Chapter Text
“Newt!” Albus Dumbledore, transfiguration professor at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry called out to one of his favourite students, finally returned after many long years of travel.
“Professor Dumbledore!” Newt returned happily, as he nervously walked into the Great Hall, case tightly grasped in his hand.
“So good to see you my boy, and please, it’s Albus.” Albus waved the newest Care of Magical Creatures Professor over to where the rest of the professors gathered. All the teachers arrived a few days early to meet and do final planning for the school year. The two newest professors to join the staff had arrived today.
The other aforementioned professor was Percival Graves, previous Director of Magical Security of MACUSA in America. He had arrived even earlier than the Hufflepuff alumnus, and was currently speaking with Headmaster Dippet about the differences between wand handling in England and the colonies.
“I’m wondering as well, Headmaster, whether there will be a difference between the wand-work of the children trained as toddlers versus the no-maj, sorry, Muggleborn, students who are relatively new to this world of magic.”
Dippet nodded his head. “An interesting observation. You’ll have to discern the capabilities of your students and I would be interested to see what your conclusions are. Just remember these are children, not raw recruit aurors.”
“Of course sir, but they need to know how to defend themselves and others.” Graves excused himself and went to partake of the Ogden’s Firewhiskey. It was almost as good as America's Roanoke Whiskey, he decided.
Standing at the sideboard where the bottles were placed, he had a full view of the room. As ex-military man and former Auror, his eyes automatically scanned the room, immediately noticing the newcomer dressed in a… blue coat? His eyes widened, it must be. Newton Scamander.
He had to go over to him, he needed to, the pull practically felt physical, like he was an object with an accio spell cast on it, it was so tangible. His soul called for the other wizard, there was no doubting it now, they were, and always had been, soulmates. He had been correct in looking for Newt as soon as he could assure MACUSA’s security was left in capable hands.
Newt could feel eyes on him, the stare, wherever it was coming from. was so intense it nearly made him drop the glass of water that prof- that Albus had handed to him, eyes twinkling, before merrily going off to talk with Professor Slughorn, the potions professor. Newt looked around, finally seeing the wizard that had been staring at him so intently, scrutinizing him like a swooping evil contemplating fresh brains.
Newt, as Graves remembered he preferred to be called, must have felt his eyes on him as he glanced around until their eyes met. He smiled kindly, also recalling that if there was a scale from nervous to confident Newt probably would have broken it, and not shooting off of the confident side. The only time the man seemed at ease in his own skin was when he was interacting with one of his creatures, or trying to educate the ignorant about the wondrous variety of magical beasties.
What was the Director of Magical Security doing here? Wait. No, he was not the Director of Magical Security anymore, he had announced his impending retirement a while ago, saying he would leave the job for someone else to wrangle as soon as he could assure himself that everything was under control. This had apparently taken many more years than he had expected, but the Prophet mentioned last week, that Graves had resigned, signifying well-being in the colonies.
And now it seemed that he was going to be teaching at Hogwarts, it seemed he was in the same room as him, and it seemed like he was walking right towards where Newt himself happened to be standing…. And if the way his soul happened to be pulling towards the older wizard, it also seemed like they were soul mates.
Newt wavered on his feet and toppled back into blackness, his lanky form’s fall broken by the ex-Auror’s quick reflexes. They touched, and their soul marks burned in sympathy.
Somewhere, deep in MACUSA’s jail, Grindelwald also felt a burn on his mark- one created when he polyjuiced into that damned Percival Graves- as his partner’s mark was partially linked, the other part would be linked to him, as soon as he got out of this pestilent cell.
GRINDELWALD ESCAPES!! was the blaringly large font title on the front page of the Daily Prophet. The headline shimmered ominously. Each professor had a copy delivered to where they sat at the Head Table, and each immediately turned to the previous Head of Security to see his reaction as soon as they read it.
He stared at his own copy with an uncharacteristically gobsmacked face before he promptly composed himself and reacted. He stood quickly,chair screeching slightly from being pushed back so quickly from the table and he ran. He knew he had to get to Newt, right now. He dodged suits of armor and statues of long dead wizards as he ran, cursing the fact he couldn’t apparate inside the wards. But that meant Grindelwald couldn’t either.
Graves had no doubt that Grindelwald was here. His escape would have been silent in order not to raise an alarm. By the time Prophet reported the newsflash, he would have been long gone, which means he had to run. He burst through the hallways, steadily heading towards Newt’s room where he had been placed last night after fainting right as their soul marks connected and resonated in a burst of magic.
His mark-- suddenly he was conscious of it, it burned... It wasn’t the burn of a connection he had had last night, it was the burn of someone dangerously close to his partner. Only one other person had a mark sympathetic with his Newt. It was a little known effect of Polyjuice that if someone were using the potion regularly, the soulmate effect would also affect the imposter, linking him to his mark’s mate. In imitating Graves, he had now a claim on Newt. Graves started up running again, putting on a new burst of speed, but he knew it was too late.
The door was still open, and he ran inside, disregarding caution, focused solely on getting to Newt as fast as possible before something could hap- Grindelwald smiled at him as he sat on Newt’s bed, with Newt’s still unconscious form lying supine beside him. Newt's head rested on the Dark Wizard's lap. The scene might have been a sweet tableau to an onlooker if Grindelwald hadn't had a wand pointed at Newt's neck, tracing a symbol on his pale neck.
Graves held his wand aloft, steadily keeping it pointed at the dark wizard, but he had no doubt that if Grindelwald wanted to, he could kill Newt, hurt him irreversibly, do any number of horrible things to him in an instant if it looked like Graves was about to curse him.
Grindelwald inclined his head like a host extending his hospitality. All that was lacking was a bottle of red wine and matching goblets.
“Graves. I must say, your wards gave me quite the challenge. I’m wondering if you were aware that we Germans excel at wardmaking--- and breaking?”
“Leave him alone, you can duel me.”
“Oh? I can? Seems a pity to lacerate you when your mate and mine would be upset with us both. I have a better proposition that leaves us with all our body parts intact and fully functional….” he purred.
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
"You do understand that Newt is also my mate? And that he will need to... accomodate both of us?" he asked mockingly. “Surely you understand his wellbeing rests on a sensitive nature. I could easily torture you into insanity before ridding you from this planet, but that wouldn’t be good for Newt, so for now, you stay sane and alive. I presume you think something rather similar about your situation with me.”
“He is mine to protect," asserted Graves, resting a hand on Newt’s leg, his wand still pointed at the crafty, power hungry wizard.
“Ours to protect. Especially from each other, I think. Given his propensity to get into trouble, Newt needs two powerful wizards to keep him safe.”
“So what is your proposition,” Graves asked, lowering his wand slightly, realizing he couldn’t just blast the dark wizard into oblivion.
“We both get Newt. This is non-negotiable for both of us.” The two dominant men looked at each other, and warily pulled back from threatening to watchful stances. Grindelwald pocketed his wand, but continued to trace Newt's long pale neck with his fingertips, just to piss off the other man.
“You do anything to hurt him and I’ll take you down with me. Don’t forget, I survived an obscurus,” said Graves, stalking over to stand by the bed.
“Don’t forget your obscurus was also mine, for a time. What a pity I didn’t see him for more than a no-maj distraction, pretty but hardly experienced. Pity he got away from both of us and flew away. Bye bye, black smoke.”
Newt started coming around, drawing both men’s attention. Graves reached over to cup his freckled cheek and Grindelwald smacked his hand away angrily.
“Mein!” he snarled.
Newt gulped, coming awake and taking note of two wizards facing off over his still shaky, nerveless body. “Graves? Grindelwald?”
“Newt darling!”
“Liebling!”
The magizoologist looked even more confused and frightened at what he had woken to-- yet a pair of male erumpents trying to impress the same female in estrus was far more explosive than this and he knew how to deal with that. If he thought of them as two alpha males posturing, he was completely sure of what he had to do.
“Basilisk’s balls, gentlemen, I’m not a quidditch cup to fight over. Get out of my room and leave me alone! Neither of you gets to lay a fingernail on me until I say so,” yelled Newt, taking control of the situation.
Automatically, at the implacable note of command in his usually mild voice, they found themselves magically pushed away from the bed. They left the room, only realizing their mistake once they heard the door click locked behind them, and felt three wards get thrown up in quick succession, one of them in an African tongue which neither of them could identify, much less dissect its grammar, to disperse the spell swiftly.
Grindelwald turned around to start banging on the door. “You will let me in right now!! I am the darkest lord of all time!”
“Oh yeah! You’re really convincing me, one word for you-- Mordred,” Newt yelled back, letting his tone became slightly sardonic, his offensive instinct taking over at the best possible time.
Grindelwald sputtered, Mordred was at least his equal, that was true.
“Newt sweety, why can’t you just open th-” Graves coaxed.
“Not a chance,” was the flat reply. “Bugger off. Go bugger each other, for all I care.” The pair looked at each other and shuddered a bit.
Graves resorted to Grindelwald’s tactic, yelling “I am the director of magical security for the entirety of magical America, you will…”
“You quit! Professor, I read the papers,” Newt called back, reminding him of his current status before looking around his room and accio’ing his dresser to place in front of the door, blockading the way just that much more. However, he figured if the wizards hadn’t blown his door in yet, they probably wouldn't resort to that. Just to be sure, though, he slept with his wand in his hand that night, his wards alerting him at midnight that while neither wizard outside his door had abandoned the battlefield, neither had they resorted to hexing one another.