“He wants you to be responsible for monitoring him?”

Graves’s voice carried a sharp edge of incredulity as he repeated Amelia’s startling words. The tone of his voice revealed layers of confusion that ran deeper than simple surprise.

Amelia offered no additional explanation or elaboration, her response consisting merely of a light nod.

From the young woman’s refreshingly frank response, Graves quickly surmised that she and Bryan Watson could not have known each other prior to this evening’s encounter at the Immigration Control Office.

So, if personal acquaintance could be ruled out as a factor, what possible motivation could Watson have had for making such a specific and unusual request?

Perhaps, Graves pondered, Watson had taken an immediate liking to Amelia upon their first meeting? Such things were not unheard of.

The thought led Graves’s mind down a path of biographical analysis that he had already traveled many times before.

Discovering Bryan Watson’s actual age had never been any challenge. The immigration application materials that Remus had forwarded from the British Ministry of Magic months earlier had contained all the basic biographical information that MACUSA required for processing foreign magical visitors of Watson’s stature and reputation.

Watson was undoubtedly a genius wizard of the highest caliber—the kind of exceptional talent that emerged perhaps once in a century.

To have reached such extraordinary heights on the risky and demanding path of advanced magical study at such a relatively young age represented an achievement that bordered on the mythical.

Setting aside some of the more ‘exaggerated’ legends that tended to accumulate around figures of Watson’s prominence, Graves had conducted long historical research and had never found anyone in the recorded annals of magical history who could match Watson’s combination of youth, power, and accomplishment.

But according to all available intelligence reports and social commentary from across the Atlantic, Bryan Watson maintained no romantic partnerships or intimate relationships of any kind.

After conducting this brief mental analysis, Graves dismissed the possibility that Watson’s request had been motivated by romantic interest.

Though he had never met Bryan Watson face to face, the fragments he’d heard from President Quahog and the numerous reports in that Daily Prophet from across the ocean were enough for Graves to piece together a seemingly accurate image of Bryan Watson in his mind.

Such a person would surely know what kind of influence his every word and action would carry, especially on foreign soil. Bryan Watson could never engage in such frivolous behavior.

Graves instinctively wanted to refuse, but he also had to consider Watson’s feelings. After all, from the current situation, perhaps because he had business to attend to in New York, Watson had shown sufficient cooperation, just as he had told Amelia—both sides needed to make concessions.

Having Amelia accompany Watson throughout…

Graves frowned deeply. This didn’t align with his original intention. He had hoped to select a sufficiently loyal and experienced Auror to keep watch over Watson, while a young witch inexperienced in worldly matters…

A flash of lightning flickered in Graves’s pupils. Actually, it wasn’t impossible.

Could this be Watson’s way of preserving his dignity while making a request?

“Are you willing to accept this assignment, Amelia?”

The sudden inquiry made Amelia’s eyes widen. She had never expected Mr. Graves would actually agree to this.

“But—?”

The opportunity to follow alongside a world-renowned wizard of Bryan Watson’s stature was undoubtedly the kind of chance that emerged perhaps once in a lifetime for someone at her level in the magical government hierarchy.

Of course she wanted it. But she still couldn’t quite believe that Mr. Graves would compromise on such a significant aspect of his careful security arrangements, especially considering his earlier refusal to allow Mr. Watson to bring his wand into the country.

“The Department of Magical Security’s previous requirement was that this monitoring assignment must be handled exclusively by a fully qualified Auror with appropriate—”

“Oh, I have absolutely no intention of changing that vital requirement,” Graves interrupted with solemn authority.

“So, the question becomes: are you willing to come work directly for the Department of Magical Security, Amelia?”

When she walked out of the office, Amelia still wore a dazed expression. What had just happened in the office was half as she’d expected, while the other half completely exceeded her plans.

She had never anticipated that she would stumble into an opportunity to enter the department with the most elite wizards in MACUSA—Mr. Graves had promised that if she could complete the task excellently, she would have passed the entrance trial. This was something she had dreamed of ever since learning about the Auror profession during her advanced studies at Ilvermorny!

As she passed by the desk of the curly-haired Ms. Ross who was hunched over her work to finish her assigned tasks before the night shift ended—Amelia nearly forgot her future supervisor’s final instructions due to the overwhelming joy and disbelief that was flooding through her consciousness.

It wasn’t until Amelia had reached the elevator hall that she suddenly remembered her duty and hurried back to deliver the message that Graves had entrusted to her.

“Excuse me, Ms. Ross,” Amelia said breathlessly, her words tumbling over each other in her speed. “Mr. Graves…. he…he would like you… to come to his office at your earliest convenience—”

“Oh, of course, I’ll go right away,” Ms. Ross replied without hesitation.

Obviously familiar with her supervisor’s notoriously swift and decisive administrative style, Ms. Ross didn’t dare delay even for a moment. She carefully set down her work materials, organized the papers on her desk, and hurried toward Mr. Graves’s office with her notebook clutched in her hand.

Just half a minute later, she emerged from the office moving even more quickly than she had entered. By that time, however, Amelia had already left from the Department of Magical Security.

About ten minutes later, Ms. Ross obtained what Mr. Graves wanted. She jogged all the way back into the director’s office.

“This is Amelia Depp’s complete personnel file that you requested, sir,”

She announced somewhat breathlessly as she approached Graves’s desk, extending a thick folder that bore the official seals and classification markings that indicated it contained sensitive personal information.

“Thank you very much, Ms. Ross.”

Graves, who habitually maintained an expression of stern authority when dealing with his subordinates nodded curtly and gestured that Ross could leave his office and return to her duties.

The file that now rested on Graves’s desk was extraordinarily comprehensive, representing the kind of thorough background investigation that MACUSA routinely conducted on all its employees but very few were at this level for a new employee.

It included detailed objective evaluations of Amelia’s daily performance and professional abilities, compiled by supervisors from both departments where she had worked since joining the MACUSA upon graduation from Ilvermorny.

The file also contained academic records from Amelia’s time at Ilvermorny School: her examination scores across all subjects and years of study, detailed breakdowns of her performance, records of special honors she had earned for her house through academic achievement or exemplary character, and, documentation of any school rules she had violated during her seven years as a student.

Beyond her professional and academic history, the file also delved into Amelia’s family situation and background.

It contained brief biographical introductions of all immediate family members, including their occupations, magical abilities, political affiliations, and any connections to organizations or individuals that might represent security concerns.

The document detailed the family’s current residence, previous addresses going back several generations, ancestral origins and immigration patterns, financial status, and social connections within both magical and non-magical communities.

As he read, Graves’s expression gradually grew serious, his sharp gaze falling on certain passages, his brow deeply furrowed.

“Could it be a coincidence?”

After a long moment, Graves’s gaze left Amelia’s file. He leaned back in his chair, his distracted gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Suddenly, Graves stood up from his chair. He quickly gathered the materials on his desk into a briefcase, tucked it under his arm, and walked toward the fireplace on the other side of his office.

Theoretically, fireplaces located within MACUSA offices were strictly regulated and weren’t permitted for personal use except in cases of documented emergency or with proper authorization from senior leadership.

Graves, despite his senior position wouldn’t normally violate such regulations without convincing justification. But tonight, the urgency of the matters he needed to investigate and understand couldn’t be constrained by such bureaucratic formalities.

Accompanied by a swirling vortex of emerald flames that rose up around his body, amid the spinning sensation that marked Floo travel, Graves disappeared from his office and appeared almost instantaneously in one of his private residences located in a different part of New York City.

The moment he completed his arrival, the room’s magical lighting system sensed the master’s return and automatically lit the space. Interestingly, the flames in the fireplace didn’t die out despite his departure.

There was no one else in the house. His real home wasn’t here—this was merely one of his safe houses in the Bronx district of New York.

Taking large strides up the spiral staircase, Graves hurried into his study. He placed the file case beside his desk, and when he saw the letter from that famous magical creature’s expert asking him to seriously consider the risks those lost magical creatures might pose, for some inexplicable reason, a fierce glint flashed in Graves’s dark red eyes.

He folded the letter and stuffed it into a drawer, then took out a fresh sheet of stationery from the drawer, apparently preparing to write to someone. But before his hand could touch the quill pen stuck in the inkwell, Graves’s expression suddenly changed.

Retch!

Accompanied by a suppressed, agonized retching sound, blood spewed from Graves’s mouth. This blood, lacking vibrant color and instead suffused with a grayish paleness and faint rotten odor, immediately stained the newly drawn stationery.

In an instant, Graves’s complexion turned pale as snow, everything before his eyes became blurry, and his entire body staggered backward into his chair.

The pain continued. Cold sweat dripped from his graying temples, running down his cheeks and forming dark yellow stains on his pristine collar.

From his expression, Graves wasn’t shocked by his condition—clearly this wasn’t the first time. After brief gasping, he struggled to stand, supporting himself against the desk as he stumbled toward a niche embedded in the wall beside the fireplace.

The niche contained a bronze alchemical instrument, but this wasn’t Graves’s target. His arm rested on the niche’s lower edge to support his body as he pushed aside the mysterious device, his hand blindly feeling along the white relief carvings on the niche’s inner wall.

Click—

After the mechanism’s opening sound, the relief panel dropped down, revealing a hidden space.

A bottle of crimson potion streaked with golden threads, and a magic book.

Gulp, gulp, gulp—

Graves impatiently pulled out the cork and poured the entire potion into his mouth. When the last drop of the scalding, golden liquid slid down his throat, Graves exhaled deeply and collapsed to the floor.

The effect was immediate. The grayish, putrid blood seeping from his mouth and nose instantly regained its bright color. As crimson mist rose up, the blood staining his lips and clothing seemed to flow backward through time, flying back into Graves’s throat, making his entire body tremble slightly.

A long silence, with only the tick-tock of the old-fashioned wall clock.

Outside the tall windows, the moon bore a red halo with wisps of black smoke hanging beneath the waning red moon. Several crows, apparently bullied by the cold wind, took flight with harsh cries, flying over the rooftops of the standalone house.

Finally, Graves silently stood up, his palm tightly gripping the now-empty glass bottle, a few gray strands falling from his previously immaculate hair.

Secrets of the Darkest Art

Graves stared deeply at the magic book hidden behind the niche, his expression was subtly ferocious, as if he was struggling to restrain himself.

Click—

The mechanism closed, and the glass bottle in his hand vanished under his waving wand.

Graves wearily returned to his desk, sitting down with evident exhaustion.

He breathed lightly, his gaze once again falling on Amelia’s file. After staring for a long time, he shook his head and looked away, once again drawing Newt Scamander’s warning letter from the drawer.

“Terrible.”

After a long while, a weary sigh echoed through the study.

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