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0840 Each's own (LARGE-CHAPTER)
🕑 Added 2025-09-16 12:55:43 +0000 UTCThe setting sun's afterglow draped the city in a blood-red veil. Before darkness could fully descend, a chilling aura of impending violence seemed to hang in the air, ready to strike. Meanwhile, in the MACUSA dining hall, the 'casual conversation' between two high-ranking officials during their dinner continued.
When Trask readily agreed to lift the martial law restrictions on border crossings as soon as possible, Marcelline suddenly found herself at a loss for words. In that moment, she finally confirmed that Trask had indeed guessed her true purpose for coming.
Honestly, it wasn't exactly difficult to figure out.
Unlike the Security Department's recent string of highly publicized troubles, the International Magical Cooperation Department hadn't encountered any major disasters. For the Cooperation Department, the only thing that could be considered a significant matter recently was Bryan Watson, Remus Lupin, and their learning machines.
Back when the learning machines first gained fame in Europe, the sharp-eared Marcelline had heard about these devices from an old friend who had returned from Europe.
Compared to their miraculous effects, Marcelline was more astonished by the price of these alchemical instruments: fifty thousand Galleons per unit!
Keep in mind, these weren't some goblin-crafted curiosities—rare but ultimately useless artifacts that could only be displayed in the mansions of wealthy and powerful magical families for show.
The learning machines had tremendous market potential. They could be widely used for preschool education, elite training, and even the formation of private military forces. Once they entered the American magical community, Marcelline believed this would become an industry worth millions of Galleons annually, generating enough customs revenue to give every Magical Congress employee a substantial year-end bonus.
If she could successfully introduce them, it would undoubtedly be a brilliant achievement for her career.
Just as she was planning to visit Britain to meet with the workshop that produced the learning machines, the workshop's manager, Remus Lupin, had approached them first, seeking cooperation with the International Magical Cooperation Department.
This absolutely delighted Marcelline.
Although her deeper investigation revealed that the workshop's goblin connections and Bryan Watson's shadowy influence behind it gave Marcelline some pause, she was still willing to pursue this collaboration.
But she hadn't expected that after submitting the detailed background materials of the products and workshop to the Security Department for joint review, complications would arise on Graves's end.
The Graves family had deep roots within the MACUSA, with many family members holding key positions in functional departments and wielding considerable influence in the congress. Trask's objections immediately made Marcelline cautious, so much so that she hadn't properly discussed this matter with Trask until now.
Was he hoping to claim a share of credit for this achievement? Or did the Graves family want to participate in the learning machine business, waiting for the actual controller of the workshop to come negotiate in person?
But that didn't seem quite right either.
After all, everyone had witnessed how Graves treated Bryan Watson when he came to New York.
Introducing learning machines didn't infringe upon any interests of the Graves family or Trask personally, so Trask's resistance to this matter puzzled many people who coveted the potential profits, including Marcelline.
Or perhaps Trask Graves had some personal grudge against Bryan Watson?
But she'd never heard of any such thing—the two men had no connection at all.
Various thoughts flashed through Marcelline's mind. Her gaze grew thoughtful as she watched Trask eating his sandwich, and she finally decided to test his attitude.
"Well, I suppose I should be going—"
Suddenly, Marcelline sighed, saying with slight impatience, "I need to review those materials for the day-after-tomorrow's review meeting before tonight's briefing. I hope the documentation Remus Lupin submitted this time can clarify the previous issues, or else I'll have to regretfully inform Remus Lupin and the famous Bryan Watson that they've made this trip for nothing."
Here it comes!
Graves's heart tightened slightly, but he said with apparent calm, "This is indeed a matter that requires careful consideration. After all, their products are intended for our citizens, and while we know Bryan Watson is indeed a powerful wizard, he previously had no reputation in alchemy like Albus Dumbledore's. Remus Lupin is merely a werewolf who has been wandering through Britain's magical community for many years."
"You're quite right, Trask—"
Marcelline hadn't expected Graves to change his tune. "Such a combination is indeed not very reassuring. If Albus Dumbledore had overseen the development of this alchemical instrument, that would be much more confidence-inspiring, wouldn't it? After all, our President of the International Confederation of Wizards, like Nicolas Flamel, has deep expertise in alchemy."
Graves understood that Marcelline was reminding him: Bryan Watson was also a Hogwarts professor, and the development of such a miraculous alchemical instrument would hardly be possible without Albus Dumbledore's assistance.
And Albus Dumbledore's character was undoubtedly trustworthy—he wouldn't give citizens something harmful. Marcelline's point was also a test: if Watson raised this argument at the review meeting, how would he respond? After confirming his attitude, Marcelline would decide whether to tip off Bryan beforehand about how to defend his product.
This was indeed difficult to refute, so Graves merely nodded silently. This was enough to satisfy Marcelline, she had found some understanding into how to leave Trask speechless.
"However, I still find it hard to believe—"
Marcelline's smile faded as she shook her head slightly, her tone carrying a hint of amazement.
"I still find it hard to believe that an alchemical instrument capable of interfering with wizards' minds is completely harmless. Even if we ultimately pass the resolution, such special equipment would need regular inspections like our wands, to prevent any problems. What do you think, Trask?"
Graves fell silent again.
Inspections meant supervision, supervision meant power, and power could generate profit.
Marcelline was testing whether his obstruction was due to special interest in this business's profits, while also probing whether he intended to give this business a chance or was determined to keep the learning machines out entirely.
Honestly, this matter also troubled Graves.
No one knew that he didn't care about the learning machines at all.
Wealth and power were not things the Graves family lacked. What he truly cared about was Bryan Watson himself. If this person came to New York repeatedly because of the learning machine business, that would be the most troublesome thing for him.
But keeping Bryan Watson continuously excluded from America's magical community was equally beyond his capabilities.
Trask could imagine that if he interfered with Bryan Watson's business again this time, next time Watson would directly approach Chairman Quahog which wouldn't be difficult given his status and that would be when things became truly troublesome.
But Graves's silence carried completely different meaning in Marcelline's eyes. She thought Graves was still maintaining his position and didn't want learning machines to enter the American market. A flash of anger crossed her eyes, and just as she was about to say something—
Thud!
The sandwich in Graves's hand, now only half remaining, suddenly slipped from his grasp and crashed onto the tray.
Simultaneously, Graves, whose complexion had been normal moments before, suddenly turned pale. Sweat appeared on his forehead where veins bulged glaringly, his previously calm reddish eyes were now filled with bloodshot vessels, and his entire relaxed posture suddenly went rigid!
"What's wrong, Trask?"
This sudden turn of events made Marcelline swallow her intended words. "You don't look well at all."
Marcelline asked with obvious suspicion, even wondering if Trask was deliberately putting on this act to escape their ongoing conversation.
"I'm very sorry, Marcelline—"
In such a short time, Trask Graves's voice had become extremely hoarse. His thick knuckles pressed against the table, supporting his body as he stood up. Facing her questioning, he spoke while practically holding his breath.
"I would very much like to exchange more opinions with you about the learning machines, but I'm sorry—I suddenly remembered something urgent, extremely urgent, that I must handle right now. Once I've dealt with this trouble, I'd be happy to come apologize in person."
"Oh, that's not necessary, but—"
Marcelline said with deeply furrowed brows, but Graves didn't let her finish. Instead, he somewhat roughly pushed away his dinner tray, didn't even take a napkin to wipe his mouth, and under Marcelline's sharp gaze, left his seat and hurried toward the elevator lobby.
As if struck by the most excruciating Cruciatus Curse, every second brought endless agony that surged like ocean tides against his soul. The mentally resilient Graves wanted to collapse and howl, yet in the brief time it took the elevator to reach the Security Department's floor, his face had transformed from white pale to blood-red.
Beneath his skin, something like earthworms, blood parasites seemed to have suddenly spawned. These creatures wriggling under his flesh appeared to devour his blood and meat, causing the once healthy and tall Graves to become skinny and shrunken.
Most of the Aurors in the Security Department worked field assignments, with few remaining in the office to handle paperwork. By sheer luck, it was quitting time and the office stood empty, allowing Graves to preserve his secret.
He practically sprinted toward his office. After a flash of green light in the fireplace, Graves had left the Woolworth Building and appeared in his secret safe house.
Bang!
Dazzling red light shattered the cubicle containing alchemical instruments, scattering magical books and potions across the room.
Graves let out a wolf-like growl. Like someone parched for days, he lunged toward the potion that could suppress his agony. His reason, staggering on the edge of collapse, prevented him from performing even the simple act of uncorking the bottle. Instead, he opened his inexplicably sharpened teeth and bit down savagely on the glass vial clasped in his palms—
Crack!
As the bottle shattered, streams of gray-white blood poured from his mouth. But Graves ignored this trivial pain, roaring as he gulped down the scattered potion, not caring that he swallowed countless glass shards.
Thud—
Moments later, Graves collapsed onto the wooden floor gleaming in the dim candlelight.
This episode of agony lasted particularly long. Even after drinking the potion, the curse's pain persisted, but his significantly withered body did improve, his complexion returning to a healthy hue.
Mmph—
Thin streams continued to flow from Graves's mouth and nose, staining his already disheveled white shirt red. His meticulously groomed salt-and-pepper hair had fallen into disarray, darkened to deep brown by the blood pooling on the floor.
About ten minutes passed before his trembling body finally calmed. But Graves didn't rise. He simply lay on the cold floor, staring with hatred at a large glass shard in front of him—the fragment reflected his haggard appearance, with changes now permanently etched into his face.
Undoubtedly, the dark red in his eyes had deepened further, more of his hair had turned white in the past half hour, and the wrinkles at his eyes had grown deeper. Though his blood-stained teeth had somewhat returned to normal, compared to an ordinary person's, they remained strikingly sharp.
"I'm running out of time."
After a long silence, a despairing whisper echoed through the study.
"Unable to eliminate all threats, I have no choice but to do this—"
Whoooo—
As night deepened, a massive luxury cruise ship carrying tourists from around the world sailed along the East River. Just before passing under the Brooklyn Bridge, the ship's deep but powerful horn drew envious gazes from onlookers on shore and bridge.
The luxury liner casted shimmering reflections on the water's surface. The faint sounds of laughter and melodious music drew all attention, ensuring no one noticed that as the ship passed beneath the bridge, thirty feet away at a bridge pier, a haggard man emerged from the water.
Splash—
The late-night river retained some of early spring's chill. The man who struggled onto the platform around the pier's base shivered from cold though his pale complexion stemmed not only from the temperature but also from wounds covering his entire body.
Rather than feeling relief at escaping the river, when the man noticed blood flowing from his wounds, mixing with the dripping water from his soaked clothes before entering the river, his pain-filled expression revealed a trace of alarm.
He knew this would leave clues, and those ruthless people would follow the trail to find him and take his life.
Hiss—
Every slight movement brought the agony of tearing wounds, but the man had no choice. He raised his hand to remove the wand clenched between his teeth, trembling as he waved it several times. The crimson traces that had mixed with the river water gathered together under magic's influence, forming a blood sphere that reflected the neon lights.
In the dark river, a largemouth bass swam past the man. After gasping several times, the man controlled the magically preserved blood droplet, sending it into the surfacing bass's mouth. The startled fish immediately dove deep and swiftly swam away.
‘This should buy some time—’ the man thought through chattering teeth as he healed his wounds.
Remaining here was still unwise. Those ruthless people would soon track him down with their keen senses. Though exhausted to the point of near unconsciousness, he forced himself to stay alert—
Pop—
After the distinctive sound amid the lapping river water, the man vanished from the pier.
Everything proceeded as he'd predicted. Just minutes after his departure, above the river surface reflecting the colorful neon lights, a group of wizards in black cloaks riding broomsticks swept past the not-yet-distant cruise ship, suddenly stopping beneath the Brooklyn Bridge, suspended in mid-air.
Their leader revealed only a pair of sinister eyes as he stared at the pier where the man had recently rested, his nostrils were flaring slightly.
"He stopped here."
A voice lacking of emotion emerged from beneath the hood, while his well-trained subordinates listened quietly without making any sound.
"He rested here briefly, but soon left again—"
The lead wizard continued, his nostrils twitching, confusion crossing his face. But seeing the shimmering river below, he understood.
"He returned underwater, thinking this could mask the scent of blood. The smell is indeed faint, but some traces remain detectable. Come, we must eliminate this threat."
With that, the group departed once more in a cloud of dust.
In Brooklyn's 75th Street district deep in the night, darkness seemed more active here than daylight. Sporadic gunshots continued even as the moon reached its zenith.
In the dark streets reeking of sewage overflow, several men carrying firearms, their arms and necks tattooed with skulls, walked arm-in-arm toward their base which was a small warehouse stuffed with car parts and debris, reeking of alcohol and cursing.
"Those sons of bitches think just because they took out Big Star, they can steal our territory!"
A man weighing at least 200 pounds kicked open the warehouse's iron door with a clang. A startled guard dog immediately began barking frantically upon their entry, only to be met with a spray of bullets and loud laughter as it fled in panic.
Hazy moonlight streamed into the dark warehouse the moment the door opened, casting eerie shadows from the car frames stacked to the ceiling in the front half, while the rear remained shrouded in deep darkness.
"Hey, boss, don't you think something's off?"
A lean man drunk in a black jacket studded with metal rings and steel spikes, his lips also pierced, suddenly twitched his sensitive nostrils. Amid the sharp smell of motor oil, he detected a disturbing scent. Before the others could respond to his question, his inadvertent glance at a dark puddle on the ground made his hair stand on end, instantly sobering him!
"Damn bitch!"
The thin man suddenly shouted. Under the confused gazes of his companions, he raised his machine gun toward the warehouse's depths.
"Get out here!"
Bang!
The sudden sound nearly caused the drunken group to open fire, but their remaining rationality warned them that doing so might cost them their own lives first.
The iron door slammed shut without warning, returning darkness to reign supreme. In the gloom, some strange movement seemed to be approaching.
The thick smell of blood—
The previously perceptive thin man detected it. He immediately raised his gun toward the warehouse depths, but before his shout could leave his throat, a fleeting blue light cut him off!
Terrified and agonized screams, panicked and futile gunfire, and urgent, piercing pounding on the door intertwined within the warehouse. But everything ultimately ended under streaks of sinister curse-light. When all sounds ceased, the sealed iron door finally opened again, and stumbling footsteps crossed over the bodies of the fallen men, stepping into the pale moonlight.
Gunshots still echoed occasionally from a block away. New York's prosperity and civilization seemed irrelevant to this place.
Haruto Lee leaned against the door frame, gasping as he looked at the glittering skyscrapers under the night sky. Though exhausted, his eyes held a trace of hysteria.
How could he escape his current predicament?
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