This Hogwarts isn't normal.

Bradley has been the head of the Auror for almost 20 years.

Like Dumbledore, he has repeatedly refused the position of the president of the Magic Congress.

The reason is very simple, because his grandfather Percival Graves was killed by Gellert Grindelwald, the first Dark Lord, who was called the Holy Lord by the saints.

To the outside world, this group of people has always been called the Witch Party.

His father spent his life cleaning up these remnants until he was seriously injured and had to retire gloriously.

Bradley Graves inherited the family tradition and became an Auror with the best grades of his class after graduating from the Yinlvermorny School of Magic.

Before he was 30 years old, he was already the director of the Auror Office.

At the age of 40, he also served as the Minister of Magical Security.

He inherited two of his grandfather Percival's positions during his lifetime.

And Victor D. Blood is the existence he hates most besides Grindelwald.

This vampire who has lived for more than a hundred years is the culprit who caused his father to retire due to serious injuries.

Sam knew about his director's past, which was no secret in the Magic Congress.

"Director, Victor is half dead, I think you can definitely survive him."

Bradley raised his hand and slapped him.

"Damn boy, why don't you change the street back quickly!"

"Oh." Sam pouted and changed the street that had just shrunk with Transfiguration back little by little.

When it was restored to its original state, he lay on the ground as if exhausted.

"Get up quickly, we have to go back." Bradley kicked him.

"Director - I just drove away a Kraken that drifted to the Atlantic Ocean, I - I have to rest -"

Sam's weak groaning bought him five extremely precious minutes.

His temper was a bit irritable, but he was actually a good person.

Bradley half-knelt beside him, "The more capable, the more work. Look at the British Isles across the ocean.

He's only eleven years old, and he's already won the Order of Merlin."

Sam curled his lips, "That broken medal has no gold content now. It has long been ruined by their idiot Minister of Magic."

"But they did protect the Philosopher's Stone." Bradley said angrily, "If you had half the fighting spirit of Wayne, you would have caught Victor just now!"

"I came from the Atlantic."

"He's only eleven years old!"

"There are six of them."

"He's a Muggle-born!"

Sam pouted and looked dissatisfied, but he didn't dare to refute anything.

"I have a hunch that he will be the next Albus Dumbledore."

Familiar taste, familiar formula.

This trick of provoking someone has been used every now and then since he became an Auror with the best grades in the class.

"He's only eleven years old. Maybe that idiot minister forced him to come out."

Bradley slapped him again, "He almost became the British Wizengamot Youth Representative!

You are such a loser. You didn't even get a nomination when you were in school. Just say you are envious and jealous!"

"I didn't." Sam held his head in grievance, "I just don't believe that there will be another Dumbledore in that place."

"Don't underestimate him." Bradley thought about it and didn't slap him.

"You'd better change your careless character, or you will be caught up by others in a few years."

"Tsk--"

The slap was finally slapped.

"Five minutes are up, go back and write a report!"

Sam pouted, "There's still half a minute."

"Get out!"

...

...

The sewer village in New York is complicated and comparable to the subway in London.

There are a lot of homeless people living here, and many of them have been powerful.

Victor, who suddenly appeared here, ignored the surprised looks of these people and walked straight to one of the passages.

"Am I seeing this right?"

"No, if you mean he suddenly appeared."

The two brave tramps followed him, but at the end of the passage was a solid thick wall.

A wall with a strange pattern painted on it.

Victor walked through the wall and down the stairs to a metal door.

It was made of mountain copper, and a row of magic runes were engraved on the surface.

After opening the door, he saw a lady in a dress sitting on a dust-free sofa.

"Vida Rozier, what kind of wind can blow you from France to New York?"

"Victor--" Vida raised his head, revealing a cold and beautiful face of about twenty years old.

"You look very unwelcome to me?"

"Because of you, I wasted a quarter of my blood to start the transfer ritual."

There was no apology on her face, "That's all, it has no effect on you at all."

Victor came to the dusty wine rack by himself, "I have to save it to deal with that mad dog Graves."

"Just kill him."

He picked a bottle of red wine, "I didn't even kill old Graves, isn't it good to keep it to kill time?"

"Then you will be very busy later." Vida stretched out her hand to the high-heeled glass hanging upside down on the wine rack.

She gently pinched the wine glass in her palm, "About three months later, something will happen here that will shock the global magic world."

The glass at the cork of the red wine bottle was scratched by Victor's slender fingertips.

"His prophecy?"

"That's right."

He didn't care about the sharp cuts and drank half a bottle of red wine as if he was thirsty.

Bright red wine dripped down his chin and onto the dusty carpet.

It might be mixed with blood, or it might not.

Vida's fingertips ran across the wine rack in the distance, as if he was selecting his favorite red wine.

"He saw a boy wielding an alchemical weapon he had never seen before."

"A boy?" Victor licked the wine on his lips, "A boy who can be predicted by the greatest prophet of this century?"

"Isn't it interesting?" Vida's fingertips pointed to a very old bottle of red wine with a cork made of cork oak that was full of cracks.

"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 mouth of the red wine bottle she had brought, and the entire cork flew out. "I don't know, he just asked you to help this boy."

"That's it?" Victor walked up to her, "I thought he was coming out of Nurmengard."

"He can't get out."

"There are no guards there!"

He crushed the bottle and became slightly agitated.

"47 years! We have been waiting for him for 47 years!"

Vader took a sip of red wine and said, "He promised Dumbledore that he would never leave that prison in his life."

"Ridiculous prison!"

Ignoring the glass shards stuck in his palms, Victor clenched his fists hard, "That's where we used to imprison opponents!"

"Not anymore."

He released his fist that was bleeding continuously, "Since that boy can be predicted, it means that he will be very important in the future.

Tell me, can he grow into the man we've been waiting for? "

"I'm just a messenger." Vader put down his wine glass with an unnatural expression.

"The last thing I can say is that the weapon in his hand is made of mithril."

"Nicholas Flamel?"

"I have to go now."

Victor stood there very calmly until long after she was gone.

"Hehe-hehehahaha-"

He burst out laughing loudly.

Maybe after 47 years of waiting, there is finally a glimmer of hope.

…

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