

Harry blinked, and then understood immediately what was troubling her.

He remembered vividly his very first trip to Diagon Alley, years ago now, when Hagrid had taken him shopping for school supplies. Hagrid had described Gringotts as the safest place in the entire world to keep something hidden and protected—save for Hogwarts itself, of course.

At Gringotts, Hagrid had explained with confidence, private property was sacrosanct. The goblins followed their own ancient laws and codes, not Ministry decrees. They would release a vault’s contents only to its rightful owner or their lawful, verified heir. Ministry orders and demands meant nothing to them.

And yet now—now they had voluntarily, publicly cooperated with the Ministry’s punishment decree. They had willingly, even eagerly, agreed to surrender the gold Galleons left in their keeping by Death Eaters who had escaped from Azkaban during the breakout.

There was simply no question about it: this unprecedented cooperation would lead many people to conclude that Gringotts was no longer the neutral, untouchable institution it had always claimed to be.

It was a devastating, perhaps fatal blow to the fundamental principles underlying the goblins’ entire banking enterprise.

A thoughtful glimmer passed through Remus’s eyes as he followed this same chain of reasoning to its conclusion.

The goblins were not fools. They were calculating, intelligent, deeply pragmatic beings who had survived and thrived for centuries by making shrewd decisions. They must have extracted something far greater, something of enormous value from Bryan and the Ministry in return for this cooperation.

Nothing short of truly extraordinary compensation could have convinced them to so intensely undercut their own centuries-old business model and reputation. But these thoughts Remus carefully kept to himself, not wanting to speculate aloud without more information.

“I’m not entirely in favor of the Ministry’s approach to all this,” Percy said slowly, his expression grave and troubled as he watched the anxious stream of wizards shuffling forward in the endless queue.

“Madam Bones stepping in as interim Minister was far too abrupt—it happened too fast, without proper process or consultation. A great many influential people are already opposed to her leadership on principle, seeing it as illegitimate.

And a decision like this—this unprecedented seizure of assets, will only give more people reasons to cry out against her administration. It isn’t politically wise, regardless of whether it’s morally justified.”

“I see it quite differently, Percy.”

Remus shook his head gently.

“The Ministry is in profound turmoil right now following You-Know-Who’s return and Fudge’s removal. Order and respect for law are at their most fragile and vulnerable. Even some normally law-abiding witches and wizards, people who’ve never broken a serious rule in their lives, might begin to entertain dangerous ideas when they see the government in chaos.”

He gestured toward Gringotts.

“At a critical moment like this, Bryan securing this unprecedented power over Gringotts for the Ministry—forcing the goblins to cooperate, demonstrating that the government can reach anyone’s assets if necessary—sends a very stern, unmistakable message to those who are wavering between law and lawlessness. It may well deter a significant amount of criminal behavior if potential criminals realize they’d rather not see their accumulated wealth confiscated as punishment.”

“But couldn’t people simply withdraw their money and take it back home?” Harry asked, the question came before he’d fully thought it through. “Just like these people in line here are doing—stop keeping it at Gringotts altogether? Hide it under floorboards or in garden sheds?”

“In times of violent upheaval and uncertainty, hiding a small fortune under your floorboards is hardly a sound plan either, Harry,” Remus answered calmly.

“Your house could burn down in Death Eater raids. Thieves could break in during the chaos. You could be killed and your family might never find where you hid it. When it comes to professional safeguarding of wealth—the goblins are considerably more competent and reliable than any private individual could ever be.”

He paused.

“And besides, if you have no intention of breaking the law, if you plan to remain a law-abiding citizen during this crisis, then you have nothing to fear from the Ministry’s new powers. Do you?”

Harry said nothing immediately. Then, slowly, thoughtfully, he nodded his acceptance.

They made their way down the street to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions—the shop where Harry had been fitted for his very first set of Hogwarts robes. They found it shuttered and dark, exactly as expected given everything else they’d seen.

Through the clear glass of the large display window, Harry could see with his own eyes that even the heavy bolts of fabric that had lined the walls had been packed away and carried off to safety. Only a few grey robes of obviously poor quality still hung forgotten on the interior racks, too damaged or unfashionable to be worth saving.

It had all been done in service of confronting Voldemort and his followers, Harry knew that. But the sight still settled like a heavy, cold stone in the center of his chest.

It was as though overnight, with shocking speed, the entire wizarding world had tipped violently from peace and comfortable silence into endless, grinding disorder and chaos.

The unease was so unsettling, that Harry found himself strangely, almost missing Fudge.

At least Fudge had been rather good at papering over the cracks.

Harry banished the thought immediately.

It was a stupid, contemptible thing to feel. However extreme Professor Watson’s methods seemed, however much Harry personally questioned their necessity, he should never—not even for one second, feel even the slightest flicker of sympathy or nostalgia for a man who had very nearly sent him, Ron, and Hermione to Azkaban for life.

They wandered aimlessly through Diagon Alley for a while longer and could not find a single shop still open for actual business.

People might occasionally be careless with their money, might make foolish financial decisions or take unnecessary risks with their Galleons. But absolutely no one was careless with their own life.

Three days from now, on the morning when the Ministry came with armed Aurors to cart away the Death Eaters’ seized assets from Gringotts’ deepest vaults, You-Know-Who might think twice about facing both Watson and Dumbledore directly in open combat.

But he would surely send his Death Eaters to interfere. He couldn’t allow this challenge to stand unanswered. And when those Death Eaters came—when they attacked Gringotts or attempted to stop the seizure, violence would erupt.

Anyone with working eyes in their head could see that truth clearly.

“Let’s go to Gringotts ourselves, then,” Mrs. Weasley said at last, turning to face the cluster of disappointed children around her. “I’ve never found the right moment to deposit Ron’s prize money into the vault. I think, at least, going to deposit galleons won’t require standing in a queue.”

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