Harry Potter: The Golden Viper

0377 Talks

The helpless goblin, pinned mercilessly to the ground by the cold spear, stared with wide, terror-filled eyes, its small body trembling uncontrollably as it found itself unable to believe it would meet its demise so easily, so unceremoniously. The primal, instinctual craving for life caused its frail form to twitch and spasm instinctively, but the steady trickle of fresh, crimson blood flowing relentlessly from its wound rapidly drained its vitality, its life force ebbing away with each passing second. In mere moments, the once vibrant light in its eyes, along with the palpable fear and unwillingness to surrender to death's cold embrace, faded away entirely, leaving behind a lifeless shell.

For a single, brief moment, the noisy scene fell eerily silent, as if the world itself held its breath in anticipation. Then, over thirty goblins, their faces twisted into pure rage, unleashed furious, screeching cries that pierced the air like daggers, charging at Bryan from all sides with reckless abandon.

The chaotic spells rained down upon him like a torrential downpour of droplets upon a still lake's surface, sending ripples across Bryan's whirling magical barrier, which deflected the assault.

The goblin leader, the elder Gerson Barnah, whose name was even famous among the wizards, averted his aged, weary eyes from the unfolding spectacle of carnage. Instead, he gazed at the surging curtain of flames engulfing the walls, like a conjuring trick that did not hurt anything, with a slightly dazed, almost mesmerized expression upon his weathered features.

The corner of Bryan's eye twitched imperceptibly as he surveyed his surroundings, taking in the chaos unfolding around him with a brief, calculated glance. The next second, he raised his wand-wielding right hand, and a dull, seemingly inoffensive orb of light appeared at the wand's tip, pulsating faintly.

The moment the orb was conjured, it burst forth with a blinding brilliance that scorched the eyes. From within the dazzling glow, an endless barrage of stone spears shot out with tremendous force!

Blood rendered the once untouched carpet more vibrant. Amid the rise and fall of agonized wails, Death itself screeched wildly, swinging its scythe in gruesome ecstasy over the extinguished lives. The once lavishly adorned room, a testament to the wealth and magnificence of the goblin nation, lay shattered in an instant.

One unfortunate goblin was impaled against the wall by the sheer impact force of one of the stone spears, its body pinned like a gruesome trophy. The initially harmless flames, upon contact with the goblin's body, shed their guise of mildness like oil pouring onto a raging inferno. That goblin instantly became a 'human torch', its body engulfed in searing, all-consuming flames that licked at its flesh with voracious hunger.

However, this goblin was rather tenacious. The fiendyre, consumed the spear pinning it until, after falling from the wall, it charged at Bryan with a shrill shriek, intent on taking the powerful wizard down with it.

Unfortunately, its determination, its unwavering resolve, changed nothing; it could only leave behind charred footprints on the now-crimson floor.

In the end, this goblin collapsed thirty feet from Bryan, leaving not even ash behind, its existence erased from the world as if it had never been.

Barnah's gaze followed the goblin, whose name he hadn't even remembered, and a subtle change, a flicker of emotion, crossed his aged face.

"Can we talk now?" Bryan lowered his wand, his calm expression radiating disdain and indifference, as if the slaughter that had just taken place was but a trivial matter, a mere inconvenience.

In the blink of an eye, the battle-hardened goblin warriors, lay nearly all dead or dying, their bodies scattered across the room like discarded ragdolls. Only Ragnok and Laddie, by virtue of their agility and swift reflexes honed through years of combat, had avoided the deadly barrage of stone spears that targeted their vitals. However, one was pinned by the shoulder, while the other had been impaled through the leg, both gasping feebly on the ground.

Barnah stared at the irregular, charred marks left on the carpet by the goblin consumed by the Fiendfyre. Hearing Bryan's voice, his cloudy gaze suddenly turned fierce, and his knee-length beard trembled with rage.

He glared at the young wizard standing amidst the corpses of his kin, unruffled as if he had crushed mere ants beneath his boots, and his breathing was ragged, his chest heaving with the effort of containing his emotions.

Wealth and power seemed to meet and clash in this moment, with power emerging victorious as wealth suffered utter defeat, its once-formidable influence rendered impotent.

"Half a century ago, by the window of this very office—"

At last, the leader of the goblins's most prosperous clan, the President of Gringotts World Bank, Gerson Barnah, spoke in a raspy yet dignified tone, his voice carrying the weight of decades of experience and authority.

"I witnessed Paris erupting in flames like these. Even from dozens of miles away, the all-consuming, destructive force contained within those flames filled me with utter despair—"

The old goblin closed his eyes, his frail body trembling slightly, as if that terror had transcended time and space to continue tormenting his very soul.

"Were it not for Master Flamel and Mr. Scamander, perhaps all that would remain of present-day Paris is a scorched wasteland."

'Half a century ago—'

Bryan's expression finally lost its coldness, revealing a slightly mocking smile.

"I am not Gellert Grindelwald, Mr. Barnah—"

Bryan resumed his steps, striding past Gerson Barnah at a leisurely pace, as if he were taking a stroll through a peaceful garden rather than a room littered with the bodies of the fallen. As he walked, the curtain of flames lining the walls swiftly descended, their fury dwindling at his command. By the time Bryan reached the floor-to-ceiling window, the air had lost its sense of impending doom.

Deep into the night, Paris remained brightly lit, its streets and avenues aglow with the vibrant, pulsing neon lights that served as a beacon to the Muggle world. These radiant hues filtered through the magical barrier, reflecting upon Bryan's cheeks, dispelling the bloodlust that had once burned in his eyes.

"There will be no massacre in Paris tonight—"

Paris may be spared, but who knows what would happen within this building.

"In the eyes of goblins, everything has a price—"

Barnah understood Bryan's implication. With a slight sigh, he calmly stated,

"If I wished to quell the anger in your heart, how many Galleons would I need to pay?"

'Such an interesting goblin—'

Unconsciously, a hint of a smile appeared on Bryan's lips.

"That depends on the purpose behind such a foolish thing you've done, Mr. Barnah—"

Bryan turned toward the desk, a casual flick of his wand summoning a high-backed armchair behind him, into which he settled with grace.

"Mr. Barnah, neither of us wishes to be the instigator reigniting the war between wizards and goblins. However, I can assure you, I do not fear provoking such conflict. Whether this disastrous outcome occurs will depend on your willingness to disclose, truthfully, the nature of your dealings with Ludo Bagman."

"You know about that?"

As long as one was willing to talk, reconciliation was possible.

Barnah exhaled slightly, his shoulders sagging with relief, as he dragged his bloodstained robes across the floor, making his way back to his seat to meet Bryan's calm, unruffled gaze head-on. Yet, it was precisely this demeanor that allowed him to sense the young wizard's immense, self- confidence—a confidence backed by formidable power.

"Albus Dumbledore found a worthy successor—" The words slipped from Barnah's lips, laced with a mixture of resignation and begrudging respect.

Regardless of the era, the wizarding world has always had extraordinary inheritors who led their kind's relentless march forward since ancient times, carrying the torch of knowledge and power through the ages. In contrast, his own kind, apart from their ever-increasing wealth, had lost many precious qualities and talents—wisdom, strength, ambition—that had once defined their noble race.

Pondering this, Gerson Barnah's aged frame stooped further.

"I do not particularly like your rhetoric, Mr. Barnah—" Bryan's voice cut through the melancholic haze that had momentarily enveloped the goblin leader.

Bryan intertwined his fingers, resting his chin upon them as he spoke calmly, his piercing gaze never wavering, "But no matter. I'm more curious about the dealings between you and Ludo Bagman, as well as Cuthbert Mockridge, who are presently enjoying themselves at the casino several floors below."

Barnah handed Bryan a glass containing a clear, pale green liquid. Bryan took a light sniff, and a refreshing fruity aroma mingled with the rich, mellow taste, making him look momentarily intoxicated. As the liquid went through his lips, the tangy flavor lingering between his lips and teeth reminded Bryan faintly white wine.

"One afternoon eight months ago, while I was handling some matters related to the Egyptian branch of Gringotts in this very office, Cuthbert Mockridge suddenly appeared without any notice, insisting on an urgent meeting.

We have a significant amount of business dealings in the United Kingdom, and Mockridge, within the British Ministry of Magic, is specifically responsible for liaising with us on such matters. Many transactions and financial arrangements must go through him for approval by the Ministry's senior officials. While we have met numerous times in an official settings to discuss our affairs, we do not share a personal acquaintance beyond that—"

Barnah glanced at the pale, distinctive eyes of Bryan Watson, which were glinting slightly with attention, before continuing his explanation.

"Wizards dislike aliens. You consider befriending goblins a disgrace, especially for someone like Mockridge, who holds a high position of authority in the Ministry, despite his role in overseeing our affairs."

The old goblin's weathered face contorted into a self-deprecating smile.

"But that day, Mockridge was exceptionally cordial, and I immediately knew he wanted something from me, some favor or arrangement that would benefit him greatly—"

At this point, Barnah hesitated. He knew that if the following events came to light, Cuthbert Mockridge and Ludo Bagman would likely be utterly ruined, their most probable fate being a lifelong sentence in that dreadful wizarding prison of Azkaban. Consequently, many goblin businesses and financial interests in Britain would also face severe disruptions and setbacks.

However, if he remained silent, Barnah knew that Bryan Watson, who had recently become famous but whose true power and capabilities were still not fully seen by the world, would not let this matter rest. Lies and deception could not fool a wizard of such immense magical prowess.

"Cuthbert Mockridge introduced me to someone - the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the British Ministry of Magic, the famous Ludovic Bagman. In fact, Mockridge had been roped into this entire affair by Ludo Bagman himself."

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