I hope you'll forgive me for not updating my story sooner. The holiday break has made me unapologetically lazy. I did have fun, writing this part so I hope you enjoy it. This is the conclusion of A Scheduled Appointment, but I'm trying to tie my short stories together so there is more to come.
I hope to indulge you more later. In the meantime, check out my other FB drabble, a little one-shot based on reflection of the first movie, and my ongoing story that crosses Merlin with PJO. If you are not familiar with Merlin, hop on Netflix. There's five seasons for you to fall in love with. You're welcome.
Once again, I own none of this (thus the name fanfiction).
I do however own my own hopes and dreams.
With love!
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Percival Graves looks almost exactly as Grindelwald Graves had if marginally paler and a bit on the thin side.
He doesn't even look up when Newt is shown into the office by the secretary and the unfortunate magizoologist feels his ears burn after minutes begin to tick by with no change from the other.
The older man is shuffling through papers, taking notes, and occasionally signing the bottom of far-too-long forms. His hands are steady, his shoulders proud, and his disposition far too severe. Not to mention that he and the entirety of his office are completely spotless despite the fact the Newt knows that man has been endlessly busy since his return to the working world.
Finally the fairer haired man clears his throat and shifts on his feet.
Dark eyes shoot up to meet his, despite the fact that those startling bright orbs are fixed decidedly on the floor. "Welcome, Mister Scamander. I was wondering when you were going to start breathing again."
Those are the first words he's ever actually heard out of this man's mouth and yet the voice is too familiar, in a way that makes shivers race up Newt's spine. He suppresses the urge to shuffle away. There's still a heavy distrust for this particular man ingrained in his very muscle. This is the face that once sentenced he and Tina to death without batting an eye and later struck at him mercilessly with hex after painful hex.
"You, uh, wanted to meet me, Mr. Graves," the young man finally manages and feels proud that his voice does not betray any more than his normal nerves would.
"Yes," Graves says and shuffles the papers on his desk aside. "Have a seat Mr. Scamander. You're not in trouble." His pauses for a moment as he settles back and his dark eyes bore holes into Newt's case. "Unless, of course, I find a Niffler in my office."
With stuttering apologies and half uttered assurances, New seats himself precariously in a rather uncomfortable straight back chair. His eyes are still resolutely diverted from the near complete focus of his current anxiety.
"Mr. Scamander, I asked you here in order for you to issue your own account of the events of recent. I am unsatisfied with what was taken down previously and will need to promptly rectify the mistakes made," Graves proclaims, his no-nonsense tone scraping at Newt the way only the majority of the human race seems to. This man is stout and intimidating, but however dark he may cast himself, he is becoming only as terrifying as everyone else and despite the ex-Hogwarts student's aversion to social interaction, he isn't completely clueless in a situation like this.
"Oh, uh …. President Pickery took my account before I left New York," Newt mumbles.
Dark eyebrows furrow, but a smile twitches the far edge of the other man's lips. "I am quite aware, but the notes taken are still quite inadequate."
"Oh."
So Newt explains.
He starts off with his reason for coming to America. That is, he starts off with the story of Frank, of course, and leaving out off mention of his old professor's small tip off being what got the ball rolling. There's no concealing his misadventures with his creatures, so he doesn't. He even describes in great detail Jacob Kowalski's involvement, being sure to convey clear understanding of the muggle's acceptance and embracement of the wizarding world. He concludes that part with compassion regarding Jacob's apparent obliviation of his memories and does not at all mention his later opening of the bakery, fearing that it would lead Grave's investigation there and reveal some of the clear faults of the memory-erasing rain.
When he gets to the part regarding the treacherous battle below New York, he hesitates on his and Grindelwald's race to reach Credence first. It's easy enough to describe the young boy's frantic and uncontrolled destruction of the city, but any part involving his personal interaction with the imposter leaves him distinctly uncomfortable. His chest twinges with phantom pain as he remembers his rough trip home and the distinctly long weeks that followed. He had only barely avoided his family and Dumbledore for a week and a half before he had to swallow his remaining discomfort and face them all, it seemed at once (A/N: Read Voyal Home for this reference).
Percival Graves is unimpressed and quietly weedles every little detail out of the youngest Scamander. Once he understand the other's reluctance his face remains passive, but he does settle further back into this chair even as he writes, almost as if he is allowing Newt the small comfort of more distance between them. It's a wonder that Piquery wasn't this inquiring, that she allowed his quick responses to pass, but it was also a gift at the time.
Now, however, Newt wishes that she had been the one to press him for more details. At least she doesn't wear this particular face.
Graves sets his pen down as the full account comes to a close and the magizoologist huffs out a heavy sigh, his breath coming out a little heavy after having spoken so much.
"You have scars then?"
The terse question is a sudden break in what seems a better time for silence. Newt looks up startled. "I'm sorry?"
"I asked if you have scars," Percival states, seeking eye contact and he receives it since the younger man is too startled to look away.
"Ah… yes, I suppose," Newt says unsurely, only just able to take his eyes away. "A few…. They're large, but only a few, I think."
"Ah," Graves repeats. "I'm sorry."
Mr. Scamander blinks and then smiles slightly. "Why? It's not your fault Director Graves. B-besides, some of the animals I have rescued have been … less than grateful initially and I have lots of little scars from my school days."
This seems to unsettle the older of the two of them and neither quite seems to know what to say now.
Finally Newt shuffles to his feet, uttering something about not bothering the Director further and starts toward the door.
"Mr. Scamander."
His feet seem to freeze of their own volition, though his heart takes a stuttering leap towards the door. Mentally he knows this man is not the same one he meant all those months ago, but physically even this new meeting cannot make him differentiate the two.
"I also called you here to…." here he stops to clear his throat. "I called you here to thank you."
And with that, the tension snaps. All at once, the coil in Newt's stomach unravels and he looks back at the other man. For this entire ordeal, he did not think about the impact of his actions on the original Percival Graves. The 'thank you's uttered at him have been hollow, echoing with fain politeness and perhaps a bit of confusion because it was he who saved the day and not someone more impressive looking.
The Director's 'thank you,' though, is utterly sincere and there is a low tenor to his voice that betrays deeper emotion. It's only slight, but Newt has dealt with enough traumatized animals to pick up on it. Guilt lances through him. He didn't save this man or help him in any way. He was trying to save Credence and exposing Grindelwald seemed the natural course of things at the time. It didn't even occur to him to see if there had been a real man behind the guise and to find out what happened to him.
Chance was the only one responsible for saving this man's life.
"I-I .. really I didn't-"
"No, Mr. Scamander, you cleared my name and saved New York when I was able to do nothing," Percival presses. "You're not even an auror and you manage to both save your creatures and reveal the schemes of a dark wizard. Then you managed to salvage our world from the brink of war with the No Majs using knowledge far beyond what we've bothered to teach our own. So thank you Mr. Scamander."
Newt's face is completely red or at least it feels that way. "I just did- it just happened when I was trying to help Credence."
He feels helpless to express the fact that he doesn't deserve thanks from this man of all people. It does not appear to be a widely known fact.
The other man smiles at him. Well, it's more of an indulgent smirk, but it's not unkind. He just shakes his head as if knowing how futile it is to try to argue with Newt. Perhaps he's met Theseus. The world knows about how often his brother complains about his stubbornness.
It's after that the youngest Scamander finally makes his escape.
He makes it all the way down the hall, case clutched tightly in hand when he realizes that the one latch is undone and the chains and rope seem just a bit looser. On closer inspection he finds that the small trinket he keeps in his pocket is gone (a sure fire way to see if the Niffler is loose. A lost trinket is a misplaced niffler).
Letting out a small curse that would get him a scolding from Theseus if he were home, he turns on his heel and marches back the way he came.
He can only hope that the blasted critter is not loose in the Director's office.