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Newt Scamander was a patient man. He was also accustomed to messy living arrangements, and not exactly the most orderly himself, but this? This was taking the cake. There wasn’t a single clean teacup left; instead coffee-stained cups littered his kitchen counter. It meant Newt couldn’t have his afternoon tea and really, there was a line, even for Newt’s almost never-ending patience, and Percival Graves had just crossed it.
With a huff Newt turned on his heels and stalked back out of his hut towards the bowtruckle’s forest, where Percival Graves was lounging in a chair with a book, casual as you please, while Credence sat on the ground, surrounded by a horde of occamies, eagerly snatching bugs from his fingers. Both wizards had been declared in need of recovery –and deemed unfit for society, but nobody ever said that out loud– and since Newt’s suitcase already housed a menagerie of creatures he’d nursed back to health, space for two broken humans in need of care had easily been made. Well, actually it hadn’t been that easy, the case was somewhat crammed as it was, but there was no arguing with President Picquery, once she’d set her mind to something. So, Credence and Mister Graves had joined Newt, and since they departed New York it had been the same every day: Mister Graves kept to himself and hid away with a book, while Credence nearly fell over himself in his panic to make himself useful and earn his keep. The two men were polar opposites of each other, the only thing they had in common the fact that they were recovering from trauma.
Newt came to a stop in front of Mister Graves, fists clenched by his side and feeling absolutely livid, ready to give the man a piece of his mind.
“Mister Graves, a word, please? If it’s not too much trouble?” There, that ought to have informed the man of Newt’s anger.
Mister Graves put a finger between the pages of the book before closing it. He leaned forward in the chair, his eyes on Newt and a small smile curling the corners of his lips upward. “Of course, Mister Scamander. What may I help you with?”
Mister Graves always sounded like he found Newt amusing, for reasons that remained mysterious to Newt. It was unsettling on the one hand, but on the other it was good to see something other than the carefully constructed mask of neutrality on the man’s face. He was not okay, that much was clear, despite his insistences. Newt was by far more receptive than people gave him credit for –when he wanted to be, anyway– and he noticed the way Mister Graves favoured his left side over his right, how he hobbled first thing in the morning or when he’d been sitting for too long. He saw the mask slip when Mister Graves thought nobody was watching, cracks in his composure allowing glances at the pain that lay beneath. Sometimes Newt’d watch Mister Graves’ watch Credence, his expression a peculiar mixture of guilt, agony, and something akin to relief. He had nightmares, but after the first time Newt had woken him from one, Mister Graves had started to cast silencing charms. Newt had found out entirely by chance one night when he’d gone to check on Hildebrun, one of the young occamies who’d caught a cold. He’d passed Mister Graves’ room and felt a thick wall of magic surrounding it, filling his ears with buzzing white noise.
It made sense, in a way. Mister Graves hardly seemed the kind of man to talk freely about his personal life with…well…anyone. But in Newt’s opinion it hindered his recovery considerably, and he almost started to regret having agreed to this. Humans were infinitely more difficult to deal with than creatures.
“It’s about the cups.”
Mister Graves raised an eyebrow. “The cups.”
“Yes, the cups. You see, I just meant to make myself a cup of tea, only to find myself unable to do so because all the cups in the kitchen are dirty.”
Mister Graves’ eyebrows rose steadily and Newt dropped his gaze to look at the man’s boots. The silence between them stretched, and Newt had to concede to the fact that Mister Graves hadn’t understood where he was going with this.
“It appears, Mister Graves, that you’ve been using the cups, which is perfectly fine, cups are made to be used after all, but haven’t cared to wash up after yourself.”
The chair creaked as Mister Graves shifted. “Right.” The way he drew out the word made it clear that the urgency of the situation had gone over his head.
“There are no clean teacups,” Newt repeated, to drive the direness of the situation home.
“Don’t you have a house-elf?”
Of course Mister Graves would’ve grown up in a household like that. Quite possibly he’d never washed a single cup himself in his life!
“No. I don’t support the enslavement of house-elves.” There was obviously a lot of educational work Newt had to do. “There is no need for them, not when we have magic to do most tasks for us. Like washing dirty cups.”
“I…I’ll go wash the cups. I don’t mind.”
“No.”
Credence was already halfway to his feet, but dropped back to the ground, his wide eyes settled on Newt. The boy jumped at every opportunity to make himself useful, but Newt was going to put his foot down this time. Firmly.
“Credence, I forbid you from doing Mister Graves’ work for him.” Credence was possibly the only one on the planet taking Newt’s commands seriously. Theseus had never listened to Newt when he’d forbidden him from entering his room; the niffler never listened to Newt forbidding him to steal from others; and Pickett…Pickett never listened to anything anyway.
“Sorry, Mister Newt.” Credence ducked his head. One of the occamies in his lap butted its head against his hand as if to comfort him.
“Nothing to be sorry for, Credence.”
Credence didn’t look entirely convinced, but his shoulders dropped from their tense perch when Sandra nuzzled beneath his chin and clattered her beak.
“My apologies.” Mister Graves closed his book and pushed to his feet. “My apologies, Mister Scamander. I didn’t mean to cause an inconvenience. I’ll wash those mugs right away.”
Newt’s lips pursed. It sounded like Mister Graves was making fun of him again, and when he raised his gaze he found the man smiling at him.
“I’d appreciate it if you did, Mister Graves.”
“Of course. Do you want me to make you a cup of tea, while I’m at it?” Mister Graves asked, as he hobbled towards the hut.
“I…no. No, please don’t.” Newt set off after the man, determined to bodily keep him from committing such a deed if he had to. Everyone knew that Americans couldn’t brew a decent cup of tea to save their lives! And Newt was in great need of a good cup of tea.
“What? Don’t you trust me? Maybe you should come along, make sure I clean the cups to your satisfaction?”
Now Newt was definitely being made fun of, and he huffed to let Mister Graves know that this was no laughing matter at all. Unfortunately, it had no effect at all, and Mister Graves ended up showing each and every cup to Newt for inspection, before floating it away to the cupboards. Newt would’ve been annoyed, if not for the fact that Mister Graves looked relaxed as he worked, a twinkle in his eyes whenever he looked over at Newt. It was good to see a spark returned to them; so far Newt had only seen them dulled.
“You know, if we’re going to see each other on a daily basis for the foreseeable future, you should start calling me Percival.”
Something warm settled in Newt’s chest. “If you call me Newt.”
“So, Newt. You do know that we pay house-elves in America, right?”
***
After that, Percival never left his dirty cups standing around. When they were in India he even bought a cup just for Newt. It was blue, with a white elephant painted on it in painstaking detail, and neither Credence nor Percival used it, so it was always there, waiting for Newt when he opened the cupboard.
Once Newt found out how terrible Percival was at household charms (there were only so many new clothes he could purchase before it got suspicious), he started to tutor him alongside Credence, which in turn made Credence feel better about his lack of magical education.
In the end, Newt found that caring for humans wasn’t all that different to caring for creatures after all. They needed patience and, on occasion, a firm hand. Although Credence remained the only one listening when Newt forbade something, while Percival laughed and did it anyway, having the audacity to wink at Newt while doing so. It made Newt feel inexplicably flustered every time, and he couldn’t deny that he liked it. Maybe. A little bit.
A lot. He liked it a lot.