Prompt Post #1

[fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme]

 ROUND 1

FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER

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Credence/Graves, forbidden love, sugar daddy

[(Anonymous)]

NO GRINDELWALD!

After Tina does what she does with poor Credence's so-called mother head auror Percival Graves has to fire her...but in the process of investigating what happened he meets Credence - a lovely but severely repressed young man. He's attracted to him, there is no doubt about that. Despite his better judgement he seeks out the young man and befriends him even though he's not supposed to do that.

They spend time together, Graves takes him places - museums, restaurants, etc., all secret from Credence's mother, and their friendship deepens. One thing leads to another and one night they consummate their relationship in a hotel.

They are both terrified though, if for different reasons. Percival is head auror, he knows this relationship is forbidden and it could cost him his career and his social standing. Credence's stakes are even higher, for obvious reasons. Apart from getting beaten half to death and disowned and thrown out into the street he could even end up in jail for loving another man. Their situation is impossible yet they cannot help how they feel.

Does it all come out into the open with all the ensuing consequences? Does Graves manage to get Credence out of his abusive home? Does Credence's magic manifest, making it possible for them to be together?

Fill: What Shines Through (1/18)

[(Anonymous)]

A/N Okay, so this is probably going to be a bit more mean/angsty than anon prompted asked for, I hope that's not a problem.

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For as long as he’s known Tina Goldstein she’s been a fierce young woman, bright-eyed and resolute, never still. Now she’s slumping, defeated, eyes rimmed red and knuckles white as she seems to be grasping her wand with all the strength she has left.

“Tina,” he says, slowly. “You know how it is. I can’t keep you on.”

“That woman’s awful,” she says, with an ager he’s rarely heard in her voice. “Just awful, sir, I couldn’t just stand there, someone’s got to stop her…”

“Of course she’s awful,” Graves cuts her off, impatient. “She wants to kill all witches and wizards, doesn’t she? Burn us on the stake? But I expect that my Aurors have the self-restraint not to snap in the middle of the street like some No-Maj, and the brains not to get caught.”

Really, sometimes Graves regrets his own restrain, or whatever of his qualities is that makes him seem more righteous than he could ever be. Had the silly girl approached him with her intentions about that No-Maj preacher, he could have arranged something. He could have the woman delivered to some secluded place, to let Goldstein get rid of her baser urges, and then Obliviate her like it never happened – but it was too late for that. He had a professional reputation to maintain.

“Tell you what, Tina,” he went on. “If you can manage six months of good behavior – no insubordinations, no mistakes, no Second Salemers – I’ll see about having you reinstated. Only six months. Think you can do that?”

Goldstein nods, imperceptibly, and for a moment Graves thinks that’s all there’s going to be. But that’s when Tina has to run her mouth, just as always, and that’s when it all begins.

“She beats her son,” she says, barely a whisper, making Graves frown.

“Pardon?” he asks, leaning in.

“The Second Salemer, she beats her son,” Goldstein repeats. “She’s vicious. All of the children, but the oldest one the most. I had to heal him the other day, he was bleeding so much…”

Graves has to hold back a sigh, not entirely surprised. “And that’s why you attacked her.” He doesn’t pass judgement, no more than he already has. Goldstein nods again.

“Mr. Graves…” she begins. “Sir. Could you maybe go to him… and see if he’s okay? Please?”

He shouldn’t go. He really should not. It’s not concern of his, and he’s got better things to do with his time. But there’s something in Tina’s eyes that sparkles his curiosity, makes him want to see with his own eyes this boy she seems so concerned for.

“I might,” he says. “Six months, Tina. Don’t get yourself in trouble again.”

She scuttles along then, gratefully, leaving Graves with a task he doesn’t particularly want to put himself to. But he catches himself during the day thinking about it – twirling his wand in his fingers with the familiar gestures of a Disillusionment charm, rereading Goldstein’s reports on the Second Salemers once or twice during lunch – and in the end he finds himself deciding that it will be better for his peace of mind if he just goes along with it. He can have a look at the boy, see if he’s walking on his own two feet, get a measure of what all the fuss was about.

And then he can forget about it, and go on with his life.

It’s a solid plan, Graves thinks, and simple. Just once, just to see.

In the end, he only casts a subtle Notice-Me-Not charm on himself, just to make sure he won’t be singled out nor remembered, before he walks out in search of the preacher and her son. He doesn’t bother Disillusioning himself – it’s not worth the hassle, these days, not for anything but an official field mission.

Nowadays, he takes much less care to hide himself than he used to only two decades ago, or even less. It seems that as No-Maj technological abilities increase so does their pride – their unwavering belief in themselves, their assurance that there can be nothing in the world they couldn’t possibly explain. As their trains grow faster and their radios more powerful, their willingness to believe in magic seem to be decreasing by the year. It would make them that much easier to surprise them, Graves muses, should the need arise.

It’s harder than it should be to find a single meeting of nutters in New York, even knowing the location of the Salemers’ church and the area where they usually reunite. Everywhere Graves seems to look there are groups of No-Majs talking among themselves with hushed tones and darkened faces, looking concerned.

When he finds the woman, he recognizes her immediately. She’s shabbily dressed and unassuming, with a shrill voice that carries over the crowd and burning, intense blue eyes. At her side is a young girl, dressed in grey and with her hair tightly braided; she looks frail and sickly-pale, like a porcelain doll. The boy is nowhere to be seen – he’s older, Graves has read, the first child Mary Lou ever took in.

All of this he knows – the boy’s name and age, his tasks within the organization and the color of his hair, but he isn’t expecting the… shock he feels when he first sets eyes on him. The boy is looking straight at him, seeing him, and Graves curses himself silently for the slip. He hadn’t meant to let the spell slip. Maybe there’s something about the boy that distracted him, his sad air and curved shoulders, the way he’s standing skittish at the edge of the crowd, as if wanting to run away.

Still, the boy seems to be alive and well. Graves has seen what he needed to see and he could go now, but in the end he doesn’t and he doesn’t know why. He waits in silence, looking at the boy looking at him – the only one who does, in truth – not quite able to tear his gaze away. And even when the assembly is dismissed and Graves thinks to himself that he really ought to leave now – back to the office, perhaps, or home in time for an early dinner for once – even then he remains where he is, observing intently as the boy and the girl make their way around the departing crowd, answering questions and giving out leaflets.

It’s the boy who approaches him, eventually, as Graves had expected he would; the girl doesn’t seem to have seen him at all. Silently, he hands Graves a piece of paper – there are stylized drawings of flames on the first page, thick lines drawn crudely. WITCHES AMONG US, the cover screams, all capital letters and burning hellfires. Graves smiles wryly to himself and folds the pamphlet in half, putting it in his jacket pocket.

“Hello,” he says and the boy jumps, just a little bit. “What’s your name?”

“Credence,” the boys says. “Umh–” he stops, biting on his lip, as if trying to decide if he should go on, face flaming at his own awkwardness. Used to have his introductions done for him, Graves thinks, noticing with amusement how the boy seems to at least be aware that he should hold out his hand.

“Percival Graves,” he offers, grasping it, taking notice of the way the boy’s body seems to fold over himself at his touch. “Very good sermon.”

“Uh – my mother wrote it.” The boy’s staring up at him, eyes wide and vulnerable, and suddenly Graves doesn’t want to leave, not this soon.

“I’d be interested to know more,” he says. “About you – about your Church. Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, and Credence recoils – jumps even, if just a little bit. He has to laugh.

“Dinner, then,” he amends, frowning slightly at the very subtle headshake he gets as an answer. “Or even just dessert?” he asks, looking the boy quickly up and down, from his stained shoes to the blunt haircut. He doesn’t look like he indulges in something sweet that often –or at all, really.

“Just ice cream,” he says, again, and isn’t surprised when Credence finally nods. A hesitant, shaking nod, cheeks flustered.

“Thank you, sir,” the boy says, all soft tones and gratitude.

**

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The rest of the chapter, with better formatting is @ http://archiveofourown.org/works/8731681
I'll keep updating this thread as the story goes on.