This prompt spoke to me and I had to fulfill it. I’m not a native English speaker so there will be mistakes. I’ll post betaed version of it on AO3 later ^^ Tell me if it’s too unreadable though – I’ll ask my beta to check next parts before posting them here :) And yes, it's the title from Disney's Hercules -/-/- Hair stood on the back on Newt’s neck. He slumped his shoulders and ducked his head down, feeling guilty as if he had just committed an heinous crime.
(Which he hadn’t done, because this time he got all necessary documents to make the baby unicorn legal in the States and if he had filled those documents after bringing the unicorn to the New York, well, no one had to know about it, right?)
Tina raised her eyebrows at him.
“Something’s wrong?” she asked, taking sip of coffee. They were sitting at her desk, eating lunch, which Newt bought for them from the cafeteria. Tina had asked Newt a few days earlier to meet her, so they could work on his permits for occamies – they would expire soon. “You paled.”
Newt shook his head.
“Shouldn’t buy sandwich with pickles.” He said to his hands, in the corner of his eye observing how Tina smiled sympathetically at him and proceed to continue wolfing down her meal.
The prickling feeling on his neck didn’t want to go away and Newt didn’t have to look behind himself to know what was happening.
Graves was doing that again.
That meant looking at Newt. Which normally was pretty hard to stand, because it was Director Graves. With capital letters. That man radiated power and prestige, and Newt had enough problems with looking at him when that man wasn’t looking at Newt as if he wanted to throw Newt to a prison cell in abandoned hole in the middle of hell, sell the door and throw away the key.
Those looks started when Newt had come back to the States after publishing his book. Of course Newt had met the real Percival Graves before leaving, but Graves had been so full of medicine he hadn’t been too coherent – honestly, Newt wasn’t sure if the man had even registered that Newt had been talking to him.
But when they had met again? Sweet Merlin, Graves had looked at Newt as if Newt had killed his favorite dog without ounce of remorse: Graves’ eyebrows were furrowed, his lips pressed into thin line, shoulders unusually tense. Newt supposed it wasn’t surprising considering the situation. At that time he had been kneeling on the floor, trying to take the niffler from under the bench in the corridor in Aurors’ department (he had been waiting for Tina to finish her shift), when Graves had found him. After losing his precious beasts the first time he was in New York what he had showed Graves? That he hadn’t been able to control Horacy for more than few hours after setting his foot in the city.
“Ah! M-mister Graves, I’m sorry, I swear it was an accident!” Newt had almost yelled then, quickly standing up and pressing Horacy to his chest, hoping that Graves wouldn’t want to confiscate him. “I have all my p-permits, I swear! Tina helped me with them and I’m sure everything is all right with them, I checked dates on them, they all have proper signatures too!”
Horacy had wiggled in Newt’s arms and he had hugged him closer, almost burrowing his face in the black fur and looking pleadingly at Graves from under his fringe.
Graves, who somehow seemed to look even more annoyed than before (Newt had gulped when he had noticed the twitching of Graves’ wand hand), simply had nodded.
“… It is all right, mister Scamander. Have a nice afternoon.”
That had been all. Newt had been sure Graves would be more approachable next time, but it quickly turned out that he was wrong. And the next time he had been wrong too. And every single time after that. For some reason on every occasion when they saw each other, Graves was starring at Newt as if Newt had personally offended him. It was happening so often that Newt’s hair started to rise on his neck when Graves was looking at him (which was quite interesting when he thought about it, because it reminded Newt about habits of Polynesian magic salamanders, who had developed a way to sense danger by analyzing air around them: any abrupt change of it caused them to run away - could Newt’s own magic train itself to react to Graves’ presence? Was it an unconscious act? Did it mean that magic could develop a sense of “I”? That would explain a little bit of obscurus’ behaviour, but also connect to Japanese demons from Hokkaido and... um, where he was going with it?). Sometimes as soon as Newt stepped into the MACUSA’s building Graves was already close, watching Newt like a hawk.
A few times he had looked as if he wanted to say something (usually when Newt coming back after catching magical beasts or helping someone tending for them: all sweaty, with tousled hair and crumpled clothes, feeling very stupid in front of well dressed Graves), but he usually only shook his head and bid Newt a good day.
The thing was Newt wanted Graves to like him. He had received a lot of letters from Tina and Queenie, and they both had been too willing to share information about Graves’ health and how everyone had been behaving after he had come back to work. Mostly Tina’s letters had painted a picture of a strong man with high morale and wicked sense of humour, who could die for people he had promised to protect. As much as it surprised him, Newt had started liking that Graves from Tina’s letters. He had been waiting to meet him. He could have even, perhaps, counting days to his return to the States.
To have that wonderful man from Tina’s letters treating Newt like that…
It hurt.
Checking if Tina was busy with her food (how anyone could call what was served in the cafeteria “food” was beyond Newt; and that tea? Disgusting. Water from Boston’s river would taste better than what was passing as “tea” at MACUSA), Newt slightly turned in the chair, looking behind himself. Just like he thought – knew – there was Graves standing at one of aurors’ desks in the first row, observing Newt with squinted eyes. When he noticed that Newt looked at him, his lips curled up in distaste and he quickly turned, and went back to his office.
Newt’s shoulders dropped even more. What had he done to deserve that?
“Newt?” Newt turned back to Tina. She was smiling gently at him, her eyes too knowing. “Are you sure everything is all right?”
Newt thought about the sinking feeling in his stomach he felt every time Graves looked at him like he was a slimy parasite.
“Absolutely.” He lied easily, smiling brightly at her.
I won't say I'm in love 1/?
-/-/-
Hair stood on the back on Newt’s neck. He slumped his shoulders and ducked his head down, feeling guilty as if he had just committed an heinous crime.
(Which he hadn’t done, because this time he got all necessary documents to make the baby unicorn legal in the States and if he had filled those documents after bringing the unicorn to the New York, well, no one had to know about it, right?)
Tina raised her eyebrows at him.
“Something’s wrong?” she asked, taking sip of coffee. They were sitting at her desk, eating lunch, which Newt bought for them from the cafeteria. Tina had asked Newt a few days earlier to meet her, so they could work on his permits for occamies – they would expire soon. “You paled.”
Newt shook his head.
“Shouldn’t buy sandwich with pickles.” He said to his hands, in the corner of his eye observing how Tina smiled sympathetically at him and proceed to continue wolfing down her meal.
The prickling feeling on his neck didn’t want to go away and Newt didn’t have to look behind himself to know what was happening.
Graves was doing that again.
That meant looking at Newt. Which normally was pretty hard to stand, because it was Director Graves. With capital letters. That man radiated power and prestige, and Newt had enough problems with looking at him when that man wasn’t looking at Newt as if he wanted to throw Newt to a prison cell in abandoned hole in the middle of hell, sell the door and throw away the key.
Those looks started when Newt had come back to the States after publishing his book. Of course Newt had met the real Percival Graves before leaving, but Graves had been so full of medicine he hadn’t been too coherent – honestly, Newt wasn’t sure if the man had even registered that Newt had been talking to him.
But when they had met again? Sweet Merlin, Graves had looked at Newt as if Newt had killed his favorite dog without ounce of remorse: Graves’ eyebrows were furrowed, his lips pressed into thin line, shoulders unusually tense.
Newt supposed it wasn’t surprising considering the situation. At that time he had been kneeling on the floor, trying to take the niffler from under the bench in the corridor in Aurors’ department (he had been waiting for Tina to finish her shift), when Graves had found him. After losing his precious beasts the first time he was in New York what he had showed Graves? That he hadn’t been able to control Horacy for more than few hours after setting his foot in the city.
“Ah! M-mister Graves, I’m sorry, I swear it was an accident!” Newt had almost yelled then, quickly standing up and pressing Horacy to his chest, hoping that Graves wouldn’t want to confiscate him. “I have all my p-permits, I swear! Tina helped me with them and I’m sure everything is all right with them, I checked dates on them, they all have proper signatures too!”
Horacy had wiggled in Newt’s arms and he had hugged him closer, almost burrowing his face in the black fur and looking pleadingly at Graves from under his fringe.
Graves, who somehow seemed to look even more annoyed than before (Newt had gulped when he had noticed the twitching of Graves’ wand hand), simply had nodded.
“… It is all right, mister Scamander. Have a nice afternoon.”
That had been all. Newt had been sure Graves would be more approachable next time, but it quickly turned out that he was wrong. And the next time he had been wrong too. And every single time after that. For some reason on every occasion when they saw each other, Graves was starring at Newt as if Newt had personally offended him. It was happening so often that Newt’s hair started to rise on his neck when Graves was looking at him (which was quite interesting when he thought about it, because it reminded Newt about habits of Polynesian magic salamanders, who had developed a way to sense danger by analyzing air around them: any abrupt change of it caused them to run away - could Newt’s own magic train itself to react to Graves’ presence? Was it an unconscious act? Did it mean that magic could develop a sense of “I”? That would explain a little bit of obscurus’ behaviour, but also connect to Japanese demons from Hokkaido and... um, where he was going with it?). Sometimes as soon as Newt stepped into the MACUSA’s building Graves was already close, watching Newt like a hawk.
A few times he had looked as if he wanted to say something (usually when Newt coming back after catching magical beasts or helping someone tending for them: all sweaty, with tousled hair and crumpled clothes, feeling very stupid in front of well dressed Graves), but he usually only shook his head and bid Newt a good day.
The thing was Newt wanted Graves to like him. He had received a lot of letters from Tina and Queenie, and they both had been too willing to share information about Graves’ health and how everyone had been behaving after he had come back to work. Mostly Tina’s letters had painted a picture of a strong man with high morale and wicked sense of humour, who could die for people he had promised to protect. As much as it surprised him, Newt had started liking that Graves from Tina’s letters. He had been waiting to meet him. He could have even, perhaps, counting days to his return to the States.
To have that wonderful man from Tina’s letters treating Newt like that…
It hurt.
Checking if Tina was busy with her food (how anyone could call what was served in the cafeteria “food” was beyond Newt; and that tea? Disgusting. Water from Boston’s river would taste better than what was passing as “tea” at MACUSA), Newt slightly turned in the chair, looking behind himself. Just like he thought – knew – there was Graves standing at one of aurors’ desks in the first row, observing Newt with squinted eyes. When he noticed that Newt looked at him, his lips curled up in distaste and he quickly turned, and went back to his office.
Newt’s shoulders dropped even more. What had he done to deserve that?
“Newt?” Newt turned back to Tina. She was smiling gently at him, her eyes too knowing. “Are you sure everything is all right?”
Newt thought about the sinking feeling in his stomach he felt every time Graves looked at him like he was a slimy parasite.
“Absolutely.” He lied easily, smiling brightly at her.