A/N:

Once again, thank you for all the kudos and feedback so far- you deserve all the love and cocoa.
Chapter 3 is inspired by 'Heathens' by 21 Pilots, I hope you enjoy it!

Have a great weekend,
Wil. x

Part III

Welcome to the room of people,

Who have rooms of people that they loved one day, docked away.

Just because we check the guns at the door,

Doesn't mean our brains will change from hand grenades.

You're lovin' on the psychopath sitting next to you,

You're lovin' on the murderer sitting next to you,

You'll think, 'How did I get here, sitting next to you?'

But after all I've said, please don't forget…

Heathens – Twenty-One Pilots

Credence was entirely focused on the apple in his hand, peeling it with application with a little silver knife, under Queenie Goldstein's watchful eyes.

The first time she had served him strudel – something he'd never had before – Credence had found more words to thank her than she could recall him ever saying in the past.

She had offered to teach him how to bake, then; and that had been the first time she had seen a genuine smile lighten the boy's gaunt features.

They had been practicing together regularly since that day, with and without magic, and Queenie found herself revelling in the experience.

Learning how to bake the no-maj way somehow made her feel close to Jacob, whom she missed more dearly every day. And she enjoyed Credence's company; he was one of the very few people able to surprise a Legilimens such as her.

All of a sudden, there was a loud crack as Tina materialised in the adjoining room, mussed hair seeming to float around her face.

Credence watched as an apple slice slipped from Queenie's fingers and landed right into the bowl on the kitchen counter.

The witch didn't seem to notice, however. By the time Credence looked up, the blonde woman had already reached her sister, and was gently linking their hands together.

'Teenie—is it true?' Queenie asked quietly, leading her sister to an armchair nearby before helping her down.

The unexpected question sent a cold shiver down Credence's spine. Queenie usually always knew.

Another crack.

Newt's tall and gangly silhouette emerged in turn, and Credence barely had time to register how noticeably paler the ginger-haired man looked, before he found himself swept into a hurried yet affectionate embrace.

Something had happened, Credence realised with dread. Something bad.

After a third and final crack, Percival Graves appeared in the lobby, the lapels of his heavy coat swishing around him.

'Goldstein, Scamander,' he greeted flatly, his voice coarser than Credence remembered. 'Please forgive my intrusion, but—'

Percival stopped mid-sentence, as he caught sight of Credence in the corner of his eye.

'He's fine,' he breathed out, to no one in particular.

In a few strides, he had reached Credence's side, and his hands were upon the boy's face, gentle and hesitant—as if he could barely believe he was there at all.

A calloused thumb brushed against his temple, and that's when Credence understood.

He took a step back, his hip bumping against the kitchen counter.

His eyes fell upon Tina across the room, and the pain and concern he found painted upon her features only confirmed his darkest fears.

Deep within his chest, the creature he'd spent the last few months attempting to tame began growling.

He fled.

Percival found him in the Goldstein's attic, curled up into the furthest corner of the room, hardly visible at all.

He let out a breath, relieved to find out that Credence hadn't run too far, and still looked in relative control over his emotions.

(Should he have gotten hurt, Tina would never have forgiven him. It had already been quite a struggle to convince her to stay put whilst he went after the boy.)

Graves slowly stepped closer to Credence, unsure of how to act. The latter was still half-hidden behind the peak of his knees, and refused to look up.

Scamander would know what to do, Percival realised, a twinge of guilt pervading his chest.

He got as close to Credence as he thought safe for the both of them, then crouched down slowly.

'Credence?' he called gingerly.

The young man remained silent, crying quietly into the cradle of his knees. His shoulderline had begun to blur, Percival realised with a start. A thick layer of dark mist seemed to be rising from the boy's back, sprouting small tendrils of grey smoke which curled and uncurled around him.

'He escaped,' Credence said suddenly, more a statement than a question.

'I'm afraid so.'

'I—felt it, I think,' he continued, hesitant. He lifted his head, pointedly avoiding the Auror's piercing glance. 'Right there,' he added, two fingers tapping lightly against his buttonhole.

Without even needing to look, Graves knew what Credence was referring to.

The necklace—the one Grindelwald had entrusted him with.

Tina had found it – wrapped tightly around Credence's hand – within a dimly lit alley, as she and Newt combed through the streets of New York in the vain hope of finding what was left of the boy.

For weeks on end, Credence had refused to part with the cursed jewel, despite Tina's relentless efforts to convince him. He wouldn't say why, and no one dared to press.

Only after the pendant had begun eating into his flesh, turning his skin a gruesome shade of purple, had Credence accepted to pass it down to the President.

A scar still remained upon his sternum, in the shape of a perfect triangle.

'He might not still be after you,' Percival offered kindly.

'But he might be.'

Credence looked away, twisting his lean fingers together.

'Sorry,' he added shortly after. 'I—'

'No; you're right,' Percival interrupted. 'I won't lie to you. But it's not the same now—you're no longer alone. Scamander, Tina, Queenie – that baker she's so smitten with – they all care about you. So do I.'

Credence glanced at him briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

'Besides, Modesty is in safe hands. Nothing will happen to her.'

The boy didn't look any better for it, Graves noted with disappointment. He had never been good at this—always too cold, too rational.

'What if he comes after me again?' Credence asked after some time. 'How will I know?'

He looked up at the Auror, shame and guilt agitating his features.

'I—didn't realise, last time.'

'No one did,' Graves replied without a beat, bitterness distorting his words. 'Grindelwald is very skilled a pretender.'

The spirals of smoke rising from Credence's back seemed to grow darker at Percival's words. The boy was still on edge, walking the thin line between control and collapse.

'You won't,' Graves added, almost as an afterthought. 'As long as you remember you should never have to trade anything for affection.'

Credence nodded back, imperceptibly.

'Affection is given freely,' Graves concluded in a sigh. Going against his earlier concerns, he reached out to Credence once more, wiping a stray tear off his cheekbone.

The contact sparked a warm tingle at the base of Graves's thumb, which began travelling slowly up his arm. He wasn't expecting it, and so removed his fingers from Credence's face.

With difficulty, he dragged himself into a sitting position and moved to the young man's side, leaning next to him against the bleak grey wall.

'Are you going to tell me everything will be okay?' Credence asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

(It made Percival smile, briefly.)

He debated lying for a moment, before deciding to stick with the truth.

'No. At this stage we can only hope.'

Graves watched carefully as Credence began to unravel once more. The tendrils of smoke were growing more aggressive by the minute, coiling tightly around the boy's limbs.

Credence's left hand was curled into a fist, pressing harshly against his chest, where the pendant once had been. It was impossible to miss the tears welling up in his eyes.

Graves knew he couldn't begin to fathom the turmoil taking place within the younger man. The only things he could provide were company and honesty—a far cry from comfort.

Still, Percival thought, the boy had suffered through more than enough people attempting to fill his head with lies; he would not add this to the growing list of his crimes.

'You miss him,' he stated kindly, inviting Credence to elaborate.

The young man shook his head noncommittally.

'You cared for him, didn't you?' he asked, hoping his tone conveyed that he wouldn't judge Credence either way.

'I loved him.'

Percival turned his head to Credence, a little surprised by the abruptness of the acknowledgment.

'He knew how to get to me,' the young man continued. 'He did everything right. Said all the things I wanted to hear. And I believed him.' His voice caught in his throat. 'I should have known better.'

Graves replied before he could wonder what the MACUSA would have to say about him circulating such critical information.

'No. If Albus Dumbledore – one of the greatest sorcerers of our generation – admittedly didn't know better, then how could you have been expected to?'

Credence had never heard the name before, but Graves's words soothed him all the same.

'Besides,' the Auror continued, 'he is very charismatic. It's no wonder people liked him better than me.'

The undertones of self-loathing in his voice were unmistakable.

Both men fell into silence, still sat side by side, their bodies connected from hip to shoulder.

'Percival?' Credence asked timidly, after some time.

The older man couldn't help the jolt in his chest at the use of his first name. After months of training together, it felt like progress.

'Do you remember when you told me about boggarts?'

Graves nodded, unsure what Credence meant.

'They assume the form of whatever scares us most, is that right?'

The Auror gave another sharp nod, his shoulders tensing. He was starting to have a clearer idea of what Credence was getting at, and he did not like it one bit.

'Credence, I'm not sure it would be such a—'

'I need to see him,' Credence interrupted, categorical.

Graves's lips narrowed into a thin, disapproving line. He attempted to ignore the sharp pang in his chest.

'I need to see how it behaves,' the young wizard continued, as understanding slowly dawned upon Percival. 'I don't want to lose control. Not again.'

With a reluctant sigh, Percival agreed. There was something about Credence's newfound, quiet assertiveness that he wanted to encourage more than anything.

'I'll be right back,' he told Credence, before disapparating out of the room.

It was just Percival's luck that his department would have intercepted any such creature just a week prior, and had it kept within the premises.

As he tucked the wooden box under his arm, he wondered how long this particular incident could be kept from the MACUSA'S prying eyes.

(Well—it had taken them several months and an Obscurus attack to realise an imposter had borrowed the skin of their Head of Security, so perhaps there was no need to worry.)

When Percival apparated back into the Goldsteins' Brownstone, Credence seemed not had not moved at all.

'Alright, Credence. Do you remember the spells we practiced together?'

The young man nodded nervously.

'If at any time, you feel like your Obscurus is going to take over, move away and let me intervene. And Credence, remember—there's no shame in being afraid.'

With a tap of his hand against the box, Graves released the boggart.

It swirled within the room for a moment, before stopping in front of Credence in order to take shape.

However, it soon became evident that the figure materialising before both men was not that of Gellert Grindelwald.

No—the menacing silhouette walking up to Credence, a leather belt wrapped tightly around one hand, belonged to no other than Mary Lou Barebone.

Alarmed, Percival turned to Credence, ready to step in.

The boy was in a state of utter shock: his hand was curled so tightly around his wand that his knuckles had turned white, and his back seemed to have partially dissolved into a mass of dark, smoky matter.

And yet, he had not faltered yet. He was holding Mary Lou's gaze steadily, shouldered squared, ready to pounce. His posture was almost threatening, Graves realised as he found himself fighting the urge to step back.

'Mr Graves,' the boy asked between clenched teeth. 'What do I—'

'Hang on,' the Auror replied, springing into action. 'Let me.'

He placed himself between the boy and the boggart, forcing Mary Lou's eyes to meet his. The second after, her body had dissipated into the air, to be replaced by a taller, broader figure altogether.

Gellert Grindelwald.

The dark wizard flashed Graves a cruel smile; one he had seen so many times in the past. He reached out, cupping Percival's chin possessively, tilting his head up until he was sure to have an attentive audience.

'Mr Graves,' Grindelwald soughed, his tone almost seductive. 'What a pleasure to see you again. Or, should I say—to see me again.'

One by one, his features began to morph into Percival's, until the latter was faced with an exact reflection of himself, identical but for the malevolent glint in his eyes.

Boggart or not, Graves spat in his face.

'Save your breath,' Grindelwald continued, his words now colder, harsher. 'You're going to need it to call for your precious Credence. Although—I doubt he will ever want to see your face again, once I'm done with him.'

At these words, Graves turned to Credence, his jaw clenched tighter than the boy had ever seen it.

'He chose me for a reason,' Percival told him, a justification that sounded like an apology.

The words, however cryptic, were the confirmation of something Credence never dared hope for.

They spurred him on as he stepped in to shield Graves, moved by something perhaps as powerful as anger—the need to protect this man.

The first charm he cast, albeit imperfect, was so charged with power it sent Percival toppling to the side. The ones that followed, while not inflicting any damage onto the boggart, were precise and effective enough to keep both men safe.

However, for each curse that bounced against Credence's protective spell and shattered against the nearby walls, there was another ripple, another crack in the boy's careful control, through which the Obscurus threatened to spill.

The tendrils of smoke, swollen and truculent, remained bridled by Credence's will just long enough for him to disapparate – as Graves had instructed him to – his hand firmly clasped around the Auror's fingers.

(So what if Graves had never said anything about that.)

They reappeared just outside the room, halfway across the corridor. Credence seemed to have left no part of his body behind, which in itself was already quite an achievement.

Percival was on his feet the second after, unable to keep a fond smile from grazing his lips. Credence really was a wonder to behold.

Throwing his customary caution to the wind, he strode up to the boy, moved by the firm intent of finally allowing himself to wrap his arms around him. For one thing, Credence had more than deserved it.

However, just as he was about to pull the young man against him, he felt something icy brush past his ankle. The second after, Modesty's body was splayed on the floor between them, pale and lifeless.

A/N:

Thank you for reading, y'all are wonderful.
Huggles, Wil.

PS: Chapter 4 will be up soon - I hope you'll forgive me for leaving you on a cliffhanger! It will be set in direct continuation of Chapter 3, and inspired by Elton John's song 'The Panic in Me.'