Dear Dumbledore—
If you're reading this, I'm doing just fine. No need to worry.
Life beside Hydrus is wonderful. I get held, stroked, kissed—her scent is far nicer than yours. She even feeds me the freshest medicinal herbs. Every time, she plants the seeds directly into the soil and uses ancient magic to force them to maturity. The results are astonishing. So tender. So fragrant. A hundred times better than the dried feed you used to give me. After all these years with you, I'd almost forgotten what fresh herbs tasted like.
Most importantly, Hydrus never orders me around. Her philosophy of doing nothing is the most reasonable, most logical worldview I have ever encountered.
If you eat well and sleep well, why struggle so hard?
And—most incredible of all—following her around, I've even solved my mating problem.
To be honest, Dumbledore, if it weren't for our contract, I'd gladly stay with Hydrus for the rest of my life.
—A Letter from Fawkes to Dumbledore
(This letter exists only in Fawkes' mind, as phoenixes cannot write.)
The twenty-four-day world tour finally came to an end.
To celebrate the successful concerts, the team held a grand outdoor party beside a river, far from any town. The air was fresh, the scenery pristine. As grills were set up and fires lit, the campsite gradually filled with laughter and warmth.
Hydrus ate only a token amount before quietly slipping away with Fawkes.
It was feeding time.
She scattered a handful of seeds across the ground and tapped her wand lightly. Emerald motes sank into the soil.
In the blink of an eye, herbs burst forth—sprouting, stretching, blooming, fruiting—entire lifetimes unfolding at an impossible speed.
Fawkes cried out joyfully and dove in, feasting without restraint.
"—Kreee!"
Another phoenix call echoed through the air.
Hydrus and Fawkes both looked up in delight.
A second phoenix descended, its feathers slightly paler than Fawkes', circling twice before landing neatly on Hydrus' shoulder.
One look was enough.
This was the right one.
"Hello," Hydrus said softly. "I'm Hydrus Lestrange. Are you hungry?"
She gestured at the field of herbs. "Help yourself. One bird can't possibly finish all this."
The newcomer rubbed its head affectionately against her cheek, then fluttered down to feed.
Fawkes stepped aside with impeccable manners, yielding the most tender, richest herbs.
Hydrus noticed at once.
Ah. A female.
"Would you like to stay with me?" Hydrus crouched and asked gently. "What do you think?"
"—Kree."
The phoenix nodded.
Hydrus beamed. She had her own phoenix now.
"What should I call you?" she muttered. "Ariana? No… joking about the dead isn't right, even if the old man is annoying…"
She frowned, clearly struggling.
"I know. Ao."
Ao chirped happily, nodding in approval. The name was short, elegant, and carried an inexplicable sense of destiny.
Perfect.
"Hydrus…" Rick slurred, swaying unsteadily. "I must be drunk. I swear I'm seeing two parrots on your shoulder…"
He staggered over with an arm around Peter Waterman and burped loudly.
"Peter, you see it too, right?"
Peter squinted. "Parrots? Wow… so many parrots… one, two, three, four…"
"Hydrus, you really need to… teach them properly… if they learn to swear… seven? Eight? Nine parrots swearing together, we'll never survive…"
"Eh? Why are there so many Hydruses too… one, two, three…"
He collapsed mid-sentence.
Hydrus left the pile of drunkards behind and headed straight for the Magical Congress of the United States. Using a sanctioned intercontinental Portkey, she returned to Britain.
She was in a hurry.
Her wizarding bank was opening today.
After much debate, it had been named Heaven and Earth Bank.
Grand. Resounding.
Perfect.
Though she didn't need to appear publicly, as the true architect behind the collapse of Gringotts and the birth of a new financial order, she intended to witness it herself.
Outside the former Gringotts—now Heaven and Earth Bank—the scene was explosive.
Crowds packed the streets. Celebratory magic crackled in the air.
Great families emerged, waving stacks of freshly issued notes.
The new currency—Merlin Notes—was exquisitely printed, magically reinforced, and layered with powerful anti-counterfeiting enchantments. The wizarding world's first true paper money.
Pure-blood families resisting paper currency?
Nonsense.
Refuse it, and your fortune vanished overnight.
Naturally, they became its strongest supporters.
Within days, Merlin Notes swept through wizarding society. Wizards quickly realized that while paper lacked the weight of coin, it more than made up for it in convenience.
Before, flaunting wealth meant hurling gold Galleons and risking criminal charges.
Now?
Throw paper.
The recipient wouldn't sue—they'd thank you.
For tradition's sake, the denominations remained unchanged:
1 Galleon = 17 Sickles = 493 Knuts.
With Hogwarts' term approaching, Diagon Alley was bursting at the seams.
Gilderoy Lockhart beamed at Flourish and Blotts, convinced the crowd existed solely because of his dazzling smile. Paper money or not, wealth was wealth—and today, he expected plenty of it.
Arthur and Molly Weasley exited Heaven and Earth Bank with their children, faces glowing.
They were no longer the family everyone pitied.
The Weasleys had risen.
One hundred million Galleons.
When Ron saw the endless zeros in their account, his face turned crimson.
"Mum! Since we're rich now, can I get a new pet?"
"No, dear," Molly said kindly. "Scabbers is perfectly healthy."
She smiled. "Money shouldn't be wasted. One day, you'll all have families of your own. This is for the future."
Then she turned to Ginny, smoothing her hair. "But Ginny's starting school. She'll need an owl—and new robes."
Ron fell silent.
Once again, Molly thanked Hydrus in her heart.
Without her generosity, they wouldn't even have afforded textbooks this year.
Even if Gilderoy Lockhart was her idol—
His books were outrageously expensive.