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It was a little surreal, thought Percival Graves, being back at work after months spent Petrified and hidden in a crate in an abandoned warehouse. Everyone was still tiptoeing around him, embarrassed and apologetic that they hadn’t realized that for months, they’d been dealing with a Polyjuiced version of him, that they hadn’t rescued him until now. Well, he had nobody to blame for it but himself, he supposed. While he was generally liked and well-respected, Percival had never been particularly close to any of his colleagues.
Well, it wasn’t too bad, he thought. When they’d given Grindelwald Veritaserum (and it had taken a lot of it) to find the location of Percival’s body, nobody had expected to find him alive. So to be here, back at his old job, alive and well with only a lingering dislike of dark, confined spaces, was probably a better outcome than he had any right to expect. Oh, it stung a little that there was nobody who had known him well enough to realize that he’d been abducted and replaced, but Percival had never been one to dwell on ‘what-ifs’ and ‘could-have-beens’.
He applied himself to going through the huge stack of paperwork that had materialized on his desk in the past few days. Signing off on the first one, he noted with approval that Tina Goldstein’s status and powers as an Auror had been fully restored as a result of her participation in what he was mentally terming ‘The Great Grindelwald Disaster of 1926’. Well, at least that was one good thing that had come out of this mess. Goldstein had ample ambition tempered by a firm set of morals and a strong sense of righteousness, a potent combination in an Auror. Given some guidance, she could go far, he mused.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his office door. “Come in,” he called.
The subject of his recent thoughts entered his office, holding out a thick stack of papers. “These are full reports of everything that happened while you were...away, Mr. Graves,” Tina said. “I thought you might like to get caught up.”
Percival nodded in approval, taking the stack of papers. “Much appreciated.”
“And,” Tina smiled tentatively at him, “welcome back.”
“Thank you,” said Percival sincerely, and started on the first report.
***
It was four months after Percival’s return when things first started disappearing from his office. First, a set of cufflinks that he rarely used but kept in his desk drawer for emergencies went missing. After that, the little silver flask he’d received at last year’s office Christmas party, usually kept on his shelf, disappeared.
When his gold watch – a gift from his mother – went missing, that was the last straw. He turned his entire office upside down searching for it, to no avail. Frustrated, he was just starting to replace all the items he’d pulled off the shelves in his search when there was a knock on his office door.
“Come in,” he snapped.
A harried-looking Tina Goldstein entered, dragging a familiar-looking redheaded man with her. Percival had never personally spoken to Newt Scamander, but he recognized the man immediately from the numerous reports he’d had to read about him. Scamander looked shamefaced, glancing quickly at Percival’s face then looking away just as quickly.
“Newt Scamander,” said Percival thoughtfully. “I thought you had returned to London.”
Newt looked up at Percival again, surprise plain on his expressive features. “I...er...came back to New York to give Tina a copy of my book. Er. Sir,” he said, then he looked over at Tina pleadingly.
“I hired Newt as a temporary assistant last week, Mr. Graves,” said Tina. “We’ve been having some trouble with those goblin smugglers again, so I thought Newt could help to identify the species and, er, parts –” here she broke off to give Newt, who winced unhappily, a sympathetic look before continuing, “– being smuggled. You signed off on it last week.”
Huh. That signoff must’ve been somewhere in the huge stack of paperwork he’d had to go through. He’d completely forgotten about it.
“All right,” he said to Tina. “Something I can do for you?”
“Actually,” Tina said, “Newt needs to speak to you.” She gave her companion a pointed look.
“Um,” Newt mumbled. “It seems my Niffler escaped a few days ago. He, er, removed some things from your office.” He dug around in his pockets, producing Percival’s silver flask and cufflinks, then his gold watch, and finally a small silver pocket-knife that Percival hadn’t even known he’d owned.
“Right,” said Percival, staring at the items, then at Newt. “Well. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“It won’t, sir,” Newt said, nodding earnestly.
***
It did, of course, happen again. And again. Three days later, Newt shamefacedly returned the silver flask for the second time, and another two days later, he came back with a handful of loose change and a silver photo frame with a photograph of a younger Percival and his parents in it.
The day after that, Percival returned to his office after lunch to find a small platypus-like creature blithely helping itself to tiny fistfuls of knuts from the box of loose change he kept in his desk drawer. He stared at the creature, which froze, as if that would make it invisible.
He made a grab for it. “You,” he said, holding it up to his face, “must be the infamous Niffler.”
It made a squeaky sound, then waved one of its little paws at him.
“Where’s your master?” Percival enquired, just as there was a knock on his office door and Newt stuck his head in. “Sir, I just wanted to warn you, the Ni – oh!”
“Scamander,” Percival said drily. “Yes, he got loose again, I see.” He held the Niffler out to Newt, who took it and, turning it upside down, shook the tiny creature until a whole stream of knuts and a couple of sickles cascaded out of its pouch and onto Percival’s desk.
“You’d better not do that again,” Newt scolded the Niffler, which affected an innocent look. Percival was pretty sure this scolding would work about as well as the last hundred times Newt had likely delivered it.
Newt turned to Percival. “I’m, er, really sorry about this, sir,” he said, blushing prettily. “He seems to have taken a liking to you, most of the stuff he’s stolen the last week has been from your office – ”
“I’m flattered,” Percival said drily to the Niffler. His gaze shifted to Newt. “And please stop calling me ‘sir’.”
Newt blinked. “What should I call you, then?”
“You might as well call me by my first name,” Percival said resignedly. “Since I suppose I’m going to be seeing quite a lot of you as long as you’re working here.” He eyed the Niffler, which squeaked cheerfully at him in agreement.
“Oh,” said Newt, then inexplicably blushed again. “In that case, I’d like it if you’d call me by my first name as well, si – uh, Percival,” he said, stumbling slightly over Percival’s name.
“That sounds fair,” Percival said agreeably.
***
As Percival had expected, he saw quite a lot of Newt in the following weeks – mainly because of the Niffler, but also once because he’d found a tiny green stick thing drinking out of his water glass. Newt, hastily retrieving the creature and tucking it into his jacket pocket, had told him it was called a ‘Bowtruckle’.
Newt hesitantly offered to buy Percival lunch one afternoon, as an apology for the trouble his creatures were causing him. Percival, who had secretly been entertaining himself by trying to catch the Niffler red-handed in the act of stealing his various possessions, had told him that that wasn’t necessary, but had surprised himself by telling Newt that he would, nevertheless, accept the invitation to have lunch with him, although Newt was not to pay for his lunch.
That was how they’d started having lunch together. Percival found himself genuinely enjoying listening to Newt’s tales of the various creatures he’d rescued, raised and studied; Newt, when talking about his creatures, was an engaging storyteller, enthusiastic and animated. Sometimes, Percival found himself content to just watch Newt as he talked, his slender hands gesturing gracefully, face flushed and smiling.
A couple of weeks later, Newt sat down in the cafeteria opposite Percival, a sandwich in his hand, and asked Percival how he would go about finding an apartment to rent.
Percival regarded the other man with some surprise. “Where have you been staying since you came to New York?”
“MACUSA provided me with an apartment for a month when I first started working here,” Newt explained. “But the month is almost up now, so I guess I should start looking for my own apartment.” He shrugged helplessly. “The thing is, I have no real idea where to start looking.”
“What kind of apartment are you looking for?” Percival asked. “Apart from it having to be pet-friendly,” he added with a smirk.
Newt grinned back at him cheerfully. “Well, that’s pretty much it, really. That, and cheap rent.”
Percival pursed his lips as an idea occurred to him. “Actually...I have a spare room in my apartment,” he ventured. “I don’t have a house-elf since I’m not at home much, but the room’s big and you’ll probably have the whole apartment to yourself most of the time. If you’re interested, you can stay there.”
Newt’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Why not?” Percival shrugged, the corners of his lips turning up. “I already have half your creatures in my office most of the time, so I’m used to them by now. And I’m not using that room, anyway.”
“And before you apologize again,” he added sternly as Newt opened his mouth, “I’ve already told you that I don’t mind, as long as they don’t disrupt my work.” Newt shut his mouth, smiling sheepishly.
***
Newt went with Percival back to his apartment the next evening, to see the room that Percival had offered him. As Percival unlocked the door to his apartment and pushed it open, Newt’s eyes grew huge.
“This place is gigantic!” he exclaimed, staring around him. Percival’s apartment was a huge penthouse loft, tastefully decorated, with tall windows along one entire wall that flooded the apartment with sunlight. He’d walled off a small portion of it for his own bedroom, a study and a guest bedroom, but opted to leave the rest of the space open, creating a huge living room with a pass-through kitchen.
“My great-aunt left it to me,” Percival explained, heading through the living room towards the guest bedroom, Newt trailing after him. “I never really wanted to sell it, but honestly, it’s much too large for just one person to live in.”
He pushed the door to the guest bedroom open. “You can have this room, if you want,” he said. He’d changed the sheets the previous evening and cast a couple of scouring charms, but other than that, he hadn’t needed to do much – Percival had never been particularly sociable, and could count on one hand the number of times the guest bedroom had been used since he’d been living in this apartment. Actually, he wasn’t even quite sure why he’d invited Newt to stay in it.
Newt smiled and thanked him, but he looked a little troubled; when Percival asked him what the matter was, he tentatively brought up the subject of rent, which Percival immediately brushed off.
“You’re my guest,” he told Newt firmly. “Don’t even think about trying to pay me rent.”
Newt looked distressed. “I can’t take advantage of your hospitality like that,” he protested.
Percival sighed. “Fine, you can buy me dinner once a week. Okay?”
“But – ”
“And,” Percival added, grabbing Newt’s Niffler, which had inexplicably materialized on his mantelpiece and was greedily eyeing a silver candlestick holder, “you can also make sure your Niffler keeps his sticky paws off my furnishings.” He handed the Niffler to Newt.
Newt pouted, gently taking the Niffler. “Now you’re just being unreasonable.”
***
Newt moved into Percival’s guest room that weekend, bringing with him a single suitcase and his case of creatures. Percival was, honestly, quite surprised at how easy it was to get used to having a housemate after years of living alone. Newt was generally a tidy, considerate housemate – when he was around, that was – he also spent a considerable amount of time inside his case, caring for his creatures.
Percival had been a little curious about the case the first couple of times he saw Newt climbing out of it, but as Newt never said anything about the case and Percival had little desire to climb back into small, dark spaces after spending months of his life lying Petrified in one, he refrained from enquiring about the case and soon got used to the sight of Newt climbing in and out of his case, sometimes bringing food or medicines or small creatures with him.
Meanwhile, they settled into something of a comfortable routine. Some of Newt’s smaller creatures roamed Percival’s apartment freely – the Niffler somehow managed to be underfoot all the time, while Newt’s pet Bowtruckle – Percival had learnt that its name was Pickett – snuck around in his kitchen stealing scraps. One memorable afternoon, his vase had hissed at him, and more in-depth investigation had turned up a baby Occamy that had managed to get itself wedged inside the vase.
Most mornings now found Percival having breakfast in the kitchen, absently shooing Pickett out of his cereal as he sipped his coffee. Newt, who was most emphatically not a morning person, would wander in, tousled and barefoot as Percival was finishing up his coffee. He’d make himself a cup of tea, then, if Newt had no pressing matters to attend to in his case, he and Percival would head in to MACUSA together.
Percival didn’t usually return to his apartment until late at night, way past dinnertime – but nowadays he found himself a little more willing to leave work that didn’t urgently need to be done for the next day, coming back to his apartment to have dinner with Newt, and listen to him chatter about his creatures. Newt, in turn, seemed to genuinely enjoy Percival’s company, introducing him to a number of his creatures that he sometimes brought out of his case, and enthusiastically talking about the work he was doing with Tina on shutting down the illegal trafficking of creature parts. Sometimes they would just sit quietly together in the living room enjoying each other’s company, Newt working on revisions to his book while Percival read a report.
Newt’s teabags had found a home in Percival’s cupboard, next to his coffee; Percival no longer kept mistaking the assorted boxes of various types of creature feed in his refrigerator for leftover takeout. Percival had to admit, if only to himself, that he was a...happier person now than before his imprisonment. That his apartment felt much less empty with Newt – and all his creatures – in it.
***
One Saturday, as they were sitting at the kitchen counter having a late breakfast, Newt tentatively asked if Percival would like to accompany him into his case to feed his creatures.
Percival hesitated, wanting very much to say yes; this was a part of Newt that he hadn’t yet gotten to see, a part of him that he badly wanted to share. Yet – the old memory of being trapped in that crate, Petrified by Grindelwald, surrounded by blackness and unable to do anything about it, nagged at him, and the words stuck in his throat.
“You don’t have to, of course,” Newt said quickly, but he bit his lip and turned away, trying and failing to hide the hurt in his eyes.
“Newt,” said Percival, touching Newt’s arm, waiting until the other man glanced back at him. He knew this was important to Newt, so very important – he didn’t make an offer like this lightly, and Percival knew that if he said no now, he’d never get another chance.
“I – when Grindelwald Petrified me, he stored my body in a crate in an old warehouse,” he said quietly. “I was there for months, surrounded by nothing but darkness, and as a result, I have a – slight dislike – of confined spaces. But I’m very honored by your invitation, and yes, I would very much like to accompany you.”
To his surprise, Newt took one of his hands in his, squeezing it; Percival looked up sharply, but he saw no pity in Newt’s eyes, only warmth and sympathy.
“It’s nice in there,” Newt assured him, “I spent a lot of time making sure everyone would be comfortable. I think you’ll like it.” He stood up, and held out his other hand, smiling. “Trust me?”
“Of course,” said Percival, and took Newt’s outstretched hand.
***
As it turned out, Percival needn’t have worried about Newt’s case feeling like a dark, confined space: it was, if anything, the exact opposite. After the initial discomfort of actually having to make himself step into the case, Percival found himself being led down a small flight of stairs by Newt, his hand still held firmly in the younger man’s, and then suddenly, inexplicably, he was in a huge grassy plain, stretching out for miles as far as the eye could see, studded with lush trees against a cloudless blue sky, and was that a Graphorn in the distance?
“Here,” Newt said, enthusiastically shoving a bag of...something...into Percival’s arms. “You can feed the baby Occamies. Don’t worry, they’re very friendly! They don’t bite. Er, they don’t bite too hard, anyway.” He disappeared before Percival could even register the loss of Newt’s hand in his.
“Right.” Percival stared down at the bag of what he assumed was Occamy food, then looked over at the nest Newt had left him by. The baby Occamies in the nest chirped at him plaintively, opening their mouths wide.
Percival stuck his hand into the bag and took out a handful of pellets. “Uh, here,” he muttered, bending over and holding out his hand.
The baby Occamies eyed him with interest. The largest one stretched its head up as far as it could reach and delicately picked a single pellet out of Percival’s hand, then, without warning, it pounced, twining itself about Percival’s arm and greedily snapping up the remaining pellets in his hand. Its brothers and sisters promptly followed suit, until Percival was completely enveloped in small, squirming blue-violet bodies and flapping wings.
He lost his balance and sat on the ground ungracefully, baby Occamies clambering all over him, tugging at his hair and shirt. Three of them lost interest in the rapidly diminishing pile of pellets he was still holding and went straight to the source, sticking their heads right into the bag of food instead. Percival eyed them and sighed.
When Newt found him, he stared for a long moment, then abruptly sat down on the ground and laughed until there were tears running down his cheeks.
“I’m glad I amuse you,” Percival griped, feigning disgruntlement.
“Sorry,” gasped Newt, still giggling. “Sorry! It’s just – ” he trailed off, looked at Percival again, and dissolved into a fresh bout of laughter.
“You have a – ” he gestured at Percival’s ear. “– right there, let me – ” He leaned over, face very close to Percival’s, and gently pulled free one of the baby Occamies that had made itself comfortable in Percival’s hair.
Impulsively, Percival caught Newt’s hand, tugging the other man even closer. Newt stared up at him, flushed and wide-eyed, and Percival...blinked, what in Merlin’s name was he doing? He released Newt and busied himself extracting baby Occamies from where they’d burrowed into the bag of food.
***
He got better at feeding the Occamies after Newt let him try it a few more times, although irritatingly enough, the urge to pull Newt close and kiss him senseless refused to go away. In fact, one time he got so distracted by the way Newt’s freckles moved when he smiled that he agreed to Newt’s request to have Tina Goldstein and her sister over to visit before fully realizing what he was letting himself in for.
That was how Percival’s one momentary lapse had ended up in him unwillingly hosting the occasional dinner party. He’d left the three of them to it at first, quietly enjoying his own dinner in his study while Newt and his friends had dinner in the living room, their quiet conversation falling silent after dinner as they all headed into Newt’s case to visit with his creatures.
The third time Newt had his guests over, he intercepted Percival as Percival was in the process of escaping to the sanctuary of his study with a plate of food. “Come have dinner with us?” he said hopefully.
“I’m alright, thanks,” Percival demurred, and tried to step around Newt.
Newt darted over to block his way again, looking sadly at him. “But I don’t want you to have dinner alone.”
“I won’t be alone,” Percival assured him. He gestured to his plate, where Pickett was perched on the rim. “Your Bowtruckle has decided to join me.”
Newt shot Pickett a look that clearly said, traitor. Pickett ignored him and delicately nibbled at a leaf of lettuce.
“I’d really like it if you could join us,” Newt said pleadingly to Percival. “Or, um...” He hesitated. “If you really don’t like having Tina and Queenie over, I won’t invite them over any more.”
Percival sighed and caved like a ton of bricks. “Oh, fine,” he said resignedly.
Newt perked up so quickly that Percival had the sneaking suspicion that he’d been manipulated. Scowling, he followed Newt into the living room, where Tina and her sister were already sitting at the dinner table. A fourth empty place had already been set next to Newt’s. Percival glared at it, then turned his scowl on Newt, who smiled back at him happily.
“Hi!” Queenie said, giving Percival a little wave. “I’m Queenie, Tina’s sister. I work at MACUSA too, but in the Wand Permit Office, so we’ve never been introduced.” She paused, then, and looked from Percival, to Newt, then back to Percival, eyes going very wide. “Ohh,” she said.
“Queenie,” Tina said in warning tones.
Queenie subsided, and Percival suddenly remembered that Newt had mentioned Queenie was a Legilimens. He quickly blanked his mind, taking particular care to not, under any circumstances, think about Newt. Thank Merlin he’d excelled at Occlumency during Auror training.
“A pleasure, Miss Goldstein,” he said politely.
Queenie giggled. “Oh, please call me Queenie.”
After dinner, all four of them made their way into Newt’s case for the evening feeding session. Newt handed Percival the food for the Occamies, then told Tina and Queenie they could feed the Erumpent while he supervised. As they walked past the Occamy nest, a stream of noisy chirping issued from within.
“Aww, don’t be impatient!” Newt cooed at them. “Daddy’s going to feed you soon!”
“Daddy?” Queenie giggled. “You call yourself their Daddy?”
“No, no.” Newt pointed at Percival. “He is.”
Queenie looked at Percival, who was holding the Occamies’ feed bag and glaring helplessly at Newt, and giggled some more. “That’s so cute!”
Percival sighed sadly. Tina was openly goggling at him as Queenie dragged her away to feed the Erumpent, and she was never going to respect him again, was she.
He sat down on the ground, and the baby Occamies gathered around him, clamoring for food. One of them cheeped happily and snapped a food pellet out of his hand. “This is all your fault,” he told it.
***
Two weeks later, Percival staggered home after a particularly nasty workday feeling like death warmed over. He’d led a team of Aurors to investigate rumors of a plot by Gellert Grindelwald’s followers to break him out of custody, and had not only had to deal with twice as many dark wizards as their Intelligence division had told him there were, but he’d also wasted precious time disarming traps in their hideout. As a result, a few of the dark wizards had gotten away, although his team had at least caught a good number of the group, as well as the leader of the whole thing.
The only good thing about his day, he thought tiredly, was that there had been no fatalities from his team, although it had been a near thing. The youngest member of his team, who had only been an Auror for three months, had almost been hit head-on with a Cruciatus curse, which would have most likely have caused permanent damage at that range. He’d pushed her out of the way just in time, although that had resulted in the curse hitting his arm and most of his side.
The rest of his team had taken down the caster of the curse with alacrity, but he was still aching everywhere, his head still ringing with the sound of his own screams. After it was all over, he’d delegated cleanup and reporting duty to some of his underlings, waved off concerned offers of medical assistance, and miserably crawled back to his apartment to lick his wounds.
He’d barely been in bed ten minutes before he heard the sound of his front door opening and closing, then Newt scuttled into his bedroom, looking him over worriedly. “Percival?”
Percival grunted, too tired to move. He felt Newt leaning over the side of the bed and prodding at him gently, checking him over for injuries. He groaned and shoved Newt’s arm away. “Go away. ‘M fine.”
“I wouldn’t have to do this if you didn’t throw yourself in front of a Cruciatus curse,” Newt snapped heatedly.
Percival rolled over and stared at him. He couldn’t recall ever seeing Newt angry; he’d seen him in various states of distress over mistreated or smuggled creatures, but angry, no. He had, in fact, believed that Newt just didn’t get angry, ever.
Newt turned and abruptly left the room. Percival was just considering whether he had enough energy to get out of bed and go after him when Newt came back into his bedroom, holding a small jar of bluish paste.
“This will help soothe your skin,” mumbled Newt, not looking at him. He sat down on one side of the bed, and without so much as a by-your-leave, lifted Percival’s shirt up and started applying the paste along his side, concentrating hard on his task. His hands were warm and gentle.
“Hey.” Percival reached out with one hand, laying it along Newt’s jaw and gently turning the other man’s face toward him. “What’s wrong?”
Newt sighed. “I...I don’t like it when you get hurt,” he mumbled.
Percival’s heart did a little skip in his chest despite the pain he was in. He took Newt’s hand, squeezing it. “I can’t promise it won’t happen again. Part of the job, unfortunately.”
“I know.” Newt sighed. “Just...be careful, okay?”
“I will,” Percival said.
***
Even though Newt had been living in Percival’s guest room for months now, he was still faithfully holding Percival to his promise to let Newt buy him dinner once a week, since Percival wasn’t letting him pay rent. They were just returning home after one such dinner, Newt animatedly talking about the newest revisions to his book, when he happened to glance across the street they were walking on. His eyes widened and he glanced quickly over at Percival, steps faltering. Percival followed his gaze. Through the glass front of a bakery across the street, he saw Queenie Goldstein looking up adoringly at a portly, dark-haired man who was smiling affectionately at her, their hands clasped together. The man looked vaguely familiar.
Frowning thoughtfully, Percival quickly ran through all the reports that he’d read over the past few months in his head, and recalled one of the photographs that had accompanied Tina Goldstein’s report of Grindelwald’s capture. In the photograph, the man in the bakery – a No-Maj; Percival remembered his name listed as Jacob Kowalski – had had his face turned up to the magical rain from Newt’s Thunderbird, eyes closed, expression peaceful as his memories of everything magical slipped away, while in the background of the photograph, Queenie stood looking as if her heart had been broken. He’d remembered that photograph because of Queenie’s expression, the naked pain in her eyes.
Queenie, as if sensing his presence, looked up then, meeting his gaze through the glass, and her eyes grew wide, panicky. The man with her – Kowalski – gripped her hands more tightly, protectively, and turned to look out the glass at Percival and Newt, looking puzzled. Percival looked away.
He’d always privately thought the rule forbidding interaction between wizards and No-Majs was too extreme anyway, and had been working for years to change it, without much progress. It was, he thought with disgust, rules like that that allowed No-Majs like Mary Lou Barebone to spread lies and vitriol about the magical community, and that attracted followers to wizards like Gellert Grindelwald.
He knew then, at that moment, that there was no way he was going to report Queenie, or even look any further into this incident – because he’d seen the way she looked at Jacob, and the way she’d looked was uncomfortably similar to the way he felt when he looked at a certain annoying, red-headed, freckled wizard with too many pets. Merlin’s balls, he was going soft.
“I’m going home,” he told Newt, suddenly feeling very tired. “I didn’t see anything. Tell Queenie – wish her – and her friend – a Merry Christmas for me.”
Newt was looking at him much like the way he looked at those blasted baby Occamies of his, or at some other hapless creature he’d picked up that was tiny and helpless, his eyes soft, a gentle smile curving his lips. Percival swallowed hard, then turned on his heel and marched off to the safety of his own home, where – at least until Newt returned – he wouldn’t be tempted by adorable red-headed wizards with absolutely no idea how they tied his stomach up in knots whenever they so much as smiled. Merlin, how pathetic he was.
***
Busily writing a report in his study at home one Saturday afternoon, Percival glanced up in surprise as someone knocked on his study door.
“Come in,” he said.
Newt opened the door and poked his head in. For some reason, he looked rather nervous.
“You never knock on my study door, you usually just walk right in,” Percival said, eyeing Newt suspiciously. “What’s wrong?”
“I, um.” Newt came into the room and stood in from of Percival’s desk, twisting his hands nervously together. “I have to return to London,” he said quickly, biting his lip. “Well, Scotland, actually. Professor Dumbledore just owled me – they want to use my book as a Hogwarts textbook, and he wanted to speak to me about guest-teaching some classes at Hogwarts.”
“Oh,” said Percival blankly. Somehow, it hadn’t really occurred to him that Newt could possibly leave. He’d been a fixture in Percival’s life for so many months now that it seemed ludicrous to imagine him not being there.
“Congratulations,” he managed, forcing a smile. “That’s great.”
“Um. Thank you,” Newt said, and it was probably wishful thinking on Percival’s part that Newt’s smile looked just as forced as his own felt. It was, after all, a great honor for Newt for his book to be made an official Hogwarts textbook, and would bring him a significant amount of publicity and book sales. Newt had to be thrilled about it. He was probably really excited to finally be heading back home after spending such a long time in America, too.
“When will you be leaving?” Percival asked.
“Tina said she’d be able to manage the rest of the cleanup of the smuggling ring without me,” said Newt, and now it was definitely Percival’s imagination making him think that Newt looked depressed about this turn of events. “So...I’ll be leaving tomorrow, I guess.”
“Oh,” said Percival again, lamely. “Well...congratulations again. And good luck.”
***
Percival started working longer hours again after Newt left. He found that he didn’t really enjoy going back to an empty apartment anymore, the silence almost deafening after he’d gotten used to Newt’s cheerful chatter and the various noises of his creatures everywhere.
He was in his office, working through a thick stack of reports, when there was a knock on his door. Percival sighed, rubbing his temples, and glanced at the clock. It was late in the evening two days before Christmas, usually a quiet time of the year. How was there still more work to do?
“Yes?” he said.
The door opened and Queenie, who seemed to have taken Percival’s selective blindness with regard to her choice of paramour as an invitation for them to become friends, let herself in. “I heard Newt’s left,” she said.
“He has,” said Percival, wondering where this was going.
“And?” Queenie demanded, propping one hip on his desk.
“And what?”
Queenie looked terribly disappointed. “Oh, Percival.”
“What?” said Percival defensively. “Don’t oh, Percival me.”
Queenie’s disappointed look changed to one of sympathy, which wasn’t actually any better than the disappointment. “Don’t bother trying to pretend that you don’t have feelings,” she said, leaning down to kiss Percival’s cheek. “We all know better by now,” she told him, which was insulting and absolutely untrue.
“And,” she added with a smile, “it doesn’t take a Legilimens to see how you and Newt feel about each other.”
Percival opened his mouth to deliver a sharp retort, realized he didn’t actually know what to say to that, and snapped his mouth shut again. He felt like he’d lost control of the conversation somewhat. He’d have preferred that knock on his door to have led to more work after all.
Queenie squeezed his shoulder. “He’ll be at Hogwarts tomorrow,” she said confidingly. “They’re holding a little ceremony for him to celebrate his book being chosen as the new official textbook in the Hogwarts curriculum.”
“That’s nice,” said Percival.
“Percival.”
“I should fire you,” said Percival grumpily.
“Unlike Tina, I don’t actually work for you,” Queenie reminded him brightly. “It’s why I can say these things to you while Tina can’t. She agrees with me, by the way.”
“Queenie,” hissed a voice from just outside the door. “I told you not to mention me.”
Percival sighed deeply. “Stop lurking outside my door and come in, Goldstein.” He glared at Tina as she let herself into his office. “I don’t know what I did to deserve the two of you, but it must’ve been something really bad.”
“You love us, really,” Queenie said. Percival was about to assure her that that was absolutely not the case, when another thought occurred to him.
“What are you two still doing here, anyway?” he demanded. “It’s two days before Christmas and everyone else has left.”
Tina brandished a sheaf of papers at him. “I’m finishing this report about yesterday’s case – ”
“Give it here,” said Percival, snatching it from her. “I’ll take care of it. Now get out of here. I don’t want to see either of you again until after Christmas.”
The two sisters exchanged a glance, then Tina nodded and Queenie drew an envelope out from her handbag, laying it on his desk. Both sisters beamed at him.
“We asked your secretary to arrange this for you,” Tina said, “just in case. Portkeys get booked up so quickly this time of year, don’t they?”
“What,” said Percival.
“Merry Christmas!” trilled Queenie, and dragged Tina out of the room, cheerfully chattering about the Christmas dinner she was planning to cook for them.
Left alone in his office, Percival picked up the envelope on his desk and opened it gingerly. Inside it was directions to a Portkey that had been arranged for him. The destination listed was Scotland, a few miles away from Hogwarts.
Percival rolled his eyes, ignoring the warm feeling spreading through him, and set about finishing Tina’s report.
***
Percival Graves was not usually given to being indecisive, not actually having had the luxury of doing so since he’d become MACUSA’s Director of Magical Security. However, this evening, he found himself lingering over the thought of writing a note to President Picquery to take a couple of days of vacation to travel to Scotland. Newt would be busy with the ceremony at Hogwarts and dealing with all the added publicity for his book after it was unveiled as an official Hogwarts textbook; surely the last thing he needed was Percival showing up. And what was Percival to say, anyway? “I came because I can’t stop thinking about you, and my apartment feels empty without you and all your creatures invading my space”? Newt would think he’d gone mad. Or that Gellert Grindelwald was impersonating him again, and doing a damned bad job of it this time around.
What was he so afraid of, anyway?
To be perfectly honest, he knew exactly what he was afraid of: losing Newt’s sunny smiles, his cheerful rambling about his creatures, his easy, uncomplicated friendship. If this went wrong, he’d lose Newt – but if it went right...he forced his mind back from images of Newt, eyes slipping shut, lips parted for a kiss. Fine. Never let it be said that Percival Graves didn’t have the courage to try to fight for what he wanted. Decisively, he threw a few items of clothing into a small suitcase, just enough for the next couple of days, then looked around for his gold watch. Not finding it on his table or in his desk drawers, he gave it up as a lost cause, deciding to look for it when he got back, and sat down at his desk.
Checking the time – he had about an hour to finish his packing and get to the Portkey – he picked up his quill, already mentally composing his note to President Picquery requesting a couple of days of vacation leave, and dipped it into the inkwell.
His inkwell squeaked indignantly.
Percival put his quill down and stared at the inkwell.
It squeaked again, then uncurled itself. Ink went everywhere. Percival found himself staring at an all-too-familiar little platypus-like creature, sitting on the middle of his desk in a puddle of ink.
“You again,” he said to the Niffler. “What are you doing here? Newt must be frantic looking for you.”
The Niffler squeaked at him.
“Don’t play innocent with me,” he told it firmly. “Speaking of which...I believe I know where my watch may have disappeared to.”
Picking the little creature up, like he’d seen Newt do so many times before, he turned it over and shook it, taking care not to shake too hard, until his watch fell out of its pouch. “Aha!” he said triumphantly.
The Niffler snatched his watch before he could pick it up, cradling the watch to its chest. Percival stared at it. “Oh, come on.”
It shook its little head at him, and cradled the watch more tightly. Then, it crept over to an ink-spattered copy of The New York Ghost, folded on Percival’s desk with a picture of Newt on the front page (why was Newt always on the front page?), with a little blurb about his book under it. The Niffler pointed at the picture of Newt, then waved the watch at Percival with a triumphant air.
Percival raised an eyebrow at it. “You want me to bring you to Newt, then you’ll return my watch to me,” he said flatly.
The Niffler nodded enthusiastically.
“Are you trying to blackmail me, you tiny thief?” Percival demanded, amused despite himself.
It nodded again, with even more enthusiasm this time.
Percival sighed. “You’re lucky I was planning to go and see him anyway,” he told it. It perked up at this piece of information. He popped his suitcase open and waved a hand at it. “Go on, get in.”
The Niffler butted its head against him affectionately, then scampered into the suitcase with alacrity, tucking itself comfortably into a neat pile of his clothes. It fell asleep hugging his watch. Percival snorted softly, shut the suitcase, and set out for the Portkey.
***
He arrived somewhere in Scotland late that night, and spent the night in a small hotel near where the Portkey had left him. After grabbing a quick breakfast the next morning, he arrived at Hogwarts half an hour before Newt’s ceremony was scheduled to start. Some quick enquiries (and ten minutes spent reassuring Albus Dumbledore that no, Newt hadn’t done anything wrong and he really wasn’t here to arrest Newt) later, he was shown into a small room that looked like it had been furnished as a waiting room for visiting dignitaries, tastefully decorated, with a comfortable-looking sofa against one wall and next to it, a small table with a plate of cookies on it. Against the opposite wall was a small dressing table with a mirror above it.
Newt, tastefully attired in dress robes, his usually messy hair neatly combed, was standing in front of the mirror fussing with his robes, his brow creased. As Percival stepped into the room, suitcase in hand, Newt spun around, and his whole face lit up. “Percival!” he exclaimed, expression bright with surprise and pleasure.
Percival swallowed hard. Newt with messy hair and dirt and leaves and little creatures clinging to him, he could already barely deal with – and Newt in dress robes, all tidy and prim, looked a little too much like a Christmas present just waiting to be unwrapped. “Hello, Newt,” he said, and felt proud that his voice remained steady.
“Why’re you here at Hogwarts?” Newt asked. His face was pink, and he was fiddling with his dress robes again.
Percival put his suitcase on the floor, opened it and took out the Niffler, which woke abruptly from its nap and dropped Percival’s watch. Percival hurriedly pocketed the watch with one hand before the Niffler could make a grab for it again, and held the little creature out to Newt with the other.
“He was hiding in my apartment,” he told Newt. “I thought you might be worried about him, so I came to return him to you.”
Newt’s smile dimmed a little, but he accepted the Niffler, which, for some reason, shook its head sadly at Percival before cuddling up to Newt. “Thank you,” he said to Percival sincerely. “I’ve been looking everywhere for him. I’d thought he’d escaped here, not back in New York.”
“He was posing as my inkwell,” Percival told him. “I found him because I accidentally poked him with a quill and he spilled ink everywhere,” and that provoked a genuine laugh from Newt.
“He likes you,” he said to Percival, then darted a shy smile up at him, blushing. “I like you, too.”
Oh, hell. In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposed. “Mostly, though, I came because I missed you,” he said to Newt, and was surprised by how easy it was, in the end, to say it. “I missed having you in my apartment, and coming home to you, and tripping over your creatures everywhere.” He cupped Newt’s jaw, thumb brushing over one high cheekbone. “May I kiss you?”
“Oh,” breathed Newt, and his smile could have lit the whole of Hogwarts. “Please do.”
Percival did so, leaning over to press his lips gently to Newt’s. Newt parted his lips eagerly, clutching at Percival, and somehow they ended up on the sofa with Newt straddling Percival, kissing him hungrily. Percival had his hands on Newt’s slim hips, steadying him as he pressed kisses along Newt’s jaw, drawing a very satisfying squeak out of the younger man as he sucked a bruise into his neck.
The door opened, and Albus Dumbledore stuck his head into the room. “Mr. Scamander, are you rea –” He stopped talking abruptly. “Ah, Mr. Graves. I see that you were indeed not here to arrest Mr. Scamander after all.”
Newt yelped and scrambled off Percival’s lap. Percival grabbed his arm just in time to prevent him from landing on the floor in an undignified heap. “I did tell you I wasn’t,” he said to Dumbledore with as much dignity as he could muster with his hair disheveled, clothes askew and Newt standing right in front of him looking freshly ravished.
“And I apologize for doubting you,” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. “However, I’m afraid I must borrow Mr. Scamander for about a half hour for his ceremony. Mr. Scamander?”
Percival took out his wand and cast a quick glamor charm to hide the bruise on Newt’s neck, then gestured grandly at Newt. “Be my guest.”
Newt touched a hand to his neck, blushed furiously, then smiled shyly at Percival. “You’ll be there?”
Percival smiled. “You know I will.”
End.