"Last stop—Gringotts."
Tonks didn't linger at the shop. She marched Rowan straight toward the white marble bank that loomed over the northern end of Diagon Alley.
Gringotts was the only wizarding bank in Britain, run entirely by goblins. It handled everything from currency exchange to the protection of vaults that descended deeper than the London Underground. Now that Rowan had officially inherited Merton's estate, he needed to transfer the vault into his own name.
The goblin guards at the entrance were as imposing as the doors behind them. Rowan eyed their crimson-and-gold uniforms and sharp features.
Not beautiful. Not graceful.More like polished predators.
Tonks led him through the bronze doors, then the silver ones engraved with a familiar warning about thieves dying messily. Goblin clerks bowed stiffly and ushered them into the main hall. The room was cavernous, gleaming with marble and filled with the scratch of quills and the snapping of ledgers.
Tonks approached an unoccupied goblin and handed over the paperwork.
"Vault inheritance transfer."
Unlike Ministry clerks, goblins didn't waste time. The creature reviewed every page with brisk precision, then nodded.
"This is the key to Vault 352. Will you be making a withdrawal today?"
"No," Rowan said, pocketing the key. "Just tell me the balance."
He still had five hundred galleons from the shop. Enough for now.
"Vault 352 currently contains thirteen thousand, two hundred galleons."
Tonks let out a low whistle. "I earn a hundred a month—one-forty after full Auror status. Ten years and I still wouldn't scrape that much together."
Rowan had expected more. At least ten times more. But when he considered the cost of running a potion shop, buying ingredients, and experimenting with high-grade brews—often explosively—this remaining sum made sense.
And compared to Tonks's pay, it was significant. Enough to fund years of study and experimentation.
Three currencies, Rowan reminded himself:Gold Galleons, seventeen Silver Sickles to each.Silver Sickles, twenty-nine Bronze Knuts each.
A Daily Prophet cost five Knuts. A meal only a few Sickles. Even wands rarely exceeded ten galleons.
Thirteen thousand went a long way.
Outside the bank, Tonks ruffled his hair again. "Hogwarts should send a new acceptance letter tomorrow. Study hard. You'll make friends there. I'll check on you when I can."
Rowan hesitated, then looked up with genuine-seeming sincerity.
"Tonks… if it weren't for you, none of this would've worked out. May I treat you to lunch? I want to thank you properly."
"I—well…" She looked ready to decline, then paused. Rowan's expression, earnest and grateful, coupled with memories of his breakfast, made her resolve falter. "Alright. I suppose I can stay for a meal."
Rowan hid his relief.He needed Tonks to appear at the shop often. Her presence alone would discourage Knockturn Alley's opportunists. And if she became a regular visitor, he could learn basic spells before school began—knowledge he desperately needed to prepare his Marvel-world body for escape.
"Good thing I can cook," he murmured to himself as he led her back in.
Lunch became a parade of dishes—sweet, savory, bright with flavor. Tonks devoured each one with delighted confusion.
"What is this? I've never tasted anything like it."
"Sweet and sour pork."
"And this?"
"Kung pao chicken."
"And that?"
"Tomato and eggs."
Tonks leaned back afterward, clutching her full stomach. "I had no idea you could cook like this."
"If you enjoy it, come by any time. I know a lot more recipes."
Tonks froze mid-stretch. "No, no. I can't take advantage of you like that."
Rowan studied her face, then spoke plainly.
"Tonks… your visiting helps me. Knockturn Alley isn't safe. People will think twice if an Auror stops by often."
Understanding dawned in her eyes. She wasn't stupid.
"In that case," she said slowly, "I'll come when I'm free. But I'm paying for every ingredient. No arguments."