Title: The Ribbon

Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Summary : "All what I gathered from my visions is you, that boy out there and Grindelwald battling somewhere. He mentioned something about going back to Godric's Hollow and that night. My visions always end the same: the British man crying, you on the ground bleeding, and Grindelwald laughing."

Pairings: Original Percival Graves/Newt Scamander

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Notes: Inspired by Your Name, Time Traveler's Wife, GOT and Steins;Gate.

This story is weird. Just go along with it.

I'm sorry in advance for any plot holes and for how long it will take me to update. Real life is a bitch.

xxxXXXxxx

Percival Graves came from a family of three: his mother, himself, and his sister, Edith. His mother, Bertha, was a socialite back in her day when her heart was still full and light. She captured Percival's father's heart one summer evening in '94 at one of the many parties her parents hosted. Her light steps and beautiful navy blue gown sealed the deal when he came in stumbling, his first time crashing a party. Their eyes caught one another and the universe stopped.

Edward was an up and coming auror in training at MACUSA and the last of his line. He was scrapping for food, while Bertha had new clothes to wear every other week. However, Edward had the Graves name and a charming smile.

Bertha married him against her parents wishes December of that year. A name was nothing if he had no means to provide for her, an unusual sentiment in the current era, his name and bloodline did not elevate his status in their eyes. Bertha didn't care. Edward was sweet, kind, and passionate. He excelled in his courses and graduated at the top of his class. He was the first from his class chosen to lead a mission and he was one of the few the president honored at the annual MACUSA ball. They had Percival the year following their marriage and Edith two years later.

Edward died saving a group of no-maj children captured by a crazed wizard wanting to cut their flesh open and bleed them dry. Percival was seven, Edith five, and Bertha's heart was never full again.

The years following his father's death was a blur - a mixture of tears, black clothing, and drawn curtains. Bertha refused to let her children play outside when they still lived in the city for the fear of losing them as she did with her husband. Edith became rebellious from the confinement of her sex. She pushed the rules of society to its breaking point: wearing pants instead of dresses, offering undeterred opinions in the company of men, and daring to suggest that she would obtain a proper education at Lady Margaret Hall, a noted female institution in England. She shunned magic and even moved away from America when she was old enough, seeing both as an accomplice in her father's death. She didn't care about the war brewing among the European countries.

Percival, however, was not his sister and he had no such illusions with magic. He was loyal to MACUSA and to the magical community. It was the people that were corrupted, not magic, and corrupted people could be found anywhere. Magic was just another means to an end. It was practical and made life easier, but in the wrong hands nothing was safe, which could also be said by those in power or had money.

He finished his schooling at Ilvermorny in 1912 and immediately applied for the auror program at MACUSA. He didn't find it ironic that he was going against his mother's wishes as she went against her parents' when she married his father. Percival needed to honor his father's memory. He needed to prove that he was worthy of his father's heritage. The painting of Gondulphus always eyed him whenever he visited his ancestral home. He had big shoes to fill and family to please. There was no room for entertainment and joy. Percival was a pencil pusher, another gear in the machine, but he was dedicated and honest. He had a dark wizard named Grindelwald to take down.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves here. Newt wouldn't had like that.

xxxXXXxxx

When Percival's father died, the grandparents that never cared for their daughter and her children suddenly welcomed them back into their arms. She was, after all, family and she was grieving. Bertha packed up her house, released her house elves, and took her children out of New York and into the countryside where the air was fresh, the fields were green and magic flowed free.

It was strange living on his grandparents' estate: noises filled empty hallways, a sweet scent lingered the pond, and cold drafts occasionally drifted through on a cloudless, sunny day.

Florence, Percival's grandmother, would gather her grandchildren during their many evenings at the estate. She would speak of riddles and stories time had forgotten; how magic was not a vessel, but in nature itself. Time was not linear, but fluid and forever twisting, bending, and unraveling. Darwin and the naturalists were beginning to uncover the secrets of the universe, and while science may jump ahead by leaps and bounds it could never solve all the mysteries the universe had to offer.

James, Percival's grandfather, used Florence's family wealth and his family's influence to buy a series of iron mills, helping the Northeast build skyscrapers and railroad tracks. He was rarely home, always away fiddling over one machinery and another, but his presence loomed large in the many empty rooms. He was practical and straight. He used magic to his benefit and saw no consequences in its use to better himself, nor his family. Florence saw in him a stable life. James saw a road for opportunity in her. Together they make an odd couple, one immerse in nature and the other immerse in industry, but a couple nonetheless.

xxxXXXxxx

Percival felt that his childhood was but a footnote in his family history. Children lost their fathers and babies died in childbirth. That was the way of life. It was harsh and unforgiving, but it made those who survived that much stronger.

Percival took after his grandfather in many sense. Florence's view of the world was too fluid and fragile, giving up your destiny to nature's ebbs and flow. His mother was barely alive behind her shell, black clothing coloring her days. Percival had to find his own way and James' view of the world made sense.

This did not mean that his childhood was wholly uneventful. His governess made sure he was well educated before heading off to Ilvermorny and the fields behind his house were filled with herbs and magical creatures who were unafraid to roam free.

Once when he was ten he rescued a niffler caught in an acromantula's web. Percival wasn't sure how there was an acromantula on his grandparents' estate, but he couldn't let the little niffler die tangled up in the white silk. Once he released the niffler, the creature snuggled up against his chest and refused to leave his side. Percival had no choice but to bring the creature back with him, making a mental note to tell the house elves to lock up the silvers and golds. He placed the niffler he named Niffy next to his pillow and fell asleep staring at the creature before him as he slowly ran his fingers through the niffler's soft fur. Come morning the niffler was gone and so was his father's ring, the gold band with the green crest and the letter 'G' engraved on the inside. It was a hot summer morning, but an unexpected cold draft made Percival crawled underneath the covers as he worried about coming up with a story to tell his mother.

Percival never got used to living at his grandparent's estate. Phantom touches upon his skin, the occasional missing garments, and strange beasts crossing the fields beyond his window. On the anniversary of his father's death Pervial would feel someone hugging him as he lied alone on his bed crying about the things he would never get to do with his father. On the eve of his departure to Ilvermorny a voice whispered his name as he was too nervous to fall asleep. He made himself believe that it was his father from beyond the grave wishing he was there to be with his only son.

Edith never experienced anything out of the ordinary, nor did she seek it out. She flourished in the countryside and had taken to walking to the no-maj's village across the way. Magic was an unnecessary burden and Florence's talks of nature and time an unnecessary bore. The bond of siblings, it seemed, was in name only.

xxxXXXxxx

There were several more instances at the estate, usually involving various creatures here and there. They gravitated to him as if they were loyal hunting dogs following its master. Seemingly dangerous creatures and mischievous creatures attached themselves to Percival without a care in the world and became territorial to those who meant harm. Edward's friends from MACUSA would routinely say that the estate was one of the safest in the countryside, maybe even safer than Ilvermorny, but Percival knew better. He had his father's aura around him and that was what the creatures responded to.

His governess said otherwise. While Edith escaped her lessons by locking herself in the family's library, their governess would entertained Percival with stories of wizards and witches long gone. It was a highlight of his youth, just him and her and his creatures around them. One day when he was fourteen and home from school, she suddenly turned and looked at him worryingly. She reached out and touched his hair as if she saw a ghost. She quickly pulled back and excused herself. Later behind closed doors, Percival could hear her telling his grandmother that for a flicker of a second it seemed that "he had no future and everything was black around his edges." He told no one that right before she touched his hair Percival felt a weight on his chest and a pair of lips against his ear whispering, "I'll find a way to save you. I promise." His father died saving a group of no-maj children. Percival was sure that Edward would make sure his death was not in vain.

xxxXXXxxx

Percival was minding his own business stomping through Ilvermorny's grounds the first time he met him. He wasn't even sure if that was his first time. Memory and time were always a bit muddled around this particular British wizard.

Percival's grandfather had sent word and he was not pleased with his grandson's scores, which really meant that he was not pleased with Edith's scores. They were to spend their holidays at the school as punishment.

Edith was an average witch. Doable, but unfortunately not one you can count on in battle. Their grandparents had lived through the Civil War and the Spanish American War. There were talks of unrest in Europe, nations grabbling for power and territories. It was not the time to be sub-par.

Percival knew the other unspoken reason. He was beginning to look like his father day by day, by the way he been told that his smile was reminiscent of his father's and how his eyes had the light and dark qualities to them based on his moods. Bertha couldn't even stay in the same room as Percival; the way he hold himself together as he stand was too much like Edward's, always eyeing the room and cataloging everything down to its last detail.

Fifteen was too old for tears, but tears came anyway. It dotted his cheeks and made his skin shine even during the cloudy day. Percival could hear a distant cries of a phoenix, a friend he made recently. It belonged to a professor that was in Illvermorny for the year from Hogwarts. The bird took a liking to him that even he couldn't figure it out, but the professor encouraged the friendship between the two of them, saying how the phoenix could sense a kin.

Hearing Fawkes following him as he walked through Ilvermorny's grounds calmed his heart a bit. The tears had stopped flowing and his head a bit clearer. As he was wiping away the last of his tears, Percival felt a shift in the air, a sudden cold blast, and a body in the way. He bumped into a man wearing a blue coat, who suddenly appeared out of thin air, and caused them both to stumble down the hill.

Upon resting at the foot of the hill, Percival breathed out a heavy sigh. He was already having a shitty day and this just added to his misery. There were blood on his hands as he wiped his face free from dirt and grass. The man next to him did not look any better. It seemed that he went through a wringer: his blue coat had small tears here and there, his hair out of sorts, and his arm and face were scraped and bleeding. He was also looking at Percival as if he saw a ghost.

The man couldn't be a no-maj. His wand were held tightly in his hand, but he was looking at Percival with such anguish and puzzlement that made Percival terrified for a split second. Ilvermorny would not had allowed someone with ill intentions onto its ground and Fawkes would had came bearing down if he sense Percival in danger. The man was clearly older than Percival, maybe in his late 20s or early 30s. His hair was reddish-brown, his skin light, and the stranger had such beautiful green eyes Percival had ever seen.

Percival cleared his throat, which suddenly became dry, before asking, "Are you one of our Headmaster's visitors? He said something about soldiers dressing up as Union men coming to give a talk about the war." It would explain the appearance and his demeanor. Percival had seen many shell-shocked men during his visits to the city. They couldn't get the war out of them and it had affected every part of their being, any war a nasty business, from the Civil War to the one that ended a little over a decade ago.

The man in front of Percival continued to gape, eyes widen and slightly watering. It made him self-conscious. There was a bowtruckle peeking out of the coat's pocket before ducking out of sight again, not before giving Percival a sad look and a mournful cry.

"Union soldier?" asked the stranger, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. His eyes held such warmth and sadness as he continued to gaze at Percival.

Percival coughed and made a gesture. "Your blue coat." He realized he made the wrong assessment when he took in the man's British accent.

The man suddenly looked down at his unkempt attire. "Oh, it's just a normal blue coat," the man said softly. He brushed off what looked like ash from the arms of his coat.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" asked Percival, suddenly feeling bold and unafraid.

"Like what?"

"Like you're a no-maj who seen a ghost," replied Percival. He was getting a bit frustrated with the lack of answers.

"Just someone who died," whispered the stranger. Before Percival could questioned him more about what he heard, the man asked, "Do you know who I am?"

"No," replied Percival swiftly and strongly. He saw a flash of pain go through the man's eyes. "Should I?"

The man shook his head. "No. Of course not. Not yet." He kicked the ground and the loose dirt went flying. "This is wrong. All wrong." The man took another look at Percival before he padded his coat looking for something. "You're bleeding and your eyes are red."

"No," huffed Percival. "I'm not." He stood a bit taller. He was fifteen. He couldn't admit that he was feeling homesick and neglected.

"Here," the man said softly. "Use my handkerchief." He held out the white cloth he pulled from the many pockets of his coat.

Percival hesitantly took the handkerchief after the spell he muttered showed that the cloth was free from curses and spells. His cuts were beginning to sting and the little dirt left on his face was not helping the matter. "Thanks," Percival offered. He would need to visit the sick wing and have himself looked at after all of this was over. Maybe he was a friend with the professor? "Who are you?" he asked after he spelled the handkerchief cleaned and gave it back. He made note of the embroidered "N.S." at the corner.

"It's not important yet," said the man. His finger lingered a second too long when he took back the handkerchief. Percival's skin tinged with warmth.

"What's not important? What do you mean by 'yet'?" asked Percival. His jaw was set tight as he was becoming frustrated with the lack of answers.

Suddenly a cry went through the air. The man looked up and saw Fawkes circling above. "Is that Faw...a phoenix?" he breathed.

Percival nodded and feeling a bit smug. Phoenix were hard to find in the wild, let alone kept as pets. "He belongs to Professor Dumbledore."

The man slowly nodded his head as he processed the name. "Dumbledore," he mumbled. Suddenly the man snapped his head up and walked right up to Percival and took his hand. Percival was too stunned to do anything as the man took out a ribbon and tied it around Percival's wrist, spelling it to tie a knot at the end. "Here. Take this. It's a ribbon made from jobberknoll's feathers and the leather binding here is made from the skin of a Swedish short-snout dragon. Jobberknoll's feathers are used in memory potions and the dragon hide are used as a shield, but of course you know that. It took me ages to find the right spell to thread the two together. Wear this as a token." His breathing was harsh and his words jumbled, but Percival could hear the fear and anguish.

"I don't need any more well wishing tokens. My grandmother always send one every other week to make sure I'm in good health," said Percival. The strange man was soft to the touch and had a slight lavender scent.

"Wear it," the man said, desperation lacing his words. "Please."

All of the sudden the hand that was holding his disappeared. A flash of heat coated Percival's skin before the gloomy weather was taken back to form. The air shifted and the sounds muted. Fawkes cried again as he flapped around overhead, breaking through the silence. The memory of what had occurred slowly faded away in Percival's mind, him constantly seeking out to hold onto the beautiful green eyes, the softness of the handkerchief against his skin and the tattered appearance of the blue coat.

After a short while, Percival rubbed his eyes, feeling the sting of the cold and dirt. His mind was empty and cleared. He needed to head back. His friends would worry. Professor Dumbledore would probably say something about his rough appearance.

Percival glanced down at his hand. When did he get this ribbon? It had a nice color to it, the soft blue that was a sharp contrast to his skin.

Fawkes cried again.

Yes, he knows. Percival needed to head back. There was no one out here and it looked like it was going to rain. He rubbed the ribbon between his fingers. It grew warm with his touch. Sometimes his grandmother's had nice taste. He should wear this more often as a show of gratitude.

Percival sighed and began to walk back. There was something nudging at the edge of his thoughts, but it must not had mean anything if he couldn't remember what he had forgotten.