Percival was given a peck on his freshly shaved cheek and Newt, only wearing his white nightshirt and slippers, placed a cup of steaming coffee down onto the table in front of him.
"Thanks, doll," said Percival, raking his eyes appreciatively over the pale thighs peeking from under the nightshirt's hem. There was no underwear involved, he knew this for a fact, having removed it himself the night before, and had Newt's shirt been just a few inches shorter, this could have been proven too but with just a glance.
They were in the kitchen of their home, of the mansion of the Graves' family. The mansion did have a dining room, too, built originally by Percival's great grandparents, but Newt and Percival preferred to share their meals in the more intimate setting of the cozy kitchen rather than in the large dining room where tens of paintings of Percival's relatives kept on staring at them in silence.
"You're welcome, love."
Taking a sip of his tea cup, Newt seated himself at the opposite side of their small table by the windows.
It was drizzling outside and Newt, ever the lover of nature, had pushed one of the windows slightly ajar to hear the sound of the light rain better, to allow the fresh, earthy scent of it all to air out the kitchen. While the silent street outside might have been grey in the rain, their kitchen was filled with warmth and light and color, thanks to the modern No-maj invention – an electric lamp – Percival had been so fascinated with that he had had it installed in the kitchen – to have controlled power of lightnings lighting up their kitchen, that was impressive even by the wizard standards!
Newt's blue-green eyes twinkled when he blew onto his blackcurrant tea, studying Percival affectionately.
"How's Mary-Barbara doing?"
Percival looked down at his lap where the invisible baby demiguise was currently in a process of drinking milk from a bottle he was feeding her with. He couldn't see her, invisible as she was, but there were loud suckling noises and the milk level was gradually sinking in the bottle. The weight of her warm, small body was there half on his arm, half on his lap, tucked securely against him, and he was running his fingers through her long, silky hair without actually seeing it, stroking her, soothing her, giving her the promise of protection her mother was not there to give. He could feel her purring, he could hear it, even, soft though it was.
The demiguise was but a few weeks old, but she had already grown quite attached to both Percival and Newt. Her mother, Vanessa, had died giving birth to her and of her sire Newt and Percival didn't even know, but her two wizards had sworn that they would look after her, that they would care for her, and that was exactly what they were now doing.
"Vibrissa," Percival put emphasis on the name he had given the demiguise, despite of Newt's insistence that the baby should be called Mary-Barbara. "We're doing fine here, aren't we, little one? Yes, we are. Yes, we are."
Vibrissa purred and Percival smiled down at her, wishing that he could already see her even though Newt had explained to him that she was still too little to turn visible, that she couldn't yet control her natural magic to that degree.
Percival let his coffee cool down on the table, all his attention on the little demiguise on his lap. He petted her until eventually the milk bottle was empty and she began to whine pitifully – catching her meaning, Percival chuckled and lowered her gently down onto the plank floor. The red rubber ball by one of the table legs began to instantly roll around seemingly as if on its own when Vibrissa started playing with it like the enthusiastic demiguise baby she was.
"Don't go far, little one," Percival told her. "I'll be here, if you need me."
When Percival turned back to the table to reach for his coffee, Newt was eyeing him silently with an unreadable look on his face, his tea cup, empty, standing forgotten on the lace tablecloth next to the folded The Financially Sensible Wizardry.
"Darling," Newt drawled out, maintaining eye contact. "Do you have any idea how much I want to blow you right now?"
The black coffee tasted bitter, just the way Percival liked it, and he warmed it up with wandless magic, glancing at the cuckoo clock by the door. 6.15. He still had an hour before he needed to go to work.
"Why don't you come and show me?" he therefore could suggest, already untying his burgundy dressing gown with efficient, precise moves. "I always have a little bit of time for morning loving."
"Not always, sadly, busy as you tend to be," said Newt, standing up and stretching, his nightgown raising up his thigh along with the movement, teasing Percival with all the pale smooth skin, tantalizing. "But… I take what I can. And yes, I'm planning on coming, dear. You can count on that."
Percival turned his tea spoon into a pillow and handed it over to Newt who cushioned his knees with it making himself comfortable between Percival's muscular thighs.
Newt did love sucking Percival's dick.
Fingers buried in the soft auburn locks, groaning out to let Newt hear his pleasure, Percival threw his head back and thought of the engagement ring he had in the pocket of his dressing gown.
They had been together for a while now, Newt and him, closer to three years, and the golden ring had become a familiar weight in Percival's pocket since he had been carrying it with him for the past two months. He took it everywhere with him, he didn't part from it, although, preferably to him, the ring would have of course been on Newt's ring finger rather than in Percival's pocket. Unfortunately, while Percival never shied from danger and while he had led countless of dangerous auror operation during his respectable career, he still hadn't found the courage to propose to Newt.
So much the answer meant to him.
Newt was fingering himself, Percival saw when he looked down at the head working on his dick. A conveniently positioned mirror materialized then and there, conjured up by wandless magic, and Percival leant back in his chair to look lazily down at the pretty sight of slender fingers penetrating the pink hole.
He wanted very much to ask Newt to marry him, but the words were stuck, they wouldn't come out. He couldn't get his tongue working, couldn't voice the question burning in his mind.
That was the moment an eagle owl burst into their kitchen through the open window with a letter tied around her leg, and while Newt loved sucking Percival's dick, it was difficult to do so when an eagle owl landed on top of one's head and demanded one's attention.
The contents of the letter were quite straightforward and simple: A turso, a bearded sea serpent, needed someone to trim his long beard since it kept on getting caught on ships and sinking them, and Swedish officials wondered if "Mr. N. Scamander would be as kind as to visit the island of Gotland for as soon as possible to trim the turso's beard."
It turned out that Mr. N. Scamander was indeed so kind as to immediately send his confirmation back with the owl.
And since Mr. N. Scamander had – in favor of scribbling a letter about turso beards – all but forgotten that he had been supposed to suck a certain dick, he was now bent over the wooden kitchen counter before he could run off to pack and that certain dick was slipped into him.
Fortunately, Mr. N. Scamander did not have any complaints about this either.
A sudden BANG, loud like something heavy had just been turned over, came from the third floor of the mansion, from above the kitchen in which Percival was currently reading The Financially Sensible Wizardry in the light of his electric lamp and enjoying his second cup of coffee with a niffler sleeping on his lap. It had the lamp swaying, the light flickering, and Niffler twitch in his sleep.
"Hush there," Percival said absent-mindedly and laid a hand down onto the dark fur, and Niffler was quick to calm down again, purring softly.
The loud bang was soon followed by a door getting slammed in the third floor and then, a bit later, by steps rushing down the stairs.
As Percival took a sip of his coffee – black, one sugar – and turned a page of his favorite newspaper, the door to the kitchen was wrenched open. Arms full of rumpled clothes and various kinds of items, including giant hedge shears and a spyglass, Newt dashed into the room, leaving a trail of socks, underwear, a compass and quills behind him.
Percival eyed page four with interest – on page four, there was an article about the practice of "investing in no-maj stocks" and how that could "affect The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy", and that was certainly a subject worth anyone's read for sure, as far as Percival was concerned.
Newt was standing by the kitchen cabinets, awkwardly pulling open drawers while balancing the hill of equipment in his arms more or less successfully. After having studied the contents, he left each and every single one of the drawers open, rushing off to yet another drawer.
Percival sighed in his coffee cup, closing the drawers after Newt with wandless magic, picking up the trail of items Newt was still dropping behind him with every step he took, floating the dropped clothes, quills and all the other items onto the counter next to the sink.
"Are you perhaps looking for something?" Percival asked mildly, tapping his ring finger against the side of his porcelain cup.
"As a matter of fact," came Newt's response from where he was now trying to delve into the flour cabinet, "I am. I just can't seem to find it."
The bag of wheat flour hit the kitchen's plank floor with a thud and the potato flour jar came crashing down, breaking into hundreds of pieces, the white flour forming a lingering cloud, but Newt didn't even seem to notice, rummaging through the cabinet as he was.
Percival folded The Financially Sensible Wizardry onto the table, resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get to read it that morning – he would have to remember to take the newspaper to the lavatory with him so he could read the article in peace.
With his coffee cup in hand and a sleeping Niffler draped across his arm, he stood up, smoothing down the lace tablecloth as he did so.
"Might I ask what this 'it' actually is?"
"Oh, certainly, of course," Newt sounded slightly out of breath. As Percival watched on, he abandoned the flour cabinet and moved on to the pan closet, throwing its door open, spreading the potato flour all around the floor, his hurried steps kicking it this way and that.
"I'm looking for my raincoat. I will need it in Sweden, at the sea as I will be. I don't understand where I could have possibly put it."
"And you think it might be in the flour cabinet?"
"Well, no," Newt frowned, "I already looked and it wasn't there."
Looking at the broken potato flour jar, at the wheat flour bag on the floor, at the trail of floury footsteps leading from the cabinet to Newt's sock-clad feet, Percival put his coffee cup down onto the table and pinched the bridge of his nose, reminding himself that he loved Newt very much, that they were in love, that he was going to propose to Newt (one day when he found the courage needed), that he already had the engagement ring hidden in his pocket and that it would be quite a bother to return it now.
"Reparo," he muttered and the flour jar repaired itself – he didn't want Newt or Vibrissa or any of the other several creatures roaming around the mansion stepping onto the shards, after all.
In their bedroom, Percival had one specific drawer for underwear, another one for black socks and a third one for grey socks. He had a rack for his expensive ties and he had arranged the ties by color. He liked to keep things organized, he liked order, he liked precision, he liked efficiency.
Newt… didn't exactly share the sentiment.
But he gave great blowjobs, so there was that.
And more so than order and efficiency, Percival did love Newt.
He just had to remind himself of that when it came to moments like these when there was flour everywhere and Newt didn't even seem to notice that he was spreading it around.
Choosing to ignore the situation with the flour for now, Percival took a deep breath and aimed for patience.
"Normally," he began, "I would ask whether you've looked in the coat cabinet in the storageroom-"
"We have a coat cabinet?"
"-but seeing as I have already packed one of the raincoats for you, that is now rather irrelevant."
Newt had been busy down in the suitcase caring for the creatures, and Percival, keeping an eye on the time, had therefore stepped in. He had packed everything Newt would need as well as a few items just in case. The packed bags were already in Newt's study down in the suitcase and Percival had made sure to leave a considerable amount of cash in there as well.
He rather Newt had a little more than a little less than was needed.
Squawking, seagulls soared above them, keeping an eye out for food. Percival and Newt were standing in the harbor while people, chattering in various languages, pushed past them with their bags and suitcases and packages.
Katrina, white like a swan, was waiting for her passengers. She would soon sail to Copenhagen, the trip would take about five days in total, and from there Newt would continue his way to Sweden's largest island, Gotland, located some fifty-six miles east of the Swedish mainland. There were already people on the deck, waving down at their friends and family members, some of whom were wiping away tears with forced smiles on their faces, determined as they were to make the farewells a happy occasion, determined to not make the separation any harder than it had to be.
Percival didn't ask how long Newt would be away; Newt never knew beforehand.
The sharp salty scent of the Atlantic Ocean was powerful this close to the water and the wind, cool but gentle, only made it sharper as it caressed their faces, played with their hair. Mindful of no-majs and their ignorant views when it came to same-sex love, Percival still dared to tuck a loose strand of light auburn curls behind Newt's ear, letting his hand linger before he pulled back.
The round blue-green eyes looking at him were deep like the ocean itself.
"Remember to spread ointment on your rash before you go to bed," said Newt, glancing down at the crook of Percival's left arm, the allergy rash there now covered by the fine black coat. "And don't work too hard, love, okay? Reasonable hours only. That's all I'm asking."
"Reasonable hours?" Percival tried to tease despite of the lump in his throat. "And how long would a 'reasonably long' work day be? Twenty hours? Twenty-three hours?"
The corners of Newt's mouth turned upwards, but the look in his eyes was serious like he knew he was carrying Percival's heart in his callused hands, like he knew he would be taking it with him.
Like Newt himself was leaving some important part of himself in Percival's hands.
"Please look after yourself," Newt asked softly and his solemn tone of voice was enough for Percival to promise, "I will."
They looked at each other in silence, maintaining eye contact, their shared life right there between the two of them. Percival wished they could kiss – he wanted to taste Newt before the wizard would sail away – but no-maj people all around would have undoubtedly reacted to it negatively in an instant, oddly prejudiced as most no-majs were against the most random of things, and no-maj attention the Director of Magical Security did not want, could not afford.
"Try not to get in trouble, Percival, when I'm not here to save you from it."
Snorting, Percival glanced around and leant a little closer to whisper in Newt's ear so they couldn't be overheard, "How could I get in trouble when the trouble is putting an entire ocean between the two of us? But rest assured, Newt – when the trouble comes back home, I'll bend him over and then I'll most definitely will enjoy being in trouble."
When he pulled back, Newt was licking his lips, pupils blown.
"I'll-" Newt cleared his throat, "I'll look forward to it."
Their sex was always particularly passionate when they had been apart for some time.
"Come back soon, Newt," Percival asked, requested. "Don't be away for too long."
"Too long?" It was now Newt's turn to tease him. "And how long would 'too long' be? A few weeks? Months?"
Percival chuckled even though there was a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach, churning unpleasantly – the house they lived in wouldn't be the same without Newt, the lack of creatures there would only emphasize its emptiness, its hollowness, its silence. Newt was the soul of their home and without him there, the house was just a building filled with memories.
They had been together for three years now, but just as Percival still went to work every morning, Newt still went off to occasional trips when there was "a rare creature sighting" or "a smuggling ring that needed to be investigated", or when he just plain "needed to go", a summer breeze as he was, unable to keep still for too long, yearning to be out there in the world.
When Newt wanted to go, Percival always let him. He never held Newt back, never pressured him into staying, never asked him to not go. Percival always let him go, so much he loved Newt.
And Newt always came back, so much he loved Percival.
"When you notice that you've become fluent in Swedish, then you might have been gone for a little too long," Percival said, only half-joking.
Newt smiled and squeezed his hand briefly – and then it was the time for him to board Katrina.
Katrina sailed away.
Percival couldn't see Newt up on the deck, but he waved at the ship anyway for a little while before turning his back to it and marching away, shoulders hunched, hands deep in his pockets.
It would have been easier to leave than to be the one to have to stay behind.
The turso was bigger than Newt had expected, but the unexpected only made the encounter all the more exciting. The size of a whale, the turso was easily one of the largest creatures Newt had ever had the pleasure to help.
Hanging on a rope from the turso's antlers, Newt trimmed the beard, each hair thick as his arm. The two eyes, glowing yellow light, studied him with curiosity, but the turso was not aggressive – it was content and sleepy after all the fish, seaweed, cows and strawberries Newt had fed it with, it didn't mind Newt's gentle touches in its sluggish state.
Afterwards, Newt headed back to the local auror base to his suitcase to change his soaked clothes.
Once he was dry again, Anna Blomberg, the only auror based in Gotland, was quick to push him to sit in front of a fireplace in her office and to wrap him in a blanket. She was an elderly witch, her hair as grey as her eyes, and her manner was that of a dutiful auror making sure that an international consult placed under her care was well looked after.
"Nå, hur gick det?" Auror Blomberg asked him, studying him closely, and since Newt had little idea what she wanted to know, he simply nodded and smiled and said that he didn't need any more blankets, but thank you very much.
She stood there frowning at him for a little while more, then huffed loudly and walked to sit at her desk in the cramped office.
Newt liked her, although they couldn't understand each other – Newt didn't speak Swedish and Anna didn't speak English, and after Emil Holm – an English-speaking auror from Stockholm who had come to get Newt from Copenhagen with a portkey – had left Newt in Gotland in her care, it had become considerably difficult for Newt to get himself understood.
It took Newt a week altogether to get the turso's thick beard trimmed. He slept for almost a full day after the deed had been done, exhausted.
The next morning, Auror Bloomberg managed to convey the message that a portkey had been scheduled for Newt at noon and that it would take him back to Copenhagen from where he could sail back to New York. This delighted Newt even more than the delicious wheat bread he was given for breakfast.
It had been wonderful to care for a turso, but Newt did miss Percival and looked forward to returning home. It had been two weeks since they had last seen each other and Newt hadn't even sent Percival any owls, too exhausted as he had been to write after having spent the days with the turso who wasn't at all calm when he wasn't full with fish and seaweed and strawberries.
Home.
Newt couldn't tell when New York had become his home, but at some point after befriending Tina and Queenie and Jacob, after meeting Percival and falling in love with him, that was exactly what had happened – Newt now had a home and that home was New York, the building with the gilded nameplate of Graves on the black front door, in particular.
One particular wizard, in particular.
Soon, Newt was going home.
"Vill du ha mer mjölk?" Auror Bloomberg asked over the breakfast table and Newt smiled at her, unsure but polite.
"I'm very well, thank you," he said, not at all certain whether he was answering her question. "What about you?"
She raised an eyebrow, but didn't answer, and they continued eating in silence.
"When you notice that you've become fluent in Swedish," Percival had said at the harbor before Newt had left, "then you might have been gone for a little too long."
Newt wasn't anywhere near fluent in Swedish, yet, obviously, but it was still the time to go home now that the beard of the turso had been neatly trimmed and the turso could swim in the Baltic Sea again without worrying local aurors that ships might get caught in its beard.
"When you notice that you've become fluent in Swedish, then you might have been gone for a little too long."
Newt smiled to himself. He might not have sent Percival any owls, but he could always send a telegram before his scheduled portkey time. And he would send it in Swedish so Percival would know that Newt felt like he had been gone from home "for a little too long".
The wizard in charge of the enchanted telegram spoke a lot, all of it in Swedish, and when Newt wrote down Percival's name and "MACUSA", the wizard took the offered paper, his boom of a voice declaring something even as he nodded at Newt firmly and gestured from him to the paper. Newt took this to mean that the wizard knew to whom and where to send the telegram.
The wizard sat down at his desk and began to stir some kind of a colorful fog in a glass pot. Newt didn't have the slightest clue how the enchanted telegram actually worked, but he knew the wizard could reach any other magic user in this manner for as long as they had access to a similar glass pot – and MACUSA, Newt knew, had access to several.
Stirring the fog in the pot, the wizard gave Newt a questioning look and Newt startled a bit, realizing he was now to tell what kind of a message he wanted to send.
Since Newt had wanted to send the telegram to Percival in Swedish, he had carefully consulted the English-Swedish-English dictionary down in his suitcase. With the help of the dictionary, he had managed to compose a simple sentence, "Scamander kommer hem," "Scamander comes home." While Percival didn't speak Swedish either, MACUSA had several Swedish immigrants as employers and it would be easy for them to translate the message to Percival, of that Newt was certain.
"Scamander comes home" was, really, all that Percival would need to hear to know that Newt was on his way back to New York.
"When you notice that you've become fluent in Swedish, then you might have been gone for a little too long."
By sending the message in Swedish, Newt truly hoped that Percival would understand that Newt felt like he had been gone from home for a little too long. He hoped Percival would find the gesture romantic.
The only thing was, the parchment on which Newt had written his message had gotten lost – he couldn't find it anywhere now that it was needed and even the repeated "accio" didn't help – and since it was almost noon already and he would soon have to go back to the auror base so he wouldn't miss his scheduled portkey, there was little else for Newt to do but to try and say the sentence out loud rather than to hand the paper over.
"Er…" he hesitated, shifting on his feet. The wizard was looking at him expectantly. "Scamander… um, kom…"
Furrowing his brows, the wizard stirred the fog slowly, never once looking away from Newt.
Newt swallowed hard.
Kom- ah, kom- kommer? Kommer?
He couldn't remember how the sentence was supposed to go.
"You know what, forget it," he therefore had to give up, resigned. "I'll just surprise Percival by coming back home without informing him about it beforehand. Thank you for your time anyway."
Before leaving, Newt gave the telegram wizard a few coins for troubling him.
Little did he know that the wizard had already dutifully conveyed his message to the MACUSA headquarters. Unfortunately, the wizard had written Newt's words – "Scamander… um, kom…" – down as he had understood them and thus the message was in all its simplicity,
Skamander omkom.
"Scamander perished."
And that was the message Carl Olofsson, the auror in charge of Swedish translations, was tasked with taking to one Percival Graves to whom the message was addressed to.
Spending most of his trip back home caring for his creatures deep, deep down in his suitcase, Newt didn't hear the desperate calls coming from his two-way mirror in his coat pocket left up in the cabin, nor did the several owls sent for him ever manage to find him.
It was early afternoon when Newt turned the key and opened the front door of their home five days after he had left Gotland. The familiar nameplate "GRAVES" looked welcoming and Newt smiled at it, happy to be at home again. Since it wasn't yet two o'clock, Percival was likely still at work, busy as always, and Newt would have plenty of time to take a bath and to cook them some dinner.
Stepping into the entrance hall, Newt came to an abrupt halt – instead of being at work, Percival was standing there in the middle of the hall with a travel suitcase in hand, the black coat on, unmoving, staring at the scratch Timothy, a wounded hippogriff Newt had had living in the entrance hall for a few months three years ago, had made when the three of them had tried to train the muscles of his wounded leg.
It had been the day when Newt and Percival had first kissed and Percival had forbidden Newt from ever removing the scratch from the wall. "It's a memory," he had whispered, caressing Newt. "The kind that can create a powerful Patronus – I want to see it there every day when I leave for work."
Newt pulled the front door closed behind him, softly, pocketing the key, and walked to stand next to Percival who was still staring at the scratch with a faraway look on his face. Sighing to himself, Newt noted the disarray of the usually so immaculately combed hair, the wrinkles and the stains on the shirt, the several days worth of stubble – Percival had again been working too hard, he was clearly exhausted, he hadn't been looking after himself.
"Oh, darling," Newt said gently, shaking his head with a sigh. "Look at you. I asked you to look after yourself while I was away, did I not."
Percival's jaw clenched.
"Sure," he gritted out, "but you don't always get what you want, do you."
Percival didn't look away from the scratch, he didn't turn to welcome Newt home. It was worrying, to say the least, since usually Percival was over the moon when Newt came home, and the happier, the more relieved he tended to be to see Newt, the more gruesome cases he had to have been working on. Newt couldn't now even begin to fathom what kind of a horror of a case Percival had to have been working on for it to have made him behave like… this.
He reached out a hand to touch Percival's sleeve, but Percival flinched back, finally turning to face Newt - in order to back away. His eyes were bloodshot, he had dark circles under his eyes. He looked wrecked.
Dread filled Newt. Whatever had happened, it was bad. He tried to reach for Percival again, only for the wizard to back away and to raise a hand as if to shield himself.
"Please don't touch me," Percival said, pleaded. "If you touch me, you'll disappear again. It's not uncommon for people to see their loved one like this under similar circumstances, but I don't care if it's normal or not, I just… I just, please, Newt, love, I don't want you to go again so soon. Just… stay with me a little while longer, this time. Stay with me. Don't touch me - don't disappear."
Newt was now fully and properly scared.
"Percival," he said, voice thin even to his own ears, but when he took a step closer, again Percival pulled back, asking him not to come closer "so he wouldn't disappear".
"Percival, I'm not going to disappear," Newt said with emphasis, beyond worried now. "Please, darling, tell me what has happened? What is wrong?"
Chuckling joylessly, Percival ran a hand through his hair, eyes fixed on Newt and raking over him from head to toe like he was trying to drink in the sight of Newt, like he couldn't get enough.
"That is a good question," he said. "'What happened' indeed. Of course my mind would have you asking me that – I'm cruel like that, aren't I, no mercy even to a grieving man. And that question is the fucking core of the thing, isn't it, and I swear to you, Newt, I swear to you that I won't leave Sweden until I have answers! I already have the ticket, I have everything packed, my ship will leave in an hour. I'll tear that country down, if I have to. I swear to Merlin that if someone did it to you, if someone- if someone-"
A sob cut him off and Percival rubbed a trembling hand over his mouth, exhaling shakily through his nose.
"I'll find your body, Newt," he finally swore which froze Newt to the spot.
His body? What in Merlin's name…
"I'll bring you home," Percival went on, determined. "You can rest next to my parents, they will look after you – they were good people, they were kind. You can rest with them. Or-" he licked his lips, a nervous tick, seeming to hesitate, "or would you have preferred to rest in England, Newt, with your relatives? I thought, perhaps here, you're my family, after all, but… I would understand, I do understand, if you'd rather... in England. We never talked about these things, perhaps we should have. I'll- I'll contact your brother, we'll discuss it, I'll contact him and ask him what he would like to- where he would like to- He's your brother, after all, he has a say."
Slowly, Newt lowered his suitcase down onto the marble floor and Percival's gaze followed the movement before it fixed on the suitcase. Percival let out a sound like a wounded animal, the dark eyes filled with tears.
"Mercy Lewis," he sounded broken. "Mercy Lewis, Newt, your creatures! They will be devastated. I swear – I swear – I'll look after them. I will dedicate my life to it, I will have the time because I already handed in my resignation to Picquery, although she refused to accept it – she told me to go home, she told me to take all the time I will need, but I DON'T FUCKING NEED TIME! I NEED YOU TO COME BACK!"
Percival roared the last of it right at Newt, falling down on his knees, the suitcase slipping from his grasp and clattering onto the floor. He crumpled right there in front of Newt, curling up, body shaking with his sobs, hands going to his head, pulling his hair, and Newt was by his side in an instant, cradling the shaking body, talking soothingly, even as he himself was terrified and more than a little confused.
"If someone k-killed you," Percival was sobbing, "I will make them pay, I'll destroy them. They won't get away with it."
"But," Newt shook his head, uncomprehending, "but, Percival, no-one has killed me. I'm not dead."
Where his words didn't seem to reach Percival, his touch seemed to do so. When he stroke the dark hair, Percival froze, his entire body froze, apart from the involuntary twitches one's body always gave after sobbing.
Slowly, he turned his face up at Newt. His expression was unreadable, guarded.
"You're touching me," Percival's voice was hoarse. "You're touching me. I can feel it. Yet, you're still here – yet, you haven't disappeared."
With a snap of his fingers, Percival raised the wards of the mansion off for just long enough for him to apparate the two of them to –
Newt looked around.
To the home of the Goldstein sisters.
It was quiet. The curtains hadn't been drawn, there was a single candle on the table, next to it a photo of… Newt?
What?
Tina had been sitting down at the table – she looked exhausted, Newt noted, and she had tear tracks on her cheeks – but having Newt and Percival apparating into the living room was enough to have her scrambling up to her feet.
"S-Sir!" she said with a bit of a stutter, wiping hastily her cheeks dry, before her gaze landed onto Newt, and her eyes widened, her mouth opened with a gasp.
There was a loud crash and it had Newt's gaze shooting in the direction of the kitchen. Queenie, with her hands covering her mouth, was standing there on the threshold, a flower vase in pieces at her feet, face blanched like she had just seen a ghost.
"Newt?" Tina was saying. "Newt?"
"You can see him too?" Percival said, voice hoarse and deep, painfully hopeful. "Can you see him too, Goldstein?"
Tina was blinking fast. She was swaying and leant against the table as if to have it support her. Queenie hurried to her side, helping her to sit down, and all the while both of the sisters looked at Newt like they couldn't believe he was there.
"Yes, I can see him," said Tina, staring at Newt. "But, sir, Newt, what is- I don't understand. How-"
"I don't understand either," said Newt. "What on earth is going on here? Why are you all behaving like I have- like I have died?"
Wordlessly, Percival sneaked a hand in his pocket, then handed Newt a folded piece of paper. Newt opened it, wary but curious.
Skamander omkom, it read, and under it someone had written in neat cursive handwriting, "Scamander died." There was the stamp of Sweden's enchanted telegram department on it as well as the date when the message had been both sent and received.
Newt Scamander was a smart man. Now that he had been presented with this piece of the puzzle, he could put one and one together.
"Ah," he cleared his throat. "I believe there has been a bit of a misunderstanding."
"You don't say, dear," sighed Queenie, offering him a shaky smile, having already heard his thoughts. "I must say, what an unpleasant misunderstanding it has been."
It turned out that everyone at MACUSA had for several days believed that Newt had died in Sweden.
When Percival had contacted the Swedish officials to demand answers, to have them explain to him in detail what had happened to Newt, there had been a language barrier and the officials had first given him their consolations – having misunderstood that Newt had died some time shortly after leaving Sweden. Percival, for his part, had misunderstood this and had believed that the Swedish officials had just confirmed Newt's death. The details surrounding Newt's passing had remained vague on both sides of the ocean which had led both the Swedish officials as well as the personnel at MACUSA to believe that Newt had died under "suspicious circumstances".
After Newt had explained how he had tried to send a message to Percival in Swedish and how his plan had obviously failed with terrible consequences, both Queenie and Tina were quick to hug him, while Percival swore hard and sat down on a chair heavily, pulling Newt close to him, burying his face against Newt's belly. He was shaking.
Tina cried openly, saying things about lost brothers and friends coming back from dead and what a miracle it all was.
"Jacob will be delighted," Queenie said soon after, once more her cheerful self. "He has been baking for your funeral, Newt, but now we can celebrate your return. Oh, you must taste your funeral cake – it's a masterpiece!"
They didn't stay long at the Goldsteins after that, just long enough for Newt and Percival to promise to come by the next day to celebrate Newt's return, to celebrate the fact that Newt was not dead. Then Percival apparated them back to their own home.
Newt had barely enough time to note that they were in the entrance hall of their home again when he was already being embraced, when he already had Percival all around him, holding him tightly.
"I thought I lost you," Percival's voice was low and hoarse, barely audible, vulnerable. "I didn't believe it at first, but I tried to contact you for days and there was no response."
Newt winced.
"I'm so sorry," he managed. "I must have been caring for the creatures in my suitcase, I didn't hear, I didn't receive any owls... I'm sorry, love."
"I've been but a shadow wandering around these past few days," sniffed Percival. "I was going to travel to Sweden to find out what had happened to you, I was going to do it today – I have the ticket in my wallet. These past few days, I've been keeping on seeing you, my mind had you following me around, but every time I touched you, the image broke and you vanished. When you came back today, I thought you were just one of the images my mind had created to keep me from completely breaking down."
"Oh, darling…"
Percival pressed his face in the crook of Newt's neck and took deep inhales like he was trying to breathe Newt's scent in. He wasn't kissing, just breathing, inhaling, exhaling, holding tightly onto Newt. Newt twined his arms around his waist, whispering promises and his love in the listening ear, and gradually Percival's shaking stopped, gradually he began to breathe more steadily.
They stood like that for a long time, for hours, for long enough for Newt's legs to grow tired.
"My legs are tired," he finally had to say. It had Percival bursting out laughing, the sound of it just as pleasant in Newt's ears as it always was, if not more so.
Eyes sparkling, Percival lifted him up in his arms and gave him a deep, hungry kiss.
"I'll carry you, Newt. I'll carry you. You don't need to stand. Mercy Lewis, am I glad that you are alive! Welcome home, doll."
Later, much later, when they laid in bed, side by side, breathless for their love making, Percival put a golden ring down onto Newt's bare belly.
"How about it?"
Newt looked at the ring, blinked and touched the smooth surface with a fingertip. Feeling Percival's intent gaze on him, he slipped it on.
"Of course," Newt said, shy, offering Percival a smile from behind his hair, feeling like he could burst with happiness. "Of course I'll marry you!"
Percival exhaled like he had been holding his breath. His eyes were impossibly soft.