Proposition

The posh pub frequented by the purebloods; the Silver Chalice is busy as usual with its wealthy clientele. There is light laughter and chatter as waiters move around with trays of silver chalices filled with various alcoholic drinks. The atmosphere is somewhat relaxed with a few patrons smoking from tobacco pipes or thick cigars. Though there is a slightly tense atmosphere as various purebloods via dubious connections whisper that Pyrites had not been transported to Azkaban, but rather secretly murdered. More than a few wizards speculate that it was the Prince's, while others argue the Malfoy's and even the Rosier family. Either way, the pub was filled with mostly hushed whispers.

There in one of the booths sits two wizards, one of them is the still handsome, and mostly golden-haired wizard, Mulciber Sr. His companion is a violent looking man with pasty white hair, and broad shoulders, and a somewhat flabby belly. And much like his son, Thorfinn Rowle, Livus Rowle was a rather strong man with thick shoulders and arms.

Sipping somewhat delicately at his wine filled silver chalice, Mulciber pensively asks, "And how exactly do you know this, Rowle?"

Livus Rowle flashes a cold smile as he replies, "Because I helped Rosier make the arrangement."

"Oh?" Mulciber pensively said, before taking another sip of his drink. "But are you not solely on the Dark Lord's side?"

"Naturally," Livus Rowle replied as if there was no other permitted answer. "However, the Dark Lord could not allow the Auror's to break Pyrites, he knew far too much. The Dark Lord being great and all-knowing with a pained heart, authorized the sacrifice of one our fellow brethren to protect the cause."

"Mm," Mulciber murmurs somewhat disinterested. There was particularly good reason, why he had grown disillusioned with the Dark Lord's cause. However, he was not about to abandon the cause as the more muggles that died the better. Muggles and mudblood's were the filth of the earth that stained wizarding society. And only proper wizards were fit to rule over them.

Mulciber glances at the smug figure of Livus Rowle, before nodding his head in curt approval. It had been a truly Slytherin move, and credit must be given its proper due. And more importantly, Rowle had taken an important step into gaining Rosier's trust. No doubt, Rowle would later turn on Rosier, but only at the Dark Lord's request.

Livus Rowle grabs a handful of salted snacks in the middle of the wooden table, and nosily chews, before saying, "The squibs have begun to take quite the positions in the Ministry of Magic. Mulciber, have you considering bringing back, Peregrine? He would certainly be of more use there rather than remaining as a mere useless squib."

Mulciber visibly stiffens as his eyes grow steely and cold to hide his true inner thoughts. "Even if I have use for said useless squib, I would never assign him to the Ministry of Magic," Mulciber snorted in a lie. "That boy is a naïve, a rather weak fool like his mother. He'd be of more use to me working as a cleaner of some sort to keep his mouth shut."

Rowle knowing further than to keep prodding Mulciber changes the subject and instead sneers, "And what of the filthy goblins? Have you heard how they have begun to hire squibs as accountants and the like? Utterly preposterous! It is a well-known fact that squibs do not have a mind for such things."

"Well, there is no accounting for taste," Mulciber sniffed in disdain, before taking another sip of his fine elf made wine. "And worse, they've hired some of those disgusting muquibs."

Rowle makes an even more squeamish face, before snarling, "Of course, the filthy beasts would commit such an abomination! Have they no respect for society?!"

"Indeed," Mulciber murmured, before holding up his hand in a quieting motion. Two hooded and much shorter figures approach their table. Mulciber inclines his head at them and gestures at them to take a seat.

The two figures slowly remove the hooded cowl of their cloaks revealing short, dark-skinned creatures, goblins. Both goblins have long fingers, and feet with dark, slanted eyes. However, one of them is quite burly for a goblin, while the other is dressed rather suave with a neatly trimmed, pointed beard.

"What can a mere pureblood do for the Brotherhood of goblins?" Mulciber crisply said with a hint of arrogance and disdain in his tone of voice.

The burlier goblin, Radnok, the pigeon-toed growls at the purebloods tone of voice, but the suave goblin and spokesmen of the Brotherhood, Bodrig motions to Radnok to be silent. Glowering at the pureblood's, Radnok falls silent, but all the while in warning fingers the dagger sheathed at his side.

"In answer to your question, Mr. Mulciber, much," Bodrig confessed as he pensively put his hands in front of him to rest. Sneering in anger and disgust, he continues, "We share a common enemy squib and those foul new muquibs, who are taking the positions of our own brethren."

"Whether or not said sorry excuses of existence's are hired at Gringotts is no concern to us, purebloods at all," Mulciber lied with a straight face. "Gringotts is run by you, goblins, and not by us, wizards. And secondly, there is no possible gain that would forge an alliance between us both."

"And what if Grok Gringotts is replaced by one of his heirs?" Bodrig smoothly proposed. "An heir, who would be willing to side with a certain power and finance various endeavors."

Mulciber slowly nods his head and purses his lips in thought. "Even if that was the case, there is no guarantee that said potential heir would be approved by the Goblin council nor take the throne. It is a rather risky gamble with a miniscule chance of a high return. And I do not like betting on such unlikely odds."

"And yet Mr. Mulciber finds himself supporting an individual known as the-," Bodrig paused to only mouth the words, "Dark Lord."

Mulciber's face quickly changes and grows sharp and hard at the goblin's words. "Is that a threat?" Mulciber growled dangerously.

"No, Mr. Mulciber that is merely an accurate statement of the situation," Bodrig confidently declared, before changing the subject. "Now then, before I continue, I must know if you are interested, Mr. Mulciber. I will not further risk myself without at least a vow of silence."

"I do not like to be threatened, goblin," Mulciber sneered, before leaning back into his seat. "I will need some time to consider thine proposal, before I respond with such a binding vow."

"Very well, Mulciber," Bodrig condescendingly replied. "But do not tardy too long, the offer may be rescinded at any time."

Mulciber merely narrowed his eyes and waved his hands dismissively earning a growl from Radnok, the pigeon-toed. Without a further word, Bodrig led the way with Radnok in tow. Exiting the Silver Chalice in short order, and some distance away finally Radnok exploded in anger. "How dare a mere purebloood look down on us!" Radnok roared in indignation.

"Calm yourself, Radnok," Bodrig firmly said in chastisement. "He will accept our offer, but merely does not wish to seem to eager, before doing so. He knows that we are his best bet, and just as he knows that we have need of his services."

"But Bodrig," Radnok protested, "the pureblood's will surely turn on us the first chance they are given."

"Naturally," Bodrig confidently replied. "However, they will be the ones left standing over the corpse of the Goblin King. And no one will the goblin nation will believe otherwise."

Radnok's eyes brighten in understanding as he scratches his head and hungrily says, "And then, War, Bodrig?!"

"Yes, Radnok," Bodrig murmured in a pleased tone of voice. "And finally, we goblins will cease to be under the yolk of the wizards and take our proper place as the true rulers of the wizarding world."

Radnok grunts in utter agreement as the two goblins depart and vanish into the night. Their appearance goes largely unnoticed except by those belonging to the night. Except by a certain figure, a rather short wizard with bandy legs that absolutely reeked of tobacco and alcohol, Mundungus Fletcher.