St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries stood hidden behind its shabby Muggle facade, as busy and chaotic as it had ever been. It was the largest and most complete hospital in Britain's wizarding world, and whenever witches and wizards suffered curses, accidents, magical illnesses, or injuries no ordinary healer could handle, they were sent here.
Since the battle in Diagon Alley, St Mungo's had been overflowing with patients. Injured wizards had been arriving in waves, some burned, some cursed, some struck by flying rubble or magical backlash. Even so, considering that half of Diagon Alley had been destroyed, the final count was almost unbelievable. No wizards had died, though several goblins had not been so lucky, and many of the surviving wizards were seriously injured.
Lucius Malfoy was one of the wizards brought in for treatment. Strictly speaking, he was only lying in St Mungo's because of terrible luck. Dawlish's reckless mistake had caused a Blasting Curse to rebound, and Lucius had been caught in the aftermath.
"Darling, how do you feel?" Narcissa Malfoy asked, her face pale with worry. "Is anything still hurting?"
They were on the fourth floor, inside one of the Spell Damage wards. Narcissa sat beside the bed with Draco standing close to her, while Lucius leaned against the pillows with several parts of his body still wrapped in clean white bandages. Even injured, he tried to keep his usual dignity, though his drawn face made that difficult.
"I'm fine," Lucius said, his voice hoarse but controlled. "It isn't serious. A few days of rest, and the healers will have me back on my feet."
His body might have been bruised, burned, and bandaged, but that was not what concerned him most. The pain was bearable. The real issue was far more important than his injuries.
"Narcissa," he said, lowering his voice. "Have you found out what happened at Gringotts? What about the Malfoy family vault? Was it robbed?"
Lucius cared about this matter more than anything else. The Malfoy family vault did not merely contain gold for daily spending. It held generations of accumulated wealth, treasures, heirlooms, and resources gathered by the Malfoys over centuries.
"My dear, don't get agitated," Narcissa said carefully. "The goblins at Gringotts have already finished their investigation. In total, five vaults were stolen from…"
She hesitated.
Lucius stared straight at her. A cold sense of dread rose in his chest, tightening like an iron band around his heart.
"One of them," Narcissa finally said, "was the Malfoy family vault."
"What?" Lucius's eyes widened. "What did you say? The vault was robbed?"
He sat upright at once, so violently that the bandages around him pulled tight. The veins at his temples bulged, and fury rushed through him so hard it seemed to strike directly at his heart.
With a wet cough, Lucius spat out a mouthful of blood.
It sprayed across Narcissa and Draco, who had been standing beside the bed. Draco froze in horror, while Narcissa had no time to wipe her face before throwing herself toward her husband.
"Lucius!" she cried. "Darling! Lucius!"
She grabbed his shoulders and shook him, terrified that the shock had done worse damage than the curse. Lucius collapsed back against the pillows, his face deathly pale, but his eyes remained open. They were filled with disbelief, pain, and a rage so sharp it looked almost mad.
"The Malfoy family…" he muttered, each word breaking in his throat. "Generations of accumulation…"
His heart felt as if it were being carved apart by a knife. Among the old pure-blood families, the Malfoys were not truly ancient compared to houses like Black and Lestrange. They had prestige, yes, but their history did not stretch quite as deeply as some of the oldest names in wizarding Britain.
What the Malfoys did have was money.
The Malfoy family had always been excellent at business, and their line was almost always passed down through a single heir. Each Lady Malfoy had also come from a wealthy pure-blood family, bringing with her a rich dowry, connections, and inherited treasures. Generation after generation, that wealth had been preserved, expanded, and passed on.
That was why the Malfoys were one of the richest pure-blood families in Britain. Their vault at Gringotts held the wealth accumulated through several generations. It was not all of their fortune, but it still represented roughly seventy percent of the family's assets.
Now it was gone.
"We must find that damned thief," Lucius said through gritted teeth. His face twisted with fury, making him look far more frightening than usual. "We must recover the Malfoy family's property. No matter what it takes, we must get it back."
"Father," Draco said hesitantly, his voice smaller than usual. "Does this mean the Malfoys don't have money anymore?"
As Lucius Malfoy's only son, Draco had grown up surrounded by privilege. His father could be strict and cold, but Draco had never once had to worry about money. The Malfoy family's fortune had always seemed endless to him, more than enough for several lifetimes of luxury.
But now the family vault had been robbed. Did that mean the Malfoys would become poor?
Lucius turned his head and glared at him fiercely.
Draco flinched and took a step back. He was genuinely afraid of his father, especially when Lucius looked at him like that.
"Oh, Draco," Narcissa said quickly, pulling him into her arms. "Don't worry. Your father and I will never let you live like one of those red-haired Weasleys."
Her voice was soft, but her eyes were cold. The Malfoys were not some ordinary family that could collapse overnight. Even if the vault had been robbed, a lean dragon was still larger than a fat dog, and the Malfoys still had properties, businesses, contacts, and influence.
"Of course," Lucius said, forcing his voice back under control. "Rest assured, Draco. The Malfoys will never become like the Weasleys."
Arthur Weasley had always been Lucius's rival, and Lucius had mocked the Weasley family's poverty more times than he could count. He would never allow the Malfoys to fall to that level. He would not become an object of pity, and he would certainly not give the Weasleys the satisfaction of watching him suffer.
At Hogwarts, inside the Headmaster's office, the atmosphere was far quieter.
Two old men sat opposite each other. Dumbledore sat behind the Headmaster's desk, his long fingers folded together, while Nicolas Flamel sat across from him. The famous alchemist looked impossibly aged, yet his eyes remained bright and calm.
Nicolas Flamel was the most famous alchemist in the wizarding world. He was six hundred and sixty-five years old, and thanks to the Philosopher's Stone, he and his wife had lived far beyond the span of any ordinary wizard.
"Nicolas, I'm very sorry," Dumbledore said gently. "The Philosopher's Stone was stolen. It should have been taken by the dark wizard who attacked Diagon Alley."
He truly felt responsible for this. He had borrowed the Philosopher's Stone from Nicolas Flamel to use as bait for Voldemort, hoping to draw him out and trap him before he could recover his strength. Yet in the end, he had failed to protect the Stone.
"I still haven't figured out who that dark wizard really is," Dumbledore continued, his expression grave. "Nor do I understand how he knew I had stored the Philosopher's Stone in Gringotts."
After the incident, Dumbledore had spoken to Hagrid. Hagrid had been the only person who knew the Stone had been placed in Gringotts, at least among those outside Dumbledore's closest confidence. Hagrid had sworn that he had not mentioned it to anyone, not even Harry.
As for Hagrid deliberately leaking the secret, Dumbledore did not believe that for a moment. Hagrid was one of the most loyal people he had ever known.
"Albus, you don't need to blame yourself," Nicolas said calmly. "In truth, I always knew the Philosopher's Stone would not remain in my hands forever."
He looked old, terribly old, but there was no anger in his voice. Instead, there was a kind of quiet relief, as though a burden had been taken from him rather than stolen.
"Actually, even if the Philosopher's Stone had not been stolen, I was planning to destroy it soon. Perenelle and I have lived for too long, and we are both tired of it."
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