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0839 Talks
🕑 Added 2025-09-15 13:34:13 +0000 UTCThe Woolworth Building,
Magical Congress of the United States of America
When dusk met the dividing line with night, another ordinary yet busy workday had come to an end. A long queue of mentally exhausted Congress officials lined up before the fireplace in the main hall, none of them caring about the broadcast over their head where President Quahog was passionately declaring something to the magical community's residents.
For Trask Graves, however, the concept of leaving work at any predetermined time had long since become nothing more than a theoretical notion.
Just as his grandfather, Percival Graves, had done before him during his own career in magical law enforcement, Trask now served as head of both the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department of Magical Security.
The reality of holding these positions meant that his professional work and personal life had become so thoroughly intertwined that any effort to separate them would have been not just difficult but impossible.
Earlier, he had endured yet another frustrating encounter with the persistent reporters from The New York Ghost, the magical community's main newspaper and a newspaper that seemed to specialize in transforming minor administrative delays into major governmental scandals.
These journalists, armed with quick-quotes quills and an apparently limitless appetite for sensational headlines, had shot him a barrage of sharp questions about his departments' handling of recent security incidents.
Their primary focus had been the ongoing case of missing high-risk magical creatures. The reporters had pressed him persistently about why the Security Department had yet to make any visible progress in recovering these dangerous animals.
Even more embarrassing had been their sharp inquiries about why three suspects directly involved in an illegal Nundu trading operation had not been caught within the supposedly standard seventy-two-hour window that the public had been led to expect.
After finally detaching himself from the conference room where this journalistic inquiry had taken place, Graves observed his subordinates waiting in the corridor outside. At his subtle signal, they entered into the room to begin yet another round of what could only be described as tedious transactions involving the exchange of money, influence, and political power.
By now, the sun had been completely obscured by the countless towering buildings that No-Majs had constructed throughout Manhattan. Above this dimming urban landscape, barely visible through the forest of skyscrapers and the increasing haze of evening, a crescent moon had begun to make its first appearance against the deepening sky.
After a moment's hesitation, Graves made the decision not to return to his office, where stacks of urgent paperwork and pending case files awaited his attention. Instead, he chose to take one of the elevators that were reserved exclusively for department heads to a restaurant located on one of the building's middle floors.
At this hour, the restaurant had very few diners scattered among its many tables, a situation that was completely natural and expected. Given the choice between staying in the building for a lonely meal and returning home to enjoy dinner surrounded by family members, most reasonable people would naturally prefer the warmth and comfort of their home.
Strolling to the coffee machine, Graves made himself a black coffee, picked up two sandwiches from the counter, and chose a seat by the window. As he savored the scalp-tingling bitterness that bloomed across his taste buds, Graves drew in a sharp breath of cool air.
"I hope I'm not disturbing your dinner, Trask—"
The crisp female voice that suddenly sounded beside him pierced through his peaceful contemplation, immediately alerting him to the presence of someone whose arrival he had not anticipated but whose identity he recognized.
The newcomer was a witch dressed in a light blue business suit. Her golden hair had been styled in loose curls which was pouring on her shoulders. From her facial features, she appeared to be approximately the same age as Graves himself.
At this moment, this clearly influential witch stood beside Graves' table holding a cup filled with what appeared to be milk tea. Her face had a gentle smile that managed to send warmth and friendliness while also maintaining a professional reserve.
"Marcelline?" Graves responded, his voice carrying a tone of recognition mixed with curiosity about the unexpected nature of this encounter.
He turned his head to look directly at his visitor, taking in the details of her appearance and demeanor. After setting down his coffee cup, he cleared his throat and made an inviting gesture toward the empty chair across from him.
"Please, have a seat,"
Marcelline accepted his invitation leisurely, and sat herself in the offered chair. Throughout this process, she maintained her polite, professional smile.
The two were clearly acquaintances with a history of professional interaction. This common background allowed Graves to address her with the kind of directness that he preferred in his official dealings. So, he asked directly.
"What brings you here this evening, Marcelline?"
"Oh, it’s just for casual conversation," Marcelline replied with a smile that seemed genuinely warm. She paused for a moment, as she seemed to be surprised by the fatigue etched between Graves' forehead.
"What's the matter, Trask? You don't look particularly well, Is this perhaps because of this afternoon's interview with The New York Ghost? Did those reporters manage to ask some particularly embarrassing or difficult questions?"
"You know their style very well, Marcelline," Graves replied wearily. "Those reporters' greatest hobby is to take trivial administrative issues and exaggerate them into major scandals that they can feature prominently in their newspaper to attract public attention and sell more copies."
He went with this statement by taking another sip of his coffee to have a moment to consider how much additional information he should share.
"Oh, ha-ha, quite right," Marcelline laughed, her amusement seeming both genuine and slightly calculated.
"That's certainly their style; they seem to work as though peace and stability in the magical world were somehow a personal insult to their professional interests. I sometimes think they'd love nothing more than for our magical community to encounter the same kinds of serious troubles as our colleagues across the Atlantic Ocean have been experiencing recently."
She paused, allowing her words to settle before continuing with what was clearly the point she had been building toward.
"Have you heard the latest reports? Albus Dumbledore has now publicly declared that in Britain, that dark wizard whose name most people still cannot bring themselves to speak aloud has supposedly returned?"
"I've heard something related to that," He replied calmly, his face remaining completely neutral and expressionless.
"If such reports are truly accurate, it would undoubtedly be a tremendous disaster for the British magical community. However, I must say that the credibility of such news remains questionable at best.
The British Ministry of Magic, despite Dumbledore's public statements, hasn't issued any kind of official governmental statement confirming these claims. Given the political implications of such an announcement, I suspect there may be some significant misunderstanding or exaggeration involved in these reports."
"I share your view."
Marcelline replied, raising her teacup to her lips and taking a sip while maintaining her impeccably controlled smile.
"The absence of official confirmation does propose that the situation may be far less dire than some dramatic public statements would have us believe," She continued with apparent reasonableness.
"After all, if that evil dark wizard had truly returned to active operations, surely Bryan Watson wouldn't have chosen this moment to visit our country, would he?"
At the mention of Bryan Watson's name, Graves' eyes flickered for an instant, as he began to suspect the true purpose behind this visit from the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation for their 'casual chat.' He nodded slightly but offered no further opinion.
"I sincerely hope that Albus Dumbledore's concerns prove to be based on some kind of misunderstanding or incomplete information," Marcelline said carefully.
Graves' silence and minimal response didn't cause Marcelline to show any visible signs of displeasure or frustration. Instead, she simply sighed with what appeared to be genuine concern for the broader consequences of the situation they were discussing.
"As you pointed out, if You-Know-Who has truly returned to active operations in Britain, it's easily foreseeable that the entire British magical community will descend into the kind of chaos and instability that would have sweeping consequences for all of us.
Oh, if you were in my position, Trask, you'd understand just how completely dependent our magical community has become on British magical exports for so many essential aspects of our daily lives.
Our citizens rely entirely on British manufacturers for our supplies of Floo Powder—without their production facilities and distribution networks, our entire transportation system would immediately cease to function. And that's just the beginning of our dependencies," She continued, warming to her theme with what appeared to be intense passion for the subject.
"Flying broomsticks, emergency medical kits, Sneakoscopes, telescopes, numerous patent-protected potions, Chocolate Frogs for our children's entertainment... so many things that the residents of our magical community consider essential to their daily lives depend completely on continued British production and export capabilities.
If their magical economy runs into serious problems due to political instability or magical warfare, our own quality of life would be immediately and severely paralyzed."
Marcelline paused, then continued with a sigh.
"Just recently, we've already had a taste of what such disruptions might look like, Due to the increased security measures at our borders, a batch of critically needed potions from the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers was delayed for two days during customs inspection. This seemingly minor administrative delay nearly caused serious medical complications at St. Josiah’s."
Her expression grew more serious as she continued, "O'Brien from St. Josiah's Hospital was so furious that he actually stormed into my office, threatening to move for my impeachment in Congress if I couldn't resolve the supply issue that very same day."
Marcelline's purpose in seeking him out was certainly not about the difficulties the Security Department's border lockdown had caused her—it was about Bryan Watson. But she needed to create a sense of shared obligation and mutual dependence to facilitate the upcoming negotiation.
"Is that so?" Graves responded after a moment of thoughtful silence.
He slowly set down his coffee cup. His tone showed slight fluctuation for the first time during their conversation, and his brow furrowed slightly as he voiced his reply.
"Doesn't O'Brien realize that we're currently during an extraordinarily sensitive political period? The American magical community is in the process of deciding who will lead us into the future, who will guide the Magical Congress of the United States forward in the coming years.
Given the importance of maintaining stability and security during such a crucial time, O'Brien shouldn't allow his department's operational difficulties to interfere with the broader picture of national security and political stability, should he?"
'Slippery fellow, actually shifting responsibility toward President Quahog and the election!' Marcelline thought to herself, as she felt a flash of irritation at having her carefully prepared argument so cleverly redirected.
Her eyelids trembled and her sharp gaze focused intently on Graves' blank facial expression, and for just a moment, a hint of cold calculation flashed through her green eyes.
"Yes, I think you're absolutely correct about that," She replied calmly and took another sip of her tea, using the gesture to provide herself with a moment to recalibrate her approach, before continuing with a smile that appeared both warm and understanding.
"However, I find that I can understand O'Brien's emotional response to the situation, even if I don't necessarily agree with the way he chose to express his concerns," She said with apparent reasonableness.
"He's simply genuinely concerned about his patients' health and wellbeing. The prospect of being unable to provide necessary treatments due to supply chain disruptions would naturally cause distress to anyone in his position."
She paused, allowing this more generous interpretation of O'Brien's behavior to register, before continuing.
"Of course, I also took the time to explain the current political and security situation at Congress to him in detail, making sure he understood that the circumstances requiring these enhanced security measures would ease relatively soon. I begged him to understand the necessity of current policies and to endure the temporary inconveniences for just a little while longer…."
Graves recognized that his earlier deflection had been skillfully countered and that he needed to make some kind of appeasing statement to maintain the appearance of cooperation while continuing to avoid making any specific commitments that might limit his future options.
"I am in complete agreement with your perspective, Marcelline," He said with apparent sincerity.
"Safeguarding the lives and livelihoods of all members of our magical community is indeed our ultimate goal and shared responsibility, we should certainly work toward restoring normal operations and trade relationships as soon as the current security situation allows us to do so safely."
'Backing down already?' Marcelline thought with surprise, her face showing pleased expression, even as doubt began to arise in her mind about the ease of this apparent victory.
She understood better than most that the Security Department's current border lockdown wasn't primarily driven by concerns about the upcoming election, despite Graves' earlier attempt to characterize it in those terms. The enhanced security measures were a direct response to the troublesome case of missing high-risk magical creatures that had been keeping the entire security personnels on high alert for weeks.
Even though Graves had used all of his influence to suppress The New York Ghost's sensationalistic coverage of the missing magical creatures incident, preventing the full scope of the problem from becoming public knowledge, the magical community remained on edge.
Many citizens had developed a sense of nervousness and unease, as though they could somehow sense that their government was dealing with serious problems that were being kept from public view.
This public anxiety was totally justified, because if any of those missing magical creatures were to appear in populated areas, the resulting chaos and destruction would make the current political difficulties seem trivial by comparison.
The potential for mass casualties and exposure to the No-Maj community created a level of risk that no responsible security official could ignore.
Before such a serious matter could be resolved satisfactorily, Marcelline knew that Graves would never voluntarily allow his Aurors to relax their vigilant border security protocols, especially given that another illegal Nundu smuggling case had occurred just recently.
But he had just said that they would work toward restoring normal operations as soon as possible... This apparent willingness to compromise prevented her from using the ongoing security concerns as continued justification for pressing him further, which would have been her preferred approach for facilitating the next, much more important matter she needed to discuss.
Doubt flashed through Marcelline's green eyes. Could it be that Graves had already guesed the real reason she had come to see him?
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