The last full handful of gold and gems you can easily locate in the vault fall from your hands, into the growing mound with an audible clink. As the coins bounce, roll, and slide down the pile, you feel the magical strain on your hovering disk begin to shake, and grow tense. While the mound is still secure, there likely isn't much more that can be laid on the platform without risking its collapse. The rapid collection almost surely hampers the accuracy of your estimation, but there is likely a couple thousand worth of gold and gems laden on the pile. Combined with the ring liberated onto your hand, the pouch of magical dust, and Walter's ever-precious PocketKnife, this has turned into quite a profitable haul.

As you look down the hallway, the smoke from your ferocious attacks has started to cling to the ceiling, allowing a better view of the carnage. The charred, twisted bodies of the vault-watcher, two armored soldiers, and the two young wizarding students lay strewn about the floor like the laundry dropped by a running wash-maid. The blue cloaks worn by all five are stained and soiled with soot and ash, leaving them a mixture of black and gray.

The room is silent, permitting you to hear the sound of your own racing Heartbeat.