He got up.
It was snowing, and he was alone.
"Hello?" he called out because he had a feeling he wasn't supposed to be alone. Hadn't there just been people there with him? It felt like someone was still supposed to be there, even if no-one was. Hadn't he just been holding onto someone's hand? Hadn't someone just grasped his hand so hard it had hurt? He looked down at his empty hands – and frowned. He wasn't wearing his fine black gloves but his combat gloves. Expensive leather, charmed to endure.
Combat gloves.
But where was the combat?
Percival looked around, alert. He was standing on the yard of the Graves Manor. The windows were lit and the four-store building looked welcoming as ever under the coat of fresh snow. The glass doors of the ballroom were open to the frozen garden and now that he noticed as much, he could suddenly also hear a lively waltz echoing from inside. Violins were playing, laughter and the sound of a crowd chattering drew him closer.
He was hosting a party?
He couldn't tell which he hated more – parties in general or hosting them. Nonetheless, he winced at the thought of wearing combat gloves to a party, he had more style than that.
Why was he hosting a party?
And why was he alone? He wasn't supposed to be alone.
"Hello?" he called out again, but the garden remained silent. It was snowing, and he was alone, and he was hosting a party at his manor, and he was wearing combat boots and gloves to his party.
He walked to the open doors. A string quartet was playing at the entrance, the sound of music amplified by magic. Underneath the chandeliers floating above, women with their jewelry and fine ballroom dresses were a sea of gleaming and glinting colors waving about the ballroom, and the men in black tailcoats stood in chuckling groups or danced with the women.
Even as the doors were open, the warmth had been charmed to stay indoors, and Percival stood right there at the edge where the chills of the winter night met the warmth of the ballroom. A group of European ambassadors had gathered around the painting of great-grandfather William who seemed to be telling them the story about the flying white whales. The Goldsteins were dancing with Jenkins and Adams, Picquery was having a heated discussion with the Director of Magical Finances.
The garden behind him was cold and silent, and he resisted the urge to turn around and go back.
There was a cracking sound and Blinky appeared by his side, balancing a tray full of champagne glasses on each hand and one on top of his head between his big loopy ears.
"Would Master Percival like more champagne?" asked the house elf from under the three trays. "Or would he prefer something else? Blinky would love to get the master anything the master likes!"
"Thank you, Blinky," said Percival and accepted one of the glasses. It was always a good idea to have a glass of champagne at a party. He had no intention of getting drunk, but getting his glass refilled would be a good excuse to depart from any an unpleasant conversation. The delicate glass didn't really go well with his attire made for combat, but somehow that didn't matter as much as it should have.
Percival glanced at the snowy garden over his shoulder. There was no-one in the garden, so why did it feel like he was leaving someone behind? And how had he ended up in the garden anyway?
Blinky left to serve the guests, and Percival sipped his drink, walking amongst the crowd, greeting people and thanking them for coming. He exchanged a few words with Adams and her husband, asking about their children, before excusing himself in order to greet the Old Bergströms. After finishing his discussion with the ambassador of Japan, he was still cold despite of his combat attire, even if the room was warm enough for women to wear dresses that revealed their shoulders. Richards was even wiping sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief.
Subtly, Percival cast a wandless warming charm on himself.
It didn't work.
He tried again – with the same result. Was the champagne having an effect on him? Or perhaps it was the exhaustion settling in. He was exhausted, after all, barely able to keep his legs under him. He furrowed his brows, concentrated –
"You son of a bitch!" he was greeted with a slap in the groin, and a strong arm twined around his shoulders.
"Percival fucking Graves," said Theseus Scamander, his breath smelling of alcohol as he pressed their foreheads together, "you sure know how to throw a party, my dear. Who would've thought, with all your grumbling to the opposite! Seriously, though, stay with us."
"Scamander," said Percival, stiffly. "Weren't you going to hex me?"
Theseus looked taken aback.
"Hex you?" He was blinking fast. "Why by Merlin's beard would I want to hex you, especially on this fine night of celebration?"
Percival opened his mouth to answer, the response ready on his tongue, but he forgot it before the words ever formed.
"I don't know," he finally admitted, and Theseus slapped him in the back with a burst of a chuckle.
"Then it must be the champagne talking, my friend. I know you were worried about my reaction, but I have told you I'm pleased by this all, have I not. I mean, seriously, Percy – my best friend and my dear little brother getting engaged? The three of us are going to be a family, officially – I couldn't be happier!"
Oh.
Percival pulled back from Theseus to look around at the ballroom with new eyes. This was his engagement party? This was his engagement party.
Their engagement party. He was engaged.
To Newt!
A grin formed on his face and now it was his turn to slap Theseus in the back with a delighted chuckle.
"I've never been happier," he admitted, and then said it again, louder, just because it was true.
He was engaged to Newt!
How had that happened?
"Same," said Theseus. "Although just between us two, you should probably stay with us, you know. Newt might get upset, if you don't."
Speaking of.
Percival looked around. Where was Newt, anyway?
It was snowing outside, and he had left people behind, and now he couldn't find Newt.
"Excuse me," his throat felt suddenly tight. "I'm going to go look for my better half."
"By all means," said Theseus with a knowing glint in his eyes, but just as Percival was about to step away, his arm was grasped, and when he now met Theseus' gaze, all humor had left the green eyes.
"Stay with us, Percival."
The tone was grim, the grasp on his arm tightened like in desperation, or in warning.
"What's taking them so long?" Theseus bellowed over his shoulder at the dancing crowd, never letting go off Percival. "We need them here now!"
And then suddenly Theseus was grinning again and his hold loosened and he patted Percival by the arm.
"Let's go find more champagne so we can drink for you two. I propose a toast!"
"Hold on."
Before Theseus could step away, Percival took him by the lapels.
It was warm inside, but it was snowing outside in the garden and Percival was getting colder and colder, and Theseus was being even odder than usual.
"What in Morgana's name was all that yelling about?"
"Whatever you like, my precious little apple," came the answer with a wink. "Perhaps I was talking of the catering and the wedding cake, perhaps something else entirely."
"The wedding cake? This is my wedding?"
Theseus grinned.
"Of course!"
"But – I thought, didn't we only just get engaged?"
"Oh, you never know with us Scamanders, Percy-dear. Shouldn't you know that by now?"
Unsure, Percival looked around. The crowd was swimming in and out of focus. Theseus seemed to be wearing a tuxedo, and then at the next moment his hair was a mess and he was pointing his wand at Percival and mumbling spells with his jaw set.
"What's going on?"
Theseus didn't answer, and then suddenly Percival's hands couldn't hold onto him anymore. The lapels slipped out of his hold like they were liquid and Theseus detached himself, still grinning, and walked into the surrounding crowds like a shadow.
It was snowing, and Theseus was a shadow, and Percival was wearing combat boots to his wedding. He was supposed to be happy about being married to Newt, but he couldn't even remember who had proposed to whom.
He needed to find Newt. He needed answers. Perhaps Newt could tell him whom he had left behind and why it was snowing. Wasn't it July?
Newt was nowhere to be found.
"Haven't seen him, Sir," said Jenkins. "Sorry."
"Sorry, boss, no idea," said Willberg. "Oh, and congratulations!"
"If I do, I'll tell him you were looking for him," promised Queenie, smiling. "But you know how Newt is about crowds. He's probably somewhere taking a bit of a break."
"Indeed," said Percival, stiffly. "Thank you, Goldstein."
What had he been thinking, anyway? Newt didn't like crowds, so Percival shouldn't have invited so many people over. They could've celebrated with just the close family. With Theseus. With the Goldsteins. With Newt's family and friends.
Because Percival had no-one. His parents had been assassinated by dark wizards when he had been a young Auror in training. He had no siblings, he had no close cousins. None of his coworkers had noticed Grindelwald had impersonated him for two whole months. Grindelwald had murdered his last remaining uncle and had tortured Blinky to death when the house elf wouldn't give up any of the Graves' family secrets. Loyal till the death, had Blinky been, and serving champagne at this wedding. He hadn't deserved a death like that.
It was snowing, and Percival hated Grindelwald.
"Sir!" Tina Goldstein was suddenly standing in front of him in a pink ballroom dress, the silver earrings catching the light of the chandeliers as she fixed her gaze on him.
"Goldstein," he greeted her, even as his eyes were already roaming the crowd behind her bare shoulders. He wanted to find Newt. It was vital.
"Stay with us, Sir," Goldstein asked, pleaded. "You need to focus."
She had come here straight from the field, and had he not been wearing a combat attire himself, he would've given her some feedback on her choice to attend his wedding with bloody hands. Couldn't she have washed the blood off before coming here? The blood was fresh and bright red, still wet. It should've been easy to wash off. Would've taken but a moment, with a spell.
She was pressing her bloody hands against his belly so hard it hurt. He tried to swat them away, only to be shushed by her.
"It's going to be okay, Sir," she promised, "but you need to stay with us, you need to focus."
"Jenkins," and that was Theseus, "where the fuck are the mediwizards? We need them here NOW."
Theseus was kneeling by his side. He had a glass of champagne in both hands. Percival took the offered drink and handed Theseus his empty glass. The Moon was a crescent over the forest, and there were Aurors all around. Jenkins was yelling orders at the Junior Aurors.
"Did we capture them?" Percival asked because that's what the international operation had been about, hadn't it. Capturing the Grindelwald supporters at this forest at the far edge of New York.
"Every single one of them, yes," said Theseus, grimly. "They put up a fight, but we did it. They really wanted to take you out, got you surrounded and separated from us by a strong shield, but you managed to take a good chunk of them down and there were no casualties on our side, Percival, so let's keep it that way, shall we?"
Picquery was dancing a slow waltz with the ambassador of Poland. Percival nodded at them as they passed by, and she gave him a curt nod by way of responding. Theseus and Goldstein ignored both the president and the ambassador. He frowned at the unexpected rudeness.
"I need to find Newt," he told them and looked around at the dancing crowd. The situation was confusing, but Newt would have answers.
It was snowing, he was exhausted, and Tina's hands were bloody, and Newt would know why all this was happening at their wedding.
"Please, excuse me," he said with determination and turned his back on them.
"No, no, no, Sir!" Tina's voice came from somewhere far away, and he could still feel her hands on his belly. "Stay with us, stay with us."
But he couldn't stay with them. He needed to find Newt, and he had a party to host. He might've hated parties and hosting them, but since he had invited all these people over, it was his duty to make them feel comfortable. It was his responsibility to be a good host.
He saw Newt's suitcase suddenly appearing in the middle of the ballroom. He walked towards it, determined to talk to Newt. He opened it, uncaring of the shadowy crowd around, and climbed in when Newt didn't answer to his calls.
The study was empty and oddly colorless, devoid of all life. Dougal wasn't on his usual place under the desk, nor were any of the hupricorns lounging on the bed. The hut was empty.
Percival grasped the door handle, determined to venture as deep as he needed to in order to find Newt. He would search through the entire suitcase, if he had to.
He turned the handle of the hut's door, began to pull it open – light, bright like the Sun poured in through the small gap, and Percival, in awe, couldn't remember ever seeing anything so beautiful, so inviting.
It was snowing, and he was so cold, and the light on the other side of the door was bright and warm and inviting, and he wanted to-
"Don't you dare!" the voice had him halting.
That sounded like-
"You hear me – don't you dare die on me!"
Newt?
"Come on, you stubborn man, come on. Open your eyes, Percival! Come on!"
It was Newt. Had to be. That voice was unmistakable.
"Newt?"
"Please, please, don't do this. Come on, beautiful. Come on."
Newt sounded distraught.
Percival looked around the hut, reluctant to let go of the door handle. The light was warm and inviting and he wanted to dive into it, but he was simultaneously reluctant to leave with Newt sounding like that. There was still a lot they could do, wasn't there.
Newt had never proposed to him. And he had never proposed to Newt, had he.
But perhaps he still could, one day.
He wanted to.
They could get married. They could travel around the world. They could –
Percival looked at the bright light pouring in through the gap, at his combat glove wrapped around the handle. He listened to Newt calling for him from somewhere afar, from somewhere outside the suitcase, outside the ballroom and the garden where it was snowing. Did Newt even know it was snowing?
Percival shivered.
He was so cold, the light would warm him up.
There was an iron taste in his mouth. His shirt was torn and bloody.
He pushed the door closed and let go off the handle.
He felt someone grasping his hand so hard it hurt. When he opened his eyes, it was to Newt's face silvery in the moonlight. He had found Newt. He was no longer alone.
"Yes, that's right," Newt was saying with raindrops running down his cheeks, his hand warm in Percival's. "Keep your eyes open, my dear. The mediwizards are on their way. Just… hang on, all right? Hang on, Percival."
Percival smiled, even as Tina was hurting him by pressing both of her hands against his belly, even as he needed to cough because of the blood finding its way into his mouth. Theseus was yelling, Newt's words were soft. The wands pointed at him weren't threatening.
It was raining and he was exhausted and Theseus would hex him for getting hurt and he still had more questions than answers, but Newt was there, and if Newt said yes, they would have a small wedding because he didn't like parties and Newt didn't like crowds.
*****
A/N: Something quick to distract me from this shitty Covid-19 reality. Thanks for reading, and stay safe out there!