Chapter 10: Rotgard's Interlude
Summary:
the long awaited battle of wits
place your bets, folks!
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As a heavily medalled War General of the Goblin Nation, respected worldwide for his prowess in the Art of War and his brilliant tactics, Rotgard was hardly one to rush into battles unprepared. His preferred method consisted of waiting until the last possible moment to strike, of luring enemies into a feeling of false safety before destroying them, of painfully crafting the perfect battlefield for his own gain.
He had learnt how to ignore the innate goblin desire for quick blood and vengeance, conscious that a slowly savoured victory was much sweeter than a fast and ephemeral one. He cherished his time.
Therefore, he managed to calm himself down in his solitary trek back to his office, lest he succumbed to the violence singing highly in his blood and made the hasty decision of taking up arms against the wizard the wixen communities all over the World believed to be their most powerful and wise member.
He would have loved nothing more than to march right into the Halls of Hogwarts and acquire the Headmaster's head to use as a mantlepiece, or as a board for his darts, but patience was a virtue he possessed in abundance and planning the destruction of his enemies was an Art he had perfected.
Not to mention, the too-tiny child sleeping soundly inside their infirmary, under the watchful eye of Healer Katara Blood-bender of the Southern Tribes, did not need a rushed job. What he needed was perfection and an airtight escape plan from the clutches of an evil wizard who cherished appearing benevolent and enjoyed using people as pawns for his own gain.
Thus Rotgard did what he did best: he planned, several steps ahead of anyone, and he put his chess pieces down on the board.
The war path was clear in his mind and, if everything went accordingly, he would have the child free and safe before the Sun rose again. Of course, he counted a few hiccups in his plan, just to be on the sound side, hence why he allowed himself the whole night to remedy any issue that might arise during the execution of his scheme.
Nothing would have blindsided him, not even the epitome of self-importance in his absurdly coloured robes.
Of course, if he had the time to spare, he would have adored destroying the old buffoon in a slow game, taking everything away from him and ruining him in any way, shape, and form. He would have delighted in the pain and fear that would have swept in his eyes as he realised all he had worked hard and subtly for was no longer at his grasp.
He would have started with the school, undermining his authority as a Headmaster with slow and steady remarks on the state of affairs, before moving to the Wizengamot, having him removed as Chief Warlock and as Supreme Mugwump of the ICW as well, all due to the dozens of irregularities that had taken place during his reign of ignorance. He would have drained his accounts, undoubtedly filled to the brim with stolen artefacts and funds, effectively cutting off the flow of bribes and cover-ups that aided him in the long and short run. He would have shone a light on his role in the creation of the so-called "Dark Lord" Voldemort, in the constant machination he put in place to remain at the apex of the power chain. And, finally, he would have let the last domino fall in a perfectly calculated manner: his personal involvement with the Dark Lord Grindelwald, which he had desperately tried to bury and have everyone forget.
It wouldn't have done for him to have the wizarding population reminded of how he was a Grey Wizard pretending to have a Light Core, either.
Rotgard had spent six years gathering information and details and blackmails and truths on the man and he was ready to enjoy his downfall.
Coincidentally, the only piece that had been missing from his masterplan was the state of the Boy-Who-Lived, since Albus Dumbledore was the only wix alive to have that knowledge and Rotgard did not want to risk the safety of the Potter Heir.
But, now that he had that final piece, he was no longer willing to compromise and he did not need to draw out his plans to savour them.
The clock was ticking.
And he wished to avoid young Harry even more despair.
So, in the short walk from the infirmary, he switched out the timeline he had in his mind, rearranging it to suit his swift needs. He moved a few pieces on his board to streamline the process and, once he arrived at his office, he had a perfected battleplan that would have made even the most ruthless of his enemies quake in their boots and shit themselves in fear.
Albus Dumbledore would be destroyed come nightfall, he swore to Lady Magic herself.
Morning at worst, if he had any delays.
He quickly quilled a summon to the Black Account Manager and sent it into their internal delivery system, following up on the note he had sent her as soon as the "blood adoption" affair had been brought to his attention. He should have also hunt down the various managers of the accounts young Harry had inherited on his status as heir, but time was of the essence.
Besides, he had a feeling they would need more than the original managers, one of which had perished under suspicious causes while the rest were simply senile, as ancient as the accounts they oversaw, to make heads and tails on the state of affairs and wealth that had befallen the boy, given that quite a number of donations had been made specifically to the Boy-Who-Lived and that none of those external contributions had appeared in his Inheritance Test, but that was the issue he could draw out the most.
First, he had to free the boy. Then, they could dive into his wealth and understand just how rich he truly was.
Whilst he waited for the Black Account Manager to arrive, he quilled down three missives, each with a particular purpose in mind.
To Madame Amelia Mignonette Bones, the strong-willed witch he had met a few months prior when he did the Inheritance Test for her niece and Heir, and who just happened to be the Director of the Department for Underage Magic, a severely underfunded branch of the DMLE that dealt in the safety of minor wixen, just as he did, he sent a letter detailing the treatment young Harry had suffered at the hands of his muggle relatives with the list of injuries they had detected in the medical examination, as well as a redacted copy of his Inheritance Test, crossing out everything that did not concern Sirius Orion Black.
He knew that she would be just as enraged as he had been with the discoveries and would act swiftly to remove their guardianship as well as initiate the process of understanding internally what had happened with the blood adoption, which were the most vital parts of his plan.
It would do the child no good to be freed from the machinations of the old coot, just to return back into an unloving home or to me passed along to an uncaring guardian.
He decided to not send along the illicit blocks and compulsions Dumbledore had placed on the boy, given that it was entirely out of her jurisdiction to deal with the wizard.
Besides, from the short time he had spent with the witch, she had given him the impression of someone who would have gladly murdered the Headmaster with her bare hands. And he wished that honour for himself alone.
Then, to Lady Narcissa Vulpecula Malfoy, neé Black, who he too had met a month prior with her son and her spineless husband, he sent a letter notifying her of the relation she had with young Harry, made quite close though the blood adoption, and stating clearly that, while her cousin Sirius was currently unable to take up guardianship over the boy, she had a claim and a moral duty to fulfil.
Obviously she would not be granted complete guardianship, for clear reasons, but she might introduce the boy to their world, given its lack of knowledge regarding all things magic.
He knew that her husband had been one of the sycophantic fanatics that followed the so-called "Dark Lord" Voldemort, escaping imprisonment only because he had pleaded non-guilty under the guise of the Imperius Curse. That would have made them rather unfit for guardianship, given that the child in question had notoriously defeated his previous master.
But he also knew that, the day the family had arrived to deal with young Draco's Test, she had forced her own husband to sign a magically binding contract with a blood quill, all to make her Head of their Household and to ensure he would not repeat "foolish mistakes as the ones that led to that disgusting tattoo marring up your arm."
Besides, she had been much more distraught about the fact that she wouldn't be able to teach the Heir Black their family magics and tradition, given that the current Heir was rotting away in Azkaban and Lord Arcturus was not going to change the line of succession, thus cutting off her estranged niece Nymphadora, who had inherited heaps of the family magic, than she had been at the knowledge that her own son was not the Heir.
In a roundabout way, she would get her wish, if she took temporary and partial guardianship over her blood-adopted little cousin.
Finally, to Rufus Scrimgeour, Director of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, he sent a letter enlightening the nefarious actions of his superior, with damning evidence to boot, demanding explanations and claiming to await the arrival of the Aurors to deal with the questioning in person.
Rotgard knew rather well that half of the people inside that department saw Albus Dumbledore as their ultimate Lord and Saviour, and those who didn't were kindly paid to pretend to do so. He had learnt in his first month at Gringotts that any messages to the DMLE would always be intercepted and obstructed, especially if it went against the personal interest of their Chief Warlock.
He had waited six years to use that information to his advantage.
Therefore he rested a good ten per cent of his plan to the letter arriving at the indirect hands of one obscenely colourful wizard, who in turn would take a rather swift trip to their Bank to discuss his situation. He could have easily done without the interference, but it would have made for a less quick and far too complicated battle of wits.
What he truly wanted, was a fast and bloody confrontation with the wizard who was singlehandedly destroying Magical Britain.
One might have considered it a mistake, to have an angry and powerful wizard enraged at his doorsteps that early on the game.
But Rotgard Longsword of the Silverfang Clan did not make mistakes.
As soon as he sent Beaky away with the three envelopes, instructing them on the order of delivery, he heard a knock on his door and, with it, came the short figure of the Black Account Manager.
Brunhilde of the Throatslasher Clan was one of the younger goblins who worked at the Bank, having taken the mantle not even a full year prior, but she had the ruthlessness of her ancestors coursing through her veins and her entire family's experience as the account managers of House Black at her disposal. One of her enemies had claimed she had risen to the position due to nepotism, which had indeed been part of her employment due to the Managerial position often being hereditary, but she quickly shut the rumours down by reminding everyone of her Clan name, using it well.
What she lacked in age, she made up in viciousness.
"General Longsword Silverfang, it is an honour to be summoned by you," she claimed, showing her respects in a manner that many lower goblins had forgotten, "I assume this is a continuation of your earlier message, is it not?"
Strict to the point, she had been perfect for the job of Account manager. And she would be a perfect assistant in his plan, if the way she dealt with Lord Arcturus' finances was anything to go by.
The old Lord was too senile and ill to even pick up a quill and sign his name, yet his finances had remained flourishing despite his inactivity.
"Indeed it is," he invited her to sit and passed along Harry's Inheritance Test, "Why don't you read for yourself, if you require confirmation."
"I would never believe your words to not be true, General," she said flatteringly, but read nonetheless.
Quite cunningly clever, she was. Rotgard thought he ought to introduce her to one of his children, once the quest had been completed.
"A blood adoption would guarantee the safety of the child and of the biological parents, but not necessarily negate the breaking of a Sacred Oath under the Fidelius Charm. Unfortunately, if the situation was constructed in a way to move around the constrictions of the blood adoption, Sirius Orion Black would have still been able to share his knowledge, although he would have most definitely done so with final ill intentions and thus it would have been rendered impossible for the perpetrators to find the Potters, regardless of whether or not the secret had been shared. The Secret could not be tortured out of him and I doubt, given the circumstances, that he would have written it down and lost it somehow. Not to mention that Sirius Orion would have perished the moment he acted against his blood-adopted son, thus making it impossible for him to withstand a trial and a sentence, which would have meant he would have not been alive and in Azkaban. It is a vicious cycle, General," she eventually said, leaving the Inheritance Test on the desk and taking a stack of papers from her satchel.
A very prepared goblin as well. She would have made a fine addition to the Silverfang Clan indeed.
"Once I received your message, I took it upon myself to research the matter more thoroughly," she continued, calm and collected while her eyes betrayed the dark emotions she must be feeling, "and, despite being condemned to a lifetime in their wixen prison, Sirius Orion Black has yet to be stripped away of his title as Heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, which is something that happens immediately after a verdict has been emitted."
"Lady Malfoy commented that the title should have passed along to her niece or to her son, or rather to young Heir Potter, since he is the magical child of the current Heir."
"Indeed it should have," Brunhilde agreed with him, passing along documents that undoubtedly explained her findings in detail.
He would have gladly read them all, and vowed to himself to do so as soon as the old buffoon was out of the equation and posing as a threat to young Harry and to the wizarding world, but the sand was tricking down the hourglass quite fast. When he told so to the young goblin in front of him, she didn't bat an eye and proceeded with calculated haste.
He was most definitely incorporating her into his Clan, one way or the other.
"Since the title did not pass along to any viable child, we must assume that it remained with Sirius Orion himself. And as I ascertained, it has. Now, the magic surrounding the Wizengamot is tied closely to the specific ones of the families that compose the body of it, since it is necessary to hold a suitable amount of familial magic to directly hold a seat. Unless there is circulating magic, the seats fall dormant. And, only when a Lord or Lady passes away and the Heir is set to replace them, or if the Heir is banished for some reason off the family line, the familial magic sends out amongst the kin to choose the next one. But, if any of the titled wixen are convicted of a crime, and especially if they are sent to Azkaban, their familial magic bypasses them completely, choosing their successor as soon as they are proclaimed. Therefore, when the word "guilty" attached to his name was echoing around the Wizengamot rooms, the title would have passed along the line before he was even locked inside his cell. But it did not, which means that Sirius Orion Black must have never been found guilty of his charges!"
"Or he was never granted a trial," he argued, imagining how the Heir of a powerful Dark family locked behind rows of Dementors could have easily aided Dumbledore's cause. Not to mention, would have served to keep young Harry with his muggle relatives, effectively making him unaware of his origins, terrified of his abilities and malleable to the machinations of the old coot himself.
Albus Dumbledore was a terrific chess player, that much had to be given to him.
Fortunately, Rotgard was even better.
"I want you to send a letter to Lord Arcturus about our discoveries, to inform him about the state of his line. Even in his senile age, he should know what goes on in his House," he said, eyeing proudly how she took her own stationery out of her satchel and glad she had brought it to their impromptu meeting. It would have made for a less shocking awakening coming from his own Account Manager, after all. "And contact Mrs Andromeda Drusilla Tonks, neé Black, and Lady Narcissa Vulpecula Malfoy, neé Black, as well, to inform them of the injustice happening to their own cousin. If my intuition is right, once we open the wills of Lord and Lady Potter, he might be freed and could use their aid."
"Mrs Tonks is no longer part of the Black family. Her parents had petitioned for her to be removed by the Head of their House when she refused an arranged marriage and eloped with a muggleborn wizard."
"Yet the familial magic runs rampant in her daughter, who has complete access and full control of her Metamorphmagic, meaning that while she might have been removed from the line of succession, she and her offspring are still considered part of the family in the way that truly counts," he rebutted and pleasantly watched as she quilled down a letter addressed to the witch.
At the very least, he would have gladly continued working with her, if she was incompatible with his unmarried youngsters.
Which would have worked out quite nicely for her as well, considering her swift manner of business had impressed him much. And he was looking for someone to aid him deal with the fortunes of young Harry, since the previous Manager for the Potter Accounts had tragically passed away after the end of the Wizarding War, and with him the majority of his Clan had succumbed to disease, and since the Peverell, the Slytherin and the Emrys-Pendragon accounts laid dormant, and with ancient goblins who did not move the coins around.
That was not to say that the Potter coin had remained inside their Vaults, since the Primary Vault showed quite a number of withdrawals, all under the guise of aiding young Harry in his childhood and all with the signature of Dumbledore.
And an audit of the accounts linked to the old coot would have been wonderful to Gringotts and goblin-kind, without a shadow of doubt.
Overall, it all might have been a more lucrative experience for Brunhilde, other than remaining sorely behind House Black.
Although, in the end, she would have ended up working with the Potter Heir regardless.
"I shall send these immediately," she claimed, bidding her farewells and almost tripping out of the door in haste as another goblin crashed into her.
The scene in front of him would have been both embarrassing and comical, if he hadn't already anticipated the reason behind Guard Anouk's arrival.
Who, in fact, confirmed his suspicions: "General Silverfang Longsword, Headmaster Dumbledore is here and requests your presence immediately!"
"Well, I wouldn't want to be as rude as him, showing up unannounced, by denying him an audience," he stated calmly, raising from his seat, "I shall deal with him in the Entrance Hall directly."
Had he been a different goblin, he would have bet on the outcome of his scheme.
But, rather than pondering, he attached his beloved Gloriana at his hip, eager to have her make the acquaintance of one Albus Dumbledore.
"Headmaster Dumbledore! I would say it is a pleasure, but I do dislike lying."
The wizard was, as usual, wearing brightly coloured robes, with a shade of yellow that was so ghastly it was repulsive. He did not know when the man who had been portrayed in his youth wearing muggle suits in common colour palettes had decided to switch to outrageously nauseating robes, but that frankly could have been the most gruesome crime he had committed.
Which was saying a lot, considering the damning long list of crimes he had been responsible for.
"General Longsword Silverfang," he snared without giving away a single emotion, maintaining his saintly persona, "Likewise."
If Rotgard hadn't used that same facial expression when dealing with his own enemies, he would have not been able to see the subtle crease near his eyes nor the soft twitch of a vein on his forehead.
The wizard was nervous, it seemed.
Good.
"What brings you to me unprompted and without an appointment? I do believe you might have already performed your duties in the office I now hold, back in your youth," he commented, wanting to see how far the man would go before breaking.
And he simply scoffed, standing his ground: "Do not act as if you do not know. You summoned me, after all."
"I remember clearly sending a letter to Mr Scrimgeour not long ago, asking him to meet me," he feigned ignorance, knowing doing so would only infuriate the wizard even further, "Refresh my memory, if you will, what was the content?"
Baiting a caged animal was not a smart move, but for all the gold in their mines, was it fun!
"You have my undivided attention, General, which is not something that comes easily," was the reply instead, with a masterful manoeuvre to change the topic while maintaining his clueless appearance.
He would have to try and be more forthcoming with his attacks, he reasoned, to achieve the desired outcome in a timely manner.
"Perhaps we should move this discussion inside your private office?" Dumbledore asked, once he realised that all the tellers and the bank dwellers were watching their impromptu duel of wits. Obviously a man of his stature would have not wanted to have witnesses around, hence the suggestion.
Or rather the order, if the wave of easiness that washed over Rotgard was anything to go by. He would have been inclined to oblige, if he was a lesser creature and an untrained one at that.
A wandless and wordless Imperio that left no trace in the air, what a truly barbaric way to start their battle.
It was a mystery how the wizard had managed to fool wixen-kind worldwide into believing him a paragon of Light, given the ease with which he used Unforgivables. Although, he had to admit, having them be untraceable was a quality touch.
"Absolutely not," he replied easily, snickering for good measure as Dumbledore's face contorted in surprise at having his curse easily thrown off, "This is not to be a private matter, Headmaster, and the more people who hear and witness your crimes, the harder it will be for you to claw your way out of justice. I have half a mind to have you escorted outside, but I know how much you dislike the sunlight and prefer to cover under the shadows of deceit."
"Loaded words, I am afraid, but nothing more than empty air," he exclaimed, taking on a more theatrical approach and addressing their audience.
Oh, he was good.
But Rotgard was much better.
"Is it empty?" he asked mockingly, resting his hand on the hilt of Gloriana and enjoying the way she pulsed under his palm. She was as bloodthirsty as he was and he will grant her a sacrifice in due time. "I shall take your word for it, since you should know about all emptiness. After all, that was the state of your coffers before you began using private funds your followers had set out for your war efforts to replenish them, effectively stealing from them. Tell me, how many died simply because you were greedy?"
"You confuse me with the Dark Lords of the past, which I defeated," he counterargued, picking and choosing his words to try and spin them to his advantage. It was a good idea, after all, to shift their audience's focus from his crime to the victories he had acquired, reminding them that he was the incarnation of "Good" against "Evil". "They used to hide behind their followers, while I fought them unbridled alongside likeminded wixen."
A lesser goblin, or wix, would have fallen and caved under the pressure of the situation, with the way the wixen in attendance seemed to favour their Saviour.
He basked in it instead, ready to turn their heads.
"You employed and effectively sacrificed children and adults alike in your crusades, using them as shields while you hid away inside of the safe wards of Hogwarts, waiting until the last possible moment to change the situation and have people declare you the Saviour of the Wizarding World. You heralded untrained soldiers and made martyrs of them all, just to increase your own popularity. And from their deaths you rose, just like the phoenix you imprisoned and illegally bound to yourself, ready to control all of Magical Britain."
There, a perfect corner from which the Headmaster couldn't turn away. A dead end.
"Would he rise to the challenge or perish here?" Rotgard couldn't help but wonder, curious to see what the wizard would have done to claw his way out. For he was sure he would have at least tried to, even if he would have failed in the end.
And indeed, he changed his course of attack once more, shifting topic easily and hiding his many atrocities behind a calm smile and a polite stance: "Is this why you called for me? So that you could insult my strategies and question my morals?"
"I despise your strategies and I have yet to find words in the English Language suitable enough to describe my hatred for them," he replied honestly, savouring the shocked expression on the wizard's old face. They might have had the same age, but deceit and treachery had taken their toll on the man. "And I know you do not have morals."
"I merely did what was best," he fired back, letting his irritation show briefly. His mask was crumbling under the dozens of eyes finally seeing their Light Leader for the monster he truly was.
It was time for a deeper gash.
"For your Greater Good, did you not?"
The way his eyes hardened and his smile morphed into a snarl was divine to Rotgard, as the two words echoed around the hall.
Here was a man notorious for his composure, slowly chipping away his mask and showing his true colours.
It was intoxicating, but he knew better than to believe their war to be won simply because he was landing a few good hits, so he kept on attacking.
"Did I hit a nerve? A sore spot, perhaps?" he couldn't help himself from taunting, enjoying the way the Headmaster's face changed colour, becoming redder and more violent by the second, "It has been decades, yet you still cannot let Gellert go, now can you, Dumbledore?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The mask of impassibility slipped fast, but not fast enough to avoid letting Rotgard and their audience know that his words had hit their mark indeed. A few old wixen gasped at the name, clearly remembering the man who had reigned terror at the beginning of the century.
"Good, they should remember," he thought to himself, glad that the wizard's web of lies was slowly unravelling.
It had been long and tedious work, to gather all the evidence against the man, turning all the stones he had buried under his lies and finding the truth he had hidden from his peers, but Rotgard had managed spectacularly. He was quite glad for the shared opinion between the previous lovers that Goblins were of no threat to them, since it gave him the perfect opportunity to work and find all the things that made the Headmaster tick.
The decision to undermine a Goblin General even after he had made his intentions quite clear was a terrible mistake on the old wizard's part, but it was quite the gain on his.
"Of course not," he exclaimed, feigning compassion. He had none in his body for the man who had so carelessly played with the lives of many. His reign of terror and deception would end then and there, with young Harry as his last collateral. "You are a master liar after all, you would be able to fool anyone. But I know better."
"Do you?" the wizard asked with venom in his voice. The caged animal was ready to use his claws, it seemed. "Then you should know better than to antagonise me. It hasn't worked out for you in the past, has it?"
There it was: the first real confession of the day. Or, rather, of the evening, considering he had already surpassed his work hours.
His wife would have his hide once he returned home, but Rotgard felt his actions were justifiable enough. She would understand his delay.
"So you admit having intercepted vital letters that would have removed wixen children from dangerous households, all because it suited your needs," he accused.
In the six years of his work as the Master of the Office for Hereditary Affairs, he had personally found three children in outright unsuitable situations, four if one counted young Harry, all there under the Headmaster's choice.
For the first one, he had tried to work through the proper channels, informing the DMLE of their status and of the abuse she was suffering, both as a Grey Witch inside a Dark Family and as a daughter when the father craved a "proper" Heir. She was already into her schooling, under the regime of Dumbledore, so his letter of concern was disposed of under the claim that it would have been "best to not interfere with familial affairs" and that he was "a mere banker who might have misinterpreted the situation, given that the teachers hadn't raised any concerns about it."
He doubted a single teacher's concerns would have reached the proper ears, given that they were probably obstructed more than he had been.
He then received a curious letter from the Headmaster himself, laced with so many compulsions it would have turned a stone into a sword if it could have, kindly asking for a copy of the list of children who would be summoned to have their Inheritance Test done, just so he could "streamline the process for your office."
More like: "Just so I can forbid these children from taking their rightful spots and keep the power and seats all to myself."
After all, that had probably been the reason why he had blocked the Inheritance Testing of the Prewitt and Weasley Heirs, since their seats were under his direct control, and that must have been the reason why he had shielded young Harry from the Wizarding World, given that he held the Potter seat.
Highly illegally as well, if one was keen to know.
Even without the compulsions, he would have tossed the letter inside of a garbage bin. But, to take proper precautions, he tossed it into the roaring fire, while he savoured some strong goblin-made liquor.
For the other two, he tried to work the system, encouraging better relatives to take care of their young before it was too late. But the Headmaster had always managed to interfere.
But no case had been as dramatic as young Harry's, which spurred him into faster action.
It was a rather good coincidence he had finished gathering all the evidence he needed to expose the Headmaster.
It seemed as if Lady Magic was smiling down at him, with all the coincidences that had happened in a day.
"I admit to nothing," came the feeble rebuttal, too weak to be anything other than a means to gain time to think about a proper strategy.
But not even a time-turner could have saved the wizard from his doom.
"No, I didn't think you would," he commented somewhat bitterly.
While he expected the man to show up and deal with him in person, a part of him almost wished for their duel to be much more subtle and dangerous. But time was of the essence and he was enjoying himself enough already.
"I merely hoped we could resolve our issues with a simple conversation, General," he claimed, having clearly found a path he considered viable to his safety.
It was a shame all the doors had been locked and all the wards against all sorts of apparitions raised visibly since the moment Rotgard had set foot inside the Entrance Hall of the bank, he would have adored watching the wizard try and flee. But the way he was twisting his words was almost as entertaining.
"About what, exactly?" he asked with an aura of innocence and confusion, enraging the man further without even trying, "You illegally holding several Wizengamot seats just to aid your personal affairs and for your laws to be passed, and to obviously hide all the crimes you have committed? Or you endangering every child you come across to further your political agenda? Maybe about how you are making the British Wizarding Community fall into a Dark Age of misinformation and ignorance, outlawing every single thing you believe is a direct threat to your authority. Perhaps about how you favour Memory Charms and Mind Compulsions to aid your nefarious goals. Or about how you have your handpicking of those who whiter away behind bars, innocently so, while a convicted Death Eater sits at your table?"
Just as Rotgard had expected, the old wizard took the bait.
It was almost too easy.
"Severus Snape turned to the Light and served against Lord Voldemort, at great risk for his own life, during the last year of the War," Dumbledore exclaimed loudly and proudly, unaware that Rotgard knew exactly how and why he had changed sides, and what the consequences and clauses of swearing himself to the Headmaster had been. And, who knew, perhaps there was something deeper, made easy to forget but that would be soon discovered once the web of lies had dispersed. "It would have not been fair to judge him from his mistakes of youth."
"Just the same way you should not be judged for your countless mistakes of youth, is it not?" he counterargued, watching with delight as the wizard's pupils dilatated in fear.
For a man who had prided himself on hiding his past, he had left quite the few loose threads, after all. "I find it quite the scale, though, considering he was merely following someone rather persuasive, while you actively worked with Gellert to create your empire of control."
"I did not know what a monster he would have become."
That was probably the only thing Rotgard would have not faulted him for, since he too remembered how it was to be young and in love.
It was the countless atrocities he had committed afterwards that had doomed the wizard, though.
"And so you tried to avoid the same mistake by nurturing Mr Riddle and turning him away from the Dark side, is that correct? You heralded him away from the Darkness you could see growing in his soul, is that true?" he paused then, savouring the shocked expression on the wizard's face. He too knew a thing or two about theatrics. "Oh, no, it isn't, since you alienated the boy and morphed him into an enemy to slay, just so you could cling to your positions and powers. Unfortunately, your master plan has backfired a bit, considering the damning amount of Foul magic that follows him."
"How do you know about him?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper and his face as pale as his beard.
Rotgard couldn't keep the vicious smile from spreading on his face: "Headmaster, I have spent the last six years trying to find a way to dismantle the obscene hold you have on the Ministry, all for the betterment of the Wizarding World. I know everything there is to know about you."
To give the man credit where it was due, he took the words and attacks flawlessly, changing the flow of their conversation in a simply stunning move: "I am flattered. Tell me, have I been an adequate subject of study?"
"You truly are so Machiavellian," he couldn't help but snare.
"Thank you."
"It was not a compliment."
"From such an esteemed War General as you are, it must be."
"It is not," he cut the argument short, not willing to lose precious time. It was his turn to read his grandchildren a story after supper, after all, and he truly didn't want to miss it and disappoint them. "But I digress. You inquired why I sent that letter to Mr Scrimgeour, are you certain you want to know?"
"Of course. Why would I be here otherwise?" the wizard asked with a pleased smile on his face, believing he had won an argument in their war with his little distraction.
"To try and neutralize a threat, which was why you wanted a private meeting."
The man had the audacity to scoff, from his almighty ego. If his attempt was to enrage Rotgard and make him commit a fumble, he would surely be mistaken.
For all he needed to do now was finish the job he had painstakingly organised, with a single blow to lead his path to victory.
"Well, Headmaster, I have three words for you: Boy Who Lived."
"Who is currently safe and sound, hid away from prying eyes, protected under wards that ensure his safety and being spoiled rotten by relatives who adore him," came the easy reply, even if it tried to hide away the nervousness the wizard must be feeling. After all, he most definitely knew that the young Potter had celebrated his seventh birthday just a week before, becoming eligible for his Inheritance Test.
He must have truly relied on his defensive measures keeping him away from the Wizarding World, if his reaction was anything to go by.
Rotgard had discovered, during his scouting before contacting said Boy Who Lived, that the wizard had set wards around young Harry's residence indeed, only to intercept every owl that might have been sent to him, rather than to shield him from the world. It would have been a good idea, well-meaning above all, if it was done simply to safeguard the child's innocence and safety. But, instead, it served the purpose of effectively cutting off the young boy from his world, making sure he would be unprepared and easy to manipulate once the time had come.
The only protective magic he had found, was feeble and distraught, possibly linked to the sacrifice his mother had made defending him. Certainly not enough to warrant his stay amongst his muggle relatives.
So, the wards were there. And they did keep owls and magic away.
But what the Headmaster hadn't known, or had not cared for, was that Rotgard preferred to use his own hawk, who easily passed through every ward and enchantment they encountered.
"He truly is," he commented, earning a breath of collective relief from their audience, who had remained silent for the majority of their duel, "At least now he is, since he is deep inside our caves."
The thunderous expression that appeared on the wizard's face would have scared a lesser goblin, but Rotgard had witnessed Death in all of their forms and would have not caved.
"Do not bother searching for him, not even one of your corrupt goblins would be able to find him," he added, watching with glee as the mental cogs inside the Headmaster's brain stopped dead in their tracks at the knowledge that he had been, once again, baulked into a corner. One nobody would have been able to save him from. "I know about how you manipulated some of our weaklings and they have been dealt with. The Griphook Clan had to be dismantled, unfortunately."
It had been quite a joyful deal, between the interrogations and the bits of torture and the dozen beheadings. Besides, it served well as a reminder to all the weak goblins to never step out of line.
Ans if he had personal grievances with the Griphook Patriarch, well, that was his business and his alone.
"I must warn you, General," the Headmaster said slowly, putting his hands in his pockets and undoubtedly reaching for his wand, "I am not a man you want as your enemy."
"I know," he replied, a bit condescendingly, "It would be a shame to have you considered as such. And effectively lowering my personal criteria of value to allow you to even begin reaching my standards would be a crime. I hate to admit it, but I was expecting a much more riveting battle."
"Why did you haste your plans, then?" he fired back, anger emanating from his body. He wouldn't need to have young Harry's natural talents for Occlumency to recognise that emotion, it was so potent. "I can recognise a rushed job."
If the Headmaster expected him to lose his composure over that senseless accusation, he was clearly mistaken.
"Only in the sense that it took me a few hours to put everything in place. But young Harry was the catalyst for my actions and, for his sake, I decided to quicken your demise."
"Is that a threat?"
"A promise." He enjoyed the way the wizard paled even further in fear. "Now, when young Harry Potter came here for his Inheritance Test today, we found a bit more than we bargained for. You already know what I'm talking about, don't you?"
There was no strict need for such a discussion, but they had an audience to entertain. And said audience clang from his lips like the gardens of Babylon, so who was he to deny them the entertainment?
"Obviously you are lying!" the wizard claimed, desperately trying to hold onto his part of the chessboard and slowly realising he had no more pieces to move. "Harry does not yet have access to his powers, hasn't performed a bout of accidental magic yet, therefore he cannot have performed an Inheritance Test, it would've come out blank!"
There it was, the real reason he had placed his many blocks on the boy. He had to admit he had been curious about the sheer number of actions taken to ensure his delayed magical maturity. The Headmaster still believed one would need full access to their magic to perform an Inheritance Test, as was costume when he had been a child. But that had been only for young wixen who had no prominent familial lines nor claim to Heirships.
For a man who prided himself on his wisdom and knowledge, he was severely lacking.
"Au contraire, he is quite powerful," he admitted proudly, a smile appearing on his face as he recalled the Magical Deception Test they had done with Healer Katara, "His prowess is 40, which is astounding for a wix his age. The majority begins their schooling with little over a 20, after all."
He would have quite easily continued with his exposition, talking about how impressive his meeting with the young Heir had gone, but he had other places to be. So, he returned to his verbal trajectory without deviating much.
"As it turns out, the blocks you placed upon him the night his parents were murdered weren't as complete as you might have thought. Since he was already an exceptional infant, his parents had placed a partial block on him, for their own sake, I believe to avoid accidental magic during his teething. It is a quite common thing for wixen children, not that you would know since you do not care about any. You blocked only the remaining magic. As for the safe and sound part, not to mention the spoiled rotten by adoring relatives, well. I think you know how unstable his environment would be and currently was, given you gave him compulsions to remain there when you placed him with them. And, to ensure his stay there, you sealed the wills of his parents, where I believe instructions for his care might not involve his current guardians. How am I doing so far?"
"Terrifically."
If looks could kill, Rotgard would have already been placed inside a burial shroud and encased in stone.
But so would have been the Headmaster, although with his own wixen funeral rites.
"Excellent," he exclaimed with joy, "As you must be aware, considering how much of an expert you are at working outside the law, all those actions, if confirmed, require a bit of time spent inside a wixen prison."
Would he take the bait? Or would he try to weasel his way out?
"If they are confirmed," he remarked, suddenly smug at the bit of leeway he had found, purposefully falling into his trap, "Which they cannot be, since young Harry is currently at his relatives' and I would have never harmed that precious child."
"How can you be so sure? Did you place wards on him as well?" he asked, faking confusion and horror.
He truly thought Rotgard so clueless about the state of affairs that he wouldn't have known about the wards directly connected with the Headmaster himself, allowing him to monitor every single one of Harry's movements outside of his residence?
Dumbledore had greatly underappreciated him and he, in turn, had over-evaluated him.
It was both baffling and underwhelming.
All the good nemesis had already perished under his sword, he thought bitterly.
"I did," the Headmaster said, with victory clear in his expression. "And they did not go off, meaning he is still there."
"Curious," was all he had to say, carefully watching as their audience seemed torn between which side to choose. But he could feel them distrusting the old buffoon, all they needed was a pointed shove in the right direction.
Which he would gladly provide.
"See, I used a portkey to have him arrive here this morning, since he could not be accompanied by his guardians, considering they are magic-hating muggles, and since you are, at least on paper, his magical guardian, even if you have never behaved as such nor gone to the proper channels to claim guardianship. I wanted to bypass you, you understand, and it is my ability to do so when I believe a child to be in danger. With that portkey, I also sent a deflection ward, meaning that young Harry slipped away from your vibrantly coloured pockets easily."
The fearful and angry expression that took hold of the Headmaster's face was priceless.
He truly was trapped now.
Such a wonderful check drawn on the board.
"You admit to having kidnapped a child!" he bellowed, grasping at straws for a decent comeback.
Rotgard had to give it to him, he was persistent. He had had to be, considering he had managed to grasp in his hold the entirety of Magical Britain.
Yet he was no match for a Goblin War General of his stature: "He is here of his own free will, without a compulsion keeping him pliable, and I doubt the relatives you have sent him to live with will miss him. Especially since I sent Madame Bones and the DUM a missive, detailing how they treated him. He did not even know his parents' names, are you aware of that? But I digress once more. Point is: they will be unavailable. Not to worry, though, I have already organized replacements for them and once young Harry is back on his feet, he will be able to choose who to stay with."
"It is your word against mine."
"Actually," he retorted, savouring the taste of the wizard's imminent defeat, "it is your lies against my evidence, which I already set aside enough for you to acquire a nice lifelong vacation inside the finest room of the Azkaban Resort."
"For a goblin of your stature, you surely love human sayings."
Aiming low was such a cowardly move, it was a disgrace to the good name of House Gryffindor, of which the Headmaster had been a member. But a caged animal would have done all he could to escape, and he was no exception.
"What can I do, I am wixen-tolerant, after all," he admitted, smiling at how true his monicker had turned out to be. "Now, would you like some refreshments while we wait for the Aurors to arrive?"
"They will not be joining us," the Headmaster replied viciously, showing his true colours finally. He sent a contemplative look around the room, surely detecting the wards that had been erected around them that safeguarded their audience. Would have he tried to erase their collective memories of their lacklustre duel, Rotgard wondered as he watched the wizard take his wand out of his pocket.
The wixen who were not aware of the magical circle surrounding the two of them scattered to the corners of the room and hid behind their magical shields, while the guards drew their spears high and the tellers unsheathed their knives.
The man had waltzed into their home uninvited and was pointing his weapon against one of their own. Surely he was not under the impression that he would be untouched if push came to shove, was he?
"Where is Harry Potter? You do not know the danger that boy could bring without the precautions I have taken. It pained me, but I did what I ought to. His suffering would ensure his compliance, you must understand. You say you know of Riddle and his Foul magic, then you know what he is. It is vital he remains away from his magic, until he is able to be nurtured at Hogwarts, guided by me towards what is right. Tell me now, before it's too late. Where is the boy?" he asked, delirium clearly written on his expression.
That was the face of a man who had lost everything he had never believed himself to be capable of losing, clinging to every single shred available.
It was an intoxicating sight.
Rotgard's only regret was not having a war painter in the room, but he would share his memory with his most trusted one once he had some free time.
A war won was still a war won, no matter how unbalanced the sides had been.
"As if I would tell you. You ensured the pain and suffering of an innocent child only to benefit your own goals, effectively stopping him from being raised with love and affection by the people his parents had deemed worthy of the title of guardians. I will not betray his trust. And I will not place him in even more danger."
"You leave me no other choice then. Imperio," a blue stream emitted out of the tip of the famed Elder Wand, "I will ask politely only one more. Where is the boy?"
Rotgard, who had decades of training against wixen magic and had on his enchanted chainmail under his shirt, as it was his use to put it on every day, always preparing for the worst, was as unaffected by the powerful Imperio as he had been by the earlier one tossed at him.
"Not even your famous Legilimency would help you find him," he exclaimed with glee, watching as the Headmaster's face morphed from an angry mask into one of utter disbelief. Perhaps he had believed his original wordless and wandless spell to have simply missed its mark, and was now faced with the reality that his mind magic was useless against him.
He truly had underestimated him much.
"I believe I would have enjoyed our battles," he whispered in regret, wand still raised. He clearly would have not admitted defeat easily, now would he?
It didn't matter, for neither would Rotgard.
"Unfortunately, so do I."
And with that, colourful stream after colourful stream made its way towards him, who easily blocked and deflected each relentless attack with the blade of his Gloriana.
They were not in their prime age any longer, that much was clear, but they both managed their attacks and slashes with power and precision. It was a game of side-stepping and deflecting that would have worked much more on the wizard's side, if Rotgard hadn't managed to advance in between spells.
In a heartbeat, the War-hardened General stood proudly in front of the Fabled Lord of Light and Saviour of the Wizarding World.
And, with a quick arc from his beloved Gloriana, faithful friend that had aided him well in hundreds of battles, he cleaved his wand hand, as if cutting through butter instead of bone and flesh.
The two pieces of the once worshipped man fell onto the ground, the wand disappearing into thin air as soon as the hand touched the marble floor. It made sense, in some way, since that same wand was told to be part of the Deathly Hallows and passed on from wix to wix through violence, despite its innate craving for Peverell blood, to which it was truly linked.
Rotgard had a vivid idea they would find that wand inside one of the Peverell Vaults, once young Harry was ready to explore them.
But for now, it was simply gone, and its former owner bemoaned its loss.
And the loss of his limb as well.
"I would say you have fought valiantly, but I dislike lying," he told the man who contorted on the floor and clutched his stump close to his chest, with tears falling down his cheeks in an unbecoming manner.
When Rotgard had lost his own leg, eaten by an Ukrainian Iron-belly during one of his last campaigns, he had kept on fighting using a long piece of wood to stabilise himself while he kept on brandishing Gloriana with his other hand, inflicting a fatal blow to the beast. He had not even acknowledged the loss of the limb until he was escorted to their healers, after having made sure all of his goblins had preceded him and received their treatment already.
"Take him to our cells," he told the guards once the wards had been lowered, enjoying the way they seemed to bow even deeper than before after his little stunt.
Perhaps a reminder of who he truly was every now and then was due.
"I am a wizard, goblin," the wizard exploded at them, trying to wriggle himself out of the stronghold of the guards, "You cannot detain me! I am Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump! I cannot be stopped! I am superior to you all!"
"Here is the rhetoric that your Grindelwald shared and loved," he commented, enjoying how the pained expression on the man's face had little to do with the injury.
There it was, his final piece on the board, the last nail for his coffin.
"You attacked a member of the Goblin Nation on Goblin Soil. Perhaps your titles would have saved you with a Teller, but I am a War General, Dumbledore, and a direct act against me is an act against our King. Based on a law you passed during your tenure as Chief Warlock, Edict 18 of March 1974 comma 394, "All Wixen Affairs inside Goblin Territory must be dealt with according to Goblin Law". You intended for it to mean outside events would not affect our Banking, since we didn't make ourselves known during your wars, but it came with the added bonus of being able to imprison you and persecute you for your crimes against me and the rest of the Wizarding World. Then, once you have paid for your horrors, you will be judged by your Wixen Peers. I wonder if you'll be alive by then. Guards."
Checkmate.
The man roared in fury and pain, but it was all for nothing.
Rotgard did not lose his battles easily, after all.
There were the scared whispers of wixen being placated by their guards and tellers and there was the tell-tale sound of their doors opening, followed by deep footsteps that belonged to the Aurors, finally allowed inside the scene.
But dealing with aftermaths was not as fun as planning the wars, so he allowed the Guards remaining to do so. The wixen would not be happy about the turn of events, he reasoned as he cleaned Gloriana and attached her back to his hip, but it was completely out of their jurisdiction now and, unless they wanted to wage war against the Goblin Nation, which their kind most likely did not want to do, especially not for a war criminal, they would not cause problems.
He would simply make his way back into his office, ready to return back home and regale his new bloody tale to his beloved wife and kids, leaving the scene behind.
"How come he attacked you in plain sight, General? Wasn't he smarter than that?" Guard Anouk accosted him before he could disappear inside the bank's halls with a look of absolute adoration plainly written on his face.
The reminder was really needed.
"I may have taken a page out of his book and placed a tiny compulsion charm to lower his inhibitions on the letter that he intercepted. It is good strategy to have a hidden ace up your sleeve and there is no shame in having advantages over one's opponents, after all. Now, if you'll deal with this mess, I believe my office hours have been finished for quite some time and I can already hear my wife asking for my whereabouts."