A/N- Trigger and content warnings for mentions and depictions of blood, torture, injuries, pain, war, death, etc.
And I am so sorry I forget to post this for those of you using this site instead of ao3. I find that one a little more user friendly and I have been using it more frequently. But I will keep posting on this site, especially since I like the editing process better here.
Percival Graves bled out on the floor for a second time.
He lost count of how many times the Cruciatis Curse was used on him, burning through his body. It locked his muscles in place and tore screams from his throat, but the Aurors had nothing on Grindelwald. That man had torture down to an art. He could make it so that Percival could not even scream at the curse. The Aurors were sloppy, hesitating a bit, save for the eager one.
But of course, that was not the only curse they used. They locked his muscles and limbs, used Stinging Hexes on him, rent gashes into his flesh, spilling his blood across the floor. He heard bones snap and felt the agony, the Aurors all taking turns with him, Grindelwald watching.
The man did nothing, said nothing, but he was there, and Percival tried to resist, tried to lock himself away, just go away from the world. It had been a time since he had been tortured like this, and it was like he had forgotten how potent the pain and fear could be.
He tried not to, but he screamed. He screamed long and loud, his cries of agony ringing out through the dungeon, tearing his throat and wasting his precious breath, and yet it could not express everything he was feeling.
He also heard Leta. He had no idea if she was at the hole or not, if she was watching or not, but he heard her.
"No! No, stop it! Stop it! Stop hurting him! Don't you see he's been through enough?! Stop it!" she screamed, but no one appeared to hear her.
Other times, he heard his name, spoken by her voice, ringing out. She said things to him, but he didn't know they were. He didn't hear properly. But he clung to it, some part of him did, as he went in and out of consciousness, resurfacing to more agony. Why this proved their loyalty, Percival didn't know, but he was used to it. These group only used spells, did not get blades or bodies involved, but it was still agony.
"Enough." Grindelwald's voice finally cut through it all.
All at once, it all stopped, and the effects of the spells melted away, Percival collapsing on the floor. He felt brittle, like his bones were made of cracked glass, like he could shatter at any moment. Tears leaked from his eyes, and he stared at the glistening substance pooling on the stone. It looked black in the light, but against his skin it was brilliant red.
He could smell it. Taste it. Feel it. It sent him spinning oddly, back to the old tortures, back to the one that had just happened, and he couldn't move his broken body, afraid he truly would shatter. Embers stirred among his glass bones, waiting to rekindle the dying fire, and he only had the strength to inhale sharply when the eager Auror ignored Grindelwald's order and struck him with another spell.
His body arched in agony, and he couldn't even tell what spell it was at this point, more blood racing across the stone as the torture continued.
"I said, enough!" Grindelwald snarled, moving for the first time.
Through the flickering haze his vision had been reduced to and the ringing in his ears, Percival watched as the man drew his wand and cast the Auror against the wall, taking two strides and then pinning him there with physical force. His hand clenched the Auror's jaw and shoved his head harshly into the stone, Percival sliding away as Grindelwald's lips began to move again.
Black took him. Black spat him back out to the agony.
Someone knelt before him. A pale hand cupped his cheek. Mismatched eyes looked down at him, brows drawn.
"Percival. Oh, Merlin, Percival..." Leta's voice cut through the ringing, sounding choked.
Grindelwald said nothing, raising his wand. Percival watched him through flashes of black, wishing to see that green light on the tip. Instead, with the movements of the wand and a hand, he felt healing magic infuse his body.
He slipped away. He slipped back. And then, finally, the blackness kept him in its grasp, as familiar as a friend, an angel, whisking him away from the agony, from the man in front of him, from the crying that stabbed into him like a knife.
OOOOO
She smelled of roses.
Not the sweet, cloying kind, but the kind that was a deep, sensuous mix of spice and sweet with an earthy undertone, the magic kind he could never remember the name of, but he always gifted her with.
The smell engulfed him as he kissed her neck, his hand tangling in the golden curls and waves she usually kept covered in public. It delighted him to no end that only he got to see her in all her beauty. Only he got to see her in her entirety.
Of course, he returned the favor. Only allowed his complete true self to show around her. She was the only one he wanted to see it.
He slid his lips up to hers and her arms drew him closer, insistent. Commanding, and demanding he obey. Percival Graves did not take orders from just anyone. And these days, he gave more orders than he received. But when she commanded him, he was only too happy to obey. She was his weakness. His match. Love he had never thought he would find. And he was willing to give himself to her completely, even without a command.
"Seraphina."
He whispered it like a prayer between kisses, drinking her in, the feel of her hair, her skin, her lips, the scents that clung to her, the taste of her. She smiled against his mouth, running her fingers through his hair, capturing the strands and not releasing him.
It was so rare they got time like this together. They had to act in secret and steal their moments, but when they managed it... It was something that belonged to them alone, something no one could take away. Here and now, in these moments they got together, they were not President Picquery and Director Graves. They were simply Seraphina and Percival, Sera and Percy, and they were completely themselves. No mantle to bear, no title and rank or legacy to uphold or live up to. And one day, they would be like this in every moment. She had promised him, and he would hold her to it.
He kissed her, long and slow, and took her in his arms, pulling her close, suddenly feeling an indescribable sense of loss, and grief. He had no idea where that had come from, but he held her close, having the sense that if he let go, she would slip away. She said nothing and the feeling faded, until everything was it had been before. Peaceful. Right. Their time. No one but them.
"Percival." Seraphina said, looking up at him, her brown eyes filled with love, looking at him like he had her.
He kissed her, propped above her, pulling her to him, the sheets tangling around them. They felt colder, suddenly. The scent of roses was fading.
"Percival." Seraphina repeated, and her voice was different.
He looked at her, confused, something swimming in his mind. Suddenly everything was wrong.
"Percival." This time the voice was clearer and louder, accented, different.
"Percival. Percival, please, please wake up. Percival!"
He looked down at Seraphina, confused, and she was looking up at him, horror on her beautiful face, confusion in her eyes.
"You're bleeding." she said, pulling her hand from him.
Her fingertips shone with blood, bright in the candlelight, and he stared at it. He touched his chest with his own fingers. They came away red.
"Percival?"
"Percival? Percival, please, say something."
His eyes slid open, reluctantly, feeling like they had been cursed shut, but they opened, and then he was hit with the pain. His body felt as brittle as glass, his head as heavy stone, and slowly, his surroundings began to swim into focus around him, the past receding.
The walls of Seraphina's bedroom were no longer around him. There scent of roses was gone. The warmth and comforting familiarity as well. Cold stone walls and the smell of blood, no comfort. Nothing.
He groaned without moving, the pain pulsing with each beat of his heart, and he wished he hadn't woken up. A sense of loss and pain was now in his heart, and he knew it was caused by Seraphina's absence. And, slowly, things came back to him.
Grindelwald. The Aurors. The torture. The spells. The pain. The blood. Grindelwald, healing him. Wishing the darkness would take him and never let go.
"Percival?" the voice said again, and he realized it was Leta.
He tried to say her name, anything, because her voice was soaked with worry and fear, but nothing but a harsh, broken rasp came out. He coughed, his throat dry, the stale taste of blood and something else lingering, and he tried to sit up, which was a mistake. His glass body felt like it shattered, and he collapsed back on the bed (how had he wound up there?), some pathetic, broken noise escaping his raw throat.
"Don't move. I just... Oh, I thought you were dead. Grindelwald said something about it being too much..." Leta said, and he heard her voice waver.
It was suddenly very important to him that she not worry and that he soothe her, that he let her see him (though she probably could, given the place his bed was and the hole), but he couldn't do anything. Any movement sent stabs of pain through him, and the smell of fresh blood was coiling up his nostrils, making him shake. His sudden movement was bringing blackness to the edges of his vision, and it flickered again, Leta's voice suddenly coming from very far away, or perhaps from underwater. He slipped under the black again.
Now he sat at the dinner table in his father's house, sitting across from his father, and he remembered this. This was the last time he had seen his father. He knew that, and yet that knowledge was so far away. They were eating in silence. It hadn't been a good visit. Percival knew his father was disappointed in him. He didn't know about Seraphina and had been ranting at him for not 'doing his duty' and providing sons to continue the family line. Not that Percival thought he and Seraphina would have children, though witches and wizards could have them longer than a No-Maj. His father never said it, but Percival knew it. He knew his father had given up on the idea of his male heir producing more male heirs years ago. He had done another duty, joined the Aurors, and though his father had pushed him to it, he had wanted it for himself all the same. And yet his current rank, all the things he had done, never seemed to be enough. He was an adult now as well, had joined the Army and fought in the Great War, and still... Never enough. Never one word of praise out of his father's mouth. Always something more to live up to.
He also knew his father wondered who he had wanted to give his mother's ring too and had asked, but Percival had refused to tell. Had simply said it wasn't the time for them to marry. Seraphina's promise lingered in his mind, even now, but he didn't say it. His father would find out when it was official, and he liked Seraphina.
"I'm being sent to Europe." Percival said finally said, breaking the silence.
His father had stopped and looked up at him. Robert Graves looked a lot like Percival, but Percival often thought his father looked colder, harsher, than he did, though perhaps that was his perspective. Maybe his father didn't really look that way, or maybe Percival thought he didn't when he did, but it didn't matter. He saw a flicker of emotion on his father's face, quickly concealed, like he had seen the day he had gone off to war.
"Why?"
"Grindelwald. An international team is being assembled. He's been tracked to Austria. Too many European Aurors have fallen. Their best. The senior ones. Madam Picquery offered assistance. She wants to stop it before it spreads to American soil more than it already has." Graves replied, taking a sip of his wine.
"How big of a team?" his father asked.
"I'm not sure yet. I'll be taking a Port-Key tomorrow. Meet the rest of them." Percival replied, though he did know.
He knew exactly the amount and had already memorized all their names. He knew who they were. And he also knew he had been placed in charge, as he was the only Auror offered up with such a high rank. There would be Aurors from the Confederation there as well, but he would still be in charge.
He didn't say this because he did not want to see how much his father approved or blood arrogance or anything like that. He only told him... Because he knew he might not come back. Few had survived Grindelwald. It was a potential suicide mission. But the Dark wizard had to be stopped.
"Is your information good?"
"It seems to be. I'll know more tomorrow."
"No one has survived him." his father said flatly, looking at him.
Did his father actually care? Was this affection he was showing?
"I know. But there will be more of us this time. From all over the world. He can't stop us all." Percival said, remembering the long talks he had had with Seraphina.
He knew she was afraid for him. But she couldn't not send him because of their relationship. He had volunteered as well. Grindelwald needed to be stopped.
"Percy..." his father said, and this made something in Percival's stomach flip over.
His father hadn't called him Percy since he was five years old.
"Be careful. Please. Come back." his father said, looking him in the eyes.
Percival swallowed hard, not daring to show a breath of emotion at this. That was probably the most caring his father had ever said to him.
He nodded dutifully, like he had all his life.
The black spat him back out.
He heard Leta again, singing, and the notes spiraled around him, making him want to reach out, to say something, anything, but he couldn't.
The black wanted him back, and it took him.
Now he was in the trenches, a gun leaning next to him. His wand carefully hidden in an enchanted pocket, though the Statute of Secrecy technically forbade it. But no wizard in their right mind was going to go to war without his wand, laws be damned.
It was a miserable, cold, rainy day and the Americans were mixed with the Brits, the field of battle quiet for now, a fragile sense of calm at the moment. They were huddled together for warmth and company, smeared with mud, talking and telling stories to distract themselves and escape.
There was one Brit, shaking with cold, a little younger than Percival, he claimed, but he looked much younger. He was a wizard; Percival had seen him secretly use his wand to help heal another soldier so he would live until the medics got there. He had auburn curls peaking beneath his helmet and his blue eyes were fierce and determined. Percival had no idea what his name was, everyone just called him Pup. There was probably a story behind that, given the fact he wasn't even closest to the youngest, but Percival didn't ask.
They told stories. They showed off photographs of loved ones or talismans they had been sent off with. They shared meals, traded things, all sorts of things like that.
Unfortunately, that frigid peace didn't last long. It was war and breaks from fighting never lasted long. Percival couldn't remember how long ago that day in the trench had been, but not long after, the world was ending.
The whine of machine guns and the crack of bullets being fired filled the air, shells being launched, men screaming, men dying. Percival fired his gun like he did his wand, but with a gun, there was no option for mercy. And this was war. When it came down to it, it was kill or be killed.
A shell exploded nearby in a trench and Percival flinched, heard the screams of the dying, ducking as bullets hit too close to him. The soldier beside him went down.
"Kowalski!" he shouted, turning to the man closest to him. A boy, really, younger than Percival, younger than Pup. But he was a good soldier, brave, skilled, capable. He was also the nearest person who could help.
"Cover us!"
The soldier obeyed and Percival slung his gun's strap over his shoulder, racing for the injured man. He grabbed him under his arms and pulled him back, dragging him to relative safety. He looked up to shout at Kowalski again, just in time to see the bullet strike the young man in the chest, the spray of blood, to see him drop to the mud and never get up again.
He stared. He stared, and he shouldn't have. He had seen men die before. As an Auror. In this damn war. Hell, three had died beside him within the last hour. But it was unreal, in a way.
The scent of blood filled Percival's nostrils and it thickened as he bent over the soldier he had saved at the cost of another, pulling out his wand, and then the shell hit nearby. It was deafening, and Percival was thrown back by the blast, the earth rocking, mud and blood raining down on him. His ears were ringing. His arm throbbed, broken, his wand still in his hand, his gun cushioned beneath him. He-
His heart was racing. He jolted awake from the dream and thrashed, panic bubbling in his chest, a cry tearing itself from his throat. A hand was touching him, he realized, and he cried out again, eyes focusing.
A pale, dark-haired man was standing over him, hand on his chest.
"Be still, Percival. You will only make things worse." Grindelwald said, holding a goblet in his other hand.
More fear iced Percival's heart. His memories came rushing back again, and he remembered the latest torture. He was still in pain. The scent of blood was still there. And Grindelwald was standing over him, holding a goblet of potion, and he knew what that meant. More torture. More agony. He couldn't take it any longer, and the fight he had thought was gone a long time ago came back.
"No. No!" he said, straining his throat, but he didn't care.
He lashed out with strength he didn't realize he possessed and knocked the goblet from Grindelwald's hand, sending it clattering across the cell floor. The scent of the potion filled the air and Percival recognized it. It was a potion for pain, for healing, which meant Grindelwald had actually been telling the truth. The wizard's eyes hardened at Percival's action and he glared, using his wand to Summon the goblet back into his hand. The potion followed and Grindelwald used some spell to pull dirt and debris out of it, casting them back on the floor.
"We are going to have to do this the hard way, then." he said and put his wand away.
He waved his hand and used a spell that pressed down on Percival, like a heavy weight pinning him in place. Then he knelt on the bed over him, his hand gripping Percival's jaw. Percival tried to resist and clenched his teeth, something in his heart pounding with Grindelwald straddling him like this. It made him feel incredibly vulnerable, the heat of Grindelwald's body sinking into his cold skin, and he thrashed against the Pinning Spell. He struggled and Grindelwald muttered something in German, shifting, magic gathering on his hand. Percival's hand scrabbled around, and he suddenly felt... The shaft of Grindelwald's wand.
It had been so long since he had felt a wand in his hand, but he knew what it was. He seized it and lashed out carelessly with a spell, fighting back, even if Grindelwald was trying to give him a potion to help, because he could not take any of this anymore. There was a bang like a gunshot and suddenly Grindelwald's weight was gone, the man tumbling off the bed. Percival lay there, panting, as the weight of the spell vanished as well, and he dragged himself into a sitting position. This made him dizzy, and he swayed, realizing only then his arm was in some kind of splint, and there was blood rolling down his skin. He had torn injuries open, and each movement was a stab of pain, but he barely noticed in some ways.
He stared at the wand in his hand, shocked by the sudden turn of events, and his wavering gaze finally focused on Grindelwald. The man was sitting on the floor, rumpled, and clutching the side of his face, blood seeping between his fingers. He looked shocked, and so was Percival. He... It had been so long since Percival had managed to do anything to any of his captors and torturers. His fingers tightened on the strange wand, aiming it at the Dark wizard.
Grindelwald cursed at him viciously in German, watching the wand warily, and Percival felt shaky. His injuries and movements had cost him, and it had been so long since he had actually been able to use his magic. The tiny flame the day Leta had arrived had been the first thing he'd managed in a long time.
He knew there were spells in place that prevented him from using magic. He knew his magic had suffered like he had. But holding a wand again sparked something inside him, like blowing on the embers of a dying fire and rekindling a small flame. He wasn't sure if this flame would last, but some part of him clung to it, some part of him that had been lost and almost forgotten. Percival didn't know if he would be able to cast another spell. Whatever one he had managed to hit Grindelwald with had been nothing short of a miracle. But he had the wand, and Grindelwald did not. His hand was shaking like a leaf, and his magic felt wrong, like it had broken and he had tried to glue the pieces back together.
"Get away from me." Percival growled, leveling the trembling wand at Grindelwald's face.
The look in Grindelwald's eyes was impossible to describe. There was something that might have even been... Fear. Rage. Wariness. Percival realized he must have done something other than simply take the other wizard's wand, but he had no idea what it could possibly be. Grindelwald narrowed his eyes.
"And just what do you plan on doing with that, Percival? Your magic is broken. We both know it." he said, not moving.
Blood was still welling between his fingers and his hand completely covered his right eye, notes of pain evident in his voice.
"Percival." Leta's voice cut through the air, but for what purpose, Percival did not know.
Percival did not answer, could not answer, for more reasons than one. His strength was failing. His hand would not stop shaking. But he had a wand in his hand, and more a chance at almost anything than he had had in a long time. He knew better than to try to fire such a shaky wand, that it could go all wrong, but it was the only choice he had.
"Stupefy." he said, and the spell failed him.
A tiny jet of blue spurted out and struck Grindelwald, knocking him back a little, but it was nothing like it had been before. Still, it worked, a little. Percival was about to order the wizard up, to open the door, when Grindelwald suddenly launched himself to his feet with a cat-like grace and speed, gesturing with his hand.
Magic tightened around Percival's throat, and he was slammed back against the wall, Grindelwald easily performing wandless magic. Percival tried to struggle with him, use the wand again, but Grindelwald struck him with spells and then ripped the wand from his grasp, forcing Percival down on the bed. Anger was rolling off him in waves and he leveled the wand at Percival's face, his dark-and-silver hair hanging messily in front of his eyes.
He cast a spell, and the world slipped away from Percival again.
Now he was in his tiny apartment back in New York, home for the evening. He had sent the nanny home, and now it was just him and the girls.
Tina was more reserved out the two and though it had been months since their parents had died, he knew things were still hard for them. She politely said hello, already pulling out pots and pans for dinner. She was determined to care for her little sister, with or without his help. Sometimes, it felt like he was just adult supervision when it came to Tina, but that was fair. He really didn't know what to do with children.
Queenie, on the other hand, greeted him in a way that made him smile, made him forget that it hadn't been a good day. She ran up to him, large smile, big green eyes, bouncing golden curls, and wrapped him in a hug.
"It's okay, Uncle Percy." she promised him, and he knew she had seen in his mind.
He tried not to let her see things, tried to keep them off his mind, out of sight and not so easy for her to access, but it was hard, especially when he was trying, even with Occlumency. But her words and hugged warmed him.
"Thank you, Queenie." he said, hugging her back.
He had not been granted the privilege of being called 'Uncle Percy' by Tina yet and had honestly been surprised when Queenie had started calling him that. Only his niece and nephews called him that. When they had arrived- he had pulled a few strings so that he could take them in- he had simply been Mr. Graves. It wasn't like they had known each other that well; he had just been their father's friend who came around for dinner every now and then. But Queenie had seen in his mind his intentions, all of it, and that appeared to have made things go more smoothly. Tina had warmed up to him, at least, even if he was still Mr. Graves to her.
"What are you making there, Tina?" he asked, coming over after releasing Queenie.
"I'm not entirely sure yet." Tina replied, examining what was available.
"May I help?" Percival asked, having learned it was better to ask with Tina, rather than just assume.
"No." Tina said, so stubbornly he cracked a smile.
"It is my kitchen, Tina. I think I should at least be allowed to help." Percival teased lightly.
"She doesn't want you to because you burnt it last time." Queenie piped up after glancing at her sister.
"Queenie! I told you to stop looking in my mind!" Tina hissed, casting a glare at her sister.
"You weren't going to say anything, and I thought Uncle Percy deserved an explanation. You were being rude." Queenie said innocently.
"It is quite all right. I did burn it last time." Percival acknowledged.
He winced at the memory. For the past week or two, despite his best efforts, he had been too late for dinner, so Mary had made it for the girls, but his last attempt had gone rather badly. He preferred not use magic to cook- he had never gotten the hang of those tricky household spells despite his prowess as an Auror- and it had turned out terrible, burned and almost inedible. He was usually a passable cook, but then again, he had never much had the need to cater to another person's tastes before, and he had grown up with a house elf that had done most of the cooking.
"I can cook. Mama and Daddy taught us how." Tina said, pulling a stool over so she was at the counter more comfortably.
"I have a better idea. Why don't you teach me how it's done, Miss Goldstein?" Percival said, stripping off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves to his elbows.
"I can help too, Uncle Percy! Daddy always said I was the best baker!" Queenie said excitedly, bouncing on her toes.
"All right. Cooking and baking lessons it is. Is that all right with you, Tina?" Percival said, looking at the older Goldstein.
Tina considered him for a moment. He knew she was determined to take care of her sister and herself and was still reluctant for help. But then she nodded, and that warmed him as much as Queenie's hug.
The Goldstein sisters gave him cooking and baking lessons and they ate a much better dinner than the last one he had made. Tina seemed to have warmed up to him more. He tucked them into bed that night- they both had beds, but they had taken to sharing some nights- and sat on the edge, reading to them, the sisters snuggled against each other. After a time, he noticed they had fallen asleep, and closed the book, smiling at the sight. He adjusted the blankets, stroked their hair, and then left, reminded again why he had done this.
And now he was somewhere else.
The vibrant emerald of Ireland surrounded him, such a contrast to the industrial grays and browns of New York, and he was walking up a path to a cottage, two young boys and a little girl chasing each other around, a Crup on their heels. He didn't recognize them at first. The last time he had visited had been two years ago- he hadn't managed to make it for Christmas, there had been a huge case going on- and he stopped. They noticed him and stopped too. Percival hadn't realized children could grow so much in two years. Surely children their ages were smaller than this? When had they grown up?
They all stared at each other and then the cottage door open, a beautiful woman with the Graves family looks, but many times more delicate than his own, stepped out, face lighting up.
"Percy!" she exclaimed; he had been hoping to surprise them.
A smile crossed his face, and he walked forward, the children still staring as he swept their mother into his arms.
"It's so good to see you, Dedrain." Percival said, squeezing her tight.
"We weren't expecting you for months! What are you doing here, little brother?" Dedrain asked, holding him at arms' length after they broke apart.
"I wanted to surprise you. I got leave from work, and I had to take it." Percival said, gesturing with the walking stick he was holding.
She only seemed to notice it now. He had been hit with a nasty hex and it would be a slow heal, enough to keep him off work, though magic worked enough that he wouldn't have to heal like a Muggle.
Dedrain frowned at him, clearly wanting the story, worry creasing her brow, but then she shook her head. He knew she did not entirely approve of his decision to be an Auror, but she accepted it, and much differently than their father.
"Children, come say hello to your Uncle Percy!" she said instead, turning to her offspring.
Only now did they seem to recognize him. He didn't blame them. He was mostly a stranger. He hadn't expected to receive any sort of affection or greeting from them. So he was surprised when they all ran forward to hug him, and he accepted, laughing with pleasure.
And now, he passed through more and more things.
Different moments of life, some good, some bad. His parents, his sister, his nephews and niece, the Goldstein sisters, Seraphina, his Aurors... Things came and went, blended together, until he was suddenly in a place he never wanted to see again.
Germany. The manor. A team around. All fated to die.
They had approached slowly but efficiently, casting wards around the manor and its grounds, doing everything they could do to prevent Grindelwald from escaping. They had essentially trapped themselves as well, but there was no time to do things more neatly. And they were not going to be leaving until they had him.
He had stood out front of the manor, waiting, watching, wand in his hand, eyes flicking around, assessing the situation. They had been foolish enough to believe that they had had him cornered.
"Steady, Aurors. Wait for my order." Percival ordered; wand raised.
Everyone had different spells ready, per his orders. If all of them used a different spell, it would be that much harder for Grindelwald to counter. Binding Charms, Trip Jinxes, Stupefy, Diffindo, all manners of hexes, jinxes, and curses, and maybe that number of different spells shouldn't mix, but Percival was banking on the fact that Grindelwald would likely block or deflect a lot of them. They needed to capture him and if he was killed yes, he would be a martyr, but at this point, as far as most of them were concerned, it was dead or alive. Preferably alive, but if he had to die to get this done, so be it.
Their wands were lit with Lumos, cutting through the foggy night, and Percival gave the order.
The first round of spells sounded similar to gunfire or fireworks, and Grindelwald moved, magic blazing from his wand. He dodged, deflected, and Shielded himself, and when the spells stopped on Percival's shout, they saw he was more or less unscathed.
No. No.
Percival's heart skipped a beat. He had known Grindelwald was powerful, of course, rumored to be as powerful as that man in Britain, Albus Dumbledore, but hearing about such power and seeing it were two very different things.
They all stood, staring, shocked, not sure what to do, momentarily stunned. And Grindelwald acted.
White magic exploded from his wand and washed over the Aurors to Percival's right and they tried to block or deflect, but they were too slow, or the spell was too Dark. Those hit with the spell were thrown back, their bodies burned to ashes without so much as a flame.
"Steady, Aurors! Aim! Fire!" Percival shouted, launching his own volley of spells.
Magic lit the night. They fought. There was no escape. Even if they had wanted to, they had sealed their fate the moment they had cast those wards. But they kept fighting.
Percival felt like he was in the war again, as Aurors he barely knew but was fighting alongside fell to that white magic, and he tried to rally the survivors, but it was no use. They fell quickly, burned in swathes like paper meeting a candle flame.
And then, suddenly, Percival was the only one left.
A spell hit him, and he was thrown to the ash-coated ground, lifting his wand, still fighting back. He fought against Grindelwald with all that he had, but it still was not enough. The man Disarmed him and approached. Percival shot forward on his hands and knees, because his wand was so tantalizingly close. His hand closed around the handle just as a boot pressed down on the shaft, pinning it to the ground.
Grindelwald dropped to one knee as Percival looked up, using his wand to raise Percival's chin, his chilling, strange eyes scanning him intently, and his lips curved up into a cold, satisfied smile. And when he spoke, Percival knew he was doomed.
"Yes. I think you will do nicely."
And suddenly he was surfacing away from that terrible night, back into a cold, empty cell, body feeling torn to pieces still, skin and bone rent apart. It was better than before, though, and then he heard what had drawn him out.
"Percival. Please. Please, just say something. Anything." Leta said, a ragged, pleading note in her voice.
She was still afraid, and she was still worried about him.
"Percival? Are you still there?"
Her next words carried the worst of the fear, and Percival knew it well. She was afraid he had been taken away, killed, or had died, and had left her all alone.
He could barely move. Even with whatever had happened while he was unconscious, in the past, he was still injured, still in pain. But he knew the routine. It had been engrained in him long ago. He shifted, ever so slightly, and coughed, his throat raw and dry.
"Percival?" Leta gasped.
"I'm still here." he rasped, voice no louder than a whisper, mind muddled, parts of it so far away from here.
Leta heard him despite that, and he heard her let out a soft laugh, before she began to weep. He wept with her, and he wasn't entirely sure why. Pain, grief, fear... All of that and more, things he could no longer describe, if he had ever known the words for them to begin with.
But he was still here. He was still Percival Graves, whatever version he was now. And they had made each other a promise he intended to keep.
A/N- Okay, this took a bit, and Percival Graves was definitely on the harsher receiving end of Misery Week, as I termed it, for all the characters I wrote about the week I wrote this. I wanted to take a look at Percival's backstory, and this seemed like the time to do it.
The last flashback was supposed to be the opening scene from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, with Grindelwald killing all those Aurors, because for some reason its's just stuck in my head that's where Graves and Grindelwald crossed paths.
The Kowalski I mentioned is Jacob's older brother (I think he's older), since he died in the war, and Pup was Theseus, for anyone who didn't pick up on that.
And I think I might have accidentally made Graves the Master of the Elder Wand? I'm not sure, especially since I think Tina is.