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fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
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Prompt Post #1
ROUND 1
FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER
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Fill, part 2: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-09 04:25 am (UTC)(link)He had always been blessed (or cursed) with a good memory, which meant that he could recall with exacting detail how she had knocked on his door in the small hours of the morning in her dressing gown, saying her youngest daughter was missing and could he help. He had turned away to grab his coat and shoes, and she had hit him with a Full-Body Bind. The first time he heard Gellert Grindlewald’s voice, he had been lying face down on the rug in his own front hall, rigid as a board, wand clasped uselessly in one frozen hand.
She’d been under Imperius, of course, and Grindlewald had Obliviated her afterwards quite neatly. It had taken a specialist from the Covert Vigilance and Obliviation Bureau to restore the memory, and the process had probably been quite unpleasant; it was no wonder the poor woman couldn’t stand to look at him.
He closed his front door quietly, set the briefcase down beside it as he usually did, hung up his coat, and then just... stalled.
Normally he would have made dinner, then sat down with a stack of files to look through while he ate, but...
He slid slowly to the ground, folded his arms on his knees and rested his head on them. It was very quiet. He used to enjoy the restful silence, like that of his office, allowing him to work without distractions. It was the reason he had installed the silencing charms here as well. Now... (Shout all you want, Mister Graves. You know they can’t hear you...) Now it felt as though the silence was seeping into him, chilling his bones, deadening his ears, until he might as well go back to being a portrait of himself, helpless and pathetic and stuffed into his own sock drawer.
He wasn’t sure how long spent huddled against the door, but by the time he felt capable of moving again it was too dark to make out the pattern on that damnable rug. He felt stiff and chilled, so he ran the bath as hot as he could stand it and then lay in it, staring up at the ceiling. There were spots of mould in the corner; the vent must be clogged again. Clearly Grindelwald hadn’t been keeping up with the household chores; too busy grooming traumatized children and plotting a war to worry about whether his stolen house was rotting around his ears.
The bathwater slowly cooled from scalding-hot to blood-warm, until he could barely feel it, just the slide of liquid against his skin as he breathed. He closed his eyes, and remembered the terrifying lack of sensation that had accompanied being transfigured into a photograph, still capable of movement but not really feeling anything.
All the files said it had been months. It had seemed like years.
That first night Grindelwald had been absolutely vicious, casting Cruciatus with violent snaps of his wrist while he hissed insults and threats and promises of all manner of horrors for the whole of America, wearing Percival down until he lost his grip on his Occlumency shields and then ripping his mind wide open and taking what he liked from it. After that, though, he had transfigured Percival and then left him in the drawer. Percival had shouted and raged for hours, days, muffled behind a silencing charm, and then gradually given up. All a picture could do was look and speak, and he had been deprived even of that.
He might almost have been grateful for the few times Grindelwald dragged him back out into his real shape, except that it had meant being dosed with Veritaserum and having his mind picked over like a particularly-disappointing carcass for bits of information Grindelwald had missed the first time. Then more chunks of his hair cut off for the Polyjuice potion, and the absent wand-flick that sent him back into his prison, eight-by-ten inches of grey paper pinned between glass and wood.
He’d been so grateful when the search team had found him. Goldstein had been leading them, her demotion and narrowly-escaped execution leaving her one of the few Aurors not under suspicion. When he’d been transfigured back for the last time, he’d lifted his head and seen her worried face and felt such a surge of hope and relief that he could have hugged her if his limbs had been at all cooperative. Listening to her earnest recounting of the improbable events of the previous few days had been remarkably steadying as the healers checked him over and pronounced him dehydrated but otherwise fine.
Then the questions had started. Why was he fine? Why wasn’t he injured? How had Grindelwald captured him? Why hadn’t he fought harder? What information had Grindelwald taken from his mind? Had Grindelwald told him what his plans were? Did he know anything about Grindelwald’s followers? Did he know anything useful at all?
And no-one said: Why didn’t anybody notice that you were gone?
( No family, no friends, just your work colleagues, and they barely know you, Grindelwald had hissed into his ear. You’re perfect. It’s as though you went out of your way to isolate yourself just for me.)
He’d had friends at school and during his training, or at least acquaintances, people he’d been friendly with. Once he started moving up the ranks, though, the camaraderie required for fieldwork dropped away and it was all inter-office politics and gossip. He was from an old family and everyone knew he was Going Places, so people made a point of being friendly, but he’d never had any patience for that sort of thing, so he rapidly developed a reputation for being cold-blooded and aloof. That suited him just fine: you could tell a lot about people from the way they reacted to him, once he was known to be unforgivingly law-abiding. His team respected him (and if they were a little nervous about it, well, it wasn’t good to be too familiar with your employees anyway) and his superiors trusted him, and he kept getting promoted until he only had the one superior left.
Becoming Director had been wonderful. He had reorganized the Department to iron out all the inefficiencies that had bothered him moving up the ranks, and their solve rates had soared. The hours were long, and he had to do far more politicking than he liked, but he discovered that his reputation stood him in good stead there: he was a no-nonsense man of his word, and that helped remarkably with inter-office and inter-continental relations.
Grindelwald had ruined all of that: his credibility was completely shot. He wouldn’t want to work for any law enforcement agency that would that would agree to employ such a massive security risk, especially since Grindelwald had somehow managed to slip free while being transferred. Seraphina could offer all the references she wanted, but his career was over. The trouble was, he’d never really been good at anything else.
He lifted one hand out of the bathwater and considered his wrinkled fingers. He should probably get out. See if there was anything left in the kitchen after the search squad went through looking for him. It seemed like such a lot of effort, though. Grindelwald had stolen his life and worn it like a cheap suit, discarded it once he no longer needed it, and now it seemed to be more hole than cloth. Without MACUSA, what was the point of Percival Graves? He was just a waste of space, really. No longer fit for purpose.
He’d have to do something about the house, though. The Aurors had checked for booby traps when they’d gone through, but he they might have missed something. Grindelwald had slept in his bed, worn his clothes, eaten with his crockery and silverware; the house was as much of a security risk as he was, really, and it would be unkind to leave all that to whichever of his relatives got left with his effects. So, he would have to clear the place out, probably destroy all the furniture. After that... Well. He was (had been) an Auror. There were hundreds of ways to kill yourself. All he had to do was pick one that wouldn’t be too much of a bother for whoever had to clean the place afterwards.
Re: Fill, part 2: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-09 12:13 pm (UTC)(link)Fill, part 3: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-10 03:02 pm (UTC)(link)The mediwitch who’d checked him over had said that being Transfigured for long periods of time could have some lingering effects on that sort of thing, and listed off possible symptoms. He had nodded, and thanked her, and ignored her carefully worded suggestion that he might perhaps be in shock. Grindelwald had barely touched him; there was nothing wrong with him that a little sleep wouldn’t cure. So he let himself sleep in, since he had nowhere to be, and when he got tired, he took naps.
The couch in the living room wasn’t too bad to sleep on, since the bed was gone. A blanket might have been nice, but it seemed like far too much effort to go out and buy one. It would only be a few more days, and besides, if he left the house he would have to make himself presentable, and he no longer had a shaving kit. Or a mirror.
(Smile for me, Mister Graves, Grindelwald had murmured, flicking his stolen wand, I know you don’t do it often, but I need to get it right. He didn’t know which was worse, seeing Grindelwald’s smirk on his doppelganger’s face or his own smile, perfectly copied. )
The mirror had needed to go. Everything in the bathroom, too. That rug in the hallway. While he was deconstructing the rug into a pile of shredded fibres, he decided he should get rid of all the carpets, really, because Grindelwald had walked on them.
And then he thought about it, about the fact that Grindelwald had been living in his house for months, and there was no way of knowing what he had touched. None of it could be trusted. Everything went a little vague for a while, but when he became aware of his surroundings again he’d finished disintegrating the rug, and everything else in the entryway, too. That was a good start, so he kept going.
There weren’t a lot of personal touches in his house, since he basically only came home to sleep and change clothes. There were two pictures on the mantelpiece over the fire, one of himself and his parents before they passed away, and another of his parents’ wedding, with assorted cousins and second-cousins to whom he hadn’t spoken in years. He destroyed those with particular care, after checking them twice to see if there were any obvious curses; Grindelwald might have banked upon his being too sentimental to get rid of them, but if so he had vastly underestimated Percival’s determination.
(I have to say, I was expecting the head of MACUSA’s security to be a little more difficult to crack, Mister Graves. And you have such a fearsome reputation, too. I wonder, did you get the job based solely on your name, or are the rest of your underlings just that pathetic?)
He hadn’t bothered unpacking the rest when he moved in, so they were still in a box in the attic. When he checked, they were still layered with dust over their preservation charms, and he spent hours pacing back and forth in the cramped space as he tried to decide if Grindelwald would have bothered to open them up, booby-trap them, and then put the dust back. There was nothing particularly valuable in there, just old papers and photographs from his school years and Auror training, some things of his parents’ that he’d kept, and Grindelwald had had no reason to go through them; he’d made it clear that his choice of Percival had been expedience rather than some personal grudge. But. He could have.
In the end Percival left them, telling himself he could always come back to them, but it felt like failure and he was a little nauseous.
The feeling stayed with him as he worked his way through the house room by room, until finally he was left standing in his study with a quill and ink, a roll of parchment, and a coil of rope. He settled cross-legged on the floor and considered the blank paper. There wasn’t much to say, really. He had made his will years ago, when he first started in the field.
He dipped the pen, and frowned at his unsteady hand. To Whom it May Concern, he wrote carefully, and then started at a knock on his front door. Ink spattered the paper, and he cursed and put the pen back in the inkwell as the knocking continued. He lurched to his feet and had to brace a hand against the wall as the room swam for a moment, then he padded out, shutting the study door behind him just in case.
He peered through the spyhole in the front door, and then carefully began lowering the wards to open it. He recognised the man standing on his doorstep easily enough – he was distinctive, and Percival had seen the files.
Newt Scamander blinked at him when he opened the door. “Disconcerting,” he said thoughtfully.
Percival raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”
Scamander ducked his head slightly, shrugging one shoulder. “Well, I’d heard about you from Theseus, you see, but this is the first time I’ve actually met you, though I did meet somebody else wearing your face. I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”
All the sightings placed Grindelwald in Europe, Percival reminded himself. Seraphina didn’t think anyone was going to come after him. And if they did, why would they come disguised as Newt Scamander? Who was studying him now with great interest.
“I’m not an imposter, but if it would make you more comfortable to check, be my guest,” he said, without a trace of sarcasm. He spread his hands slightly, showing that they were empty, and then waited.
Percival hesitated a moment, but there was a general charm over his entire house to divert No-Maj attention, and the man had offered, so he cast a swift Revelio and felt himself relax as the face in front of him remained freckled and earnest.
“Sorry,” Percival muttered, as he stepped back to let the other man in.
“Oh, no, I quite understand, given the circumstances,” Scamander replied, pausing in the entryway. He seemed momentarily stymied by the lack of a coat stand, but set down his case and began taking it off anyway.
Percival looked at the case. “Is that, ah-“
Scamander blinked down at the innocuous brown leather thing. “Oh, not to worry, I have a permit. Permits, actually. Quite legal, as long as everybody stays inside it. And I have new locks, which have proven thoroughly Niffler-proof, so it’ll be fine. Is that alright?” He hadn’t quite met Percival’s eyes, but that was possibly nothing personal; he remembered Scamander, Theseus Scamander, complaining more than once about his awkward little brother’s loose grasp of social conventions.
After a moment, Percival shrugged. “If you say it’s fine, I’m sure it is. Not my job to worry about that anymore.”
“Yes, of course. My apologies,” Scamander said quietly, folding his coat neatly and setting it on top of the case. “That is sort of why I’m here, actually. I-“ he paused, and then flushed rather charmingly. “I’m sorry, I do occasionally have manners. I’m Newt Scamander. Which you probably knew, given the, ah,” he gestured at the case, “but, well. Nice to finally meet you.”
He extended a hand and smiled, and Percival smiled back reflexively, the expression feeling strange on his face, as he shook the proffered hand. “Percival Graves, which I am sure you also knew. And I must admit I’ve heard a fair bit about you from your brother, so we’re even on that score.”
“Oh, dear,” Scamander muttered, flushing darker. “He tends to exaggerate things, I’m afraid, so I hope you haven’t paid too much attention to anything he’s said.”
“Given what Miss Goldstein told me, I think he might have been understating matters in your case, Mister Scamander,” Percival told him wryly.
“The whole situation escalated quite rapidly,” Scamander muttered, ducking his head again, “and call me Newt, please.”
“If you’ll return the favour,” Percival agreed, and then realised that they were still standing next to the front door. “Sorry, come on in. Would you like-“ he paused, thinking. He’d thrown out the tea, because Grindelwald had drunk it. He preferred coffee anyway.
(Grindelwald had made him a cup of coffee once, just the way he liked it, and then watched him drink it with fixed attention. It’s the little things you have to watch, he’d said, smiling Percival’s smile back at him as he sat paralysed in the other chair, because people might not realise how well they know somebody, but if the gestures and mannerisms are wrong, they start to feel uneasy without knowing why, and if you do something out of character they are immediately suspicious. Once you get the small details right, you can get away with all the rest quite easily. )
He’d thrown out the coffee, too.
“Percival?” said a soft voice, and Percival blinked.
“Ah, sorry. I- A glass of water, perhaps? I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting guests.”
“Clean water is nothing to sniff at,” Newt said mildly, his mouth tugging up into an uncertain smile. “It’s quite the luxury in some places.”
Percival tried to smile back, but his face felt stiff and cold, so he turned and headed into the house. He led Newt past the now-empty living room and to the kitchen, and then paused. The glasses were well and truly gone, and he could hardly expect a guest to drink from the tap the way he’d been doing.
Newt, behind him, was looking around thoughtfully. “Tina said you were going on holiday. I wasn’t sure if you had already left, but I thought I could leave a note, maybe see if your neighbours knew where you’d gone. Are you planning to move, instead?”
“...something like that,” Graves agreed.
“Most people take the furniture with them, don’t they?” It was an innocent enough question, but Percival tensed anyway.
“Grindelwald touched it.” He knew his tone was too flat, tried to smile to alleviate the effect, but Newt was gazing past him at the pile of powder that had been the table before Percival reduced it to its component molecules.
“You didn’t wish to sell it?” he asked.
“Grindelwald touched it,” Percival repeated, more sharply. “It was... compromised. I destroyed it.”
Newt did look at him then, a brief moment of eye contact and then a thoughtful once-over. Percival abruptly recalled that that he hadn’t shaved since he’d gotten rid of the mirror. That was none of Newt’s business, though, and he’d spelled his clothes clean and taken a bath that morning, so he was hardly a complete eyesore. Plenty of people didn’t shave if they weren’t planning to leave the house.
Newt kept looking at him, though, and Percival abruptly wanted him gone, wanted to be quiet and unobserved again while he finished up.
He opened his mouth to ask why Newt was here, so he could give him whatever he wanted and get him to leave, but Newt took a step closer to him, just one, and said mildly, “Would you like a cup of tea, perhaps? I have tea.” He stepped closer again, not quite meeting Percival’s eyes, keeping his body at a slight angle to Percival’s own. “And biscuits, too, I picked up some shortbread while I was staying with Theseus. He wanted me to ask you a question, but there’s no rush, and a nice cup of tea makes everything feel much more civilised.”
Percival recognised the body language, the sort Aurors used for de-escalating a situation when facing someone panicking and possibly armed, but couldn’t think what the man was doing. He actually checked his hands, just to be sure, but his wand was still neatly up his sleeve and his hands were empty.
Newt stopped, not quite close enough to crowd Percival, and then tipped his head to the side and frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you not like tea? I know some Americans don’t, but I’m afraid I don’t have any coffee. How terribly thoughtless of me, that-“ and he looked so flustered that Percival interrupted with, “No, no, tea is fine,” without thinking, and Newt relaxed.
“Oh, good, thank you,” he said, smiling more earnestly now, and pulled out his wand, turning back towards the door to make a smooth flicking motion. Percival blinked once, raising an eyebrow as the brown case slid into the room, settled on its side and opened, tipping the blue coat onto the floor.
Newt gave him another little smile, and brushed his knuckles against Percival’s shoulder lightly. He moved away, picking up his coat and dusting furniture-particles off it, folding it over his arm. “Do come in,” he said over his shoulder. “Mind the stairs,” and then he stepped into the case.
Percival watched him disappear, and then sighed, surrendering to inevitability, and followed.
Re: Fill, part 3: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-10 04:22 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill, part 3: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-10 06:13 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill, part 3: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-15 02:31 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill, part 4/5: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-22 01:00 pm (UTC)(link)He stepped carefully down into Newt’s case, and had to pause for a moment, blinking in surprise. He was in a small cluttered room, more of a shed really, and through the open door he could see a brightly-lit space filled with color and movement. It smelled of a curious mixture of animals and old books, and something like ‘fresh air’, the sort that people talked about when they said they were going away to the countryside. Newt had set his coat down and was fussing about with a kettle and cups.
“Have a seat,” he said over his shoulder, reaching up into a cupboard. Percival looked around, confused, but then Newt turned back, now holding a biscuit tin, and said “Oh, here, just-“ he flicked his wand and a large trunk slid over to the center of the room. A second flick, and a panel slid out of the side bench to form a small table, where he set the biscuit tin and opened it. “There, help yourself. I don’t get a lot of visitors either, I’m afraid.”
Percival sat on the trunk, and took a piece of shortbread as he said, “I shall consider myself honored, then.” He bit into the biscuit, and it was very good, sweet and buttery and rich. He swallowed, and sharp pain shot through him as his stomach cramped alarmingly. He must have made a sound, because Newt set the kettle down hurriedly and turned towards him. He hesitated a step away and asked, “May I?” and Percival stared at him in confusion, because it was his... case, so he hardly needed Percival’s permission to sit down. “Sure,” he muttered, wincing as his stomach groaned.
Rather than take a seat, Newt pressed the back of a hand to Percival’s forehead, politely ignoring his involuntary flinch at the contact, and then tilted his face up with gentle hands to look at his eyes, two fingers sliding down to rest against his throat. Checking his pulse, Percival realized, as Newt looked over at the clock on the wall for half a minute, and then let go. Then he sat down next to Percival, carefully angled again so that they were facing one another but not directly. “Grindelwald touched the food, too, didn’t he?” he said softly. Percival froze. His fingers twitched slightly, and the half-eaten biscuit dropped onto the table.
“Yes,” he managed hoarsely.
“And you didn’t bother to get any more, since you weren’t planning on being around to eat it,” Newt went on, still so gentle, “because you were going to destroy everything in that house that he’d touched.”
Percival swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. His wand was still up his sleeve. He should never have opened the door. Newt would have just thought he’d left the country. He needed to finish what he’d started.
(Pathetic Grindelwald sneered.)
The light brush of fingers against his hand startled him back to himself. “I have to admit, it’s actually rather impressive,” Newt confided, leaning a little closer, their shoulders brushing. He was very warm. “You do realize it’s been two weeks since you left MACUSA? And you’re still capable of polite conversation. You have been drinking water, at least?”
“I left the plumbing alone,” Percival agreed. “I was dehydrated, after... The mediwitch told me to keep up my fluid intake.”
“Yes, of course. Sorry, biscuits probably weren’t a good choice. If you give me a moment, I’ll make you some broth.”
“What?” Percival said blankly.
“Broth,” Newt repeated mildly. “To get your system used to food again.”
Percival stared at him. He flexed his fingers, to make sure he could get at his wand easily, and then said, “And if I wish to decline?”
Newt winced slightly, and then took a breath. “I- If you really don’t want my help, then... I will respect your wishes. I’m not- It’s your life. I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to do with it. But I don’t think you’re in any state to be making irreparable decisions at the moment.” He leaned closer again, coaxing, his voice soft, and murmured, “Could I ask you to eat something? And perhaps get some sleep, and then when you’re feeling a little better, I can tell you why I’m here, and then you can decide? ”
It was odd, Percival decided absently, how knowing exactly what Newt was doing made it no less effective. The low voice and non-threatening body language were soothing his restless nerves, and there was something unutterably comforting about the warm light and constant thrum of sounds filtering in through the door. His cold, empty house seemed very far away, and the thought of climbing back up the stairs out of Newt’s case was exhausting. He found his head swaying a little. “Soup, you said?” he asked sluggishly.
“Broth,” Newt corrected, and smiled at him. “I’ll just be a moment heating it up. Would you like to lie down? You look quite done in, I’m afraid.”
“I... Thank you.”
Newt slid to his feet and around the trunk, helping Percival up with gentle hands and guiding him across the room to a narrow bed, tucking a blanket over him and patting his shoulder lightly. “Just a little longer, alright? If you doze off, I’ll wake you when it’s ready.”
Percival watched him moving briskly about the cluttered room, neatly stepping over and around the various things on the floor as he fished a spoon from one cupboard and a pot from another and set the one to stir the other over a small camp stove as he added things, humming softly to himself.
Percival didn’t remember dozing off, but he had a vague recollection of being nudged upright and coaxed to drink something warm and savory, and then settled back down again by those gentle hands, that soft voice murmuring, “Easy, just rest, nobody can get you down here, I promise.”
He woke, disoriented, to find himself ravenously hungry, and winced a little as he realized where he was and what had happened. He wasn’t wearing his watch, he noted vaguely, and the quality of the light was so different from New York that he really couldn’t judge the time. He glanced around for a clock, but there wasn’t one in evidence. Newt was perched on the trunk, writing something in a notebook balanced on his knee. He started slightly when Percival sat up, and then smiled at him. “Morning. How do you feel? Any dizziness or nausea?”
Percival blinked. “Hungry. Still tired.”
Newt beamed. “Excellent. Think you could manage toast? I have jam or marmalade.”
He began fussing about again, though he did take a moment to show Percival the neatly hidden bathroom behind one of the bookshelves, and then he was settling a tray of toast and jam in front of Percival, and a cup of tea. It smelled odd, something herbal and maybe... aniseed? Percival frowned at it.
“It’ll help settle your stomach,” Newt said, perching beside him with his own toast. “Liquorice root, peppermint, and fennel. No potions, just herbs. And honey.”
And that seemed to be all he had to say. He got his notebook out again, eating his own food absently as he scribbled notes. Newt was constantly moving: he tapped, fidgeted, chewed on the side of his thumb, either not noticing or caring that there was ink on said thumb which was now smeared across his mouth, and then wrote furiously for a few moments. He cocked his head every so often, listening, though Percival could not have said what in the jumble of noises from outside had caught his attention.
Percival sipped the tea and ate the toast and watched Newt; his stomach squirmed uneasily but settled down after a while, and he felt more clear-headed than he had in days. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling. He knew a thing or two about Newt Scamander, and he had the growing suspicion that accepting an invitation into his case was a very bad idea if he was hoping to convince the man to go away and leave him alone.
Although possibly his mistake had been letting him inside at all. Newt might seem uninterested in anything that didn’t have fur, scales, wings, or some kind of venom (or preferably all of the above) but even the most distracted observer could hardly have failed to notice something fishy when Percival answered the door looking like death warmed over and his house was completely bare apart from little heaps of vaporized-furniture dust.
Still, perhaps the situation wasn’t unsalvageable. Percival finished the last of his tea and set the cup down gently. “That was lovely, thank you. I apologize for all the inconvenience. You said you needed to speak to me?”
Newt hummed thoughtfully, finished what he was writing, and then looked up. “Oh! Ah, yes. It’s Theseus, really.”
“Theseus wanted to talk to me?” Percival asked, curious despite himself. Newt nodded, cocking his head towards the door for a moment, and then smiling briefly at Percival.
“Yes, but he can’t possibly leave the country at the moment, and he was getting a bit sick of me being underfoot all the time, so he said I should go.” His head kept turning towards the open door, and he only seemed to have half his attention on the conversation.
“Am I keeping you?” Percival asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh!” Newt flushed. “Sorry, it’s just the Occamies again, I should probably go and make sure they aren’t getting into mischief. I- Would you like to come?”
Percival frowned. “Is that a good idea? I thought- The report said that Grindlewald had gotten in here.”
Newt cocked his head thoughtfully. “He did take a look around, but nobody was hurt and nothing was touched except the Obscurus, so I think he got a bit distracted as soon as he saw it.” He turned to face Percival and said with unnerving sincerity, “I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you, I promise.”
Percival swallowed. His chest felt tight, as if all the muscles had seized up, the way they did when a person was electrocuted, and he was having trouble getting enough air. Newt was far too close. Percival wanted him as far away as possible. That way he wouldn’t be tempted to bury his face in Newt’s shoulder and listen to him make impossible promises and mean them. “Fine,” he rasped out at last. “Let’s go.”
Newt’s expression bloomed into a smile of surpassing loveliness. Percival felt positively dizzy. “Let me know if you start to feel unwell,” Newt cautioned, but then he was up and out the door.
The dazed feeling did not lessen as Percival followed the polite lunatic out into his impossibly-large menagerie. The Occamies were much smaller than he’d expected, and also very pretty. Two of them had gotten into a squabble over a big cockroach. Newt took it away from both of them, chided them gently, and then broke it in half and gave them a piece each. Percival stared, abruptly grateful that he’d always had a strong stomach, though he apparently couldn’t hold a candle to Newt Scamander. Newt gave him a sharp look. “Alright?”
“Fine, thank you. That’s disgusting, by the way.”
Newt gave a little huff of amusement, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his hands with it. “Theseus made that face at me once. I don’t remember what I was doing then, but the next time I saw him he gave me a stack of handkerchiefs so loaded with cleaning spells I am constantly surprised there’s any fabric left.” He waved the handkerchief, smiling, then tucked the cloth back into his pocket and shrugged. “I do also wash my hands regularly, especially if there’s food involved, but my career doesn’t lend itself to squeamishness.”
Percival shrugged. “Neither does mine, but that seemed unnecessarily grotesque.”
Newt turned back to the Occamies. “Expedient. I don’t have a talent for wandless magic, and I often need two hands, so. Regretting agreeing to accompany me?”
“Merely grateful that I’ve never considered getting an exotic pet,” Percical said wryly.
Newt frowned. “These aren’t pets. They’re wild animals which I am rehabilitating. The Occamies are here because they’ve lost their mother; I will do my best to teach them what they need to survive, and then release them back into their natural habitat. The same with almost all of the creatures in here.”
“Only almost?”
“I do have a few long-term residents. Some of them have been injured too badly to be able to survive in the wild. Others... their natural habitat no longer exists, mostly due to human encroachment. There are petitions underway in a number of countries to create sanctuaries for endangered creatures, which hopefully means that they will be able to find real homes in the future. In the meantime, they’re making do with my paltry replications.”
Percival looked around. “Don’t sell yourself short. This is incredible work.”
Newt ducked his head. “Oh, well. I could hardly rescue them and then keep them in cages. That would be both unkind and detrimental to their health. Oh, speaking of, I need to check on Lucy.”
Percival followed bemusedly as Newt darted off again, weaving through the vibrant colors of impossible spaces until he came to what looked like a clearing in a thick, overgrown forest. There was mossy bracken underfoot, and it was dim and pleasantly cool in the shade of the massive trees, which leaned together, branches all tangled into a canopy so thick that the sky could not be seen through them.
Newt cast Percival a quick glance, and said, “Wait just there, please, and be... unobtrusive.”
Percival raised an eyebrow, glancing around. He was fairly sure that he was silhouetted against the hot light emanating from the desert habitat they’d just passed, but Newt seemed unconcerned, so he waited.
Newt called softly, “Lucy?” After a moment, he padded over to the very edge of the clearing and sat down at the base of one of the huge trees, where he settled in with the air of a man prepared for a long wait.
Re: Fill, part 5/5: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-22 01:03 pm (UTC)(link)He was startled out of the memory by something moving amongst the trees, something large, and he tensed sharply, remembering that he hadn’t actually bothered to ask what ‘Lucy’ was. His wand was still up his sleeve. He could grab Newt and Apparate them away if it was dangerous. Newt had promised it would be fine. Newt was smiling up at a fucking unicorn as it limped warily out of the trees.
“Hello, love,” Newt crooned, low and soothing. “How’s the leg today?”
The unicorn snorted, turning in Percival’s direction and lowering its head threateningly, and Newt murmured, “Hey, easy, that’s Percival, he’s my friend. He’s just going to stay there while I look at that brace for you, alright?”
Percival swallowed hard and concentrated on being unobtrusive, as requested.
A unicorn. It was... horse-shaped, and white, and it had a horn on its forehead, a long, spiraling spear of pearlescent ivory. That was the way unicorns were usually described, and it was accurate, but missed completely the wild, impossible beauty of its clean lines and the sense of power that radiated out from it.
It turned away from him after a moment, dropping its head to nose at Newt’s hair affectionately, and he shifted forward into a crouch as he ran his fingers along its right front leg, which was wrapped in a sort of cage of thin pieces of metal, secured with bandages. Newt cupped his hands gently around the unicorn’s golden hoof and coaxed it to raise and lower the foot, watching the motion of the limb intently. Then he let it go, and said happily, “That’s looking much better, and the swelling is almost gone. Another day or two and I think you can have that off, hmm?”
The unicorn snuffled his hair again, and then deliberately bumped him with its shoulder, upsetting his balance and sending him sprawling across the mossy ground. He chuckled delightedly, rolling back to his feet, and said, “What cheek! If you’re feeling that well, my dear, could I ask a favor?”
It snorted at him, stamping its good hoof warningly, and Newt spread his hands wide, relaxed and unthreatening. “Nothing bad, I promise. You’re safe here. And so is my friend Percival, but something bad happened to him, something terrible, and he’s afraid that he’s been... tainted. Would you be able to check?”
“Newt, don’t be ridiculous,” Percival muttered. “I am hardly pure, it isn’t going to-“
Newt chuckled. “That doesn’t count for as much as you’d think. It’s alright, nobody’s going to hurt you here.” Percival wasn’t sure which of them that last part was addressed to, but he had the nagging suspicion that it wasn’t the unicorn.
Newt kept pace with the unicorn’s uneven gait as they made their way over to where Percival was sitting, feeling sick and afraid but trying not to show it.
The unicorn raised its head and stared down its nose at Percival, and he felt his jaw lock up with tension but Newt said soothingly, “Easy, she’s just looking. Unicorns have their eyes placed differently to humans, she angling her head so that you’re where her vision is clearest. Horses do the same thing.”
Percival swallowed hard, but stayed where he was. Up close, the unicorn smelled like a spring morning, just before dawn when the dew was still on the grass and the air was crisp and clear It blinked wide, silver-lashed dark eyes at him, and then it lowered its head and breathed against his face, slowly, a cloud of warm, clover-scented air enveloping him, and rubbed its face against his. It had soft, silken fur, and his skin tingled faintly when it pulled away. His eyes were wet.
He was dimly aware of Newt murmuring to the unicorn, and he blinked furiously to clear his eyes so that he could watch it walk away, but they kept filling up again and leaking down his face and he raised a hand to rub them but it was shaking so badly, and his breathing hitched audibly and then there were arms curled around him, tugging him against a bony shoulder and Newt was crooning slowly against his hair, wordless and soft, the way he’d done to soothe the Occamies and the unicorn, and Percival fisted a hand in his shirt and just held on.
It felt like a very long time later when he finally managed to get his breathing back under control, but Newt was still wrapped around him making low, comforting sounds. Percival took a breath, and when it didn’t devolve into shuddering gasps, he said carefully, “Thank you, I think I’m alright.”
Newt released him at once, but stayed close, settling cross-legged on the grass with their shoulders brushing. “To be honest, I’m not sure you are.”
Percival hiccupped out a laugh. “Oh, what gave it away?”
Newt sighed. “Theseus wants to offer you a job.”
“What?” Percival said blankly. “He can’t. I’m compromised. I- Grindelwald had me for months. It’s not safe.”
“Unicorns can detect Dark magic,” Newt said carefully. “If you were cursed, or controlled, she would have been able to tell. I can’t guarantee he didn’t do anything, but Theseus said the chance of Grindelwald anticipating you moving to England and setting some sort of long-term command that would make you mess up their operations is fairly low, and he’d be willing to risk it. To quote him directly, ‘If MACUSA are stupid enough to throw out their best Auror like that, then they don’t deserve to keep him.’ And then he told me I should go and visit Tina, and see you while I was here.”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think he was getting a bit sick of having me underfoot, to be honest. The editing for my manuscript is taking a ridiculously long time, and I can’t really go anywhere interesting while it’s happening or Merlin knows what they’d change. Honestly, if I’d known the thing was going to be such a hassle, I’d have thought twice about agreeing to it.”
“Somehow, I think you would have done it anyway,” Percival said, eyeing him sidelong.
Newt’s mouth curled up into a rueful smile. “Well, yes, obviously. But I might have thought about it.”
Percival sighed. He felt hollowed out, scraped raw. “Is that it, then? Your unicorn gave me a bill of clean health, so you think I should take Theseus up on his offer?”
Newt paused, and then said carefully. “I think it’s a good opportunity, and you’re more than qualified. I also think that there’s no deadline on it, so if you wanted to take some time for yourself, you could. Your job isn’t the only thing Grindelwald took from you.”
“I’m fine,” Percival snapped, “he barely touched me, I wasn’t-“
“Percival,” Newt said, settling an arm around his shoulders again gently. “There’s no more or less. Lucy’s leg was broken when she was captured by smugglers who planned to carve her up for parts. The Graphorns are the last of their entire species. Do the Graphorns deserve less care because they weren’t injured? Does Lucy deserve less because she isn’t entirely alone? There is always somebody else who has had something worse happen to them, but that doesn’t mean that what was done to you wasn’t indescribably awful. It doesn’t mean that you are weak, or that you don’t deserve help or time to recover.”
Percival opened his mouth to say something, anything, but all that came out was a choked noise, and he clenched his jaw shut, held his eyes wide so that they wouldn’t start to leak. Newt just waited quietly. After a few tense moments, Percival sighed out a shaky breath and let himself lean into Newt’s arm. He was very warm, and surprisingly sturdy for such a lanky man. “I’m not one of your creatures,” he managed hoarsely. “You can’t just... keep me in here until I’m better and then find me a new habitat.”
“Of course not,” Newt replied easily, and Percival felt something horribly like disappointment twist up his stomach. He started to shift away, but Newt went on, “I wouldn’t keep you here. But if you wanted to stay, you’d be more than welcome.”
Percival shut his eyes. This was ridiculous. Newt was ridiculous. He was a fully grown wizard, he shouldn’t need- He swallowed hard. (Pathetic, Grindelwald sneered.)
‘If you’re not sure you can handle a situation, you damn well take backup,’ he’d told more than one of his subordinates, ‘and if your ego can’t handle asking for help, you don’t belong in the field.’
He still had his wand. He could always finish it later, if there was any sign that he was a danger to others. He’d read the files: Newt had fought Grindelwald, was clearly both more dangerous and more observant than he seemed, and there was no way that he would let Percival harm any of his ‘guests’. He already owed Newt his life, he’d just sobbed all over the man’s shoulder, and he still wanted to help. Maybe... it wouldn’t hurt to let him try.
“How long?” he asked quietly.
Newt shrugged, withdrawing his arm so that he could look Percival in the face earnestly. “As long as you need. I have plenty of room.”
He didn’t seem bothered when Percival hugged him this time, just rested his pointy chin over Percival’s shoulder and hugged back.
Re: Fill, part 5/5: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-22 03:01 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill, part 5/5: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-26 11:15 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill, part 5/5: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-22 05:41 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill, part 5/5: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-26 11:18 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill, part 5/5: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-22 06:03 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill, part 5/5: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-26 11:23 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill, part 5/5: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-22 08:11 pm (UTC)(link)Thank you, so much. <3
Re: Fill, part 5/5: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-26 11:28 am (UTC)(link)<3 right back at you, you amazing person!
Up on AO3!
(Anonymous) 2017-01-26 11:14 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill, part 5/5: Graves/Newt - Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort
(Anonymous) 2017-01-26 12:53 pm (UTC)(link)