The odds were never in my favour
1 June 1991, Unknown place
'Gigantic' or 'impossibly large' were words which perfectly applied to this throne room.
If modern architects had been able to estimate its size, they would have found its volume vastly larger than the within palace of famous royal residences built by kings and emperors in centuries pasts. The pillars and columns which supported the colossal and decorated ceiling were pure marble. The floor was covered in costly and rare carpets. Priceless and innumerable paintings and tapestries adorned the endless walls. At the very extremity of this very large hall, a colossal throne, glittering with diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds and other rare precious stones was standing. The stairs leading to it were made of polished silver, while the majestic seat was shining in onyx and gold. As a whole, if this symbol of power should ever be melted, the sheer price of the metals composing it would be enough to erase the debts of several small-sized nations. The price after counting the invaluable jewels and the decorations around it would be much higher. The statues, ornaments, candelabras, and other objects placed at regular intervals would surely add hundreds of millions to this stunning and colossal fortune.
All of this opulence and pomp seemed to be lost on the current occupants, however. Twelve individuals were standing in front of the throne. Wrapped in long and flowing robes of multicoloured silks and masks to conceal their identities, their long and elaborate clothes were not enough to conceal their anxiety. Not a sound could be heard in the gigantic throne room, as all those present waited anxiously for their master on the throne to speak.
"I sometimes wonder," said the being sitting on the throne in a calm, contemplative voice, "who among you is the least competent."
Like his followers, nothing allowed any clue about who or what was speaking. Unlike the beings in front of him, however, the difficulty didn't come from any mask he wore. A mass of darkness was extruded from his body, safeguarding his identity more so than any ordinary mask could. From the darkness, the voice rose a bit in what an unbiased observer would have qualified as amusement.
"The competition is so fierce I can hardly make up my mind."
The twelve individuals in front of him, even with their robes masking their facial reactions, shivered in unease.
"To be fair, your Majesty," began the violet robe one of the twelve, "None of our plans are in jeopardy. The theft of a Philosopher Stone is nothing more than a minor inconvenience. None of our really critical operations are in danger of being discovered."
"Interesting opinion, Knight Alchemist." replied the dark figure on the throne in an icy tone. "And indeed one we believe accurate. Otherwise, you would have been already removed for such a display of incompetence, of course."
None of the figures facing the throne were stupid enough to miss the threat in these words.
"Do we know how they managed to bypass the protections of the Brise-Roc citadel?" asked the individual standing on the right side of the throne. As the dark being on the seat was coated in a mass of darkness, this one was covered a more subtle dark grey cloud with a feminine voice.
"We have some clues, My Queen." admitted the Knight Alchemist. "Unfortunately, the goblins we hired to defend the fortress were a bit too zealous in their duty. The only prisoner we took from the assaulting force died three hours ago without one member of our Order being able to interrogate him." A movement of his large robe translated the equivalent of a roll of shoulders. "As it is beyond even my powers to interrogate a corpse, all I could do was identify the man we caught. His name was Markus Treneier... and he was on our lists as a known German sympathiser of the Order of the Phoenix."
"Wonderful!" growled a being hidden by orange robes. "So your assurances that everything is fine are worth nothing! Albus Dumbledore is behind this assault and you know it!"
"I didn't say..." replied the violet robe in an angry voice.
"Enough." The cold and shivering voice coming from the throne stopped the argument instantly.
"The involvement of our dear Grand Sorcerer," this time the sarcasm was impossible to miss, "makes no difference in our projects. The theft of one Philosopher Stone will in no way upset significantly our long-term plans."
"However," the darkness-shrouded king continued after a moment of silence. "I do not intend to give the Defeater of Grindelwald the chance to find the means to use a Philosopher Stone against us. Knight Alchemist, you will send a Pawn to recover it, or if it is not possible, destroy the stolen artefact."
"Yes, your Majesty," said the being wearing violet, bowing ceremoniously and racing towards the end of the room in what could have been accurately described as fleeing.
"Knight Summoner."
"Yes, your Majesty?" said one of the eleven beings remaining in front of the throne, this one wearing a red robe.
"While the citadel of Brise-Roc was valuable for storing our least valuable heirlooms and experiments, continuing to use it right now is too risky. Empty vaults one to fifteen. Leave the rest and prepare traps should our mysterious raiders come back for a second assault."
"As you wish, your Majesty. And the goblins?"
"They failed in their primary task. They are expendable. Use them as bait." Was the sinister answer.
The calm came back to the throne room, all the participants except the entity on the throne leaving.
As they began to walk out of the hall, a menacing whisper sounded behind them.
"No one opposes the Exchequer and lives."
23 June 1991, 4 Private Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey