Hadrian gaped at Credence, then gaped some more.
His eyes flickered from the young man's chest, to his face, then back again in a seemingly never ending cycle.
Credence remained oblivious, slumbering peacefully and clutching Harry gently to his chest.
How in the world did this happen? Harry wondered, feeling more than a bit hysterical, his mind's eye concentrated on the thin, glowing strand of nearly white gold that connected him to Credence.
This… this was from an Unbreakable Vow.
Except not.
Those had to be made with the consent of both parties, and it was practically unheard of to be made without a third person present to connect them. But it being there? Between them? Without either of those factors being fulfilled?
Harry thunked his forehead against Credence's shoulder, letting out a quiet groan. Of course this happened to him. Since when did Harry start thinking something in his life would stay normal? Or, well, as normal as two Obscurials with one being the Master of Death and the other far surpassing his kind's average life expectancy could be.
Harry focused back in on the magic swirling between them, untangling the lines - or well, line, seeing as to how it was a one way connection. Which was. Also not done. Credence had somehow, in the however long Harry had been napping for, made a one way Unbreakable Vow with Harry as the recipient. No benefits whatsoever for Credence, then, but it'd take more time to decipher what, exactly, had been sworn.
Credence stirred slightly, and Harry pushed away his contemplations for the moment. He had his doubts that the vow had been intentional, seeing as to how Credence still had trouble with simple spells such as 'wingardium leviosa' despite his frankly absurd levels of magic.
Harry lifted his head back up to give the young man a couple of light pats to the cheek in hopes of speeding up the waking process, and perpetually exhausted looking, jet black eyes blinked down at him a few, slow times. Then they widened, and the somewhat loosened arms holding him up reaffirmed their grip.
"H- uh - Hadrian, you're-" Credence got out, sitting up a bit straighter as he tried to get his bearings, half expecting to see Grindelwald watching him with a disapproving, more than a little menacing stare from some darkened corner in the room.
But no, it was still only him and Hadrian, and Credence faintly wondered how long he had been asleep. And then the thought resurfaced with a blare of panic that shot him fully into wakefulness, and he snapped his head up to read the clock on the mantle. It was half past twelve - meaning he'd been asleep for nearly an hour - and it was well past Hadrian's designated snack time.
He peered down at Hadrian, who stared back up at him guilelessly, a small smile quirking the latter's lips. A gust of air exhaled from Credence's mouth, lightly blowing back several soft strands of blonde hair from Hadrian's forehead.
Words refused to form on his lips for a few moments as he sucked back in a relieved breath over the fact that, at the very least, the tot didn't seem overly cross over the tardy meal. "Food?" he managed to get out, jerking his head towards the coffee table that was littered with an array of toddler approved snacks.
Hadrian did not follow his line of sight, which should've been wholly and entirely expected on Credence's part, considering the fact that Hadrian was three.
"Food," Credence repeated anyways, nodding to himself and receiving an echoing nod and a milk toothed smile from Hadrian.
The ravenette unfolded his legs from underneath himself and stumbled to his feet, pins and needles crawling up past his knees and making him wince. Still, he maneuvered over to the table, albeit somewhat more drunkenly than likely acceptable, though a quick glance at Hadrian showed that the tot didn't seem to mind. There was a thing about that that Credence thought he'd heard before: that kids liked to be swung around - something or other along those lines at the very least. He promptly decided that no, no he would not be attempting to swing a pint sized human through the air no matter how much Hadrian may potentially enjoy it.
Credence shook his head, then shuffled in place for a moment, looking between Harry and the table laden with snacks. He… wasn't sure what was suitable to pick. Grindelwald had placed the spread with a single flick of his wand before promptly stepping in the floo, leaving everything in Credence's entirely incompetent hands, if he does say so himself.
He stared at the table rather dispairingly for a moment, only snapping out of it at a soft pat against his chest.
He glanced down to be met with Hadrian's wide green eyes, the tot staring up at him with a look of expectation that made Credence's heart simultaneously drop to his stomach and leap into his throat because he most certainly did not know how to successfully deal with expectations. He certainly had enough past evidence to corroborate that.
The fact that those expectations came from someone who still had difficulties forming sounds that exceeded a single syllable was completely irrelevant.
Still, Credence realized that staring at the table any longer wasn't going to help him come to a decision any better than what he could already do, and he definitely wanted to be done with snack time by the time Grindelwald came back. His soul shriveled slightly at the thought of the man coming in before then, a slight layer of smoke wafting up from his forearms before he shook them out.
Humans - children especially - only needed three basic things: food, water, and sleep. At least he'd provided the latter one of the bunch, even if he clearly had miserably failed at the single two he'd actually been tasked to take care of.
There was another pat on his chest that had him blurting out, "Right!" rather loudly, and he readjusted his grip on Hadrian before bending down somewhat awkwardly to set the tot on his feet.
Then his gaze darted back to the table and he grabbed the first two items within his reach: a half slice of a peanut butter sandwich and a small pouch of shelled sunflower seeds.
He crouched down in front of Hadrian, resulting in him assuming what he imagined to be an unfortunately gargoylish position, and held out the prizes with more than a little mild trepidation.
"Um. Hadrian; would you like… sandwich" - he raised the corresponding hand - "or… these?" he asked, raising the other. His innards made a valiant attempt at withering further, as if they could escape his inexorable descent into constant self imposed ignominy.
Hadrian's cheeks seemed to grow taut as he pursed his lips, eyes narrowing as he glared up at Credence, and the ravenette felt a bead of sweat dot his temple.
His heart nearly leapt out of his chest when the tot's gaze veritably lit up, a tiny toothed grin - one that, for some odd reason, was unfittingly suspicious - pulling up at his chubby cheeks as he reached forward for the sandwich, smacking his pudgy palm directly into the goopy peanut butter coating the top with a resounding squelch.
Credence stared at the hand uncomprehendingly for a few moments, his eyebrows up just a hair as he gazed blankly and his lips parted just a tad. He robotically set the bag of seeds back on the table and wordlessly lowered his hand further so Hadrian could better reach the sandwich he'd clearly thoroughly claimed.
In that time, his expression cleared somewhat, and he wondered faintly what peculiar amalgamation of fascination, the barest hints of amusement, and frankly horrified dismay was showing.
Meanwhile, Hadrian took hold of the sandwich properly with his other hand, and Credence warily eyed the goopy palm that the tot had apparently decided would appreciate being swung about himself with reckless abandon.
Credence risked a glance at the floo.
It was still empty - obviously, as there'd been nary a sound to signify Grindelwald's return.
How strange it was for Credence to so quickly change his opinions on whether he desired the man to be present. Though, he still wasn't quite sure if he'd reached such a point yet, but he felt assured in the fact that he was absolutely, positively unassured in what he was doing with an infant on his own, and support would be greatly appreciated.
Rather robotically, Credence took an empty plate and placed a couple of slices of bread onto it, setting that alongside a peanut butter jar onto the carpet between himself and Hadrian - just in case the blonde required more.
Credence could more than readily admit that he had no clue how much sustenance toddlers required, so he would be erring on the side of caution.
He spared another glance over at Hadrian, only to find that, somehow, the peanut butter that'd gotten onto the tot's single palm had now spread down past his wrists - on both hands.
What.
"Um," Credence said, completely wrong footed - as he tended to be more often than not. How in the world had Hadrian managed to coat his forearms so thoroughly in the condiment in the few, scant seconds in which Credence had slacked in his supervision? He looked around, raising his craned neck with slightly burgeoning panic in hopes of spotting a sink. There wasn't one. "Alright," he strangled out after a moment more, clearing his throat. "I'm… I…'ll go look for… tissues," he informed the tot, unspooling his legs from their criss-crossed position he'd apparently taken without realizing and almost stumbling away, feeling quite like he'd gotten a completely out-of-the-blue blow to the head as he turned around in a bid to find napkins as quickly as he could.
He knew there likely weren't any in the room they were currently in, as there was no place for food except the coffee table, which hosted only the snacks themselves. Still, he poked around a couple of cupboards to check, only to have his suspicions confirmed.
He threw a glance back at Hadrian, who was still idly munching on his sandwich, and the peanut butter had now migrated to nearly his elbows. Credence thanked whatever minor deity was out there that the tot was wearing short sleeves.
However, Hadrian's further impending mess was definitely a good enough reason to make the executive decision to leave - for only a moment! - in order to find some blessed tissues to resolve the problem.
He very briefly considered asking Hadrian to stop making a mess of himself, but he threw away the thought nearly as soon as it came.
Credence still had nary a clue as to how to interact with the small human whose vocabulary was limited to inarticulate sounds - not that he himself was much better, really - so he couldn't see any endeavor in which he attempted to entreat Hadrian as being successful.
Even so, he still informed the blonde that he'd "return shortly" before flinging the door open and more or less throwing himself down the hall to the nearest lavatory.
.
Upon re-entering the room - arms laden with tissues both dampened and dry - the Credence stopped short, and blinked.
He blinked again.
Then again, taking an aborted inhale.
"Oh, God," he whispered, staring resolutely at the far window with all the resignation of an unarmed man under fire, eyes locked on the one spot so he wouldn't accidentally look away.
Still, the scene he'd walked in on darted across his mind's eye like a terrorizing flashback: The general area of about seven feet with Harry at its epicenter could be most accurately labeled as 'the blast zone,' with every surface within the range being unquestionably coated in peanut butter, the scent of it heavily permeating the air. The jar from which it'd all indubitably came from was carelessly laid out on its side, the contents scraped out and leaving the container empty.
Hadrian giggled out a sound of pure delight, pulling Credence back from his reverie and making his eyes unwillingly snap over to the tot and the waking nightmare about him.
Hadrian's gaze lifted to meet his own, and then the toddler's palms slowly, unerringly raised to his cheeks where he placed them directly against the pudge before smearing downwards until they dropped off his chin, leaving tracks of creamy peanut butter spread all across his face in an manner oddly reminiscent of camouflaged, tribal warpaint.
"Hadrian," Credence whispered, undoubtedly sounding utterly horrified - as he was.
Hadrian let out another burbling laugh, slapping his hands against the tacky floor that took a moment to release the tot's palms from its sticky grasp with a squelch.
Credence idly noted that the tissues had fallen from his grasp and now laid at his feet. That matter was hardly of consequence now.
No, now he had a much larger issue at hand.
In fact, to simply refer to it as an issue was a horribly erroneous use of the term, as the situation at present could not be suitably described by such a limiting term.
No, not even referring to the matter as a complete and utter disaster would be suitable.
Credence crouched down, suddenly unable to bear the weight of it all while remaining standing, and he only just managed to resist the urge to bury his face in his hands.
This was a catastrophe.
Was he being dramatic? Most likely. Did that change his perspective? Not at all.
He watched dazedly as Hadrian continued to further coat himself in peanut butter, soft strands of his delicate, blonde hair beginning to stick together and turn a honey brown as the tot ran his copiously covered hands through it.
Meanwhile, Credence's mind continued to race a mile a minute.
First and foremost, he was well aware that a considerable portion of his panic stemmed from the fact that Mother - the Matron, he corrected inwardly, as he'd been trying to do as of recent - would have had his head if a similar situation had occurred while he was left 'in charge.'
Not only was Hadrian presenting himself as a complete and utter disaster on his own with how he somehow looked as if he'd managed to bathe himself in his clear condiment of choice, but the entire general area around the tot looked as if it'd entered a food-based warzone. Well. Peanut butter specifically, yes, but just the color in and of itself definitely did not help matters, since, to put it bluntly, it looked like someone had taken a massive, explosive shite across the room.
Credence carded a hand through his hair somewhat frantically, exhaling out an almost whistle-like breath.
The more relevant issue was how Grindelwald would react.
It was true that the man hadn't treated Credence harshly - unwarranted or not. And yes, Grindelwald had said he would support Credence in his endeavors and that they had been tasked onto the same side, but.
There was a difference between an almost business-like support and actual care, and Credence was quite certain in his perspective that he had not - and likely wouldn't ever be - crossing the line into the latter in the eyes of the man.
That meant that there was doubt in Credence's mind. That there always would be doubt.
Which was relevant in this moment in a completely convoluted way that Credence's thoughts raced to work through.
Because of his own importance being based purely off of his worth towards helping Grindelwald in the man's endeavors, then that also meant that if - or, more likely, when - Credence's worth ran out… well. Suffice to say, Credence couldn't see himself being kept past that.
Some would likely find it curious that Credence chose to remain by Grindelwald's side while knowing this likelihood. ('Some' more than definitely including Nagini).
There were several reasons, however.
Firstly, and what some would call rather shamefully, he was dependent on the man. Not just in the sense of being financially and educationally supported, either. It was childish, and likely more than a little self-demeaning considering that Credence was now considered an adult himself, but he felt… something close to content, at being able to rely on another as he did with Grindelwald. Yes, the man had only begun backing him because of Credence's value in his eyes, but that didn't change the foremost fact. Nor did it change that Grindelwald was the first to do so. To show him care - no matter how conditional and placational it may be - and to not have used it to hurt him. Because that was the crux of the matter. Yes, Credence was being more or less used, but if being cared for on some level - valued, appreciated - meant that that was the price? Then so be it.
It wasn't as though there was anyone else Credence could turn to, anyways. His memories of that final night in America still remained hazy in his mind, with faint remembrances of a tunnel and a rusty-haired, coltish man flashing through, but he recalled enough to know that the other side - the one that Nagini whispered to him would take him, both of them, in - had attacked him. Credence.
Could he fault them?
Well, no, how could he? Credence himself still struggled not to view himself as a monster. As in, he still viewed himself entirely as just that.
But it didn't make him anything close to willing to go and subject himself to the whims of those who had already made what was likely an attempt on his life.
Which, in turn, brought Credence to another matter of course. His life. Or, well, his life span. Yes, Grindelwald had been rather blunt in his teachings regarding Obscurials, and one glaring fact was that Credence was, to put it bluntly, an outlier. Seeing as to how most with Credence's 'condition' didn't even make it to their teenage years, let alone adulthood, that was putting it lightly.
He hadn't a clue as to what allowed him to survive where others had not. Grindelwald mused that it may be due to the strength of his powers allowing his body to continue to support itself where in others they had crumpled under the pressure, and Credence supposed that that was plausible enough. Regardless of the reason, however, he doubted that his 'luck' would last forever - or for long at all. Credence discovered that, in the most recent years and with a steadily increasing frequency, he had been displaying signs that the spare few children recorded having had been Obscurials had suffered from as well. The most obvious of the list being how his spine seemingly curled inwards on itself, forcing his shoulders up and his neck out in a vulture-like posture that he struggled to straighten, which only furthered the additional aches and pains that weighed down on his fraught bones.
At times, he fruitlessly attempted at convincing himself that there was nothing wrong. That the issues and his maladies were all in his head or were caused by his upbringing rather than by the suffrances of the parasitic entity that'd fused itself with his soul.
More often than not, however, he accepted the matter for what it was.
He was not long for this world.
Whether that meant weeks, months, or a few, meager years, he was unsure.
Regardless, his point in the matter was not to wallow in a continually deepening spiral of self pity - no, not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.
It related to why he had remained with Grindelwald despite suggestions to do otherwise, going so far as to overlap with several of his previous reasons as to why.
It was rather simple, really. Here, Credence was… content, as he's mentioned.
It was likely a bit of a stretch to say as much, but, in terms of how he'd lived his life thus far, the present time was as close as he'd been able to get to feeling such a thing.
With his - with the Matron, there was never a moment's peace for as long as he could remember: if he wasn't being punished for some mind-bendingly inconsequential infraction or another, then he was living in constant fear of waiting for that exact inevitability.
In his spare moments of being away from the orphanage, his life wasn't much better, if at all. He'd always been seen as an outcast - as something unwanted, something that others innately recognized as being different. Apparently, neither he nor the masses had realized the extent of the truth in that regard. Nevertheless, even without a true reason as for why, others had never been kind to those they considered as not one of their own. The amount of times Credence had been dragged into backstreets - if they even had the decency to do as much - and been beaten and bloodied only to return home for further punishment as a consequence of 'causing a fuss'... well, he lost count, really.
And the only life he'd known other than that has been now - with Grindelwald.
The man had given him a taste of something so tantalizingly close to freedom that Credence had instantly been addicted, so much so that he'd willingly fell into a gilded cage of his own making.
So, yes, Credence knew he was being used. And, yes, he knew he wasn't anything even close to being synonymous to free. But. This was the best he'd lived thus far. And it'd be laughable to take a shot in the dark chance - to go to living in strife for a chance at prevailing in the future - considering the fact that 'the future' wasn't something Credence expected to live to see much of at all.
So it was quite straightforward, really. As long as he performed well and listened to Grindelwald, he wouldn't suffer. And after the life he'd lived, he was more than willing to receive what sounded like so little while giving what was likely too much.
That wasn't to say that he was laid back or anything of the sort, no. He was anxious - a complete and utter understatement of the word for a lack of a better one. He felt the symptoms of it near constantly. He honestly couldn't remember a time when he wasn't constantly fraught with nerves, which often caused alarming blood-pressure spikes unbelievably quickly with how easily they were set off, so it wasn't as if his current state surprised him.
It wasn't that he thought Grindelwald would suddenly turn on him or anything of the sort - well, not logically, at least - since Credence felt tentatively secure in his somewhat temporary position at the man's side. But knowing and believing were to separate things, and his mind often felt like it was disconnected into two quite separate parts: the sphere in which he intellectually acknowledged himself as a necessity in the playing field, and the sphere where he was always a hair's breadth away from ruining the balancing act of a compromise he'd achieved by obtaining a position at Grindelwald's side.
It didn't help that, as much as he'd like to believe Grindelwald's assurances that he wouldn't further Credence's condition by following the Matron's track, it was more than a little difficult to simply take the man's word for it. Not to mention that there were more ways to make someone suffer than physical abuse.
Credence didn't have any solid assurance that he could actually hold Grindelwald to. He only had the man's word.
It wasn't as if he was Grindelwald's ward - like Hadrian.
Which was another matter in and of itself.
Hadrian - who showed up only a few short weeks after Credence himself - was something of an enigma.
Yes, Credence had his suspicions of the tot's origins, but the fact that they remained completely unconfirmed waylaid them into remaining as a mystery.
That was without mentioning that the three year old was already an Obscurial like Credence himself - and one with seemingly complete control over his relevant powers. Well. All his abilities, really.
And all this to say that, despite being physical proof of Credence's lack of permanency, Hadrian's continued existence at Grindelwald's side served as another tick in Credence's mind as to why he was nearly wholly decided in remaining with the dark lord.
Because, as he faintly recalled promising himself before falling into a faint slumber so shortly before, Credence would not let the boy fall into obscurity like Credence himself had. He was too late to save Hadrian from succumbing to the malady of the Obscurus that plagued them both, but he could protect him as best he could from any further torment than that of which had caused the transformation in the first place.
He knew some may find it odd how quickly he'd felt himself become attached to the tot, but was it really so strange?
Credence had no family to speak of; his 'Mother' had hardly even tolerated him referring to her as such on the rarest of occasions, and his 'sisters' were closer to vague acquaintances that he happened to share a roof with with how uncommon it was for them to deign to speak with him. The new information he'd gained on his blood family didn't currently help him, either, since Grindelwald had yet to clarify much further than stating he was an heir to a powerful, magical bloodline, and he had an inkling that he wouldn't be positively reconnecting with anyone in that regard, either. As for the dark lord, that matter spoke for itself, and he'd already deduced as much: to the man, Credence was a tool. No matter how well Credence was treated, he didn't think he'd ever reach past such a value.
And, finally, Nagini. She'd been the closest relation he'd had since… ever, really. They were all each other had had for a time, depending on one another to survive, to escape, and to continue forth. And with her malady, he'd felt a sick sort of bond with her as well: the both of them suffering from their near parasitic forms sucking the genuine life from them.
But, as of recently, he and her seemed to do nothing but disagree. Argue, really, and intensely, at that. In a way, Credence was almost envious of her outlook on life - on how she strived and held strength in her heart that the faintest of opportunities meant that they should hold out hope. That, despite the risks and the odds being completely and utterly out of their favor, they should take the leap towards the light. Quite literally, in a sense.
She was adamant that remaining with Grindelwald would result in nothing but a gruesome end and that being turncoats would result in a vast improvement in their lives.
It sounded more like an utterly fantastical desire to Credence. He'd tried explaining to her that he'd already been attacked by this 'other side' that she preached for, that they clearly saw him as a threat to be eliminated regardless of whether they held sympathies - or, more likely, pity - for his plight, but she refused to listen.
And Credence couldn't bring himself to explain to her what he'd only barely managed to shamefully admit in his own mind: that he was something close to fulfilled here. That he was willing to be used if it meant he achieved some bare level of peace.
Not to mention that any and all notions of escaping from under Grindelwald's nose seemed utterly absurd considering that they were in an obscure location that Credence had only recently been made aware of being in Germany, and neither he nor Nagini had proper control of magic, and also, ah, yes: Grindelwald was more or less the most capable magic user in the entire Northern Hemisphere. At least.
Credence blinked, abruptly snapping from his thoughts as Hadrian made another sound, and the current predicament came rushing back to him with a pounding throb through his skull.
All his reasonings and logistics seemed to fly straight out his ear from where they'd formulated in his mind, leaving his laterally denoted half of his brain that relied more on instinct and previous experiences to panic all on his own, rational thought having promptly decided that this was not a matter for its discourse.
Credence sprang to his feet and darted to the edge of the reasonably dubbed 'peanut butter zone,' staring in complete dismay at the mess that, unfortunately, had not decided to have disappeared and be left as a visual hallucination during the last minute in which Credence had been lost to his thoughts.
If anything, it seemed as if the blast zone had spread. How, exactly, Credence wasn't sure, as there was a comparatively limited amount of peanut butter that could've been in the jar compared to the amount that was spread over the floor, walls, cabinets, table, and Hadrian himself, the final of which genuinely held the appearance of a babe who'd just narrowly escaped drowning in a vat of mud.
Credence felt a faint tremor race up his hands as he attempted to force the synapses in his brain to fire off more quickly in a vapid attempt at finding an utterly impossible solution to the disaster at hand as his mind decided it was the perfect time to blare raging sirens inside his head that clashed with his stumbling, panic induced thoughts.
There were a plethora of reasons that Credence was panicking, he knew, even as he debated the merits of attempting to reach forward to pick Hadrian up from the mess. The tot seemed exorbitantly in favor of the idea, what, with how his arms were raised up high just as they had been earlier and with the imploring look that was still somehow discernible even under the thick layer of peanut butter coating his normally angelic face.
Credence let out a despairing sound in the back of his throat. He no longer had any concept of time in regards to when Grindelwald would be returning, and every imaginary tick of the clock seemed to ratchet his heartbeat up another notch.
It wasn't simply that there was a mess that made Credence's breath begin to come out in short, puffy gasps, nor was it that Hadrian himself was covered in said mess, either.
Yes, it was true that Credence assumed Grindelwald would inherently be displeased if confronted with a mess, but it wasn't the inherent scene that currently set the young adult off, no.
Instead, the more selfish reason was that Credence utterly and undeniably feared what Grindelwald's reaction would be to Credence having failed a seemingly quite simple task laid out for him. All he'd been expected to do was take care of a three year old - a child whose basic needs consisted of food, sleep, and water and who had yet to gain an affinity to talking so couldn't cause any issues on that front. For God's sakes, Hadrian hardly even crawled. And Credence had somehow, clearly, failed spectacularly in that regard. Which sent him on a spiral of conjecturing how Grindelwald would react and in turn how it would affect their future interactions and if this one incident would cause a doubt in Grindelwald's mind over whether Credence's worth was truly at a high enough value for him to consider using or if he would need to subdue Credence to make him understand his position just as the Matron had -
Yes, somewhere in the far, far corners of the faintest recesses of Credence's mind, he was well aware that his current thoughts completely disregarded his previous analysis, but that was before he'd lost the majority of his rationality in favor of genuine, bone shaking petrification that had black wisps rising from his form as if he were steaming.
Not to mention the matter of Hadrian himself, who, of course, was the culprit of the current situation no matter how innocent or unintentional his actions had been in causing a scene.
This was the bit in which he knew he was genuinely losing it, since he knew - he knew - that Grindelwald wouldn't take his frustrations out on the tot, no matter the situation, and of course not in response to something comparatively minute as a dirtied room.
And, yet, that didn't stop Credence from scooping Hadrian up from the floor and cradling him to his chest, pulse racing in his throat and mind disregarding - or, more accurately, not taking note in the first place - how the tot froze in his grip for the first few moments as if the action of being lifted had been completely and utterly unexpected from his end despite having clearly wanted as much.
Instead, Credence backed away from the mess, ignoring how he could feel his shirt, the underside of his chin, and his arms become just as covered as Hadrian was in the goopy condiment that seemed to all but flood his nostrils with its normally mild scent.
"Okay - okay," Credence muttered to himself, gaze darting left and right and towards the back door as if wondering if he should dart towards the exit in some completely inane attempt at escaping.
Not that he would.
Or could.
He was just panicking. Severely. Since he had no idea what to do or what to expect and he had nowhere to go and he had no time frame as to when Grindelwald would be returning -
Hadrian shifted slightly in his arms, and there was the telltale rushing sound of the floo being activated, and Credence barely resisted the urge to duck and cover as if expecting an immediate blow.
He didn't, though, instead standing as straight backed as he could with Hadrian braced in his arms, one of Credence's palms cradling the back of the tot's head.
This meant that he was witness to the entirety of the blast zone clearing back to being just as pristine as the rest of their surroundings with only the faintest snap. Distantly, he noted the sensation of his own skin being cleansed in a similar manner, though he didn't have the time nor the forethought to physically check before a green fire roared up from the pit and Grindelwald stepped through without even the faintest hint of ash catching on his crisp robes.
"Credence," the man greeted, brushing a hand down his front as if to smooth away invisible creases.
Credence opened and closed his mouth a few times, only managing to make a faintly strangled noise in the back of his throat.
Grindelwald raised an eyebrow, and Hadrian made a sound, drawing the man's attention down to him. "Hadrian," he belatedly greeted with a small smirk of a smile, striding a few steps closer to the pair before directing his attention to Credence once more. "Any issues while I was gone?" he questioned, eyes narrowing slightly at Credence's no doubt completely flummoxed expression.
"N-not really, sir," Credence managed to sutter out, throat clicking.
"'Not really?'" Grindelwald echoed, taking another step closer.
Credence swallowed, peeling his eyes away from the other and dropping them down to the top of Hadrian's head, somehow still faintly surprised to find it completely smooth and clean despite there having been no reaction from Grindelwald to suggest otherwise. "He-" Credence licked at his suddenly chapped lips, "-he just. With the food. Had to clean up a bit."
The blonde man made a noise that was neither disagreeing or agreeing, though it leaned closer to the former of the two. More of a disbelieving, if not bemused, sound, really. Still, he said nothing more of the matter, instead peering down at Hadrian once more.
Hadrian made a pleased noise, no doubt wearing a cherub smile, and shifted in Credence's grip so that he could extend his arms up and out towards the dark lord. His little hands opened and closed in demanding, grabby fists, and Grindelwald's expression softened minutely.
Credence barely restrained himself from thrusting Hadrian forwards when Grindelwald reached for the tot, instead carefully extending Hadrian out towards him until the other man had a firm grip on the small blonde, the dark lord's lips quirking in an indulgent half-smile at the crown of Hadrian's head.
Credence swallowed convulsively, blood thrumming through his ears even as it slowed, limbs feeling weak as the adrenaline that'd been pumping through them finally began to slow. He needed to leave. Quickly. And find somewhere to collapse that was out of sight.
"I - bathroom?" he said, internally bashing his head against a wall immediately thereafter.
Grindelwald gave him a look that was distinctly amused, if quite blunted. "Of course; by your own leave, Credence. I am glad the two of you seemed to have enjoyed each other's company," he replied.
Credence bleated out a laugh, already taking a few steps back towards the door as he nodded in a jerky agreement. "Yes. Very m-much so. Enjoyed. Enjoyed so much. I mean. Yes. Thank you!" he blurted out in a rush. And then he promptly turned heel and high tailed it out the room as quickly as he could without seeming as though he was doing exactly that.
.
As Grindelwald carried Harry away down the other end of the hall, Harry couldn't help but feel rather bad for his attempt at a prank on Credence.
He'd only been trying to get back at the ravenette for having given Harry such a bombshell of a revelation to wake up to just before, even if the young man himself wasn't fully aware of what he'd done.
And, yes, it'd been quite inordinately amusing to watch Credence flounder around for the first few minutes over the mess, but, after realizing the genuine panic that belied the other's actions, it would've been a task to even try to dredge up amusement over the situation anymore. Harry was many things, but an enjoyer of the undue suffering of another wasn't one of them. And that was exactly what it felt like he'd been witnessing just moments before Credence had hurriedly lifted him off the ground - an action that had been surprising in and of itself, seeing as to how Harry had been a complete, literal mess at the time.
Regardless, the point was, Harry had rectified his mistake shortly after having realized it, and he hoped Credence wouldn't hold it against him. Though, he likely wouldn't, largely considering the fact that he thought Hadrian was three and therefore impartial to the whims of basing actions on grudges or pitiless spite.
Harry winced.
Yes; definitely not one of his finer moments.
The rumbling of Grindelwald's chest against Harry's sternum brought the smaller back enough to listen to the man's words.
"- enjoy your day with Credence?" the dark lord asked, tilting his head down slightly so he could meet Harry's gaze after the tot unhooked his chin from over the man's shoulder.
Harry bobbed his head in a clearly delighted nod, breaking into a radiant grin that further widened when he saw how it made the corner of Grindelwald's lip twitch up seemingly on its own accord.
"I will see to it that the two of you are able to meet more often, then," Grindelwald said decidedly, and Harry made an affirmative noise, inwardly looking forward just as much to the statement as he was outwardly showing.
He would rectify his relationship with Credence.
He'd decided they'd be brothers, after all.