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"There's also Thunderbird," Sargeras continued, his voice steady. "Last Christmas, Headmaster Agilbert Fontaine wrote to say in his letter that age is catching up to him. He mentioned that he's considering retirement. Personally, I believe you'd make the perfect successor as the next Headmaster."
"I'm no longer young," Thunderbird replied slowly, shaking his head with deliberate calm. "I'm not sure I have the energy for a position like that…"
"Oh, come on…" Kestrel chimed in with a grin, seizing the opportunity. "You're just over a hundred! That's a prime age for working hard! And don't forget, we've still got the Philosopher's Stone to fall back on."
"Kestral's right!" everyone called out, and laughter rippled through the room as others joined in with cheerful agreement.
Then, with the ease of someone used to leading, Sargeras took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing with the next round of assignments.
"Robin, you're currently with the International Floo Network Coordination Office. If the opportunity arises, we will support you in taking the director's seat. Or perhaps even something higher, such as the position of Head of International Magical Transportation."
Robin straightened her back at once, a confident smile lighting up her face. There was an air of crisp efficiency about her, like someone who was always two steps ahead and more than ready for the challenge.
"Nightingale, you're teaching Potions at Beauxbatons. For now, it seems Madam Maxime has no plans of stepping down. She's still strong, both in spirit and stature. However, if a chance presents itself in the future, I'll try to speak with her."
Nightingale gave an understanding nod. With a graceful shrug that carried a hint of resigned charm, she lifted her shoulders in that unmistakably French way, elegant even in her disappointment.
"Stork," Sargeras turned to the man seated nearest the fireplace, "you're currently working at the International Wizarding Union Bulletin. If you're interested and the timing is right, we'll see if we can help you reach the editor-in-chief position. After all, controlling the narrative is absolutely critical."
Stork adjusted his glasses with a faint push of his fingertips, and a flash of sharp resolve glinted behind the lenses. "Controlling the voice of the press," he said, "is exactly what I do best. I will be keeping a close eye on the movements within the editorial department."
"Snowy Owl," Sargeras Sargeras said, turning to the poised woman draped in subtle silver fabrics, "you've got firm roots in the Magical Creatures Trade Association, and your connections within the AfricanGemstone Merchant Guild run deep. If circumstances allow, we'll look into consolidating those resources and helping you secure the position of chairwoman."
Snowy Owl gave a calm nod, her voice even and composed. "I already have a complete grasp of how the trade associations function. Becoming chairwoman is indeed the next logical step for me."
"And as for you, Swift," Sargeras turned toward the curse-breaker from Gringotts, his tone growing measured, "it's going to be nearly impossible for you to rise too high within Gringotts itself. The goblins are intensely exclusive, and they maintain absolute control over the bank. The most you can realistically achieve is the rank of senior curse-breaker, or perhaps lead a specialized team. On that front, I'm afraid there is very little I can do to help."
Swift furrowed his brow slightly. Though he said nothing, the hint of disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable. It was clear he had hoped for more.
But just as quickly, Sargeras shifted direction.
"However," he continued, his gaze sharpening as he leaned in slightly, "if you can manage to uncover the backgrounds of Gringotts' core leadership — names, histories, weaknesses, connections — then when the time is right, we may just have the chance to ignite a financial revolution across the entire wizarding world."
"What did you just say?" Swift blurted out before he could stop himself. His brows tightened into a knot, eyes fixed on Sargeras, clearly struggling to grasp the full implications of what he'd just heard.
"I'm talking about dismantling the very foundation of Gringotts' monopoly," Sargeras said calmly.
A strange silence settled over the room.
Thunderbird, stroking his beard, looked completely baffled. Robin's mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out. Nightingale's beautiful face was frozen in an expression of bewilderment, her brow creased in disbelief. Snowy Owl and Stork exchanged a glance, blank and confused, with not a hint of understanding between them. And Swift, the one whose role was most closely tied to the subject, looked as though he was staring at a madman.
Only Kestrel's eyes were shining, though clearly, they were shining in the wrong direction.
"That sounds exciting," she said, her eyes sparkling, "but, uh… what exactly are we going to do?"
Looking around at the sea of confused faces, Sargeras made a snap decision to skip the theoretical lecture altogether.
"Alright," he said, voice light but deliberate. "We'll save the deeper theory for another time. For now, let me walk you through the basic steps."
He raised one long, graceful finger, and began to explain each part in an almost casual tone.
"Step one, we trigger a liquidity crisis. For example, we start by spreading a few convincing rumors. Something like… Gringotts secretly diverted vault funds to invest in a Dragon Sanctuary and ended up losing every last Knut. Or, if we want something even more explosive, we could say a mysterious spy infiltrated Gringotts' underground vaults, and now the gold being circulated is suspiciously lightweight, tainted with inferior metals…"
That alone was enough to leave the room gaping.
The sheer audacity of the idea hit them like a bolt of lightning. Eyes widened, minds raced, but Sargeras, entirely unfazed by their stunned silence, pressed on.
"Then we hire a group of house-elves and have them queue outside Gringotts every single day, all demanding withdrawals. The goal is to stir up panic, to make it feel like something's wrong, and spark a full-blown bank run."
As he said this, the corner of Sargeras' lips lifted ever so slightly, forming a faint, icy curve.
"And after that… we flood the market with a large batch of forged 'phantom Galleons,' created through mass Transfiguration. Counterfeit coins that look real but carry no value. That will dilute the currency and send the goblins into a state of absolute chaos."
"This… this is…" Swift muttered under his breath, stunned. His hand had already drifted to his quill, which now absentmindedly jabbed at the corner of his parchment, as if struggling to decide whether this was something he ought to be taking notes on… or something too outrageous to even write down.
"And that is just the first step," Sargeras said smoothly, as though he had not just described a financial apocalypse. "The second step will be even more aggressive. It is something that could shake the very foundations of the Gringotts banking system."
His voice was calm, but within it ran a sharp, almost cruel kind of reason.
"We find a way to replace a portion of Gringotts' reserve vault holdings with forged Galleons so perfect they cannot be told apart from the real thing. The idea is to create a vault that looks like gold on the outside… but is rotting from within. And once that illusion breaks, even if it is just a rumor or a whisper in the wind, the entire trust-based framework that keeps the goblin-run financial empire afloat will collapse in an instant."
There was no denying it. The plan was sinister. Ruthless, even.
But it was also frighteningly effective.
"And then comes the final step," he said, his voice firm and unwavering. "We build a new order — one that rises from the ashes of Gringotts. A trust bank founded by wizards, operated by wizards, and controlled entirely by wizards. A financial system that belongs to us."
He paused for a moment, letting the weight of that idea settle over them like dust over ruins.
And then, just as they were beginning to process it, he threw out something even more radical.
"After that, we could also introduce decentralized magical currency. A type of cryptocurrency bound by magical contracts rather than physical vaults. A completely new monetary form. Then, we create a wizarding credit system, offering low-interest loans to attract young witches and wizards."
He gave a light shrug, as if what he was suggesting wasn't completely world-altering.
"Of course…" he added casually, "to minimize the risk of default, we could always use Legilimency to verify their intentions and their ability to repay."
Every jaw in the room dropped.
If these words had come from anyone else's mouth, they would have laughed them off as drunken madness, the kind of wild fantasy born from too much firewhisky and too little sleep.
But this person in front of them was… Sargeras!
And the way he spoke, so calm, so methodical, so precise, left no room for disbelief, even when they barely understood half of what he said.
"Where… where did you even come up with all this stuff from?" someone finally asked, struggling to wrap their head around it.
"Oh, just things I used to toy with when I was living alone in an attic…" Sargeras replied offhandedly. He lifted his cup and took a slow sip of his drink. "Though I owe most of it, really, to Muggle books, and their brilliant minds."
"Muggles?" The word came out in near-unison.
Even Nightingale and Snowy Owl, who had remained relatively composed through everything, now wore stunned expressions of disbelief.
"You really shouldn't underestimate the Muggles," Sargeras said, watching the skepticism written plainly across their faces. His voice carried a trace of sincerity now, something deeper beneath all the logic and strategy. "To be perfectly honest, aside from using magic itself… you wizards actually fall short of Muggles in more ways than you think."
"Hmm?"
Nightingale caught it instantly — something just a little off in the way he had phrased that last part. She tilted her head ever so slightly, and those piercing eyes, so sharp and perceptive they seemed to see straight through people's hearts, fixed directly on him. A faint, knowing smile appeared at the corners of her lips, teasing and deliberate.
"Raven," she said softly, her voice like velvet but edged with amusement, "just now you said 'you wizards.' Shouldn't it have been 'we wizards'?"
Sargeras met her gaze, and for a split second, the easy calm that usually rested on his face seemed to falter. Just the slightest pause, almost imperceptible.
But then, it was gone. He smiled gently, a little warm, even with a flicker of approval behind it, and answered without hesitation, as if all she'd done was point out a minor slip of the tongue.
"You're right," he said, nodding, completely at ease.
He spoke as though it were nothing, just a small correction in phrasing. Yet in the depths of his eyes, something more stirred. A flicker of emotion too layered to name — one that even Nightingale, sharp as she was, could not quite read.
"And finally," Sargeras continued, smoothly picking up the thread of the conversation, "Kestrel… you—"
He paused for a beat, brows drawn together just slightly, as if he was genuinely trying to come up with something meaningful.
"You… just be careful when you're traveling!"
"Hold on a minute!" Kestrel practically sprang out of her seat. "Why does mine sound like some throwaway line?!"
"Because," Thunderbird chimed in with no effort to soften the blow, "you're literally the only one here who spends all day doing absolutely nothing, wandering around the world like a leaf in the wind."
"Like a runaway Snitch with legs…" Stork added, seizing the moment with a deadpan jab.
"I…" Kestrel opened her mouth, then closed it again, momentarily at a loss for words.
Before she could recover, Sargeras raised a hand gently, halting whatever protest she was about to fire off. His smile was calm, even kind.
"It's alright," he said. "As long as you don't go causing any major disasters, we're good. You're still the core of our technical operations, the one who guides the direction we move in."
Kestrel was still puffed up with frustration, but at those words — "technical core" and "guiding the direction" — her eyes lit up like a wandtip in the dark. Her chin tilted up just a bit, that earlier pout fading fast as something close to pride crept into her expression. She muttered under her breath, "Well, that's more like it…" but the little curve at the edge of her mouth gave her away. She was smiling, despite herself.
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[Chapter End's]
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