Bradley has been the Auror for almost twenty years.
Like Dumbledore, he repeatedly declined the position of President of the Magical Congress.
The reason is simple: his grandfather, Percy Graves, was killed by Gellert Grindelwald Grindelwald, the first Dark Lord whom the Saints called the Holy Master.
To the outside world, this group has always been called the Wizards' Purity Party.
His father spent his life cleaning up these remnants until he was seriously injured and had to retire honorably.
Bradley Graves followed in his family's footsteps and Auror upon graduating from Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with the highest honors of his class.
Before he was even thirty, he was already the director of the Auror Office.
At the age of forty, he also served as the Minister of Magical Safety.
He inherited two of his grandfather Percy's positions through his own merit.
Viktor D. Brad was the person he hated most besides Grindelwald.
This vampire, who has lived for over a hundred years, is the culprit who caused his father's serious injury and forced him to retire.
Sam knew about his master's past, which was not a secret in the Magical Congress.
"Director, Viktor is half-dead, I think you can definitely outlast him."
Bradley raised his hand and slapped him across the face.
"You brat, hurry up and change the street back!"
"Oh." Sam pouted and slowly restored the street that he had just shrunk with Transfiguration.
Once he was back to normal, he lay on the ground as if he had collapsed from exhaustion.
"Get up, we have to go back." Bradley kicked him.
"Master—I just chased away a Kraken that drifted into the Atlantic Ocean, I—I need to rest—"
Sam's weak groans bought him a precious five minutes.
He has a bit of a temper, but he's actually a pretty good person.
Bradley half-squatted down next to him. "The capable should do more. Look at the British Isles across the ocean."
"He's only eleven years old, and he's already earned the Order of Merlin."
Sam curled his lip. "That damn medal has no value whatsoever now. It was ruined by their idiot Minister for Magic a long time ago."
"But they did protect the Sorcerer's Stone." Bradley said with exasperation, "If you had half the drive of that Wayne, you would have caught Viktor by now!"
"I came from the Atlantic Ocean."
"She's only eleven years old!"
There were six of them.
"He's Muggle-born!"
Sam pouted, looking unconvinced, but didn't dare to say anything more in rebuttal.
"I have a feeling he will become the next Albus Dumbledore."
The familiar taste, the familiar recipe.
He used this provocation tactic every now and then, ever since he became Auror with the best grades in the entire class.
"He's only eleven years old. Maybe that idiot minister forced him into this position."
Bradley slapped him again. "He almost became the youth representative of Wizengamot- Britain!"
You good-for-nothing, you didn't even get a nomination in school, so just admit you're envious and jealous!
"I didn't," Sam said, holding his head in a pitiful tone. "I just don't believe that another Dumbledore could come out of that place."
"Don't underestimate them." Bradley thought for a moment and didn't slap him.
"You'd better get rid of this carefree attitude, or someone will catch up with you in a few years."
"Cut--"
The slap finally landed.
"Five minutes are up, get back to your report now!"
Sam pouted, "There's still half a minute left."
"Get out of here!"
New York's sewer villages are as intricate and complex as London's Underground.
There are many homeless people living here, and many of them were once powerful and influential figures.
Viktor had suddenly appeared here, ignored the surprised looks of the people and walked straight towards one of the passages.
"Am I seeing things?"
"No, if you mean he suddenly appeared."
Two daring homeless men followed, but at the end of the passage was a solid, thick wall.
A wall with a strange pattern painted on it.
Viktor walked through the wall and down the stairs to a large metal door.
It is made of orogen and has a row of Magical Runes engraved on its surface.
After opening the door, he saw a lady in a formal dress sitting gracefully on a dust-free sofa.
"Vida Rosier, what wind could possibly blow you all the way from France to New York?"
"Viktor— " Vida raised her head, revealing a cold and beautiful face that looked to be around twenty years old.
"You don't seem to welcome me?"
"Because of you, I wasted a quarter of my blood to launch the transfer ritual."
There was no apology on her face. "It's nothing, it won't affect you at all."
Viktor walked over to the dusty liquor rack and said, "I need to keep this to deal with that mad dog Graves."
"Let's just kill him."
He picked out a bottle of red wine. "I didn't even kill old Graves, isn't it good to keep it to pass the time?"
"Then you'll be very busy." Vida reached out his hand towards the wine glass hanging upside down on the wine rack.
She gently squeezed the wine glass that had fallen into her palm. "About three months from now, something that will shake the entire Wizarding World will happen here."
The glass at the cork of the wine bottle was traced by Viktor's slender fingertips.
"His Prophecy?"
"That's right."
He paid no attention to the sharp cut and drank half a bottle of red wine as if he were thirsty.
Bright red wine dripped down his chin onto the dusty carpet.
It may contain blood, or it may not.
Vida's fingertips traced across the wine rack in the distance, as if he were selecting a favorite red wine.
"He saw a boy wielding an alchemical weapon he had never seen before."
"A boy?" Viktor licked the wine from his lips. "A boy that could be Prophecy by the greatest Seer of this century?"
"Isn't it interesting?" Vida pointed to a very old bottle of red wine with a cracked cork made of cork oak.
"The last time he saw a relatively complete picture of the future was in 1927, before you joined us."
What did that boy do?
She flicked the neck of the wine bottle, sending the cork flying completely off. "I don't know, he just wanted you to help this boy."
"That's it?" Viktor walked up to her. "I thought he was going to come out of Nurmengard."
"He can't get out."
"There are no guards there!"
He crushed the bottle, becoming slightly agitated.
"47 years! We've waited for him for a full 47 years!"
Vida took a small sip of red wine. "He promised Dumbledore that he would never leave that prison in his lifetime."
"What a ridiculous prison!"
Ignoring the shards of glass embedded in his palm, Viktor clenched his fist tightly. "That used to be where we imprisoned our opponents!"
"That's not the case now."
He loosened his fist, which was bleeding profusely. "The fact that the boy could be Prophecy means that he will be of great importance in the future."
Tell me, can he grow into the person we've been waiting for?
"I'm just a messenger." Vida put down his glass with a rather unnatural expression.
"The last thing I can say is that the weapon in his hand is made of Mithril."
"Nicolas Flamel?"
"I have to go now."
Viktor stood there calmly for a long time after she left.
"Heh—heh ha ha ha—"
He suddenly burst into loud laughter.
Perhaps after 47 years of waiting, a glimmer of hope has finally appeared.