Gringotts.
The wealthiest establishment in the British wizarding world, Gringotts, stands as a monument to unimaginable riches. Towering mounds of gold Galleons gleam like mountains of light. Dazzling magical materials and intricately enchanted tomes line its depths.
Gringotts is not just a bank—it is the epitome of affluence, the very symbol of wealth.
To the goblins who inhabit its halls, Gringotts is akin to paradise itself. The air is thick with the intoxicating scent of gold and power, a fragrance that enchants, obsesses, and consumes their kind. It is the dream and desire of every goblin to climb its ranks, for those who dwell within its upper levels live in a world far removed from the shadows of their underground brethren.
At this moment, deep within the bank's labyrinthine quarters, Goblin Turner lies in his bed, soundly asleep.
His current living space is a stark contrast to the cramped quarters he once inhabited. Closer to the surface and outfitted with newer, finer furnishings, Turner's room reflects his rising status.
Generally, goblins of Gringotts live underground, their living arrangements directly tied to their station. The closer a goblin's quarters are to the surface, the higher their rank. The lowliest goblins labor in the deepest reaches, toiling endlessly to keep the great bank running.
For some, Gringotts is a paradise. For others, it is a gilded prison. Many goblins live and die in its depths, never glimpsing the light of day.
For those consigned to such lives, the surface world holds a nightmarish reputation—an unforgiving land teeming with dangerous wizards and ferocious magical creatures. These tales, spread and exaggerated over generations, have cemented a belief among the lower goblins: that survival is only possible under Gringotts' protection.
Yet, not all goblins accept this doctrine. Some rebel against it. Those who defy the system either perish or become part of the Gringotts guard—a force tasked with enforcing the bank's rigid hierarchy.
Among goblins, a belief endures that their race will outlast wizards through sheer numbers. While some cling to dreams of eventual dominance, others succumb to resignation.
Turner, however, dreams of change.
In his sleep, Turner's consciousness drifts into a dream—a serene and enchanting world known as Fairy Paradise.
Bright sunlight spills across vast oceans, golden beaches, and lush islands. Gentle waves lap against the shore, filling the air with a soothing rhythm. The tranquility is otherworldly, an escape from the cold reality of Gringotts.
On the sandy shores, goblins bask in the sunlight, reveling in the idyllic setting. Some gaze at the endless blue sky, savoring the fresh, clean air. Others play joyfully, their laughter echoing through the dream.
Turner stands upon a large rock, surveying the scene with quiet pride. Beside him is an older goblin clad in deep purple robes. His lined face speaks of age and wisdom, but his sharp eyes and the wand at his side exude an air of authority and danger.
This is Bruno—a master alchemist and former wanderer. Once a loyal servant of Lockhart, he now leads the Goblin Revolutionary Army.
"Master Bruno," Turner begins solemnly, "as per your instructions, we've gathered intelligence on the Gringotts elite."
Bruno's expression remains unreadable as Turner continues.
"Just as we suspected, Gringotts has noticed our movements. They're stockpiling weapons—hundreds of magical firearms, according to our scouts. Their source remains unknown."
Turner's voice hardens, a fiery determination lighting his eyes. "They're not ready yet. If we strike now, we can seize the weapons and arm our forces. Our soldiers, trained extensively in the dream world, can achieve immediate combat effectiveness."
Passion fills his voice as he speaks of revolution.
"With their dictatorship toppled, we can liberate every goblin and realize the dream of equality!"
Bruno listens silently, his sharp mind processing every word. Though he feels a surge of admiration for Turner's zeal, he keeps his emotions tightly controlled.
"We're aware of the upper goblins' actions," Bruno finally says, his tone calm but firm. "They're preoccupied with their dealings in America. This gives us an unprecedented opportunity to weaken their grip and sow division among their ranks. If we miss this chance, it may never come again."
Turner trembles with excitement. Memories of past atrocities flash through his mind—a goblin in red robes beating his comrades to death over a minor dispute.
These injustices opened his eyes to the cruelty of their world.
For far too long, the goblins of Gringotts have been exploited. The elite thrive on the labor and suffering of their kind, hoarding wealth and power while others live in squalor.
Turner's hatred for the Gringotts aristocracy burns like an unquenchable fire.
"They are no longer goblins," Turner growls, his voice trembling with rage. "They are parasites—leeches feeding off the essence of our race. To rise, we must cast them aside. They will serve as sacrifices for a new dawn!"
Bruno watches silently as Turner's resolve solidifies.
The Goblin Revolutionary Army is no longer just a dream. It is a movement—a beacon of hope for the oppressed. Their goal is clear: to overthrow the Gringotts elite and restore dignity to every goblin.
"Equality will prevail," Turner declares, his voice ringing with conviction. "Every goblin will see the sun. Every goblin will know freedom."
Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office.
The soft light of the enchanted candles illuminated the room, casting long shadows over the ancient bookshelves and shimmering trinkets that lined the walls. Fawkes, the majestic phoenix, perched near the window, tilted its head with curiosity, observing the tense scene unfolding below.
Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge and Auror Director Rufus Scrimgeour stood opposite Dumbledore, their faces grim with purpose. Beside them, a goblin—clearly under magical compulsion—stood motionless. Its dull, glassy eyes betrayed the loss of its free will, an unsettling reminder of the lengths some wizards were willing to go.
Fudge broke the silence, his voice low but resolute. "Headmaster Dumbledore, you've now been briefed on the situation at MACUSA. I trust you understand the gravity of what we face."
The minister's demeanor had shifted significantly. Gone was the man known for his timidity and indecisiveness. In his place stood a more confident figure, exuding an air of authority. This change hadn't gone unnoticed by Dumbledore.
The headmaster's piercing blue eyes narrowed as he regarded Fudge. There was a familiarity to the newfound confidence radiating from the man, and Dumbledore's mind quickly pieced together the puzzle. The aura surrounding Fudge was unmistakable—he had received a dream seed.
Dumbledore's expression softened into one of quiet contemplation. The dream seeds were an enigma even to him, bearing qualities that defied the limits of wizarding creation. Each seed seemed to contain an entire world, its intricacies and beauty unparalleled. Yet for all their wonder, they were also a source of deep concern.
Could a wizard truly craft something so extraordinary? Dumbledore wondered. This is the work of gods, not mortals.
His thoughts were interrupted by a deliberate cough from Fudge. The minister's newfound self-assurance clearly extended to his interactions with the venerable headmaster, a stark contrast to his past deference.
Dumbledore quickly refocused, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he acknowledged Fudge. "Minister, I must admit, the news you've brought me is quite troubling," he began. "If you're seeking my counsel, I would advise caution. The goblins are not a force to be underestimated, and Gallert in particular is… formidable."
Fudge's face tightened with frustration. He had hoped for a more decisive response. His ambitions stretched far beyond the current crisis, and Hogwarts held a treasure trove of knowledge and magic that he longed to exploit. Yet as long as Dumbledore remained at its helm, the school was beyond his reach.
Still, Fudge pressed on. "Headmaster, we cannot afford to delay," he urged, his tone almost pleading. "Look at what has happened in the United States. MACUSA, once a symbol of power and order, has fallen into disarray. Goblin interference has left them vulnerable—crippled, even."
Scrimgeour stepped forward, his expression as stern as ever. "Gringotts is stockpiling weapons, Headmaster," he said bluntly. "Magical firearms, hundreds of them, ready to arm their forces. We cannot turn a blind eye to this."
Fudge nodded in agreement. "If we wait any longer, we risk losing everything. Gringotts could drain the wealth of our entire wizarding world, leaving us powerless."
Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair. The history between wizards and goblins was long and fraught with tension, but the idea of open conflict filled him with dread. The goblins had managed wizarding wealth with remarkable efficiency for centuries. While there had been minor disputes, they had never threatened the stability of the wizarding world—until now.
But if the goblins truly harbor such ambitions…
Dumbledore's thoughts turned to MACUSA, a once-proud institution brought low. The signs were there, hidden beneath layers of secrecy. Goblin influence had slowly infiltrated their systems, weakening their resolve and leaving them vulnerable to Grindelwald's invasion.
Fudge, sensing Dumbledore's hesitation, leaned in. "Headmaster, Lockhart supports this effort," he said, his voice firm. "He has offered his full cooperation in dealing with the goblins of Gringotts. With the Ministry and Kamar Taj united, we can handle this."
Dumbledore's sharp gaze met Fudge's. The mention of Lockhart was no accident—Fudge was reminding him of the shifting power dynamics. The Ministry, the pure-blood families, and now even the mystical forces of Kamar Taj were aligning against the goblins. Hogwarts was the only major player yet to take a clear stance.
The implications were clear: if Dumbledore refused to act, he risked leaving Hogwarts isolated.
Finally, Dumbledore spoke. "Very well. I will travel to the United States and assess the situation with MACUSA and the Wizarding Banking Association. If a confrontation with the goblins is inevitable, it is best that Hogwarts remain neutral for now."
Fudge's face lit up with triumph. "Thank you, Headmaster. You have my assurance that the Ministry will handle matters here in your absence. Together, we will safeguard the future of the wizarding world."
Malfoy Manor, Night
The study of Malfoy Manor was brightly lit, the warm glow of enchanted sconces banishing every shadow from the room. It was a peculiar preference of Tom Riddle—he seemed to abhor darkness, a stark contrast to his reputation as the Dark Lord. Perhaps it was a lingering effect of his years spent fragmented in the void of Horcrux existence.
At the center of the room, Tom sat behind a grand mahogany desk, his fingers steepled and his expression unreadable. Opposite him sat Voldemort, his eyes gleaming with madness and suspicion.
"I told you," Tom began, his voice smooth and measured. "The British wizarding world is no longer conducive to our plans. Dumbledore and Lockhart have created an environment that stifles growth. We need new territory to realize our vision."
Voldemort's gaze flicked to the large map spread across the desk. A glowing point in the upper left corner caught his attention, accompanied by the label: Durmstrang.
==============================================
Support me at [email protected]/goldengaruda and check out more chapter of this or more early access chapter of my other fanfic translation.
=============================================