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[Marvel's Hogwarts Professor] Chapter 481 - 485
🕑 Added 2025-02-03 01:00:02 +0000 UTCChapter 481:
"Speaker, you are here."
As Deputy Speaker Chenos stepped into the square, clad in his signature light golden wizard robe, the wizards of the Magic Congress immediately turned their attention to him.
“Speaker, do you have any instructions?” one of them asked with a respectful nod.
“If necessary, I can arrange everything at once,” added Shaffer, the Director of International Trade and Foreign Affairs, who quickly approached with a bright, eager expression.
Chenos offered a small smile as he turned to face Shaffer. “Actually, there is something I need you to handle.” He then gestured toward the Goblin Eye—still floating above them, its dark green glow pulsing faintly as it blinked.
“I recently received intelligence that suggests a serious breach in our latest operation. There is a possibility that our intelligence-gathering measures have blind spots,” he continued, his tone deliberate. “So, I want you to coordinate with the best alchemist masters—both wizards and goblins—to conduct research. See if the Goblin Eye has any limitations or vulnerabilities that we might have overlooked.”
A few wizards exchanged glances, their expressions curious but cautious. This was a bold move.
Chenos smiled to himself. He knew exactly what the goblins were doing behind the scenes, but for now, that wasn’t the point. He had long allowed the goblins to play their games, pretending not to notice their influence growing within the Congress. It had even been beneficial for him at times, fostering a cooperative front between the two factions.
But now, things had changed.
Now, it was time for him to remind them who truly held the power.
The gravity of the issue was entirely in his hands. He decided whether this was a minor concern… or a crisis.
Under Chenos’s orders, a group of wizards and a single goblin were assembled to examine the Goblin Eye more closely.
“This investigation will require an on-site assessment,” Chenos added smoothly. “I want hands-on experimentation.”
Shaffer hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Understood.”
As the team moved toward the Congress entrance, a wizard cast a Levitation Charm, guiding the Goblin Eye down from its pedestal. The dark green orb drifted gracefully through the air, finally coming to rest in the hands of Master Alchemist Moss.
Holding it in both hands, Moss swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
Magnificent.
The goblins had long restricted access to the Goblin Eye, allowing only their own kind to maintain and study it. But now, for the first time, it was in the hands of a wizard.
Moss’s fingers trembled as he examined the artifact up close. The exquisite runes, the minute etchings—so precise, so intricately woven into the magical framework.
It was beautiful.
His colleagues stepped closer, eager to see it firsthand.
“Moss, let me get a look—”
“Be careful, don’t use too much magic—”
“Don’t rush, study it properly—”
Moss barely heard them. His mind was wholly absorbed in the study of the Goblin Eye. His magical senses stretched deep into the artifact, tracing the delicate web of enchantments, the concealed mechanisms of its power.
Tsk. Truly remarkable.
The runes embedded within pulsed subtly, forming a layered network of detection magic. It wasn’t just a tool to see the present—it was an extension of time itself, woven with fate-bound magic to discern patterns, anticipate betrayal, and mark enemies before they revealed themselves.
The goblins had been relying on this for centuries.
And yet…
There is something else here.
Moss’s brows furrowed slightly. A subtle fluctuation… a secondary script buried beneath the primary enchantments.
The wizard’s breath hitched.
This was not just a detector.
There was something hidden deep within this relic.
Chenos, standing nearby, maintained a polite conversation with Kenny, the goblin alchemist representative. His tone was friendly, even affable.
But Kenny knew better.
Chenos was testing them.
For the past several minutes, Chenos had been casually keeping him engaged, posing pointed questions about intelligence security, the Goblin Eye’s capabilities, and whether the goblins had concerns about its reliability.
Kenny could barely contain his frustration. He knew what was happening.
This wasn’t an inquiry. This was an attack.
Chenos was weaponizing bureaucracy.
He couldn’t outright seize control of the Goblin Eye, nor could he openly challenge the goblins. Instead, he was using policy, regulation, and "official procedure" as a cudgel.
The worst part? He was completely within his rights.
There was nothing Kenny could do without openly defying the Congress—something that would be politically disastrous for the goblins.
So, he was forced to watch.
Forced to smile.
Forced to play along as wizards he barely trusted probed the most sacred artifact of their people.
But as he endured this charade, his eyes flicked toward Moss.
The wizard alchemist had gone silent.
Kenny’s stomach twisted.
No. No, no, no… don’t find it. Don’t notice it.
He had to stop this.
He opened his mouth—
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Chenos’s sharp applause rang through the square, and every head turned toward him.
“Everyone,” he said with an easy smile, “I think we’ve spent enough time outside. Let’s continue this discussion inside the Congress.”
His voice was warm, his words pleasant.
But there was no choice in what he said.
The investigation was moving inside, where it would be shielded from public scrutiny.
A private discussion.
A goblin’s nightmare.
The gathered wizards nodded, following Chenos’s lead.
As they began moving, Moss hesitated.
He looked at the Goblin Eye in his hands.
Looked at Chenos.
Looked at Kenny.
Something flashed in his eyes.
A decision.
A choice.
And then—
BOOM!
A deafening crack split the air.
The Goblin Eye shattered.
Fragments exploded outward like razor-sharp shards of jade. Several cut into Moss’s face, drawing thin lines of blood down his cheek.
The entire procession froze.
Chenos’s head snapped toward the wizard, his eyes wide with disbelief.
WHAT. THE. HELL.
He had given one simple order: erase the secondary runes. Destroy the evidence—quietly.
But Moss—that idiot—had completely obliterated the entire artifact.
Silence swallowed the square.
Then—
Kenny screamed.
“The Goblin Eye—! You—you—”
Other goblins erupted into a frenzy of outrage. The wizards flinched as chaos rippled through the group.
Chenos’s scalp tingled. His mind raced.
Think. Think. THINK!
He had wanted to teach the goblins a lesson.
Not declare war.
This…
This was a disaster.
Chapter 482
Wizards die collectively.
The Goblin Eye suddenly shattered.
The goblins deliberately leaked information.
A rumor spreads that wizards have been transformed by goblin magic.
Moss, the hero who eliminates harm for the people.
In the deputy speaker's office, Nass and Chenos sat across from each other in silence. The whiteboard beside them was filled with chaotic notes summarizing the unexpected events of the day, each one more absurd and troubling than the last.
Nass tapped a clawed finger against the armrest of his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on Chenos. "Can you still control your people?" he asked, his voice low and measured.
Chenos exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. There was a flicker of bitterness in his expression. "The wizards are furious, but for now, I can still hold the situation together. Barely." He then turned the question back onto Nass. "What about you? Can you still withstand the pressure from your own kind?"
In an instant, the two men, who only hours ago had been playing a delicate game of political maneuvering against each other, now spoke like weary comrades, each assessing the damage on their respective fronts.
They both understood exactly what was happening.
This was no accident.
It was a conspiracy.
A blatant, undeniable scheme.
And the worst part? Even knowing this, they were powerless to stop it.
It had to be Grindelwald. He had orchestrated everything to perfection, setting the goblins and wizards against each other, fracturing the alliance that had kept the Magic Congress stable.
Nass sighed, shaking his head. "I can still hold on for now," he admitted, "but I don’t know for how much longer."
He and Chenos might hold equivalent influence in their respective factions, but their positions were not the same. Chenos was, for all intents and purposes, the leader of the Magic Congress, wielding the authority that should have belonged to the official Speaker.
Nass, on the other hand, was only an elder among the goblins. He was respected, even powerful, but he was not the ultimate authority. If things continued to spiral out of control, he would be the first scapegoat.
He had been the one overseeing relations with the wizards. He had been present when the Goblin Eye was destroyed.
It would be far too easy for his enemies within the goblin ranks to turn this situation against him.
Once he fell, everything he had built would be devoured by the other factions like wolves descending upon fresh meat.
Chenos studied him for a long moment, clearly weighing his next move. He had no personal loyalty to Nass, but he wasn’t blind to the realities of their political landscape.
If Nass fell, it would only make things worse for him.
Right now, Chenos still needed the goblins as allies. He needed their influence to keep his hold over the Congress strong.
But if a more radical goblin faction took control—one that saw wizards as nothing more than obstacles to be crushed under magical artillery—then all of his work would be undone.
The goblins were not a monolith. Their society was divided into three distinct factions.
The peaceful evolutionists, led by Nass, who believed that goblins could reclaim their power through slow, calculated political maneuvering, like boiling a frog in warm water.
The radical suppression faction, led by the third elder, Morton, who openly called for the use of magic weapons to crush wizard control once and for all.
And finally, the neutral faction—the liberal alchemists who simply wanted to be left alone to develop new magical technologies.
Though the third faction had the largest numbers, they lacked true unity. The real fight for control lay between Nass and Morton’s groups.
If Nass was removed, there was no doubt that Morton’s radicals would seize the opportunity to push their agenda forward.
And that would mean war.
Chenos leaned forward, his fingers interlocking. "Are you sure you don’t need my help?"
Nass hesitated. Chenos’s offer was tempting.
But it was also dangerous.
If he relied too much on a wizard for support, it would only fuel the radical faction’s accusations that he was a puppet of the Congress.
With a carefully measured tone, he replied, "I appreciate the offer, but I can handle it myself." Then, steering the conversation away from his precarious position, he added, "For now, our bigger concern should be Grindelwald and his Saints. These last two incidents have already pushed tensions to a breaking point. If this continues, we won’t be able to control it anymore."
Chenos nodded grimly. "I know."
Neither of them needed to spell it out.
If they didn’t find Grindelwald soon, things would only get worse.
And if that happened, their tenuous control would collapse completely.
Nass clenched his fists. It was infuriating. How had Grindelwald’s people managed to slip through their defenses so easily? They had security, informants, countless layers of magical protection.
Yet somehow, he or one of his top Saints had infiltrated the Magic Congress itself.
And nobody had even noticed.
The conversation lapsed into silence, the two men staring at each other across the table, each seeing the same frustrated, determined look reflected in the other’s eyes.
They weren’t fools.
They weren’t cowards.
If they had clawed their way to the top of their respective hierarchies, it was because they knew how to fight.
And they weren’t about to let Grindelwald win.
Not without a fight.
Meanwhile, outside the Magic Congress, Wizard Square had transformed.
A section near the entrance had been cordoned off with wooden signs, each bearing the words "Restricted Area" in bold letters. Wizards in uniform stood watch, ensuring that no curious onlookers ventured too close.
At the center of the cordoned-off area, the shattered remains of the Goblin Eye lay scattered across the ground, its once-glowing dark green gems now lifeless fragments.
And standing on opposite ends of the wreckage were two figures.
One dressed in flowing white robes.
The other in a long black coat.
Dumbledore and Grindelwald stared at each other, their expressions unreadable.
"Gallert," Dumbledore finally said, his voice calm. "It has been some time."
Grindelwald let out a soft chuckle. "Some time? Really, Albus? Wasn’t it just two months ago at Kamar Taj’s opening ceremony?" His lips curled into a smirk. "Is your memory slipping, old friend?"
Dumbledore’s face remained serene, unfazed by the jab. He simply offered the same gentle smile he always had.
Grindelwald studied him for a moment before his gaze shifted downward, toward the shattered Goblin Eye at their feet.
With an amused tilt of his head, he mused, "You know, Albus, I could feel it when you shattered it." He let out a low, mocking whistle. "You didn’t hold back."
Dumbledore’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers flexed slightly at his sides.
Grindelwald chuckled again, shaking his head. "Funny how things work, isn’t it? For all our differences, it seems we’re standing on the same side again today."
Chapter 483
Standing on the same line?
Dumbledore’s brows twitched slightly at Grindelwald’s words, but he said nothing, silently acknowledging the reality of what had just happened.
After all, how could a treasure like the Goblin Eye be destroyed so easily? Even if Grindelwald had taken direct action to break it, the power required would have left undeniable traces. It was inevitable that such a forceful act would have drawn attention.
And yet, no such traces had been found.
Dumbledore had noticed what Grindelwald was doing, had understood his intent—and had chosen not to stop him.
More than that, he had even assisted in obscuring the event.
By subtly channeling the power of the dream world connected to Hogwarts, he had cloaked the moment, ensuring that no one—neither wizard nor goblin—had been able to fully perceive what had occurred. Even now, their conversation remained unseen and unheard by the surrounding figures, shrouded by the same enigmatic force.
Grindelwald caught the flicker of silent affirmation in Dumbledore’s expression. A faint smile played across his lips.
His eyes gleamed with interest as he examined the strange fluctuations in the air around them. This magic—it was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Its resonance, its layered combinations, its peculiar properties…
It smelled of Hogwarts.
There was no doubt in his mind now—Dumbledore had been experimenting. As the true master of Hogwarts, it wasn’t surprising that he had uncovered something extraordinary within the castle’s mysteries.
But this…
This was something else entirely.
For a brief moment, Grindelwald found himself truly fascinated. Even after all these years of magical research, after countless discoveries and breakthroughs, the prospect of something new—something unknown—still ignited a deep, insatiable curiosity within him.
He studied the environment carefully before shifting his focus back to Dumbledore.
But the old man was still looking at the shattered remains of the Goblin Eye, lost in thought, completely ignoring him.
Grindelwald sighed.
Even after all this time, Dumbledore still found ways to be exasperating.
Was he… sulking?
Finally, Grindelwald spoke first. "Albus, from the way you’re acting, I assume you already know about the goblins’ ambitions here in the United States."
Dumbledore lifted his head, a glimmer of amusement flashing through his blue eyes.
He was silent for a moment, as though mulling something over, and then—his lips curled into that ever-so-familiar, infuriatingly pleasant smile.
"Next," Dumbledore said lightly, "I think I’d like to have a duel with you."
Grindelwald raised an eyebrow.
Dumbledore’s wand subtly shifted, drawing upon the surrounding dream energy. The magic stirred, resonating with the space itself, twisting the fabric of reality.
"Let’s see how much we’ve both changed over the years," Dumbledore continued, his tone almost playful.
Grindelwald chuckled. He could feel the pulse of space warping around them. The invitation had been extended.
He did not refuse.
A low hum filled the air as ripples spread through the space. The figures of both men—one in white, one in black—began to blur, their forms shifting into spectral silhouettes before vanishing entirely.
The city around them melted away.
A vast wilderness stretched endlessly beneath the sky, where sun-scorched earth met dry, brittle grass. Yellow sand curled in unseen winds, while sparse weeds clung stubbornly to the barren ground.
There were no birds. No insects. No signs of life.
Just the sound of the wind.
A place so remote, so desolate, that few ever came here willingly.
But something was happening.
The earth trembled faintly.
Sand shifted, swirling in delicate patterns. The weeds, previously motionless, bent low as though pressed down by some invisible force.
The breeze was light, barely present—yet the air itself distorted, twisting under the heat of the sun.
And then—like a mirage shimmering on the horizon—a castle appeared.
Its towers reached toward the sky, grand and majestic. Rolling green fields stretched around it, leading to a vast, dark lake. At the forest’s edge, ancient trees stood tall, their leaves rustling as though whispering secrets.
A perfect image of Hogwarts.
At first, it was transparent, an illusion barely anchored to the world. But slowly, steadily, it solidified, taking on form and substance.
With it, two figures materialized on the castle’s lawn.
Grindelwald stood in his black robes. Dumbledore in his white.
Their gazes met.
Grindelwald’s face was calm, but his eyes betrayed his surprise.
Dumbledore smiled, watching his old friend’s reaction.
This was Hogwarts, but not as Grindelwald had ever known it.
It was a dream, forged from magic so intricate, so vast, that it defied conventional understanding.
Years ago, when Fudge’s meddling had forced him to abandon his original research on dream seeds, Dumbledore had shifted his focus—turning instead to the dream world as conceptualized by Lockhart.
The results had far exceeded his expectations.
It was extraordinary.
Here, within this dream-forged Hogwarts, he was in complete control. It was a power unlike any other—deceptive, elusive, endlessly adaptable.
It was easy to understand why Fudge had become so intoxicated by it. The illusion of absolute control was a dangerous thing.
Grindelwald’s voice cut through the quiet. "Albus, what is this?"
Dumbledore didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, "Gallert, why do you think we are here?"
Grindelwald studied him for a moment before sighing. He no longer pressed for answers.
Instead, he lifted his hand.
A soft hum filled the air as a wand of deep violet emerged in his grip.
A breeze swept across the dreamscape. Dark-robed figures materialized behind him, silent and watchful.
At the same time, a silver-white glow flickered in his right eye. The grass beneath his feet shifted, its vibrant green hue paling as it was overtaken by a creeping frost-like silver.
The power of fate.
The magic of destiny.
Half of Hogwarts—the Hogwarts forged from Dumbledore’s dream—was suddenly consumed by this silvery force.
Where Dumbledore stood, the castle remained as it always had been, bathed in warm sunlight, surrounded by the familiar greens of spring.
Where Grindelwald stood, winter had arrived—an icy dominion where everything shimmered in cold silver, untouched by time.
It was as though two seasons, two realities, had clashed—one against the other.
They stepped forward at the same time, their movements perfectly synchronized.
At the exact moment they reached the boundary between the two halves of the world, they raised their wands.
Magic surged.
The power of dreams met the power of fate.
The energies clashed, weaving into one another, vying for control.
One moment, silver tendrils crept into the dreamscape, twisting its form. The next, dream energy retaliated, consuming the silver and twisting it into something new.
An invisible battle raged around them, even as they themselves remained perfectly still.
They stared into each other’s eyes.
Neither moved. Neither spoke.
Chapter 484
Damn the wizards. Damn the Magical Congress.
They destroyed the Goblin Eye without understanding its importance.
This was a direct provocation. It could not be ignored.
No—an immediate counterattack was necessary. They had already gathered extensive intelligence on the Congress, particularly its leader, Chenos.
The treacherous white-eyed wolf had used goblin support to rise to power, only to turn against them.
He had to be cut to pieces.
"I will be the one to lead the charge this time."
In the heart of the Goblin Palace, Elder Nass stood tall, his voice ringing through the vast chamber as he shouted furiously at the gathered goblin elders. His clenched fists trembled with anger as he pounded them against the stone table before him.
His impassioned display drew wary glances from the others.
For years, Nass had been the advocate of patience, the leader of the peaceful evolution faction. Yet today, he seethed with a radical fury greater than that of the most militant voices in the room.
The other elders exchanged uncertain looks.
This was not like Nass.
Morton, the head of the radical faction, narrowed his eyes. Something was off.
"Everyone, listen to me!" Nass continued. "I know Deputy Speaker Chenos better than anyone. Give me your approval, and I will personally organize an assassination plan. We cannot let this treachery stand!"
His voice carried the full weight of his conviction. To the untrained ear, he sounded like a goblin who had been deeply betrayed, who had finally reached the limits of his patience.
"These wizards have grown arrogant! If not for our support, they would have been crushed by Grindelwald and his Saints!"
His words were sharp, his rage palpable.
And yet…
Morton’s suspicions only grew stronger.
Something wasn’t right.
Nass was too forceful, too insistent. He was practically handing Morton the decision on a silver platter.
Morton, who had long advocated for direct military action against the wizards, suddenly found himself in the bizarre position of having to be the voice of reason.
The realization made his stomach twist.
Nass was playing a game.
"Alright, Nass, enough of the act," Morton said, his voice laced with irritation. "You think I don’t see what you’re doing?"
The room fell silent.
Morton leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the table. "You don’t actually want war. You’re using this moment to remind us of the greater threat—Grindelwald and his Saints."
Nass’s expression didn’t change, but Morton could see it—the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes.
He was right.
"You’re a coward, Nass," Morton spat. "You don’t have the spine to truly fight wizards, so instead, you perform theatrics to stall for time."
Nass’s voice hardened. "If you think I’m bluffing, give me a name. I will kill any wizard you choose."
The room tensed.
Nass’s eyes swept across the elders. "Chenos? Sanjay? Geno? Name a congressman, a director—anyone. I will have them killed immediately."
His voice was deadly serious.
Morton knew it was a trap.
If he agreed, the blame for whatever followed would be placed squarely on his shoulders. He would be the one responsible for escalating the war, while Nass would be free to maneuver.
It was a masterful play.
Morton scowled, grinding his teeth.
Nass had turned the radicals’ own aggression against them.
None of the elders spoke. The chamber remained deathly silent.
Nass let the quiet stretch, savoring his small victory.
At the very least, this would buy him time. While there would still be consequences for the destruction of the Goblin Eye, they would not be able to use this as an excuse to remove him.
He had shouted the loudest for war. And yet, the radicals had hesitated.
No one would forget that.
Before Nass could press further, a deep voice cut through the air.
"Nass. Morton. Enough."
The goblins turned as a powerful figure rose from the throne at the head of the chamber.
Taller and broader than any goblin in the room, clad in robes of black and gold, wearing a crown that gleamed under the torchlight—this was Turan, the Goblin King.
The true ruler of all goblins.
Once the Grand Elder of Gringotts. Once the ruler of the European goblins. The president of the American Wizarding Banking Association.
Now, the undisputed king of goblins across the world.
At his command, goblins in every major magical region answered.
The elders immediately bowed their heads.
"Great King," they intoned in unison. "May you exist forever, like the blazing sun and silver moon in the sky."
"Rise," Turan said.
Even in that single word, his voice carried a weight that could not be ignored.
The goblins straightened.
"We will address your grievances in time," Turan continued. "For now, you must see something."
He raised his scepter.
The golden staff struck the ground.
A deafening boom echoed through the palace.
White mist surged from the impact, engulfing the chamber.
The goblins braced themselves.
When the mist cleared, they were no longer in the palace.
The floor beneath them was no longer smooth stone, but rough sand. The air was dry, filled with the scent of dust and distant storms.
They had been transported to a desolate wasteland.
Pale yellow sand stretched endlessly in every direction. Sparse weeds clung to life, but there was nothing else—no structures, no signs of civilization.
It was an empty battlefield.
A barren graveyard.
The elders exchanged wary glances.
Why had the Goblin King brought them here?
Then—
"Look," one of the neutral faction elders whispered, pointing toward the horizon.
They turned.
Far in the distance, flashes of silver light crackled through the sky.
Then came the roar of battle.
The image zoomed forward, as if an invisible force had willed it to move.
The battlefield unfolded before them in stunning clarity.
Explosions of magic shook the air.
Silver lightning surged toward a colossal stone figure of Hogwarts.
Flames in the shape of a phoenix clashed against dense gray mist, shrouded in an aura of death.
Dozens—hundreds—of silver-white birds screamed as they charged toward a towering castle.
The goblins stood frozen, witnessing a battle unlike any in history.
Zhi! Zhi! Zhi!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Waves of destructive magic erupted, sending winds of scorching heat and razor-sharp stone through the battlefield.
The goblins were stunned.
This was no ordinary wizard battle.
No, this was something beyond even the legends of the past.
Turan, the Goblin King, watched silently, his golden eyes fixed on the unfolding war.
It was no longer a battle of wizards.
It was a battle of something greater.
Something… that would reshape the world.
Chapter 485
Uh-huh! Uh-huh! Uh-huh!
The battle seen through Turan’s vision was grand and destructive, but the goblin elders saw more than just a spectacle of raw magic.
Within the chaos, two figures—one clad in black, the other in white—flashed back and forth across the battlefield, appearing and disappearing faster than the eye could track.
It was impossible for the goblins to discern who they were with the naked eye. The only thing they could determine was their speed, their power, and the sheer devastation they left in their wake.
One moment, a shadow in black flickered across the field, casting a spell that cracked the very air itself. The next, a white blur responded with terrifying precision, countering the attack before vanishing just as quickly.
The high-frequency use of Apparition was unmistakable.
To ordinary wizards, teleportation during battle was a luxury, a skill used sparingly. But for those at the peak of magical combat, it was a necessity—each flash of movement allowing for dodging, repositioning, and seizing control of the battlefield.
Only a handful of wizards in the world could fight at this level.
Dumbledore. Grindelwald. Lockhart. Voldemort.
The goblins knew that Grindelwald was undoubtedly one of the combatants. As for the other...
It was unlikely to be Lockhart, who had shown a preference for dark green wizard robes in recent years. Dumbledore, however, had always remained loyal to his white robes.
If the British Ministry of Magic had indeed convinced Dumbledore to come to America, then it was logical to assume he was the one battling Grindelwald now.
The goblins welcomed it.
The longer these two titans fought, the better.
The more damage they inflicted upon each other, the better.
If they could destroy themselves, it would be a dream come true for the goblins.
A war between wizards meant less blood on goblin hands, and a weakened magical world meant more power for goblinkind.
It was a simple, undeniable truth.
The goblins did not fear wizards in a fair battle, but they understood that their overall numbers and magical proficiency lagged behind. Their true advantage lay in strategy, patience, and ensuring that wizards were too preoccupied fighting among themselves to ever turn their full attention toward goblins.
The elders exchanged knowing glances.
Yes, let the wizards destroy themselves.
That was the best outcome.
On the battlefield, spells detonated like meteors striking the earth.
"Incendio!"
"Crucio!"
"Diffindo!"
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Each spell cast was not just powerful, but precise. Every flick of the wand was calculated, designed to strike, counter, or predict the opponent’s next move.
Grindelwald and Dumbledore danced through the battlefield like phantoms, each flickering in and out of existence with Apparition. One moment, black magic surged forward, tearing through the air with wild energy. The next, golden flames erupted in retaliation, engulfing the attack in a tide of roaring heat.
A battle between top wizards was not just a clash of spells—it was a game of minds, a war of anticipation, prediction, and outmaneuvering.
"Albus," Grindelwald spoke mid-movement, his voice effortlessly slipping between spells. "It seems we have quite an audience."
With a smirk, he vanished, reappearing a few meters away, dodging a streak of golden fire.
Dumbledore followed, his wand moving in a blur.
Grindelwald laughed lightly, effortlessly deflecting a burst of magic. "Great changes are coming, Albus. And I believe you already sense the unknown risks surrounding Lockhart."
His wand swirled, launching a barrage of silver-white energy toward Dumbledore.
Dumbledore deflected the attack, his expression unreadable.
Grindelwald pressed on. "You know it, don’t you? The tides are shifting. We must join forces before it’s too late."
Dumbledore didn’t respond with words.
Instead, his wand ignited, and a roaring wall of flame surged toward Grindelwald, cutting off his speech.
The fire reflected in Grindelwald’s eyes as he twisted his wand, conjuring a barrier of sheer magical force. He clicked his tongue.
Dumbledore knew they were being watched.
Although he couldn't pinpoint exactly where or by whom, it wasn’t difficult to deduce the obvious candidates—goblins or members of the Magical Congress.
Most likely, the goblins.
Goblins had their ways of spying. Their artifacts and magical tools were infamous for their ability to see things others couldn’t.
But it didn’t matter.
Let them watch.
This fight was too enjoyable to stop.
With a sharp breath, Grindelwald deflected another spell and retreated slightly, his wand tracing a pattern in the air.
A purple glow flickered.
In an instant, silver-white lightning erupted from his wand, shooting toward the unseen observers.
Dumbledore watched silently as the attack struck.
In the Goblin Palace, the goblin elders sat in stunned silence.
Nass, Morton, and the others had just managed to make out Grindelwald’s face when—
Boom!
A blinding flash of silver lightning tore through their vision.
The spying mist shattered, the connection severed instantly.
The scene they had been watching disappeared.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
Then, as the last remnants of the mist faded, the grand throne room of the Goblin Palace reappeared.
Turan, the Goblin King, sat upon his throne, his expression unreadable.
With a single motion, he waved his scepter, dissipating the mist completely.
The room remained still.
Turan’s voice broke the silence. "What do you intend to do next?"
The goblins hesitated.
They had seen the raw power of Grindelwald firsthand.
To oppose him now, with no proper preparation, would be madness.
Morton and Nass shared a glance. They both knew there was only one answer.
Nass stepped forward first, bowing his head slightly. "Great King, we will follow your will."
Morton followed. "Grindelwald is our primary threat. For now, we cannot afford conflict with the Magic Congress."
Turan said nothing.
But his eyes gleamed with cold calculation.
On the battlefield, the dust settled.
Dumbledore and Grindelwald stood five meters apart.
The dream-forged Hogwarts had vanished. The silver-white domain of fate had dissolved.
They were once again standing in the real world, facing one another.
The silence stretched.
Then, Grindelwald spoke.
"Albus Dumbledore, I need an answer."
His voice was measured, patient.
"A war between wizards, or peace with goblins. Which do you choose?"
