Chapter 8: Consequences of Failure
The elder goblins could only rub their temples as the young goblin Dragnar that had served as the King's page grovelled and begged them to assign him to a post in Greenland or perhaps Antarctica— anything to be far, far away from their king's seething wrath.
The king had refused any and all dates since the debacle, refused to even speak of the ball, and when the contractual glitter had been dumped on him for not serving the contract, the lower vaults had burst into perpetual flames as if a hell-gate was forming.
The Granger witch had only shown up to work and then immediately disappeared directly after, no longer blessing the canteen or the common areas with her warmth and laughter.
Worse, every vault lizard in the Underground was attacking any and all exposed skin of passersby while dispensing their agonising dry bites that offered not even a consolation of the blessing to make the attacks less salty.
Worse— the delicate crystal diadem the king had crafted with his own magic to give to his beloved when she accepted his betrothal lay in pieces at the page's feet. Shattered.
Broken like the trust that had been growing so steadily between the king and the Granger witch.
What could they possibly do to mend the gaff that had broken the trust of the king's most promising companion?
The elders hadn't expected any of the witches on the list from the Ministry to satisfy their king, no.
Most surfacers were shallow by nature when it came to Goblins.
Granger alone had satisfied the Nation in so many ways, from her acceptance of their judgement, the work she was assigned, the learning of Gobbledegook, the blessings of the lizards, and the greatest feat of all: her successful learning of Earthen Geomancy. She had earned the Goblin name of Bu'danak, and the Underground had learned not only to respect her but care for her as one of their own.
Now, the very foundations of the Underground were being shaken by their king's wrath and grief while the lizards were protesting on Bu'danak's behalf.
It was total chaos and discord.
The younger goblins were wondering if the elder ones had gone mad to pressure the king into doing anything he didn't want to do when he was trying to bring the Underground down on top of everyone.
They didn't understand how important the treaty was—
How it was about respect for the old king as much as it was to help the goblin people—
All they knew was that their king was inconsolable, and it was all Dragnar's fault.
Dragnar, of course, was already blaming himself for not one but two horribly botched interruptions of the king's bonding time with Bu'danak, and many suspected he had perhaps mucked up even more than that with his fumbling inability to judge the proper time to interrupt a king.
The most terrifying thing of all was that there were whispers that Hermione Granger was preparing to leave the Nation— even if it meant leaving blind and suffering unimaginable pain on the surface due to the unbearable light.
Something had to be done before the entire Underground shook itself apart.
Dragnar ran past the main desks of Gringotts, his rump entirely covered in turkey feathers like a full-on honest to Merlin turkey from North America (albeit in a fascinating array of rainbow colours) and there were about forty or so pissed-off yellow canaries chasing him, clearly intending to peck him to bloody ribbons with their tiny beaks.
The elder goblins bared their teeth and shook their heads as the human customers of Gringotts wondered what in Merlin's ever-loving toenails had gotten into THAT goblin.
The evening had poor Dragnar tearing past the main desks in the opposite direction, this time covered head-to-toe in flaming hot pink taffy and making frantic ribbit sounds.
Then the king stormed past, glitter flying in all directions from his customary black robes, with nothing short of a homicidal snarl on his face.
The goblins frantically quilled and counted faster, trying desperately not to draw attention to themselves, much less their king's notorious temper.