Arthur woke at noon, but before he could even make it down to the kitchen for food, Winky materialized with her usual crack.
"Master Arthur," she announced, wringing her hands. "Minister Bones is here. She says it's urgent, and she has that look."
"What look?"
"The look that means someone has done something very stupid, and now everyone must clean up the mess."
Arthur groaned. So much for a peaceful recovery day. "Tell her I'll be down in five minutes."
He found Amelia Bones in his living room, looking apologetic. Sirius Black stood beside her, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet with barely contained rage. Both looked exhausted, as if they hadn't had time to rest since the battle.
"Arthur," Amelia began, "I wanted to apologize in person—"
"What did the Prophet do now?" Arthur interrupted, already guessing the issue.
Sirius thrust the newspaper at him. The headline screamed: "THE BOY WHO LIVED DEFEATS YOU-KNOW-WHO! Hayes Arrives Late to Steal Glory!"
Arthur skimmed the article. According to the Prophet's "sources," Harry had single-handedly dueled Voldemort to near defeat, only for Arthur to swoop in at the last moment to steal the killing blow and claim credit. The article painted him as an opportunistic muggleborn trying to overshadow the real hero and improve his reputation.
"This is complete dragon dung!" Sirius exploded. "We already announced to everyone what really happened—that we were all about to die before you intervened!"
"The Prophet seems to have selective hearing," Amelia said dryly. "I've already issued another official statement correcting the record and am planning further action, but..."
"Don't worry, I understand. This is how the media works everywhere. They sell more papers with controversy," Arthur finished, handing the newspaper back. "Honestly? I couldn't care less."
Both visitors stared at him.
"You... don't care?" Sirius asked incredulously. "They're slandering you!"
Arthur shrugged, stretching lazily. "Hardly the first time, won't be the last. Let the wizarding sheep think whatever makes them sleep better at night. Give Harry all the credit—hell, give him a parade. You need the political capital more than I do. Strike while everyone's drunk on victory and push through whatever reforms you want."
Amelia frowned."That's... actually brilliant. But we'd still be doing you a disservice."
"Again, I don't care." Arthur yawned. "Now, I haven't had breakfast—or lunch, technically. Care to join me? Winky makes excellent sandwiches."
"Would've loved to," Sirius said regretfully, "but the Ministry's in chaos. Half the Wizengamot wants to throw a victory ball while the other half is trying to claim they were secretly fighting Voldemort all along."
"Politics never sleeps," Amelia added with a grimace.
"Your loss."
After seeing them out, Arthur's casual demeanor evaporated like morning mist.
"Winky!"
She appeared instantly. "Master needs something?"
"I need you to do some reconnaissance," Arthur said with a smile that promised vengeance. "Find out who at the Daily Prophet decided to run this story. I don't care about the credit, but I won't tolerate another smear campaign."
Winky's eyes gleamed. "Winky will be very sneaky!"
She returned an hour later with thorough intelligence. The editor, Barnabas Cuffe, had received significant "donations" from a coalition of dark families—the Notts, Parkinsons, Rowles, and others who'd lost family members to Arthur during the war. They wanted him painted as a dangerous vigilante who should be imprisoned for excessive use of force.
Arthur smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile. He'd been expecting this, even looking forward to it.
"Winky, clear out some space in our underground vault. The big one."
Her eyes widened. "Master is planning something?"
"Just a little trip to Gringotts."
—
Over the next hour, Arthur made dozens of precise Apparitions directly into Gringotts vaults—the ones he'd scouted on his previous visit when searching for Dumbledore's vault.
The goblin wards, impressive as they were, meant nothing to someone who could Apparate through Hogwarts itself.
Vault after vault was emptied—gold, artifacts, books, family heirlooms. All of it vanished into his expanded basement storage room. Collections of cursed jewelry, libraries of dark texts, stockpiles of rare potion ingredients—everything disappeared.
By the next morning, chaos erupted in Diagon Alley.
Dozens of formerly wealthy dark families crowded outside Gringotts, their voices rising in increasingly shrill demands for explanations. The goblins, genuinely baffled by the impossible theft, conducted their own investigation but found nothing—no breached wards, no tunnels, no evidence of entry.
Finally, the head goblin addressed the crowd with typical goblin diplomacy: "Your leader, the Dark Lord Voldemort, had access to your vaults through the permissions you granted him. He clearly emptied them before the final battle to fund his war effort. Take it up with him."
"But he's dead!" someone protested.
"Not Gringotts' problem," the goblin replied, slamming the bank doors shut.
—
Two days later, Harry and Sirius visited Arthur.
"Did you rob all those vaults?" Sirius asked without preamble, though his grin suggested he already knew the answer.
"Would you believe me if I said no?" Arthur replied innocently.
"Not for a bloody second," Sirius laughed.
Harry shook his head in amazement. "Even knowing you're stronger than Voldemort, they still decide to cross you."
"Mob mentality," Arthur explained, setting his glasses aside. "They think that with public opinion on their side, I can't touch them without proving their point that I'm some dangerous lunatic. That's where their misplaced courage comes from."
"Beautifully put," Sirius agreed. "But I'm surprised you stopped at their vaults. No creative pranks? That's not like you."
Arthur's grin turned sharp. "I considered it, but this was more practical. Without their gold, they can't buy their way out of justice. No more throwing galleons at the Wizengamot, claiming the Imperius defense, and walking away clean."
Sirius nodded approvingly, though Arthur could see the gleam in his eyes that said he knew this reason was secondary. And he'd be right—Arthur had been waiting for an excuse to rob these families blind, and they'd jumped right in to give him one.
—
The dark families didn't connect Arthur to their missing wealth. They all assumed Voldemort or the goblins had looted their vaults, unable to conceive of anyone who could bypass all the protections and rob Gringotts.
Despite their sudden poverty, they didn't cease their attacks. If anything, they intensified their media campaign, demanding Arthur's arrest for "war crimes" against "innocent citizens merely following orders."
With their wealth gone and no one listening to them on other matters, this was the only thing that resonated with the wizarding masses and got them the attention they craved. So they kept at it, not knowing they were courting further punishment.
When the Ministry attempted to award Arthur an Order of Merlin, First Class, protesters packed the ceremony venue three deep. Rather than create a spectacle, Arthur simply didn't attend. Amelia brought the award to his manor personally, apologizing for the circus.
"It's fine," Arthur assured her, though his eyes held a glint that suggested otherwise.
That night, Arthur struck again.
He visited every manor, every estate, every property owned by the families targeting him. He took everything—furniture, paintings, tapestries, silverware, even the curtains. He emptied their private vaults, their libraries, their hidden caches, their emergency funds. He left each house as bare as if it had never been furnished at all.
In each stripped manor, floating in mid-air where the dining table used to be, he left an elegant calling card:
We don't appreciate you slandering our hero.
This is your only warning.
Continue, and you might not wake to see tomorrow.
Arthur Hayes Fan Club
The wizarding world lost its collective mind. In a single night, dozens of ancient families had been stripped bare by a mysterious group claiming to be Arthur's fans. The Aurors found no magical signatures, no evidence, no leads—just empty manors and terrified families.
Now truly destitute, possessing only their Wizengamot seats and the robes on their backs, the dark families finally fell silent. They couldn't afford to continue their campaign, literally or figuratively.
"Arthur Hayes Fan Club?" Harry laughed so hard he nearly fell off his chair during their next visit. "Really?"
"What?" Arthur said with mock offense. "Only you're allowed to have a fan club?"
"Don't remind me," Harry groaned. "Dobby's intercepting mails by the sackful."
"Though the execution was flawless," Sirius added, wiping tears from his eyes. "Now the Aurors are hunting for an entire organization instead of one supremely petty wizard. How'd you manage to hit them all in one night?"
"Winky's excellent at reconnaissance, and I'm rather good at ignoring wards."
Harry's eyes widened in sudden horror. "Should I be worried? Because I really don't want to wake up with my entire house painted Slytherin green."
Arthur's grin turned positively evil. "Funny you should mention that..."
"Harry!" Sirius groaned. "Why would you give him ideas?"
"Relax," Arthur laughed. "I save my best pranks for special occasions. Like when you have kids old enough to be properly mortified by their parents."
The matching looks of dread on their faces was poetry.
"But seriously," Arthur continued, pulling out a thick folder, "I've come into a rather substantial windfall, and I want it put to good use."
He spread the documents across the table—plans for a comprehensive Hogwarts trust fund. Repairs, improved teaching materials, updated equipment, scholarships for muggleborn students who can't afford supplies.
He showed them the figures. He had little use for the galleons—his main goal had always been the books, family grimoires, and artifacts.
"This is... incredibly generous," Sirius said, stunned by the amount.
"I'll put you and Amelia in charge," Arthur said. "I trust you to use it wisely and keep corrupt hands off it."
"Why us?" Sirius asked.
"Because you'll actually care about making things better, not just lining your pockets." Arthur leaned back. "Besides, this is my parting gift to the wizarding world. I'm done with all the drama. You lot can handle the rest."
"Parting gift?" Harry's face fell. "You're leaving?"
"Not leaving, just... refocusing. I'll always visit, and you're always welcome here, but I won't pay attention to the wizarding world's affairs anymore. Any new Dark Lords or wars will be the wizarding world's problem to solve. I won't move a muscle."
Sirius and Harry exchanged glances but didn't press. They knew nothing they could say would change Arthur's decision.
After they left, Arthur stood in his basement storage room, surveying his spoils. Thousands of books on magic theory, hundreds of artifacts ranging from useful to disturbing, enough gold to fund a small country, and several items that even he couldn't immediately identify.
"Winky," he called.
"Yes, Master?"
"We'll need to catalog all of this properly some day and throw away the useless things. But maybe another day." He turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and send an anonymous tip to the Prophet that the AHFC is watching them too. Just to keep them honest."
Winky giggled. "With pleasure, Master."
As Arthur headed to his study, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. His involvement with the wizarding world was over. This time it was real. There would be no more associations except perhaps with Harry, Sirius, and their families.
It had been fun, and he had to admit—robbing those bigoted families blind had been surprisingly therapeutic.