[Marvel's Hogwarts Professor] Chapter 476 - 480

Chapter 476

Ilvermorny, United States.

Nestled atop the highest peak of Mount Greylock, Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stood as the heart of magical learning in North America. With its grand, castle-like structures, towering spires, and vast magical landscapes, Ilvermorny mirrored the prestige of Hogwarts while carrying its own unique legacy.

For centuries, it had been the cradle of American wizardry, nurturing generations of spellcasters and producing some of the finest magical minds in the world.

But now—

Now, it had become something more.

Under Grindelwald’s dominion, Ilvermorny had transformed into the headquarters of the Saints.

Gone were the days when it simply served as a school; it was now a fortress, a training ground where the next generation of magical revolutionaries was forged.

Within its grand halls, powerful Saints walked as professors, imparting knowledge to students who had been hand-picked for their potential, their ambition, and their willingness to embrace the vision of a new world.

Yet, among all the courses offered at Ilvermorny, there was one that stood above the rest.

A course so vital, so critical to the foundation of this new order, that Grindelwald himself took on the role of instructor.

A course known simply as—

Meditation.

Ilvermorny Grounds – Meditation Class

On the vast emerald-green field that stretched beyond the school, hundreds of students sat cross-legged in disciplined silence, their gazes locked onto the figure before them.

Behind them stood several elite Saints, powerful wizards who had long sworn their allegiance to Grindelwald. Though their ranks were filled with veterans, they too listened intently, knowing that every word spoken today was a glimpse into the future of wizardkind.

Standing at the forefront, Grindelwald raised his wand.

With a mere flick, a sapphire-blue flame erupted into the air, twisting and morphing into shifting shapes—images of ancient symbols, celestial diagrams, and mystical runes.

His voice, smooth as silk and rich with authority, resonated through the air.

"Meditation is not simply a method of strengthening one's magic. It is a means of reshaping the very nature of a wizard’s spiritual power."

The flames wove themselves into intricate letters and pictures, illuminating his words.

"When enough wizards practice a particular meditation method, their spiritual power begins to converge—aligning in nature, harmonizing in structure."

"And with convergence… comes transformation."

A ripple of energy spread through the crowd, as if his very words carried weight beyond the physical.

The students’ eyes widened in realization, and even the seasoned Saints standing behind them listened with rapt attention.

Meditation had already begun to spread like wildfire among wizards, whispered about in the highest circles of power. It was said to hold the key to strength, longevity, and enlightenment—a path that even the likes of Dumbledore and Grindelwald had only begun to explore.

But for the students gathered here, this was not just theory.

This was opportunity.

Grindelwald, seeing their burning curiosity, continued, his voice unwavering.

"We stand at the dawn of a new age—a time when magic is no longer dictated by bloodline or raw talent alone. Through meditation, even the weakest wizard can forge power beyond their natural limits."

"New methods will emerge—methods tailored for alchemy, magical creatures, potioneering, dueling, even Divination. Specialized meditations will become the stepping stones for wizards seeking mastery in any field."

"Where once talent was an insurmountable barrier, meditation will become the great equalizer."

His silver-white eyes gleamed with an almost prophetic intensity.

"Imagine a world where wizards do not merely dabble in magic, but become one with it. Where those who were once destined to mediocrity can rise as giants. Where knowledge is no longer hoarded by the few, but forged anew by those willing to seize it."

"That, my students… is the future."

Silence followed his words—

A deep, weighty silence, the kind that only followed a revelation too vast to fully comprehend.

Then—

A spark ignited.

A fire of ambition swept through the students like a storm, their bodies trembling with the sheer magnitude of the vision laid before them.

Their leader, their beacon of change, was handing them the keys to a new world.

For young wizards on the cusp of their future, there was no greater gift than the chance to be the ones who shaped history.

Their eyes, once filled with youthful uncertainty, now blazed with purpose.

Grindelwald watched, satisfied.

And the vortex in the sky responded.

A transparent spiral of energy had begun to form above the students, unseen by all but Grindelwald himself.

It was not his doing.

It was the will of fate itself, gathering the dispersed fragments of ambition from his followers and funneling it into a single point in destiny.

His Eye of Fate, a power beyond conventional sight, allowed him to witness its mechanics firsthand.

Yet, even with his extraordinary gifts, Grindelwald knew—

Fate was not something that could be shaped by one man alone.

That was why he had gathered the Saints.

That was why he had cultivated the next generation.

That was why he had built Ilvermorny into the heart of the new order.

"A single wizard’s will is finite," he mused silently, "but a generation’s will is unstoppable."

Returning his focus to the lesson, Grindelwald shifted the topic.

"As I mentioned before, meditation will shape all aspects of the wizarding world."

"And combat… is no exception."

A shudder rippled through the students.

"Future Aurors, future enforcers of magical law, future warriors—they will all wield meditation as their primary weapon."

"The way wizards engage in battle will change."

"And nothing will shape this change more than joint spellcasting."

The memory of a past battle flickered in Grindelwald’s mind.

The students of Kamar Taj…

A coordinated spell—an ocean of flames consuming an entire battlefield.

Even as a master of magic, he had been momentarily impressed.

They had been mere students, yet together, they had wielded the destructive force of an army.

That, he realized, was the future.

Not singular titans ruling from their ivory towers.

But organizations, unified magical forces, entire battalions of wizards who moved as one.

It was both thrilling…

And dangerous.

"The importance of wizard factions will grow. Lone wizards will become relics of the past. The age of isolated spellcasters is ending."

"It is the era of unity, of power in numbers, of magic forged through collective will."

A slow, satisfied smile played on Grindelwald’s lips.

The world was about to change.

And he was going to lead the charge.

However—

Suddenly, a sharp sensation pricked at the edges of his consciousness.

Something had shifted.

An important piece of his gameboard had been wiped away.

His gaze sharpened.

His right pupil shimmered silver-white as destiny unveiled itself before him.

A vision materialized—

A platform.

A fire dragon.

A vault.

A wizard.

And then, like a whisper carried by the wind, a familiar voice reached his ears.

"Grindelwald, instead of coming to me, you went and target my student Wanda."

"What exactly do you intend to do?"

Chapter 477

Huh!

That shouldn’t be possible. How could it be the power of fate?

Grindelwald narrowed his eyes, a flicker of surprise crossing his sharp features.

Lockhart’s student, Wanda, possessing a connection to destiny wasn’t surprising in the slightest. He had already sensed it in her, a nascent yet undeniable thread of fate entwining with her existence. Given her potential, it was only natural.

But Lockhart himself?

That was another matter entirely.

Grindelwald had crossed paths with Lockhart before, even fought against him. He knew Lockhart’s magic well, especially that new spell of his—it was indeed formidable, something worthy of wariness. But no matter how powerful the spell, he had been absolutely certain that Lockhart had never dabbled in the power of fate.

In fact, he had taken advantage of Lockhart’s unfamiliarity with fate, weaving several discreet and subtle manipulations against him, none of which had been noticed.

Yet now, as he peered once more into the unseen currents of destiny, he could clearly see it—a massive and undeniable force of fate lingering around Lockhart like an impenetrable veil.

How could this be?

Even if Lockhart had recently started delving into the mysteries of fate, accumulating such a vast and potent power of destiny should have taken years, decades even.

Unless…

Grindelwald’s mind raced as he considered the possibilities.

Unless Lockhart had come into possession of a top-tier artifact of fate, something capable of aligning him with the very fabric of destiny itself.

At that moment, as he delved deeper into his foresight, Grindelwald caught a fleeting glimpse—an echo of a realm beyond reality. A world of dreams.

His brows furrowed, thoughts churning.

Not only had Lockhart somehow connected with fate, but he also seemed to be linked to something far greater, something more enigmatic.

This revelation unsettled him.

In his era, very few had any tangible connection to the forces of fate. Those who did were mere specks, insignificant in the grand scheme. And certainly, there had been nothing that could stand in his way.

But now?

Now, he saw a young witch brimming with destiny and limitless potential.

Now, he saw an enemy—Lockhart—who wielded a force of fate even he did not possess.

Now, he saw goblins—those former slaves, those lesser creatures—wielding weapons strong enough to shroud themselves from even his all-seeing gaze.

And if his predictions were correct, this was only the beginning.

There would be more. More wizards exposed to fate. More individuals who would harness it. They would rise, one by one, until they became a force of their own, a profession even.

Grindelwald’s expression darkened.

Once, he had been the sole master of destiny, the one who wielded fate’s gifts and stood above the entire wizarding world.

Now, he felt the shifting tides.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt the cold grip of uncertainty.

But it did not weaken him.

No, it only strengthened his resolve.

His mind sharpened, his emotions hardened.

He would not allow this to continue.

The American abomination had to be destroyed. That much was inevitable.

And as for Lockhart…

Grindelwald’s fingers curled into a fist, a glimmer of anticipation flickering in his stormy gaze.

He would take what belonged to him.

The artifact of fate.

The veil that shielded Lockhart from sight.

Everything.

Darkness swirled in his mind, calculations shifting as he contemplated his next move.

Yes.

It was time.

Time to cross wands with his old friend once more.

And this time…

He was looking forward to it.

Because his old friend was none other than—

Dumbledore.

———————

In the heart of Washington, the Second Headquarters of the Magical Congress stood as a symbol of resilience.

The war against Grindelwald and his Saints had shaken America’s wizarding community to its core.

The first attack had been devastating.

New York’s headquarters had fallen in a brutal and merciless assault. The Magical Congress had barely survived, teetering on the brink of total collapse.

But the tide had turned.

Support had arrived.

And it had not come from within the ranks of wizards.

No, it was the goblins who had intervened.

Armed with their magic-infused firearms and their unparalleled craftsmanship, they had fought back, turning the tide of battle.

And so, amidst the ashes of the first headquarters, a second stronghold had been built in Washington.

Yet it was not a symbol of triumph.

It was a mark of shame.

The name itself—Second Headquarters—was a constant reminder of their failure, a declaration of their determination to reclaim what had been lost.

At least, that was the official reasoning.

Unofficially, the location had been chosen for a far simpler reason.

Washington was the heart of goblin power.

And that fact alone spoke volumes.

The square in front of the headquarters was a bustling hive of activity. Wizards and goblins moved side by side, a seamless mixture of robes and armor, wands and firearms.

The air thrummed with urgency.

Aurors strode with purpose, their wands resting at their hips. Goblin warriors stood on high alert, their enchanted rifles gleaming under the sun.

Some of them lingered at the square’s edges, watchful sentinels ensuring security.

Others walked in step with wizards, exchanging words, sharing strategies, working in unison.

It was a sight rarely seen in the wizarding world.

A world where goblins and wizards stood as equals.

At least, that’s how it seemed.

From the edge of the square, Dumbledore observed it all.

To the untrained eye, it was an inspiring image.

A moment of unity.

A promise of cooperation.

But to Dumbledore…

It was a warning.

Superficially, his visit to the Magical Congress was to offer his assistance in the war against Grindelwald.

But in truth, he had another mission.

He needed to see for himself the reality of America’s goblins.

To understand just how far they had come.

To assess the delicate balance between wizards and goblins.

And what he saw sent a chill down his spine.

By all appearances, wizards and goblins stood together, unburdened by history, side by side in perfect harmony.

It should have been a relief.

It should have given him hope.

Instead, it made his blood run cold.

Dumbledore was a man of peace.

But above all, he was a defender of order.

And the order he had spent his life upholding had one fundamental truth—

Wizards must lead.

No matter how much he respected goblins, no matter how much he abhorred discrimination, he could not ignore reality.

A world where goblins stood on equal footing with wizards…

Was a world on the brink of upheaval.

History had taught him well.

For one to rise, another must fall.

And when the time came, neither side would show mercy.

The illusion of peace was a mere prelude to war.

Dumbledore’s throat felt dry.

He had known America’s situation was fragile.

But this?

This was far worse than he had imagined.

His original plan had been simple.

Enter.

Observe.

Take control.

But now?

Now, he saw the truth.

Grindelwald was not the only threat.

The goblins…

They were waiting.

Waiting for the right moment.

Waiting for the wizards and the Saints to weaken each other.

And when that moment arrived…

Dumbledore did not want to think about what would come next.

His gaze lifted to the grand archway of the headquarters, where a single dark green eye blinked endlessly.

The Goblin Eye.

A treasure of immense power.

An artifact that could see beyond mere sight, peering into the depths of soul, fate, and beyond.

It was said to be one of the greatest creations of goblin magic.

And now, it belonged to the Magical Congress.

For now.

Dumbledore stood motionless at the gate, his eyes locked onto the ever-blinking eye above.

His thoughts ran deep.

And for the first time in a long while…

He sighed.

Chapter 478

Buzz!

The dark green goblin eyes flickered continuously, releasing faint yet intricate spiritual ripples with each blink.

The secondary headquarters of the Magic Congress continued its quiet expansion outward. Every goblin who entered its boundaries immediately relaxed, their expressions softening with contentment, as if they had finally returned home. In stark contrast, the wizards accompanying them remained completely unaware of this subtle yet pervasive effect.

"Moll, the magic firearms you developed played a critical role in this mission."

"Haha, absolutely! That Saint barely had time to react before we put a bullet straight through his skull."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. What a miserable way to go."

"Hahaha!"

On the road leading to the headquarters, three wizards and a goblin walked side by side, engaged in cheerful banter. They laughed freely, their camaraderie defying the short span of time they'd known each other—less than a month.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!" The tall, lanky wizard named Ram made a pistol gesture with his fingers and mimicked the sound of gunfire, pretending to shoot into the distance.

"Haha! Goblins truly are the most talented alchemists," Ram continued, shaking his head in admiration. "I remember some wizards trying to replicate Muggle firearms with magic, but they all failed miserably."

Moll the goblin puffed out his chest with pride, his dark green eyes gleaming. The other two wizard teammates chimed in, heaping praise upon him. With the aid of goblin magic guns, their battles had become significantly easier. Previously, they had struggled against the Saints, often fighting at a disadvantage. But now, with this newfound advantage, the playing field had been leveled—if not tilted in their favor.

Goblins had played a crucial role in this shift, especially their mastery of magical firearms, which had become game-changers in combat.

The most revolutionary aspect of magic firearms was their ammunition—specially crafted bullets infused with enchanted properties. Each bullet was the equivalent of a spell. Wizards needed to recite incantations before casting magic, and only a rare few were capable of silent spellcasting. Goblins, however, could now unleash rapid, near-instantaneous spells simply by pulling a trigger.

More importantly, there was the issue of magical expenditure. Wizards relied on their own reserves of magic power, which could be depleted. Magic guns, on the other hand, drew energy from goblin-crafted fairy gems.

What did that mean?

It meant that as long as goblins carried a sufficient number of these gems, they could continue casting spells indefinitely, far outlasting wizards in prolonged battles.

Of course, reality wasn't quite that exaggerated, but the implication was clear—goblins had drastically enhanced their combat capabilities. And when dozens, even hundreds, of these magic firearms were fired in unison, the sheer firepower was staggering, comparable to the most destructive black magic.

Ram had seen it firsthand. It might be a stretch to claim it could rival the legendary Dark Lord’s Flame'—the spell that had once set all of Paris ablaze—but it was close enough to make his heart race just thinking about it.

He turned to Moll, feigning nonchalance but clearly eager for information. " Moll, your uncle is a renowned goblin master. Any updates on the magical firearms being developed for wizards? Do they need field testing? Our team would be happy to assist."

His tone was casual, but the underlying eagerness was impossible to miss.

Due to differences in magical properties, current magic guns were only suitable for goblins. However, the Magic Congress, in collaboration with goblin alchemists, was working to adapt them for wizards as well. If successful, this breakthrough would revolutionize warfare.

As soon as Ram finished speaking, the other two wizards perked up, anticipation shining in their eyes. They knew experimental weapons often came with risks, but the raw power of these firearms was too tempting to ignore.

Moll straightened his posture, his pride evident. As they approached the Congress headquarters, he spoke with assurance. "Leave it to me. When my uncle makes a breakthrough, our team will be the first to get our hands on it."

His dark green eyes blinked again, sending another wave of unseen ripples through the air.

The group passed through the entrance of the Magic Congress without noticing a faint white glow that flickered and vanished the moment they stepped inside. It was subtle—so subtle that an untrained eye might dismiss it as a mere trick of the light.

Dumbledore stood within the grand hall, watching the group disappear into the corridors. His piercing blue eyes then shifted toward the blinking fairy eyes embedded within the walls. A quiet sigh escaped him.

Anyone familiar with Albus Dumbledore—or rather, with Gellert Grindelwald—would recognize that while he appeared to be sighing in contemplation, beneath the surface, his mind seethed with fury and cold determination.

There was no hesitation in his stance, only resolve.

His sigh was not for his enemies, but for himself. He lamented the path he had to walk, the choices he had to make, the blood he would have to spill. He had long accepted that his mission required ruthlessness, but that did not make the burden any lighter.

The weariness in his expression gradually faded, replaced by unyielding firmness. Then, it softened once more into the familiar kind smile that concealed the storm raging within him.

His gaze flickered back to the Goblin Eyes, and for a brief moment, a glint of pure, unfiltered murderous intent flashed in his eyes.

Without hesitation, he turned and made his way toward the upper levels of the headquarters, his footsteps steady and unrelenting.

He had questions.

And he would have answers.

---

New York, MAC Headquarters.

The former parliamentary headquarters lay in ruins. Jagged stones and shattered debris littered the landscape, a silent testament to the ferocity of the battle that had taken place. Deep craters marred the ground, remnants of powerful spells and explosions.

Logic dictated that such ruins held little interest—after all, there was nothing left to salvage. Yet, members of the Saints' organization had apparated here, lingering for a while before departing.

They had not come to admire the wreckage.

They had come to bear witness—to revel in the destruction, to bask in the overwhelming power of their leader.

Once, the Congress headquarters had been an impenetrable fortress of magic. But it had fallen, razed to the ground in a single attack by Grindelwald. The Saints saw this as an affirmation of their faith, a symbol of their inevitable victory.

Near the edge of the ruins, several figures—transparent and ghostly—stood in silence, watching with cold, calculating eyes.

They were ghosts, remnants of former Congress members. Every ghost had a reason for lingering in the mortal world, and for these particular specters, that reason was tied directly to the Magic Congress.

Some had perished in political struggles, their ambitions left unfulfilled. When they saw the Congress reduced to rubble, many faded away, their unfinished business resolved.

But some remained.

And they had a purpose.

"Putton, what are those ghosts doing?" A Saint, stepping carefully over the ruins, asked his companion.

Putton cast an indifferent glance at the spirits before scoffing. "What can ghosts possibly do? They can't even touch the living."

He closed his eyes, focusing instead on sensing the lingering traces of Grindelwald’s magic. A rumor had spread among the Saints—meditation in the ruins would grant insight into their leader’s power. Whether true or not, many sought to uncover its secrets.

So engrossed were they in their studies that none noticed the ghosts forming a vast circle around the ruins.

And then, the ground beneath them glowed.

A pale, silvery light shimmered, followed by pulses of red, green, and blue. The Saints, sensing the shift in magic, snapped to attention—too late.

The ghosts were no longer ghosts.

They were Congress Aurors and officials in disguise, their magic converging into the ancient spellwork embedded within the ruins.

A trap had been sprung.

The air howled with chaotic magic, severing the Saints' connection to their spells. An elite Auror shouted, "Fire!"

Dozens of goblins emerged, magic guns blazing. The Saints recoiled under the relentless barrage, yet strangely, few fell. Wounds, yes—but deaths were suspiciously rare.

Director Sammo of the Aurors narrowed his eyes. A dangerous thought crept into his mind.

Had the goblins... betrayed them?

Far from the battlefield, in a grand office, Chenos, the de facto Speaker, swirled a glass of water, ignoring the glare of goblin elder Nass. He knew the goblins' ambitions, and he was already formulating a plan.

Then, the door burst open.

"Speaker Chenos! The counterattack failed. Grindelwald appeared."

Chapter 479:

Upon hearing the news, Chenos immediately turned his head and glanced at the goblin elder, Nass, who stood beside him. Nass's expression was one of utter disbelief, as though he was just as shocked by the news as everyone else. However, Chenos wasn’t fooled by the goblin’s feigned surprise.

In the current structure of the Magic Congress, much of the intelligence network was still under the control of wizards. Yet, a significant portion had fallen into the hands of the goblins. The reason for this was simple: the goblins possessed weapons powerful enough to block even Grindelwald's prophetic sight. These tools allowed them to isolate and disrupt Grindelwald’s ability to foresee critical events, effectively delaying his ability to act. Without such measures, Grindelwald’s terrifying foresight could have allowed him to strike before the Congress was prepared.

The goblins had leveraged these tools to extract numerous benefits from the Magic Congress. And now, with the current news, Chenos couldn’t help but suspect their involvement.

“How is this possible?” Nass exclaimed, his voice trembling with incredulity. “Didn’t we make meticulous arrangements beforehand? We even sent decoys to divert Grindelwald’s attention. How did this happen?”

Nass’s face twisted as he seemed to piece something together. He clenched his fists and spat, “Could it be that some of the saints got information from wizards? We need a thorough investigation. Damn traitors…”

He trailed off, his anger palpable, and began cursing under his breath, muttering about betrayal and incompetence. His reaction was almost overly dramatic, as if he were more outraged than Chenos himself.

Chenos, however, remained silent, his face growing darker as Nass raged. After the goblin elder had exhausted his tirade, Chenos spoke in a low, deliberate tone. “Nass, we’ll handle our own investigations on the wizard side. If there’s any traitorous scum, no matter their reasoning, we’ll deal with them swiftly and without mercy. But your side—”

Before Chenos could finish, Nass interrupted, thumping his chest in an exaggerated display of loyalty. “Lord Speaker, rest assured, there is absolutely no issue on our side. The fog of destiny that Grindelwald pierced wasn’t due to any lapse on our end. Our safeguards remain intact. If any anomalies had been detected, we would have known immediately.”

His voice softened slightly, adopting a reassuring tone. “But don’t worry. We will assist in identifying the traitors using our tools. You can count on us.”

Chenos regarded Nass for a moment, his sharp gaze probing the goblin’s calm demeanor. After a long pause, he nodded, though his expression betrayed no trust. “Very well. I’ll leave that to you. But I expect results.”

Nass nodded briskly, sensing the thinly veiled tension in the air. “Of course, Lord Speaker. You have my word.”

With that, Nass excused himself, his demeanor oddly collected as he left the room. Chenos watched the goblin elder depart, his thoughts a storm of anger and suspicion.

Despite Nass’s assurances, Chenos knew better than to fully trust the goblins. While they hadn’t leaked everything, the critical breach in the fog of destiny had allowed Grindelwald to sense the danger and intervene, disrupting their carefully laid plans. The losses might not be catastrophic, but they were a reminder of how precarious their alliance with the goblins truly was.

Chenos turned back to the window, staring out at the bustling square below, where wizards and goblins moved about the Congress headquarters. His anger simmered just beneath the surface. He had always known the goblins were opportunistic, but their thinly veiled manipulation of the situation was infuriating. The message was clear: the Magic Congress needed the goblins to survive. And in reminding him of this, they had delivered a calculated warning.

Chenos clenched his fists. To him, this wasn’t just a betrayal—it was a challenge. The goblins had gained too much leverage, and their growing influence over Congress was becoming intolerable. How dare they meddle in the internal workings of the Congress when their own survival depended on its success?

He waved a hand dismissively at the wizard who had delivered the news. “You may leave,” he said curtly.

Once alone, Chenos approached the window again, scanning the faces in the square below. His gaze settled on a group of goblins, their dark green eyes glinting with an unnerving sharpness. He knew retaliation was necessary. Allowing this slight to go unanswered would only embolden them further. Yet, retaliation required careful planning.

For now, he would play along, but in time, he would show them that the Congress was not as weak as they presumed.

Turning sharply, Chenos strode to the nearby magical fireplace. He grabbed a handful of floo powder and threw it into the flames. The green fire roared to life, casting eerie shadows across his face. Without hesitation, he stepped into the flames, vanishing into the network.

The office fell silent once more, the tension lingering like an unspoken curse.

Moments later, the air in the room shimmered. Slowly, a figure began to materialize on the sofa, as though emerging from the ether. It was none other than Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts and one of the most powerful wizards alive. His silver hair and long beard gleamed in the soft light as he adjusted his robes and glanced around the room.

Dumbledore walked calmly across the plush carpet, his footsteps muffled as he approached the desk. Lowering himself into the chair, he steepled his fingers and gazed thoughtfully out of the window. His piercing blue eyes took in the scene below, noting the tension in the movements of the goblins and wizards alike.

The situation was worse than he had anticipated, though not by much. The goblins’ ambitions were evident, and Chenos, for all his political acumen, was clearly grappling with the weight of their interference. Still, Dumbledore couldn’t deny that Chenos was a skilled politician—sharp, ruthless, and calculating. Far more capable than Cornelius Fudge had ever been.

If it weren’t for Grindelwald, there might have been a fragile balance between the goblins and Congress. But Grindelwald’s growing power complicated everything. Dumbledore’s thoughts drifted briefly to Lockhart. The man hadn’t been seen in wizarding circles for some time. What was he up to now?

Chapter 480

"What? How could they all be dead?"

In the American goblin enclave, Elder Nass paced anxiously within his private chambers, his clawed fingers twitching with unease.

The goblin who had come to deliver the news stood stiffly before him, his head bowed low, face taut with barely concealed fear. He, too, had participated in the recent attack on the Saints, having joined forces with the Wizarding Congress in an effort to reclaim their headquarters.

Unlike the wizards, however, he had received a second, secret order from the goblin council: to hold back.

At first, he had dismissed it as a mistake, some cruel joke whispered by a paranoid official. But upon verification, he realized the command was legitimate. Though the decision made little sense to him, he had obeyed without question.

Everything had gone according to plan. The Saints had been lured into a trap, surrounded at the critical moment. Then, right on cue, Grindelwald had arrived, effortlessly driving the wizards into retreat while the goblins quietly withdrew.

For their kind, it had been a flawless victory.

And yet…

Half a day later, every wizard who had participated in the operation was dead.

It wasn’t just death—it was something far worse.

The corpses had been discovered in a state of unimaginable horror. Every orifice bled profusely, their features twisted in agony. Blackened, decayed skin was overtaken by grotesque growths—tiny black fungi, sprouting in clusters across their bodies. The mushrooms, though minuscule, formed a thick, suffocating mass, giving the deceased the appearance of grotesque, rotting plants.

If not for the fresh blood still seeping from their flesh, one might have mistaken them for something otherworldly, something no longer human.

Even the most hardened goblins had recoiled at the sight.

The only mercy—if it could be called that—was that none of their kind had been afflicted by the curse. Whatever dark magic had been unleashed had claimed only wizards.

There was no doubt—this was the work of a devastating curse, one that bore all the hallmarks of deep, forbidden magic.

A curse of this caliber could not have been cast lightly.

If there was even a shred of doubt before, there was none now: Grindelwald himself must have been responsible.

Even the Auror Director, Sammer, a wizard of immense power, had not been spared. He had endured the longest, suffering excruciating agony before succumbing to the inevitable.

If a wizard of his caliber had perished in such a gruesome manner, then what chance did the others have?

Panic had already begun to spread among the goblins involved in the battle. Some regretted their involvement entirely, fearing that Grindelwald or the Saints would soon turn their wrath upon them. Others had taken extreme measures—hoarding protective talismans, fleeing to distant sanctuaries in a desperate attempt to evade whatever unseen force had obliterated their allies.

The goblin before Nass was no different. He had come not only to report but to seek reassurance, to beg for protection against the unknown.

But Nass’s mind was elsewhere.

Unlike the messenger, he was not concerned with curses.

In fact, if it had been a simple matter of dark magic running rampant, it would have been a blessing in disguise. The goblins and wizards could have united under a shared tragedy, strengthening their fragile alliance in mutual horror.

But this?

This was something far more sinister.

The sequence of events was too precise, too well-timed.

Not long ago, they had deliberately leaked intelligence to Grindelwald, hoping to manipulate events in their favor.

And now—this.

This wasn’t just bad luck.

This was a calculated maneuver.

A deliberate attempt to sow discord.

Nass’s expression darkened. His instincts screamed at him, an oppressive weight settling in his gut.

Grindelwald had struck at the heart of their fragile alliance, and he had done so flawlessly.

For the first time in decades, Nass felt something rare—fear.

Tread. Tread. Tread.

Hurried footsteps echoed through the halls, growing louder by the second. A familiar sound, but one that sent a shiver down his spine.

Before the goblin outside could knock, Nass flicked his wrist, and the door swung open.

A goblin in blue robes stood at the threshold, panting heavily from his desperate sprint.

“Elder! It’s terrible—horrible!” His voice wavered, his panic tangible. “The Fairy’s Eye—It’s broken!”

A deafening silence filled the chamber.

For a moment, Nass felt as though his mind had been split open, his vision blurring. The room seemed to tilt, spinning in chaotic disarray.

The Fairy’s Eye.

The most sacred artifact of their lineage.

It was not as omnipotent as the legendary Disk of Fate, but for the American goblins, it was their greatest treasure. An artifact honed over centuries, its magic designed to discern friend from foe, to expose hidden ambitions, to uncover the motivations buried deep within men’s souls.

Through it, they had been able to shape alliances, manipulate the Magic Congress from the shadows, and maintain an iron grip on their survival.

And now—

Gone.

Shattered.

Ruined.

The ramifications were unfathomable. Without it, they were blind. Vulnerable.

And worst of all—

He would be blamed.

The other goblin elders, the ruling council, even the clan leader himself—they would all demand answers.

Swallowing hard, Nass forced himself to remain calm.

“Tell me everything,” he ordered. “Who did this? Was it an attack? An accident?”

The blue-robed goblin stammered, his words spilling out in a frantic mess. “I—I don’t know! There were many witnesses! Wizards, goblins—Deputy Speaker Chenos was there too—”

Nass’s fingers twitched in irritation. The panicked rambling was of no use to him.

“Enough.” His voice was cold, clipped. “Lead me there. Now.”

Half an hour earlier—Wizarding Square, Magic Congress Headquarters.

Deputy Speaker Chenos strolled across the vast square, his sharp gaze sweeping over the mingling wizards and goblins. His expression was unreadable, his steps measured.

The current state of affairs?

Entirely his doing.

And for that, he felt nothing but pride.

In the Muggle world, the United States was the greatest power on Earth. Yet even they had never solved the issue of racial division.

But he had.

He had crafted a tale of cooperation, a narrative of unity between goblins and wizards against a common enemy.

And in doing so, he had seized power.

Every goblin elder bent to his will. Every wizard in Congress listened when he spoke. The influence he wielded was intoxicating, unparalleled.

Soon, his title would no longer be Deputy Speaker.

But before that, one final obstacle remained.

Raising his gaze, he stared up at the grand entrance to the Magic Congress—the ornate, ever-blinking, dark green Fairy’s Eye.