Note: Once again, thank you to all the persons who took the time to read that story, to leave a review or to add this fanfic to their alerts or favorites. It really encourages me to write more, even though I unfortunately don't have much time to write, hence the late update…. Thank you for your patience!

Attention please! In the first chapter, it was said that Graves had spent seven months under the Imperius curse. I decided otherwise, as you will discover in that new chapter. Therefore, I had to make some changes in the first chapter for the sake of continuity and consistency. Thank you for your understanding. :-)

Please keep in mind that I'm French, hence the English mistakes! ;-)


CHAPTER 4. SCARS.

The sound of shattering glass startles me awake. I grope around frantically, searching for my wand. My hand clutches the ebony wooden stick, and I jump up, getting rid of the blanket that was wrapped around me. I let out a sigh of relief when I realise I'm not in my gloomy cell but in a familiar and comforting environment. I'm at home. In my living room. And I'm wearing nothing but my white tank top and underwear. A myriad of questions pop into my head, but before I even get a chance to come up with a coherent explanation, Gorkey, my old house-elf, rushes toward me, looking terrified.

"Oh, Master Percival! It's a tragedy! What a horrible brat!" He exclaims, his nasal voice not helping to ease the migraine which is assailing me. "And yet Gorkey tried to stop him! Gorkey swears, Sir! But that obnoxious person kept on saying house-elves weren't slaves and that he could manage by himself! Can you believe it?! Oh, Master Percival, Gorkey failed in his duties, Gorkey –"

"Alright, alright! Enough, Gorkey! Calm down!" I say, preventing him from hitting his head against the wall once again.

I step into the corridor, my face contorting at the cold contact of the marble beneath my feet. Gorkey follows in my footsteps.

"He's in there, Master," Gorkey indicates the kitchen with a shaky hand, as if the vilest of creatures had taken refuge in there.

There is no shaggy acromantula nor ferocious wampus cat in the kitchen, but judging by the state of the room, one could believe a galloping herd of centaurs has passed by there. The tablecloth is smudged with tomato sauce, and broken eggs has formed a slimy puddle on the tiles, in which pieces of glass are wading, probably the remains of the milk bottle which broke earlier and roused me. And, right in the middle of that unspeakable mess, Newton Scamander, dressed in grey and yellow pyjamas, tousled hair, wand in hand, is concentrating on both the pan and the frying pan on the gas stove.

"Oh… Hi! … Sorry… I woke you up…" he stammers, finally noticing my presence and casting an anxious look at Gorkey. "I didn't know what you had for breakfast, so I made pain perdu, a French speciality. Those are slices of stale bread soaked in a mixture of beaten eggs and milk and then fried on both sides and, errr… I also made baked beans… But if it's too European to your liking, even though baked beans have actually been exported by US companies, I can… Errr…" He follows my eyes and seems to finally become aware of the chaos he sowed. "Ah… yes… I… I'm going to fix this… Reparo!" The pieces of glass assemble and the bottle materializes. "Scourgify!" The slimy puddle and the tomato sauce stains disappear and a wide smile spreads across his face and makes me forget why I wanted to yell at him barely a moment ago. "Et voilà!"

"It's burning," I say in a detached tone, trying hard not to let my eyes linger on his bloody smile.

"I beg your pardon?"

I nod to him in the direction of the frying pan.

"Oooooh!" He exclaims, gesturing clumsily to disperse the thick grey smoke which is invading the kitchen. And to think that it is the same guy who worked with Ukrainian ironbellies during the war, those dragons which would decimate a whole forest in less time than it would take you to scream 'Fire!'…

I raise my wand and, with a twist of the wrist, I disperse the fog, and the pain perdu ends up on a plate, next to the baked beans.

"If you can't cook, you call on a house-elf…" Gorkey grumbles. "It is because of that kind of humans that the house-elves' rate of unemployment increases. In my time-"

"Gorkey!" I cut him off, as I take a seat. "Don't you have anything else to do?"

"Well, this morning, Gorkey has already mopped the floor," he enumerates on his fingers, "ironed your laundry, cleaned the –"

"I'm sure there still are some cobwebs left in the attic," I say, a threatening smile on my lips, staring at him until he lowers his eyes.

"Most certainly, Master," he answers reluctantly. "Gorkey will take care of it right away. Gorkey remains at your disposal for anything you may need. And above all," he glares at Scamander, "if that despicable creature dares to bother Master Percival again, Master Percival just says the word and Gorkey will kick the troublemaker out and ensure he never sets foot in that house again."

I roll my eyes but Gorkey doesn't wait for my reply. He snaps his fingers and disappears before Scamander's dumbfounded look. The latter remains momentarily speechless before he sits down in front of me.

"Such a strange house-elf. I've never seen one like that before," he tells me, half shocked, half amused.

"You'll have to get used to it. Gorkey's not a bad guy, but he's not very fond of strangers. Especially those who try to steal his job."

"What?!" He cries out. "No! It's not… It's not what I… I didn't want to bother him, that's all. I meant well!"

"Of course," I reply with a kindly smile, "just like I meant well when, years ago, I offered him to free him after he had already spent more than a century at my family's service. He cried foul, he screamed, he burst into tears, he threatened to burn my wardrobe to make sure I could not present him with clothes… That was terrible! He only calmed down when I adamantly promised I'd never free him…"

"That's… fascinating…"

While Scamander seems lost in his thoughts, I glance at my plate. Come on! If I survived hospital food, those measly burnt slices of bread are not going to get the better of me. I close my eyes and stuff the loaded fork into my mouth. "Hmm… That's the best pain perdu I've ever had!"

"Don't laugh at me," he pouts.

"I swear I'm not laughing at you, I'm very serious. That's the best pain perdu I've ever had," I assure him once again. "But that's only because I've never had any before. Actually," I continue, "it's absolutely disgusting."

He laughs. Shyly at first. And then, loudly.

And when Newton Scamander roars with laughter, it's like a summer sky on the night of the Fourth of July (1). He is literally shining. I can't take my eyes off his perfectly aligned teeth, off the light pink of his cheeks and off the crow's feet at the corner of his eyes. I watch him with childish amazement. Touched. Mesmerised. Seduced.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" He struggles to speak through his laughter. "I've never been good at cooking!"

His laugh is so infectious I'd almost forget what is tormenting me. I wait for him to calm down before I speak again.

"Mr Scamander-"

"Newt," he interrupts me. "You can call me Newt."

"Newt," I repeat, looking him in the eye and, for some reason, saying his firstname outloud would almost make me smile foolishly, had the circumstances been different. "I really enjoy your company, but I'm sure you know my mind is a little preoccupied, don't you?"

He nods.

"You want to know why you feel like you missed out on the fifteen last hours of your life…"

"Yes," I reply calmly, my hands clasped on the table. "Yes, indeed. What happened after the apparition? I can't even remember getting home…"

"You passed out," he explains, confirming my doubts. "Our landing was a bit… rough… And when you came to, you were shaking… Soaked with sweat… Delirious… You kept saying…" He hesitates for an instant. "My brother's name…" I freeze. I hope Theseus' name is the only thing I mentioned about him… "So I made you lie on the couch," he continues. "I rid you of your clothes. I made you drink a potion made from yarrow and Shrake spines (2) to reduce your fever and I stayed by your side all night…"

I study his face more carefully. The freckles under his eyes are drowned in puffy dark circles, and if he looked much younger than his age yesterday, it's not the case anymore today. I feel guilty. Powerless. Helpless.

Useless.

I offered him protection. I promised myself to look after him. The roles were not supposed to be reversed!

"I… I have no words to describe how sorry I am, Newton," I stammer. "So terribly sorry. I was supposed to protect you, not to put your life in danger. That is unforgivable."

"What are you talking about? I'm perfectly fine," he says with a shrug.

"I could have splinched you!" I cry, disconcerted by his lack of reaction. "Or worse!"

"Yes, I guess such a thing could have happened. But I'm still in one piece, as far as I know. So why make such a big fuss?"

I let out a sigh of exasperation.

"You don't understand!"

"What I understand, Mr Graves, is that you don't recover from seven months of torture in so little time… For Merlin's sake, look at you! It's a miracle you're still alive!"

I understand immediately what he's talking about. My eyes fix upon my arms. My legs. My upper torso which my tank top reveals. Of course, there are the older scars, some of them being the trophies of a twenty-year career as an Auror, others being the sinister vestiges of a war far too cruel. But Scamander isn't referring to these scars. He's talking about the infected wounds. The bruises. The burns. Not a single bit of my skin has been spared and the vast wasteland my body has become only reflects the darkness of my torturer's soul. Those months which seemed like years to me. The violence which had become my daily lot. To such an extent that I didn't even fight anymore.

Sometimes, the effects of Transfiguration had not worn off yet when Grindelwald visited me (3), so he tortured me using my own appearance. And there probably is nothing more disturbing than being hurt by someone who looks exactly like you. Your spitting image. You end up hating yourself, and I don't think I'll ever be able to look at my reflection in the mirror without feeling nauseous. The face of a merciless monster who had made me his puppet for far too long…

I brush a suppurating wound on my left forearm and I suddenly press hard on it. Just to make sure this is not a bad dream. The pain is so sharp I have to grit my teeth. No, everything is real. The wounds are still there, a constant reminder of my stay in Hell. They are now part of who I am and the mediwizards' incantations didn't overcome them. Doctor Maynard only managed to heal the ones on my face, except one cut which goes from under my left eye to the middle of my cheek.

I can feel Scamander's gaze probing me and I slowly look up at him. His whole face is dripping with empathy and compassion and it makes me sick. I feel like a turtle without a shell. Naked. Weak. Ugly.

If I weren't such a coward, if I weren't that afraid to pass out again, I would apparate. Anywhere. Far away from him. Far away from them all.

"Accio dressing gown," I manage to articulate in a barely audible voice.

Seconds later, my black silk gown is floating by my side and I hurry to put it on. It's a simple piece of fabric. It doesn't erase anything, it only hides while I'd like to disappear completely. I think of that cloak. That invisibility cloak. The one from the children's bedtime stories. If only such a cloak could exist…

Scamander puts his hand on my arm and I jump at his touch.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Mr Graves… I really didn't…"

I look up at him from the dark strands of hair falling over my eyes. He looks genuinely sorry and I shake my head, as if to tell him to forget about all that.

"The Cruciatus curse doesn't leave any visible mark," he re-enters the fray. "And simple wounds wouldn't have caused any problem to mediwizards. So what other spells did he inflict on you, Mr Graves?"

My blood turns to ice. Grindelwald's voice echoes in my head. Spells I had never heard before. My skin. Ripped. Burnt. Twisted. And blood. So much blood. My blood. His disgusting mouth pressed against my lips. Against my neck. His body against mine. Repulsive. Depraved. Once he had taken all there was to take, he left me for dead in my cell. In my vault. Until his next visit.

"Not going to talk about that," I mumble.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to. It belongs to the past," I reply, avoiding his eyes.

"Are you sure about that?"

Always that same impudence. And yet, there is not an ounce of malevolence in his voice.

"Could you just…" I want to tell him to shut up but the words remain stuck in my throat. Because he's right. Of course he's right. What I have been through doesn't belong to the past. It haunts my present, just as it will haunt my future. My vision becomes blurry and I quickly rub my eyes with the palms of my hands to wipe away the tears that are threatening to fall. "Bloody fucking hell!" I stand up, pushing the table away violently. "Mind your own damn business, Scamander!"

Sadness washes over his face and I already regret my words, but before I can mumble some apologies, he furrows his brows and seems to get a hold of himself.

"It will take more than that to get rid of me. I succeeded in taming the wildest creatures. I'm not one to easily give up, Mr Graves."

I roll my eyes.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, I'm not one of your creatures, Newton!"

"And I'm not a poor defenceless little thing!" He retorts, his fists clenched, and he looks as surprised as I am at the tone of his voice. "And yet you asked me to stay here because you couldn't stand the idea of letting me leave without any protection! Well, I can't stand seeing you in such a state and not doing anything to help!"

"I don't need help," I grumble.

"Aren't you fed up not being honest with yourself?!" He lectures me like a father would lecture his child. "Don't want my help? Fine! But I'm taking you back to hospital!"

"What?!" I exclaim. "No way! Going back to hospital would be admitting I was wrong!"

"But you were wrong! You should have never left against the mediwizards' advice!"

When I think I left hospital because I wanted to dissuade him from leaving the country… Because I worried about him…

"Yes, alright, I was wrong! But no one has to know!"

"Well, I know!" He stands up too, his face flushed.

I take a deep breath.

"Scamander," I say, pointing my finger into his chest, "I swear, I am this close to casting an Unforgivable Curse."

At the MACUSA headquarters, that threat would have been enough to make my Aurors hide under their desks and cast protective spells around them, 'just in case'… But Scamander doesn't move an inch, even worse, he sports a huge grin.

"And what, pray tell, makes you smile?" I ask, raising an inquisitive brow.

"Nothing! It's just…" He nervously pulls at his sleeve. "In all sincerity, I'd rather see you like this than looking all upset like earlier." He glances at me. "If only you told me which spells he used, I could try to prepare an ointment to ease your pain and accelarate the healing process…"

I open my mouth, ready to let loose a string of biting remarks, but he seems to have read my mind.

"No, please, don't say anything!" He cries, covering my mouth with his hand. "I know what you're thinking. But believe me, I'm much better at making potions than I am at cooking, and I have extremely rare ingredients in my workshop, the kind of ingredients even the best hospitals in the world can't get hold of…"

I immediately think 'black market', 'illegal', 'breach'… Under normal circumstances, I would deluge him with questions to make him spill the name of his suppliers who I then would track one by one, but his face is barely a few inches away from mine. And my eyes are lost in his. And my breath becomes heavy. And I'm not quite sure it is only because Scamander's hand is covering both my mouth and my nose…

"Let me help you, Percival," he whispers, looking at me with pleading eyes. "Please…"

Percival… He called me Percival

He takes his hand away slowly, unintentionally brushing my lips with his fingers, and my heart should definitely not beat that fast. I clear my throat.

"I'm going to take a bath," I say, stepping away from him. I pause in the doorway and address him over my shoulder. "Thank you for breakfast."


"Diffendo!"

The large mirror of the bathroom cracks and shatters, taking away the reflection of that body I no longer recognise. Of that body that repels me.

I step into the water slowly and I make the bruises and wounds disappear under a blanket of coconut scented foam. If warm water relaxes my muscles, soap doesn't rid me of my demons and Grindelwald comes back to haunt me.

"Spirabulla," (4) I whisper before I let myself slide lower into the water, until my head is completely immersed, the bubble which has formed around my face allowing me to breathe under water easily.

I always do that when I need to shut myself away from the rest of the world. Being under water calms me and helps me to empty my mind.

I don't know how much time has passed, but the water has turned cold and my hands are so wrinkled they look like those of an old man. I step out of the tub and a couple of incantations later, I am dry, dressed and my hair is styled, and more importantly, I am determined to make my apologies to Scamander. After all, I'm the one who offered him to stay here, and he's only trying to help. It just isn't fair to unleash the anger I had been containing for too long on him.


"Newton?" I call to him as I enter the living-room.

He is nowhere to be seen and I begin to fear my behaviour scared him away.

"Newton?" I try again, a burst of guilt filling my guts.

"Will you shut up, young man!" I start and turn to the portrait of my half-blood great-aunt Greta, an old woman wearing a black dress with a lace collar fastened by a cameo brooch. "You wouldn't want to wake that poor boy, would you? He spent the whole night looking after you, that would be cruel not to let him enjoy a well-deserved nap! That Newton boy is a true angel!" She exclaims delightedly, hands joined, all dreamy, before she frowns and casts me a disapproving look. "I'm afraid I can't say the same about you, Percival Graves! I heard you talk to him earlier… Threatening him with an Unforgivable Curse?! Is that a way to treat the person who makes your heart beat?!"

"Wh… What?!" I nearly choke. "No! No, you are mistaken! It isn't what you –"

"Shhhhhhhh!" She cuts me off, one finger on her mouth, indicating the couch with her free hand. I walk away with a shrug.

I can't help but smile while watching Scamander fast asleep on the couch. The old bat isn't completely wrong. Newton really does look like an angel. (5)


(1) This obviously refers to Independence Day's fireworks.

(2) If it is true that yarrow can be used to reduce fever, we know nothing about Shrakes except that it is a magically-created species of fish whose spines can be used as a potion ingredient. I disclaim all responsibility if you decide to try them to lower your temperature! Haha!

(3) JKR revealed Grindelwald didn't use polyjuice but his amazing Transfiguration skills to take on the appearance of Percival Graves. This obviously raises a lot of questions. Some people question the very existence of a real Percival Graves. As far as I'm concerned, I like to believe he really does exist, but that in order to impersonate him, Grindelwald needed to know plenty of things about him. In this fanfic, it is Theseus, Percival's former lover, who gave Grindelwald all the stories and informations he needed to impersonate Graves (personality traits, habits, personal and professional backgrounds past and present…), as for the rest (facial expressions, body language, voice…), Grindelwald is just an excellent observer and all he had to do was spend time with Graves in his cell to imitate him to perfection. I also think he took the time to spy on the MACUSA and on the people working there to fade into the background. But all that is nothing but a theory I invented to write this fanfiction. :)

(4) As I didn't remember the incantation for the Bubble-head charm (that spell used by Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour to breathe under water during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament), I don't even remember it being mentioned anywhere to be honest (I'm sorry if it was!), I made one up based on the Latin 'Spirare' (to breathe) and 'Bulla' (bubble)

(5) Yes, I know! Wizards are not supposed to know about angels. But Greta was a half-blood wizard, so, with one of her parents being a muggle, imagine for an instant that she received a Christian education. Percival likes his great-aunt much more than he pretends to, and I'm sure that he learnt a lot of things about Muggles through spending time with her! ;-)


Thanks for reading! :-)