"Thank you, Director Crouch. Thank you, Director Scrimgeour. And thank you, Minister Fudge."
Narm bowed deeply to the three leaders of the British Ministry of Magic, his voice filled with gratitude. The successful completion of his mission left him visibly relieved.
As a captain of the Auror team, Narm had endured harrowing losses. Many of his friends and comrades had perished in the sudden war. He himself had narrowly escaped death on more than one occasion. Had it not been for sheer luck, he wouldn't have survived long enough to make it to England.
The hatred he bore for Grindelwald was bone-deep, a fire that burned relentlessly within him. He wished nothing more than to see the Dark Lord utterly destroyed—his flesh torn apart, his bones shattered, his soul obliterated.
"Don't worry, Narm," Fudge said with a kind smile, his voice carrying a reassuring warmth. "In the face of the Dark Lord, all wizards are united as one."
After a pause, Fudge shot Barty Crouch a meaningful glance before continuing. "For now, you should rest. Director Scrimgeour and I will discuss the specifics of the support we can provide."
Taking the cue, Crouch stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Narm's shoulder. "Come with me," he said.
Narm blinked in surprise but followed obediently as Crouch led him out of the room.
The goblin, however, remained behind, standing stiffly in place, his small eyes darting around the room. Forgotten and unacknowledged, Katu seemed an odd, lingering presence.
As the door closed behind Crouch and Narm, Fudge turned his full attention to the goblin. Beside him, Scrimgeour, ever the vigilant Auror, fixed Katu with a scrutinizing gaze.
Unlike Narm, who had come as a formal envoy from the Magical Congress, the goblin had no such diplomatic shield. To the British Ministry of Magic, Katu was a mere tool, and Fudge knew this. Interrogating him would carry no political risks. If need be, a memory charm would erase all traces of their actions.
Scrimgeour moved to apprehend Katu, but just as he reached for his wand, Fudge raised a hand in a subtle gesture. A faint, bluish glow shimmered around his sleeve and flitted through the air like ethereal butterflies, heading straight toward the goblin.
The lights enveloped Katu before he could react. In seconds, his small body stiffened, his eyes glazed over, and he stood frozen like a puppet.
Scrimgeour hesitated, lowering his wand as he observed the goblin's sudden transformation. His sharp instincts told him something was amiss.
The power Fudge had just displayed wasn't ordinary magic.
Scrimgeour, a seasoned Auror, knew that as Minister of Magic, Fudge could draw on the Ministry's innate magical protections, much like Dumbledore wielded the wards of Hogwarts. Yet this felt different—more personal, more primal.
Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes, keeping his thoughts to himself. Whatever Fudge had done, it wasn't the time to question it directly.
Meanwhile, Fudge casually brushed his forehead, masking the act of wiping away a bead of sweat.
The Dream Seed...
He had tapped into the power of the Dream Seed, a fragment derived from the dream world he was cultivating. After absorbing the spiritual energy of an entire city, the seed's power had grown far beyond his current ability to control. For a moment, the strain had been overwhelming. If he had faltered, the goblin would have been reduced to little more than ash.
Despite the risk, the results were worth it.
Now, with Katu under his control, Fudge turned to the goblin and spoke firmly. "Introduce yourself and explain your purpose here. Additionally, tell us the true state of affairs in the American wizarding world."
Katu responded in a monotone, his voice devoid of emotion. "My name is Katu. I am the Deputy Director of the Wizards' Bank Association and a member of the Brave Fighting Army. I am proficient in magical firearms, possess knowledge of goblin magic, and excel in melee combat."
He paused briefly before continuing. "In this mission, my role is not only to seek aid but also to establish contact with the goblins of Gringotts."
The revelation caused Fudge and Scrimgeour's expressions to darken. What had initially seemed like a routine plea for assistance now carried far more sinister undertones.
At Kamar-Taj, Lockhart sat cross-legged at the core of the dream world, his mind immersed in the intricate workings of its structure.
This was no ordinary creation. The dream world he had built was forged from fragments of a dimensional demon god's soul and pieces of the dream dimension itself. Its existence teetered on the edge of the mystical and the divine.
Lockhart had obtained the fragments through a unique agreement with the Ancient One, the Supreme Sorcerer. It was both a gift and a task, granted in recognition of his past contributions to Kamar-Taj.
His goal was ambitious yet clear: to construct a new magic system that allowed mages to operate independently of divine entities, even the Vishanti.
Such an endeavor required more than his individual efforts. He needed the collective wisdom of the world's greatest wizards and the latent potential of the wizarding community.
The dream world was the key.
Lockhart's gaze shifted inward, focusing on the Dream Seeds he had distributed. Each seed, while derived from the original, was a fragment—a defective yet potent replica. Through them, Fudge, Dumbledore, and others could harness the dream world's power to enhance their magic and further their ambitions.
Yet Lockhart remained the ultimate arbiter. As long as no one reached god-like levels of power, the seeds—and the dream worlds they created—remained under his control.
Already, he had gleaned invaluable knowledge. Fudge's seed had provided advanced magical techniques and even access to rare, forgotten materials. But today's revelations were particularly intriguing.
The goblin's covert mission to contact Gringotts hinted at deeper schemes within the magical financial world. It was a development Lockhart had long anticipated. Gringotts, with its intricate ties to every facet of the British wizarding world, represented a critical point of leverage.
Lockhart allowed himself a small, knowing smile. The time to act was drawing near.
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