HP: Man of Archives

The news that goblins were shutting down their own bank in France was explosive. But that wasn't even the worst part—along with ceasing operations, they were confiscating all deposited funds "for the benefit of the goblin people." The revelation sparked outrage across France, from ordinary squibs to esteemed professors at Beauxbatons.

Naturally, the Ministry couldn't stand idly by. A swift and harsh response was inevitable. By the next morning, a law was passed nationalizing all goblin-owned property. And they wasted no time putting it into action.

Gendarmes and Ministry officials stormed the goblins' main bank branch—only to find an empty, booby-trapped building. A young wizard stumbled upon the trap purely by accident, triggering yet another public uproar. The chaos left many questioning whether this was mere coincidence or a deliberate attempt to destabilize magical France.

"Mmm…" I muttered, folding the newspaper. So much had happened in France over the past few months that anyone would be shocked. "I have a feeling a war is about to break out."

"No kidding," Isolde replied, seated across from me as she read a letter from her father. "He wrote to me."

"What does he say?"

"He says the goblins have frozen the Merigold and Merilittle accounts."

"I see." I set the newspaper aside. "And what else?"

"If the accounts aren't unfrozen, our family will be in a completely hopeless situation," she said. "He's asking if you have a plan."

"Plan, plan, plan…" I muttered.

In truth, I had no concrete plan yet. I was still assessing just how much the goblins' actions actually concerned me. But it was becoming clear that the threat was greater than I had first assumed.

Are the goblins' actions justifiable? Absolutely not. They are crippling the economy and straining relations between intelligent beings. Personally, it doesn't affect me much—but for those close to me, like Isolde, the impact is severe.

Resolving this won't be easy. The goblins won't return to negotiations without major concessions from the wizarding side. What those concessions would be is unclear, but they won't be minor.

What do I want? I want to study magic. That requires stability. And to achieve that, I need isolation—enough to keep external forces from interfering with my sphere of influence. Or at the very least, from interfering to a fatal degree.

If I want to do this right, I must resolve the goblin problem calmly. There are two paths: negotiate, or eliminate the goblins so thoroughly that they never pose a threat again.

"For now, I'm interested in seeing what decision the French Minister of Magic makes—after that, I'll act," I told her. "This whole situation has hit the locals the hardest."

"I understand that," Isolde sighed, "but I need to write something in response."

Hermione and Fleur, who were also present, remained silent. The former, because the goblins' actions had little effect on her so far. The latter, because she was the Minister of Magic's daughter.

"Tell him I'm working on a solution," I said.

"Are you?" Fleur asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Yes, I think so," I nodded. "But I haven't reached a concrete decision yet."

Meanwhile, life went on. The school was largely self-sufficient, so I ensured our financial losses wouldn't hit too hard. I expanded our greenhouses, creating vast fields capable of producing a full harvest every two months—or even daily if necessary. Magical France wouldn't be facing famine anytime soon.

The next big news caused a stir, though not as much as the goblins' announcement. Otto VI released a manifesto, branding the current Ministry leadership as crooks and scoundrels. He openly insulted Amel, his family, and other high-ranking wizards. He even dedicated a full paragraph to me—packed with a colorful array of personal attacks.

Why did Otto publish this manifesto? To stir doubt among ordinary French wizards—forcing them to question whether Amel was truly their Minister or had simply seized power. I knew the latter was the truth, but acknowledging it wouldn't resolve the situation. Otto, however, sought to use that reality to pressure me into serving his own agenda.

My response was measured. I wrote an article and sent it for publication across magical Europe. The core message was simple: monarchy was an outdated relic, and moving forward required leaving it behind. With so few royal families left in Europe, it was clear exactly whom my words targeted.

I didn't have to wait long for a response. It came in the form of an "exposé," claiming I was Muggle-born and, therefore, unfit to be the headmaster of Beauxbatons. No such rule existed, of course—it was pure wishful thinking on the part of the author and their sponsor. But the attack wasn't just on me; it was also aimed at Amel, and he wasn't about to let that go unanswered.

Otto VI's response came in the form of an article titled "My Life Under the Oppression of Arrogant Purebloods." Supposedly written by an unremarkable young wizard, it nonetheless sparked a major debate. The piece portrayed Amel as an almost divine figure—a leader who had given Muggle-borns, half-bloods, and non-humans the freedom to thrive in France.

Then came the goblins' response. Rather than an article, they published an open letter to Otto VI, subtly implying that Amel's claims were false. It was a bold move, one that could sway public opinion—especially since other non-human races had co-signed the letter. The goblins also made a direct plea to Otto, urging him to stand up for the so-called oppressed.

Otto VI wasted no time agreeing. He pledged to help them restore "justice" in France. Amel, however, was quick to counter, asserting that the goblins had never been oppressed and that their actions placed them in direct opposition to the Ministry of Magic.

Elsewhere in Europe, the situation remained relatively stable. Neither the goblins nor magical governments had taken drastic measures—at least not yet. For now, they were trying to maintain balance, but I could feel the tension rising. It was only a matter of time before everything unraveled.

It had been barely a month since the goblins' announcement, yet the flurry of articles and letters showed just how rapidly things were escalating. Meanwhile, at Beauxbatons, life carried on as planned.

The school tournament, scheduled long before the crisis, went smoothly. With no Triwizard Tournament this year, Fleur chose not to participate. The winner was a student with an impressive talent for Charms—one to watch for the future.

During one of our dinners, I decided it was time to make an announcement. The decision had already been discussed with the professors. They were against it, of course, but they had no power to overrule me.

"Friends," I said, rising from my seat. "I have an important update for you. Whether you consider it good or bad is up to you. Starting tomorrow, all students from the third year onward will be required to attend dueling lessons. Class schedules should already be posted in your common rooms. Additionally, spell practice during free time is encouraged."

The professors had asked why this was necessary. The answer was simple: I wanted to ensure the students could defend themselves. France was on the brink of conflict, and I refused to leave them vulnerable.

With that in mind, the fields surrounding the academy quickly transformed into training grounds and dueling arenas. Whether for upperclassmen or third-years, the facilities were designed to prepare them for real-world dangers. Everyone contributed to their development—even Hermione.

Soon after, we added another subject to the curriculum: magical medicine. As a result, students now had no free time outside of weekends.

Meanwhile, the exchange of insults between Amel, Otto VI, and the goblins continued—at times escalating into outright threats. It was clear that something was brewing behind the scenes.

From Maria, who was gathering intelligence in Corsica, I learned that the Corsican government was preparing to declare independence and seek Otto VI's protection. The goblins were also involved—they were set to receive ownership of caves rich in valuable magical materials.

This time, I sent a letter to Corsica, informing them of my intent to visit and personally assess the situation.

I also reached out to Amel, sharing the intelligence I had gathered and offering to handle the problem myself. He agreed immediately. His response was particularly interesting, addressing me as: "To the King of Corsica, Headmaster of Beauxbatons, Timothy Jody…"

If I wanted to beat them at their own game, I simply had to move faster. So, I made a "donation" to the Ministry of Magic—three million Galleons and a hundred kilograms of pure gold. The funds came from my personal vault, which had once belonged to the goblins. Honestly, I saw no issue in using their own money against them.

Amel's next article focused entirely on Corsica's transfer under my authority. It practically showered me with praise, painting me as a benevolent leader. And in truth, I was wonderful—because my money was now fueling the Ministry's urgent needs and directly supporting ordinary wizards.

The Corsican wizards and public figures hadn't expected such a bold move. In response, they made a rather unwise decision: they officially declared independence.

Why was it unwise? Because now, I had complete freedom to act however I pleased.

"So, what are you going to do?" Hermione asked.

"I think I know," Isolde drawled. "Our dear Timothy is going to march in there alone, miraculously resolve the situation single-handedly, and walk away with a hefty profit."

"You're absolutely right, Isolde," I nodded. "I'm going alone… but once I arrive in Corsica, I won't actually be alone. Maria is already there. She's been gathering intel for me this whole time."

"So that's where she disappeared to," Fleur said, nodding. "I thought something bad had happened to her."

"No, not at all," I shook my head. "She had an assignment in Corsica."

I had never lost contact with Maria—our bond was too strong for that. Thanks to her slave mark, I could sense her emotions at all times. Lately, she had been bringing back some very interesting news.

For example: several goblin combat squads had arrived in Corsica—accompanied by demons and their assistants.

This was exactly the kind of information I had sent her to uncover. It confirmed what I suspected: demons were still trying to carve out a place for themselves in the wizarding world. But, of course, I wasn't about to let that happen.

I needed to act now—before the situation escalated further. Not that it would become impossible to handle, just… unnecessarily complicated. And that was annoying.

Preparing for my "trip" to Corsica was easy—I already carried everything I needed with me. As they say, omnia mea mecum porto—I carry everything I own with me.

That was quite literally true in my case.

Yes, I had a house, but there was nothing there I couldn't afford to lose. If something went wrong, so be it.

To ensure greater safety, I decided to update my wardrobe. I now had a simple Muggle-style suit—tailored for complete freedom of movement. A few Parisian tailors had crafted it specifically for me, weaving protective spells into its very fabric. The material itself was extraordinary, capable of serving as a foundation for a wide range of magical artifacts.

Once the suit was in my possession, I locked myself away for several days, enchanting it with the necessary spells until it became true armor—designed for survival in any condition and protection against countless threats.

To test its capabilities, I sparred with the girls and a few professors. They needed to see what they should aspire to. For them, my skills were on an entirely different, nearly unattainable level. But more importantly, I was able to properly gauge the suit's effectiveness. After making the final adjustments, I was ready for departure.

To avoid drawing too much attention if something went wrong, I suggested Hermione and Isolde retreat to the Headmaster's Quarters and remain isolated for the time being. They weren't thrilled with the idea and insisted on moving freely around Beauxbatons.

"If that's what you want," I relented.

I could have forced them into isolation—but that wouldn't have been the best approach. It was smarter to compromise on matters that weren't particularly important.

"Thank you," Hermione nodded. "This will give me more time to explore the Academy. There are places I've been curious about for a while."

"I'm interested in them too," Isolde agreed.

Maybe I should've given them time off instead of making them study magical theory and practice every single day. A break might actually be more beneficial than endless cramming. Well, whatever.

I left Beauxbatons in the dead of night, ensuring that no one would notice or suspect anything. If there were people at the school who weren't exactly on my side, this way, I could deceive them—and by the time they realized I was gone, it would already be too late.

I had never gone out of my way to purge dissenters at the school. I believed that was the right decision—though many would likely disagree.

Apparating to Marseille, I quickly switched to my broom and took off toward Corsica.

Flying was smooth, effortless. The night sky stretched vast and endless, a canvas of stars forming the Milky Way. Off to the side, the great moon carved its path across the sea. Its silvery-white glow shimmered over the water, illuminating a road that seemed to promise it would lead the traveler exactly where they needed to go.

Where that was, however… who could say?

Corsica emerged suddenly—a dark mass on the horizon. I was close. The ships scattered across the sea, their lantern-lit decks glowing in the distance, didn't concern me.

As I neared the shore, I slowed, taking in the empty stretch of sand where waves crashed in rhythmic bursts against the land.

I sent a signal to Maria, then landed on the sand, concealing my broom with a quick spell. With a flick of my wand, I transfigured a comfortable chair and settled into it, facing the ocean. A few distraction spells layered over me ensured I remained unnoticed.

A hot drink materialized in my hand—perfect for the atmosphere.

Before long, I heard soft footsteps in the sand. Of course, I had sensed Maria's presence long before she arrived. She moved carefully, her approach slow and deliberate.

"My lord," she said, kneeling before me. "Your loyal servant has arrived."

"Come here," I gestured. "Tell me everything."

Technically, I didn't need her to speak—I could pull the information straight from her mind. But if I did that every time, what was the point of Maria at all? She had a rather pleasant voice, after all. And a life spent in absolute silence, relying only on telepathic thought-sharing… that didn't seem like the best idea.

"My lord, I've learned that the local Corsican bandits plan to mobilize wizards and magical assets," Maria reported. "They intend to seize everything your subjects have earned through hard work."

"What's the general sentiment after that article?"

"Mostly neutral," she replied. "Corsican wizards don't particularly care about politics outside their island. The only thing they know about you is that you're a powerful and talented wizard—without any particularly dangerous eccentricities."

"Oh? And what exactly does that mean?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The locals believe that all powerful wizards have something wrong with their heads," she explained. "My lord, if you wish, I can rip out the tongues of anyone who dares to say or even think such things. Just give the order!"

"That won't be necessary—for now," I said, shaking my head.

"What are the chances of local resistance?"

"Fairly low," she replied. Then, hesitating slightly, she added, "If I may, my lord, there's something else."

"Go ahead."

"The local wizards will accept your rule—as long as you don't spill too much of their own blood and promise them a better future."

"I see," I murmured. "I'll take that into account. Now, what about the goblins and demons? Have you gathered intelligence on their forces, locations, and plans?"

"Yes, my lord," she said. "I've been keeping a close watch on them as well."

"Good. That was the right decision," I said, pleased. "What have you learned?"

"The goblins and several demons are preparing to establish a fortified base here. Once they repel your attack, they plan to systematically wipe out the local population—magical and non-magical alike. After that, fully trained goblin reinforcements will arrive to further fortify the island, turning it into an almost impenetrable stronghold."

"I see," I nodded. "What a shame that won't work for them… because I'm here. And so are you."

"Yes," she nodded, a wide, delighted smile spreading across her face. Praise meant she wouldn't be punished. A strange way of thinking, really—but it wasn't my place to judge. The minds of sentient beings could be rather twisted at times.

"Excellent work. What reward would you like for your efforts?"

The intensity of her sudden embarrassment could probably be felt across dimensions.

Ah… I had a feeling I knew what she was about to ask.

I shifted my chair slightly, turning to face her directly.

"Master," she murmured, eyes shimmering, breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. "Once everything is settled here, I want to be your favorite woman, even if just for one night. I want us to have a passionate, unforgettable night together."

"Oh," I murmured, drawing out the word. "Very well. So be it."

"Thank you, my lord," she said, lips curling into a satisfied smile.

"But back to the matter at hand," I continued, redirecting the conversation. "When is the local government meeting to discuss everything?"

"Tomorrow morning," Maria answered swiftly.

"Excellent," I smirked. "Deliver them an ultimatum—if they refuse to submit, and if the goblins and demons don't leave the island, I will destroy them."

"As you command, my beloved lord. I will handle it flawlessly."

For a brief moment, a flicker of her demonic nature surfaced—sharp, predatory—before she quickly suppressed it. We couldn't risk breaking cover, even if secrecy wasn't crucial here. Still, better safe than sorry.

As for me, I would spend this time meditating, clearing my mind, letting my thoughts settle. Letting the universe flow through me—just as I moved through space as I pleased.

***

The large hall, capable of accommodating over a hundred people, was far from crowded. Three groups sat at three tables arranged in a "U" shape, each representing a different interest on the island.

At the left table sat the Corsican governing authorities—the island's current leadership. Opposite them, at the right table, were the goblins and demons. A goblin occupied the central seat, signaling that they were the dominant party in this alliance. And at the center of it all, three wizards represented Otto VI.

Otto's envoy was a short, slightly stout man with thin mustaches, bulging eyes, and equally thin eyebrows. His mouth moved constantly, as if he were always chewing—though he wasn't. Flanking him were two wizards from Otto's Swiss Guard, ready to lay down their lives for his protection.

"Are we waiting for anyone else?" Otto's representative asked in a thin, squeaky voice. "Or can we begin?"

"I think we can begin," the Corsican leader replied.

"You don't tell me what to do!" the envoy snapped.

Tension thickened in the room. The goblins and Corsicans exchanged glances, instantly recognizing that negotiating with this man would be unpleasant. Both silently wished they could have conducted these talks without him.

"Then I believe we can begin our discussions," Otto's envoy continued, regaining his composure. "First, I would like to state that His Imperial Majesty, Otto VI, insists on establishing a diplomatic mission on the island. He will accept nothing less!"

"Very well, that demand will be taken into account in the final version of the treaty," the Corsican leader said smoothly. "I trust our friends from the goblin clans will have no objection to discussing, at a later date, the formation of a commission that will appoint another commission to analyze the best ways to incorporate and accommodate His Excellency Otto VI's request, which will then be reviewed by yet another commission."

By the third mention of "commission," Otto's envoy was visibly lost. But realizing that both major negotiating parties had agreed to his demand, he stopped worrying. Fools, he thought. What could these villagers and their goblin allies possibly do against the intellect of his master—and himself? If all went as planned, perhaps he would even secure a town for his personal use. Maybe two.

"As representatives of the goblin clans, we are, of course, willing to participate in these discussions," one of the goblins said. "However, before proceeding, we must first hold a general assembly of the goblin clans to appoint our representatives for each stage of the treaty's formation."

The goblin had caught onto the Corsican leader's game and mentally smirked in satisfaction. It seemed the other side wasn't entirely foolish either. They didn't like this pompous little man's ultimatums any more than he did.

In fact, they might even be useful allies.

Many goblin leaders understood that their venture could end in disaster if anything went wrong. But if everything proceeded as planned, they would gain a legal foothold on the island, making it far easier to push the humans out later. From there, the first bastion of the goblin people would rise—a fortress impossible to breach. With the demons' siege barrier, a prototype their masters were already studying, they could accomplish much. Then, the time for revenge would come—to reclaim their ancestral lands as their rightful home and to settle the score for the theft of their gold, an offense that still festered like an open wound in their people's memory.

The only unpredictable factor was the wizard Timothy Jody. His recent article, claiming ownership of the island, had forced them to act swiftly. Goblins disliked situations with too many variables. Had he arrived after the negotiations, they wouldn't have minded if he wiped out the previous rulers—they could have worked something out with him. But if he interfered now, they would have to play their trump card: the mercenary provided by Otto the Sixth.

This mercenary's task was simple—take Timothy's loved ones hostage, forcing him to comply. Naturally, Otto would demand his share, but they were prepared for that.

The mercenary had been thoroughly vetted; the goblins couldn't afford even the slightest instability in their plan. The head of the delegation had personally tested him. He was competent, resilient under pressure. Everything should go smoothly.

"Then let's begin."

The discussion launched energetically. There were many issues to resolve. What would they do when the alliance between the goblins and the Corsicans became public knowledge? The wizards would be furious. It would become a race against time—neither they nor, especially, the Church would allow goblins to establish a stronghold.

Fortunately, today's wizards were nothing like those of the past. They had grown soft, diluted by ordinary human blood. The goblins were grateful to their ancestors for such a brilliant plan—undermining the magical world from the shadows, making it seem like mere natural change. Bravo.

Everything was going well. Everyone understood the dangers they faced, so negotiations had to move quickly—the faster, the better.

That was why these talks weren't bogged down by stalling, deception, or attempts to swindle one another. They were already nearing the treaty's finalization when the door burst open with a loud bang.

A cloud of dust filled the air, obscuring the newcomer from view. Yet both the goblins and the Corsicans were certain there had been no dust before. The guards reacted instantly. Otto's Swiss Guards drew their wands. The goblin bodyguards swiftly donned their armor, ready to meet the threat head-on. The demons remained still for now, but everyone knew they were prepared to strike at a moment's notice. To human eyes, they still appeared as goblins—no need to provoke unnecessary suspicion or prejudice.

As the dust slowly settled, a stunningly seductive sorceress came into view.

She held a wand in her hand, but her grip was all wrong—who even holds it like that? But this was neither the time nor place to critique her technique. Besides, witches—especially ones this irresistible—didn't tolerate criticism.

Even Otto's envoy, dense as he was, grasped that with his chicken brain. He straightened his posture, attempting to look more presentable. To everyone else, it looked more like a rooster puffing up his feathers to impress a hen. The goblins wanted to cry from secondhand embarrassment. The Corsican leaders, meanwhile, wouldn't have minded playing a few… interesting games with this woman themselves. The demons tensed.

"Work again…" one of the Corsican guards sighed, eyeing the dust settling on the floor. If he survived this, he'd be the one stuck cleaning it up—being the youngest on the force had its downsides.

"Identify yourself!" barked a Corsican who had remained silent until now. The head of the local Security Service, he had no patience for theatrics—this stunt would be repaid in blood.

"Oh, come now, hehe~" she purred in a velvety, sultry voice. "My naaaame… is none of your concern. I'm just a messenger."

"What message are you delivering?" a goblin asked, taking the initiative. The situation needed to be brought under control immediately. It was beginning to look like they might have to use their trump card—the mercenary. They'd rather not. "We're listening."

The woman smirked.

"As the messenger of my master—the Magnificent, the Glorious, the Stunning, the Mighty, the Unparalleled, the Brilliant ruler, Timothy Jody—I bring you a message."

She raised her chin.

"Surrender, leave, or die. You have twelve hours. If his demands are not met, the only thing awaiting you is death."

No one paid attention to the absurd number of honorifics she had bestowed upon her master. Under different circumstances, the goblins would have raised a toast to whoever had enchanted a witch like this into servitude. But right now, they stood on opposite sides of the battlefield.

"How dare you?!" Otto's envoy shrieked, his voice cracking on the last word. It was pathetic. "I am an envoy—"

With a flick of her wand, the sorceress cast a spell. The envoy fell silent—not permanently, as was evident from his panicked eyes, his futile attempts to move his lips, and his furious inhaling and exhaling through his nose. He grabbed his wand and tried to cast something:

"Mgh-mghu-buu-i!"

No one had any idea what kind of spell that was supposed to be, but it only further proved his incompetence. A mistake in the incantation caused her spell to backfire—she exploded, taking part of her own hand with her. Shreds of her wrist rained down onto the floor.

No one even blinked.

"Mggg-ghhh!" the envoy moaned, nodding frantically toward his mutilated arm.

And yet, the Swiss Guards remained still, their eyes locked on the sorceress. Her magic was powerful—and worse, unfamiliar. But they couldn't afford to do nothing; ignoring their employer's suffering would be a breach of contract. Under the witch's watchful gaze, one of them reluctantly cast a basic first-aid spell, stopping the bleeding and disinfecting the wound. He didn't have access to advanced healing magic. And he made no attempt to dispel the silencing curse—his job was to keep his employer alive, not to help him drag them all to the gallows.

"Madam," a goblin addressed her with utmost respect. "I believe Lord Timothy Jody is being rather hasty with such a decision."

"Oh?" She tilted her head in mock surprise. "And what should I tell him?"

"Inform your—"

"Lord," she corrected.

"Inform your lord," the goblin obediently adjusted, "that sometimes, the other side may also have trump cards."

"And what kind of 'cards' are we talking about?" she asked, her voice calm and unbothered.

"Loved ones. Precious individuals he's known his entire life—they don't just appear on every street corner."

"Hostage blackmail?" she mused nonchalantly. "Very well. My lord is willing to discuss the release of these hostages in three hours. However, they must remain alive."

"That is an acceptable condition," the goblin nodded, exhaling internally. Good. Timothy was willing to negotiate rather than immediately resort to brute force.

The sorceress wasn't finished.

"My lord demands proof that they are alive," she continued. "They must be visible through a means of visual communication, with the ability to speak. If this condition is not met, the deal is void, and he will destroy you all."

The goblin grimaced. They had been developing a technology similar to Muggle television communication. No one was supposed to learn about it yet. But… for the sake of resolving this crisis, he was willing to sacrifice that secret. A personal stronghold was far more valuable than a piece of technology that could be replicated.

Without another word, the sorceress vanished into thin air, leaving behind nothing but the open door and a thin layer of dust.

The Corsicans, who had remained silent until now, exhaled. A few extra hours—not bad. It was enough time to make some decisions.

"We need to determine our next course of action," one of them finally said.

"Not here," the goblin leader warned. "That sorceress could still be listening."

"Let her," the Corsican waved a hand dismissively. "Fighting power like that would be nearly impossible anyway. Looks like Timothy is already on the island."

"Yes… perhaps he won't want to burn all his bridges at once," said the goblin negotiation leader. "We need to ensure that open confrontation becomes completely unprofitable for him."

"How much more escalated can this confrontation get?" Otto's second mercenary finally spoke. "We're blackmailing him with the lives of his loved ones. That's not something people forgive."

"We'll handle it," the goblin waved dismissively, as if swatting away an annoying fly. "Or are you afraid?"

"Fear isn't the issue," said the first mercenary—the one who had cast the first-aid spell on the envoy. "But if things go south—and there's more than a fifty percent chance they will—he'll chew us up and spit us out."

"No need to worry," the goblin reassured him. "Your master's mercenary seemed stable enough to us… unless you have information to the contrary?"

"If we did, we wouldn't still be standing here," the second Swiss mercenary snorted. "But whatever. What will be, will be. No escaping fate."

And with that, they began planning their next moves.