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Few people know that inside the brown suitcase which never leaves the side of Newt Scamander, besides the fantastic beasts, there’s a photo, stuck on the wall to the side of the slender staircase. Every time Newt passes by, even just from the corner of his eyes, it triggers the scene of their first meeting vividly in his mind like an unexpected opening of a movie.
The meeting when Tina dragged Newt into the MACUSA doesn’t count as the first. At that time the real Graves was lying unconsciously in a dim apartment on 52th street. Their actual acquaintance was made a year later, when Newt took the liner passing under the torch of the Statue of Liberty, heading towards Manhattan, with an accepted job offer from MACUSA.
Newt was tense when he first met the man with familiar face as his colleague. But such unjust feeling soon faded away, and probably because of his sensitive intuition from longterm experience with magical creatures - a reason why he never trusted the disguised Grindelwald - when being with Graves, Newt felt comfort, safe and more often than not, intimate.
There’s one time when they were driving across the vast Sierra Nevada, disguised as no-maji, following a lead of an unknown black magic creature. Dense forest of tenacious Giant Sequoias stretched out for endless miles, bracing the road. Suitcase on lap, Newt turned towards Graves after looking outside the window: “They are just like you. “
Graves was amused, said that he's lucky enough to not stand in the valley bearing the elements, especially the occasional thunderstorm.
The first two years of his life in New York were peaceful. His job didn’t demand all of his time, which allowed him to further edit his book with heart and soul. Sometimes Graves would called him on investigating cases that had possibility of relating to magical creatures, though most turned out to be caused by dark magic. Newt thought some cases obviously had nothing to do with his area of expertise, but, out of reason unknown at that time, he made no serious complain.
As the Head of Auror office nest door, Graves had no direct work relationship with Newt, and they got along naturally well. No one knew why the rigorous, sophisticated Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement was always seen by the side of the shy magizoologist, who blushed with ease, despite how congruous the pair appeared when around each other. Sometimes Graves would take Newt on a walk in the most distinctive area of the city. He knew Newt’s favourite bar was the Fraunces Tavern, where Newt was drunk until flush all over for the first time, murmuring that he missed the one back home called Leaky Cauldron.
Newt stayed in New York City on the Christmas of his second year on the continent. On the day of Christmas Eve, when his colleagues rang out early to be with their family, Newt left early as well back to his apartment, tending the creatures inside the suitcase. He wasn't expecting visitor, but at some time around dusk he put down the bucket filled with food for the Erumpent, climbed up and out of the suitcase, just in time to hear a knocking on his door.
On the Christmas Eve of 1929, Graves brought a bottle of Eggnog Sherry and a Peruvian Vipertooth egg tucked in the pocket of his coat to Newt.
“Confiscated three days ago from the black market. Better left in your hand.” said Graves who looked around in the apartment with minimal furnitures, took out his wand and summoned a decorated Christmas tree.
The 30s swung by, with the last moment of peace before the devastating turmoil suffered by the magical and non-magical world alike. Newt’s book hit best-selling in Europe and the States and reprints were constantly demanded. Graves received a promotion from MACUSA, but he graciously declined it as he saw himself best fit serving as an auror. Everything was going smoothly until one clear and fine afternoon, Newt opened the door to Graves’ office with an expression of bashful joy mixed with slight confusion.
“Tina said she wanted to be with me.” He said.
Graves was silent for a while, then asked: what about you.
“I was a bit taken back,” Newt said, “but I think…I quite like her.”
Graves looked at him without a word. Then the man stood up, walked towards the fireplace, warmed his hands over the fire with his back towards Newt, thoughts lost in the lasting silence. When Newt was almost fidget enough to jump up from his chair, the reply came in calm: “If you like her, you should’ve told her earlier.”
Newt stared at the figure in black coat in front of the fireplace, a solid wall standing aloof. Certain emotion suddenly rushed through him. But it was gone like an ink dropped from the quill into a rapid creek and dissipated before the eyes could catch. For a moment he really wished that he wasn’t so clumsy.
A month later Graves called him to his office, telling Newt that he planned to relegate to the West Coast.
“What?” Newt was dumbfounded, “But what about New York?”
“The Ministry of Magic is not going to move, Newt, New York would stay the same as always.” Graves said, a rim of weariness to his voice.
“You know it won’t,” Newt said, “we need you here.”
For a while no one spoke. Snowflakes flew by the window like feathers. The cracking noise from the fireplace couldn’t conceal the howling wind from outside, from the gloomy winter day.
You think I should stay. Graves asked.
Yes. Newt answered.
They gazed at each other across Graves’ office desk. The cracking grew small inside the fireplace. Coldness creeped in.
“Okay, then I’ll stay.” said Graves, finally answered in a smile. Newt looked at that smile and thought he saw something beyond words in it. Although unrecognizable, he sensed a genuine wave of sadness.
Five years later, when the dark magic assault happened, Newt was in Australia with Tina and kid, tracking a possible new species. When he read the news sent by the hotel, he accidentally teared the paper apart before letting them fell to the ground. He kneeled on the floor trying to find a name from the scattered pieces, letting out a shaky breath when failed, as if no news was better than bad news. He kept Tina and kid safe in Australia, boarded the next liner to the States, and Disapparated less than half way through the voyage.
Graves was commanding rescue teams of aurors when Newt saw him, black coat was still meticulously dressed except a large stain of blood on the front. Newt almost wept. Throughout his simple but focused life, he’s never experienced such complex and overwhelming mixture of emotions: comfort, content, heartache, dependence.
Graves was speechless when he turned around. “Why are you here?”
“I read the news,” Newt’s voice was unstable, “there’s nothing on it.”
“You should be with your wife, Newt. She might be worried.” Graves said coldly. “You’re not needed here.”
“I can’t leave you alone here,” he looked around at the debris, “with all these.”
“Go back, my magizoologist,” Graves walked up to Newt, softened his voice when he saw his expression, “this is not your war. You should be on top of hills catching kangaroo. It's the reason for all I’ve done and still doing.” He gave Newt a hug, so tight that Newt thought he could be trembling.
“Goodbye.” Graves said in his ear.
The next time Newt heard about Graves on the paper, the war was almost over. He succeeded in finding the name, under the title ‘on deathbed'. He stared at the familiar name but his body didn't react. He just sat in the room filled with warm afternoon sun, unable to move with the chill in his bone marrow.
Until Tina woke him with her quivering voice, “Newt, I’m moving out next week. It’s been wonderful years with you. Thank you.” She landed kisses on his cheek, her shaking voice turned into discernible sobbing, “But…you have to go to him!”
When Newt saw him, Graves only seemed a bit too pale. Still holding up the rigorous and proud manner, he greeted Newt with a smile when he entered the room. Newt couldn’t answer, his throat choked on something he didn’t know.
He sat down next to Graves’ bed, keep staring at him.
“You look…” Newt's words failed him again. Not too bad? Or just fine?
Graves still had the smile on his face, “don’t want to disgrace myself in front of the distinguished magizoologist.”
“Can’t they…"
Graves shook his head. “Some malicious spells,” he said, “but not crackable yet."
“Oh.” said Newt.
Graves looked back at him, “you look like you’re about to cry.”
Newt didn’t say a word, when he’s nearly holding back.
Graves let out a soft sigh. “How’s Tina?” Newt answered after several attempt of swallowing and in a rough voice: “She plans to leave.”
“Ah,” Graves turned his gaze from Newt’s face to the outside. “What a pity.” He said, addressing no one. Then suddenly he tried to push himself up and out of bed. Newt helped him hastily. “Take me outside. I can’t just lie in bed like this.”
Newt knew he shouldn’t connive him to do so, but he couldn’t stop himself. To follow Graves’ voice became almost his second instinct.
It was the end of March, with wild flowers blooming and tender branches dancing in the breeze, squirrels running around. Everything seemed so alive. Graves stopped and glanced at his companion, whose heart was shattered to pieces by just the look, a look into the eyes of the proud man, revealing all the affection so deep and the lasting grieving hidden so well.
“Newt,” Percival Graves said in the warm sun of the ending war, feeling his life slipped away from him, “you are a very interesting wizard.”
“However, if you’re just a bit sharper, you would've knew how much I’ve loved you all these time.”
~Epilogue~
After his discovery of the photo in Graves’ apartment, Newt tried to cast a spell on it. It was cut from a muggle newspaper. During the first year he set foot on the continent for the second time, Graves dragged him out to solve a case involving destruction of some muggle’s house. The reporters, their memories wiped, thought they were the Good Samaritans and took the photo. It was the only photo of both of them together. Newt tried to make the figures move but ended up with some brownish marks at the corner. He was about to try other methods when he noticed similar markings on another corner of the photo.
Apparently he’s not the first wizard to try to make it move.
The photo is still stuck on the wall to the side of the staircase of Newt’s suitcase, witnessing its owner’s quick and agile steps up and down. Sometimes the Head of Auror would come down for a certain someone. Thank Merlin and the creative anti-hex spell from the Committee on Experimental Charms.
It’s been many years since their first encounter.
~End~