Chapter 548

Ilvermorny, Dinner Party

"I didn't expect the Dark Lord to join this battle!"

"This must be the greatest upheaval in the wizarding world in the past hundred years. The combined power of these four top wizards far surpasses the conflicts of the 1940s."

"Shh! Keep your voice down! Don't speak of that war so casually—especially not here."

"Merlin's beard, everything is in chaos. There's no peace left in this world."

"Now, with the exception of Lockhart, who has yet to arrive in the United States, every top wizarding power has converged here."

"Ha! And with the way things are now, there's no guarantee Lockhart will even come!"

A hush fell over the room as Voldemort ascended the high platform. The gathered wizards whispered among themselves in hushed voices, their unease palpable.

The most anxious of them all were the members of the pure-blood families. The war's scope was expanding at an alarming rate. Back in the 1940s, the battle between Dumbledore and Grindelwald had engulfed nearly the entire world.

And now?

This time, the goblins were involved, and alongside them stood the infamous Voldemort—a name synonymous with merciless slaughter.

The future of the wizarding world had never felt so uncertain.

With four of the most powerful wizards already in America, the question loomed over them: Would the last of the five arrive as well?

The tension in the air was suffocating.

For pure-blood elites at the highest rungs of the wizarding society, chaos was a slow-acting poison. One misstep, and they could plummet from nobility to oblivion.

In a dimly lit corner of the hall, where the flickering candlelight barely reached, two hooded figures—one tall, one short—stood unnoticed, their gray robes blending seamlessly into the background.

Their gazes were locked onto the figures of Voldemort and Grindelwald on the stage.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," the shorter wizard murmured, his voice carrying the distinctive rasp of Turan, the Goblin King. "I didn't expect to see Voldemort here. I don't know him well—tell me, do you think he'll remain neutral or choose a side?"

Beside him, Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes reflected the candlelight as he studied the stage. A faint, weary smile tugged at his lips before he shook his head.

"I'm afraid that is unlikely," he admitted softly. "If my understanding of him is correct, he harbors more hostility toward me than even Grindelwald does."

"Then there's no chance for negotiation?" Turan asked, his voice low with concern.

"None whatsoever."

The Goblin King exhaled slowly and nodded, absorbing the grim reality of the situation. Neither spoke further, their attention returning to the speeches unfolding above them.

Grindelwald's voice rang out across the hall, resonating with an undeniable charisma.

"The United States prides itself on its ideals of freedom, and in this, I wholeheartedly agree," he declared, his tone rich with conviction.

"As wizards, we should pursue our own freedom—not be forced into the shadows, scraping by in the margins of society under the illusion of peace."

His voice dropped, almost conspiratorial. "Take, for example, the so-called 'Muggle Protection Act.'"

"A law supposedly enacted to protect Muggles, but in reality? It's a law designed to protect wizards. It is a disgrace—an insult to our very existence!"

Murmurs rippled through the audience, a mix of agreement and uncertainty.

Grindelwald's words were sharp, seductive, dangerous.

"The freedom to wield magic as we wish—that is our right!"

He let his words settle before turning his focus elsewhere.

"And what of the goblins?" His expression hardened. "They lost their war and became our servants, our slaves. Yet now, they dare to rise again in secret, crafting weapons and scheming rebellion.

Are we to allow a race that despises wizards to gain power unchecked?!"

The murmurs swelled into outright murmuring. Some wizards exchanged glances, uncertain. Others nodded, their expressions hardening with resolve.

In the shadows, Turan's sharp goblin eyes darted toward Dumbledore once again.

"I've heard rumors," he murmured, his voice just above a whisper. "They say there are two Voldemorts now. Two resurrections. And they're enemies."

He paused, then added, "Is there any chance the other one might join us?"

Dumbledore remained silent.

"If not, what about your former student? Lockhart. Can we bring him into the fold?"

Turan's mind was racing. The original plan had been two against one—Grindelwald alone. That had seemed manageable.

But two against two?

That changed everything.

Despite his strength as an alchemist, Turan wasn't a warrior at heart. His true expertise lay in crafting enchanted weapons and defenses, not direct combat.

Yes, he had reached the pinnacle of magical combat in his own right, but his abilities were designed for endurance, not brute force. Against Grindelwald, he could hold his own—but victory? That was another matter entirely.

This was why he had agreed to come with Dumbledore.

With Dumbledore's formidable prowess, their odds had seemed favorable.

But now, with Voldemort in play… the balance had shifted.

Retreat wasn't an option—not when Grindelwald had openly declared his intent to exterminate the goblins.

Dumbledore finally spoke, his tone measured.

"You may extend the invitation," he said. "But understand this: in times such as these, no one will align themselves without proper incentive. Power, ideology, personal gain—one of these must be in play."

Turan exhaled sharply. He could sense the deliberate neutrality in Dumbledore's words.

Why wasn't he more concerned?

In Turan's view, Voldemort's sudden intervention should have made the need for external reinforcements obvious. Without additional support, this battle would inevitably drag on into a drawn-out stalemate.

Dumbledore must see this. So why isn't he pushing harder?

Unless…

A thought struck him.

Perhaps Dumbledore doesn't mind if this battle escalates.

The more chaos that erupted here in America, the weaker their wizarding society would become in the aftermath. And the weaker America became…

The stronger Britain would be.

Turan narrowed his eyes.

Was that why Dumbledore was holding back?

Instead of pressing the matter, the Goblin King fell silent. There was no point arguing over suspicions.

For now, their mission remained unchanged.

They had infiltrated Ilvermorny to observe, not to interfere—at least not yet. Their goal was to gauge Grindelwald's condition. To see whether his rumored injuries were as severe as claimed.

If the opportunity presented itself, they might have tested his strength.

But with Voldemort's unexpected appearance, that plan had been discarded.

Fighting two Dark Lords at once? Madness.

For now, silence was their best strategy.

Dumbledore remained still, his face unreadable.

His gaze lingered on the stage—on Grindelwald, on Voldemort.

Former friends. Former students. Former enemies.

He said nothing, his expression calm, his thoughts a storm beneath the surface.

Whatever he was planning… he had already made his decision.

Washington, The Next Day

Magical Congress – Wizarding Square

The warm morning sun bathed the vast Wizarding Square in golden light, casting long shadows over the assembled forces. Rows upon rows of fully armed goblins and Aurors stood in disciplined formation at the heart of the square, their gazes sharp, their grips firm on their wands and weapons.

At the forefront of this gathering stood Chancellor Chenos, the Acting Speaker of the Magical Congress. His chest swelled with pride as he surveyed the thousands of elite wizards and goblins before him. Behind him, two formidable figures stood like unwavering pillars of strength—Albus Dumbledore, clad in deep red wizarding robes, and Turan, the Goblin King, adorned in gleaming pale-gold armor.

Their mere presence exuded an unshakable confidence, reinforcing Chenos's resolve. With a flick of his wand, he pointed at his throat and cast a Sonorus charm, his voice amplifying across the square.

"Esteemed Aurors and goblins, I stand before you today as Chancellor Chenos. In this moment, my heart is filled with emotion, and I know that each of you shares this same fire within!"

A murmur rippled through the crowd, growing as Chenos's speech intensified.

"We have all suffered at the hands of the Saints." His voice rang with passion. "They murdered our friends! They violated our families! They stole our homes, our lands, our very way of life!"

Waves of agreement surged through the crowd, Aurors and goblins alike nodding grimly as memories of past suffering surfaced.

"But we did not stand alone in our struggle!" Chenos declared. "We received aid—support that strengthened us in ways the Saints never anticipated!"

"The goblins filled the gaps in our ranks, their strategies bolstering our battle formations!"

"The International Confederation of Wizards lent us their resources, ensuring we did not fall!"

"And with the arrival of Dumbledore, a legend among wizards, our strength at the highest level of combat has only grown!"

His voice grew louder, more fervent.

"There was a time when the Saints caught us unprepared—when we suffered the great loss of our headquarters in New York."

"There was a time when we were the underdogs, when the Saints held the advantage!"

"But look at us now!" Chenos's voice roared across the square.

"We have turned the tide! The Saints are the ones retreating! The Saints are the ones struggling to hold their ground!"

"I tell you now—I believe in our victory!"

The energy in the square crackled like fire meeting tinder.

"Do you stand with me?!" Chenos cried, raising a fist.

A deafening roar erupted as wizards and goblins alike thrust their arms into the air, echoing his call:

"For the dignity of the Magical Congress! For the honor of the Magical Congress!"

"For the dignity of the Magical Congress! For the honor of the Magical Congress!"

The chant gained momentum, a rhythmic war cry that filled the square. Even the goblins, who were naturally more reserved, found themselves swept up in the fervor. The unity between wizard and goblin—once a distant dream—was now reality.

Chenos surveyed the scene before him, a triumphant smile tugging at his lips. Morale was high. The fight ahead was inevitable, but his people were ready.

In contrast, Dumbledore stood unmoved, his expression neutral, his piercing blue eyes watching the fervent scene with quiet detachment. To the onlookers, it was as if none of this mattered to him, as if he were merely an observer in someone else's war.

But Turan, the Goblin King, saw things differently.

Standing on the other side of Chenos, he took in the sight of wizards and goblins standing together as equals—not as master and servant, but as allies.

This was the future he had fought for.

For centuries, goblins had been relegated to servitude, forbidden from wielding wands, seen as lesser beings by wizardkind. And yet, today, they stood side by side, weapons raised, voices unified.

A small, satisfied smile played on Turan's lips.

Even if they did not win this war outright—even if the battle led to a prolonged stalemate—goblins had already gained something invaluable.

Recognition. A place on the world stage.

And if that place was only within the American wizarding world? For now, that was enough.

"Now, let us march!"

Chenos's voice rang through the square like a battle drum.

"In the name of the Magical Congress, we will fight to the end!"

"Fight to the end!"

"Fight to the end!"

The chant surged like a tidal wave, echoing across the city.

As the voices of thousands filled the air, Turan stepped forward.

The red markings at the center of his forehead glowed, shifting into a shimmering golden hue. With each step he took, the glow intensified, radiating outward like ripples in a pond.

Then—

Buzz!

A deep, resonant hum filled the air as a golden disc of power emerged from Turan's forehead, expanding as it lifted into the sky. It pulsed, growing larger and larger, spinning in the air like an ancient wheel of fate.

The moment magic surged through it, the Disk of Destiny responded.

Lines of radiant gold and crimson spiraled downward, forming intricate patterns on the ground. The energy twisted and coiled, shaping itself into a massive doorway.

Click. Click. Click.

With a final resounding snap, the golden-red gate swung open.

And beyond it—

The headquarters of the Magical Congress in New York.

Magical Congress Headquarters – New York

New York. A city rich in history, home to wizards and Muggles alike.

Once, this had been the seat of power for the American wizarding world—a symbol of strength, stability, and order.

Until it fell.

The attack had been swift and devastating, orchestrated by none other than Grindelwald.

The Congress had been unprepared, their defenses overwhelmed. Forced to abandon their own stronghold, the Aurors had retreated, scattering like leaves in the wind.

And the Saints had claimed it as their own.

For many, the fall of the New York headquarters was not just a strategic loss—it was a wound that had never healed, a constant reminder of their failure.

It was time to take it back.

Despite its occupation, the Congress's magical headquarters remained a fortress. Centuries of enchantments still protected its walls, making it difficult even for Grindelwald's forces to fully control it.

Even now, after all these years, the Saints had not completely unraveled its secrets.

And that was their advantage.

The wave of magic from the portal spread outward, its presence impossible to ignore.

Inside the Congress headquarters, the Saints stirred.

Some ran outside, wands at the ready. Others sprinted deeper into the building—some to alert their leaders, others to activate hidden defenses.

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