A/N- So, nobody played, but this story was inspired and takes lines from Lovely by Billie Eilish ft. Khalid. I didn't call the story 'Lovely' because there is nothing lovely about it. More lines inspired by the lyrics will appear. Same warnings as in the first chapter, same disclaimer, and an additional warning for some mildly offensive language.
It took him days to talk to her, really. He answered a few questions, such as where they were and what might happen, but the strangeness of simply talking to someone, someone who did not wish him harm, was suddenly too much.
He retreated from the hole and she seemed to understand, because she did not say much, and sometimes he heard a noise like she had been about to speak, but changed her mind.
Their first real conversation came one night, or what he assumed was night, when he was having a nightmare.
Blood. Blood everywhere. It pooled over the stones and filled the spaces between them, outlining them darkly and wetly. It threaded over his fingers, traced the lines of his palms. And the pain. It was blinding, ice-cold and white-hot all at the same time, so painful he had no control of his screams, which tore themselves brutally from his throat. Boots gleamed in the wavering light and someone knelt in the red, red blood, tilting his head up. Mismatched-eyes glittered in the light, blood-red lips curved upward, wands were raised, and pain ripped through him as-
"Percival? Percival!"
The voice drew him from the place of pain and blood and he bolted upright, not realizing he was screaming until his throat burned. His breaths came out in hard, panting bursts and he was drenched in sweat, panic burning his chest. He gasped and shoved his hands through his hair, looking around, slowly calming down as he saw there was no blood, no one in the cell but him.
"Percival? Are you all right? Are you awake?" Leta's voice asked, coming directly from the hole.
"Awake." Percival rasped, not sure if she could hear him.
"You were having a nightmare, I think." Leta said, voice gentle.
"Yes." Percival said, dragging himself out of bed.
He stumbled over to the sink and turned on the water, splashing it on his face, gulping some down, trying to calm himself. He sank down in front of the sink, heart still pounding, breathing still too quick, and he was starting to feel lightheaded. Then, suddenly, a sound broke through the air, so foreign here that he instantly froze, his breath stilled, his mind blanked for a moment.
That sound... It was singing.
"Oh, if I had money enough to spend, and leisure time to sit awhile/there is a fair maid in this town, who sorely has my heart beguiled..."
"What... What is that?" Percival asked, cutting through it.
"It's called 'the Parting Glass'. It's a traditional song in Britain. My... My fiance taught it to me." Leta replied, breaking off.
Her voice hitched a little when she said fiance, and Percival would wonder about that later, but right now his mind was occupied.
"Keep singing. Please." he whispered, suddenly needing to hear the rest, though he was sure he had never heard it before.
To his surprise, Leta did as he asked, starting over, and he listened to it. Her voice was soft and sweet, pleasant and easy to listen to. It soothed something in him and when she had gone through the whole song she fell silent, Percival's breath even now.
"Thank you." he whispered, eyes closed
"You don't need to thank me. Did it help?" Leta asked, and Percival could tell by her voice that she was still near the hole.
"Yes." he said, taking a deep breath.
The silence stretched between them for a few minutes and then Percival broke it.
"You said you have a fiance?"
"Yes. I do. Did... I... He probably thinks I'm dead now." Leta replied, pain clear in her voice.
"What was his name?" Percival asked, wanting her to keep talking, suddenly needing it. It had been so long since he had talked to anyone.
"Theseus. Theseus Scamander." Leta answered, and something tugged at Percival's mind.
"Is he American?" he asked, trying to figure out why the name was familiar.
"No. As British as you can get, actually. He's an Auror. A war hero."
Ah. That explained it, actually. Everyone in the wizarding world had likely heard of Theseus Scamander at least once. He was the wizard who had enlisted in the Army despite Ministry orders and gone on to become a war hero, saving countless lives, while almost dying himself. And Percival had actually exchanged a few letters with the man, about Auror departments, and he had seemed friendly enough.
"I've heard of him." Percival said belatedly.
"I'm not surprised. Everyone knows Theseus. He's a wonderful man." Leta said, but there was something in her voice that he could not figure out.
"Do you love him?" Percival asked, and then regretted it. What kind of question was that? He wanted to keep talking to her, not drive her away.4/10/2023
"What?" Leta said, sounding shocked, even shaken.
"Nothing... Nothing, I shouldn't have... It was just your voice..." Percival said, feeling suddenly ashamed.
Leta was silent for a minute and Percival feared, suddenly, that she was not going to speak to him again. But then she finally spoke.
"I would say it's fine, but... I do love Theseus. Right before... I thought I died, I thought it was going to die, I told Theseus I loved him. But I'm not sure if he realized I was." Leta said, something in her voice breaking slightly.
"Why?" Percival asked, baffled.
"Because I was also saying it to his brother. And everyone thinks we're still in love with each other." Leta replied and Percival turned his head toward the hole.
"You dated his brother?" he said, and realized that was something else he should not have said.
"For a little bit. When we were about fifteen. We were just kids, and I love Newt, but... But not..." Leta said, and Percival had the sudden impression that she was crying.
Great. What the hell was he doing? He didn't remember how to talk to another human being anymore.
"But you don't feel like that anymore." he supplied after a moment, awkwardly.
"No. I don't. I love them both, Theseus... Theseus is the love of my life." Leta said quietly, silence stretching between them. "I don't want to talk about it any longer."
That was fair, and Percival felt extremely awkward now, not sure what to say, but not wanting the silence. Leta broke it again, luckily.
"What is your last name?" she asked.
"What?" Percival asked, startled.
"Your last name? I just told you about my love life; I think you can tell me your last name." Leta said, letting out a thin laugh.
"Graves." Percival answered, and heard her sharp intake of breath.
"I've heard of you, too. You... Grindelwald snuck into MACUSA using your appearance. They looked for you for months. Grindelwald never would tell what happened to you. Everyone thinks you are dead." Leta said, sounding startled.
"Everyone?" he asked softly, though he had been thinking that for over a year. But hearing it... That was much different.
He did not have much in the way of family, truth be told. His mother had died a few years back, his father retired upstate, and Percival had used to visit every once and a while, but his father was not a man who liked other people. He had a sister who had moved to Ireland, older than him by almost a dozen years, and they had never been close. The most contact they had was letter on the other's birthday, and on Christmas. Sometimes more, more often not. He was a middle-aged bachelor who had once dreamed of children, had fostered two little witches for a few years, but he had been more married to his work than anything, and had the ex-wife to prove it. Not many friends either. No one who would be looking for him a year later, really. Save for maybe Seraphina, Tina, and Queenie. Maybe.
"I don't really know, Percival. I was in England, remember?" Leta said gently, and Percival let out a breath.
"Could you come over here? I want to see you." Leta added, and he nodded.
Rather than try to get up on his injured leg, he dragged himself over and propped himself up next to the hole, seeing Leta was in a similar position. He found he could not meet her eyes, and looked away, swallowing.
"How long have you been alone?" Leta asked, studying him.
He turned his face away, suddenly feeling self-conscious, because though they had left his face untouched, he knew he was not a pleasant sight. It was probably for the best she could not see the rest of him.
"Since they brought me here. The only people I have seen are Grindelwald and the Acolytes." he answered, voice tight.
"Oh..." Leta said, voice trailing off. "I'm so sorry, Percival."
"I'm sorry if what I say is... Is rude, or offensive, or too-"
"Don't apologize. It isn't your fault."
Percival rubbed his face.
"I want to talk to you. But I... I..." He began to stammer, not sure what else to say, or how to explain himself. Why he suddenly he wanted to talk to her, needed to talk to her.
"You don't know where to start?" Leta suggested.
"Yes."
"We could start simple. Nothing too personal, just... Ask each other questions." Leta continued and Percival found himself nodding.
Once upon a time, he had been a skilled talker, had known how to easily start a conversation, with many people, those he knew, those he had just met, those he would never meet again. Now... Now he felt as clumsy as a foal trying out its new legs, falling over and over and over.
"Where did you go to school?" Leta asked, saving him.
"Ilvermorny. You?"
"Hogwarts. What was your House? Ilvermorny has Houses, right?" Leta said, sounding a little unsure.
"Yes. Yes, it does. I was in Wumpus Cat House. Warriors." Percival said, the last word coming out softly.
"I was in Slytherin. Ambitious and cunning. Where all the bad and Dark wizards come from." Leta said, sounding bitter.
"Are you?" Percival asked, the words slipping out. He thought he was trying to joke, but he thought he had effectively failed. Either way, he expected her to deny it.
But, to his surprise, she did not immediately answer.
"No. I... I am not Dark, at least." she said after a moment, and Percival felt there was something more there. But he restrained himself from asking. He shouldn't have asked the first question.
"Well, being ambitious and cunning can be useful." he offered, trying to make her feel better.
Leta did not say anything else, and, slowly, they began to ask each other more questions. Leta started it all, but Percival answered and asked in kind, finding he could do this, if someone else led the conversation. It was like a dance, and he had always taken the lead before in dances, but now he was grateful for the guidance.
Slowly, he began to learn more about Leta Lestrange (a family name he was familiar with; everyone had heard of the Lestranges, but he would not hold her family against her). And he gave her what he could in kind, calling up things he had not spoken of or thought of for a very long time. But soon, even this simple way of conversation began to overwhelm him. His raw throat could not take it, and finally he fell silent, putting his head in his hands.
It was so overwhelming, suddenly, and he squeezed his eyes shut, because it was so normal, because suddenly he remembered what it was like to be human.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." he whispered, feeling the burn in his eyes, realizing he was on the verge of breaking down.
Leta said nothing, but something suddenly touched his shoulder and he flinched, scrambling away, a scream tearing itself from its throat. Someone touching him meant pain, meant there was nothing he could do, no matter how hard he fought or how much blood-
"Percival, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please, please calm down! I won't hurt you. I won't hurt you." Leta said, a note of panic in her voice, and he faced the hole, seeing a hand resting in it.
It was small and delicate, the nails painted pink, and he stared and stared, not comprehending her words for a few moments. And then, he did, heartbeat slowing, breath still ragged.
Shame bubbled up in front of him, leaving a metallic taste pooling on his tongue, and he suddenly could not bear to look at her, nor let her see him. He pulled himself to his feet, staggering, and moved away, pressing his back to the wall just beside the hole, where she could not see.
Shame was not an emotion either Percival Graves, the one had been born from the blood and pain or the one who had died on the cold stone long ago, was familiar with, but he felt it now, sharp and making him feel small and guilty.
He shook his head, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes, feeling the dampness against them despite his best efforts.
Insane. He was insane. He had slipped over the edge, he knew he had. What sane person reacted to a kind touch like that? If he ever made it out of here, what sort of place in the world would he have anymore? It was probably just as well that he had hardly any family whom he barely saw, and not many friends. Though he would likely never see the world beyond Nurmengard again, so what was he worrying about?
He pressed his hands harder against his eyes, trying to stem the tears, because his father had driven it hard into his head that men didn't cry, that crying was something for children and women, and though he did not see what was wrong with crying, it something he had not been able to let himself do since he had been a wandless child. Until he had met Grindelwald, that was. He had shed plenty of tears after that, though usually because of pain. Every time he shed a tear, even then, he had heard his father's voice and felt the sharp cuff on the back of the head, telling him he was too old for it.
But that held no weight now; the words did not work themselves into a dam as they usually did. Even though he was pressing his palms so hard against his eyes that pain was spiking through them, tears leaked out from beneath the lids, stinging scrapes he did not remember getting.
He made a small, choked whimpering noise like some injured animal and a deep, heavy pain locked itself in his chest, part of it climbing into his throat.
"Percival?" Leta said, breaking through the pain.
He did not reply.
He wanted to, but he could not, and he slid down the wall, letting out a choked sob.
"Percival?" Leta repeated, sounding worried.
Again, he did not reply. They did not speak for the rest of the day, and Leta was forced to listen to his sobs until they finally faded away.
The next day or so (he wasn't sure, the magical light did not change, though they did receive food), he was the one to speak first.
"I'm sorry." he said, yet again.
"Please. Don't." Leta said, glancing at him through the hole.
She had cried as well, but softly, because he had not heard her, her eyes red, her face flushed.
"I..."
"They've hurt you, haven't they? Badly." Leta asked, eyes tracing his face, and he looked away.
"Yes." he whispered, swallowing. The memories pressed on the edge of his mind and he was glad there was no blood, or he would have plunged further off the edge.
"For a very long time."
"And no one but them has touched you since you came here?" Leta asked, but her tone indicated that she likely already knew the answer.
"No." Percival said, voice hitching. "They used spells. Knives. Fists..."
"Then it is completely natural for you not to be able to stand someone touching you. Please, stop blaming yourself. Theseus told me about soldiers in the war who had suffered all sorts of things, that they weren't quite-"
"Sane?"
"Who they used to be. That sometimes there were certain things they couldn't stand, or something would send them back to the war, in their heads. Or to whatever terrible experience they had had."
"Those men get locked in asylums, sanitoriams, and closed wards." Percival said, voice bitter. He had seen those men. Known those men. He had not escaped the war, either. He had lived it, fought in it, come home.
"I don't think it is insanity. Not... Not like most people do. Or that something is exactly wrong with them... I can't explain it." Leta said, a note of frustration in her voice.
"I am insane, Leta Lestrange. I've been on the edge of insanity since Percival Graves bled out on the floor." Percival said, rubbing his damaged hand over his face, feeling the facial hair rasp beneath it.
Leta paused, and he looked at her out the corner of his eye, realizing she was processing what he had just said.
"What does that mean?" she asked, her words almost careful.
"I am not the same man I was before all this. That man died a long time ago. I'm not sure who I am anymore. I don't feel like Percival Graves. Not the one I was before." Percival replied, trying to explain.
He had been thinking like that for a long time, that he had bled out on the floor at some point, and this version of him had been born from that.
He waited for Leta to say anything or to move away from the whole, to decide that he was actually insane and be done with him. He would not blame her, considering he thought he was insane.
"I think you are still Percival Graves. Deep inside, even if it does not feel like it." Leta said after a long stretch of silence.
"You can't know that. You do not know me at all." Percival said, speaking without thinking, falling into the conversation easier than before.
"I want to." Leta said, and he looked at her.
"Why?" he asked, surprised.
"Because... I am not really sure. But you are the only other person here, for starters." Leta said, smiling ever so slightly.
But that was true. To his knowledge, at least, he had been the only person locked up here since his arrival and even if there were other prisoners here, there was only this hole between their cells. It wasn't like she had any other option, and he could remember- and still felt- the intense loneliness of being locked up here alone. That was one reason he was so drawn to her, feeling the basic human need for company.
Next, Leta proposed the same arrangement as the other day, asking each other questions, getting to know each other through the answers. Percival desperately wanted to ask her how she had ended up here, what had happened, but he sensed that she was not ready to speak of that yet. That even though it had just happened and it was likely at the front of her mind, it was not something she could bring herself to relive like that. So he agreed to the game, as he was starting to think of it.
"What is your full name?" That was Leta's opening question.
"Percival Gondolphus Graves." Percival answered, and was not surprised when Leta let out a bit of laughter before she could stifle it. It had been an all-too familiar response during his school days, and when he had entered the work force, he had made sure only his middle intial was known.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have laughed. I know what it's like to be laughed at." Leta said, her face serious now.
"No. It is all right. Everyone laughed at me during school when they found out. Even my sister laughed at me." Percival said, a pang of sadness going through him. It had been a very long time since he had seen his sister, even before all this. His niece and nephews only really knew him as a man on pieces of paper.
"How did your parents even come up with Gondolphus?" Leta asked, sounding more cheerful than he had yet heard her.
"It was the name of my ancestor. One of the first twelve Aurors in America, who helped found MACUSA. He fought the Scourers." Percival answered, remembering all the stories his father had told him.
"Scourers?"
"I don't want to give you a magical America history lesson right now." Percival said, rubbing his eyes. What the hell did they teach kids in Britain, anyway? He had learned plenty of international history.
"What is your full name?"
"Leta Amelie Valerie Lauretta Lestrange." Leta replied, and that was a highborn pureblood name if Percival had ever heard one.
He knew about the Lestrange family, of course, so he was not surprised.
"That is quite the mouthful." he said.
"Yes. They... They were names my mother liked, Amelie and Valerie. Lauretta was her name. My father picked Leta, I think." Leta said, and something about her voice changed.
"You said you had a sister?" she asked next, before he could comment.
"Yes. Dedrain Moira Graves-O'Brian." Percival answered, and he wasn't sure why he supplied her full name. "She lives in Ireland now."
"Do you have any other siblings?" Leta asked, a curious note in his voice.
"No. No, my parents thought they were only going to have Dedrain, until I came along twelve years after. The coveted son to continue the line." Percival replied, letting out a bitter half-laugh.
"My father wanted me to be a boy." Leta said softly, that pain in her voice again.
"To continue the line?"
"Yes. Then he hoped I would give him grandsons. He died before he could marry me off, though. Lucky for me." There was something in her tone when she spoke of her father, and Percival immediately knew that her father was someone she hated.
"Do you have any children?" Leta asked next.
"I believe it was my turn, Miss Lestrange." Percival said, surprising himself with the gentle teasing.
The more he talked to Leta, the more he remembered how to talk to someone, how to do something that was so basically human.
"No, I don't have children. I wanted them, but all I got was an ex-wife. My nephews are the next Graves men in line." Percival said, adding his own question, "Do you have any siblings?"
Leta was silent and he glanced at her through the hole, seeing her mouth had tightened. She had washed the makeup she had arrived in off, but it hadn't been much to begin with. He could see this was a question she did not want to answer, that some sort of pain was connected to the subject of siblings.
"Two brothers. One older, one younger. The older one was there... When..." Leta said, voice trailing off. But he knew what she meant. When Grindelwald had taken her.
"Children?" Percival asked, bouncing her own question back at her, suddenly wanting to spare her the pain he had inadvertantly caused. Or she had started, anyway. Her rules; if she hadn't wanted to answer a question herself or have it asked, she shouldn't have asked him.
"No. Theseus and I spoke of them, but no. We weren't married yet." Leta answered, tucking her hair behind her ears.
They continued to talk a little. Asked about each other's parents. He told her about his retired father, his dead mother. Both her parents and a stepmother were dead, and that was all she would say. The talk of family quickly ran dry, as neither of them had much of any. She likely had cousins upon cousins, being a highborn pureblood, but they were probably strangers. The Graves line had dwindled from a chronic plague of sons sent to the Aurors. And then Leta asked him a question that caught him off-guard.
"You said you have an ex-wife. But do you have anyone else? A different wife? Someone special?" she asked, and he could tell by her tone she was thinking of her fiance.
He hesitated, for just a moment, a long habit, but it did not matter anymore.
"A... Lover, I suppose is what you would call it. We have... Had been together for years. And she is more than special." he answered, knowing the words other people would have used, if they had known. Whore. Scarlet woman. Slut. The difference between an unmarried man having a relationship with someone, and an unmarried woman doing the same. Even if wizards were more progressive than Na-Majs. And putting it in the past-tense hurt that heart made of glass beating in his chest. But it had been more than a year. Surely she would have moved on by now, because she likely believed him to be dead. Seraphina had had no shortage of admirers and hopeful suitors.
"What is her name? This special woman?" Leta asked, looking at him curiously.
"Seraphina Picquery." Percival admitted, for the first time ever. And it had been so long since he had said her name.
It felt good to have it on his lips again, and in brought memories to the front of his mind, but unlike the memories blood brought, these were good memories. Of her lips on his, the cool sheets slipping over his skin, her brown eyes looking up at him, her fingers tracing paths over his flesh. Her scent, the sound of her voice, how it had felt to be touched by another human, in love and trust and desire. Of how much he missed all of that.
Leta gasped, staring at him.
"Seraphina Picquery? President Picquery of MACUSA?" she asked, looking thoroughly shocked.
This was exactly the reason they had kept it a secret. MACUSA'S president and her right-hand man... Oh, what a scandal that would have been. So many things would have been called into question; his position as her right-hand man, every decision the two of them had made regarding magical law enforcement and Aurors and more. Their reputations would have been in shreds. They had been together for nine years, just before she was elected, and they had kept things quiet because of that. Despite this, Percival had asked his father for his mother's ring and shown it to her one stolen night, promising her the moment she was no longer president, whether she wasn't elected again, didn't decide to run for a second term, or her eight years were up, it was hers. He remembered the way she had smiled at this, her golden hair tumbling around her face, and she had kissed him, making him a promise, with a coy smile. "Only if you ask me properly, Percival Gondulphus Graves. Then I will gladly take you for my husband."
"Yes." he said softly, feeling a pang of grief suddenly and deep longing that cracked his heart further. He had tucked the ring in the back of one of his drawers, hidden beneath some clothing, though he had no idea why. It wasn't like there was anyone to stumble across it by accident. He wondered if she had taken it, after he had been presumed dead. If not to keep, at least to return to his family. One of his nephews or his niece could have it.
"You're the first person aside from the two of us to know." Percival said softly, feeling oddly exposed. And that was odd, considering everything he had gone through here. "No... That isn't true. I never told Grindelwald, but he... He must have figured it out, to go unnoticed as me for so long." he added as the terrible thought occurred to him.
For some reason, it had never occurred to him at all during this time, and hot anger boiled up in him suddenly. If Seraphina had been fooled by Grindelwald, then the wizard must have... He felt sick, suddenly, and clamped a hand to his mouth. If Grindelwald had so much as touched Seraphina... His free hand tightened into a fist and while he hoped that perhaps Grindelwald had made excuses, that Seraphina would have noticed if he hadn't, that hope was only the barest flicker in his heart. No one had noticed. That was the point. No one had noticed until that Brit had revealed Grindelwald and gotten him arrested, a wizard who Percival had never met, even once.
Leta said nothing, and that was for the best, because there was nothing, absolutely nothing, anyone could say to make any of this better. He was not angry at Seraphina; no, he felt nothing but horror on her behalf, because if anything had happened between her and Grindelwald, she had technically not consented to it, because she would have thought it was him, not the Dark wizard. And he knew if anything had happened, how she would have felt about it. He swallowed hard.
After a few minutes, Leta continued their game. They gave each other some more basic information but, eventually, Percival's throat could not take it anymore; it had been so long since he had done anything but scream and shout. Leta understood, but they both lingered by the hole, unwilling to be parted from the only company here. There were questions, important questions, that Percival wanted to ask; he wanted to know what had happened, how she had come to be here, and if she knew anything about what Grindelwald had been doing. But he knew those questions would be hard, and he wanted to wait, wait until they knew each other a little better, because he felt she would be more likely to tell him. He had interrogated enough people to know that some responded to force, others responded to trust, and he also did not want to interrogate her. So he would wait. And he also knew, sooner rather than later, he would have to tell her what went on here, what had been done to him, to prepare her, because he did not think Grindelwald and his Acolytes would spare her from it.
Two more days. Two more days he waited, and in those two days, Leta had managed to make him feel more like a human being than he had since he had bled out on the floor.
It had only been a few days, but he felt a connection to this stranger. If only because she was the first person to treat him like a human, like he was something more than a toy to play with or a tool to use, since he had gotten here. And that was more than enough for her to earn his trust.
He had fallen asleep by the hole last night, taking comfort in her present, and it helped soothe his nightmares a little, though he still woke up from blood and pain. He washed his hair in icy water and choked down the meager breakfast provided, the phantom taste of blood still on his tongue, the ghosts of injuries playing through his flesh. He went to the hole and waited, hearing running water, and soon enough Leta sat down beside him, speaking before he could.
"Have you ever tried to escape?" she demanded, turning to him, her large brown eyes having an almost calculating expression in them.
"In the beginning. I tried everything. But I can't use magic, not really. I made this hole, but... I gave up a long time ago, Leta. It isn't possible. Even if we managed to escape the cell... There is no way out of here." Percival said, feeling pity for her. She thought there was hope.
"There must be a way out of here. You were alone before. But you aren't alone anymore." Leta said, and he almost laughed at her. He restrained himself, because he could not bring himself to snuff out that hope, not yet.
"Leta. Leta, I want you to tell me how you ended up here. What Grindelwald has been doing. Please. I know it will be hard, but-" Percival said, breaking off as the familiar sound of the door opening rang through the dungeon.
Footsteps came. One, two... Three people. One of them must have been Rosier, because of the click of heels, and the others must have been men, but their sounds were too muddled for him to identify them.
Terror seized him, his heart beginning to pound, the metallic taste of fear filling his mouth, and he pressed his back into the stone. But his mind worked better than it had in a while, some part of the dead Percival Graves breaking through.
"Leta, you need to listen to me. They will torture you here. They will use spells and potions and knives, and their own fists. They will cause you excruciating pain. Use the Cruciatus Curse, Defindo, and more. They will open wounds and break your bones. They won't kill you. But you will wish they would. Don't fight. Fighting will only make it worse." he whispered urgently, his blood roaring in his ears as the footsteps got closer and closer.
Leta looked at him, her eyes now tinged with fear. Impulsively, he reached through the hole and managed to snatch her hand, clutching her tightly, the sensation so strange it pulled him further from the growing panic. She squeezed it back and a tremble went through her, but her gaze hardened, and Percival could see she was stronger than he had first thought.
"I will be right here. I wouldn't leave you, even if I could. You will get through it. You will survive." Percival promised, the last two sentences words he had repeated to himself, over and over, in the beginning.
He released her hand and moved away from the hole, and he heard Leta stand, ready to face them. The footsteps were on top of them now and once again they passed by Percival's door, the hiss of magic and the creak of Leta's door coming a moment later. He heaved himself to his feet, though he had no idea what he could do, his body still trembling, his fear still there. He heard the footsteps stop, and then there was silence. And then a voice spoke.
"Hello, my dear Leta." Threads of fear locked around Percival's spine. The situation could be much worse than he had thought, because he knew that voice better than his own now, and it haunted his dreams almost every night.
Grindelwald.
A/N- I know this chapter is boring, but I figured they would have to know some things about the other before they could really form a bond. The backstory with Graves's ancestor and his name are canon, but I made up the rest. I've liked the idea of him and Picquery being together, so I put it in my stories, and will use the basis of Graves's backstory in others (because I am lazy that way, and why not?). It will come up in the next chapters, but Grindelwald is a Metamorphmagus is this story, though I know Mads Mikkelsen stated in an interview that ignoring the changes in Grindelwald between movies was purposeful. I like his portrayal better, so that's the Grindelwald I'm going with.
If anyone has questions, ask and I'll answer them when the next chapter is posted.