Notes: How badly I want Percival Graves to be in the next movie as a good guy! (I don't know if it's possible though!)
One
Chapter 7
Percival wakes the next day in the most bliss he can ever imagine. His body, while aching, feels incredibly refreshed. Everything feels good. The sun is warm, peeking through the curtains into the room. He doesn't know what time it is, but it feels like around nine or ten. If he continues like this, he can pretend he has no worries whatsoever.
And the best part of this is the sleeping form next to him. Credence Barebone, naked, curled up at his side, head using his chest for a pillow. Merlin, what a beautiful view. Percival doesn't know if anything could possibly be better than this. He drinks in the sight, trying to commit every detail to memory. If only he had Credence's attention to these things…
Suddenly, Credence stirs. "Percival," he says, voice hoarse, and his eyes crinkle in a smile at the upside down view he has of the older man. Percival's stroking his hair, about to kiss him good-morning—what an edible boy, maybe he could go for another round right now—but the boy's expression changes and he bolts out of bed.
"The cats! They need to eat!"
Percival, who's shocked at first, falls back against the bed, a laugh bubbling in his throat. A kind, compassionate boy he is.
They spend the morning in an idyllic fashion, gravitating towards one another constantly and talking softly, sharing food. Percival is positively taken. Credence must be an angel. Or something. Can't be human. He's partly sure about the male-Veela theory. The boy has a smattering of bruises around his neck, bright and self-explanatory—Credence Barebone is Percival's.
All morning, Credence had been freely proclaiming how free he feels. How light he feels.
"I feel like I can do anything," he'd said, and happiness colours every word. Percival had laughed and run his fingers through the boy's lengthening hair, pulling him in for a kiss. Percival feels like he can do anything too, like life is worth living, MACUSA is worth defending…
Credence is now in the living room, writing notes in his book while reading the spellbook with Pip in his lap. He's practicing Lumos with his wand when Percival sees the No-Maj mailman drop off the mail through the mail slot in the bewitched door. The mail instantly sorts itself into a pile nearby. Graves, the senior cat, meows from his position facing the door. Walking over, Percival looks through the mail, and finds an envelope addressed to him, from none other than Newt Scamander.
Updates. Messenger pigeons and owls drop their mail off discreetly at No-Maj postal offices, so this letter couldn't be more than a day old. Heart beating fast, Percival slides into the kitchen chair and taps the envelope with his wand, and it slides open, with a letter unfolding itself and hovering in front of him. It's a short, scribbled message.
Dear Mr. Graves,
Excellent news! I'll be coming by earlier than scheduled. Tina and Queenie have been keeping me updated. I think progress is occurring a lot faster than I anticipated. I'll be by December Twenty-fourth. Christmas Eve! Can you believe it? Very excited to meet you and to see Credence again! Once the Obscurus is separated, we will be taking him to MACUSA, and registering him. I know you will be returning to your duties soon—I may take care of Credence afterward.
Well done and thank you. Please come to the Goldsteins' apartment at midnight tonight—December Twenty-third.
Newt Scamander.
Percival draws away, confused. Progress? What progress? He looks at the clock on the wall, which displays both time and date. Scamander's coming back tomorrow, or rather, midnight tonight. Percival skims through the message another time. What does he mean, 'well done'?
"Credence!" Percival calls, and the boy comes quickly, holding a wand with a wonderfully bright light at the end.
"Oh, good job," Percival says in approval, before gesturing at the floating paper. "Newt Scamander will be arriving tomorrow, ahead of schedule."
Credence's eyes widen in delight. "Oh! That's great news, right?" Percival smiles weakly in response. The younger man turns his attention to the letter, his eyes sweeping through the lines.
I know you will be returning to your duties soon—I may take care of Credence afterward.
Credence's eyebrows furrow at this as he repeats it aloud. He turns to face Percival.
"Mr. Scamander's suggesting that you stay with him, since I have to go back to work," Percival answers haltingly.
"Oh," is all Credence says, and It's a small, quiet, "Oh".
"I—I know you probably don't want to stay here on your own, cooped up, after you can finally live your own life," Percival says. "I—well, Scamander would probably take very good care of you. He'd probably take you on adventures, the man's a magizoologist…"
"Scamander isn't you," responds Credence, and his voice has a finality to it. "I want to stay with you." He looks up, and sits next to him at the table. "You promised me, remember? You'd be here with me… you'd teach me…"
Percival straightens his back. "Indeed," he says determinedly. He wants Credence at his side, desperately, more than ever. "Scamander and I will discuss this. Your best interest is at heart."
Credence clutches his hand suddenly. "Please, Percival. No matter what, I want to stay with you. Let me live with you. I'll get a job, I'll support myself. Please…"
Percival takes his hand and presses it to his face. "Of course, my boy." His eyes linger on Credence's, filling with love and adoration.
Later that night, Percival gets dressed and watches Credence shoulder on his old coat. Credence had refused to buy another one, saying he wanted this one for his own. Percival can only smile at this.
Credence has some doubts as they are about to leave the house.
"Percival… I remember Mr. Scamander told me that he knew someone like me. He knew a girl who was an Obscurial. He separated the Obscurus, but the girl died before he could save her," Credence says, and looks intently at Percival, who is a bit taken off guard. This is new information, and Percival's not sure if he wants to hear it now. "If that happens to me, I want to remember you like this—"
"Don't be silly, Credence," interrupts Percival. "Don't say that. It won't happen—Mr. Scamander will know what to do. You are strong." He presses a quick kiss to the boy's lips, wondering if he can transfer all the love he feels under his skin to him. In no universe will anything happen to Credence under Percival's watch.
The two step off into the darkness, illuminated by New York's glow, and they Apparate.
Arriving in front of the Goldsteins' apartment duplex, Percival approaches the door and knocks. A bit of shuffling occurs behind the door and it swings open to reveal a very disgruntled landlady. "Excuse me! Who are you looking for!?" she shrieks. "No man lives in this building!"
Percival steps back, surprised, Credence stumbling behind him down the steps. "Oh, I'm sorry—I'm looking for—"
"Hey! That's no one, no worries, just vacuum salesmen…" From within, Tina's voice rings out, and she pushes the landlady away, who limps, muttering angry words back to her door.
"Percival, Credence!" Tina says, smiling widely, face finally appearing at the door. "Quietly now, come in…" She looks back, watching the landlady enter her door before gesturing the two men in.
They make their way upstairs silently with the help of some Muffliato charms, and Percival is back in the warm, floral-scented apartment of the Goldsteins'.
Credence is considerably less shy now; he smiles and waves at Queenie, who's inside cooking. Percival inclines his head hello.
"My, oh my," Queenie says, circling the two, and gestures for them to sit. She fluffs her blonde hair, frowning at the length of Credence's. "Credence, darling, I'd very much like to give you a quick haircut."
"Oh, leave him, Queenie!" Tina says, waving her hand. "He'll be fine."
"That's not what you said when I offered to give you a haircut," teases Queenie. "You wanna look all dolled up for Newt, huh honey?"
Tina only blushes furiously as she rolls her eyes and continues to clean out the guest room.
Internally, Percival is very thankful that Queenie doesn't say anything as she looks knowingly between the two of them. He's also thankful that both the Goldstein sisters did not comment on the marks visible on the boy's neck, which is only slightly visible if he ever leans down. He cringes a little, inside, to think of the things that Queenie must be seeing in Credence's head. Surely she's seen worse in other minds, but it's mildly embarrassing… But—at the same time, Percival isn't ashamed at all. He can't be prouder of his feelings towards Credence, and knowing the boy reciprocated them…
As it draws closer to midnight, Tina grows increasingly more fussy, much to a chagrined Queenie and an amused Percival and Credence. Tina clearly is excited for the magizoologist to come back. As Queenie banters back and forth with her sister, the two men decide to help pack the cooked food into boxes. Apparently, they're packed lunches—Percival privately takes note of that, thinking he'd have to start using that idea for when he returns to work. And maybe for Credence. It's a real money-saver, packing lunches.
The clock strikes midnight, with twelve resounding chimes from the Goldsteins' cuckoo clock in the kitchen.
A hush falls over the room. Credence is asking, "Should we be expecting him at the door?" when a loud crack resonates through the room, causing him to jump and Percival to lean forward eagerly. Newt Scamander—this might be interesting.
A young man, not much older than Tina, appears, having been given permission through the Goldsteins' wards. He's wearing a pale blue, wool jacket, and his head is topped with messy red hair, sticking up in the oddest directions. His eyes, a nice green, crinkle in a grin as he embraces Tina, and then Queenie. He stops in front of Percival, holding out his hand in warm greeting. Percival notices he constantly skirts eye contact—he attributes this not to suspicious behaviour but to plain, pure social awkwardness.
"Hello, Mr. Graves. It is a pleasure to meet you at last," Scamander says, and Percival gives him a firm handshake.
"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Scamander. Please, call me Percival," Percival replies, smiling formally.
"Likewise, call me Newt," smiles Newt. His green eyes flicker over Percival's, as he seems to be mulling over something. "Grindelwald's impersonation of you wasn't bad. But he missed something."
"Oh?"
"You lack the coldness that Grindelwald has. You're a much nicer man. Thank you for taking care of Credence."
Percival can't say he's not pleased. "I like you already, Newt," he announces, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Grindelwald also lacked a sense of humour and wouldn't have said that," Credence suddenly adds from behind them. Percival is pleasantly surprised by Credence's brave addition to the conversation, a surge of pride running through him. Newt brushes past him and observes Credence, who is watching him, with an air of caution but interest.
Newt's voice is friendly and gentle, lilting in a British accent. "Ah, Credence… Nice to meet you. Let me introduce myself properly: Newt Scamander, Magizoologist, Beast Division at the Ministry of Magic, and future author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, a title coined by Tina over here."
Credence looks captivated by the new words he hears—Ministry of Magic —and shakes his outstretched hand. "Credence Barebone."
It suddenly strikes Percival that Newt is just really good at reaching out to hurting, vulnerable beings—whether they are human or beast. Maybe that's why he took such a liking to the magizoologist immediately.
The adults in the room look at one another in a bit of an awkward pause before Newt suddenly brandishes his suitcase, settling it down on the floor. He flips open the two switches and the case creaks open. "Well, let's all take a trip downstairs and do what we can for Credence over here, shall we?"
Percival looks at it curiously, registering it as one of the bewitched objects you can enter, and then glance at Credence, who is staring in confusion at the suitcase.
"Downstairs?" the boy asks, and Newt looks like he's repressing a smile. Percival strides over and runs his hand over the back of Credence's neck, smiling.
"Remember that section about bewitching things in The History of Magic?" he asks, and Credence's mouth drops open as Newt climbs into the suitcase, seemingly fitting his whole body inside before disappearing out of sight.
Tina and Queenie giggle and follow suit. Percival and Credence, left in the now-empty apartment, look at each other.
"You are welcome to go first," Percival says, unable to resist a smile. Credence, gaping, makes his way over to the edge of the suitcase.
"What…?" he says, and Percival can see his mind working to make sense of it.
"That'll be about level six of our Charms textbook and Transfiguration," explains Percival matter-of-factly, and Credence only nods in mute understanding before he, at last, clambers into the suitcase. With a startled yelp, he disappears, and Percival laughs a little, fondly, before following him.
The suitcase clicks shut above him.
"This is wonderful," Credence says, in a voice filled with awe. "I can't… Wow."
Around them, outside of the wooden shack, there is a dark night sky and a moon that illuminates long blades of grass that extend as far as the eye can see, and an atmosphere that is filled with millions of crickets and a cool night breeze—the type created in a vast expanse. And they are in a suitcase.
Even Percival is impressed. "This is quality wandwork, Newt," he says, tapping the worn, dusty floors below him with his black leather shoes.
Newt nods in thanks and flourishes around him. "I just want to educate wizards on the keeping and health of these creatures. They are absolutely magnificent."
A tiny green creature peeks out from his lapel, and Percival peers closer. "A Bowtruckle?"
"Indeed," Newt says, lifting the Bowtruckle out from hiding. "His name's Pickett." He dangles Pickett from his finger towards Credence, who is amazed, eyes wide.
"My kitten's named Pip," he says quietly, trailing off, which makes the group laugh.
Newt continues to give them all a tour of the interior of the suitcase. Credence is astounded at every new creature present. He fondly pets the mooncalves and gapes eagerly at the Erumpent. There is a space of open plains, empty and massive, where, according to Newt, a Thunderbird named Frank used to live. "I may use this space to study other beasts—I'm heading to Southeast Asia soon," Newt says excitedly.
As they get to the Niffler, who's especially attracted to Percival for some reason—turns out to be the pocketwatch he carries—Credence turns to Newt. "Some day, may I return and bring a notebook with me? I… I want to remember this."
"Of course," answers Newt. "You are always welcome." Hs attention is now fully on the boy. "I believe it's time to give you a check up."
They have come back to the shed. A couple of rickety chairs provide somewhere for the Goldsteins and Percival to sit. Plants line the shelves inside, along with vials of mysterious liquids and potions. Papers are strewn on the desk, filled with line after line of complicated description of different beasts.
Percival settles, watching Newt pitter patter around his "office" of sorts. He comes out with an instrument that resembles a No-Maj stethoscope.
Credence freezes a little, which causes Percival to stand and come over.
"Do you want me to…"
Credence nods silently, and his hand reaches out for Percival's, who grips him in a firm, reassuring fashion.
"Alright," Newt mumbles thoughtfully from behind them. "Let's check on the status of this Obscurus, okay?" He approaches and politely asks for Credence to smooth back his hair. With a normal No-Maj stethoscope, Percival knows, the doctor listens to the person's heartbeat. But, Newt places his earpieces in and the instrument is pressed to Credence's forehead instead of his chest.
Newt is completely still, unmoving. His eyes are closed in concentration. Credence, eyes wide, stays immobile, watching Newt.
Newt's face flickers from a pokerface to joy and then back in the matter of two seconds. He pulls away, saying nothing, before walking back into his shack. He returns with a clipboard, seeming out of breath.
"Frankly, I…"
Percival watches him with anticipation. A sudden fear grips him—what if it is incurable? What if it can't be separated? What if—what if he can't be saved… what if he dies, like the girl? Nonsense, he thinks immediately. Credence's face is unreadable, but he is focused intently on Newt, as are Tina and Queenie. The air, heavy and intense, weighs on Percival greatly.
"I've never seen something so cleanly separated before."
Percival mind spins. "Separated?"
Newt nods, tapping his quill to his chin, before analysing Credence. His eyes linger thoughtfully over the hickeys on Credence's neck, to which both Credence and Percival flush and look away.
"I see…" Newt muses, and scribbles something on the clipboard, before flipping to new page. "I have some questions for you," he says, and settles comfortably onto a stool.
Percival, still holding on to Credence, begins to let go and walk back to his chair but Newt signals for him to stay. "These questions are for you too, Percival. Important things. Both of you are to answer."
Queenie coughs and stands up, taking Tina's hands. "Come, Tina, let's feed the mooncalves," she says, and Tina seems to understand and the two flit away.
"Privacy," Newt explains after Credence's look of confusion. Percival has no idea where this is going, but he pulls over a chair and sits next to Credence, holding on to his wrist still. "Well, okay… first question. Please answer honestly. Have you been experiencing any visions of ancient magic? Vibrations and such?"
Percival jerks upright. "Yes, that's exactly what I've—what we've been experiencing," he says. Was this connected? Beside him, Credence nods. "They've been occurring often in the past couple of days. It didn't seem particularly harmful."
Newt makes a noise and scribbles something, before looking back up (eyes not meeting theirs, of course).
"Do you two have feelings for each other? Of love?"
Percival is entirely taken off guard. Credence seems to be the same, blushing deeply. "Ah—yes," answers Percival, after an uncomfortable pause, but steady. "Yes."
"Have you professed these feelings to one another?"
Feeling as if he is in a Healer's appointment at the wizarding hospital, Percival nods affirmatively, and he feels Credence's fingers squeeze his.
Newt mmhmms and is writing more on his clipboard, checking objects off.
"Interesting. And… have you physically expressed this love?"
Percival and Credence both stare at him. Newt coughs and then gestures neutrally at the ring of hickeys on Credence's neck.
"I'm assuming so. Was there a consummation?"
If Percival was drinking water, he'd do a spit take right about now. Credence has flushed a crimson red. "Consummation—I mean, yes, I guess—"
"Okay, that explains a lot," Newt says, jumping off his stool. "And you two have sort of pledged yourselves to one another? Or thought about it, in your heart? As in—you truly mean it?"
Percival blinks. How does he know? It hadn't been an official ceremony or anything, but Percival had already decided on it. Beside him, Credence answers resolutely, "Yes."
Touched, Percival nods his assent as well.
Newt places his clipboard under his arm and claps his hands. "Well, that's it, gentlemen. Your Obscurus is, for sure, separated. Just not extracted."
"I—what?" Percival is shocked. A hope has begun to spring from him.
Newt smiles. "Well, an Obscurus feeds on hatred and anger. Love can drive it out. Love at the level of yours—to the point of physical consummation, of becoming one together, one flesh—well that, that is strong enough to choke the life force of the Obscurus."
He swirls his wand, summoning his book. "Most Obscurials do not live past ten because they do not experience enough love, especially in their circumstances, and are eaten up by the Obscurus. Gradual parental, familial and friendship love would suffice, but usually it is not the case in most. Credence has surpassed that by sheer power, and with your type of love, Percival, the Obscurus has separated.
The magic you two have been experiencing, seeing the vibrations and whatnot around you, is the work of the ancient magic. Connecting the two of you together, joining you as one being, thus prying the hands of the Obscurus from your soul, Credence. Love can do many a thing. For example," and Newt stops to gesture for the two of them to follow him.
"I've theorized that if, say, a person was attempting to kill you—and someone who loves you deeply steps in front and sacrifices a life—well, after the person attempts to harm you, he or she simply cannot. The love that binds the two persons together into one is strong enough for anything, even a killing curse."
Percival understands now, and he only holds on to Credence's arm tighter as they trail behind him through the changing environments. Newt turns around and, at the two of them, chuckles a little bit.
"Your feelings are incredibly strong for one another. I've never seen it develop so fast. And powerfully, too. I was planning by January second it would be done, but Tina was telling me… so today it was…"
"Wait, what?" Percival says, Auror mind putting two and two together. He roughly grabs Newt by the elbow, pulling him to a stop. "You're telling me that you knew this was going to happen?"
Newt is entirely unfazed by his manhandling. Credence is also shocked, watching him with surprised eyes.
"Yes, I sort of knew that putting you together would be the solution," Newt says cheerfully. He lowers his voice conspiratorially. "Not only good for Credence, but especially good for you too, Percival."
Percival can't believe his ears. This man essentially has been playing matchmaker for the past month. It was to save Credence's life, but still, Percival doesn't know how to feel: partly flustered as if he's been used without permission, but partly relieved he has been.
His eyes are on Newt, who is smiling sheepishly with a hint of mischief, gaze flickering between the two of them, and it occurs to Percival that the Brit is much smarter than he lets on to be.
"Thank you," Percival finally says.
They arrive outside an entrance into another dimension. It's snowy inside, almost like a blizzard is blowing through the snowscape. They step through. The temperature drops about twenty degrees to one that makes Percival shiver. Around them, white-capped mountains loom. Credence slips on the coat he's been carrying—Percival's coat—and Newt Conjures a chair. He gestures for Credence to sit.
The extraction.
Percival watches apprehensively as Newt takes a deep breath, taking his wand from his pocket.
"Credence, I'm going to extract the Obscurus out of you now," he says. "This may hurt a little bit." Credence nods, and Percival instantly is at his side, offering his hand for comfort.
"Can you think of Grindelwald for me? Or can you think of your worst memory, or something that will tear at your heart? It will lure a tinge of the Obscurus to the surface."
Credence visibly pales but he is determined. He shuts his eyes, holding onto the armrests of the chair. Percival doesn't know what he's imagining, but in a few moments, he witnesses different emotions play through the boy's face. Sadness, fear, anger. In a moment, it's almost like they're resonating with Percival's feelings, too.
"That's it," whispers Newt, who is now swirling his wand, eyes fixed on Credence. He murmurs incantations after, a quiet, low hum. Percival tightens his grip on Credence's hand, but Newt places his fingers on the older man's shoulders.
"Let go," the magizoologist instructs urgently.
Reluctant, but recognising the gravity of the situation, Percival begins to let go, unfurling his fingers. Instantly, Credence's knuckles are white on the edges of the armrests—the absence of Percival's hand's comforting weight seems to trigger the boy.
Newt resumes murmuring incantations, and Credence seems to be curling into himself, shoulders hunching. He's whimpering like an injured animal, and Percival is reminded of the first time he found the boy wrapped up in sheets, covered with a cold sweat, and pleading with a false mother in his nightmares.
Black smoke unravels from Credence's head, first snaking out of his ears and then his eyes and nose and mouth, clouding the boy's features. Tendrils of it curl around his neck, down his torso, then up into midair. More and more pour out, joining the hovering, accumulating mass of black matter—of Obscurus. Inside are flashes of light, as if a lightning storm is occurring within.
Newt points his wand at the cloudy formation, volume of his spells increasing.
Credence is shaking, trembling, and Percival is so torn at this it's almost as if he has an Obscurus tearing at the insides of his soul himself. He wants so badly to comfort Credence, his Credence.
The Latin words tumbling from Newt's mouth suddenly stop as a transparent but tangible substance is emitted from the magizoologist's wand. It encases the hovering Obscurus, closing it in as if it were a large, unpoppable bubble. Sagging, Credence suddenly gasps for air, as if he's finally allowed to breathe properly. Newt stands back, now carefully elevating the contained mass of Obscurus above their heads. He lowers his wand before he quickly picks up his clipboard and scribbles furiously on it—probably notes.
"How do you feel, Credence?" he asks, after pausing his writing. Percival cautiously approaches, and Newt signals with his hand he's good to go. Relieved, Percival comes back into contact with Credence's hand again, and Credence returns his grasp, seeming to breathe deeply.
"Better," the young man says, smiling. He looks a little less pale, with some more colour in his cheeks.
He stands, a little unstable, and leans against Percival for support.
Newt smiles at them both, running a hand through his coloured hair. "Good news for you both, gentlemen. That Obscurus is one hundred per cent extracted," he announces, and Credence suddenly stumbles forward to wrap his arms around the magizoologist. Percival smiles, watching him, feeling giddy with relief. There is liberation on Credence's face.
"Thank you, Newt," he says sincerely.
"You're very welcome. Hopefully you won't mind that I keep the Obscurus, though—it is powerless now, and if it makes you feel more comfortable, you are less of a potential threat now than Percival here," Newt replies, smiling widely, gaze meeting Credence and Percival's for a moment.
Percival chuckles, and his hand finds Credence's again.
"I'll be writing to MACUSA, maybe giving them some forewarning—tomorrow morning, we'll head down."
There is a look of renewed hope on Credence's face. The trio turn and return through the opening, leaving behind the clump of dark smoke in the frigid air.
"Graves, you didn't think of telling me this until now?" asks an exasperated Seraphina Picquery.
Her hands are on her hips and her brows knit together as she looks over the figure of Credence Barebone, whose existence, in the past two hours, has been reintroduced to MACUSA. Newt, who had the separated and removed Obscurus hovering beside him, was watching the two with a bemused interest. Tina, standing on the other side of Newt, is twiddling her thumbs.
Seraphina and Percival's relationship was an often tumultuous, strained one, but had a firm foundation of friendship built from their fierce competition in Ilvermorny. Percival spreads his hands placatingly. "Madam President, you would have had him in a holding cell the moment I told you."
"I should have you in a holding cell now for hiding this information from me," Picquery retorts, and then pinches the bridge of her nose. "You ought to thank Mr. Scamander here for separating that Obscurus from Mr. Barebone, and returning him back to a normal wizarding citizen."
Newt mumbles a quick "I wasn't really the one who separated it" and Credence fidgets, clearly excited at the mention of "normal wizarding citizen". Percival bows his head, hiding his smile.
"Regardless. Mr. Barebone, with input from the magizoologist's observations, a Leglimens, as well as a few witnesses, I have deemed you fit to return to society, provided that you receive a wand, that you obtain the proper wizarding schooling in line with the Congress' Academic Curriculum—Graves has claimed responsibility for that—and that you submit to semi-annual check-ups here at MACUSA."
Tina pumps the air with her fist, before quickly calming herself to stay still next to a grinning Newt. Percival can feel an exuberant feeling building within his chest. Credence's eyes are wide, drinking in all of Picquery's words. "Thank you, ma'am… Madam President," he says reverently. Even the stern lines of Picquery's face soften at the child-like wonder and joy written on Credence's face.
"You're welcome, Credence," she says, calling him by his first name. She pauses, studying him and then Percival briefly, with a thoughtful intensity only the President can summon, before she Conjures a parcel from midair with her wand. Handing it to Credence, she continues. "Good luck, Credence. Your citizenship papers and other necessary paperwork are in there. We may call you for Grindelwald's trial, and Graves as well—but we've already got most of your information. The Ministry of Magic in Britain are seeking to take him after this."
Credence nods mutely, starstruck, clutching the parcel in his bony fingers like a lifeline—evidence that he belongs to a society of wizards and witches in New York.
"I look forward to hear of your progress. I should find that you will enjoy obtaining a wand," Picquery says, and Percival is dumbfounded at the tone of her voice—a little friendlier! Picquery must be changing too, or at least growing a little fonder of the boy.
"Already got him one," Percival says, a mischievous, smug tinge to his voice. He steers Credence around, and Newt and Tina—bright folk—have already fled out the door. Should Picquery challenge him to a race for Credence's affections, he'd beat her at it too, like that one Quidditch match when they were fifteen.
Picquery's gaze snaps up to him as Percival heads quickly towards the door, with the young man in tow.
"What? You got him a wand? Illegally? Graves, I'm going to kill you—"