A/N: Warning for self-harm and a minor character death.
This chapter was edited by The Mountain Fairy, my wonderful beta. They're writing their own lovely HP fic, which can be found here: s/13536958/1/Harry-Potter-and-the-Return-of-Lord-Voldemort.
It took Credence a few weeks to start adjusting to his new life. He liked the new clothes Mr. Grindelwald had gotten him. He relished every meal, so different from Mary Lou's regime of soup and gruel. But some changes were harder to get used to.
He found himself jumping at the faintest sounds, cringing guiltily at the mentions of witches, tracing the scars that lined his hands in memory of old hurts. He sometimes had to remind himself that Mary Lou was dead, that he'd killed her, that she could never punish him again. And yet he still awoke in the middle of the night in sheer terror, having dreamed of her standing over him with a grim expression, belt in hand.
Modesty had nightmares too. He could hear her cries sometimes, from her bedroom across the corridor, although the horror she dreamed of was quite different.
"Credence, Credence, don't kill me!"
The first time he'd heard the wails, he'd frozen where he'd stood in the corridor, debating whether to enter her room. He'd wanted so badly to comfort her, but how comforting would it be if the object of her nightmares walked in? He didn't have much time to think. Mr. Grindelwald had appeared at the edge of the corridor, no doubt alerted by the spells he'd put in her room.
"Go to sleep, Credence," he said as he brushed past him, and Credence felt like a child, caught out of bed by a parent.
He remained where he was, listening to Mr. Grindelwald comforting Modesty.
"Uncle Gellert," she sobbed. "I'm scared."
"Hush, now. Remember what I told you. Credence kills only bad, nasty people. You're a good little girl, so he'll never hurt you."
Mr. Grindelwald had told Modesty to call him 'Uncle Gellert', which Credence found surreal. He couldn't connect the familial title to the dangerous, powerful wizard he knew. But there was a softness to Mr. Grindelwald when he dealt with Modesty. A softness that Credence remembered from his own first meetings with 'Mr. Graves'. He now suspected that softness to be a tool: useful to Mr. Grindelwald, but discarded at the moment he didn't need it.
Graves kept to himself for the most part, which was a relief for Credence. He never joined them for meals, apparently dining alone. Mr. Grindelwald had his breakfast and supper with them, unless he stayed late at the office, which was at least half of the days.
"I apologize for being late yet again," he'd often say to Credence, who'd stay awake in the parlor, reading. "MACUSA is such a mess right now. I had to deal with discipling three aurors who allowed Grindelwald to escape with the Obscurial."
The joke was always a variation of this, but his eyes glittered in such a way that it never got old.
The first couple of days, Modesty had refused to eat dinner alone with Credence. Nory had to serve them separately, and the rest of the time Modesty would shut herself in her room. She was only willing to stay in the same room as Credence if Mr. Grindelwald held her in his lap.
Gradually, Modesty agreed to sit in her own chair, and at last, after nearly two weeks, she was willing to join Credence for meals alone. Her body remained stiff and tight, like a coiled spring, ready to bolt at any moment. Credence spoke to her quietly, trying to mimic Mr. Grindelwald's soothing tones, and made no sudden movements. He avoided bringing up their past, careful to never mention Mary Lou or Chastity. Instead, he told her stories of the things he'd read, interesting tidbits about unicorns or fairies or mermaids.
There was a vast library in the mansion, and Mr. Grindelwald had introduced him to the books he should start with: A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, Simple Spells for Children, Basic Brews and Potions, An Abbreviated History of Magic, The Fundamental Laws of Magic.
"These are the sort of books you'd be expected to study during your first school year," he'd said casually.
Credence had felt himself redden, thinking of all the useless hymns Mary Lou had forced him to recite when he was at that age.
"It's not your fault, my boy," Mr. Grindelwald had said, noticing his embarrassment. "You were robbed of your birthright by the ignorant No-Majs and MACUSA. But we will change that, so that other children will not suffer as you did."
He said things like that so often that Credence had stopped doubting it. The future began to seem inevitable: Mr. Grindelwald would take over the wizarding world, with Credence's help, and he'd abolish all unjust laws. Credence couldn't imagine anyone successfully opposing Mr. Grindelwald. The only part he was still skeptical about was his own role. He still felt useless and ignorant. His Obscurus was incredibly powerful, but it was a wild, unpredictable, destructive force, and one he was afraid to unleash.
Credence spent hours in the library, memorizing facts and concepts, but sometimes he grew too bored, and his hands would inevitably drift to the more interesting titles, the ones full of stories. He always felt guilty after straying for an afternoon and would later redouble his study efforts.
"I ought to get you a wand," said Mr. Grindelwald one evening, after he'd questioned Credence about the spells he'd memorized that day. "There isn't much point in theory without any practice. It will take some time to tamper with the bureaucracy, though. The Americans have the most unreasonable laws about wands."
"I want a wand too, Uncle Gellert," Modesty demanded, her feet swinging listlessly under the table.
"When you're older, dearie."
Modesty's lower lip began to tremble. "It's not fair!"
"Modesty." Mr. Grindelwald looked at her intently, voice dropping low. "What did we say about whining?"
She stopped abruptly, her eyes going wide.
"That's a good girl."
He pulled an open chocolate bar out of his pocket and broke off a small piece. Holding the piece delicately between thumb and forefinger, he offered it to Modesty, just high enough so that she'd have to stretch and tilt her head back as she opened her mouth. It looked, Credence thought, like someone hand-feeding a pet bird. Modesty closed her eyes and sucked on the chocolate, her expression one of pure ecstasy.
Modesty had never tasted chocolate back when they'd lived with Mary Lou, and it had quickly become her favorite treat in the Graves mansion. Yet Mr. Grindelwald never allowed her to have a whole bar, or to choose when to have it, or to eat it independently. It was always small pieces, always given by his hand, and always as a reward for compliance.
That was the similarity between Mr. Grindelwald and Mary Lou, Credence realized as he watched them in silence. Both desired to train children to obey their every command.
Mr. Grindelwald glanced at him, eyes narrowing, as though he could tell what Credence was thinking. Credence ducked his head, ashamed. Mr. Grindelwald was nothing like Mary Lou. She had been brutish and violent; he had shown them nothing but kindness. The similarity was only superficial, an optical illusion.
"I'll be glad to have a wand. Thank you."
A couple of days later, Credence sensed a strange chill pass through him while he sat studying in the library. He raised his head. Graves stood in the doorway, watching him, a newspaper tucked under his arm. The late afternoon sun accentuated his ragged, drained features.
Neither of them spoke for a few moments. Credence tried to pointedly return to his book, but after a few moments his gaze wandered up. Graves still stood there.
"What do you want?"
"You're very rude, Mr. Barebone," said Graves, sounding tired rather than offended.
"I'm sorry. I really ought to be more polite to someone who punished the only woman who ever tried to help me."
"You don't understand. Tina Goldstein performed a spell in front of No-Majs. The law is clear, and I couldn't let that slide for multiple reasons—"
"I don't care about your excuses." Credence looked down at his book again and pretended to continue reading. "If you have something to say, say it or leave."
"Very well." Graves pulled out his wand and muttered a spell under his breath. "There, hopefully no one can eavesdrop on us now."
That only made Credence more suspicious.
"Grindelwald is not who he seems to be. I know how you adore him. You think he's your savior. You have no idea how far he's willing to go to achieve his goals." Graves slapped the newspaper down on the table in front of Credence. "What do you say to this?"
Grindelwald attacks intensify, risking war with No-Majs.
Below the headline there was a picture of a house on fire, and as Credence watched, the flames flickered and danced, the smoke growing thicker. The caption read: Violent attacks in Europe. Hundreds of casualties reported.
Credence stared at the headline, then glanced up to the top of the newspaper. It was called The New York Ghost, and the date was from early December, more than a month ago.
"You said he's been impersonating you for three months. How could he be behind these attacks?"
"Those are his followers," said Graves in a tone that implied Credence was being deliberately obtuse. "His acolytes. They'd do anything for him."
"That isn't proof. The paper could be wrong." Mary Lou had never put much stock in the press, although she wasn't above trying to use them to spread her message.
"Really?" Graves shook his head. "So, tell me, who's behind them?"
"It could be anyone," said Credence stubbornly.
"Stop kidding yourself." Graves ran his hands through his hair in agitation. "I'm Director of Magical Security. I know what the bastard's done. With you in his hands, he might become unstoppable. I can't let that happen."
"You keep pretending you're not following him yourself." Credence shut his book, increasingly annoyed with Graves's hypocrisy.
Graves stilled. "I sold my soul to the Devil because I saw no other choice. I keep thinking this might've been a mistake. But you—You have no reason to follow him. You could run away and—"
"And what? Your aurors think I'm a monster. They'll kill me." Credence had no doubt about it. Mr. Grindelwald had told him enough of the office conversations. If he hadn't attacked anyone, they might've locked him up in some room and studied him as a curiosity. Now that he'd killed three No-Majs and destroyed half of New York, there was no hope for him. They'd kill him for sure.
"That's—" Graves stopped mid-sentence and took a deep breath. Apparently even he couldn't deny the truth. "There's a man in Britain. Albus Dumbledore. The most brilliant wizard of the century. Rumor has it that he's the only man Grindelwald fears."
"What of him?" Credence didn't like the direction the conversation was taking. He liked it here, with the comfort and security he'd never before had in his life. Becoming a hunted fugitive hardly seemed like an attractive option.
"I've read the secret files we keep on him in MACUSA's archives. His sister, Ariana Dumbledore, died at age fourteen under fishy circumstances, a couple of years after his mother passed away in some 'accident'. The British Ministry of Magic's investigation discussed the possibility that the sister might have been an Obscurial. At that time, we all thought that was a load of bunk. Who ever heard of an Obscurial living past ten?" Graves sighed and shook his head.
"You're the living proof that we were wrong. Dumbledore refuses to discuss his sister's death with the press. Still, I believe he wouldn't have wanted her hunted down and killed. Go to him. He's the only person who could possibly help you."
Credence stood up, boiling with rage. How dare Graves send him on a wild goose chase, suggesting that he should place all his hopes on speculation and rumor. If he followed this advice, he'd likely end up dead.
"Leave me alone, you cretin, or you'll regret it." He knew his eyes were going white, his form beginning to dissolve into darkness.
"Go ahead, deny the facts. That won't change reality. You're supporting a scoundrel and a murderer, and he'll destroy you without hesitation the moment you become a threat."
"You're lying!" He was losing control. He knew it. "Stop talking, or I'll kill you."
Graves backed away, wand drawn, fear and repulsion overtaking his features. "I should've known there was no use talking to you." His face twisted, ugly and hateful. "What is he doing to keep you on his side? I've seen the way you look at him, you little daisy. Is he bedding you–"
Graves never finished his sentence. Credence flung a black arm, throwing the man violently toward a bookcase. Graves smashed against the wooden shelves, letting out a groan, then collapsed to the floor like a rag doll. Credence trembled as he struggled to maintain control and return to his human form. It was so easy to forget himself in the Obscurus's blind, consuming nothingness. Graves wasn't moving from his place by the wall.
"Credence!" It was Modesty's sweet, childish voice. "Credence, where are you?"
Graves still wasn't moving. Something dark and wet was dripping down the back of his head.
Keep him alive and unharmed.
"Credence, are you in the library? Credence!"
I only ask that of you. Keep him alive and unharmed.
He hurried to the library door, shutting it firmly behind him. "I'm here, Modesty. No need to shout.
"
She stared at him in that quiet, intense way of hers. Credence was pretty sure that Modesty knew exactly how her stare made people feel and used it intentionally, but it still got under his skin. It disturbed everyone, except for Mr. Grindelwald, who found it charming.
Mr. Grindelwald. Graves.
Credence almost lost control again, nausea rising in his stomach.
"Credence, you're sweating."
"Just feeling warm," he lied.
She stared at him for a moment longer. "Come play with me."
This was a new behavior she'd started exhibiting over the last few days: not only agreeing to play with him, but actively seeking him out. It was an encouraging sign, Mr. Grindelwald had said, that the loneliness was wearing her down.
Credence followed Modesty to her room. Unlike the rest of the mansion, which was richly and tastefully decorated, hers was a sea of creamy pastel. Mr. Grindelwald had ordered Nory to furnish it under the pretense of a distant young cousin moving in with Graves. Toys were strewn all over the carpet.
"Exploding Snap?" Credence offered, trying to force his mind away from his panic.
The magical variant of the card game had only been around for a year, but had already gained wild popularity, or so Nory had reported. Credence just hoped that Modesty wouldn't choose to play Gobstones. He hated the smell.
"Wizard's Chess," she said.
"I don't know how to play." Mary Lou never held a chess set, considering such games a waste of time.
"I'll teach you. Uncle Gellert plays it with me. He says it's the best game there is."
"All right."
He tried to concentrate while she rattled off the rules. The pieces arranged themselves on the board, muttering to each other.
"Pawn to B4," Modesty announced. The piece slid forward.
"Don't send me," came a chorus of voices from Credence's pieces.
"Ignore them. Uncle Gellert says they're cowards with people they don't know."
Credence could barely hear her over the hammering of his own heart.
"Cre—de—nce!" she whined.
"Oh, sorry. Uh, pawn to A6."
Predictably, he lost the first match after five minutes. Modesty insisted on playing another game. He lost it just as quickly.
"You're letting me win." She glared at him.
"No, I'm not." Credence watched in misery as the pieces organized themselves once again.
He was losing the third round when the door opened behind him. Modesty's face lit up.
"Uncle Gellert!" She leapt to her feet and ran over. "Uncle Gellert, you gotta teach Credence to play chess! He's really bad at it."
"Maybe later, dearie. I need to have a word with your brother in private."
Credence froze where he sat on the carpet.
"Well?"
He forced himself to stand and approach the door, eyes on the floor. Modesty chattered on, oblivious.
"Wait in the room, sweetheart."
Modesty paused by the door, perhaps hoping for a reward, but none came. Credence had noticed how Mr. Grindelwald kept the rewards intermittent, so that Modesty never knew what to expect.
Mr. Grindelwald took ahold of his arm in a tight grip and steered him across the corridor, into Credence's own room. After closing the door behind them, Mr. Grindelwald released him. Credence couldn't stop shaking.
"Care to explain what I found in the library?"
Credence opened his mouth. No sound came out.
"Did Percy attack you first?"
Credence swallowed. "Yes."
Mr. Grindelwald snorted. "I don't even need Legilimency to tell you're lying."
Tears sprung up in Credence's eyes. "I'm—I'm sorry."
"Percival Graves was a valuable asset that won't be easily replaced." Mr. Grindelwald closed the distance between them in three quick steps, his voice cold as ice. "I could impersonate him successfully only due to the memories and knowledge that I harvested off of him. You have no idea of the amount of time and effort you've wasted, you stupid boy."
Unbearable shame washed over Credence in waves, choking him. He grabbed hold of Mr. Grindelwald's arm. "I'm sorry—"
Mr. Grindelwald shoved him away. Credence stumbled, and his back scraped against the corner of his dresser. The sharp pain provided relief. It felt right.
"We won't be able to stay here for much longer. And I was planning to release him. To keep him as a spy on MACUSA." Mr. Grindelwald paced the room. "Why did you kill him? And don't bother trying to lie to me again."
"He-He insulted me… Said you were a murderer, and that… That I was following you only because you were be-bedding me—"
"And that made you lose control? We can't have that happen. You're going to hear far, far worse about the both of us."
The thing that really hurt Credence wasn't Mr. Grindelwald's restrained fury. It was the bitter, deep disappointment he heard beneath it. Mr. Grindelwald had expected more of him, and Credence had failed to live up to that expectation.
A wretched, inadequate failure.
"Punish me." He seized both of Mr. Grindelwald's arms, almost wishing to be pushed away again. "Please, punish me!"
A flash of distaste passed over Mr. Grindelwald's expression. "I'm not your mother, Credence."
"Please…"
Mr. Grindelwald retrieved a wand from his cloak. "There, this is yours. I was looking forward to celebrate gifting it to you. Use it as you wish."
Credence felt his fingers close around the wand, numb and distant. He recalled that odd story he'd read a week ago, the one that mentioned the three Unforgivable Curses. He'd been curious and looked up the reference in one of Graves's advanced books about the Dark Arts.
He pointed the wand at himself. "Crucio."
He fell to the ground, screaming. It was nothing like Mary Lou's beatings. It was a thousand times worse, like dozens of knives tearing into his flesh. He was pathetically grateful that it ended after a moment, leaving him a quivering mess on the carpet.
"Credence, my boy." Warm arms enveloped him, providing support. "There was no need to do that."
I would have done it again, Credence thought, but said nothing. Mr. Grindelwald helped him up and seated him on the bed, settling down beside him. Credence hesitantly leaned his head against Mr. Grindelwald's shoulder, the same way Mary Lou sometimes allowed it, when he was a very young child. He let his tears flow while aftermath of the pain cascaded away.
Pain was forgiveness. He knew it when Mr. Grindelwald caressed his hair, all traces of anger gone. Pain was cleansing. Mr. Grindelwald murmured comforting words against his neck. It was liberation from shame and guilt.
It was freedom.