Chapter 1:
Percival Graves felt sick. He felt like someone had scraped out his insides and left him hollow. He felt ashamed as well. The shame and guilt of everything that had happened. It was suffocating him. Grindelwald, the man whom he hated more than anyone, had attacked him and a group of Aurors. Percival had survived. Wandless magic was his speciality. His skill. It had kept him alive. And Grindelwald had been delighted. Someone with a similar skill set to his own. It meant he wouldn't have to hide his formidable powers as much. Lucky him. He'd taken Percival. Taken him who knew where. And hurt him. Broken him. Shredded him. He felt like a husk of his former self.
At first Grindelwald had wanted information. Percival had survived interrogation training. He didn't talk. Although, he feared that Grindelwald had gone into his mind. Taken what he needed. He hadn't really. The worst part was when Grindelwald had decided that he didn't need information. And for once in his life wished he wasn't so closed off. Then maybe someone would have noticed he was different. When Grindelwald had visited, for information or to gloat, he had worn Percival's face. That was even more painful. Hearing what Grindelwald had done. With his face. His body. His voice. He wished he could rip out his heart. Bite his tongue. Just die. But Grindelwald didn't let him. He enjoyed watching Percival squirm. Enjoyed having such a powerful man under his thumb. He needed him alive for the potion and that was all. Percival had never felt so hopeless. He had shamed his family. When Grindelwald didn't return, Percival felt relieved. It was over. He perfectly happy to die. He would let his body be testament to the fact that he never gave that wretched man anything. Fortune favoured him a different way.
He didn't know how he'd been found. He didn't remember the details. He remembered a sudden light bursting into the small dungeon that was his home. He remembered Tina staring at him with disbelief. The shriek of some else, 'oh God he's alive.' And he couldn't bring himself to care. He was taken somewhere. The infirmary. He barely recalled any of that. He remembered someone telling him he'd be okay. If he could laugh, he would have. He was the head of the department of magical law enforcement. He was the director of magical security. He was a former Auror. And he'd cocked it up so brilliantly, he wouldn't be surprised if he was fired or asked to go on leave. Maybe he'd be shunted to another department. Apparently the universe had decided he hadn't suffered enough.
He found himself in an interrogation room. He was fully recovered, in the physical sense. And the President was interrogating him. The first few hours he'd understood. He really had. They had to see what he'd told Grindelwald (whom he was glad to hear had been dumped in some cell). They had to see what he knew about Grindelwald. And of course they needed to be sure he wasn't a spy. He'd cooperated. Told them everything he knew. What had happened. The President had listened intently. It didn't help that Percival spoke about everything in such a disengaged way. As if he was reciting a dull passage. Then again that was the Graves family way of dealing with anything. If you don't know what to do, cut out the feeling. If that doesn't work, pretend it wasn't you. Percival realised somewhere between the second and third day that they had kept him too long and it was getting harsher. When they locked him up in jail cell he felt as though someone had stabbed him in the gut. The President had explained it to him. MACUSA security was up to standard. The only way Grindelwald would have been able to impersonate Graves so well was if Graves had told him what he needed to know. And that made him a spy. Percival had never been so glad that almost his entire family was dead, the exception being his younger brother. They would have been ashamed of him.
A spy. A traitor. They'd taken his wand and he'd had to be bound the whole time. Wandless magic. So Percival sat in his cell and seriously wondered if biting his tongue was a better solution. He was probably going to die anyway.