Huh!
That shouldn't be possible. How could it be the power of fate?
Grindelwald narrowed his eyes, a flicker of surprise crossing his sharp features.
Lockhart's student, Wanda, possessing a connection to destiny wasn't surprising in the slightest. He had already sensed it in her, a nascent yet undeniable thread of fate entwining with her existence. Given her potential, it was only natural.
But Lockhart himself?
That was another matter entirely.
Grindelwald had crossed paths with Lockhart before, even fought against him. He knew Lockhart's magic well, especially that new spell of his—it was indeed formidable, something worthy of wariness. But no matter how powerful the spell, he had been absolutely certain that Lockhart had never dabbled in the power of fate.
In fact, he had taken advantage of Lockhart's unfamiliarity with fate, weaving several discreet and subtle manipulations against him, none of which had been noticed.
Yet now, as he peered once more into the unseen currents of destiny, he could clearly see it—a massive and undeniable force of fate lingering around Lockhart like an impenetrable veil.
How could this be?
Even if Lockhart had recently started delving into the mysteries of fate, accumulating such a vast and potent power of destiny should have taken years, decades even.
Unless…
Grindelwald's mind raced as he considered the possibilities.
Unless Lockhart had come into possession of a top-tier artifact of fate, something capable of aligning him with the very fabric of destiny itself.
At that moment, as he delved deeper into his foresight, Grindelwald caught a fleeting glimpse—an echo of a realm beyond reality. A world of dreams.
His brows furrowed, thoughts churning.
Not only had Lockhart somehow connected with fate, but he also seemed to be linked to something far greater, something more enigmatic.
This revelation unsettled him.
In his era, very few had any tangible connection to the forces of fate. Those who did were mere specks, insignificant in the grand scheme. And certainly, there had been nothing that could stand in his way.
But now?
Now, he saw a young witch brimming with destiny and limitless potential.
Now, he saw an enemy—Lockhart—who wielded a force of fate even he did not possess.
Now, he saw goblins—those former slaves, those lesser creatures—wielding weapons strong enough to shroud themselves from even his all-seeing gaze.
And if his predictions were correct, this was only the beginning.
There would be more. More wizards exposed to fate. More individuals who would harness it. They would rise, one by one, until they became a force of their own, a profession even.
Grindelwald's expression darkened.
Once, he had been the sole master of destiny, the one who wielded fate's gifts and stood above the entire wizarding world.
Now, he felt the shifting tides.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt the cold grip of uncertainty.
But it did not weaken him.
No, it only strengthened his resolve.
His mind sharpened, his emotions hardened.
He would not allow this to continue.
The American abomination had to be destroyed. That much was inevitable.
And as for Lockhart…
Grindelwald's fingers curled into a fist, a glimmer of anticipation flickering in his stormy gaze.
He would take what belonged to him.
The artifact of fate.
The veil that shielded Lockhart from sight.
Everything.
Darkness swirled in his mind, calculations shifting as he contemplated his next move.
Yes.
It was time.
Time to cross wands with his old friend once more.
And this time…
He was looking forward to it.
Because his old friend was none other than—
Dumbledore.
———————
In the heart of Washington, the Second Headquarters of the Magical Congress stood as a symbol of resilience.
The war against Grindelwald and his Saints had shaken America's wizarding community to its core.
The first attack had been devastating.
New York's headquarters had fallen in a brutal and merciless assault. The Magical Congress had barely survived, teetering on the brink of total collapse.
But the tide had turned.
Support had arrived.
And it had not come from within the ranks of wizards.
No, it was the goblins who had intervened.
Armed with their magic-infused firearms and their unparalleled craftsmanship, they had fought back, turning the tide of battle.
And so, amidst the ashes of the first headquarters, a second stronghold had been built in Washington.
Yet it was not a symbol of triumph.
It was a mark of shame.
The name itself—Second Headquarters—was a constant reminder of their failure, a declaration of their determination to reclaim what had been lost.
At least, that was the official reasoning.
Unofficially, the location had been chosen for a far simpler reason.
Washington was the heart of goblin power.
And that fact alone spoke volumes.
The square in front of the headquarters was a bustling hive of activity. Wizards and goblins moved side by side, a seamless mixture of robes and armor, wands and firearms.
The air thrummed with urgency.
Aurors strode with purpose, their wands resting at their hips. Goblin warriors stood on high alert, their enchanted rifles gleaming under the sun.
Some of them lingered at the square's edges, watchful sentinels ensuring security.
Others walked in step with wizards, exchanging words, sharing strategies, working in unison.
It was a sight rarely seen in the wizarding world.
A world where goblins and wizards stood as equals.
At least, that's how it seemed.
From the edge of the square, Dumbledore observed it all.
To the untrained eye, it was an inspiring image.
A moment of unity.
A promise of cooperation.
But to Dumbledore…
It was a warning.
Superficially, his visit to the Magical Congress was to offer his assistance in the war against Grindelwald.
But in truth, he had another mission.
He needed to see for himself the reality of America's goblins.
To understand just how far they had come.
To assess the delicate balance between wizards and goblins.
And what he saw sent a chill down his spine.
By all appearances, wizards and goblins stood together, unburdened by history, side by side in perfect harmony.
It should have been a relief.
It should have given him hope.
Instead, it made his blood run cold.
Dumbledore was a man of peace.
But above all, he was a defender of order.
And the order he had spent his life upholding had one fundamental truth—
Wizards must lead.
No matter how much he respected goblins, no matter how much he abhorred discrimination, he could not ignore reality.
A world where goblins stood on equal footing with wizards…
Was a world on the brink of upheaval.
History had taught him well.
For one to rise, another must fall.
And when the time came, neither side would show mercy.
The illusion of peace was a mere prelude to war.
Dumbledore's throat felt dry.
He had known America's situation was fragile.
But this?
This was far worse than he had imagined.
His original plan had been simple.
Enter.
Observe.
Take control.
But now?
Now, he saw the truth.
Grindelwald was not the only threat.
The goblins…
They were waiting.
Waiting for the right moment.
Waiting for the wizards and the Saints to weaken each other.
And when that moment arrived…
Dumbledore did not want to think about what would come next.
His gaze lifted to the grand archway of the headquarters, where a single dark green eye blinked endlessly.
The Goblin Eye.
A treasure of immense power.
An artifact that could see beyond mere sight, peering into the depths of soul, fate, and beyond.
It was said to be one of the greatest creations of goblin magic.
And now, it belonged to the Magical Congress.
For now.
Dumbledore stood motionless at the gate, his eyes locked onto the ever-blinking eye above.
His thoughts ran deep.
And for the first time in a long while…
He sighed.
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