One
Chapter 1
A dream.
He's in a dream.
Floating. He's buoyed by his thoughts, his subconscious, surrounded by mild darkness, like the colour of the sky at dusk. Ink black hair. Gloomy eyes. Pale skin. Sunken cheeks. Swollen lips. Who's that?
He reaches for the young man sitting ahead of him. He sees his arm outstretched, but it doesn't feel like it's his arm. The young man is sitting, seemingly defying the lack of gravity present, and hunched forward, shyly looking up every other second. Percival Graves has no idea who this young man is, but he seems so familiar. So close. He's sort of pretty, too.
"Graves!"
Percival looks around, confused. It's a woman's voice, filled with urgency, so it can't be from this boy. Who is it?
"Graves, hold on…"
The woman's voice seems to be right above him, but upward, he can't see anyone. It's just all darkness, darkness, darkness. The voice is so recognizable, though. Clearly Tina Goldstein. That woman's a total keeper on his team.
Team.
Work.
MACUSA.
A jolt of panic runs through Percival. What about his work? Merlin, how much paperwork is there? How long has he been sleeping? Did he oversleep? Why does Goldstein sound so urgent? Why's his right arm starting to hurt? So many questions, and Percival's head begins to spin. He feels gravity weighing him down. He'd liked it so much before. He was comfortable, drifting—almost like there weren't any worries. The young man in front of him had vanished into wisps of smoke.
Percival's arm seriously hurts now. And his left leg, too. He feels like he's waking up, sort of—waking up from what, though? Voices start to echo around him, a little clearer each time. He strains to listen.
"Take him to the Healers, he's got a few broken limbs—"
"We need to check how much damage his brain's suffered—"
"—the damage the Imperius curse can cause—"
The Imperius curse. That's what this feels like.
In an instant, all the Auror training that Percival's been ingrained with kicks into action and his brain goes full-steam ahead. Analysis of the situation. He's had an Imperius curse on him, and if he remembers correctly, if his memories are still in place, he had been ambushed in his own home. By whom? By whom…
Gellert Grindelwald.
Of course. He'd duelled, he'd been Disarmed, he'd lost… Shame floods through him at the realization. What else had happened to him if he was under the Imperius curse? Was he forced to do inexplicable acts? Forget the regret, forget the shame. Focus on the now. Solution. Percival fights to regain control of his sight. He still can't see anything.
In an instant, his world is filled with light. Blindfolds. He feels the fabric ripped from his face. Adjusting to the light, and fully aware of the pain burning through his limbs, and the immense headache brought upon by all this new sensory input, Percival makes out the forms of Tina Goldstein and several other wizards and witches dressed in white. Healers. They're whispering incantations over his body and he feels things fixing itself. One is pouring a clear liquid into a vial.
"Graves, Graves—"
"Goldstein?" Percival croaks out, but it's the only thing he does until the Healer with the vial drips something into his dry mouth and his world is returned to darkness. This time, he doesn't dream.
Percival is eventually released from the New York General Magic Hospital after two weeks. Seraphina Picquery had visited just before getting discharged.
"You're off work for two months, Graves. I don't expect to see you until Grindelwald's trial, in which you will be testifying to his attack on you," she had said. "Recover and make sure you're in working condition. When you return, much will have been done and will be done in terms of security measures."
Percival had bowed his head and murmured assent. How can he refuse? He'd learned it had been four—no, five months since his capture, since Grindelwald had begun impersonating him via Polyjuice potion. He'd been held in the confines of his house, tied and beaten in his basement. His right tibia and fibula had shattered. Hex and curse scars covered his entire body, ones that the Healers had incredible difficulty with removing: too deep and full of dark magic. He was found a few days later, on the brink of starvation and dehydration.
Nobody had noticed.
That's what strikes Percival most. Nobody had noticed that he had been replaced, that a stranger wearing his face but not his character could waltz in claiming he was Percival Graves, and the world would keep spinning. Percival takes this as a sign of his aloofness with those around him. He thinks about changing, about opening himself up more, but he remembers how painful just that could be.
He makes his way back home on the No-Maj transit. His wand is still under analysis back at MACUSA headquarters, and he doesn't feel stable enough to try Disapparating just yet. Surrounded by No-Majs on the subway platform and awaiting the train, Percival decides to think some more about his case. He has a manila envelope clutched in his other hand, containing all information regarding the past few months, including Grindelwald's situation. Picquery had given it to him, telling him to mull over it and to "stay informed".
Newt Scamander. This magizoologist, co-operating with Tina Goldstein—who, additionally, Grindelwald had kicked off his team—had saved the wizarding community of America by containing the Obscurus long enough for the other Aurors to apprehend Grindelwald. But that's not all: the Obscurial, a boy named Credence Backbone, apparently, was dead. Tina Goldstein had burst into tears at the mention of the name when she had visited Percival. He'd been confused—who is this boy? A powerful one, it must be, as he was definitely over ten years old, having lived that long as an Obscurial. Percival's never seen him, but he supposes he will now, in the envelope.
As Percival nears his door, he places the envelope under his arm, fumbling with the keys to his door and cautiously observing his surroundings, much more than usual. Part of his paranoia stems from his shame of having been found and successfully taken advantage of. If he'd just been more careful, a lot of lives could be saved… Percival felt a hollow feeling in his chest. An emptiness, a sorrow, a regret. No sleeping potion to stop this self-blame from taking over. An innocent life like Credence Barebone could have been saved…
While he'd been in the hospital, Aurors had already swept through his house, taking evidence and information, as well as any magical traces left. Percival can tell by the sterilized-clean scent of his home, along with the freakishly ordered pattern in which everything was left. If his memories serve him correctly, the duel had left crumbling walls, broken windows, splintered furniture—and blood, surely. He hangs his coat. Everything is familiar, but not familiar. It's disconcerting.
He forces himself to get up, boil some water. How does he do it without magic?
"No-Majs are truly skilled," Percival mutters under his breath as he struggles with the gas stove. He'd gotten "electricity" wired into his house when he first moved in, but never found a reason to use it. It is a brilliant work-around, though, No-Majs and their electricity. He's impressed, but ends up using hand magic to light it regardless.
Sitting down at the kitchen table, Percival opens the manila envelope. Pages of information are present, but what takes his attention right away is the photograph underneath "Obscurial".
Percival intakes a breath, lifting it up to eye-level. It's a No-Maj photograph, so it's a still of a young man, unmoving. Credence Barebone. The very same young man in Percival's subconscious before being found. The boy's hair is cropped short, but contains the same blackness. His eyes are shaded, downcast, long lashes. For a black-and-white photo, his skin's clearly pale. Still the same fragility of the man in Percival's imagination.
Damn—Percival is a bit staggered. How did he imagine this man even though he's never seen him before? Actually—wait—no! Tina Goldstein. Percival has indeed seen him before. On Goldstein's desk, a faded photo just like this. That's right—Goldstein had seemingly attacked, unprovoked, the adopted mother, who—if Percival observed right—had been abusing this young man. Percival tsks under his breath. Of course. A young wizard living in the Salem whatever nonsense house? An Obscurus was bound to occur. Good job, Goldstein.
Still. Percival sighs, looking through the rest of the envelope contents. There's been a lot. Again, thank Merlin for Newt Scamander. And Goldstein. And her sister. And… a No-Maj. Wow, that's pretty startling. Interesting, though—that should change a lot for the wizarding community, at least, he hopes.
The kettle boils and Percival moves it. He rubs his face, tired. A little more sad than tired, and a little more guilty than sad. Tea? He's more of a coffee kind of man. Grindelwald had depleted his coffee stores, though. Tea it is. What else can he do? He's forced to face his thoughts with no work to numb his pain.
It's been another week or two, and Percival's taken back his wand sometime before. He has learned to cook the No-Maj way, though, and sort of appreciates it, but he appreciates his wand even more. Grocery shopping's a nice relief, though.
Percival has, lately, been spending more time around No-Majs. It's easier, as no one recognises him. No one thinks, "That's Percival Graves, an Auror who was taken advantage of. Duelled, but defeated. Impersonated and taken many lives." Percival made the mistake of being around the wizarding community for a day, and many stares had been directed in his way. He'd hurried home.
"Don't be silly, Graves. No one's thinking that," Goldstein had said when she visited him. He hadn't even voiced this concern, but Goldstein seemed to know. She'd been visiting him often, seeming to just check on him.
Percival appreciates Goldstein, truly. He doesn't mind her visits. It's kind of nice to have some company. He had told his associates to reinstate her back to her position early on. He's been told that Grindelwald, using his face, had sentenced her and Newt Scamander to death, and that's something that, despite not being his fault, he still feels like he owes her for.
Returning home with brown paper bags of groceries, Percival glances at the pile of mail he's received. Obviously, Grindelwald had been only opening the ones that were important.
It's silent in the house as Percival sorts through it. A couple bills, a couple No-Maj advertisements. A grey envelope, slightly dirty, with what looks like the print of an animal who had stepped in coffee and then stepped on the envelope.
Newt Scamander.
Percival's heart beats a little faster. It's on top, so it's been recent.
He opens it with apprehension, unsure of what to expect. A letter tumbles out.
Dear Mr. Graves,
Hullo. My name is Newt Scamander. I know we have not properly met, but Tina Goldstein tells me Grindelwald's version of you is not entirely accurate.
Percival pauses at this to breathe a little, slightly comforted.
I hope to meet you some day. In fact, I am—I will be coming back from England on the second of January. However, while I'm gone, I must inform you of something. I am aware that everyone, including you and Tina, believes Credence Barebone to be dead. Now, please don't be alarmed.
While Grindelwald was being arrested, I witnessed the Obscurus fleeing the scene. STAY SEATED, PLEASE MR. GRAVES. Don't instantly get up and run to Madam President.
Percival, in the middle of reaching for his coat, puts his wand down, wary, reseating himself.
I know you have no idea who or what Credence is like. He trusts you—or did trust the Grindelwald version of you, anyway. At this point, he is probably still at large, but in desperate need of help, healing, and a home. He is a troubled boy, Mr. Graves, having experienced many a terror at the hands of his mother and of others. His Obscurus must be separated from him before he can grow into his full potential of a great and strong wizard.
I repeat, he is still alive, somewhere in New York, in need of help. He is most likely very injured. I beg of you, Mr. Graves, that you will find him and shield him before I come back. He will recognise you.
I have also written to Tina. Hopefully you two will find him. We will all work on separating the Obscurus together. I regret not telling Tina earlier, but then, Credence would be too unstable to reason with.
Thank you so much, Mr. Graves. I believe in you, in what Tina has said of you. Thank you for your time.
See you soon,
Newt Scamander.
Percival sets the letter down.
Yes, he has heard that part. Apparently Grindelwald had built a relationship of sorts with Credence Barebone, in hopes of finding the Obscurial. He must not have known it was Credence himself. Credence Barebone… Something about Newt Scamander's letter convinces him to find Credence Barebone and do what it says. Maybe it was to prove that he and Grindelwald are not at all similar. Seraphina Picquery does not have to know.
Okay.
Well, where could he be? Perhaps the church that had been demolished by Credence's power? Percival supposes he could start there. He's burning with restlessness at home, anyway.
Almost as if she'd been Summoned, Percival watches Tina Goldstein walk past his window and up the steps to his door. A brief knock, and Percival gets up to allow her in.
"Goldstein," he acknowledges.
Goldstein smiles at him, and looks at Scamander's letter open on his table. She looks back at Percival.
"So?" she asks.
"The broken down church," Percival says quietly.
Goldstein's smile grows wider.