Harry Potter: The Golden Viper

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The pale, golden rays of the morning sun had just begun to pierce through the thick, swirling fog that rose lazily from the serpentine Seine River, blanketing much of the city in a ghostly shroud.

Paris, the City of Light, was barely stirring from its deep slumber, its cobblestone streets not yet echoing with the cacophony of daily life. The wide, tree-lined boulevards were mercifully free from the endless flow of honking cars and bustling pedestrians, with only the occasional early-rising Muggle jogging along the sidewalks or cycling past, their breath visible in the crisp morning air.

In the middle of this peaceful metropolitan setting stood a massive building that seemed to defy basic architectural principles– Gringotts World Bank, the impregnable fortress of goblin ingenuity and the undisputed financial nucleus of the wizarding world.

Within the towering structure, a different world thrived, one hidden from Muggle eyes by powerful enchantments. The industrious goblins, driven by an insatiable hunger for wealth and power, had no concept of rest or reprieve. The countless floors of the bank, which had been illuminated throughout the night like a beacon of ceaseless commerce, now appeared dim in comparison to the growing light of the sun.

Yet inside, armies of goblins toiled tirelessly at their desks, their long fingers flying over ancient ledgers and magical calculating devices. Their eyes, normally dark and beady, were now bloodshot and crazed, as if their unwavering quest for profit had caused them to consume an excessive amount of the powerful Elixir of Euphoria.

However, as in any society or system, there existed a privileged class even among the goblins.

A more sophisticated atmosphere gradually replaced the frenzied activity as one approached the towering heights of Gringotts. The higher floors grew increasingly quiet and luxurious, serving not only as the workplaces of high-ranking goblins but also as their lavish living quarters.

Here, there was no need for these goblins of unimaginable wealth and status to deny themselves the simple pleasures of a leisurely morning.  Exotic coffees, freshly baked pastries, and a subtle hint of gold filled the air, giving goblin senses a seductive perfume that most people would find offensive.

The pinnacle of this goblin hierarchy was the top floor of Gringotts World Bank, a level so exclusive that few beings, goblin or otherwise, had ever set eyes on it. This was the domain of Gerson Barnah, one of the most influential and powerful leaders of the goblin race. Barnah was an elderly goblin his once jet-black hair now streaked with silver, and his face was full of wrinkles that spoke of centuries of cunning dealings and ruthless business acumen.

To ensure he had sufficient energy for the day's demanding work of manipulating global wizarding economies, Barnah had long ago decreed that the hours between 3 AM and 8 AM were his untouchable private time. During this period, not a single soul – be they goblin, wizard, or even the Minister of Magic himself – was permitted to disturb Gerson Barnah's rest and this edict had been faithfully observed for many years.

But today, the atmosphere in Gringotts' upper echelons crackled with an unusual energy, as the situation was particularly different from the norm.

A group of goblins, each dressed in exquisitely tailored black formal wear that would put the finest Savile Row suits to shame, rushed up from the lower floors. Their arms were heavy with trays carrying an array of delicate pastries, each a work of culinary art. The scent of butter, sugar, and exotic spices wafted through the corridors, causing even the most disciplined goblins to cast longing glances at the sumptuous feast.

After passing through a series of rigorous security checks that would make Fort Knox seem like a playground, the group was finally granted access to Barnah's private office. The office was a marvel of goblin craftsmanship and magical engineering. Its walls were lined with dozens of decorative fireplaces, each connected to Gringotts branches around the globe, allowing for instantaneous communication and travel. Ancient tapestries depicting great moments in goblin history hung between the fireplaces, their enchanted threads shimming with an otherworldly light.

In the center of the cavernous room, the goblin servants went about their task with clockwork precision. They erected a table and draped it with a tablecloth woven from the finest unicorn hair, its surface shimmering with prismatic glow that seemed to change color with each shift of light.

The centerpieces – intricate constructions of precious metals and gemstones that told stories of goblin lore – were placed with mathematical precision. Candelabras of pure goblin silver, enchanted to burn with flames of various hues, cast a warm, flickering light across the scene. The cutlery, each piece a masterwork of goblin metallurgy, was arranged with perfect alignment.

Overseeing this meticulous preparation were two goblins: Ragnok and Laddie. Master Barnah had given them solemn instructions that an extremely distinguished guest was visiting this morning, and they must receive this esteemed guest with the utmost care and respect.

After the events of last time, both Ragnok and Laddie had become more composed. They issued commands methodically, and soon all preparations were complete: Laddie waved the servant goblins out of the office.

As the last of the servant goblins scurried from the office, their task complete, Laddie glancing at a door to the side of Master Barnah's office crept up to Ragnok, finally unable to contain his curiosity.

"What in the name of Gringotts' gold is happening?" Laddie whispered to Ragnok. "It's been nigh on two decades since we've seen such preparations. Who could possibly command such hospitality from Master Barnah?"

Ragnok's face, already full of wrinkles and scars, furrowed even deeper. He cast a wary glance towards the hidden door that led to Barnah's private chambers before responding in equally hushed tones.

"I haven't the faintest notion, Laddie," he muttered, shaking his head. "But mark my words – whoever it is, they're either incredibly powerful or incredibly dangerous. Perhaps both. It's not our place to speculate. We'd do well to follow orders and keep our noses clean, lest we find ourselves on the wrong end."

Laddie's thin lips quivered with barely contained frustration. It was clear that Ragnok's cautious response did little to satisfy his burning curiosity. However, years of goblin discipline prevailed, and he swallowed his questions, returning to his post beside the ornate chair reserved for Gerson Barnah.

The tense silence that followed was shattered by a sudden, ethereal glow. The intricate runes carved above one of the many fireplaces along the office walls burst into life. Without warning, a gout of emerald flames erupted from the previously cold and dark fireplace, bathing the room in an eerie green glow.

Ragnok and Laddie exchanged startled glances, their eyes wide with surprise and a hint of fear. They had naturally assumed that this mysterious guest of such significance would enter through the office's main door, following protocol. The fact that Master Barnah had granted this visitor the privilege of using the room's secure Floo network spoke volumes about the level of trust – or perhaps necessity – at play.

As the green flames began to subside, a silhouette emerged from the magical fire. The moment this figure's outline became clear, an uncontrollable wave of panic surged through Ragnok and Laddie's minds, nearly overwhelming their carefully cultivated goblin composure.

"Ah, if it isn't my two little acquaintances," a smooth, cultured voice cut through the crackling of the dying flames.

Stepping out of the fireplace with the grace of a cat, Bryan casually dusted a few ashes from his impeccably tailored wizarding robes. His piercing gaze swept across the opulent office. He noted with interest that little had changed since his last, rather eventful visit a few months prior, except for the addition of the exquisite dining table beneath the room's centerpiece – a chandelier of intricate crystal work that appeared to be composed of frozen starlight.

Naturally, Bryan also noticed the two small goblins standing by the armrests of the chairs on either side of the table, looking terrified at his appearance.

"Ragnok and Laddie, if I'm not mistaken," Bryan said, his voice smooth as he approached the table. "I do hope I haven't butchered your names. You both appear to have made quite the recovery since our last... encounter."

That night, Bryan had fought in this very office against Ragnok, Laddie, and a group of goblin guards, leaving the two before him gravely injured. Under normal circumstances, such wounds would have resulted in death or permanent disability for the goblins. But judging from their upright posture now, their bodies seemed to be in good condition.

"They owe you a debt of gratitude for your restraint, Mr. Watson," a new voice interjected.

The hidden door at the far end of the room swung open with a soft hiss of well-oiled hinges. Gerson Barnah in robes of shimming silver-green that seemed to ripple like water with each movement, shuffled into his office. As he entered, the aged goblin carefully adjusted the pair of pince-nez glasses perched on his long, hooked nose.

Upon confirming that the visitor was indeed Bryan Watson, a spark of vitality seemed to ignite within Barnah's old body. He moved with newfound vigor, closing the distance between them until he stood directly before the young wizard.

"Welcome, Mr. Watson," the old goblin said, extending a hand that, despite its apparent frailty, radiated an aura of immense power. Bryan, his smile never wavering, bent at the waist to grasp Barnah's hand, shaking it a few times.

"I do hope my unannounced arrival hasn't caused you any undue inconvenience, Mr. Barnah," Bryan said lightly.

With practiced efficiency, Ragnok and Laddie pulled out the plush chairs for both Bryan and Barnah. Their movements were jerky and uncoordinated, showing their inner turmoil. It was clear to all present that their fear stemmed not from the presence of Gerson Barnah – a formidable figure in his own right – but from the man who now sat across from him: Bryan Watson.

The goblins' extensive intelligence network ensured that news traveled fast within their circles. Even if the information had been delivered by the slowest of owl post, the details of Bryan Watson's earth-shattering duel at the Quidditch World Cup final would have long since reached their pointy ears. The battle, already being hailed as the duel of the new century, had sent shockwaves through the Wizarding world.

Since learning the full extent of Bryan Watson's power through their exclusive goblin channels, every surviving goblin who had participated in that ill-fated kidnapping attempt months ago had broken out in a cold sweat. The realization had dawned on them that if it hadn't been for Master Barnah's wisdom and Watson's unexpected mercy, the entire goblin population of Gringotts World Bank might have met a grisly fate that night.

Bryan's keen eyes didn't miss the beads of cold sweat forming on Ragnok's furrowed brow. He offered what he thought was a reassuring smile, but the effect on the one-armed goblin was quite the opposite. Ragnok visibly trembled, his dark green skin taking on an ashen color.

Deciding to spare the poor creature further discomfort, Bryan turned his attention to the array of exquisite pastries on the table and the delicate cups steaming with fragrant green tea.

"It appears you've done your homework on my preferences," Bryan remarked cheerfully, a note of appreciation in his voice.

Barnah inclined his head slightly, his aged voice carrying a hint of pride as he replied, "You resided in Paris for several months, Mr. Watson. Learning about your personal tastes was a simple matter for our information network. We pride ourselves on being well-versed in the intricacies of wizarding hospitality. A guest of your... stature deserves nothing less than our utmost consideration. We hope you don't find our efforts lacking."

"Haha, lacking? of course not—" Bryan chuckled, lifting the delicate teacup to his lips. He took a small sip, savoring the complex flavors. As he set the cup down, his eyes met Barnah's across the table. In those old orbs, Bryan could clearly perceive a mixture of wariness, curiosity, and calculation.

"I must say, this is truly exceptional," Bryan said, gesturing towards the tea with a graceful motion. "In all my travels, I don't believe I've ever encountered a brew quite so fragrant and invigorating. I'm beginning to regret my earlier decision, Mr. Barnah. Had I accepted your generous offer of cooperation sooner, perhaps I might have tasted this much earlier!"

The cooperation Bryan referred to was Barnah's previous letter, seeking to leverage the Triwizard Tournament for advertising purposes within the event's stadium. Bryan had declined at the time, partly out of a desire to preserve the tournament's dignity from explicit commercialization.

But there was more to it than that – the fact that Gerson Barnah, who controlled Gringotts World Bank Headquarters, had reached out for such a seemingly trivial matter had raised Bryan's suspicions. He had sensed that the true purpose behind the request was impure; it was merely using this seemingly reasonable banner to offer him gold galleons.

"You honor us with your praise," Barnah replied smoothly, his wrinkled face creasing into what passed for a smile among goblins. "Of course, the missed opportunity for collaboration remains a source of regret for me as well."

With a soft thud, Bryan set down his teacup. He interlaced his long fingers, resting them on the edge of the table as he observed the old goblin before him. Barnah's eyes, which at first glance appeared rheumy and unfocused, constantly flashed with an inner fire of cunning and intellect.

A slight smile appeared across Bryan's lips as he spoke.

"Well, Mr. Barnah, it just so happens that the purpose of my visit today is to make up for that very regret."

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