One Week Later
"Um" Credence started, then stopped. He stared somewhat helplessly at the infant before him, who seemingly mindlessly giggled and waved a pudgy little arm through the air that sent his favorite toy block - the blue one with the letter P - sailing towards himself.
Credence just watched - oddly desensitized for only half an hour having passed since he learned that the three year old had better control of magic than Credence himself - as the block came to an abrupt, harmless stop mere inches from the toddler's face, dropping to the ground with a soft thump.
As reactionless as he now was, to say he was surprised to learn that Hadrian could use magic outside of turning into his Obscurus form would be an understatement.
No, Credence had literally fallen out of his chair when Hadrian had summoned his bottle of juice to himself and took a dainty sip from the still floating pitcher. The tot then proceeded to give Credence such an utterly unimpressed look that the older had no doubt that, if his skin wasn't perpetually pale, he would've flared bright red.
As it was, he'd gaped wordlessly for the better part of ten minutes while Hadrian continued to perform feat after feat of both wordless and wandless magic as if it was nothing at all despite showing not even the slightest smidge of a single sign of such affinity beforehand. Credence wondered for a moment if Grindelwald knew, but quickly dismissed the thought - of course he did.
"So, Hadrian," he started again, albeit still somewhat haltingly, "do you… like it here?" he asked, wincing at his own pitch.
The pale blonde looked up at him, head tilting curiously as he brought the block up to his mouth and began gnawing at it.
"Ah," Credence said, giving a somewhat sage nod and slumping a bit more in the already slouched position he was in, sitting cross-legged a couple of feet in front of the child. He hesitantly reached for the other block that was within his reach - a red one marked with the letter D - and awkwardly gestured at it.
As usual, he received no response other than a grin, this one around the piece that was half shoved into the toddler's mouth.
Credence worried for a moment if it was safe for the child to do so, but he threw the concern away quickly enough.
In the past week since he'd been made aware of Grindelwald's new ward, he'd come to the rather disconcerting realization that his primary worries were completely and utterly unfounded.
That is to say, the day Grindelwald raised a hand against or otherwise allowed harm to come to Hadrian would be the day Credence ate… something… unpalatable. One of the wood blocks, maybe.
He knew that Nagini still had doubts - they argued near constantly about it now when in each other's presence - but she just… hadn't seen it. She hadn't been there, around the two, except for the few scant minutes that first day.
Grindelwald didn't really let anyone around Hadrian except for Credence or himself, with the rare exception of what Credence suspected were his two closest followers.
He couldn't really blame the man because Hadrian was…
Credence shook his head, but the thought refused to leave with the motion. It kept creeping back into his mind, unbidden. Something he hadn't yet dared to voice but couldn't help but wonder. Hadrian's magic - so utterly undeniable and undoubtedly strong. His eyes, which seemed to glow iridescent in the light at times when his power surged. His unquestionably dark origins, with him being an Obscurial. And his blonde hair that was so much like frosted spider's silk and so similar to -
No, Credence couldn't shake off the thoughts like he wished to, even knowing that he was not nearly ready to contemplate such questions aloud. He'd yet to speak of them to Nagini, and doubted he would anytime soon, if at all.
Regardless, in the time he spent in Grindelwald and Hadrian's presence, it wasn't difficult to see how well the Dark Lord treated the toddler, and Credence was beyond doubtful that it was all merely an act in his own presence. There would've been some sign, he knew, if Grindelwald was treating Hadrian differently behind his back, if not in the way Hadrian expressed himself so openly to Grindelwald, then in how Grindelwald reacted towards Hadrian. But, no, it honestly felt a bit like being in some fantastical, impossible lucid dream watching the Dark Lord around Hadrian. To see the man become so comparatively expressive and stoop to be level with an infant...
Hadrian babbled, snapping Credence out of his reverie, and his eyes darted back to the toddler. He wordlessly, gingerly, handed his own red block over when his gaze alighted on the very obvious grabby hands the youth was making at him.
Then he jerked back a bit when Hadrian snatched the cube from his hand only to feebly toss it to the side, arms too weak to genuinely throw it, resulting in it plonking dejected on the ground only a few scant inches away.
Hadrian paid it no mind, though there was something in his eyes that was almost apologetic that disappeared too quickly to truly acknowledge. The blonde raised his arms again, quite imploringly, and it finally clicked to Credence.
"Um." he began awkwardly. The toddler repeatedly opened and closed his little fists, expressing his impatience, and Credence hastened to comply.
Even so, he moved slowly and with the utmost care. He grasped Hadrian in a gentle but firm grip under his arms, leaning forward a bit more before cautiously lifting the surprisingly light toddler up. He moved him as swiftly as he dared over to his own lap before carefully setting him down with a quiet exhale, not wanting to risk holding him in the air any longer than he had to lest he somehow drop him.
Hadrian shifted a bit, reorienting himself, and made a noise that somehow portrayed mild appeasement but still a faint discontentment with the relocation. The tot patted against the highest part of Credence's arm he could reach - just above his elbow - and frowned up at him rather disapprovingly. He raised his arms up again, beseeching.
Credence felt a bead of sweat begin to dot his temple. Yes, he had younger siblings, but… Mother… never allowed him to be near them when they were young, despite her constant 'reprimandings' for him not being of enough help during those years. And he'd only been around Hadrian for a week - just a few short hours all together, really - and this was the first time he'd been left alone with the other, Grindelwald having been there to supervise the rest of their interactions.
He cleared his throat nervously. "There there?" he tried to placate, giving a grimace of a smile and a hesitant, hopefully comforting pat to the youth's arm.
Hadrian's expression flattened to a look that was so deadpan Credence choked, hand freezing above the tot's shoulder. Then Hadrian heaved an utterly world-weary sigh and raised his tiny arms once more, giving him an expectant look. He swore that one of the blonde's thin eyebrows rose a hair.
Feeling as though he'd just taken a blow to the head, Credence dazedly complied in a way he hoped was correct, raising the blonde up once more until he felt diminutive arms wrap lightly around his neck. He cradled the toddler to his chest, feeling a small cheek turn to rest against his shoulder.
"Are you, comfortable?" he asked, just a bit strained, letting out a relieved breath when he felt a small nod against his shoulder, a soft, contented hum accompanying the movement.
They fell into a rather awkward silence after that - awkward to Credence, at least, since he didn't have a clue as to what he could say. His earlier attempts at conversation had been more than a little mortifying, though not through any fault of Hadrian's. No, that stemmed entirely from Credence's own social ineptitude. Or maybe ineptitude in general, seeing as to how speaking with a toddler should not dissolve him into a stuttering mess or complete monosyllabism.
Thankfully, Credence didn't have long to let his panic mount in regards to what he should or shouldn't do, since it was only a few minutes later that Hadrian's breathing began to even out, becoming a fraction deeper and stretching into longer exhales as he fully relaxed in Credence's arms.
There was a child. Asleep. In his arms.
Maybe he would panic.
Credence barely managed to hold back the hysterical sound that crept into his throat, instead slowly scooting backwards until he bumped into the wall behind him, resting his perpetually aching back against the surface and hiking his knees up to support the added weight he now held in his arms.
He felt out of his depth, in a way dissimilar to all the other times he had been.
With his… Mother, he was in a constant state of anxiety. A single misstep would result in his punishment, and he often was unaware of what would result in such a thing until it was too late. His best attempts at complete obedience were never enough; the scars that lined his back and crisscrossed over his hands were clear proof of that.
With becoming a Demon - well, no, an Obscurial, as he now knew - it was complete and utter panic that he felt, overwhelming like a tidal wave that had already begun to crash over him. Inescapable, all encompassing, and world-ending. His own world, at least.
With learning of the existence of magic - of the entire world of possibilities that it provided and he was apparently supposed to be a part of - he felt like a child. He felt like less than that, like something utterly gormless, with him having already entered adulthood but knowing nothing of his own designation as a wizard.
With joining Grindelwald, with learning of his heritage, he felt as if he'd been thrown into the middle of something he had no knowledge of being in, similar to with the entirety of magic in the first place. He had no concept of the political field he would soon be thrust in or the other side to it.
Now, however, with the toddler fast asleep in his arms, completely dead to the world, Credence felt an entirely new genre to what he had previously categorized as signifying he was 'out of his depth.'
He had never been trusted around a life so small, so precious.
He had been scorned by his Mother and looked down upon by strangers in passing on the streets. He was familiar with the distrustful gazes of all those around him, never having known a kind word to be said to him, not without there being a need for something in return.
Yet here he was, entrusted with the care of this infant - Hadrian - who Grindelwald had recognized as his own ward (though Credence suspected there to be something more) and not only had the man himself left him to his devices with the child, but the child, too, as clearly intelligent and rather able as he was, had placed his trust in Credence.
It was more than humbling to have another completely place their life in your hands. It was utterly terrifying.
Yes, Hadrian was still young and may not know any better, but Credence was unable to hold back the cresting emotions that swelled in his chest all the same. His eyes burned for a moment, but he blinked the feeling away, taking a slow, calming breath and ignoring the way it still stuttered.
He tightened his grip minutely from where his arms clutched Hadrian close to himself, and he felt a resolution begin to form in his mind before he even genuinely thought over it.
But no; further contemplation would not lead to him rehashing his opinion.
His craned neck bowed low, the underside of his jaw brushing against the downy-like hairs that fluffed the crown of Hadrian's head.
He may still feel as though he was lost at sea, land only a far off speck barely in his sights, but he now had a sense of direction. A purpose of his own instead of guided by the hands of others.
He was like Hadrian, as Hadrian was like him. Hadrian was barely three years old, and yet Credence could already feel how the air saturated with magic whenever he used it. For both these qualities, he had no doubt Hadrian would be hunted, either to use him or to destroy him like Credence had been not so long ago.
A quiet snuffle brushed a gentle breeze against his neck, small arms pressing closer against him, and Credence's lips thinned, his eyes inky black with something almost malevolent whirling within them.
Unbeknownst to him or to his sleeping companion, a small, golden orb of light with a strength that was belied by its diminutive presence formed between them as Credence vehemently avowed in his heart of hearts to let no harm fall upon the younger so long as Credence had the ability to prevent it. He swore to himself that he would not let the other suffer as he had, that his power would be theirs to rely upon should they wish it.
The light disappeared with an unobtrusive flash, gone just as abruptly as it came, and Credence felt a sudden wave of tiredness sweep over him. He leaned his head back against the wall. His eyelids felt heavy, as if pressed down by weights, and he let them close.
His grip on Hadrian never faltered even as he was swept away by the tides of a dreamless slumber.