Avalon - Chapter 89 - The Measure of Man

The Measure of Man

There was a lack of organisation amongst the goblins as they frantically searched the village, leaving no home unmolested as they shouted to one another in their mother tongue.

It was much unlike them, and even more so that there were only around thirty of them present.

Harry could almost smirk to himself as he realised his prediction had been right, that eventually, the inexperienced Dark-Eye would cave to his frustration and do something rash.

He himself had once been such a way, and more than once, it had cost him dearly.

Because of his own inexperience, he’d almost been killed by a basilisk, had been the reason Sirius had remained on the run, and why Harry had almost met his end at the hands of Quirrell.

He’d learned from his mistakes, and he didn’t doubt that Dark-Eye would too, which meant Harry needed to take advantage of them whilst such recklessness lasted.

It was finite, after all.

“Where is Harry Potter!” one of the goblins growled, waving a short sword under the nose of the tavern owner.

Harry had spent little time in the West Country, and though he was distracted by the thought that the goblins had swarmed much of Britain in small groups like this one here, he knew he needed to focus.

“I d-don’t know who Harry Potter is,” the tavern own protested fearfully.

He’d likely never seen such creatures, and the goblins were experts in intimidation.

The one threatening the man growled irritably before seizing him by the wrist and dragging him from his establishment. Leading him to where the rest of the villagers had been gathered in the very centre, he all but hurled the man into a group of other muggles before stomping his way to where the rest of the goblins were waiting for him.

A conversation Harry could not understand ensued, but there was no misunderstanding the gesture of each of the goblins drawing their blades.

Knowing what was to come, he quickly repositioned himself whilst beneath his cloak, ready to intervene at the pivotal moment.

“We will ask only once more! Where is Harry Potter!” a particularly weathered goblin asked.

The muggles were as confused as they were frightened, and as the goblins stepped forward with their weapons poised, most began to plead for their lives, only for the attackers to pause as Harry materialised, holding the blade Morgana had gifted him to the throat of the one leading them.

“I’m here,” he acquiesced.

The goblins stared at him dumbly, as though they did not expect him to be present at all, and Harry stared at them coldly in return, drawing his wand and conjuring a large flock of crows that flew just above him.

“What is it you want of me?” he asked.

“We are to take you to Dark-Eye,” the goblin he held wheezed, wincing as the blade drew blade from his neck.

“So, you thought you would harass those that could not defend themselves from you, people who I am mostly inconsequential to. Well, you have found me now, but I expect in the coming moments you will wish I hadn’t. All of you will drop your weapons.”

“NO! TAKE HIM!” the goblin Harry had at knifepoint commanded.

One of his subordinates did not hesitate and unleashed a guttural battle cry as he lunged forward.

With but a flick of Harry’s wand, one of the crows intercepted him, flying into the goblins chest, stilling him.

After only a brief delay, his sword clattered to the ground, and the goblin screamed in agony as lumps of his flesh began peeling away from the bone and muscle.

He did not die well.

It had been slow and agonising, and the goblins and muggles alike had been only able to look on helplessly as he was torn apart. Even after all the flesh was gone, he whimpered for another minute or so before falling still.

“Would anyone else like to meet a similar end?” Harry asked.

He received no reply, and he nodded to himself.

The spell was one he’d found in the Black library, a curse placed on something, if touched, would elicit the unpleasant reaction those gathered here had witnessed for themselves.

It was effective against a small group of enemies like this, but any much larger would be impossible without weakening the magic, rendering it quite useless.

For now, however, it had served its purpose and would send the needed message.

“You will drop your weapons, or you will all die,” Harry spoke once more.

This time, the goblins complied and eyed him nervously.

With only a few more flicks of his wand, all of them were bound, save for one who appeared to be the youngest amongst them.

“You are fortunate,” Harry declared. “You will return to Dark-Eye and tell him what happened. You will urge him to leave Winchester and forget his plans. If his refuses, every last one of your kind will be slaughtered. Tell him that no matter how powerful he thinks he is, the last thing he will experience will be my blade rammed into his heart. I don’t expect he will listen, but it is only polite to give him the opportunity to rethink what he has done. Oh, and if he wishes to find me, he need only ask. Off you go.”

The goblin hurried away as quickly as his legs would carry him, and Harry shifted his attention to those he’d captured.

“Well, it looks as though my prisoners will have more company earlier than I expected. Never mind, you will all be well accommodated.”

Harry frowned as he pondered the recklessness of the King of the Goblins.

Evidently, Dark-Eye had allowed his emotions to get the better of him, much like Harry had once been prone to do, as had Voldemort.

For Harry, it had always proven to be unwise, and now that he was older, more mature, and experienced in dealing with his foes, it was something he had learned not to do, as difficult as it could be.

Decisions in war needed to be rational. Of course, there as always an inherent risk, but so long as the possible consequences were understood, he could be prepared for the worst potential fallout.

Dark-Eye seemed to lack that, or he simply did not care about those in his army.

Harry did not know enough about the goblin to make such an assumption, but he intended to soon enough.

Either Dark-Eye was indeed a complete novice, beholden to his emotions and he did care for those who followed him, or he was similar to Riddle in the way that he only sought power for himself.

His frown deepened at the thought before he shook his head.

Fortunately, most of the other raids had been quickly quelled by Owain, Hook, and Claude, who had led the former slaves to a few villages himself, undoubtedly proving his worth as a leader.

Nonetheless, the rest of the men, all of them, needed to be ready for what was to come. Although the goblins had fallen silent once more since Hary had released a lone one to return to Winchester, he suspected it would amount to little unless Dark-Eye was as curious as he was emotional.

Even so, he knew it was likely the two of them would speak, though perhaps they wouldn’t.

Maybe they would merely meet on the battlefield and allow Fate to decide who would be victorious.

Riddle would never have allowed such an anti-climactic end to the rivalry that brewed between them.

For as gifted and powerful as he had been, his ego had allowed him to become arrogant enough that he felt the need to talk before a violent confrontation.

Harry wasn’t much of a talker.

Throughout his life, his voice had always gone unheard. The Dursleys, Dumbledore, and eve his own peers when his name had been selected by the Goblet of Fire.

He’d long ago given up talking, and preferred to allow his actions do it for him.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Morgana murmured as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I have a lot on my mind.”

The woman hummed and pressed her lips to his cheek.

“Don’t you always?” she asked amusedly. “For some reason, you seem to burden yourself with all the world problems. Sometimes, Harry, you have to think of your own needs.”

“I do, and we are having a second child because of it,” he quipped.

Morgana rolled her eyes at him.

“You know damned well what I meant,” she huffed, leading him to a seat at the table. “You are going to have dinner with me. Short of the entire country being burnt to the ground, you will stay in that chair until I am satisfied you have eaten, and you are not brooding anymore.”

“I wasn’t brooding as much as I was thinking.”

“It’s the same thing, isn’t it, just without the look of misery?”

“I am far from miserable.”

“Good,” Morgana declared as she waved her wand, summoning all the things she would need to prepare dinner, “because this child is making my life difficult enough, and I do not need you adding to it.”

This pregnancy was much different to the first.

Harry had noticed how little sleep Morgana was getting, how she would wake in the night, unable to settle once more, and how she would murmur mostly incoherently during her short bouts of rest, but sometimes she would articulate the odd word or sentence.

This babe was taking its toll on her, but as ever, his wife pressed on, ensuring he and Taran were well whilst tending to her potions that would inevitably be needed in the moons to come.

Harry was worried about her, but he knew Morgana well enough to know there was no stopping her.

She was more stubborn than him, but Harry was in no doubt that if it all became too much to handle, she would take a step back.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t have others ensuring the army was supplied with everything they could possibly need.

If anything, for now, Morgana’s efforts were a token.

Still, if the goblins had their way, those efforts against them would become much more.

It had not escaped the notice of Salazar and Godric in particular that some of the creatures had been lurking in the vicinity of the castle, and the goblins in his custody had been most forthcoming with their thoughts on Dark-Eye’s intention of finding Morgana and Taran to use as leverage against him or even kill them as some believed.

That very thought had spurred Harry into action, ensuring that every protection possible was in place around their home within the forest.

If any goblin made it so far beyond the gates, or nearby via another way, the suffering they would endure would be most unpleasant.

Harry felt his expression darken at the thought and his fingers twitched towards his wand.

He had no doubt that he and his forces would emerge the victors in this war. What he couldn’t determine, however, was the price of such victory.

It was a troubling thought that often plagued him, but the very last thing that would happen would any harm coming to his family.

There was nothing Harry wouldn’t do to prevent that, and Dark-Eye would see it for himself if he did indeed attempt anything that would prove to be the biggest mistake of the goblin’s life.

(Break)

“I do wish you would hold still,” Helga sighed. “You’re fidgeting again.”

“I can’t help it,” Godric huffed. “Your hands are cold, and you keep tickling me with your wand.”

“Pathetic,” Salazar grumbled, scowling at Helga, wincing from where she had given him a thorough medical examination.

It was something they did more often now after what happened to Rowena, and with the knowledge that Harry and Morgana had provided, they could do so much more thoroughly.

“Any breathing difficulties,” Helga asked as she prodded Godric’s chest with the tip of her wand.

“No. I’m just old, lass,” he chuckled. “I’m slowly falling apart.”

Helga hummed unhappily.

“You have multiple wounds and lingering injuries from the years of fighting, and you drink far too much.”

“And I mean to go on as I have lived until the very end,” Godric declared. “I’d rather perish in battle than as a weak, old man who is unable to wipe my own arse. No thank you, I will die proudly.”

Salazar nodded his agreement, and Helga could only shake her head.

She wouldn’t expect anything less from either man. But were proud and stubborn to a fault, and even if something was ailing them, she knew both would keep it to themselves unless necessary.

Salazar had not seen fit to divulge the state of his lungs. From the years of inhaling potion fumes, they were far from being at their best. Still, potions were a passion of his, and with all the new brews Morgana had provided him, Helga knew the man would not slow down until he had brewed and improved each of them.

Even so, she worried for her companions.

She too was no longer in the best health.

Helga was plagued with stiff joints, bouts of fatigue and tiredness that came with age, and her own chest had been ravaged by the fumes that often wafted from the plants she tended to, many of which were quite toxic.

Nonetheless, given their advanced years, they could all be in much worse condition, but soon enough, they would have to truly begin considering easing their workloads.

Between running the school, teaching, and dealing with whatever issues arise outside the castle, they were all doing too much.

If they were fortunate, the war with the goblins would end quickly. Perhaps then, Harry and Morgana would be willing to take up positions here, ready to take over when the remaining three Founders decided to either retire or were no longer here.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” she sighed. “Both of you. Ease off your drinking, Godric, and Salazar, use a bubblehead charm whilst brewing. I will do the same whilst carrying out my own work.”

“Will it make much of a difference now?” Salazar asked.

Helga shrugged.

“It can’t make any of us any worse than we are,” she pointed out.

Salazar nodded reluctantly.

“Very well,” he agreed. “Godric?”

The man released a deep breath.

“I will stop drinking so much.”

“Good,” Helga declared. “I’m sure you will both feel better for it.”

The two men grumbled unhappily, but for the time being at least, Hogwarts still needed them. All three were well into the twilight years of their lives, and most by now would’ve retired, or even perished by now, but here they were.

The school had become their live these past few decades, and each of them, along with Rowena, had dedicated a good portion of years to it. Not that any of them would regret it, even more so knowing the reputation it would gain for itself over the coming centuries.

With Harry and Morgana at the helm when the time came, Helga was in no doubt that it would be in the very best of hands.

(Break)

He was certain that if he continued to pace in such a way, he would eventually wear a hole in the distasteful rug beneath his feet, and yet, he couldn’t remain still.

Dark -Eye knew that he had perhaps acted rashly, that he had allowed his anger to take precedence over a cooler head when he perhaps should’ve allowed it to prevail.

The groups he’d spontaneously sent away from Winchester had yet to return, and he’d received no word from any of them.

Potter.

The man had a way of angering Dark-Eye like no other, save for his own father he had slaughtered in front of his mother for good measure, but Harry Potter was something else entirely.

The proclaimed King of the goblins was in no doubt the man was the sole reason his efforts had been rebuffed, that he and his kind remained in Winchester because Potter had stood in front of them at every turn, thwarting his plans to take Britain swiftly and decisively,

They’d been successful for the most part, but Harry potter was making enough of a nuisance of himself to leave Dark-Eye questioning what he could do next, instilling an undeniable fear within the ranks, and raising doubts of the goblins’ impending success.

They would prevail, of that Dark-Eye was certain, but Potter would not make it easy.

With his proclivity for entering Winchester at will to apprehend those foolish enough to drop their guards, his intervention during the goblin attempts to seize further land, and doing so well enough to at least hinder them, he presented a significant problem to be solved.

“Have they returned?” he asked the tired Gutrot as he entered his quarters.

His companion shook his head.

“None so far,” he answered gravely.

Dark-Eye cursed in his native tongue, chastising himself for his recklessness.

It was not in his nature to be so.

For decades, he had been meticulous in sowing the seeds of discontent amongst his own, carefully manoeuvring himself into a position of power, and ultimately taking it for himself when the moment to do so arrived.

Potter, however, had a way of provoking the very worst tendencies in Dark-Eye, and making him react to his damned interference quite rashly.

He released a deep breath calm himself, urging his more clarified thoughts to push away those that would not serve him well.

“We will wait for them,” he declared, urging Gutrot to follow him.

The city of Winchester was in a state of anticipation, and each of the goblins looked to him for answers as they reached the very centre, where many had gathered to wait to receive word.

Dark-Eye merely nodded in greeting to those here.

They were nervous, concerned by the latest setbacks they’d endured, but more so about the man that came to snatch them in the night; some even from their beds whilst they slept.

Harry Potter would one day become one of those figures his kind told stories of to their children in a bid to get them to behave or not leave their beds when they were supposed to be sleeping.

The difference between now and that desired peace, however, was that Potter was no figment of the imagination. He did indeed come for them in the night, and the goblins here could not hide the unease it filled them with.

Dark-Eye understood it.

They had not allied with him to be taken in the night.

It was one thing to die with honour in battle, but to be taken and subjected to things they knew not was another matter entirely.

“There!” Gutrot growled, pointing towards the gate where. Group of goblins entered, led by Burgock.

“What news?” Dark-Eye called over the din.

Burgock shook his head.

“We were intercepted by a large group of wizards,” he answered unhappily. “We were forced to bid a retreat and lost five of our group.”

Dark-Eye’s jaw clenched as he nodded his understanding before continuing his vigil.

For several moments, Winchester remained quite silent, only the shuffling of feet and clanking of armour of those moving disturbing it.

Much to Dark-Eye’s relief, Blackfang returned soon after Burgock; his report proving to be similar.

“Is there no word from the others?” he asked worriedly.

“Only Burgock has returned.”

Blackfang shot him a knowing look of disapproval.

He was angry, but he had the sense not to voice his thoughts in front of the others.

Dark-Eye would be forced to kill him for such insolence, after all, and Blackfang knew it.Still, he did not doubt that there were others amongst them questioning the decision he’d made, much like Dark-Eye was doing himself.

It had indeed been a foolish error on his part, but not one he would make again.

With so many others still yet to return, and hours having gone by since they’d left, Dark-Eye truly became concerned, a feeling of dread settling within him that only increased as a lone goblin hurried through the gates, looking back to ensure he was not being stalked by something.

“What is it?” Dark-Eye asked as he was approached.

“Harry Potter,” the goblin answered, quite terrified by what he’d endured.

“What of him?”

“He arrived. Before we could do anything, he took all of them prisoner, only allowing me to leave to pass on a message to you.”

Once more, Dark-Eye’s jaw clenched.

“Well?” he ground out.

“He urges you to leave Winchester, to rethink what you are doing or…”

“Or what?”

“Or he will slaughter every last one of our kind. He told me to tell you that no matter how powerful you believe yourself to be, the last thing you will see is his blade protruding from your chest, but he also said that if you wish to speak with him, he is not so difficult to find.”

The threat angered Dark-Eye. The impudence of it only provoked the worst of his tendencies once more, but already, he’d allowed his anger to be the cause of the deaths of many of his kind tonight.

“A parlay?” Burgock mused aloud. “Perhaps it can be an opportunity to learn more about the man.”

Dark-Eye merely hummed in response, uncertain of how he would proceed.

No other goblin had returned from their excursion, and despite the efforts of his very best Cursebreakers, he knew there was little help of breaching the protections around Hogwarts, let alone those Potter would inevitably have placed around his home.

No, it appeared that the war would continue in vain, until one side had no more warriors to lose.

The numbers remained heavily in favour of the goblins, but that would not be so if they could not take and maintain a secure footing where Harry Potter could not continue taking hostages.

Already, there were goblins amongst his ranks who’d lost brothers, fathers, cousins, and uncles to Potter’s clutches, and they were most displeased that those of their blood had been taken prisoner by a human.

That did not account for those left at home, waiting to be informed of a goblin victory over their counterparts.

The women, children, and elderly that had fallen into line under the new regime would be absent of fathers, husbands, and sons, and Dark-Eye suspected it would be many of them by the time the war was done.

“Parlay,” he snorted.

What would such a thing achieve?

He didn’t know, but there was no denying the curiosity he felt at the thought of meeting Harry Potter.

He was unlike most other humans, and certainly not like those he’d observed over the years.

For the most part, they were drunken, lustful, parasites, who had bred like rats over the course of thousands of years, destroying everything in their path to sit atop the food chain.

They squandered everything, choosing to fight amongst themselves for foolish reason, like the gods they worshipped, and their desire to claim more land than they already had in vast quantities.

It was damned foolish, and Dark-Eye did not understand their incessant greed.

Harry Potter was unlike most of his own kind.

Form what he knew of the man, he was compassionate, kind, and caring of those close to him, but there was a darker side to him; violent, ruthless, callous, and calculated.

In a way, Dark-Eye admired his foe, but more so, he was beginning to truly despise the man.

Nonetheless, perhaps meeting with him could be fruitful, so long as it was done on neutral ground.

Humming to himself, he nodded and began penning a missive, his curiosity getting the better of what may prove to be his better judgement on the matter.

(Break)

He often wondered how his friend could exist so easily as a farmer in one moment, to a terrifying warrior in the next when the occasion called for it. More perplexing, however, was how Hary could be such a loving and attentive man to his family, yet a monster to his enemies.

It was almost as though there were two different men occupying the same body; the quite affable man who could crack a joke with the best of them, and his counterpart, the ruthless and weary warrior who could be the worst of enemies.

Owain shook his head amusedly as he watched Harry holding Taran’s hand, helping him along as they inspected the fence that he’d the man’s prized bull.

Terry had escaped more than once, so it was important to check the fence regularly, especially as he was far from the friendliest of creatures.

Owain had been chased by the bull more than once himself when Harry had urged him to enter the pen under the pretence that he was quite safe.

The Lord Peverell had not shared in the merriment of his undignified yelp and hurling himself over the fence to avoid being gored, but Harry had found it highly amusing, as Owain would have, had their roles been reversed.

“Fucking Terry,” he grumbled.

What kind of name was Terry for a bull?

Still, he was an excellent breeder, and a fine specimen, but he was also ill-tempered, possessive, jealous, and not afraid of confrontation, no matter how many times Harry stunned him when he became a little too rambunctious.

“Fucking Terry,” Harry huffed as he reached him. “Did you see it?”

“I did,” Owain chuckled.

The bull had made a charge for the fence when Harry had gotten a little too close for his liking. It was nothing new, and had become expected behaviour, but it was still quite daunting when it happened.

“I wouldn’t fancy being skewered by those horns.”

Harry winced at the thought and shook his head.

“Maybe we should just let him loose on the goblins,” he suggested. “He’d probably end this war quicker than we can.”

Owain laughed heartily at the thought of the rampaging bull amongst the ranks of goblins. He would certainly cause carnage.

“How were they this morning?” Harry asked.

“Getting better each day,” Owain assured him. “They will be ready soon, maybe in another week or so of hard graft.”

“Then we should hope that the goblins will still be licking their wounds for the coming days,” Harry replied, frowning as he looked towards the sky. “Or maybe not,” he added as what appeared to be a black dove landed on his shoulder and presented its leg. “Goblin magic.”

Owain said nothing as Harry carefully unfurled the scroll he removed, snorting to himself before handing it over.

To Harry Potter,

The back and forth between us grows tiresome, and although I do not suspect an accord can be reached without much more bloodshed between our peoples, I feel it would be prudent for us to meet.

I suggest atop the White Cliffs two days from now, and each of us bring only three others to ensure that our coming together remains a peaceful one.

For now, I will cease hostilities, so long as you are willing to do the same.

My blood serves as my word and bond.

Dark-Eye

There was indeed a splattering of blood included at the bottom of the missive, and the magic was a repugnant as any Owain had felt before.

What Dark-Eye had delved into, he didn’t know, but he did not doubt the goblin had done he could to gain as much power as he wielded.

How that compared to the human equivalent of doing such things was difficult to ascertain, but Harry seemed no more troubled by it than he had been before the letter had arrived.

Taking the roll of parchment back, the man inspected it thoroughly before writing a quick reply and adding his own blood next to Dark-Eye’s.

“It is as he says.”

“But you do not think anything will come of it?”

Harry shook his head.

“No, nothing will,” he sighed. “He wants to meet me, to see what he can learn and maybe identify a weakness he can exploit.”

“Then he will leave disappointed.”

“He will,” Harry agreed, attaching the scroll back on the leg of the dove and sending it away, “but this gives me the same opportunity to be disappointed.”

“But you won’t be?”

Harry shrugged.

“Maybe I will, but I learnt from the very best how to make someone less experienced emotional in the moments that matter.”

“Riddle?”

Harry nodded.

“He always knew that mentioning my parents would anger me. I was young and stupid enough to fall for his mind games, but this time, I am the experienced one. Maybe using some of those tactics will serve me well. It’s not as though he can attempt to harm during this parlay.”

Owain shook his head.

“It’s a dangerous game to play.”

“I’m not playing games,” Harry said firmly. “What is happening is not a fucking game to me.”

Owain held up his hands placatingly.

“It isn’t,” he agreed, left in no doubt how seriously Harry was taking the threat of the goblins. “What’re you hoping to get out of it?”

“I don’t know,” Harry sighed, “but I will make sure it is much more than he will.”

(Break)

For all of his misgivings towards the magical community, Arthur would not deny that those now frequenting Camelot were now taking the threat of the goblins seriously.

Some, he felt as though he was on good terms with. Lady Meadows and Lord Dagworth greeted him politely enough and even asked him questions about overseeing such a large kingdom.

Arthur often shared an amiable discourse with both, and some of their peers, but there were others who barely acknowledged his existence.

They made no secret that they were, at the very least, apathetic towards muggles, some even quite hostile, but none appeared to wish to go against Myrddin, but Harry was another matter entirely.

Barely a meeting went by that a disparaging comment wasn’t made by either Flint or Rookwood with others agreeing with their comments, and Arthur suspected that the hostilities between them would resume the moment the goblin rebellion was quelled.

It was indeed a rather delicate and flimsy alliance at best; one that the king could not see lasting, much to his chagrin. He could do without warring magicals, and as he watched the same group Myrddin mostly associated with putting their heads together, he did not believe for one moment they were merely discussing the finer points of the weather at this time of the year.

Even so, their little, private gathering was interrupted a moment later by the arrival of the ethereal crow Arthur had grown accustomed to seeing, and he looked on as it spoke with Myrddin directly.

“I am to meet with the king of the goblins shortly, and would ask that you attend with me, Owain, and Hook. I have suitable assurance that there will be no bloodshed atop the White Cliffs in the south.”

“He’s meeting with the goblins?” Flint asked irritably. “What is to stop him aligning himself with them.”

Arthur could only shake his head in frustration.

“Because he was the very first one to fight back against them,” he replied irritably as he approached. “If there is anything that can be gained from this meeting, it should happen. I have learned much about my own enemies by attending a parlay.”

Flint opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Myrddin.

“He is right,” he declared thoughtfully, “but I am sceptical that anything can and will be achieved by this. There will be further violence, though I expect Harry Potter has his reasons for either attending or arranging this. I suppose I will see it for myself.”

With that, he took his leave of the chamber they had gathered in, and Arthur allowed his gaze to roam over those that were so ardently opposed to Harry.

They may be powerful in their own ways, with gold and perhaps even manpower, but each of them were not Harry Potter, and they would either have to choose to swallow their pride and admit such, or they would continue to be fools in the moons to come.

Regardless, Arthur could see none, or all collectively pose a true threat to the man he’d somehow had the fortune of befriending; something he only became more grateful for the more he learned of his magical counterparts.

(Break)

“I do not believe this is a good idea,” Burgock murmured unhappily. “Parlaying with the humans will not serve us.”

“I agree,” Gutrot added.

Blackfang only nodded, and Dark-Eye said nothing as he waited for the arrival of Potter and whomever he decided to bring along with him.

It was a warm evening, and only the sounds of the crashing waves below disturbed the air, though the warmth quickly faded as three figures arrived in a plume of black smoke, followed by a fourth in a flash of white light.

Each had their own presence about them and were it not the man with the burning emerald eyes fixed on him, perhaps Dark-Eye would pay the others more heed.

“Harry Potter,” he intoned, offering the man a slight inclination of his head.

“Dark-Eye.”

Even his voice was cold, but it was the magic that permeated the air around him that was most unsettling.

It came from one of the other men too, but Potter’s was unique, almost suffocating.

“Are we going to pretend that this is going to be resolved, or shall we just get the measure of one another before parting ways?” Potter asked.

Dark-Eye chuckled.

The man was under no illusion that this parlay was little more than a single opportunity for them to be face to face without crossing blades.

“I do not suppose you will release my people.”

“No,” Potter answered simply, “and after today, I will keep taking them, until there are none left if necessary.”

Dark-Eye felt the urge to draw his wand, but just the thought of doing so caused quite the unpleasant reaction within him, and he cursed the idea of ensuring no more than verbal barbs could be traded between them.

“I expect I will receive a similar reply if I was to tell you to return to your caves and stop this foolishness,” Potter spoke once more, already knowing the answer that would be returned.

“Why would I do such a thing?” Dark-Eye asked amusedly.

“Because you and yours will die if you continue,” Potter said with a shrug. “It is of no consequence to me how many I must kill, but I would rather it did not come at the expense of the innocent men and women who have no part in this.”

“No part in this?” Dark-Eye growled. “My kind have been subjugated to the indignity of dwelling underground because of yours!”

“No,” Potter denied. “You were banished because you could not co-exist with humans. “You have always wished to subjugate us, to have us serve you. You and yours have rebelled before.”

“And the result will be different this time.”

Potter snorted as he narrowed his eyes.

“No, it won’t,” he said confidently. “This is a war you cannot win, and you will see that for yourself soon enough. It is only a matter of how many of your kind you wish to see slaughtered before you admit defeat. You have seen nothing that I am capable of yet, Dark-Eye, but you will. I am urging you now to leave Winchester, to return to your homes, and meet us in a diplomatic setting. Any other course of action will only result in more death, and my blade is always thirsty for the blood of my enemies, and Death only too willing to reap their souls. Now, I urge you to consider your next move. It will determine the future of your kind on British soil.”

He said nothing more, his gaze roaming over each of the attending goblins as though he was memorising their features, before a gentle smirk tugged at his lips and all four humans vanished.

None of the others had uttered a single word, and somehow, Dark-Eye got the impression he had received nothing from this meeting, yet Potter seemed to have gotten exactly what he’d wanted.

“What was that?” he murmured.

“A warning,” Burgock answered. “Whether we believe in our victory or not, Potter believes in his so confidently.”

“I could feel it,” Blackfang whispered. “When he mentioned Death, it was as though it was here.”

Dark-Eye cursed under his breath before slapping his companion across the face.

“He is just a man!” he snapped, “And like any other who stands before us, he will die.”

Despite his own confidence, he could not deny that there was something much more unsettling about his foe than he had anticipated.

From afar, Potter was indeed only a man, an extraordinary one, but still only of blood, bone, and flesh.

Seeing him in person, however…

Potter may be just that more than any other man he had seen or heard of, and that alone and his mere presence, was enough to leave him feeling just a little more unsettled.

“We proceed,” he declared. “Ready the warriors and send for the beast masters! We will show Potter that we cannot be quelled by any man!”