And thanks to my Beta (my little sister). I wouldn't dare posting this without your input!
More fluff I'm not used to writing, so feedback is appreciated!
See Warnings at the end, although they spoil details in the chapter.
- Because I like dropping mature topics into my writing. Cuz the world isn't all sunshine and rainbows. FBAWTFT already proves this. -
Oh, and credits to the New York Times for the headlines I use in this fic. They are all REAL headlines I found in the archive on the New York Times website.
Oh, and and I completely made up the American house-elf thing. Tell me if you think it's utter blasphemy and we can have a discussion :) Or, we can have a discussion even if you think it's not blasphemy, I like discussing ;)
"And here it is", Graves announced as he tapped the doorknob with his wand. The lock mechanism clicked proudly before the door gently swung open to reveal the tambour.
He felt a push against his leg and looked down to see Credence looking at the door with a slight look of alarm in his eyes.
Self-opening doors was definitely something the boy was not used to seeing.
Graves patted the boy on the head and walked inside while waving for the cases to move themselves into the apartment. He obviously had had to carry them on the streets between MACUSA and the apartment building, but as soon as he set foot inside the apartment building he had reanimated them to fly into the elevator.
Habitually he brushed off his shoes on the carpet and shrugged of his coat as he came in through the door. It neatly hung itself inside the coat closet to his right. His scarf gently undid itself from its' loose knot and slipped off his shoulders to stove itself away in the closet; his gloves following suit shortly after.
He turned to make sure the boy followed him inside. To his amusement he saw that Credence was thoroughly dragging his small feet against the rug in the same manner as he had done just before.
But then he just stood there. Shyly looking further into the hall, perhaps seeing parts of the living room that could be seen through the doorway.
"Credence", Graves said, startling the boy a little.
"You may take off your coat", he added, not unkindly. Or at least, not trying to sound unkind.
Credence gained a hint of a blush, but it might just as well have been because of the cold weather they had just endured outside, and started fumbling with his buttons. He then handed it to Graves awaiting hand; who hung it, manually, next to his own.
"Let's go see where you will be staying, shall we?", he suggested. And without waiting for a reply took the suitcase in his hand and started heading into the living room. He heard Credence follow behind him, as well as the front door shutting itself.
He couldn't tell if Credence liked it or not.
The boy walked up to the bed, put his arms on it and pushed down some, as if to test the bounce; and then, after giving Graves a hesitant look, climbed up on it and sat with his feet dangling over the edge.
Was it in approval or meekness? Graves couldn't be sure.
"Er… Let's get you unpacked before getting something to eat, shall we?", Graves asked and sent the suitcase to rest on the chair by the desk, and with another wave made the locks open. The lid popped up to display the small button ups and pyjamas lying on top. With a flick of his wand the wardrobe swung open, making an authentic , antique creak. Then he made a hither motion with his hand, and the shirts flew out in a neat line like a line of ducklings after their mother.
The socks and undies followed close behind.
He directed them to you hover before the furniture.
"So, how would you like your clothes?"
"Would you like the shirts on the hangers?", Graves asked and the shirts unfolded and hung themselves on the awaiting hangers.
"Or in a drawer maybe?", he asked and two of the shirts left the hangers, folded themselves again while a drawer was pulled out, then placed themselves in it. He looked to Credence for any input, and had to take a double take.
The boy's mouth was hanging open, his eyes huge trying to take in what was taking place in front of him. His hand tensely pushed against the bedding as he was leaning away from it all. As if ready to flee.
Graves heart faltered.
Well done Percival , a voice said at the back of his mind. He's been here for five minutes and you've already managed to traumatize him!
The clothing articles swayed in mid-air.
Using levitation was such a worked in habit that he hadn't thought twice about it...
He felt his shoulder hunch in a sigh, his doubt returning.
Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to have the child live with such an advanced wizard as himself when trying to ease the boy up towards the concept of magic…
But at the same time, he thought. Wouldn't a complete nosedive make the shock easier to process? Like a bandaid. To just rip it off with a held breath? That's what they did to the very few wizards and witches born to no-maj parents.
The culture shock was difficult, but it worked out more often than not.
He pondered this for a moment. He made a decision.
"Credence?", he asked.
The boy aimed his eyes at him. Still with that frightened look.
"Any opinion?", the Minister wondered, putting on an extra casual demeanor as he nodded at the clothes.
Credence just stared.
"Alright, I'll just put them inside then..."
With a flick of his wand the clothes sorted themselves in his own set-up. The vests and jackets on the hangers, the matching slacks hanging with the corresponding top, shirts in one large drawer, socks and undies in another, pyjamas in the third. With everything in place he flicked his hand, and the doors gently shut themselves.
That done he pocketed his wand.
"I'll go fix some dinner, you can wait here and rest some of you'd like", he said.
Credence choose not to follow him. But Graves didn't mind. He left the boy in the room to entertain himself while he cooked, giving him some time to feel in his new room. Not that the boy had much to entertain himself with.
The minister added that to his checklist. He wondered if his parents still kept the books from when he and his siblings were children. Or if his sister had called dibs on them already. But would Credence even enjoy books for children?
He would just have to investigate it, he decided as he animated the salt mill.
The food in question was roast beef with potatoes. Graves wasn't very used to cooking for more than one. It had been a long, long time since he was an auror in training hurriedly cooking meals between training, lectures and exams. Nowadays he spent his lunches at one of the many restaurants in the area around MACUSA, or somewhere further off, since distance wasn't really an issue. Dinners followed the same pattern nowadays since he didn't have an house-elf to cook for him anymore.
But there wasn't much to worry about. He just had to locate the cookbook his parents had given him when he moved out. The instructions weren't very different from potion recipes.
Just without a cauldron.
He decided not to experiment with any thermal spells, not on Credence's first evening at least. Though the no-maj invention did its' job well enough. He had used it to cook breakfast enough times to be familiar with the different knobs and functions. It ran on gas.
He found it strange how no-maj choose to use gas even though so many kept dying in accidental explosions when the gas was left on. He read about it in the papers. Saw it in large letters as he passed by the newsboys in the streets.
"DENTIST DIES FROM GAS.; Nurse Found Dying in Room with Leaking Gas Stove."
"FOUR ARE KILLED BY GAS.; There Are Victims of Leaking Tubes - Another Overcome."
"EIGHT KILLED, 30 HURT IN DALLAS EXPLOSION; Gas Escaping During Fire Is Believed Cause of Blast That Wrecks Building."
The numbers didn't seem to have a limit.
Though, tragic as it was, it was an excellent scapegoat for when No-majs witnessed magic activity.
A wizard only had to shout 'Such a terrible gas leak!' at a scene of irresponsible magic use and the no-majs would nod in solemn agreement.
He read the morning's newspaper, The New York Ghost, while the food cooked. He got hungry as the sweet smell of potatoes and onion sauce drifted through the apartment, threatening to send his stomach into a rumble. It didn't take too long for a quiet pitter patter of feet to sound from the living room.
A thatch of dark hair looked in shyly from around the doorframe.
"Food will be ready soon", Graves told him. "The bathroom is down the hall to the right", he said nodding towards the hallway.
"Go wash your hands before we eat please", he instructed. Credence blinked, then left for the hall. Graves had had the forethought to put in a small footstool to make sure the boy would be able to reach the sink. A minute later Graves heard the water run.
Credence came back just in time to see plates, cutlery and glassware sail down to arrange themselves on the small dinner table by the window. A gentle gasp escaped his lips and he stopped in his tracks to look at the gentle movement of the objects. To Graves's relief he saw that it wasn't any fear in the boy's eyes, at least for the moment; just astonishment and wonder.
He waited some, not wanting to interrupt the boy's admiring. He didn't have to wait long though, because as soon as everything had settled down on the table the boy looked at him. The twinkle in his eyes remaining.
"Let's eat", Graves smiled back and gestured for the table.
Credence climbed onto one of the chairs. Immediately Graves noticed the first problem of the evening. The top of the table was aligned with Credence's shoulders. The chair was too short.
Credence looked at him with a wondering, although polite, look.
"Ah, one moment", Graves said.
He leaned down slightly and aimed the tip of his wand the the general direction of the chair's four legs. Credence watched with caution from on top of it. Knowing he had his attention Graves said clearly, so that the boy could hear it:" Engorgio. "
The four legs shot up in length with about two inches. The sudden movement caused Credence to cling onto the back of the chair, eyes once more large and startled. But he seemed to settle after checking the legs again by giving one of them a very gentle kick with his dangling foot. Perhaps to make sure they were stable.
"Better?", the Minister asked.
The child checked the height of the table, which now was more appropriate for his height, and nodded.
"Good", Graves said and sat down himself.
With a wave of his wand Graves animated the kitchen utensils to serve the food onto their plates. While potatoes, vegetables and pieces of meat was placed onto the flatware Graves noticed Credence putting the napkin that had been laid out for him on his lap; undoubtedly to protect his clothes from any spills.
So the boy had been taught table etiquette, Graves remarked to himself and put his own napkin over his own lap. Magic would just have easily prevented any spilling, but he needed to preserve some energy for the washing up.
Soon the kitchen was filled with the gentle clinking of silverware on porcelain, and chewing. Graves glanced over every once in a while to make sure the boy didn't have any trouble cutting the food, though he seemed to be handling it just fine.
Sawing through his meat with his knife and dividing the potatoes into biteable sizes.
Credence didn't seem to notice Graves' glances though. His gaze was, as usual, cast downwards as he quietly chewed his food. Sometimes sipping water from his glass.
Though as Graves glanced over another time their eyes meet. There wasn't anything wrong with having the boy looking at him; still, the Minister's fork slowed a little halfway to his mouth in surprise.
Credence eyes quickly darted away as he realized he had been noticed.
A small hand fumbling with the fork, sending it clattering onto the plate.
A sharp gasp of distress.
All the Minister could think was: Oh dear.
"Credence…!", he said putting down his own utensils.
"I-I'm sorry sir!", Credence stammered hunching in his seat.
He immediately realized his mistake by using the sharp tone. He didn't mean to scold or alarm the boy. On the contrary! He wanted to make sure he was alright. Both of them had been so surprised.
"No. No no, it's alright Credence", Graves ushered waving his hand in reassurance.
"It's alright...", he repeated when he saw Credence's look of despair. Looking like Percival was going to throw him out onto the street. For dropping a fork!
Credence frowned still. He looked at the table.
"I got sauce on the tablecloth...", he murmured.
Graves followed his gaze, and yes, there were small dots of brown sauce that must have splattered from the impact of the fork. Credence hadn't realized it yet, but he had gotten some on his white shirt as well; obviously more focused on the state of Graves' tablecloth than his clothing.
It broke his heart a little. Such an insecure boy. Immediately putting the blame on himself, even though it obviously had been the man that had startled him.
"Don't worry", Graves said and moved to brand his wand. Immediately he could see Credence's eyes look up in interest, although shy and hesitant. Graves leaned forward slightly, being mindful of the plates of food in front of him (and in such close proximity of his sleeves), and aimed his wand at the sauce splatter.
" Tergeo ", he said.
And as if an invisible sponge was sucking up newly spilled water the sauce retracted from the cloth and flew into the air, bringing with it some stains on the fork, disappearing in the vicinity of the tip of his wand.
Credence did not gasp this time, but he still looked equally as amazed as before. Even if a little more guilt struck. Not deserving of the wonder in front of him.
That attitude was really something that needed changing. And soon.
"Still now", Graves said and aimed the wand at the boy. Or, the boy's shirt at least. Credence's eyes widened a little at that, but he didn't dare move; heeding the Minister's words.
Graves wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.
Nevertheless he cast the spell, this time wordlessly, but it had the same effect, of course. The sauce disappeared and the fabric returned to its' clean white. Seeing that done the wizard pocketed his wand once more.
Looking up from adjusting his sleeve he saw Credence looking down to his stomach, discreetly pulling at the shirt; looking for traces of the sauce.
Adorable.
Credence looked up. A blush tinged his cheeks as he realized the man had seen.
Which reminded him.
"Do you need anything?", Graves wondered.
Credence seemed surprised at the question. Though he didn't say anything.
"When you were looking at me before", Graves elaborated.
"If you were trying to catch my attention you might have wanted something."
He glanced at the boy's glass. It was empty.
"Water perhaps?"
The pitch of water made a move into the air and waited for an order. Though Credence shook his head.
"No… I was just looking…", he said.
The Minister frowned a little. Was there anything of worth to look at? Did he have something on his face? He looked out the window, as it was dark enough outside for it to function as a stand-in mirror, though he couldn't distinguish anything in particular. Perhaps some sauce in the corner of his mouth, but nothing out of the ordinary.
Looking back at the boy he saw that Credence's cheeks had paled slightly, and Graves realized that perhaps Credence hadn't just been looking. Maybe he had been observing .
And even more so...
He had been comparing .
And in that moment Graves knew that Credence knew that he had realized just that.
The atmosphere around the table suddenly got very awkward.
The boy had said that he knew which ' Mr Graves' was real. Still this was exactly what he had been worried about. Comparison.
What if the differences between him and his imposter were too small to take into accountant? What if Grindelwald had been too good in impersonating him?
Still, he couldn't get angry with the boy, could he? It would be anyone's reaction. To analyze. To prove what was true and false.
He cleared his throat.
"So, anything to you've taken note of?", he asked.
He could tell Credence was uncomfortable by the question, being put against the wall like this, but he didn't back down. To be honest, he was genuinely curious.
"You… you eat your potatoes differently", Credence murmured after a hesitant pause.
"Our potatoes?", Graves repeated.
"He mashed his potatoes before eating them", Credence told him and showed the wizard what he meant. He used the backside of his fork to crush a small part of the previously round and solid potato on his plate into small screws. It's soft yellow color turning dark from sucking up the sauce almost immediately.
Credence looked at him in hopes of that he understood.
"I never asked about it...", he confessed.
"But he always did that..."
" You've eaten with him …?", Graves asked, being very careful to not sound alarmed.
He had never heard of this before. And he doubted anyone had. Tina had certainly never mentioned it, and it wasn't stated in any reports. They had only said that the dark wizard had ' taken contact' with the boy. Meetings that never lasted more than half an hour (which, according to Graves, was quite the accomplishment considering that Grindelwald had had to keep up with his busy schedule). Always away, always private; between the buildings in the alleyways where no common pedestrian wanted to walk.
That alone had been enough for Graves to feel unsettled by Grindelwald ( more so than from the fact that he was a dark wielding wizard who killed anyone who stood in his way to world domination, as well as kidnapping and impersonating Government officials).
The things that could have happened without anyone noticing.
But the idea of Grindelwald being so comfortable that he ate with the boy…
Even more so to bring him anywhere where Credence would have seen him handle a fork and knife. Disguised as him.
He suppressed a shudder.
Luckily Credence did not sense the adult's discomfort.
"He took me out to eat sometimes when he noticed I hadn't eaten..."
"The flyers…", a pause as if he was unsure Graves would know what he was talking about. "…had to be handed out before we went home for dinner...", Credence explained.
More like if you were to get any food at all, Graves concluded by the look of Credence's eyes that seemed to grow deep and sad at the memory.
And he had a feeling what else happened if the flyers weren't handed out before you returned home.
But he didn't want to talk about that now. It was his fault for reminding the boy.
"Where did he take you to eat?", Graves wondered, trying to steer away the topic once more. Not necessarily to a better one, but one he could have use for. Had Grindelwald taken Credence to his apartment? Surely not with the risk of the neighbors seeing.
He didn't have to ponder long though as the boy answered while shrugging.
"Different restaurants..."
So no hidden headquarter of Grindelwald they didn't know about. Not that Grindelwald seemed like the type who cooked his own meals and invited guests over for dinner.
"You cut your potatoes...", Credence bringing back the topic himself.
Graves looked at his plate. He had never analyzed in what manner he consumed his food. But the boy was right; he did cut his potatoes rather than mashing them. Why anyone would want to mash them was beyond him.
"You're different", Credence said.
Graves wanted to point out that: Yes; yes of course Grindelwald was different from him. But he felt that Credence was trying to confirm something for himself .
"I…", Credence trailed.
"I can tell you're not him. You're you ", Credence said. By the slight push in his tone it was clear that he was trying to be firm in his statement. To be convincing.
And the Minister was feeling more convinced. Not necessarily entirely , his worries weren't going away so soon, but it was a start.
"You get it?", Credence asked with a slight tilt of his head at the lack of a reply.
Graves scoffed. Not at Credence's want to make sure he understood, but at the question itself. You weren't very used to hearing ' You get it?' when working as Minister of Magical Security and Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
The boy's choice of phrasing felt like a breeze of fresh air.
"Yes, I get it ", he chuckled.
"And I'm glad for the conclusion", he continued.
Though the conversation did awake another question he wanted answered. And since Credence was being so talkative…
"Tell me Credence, how old were you… previously to this?", Graves asked.
"I'm…" A pause. A pair of eyebrows coming together in thinking.
"I was going to turn eighteen this summer...", Credence said.
"And how much of that almost-eighteen year old is still left in there, would you say?", Graves wondered.
This was (or what he felt like was) the most important question of the evening. Of the entire stay really. Because to keep a young man and to keep a young child were two very different things. The wizard was equally as willing to do either, considering he didn't actually have a choice in the matter. Still, he needed to know what to expect.
The last thing he wanted to do was to patronize the mentally mature young man by treating him like a child; but at the same time he couldn't neglect a mentally as well as physically young one by putting too high expectations on him regarding rules and obedience.
It took longer to come up with an answer this time. Which, to Credence's credit, Graves found to be more mature than if he had given him a blunt, unthought-through answer.
Finally, Credence sighed.
"To be honest I'm not very sure, sir."
He looked out the window, no doubt seeing his own reflection in it.
"I don't really remember what it felt like to be a child, so I can't really compare or be certain. I remember everything that happened. But my feelings are sort of… dulled on certain things…", he said.
"It's like everything happened a very long time ago. Or to someone else. That I'm just hearing about them now..."
"Though I seem to get more upset more easily over other things."
"And I cry… and can't seem to stop...", he said, scowling. " Like a child… ", he mumbled at the end. As if it was a bad thing.
"Credence", Graves interrupted before the boy could divulge on any deeper self loathing. Brown eyes aimed at him again.
"Just so you know, I won't be angry if you ever ' act like a child ', as you are putting it", he began.
"I severely doubt anyone would be. We don't know how you are going to be affected by this... ", he said, gesturing - for the second time that day - for his young state.
"There might be mental changes as well as the physical ones. But I don't think you should worry too much. I didn't know you before, but I would say you are much more mature than any other child I have ever encountered..."
Credence frowned a little at that, once more embarrassed, but he seemed to understand what he was getting at.
"With that said...", he continued on a lighter note, though still keeping the serious one. "I expect you to follow rules and such things with the mindset of a responsible young man who thinks before he acts . I have many dangerous instruments and magical objects here in the apartment, as well as in my office at MACUSA. But as long as you do as you're told we shouldn't have any problems. Which shouldn't be too hard, considering you seem to have stayed out of trouble up to this point."
Excluding acquainting yourself with dark wizards , a voice in his mind added as a side note. Though he didn't say this out loud of course.
With the irony aside it was actually true. Credence Barebone had never personally caught the attention of the authorities. Or, the No-maj ones at least. The second salem group had been investigated by MACUSA - it was how Goldstein had gotten involved with the boy in the first place - but Credence had always been kept in the background. Handing out leaflets. Being set as an example.
Credence blushed at the praise, which, in Percival's opinion, suited him much better than being pale out of fear and guilt.
"How does that sound?", the Minister asked.
Credence had nodded. Good . It sounded good.
"Excellent", Graves said.
"Now eat up", he said as he glanced at the clock.
"It's getting late."
The two males made a quick business of the remaining food, and Graves animated the dishes and the rest of the kitchen to clean up (with a verbal spell directed by his wand). He could tell Credence wanted to stay and watch but he had to be firm. He wanted the boy to take a bath before he was put to bed, and Credence was already starting to become sleepy. Staring into empty air with his chin gently resting in his hand as fatigue started seeping into his system.
"Credence", Graves had had to call from the doorway. Credence had blinked and gently shook his head to rouse himself awake.
"Your bath is waiting."
While the Minister was busy waving his wand to prepare the towels and soaps Credence had already slipped out of his clothes and started to tentatively try the water by dipping his hands in it over the porcelain edge. Steam had started collecting on the mirror above the sink indicating the warmth of the water, still the child seemed surprised over the temperature, as a small gasp escaped his lips.
Graves couldn't help but wonder if they had even had hot water in the chapel.
"Do you need any help getting in?", the wizard asked as he realized that the edge of the tub was rather tall for a child to climb over, even with the stool that stood dutifully waiting underneath the sink.
Credence didn't reply. Just stared at him with his big brown eyes. Nor did he protest as Graves started rolling up his shirt sleeves. And he did nothing but inhale sharply at the warm water when Graves hoisted him into the bath.
The Minister left the actual washing up to the boy with the assistance of an animated sponge, as he felt like the two of them weren't quite there yet.
He had stayed in the room, directing Credence's clothes to the laundry basket, and the clothes one could use again tomorrow to fold up neatly and be sent to the wardrobe; and for Credence's pyjamas to be laid out for when he was clean and ready to be fished back out of the water.
When Credence had been scrubbed clean Graves did his best to get him dry without being too rough with the towel; using a very convenient hot-air charm to get the last dampness out of Credence's hair.
Seeing that done Credence was put into his pyjamas and his hair brushed through so that his bowl cut laid neat and even over his scalp.
"Would you like something to drink before bed?", Graves had asked him.
Credence had shook his head.
"Something to eat?", Graves inquired, even if they had had dinner just before.
Credence had shook his head once more, apparently back to silence.
"Then go brush your teeth, please", Graves said, ushering the boy towards the sink where his toothbrush was already waiting.
He brushed his teeth by himself. Percival couldn't remember doing that as a six year old.
And so, newly bathed and with brushed teeth, Credence was ready to be put to bed.
"Would you like an extra pillow? A blanket?"
Another shake in the negative. Either the the boy just was that urgent not to be a bother or he was just that tired and was rushing through the questions so that the Minister would finally leave him to let him get some sleep.
Percival was leaning towards the aforementioned.
"You sure you're comfortable then?", he asked one final time.
A nod. Nuzzling Credence's small cheek into the pillow.
"Alright then", he accepted with a gentle sigh. As much as he wanted everything to be perfect he couldn't force his guest. With that said he was still worried that the meek boy would still refrain from speaking up when he actually needed something.
"Goodnight Credence…" As he said this he reached out his hand and gently brushed the boy over the hair.
He could immediately see Credence tensing a little under the covers from his touch, and for a moment he became scared that he had been to abrupt. Though it seemed to be from surprise rather than displeasure as Credence soon relaxed again; letting himself enjoy it.
He yawned, shutting his eyes in the process.
"Goodnight, Mr Graves", he mumbled against the pillow.
Graves, remembering what Tina had already hinted at earlier that day, said:
"You may call me Percival, now that we are going to live together...",
as he continued petting the boy over the hair
It took a few moments, so long that Graves started suspecting the boy had already fallen asleep and not heard; but then it came, a whisper:
"Goodnight Mr Percival..."
Still with the mister… though he supposed it was an improvement.
"Goodnight", Graves whispered in response, letting his hand drift down to the boy's cheek, caressing it in a small circle with his thumb. He couldn't be sure if the boy was just snuggling into the pillow, but the gentle move of his head seemed to move into his touch.
The sudden intimacy made Graves feel a warmth in his chest.
He then carefully stood up from the chair he had pulled up by the bedside. Said chair gently lifted itself back to the corner while he walked out, not closing the door all the way to let the light from the living area spill in over the rug.
He wasn't sure the boy wanted it or not, but he rather be safe than sorry just in case the boy was scared of the dark.
He checked the small grandfather clock sitting on top the mantelpiece in the living room. It was just after half past eight. Nowhere near the time he went to bed.
He went to his study which laid further into the apartment. The enchanted fireplace alighting itself as he came in through the door. Immediately a number of memos and sealed cases crackled out of the flames, that flashed green, to sail to the mahogany desk. His briefcase, which had already placed itself inside the study when he arrived home, clicked open to let its' content join the rest of the papers.
Though one paper arc didn't seem to know where to go.
It fluttered and swayed back and forth in the air, obviously lost, until it landed itself into the Minister's outreached hand. It was the application Miss Tocker had provided him with. He had forgotten about it.
There was no hurry to finish it, considering it couldn't be handed in until Monday, but it was always nice to finish up the paperwork before he went to bed. He was planning to get some work done tonight anyway, especially since he was going to have to spend the upcoming day with the boy.
He laid it aside for when he had finished the more urgent things. Like reading the summary from the Obliviation department's Friday meeting. And writing the letter for his parents. - Which proved to take longer than he thought. -
It wasn't until half past nine that he could send the letter into the green fire to arrive at the postal office. His parents were on a trip to the Mediterranean and would return within the next week.
Seeing this done he turned to the form he had laid aside.
It was a rather long and tedious application. Reason for applying - written motivation required - Previous mastership of house-elves - written details of reason for ended ownerships required - together with a long list of details. Prefered gender, prefered age, prefered temper etc.
It was an application to receive a house-elf.
Unlike European house-elves American elves didn't come as naturally to wizard families. Practically all house-elves had been imported during the colonization, and thus the few descendents of those who had made it over the ocean were still bound to the descendants of the first settlers' family. The Graves family had their own set of house-elves, but no one to spare for their second eldest.
Of course this didn't mean that no one but old rotted wizard families could have an house-elf of their own; you just had to apply for them. Unless you had a large old mansion to attract them for you; which, even though his apartment was large and excessive, the Minister's didn't.
These circumstances obviously made the little creatures more sought after than in Europe, hence the bureaucracy. Assigning house-elves to masters who ie (as the example text on the form read) ' keep using the house elves for finding side effects of self discovered potions' was considered bad for the already small elf population.
Considering what had happened to the last one he was actually in the risk of being declined one himself. All he could hope was that the OHEA ( Office of House-Elf Assignment ) would be lenient considering it had been an identity stealing dark wizard who had been at fault.
Not wanting to turn the train of thought more depressing he pushed the reminder of his previous elf away; if he didn't he'd need a glass of Dragon Barrel.
He was writing indifferent lines on the details list when he felt a tingle on the hairs of his neck. He looked up.
"I thought you went to bed", he said.
Credence stepped out from behind the door frame. He looked a little guilty, much like any child that couldn't sleep and had to resort to going up again.
"It's late", Graves said and set the dip pen down as a sign that he was open to converse.
Graves thought back on what his nanny would have done to him in the same situation.
"Would you like some warm milk or something?", Graves asked.
Credence shook his head.
Instead he eyed the documents on the table. Graves followed his gaze.
"You may sit and watch for a little while if you want", he said, and with a wave of his wand a chair positioned itself before the desk.
Credence took the invitation and trotted over.
"What are you doing?", he asked timidly as he climbed into the chair.
"I'm filing to receive a new house-elf", Graves replied.
"What's a... a house-elf?", the boy wondered.
"It's a servant of sorts", Graves explained.
"You'll see them in MACUSA on Monday. The one who will live here will do the chores in the house. Which is handy since I don't really have time for that."
Credence seemed to consider this.
"What about the weekends?"
The minister didn't understand at first, but quickly understood what the boy was getting at.
"House-elf don't take days off. They work every day of the week, and they don't get paid", he said. Credence seemed even more confused.
"So they're like… slaves?", Credence asked, clearly baffled by the possibility.
"No, not really. The thing with elves is that they have very different… views concerning life compared to us humans. They're in great need of... purpose , to put it lightly. Their whole species devote themselves to serve wizardkind, and they are very happy to do so. Elves are very loyal to their masters, and they have quite powerful magic as well making them excellent servants. It's a very convenient coexistence between two different species…
"If you don't understand you may ask an elf on Monday. I'm sure they would be glad to explain to you."
Credence seemed to think this over.
"What happened to the last one?", he asked.
Percival realized his mistake immediately. He internally cursed himself. ' New'. How could he have been so stupid as to say ' New' ?!
"She disappeared", he replied quickly.
It had been a white lie. There was no way he was going to share the details of that poor creature's fate.
But either he was far worse at lying than he gave himself credit for or Credence just keen enough to see that the subject upsetted him; either way there was no doubt that Credence understood what had actually happened to the elf.
The little creature that had tried to defend its master when it understood that Grindelwald had been an imposter.
An imposter trying to find an obscurial in New York.
An obscurial sitting across from him over the desk.
Graves saw how the little face fell as the boy made the same connection. Or at least something close to it. The boy's breath hitched suddenly.
Graves shifted in discomfort as big tears started rolling down the boy's cheeks, as he wasn't sure of how to comfort the child. Still he pushed back his chair and got up to walk around the desk.
"Credence...", he said rounding the furniture, then had to stop as he noticed something. Something that sent the hairs on his neck to stand on end.
Around Credence's left ankle, that peaked out from the flannel pyjamas, a dark, ashy wisp of smoke had started snaking its' way towards the floor. And even though he had never seen it in person he knew what it was from description.
The obscurus.
Credence sobbed.
He knew instinctively that he had to calm him down. The question was: how ?
"Credence. Credence , it wasn't your fault", he said as gently as he could, even with his heart beat racing.
He started going over scenarios in his head just in case everything went to hell in his office.
Could he stop the obscurus by incapacitating the boy? Would a sleeping spell do it, or would he have to be more extreme and stun him? He didn't want to do that, but would if he had to. Or maybe it would be better to try and get as much distance between himself and the boy just in case the obscurus was too powerful. Especially now that his own magical powers were so limited. But did he even have enough energy to disapparate if he needed to?
As he thought this he neared the boy. He tried to still seem calm in his stance, as it would probably make the boy even more upset if he thought he was scared of him.
Tears continued rolling down the child's cheeks and he clutched to the fabric of his pyjama shirt, wringing it over and over in an attempt to get a grip of his emotions. When he didn't succeed he let out a wail.
A small, unnecessary voice at the back of his mind wondered if the neighbors were able to hear it.
"Credence, it wasn't your fault ", he repeated.
"You didn't know. You hadn't even meet him by then…", he continued, trying to reason with him.
Though by how the black tendrils continued spreading down the chair's legs towards the floor it didn't work.
His mind went to the reports he had read.
Tina Goldstein had calmed the boy down by talking to him. Problem was that while she possessed natural maternal instincts and had investigated the boy for quite a while by then, the Minister had nothing. He had had him in his house for less than six hours and he had no parental instincts whatsoever.
Or... there was actually one impulsive urge at the back of his head.
The same sort of urge from earlier today at the Office of Underage magic use that had made him put his hand on the boy's head.
He decided to follow it.
He took the last steps forward, bent down and scooped up the bawling child into his arms.
To his relief Credence let himself be removed from the chair without any resistance.
He hugged him to his chest and tried hushing his crying, much like his own mother and his nanny had done to him as a child, hoping the fabric of his undershirt, dress shirt and vest combined would block out his rapid heart beats.
"It's alright", he told him.
"It's not your fault. You didn't mean for it to happen. It's okay", he said firmly as he moved his palm in soothing circles on the small back that was shaking in sobs.
It didn't seem to work either.
The black tendrils continued spreading down his own legs to reach the floor again, hissing and seemingly whispering as it moved around. He felt it on the outside of his slacks. On the hand supporting Credence's neat weight. It wasn't like any sensation he had had before. It was cool and slippery, like oil, but at the same time hot with the strong emotions that didn't have another outlet than to turn into smoke.
And he was really starting to doubt that he could calm down the obscurial on his own.
But wait, he thought as his brain wracked for ideas. If he couldn't comfort him like Tina perhaps it would be better to… let it out …?
Yes , he thought. Instead of bottling it up and trying to suppress them, to deny them , why not let them show? And seeing it was the best way to do just that...
"It's alright to cry", he heard himself say.
"You couldn't have done anything to stop it, you didn't know; but it's alright to cry for her", he continued and held the boy close to his chest.
To his surprise, and slight relieve, he felt a pair of short arms wrap themselves behind his neck - Credence was responding to him! -
The crying continued. However, he felt like it was more under control now that he had more contact with the child.
"That's a good boy", he murmured as he continued stroking his back.
"You're a good boy Credence, you didn't do anything wrong..."
And as tears continued rolling, now without being held back, the black smoke turned into a light ash grey. It was a slow process, but it was prominent enough that the Minister knew it was working.
Little by little the smoke-like magic climbed back up to the boy and disappeared. As it traced the fabric of the wizard's slacks he could tell it wasn't hot anymore; you could barely describe it as warm.
And then, after almost half an hour, nothing remained but quiet sniffles and a wet cheek pressed against his shirt.
He didn't know when it happened, but at some point he had started rocking the two of them back and forth by gently shifting the weight of his feet.
The Minister of Magical Security glanced at the clock. It was past eleven.
He felt a stir in his arms. Credence sniffled.
"Mr Percival?", he asked in a hoarse voice.
"Yes, my boy?"
The little boy sniffled again, his nose obviously runny.
"I'm sorry your elf died...", he said.
Graves realized something just then: Credence, a boy raised among wizard-hating No-majs, who had only just now heard of this elf's existence, was the first one to say this in consolation to him. Not even his family members had remarked on her absence other than that: ' You ought to get a new one soon' .
Not even the aurors tasked to search his apartment hadn't said much even when discovering the small, charred bones in the fireplace.
Another reason for why he hadn't stayed in his last apartment. Another detail he was not going to tell the boy.
"I'm sorry too", Graves told him quietly.
Credence moved around some and managed to dry of his snotty nose on the fabric of his pyjama shoulder, or that's what Graves assumed he did because suddenly he was breathing without sounding stuffy.
"Did she have a name?", Credence asked him.
"Of course…", Graves nodded.
" Iggy . Short for Ignatia , the inventor of Floo Powder. It's what turning the fire green", he explained, referring to the fire still burning in the fireplace.
"I'll show you how it works sometime", he said, pushing away the sickening irony of the name he had chosen for the elf so many years ago.
"Iggy...", Credence mumbled.
What the boy did with this information the Minister didn't know. Perhaps he asked her, too, for forgiveness, or said a prayer in his heart. Whatever he did it only took a moment. Then, undramatically, the grip around Graves' neck went heavy; and the Minister of Magical Security knew the obscurial was asleep.
He let out a sigh of relief. Controlled enough to not disturb the child, but deep enough to relieve some high strung tension.
This was going to be a fun report to write...
He looked around the room. His sterling watch flew out of his pocket and he looked at the time. At the documents still laying on the desk. He looked at the boy. Again at the time.
The Minister yawned.
That settled it. It could wait until tomorrow.
The watch pocketed itself.
He went to his room, the child still sleeping in his arms. The covers and duvets uncovered themselves with a tired wave of his hand, and he set down Credence on the soft mattress.
He had considered putting him in his own assigned bed. But only for a second. The thought of Credence waking up alone completely eradicated it from his mind.
He made a quick deal of changing into his pyjamas and brushing his teeth before climbing into the bed.
He hesitated for a moment, but remembered Credence's forthcoming reaction to his earlier gesture of intimacy. He laid himself comfortably on his side and gently, very gently, snaked in his arm underneath Credence's head to act as a makeshift pillow as he scooted closer. Since Credence didn't even as much as stir he trusted that it was comfortable enough. If not the boy could just as easily adjust it in his sleep. With a final wave of his hand the cover climbed up to cover them both and the lamp on his nightstand shut off.
And as he laid there in the darkness, listening to the soft breaths of his charge laying snuggly against his arm, he couldn't help but wonder:
What on earth was he getting himself into?
Warning for dark themes in this chapter, including INDIRECTLY SUGGESTED sexual abuse and INDIRECT description of the murder of a house-elf, which includes burning of bodies.