"As I assured you, Mr. Graves—"
In the heavy silence that followed Graves's revelation, Morgans stepped forward. His head remained bowed in a posture of respect, his pale face was hidden in shadow. His expression was incomprehensible and whether it was guilt, or remorse was impossible to discern.
"Once Our Lord is revived, once the ritual reaches completion and his consciousness returns to this land, he will have the power to lift the Blood Curse from your body. This I swear on my existence as his servant—"
"Of that, I have no doubt at all."
Graves glanced at Morgans with eyes that had turned cold and calculating. He then turned to look at the silent crowd of intruders: Sirius standing with arms crossed, Amelia trembling with conflicting emotions, Selena and Uriel frozen in horrified disbelief and a smile reappeared on his haggard face, though it obviously had no real happiness.
"I imagine you must all be quite confused as to why I would partner with dark creatures like vampires, why someone with my reputation and position would fall to cooperating with beings that wizarding society considers abominations. In fact, I shouldn't be telling you any of this."
His voice took on a pensive tone.
"But these secrets have been weighing on my heart for far too long, pressing down like stones on my chest, leaving me unbearably oppressed. Tonight, all the shackles that fate has placed upon me are about to be unlocked. So, I'm happy to share some of my secrets with you—"
Sirius's expression grew colder. He knew all too well that the more Graves told them, the more details he revealed about his conspiracy and motivations, the less likely he would let them leave this place alive.
Dead men told no tales, and Graves was confessing like someone who believed his audience would never repeat what they heard.
"—Where should I begin?"
Graves seemed completely unburdened for the first time in years, relaxed in a way he'd never been before, as if a tremendous weight had lifted from his shoulders. He twirled his wand between his fingers, sighing softly as his gaze fell into deep reminiscence, looking past them into memories decades old.
"I've already told you about my grandfather, about his accomplishments and his ultimate humiliation at Grindelwald's hands. Oh, my father—he isn't worth mentioning, really. A footnote in the family history."
Graves's voice had casual dismissal mixed with resentment.
"He was a poor student at Ilvermorny, possessing no remarkable talent in magic or anything else of note. No particular gift for spellwork, no head for politics, no ambition to speak of. In a magical family as prominent as the Graveses, with our long history, his mediocrity made him a complete laughingstock at social gatherings. People pitied my grandfather for having such an unremarkable heir. Oh, ha-ha—"
He laughed without funniness.
"Come to think of it, perhaps that was fate's blessing in disguise."
The fang hovering above the ritual continued to pour evil magic into the blood pool relentlessly. As time passed, as more power flowed through the conduit, it gradually became translucent.
Graves released his direct control over the fang with a gesture. He slowly paced along the edge of the blood pool.
"Now you know my grandfather's story—the heights he reached and how far he fell. And you know my father's situation, his complete inadequacy. So, you can easily understand, what kind of expectations I faced from my earliest childhood."
His voice grew heavier with each word.
"Expectations from my grandfather, who saw me as his chance at redemption. Expectations from my family as my father's only heir and the direct descendant of the Graves family line, the one who would either restore our name or confirm our decline."
This required little thought to answer, the logic was obvious. As a direct member of the Graves family, blessed with magical talent his father lacked, Trask Graves was surely expected by his family to attain high office in MACUSA, to climb to the very pinnacle of American magical society.
And Percival Graves, who had been captured and imprisoned by Gellert Grindelwald, who had suffered the ultimate professional and personal humiliation, certainly hoped his grandson would avenge that shame, would become powerful enough that no dark wizard could ever victimize the family again.
"From the day I first made a feather float, from the moment I awakened my magical talent and they knew I wasn't cursed with my father's limitations, my grandfather and my family had already mapped out my entire future path."
Graves's voice had bitter resignation.
"They wanted me to be an exceptional wizard, extraordinary in every way. They hoped I would distinguish myself in the future, rise through the ranks quickly, and maintain—no, exceed the glory of the Graves family. Every choice was made with this goal in mind: my education, my social connections, my career path.
I grew up listening to these encouragements daily, hearing about duty and legacy and honor. And naturally, I wholeheartedly adopted them as my life's goals. I adopted those expectations until they became my own desires. I wanted to achieve great things, to wash away the shame from my grandfather's name, to elevate the Graves family to new heights never before reached.
With such aspirations burning in my heart, I graduated from Ilvermorny with excellent grades. I entered MACUSA with a sterling recommendation. And then, under my grandfather's strong insistence and the family's political maneuverings behind the scenes, I successfully joined the Department of Magical Security and became an Auror, following in his footsteps.
Carrying dreams and burning ambition, I did well in those early days. Better than well, actually—I excelled. I solved many difficult crimes that had stumped more experienced Aurors, arrested quite a few dangerous dark wizards.
People praised me as worthy of being a Graves descendant, said I had my grandfather's talent and dedication. But I didn't become complacent or rest on those early laurels.
I continued working harder than anyone else to fight evil, to prove myself, gradually becoming an experienced Auror respected by my peers, a core member of the Security Department that others looked to for leadership. The previous head of the Department, Acrylate Nasal, held me in exceptionally high regard."
These accomplishments didn't need much explanation from Graves—Selena, Uriel, and even Amelia were all quite familiar with them from departmental lore and public records.
Trask Graves was something of a legendary wizard in American magical society. His youthful accomplishments were memorable for everyone, taught to new Aurors as examples of exemplary service, remembered and never forgotten even years later.
Which made what followed all the more tragic.
"My early life was smooth sailing, a steady climb up with no significant setbacks."
Graves's voice took on a melancholy tone.
"Back then, people believed that I would surely become the next head of the Security Department when Acrylate retired. And they believed I would be capable of leading it to even greater achievements. The future seemed bright—"
Graves stopped pacing abruptly and looked directly at the group of vampires arranged before him.
"Then I encountered them. You've all heard about the series of vampire attacks on Muggles that occurred in New York eight years ago—it made international headlines, probably even reached Britain. A group of vampires violated not just Local Magical Law but the Statute of Secrecy by actively attacking Muggles in coordinated strikes, draining their blood and taking their lives brutally.
The incident caused quite a massive stir at the time. Public reaction was intense and fearful, with calls for instant action. The pressure from both MACUSA leadership and the non-magical authorities forced the Security Department to solve the case quickly, to restore public confidence. But these vampires were extremely cunning. They left almost no traces.
My superior at the time, Mr. Acrylate Nasal, was completely overwhelmed by the scope and complexity of the case. He was a good administrator but lacked field experience with this type of threat. He could only hope—pray, really—that I could quell the turmoil.
After a series of meticulous investigations and considerable effort, I finally caught the vampires' trail and led my colleagues in the Security Department to capture the entire group in one sweep.
Though the matter was resolved, because of the Muggles who lost their lives and the heavy casualties among the Aurors during the final arrest operation, someone had to take responsibility. So, Acrylate was dismissed by the MACUSA."
"And you became head of the Security Department because of that successful capture, stepping into his position."
Amelia said softly, remembering Gnarlak had told her and Bryan about these events in his pub, about the case that had made Graves's career.
"Exactly—"
Graves looked at Amelia with a smile.
"Before the official appointment came down, I'd already gotten wind of it. Because I was severely injured in the final battle, I was recovering at St. Josiah's Hospital at the time. You can imagine how excited I was when I received this news."
His voice swelled with remembered joy, then cracked.
"The family's hopes, my grandfather's expectations—after all those years of grueling hard work, after sacrificing so much of my life to this singular goal, they were finally about to be realized. I was overjoyed, absolutely euphoric. I was completely disregarding the dark magic curse I'd suffered during the fight. What did a wound matter when I'd achieved everything I'd worked for?"
Deep sadness crept into Graves's smile.
"I couldn't wait to be discharged and return to work, eager to make my mark in the position of Security Department head, to begin implementing all the transformations I'd planned. I had so many ideas, so much ambition. But life is unpredictable, isn't it? Fate enjoys cruel ironies.
Just when my dreams were about to come true, the healers at St. Josiah's told me that they couldn't remove the dark magic curse. Based on their observations and judgment, the evil curse would continuously devour my magic and my life, feeding on both. They told me—"
His voice dropped.
"They told me I had, at most, only a few more months to live. Perhaps ten, if I was fortunate. My dream position would become my deathbed."
Amelia pressed her lips together, fighting back unwanted sympathy. She'd heard these details from Gnarlak in his pub.
To suppress the curse, Graves had even secretly traveled to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries in Britain, seeking help from the most advanced healers in the world. When that also proved fruitless, he ultimately chose a forbidden potion to artificially prolong his life.
When she first heard about it, she'd been quite indignant. She'd believed a wizard like Graves, with his reputation and integrity, couldn't possibly do such a thing, that Gnarlak must have been embellishing some facts.
Now it seemed the goblin had indeed told them the exact truth.
"So, you went to collaborate with vampires to figure out the curse you'd been afflicted with, to find the source and hopefully a cure. Is that right?"
Sirius asked, filling in the logical gaps.
"I had no other choice, did I??"
Graves said.
"Bearing so many people's expectations, after so many years of sacrifice and effort, I was finally about to achieve my dream. Only to be mocked by fate, to have it snatched away by a random curse. I refused to accept it. I refused to simply lie down and die. I wanted to continue living. So, I sought out the vampires I'd arrested and inquired whether they knew anything—"
Graves's gaze fell on Morgans again.
"Now you all know the rest—that group of vampires committed those killings not for simple bloodlust or random violence, but for a specific purpose. They did it to revive one of their ancestors, a vampire lord of great power from centuries past.
I later learned that before they slaughtered those Muggles in desperation, they'd actually been making quiet, careful efforts for multiple centuries. Centuries! Only their actions were very careful and hadn't attracted wizards' attention because they were patient.
Over those long centuries, their revival plan had made frustratingly little progress despite their efforts, which left them anxious and disheartened. That's why they finally took the desperate risk of targeting Muggles' souls and blood in those attacks.
A vampire who'd already been executed by MACUSA told me during interrogation that this blood curse came from the ancestor they wanted to revive. If I wanted to completely rid myself of this trouble, to have any hope of a cure, I had to help them complete their resurrection plan. There was no other way.
Morgans was a survivor of that capture. I tracked him later and reached an agreement with him and the remaining vampires. I would use my authority as Security Department head and the Graves family's wealth to fund and protect their plan. In exchange, once their ancestor was revived, he would lift my curse as payment.
In the meantime, while we worked toward that goal, I could only rely on drinking forbidden potions with severe consequences to sustain my life—"
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