Chapter 1: Omen (The Ghoulish Malady)

December 1926

Winter had finally arrived in New York. She hated winter in the city. It always left her depressed. The young woman found it was just too different from winter back home in London. A less observant person might not see the differences, but she did. She was a trained investigator, after all. She always noticed the little things.

And so, standing before the rather plain desk of the Director of Magical Security, Laura Maurette was noticing little things that just weren't quite right. Director Graves was hard at work, combing through a file, actively ignoring the woman standing before him. She knew something was amiss. The man was…different.

Percival Graves had always been a little bit different, but you had to be to do his job. He was confident, but off putting to most. Abrasive at times, but the abrasiveness came from a place of wanting to get things done right and without emotional attachment. Even those whom he had worked with for years were afraid of him on some level. It wasn't necessarily the bad kind of fear. Surprisingly, she had learned over the past couple of years that there was a good kind of fear, usually. People just didn't want to disappoint him.

She didn't want to disappoint him.

But lately, he was too different.

"Director?" she pressed.

Graves sighed, the crisp white collar and black tie at his neck rising and falling with the movement of his pale throat. She liked watching his throat. He was just enough taller than her that her eyes were often at the height of his throat, so she watched it often. He wore a double scorpion pin at his collar that glowed green. It was her favorite shade of green.

Looking up at the woman standing before his desk, Graves face was full of mild contempt. Laura was bothering him. This was usually the face he had when dealing with Tina Goldstein. Well meaning, but she was often tripping over herself. Laura liked the woman though. Her demotion was…unexpected.

"What is it, exactly, that you want, Miss Maurette?" he asked in a low and threatening voice. He only used that tone when he was upset. He might always be abrasive, but being upset was something else. Recently, it seemed he was always upset with someone in the office.

She stared down at him. Bushy eyebrows. Hard brown eyes. The barest touch of wrinkles. The white hair on the sides of his head had grown whiter over the years since she first met him. He had shaved it down a bit more than in the past. It made him look distinguished. Handsome.

She felt a pull at her heart and shook it off.

"I just wanted to check if you wanted me to do anything about it, Mister Graves," she said in a quiet voice.

He frowned. "If I had, I would have told you. Go back to work," he ordered, almost unsure of what she meant.

With one last suspicious look at her boss, she turned and left his office, the door slamming shut behind her. She let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding in.

What was going on with Graves?

The rest of the day dragged on. With her desk near the front of the room, she often kept an eye on the hallway leading to her boss' office. He didn't come their way once. It wasn't unusual, but now everything seemed suspicious to her.

She stayed late, as she almost always did. Single and without even a cat to welcome her at home, Laura had no reason to rush home each day. Tina stopped by the office to remind her to eat as she left with her sister for the night. Laura nodded absentmindedly. With Gellert Grindelwald and his fanatics out there, there wasn't much time for eating.

Chasing dark wizards wasn't easy. Wizards had magic. Using magic to hide was too easy. Sometimes, she wished she were a muggle.

Slowly rereading a file on a case that occurred out in Albany the past week, Laura heard heavy footsteps coming down the empty hall. She peered up from her work in time to see Director Graves heading into the open Auror office, an annoyed expression covering his face. His scarf and winter coat were draped over his left arm, while his right hand fiddled with something in the pocket on his vest, his suit jacket pushed out of the way.

"Go home, Miss Maurette," he barked.

She jumped, moving her eyes away from his hands and up to his face. Laura watched him as she leaned her elbow on the desk and put her head in her hand. "I will."

"Now."

She frowned. Graves could never be classified as nice, but this was over the top, even for him.

"I want to finish-"

"I want you to go home. Or have you forgotten who is in charge?" he snapped, striding up to her desk menacingly. His eyes bore down at her, not quite glaring, but burning holes into her skin.

Laura sat up, her frown deepened. She almost blushed from being chastised.

Almost.

She looked down at her desk and began closing up her files, fighting back a snide comment. Different or no, he was still her boss.

"I'm sorry, did you think we were friends?" he asked in a low tone. "Should I have been nicer about it?" he mocked her.

Laura's head snapped up, her eyes narrowed in confusion at the man standing in front of her. Friends.

"No," she answered. Laura pushed herself up from her desk and grabbed her coat from the back of her chair, keeping her eyes on Graves the whole time. "I know what we are, Director."

"And what is that?" he pushed.

She paused a beat as she slipped on her wool coat.

"Colleagues."

He snorted in derision. "I am your better," he drawled in a low, silky tone.

Like a punch to the gut, Laura bit her tongue. This was not Percival Graves. After everything they had been through, he would never speak to her or any of his Aurors like this, regardless of how bad they might have fucked up.

He didn't think himself their betters, he just thought himself their boss. There was a difference.

It reminded her of her family.

She almost wanted to cry.

Almost.

"So you keep reminding me," she finally choked out. Her eyes darted away from the Director, unable to stare at him any longer. She strode past him purposely and quickly, heading for the stairs. Be damned if she would share an elevator with him.

She thought, as she heard his footsteps follow behind, that she heard him laugh. A low chuckle that didn't sound much like Graves' laugh. But she didn't stop to check. Laura rushed down the stairs, her own footsteps loud in the vaguely quiet building.

Pushing her way through the front door, Laura let out a sob as the cold air hit her bare face.

What in Merlin's beard was going on with Graves?

And what in the hell could she do about it?