Portsmouth, October 13, 1760. Thomas, a werewolf working as a ballast heaver in Portsmouth, works what might, at first glance, look like the removal of ballast from a Muggle frigate, HMS Diana. Just as his day begins in human form, he overhears the Muggle crew of the frigate discuss, as they had for the past few weeks at sea… the surrender of Montreal? And the fall of New France?

  For the past eight years now, like so many of my kind, I have been forced to live in the Muggle world. And our kind was allied with goblins at Gringotts for that long. Surely they would be interested in intel about the fall of New France! Thomas muses, while he’s reminded of his meager savings in Muggle money. About the need to save when he needs to budget for 3 days per month of not working, when one works on 1 shilling per day.

  Speaking of which, Thomas decides that the extra shilling would be well-appreciated if it means a chance to freedom, so he keeps shoveling ballast out of the Diana’s hold until he could collect his shilling for his workday.

  When he collects his shilling, he packs what little belongings he have and then gets on the road to London with a few shillings to his name. And no idea of how long it would take him to get to Gringotts from Portsmouth, only which road to take to get there.

  So, during the evening, even when he was already somewhat strained from heaving ballast off the frigate newly arrived from New France, he walks along the main road to London, and into the Forest of Bere as night approaches, hoping to use the dense Muggle traffic on the road to his advantage. Especially since no one would notice a lone Muggle-looking male itinerant worker traveling afoot.

  But by midnight, tired, he gets away from the road so that he could sleep under the stars, as he usually did during full moon phases for transformations.

  While he gets much-needed sleep near the edge of the Forest of Bere, he could still, at dawn, hear the morning bells of the nearby town toll from its church.

  At that point, he draws upon his recollection of his years working as a ballast heaver in Portsmouth about stretching the King’s shilling (i.e. tips to save money): Wait for the morning bells, and the first carrier you see will take a roadside fare for tenpence [to Southwark].

  So he walks back to the main road, at which he point he gets to the middle of it, raising his hand to flag down the wagon (ask to ride it) before promptly returning to the side. When the wagon comes to a stop:

  “To London, mate? What for a seat?” Thomas asks the wagoner.

  “Ten pence!” The wagoner lists his price, while receiving the coins for 10 pence. “Now, get on the tail-board!”

  Thomas scrambles to get on the back of the wagon he flagged down, and runs on empty thereafter, enduring a bone-jarring, exhausting journey until he comes to the first stop at Liphook, where the wagon’s horses could get some rest.

  While Thomas looks around for a bakery selling a second (day-old loaf of bread), and subsequently buys a four-pound, day-old quartern loaf for a penny, he overhears Alexander, the captain of the very frigate he took ballast off yesterday:

  “I need a fresh team to reach the Admiralty before the tide turns!” Alexander shouts, while carrying the dispatch marked On His Majesty’s Service about the surrender of New France.

  Oh boy: these sailors from yesterday weren’t lying! Then again, I only heard about how to get to the Royal Exchange from Southwark, but not how to get to Gringotts from there, Thomas muses as he scrambles to return to the wagon he flagged down to get to Southwark. If it was that vital to the Muggles, then surely Gringotts would be interested.

  The rest of the journey proves equally bone-jarring, as he tries to make the most out of the bread so that it can last him through the day, and until he gets to Gringotts.

  Multiple stops later, he finally arrives at Southwark, well past dusk, with only a small fraction of the bread remaining. He looks around for a sit-up, costing one penny, to get whatever rest he could so that he could arrive at Gringotts, ready to deliver the news he made this desperate gamble on.

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  These Muggles, and the Ministry, don’t realize yet that I might be carrying the future of British werewolf-kind as well as goblins, Thomas seems to have a lot on his mind. There just aren’t a whole lot of werewolves left in Britain, when some werewolves already left for the Caribbean in the past eight years, and much of the remainder were killed in battle.

  The next day, Thomas resumes his journey, and crosses London Bridge to get to the Royal Exchange, then west on Cheapside.

  But once on Cheapside, he feels a little lost and feels the need to get directions to Charing Cross. It’s then that he gives away to the other Muggles that he is a poor, itinerant worker, who feels like Charing Cross is a place for trying to find work.

  Relax, at this point all I really need is get at the intersection of Crown and Moor Streets; getting to Gringotts from there should be much easier by then, Thomas is haunted by past recollections of how to get to Diagon Alley, and, from there, to Gringotts, from the Muggle part of London.

  But, once he gets to the intersection of Crown and Moor, and, from there, into the Leaky Cauldron, Thomas seems to attract some looks because he’s dressed like he lived among Muggles, whereas so many wear robes. Nevertheless, he could pass for Muggle-born so long as he tried not to engage in aggression.

  And yet, to ensure that he can safely get to Gringotts, he tries not to walk too fast in Diagon Alley proper; doing so might alert hit wizards or aurors patrolling the neighborhood.

  Phew: that was close. Time to hit Gringotts! Thomas sighs while he enters the bank and introduces himself to a bank teller. Who, using some form of goblin magic, identifies him as a werewolf, and could also feel like he carries news of vital importance.

  “Thomas, I presume?” a goblin teller asks him, after identifying him as a werewolf.

  “Yes; I carry very important information!” Thomas feels the need to keep quiet about New France’s fall in front of the bank’s other customers.

  “Follow me; if this information is as important as you claim, there’s no time to waste!” the goblin teller then takes him to a cart, and into the underground vaults.

  As the goblin takes him down the vaults, he feels the temperature increasing. Going deeper into the depths of the bank, the goblin teller takes him to the rebels’ war room. Which currently have only three of the most senior goblin leaders present.

  “Thomas, this is Bodrod the Bearded, Urg the Unclean and Vargot!” the teller introduces the three goblin leaders in the room, before turning to them. “This werewolf claims to have very important information!”

  “What information do you have?” Bodrod asks him, while looking up.

  “The Muggles have given us an unexpected opportunity; New France has surrendered!” an overexcited Thomas exclaims.

  “I beg you, New France is our last chance to obtain what we all desired for so long!” Urg pleads with the other two. “This is our last chance to finally get wand rights and political representation!”

  “Nonsense, Urg!” Vargot shouts at Urg. “We fought so hard for the past eight years, hitting mills and whatnot, because the Goblin Accords still denied us wand rights and Wizengamot seats!” Vargot then turns to Thomas. “Why do you suddenly feel New France can offer what Britain could not?”

  “From what I heard about New France, it’s a vast territory across the ocean!” Thomas explains himself. “Right now, the Ministry doesn’t know about the fall of Muggle New France, and maybe even its existence!”

  “Do you not realize that we have suffered eight years of bloody battles, and werewolves as well? To ensure that it will never happen again, New France must be ruled by a multi-species council, and all races must have seats on it, along with wand rights!” Bodrod harangues the other three.

  “Keep werewolves away from New France; they proved to be most… unreliable allies, and dangerous ones as well! They will pose the same risks in New France as they do here!” Vargot clamors, while Urg drafts a plan to get the Ministry to the negotiating table.

  “There are only enough werewolves left for a single pack! So, for us, getting to New France is a question of survival! If this fails, we’re doomed!” Thomas struggles to contain his anger at Vargot.

  “There’s only one way for us to get the Wizengamot to give us a session with the Ministry: planting pleas for peace in the vaults of some key Wizengamot members!” Urg exposes his plan. “Just keep quiet about where we plan to escape to until our official session!”

  “By now you know that some influential members had fortunes bled dry by eight years of war, and hence stopped funding Gore’s war chest, others grieved relatives who died in battle!” Bodrod tries to think of which vaults to plant the plea for peace in.

  “But you know Gore: he’ll hide behind Clause Seventy-three to hunt us to the last! For him, we’re just magical beasts!” Vargot retorts, before turning to Thomas. “Until we get our session, I’d say we cater for your dietary needs, and you shall be coached in magical diplomacy as well as wizarding law as relevant to this operation!”

  While Urg checks against the ledgers of the vaults associated with Wizengamot members, Bodrod, on the other hand, starts writing a number of copies he feels might suffice to get their pleas through to the Wizengamot. The sooner the Wizengamot grants us a session, the better. We can all feel that the bank’s customers all want this senseless war to end. So maybe the Punnets’ vault would get the first plea…

  But since Thomas is barely literate, what resources the goblins had on the topic of wizarding law, such as the Statute of Secrecy, and its Clause 73, feel a little heavy for him to read about.