Two days before term ended, the owls arrived during breakfast as they always did, a dozen birds dropping newspapers and letters across the Great Hall with the careless precision of creatures that had been doing this for centuries. Rowan caught his copy of the Daily Prophet before it landed in his porridge and unfolded it one-handed, expecting the usual gossip and Ministry notices.
The headline stopped him.
GRINGOTTS PURGE: GOBLIN BANK DISMISSES ALL WIZARD EMPLOYEES IN UNPRECEDENTED MOVE
By Barnabas Flint, Editor
In a decision that has sent shockwaves through magical Britain, Gringotts Wizarding Bank has terminated the employment of every witch and wizard in its service. The move, announced without warning late Tuesday evening, affects an estimated forty-three individuals across departments including curse-breaking, client relations, and vault security.
Bank officials offered no public explanation for the mass dismissal, and it remains unclear whether the secretive Goblin Clan Council sanctioned the decision or whether it originated from elements within Gringotts' own leadership. The Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has demanded a formal accounting, which the bank has thus far declined to provide.
"They can't just do that," Hector said from across the table, reading over his own copy. "Can they? Sack everyone at once?"
"It's their bank," Lawrence said. "The Ministry has oversight agreements but no actual authority over staffing."
Among those dismissed is Grilco Wuthering, who has served as Gringotts' Head Curse-Breaker for over two decades. In a statement to the Prophet, Wuthering expressed his dismay at the abruptness of his dismissal.
"I gave twenty-three years to that institution," Wuthering told this reporter. "Trained dozens of curse-breakers, led expeditions across four continents. I was escorted from the building by goblin security with an hour's notice and my personal effects in a box."
Readers may recall that Wuthering was the supervisor of curse-breakers Photine and Thana, who vanished several years ago while investigating an undisclosed location near the Poidsear Coast. Neither witch was ever found, and the investigation into their disappearances was quietly shelved by Gringotts officials.
The dismissals come amid growing unease about the influence of Ranrok, a goblin agitator who has spent the past several years rallying support among younger members of the goblin population with inflammatory rhetoric about wizard oppression and goblin sovereignty. Though Gringotts has publicly distanced itself from Ranrok's movement, the timing of the purge has led many in the Ministry to question whether the creatures running Britain's only wizarding bank have begun to align with his agenda.
Iris leaned closer to read Rowan's copy, and her finger landed on the paragraph about Ranrok. "He calls them creatures twice in his own prose, uses inflammatory rhetoric in the same sentence, and buries it all under the pretence of straight reporting. Every word in this article is doing work."
For more on the historical context of goblin-wizard relations, see Elspeth Crowe's analysis on page fourteen.
Rowan turned to page fourteen.
GOBLIN GRIEVANCES: A HISTORY OF CONFLICT
By Elspeth Crowe, Historical Correspondent
The relationship between wizardkind and the goblin population of Britain has never been a simple one, and yesterday's dismissals at Gringotts have once again brought centuries-old tensions into sharp relief. To understand the present, one must revisit the past.
The first major rupture came in 1612, when a goblin uprising erupted in the village of Hogsmeade. The rebellion was bloody and vicious by all accounts, and one of the village's inns served as the headquarters for the wizard forces that ultimately suppressed it. The causes remain debated among historians, though most point to the lack of goblin representation on the Wizengamot as the primary grievance. The rebellion failed, but the violence it produced left deep scars on both sides.
In 1631, the Wizards' Council responded with Clause Three of the Code of Wand Use, which declared that no non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand. The legislation applied broadly to all non-human magical beings, including giants, house-elves, and goblins alike. The measure was widely supported at the time and remains in force today, a necessary safeguard against the recurrence of armed magical conflict.
The matter did not rest. In 1752, a second major rebellion erupted, this one far more destabilizing. Minister for Magic Albert Boot resigned after failing to contain the uprising. His replacement, Basil Flack, lasted a mere two months before the situation worsened dramatically: the goblins secured an alliance with Britain's werewolf population, combining grievances into a unified front that the Ministry could not manage through negotiation. It fell to Hesphaestus Gore, a seasoned Auror elected Minister in the crisis, to restore order. His methods were decisive. Under Gore's leadership, the rebellion was suppressed and the 1752 Goblin Accords were established, creating the framework of goblin-wizard relations that persists to this day.
The rebel leader Vargot continued to resist for a full decade after the Accords were signed, until his death in battle in 1762. His associate Urg the Unclean remains a controversial figure, notorious enough among goblins to have earned a Chocolate Frog Card, though the honour sits uneasily with many in the wizarding community.
It should be noted that goblins have hardly been left without recourse. They possess their own formidable magic, independent of wandwork, and have built Gringotts into the most secure financial institution in the wizarding world. Goblin metalwork is prized across Europe. Their clans operate with a degree of autonomy that no other non-human magical population enjoys. The argument that goblins have been stripped of all agency does not survive scrutiny, whatever certain agitators may claim.
The Accords of 1752 have held for over a century. Whether yesterday's events at Gringotts represent a new challenge to that stability, or merely an internal administrative matter as the bank insists, remains to be seen. What is certain is that any return to the violence of centuries past would serve no one's interests, least of all the goblins'.
Lawrence set his own copy down. "Binns spent a whole month on the 1752 rebellion. He went through every Minister who resigned, how the goblin-werewolf alliance nearly brought down the government, all of it. Dull as dust, but he at least told you what happened on both sides and let you draw your own conclusions."
"Crowe didn’t," Iris said. She folded her copy shut. "She spent six paragraphs on the history and then used the last one to argue goblins should be grateful for what they have."
Rowan set his Prophet aside. The implications were larger than a breakfast conversation could hold, but before he could say more, a first-year appeared at his elbow with a note. Weasley wanted to see him in her office.
He excused himself from the table, left the Great Hall, and climbed the familiar route to Weasley's office on the third floor. His mind was still half on Gringotts and what it meant for his own vault and business plans.
The office looked the same as always. Neat shelves, a collection of Transfiguration texts arranged by subject, a teapot that refilled itself when the level dropped below half. Weasley sat behind her desk with a stack of parchment and the particular strain of someone who'd agreed to something she wasn't entirely comfortable with and was now living with the consequences.
"Sit down, Mr. Ashcroft."
He sat.
"I've arranged lodging for you in Hogsmeade while you search for a suitable property. Sirona Ryan is a friend of mine. She runs the Three Broomsticks and she's agreed to let you a room at reduced rate. Five Sickles a night, meals included."
"That's generous of her."
"It is. Don't make her regret it." Weasley folded her hands on the desk. "The day after term ends, I'll collect you from the inn and we'll travel to the Ministry together. The Department of Magical Commerce handles business registrations. I've reviewed your articles of incorporation and they're sound, though I've made two amendments. We should be able to file and receive provisional approval within a single visit."
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Rowan nodded. "And the former students?"
Weasley's mouth thinned. "I wrote to eleven of them. Witches and wizards I taught personally, talented people who struggled to find work after graduation because of their blood status. Every one of them would benefit from steady employment." She paused. "None of them said yes."
He'd half expected it. Hearing it confirmed still stung.
"The responses were polite, mostly. A few were apologetic. But the consensus was that a business run by a Hogwarts student represented too great a risk. Several mentioned that they'd tried their own ventures and been shut out by suppliers, landlords, and customers who refused to deal with Muggleborns. They didn't want to attach themselves to something they expected to fail." She held his gaze. "I'm not telling you this to discourage you. I'm telling you because these are people who've been burned, Mr. Ashcroft. Their caution is earned."
"I understand."
"I hope you do." She pulled the amended articles of incorporation from the stack and slid them across the desk. "Review my changes. If you have objections, raise them before we reach the Ministry."
Rowan took the parchment and scanned Weasley's additions. The first was a mandatory reporting clause requiring him to submit quarterly financials to his magical guardian for review. Fair enough. He'd have shared those voluntarily.
The second gave her co-signature authority on any contract or transaction exceeding fifty Galleons.
"Professor, this one could be a problem."
"I expected you'd say that."
"You won't be in Diagon Alley with me. If I find a property and the seller wants to close the same day, I can't ask them to wait while I owl you at Hogwarts and wait for a reply. The whole purchase could fall apart."
"Which is exactly the kind of impulse I'd like to temper," Weasley said. "You are twelve years old, Rowan. Your instinct is to move quickly and trust your own judgement, and your judgement is usually sound, but usually is a dangerous word when large sums of money are involved."
"I wrote the liability protections into the original articles myself. I limited my personal exposure to the company's assets. I built in dispute resolution clauses and non-compete provisions. I'm not careless with contracts."
"No, you're not. But I am your magical guardian, and if this business fails spectacularly, it's my name beside yours on the registration. The fifty-Galleon threshold stays." She said it without heat, but also without flexibility. "If a seller can't wait two days for an owl, the deal wasn't worth taking."
Rowan considered pushing further. He could see the argument clearly, the half-dozen scenarios where the delay would cost him an opportunity. But he could also see Weasley's position, and she wasn't wrong. Two days of patience was a reasonable price for the credibility her signature lent the entire enterprise.
"Fine."
"Good." Weasley leaned back in her chair. "One more thing. I need you to understand that Sirona is not simply a convenient innkeeper. I've asked her to keep an eye on you, and she's agreed. Until you find a respectable adult willing to work alongside you on this venture, you will remain at the Three Broomsticks under her watch. You will not be living alone in Diagon Alley. Are we clear on that?"
"We're clear."
"You know I could forbid all of this. As your magical guardian, I have the authority to refuse the registration entirely."
"I know."
"I want you to understand that I'm choosing to support this because I believe in your ability and your judgement. If at any point I feel either has been compromised, I will exercise that authority."
"Understood, Professor."
"Then enjoy your last two days of term." The warmth returned to her voice, carefully measured. "You've earned it."
The final days of the school year passed in the particular haze that always settled over Hogwarts in June. Exams were finished, marks posted, the pressure of academic performance replaced by the restless energy of students who had nothing left to do but wait for the train.
The House Cup went to Ravenclaw for the second consecutive year. When the banners in the Great Hall shifted to bronze and blue during the leaving feast, the Ravenclaw table erupted, and Rowan found himself at the centre of a dozen congratulatory handshakes from housemates who'd barely spoken to him all year.
"Two hundred and forty points from you alone," said Margaret, the now sixth-year prefect, who kept a running tally in her planner and had spent the year tracking the race with an intensity that bordered on obsessive. "Nearly a third of our total. Gryffindor had us by twenty before your Transfiguration practical. Weasley gave you thirty points for that conjuration sequence and it was over."
"It was a team effort," Rowan said, because it was the right thing to say.
"It was your effort and our benefit," Margaret corrected cheerfully. "Same thing, from Ravenclaw's perspective."
Hector caught his eye from further down the table and raised his goblet with a grin. Rowan raised his own.
The leaving feast was good. Rich food, loud conversation, the particular warmth of a room full of people celebrating the end of a long year. Rowan let himself settle into it. The Great Hall with its enchanted ceiling showing a clear June sky, the candles floating overhead, the familiar noise of a place that had become, in ways he hadn't fully appreciated until now, the closest thing to a home he'd known in either life.
Tomorrow he would leave it for the summer. And when he returned in September, he would be different. Busier. Burdened with responsibilities that had nothing to do with classwork or house points. The thought was thrilling and faintly melancholy in equal measure, though he kept the melancholy to himself.
After the feast, Rowan found his friends in the entrance hall. Hector was hauling his trunk with the resignation of someone who packed badly every year and regretted it every year. Lawrence had his bags neatly organized, the Flamels' runic theory book visible in his open satchel. Amit was sketching the Great Hall ceiling through the open doors, his quill moving in quick strokes.
"Last night," Hector said, dropping his trunk with a thud. "Strange, isn't it? Two years down. Five to go."
"I'm going to miss Astronomy Tower," Amit said, lowering his sketchbook reluctantly. "The light in the mornings from that height. You can see the lake change colour with the seasons."
Sebastian arrived with Anne, both carrying their trunks with the practised ease of people who'd learned to travel light.
"Ashcroft."
"Sallow."
Sebastian set his trunk down. "You know the championship's three days after term ends."
"I know. Are you ready?"
"Hecat thinks so." A grin, sharp and eager. "I plan to make you regret giving up that spot."
"That's the idea."
The competitive edge softened. "I'll write after and tell you how it goes. Assuming I survive Hecat's pre-tournament drills."
"She's drilling you the day before?"
"The morning we leave. Six o'clock in the dueling chamber. The woman is relentless."
"She is. That's why you'll do well."
Anne stepped forward and hugged him. Brief and firm, meaning it without lingering over it. "Take care of yourself this summer. Don't work so hard you forget to eat."
"I'll manage."
"You say that, but you’ll forget," she said with certainty, and stepped back.
Iris found him last, as the crowd thinned and students began drifting toward the carriages. She had her trunk floating behind her, a levitation charm so smooth it barely rippled the air.
"So this is it," she said.
"For the summer."
"For the summer." She studied him with the attention she reserved for moments that mattered. "I wrote to my parents. They've agreed to let me visit for a week in August, provided Weasley confirms the arrangements and there's proper adult supervision."
"I'll make sure Weasley sends them an owl."
"Good." She hesitated, then reached into her bag and produced a small leather-bound notebook. "I thought you might need this," she said. "It’s a business ledger. The columns are charmed to keep a running total."
Rowan took the notebook. The leather was soft, the binding precise, and when he opened it, the columns were laid out exactly as he would have designed them himself. Revenue, expenses, materials, wages, overhead. The numbers self-organized by date and category.
"This is excellent," he said, and meant it.
"I know." The ghost of a smile. "Write to me, Rowan. Not only about the business. About everything."
"I will."
They stood in the entrance hall while the last students filtered past, and for a moment neither of them spoke. Two years of shared meals and study sessions and late-night conversations in the common room, reduced to a goodbye in a corridor.
"Go," Iris said. "Before I start being sentimental and ruin my reputation."
"You don't have a reputation for sentimentality."
"Exactly. Let's keep it that way."
She turned and walked toward the carriages without looking back. Rowan watched her go, then picked up his trunk and headed for the main doors.
The walk from the castle to Hogsmeade took twenty minutes. The path wound down through the grounds, past the greenhouses where Professor Garlick was probably still tending her plants despite the empty school, past the lake's edge where the giant squid was basking in the shallows, and down the long slope to the village.
Behind him, Rowan could hear the distant whistle of the Hogwarts Express warming up at the station. The students would be boarding now, piling into compartments, buying sweets from the trolley. In a few hours they'd arrive at King's Cross and scatter back into their families and their summers.
Rowan walked the other direction.
Should Rowan return to study under the Flamels during his third-year summer?
