Written for The Houses Competition Year 11 Round 6
House: Gryffindor stand-in
Class: History of Magic
Category: Standard
Prompts: [Speech] "Thank you for agreeing to help. My son/daughter is in a difficult position."; [Sound] Squeak
Word Count: 2275
TW: mentioned grabby guy
"You bitch!"
The crass insult was loud enough to be heard over the music, but Percival would have let it go if it hadn't been followed by a flash of spellfire.
He set aside his flute and strode out of the ballroom through the open veranda. The garden was as sumptuously decorated as the inside of the mansion, but the fairy lights were purposefully dim—to facilitate a variety of questionable encounters, he guessed.
A small crowd had already gathered where the commotion had originated, but it parted easily when he called out, "What seems to be the problem here?"
Immediately, two young men turned towards him while their friend barely spared him a glance, too concerned with the young woman he held at wand point.
She had a stubborn tilt to her mouth and kept shaking her head at whatever her mother was whispering to her urgently, hands clasped together against her chest.
Percival thought he heard a squeaking noise, but the young man recalled his attention before he could investigate.
"This crazy witch attacked me!"
Percival cast a silent lumos. The hand with which the young man clutched at his own neck was bloody.
"I'll be happy to have my Aurors take your statement," Percival said, gesturing behind him where the least drunk of the Aurors who'd warranted an invite to the Fontaines' soirée had gathered. "Just as soon as you lower your wand, Mister…?"
But the young woman's mother had recognised him under wand light and interjected.
"Director Graves! This is a terrible misunderstanding. I'm sure if we could speak privately…" she trailed off meaningfully, and Percival sighed. He could already feel the shape of the headache he'd get if this altercation turned political.
He directed his Aurors to take statements from the witnesses and see to the young man's wound while he escorted the mother and daughter back inside and towards the floo.
"Squeak!"
Percival turned sharply. He was sure he'd heard something this time, but the mother chose that moment to grasp his elbow.
"Terrible business, all of it. But once we have the chance to explain—"
Percival resigned himself to a long night.
He hadn't even wanted to attend the party.
/\
"Thank you for agreeing to help. My daughter is in a difficult position," the woman said as she settled into the chair in front of Percival's desk. She'd finally introduced herself as Madam Dell-Cartier, and Percival had immediately recognised the name of the richest perfumer this side of the Atlantic.
Having a better understanding of who he was dealing with sadly didn't help his headache, and Percival closed his eyes for a second, suppressing any stronger reaction to the words he had heard at least a thousand times. Thankfully, his secretary was taking care of the daughter outside his office.
"Madam," he said evenly, bracing for anything from name-dropping to bribes and empty threats. "I'd like it to be clear that I haven't agreed to anything yet."
Madam Dell-Cartier appeared perfectly at ease in the Director of Magical Security's office in her evening gown, gloved hands folded neatly in her lap and legs elegantly crossed at the ankles, not a hair out of place. But Percival had been dealing with everything from petty criminals to corrupt politicians since he'd graduated from Ilvermorny, and he could see the strain under the expensive façade.
She nodded, acquiescing easily before pointing out, "You've agreed to this meeting."
Touché.
He leaned back in his chair, tapping the end of his quill on his desk.
"It'd be remiss of me to discard… information that will change the way my Department looks at this investigation, wasn't it? Please, I'm ready to be amazed."
Madam Dell-Cartier pursed her lips at him, and Percival conceded he'd been slightly too cutting. It'd been a long night, and he'd expected to end it at home, in his partner's arms, not in his office.
"You must understand, Director, that any accusation is based primarily on vicious slander. My daughter wouldn't swat a pixie. She's the sweetest little—"
"She's twenty-three and has had three counts of assault removed from her file," Percival interrupted ruthlessly, raising an eyebrow at the woman's offended mien. "Did you think the unredacted records wouldn't be available to the Head of the DMLE?"
Madam Dell-Cartier didn't acknowledge his question.
"The charges were expunged because she wasn't guilty."
"I'm not sure the young men who suffered grievous injuries would agree."
Madam Dell-Cartier fixed him with a serious look, allowing him the first glimpse under her mask of vapid congeniality and elitist pride.
"My Aria is spirited, and some young men may not react as gentlemen ought when faced with someone of my daughter's beauty and… demeanour."
Percival laced his fingers together over his desk, understanding more than Madam Dell-Cartier would explicitly say about a young, beautiful woman who perhaps didn't feel entirely at ease with the expectations high society held for her.
"You would like to argue for self-defence," he said.
"Obviously!" Madam Dell-Cartier cried before quickly recovering her composure. "Pardon me. What I meant to say is that this evening's unpleasantness was nothing but a little misunderstanding. A little too much fairy wine flowing, the exuberant atmosphere… But my daughter did absolutely nothing wrong. Mister Dartwood accosted Aria, and her… pet reacted to a perceived threat to its master. What can I say, a beast's instincts cannot be controlled! But we're of course eager to comply with the law—we'll pay the fine and hand the beast over to MACUSA for extermination."
Percival paused.
"The… beast?"
Madam Dell-Cartier raised her eyebrows as if to call his intelligence into question.
Percival rallied. It was disgraceful, but high society would always find a way to shift the blame.
"Am I to assume Miss Dell-Cartier's pet travelled with her?"
Madam Dell-Cartier didn't need to answer—her daughter slammed open the door to his office, followed by his flustered secretary.
"I'm so sorry, Director—"
"Of course, Isla is not with me! And I wouldn't let you kill her if she were. She did nothing wrong!"
" Aria," Madam Dell-Cartier hissed, appalled at her daughter's behaviour.
Percival raised his eyes to beg the ceiling for patience and a folded memo dropped on his nose.
He read it quickly.
PD at Barbs. Green/out till am.
"This matter won't be resolved tonight," Percival announced, stopping the three witches in his office in their tracks. "Philip Dartwood was accompanied to St Barbara's Hospital where he'll stay until the morning, although I'm assured his injuries are minor."
Miss Dell-Cartier didn't look particularly relieved, how shocking.
"I suggest we retire for the night and address this at nine o'clock tomorrow. I'm sure no one will do anything foolish between now and then, but Auror Johnson will escort you home and make sure you have a quiet night and an uneventful journey back to MACUSA headquarters."
He didn't leave anyone enough time to complain, let alone Johnson, who he grabbed while escorting the Dell-Cartiers out of the Department.
And if Miss Dell-Cartier's pet couldn't be found in the morning, Percival wouldn't lose any sleep over it.
/\
"I hope you know this is all your fault," was the first thing that crossed Percival's lips when he finally got home.
"Mh?" was his partner's distracted reply.
Just hearing his voice worked wonders to unknot Percival's shoulders, and he was impossibly grateful to find him still awake despite the late hour. Of course, he said nothing of the sort, but he was sure his expression spoke volumes as he admired Newt abandoning what he was doing to come greet him at the door.
"I used to be a hardass," he said. "People knew me as menacing and uncompromising."
As Percival spoke, Newt flitted around him, helping him remove his hat, gloves, scarf, and coat, using magic for his shoes but leaning in to undo the tie manually.
"You're still very impressive, Percy," Newt said softly, looking at his neck.
" Menacing," Percival insisted.
"Mh-mh." Newt flashed him an amused smirk, and something small and green peeked out of his red curls.
"Squeak!"
Newt's expression immediately sweetened, and he brought up a hand so the bowtruckle could climb on.
"See? Pickett agrees! Don't you, Pickett?" Newt asked, listening attentively as Pickett chirped back at him.
Percival sighed fondly, knowing that listening to his complaints was lower on Newt's list of priorities than baby-talking magical creatures. He would resent it more if Newt wasn't the best thing that had ever happened to him.
With that thought, Percival leaned down and laid a gentle kiss on Newt's red curls, wrapping an arm around his waist. He couldn't wait to fall asleep in their bed, but ever since they met—when Newt freed him from Grindelwald's cage and helped him get back on his feet—listening to Newt babble cheerily at his creatures filled him with peace.
He didn't know how he could have gone back to working for MACUSA if he hadn't had this to come home to.
He leaned more heavily on Newt and drank in the sight of his bright smile.
Going soft and saving a silly girl's pet creature was the least of what he'd do for Newt.
/\
At nine on the dot the following morning, Percival sat behind his desk.
Madam Dell-Cartier, Miss Aria Dell-Cartier, Mister Dartwood Sr, and Mister Philip Dartwood sat in front of him.
"It is my understanding that last night's altercation was the result of good wine and a misunderstanding. I'm sure you good people can settle this without the DMLE."
"Are you joking? She attacked me entirely unprovoked! I had to spend the night at St Barbara's."
Mister Dartwood Sr grimaced at the somewhat dramatic declaration but didn't try to control his son.
Percival's expression thickened.
"I'd been informed that the injuries were minor."
Philip puffed up his chest and threw back his head to expose his bandaged neck.
"The healers said it'll take days. Days! Even with their potions! It can only be the result of dark magic."
Aria scoffed, and her mother laid a restraining hand on her arm.
Philip turned towards her.
"Do you think it's funny? You're hoping it'll leave me scarred, aren't you?!"
Philip went for his wand when Aria rolled her eyes, and Percival summoned it before Philip could even fully draw it.
Before Percival could acquaint the young man with the consequences of his actions, a loud " Squeak!" came from Aria's clothes. Aria immediately clamped her hands over her robes as her mother shot her an outraged look.
"Now, where have I heard that before?" Percival wondered rhetorically, finally understanding what he'd been hearing the previous night.
"That's it! She has a beast!" Philip cried. When he reached out towards Aria, a bowtruckle jumped up with its claws extended towards his eyes.
Philip scrambled back, and Aria caught the creature and brought it to her chest.
"Isla! How did you sneak out? You were supposed to stay home this morning!" Aria scolded the bowtruckle—apparently named Isla. Madam Dell-Cartier hung her head in defeat, and Percival wondered how there could be a young woman so similar to Newt in the world.
"That's the thing you threw at me yesterday," Philip said loudly, looking around the office for support. Mister Dartwood Sr, however, appeared to be regretting ever leaving his bed that morning. Percival could relate.
"Stop yelling. You're scaring her," Aria spat at Philip.
Philip pointed at his throat.
"That thing scarred me!"
"Oh, please, she barely scratched you. And she was frightened because you grabbed me, anyway."
Unable to answer Aria's words with logic, Philip turned towards Percival.
"Director Graves! Are you going to do your job and destroy this dangerous creature or should I?"
Aria clutched at the bowtruckle, and Percival decided this farce had gone on long enough.
He raised an eyebrow.
"You mean the bowtruckle? The five-inch-long bowtruckle? That dangerous creature?"
"It attacked me, and I demand—" Philip started saying, puffing up in indignation.
Percival rose to his feet wearing his most foreboding expression, and projected his magic in the air around him.
"You listen to me and you listen well," he said darkly. "The next time I have to deal with you wasting my Department's and the hospital's resources because you couldn't take no for an answer and got what was coming to you after upsetting someone smaller than you—" His magic filled the office, hanging heavy and dangerous over Philip, feeding his fear. "I'll investigate you to the full extent of the law and I assure you, you will not be the same when I'm done with you."
The young man stared at him with wide eyes, following his every movement like prey whose life depended on reading their predator.
Percival knocked it down a notch and went back to speaking in his normal tone.
"Not that I think that's likely. After all, you seem somewhat intelligent. I'm sure nothing at all will happen around you, ever again. Is that not so?" Philip nodded wildly, jumping from his chair in fright when his father slapped his thigh.
"Well," Mister Dartwood Sr said. "That sounded perfectly clear. Let's go, Junior."
Percival let them leave, but he'd already warned his subordinates to stop Philip Dartwood so he could answer some questions regarding his habits when drinking in public and his understanding of the word no.
When the door to his office closed behind the father and son, Percival sat back in his chair. He nodded briefly to Madam Dell-Cartier, who appeared enormously relieved. Then he turned his full attention to Aria.
"And we," he said, "should talk about proper registration."
Morgana, even her guilty expression reminded him of his partner.