Chapter 22: Scottish Dirge In Silver
Scottish Highlands
To the Wizarding World, the Scottish Highlands are both of the most well-travelled and most mysterious place. For while they lay host to many places of importance, chief among them Hogwarts, equally they were filled with vast stretches of unknown territory. The few holdings of the Wizarding World sprinkled across it like flakes of gold in a mountain seam. Yet half built into one such hillside was a manor. A manor echoing that of one you would expect from the great Wizard Families yet entirely alien to them all the same.
Draped in moss and swirling mists, it was built of dark stone and imported blackened timber. Its outer walls take on sheer and foreboding characters, like an ancient dark beast clawing its way out of the earth's grasp. Yet even through the mist, the vast manor was alive, as the glow of candlelight and burning fire shone into the night. Its labyrinthine halls housing vast trophy galleries, libraries, lounges, and lavish bedrooms, with many of the walls and flooring lined in rivers of gold. As hordes of its occupants went about their active days. Goblins.
In the heart of the massive edifice of Goblin success was its beating heart, vast silver foundries. Row upon row of workshops filled with tools of masterwork craftsmanship wielded by their shrewd and perfectionist masters. One such workshop was the largest and most well stocked, with only two occupants. One, an elderly specimen with a fire singed beard and face, marring the normally sallow face of the goblin with a soot-laden complexion. The other, hard at work at a forge, was almost as tall, yet far younger.
The young lad stood at nearly an impressive four and a half feet tall, with a somewhat crooked nose, semi-pointed ears, and a somewhat inhuman-shaped head cloaked in shaggy red hair. His limbs were stout, working with almost human-like fingers over the silver mold, pouring its molten contents. A pair of black eyes stared through goggles as he then set the mold down on a heavy metal table to cool, before grabbing a hammer. Raising it above a cooled mold, he cracked it open with a set of precise blows. Revealing the form of a simple, silver medallion.
"Here you are, Grandpa. What do you think?" The boy asked, handing the piece of silver craft to the old Goblin.
Said old Goblin looked over the medallion closely, turning it over. As if tracing every little groove, contour, and imperfection with his eyes. With a nod, the elderly Goblin handed the boy back the medallion. "Better, Albert. Not quite there yet, but better. You heated the silver to a slightly too hot temperature and had it in the flame a bit too long. You pounded it into shape correctly but quenched it a tad too soon." The old Goblin told his grandson.
"Of course, sir. I was too impatient. I'll… I'll try again." Albert replied swiftly, before rushing off to prepare another mold.
However, the attempt did not last long, as the young boy reached too far, causing a quick pillar of flame to come from the forge. As he patted down his hand with icy water, his grandfather sighed and cranked a lever. Soon the forge began to cool to a more manageable level, and he turned to address the boy.
"You're being impatient again, lad. Is something troubling you?" The elderly Goblin asked, raising a concerned eyebrow.
Albert sighed before leaning against the nearby table. "Its… it's about the application." He sighed.
"Ah. To Hogwarts. You wish to study the ways of the witches and wizards to learn more about that side of your heritage as well. Don't you, boy?" His Grandfather guessed.
"I… I do. Mother helped me with the application. We just got it back today. I… I've been accepted." Albert confirmed nervously.
The old Goblin gave a small smile at that. "Then you should speak to your father about that. He may despise most witches and wizards outside of your mother, but he will listen if you stand your ground. I shall back you on your decision." He told Albert.
"But… But Father wouldn't let me go! You know how he is! For a man who's made his money-making coins for the Ministry, he despises them so!" Albert said, fire and venom leaking from his thin lips as he spoke.
The elderly Goblin playfully bonked Albert on his head. "Which is why you must stand your ground and not give in to his hatred. Open your ears and listen to your elders, boy." He insisted.
"Yes, Grandpa." Albert hastily replied, bowing his head respectfully.
"Very good. Now back to your smithy, boy." His Grandfather urged with a smile.
"Yes, Grandfather!" Albert barked, reverence leaking into words as he leapt to work.
Hours passed as Albert worked harder than ever, shaping silver like his life depended upon it. Each time his work had to be scrapped and smelted by some imperfection his grandfather saw in it. Yet it did not stop Albert. He worked until they all heard a great steam whistle blow, echoing through the workshops like a phantom to end their workday.
"That is enough for now, boy. Go wash up for dinner." Albert's Grandfather told him.
"Mother would kill me if I didn't." Albert grumbled as he rushed off as fast as his legs could carry him.
After a quick bath, Albert scampered down the halls towards the dining hall. He ran past standing suits of armor that had been forged by his family, which bowed to him as he passed. He then ran past walls stuffed with swords, axes, and other crafts made of their forge. Glittering lines of gold shimmered through black marble floors and expensive fire scorched timber beams. As soon as he opened the great doors to the dining hall, he was hit by the light of a small sun, shimmering through a colossal chandelier made of goblin silver and diamond glassware.
Vast table upon table stretched before him, each with their finely upholstered seats. Each Goblin dined upon a veritable feast from a large goblin silver plate and utensils, and scarfing ale and wine from goblin silver goblets encrusted with gems. Yet he passed all of this by as he headed to the top table. Upon a smaller, yet magnificent mahogany table, and expertly set, was where his grandfather, Grandmother, and his parents already sat. Taking a step up to reach it on the raised floor, he took his seat under the stern gaze of his father.
His father sat on a chair more akin to a throne. He was the epitome of what people expected a goblin to look. Sallow skin draped with black hair expertly combed over. Wearing a fine silken suit and tie, with a black silk top hat and luxurious cane at his side. Sharp teeth bit into a chicken wing as thin lips smacked as he ate. One black eye looked at him as Albert put his napkin on his lap.
"You're late. Again." Albert's father growled through his food before swallowing. "If I thought apprenticing you to Father would do anything to make you punctual for once."
"Sorry, Father. I had to wash up." Albert replied as a spectral servant gave him a plate of food.
"You should have washed up faster, boy. Now eat." His father told him before ripping another chunk out of a piece of chicken.
"Growlslip. Must you be so harsh on him?" A feminine voice asked him from the shadows.
"Martha, if I'm not harsh on the boy, he won't last long in Goblin society. Especially with most damnable witches and wizards outside of yourself giving their all to deny us knowledge of Wandlore." The now named Growlslip grumbled.
"If that's the case, I should have been harder on you." Albert's grandfather growled in annoyance. "You have more money than any Wizard has ever had, and yet you're gonna bellyache about that still?"
"If they want knowledge of our silvercraft, they need to offer up knowledge of Wandlore first, Father. Give and take. Nothing in this world is free." Growlslip sneered at his father.
"Growlslip. Lockswitch. Both of you be quiet for once." Martha boomed with the power to rattle the table and make tapestries behind them flutter.
The two glared at each other before looking towards the source of the voice. Instead of a Goblin, what sat near the head of the table was a witch. Despite sitting down and in darkness, she towered over them with contemptuous ease, easily six feet fully standing. Long locks of red hair cascaded down a fine white and silver dress, and long fingers bearing multiple exquisite rings upon then tapped impatiently at the table. Her eyes, golden and fiery, looked between the two proud goblins.
"Martha. I still don't know what you saw in that boy." Lockswitch growled before turning back to his food.
The witch smiled and pinched her husband's cheek. "He's nicer than he looks." She replied in a sickeningly sweet tone.
Growlslip flinched and nodded. "Of course, dear. I am merely preparing our son for the world he will inevitably step into upon reaching adulthood. I believe the Muggles in the United States across the sea call it a 'dog-eat-dog' world?" He replied, clearly trying to cover his ass.
Albert finished a sip of his drink, non-alcoholic Butterbeer, before finally speaking. "Father. My Hogwarts application came in today. I've been accepted." He said simply.
Growlslip sneered as he tore into a chicken leg. "Are you still going on about that nonsense, boy? We've been over this. The witches and wizards won't accept you due to your half-breed heritage. Why not give up on that hogwash and become a proper Silversmith instead?" He insisted as he ripped the meat and skin off the chicken leg with his teeth.
"You complain about not having Wizard Magic, yet you will not let me go and get the thing you want? All you've been is a hypocrite on this!" Albert sneered.
Growlslip glared at his son as he tore the last of the meat off his chicken leg and ate it before growling at his son as he tossed the bone aside. "Choose your words carefully, boy. I am still your father. Besides, even if you did come back with knowledge of Wizard Magic, the damnedable Ministry forbids it from being shared with our kind." He reminded his son.
To Growlslip's surprise, Albert slammed his fists onto the table and stood up. The difference between them became stark as standing up; Albert towered over his father. Even upon his throne, Albert's black eyes looked down on his father as his brows curled.
"It's the same thing as always! You say one thing and do another! That's all you've ever done with me!" Albert snarled. "I'm going, and I'm not taking a no from you, Father! Even if I have to go through you to get there!"
Growlslip's black eyes widened in surprise. However, for a moment, a ghost of a smile appeared on his face before he frowned and huffed in annoyance.
"Very well then, boy. Do as you please and let no one stand in your way of it." The Goblin growled out before going back to his meal.
Albert stood a bit in shock at that, before composing himself. "Thank you, Father." He respectfully replied. Before his stomach let out a fierce growl.
"Dear, please sit back down and eat. Your stomach sounds like a Troll." Martha said before daintily sipping her drink.
"Of course, mother." Albert replied before sitting back down.
As soon as he sat down, he frantically began to eat. As if a veneer of civility had been ripped off him, devouring his chicken and sides with ravenous pace. Growlslip and Lockswitch let out a chuckle as the family began to settle back into their meal. A silent understanding has finally been reached.