Graves woke up sometime in the middle of the night a few days later. He wasn't sure what had woken him. Grindelwald was nowhere to be seen, and he hadn't heard anything out of the ordinary. Credence was safe. He’d rolled over earlier, and was sleeping with his back to Graves.

Except he wasn't sleeping, Graves realized. His shoulders shook with near imperceptible tremors, and that was what had woken him.

“Credence?” he asked.

The tremors got a little harder.

Graves took hold of Credence’s shoulder and tried to turn Credence to face him. Credence curled up into a little ball in response.

“I’m sorry,” Credence gasped, voice thick with silent tears. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.”

“It's alright,” Graves murmured. “What's wrong? Are you hurt?”

Credence made no sound while he wept. It was unnerving, and more than a little heartbreaking. He didn't want to imagine the circumstances that led to Credence learning to cry silently, to avoid further punishment.

Graves curled around him, trying to provide what shelter he could. “You’re safe,” he crooned. “I promise, I’ll keep you safe. It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Credence said again.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Graves promised. “Cry for as long as you need to. I’ll be here, when you’re done. It’s alright. You’re safe.”

That opened the floodgates. Credence twisted until he could hide his face against Graves’ chest, fisting his hands in the fabric of Graves’ shirt. His crying didn’t increase in volume at all, but his tears soaked through Graves’ shirt.

Graves crooned wordless nonsense at him and rubbed his back in soothing circles. He’d been a shoulder to cry on for younger students at Ilvermorny, for his nieces and nephews, for terrified young soldiers during the war and more junior Aurors than he could count. (There had, admittedly, been fewer of those since he’d made Director of Magical Law Enforcement. It was alright to cry on senior Aurors and, occasionally, your supervising officer, but apparently the junior Aurors drew the line at crying on their boss. Graves couldn’t imagine crying on either of his predecessors, so he didn’t fault them for that.)

Gwen and Lance had only ever come to him with childhood hurts – things they didn’t want to tell their parents about, but nothing that made him want to rip the world apart so he could rebuild it properly. Only Arthur’s first broken heart had hurt this badly; Graves had burned with the desire to make things right by whatever means necessary, because no one should be able to make his serious, thoughtful oldest nephew cry as though his heart had been torn in two.

He didn’t know why Credence was crying, only that he would do anything to make it stop.

It seemed an eternity before Credence finally stopped.

Graves pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll go get you some water,” he said, starting to extricate himself.

Credence clung to him. “Don’t leave me?” he asked.

Graves stopped trying to get out of bed. “Of course not,” he said. “The water can wait. But you should drink some, to replace the fluids you’ve lost or you’ll have a headache later.” He went back to rubbing soothing circles up and down Credence’s back. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

Credence shook his head.

“Okay,” Graves told him. He let fifteen minutes pass before he slipped free of Credence’s grip and went to fetch the water pitcher. “Drink up. It’ll help.”

Credence drank half the pitcher, and then set it aside to retreat to the tiny bathroom in their cell, so he could splash water on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, once he’d returned to their cot. “I tried not to wake you.”

“I wouldn’t have minded, if you had. You don’t need to hide from me. Not if you don’t want to.”

“It’s just – I know Mr. Grindelwald thinks Modesty’s a No-Maj, but she’s my sister. She used to tell me that I was her favorite brother. I know it’s not true, because she had five real brothers, but it was nice of her to say so. She’s – things happen around her, sometimes. The little things you told me about, that magical children do to keep themselves safe. What if she is magic? Without me there to focus on, Ma will realize what Modesty is and she’ll – she’ll try to beat it out of her. I know she will. And Modesty’s so little. She cried for days, the first time Ma used a belt on her. She won’t be able to do her chores afterward, like I can. And if she doesn’t work, she doesn’t eat. That’s the rule.” Credence looked at Graves with red-rimmed eyes. “What if something bad happens to her, and I’m not there to stop it? Because I’m not. I’m here, and I’m trapped and I am so, so scared, Percival. I don’t know how to not be scared. I’m not brave, like you.”

This was, impossibly, even worse than listening to Credence cry. Graves thought he hated Grindelwald more than he hated anyone else in the world, but that hatred was eclipsed by the sheer rage he felt towards Credence’s Ma.

Graves reached out and caught Credence’s hands in his own. “If she’s magic, her magic will protect her,” he said. “It’s instinctive. That’s what it does, just like yours did.”

He wasn’t entirely certain about that. Had he been at all religious, he’d have prayed that it was true. He just hoped that Grindelwald’s curious interest in Modesty Barebone came to nothing. It would break Credence’s heart, if his little sister turned into the first American Obscurial in over fifty years.

All he had to offer Credence was kindness and the truth. That was probably the closest he’d come to telling Credence a lie.

“It’s alright to be scared,” he told Credence. “I’m scared, too.”

“It’s different,” Credence said. “When you’re scared, you fight. It’s what you do. When I’m scared…” He trailed off. “I do nothing. All being scared does is get me hurt, and I’m not even brave enough to run from it. I just let things happen. I’m just … stupid. And sinful. That’s all I’ll ever be.”

“No,” Graves said sharply – more sharply than he’d ever dared to speak to Credence before. “It isn’t. Credence, you’re the bravest person I know.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Credence said, sounding angry.

“I’m not,” Graves insisted. “I would never lie to you. I swear it. Because you are. You, more than anyone, know exactly how awful the world can be, and you refuse to let it make you mean, or unkind, or careless with other people’s hearts. And you don’t even seem to realize how strong that makes you. How wonderfully brave you must be, to keep getting up every morning and being yourself and not the version of you that would let you pass for whatever everyone else wants you to be.”

It wasn’t enough. He could see that it wasn’t enough, that Credence didn’t believe him.

“Do you know what I thought, the first time Grindelwald brought you to me?” he asked.

“That I was stupid?” Credence suggested, sounding bitter.

It was foolish to revel in that, but Graves knew for a fact Credence would’ve just shaken his head and stayed quiet two weeks ago. Credence had spirit, and nothing Mary Lou Barebone or Grindelwald had done had broken it.

He would do his best to shore Credence’s spirit up, rather than break it. He liked Credence’s spirit. He wanted to see what Credence would do with it, without the constant threat of punishment.

“No,” Graves said. “I looked at the welts on your hands, and I knew they’d come from your own belt. And all you were worried about was me. You asked about my leg, and I thought: what a heart you had, to endure such things and still remain kind. You’re extraordinary.”

“You keep saying that,” Credence said, sounding tired. “When are you going to realize that I’m not?”

“Never,” Graves promised.

Credence gave him a skeptical look.

“I mean it,” Graves insisted.

Credence huffed another wolf-laugh, but he stopped looking like he was being slowly gutted from the inside out.

“If you don’t want to fight, or you don’t know how, then I’ll fight for you,” Graves said.

“Because you’re a warrior,” Credence said.

“Because we’re partners,” Graves corrected. “We’re in this together, so we’re partners. That’s what partners do. I’ll fight, so you don’t have to, and you can be kind, so I remember why I’m fighting.”

“You don’t need me for that,” Credence protested. “You’re the nicest person I know.”

Graves resisted the urge to point out that right now, he was the only person Credence knew, aside from Grindelwald. “That’s just because you haven’t met the right people. Once we get out of here, I’ll introduce you to some really nice people, and you’ll see what a grumpy asshole I am.” He had a list of them, starting with Collins and his wife and Santos, who had his protégé before Norton. Martha the house-elf, who ran MACUSA’s commissary with an iron fist and wasn’t above sneaking a pastry or two to someone a wizard in need, and Sam the Obliviator, who always tried to leave the No-Maj’s with nice memories rather than blank holes. Goldstein and Goldstein the younger, assuming either of them had forgiven him for demoting Goldstein to the wand permit office in the first place.

“You’re not a grumpy asshole,” Credence said, stumbling over the swearword. It was ridiculously endearing.

“Believe me,” Graves told him. “You’re in a distinct minority of people who hold that opinion.”

“If you say so,” Credence said doubtfully.

“I do,” said Graves. “It’s good for my reputation.”

That got him the politely puzzled look.

“I’m the Director of Magical Security, and Head of Magical Law Enforcement,” Graves reminded him. He folded his arms across his chest and gave an exaggerated scowl. “Director Graves is a cold-hearted bastard, you know. Driven – you’d have to be, to be Madam President’s right hand man/rival – but you don’t want to get on his bad side. Did you hear what he did to the Director of Covert Magical Investigations?” He let his voice fall into junior Auror Arceneaux’s warm Cajun accent; Graves had overheard her using just that description to some of the Auror trainees.


“Is that … are you quoting someone?” Credence asked.

“Junior Auror Celeste Arceneaux,” Graves said. “To be fair, she didn’t realize I was right behind her when she was describing me to some Auror trainees.” He’d managed not to laugh at the look on her face when she realized exactly who was behind her, but it had taken some effort. “I thought she was going to pass out from sheer embarrassment. The trainees, too. Although I think they thought I was going to explode. I’ve a bit of a temper sometimes, and the office gossips have turned it into something of a legend at MACUSA.”

“Did you?” Credence asked.

“Of course not. Arceneaux didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, and anyway, grousing about your boss is a time-honored tradition. Merlin knows I’ve done my fair share of it over the years.”

“What did you do, then? You had to have done something; you wouldn’t be laughing about it, otherwise.”

“I’m not laughing,” Graves said. “That would be mean.”

“Your eyes are laughing,” Credence informed him.

“Maybe I’m laughing a little,” Graves amended. “And I didn’t really do anything, either. I just gave her my best deadpan look and said, ‘will that be all, Auror Arceneaux?’ And she said, ‘sir, yes sir, sorry sir!’ and bolted, trainees on her heels. She apologized about it later, after she’d made full Auror. Waited till she’d made a big bust, too, just so she could apologize to me in person on a more equal footing.”

“See?” said Credence. “You are nice.”

“Being mean to the junior Aurors is like kicking a crup,” protested Graves. “You’d have to be a bigger bastard than I am to do it.”

“What’s a crup?”

“Kind of like a dog,” Graves said. “Good pets. Very loyal. Not fond of No-Maj’s, though.” That was putting it mildly.

The puzzled look came back. “What did you do to the Director of Covert Magical Investigations?”

Graves smirked, toothy and entirely smug. “Nothing he didn’t have coming.”

Credence poked him. “Percival,” he said, trying to sound stern. He wasn’t especially convincing, but Graves gave him points for trying.

“Director Fischer assumed that he could borrow my people for his operations with impunity. He also neglected to pay attention to the condition they were returned to me in. I simply corrected his assumptions.” Graves gave Credence the same innocent look he’d given Seraphina when she’d hauled him into her office to rake him over the coals for his behavior. It worked about as well on Credence as it had on Seraphina.

“What did you actually do?”

Credence had good instincts, Graves noted. It went well with his memory and his attention to detail. He really would make a damn fine Auror.

He shrugged, utterly nonchalant. “Hauled him out of his chair and a foot off the ground – without magic. Then I apparated to the top of the Woolworth building for a brief chat about what I’d do if he was foolish enough to let my people get hurt on his watch again.” Graves suspected the sheer, brute physicality of it frightened Fischer more than the threat of being dropped had. Fischer was used to proper wizarding duels.

The Fischer line had always been short-sighted, though. Andrew Fischer was descended from one of the Twelve, just like Graves, but that was where any similarity between the two of them ended. Fisticuffs were a time-honored Graves tradition; Scourers didn’t always fight with magic, so the Graves’ wouldn’t either.

“You threatened to drop him off the roof,” said Credence.

“He’s a wizard! He’d have been fine.”

Credence stared at him.

“I did tell you I wasn’t nice,” Graves said, a little reproachfully.

“I am so glad Mr. Grindelwald foresaw a son and not a daughter,” Credence sighed. “You’d be a nightmare when boys started coming round to call on her.”

“What makes you think I won’t be a nightmare if boys start coming round to call on our son?” Graves asked. “Or girls. Whichever he prefers.”

Credence startled. “Because it’s wrong,” he said. “Men with men. And girls don’t court boys.”

“It’s only illegal if you’re a No-Maj,” Graves said. “It’s not especially common, with wizards, but it’s certainly not taboo. And I think you’ll find a young witch courts whomever she pleases.”

“Oh,” Credence said. “Mr. Grindelwald said that, too. Not the bit about witches, but the part about how it wasn’t wrong. I thought … I thought he lied about that, too. I thought he was just telling me what I wanted to hear.”

“He probably was,” said Graves. “But that doesn’t mean he was lying. The truth can be used to deceive just as well as a lie can.”

“Oh,” Credence said again. “We should … we should get some sleep, shouldn’t we?”

“Alright,” Graves said, frowning a little. Credence sounded a little rattled, but he didn’t want to push. Not now, when Credence finally seemed a little more settled.

He’d misstepped, somehow. He wasn’t sure where or how, but he had.

Graves lay down on their cot next to Credence, keeping Credence tucked between himself and the wall. He’d make things right in the morning.