Notes: EEEEK! Lots of emotions, lots of love in this chapter. Thanks so much for the comments, I appreciate lots! Again, please feel free to leave reviews/critique! Muchly appreciated :)

One

Chapter 6

Percival clicks his teeth and steps back, gaze sweeping up and down Credence's form.

Credence blushes, looking rather bashful and aware of himself, which amuses Percival.

"This is fine. I wouldn't recognise you," he says, and reaches to adjust the fedora-like hat on the young man's head, lowering it over his gorgeously feline-like eyes. He is draped in one of Percival's many, luxurious, long wool coats. To Percival, Credence looks dashing—mysterious and handsome. Even his posture seems to have straightened, a spring of confidence in his character.

They're preparing to head out, with Credence under guise. The plan is for the two to drop by a couple wizarding stores for a few missing textbooks and ingredients and quickly make it back home.

Credence nods, and smiles a little. In a small voice, he says, "I like the coat very much so."

"I'd like to buy you a new one," Percival starts to say, but then catches Credence ever so slightly turn his head to the upturned collar and inhale—he's sniffing the coat. Percival feels electric and extremely powerful—now he's the one with a major confidence boost. Credence likes the way I smell. Closing his mouth, Percival turns. "Let's depart," he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

Credence follows behind, and Percival finds himself with the instinct to hold on to the boy's hand. Instead, as they exit the house, Percival only gestures for them to enter the alleyway between houses and, discreetly, Credence slides closer, face pressing against Percival's chest. His face presses closer and closer, feeling as if he's squeezed from all sides, before he opens his eyes and the two are now in another area.

"I'll teach you about that too soon. There's a test you have to take before you can legally Apparate," explains Percival, watching Credence catch his breath.

Nodding, Credence coughs and looks around at his new surroundings.

Percival smiles. The sun is mildly warm on their faces, providing a buffer against the sharp cold breeze against their faces. Snow still glitters on the grass—pure white and only marred by children's footprints in Central Park, which is to the east of where they're standing. The buildings on the west seem to be all normal, completely un-magical. No-Majs are hustling and bustling about.

"It's a nice day today," admires Percival as they walk along the slushy road to a yet another rather innocent looking alleyway. A No-Maj woman nearly knocks Credence over as she runs by, clutching parcels wrapped with eye-catching, colourful velvet bows. Credence stumbles over and holds onto Percival's elbow, almost slightly hiding behind him. He's startled, as Percival can tell, and looks a little afraid; his hands are trembling.

"It's okay," Percival soothes, turning to hug the young man against himself, and he takes off his leather glove to gently cup the back of Credence's corded neck.

"I… I haven't been out in a while," whispers Credence, and Percival sees he's screwed his eyes shut.

Percival continues to make calming noises and looks around. "Credence, take a look. Holiday decorations," he says, and he feels Credence shift against him to open his eyes and glance nervously around.

If it's one thing that Percival's forgotten, it's that New Yorkers really got into the holiday spirit. It is a couple days until Christmas, after all. From the opening of the alleyway, one can see, on the street, the lights strewn over shop windows and boughs entwined with pine, holly and bright red bows hung on doors.

Percival holds Credence until his breathing stabilises, to which he backs away just enough to have his face a couple inches from the young man's. His hands find their way inside Credence's coat, grasping his wrists.

"It's Christmas. I'm going to buy you a Christmas present," Percival says. Credence instantly flushes.

"No, it's alright—"

"I want to," Percival insists, assuredness and authority ringing in his tone, to which Credence's mouth twitches in a smile. He draws closer, seemingly attracted by Percival's voice. "I can only hope it makes up for all the presents you've missed in the past."

"Thank you," Credence whispers, and his eyes lift up to meet his briefly, genuine gratitude and care in them.

The words I love you suddenly bubble up in Percival's throat like Giggle Water, but he fights them back. It's inappropriate at the moment—he and Credence still have not addressed their situation the day before. Instead, Percival breaks away—he instantly misses the warmth of Credence's body—and turns, striding down the alley. Credence follows.

At the end of the alley, three decrepit posters hang: one on the left wall, one on the right, and one on the wall facing them. Each one has a different advertisement for a cleaning product on it, but look to be very old; its edges are peeling, having merged with the wall after so much time against it. On the left poster is the sepia image of a woman in an apron flourishing one of the earliest models of vacuums. "New Invention Sweeps Nation's Attention And Our Dust! Now Available at Macy's."

With his wand, Percival taps the woman's vacuum. Credence, behind him, jumps suddenly—reason being the woman on the poster moves, jerking her vacuum away. She has an annoyed expression on her face, and only points to the poster hanging on the middle wall. Percival then taps, two times, on the middle poster, on top of another woman brandishing a feather duster, which seems to suspiciously resemble a wand with feathers out of it.

The woman in that poster laughs as if she's being tickled and tosses the feather duster to the right, and Credence gives a gasp. Percival wants to laugh, because Credence's reaction is simply too precious. The woman in the third poster, on the right, catches the duster as if it's travelled between the two posters. She drops the bottle of Procter&Gamble Cleaning Solution in her hands and instead points the feather duster at Percival, to which Percival touches his wand to.

Instantly, the wall on which the second poster hangs rotates with a large creak, and Percival steps back. He feels Credence clutching on to his coat.

The door having completely rotated, Percival steps through the now-gaping crevice with Credence in tow.

"Tuck your hat down now, Credence," Percival says quickly. "We may come across someone I know who might question you. In better circumstances, I'll show you Central Square a little better."

Credence does as he's told, trailing behind him as inconspicuously as possible, but it's a little hard for him as he struggles to intake everything. Central Square. Percival glances back every once in a while to see Credence sneaking peeks at the different shops held open and wizards/witches milling about, eyes, though hidden, had a spark of awe in them.

The two duck into a book store, where it's quiet inside, with a musty air. The bell above rings twice. Credence hovers near one of the shelves as Percival swoops in to the other shelves, quickly collecting the textbooks he had in mind. He doesn't talk to the book salesman, who seems a little put-off that someone wouldn't talk to him.

Percival looks over quickly to see Credence reading some of the titles in awe. Okay… No one seems to suspect him much… He returns to his task at hand. Transfiguration: Part One Out Of Seven, Fifteenth Ilvermorny Edition. General Potions One (Revised for Ilvermorny, Twelfth Edition). He takes the two rather heavy textbooks and brings them to the counter, where the clerk rings up his purchases—she doesn't seem to recognise who he is, thankfully.

As he takes the two textbooks in a bag, bewitched to feel lighter, he hears voices. Looking over, his heartbeat quickens to see the book salesman engage in conversation with Credence. He straightens, walking over—but as he draws near, the conversation seems to be entirely innocent.

"Yes, I did start reading Great Expectations," Credence has been saying. He's a little shy, but seems to be interested in discussing novels.

"Indeed, No-Maj authors have quite the imagination also! I'll say, I indeed look forward to Charles Dicken's work," continues the salesman. "I had to ask my supervisor if I could sell it here, but of course, you know how he feels about No-Majs... Got the title anyway, though!"

Credence meets Percival's eyes for a second before he nods politely. "I must go, sir. Thank you for your time." Percival is out the door before the book salesman can turn and see him. Credence brushes past and out the door also, joining the older man outside, where Percival is shaking his head.

"You must be careful," he says without elaborating, and Credence suddenly seems to know what he's talking about. He looks down, ashamed.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and his hands start to tremble again. "I didn't—I didn't expect him to talk to me, but he wanted to talk about novels. I'm sorry." He holds out one hand, palm upright, shaking. It has old, healed scars.

Percival blanches at the meaning of this. What sort of conditioning has he been through? He pushes Credence's hand down to his side and places another, reassuringly, on the back of Credence's neck again. "I'm not going to whip you, Credence. That is a thing of the past, and will never, ever be in your future," he says quietly. "Especially with me. No. Not at all."

Before Credence can react, already, Percival has drawn away, gripping him by his wrist. The two head to the next stop: Matilda's Potion Equipment and Ingredients. Fortunately, Matilda is sort of a batty old lady who doesn't seem to care about you—unless, of course, someone tries to shoplift. Percival and Credence leave the store, smelling of a funny, medicinal scent, holding on to a couple bags full of quirky things Credence has never seen before, and brand new, copper scales along with a sturdy, pewter black cauldron.

Percival pauses as they return to the entrance of Central Square from which they've come from. Credence is preparing himself to leave when Percival suddenly sneaks a hand into his coat, running a finger over the inside of Credence's wrist. The young man, immediately rapt, looks up to Percival, eyes on him.

"I forgot your present," Percival says, and with a smile on his face, tugs him to the side, where an old rickety building stands that Credence missed before. Credence barely catches a glance at the sign above the door before he enters.

"New York Wizarding Shelter," echoes Credence, and Percival knows from the intake of the boy's breath that he is excited, scarcely believing it. Sure enough, as they enter, Percival feels Credence automatically let go of his hand, and watches him press his face against the glass.

Owls are hooting softly in cages elevated near the ceiling, and next to the cages lay coops for flocks of cooing messenger pigeons. On floor level, glass boxes hold litters of puppies and in some other, kittens, which Credence seems delighted with. Deeper into the dimly lit shelter are signs indicating the presence of different species of toads, rats, and raccoons.

Percival gazes around, momentarily taken back to his childhood, where his mother adopted for him his first owl. His owl had passed a few years ago.

Credence turns to him, joy written into his face.

"Yes," Percival says, answering his unasked question. "Take someone home with you today. This is a shelter, not an emporium—they all need homes."

"Home," Credence repeats, and Percival flushes. Yes, home.

The volunteer at the shelter is sitting behind the counter. "Are you adopting today?" he asks Percival, gesturing at Credence, who's walking around, looking in wonder at the animals.

"Yes," Percival replies, eyes on Credence.

"He seems especially taken with the cats," the man says, getting up and going around to where Credence is standing.

Credence is watching one of the smallest cats struggling to get to the food plate, where six other kittens are knocking each other about to eat at. The tiny kitten continuously is bowled over, but resiliently gets up and attempts to reach the plate again.

"That one?" Percival asks from behind, and he's thankful for the low light in the building as he presses a hand encouragingly against Credence's back.

"I—yes, I suppose—well, he's just so…" Credence trails off, eyes on the small, tough kitten. Its fur is sleek and black. For a moment, the kitten gets distracted by the tail of another cat: an older cat. The older cat pads through the glass container; clearly a mixed one, as it's speckled with grey and black fur. A tabby mixed with something else. Credence's eyes are on that one now. The older cat easily moves through the cluster of younger kittens, and eats from the food plate easily. Now that there is a path created by the cat, the weaker, tiny black kitten makes its way through the legs of the older cat to nibble at the food too.

"I'll adopt both of them," Percival suddenly says to the volunteer. Credence looks up in surprise.

"A Christmas present for myself," Percival says explanatorily, and the volunteer nods, going into the back to fetch two portable crates and the paperwork needed to adopt.

Credence's face is lit up, and he smiles. While the volunteer is gone, he turns and presses a hug into Percival.

Chuckling a little bit, Percival strokes the back of Credence's head. "I miss my owl, but a cat's a refreshing change."

"Ma said that black cats are a bad omen," Credence says as he holds his hand out to the tiny black kitten. He's decided to name the male kitten Pip, after the main character in Great Expectations. Pip paws at Credence's fingers, mewling and batting at them. Beside them, the older, senior cat lay in a circle on Percival's carpet by the hearth, asleep.

"What do you want to name him?" Credence had asked. Percival, feeling like he had zero imagination, had leaned in, running his fingers through the old cat's fur. The cat purred gruffly, and Percival only laughed. "He reminds me of my father. Graves, I'm going to call him Graves," he had answered, to Credence's smile.

Now, Percival is arranging what they had bought for the day. "I don't think Pip will ever be a bad omen," remarks Percival. The new cat toys and beds he's bought float and arrange themselves near the fireside. "And for Graves, I have a feeling he'll only sleep all day."

Credence smiles at this, and cradles Pip in his hand. The firelight dances on him, and Percival watches for a bit. It's a picture he wishes he can store away forever: a long, gangly young man sitting by his fireplace, petting cats and looking positively otherworldly.

His cheekbones are sharp, jawline protruding, eyelashes long, nose a perfect angle… Quintana was right—he has perfect facial structure. Credence's Adam's apple bobs every other minute, all delicious curves and lines, and Percival's gaze lowers to the boy's collarbones, just as sharp, just barely peeking out from the collar of his cotton undershirt. Skin. So much skin, and the glow the fire casts upon it makes it so much more tempting.

Credence looks up at Percival staring at him, and blushes, looking away. "Let me help with dinner. It's the least I can do," he says, and gets up. The black kitten jumps around at his feet before becoming occupied with, yet again, the flicking tail of Graves.

Percival nods mutely and goes to the kitchen. How can anyone so breathtakingly beautiful be existing in his living room? Surely, if Veela were male, he has one in his house.

The two work together in silence. Percival's not sure if Credence finds it awkward—he seems to be comfortable, efficiently stirring pots and checking the heat under them. Percival easily takes care of the tomatoes, onions and carrots being peeled and chopped up with a wave of his wand.

"Where do you work, Percival? That someone would recognise you and question you?" Credence suddenly asks, recalling earlier in the day.

"I work at MACUSA. I'm the Department Head of Magical Security," says Percival. He finds himself talking about his job, about his life. Pre-Grindelwald. He talks about his beginnings as an Auror, having to Obliviate No-Majs, and first encountering the followers of Grindelwald.

"Tina Goldstein, she's one of my subordinates. We were close, and, well… Grindelwald using my body, he sentenced her and Newt Scamander to death. Not the best way to maintain friendships," Percival laughs, almost bitterly. He finds he's gripping onto his wand a little too tight. "Grindelwald did a number on us. On all of us. I find it hard trusting myself sometimes."

Credence looks sympathetic as he ladles heavenly-smelling soup into bowls and flips freshly-seared chicken breast onto white plates. He doesn't say anything, and allows Percival to continue talking.

It's rather therapeutic for the older man. At last, as they sit down to eat, and Credence pauses to say a quick prayer, Percival turns his attention to him.

He hesitates, not sure if he should inquire about Credence's past, but Credence seems to pardon him and says, without him asking, "I only handed out leaflets about the cause and cooked for the orphans. Ma expected us to do most of the work. I stopped getting schooled around sixteen, and that's what I've been doing since. I had a little sister, Modesty. She got adopted out of a family of eight. She was the nicest out of all of us. She cared about me. I believe she's gone to live with another orphanage now, but I don't know if I should try to find her. I think that's the only true love I knew. I used to think Ma loved me."

Credence's voice peters out to a mechanical tone, as if he's recounting his pain, too. It sounds as if he's taken a shot of Veritaserum. Percival is gripping the edge of the table, white knuckled—he knows what's coming. He recalls what Tina Goldstein got demoted for. With the other hand, he encircles Credence's wrist.

"Credence, we don't have to…"

But Credence continues, words tumbling out of him, as if they've been in him, festering, for a long time. Underneath, at their feet, the dark wreaths of the Obscurus begin to swirl around the table legs, up the table, around their dishes…

"I thought she did. She gave me my first beating at nine. I told her the thing inside me felt sad, and strange things kept happening. I think it was the Obscurus… I thought everyone had a thing inside. Then I grew up pushing it away, and the strange things stopped. Telling it to go away, but it's always there, always present. I think at twelve, I realised she didn't love me at all." Credence's hand twitches, and the black smoke sinks into his skin, licking up his arm as flames do.

"Then Miss Goldstein—Tina—came. I saw what I saw in Modesty. Real, true love. She stopped Ma. But she disappeared after—I think she got in trouble. And then… I met you."

Some of the Obscurus that had been snaking around Credence's arm stops at where Percival's fingers are. Percival knows. Then Grindelwald had come, masked with his face.

"I met Grindelwald. At first, I thought I saw what I saw in Modesty and Tina. He touched my face, my neck, and he'd hug me. He told me if I found a child of immense power, he would help me break free. I believed him. I didn't expect that child to be me, since he'd said it'd be a young child. He didn't, either. But when I looked at his eyes, there was something strange, something lacking. He hit me after, the night everything happened. I was so angry, so betrayed…"

Percival's teeth are gritted. His eyes are on Credence, who is staring across the table. The black smoke-like wisps are rising into the air, above the young man. He knows the story but still can't believe what he's hearing. He wants to break into the holding cells of MACUSA right now and beat the living hell out of the dark wizard—not with magic, but with his bare fists.

"Still after, you found me."

Credence suddenly stops, and his gaze shifts to meet Percival's. Just like that, like a candle being blown out, the black mass swirling around them shrinks out of view, leaving only tiny fragments drifting in the air. His voice lowers and speeds up. Percival remembers when he had first laid eyes on the boy, in that damn alley, behind a curtain of inky-black smoke.

"You found me, the real Mister Graves. In the alleyway. And your eyes didn't match the one from before. I wasn't sure, though, and I didn't trust you. But when I got closer… You were different. I could see it. Your hair's greyer, more peppery than his. And your stubble's rougher. You rub your eyes with the heel of your hand, not with your fingers. You smell like smoke and the woods. You leave one button unbuttoned on your coat; he kept them all buttoned. You stand the same way, but you are less arrogant. You are softer with your words… and your eyes…"

For the first time, Credence, with a searching, inquisitive expression on his face, maintains eye contact longer than Percival who looks away.

"You have the same kindness as Modesty and Tina. More so than I've ever seen. He had none. And you've shown me this kindness, again and again. You don't hit me, you don't think I'm a freak. You are more warm than he ever was. And…"

Credence clears his throat, as if he's struggling to get the words out.

"You love me. A real, true love."

For some ridiculous reason, Percival wildly thinks about what a prodigious student Credence would be. His attention to detail and memory are immaculate.

"I do," Percival says, still digesting everything that Credence has said. This whole section of the conversation reminds him so much of the vows at a wedding. His hand on Credence's tightens and he pulls him, almost out of his chair, into a massive embrace. "I do, so much."

Credence sighs against him, and Percival pulls away, stroking Credence's flawless face. "Do you? Do you love me?" Percival asks. His thumb brushes against Credence's upper lip. His lips… A perfect shade of red, a little chapped, a little swollen, but entirely kissable. For a second, he wonders how it'd be if he slid his finger into his mouth.

"I do," answers back Credence instantly, with no doubt. His voice is honest, urgent. "I love you."

This drives Percival's heart into overdrive. He pounces and locks his lips against the boy's, one hand still holding his face and the other reaching down to hook onto his waist. They stand now, their mouths moving in happiness against each other. Percival presses him against the table, dishes sent flying. He doesn't care; his lips have made it to Credence's jawline, where he's always envisioned it, down the jawline, down to his neck, his delightful neck…

His lips suck on and his teeth scrape against Credence's incredibly soft, pale skin: Credence moans, gives a full moan. His body pushes against Percival's, almost as if he's trying to melt into him. By the surprised look in Credence's eyes, Percival can tell he hasn't expected that reaction out of himself. The older man pauses, breathing heavily, and eyes the blossoming, dark red bruise on the younger's neck with a sense of accomplishment. I'm not that old yet, Percival thinks, before diving back to Credence's neck, determined to leave more hickeys.

"The only type of mark I want to leave on you," hisses Percival passionately against Credence's neck, and Credence, who probably doesn't know what he's talking about, only scrabbles at Percival's chest, hands trying to find something to hold on to as Percival continues to vigorously kiss his skin. He's making noises, almost like whimpers, but pleased.

Trembling, Credence's hands find Percival's face, and Percival's hands drop to wrap around his waist, raising his head to return to kissing his lips. Percival pulls the younger man even closer so the lower regions of their bodies are touching, and feels a jolt of electricity when he feels Credence hard against him. His own hardness can feel the weight of Credence.

"My boy…" Percival whispers against Credence's swollen lips, "can I interest you in a change of scenery?"

Credence, who's gasping against his mouth, nods mutely, unable to say anything. Percival pulls away for a second, realising something. "I'm not sure if you know what I'm asking of you," he says, his hands running up the length of Credence's torso to his face.

Credence only shuts his eyes, leaning into his touch. "No, I don't… but I've imagined something like this before," he says jumpily, almost as if he's confessing a private sin. Percival's mind reels in pleasure; Credence has thought about the two of them together, doing this… Credence opens his eyes, and meets his gaze, if not a little unsteady. "I want you. I'll do whatever you want." His words trail off, but it's more than enough to take Percival's breath away and in one motion, he sweeps him into his embrace and carries him upstairs.

"Merlin, you're making me lose control," Percival rumbles, voice an octave lower. Credence parts his lips, and again, Percival wonders what else can go in those lips.

Upstairs, Credence sprawls all over the bed, and Percival has already jumped on him, mouth darting from his neck to his lips again. While they're kissing, Percival reaches for Credence's shirt and tugs it, slowly, up over his chest. He feels Credence's fingers awkwardly mirroring his, trying to take off his own shirt. Allowing him, he briefly pauses kissing for the least possible amount of time to pull off Credence's shirt and for Credence to pull of his. Right away, he tries to return to Credence's lips, but the younger man has stopped in favour of touching and seeing.

A look of awe is on his face, and Percival suppresses a smile. Credence's eyes are wide, and his splayed hands roam around Percival's chest, his abdomen, then the sides of his body, where scars from old curses and hexes are scattered. He gives Credence's a reverent look-see too—he is pale and all sharp-lines. What disturbs Percival is the faded streaks along Credence's arms and waist, and he leans down to kiss the scars.

"No one will hurt you again," Percival says honestly, pressing a kiss and then passing his hands over them to heal with non-verbal magic. Credence looks up at him, blushing, and mumbles, "Thank you."

Percival returns to scouring the boy's body with his eyes. Credence's collarbone is as delicious-looking as ever, and in the dimly lit room, Credence looks edible.

Credence must be thinking the same thing about him because he now meets Percival's gaze with eyes that, for the first time, are filled with what Percival identifies as lust, and he thinks, I might go mad. In an instant, Percival feels the vibrations of the magic he'd felt yesterday. It's surrounding the two now, and Percival can visibly witness the connection of the magic between them.

Credence has paused in his writhing underneath him—he must see this too.

"You see that, right?" whispers Percival, unable to deny its existence now. Credence nods, dark hair tucked behind his ear. Percival searches his memories, his knowledge, of any magic that can be like this. Dark magic? No. Ancient magic… maybe. Most likely. But Credence moves in a way underneath him that hits the right spot and Percival stifles a groan.

It's not hurting anyone, is it? And so he decides to forget about it for now as he leans back down to kiss Credence. The feeling of his bare skin against Credence's sends imaginary sparks running through him—it feels like an electrical current is sweeping through every inch of his skin.

His hips push against the younger man's, and his response is yet another whimper—music to Percival's ears. Credence pushes back against him, mouth moving against his lips. Percival sits up, pulling Credence with him, and shimmies out of his trousers, leaving just his longer underwear on. Credence sighs once and Percival knows he's asking to get out of his trousers too.

Obliging, he pulls off the younger man's pants, and they are left shirtless with only a thin layer of cotton between them. Percival reaches back quickly for his wand, still stashed in the back pocket of his pants, and quickly magicks their underwear to unbutton and Vanish. He'll have to Conjure them later. Now—they're truly bare, skin against skin.

Credence is trembling as he clutches on to Percival's shoulders. Percival kisses him, and shifts forward, locking their legs together—and their groins touch, which has Credence shuddering and whining.

"Credence," gasps Percival breathlessly, and grasps the protruding hipbones of the boy, who involuntarily jerks against him, earning a low groan from the older man. They are touching in just the right way, their erections pressed up against each other. Percival finally lets go of his hesitance and ruts, and Credence's back arches right into him, his nails digging into Percival's shoulders.

"There we go," whispers Percival, and he uses a free hand to stroke both of them, once, twice, three times… Credence is vocal now, moaning and whimpering and shivering against him, his hips thrusting violently toward him with each stroke.

"Percival," he gets out in between his noises. Credence's voice saying his name causes a groan to escape Percival's lips.

"My boy," he answers, fighting back the urge to unleash a wicked moan, and instead presses his lips against Credence's in a powerful kiss. His hand is quickening now, grip tightening on the two of them. Credence's hips stutter—short, frantic movements, and Percival can feel where the boy is. He's almost at the edge.

He vaguely realises the vibrations of the deep magic is surrounding the room, pressing in on them, but he doesn't care—he's just as close as the boy is—he moans, deep and low against Credence's mouth, and his hips are also thrusting forward, beyond his control, stuttering now—Credence cries out against him, nails drawing blood on Credence's broad shoulders.

Percival unravels, toes curling, hair standing up. He's drifting, defying gravity, floating, unable to comprehend it all—

"Credence," repeats Percival, "Credence, Credence, Credence…" The boy's name brings him back down to earth, and Credence is still in a haze, trembling, eyes still closed, mouth still open in a delicious "o"; he's fallen back down on the bed now, body fully available for him to see. Sweat is on his forehead, with his longer black hair curled up and a stark difference against the white pillows. Percival's heart is warm at the sight.

He fumbles with the wand from the bedside before cleaning their mess with a quick spell, and, his own fingers shuddering, he climbs on top of Credence. Percival quickly covers the two of them with one of the blankets, and kisses the boy softly on the cheek.

"Percival," mutters Credence, who's finally able to formulate words again. His next words are bold, brash, and brave, and they take Percival by the heart. "I love you."

Percival smiles against the boy's skin. "I love you too, Credence. Merlin, you have no idea." He breaks into a dazed laugh, throaty and content. A smile also spreads across Credence's face, his dimples apparent. Percival kisses them worshipfully. He flips over to his side, and feels Credence shift down to rest his head on his chest.

"I wonder what that was, though. The waves," Percival muses thoughtfully. His head is full with the desire to sleep.

"Me too," mumbles Credence sleepily against his skin.

Maybe reading some of the textbooks would help to identify the strange magic. It didn't feel particularly harmful.

"I feel free," Percival hears Credence say.

"Wonderful," Percival replies, fingers combing through Credence's hair, and then massaging the back of the boy's neck. "Know that I love you, Credence. For you and you only. Nothing else. Merlin, I want to marry you, I want to be with you forever…" Credence has already stopped replying, his breathing slowed and deepened.

Percival smiles, heart feeling full and joyful, like a balloon is expanding inside. He briefly wonders what Tina or Newt Scamander might say to this. What Seraphina Picquery might say. This would be quite the scandal.

He turns his head to look at the sleeping form of Credence. Anything would be worth this. Anything.