Archive of Our Own

Percival had known they were going to the palace, where he’d see Eddie, who was Newt, who was a prince. He’d known alright, but when the gates opened and the car pulled up in front of the sprawling building, Percival realised that he hadn’t understood what it meant at all. He was at Buckingham Palace, about to have lunch with an actual, real-life prince, whom he had kissed last night.

It was surreal. Absolutely surreal. A small, morbid part of Percival’s brain couldn’t help but wonder if they still had torture chambers in the castle, and if the King, who happened to be Newt’s brother, would take him to one should he ever hear of the fact that Newt had spent the night with Percival.

“If you will follow me, sir,” the driver said, pulling Percival from the daze he’d been in the entire way.

“Sure. Yes. Of course.” Percival dug his fingernails into his palms to keep from babbling on as he stumbled out of the car. He wasn’t usually this graceless and insecure, but consoled himself with the thought that everyone would be intimidated when faced with people so much higher up in the world’s hierarchy; he felt like a kitten attempting to run with a pack of wolves.

Percival tried to subtly wipe his sweaty palms in his pants as he followed the man through seemingly endless corridors; they didn’t encounter a single soul on the way, which fuelled Percival’s already rushing thoughts. What if the letter had been a fake, and this man was leading Percival to his execution? Maybe the King had already decided to off him for treason, or molestation of the Royal Highness.

When the driver pushed open an elaborately carved oak door, Percival wasn’t faced with the dank torture chamber his mind had conjured. Instead sunlight streamed in through ceiling high windows, the room itself friendly and airy, the accents of the furniture shimmering like liquid cold. Percival had no eyes for that though, his gaze drawn to the figure standing by the windows, gazing out at the gardens beyond. His red hair shone brightly in the sun, combed neatly to the side, only a few strands that curled around his ears hinting at its natural, much wilder texture.

He was the same, and yet he was entirely different. Maybe it was in the way he held himself, back straight and hands crossed behind his back, or maybe it was the tense line of his shoulders, visible even beneath the well-cut jacket he wore.

At the sound of the door opening Newt turned around, and Percival exhaled. His smile was the same, but the lines of worry around his eyes were new. Percival was peripherally aware of the door closing behind him, leaving the two of them alone in the privacy of the room.

“You came.” Newt’s voice was a mixture of disbelief and relief, and he took a step forward but stumbled to a halt, like he wasn’t quite sure if, or how, to approach Percival. Newt’s behaviour was unaffected by his status and title, even here in his own home, like he had never gotten the memo that he was one of the big guys.

“Of course I did,” Percival replied, slowly finding his footing again and bridging the distance between them. “You promised to have lunch with me, after all.”

Newt’s smile widened. “I did.” When he hugged Percival it felt a little strange and stilted, like they were a pair of marionettes, just learning how to move their wooden limbs.

“I’m really sorry I left the way I did,” Newt said once he pulled back, tugging on the sleeves of his jacket. “But…I had to get back before anybody noticed.”

“Sure,” Percival said with more ease than he felt. “Wouldn’t have wanted the Royal Guard bashing in my front door.”

Newt pursed his lips. “They wouldn’t have done that.” His brows furrowed. “Well. Maybe. Theseus gets a little,” he waved his hand, “overprotective sometimes.”

“It looks like he has all reason to.” Percival finally took a moment to look around the room. The carpet was thick and plush, the chairs had a golden frame and were upholstered with rich, blue velvet. A variety of covered dishes stood on the polished coffee table, the silver spotless and reflective in the light.

“Are you going to lecture me now?” Newt asked and Percival’s gaze settled back on him, his lips quirking at the slight pout on Newt’s face.

“No, it was rather meant as a compliment.”

Newt blinked a few times as he mulled the statement over, before he apparently decided that Percival wasn’t making fun of him, and the lines of his creased forehead smoothed out.

“Please, have a seat.” He gestured towards the set table. “I wasn’t sure if you preferred tea or coffee, so I had the kitchens prepare both.” 

“Coffee would be great, ta.” Percival took the chair across from Newt, his eyes roaming over the spread before him. He’d never seen so much food on one table, and part of him couldn’t help but scowl, thinking it wasteful to prepare so much for two people. His entire family could’ve eaten their fill, and there’d still be leftovers. 

“Yes, I rather think it’s a day for coffee,” Newt said as he took it upon himself to pour them both a cup. Looking a little closer at him, Percival noticed that the thin skin beneath his eyes had a purple hew, his lips looking chapped around the edges.

“This your first proper hangover then?”

For a moment Newt’s posture turned defensive, like he was about to deny it, but then his shoulders dropped and he pulled a face. “Yes.”

“Coffee will help. And a few gallons of water. Can’t go wrong with some eggs and sausages either, anything savoury.”

“You seem rather well-versed in that field.”

Percival blinked. “I’m Irish,” he said, thinking that the matter needed no further clarification.

“And here I’m trying not to make my judgement based on stereotypes,” Newt huffed, his eyes alight with humour.

“There’s a grain of truth in every stereotype.” Percival copied Newt and unfolded his serviette, laying it across his lap.

“Maybe.” Newt stared thoughtfully at his coffee for a moment, before he raised his gaze. “What stereotypes are there about princes then?”

His gaze weighed on Percival like a physical weight, and he couldn’t help but feel like this was a test. 

“Well,” he stalled and took a sip of coffee. “They have impeccable manners, which I’ve found to be true. They’re rather smart, also true. Can’t hold their drinks though, which is rather tragic.”

The corners of Newt’s lips twitched. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

“I’d never dare, Your Highness.” Somehow it was easier to make fun of the situation than acknowledge its gravity.

Newt watched him for a moment and Percival was beginning to wonder if he’d overstepped, but then Newt’s eyes lit up and he ducked his head. “I’m really glad you came.” He took a sip of coffee and dabbed at the corner of his lips with his serviette, probably more out of nervousness than anything else.

“Me too.” Despite the utter strangeness of the situation, the uncertainty where this was supposed to go once they left the safe bubble of this room, Percival meant it.

They ate in silence for a while, catching the tail of each other’s gazes like they were shy teenagers not quite daring to look straight at each other. Percival rather enjoyed it; it had been too long since he’d felt itchy with anticipation. The brief encounters of the intimate kind he’d had in the past had been laid out plain as day, no surprises and no romance, just dark alleys and quick satisfaction. This was new and exciting, and Percival hardly dared to break the silence, as it might shatter the moment between them. At some point they would have to talk about how to proceed from here though, and Percival had always been a big believer in doing things quickly, to minimise the pain.

“So. How…is this supposed to go? I assume I’m not allowed to take you for lunch in return?”

Newt’s gaze dropped back to the table and he carefully put his cutlery down, dabbing at the corners of his lips again with the serviette. “Right, yes. I mean, no, I suppose you can’t. Even though I’d like you to, but…you know.” He sighed and took a deep breath, his hand moving towards his hair like he wanted to run his fingers through it, but stopping short. “I actually have a proposition for you.” Newt’s gaze flicked up to meet Percival’s, but quickly darted away again. “You see, I need a valet. Or so my brother tells me. And I…I asked him to take you on. Not because…not because I think you’re a valet, though I’m sure you’ll do great! But so…so we could continue to see each other. If you…if you wanted that,” his words grew slower in the end, like he’d run out of steam.

Percival blinked and put his own cutlery down, leaning back against the chair. It was a lot to take in, and an offer he hadn’t expected.

“You want me to work for you?”

Newt pulled a face. “Not…not for me. Rather with me.”

“Semantics,” Percival waved his hand. “It’s a generous offer Newt, but what if it doesn’t work out? Are you just going to give me the boot?” He’d be left with nothing if he left his current job, which was shitty but at least provided a stable income.

“What? No! Of course not. I wouldn’t do that, Percival. We’d….we’d find you something else.”

“Right,” Percival snorted. He’d never liked being at the mercy of other people and this? This would mean making his livelihood dependant entirely on Newt and his generosity. “I don’t even know what a valet does, Newt. And I’m not…I don’t think I’m someone who fits into this environment,” he said, his gaze sweeping around the room, trying to imagine himself here.

“I…I didn’t have much time to think this through, but I…I still think it’s the best shot we got,” Newt replied, a stubborn set to his jaw.

“You don’t think things through much in general, do you?”

That, at last, got Newt’s lips to twitch into a smile. “Now you sound exactly like my brother. You two will get along splendidly.”

Percival couldn’t help a little wince, which had Newt’s eyebrows rising in question.

“Your brother. He’s…” Percival gave Newt a meaningful look, which didn’t translate since Newt’s eyebrows stayed on their questioning perch. “Your brother. He’s the King.”

“Yes,” Newt replied slowly.

“I hardly think I’ll get along with…a king. I mean. That’s just surreal.”

“Why?” Newt asked. The way he frowned made Percival think that he’d misstepped rather badly. “I am a prince and we get along, don’t we? You’re talking like he’s some untouchable species.”

“Well, he is. At least for people like me,” Percival couldn’t help but bite back. “You have got to know that for the people beyond these walls the royal family are untouchable. You’re like…like myths. People know about you, and they see pictures of you in the papers, and maybe they see you on that balcony at some festivity from very far away, but they don’t ever expect to see you in the flesh. So yes, as far as us common people are concerned, you are untouchable.”

Newt’s frown deepened and by the end of Percival’s little speech, he looked a mixture of upset and sad. Percival immediately wished he could take back everything he’d said.

“I see.”

“No, Newt, I didn’t…it’s not that…just-“ Percival struggled for an explanation and cursed the table for being so goddamn big, making it impossible for him to take Newt’s hand, say through touches what he was lacking in words. “I mean. You know what kind of fork to use for different courses, I bet.”

“I…I do. Don’t you?” Newt asked, confusion furrowing his brows. 

“No, Newt, I don’t. In my family we barely had enough forks for everyone to get one.” The tension in the air between them deflated as Percival slumped back in his chair, watching Newt mull his statement over.

“I suppose I have a lot to learn,” Newt eventually said, shifting in his chair as if he expected Percival to think badly of him because he had manners. “I…I hate it sometimes, you know? That we’re so…so isolated from real life. That I can’t….I can’t judge what normal is.”

Percival snorted and finished his coffee. “I don’t think there’s such a thing as ‘normal’, doll.”

“You know what I mean,” Newt replied and Percival didn’t miss the slight colouring of his cheeks at the pet name. “Will you at least consider my offer, Percival? I…I’d really like to have you here. Even if it’s just as…just as a friend. I would hate for you to feel obliged to anything.”

Newt’s eyes were wide, and so earnest that something deep in Percival’s chest ached.

“Sure, just give me some time to think about it, aye?”

“Of course. All the time you need.” Despite his words it was plain that Newt would’ve preferred it if Percival  agreed and stayed here right away. And as much as Percival wanted to learn more about this strange and endearing man, he knew that he should do what his mother had told him to do with every big decision he had ever had to make in life: sleep on it.

***

“You’re joking.” Tina stared at Percival like he’d turned himself into an elephant right in front of her eyes. Next to her Jacob was frowning and Queenie was lighting up like a Christmas tree, clapping her hands.

“That’s so romantic, like something out of a fairytale. Don’t you think so, honey?”

“Uh-huh,” Jacob nodded, still frowning.

“He’s the Prince?” Tina looked like she was about to pop an artery. She turned to look at Credence, who’d stayed quiet and indifferent throughout Percival’s recounting of this morning’s events, smoking his cigarette.

“I kinda suspected,” Credence admitted as he pushed the remains of his cigarette out in the ashtray.

“You kinda suspected?” Tina echoed, her voice going a little shrill.

“Yeah,” Credence shrugged. “Just thought he had a resemblance to the Prince, you know? But, I mean…who’d actually suspect the Prince at O’Brien’s?” His eyebrows drew together. “It’s quite genius, actually, if you think about it.”

“So…lemme get this straight. We spent last night with royalty?” Jacob interrupted, causing Queenie’s smile to widen and she leaned into his side.

“We did! Awfully exciting, isn’t it? I thought that he had very good manners. It makes sense now. I never thought I’d get to meet a real life prince,” she sighed dreamily.

“Well. He seemed like a real nice bloke,” Jacob agreed.

“Except for the part where he lied to us about who he was,” Tina said.

“He couldn’t have very well told us, could he now?” Queenie waved her off. “I mean, people not seeing just his title was the entire point of it! And don’t deny that you would’ve treated him differently, had you known, Teenie.”

For a second Tina looked like she wanted to protest, but then thought better of it and took a sip of tea instead.

“So what’s going to happen now?”

Percival sighed and took a long drag from his cigarette, avoiding Jacob’s gaze. “I don’t know. I told him I needed to think about it.”

Jacob nodded, the lines of his frown softening. “It’s a good offer, mate.”

“I know but…is it?” Percival pinched the bridge of his nose; he could feel his headache returning. “I mean. He doesn’t really know me. I don’t really know him. If I go to work for him won’t that make everything awkward? Double awkward because I don’t belong in a posh environment. And if it doesn’t work out, what then?”

“Is the pay good?”

“Dunno. I didn’t ask.” In hindsight, Percival hadn’t asked about any details of the job.

“This isn’t about the pay, Jacob,” Queenie said, her expression serious as she looked at Percival. “I really think you should do it, Percy. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, isn’t it? You don’t get a chance like that every day, and I think you’d regret it if you didn’t try. And Eddie… Newt seems really nice. If nothing else he deserves to have a friend. Just imagine living in that big dusty palace all by yourself. The poor lad probably doesn’t have a single honest friend, and he can’t just go down to the pub to talk with folks either. It sounds…lonely. So you’ll be helping another person out and you’ll get out of your job, which you don’t like anyway.”

“I hate it when you’re being reasonable,” Percival grumbled, though he couldn’t muster any real heat to put into his words. Queenie was right, after all. What did he have to lose? If it didn’t work out, he’d find work elsewhere.

“Do you want to work for those people though?” Tina asked, earning her a glare from Queenie. “What? It’s true! They’ve never had to work a day in their lives, and yet they sit in their luxurious castle stuffing themselves with…caviar.”

“C’mon, Teenie, don’t turn this into a debate about principles,” Queenie sighed. “You’ve met Newt. He didn’t pick his lot in life anymore than you did, it’s hardly his fault he was born into that family, is it? And last night proves that he’s attempting to connect with the people.”

“I think you should do it,” Credence said, effectively silencing anything Tina had wanted to say. He rarely voiced his opinion so openly, but his gaze didn’t waver when Percival looked at him. “I think Newt needs a friend, and it’ll be a good story to tell one day.”

Although he was the youngest of the group, sometimes Percival felt that Credence was far smarter than any of them. He’d had to grow up quick, and sometimes when looking into his eyes Percival felt like he caught a glimpse of a very old soul.

“I’ll continue to think about it,” Percival decided, though he did return Credence’s smile.

“Do you think we’ll get invited for a tea party at the palace?” Queenie giggled and the corners of Credence’s lips stretched into an amused grin as he shared another look with Percival.

***

Spending the afternoon with his friends had made Percival feel better, and distracted him from the decision he knew he’d have to make. Now, alone in his bedroom, his thoughts were back to circling, as he weighed the reasons to accept against the reasons to reject. The ashtray on his bedside table was overflowing, his throat  scratchy from all the nervous cigarettes he’d burnt through.

Percival was an impulsive person; being stuck in between two options was new to him, since he usually didn’t ponder things for too long. It was horrible, going back and forth between yes and no.

“You’re a fucking coward,” he muttered as he rolled off the bed and opened the window. The night air hit him like a slap to the face, and Percival took a few deep breaths, hoping to clear his mind.

If it came down to it, the thing keeping him from accepting Newt’s offer was fear; fear of not being good enough for the job, of not being good enough for Newt, fear of making a fool out of himself, of leaving the comfortable, if somewhat boring, life he’d built.

Could he live with himself if he stayed in his comfort zone and never saw Newt again?

Percival sighed and leaned his forearm against the windowframe, watching the twinkling lights of the city. If Newt hadn’t turned out to be Newt, but had stayed Eddie, would Percival want to see him again?

The excited lurch of his heart was answer enough, and Percival swallowed. He was a fucking idiot. Newt’s title shouldn’t mean a thing; he deserved to be seen as a person, not a title. Queenie’s words kept repeating in his mind as he remembered how Newt had looked this morning, somewhere between hopeful and resigned. Had anyone ever made an effort to see him as something other than a prince? 

Percival’s mother was a big believer in destiny; he himself had considered such things nonsense, firm in his believe that everyone was responsible for their own fate. But maybe...maybe he had met Newt for a reason.

Feck it. He might as well give it a try and stop overthinking, which only gave him a headache anyway.

The remaining question was how he’d let Newt know about his decision; Percival had a feeling they wouldn’t  let him walk straight into Buckingham Palace.

There was nothing he could do right at this very moment anyway, and having finally made his decision, Percival became aware of how tired he was. He shuffled back over to his bed and was asleep before his head even hit the pillow. 

***

The lighter clicked to life and Percival lit his third cigarette in ten minutes, not yet ready to admit that he was stalling. He still hadn’t made up his mind on what to do – go to Buckingham himself and ask to speak to Newt, or send a letter. The former seemed like it was bound to cause trouble, the later rather formal. And either way, should he go to work today, or start packing up his belongings? Handing in his notice seemed to rash without definite proof that Newt was serious about employing him, no matter how much Percival wanted to tell the foreman to stick it where the sun didn’t shine.

With a huff of frustration Percival flicked the cigarette but out of the window before closing it and making his way downstairs for a cup of coffee. He’d have to stop stalling after that and make up his damn mind.

The crammed little kitchen smelled like old grease, and Percival’s shoes made a creaking noise as the soles kept sticking to the floor. At this point it was hard to tell it’s original colour; a myriad of spills, crumbs and dirty shoe prints having combined into an ugly grey-ish brown film that coated the linoleum. 

As Percival waited for his coffee to brew, he was hit with delayed relief that he hadn’t shown Newt the kitchen. His room was bad enough, but this? The dirty dishes, the rusty appliances, and the disgusting floor were so different from the pristine and gleaming rooms in the palace that it was almost comic.

He was about to pour his coffee when a knock on the door made Percival still with his hand wrapped around the mug. A glance at the clock made him frown; it was too early for the mail to arrive. Most likely it was Abernathy, who’d forgotten his keys again and was stopping by in after a wild night out to grab a quick shower before work.

Percival let go off his mug and went to answer the door, the words dying on his lips before they’d even been formed. In front of him stood yesterday’s driver, looking neat and perfectly put together and exactly the same as the day before, which was a little a creepy. 

“Mate, we’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Percival blurted, suddenly very keenly aware of the fact that his boots were unlaced, his work trousers half heartedly stuffed into them, his undershirt worn out with a hole in the neck, and his actual shirt as of yet absent. He’d never been self-conscious, but the thought of this man, in his sharp suit and with his sharp vowels, thinking that Percival routinely ran around like a slob bothered him. He quickly ran his fingers through his hair, hoping to bring it into some semblance of order.

“Sir,” the man (Percival really ought to ask his name and remember it), inclined his head, not giving any indication that Percival’s sense of dress bothered him. “His Royal Highness sent me, requesting to know your answer. He instructed me to take you and your belongings back to the palace, should you decide to come. Else, he asked me to wish you all the best and to tell you that he doesn’t hold it against you.” It was all said  without infliction, like the man was nothing but a piece of paper, delivering someone else’s words with no feeling of his own for them.

“Ah.” That, at last, solved Percival’s dilemma. “I’ll come back to the palace, but I haven’t…finished packing yet.” Nor had he even started, but the driver didn’t need to know that.

“Not to worry, sir. Does sir need a hand, or should I wait in the car?”

“Wait in the car! I mean…if that’s…no trouble,” Percival replied, panic pressing down on him like ice cold fingers on his spine at the thought of this impeccable man entering the shabby house.

“Of course not. Take as much time as you need, sir.” The man did a little bow and Percival had to press his lips together to keep the hysteric laughter from spilling out as he watched the driver walk back to the sleek car.

“Oi!” Percival only had a second to silently cuss himself for blurting this out instead of thinking of something more refined. But when the driver turned around, his face was as neutral as ever, only one eyebrow tilted up slightly in question.

“What’s your name, mate?”

“It’s Stewart, sir.”

“Right. Give me ten minutes, Stewart. Fifteen tops. I’ll try and be quick.”

Before Stewart could give a reply, Percival was already running up the stairs.

***

Impossibly, the corridors Percival was being led through this time appeared even more intricate than the ones from the day before, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever manage to find his way around here. 

It felt like they’d walked once through the entire palace, when the servant finally stopped in front of a door and opened it, giving Percival a little nod. “Your things are going to be brought up in a minute, Mr. Graves.”

“Thank you.” Before Percival could inquire about the man’s name, he was already walking away. Percival looked to his left and right, and upon finding the hallway empty, he stepped through the door. Although he had every right to be here Percival still felt awkward and reminded himself that he wasn’t a thief stealing around in the night.

“Ah. Mr. Graves, I assume?”

Percival flinched, not having expected anyone to be in here. Before he even had a chance to take in his new surroundings, a woman marched up to him, clipboard in hand, the skirt of her dress swinging with each step she took. She was striking, in looks as much as in appearance, and carried herself with a surety and grace that left Percival fascinated and intimidated at the same time. He supposed they were of the same height, though he couldn’t tell for sure with the high turban hiding her hair. She seemed altogether larger than life, and Percival swallowed against the lump in his throat. When she quirked an eyebrow, he realised that he’d never given her an answer. 

“Ah, yes. Yes, that’s me.” Should he hold out his hand for her to shake? It would only be polite, but Percival had the feeling that this woman wasn’t the hand-shaking type.

“Pleasure. I’m Seraphina Picquery, chief of staff. Welcome to Buckingham Palace.” Her smile was perfectly polite, but it sharpened her eyes and Percival swallowed, his throat bobbing, well aware that she was scrutinising and cataloguing him. “His Royal Highness hired you himself, but I want you to understand that I’m your immediate supervisor, so any problems, concerns, and questions you address to me.” She waited for Percival to nod before glancing at her clipboard.

“I don’t have much time, so I suggest you try on your uniform while I give you a rundown of the house rules and what is expected of you. We have the tailor informed of your arrival, any changes needed he’ll make tonight.”

Percival was left to stumble after her as she turned and marched into the adjacent room.

“As you can see, as the personal valet of His Royal Highness you have your own apartment, consisting of living room, a bedroom, a bathroom and a small study. There is a hidden door connecting you to His Majesty’s apartment. You are to be available to him at any time of the day and night. You’re not allowed to bring guests here, and I’d like to remind you that strict security protocol is to be followed in this wing of the palace. Mister Snape, our chief of security, shall be going over these rules with you later today. Now,” she whirled around and pointed to a suit hung over the door of an elaborate wooden wardrobe. “Try these on, please. Any questions so far?”

Percival mutely shook his head and took the suit. Everything in the room was intricate, but he could not appreciate, or even take it in, his mind spinning as he tried not to feel ridiculous, changing behind the paravane. 

He didn’t know what he’d expected his arrival to be like, but it certainly wasn’t this. Which had been a stupidity on his part, because what had he thought was going to happen? That he’d join Newt in his rooms and they’d go for a nice walk in the gardens? No matter the feelings between them, he’d been brought here to start a new job; he ought to get a grip on his feelings and show the necessary professionalism.

“I’m given to understand that you’ve never worked as a valet before?”

Percival glanced over the paravane at Seraphina, standing by the window and making notes on her clipboard.  Her golden earrings gleamed in the light.

“No, ma’am.”

Seraphina raised her head and held his gaze for a second. There was a mischievous spark in her eyes, like she knew why Percival was here, but within the blink of an eye it was gone and Percival was left to wonder if it’d been a trick of the light.

“Under normal circumstances I’d bring in one of the more senior staff to train you, but His Highness insisted that he’ll discuss your duties with you tomorrow morning himself. Since he has never had a valet before, I have prepared a list for the both of you to go through. I suppose your first, and most important, lesson to remember is that nothing is done the traditional way when it comes to His Highness. I’ve also arranged for you to have etiquette lessons every night in the upcoming week with Sir Dumbledore. He’s one of the King’s advisors and volunteered his time. Not many are offered an opportunity like this, so I suggest you make use of those lessons and pay very close attention.”

Percival nodded as he buttoned up the white shirt of his uniform. It was perfectly pressed and ironed, not a single wrinkle in the fabric, and yet it felt softer against his skin than anything he’d owned before. His sister would probably think this a fabulous dream, something straight out of a fairytale, but Percival was starting to feel claustrophobic, like he’d walked straight into a golden trap. He’d never been good with authority and adhering to rules. 

There was a bitter taste in his mouth as he swallowed, but he ignored it and firmly thought about why he was doing this instead, Newt’s desperately hopeful smile flashing in his mind. And besides, Seraphina Picquery seemed like the kind of woman who enjoyed being intimidating; things were probably not as rigid, strict, and boring as she made them out to be.

***

Things were exactly as rigid, strict, and boring as Miss Picquery had made them out to be. By the end of the day Percival had been fitted, briefed, fitted again, and briefed some more. Mister Snape had made no effort to hide the fact that he was judging Percival and his background; he was at once suspicious of Percival’s reasons for coming to the palace, and all the same not inclined to waste a second more than necessary on Percival. The briefing had been straight and to the point, the man’s voice stiff and creaking like new leather, as he ran through the rules. His eyes had taken on a sharp glint as he explained in rather elaborate detail the consequences Percival was to face, should he violate any of the regulations.

The meeting had left Percival feeling like a dirty thief, his every flaw and shortcoming documented. Not even the fine dinner, served in his room, could cheer him up; every bite Percival took seemed to turn to ash in his mouth. 

There was a nervous flutter in his chest, a restlessness under his skin that didn’t allow him to admire his rooms, with their plush carpets, polished furniture and fine bedding. Instead he fumbled one of the windows open, half expecting to find it bolted closed to ensure that every escape from the cage was blocked. It swung open easily though, the curtains billowing softly in the evening breeze. The lighter clicked loudly in the room and the first drag from his cigarette replaced the bitter taste in Percival’s mouth with something sharper.

Percival exhaled through his nose before taking another deep breath. It was all going to be fine. It had always been so far. First days were intimidating, and seven different shades of shit in every new job. Why would this one be an exception? By tomorrow he’d have surer footing and wouldn’t be so easily talked down to by the likes of Miss Picquery and Mister Snape.

Despite Percival giving himself a mental pep-talk about the fact that he didn’t need to take shit from anybody, no matter how posh, he nearly jumped out of his skin and flicked his cigarette out of the window in a panic when he heard a door opening. Smoking inside his apartment was probably breaking three different house rules and five safety regulations.

“Terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Newt said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should’ve knocked, but somehow secret doors never look like one is supposed to knock on them, do they?”

“I…suppose not.” Percival cleared his throat, feeling rather silly about his panicked reaction. He pulled the sleeves of his shirt straight and closed the window.

“Are you settling in alright? I hope the rooms are to your liking.”

It was funny, how Newt always acted like he was the one who needed to please Percival.

“I haven’t had much time to look around, but they’re great. I mean, you’ve seen the place I lived in,” Percival replied, wondering if he was supposed to offer Newt a cup of tea. His mother undoubtedly would’ve deemed it necessary, but where did one get tea here? It wasn’t like Percival’s small apartment contained a kitchen.

“Of course. I hope Seraphina hasn’t been too hard on you.” Newt walked around the room, his gaze nervously returning to Percival again and again, but darting away just as quickly.

“No. It’s…it’s alright.” Percival’s shoulders dropped and he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure I really know what I’ve gotten myself into, though. I’m not much for rules and protocols, Newt, and I have no idea how a valet is supposed to behave.”

Newt’s gaze didn’t turn away this time, and his lips curved into a smile, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. “That makes two of us. On all accounts.” He stepped closer, until Percival could make out the freckles spread across the bridge of his nose. “I know…I know what Seraphina told you might seem rather restrictive and horrible, but I promise you it won’t be like that.”

“No?” Percival asked, studying the way blue faded into green in Newt’s eyes. “Are we going to escape every other night and go to the pub as Eddie and Padraig?”

Newt’s smile turned sheepish and he ducked his head, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Well, not exactly like that,” he said, before his gaze lifted again. “Padraig?”

“My middle name,” Percival shrugged. “And my grandfather’s name.”

“I like it.” Newt looked thoughtful, his head tilted to the side, reminding Percival of a curious bird. “There’s still so much I don’t know about you.” The way he said it, syllables laced with indignation, startled a laugh from Percival. 

“You haven’t known me for very long yet.”

“No. But I hope I’ll get to know you very well.”

Percival found himself incapable of tearing his gaze away from Newt’s, his eyes the colour of the pond with the crystal clear water near his mother’s house, and Percival ready to drown in it. They leaned towards each other as if drawn by invisible force, only to be broken apart when a shout and the sound of laughter drifted in through the open window.

Newt cleared his throat and his hand twitched up towards his hair, like he had once upon a time had the habit of running it through the strands but had been broken out of it.

“I better let you get some rest, I’m sure it’s been a long day for you.” Before Percival had a chance to reply Newt turned and left the room, as if running away. From what, Percival couldn’t say.

***

Percival spent more time tossing and turning than sleeping that night, despite the bed’s comfort and his body’s exhaustion. Although the palace housed many people, it was silent as a grave at night, and Percival  kept jerking awake with a gasp, as if the oppressive, noiseless dark was trying to bury him alive. He’d never known quiet like this before. The houses he’d lived in had been old and creaky, the people he lived with loud and managing to make their presence known through closed doors with laughter, sighs, and moans, the stairs creaking as someone got a glass of water or came home late.

He was grateful when the first light of dawn started to light up the room, chasing the shadows away and lifting the dark weight from his chest. It was ridiculous on so many levels, but Percival felt like he could breathe easier in the light.

He got out of bed and up to the open window, taking a few deep breaths of the clear morning air before grabbing his packet of cigarettes from the nightstand and lighting one. His window overlooked part of the spacious gardens, and in the twilight they appeared eery, otherworldly almost, reminding Percival of the fact that his mere presence here, in fucking Buckingham Palace, was in itself surreal.

Sparing a brief thought to the fact that he ought to stop littering, Percival flicked the cigarette butt out of the window and closed it. He’d kill for a cup of coffee to help him face the day, but he had no idea where to get one. With a sigh, and the firm resolution to find out where the kitchens were as soon as possible, Percival trudged into the bathroom to wash up and shave.

He dressed in his new uniform, which fit like a second skin after the tailor had adjusted it last night, and sat down on the bed. What now? Judging by the light outside it was barely 6 o’clock in the morning, and Percival had an inkling that Newt wasn’t going to be up for a while yet. Did he have any duties he should take care of before Newt awoke? Did he have to get breakfast? Did he even have permission to enter Newt’s rooms, or was he going to be called in?

“Feck it,” Percival huffed and lit another cigarette, walking over to the window to reopen it, so the smell of smoke wouldn’t linger.

By the time the sun finally came up and dyed the sky outside in hues of pink, Percival had checked the fit of his uniform repeatedly, combed his hair and brushed his teeth again, walked around his apartment several times and inspected some random knick-knacks (apparently it was essential for a valet to have a lion-shaped paperweight), and smoked two more cigarettes. He felt like a caged tiger, pacing back and forth behind bars, waiting for his keepers to free him.

The knock on the door came as a relief, and even Seraphina Piquery’s stern face couldn’t dampen that.

“Mister Graves, good morning.”

“Misses Picquery,” Percival did a little bow that, judging by the tightening of Mrs. Picquery’s lips, she didn’t find amusing at all.

“If you’ll follow me.” She turned and Percival scrambled to catch up with her, closing the door of his apartments behind her and wondering if he should lock them. Then again, he hadn’t been given a key and he doubted that he would.

“You’re an early-riser as well, huh?”

Mrs. Picquery glanced at Percival over her shoulder, her cat-like eyes narrowed.

“Mr. Graves.” She managed to make his name sound like a scolding in itself. “It’s past seven in the morning. The staff rise at five, His Majesty at six.”

An apology was already on Percival’s lips, before he thought better of it. How the hell was he expected to know such things? “Ta, that’s good to know.”

The corner of Mrs. Picquery’s lip twitched and she turned back to look ahead. “Speaking of His Majesty. You are to address him as ‘Your Majesty’ in greeting, as ‘sir’ thereafter. You don’t initiate conversation, or ask any questions, but wait until you’re spoken to. When leaving the room you don’t turn your back on His Majesty. Is that understood?”

“Sure,” Percival drawled as he followed. “But…wasn’t I supposed to address him as ‘Your Highness’?”

“What?” Mrs. Picquery looked like she missed a step, her graceful walk wobbling for a moment. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Graves. Prince Newt is to be addressed as ‘Your Highness’, not the King.”

“Not the…King.” The tips of Percival’s fingers suddenly felt cold, while his palms turned sweaty. “And why…exactly are you taking me to see the…King?” He asked, hoping his voice didn’t tremble in time with his increased heartbeat.

“I do not question why His Majesty asks to see people, Mr. Graves,” Mrs. Picquery huffed. Shock must’ve clearly shown on Percival’s face, because when Mrs. Picquery caught a glimpse of his face the lines of her face softened.. “But if I were the kind of person to make assumptions, I’d assume that His Majesty wants to meet his brother’s new valet.”

Percival swallowed and tried to compose himself. The King was only a person, only Newt’s older brother. There was no reason to be nervous at all. Because the King didn’t know about Newt spending the night away , and he didn’t know about Percival kissing Newt and taking him home. Unless he had spies in all corners of London. Which, all things considered, wasn’t entirely unlikely.

Percival was screwed. And he felt very verified in his nervousness. Anybody would be nervous at the prospect of getting the shovel talk from a King.

***

The King’s apartments were breathtaking - and Percival had only seen the antechamber and the office. The King sat behind a heavy wooden desk, sipping tea while reading a paper. The gold buttons of his uniform shone in the early morning light. He was a lion where Newt was a pup; his shoulders were wide, the bridge of his nose straight and broad, his posture proud. His hair was a few shades darker than Newt’s and combed back neatly, though it curled a little around his ears where it had grown too long. Instead of making him appear unkempt it suited him, making him look more approachable and human.

His eyes were the exact same shade of peculiar blue-green as Newt’s, and they looked at Percival with the same intensity, albeit with a lot more scepticism.

“Your Majesty, Percival Graves,” Mrs. Picquery introduced them with a little curtesy. For a moment Percival stood frozen, before he remembered himself and did a clumsy bow, his tongue fumbling in his mouth.

“Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Seraphina,” the King nodded at Mrs. Picquery and gave her a small smile, which she returned before she turned to leave the room. Percival had to quell the urge to grab her skirt like a child, scared of being left alone.

“Mr. Graves, thank you for taking the time to join me. Please, have a seat. How do you take your tea?” He asked as he poured a second cup of tea, apparently not feeling the need to ask if Percival even wanted tea.

“Milk, no sugar,” Percival said and sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the table. “Your Hi…Majesty,” he added quickly. Maybe his over-wired mind was playing tricks on him, but it looked like the King’s lips twitched in amusement.

“So.” the King pushed the teacup over to Percival. The china was the same as the one Percival had seen when he’d had breakfast with Newt, white with a shining golden trim and gold patterns that sparkled where they caught the light. “You’re Newt’s new valet.”

Percival shifted in the chair, trying not to feel like an insect pinned down for inspection.

“I am, sir.”

“Mh.” The King took a sip of tea, his eyes watching Percival over the rim of his mug. “Tell me, Mr. Graves, have you worked as a valet before?”

This was starting to feel like the job interview Percival had never had, and he found himself horrendously unprepared for it.

“No, sir, I haven’t.”

“No?” The King’s eyebrows rose, though it seemed a calculated move, as if he had known this fact about Percival before. “What were you doing before?”

“I worked as a labourer down by the docks.” Percival straightened his spine and held the man’s gaze, determined not to back down. His mother had always told him that there was no shame in honest work.

“Really? That’s…interesting.” Another sip of tea. The cup clattered when the King put it back down on the saucer and leaned back in his chair, the fingers of one hand drumming out a steady beat on the tabletop. “My brother has so far refused to take on a valet, and then changed his mind practically over night. Not that this is in itself unusual,” the corners of his lips twitched again and for a second his features softened in affection. “And yet I can’t see how you fit into the picture, Mr. Graves. If you worked as a labourer before, how does my brother know you? And why would he insist on hiring a valet with no experience?”

Percival’s throat bobbed uncomfortably as he swallowed, and he took a gulp of tea to wet his parched throat. Should he tell the truth? Did the King know the truth already? Or would he get Newt in trouble and himself fired?

Thoughts ran through his mind at dizzying speed and Percival took a deep breath, pushing them all aside. He wasn’t one for telling lies, and being upfront had always worked out for him so far. Well. Mostly. Sometimes it had ended with a black eye or a split lip, but he figured leaping across the table and tackling him was beneath the King.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty, but that information is not for me to divulge. Just know that the Prince’s wellbeing is my primary concern and I’m going to do my utmost to do an excellent job.”

His statement was met with a silence that drew out so long that Percival started to reevaluate the possibility of a tackling happening.

“Do you know what the most important quality in a valet is, Mr. Graves?”

If this was a test, then Percival was failing it with flying colours. “I don’t, sir.”

“The most important, and the most desirable, quality in a valet is discretion. So, well done, you might be better suited to the job than I thought.”

Percival blinked, wondering if the tea had been drugged and he was hallucinating. The King’s smile transformed his face and made the family resemblance between him and Newt more obvious.

“There’s one thing though, Mr. Graves. I don’t want to know under what circumstances my brother got to know you. I don’t want to know about a great many things my brother gets up to, purely for my own sanity,” he pulled a face that was distinctively non-kingly, but familiar to Percival as the expression of an exasperated older brother. “And I trust you to keep my brother safe. But, discretion or not, I expect you to inform me without delay, should my brother be in danger of any kind, brought on by himself or outside forces. Is that understood?”

Percival’s lungs deflated with relief. This was a promise that he could make. “Your brother’s well-being is my top-most priority too, your Majesty.”

“Good. Do we have an agreement then?”

“Aye, I believe we do.” Percival held his hand out before he could think too hard about it, and after a moment’s hesitation the flicker of surprise in the King’s eyes turned into something else and he reached out, shaking Percival’s hand. His grip was firm but not crushing, and the small smile stayed on his face this time.

“There’s one more thing, Mr. Graves. One of the reasons I agreed, and encouraged, my brother to find himself a valet is the fact that he’s rather prone of conveniently losing track of time and missing appointments he doesn’t wish to keep. I trust that you’ll be mindful of his schedule and ensure that this doesn’t happen anymore.”

Percival’s mother had once told him that truly powerful men didn’t need to give direct orders Percival finally understood what she had meant. The King didn’t need to say it and yet it was clear as day that this was a test, and should Percival fail he could show himself out.

“Of course, sir.”

“Good. My brother keeps strange hours, he rises late and goes to bed late. I reckon you have another hour before he rises, which should be ample to prepare for the day. I expect to see my brother in church for Sunday mass. Afterwards there’s a luncheon he’s supposed to attend. ”

Even without etiquette lessons, Percival knew when he was being dismissed. As he stood up, Mrs. Picquery’s words rang in his ear and he glanced over his shoulder, wondering how he was supposed to make it to the door without turning his back on the King.

“Your Majesty, not to be rude or anything, but-“

The King waved him off with a chuckle. “Just turn around and walk out like a normal person, Mr. Graves.”

“Thank you.” Percival’s shoulders sagged in relief as he turned and walked from the room. Although it had gone much better than expected, he was still glad when the double doors closed behind him.

***

“Percival!”

As it turned out, Percival needn’t have worried all the way back to his rooms if he should check in on Newt or if he would be summoned. The Prince had made himself comfortable on Percival’s couch, and jumped up enthusiastically when Percival entered the room. His hair was undone, a wild riot of curls atop his head, and his eyes were still puffy with sleep.

“Good morning.” Percival’s gaze travelled lower and he couldn’t help but smile when he found that Newt was still wearing his pyjamas, the gown he’d put on over them loosely pulled close. “Been in a rush to get here?”

“Wha- oh, blimey. I just wanted to see if you’d slept well,” Newt replied, tightening the belt of his gown and giving Percival a sheepish smile.

“I have, thank you.” Percival couldn’t bring himself to tell Newt that he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, for fear of chasing Newt’s smile away. He looked soft and inviting like this, the early morning light illuminating his features, and Percival had to ball his hands into fists because they itched to grab this strange, wonderful man and kiss him again. Instead he cleared his throat and walked towards the window, watching as a small army of gardeners spread out over the gardens. “Actually, I was wondering how this works. Am I supposed to come wake you in the morning? Or do you call for me once you’re up?”

From the corner of his eyes Percival saw Newt scratch his head, shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. “You can come to my rooms whenever you like.”

“Newt, that’s not what I meant. I need to know what you expe-“

“Let’s talk about this later.” Newt stepped closer and took Percival’s hand. The feeling of their fingers intertwining was familiar and Percival felt like his heart skipped a beat. “C’mon, let’s have breakfast. I want to introduce you to Pickett.”

A slight tug on his hand and Percival followed Newt like an obedient lamb, trying to work out who or what Pickett was. He knew Newt had mentioned Pickett, but he’d quite forgotten in what context.

Newt pushed open the door connecting their apartments, and as they walked through Newt’s living room, Percival caught a glance of the grandfather clock in the corner. If church here was anything like church at home, they didn’t have that much time left.

“Right, let’s have breakfast and then you got to get dressed and we got to get you to church.”

Newt wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “There’s no rush. I thought we could have breakfast and then I’ll show you the gardens.”

“You can show me the gardens after church.” Though Percival would have to check when the luncheon was supposed to be. Who had Newt’s calendar? Mrs. Picquery? And how was Percival supposed to track her down?

“But the gardens are much more interesting than church. We have a lot of birds and there’s a deer enclosure as well. A fowl has just been born and it’s completely fascinating the way it-“

“Listen, darling,” Percival tugged on Newt’s hand this time, snatching his attention away from baby deer and back to the matters at hand. “If you don’t want your brother to fire my ass, we gotta get you dressed and to mass. And the luncheon. And whatever else is on the calendar for today.”

Newt stared at Percival, unmoving for a second before his lips pursed. It wasn’t a full on pout, but it was adorable and Percival had to drag up a thus far undiscovered amount of self-restraint to keep from laughing. Newt looked a second away from scuffing his feet, but in the end his princely education won out and he straightened his shoulders with a sigh, his face smoothing out into careful neutrality. “Fine. If I absolutely have to.”

“You do,” Percival nodded.

“I knew I should have never allowed you to speak with my brother,” Newt muttered.

***

By the end of Percival’s first day on the job his uniform clung to his skin uncomfortably and his feet felt like they belonged to an elephant. He’d worked as a labourer for years, compared to that herding a single person around should’ve been easy. But Newt wasn’t anyone, and Percival was sure the man would’ve forgotten his own head if it wasn’t attached to his body. At the same time Percival was also deeply impressed; there was no way he could drag up the energy for never-ending small talk, much less the friendly smiles. Sitting by and having to listen to it all had robbed Percival of his will to live, whereas Newt had never faltered in his interested, courteous attitude, only the secretive glances he sent Percival, accompanied by a downward twitching of his lips, letting on that he wasn’t feeling comfortable in this surrounding at all. 

Next to Percival, Newt sighed and loosened his cravat. He still looked impeccable, but fine lines were showing around the corners of his eyes, speaking of his exhaustion.

They’d decided to go to the gardens for the rest of the evening to relax, and to go over the list of tasks a valet typically performed, so they could work out what Newt needed, and didn’t need Percival for. All things considered it had gone well today, but at some points Percival had been scrambling, wondering if he should’ve prepared or fetched something for the meeting; surely his job consisted of more than escorting Newt around and waiting?

The gardens around them were beautiful, leaves rustling in the breeze and brightly coloured flowers giving off sweet aromas, but Percival’s mind was too exhausted to appreciate any of it. He trudged after Newt, who led them to a bench tucked away in a secluded corner. There was a statue of a Roman or Greek God nearby, and the tall trees sheltered them from the setting sun as they sat down, both groaning in unison.

“I’ve never kept all my appointments,” Newt mumbled, sounding like it was a failure rather than an achievement that he’d done so today.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Percival mumbled, a cigarette already perched between his lips. He tried to locate the lighter in the pockets of his trousers and had a brief moment of panic, because if he had forgotten it and couldn’t have a cigarette right now he was going to scream in frustration. His shoulders relaxed when his fingers finally closed around the zippo.

“You should be.” Newt’s tone was teasing, and out of the corner of his eyes Percival caught him smiling.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Percival asked belatedly, the cigarette already lit. Newt waved his concerns off dismissively, but shook his head when Percival offered him the pack of cigarettes.

They sat in silence while Percival smoked, both gradually relaxing. The quiet around them was occasionally broken by the rustling of leaves or the chirping of birds, and with his eyes closed Percival could almost pretend that he was back home in the garden behind his mother’s house.

“The job isn’t really what you expected, is it?”

Percival blinked his eyes open, but when he turned to look at Newt, the man was stubbornly looking straight ahead.

“It’s certainly not a job I ever expected to have.” Percival took another drag of his cigarette to stall for time. This felt like a test, and looking at the tense perch of Newt’s shoulders and the downward turn of his lips, Percival desperately wanted to not put his foot in, for once in his life. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t like it. Besides, every job’s shite on the first day, right?”

Newt huffed a humourless laugh and ran a hand through his hair, causing strands to stick up. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Ah.” Percival patted Newt’s knee while taking another drag from his cigarette. “Trust me on this.”

He had hoped to cheer Newt up, but instead his frown deepened and when Newt’s gaze darted over to Percival, the blue of his eyes looked darker, like the troubled sea. “You’re not unhappy here though, are you?”

For a second Percival felt tempted to take Newt’s hand to stop him from looking so lost and alone, but remembering his position he thought better of it and opted for a slightly over-the-top smile instead. “I’m not unhappy here.”

“But not happy either,” Newt turned away with a sigh, his shoulders dropping in resignation, not relief, and Percival realised too late what the question had really been about: reassurance that one could be happy in the golden cage Newt was trapped in.

“I think I could be happy here.” Throwing all caution to the wind Percival reached out and laced their fingers together, giving Newt’s hand a light squeeze. “And I think I will be. But I’ve barely been here for a few days, Newt. It’s a little…surreal.”

Newt’s fingers were cold against his own, but tightened their hold. When he turned his head to look at Percival, he almost looked like the King, his gaze so sharp it felt like he could look right into Percival’s soul. It was the first time Percival realised that Newt had grown up in the same environment as the King, had probably learnt all about politics and how to read people. And even if he hadn’t, he had years of experience navigating the social politics of court and reading people and their intentions.

When Newt blinked, the sharpness of his gaze wavered and melted away, replaced by something hopeful. “I suppose it must be.”

Percival was momentarily distracted by Newt biting his bottom lip, leaving it flushed and very kissable. Which wasn’t a thought Percival was supposed to have, so he quickly lifted his gaze back up to Newt’s eyes.

“You know, we could invite your friends for tea. If you like, I mean.” Newt ducked his head and studied their intertwined fingers.

“Uh…sure. I mean…could we do that?” Percival hadn’t realised it, but he did miss his friends and their support in this confusing situation he’d found himself in. He missed Queenie’s undimmed optimism, Tina’s no-nonsense attitude, Jacob’s unwavering support, and Credence’s deadpan humour.

“Of course we could. I am the Prince, I get to invite whoever I want,” Newt grinned. It lit up his face and eased something in Percival’s chest, making it easier to breathe.

“Though Seraphina might make them sign an agreement of nondisclosure or something,” Newt added, wrinkling his nose.

***

The cat was a menace. No matter what Newt said, Percival was sure that, without a doubt, Pickett was a spawn of the devil. The cat had taken one look at him and immediately curved its back, hissing and being all dramatic. Newt had tried to calm her and made quite a fuss, while Percival wasn’t sure if he should laugh or be concerned about being scratched to shreds. 

Their initial meeting had set the tone for every single one that’d follow. While Pickett didn’t cause quite such a scene anymore, she made sure to give Percival the stink-eye whenever possible, trailing him around Newt’s apartments and tracking his every move, like a shopkeeper shadowing a possible thief. 

“I’m not doing anything, you can fuck off,” Percival hissed as he waited for Newt to get dressed, going through their appointments for the day again. Pickett, little impressed by him, planted her fat butt down on the calendar, her eery green eyes staring up at him as if in challenge. 

“Oh come on, you can’t be serious,” Percival muttered, giving the cat a little shove. Instead of making her move, Pickett opened her mouth in a hiss, displaying her razor sharp teeth. 

“That calendar isn’t yours and I really need to look something up.” 

Pickett lifted a paw and started to lazily -and loudly- lick it. 

“Fuck’s sake.” Percival tugged on the edge of the calendar, attempting to slide it out from under Pickett. A sharp pain shot through his hand and Percival pulled it back with a yelp, four bloody lines standing out on the back of his hand. 

“You little-“ Before Percival had a chance to come up with a fitting insult, Newt stepped around the folding screen. He stopped doing up his cufflinks and took in the scene, his lips pursing more and more as he processed it. 

“Your cat-” Percival said, his injured hand held up gingerly, “-is a menace.”

Next to Percival, Pickett gave a plaintive “meow”. When Percival looked at her, she appeared to have somehow managed to widen her eyes, looking plaintively at Newt. There was the rushing sound of his own blood in Percival’s ears as he felt his body temperature rise. The nerve of that cat!

“No she’s not,” Newt huffed as he swept Pickett up into his arms. “She’s just not used to you yet! Did you frighten her?”

“No I didn’t,” Percival said, unable to keep a note of indignation out of his voice. “It’s more that she objects to my very presence!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, she likes you! Don’t you, Pickett?” Newt asked, turning to press a kiss to Pickett’s head before turning and carrying her to the bedroom. Her front paws resting on Newt’s shoulder, Percival was sure that the cat threw him a triumphant look. If she could’ve, she would’ve stuck his tongue out at him. Since he’d come to the palace, Percival had learnt a great many things. He knew that Mrs. Picquery’s mood could be improved, and her favour bought, with cinnamon buns from the kitchens. He knew that Roy, one of the guards in the wing, liked to play cards and wasn’t opposed to a late night game with Percival. He knew that Hagrid hated formal events as much as Percival, but had a better excuse not to attend them. (He also knew never to take Hagrid up on the offer of homemade cookies ever again, if he didn’t want to lose his teeth.) He knew that Pickett still thought they were in ancient Egypt and she should be treated like a deity. And he also knew that in Newt’s eyes, Pickett could do no wrong.

“You’re getting cat hair all over your suit,” Percival muttered, looking around for a lint brush and trying not to feel cross. A cat wasn’t worth an aneurism.

***

Percival was a quick learner. All his life he’d picked skills up easily, and his employers had always valued his ability to be flexible and find his footing quickly, no matter the task they set him to. So when he’d started at the palace he had, not unreasonably, expected to settle in quickly enough.

Three weeks in and Percival thought that his past self had been monumentally stupid. Settling into life at Buckingham Palace, and everything it demanded, was far from easy. Something new came up every day, and by this point Percival was certain that nothing about this job would ever be routine.

“You do know how to walk a dog, don’t you?”

The woman’s ridiculously large hat wobbled on her head, and combined with her clown-ish makeup and the way she held out the leash of her ankle-biter to Percival, as if afraid of touching his hands and contaminating herself with the germs of ordinary people, the entire situation was ridiculous. Percival felt too frazzled and  exhausted to fully appreciate the humour, after a long day of herding an unwilling Newt from one engagement to the next, and trying to avoid Snape, who was determined to catch Percival during one of his smoke breaks so he could finally write him up as an official rulebreaker. So instead of laughing, or telling the woman to shove it, he took the leash with a sigh.

“Of course, Countess Umbridge.”

Despite his best attempt of a cheerful tone, the woman’s face fell and her lips pinched like she’d just bitten into a lemon. “Duchess! I’m a Duchess! The nerve of your kind of people!” Thankfully, she turned around and stormed away before Percival had a chance to say something he regretted, the feathers on her hat swaying back and forth angrily. 

“C’mon then,” he muttered to the dog, pulling on the leash. Thankfully the little creature seemed happy enough to escape from its mistress for a while, and let itself be led away from the garden party easily.

As soon as they rounded the corner, the noise of the crowd competing with the orchestra, became distant and muffled, prompting Percival to groan with relief. He was starting to really, really despise social gatherings.

“People are exhausting,” he told the dog, who yapped excitedly. “I’m starting to understand why Newt prefers animals.” Though he would never, ever understand Newt’s devotion to that menace of a cat. Percival really should’ve known it was going to be a bad day when he had discovered tiny indentions, looking suspiciously like teeth imprints, in the leather of his shoes this morning. Pickett sitting next to them and cleaning her paws, looking smug, left Percival in no doubt about who was responsible for it. 

After quickly scanning their surroundings for a head of greasy, black hair, Percival fumbled out a cigarette. He took hasty drags, as if that’d make the nicotine soothe his nerves quicker.

“So. What’s it like, being the lapdog of a Duchess?” He asked. The dog looked up at him, its tongue lolling out of its mouth.

“Ah. Yes. That’s what I thought,” Percival nodded, gently tugging on the leash to make the dog follow him. It was good to get away from the hustle and bustle of the party, and for one mad second Percival contemplated keeping on walking and leaving it all behind; the palace, the rules, the starched uniforms, the false smiles. But it’d mean leaving Newt behind, and try as he might, Percival couldn’t do that. It felt like they were settling into nothing more than a friendship, but although it wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind, Percival would rather have Newt as a friend than not at all. And thinking about Newt, and the look on his face upon finding out that Percival had abandoned him, had escaped the cage while Newt was forced to stay, did all sorts of unpleasant things to Percival, and he shook himself.

“C’mon, pup, let’s get you back. Before the Duchess worries that I’ve kidnapped you or something.”

The dog looked up at Percival with wet eyes, before turning and squatting down.

“Of course.” Percival pulled a face and decided that picking up dog shit really wasn’t part of his job description. Once the dog was done he walked back to the party, trying to spot the Duchess in her blinding, piglet pink robe in the crowd.

“Mister Graves.” The downward turn of Mrs. Picquery’s lips immediately made Percival think of the headmistress at school. He barely resisted the urge to pull up his shoulders and duck his head, firmly reminding himself that he was not a naughty schoolboy.

“Mrs. Picquery. Lovely party, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” the way she drew out the word made it clear that she’d rather be anywhere else but here. “I heard that you called the Duchess Umbridge a Countess. That’s a problem, Mister Graves.”

Percival raised an eyebrow, but before he had a chance to even open his mouth Mrs. Picquery silenced him with a sharp look.

“I expect my staff to perform to perfection, Mr. Graves. Addressing important guests by the wrong titles is anything but perfection. I understand that you come from a very different background, and given those circumstances you have proven yourself to be a quick learner. But I expect of you what I expect of all my employees, Mr. Graves. Your relations with the Prince do not grant you a pass for sloppiness or special treatment, I’d like to make that very clear. I’ve arranged for you to have etiquette lessons with Lord Dumbledore every night for the upcoming week. Eight pm sharp, in the library. Do not disappoint me, Mr. Graves or I will seek a replacement for you, no matter how fond His Highness is of you.”

She left Percival standing with his face slack in surprise as his brain tried to process everything she’d just said. 

***

“Altogether, the party went rather well, don’t you think?” Newt asked as they walked back to his apartments. Percival had redelivered the dog to Duchess Piglet, who’d given him a smug smile, like she was proud that she’d managed to get him into trouble. He’d then spent the rest of the evening lurking near Newt, brooding and wishing he could smoke a cigarette - or ten - to help detangle his muddled thoughts.

“It was alright,” he replied, his sullen tone drawing Newt’s gaze.

“Are you alright, Percival?”

“Yes. No. We need to talk.”

Newt raised an eyebrow.

“Talk in private,” Percival clarified, and tried very hard not to find the way Newt narrowed his eyebrows into a confused frown adorable.

“I…see.” Newt’s confusion morphed into worry, and Percival had to avert his gaze, before his stomach twisted itself into irreversible knots. He hated seeing Newt worried, and he hated being the reason for it.

They walked in tense silence, which filled and stretched the corridors, making the way back appear twice as long as usual. Percival was relieved when they stepped into Newt’s apartment, and he shut the door quickly to keep the world out. Not fast enough to prevent the thick tension to seep into the room though, making it difficult to breathe.

Newt shrugged out of his jacket and carelessly dropped it over the back of a chair. He fiddled with the sleeves of his shirt and cleared his throat twice, before turning to face Percival.

“So.”

“So.” Percival sighed and rolled his shoulders, determined not to sound angry or judgemental when he spoke. “Exactly how many people think that we’re having “relations”, and that said “relations” are the only reason you hired me, as if I’m some weird sort of mistress? I mean…does everybody know?”

Well. So much for that. Percival had never been good at sounding neutral, but he was phenomenal at putting his foot in.

Newt looked like a puppy trying to scowl. “What do you mean, Percival?”

“I mean that Mrs. Picquery is sending me off for etiquette lessons because I need them, despite my relations with you, which don’t grant me special privileges.”

Percival could practically see the wheels turning in Newt’s mind, and he could pinpoint the exact moment it made ‘click’ by the way Newt’s eyelids briefly fluttered closed.

“I’m afraid Seraphina isn’t always the most…tactful person,” he sighed. “But I can assure you that she is very discreet.”

“I don’t care about her being discreet, I care about the entire fucking place thinking I was only hired because we have some sort of clandestine affair going on, which isn’t even true!” Propriety be damned, Percival stalked over to the window and threw it open. He really needed a cigarette to make it through this.

“Does it offend you? That people…think we’re having an…an affair?”

When Percival glanced over he caught the red flush in Newt’s cheeks. Of course the man wasn’t able to say ‘affair’ without blushing, and of course Percival thought it was endearing.

Before he put his foot in again and phrased everything wrong, Percival took another drag of his cigarette and blew it out slowly, ordering his thoughts. “What offends me,” he started carefully, holding his cigarette out the window to tap off the ash, “is that people think I only got hired because I’m sleeping with you. Which is kind of, somewhat true, I suppose, but it makes me feel like one of them dizzy little wives, who’re only tolerated because of their husbands, but behind their backs everybody is laughing about them. And besides, we’re not even having an affair, which makes the entire matter all the more tragic.”

“Would you want that?”

Percival had been braced for a lot of possible replies from Newt, ranging from anger to dismissal, but this left him chocking on an inhale. “What?”

“Would you want that? To…have an affair, I mean,” Newt clarified, avoiding Percival’s gaze by staring at his forehead.

“I…well.” Percival stubbed the cigarette out on the windowsill and threw the butt outside, careless about littering the gardens of Buckingham Palace. “I think I’ve made it abundantly clear how I feel about you, the night we met. That hasn’t changed, but the setting and the context have, and it seems hardly appropriate, now that we’re…” He trailed off, trying to find a polite way to describe their difference in status.

“Does it have to be different?” Newt’s gaze dropped, along with his shoulders, as if this was one more thing he couldn’t have because of the family he was born into.

“I’m sorry, but you being who you are does change things.” Percival kept his voice gentle, and yet Newt flinched like he’d been lashed. “I mean…I can hardly waltz up and kiss the crown prince.”

The right corner of Newt’s lips curled up into a mirthless smile. “You did just that a few weeks ago.”

“That was different.”

“No it wasn’t.” Newt exhaled in frustration, but finally raised his gaze from the floor. Before Percival could say anything else, he squared his shoulders and took two steps forward, into Percival’s space. “If you think you’re not allowed to kiss a prince, then surely as a prince I, on the other hand, am allowed to kiss whoever I want?”

Percival’s heart picked up a violent rhythm in his chest and he was acutely aware of his breathing, too loud and forceful to his own ears. Newt was close enough that he could’ve count the freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, I suppose that’s correct.” It felt like sand was stuck in Percival’s throat and his voice sounded foreign to his own ears. His palms were clammy, and a sudden wave of annoyance crashed over him. When did he revert back to being a teenager? He hadn’t been this nervous when he was twelve and kissed Nancy Sheeran behind the stables; nor when he was fifteen and kissed William Mulligan in exactly the same spot.

Maybe being this nervous meant something. And maybe it had something to do with that particular cluster of thoughts, concerned with the nature of his feelings for Newt, that Percival had very firmly locked away in the back of his mind. There was no point in planning or hoping when everything was uncertain.

The first touch of Newt’s lips felt like the hesitant beat of a butterfly’s wing, and yet it resonated through Percival’s body like a blow. He wrapped an arm around Newt’s waist and his free hand moved to the back of Newt’s neck, pulling him as close as possible. After weeks of pent up tension, it felt like the floodgates had been opened and their lips crashed together like waves, unrefined but enthusiastic. Newt’s fingers curled into the lapels of Percival’s jacket and yanked, until not a millimetre of space was left between them.

When they finally came up for air, Percival could feel Newt’s frantic heartbeat where they were pressed together. His own beat along in the same rhythm, like it had been waiting to fall into line with Newt’s all along.

Newt’s lips were red and swollen, his eyes a little glazed and the pupils blown. He was the most beautiful sight Percival had ever seen and he leaned back in to peck those lips, just because he could.

“Do I need to set up an order in writing that you’re allowed to kiss me?” Newt asked, his breathing still uneven.

“Nah, I’ll take this as a direct order,” Percival replied, his lips pulling into a smile. “Your Highness.”

Newt huffed and tugged on the lapels of Percival’s coat again. “You’re not funny.”

“No? I suppose I should put my mouth to better use then.”

“You absolutely should,” Newt agreed, his voice trailing off against Percival’s lips.

***

“They do like scones, right? I mean, I know that in theory everybody likes scones, but sometimes I wonder if people just pretend to like scones because it’s one of those British stereotypes.”

Percival waited until Newt paused to breathe before grabbing his hand, pulling him close. “Newt. Calm down, it’s alright. They do like scones. Everybody likes scones. Stereotypes are based on truths.”

Newt frowned, and Percival could practically see the wheels of his mind turning as he put together his reply, no doubt intending to argue with Percival about the truthfulness of stereotypes. Before he could come up with a counter-argument, Percival took a quick look around to make sure they were still alone, and kissed Newt’s lips. 

It was a beautiful afternoon and a table had been decked out in a secluded area of the garden for their little tea party. Large umbrellas kept the sting of the sun away, and the gentle breeze carried over the soft scent of the rose bushes around them. It was altogether perfect, and Percival almost felt bad for wishing that he could spend the afternoon with Newt alone. After they’d finally gotten the misunderstandings between them out of the way, Percival had enjoyed getting to know Newt on every possible level. He could map out the freckles on Newt’s nose and their path down his throat in his sleep, and his new favourite pastime was watching Newt scowl like a disgruntled kitten when Percival pulled him into secluded corners of the palace, to steal a kiss or two during the day.

“There they are! Percival! Newt!” Queenie’s voice carried through the garden, making Percival smile. He squeezed Newt’s hand under the table, before letting go and getting to his feet, watching the little group approach the table.

“Percy!”

Percival was engulfed in rustling chiffon and the floral smell of Queenie’s perfume. Now that she was here, Percival realised just how much he’d missed her. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, feeling her lips twitch into a smile when they pressed to his cheek.

“Look at you.” Queenie took a step back and beamed at him, making a show out of looking him up and down. “You clean up very nicely, Mr. Graves!”

“Just goes to show that you can make anybody look good if you put them in a suit.” Tina’s hug was just a tight, and when she pulled back she smoothed her hands down over Percival’s shoulders. “A well-cut suit, that is.”

“See Tina, there’s hope left for you.” Percival patted her shoulder with a smile. “You might want to invest in a good suit.”

Behind him, Percival heard Newt’s sharp intake of breath, but Tina had always been able to take as good as she gave, and Percival wasn’t worried offending her. Not when the corners of her eyes crinkled and she huffed laughed, swatting Percival’s hand away. 

Credence’s hug was firm but brief, but Jacob more than made up for it, holding onto Percival for longer than was strictly necessary.

“It’s good to see you, Percy.”

“You too.” The smile on Percival’s face felt like it would be permanently etched there. It was good to be surrounded by his friends again.

“And thank you for the invitation, Ed- I mean, uh,” Jacob blundered and looked down, as if the tips of his polished shoes would help him out of the situation.

“Your Highness,” Queenie supplied, taking Jacob’s hand and rubbing his arm as if to make him feel better.

Newt, for his part, looked as awkward and uncomfortable as Jacob did, his posture overly straight and the corners of his eyes tight, even as he smiled.

“Please, I…you don’t have to, uh, I mean….Newt is fine,” Newt finally got out, tugging on the sleeves of his jacket. “I’m…I’m really very glad that you agreed to come, even after I lied to you all.”

“Oh, honey!” Queenie let go off Jacob’s hand and stepped up to Newt, taking his arm and pulling him towards the table. “Don’t be sorry, it’s absolutely understandable. And quite an exciting story, don’t you think?”

Queenie had an innate ability to make people feel at ease, like her smile alone could right all the wrongs in the world. Percival had always thought he couldn’t love her anymore for it, but seeing the way Newt’s shoulders dropped from their tense perch, he found that his affection for Queenie increased beyond comprehension.

When Arthur, one of the butlers, arrived with a large tray on which shining silver pots of tea were perched, the conversation came to an abrupt halt. Everybody seemed to remember where they were, all of them mumbling their “Thank you”s as Arthur poured their tea.

“Well. I keep forgetting that this is an actual palace with actual servants,” Jacob chuckled, once Arthur had left.

“Just goes to show how welcome you’re making us feel,” Queenie added, before Newt even had a chance to assume his usual apologetic position, as if him being a prince was a terrible inconvenience for everybody.

“Well. I’m glad you feel welcome,” Newt mumbled. He concentrated on pouring his tea as if it was a task requiring finesse and expertise.

“I’m glad you came,” Percival agreed, his smile lost since Newt didn’t glance up to see it.

“I’m terribly sorry, I should’ve realised that I kept Percival from seeing you. It wasn’t my intention, and it was very selfish of me to keep him from his friends.”

Percival’s eyebrows rose, his first instinct to reach out and pull Newt into a crushing hug, followed by the urge of wanting to clap the back of his head and ask him where these nonsense thoughts came from.

While he battled the decision of what to do, it was surprisingly Credence who spoke up.

“It takes time to settle into a new job, you didn’t keep him from us,” he shrugged and took a sip of tea. “And besides, you’re our friend too.”

Newt’s lips were slightly parted as he glanced up, a little frown between his eyebrows as if he tried very hard to decipher hidden meaning behind Credence’s words.

“Of course you are!” Queenie, sitting to Newt’s right, leaned over and pulled him into a hug. Judging by the way Newt’s hands twitched in the air for a few seconds before reluctantly putting Queenie’s shoulders, the move had taken him by surprise. Over Newt’s shoulder, Queenie shot Percival a look that dripped with ‘I told you so.’ Even if he hadn’t seen it back then, Percival was well aware now of the hidden loneliness Newt had to cope with.

“Why wouldn’t you be our friend too?”

“Well…uh…I mean. You don’t….you don’t really know me and I’m…not…easy to be around with. Because of…you know,” Newt shrugged, his complexion almost matching the shade of his hair by now. Percival couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever manage to bring forth that shade of red in Newt again.

“Because we got a pat down from that mean looking fella before we were allowed in?” Jacob asked. “Trust me, I’ve seen worse. I mean, I had to sneak past Tina when Queenie and I first started seeing each other. Let me tell you, that was a lot more terrifying.”

Queenie giggled and patted Jacob’s hand, while Tina leaned back in her chair with a self-satisfied smirk and a nod. “Good.”

The smile on Newt’s face was tiny and fragile. “That’s just one of many complications.”

“Pish posh. We don’t mind, Newt, because that’s what friends do. What is a little inconvenience, compared to gaining a wonderful new friend?”

“Exactly,” Tina nodded in agreement with Queenie. “And besides, it’s been a lot quieter down at the pub, without Percival’s horrible singing ruining the evening.”

“I have the voice of an angel,” Percival interjected loftily, watching from the corners of his eyes as Newt relaxed, his smile growing steadier.

“That what your mama told you?” Tina huffed, her eyes filled with amusement when their gazes locked.

Percival really loved his friends. Newt was an almost stranger to them, and yet they were doing everything to make him comfortable, despite being on unfamiliar ground.

“I didn’t know you liked to sing,” Newt said, regarding Percival like he was seeing him for the first time.

“Loudly and badly, after a few pints,” Jacob supplied helpfully around a mouthful of sandwich.

“My singing is wonderful,” Percival insisted, doing his best to keep his face straight. “You enjoy my singing, don’t you, Credence?”

Credence shot Percival a bland look and took a long, slurping sip of his tea.

“You’ve all got no taste,” Percival huffed. The atmosphere had relaxed and he leaned back in his chair, content to watch the way Newt’s face changed when he smiled and listened attentively to Tina telling him about her ambitions in her new job. Even Credence, who wasn’t usually one to talk much, spent a good five minutes talking about his studies and how much he loved going to university. When he mentioned that he’d found the statues he’d seen on the way inside interesting, Newt was quick to offer him a tour through the gardens. Apparently some of the statues were antiques from Greece or something, which sparked an enthusiasm in both men that completely eluded Percival.

They set off, discussing the finer points of Greek art, and leaving the rest of the table to sit in comfortable silence.

“So,” Tina started, turning to look at Percival with a grin on her face. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

Percival’s own smile was involuntarily soft and sappy, and he was quick to hide it behind his cup of tea, taking a sip. “He really is.”

“We’re really happy for you. Both of you.” Queenie reached across the table and took Percival’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“It’s a good job. Pays well,” Percival agreed with a little shrug, trying not to wince when Queenie’s hand tightened around this. You’d never know it by looking at her, but Queenie had a grip of steel.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Percival didn’t even need to look, he could practically feel Tina rolling her eyes.

“That obvious, huh?”

“Obvious from the moment you dragged him into the pub.” Queenie patted his hand in consolidation for his utter lack of stealthiness. These people had known him for years though, had seen his lowest lows and highest highs, knew his quirks and peeves, his triggers and how he liked his tea. If they hadn’t seen right through him, it would’ve been more worrisome.

“What’s it like then? Dating royalty, I mean,” Jacob asked, studying the selection of finger sandwiches.

“Difficult,” Percival admitted. This was the first idle afternoon he’d had since he’d come to the palace, and as he leaned back in his chair he realised how tired he felt. “It’s not like I can take him on a proper date, you know? And there’s too many watchful eyes around, I feel like I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, like a paranoid old man. Some days are ridiculously exhausting.” Considering he’d worked as a labourer, he felt ridiculous saying it but it was true. There were the appointments to keep track of, Newt to herd around, laundry to pick up, and a million other little things. And then there were the people. The ones who thought Percival was their valet too and sent them to walk their handbag-sized dogs, and the ones who wanted to get close to the prince at all costs. The other day Percival had accompanied Newt to a public event for the first time, and it had been a million times worse than he could’ve ever imagined. The car had barely gotten through the street, and as soon as the door opened voices and flashes had exploded, like waves crashing against the car, pushing inside. The masses had moved like an overly large, sluggish and wobbly mass as people tried to get to the very front and get a glimpse of the Prince. They’d screamed his name and held out flowers, and photographers had competed for the best picture.

Newt had smiled through it all, graciously accepted flowers and shaken hands, never faltering even when women tried to pull him close to kiss his cheek. Percival had no idea how he managed it, figuring it was some special skill inherent to royalty. Making his own way through the crowd, five steps behind Newt and scanning their surroundings nervously, despite the security guards by Newt’s side, he started to feel a little claustrophobic. Percival had never felt like this before, his heart racing and his hands sweating as his chest got tight, people pressing in from all sides. It had felt like he couldn’t hear his own thoughts over all the noise, and he had barely managed not to clap his hands over his ears. It had taken the last of his self-restraint not to run up the stairs to the museum, where there was finally blessed silence once the doors closed behind them. Not that it had lasted long, with a flock of ‘very important people’ descending on Newt, shaking his hand and leading him around, acting like they were his best mates.

The people were probably what made the job so exhausting.

“But the hard work is worth it?” Tina asked, giving him one of her careful looks that implied that she was  worried, but wasn’t going to say so outright.

Percival thought of Newt’s secret little smiles, the way he’d sometimes roll his eyes and pull a face behind people’s backs; he thought of the way Newt’s lips felt against his, and the strange sense of triumph he felt when Newt’s body relaxed in his arms. He thought of the way his heart was prone to actually skip a beat when he was near Newt, and the way nothing in the world seemed to matter except Newt’s happiness. Fuck, Percival was even willing to put up with the pest of a cat for Newt, pretending they were buds just so Newt wouldn’t give Percival the sad eyes. 

“Yes,” he replied without a trace of doubt in his mind.

By the time Credence and Newt returned to the table, conversation had switched to the impending opening of Jacob’s bakery, and dessert had been brought out. Credence, despite his raging sweet tooth, forgot all about the delicate macaroons and pastries on his plate as he told them in great detail about the status Newt had shown him, all of them smiling and pretending that they were actually interested. Since they’d adopted Credence into their group he had come into his own more and more every day, going from barely stringing two words together to talking quite a lot about the things that excited him; Percival would’ve pretended to be interested in the breeding habits of snails, if it meant keeping a smile on the boy’s face.

When the sun started to set, the garden around them gleamed in golden hues. It was beautiful, but already there was a little sting in the air that was only going to get worse as night fell, but for now Percival was content. He had desperately needed a day like this to recharge.

“It was wonderful having you all here this afternoon,” Newt said, some of his initial shyness returning as he fiddled with the napkin in his lap. “Maybe we can repeat this sometime. Only if you want to, of course. I wouldn’t be offended if you think it too much of a hassle, but-“

“We would absolutely love to visit again,” Queenie interrupted, reaching out and linking her fingers with Newt’s to stop him from fiddling. “Though it’s our turn to invite you. We’d love to have you over for tea real soon.”

Since Queenie was holding onto his hands, Newt shifted in his seat instead, his gaze on the table. “Thank you so much for your generous offer, but I really don’t know if-“

“A day away from work will do you good. Both of you,” Queenie declared, her sweet smile belying the commanding undertone of her voice. “And isn’t Percival in charge of your appointments? I’m sure he can make something up, and nobody will be the wiser.”

Newt glanced over at Percival, a strange mixture of hope, resignation, and wistfulness in his eyes. There was no way that this was going to be an easy thing to pull off, and Percival really shouldn’t get Newt’s hopes up. But having Newt look at him like he held the key to a magic land, there was no way he could deny him.

“Sure we can,” he replied with what he knew to be foolish confidence, already wondering how many people he’d have to bribe to pull this off.

“Wonderful,” Queenie beamed and squeezed Newt’s hands. “I’ll arrange a date with Percival.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Very much so,” Newt said. Looking at his earnest little smile, Percival knew he’d make this possible, even if it meant digging a passageway out of the castle with a spoon and carrying Newt through it.

***

“A duchess therefore outranks a countess, who is the wife of?”

“An earl,” Percival sighed, failing entirely to hide his boredom. Private lessons made it difficult not to pay attention. And besides, he was a fast learner - if he wanted to be. Within three days his utter lack of royal titles and hierarchies had been rectified, and Percival had to admit that lessons with Dumbledore hadn’t been half as bad as he’d feared they’d be.

The man, with his long beard and clever blue eyes, had the air of a benevolent grandfather, ready to answer questions and explain the world to his grandchildren with unwavering patience.

“Correct. Have a lemon sherbert.” He also had a tendency to hand out candy, as if Percival really was his grandchild, rather than a fully grown man.

“I think even Mrs. Picquery will find your knowledge and conduct more than up to the task now,” Dumbledore said and leaned back in his chair with an air of satisfaction, his fingers linked in front of his stomach.

“No more lessons? Not that I’m not enjoying our nightly get-togethers, sir, but,” Percival shared a wry smile with Dumbledore.

“At this point in time I don’t think it necessary to continue our lessons. No doubt his Highness will be happy to have back your undivided attention.” The way Dumbledore winked at him had Percival squirming in his seat. Were they really this transparent?

“Now, don’t look so put out, my boy. I doubt many people know. I’ve been in this household long enough to notice things most others don’t.” The mischievous smile softened around the edges. “You have nothing to worry about from me. In fact, I think you’re very good for him.”

Percival bit back a wince, wondering how good Dumbledore would think him for Newt if he knew about their plans for tea over at the Goldstein’s house.

“I’m just doing my job,” he replied neutrally, fighting to hold Dumbledore’s gaze. It felt like those blue eyes were looking straight into his mind. “Though I have been told that since I started working here his Highness’ punctuality has increased significantly.”

“It certainly has.” Dumbledore chuckled, his blue eyes still watching Percival with amusement. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer. It has been a pleasure having lessons with you, my boy.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, sir. Thank you for taking the time out of your schedule.”

Dumbledore’s handshake was firm, but in a reassuring rather than a threatening way, like the man himself. He immediately commanded respect, not because he instilled fear, but a strong urge not to disappoint him.

“Good night,” Percival said and turned to leave, but stopped with his hand on the door’s handle when Dumbledore spoke.

“Oh, one last thing, Mister Graves. I suggest that you inform his Majesty of any private meetings his Highness plans to attend. Trust me, his Majesty cares for his little brother’s happiness, very much so. But he doesn’t take kindly to secrets and false information.”

If he’d been doubtful before, Percival was sure now that Dumbledore was some sort of wizard, able to read minds. He was glad he had his back turned to the man, sure that he wouldn’t have been able to keep a straight face.

“Of course, sir. Thank you. Though I can assure you, I wouldn’t dream of lying to his Majesty.”

“I know you wouldn’t, dear boy. I just thought to remind you that the omission of information is a lie as well, no matter how well intended.”

There was an uncomfortable lump in his throat, and Percival swallowed hard against it, feeling his throat bob. “Naturally, sir. Have a good evening,” he said with a hasty smile over his shoulder, before he left with as much dignity as he could muster, hating that he felt like a schoolboy slinking out of the principal’s office after receiving a warning for a plan he had imagined to be rather clever and cunning.

***

The second Percival sat down, Newt fell against his side with a groan. From Newt’s lap Pickett glared up at Percival, before going back to cleaning between her toes. Percival glared right back and wrapped an arm around Newt, rubbing his upper arm. His lesson with Dumbledore had been exhausting, and Percival’s mind was still spinning with the implications of what the man had told him. There was no point in mulling it over tonight though, and Percival firmly pushed all the things he had to consider to make his plan happen to the back of his mind. 

“There’s nothing scheduled for tomorrow,” Percival said, eliciting a happy little noise from Newt.

“Good. I can’t bear another garden party, Percival, I simply can’t. Why does every lady of standing in London need to throw a garden party in summer, and why do they all invite me?” Newt whined while scratching Pickett’s chin.

“Because garden parties in winter make no sense,” Percival pointed out, his voice swinging with laughter. Newt in a pouty mood was….adorable, for a lack of better word. “And because every lady of standing in London wishes to catch herself a prince.”

Newt huffed, as if such a thought was completely outlandish and the entirety of London’s female population unreasonable. “I don’t want to be caught by a lady,” he grumbled and tilted his head back on Percival’s shoulder, blinking up at him with tired eyes.

“I should hope not,” Percival said, tilting his head down to press a soft kiss to Newt’s lips. “I already caught you, and I have no plans of letting you go.”

“Good.” Exhaustion made Newt look soft around the edges, the blink of his eyes slow, like it was first thing in the morning when he woke and smiled at Percival, not yet fully conscious. Percival couldn’t help but steal another kiss, but before their lips even had the chance to touch, Percival yelped with pain and pulled back.

Pickett had gotten up to stretch leisurely, her bottom high up in the air and her front paws on Percival’s thigh, her long claws digging in. Her eyes locked with Percival’s, as she took her time stretching forward, letting her claws dig in a little more, before she jumped off their laps and sauntered off with an air of satisfaction.

“Your cat is a fucking menace,” Percival huffed. Newt laughed and turned his head against Percival’s chest. The moment was ruined, but Newt was warm and relaxed against him. Percival pressed a kiss to the top of his head, his unruly hair tickling under his nose.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed, Your Highness.”

“Mh. I like the sound of that, Mister Graves,” Newt smiled up at him, his lips curling wickedly.

“Don’t look so happy about it, I’ll only stay if you lock the menace out of the room,” Percival said as he pulled Newt to his feet. He’d spent too many nights jolting awake in pain as Pickett attacked his feet. Times like that had Percival was convinced that the cat either reported to the King himself, or worse, Snape, and tried to make Percival’s life hell on their orders.

“But Pickett always sleeps next to me,” Newt, rather predictably, pouted.

“Yes, and she always tries to emasculate me in my sleep.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Newt huffed, forever defending Pickett’s innocence. If he wanted to win this battle, Percival would have to switch tactics.

“Do you really want little, innocent Pickett watch us having sex? Might traumatise her.” In reality, Percival was the one traumatised. On one memorable occasion Pickett had sat on the nightstand like a stone statue, starring at Percival while Newt was under the covers, exercising his newly found blowjob skills. Needless to say, Percival had had a difficult time relaxing with those glowing eyes trying to set him on fire. Conveniently enough, Pickett had vanished the moment Newt reemerged from under the covers.

“No,” Newt said, a little petulant note still in his voice. “I suppose she can sleep in her basket in front of the fire.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine with that,” Percival said. Cats notoriously slept everywhere anyway, and he’d be happy to not be in danger of acquiring a new set of scratches.

***

Percival had worked at the palace for over two months now. He’d gotten used to the rhythm of the palace, knew the names of the other staff, knew about the secret passageways and had, on one memorable occasion, even managed to make Seraphina Picquery laugh. He knew that he needed to twist the left knob a little more than the right on the faucet in his bathroom to get the perfect temperature water, and using the correct titles of all the stuffy people at court had become second nature. For all intents and purposes, Percival thought he’d settled well into his new life.

In all that time though he’d only seen the King from afar, or in passing. He hadn’t spoken to him alone since his very first day, and waiting in front of the heavy double doors made him feel like it had back then. No, in all honesty, it made him feel worse, because there was so much more at stake for him, and for Newt, this time around.

With a sigh, Percival ran a hand over his hair, making sure it wasn’t sticking up unsightly. He pulled the cuffs of his shirt straight and smoothed down the front, as he’d done four times already since arriving.

When the door finally opened, Percival nearly jumped in surprise.

“Mister Graves, His Majesty will see you now,” Pierre, one of the King’s attendants, winked. He and Percival had been drinking together a few nights ago down in the kitchens, while the royalty of London mingled in the ballroom above. When he’d first come here Percival had thought he’d never find camaraderie among his colleagues, all of them cool and collected and very distant. It had taken him a few weeks to realise that the formal act was part of the job, and that friendships and jokes happened behind closed doors and in unwatched moments. An outsider would never know what to look for, as the palace staff always presented their best face. But there were eyes rolled behind backs and secret smiles exchanged that conveyed everything the other needed to know.

Percival inclined his head and gave Pierre a small smile as he stepped through the doors. Pierre flashed him a quick thumbs up as he stayed by the door, leaving Percival to walk through the ante chamber into the King’s office.

Everything in the office looked the same, including the King. If he hadn’t worn a different tie, Percival would’ve wondered if he was stuck in a time loop.

“Mister Graves.” The King capped his pen and put it aside, focusing his entire attention on Percival, who shifted beneath the weight of the man’s gaze. “You requested an audience. How can I be of service? I certainly hope you’re not here to resign. My brother has grown very fond of you.”

“No, no of course not. Sir,” Percival said. He felt like a schoolboy, standing on front of the King’s heavy and opulent desk, like he’d shrunken upon entering the room. “I very much enjoy my position.”

“I’m glad to hear that. From what I’ve heard - and witnessed for myself - my brother actually manages to keep his appointments. There’ve also not been any incidents involving animals being smuggled into events, which is a commendable accomplishment. I have half a mind to make you a Knight of the Kingdom.” The King’s smile, so similar to Newt’s, put Percival at ease, and his own smile relaxed.

“I aim to please, Your Majesty.”

The King’s grin widened, before it fell and was replaced by a more serious expression again.

“So. Why are you here, Mister Graves?”

“Well. It’s about Ne- …I mean, His Highness.”

***

Percival stopped short as he walked into the room, and looked Newt up and down.

“This is your idea of ‘casual’?” He asked, torn between fond exasperation and amusement.

“Yes?” Newt stopped adjusting his bowtie and gave Percival a wide-eyed look. “What’s wrong with it?”

Between the red tartan jacket, the brown corduroy trousers and tan boots, and the black bowtie, Percival really didn’t know where to start.

“It’s a bit…colourful.”

“You think so?” Newt frowned and looked himself down, as if checking to confirm what Percival had said. “I thought the boots looked rather workmen like, don’t you think?”

Confronted with Newt’s hopeful smile, Percival didn’t have the heart to tell him that no workman out there owned boots this polished. “Sure.”

“But it’s still an invitation for tea, so I added the bowtie,” Newt explained.

“It’s just tea at Queenie’s though, so it’ll be as informal as can be,” Percival said and stepped up to Newt, starting to undo his bowtie. “And none of this explains the jacket. Where did you even get that?”

Newt grimaced. “It was a present. I think Theseus meant it as a joke, but I actually quite like it.”

Of course Newt would like such an atrocity. 

“Tell you what, why don’t you wear your dark brown trousers and the saffron waistcoat?”

Newt’s eyes narrowed as he frowned at Percival. “Are you sure that’d be appropriate?”

By now, Percival knew better than to point out that a tartan jacket was hardly appropriate. Instead he nodded and pressed a quick kiss to Newt’s lips. “Yes. You could wear pyjamas for tea at Queenie’s and it’d still be appropriate. Now go change, the car will be here soon.”

Percival had organised one of the more inconspicuous cars of the palace, and they drove around London for a while to throw any potential followers off, before heading for Queenie’s house. Jacob and her lived in one half of a red brick house, nestled in a road full of similar houses, with well-kept front gardens and flowerpots hanging from the streetlamps.

None of the neighbours were outside, and even if they’d been, Percival was fairly certain they wouldn’t have recognised Newt anyway, because of the simply impossibility of him being there. It had worked for Newt the first time around, after all, and this time they’d concealed his red hair under a brown flat cap.

“Thanks, Anton,” Percival smiled when the car had pulled to a stop.

“Anytime. I’ll pick you up in three hours?” Anton asked, turning in the driver’s seat to look back at them.

“Perfect,” Percival nodded and opened the door to get out first.

“Have a good time, Percival. Your Highness.”

“Thanks, Anton,” Newt smiled and pulled the sleeves of his shirt straight again before stepping out of the car. He looked left and right, as if Percival had taken him to another country, rather than simply out of the palace.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.” Percival couldn’t help but feel a little nervous; every now and then he remembered that Newt wasn’t just Newt, but the Crown Prince, and that at the moment Percival was responsible for his safety.

They walked up the steps and as Percival knocked, Newt turned to him with a little grin, bouncing on the soles of his feet.

“This is exciting, isn’t it?”

It was probably the first time Newt had ever been invited to a “normal” house. Well, he’d been to Percival’s, but those had been somewhat different circumstances. It was a strange thought, that something so normal was special to Newt.

“There you are!” The door swung open and revealed Queenie’s beaming face. She was done up like she was about to go out, a pearl necklace gleaming around her neck and her pink dress hugging her body in all the right ways. Behind her Jacob waved at them, wearing one of his best suits.

Percival didn’t need to look, he could feel the heat of Newt’s glare on him as Queenie ushered them inside.

“I’m sorry, Queenie, Percival said this would be more of a casual affair, so I’m afraid we’re not dressed right for the occasion,” Newt said, having no qualms to put the blame on Percival.

“Well. It usually is, but we’re having royalty over, so we figured we better make an effort,” Jacob chuckled. “And Queenie does love to dress up, so don’t worry about it.”

Newt continued to look put out for all of ten seconds, before the inside of the house distracted him. He inspected the pictures in the hallways and eagerly took Jacob up on the offer of a tour.

“He lives in a palace,” Tina said as she watched Jacob and Newt walk upstairs. “What’s so amazing about a two bedroom?”

“ It’s not a palace,” Queenie and Percival replied in unison.

“Right,” Tina said, though she didn’t look convinced.

By the looks of it, Jacob must’ve spent all day baking; the table in the living-room was laden with food and Percival couldn’t help but notice that all his favourites were among them.

“You have a beautiful home,” Newt said to Queenie as he entered the living room, Jacob following behind. Percival didn’t miss the fact that he said ‘home’ rather than ‘house’, a distinction that was important where Newt was concerned.

“Thanks, honey. You’re welcome to come here anytime,” Queenie smiled. “Have a seat, I’ll put the kettle on!”

This time the initial awkwardness that always accompanied the meetings of a new group of people who were not yet friends, but well on their way to being so, lasted for all of five minutes, before Newt was deep in conversation with Credence, giving him an update on what Pickett had been up to, by the sounds of it, and Percival was bickering with Tina about milk first vs tea first. Jacob and Queenie watched the chaos with exasperated smiles on their faces, much like a pair of parents.

They made good work on all the sandwiches and pastries, and yet the plates were still more than half full by the time Percival felt stuffed and incapable of taking another bite.

“‘Scuse me,” he mumbled and pushed back his chair, making his way out the back. Queenie’s and Jacob’s garden was tiny but well maintained; the grass was cut so evenly that not even the gardeners at the palace could’ve found fault with it, and the pink and white flowers added pops of colour. Percival took a moment to breathe in the sweet scent of the flowers and enjoy the comfortable warmth of the sun on his face, before he fumbled a cigarette out of the pack in his trousers.

Before he could start the hunt for his lighter there was a click and a lighter appeared in front of him.

“Thanks,” Percival mumbled around his cigarette. He exhaled slowly, listening to the lighter click again as Credence lit his own cigarette. For a while they smoked in companionable silence, until Credence half turned to look at Percival.

“You look really happy.”

“I am,” Percival agreed after a moment’s consideration, tapping excess ash from his cigarette and glancing over at Credence, who had a thoughtful look on his face.

“I’m glad. Newt is a great person.” Of all the people in the world, Percival trusted Credence’s judgement the most, along with Queenie’s. Credence was young, but he’d had to grow up hard and fast; he’d learnt to read people.

“He is.” Try as he might, Percival couldn’t hold back the smile that forced his lips upwards. 

“You love him.” It was a statement, not a question, and it made something warm spread through Percival’s chest, his heart giving an excited twitch.

“I do.” Part of Percival felt like a shy boy again, admitting to falling in love for the first time. He looked down and ground out his cigarette with the toes of his shoe before picking up the stump (he really didn’t need to be on the receiving end of Queenie’s nagging).

Credence made a thoughtful little noise and finished his own cigarette. Years of friendship enabled Percival to read Credence, something he’d never thought possible when he’d first met the enigmatic young man, hiding behind a carefully constructed facade.

“Hey, what’s on your mind?” Percival slung an arm around Credence’s shoulders and pulled him close. He wasn’t the thin and frail boy he’d once been anymore either; though Credence hadn’t grown physically, his presence took up more space these days.

“You’re not going to forget us, are you?”

Percival could feel Credence drawing his shoulders upwards, as if he was preparing himself for a blow. He pulled Credence closer and pressed a kiss to his temple, ignoring the indignant little noise it caused.

“Of course not, you idiot. How could I forget you guys? You’re going to nag me till the day we all die, and then you’ll follow me around as ghosts, I’m sure of it.”

Credence huffed, but his stance relaxed as he leaned into Percival’s side. “I’m just saying. What with the money and spending your days immersed in high society and all that.”

“Credence.” Percival lightly butted their heads together. “This isn’t about money or me having to spend my days with pompous fucks who make me walk their dogs. I’m doing what I’m doing because…because it’s my only chance to be close to Newt. Nothing else. And I think my job sounds more glamorous than it is. Most of the time I’m talking Newt down from running away or herding him to his meetings. If I’m not doing that I’m picking up dry cleaning or fetching an unbelievable amount of cups of tea. And in addition to all that I’m trying not to get maimed by Newt’s cat in my sleep.”

Credence snorted. “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“You only say that because you haven’t met Pickett,” Percival huffed.

“You should introduce us then.” Credence said, perfectly nonchalant, but it was easy enough to read in between the lines.

“Sure, kiddo, I’ll introduce you. Though if Pickett and you ever team up, the rest of us is doomed.”

***

“You smell like horses.”

The scent only intensified when Newt plopped himself down in Percival’s lap. There were pieces of straw stuck in his hair. Percival transferred his cigarette to his other hand, so he could pick out the stems.

“You smell like cigarettes.”

Percival made a point out of exhaling smoke in Newt’s direction, grinning when Newt flapped his hands about and pulled a face.

“Means we both need a bath, huh?” Percival wrapped his arm around Newt’s waist and felt the steady rise and fall of his chest. He took a last drag of his cigarette before grinding it out in the ashtray, precariously balanced not he arm of the couch.

“It means you have to brush your teeth,” Newt retorted. Despite his words he leaned back against Percival, his posture slouched and relaxed. His shirt was already half-untucked from his trousers, making it easy for Percival to push his hand under the layers of clothing and rest it on the bare skin of Newt’s belly. Newt made a pleased little noise and Percival couldn’t help but think that had he been a cat, he would’ve been purring contently.

“Then you had better let me get up.”

“I didn’t say you had to brush them now,” Newt said, his eyelids already dropped to half-mast. “I know the gardens here are not that exciting, but we’re going up to Scotland soon and the treks there are really quite beautiful. Are you sure you don’t want to at least try? We’ve got a really well behaved mare, Cecilia, she’s ever so sweet and even tempe-” The rest of Newt’s sentence was muffled against Percival’s lips as he silenced him with a kiss.

“Thanks for the offer, but no thanks. I’ll leave the riding to you,” Percival grinned, his arm tightening around Newt’s waist as his hand moved south. “Since you’ve got such a natural talent for it.”

A deep red spread over the bridge of Newt’s nose and his cheeks. He huffed and half-heartedly pushed Percival away. “You’re impossible!” He mumbled, and Percival thought that he’d never tire of seeing Newt blush, duck his head, smile, and pretend to be outraged, all at the same time.

“So I’ve been told,” Percival said sitting up a little straighter. “So. How about that bath?”

***

It had all been planned to perfection, which had been much more exhausting and difficult than Percival had anticipated. He’d been close to abandoning the whole project a few times, but when he’d thought of how Newt was going to react, it had made him push through.

Now all that was left was the most difficult part - convincing Newt to come along without asking too many questions.

“Are you sure we can’t bring Pickett?” Newt asked as he did up the buttons of his mustard-yellow vest. To Percival’s relief, he’d picked a simple brown jacket to wear over it.

“Yes, I’m quite sure. Don’t worry, she’ll be well looked after,” Percival said, fighting hard not to tap his foot impatiently as he waited in the doorway.

“I need to tell Hagrid though that Arnold isn’t feeling too well and he needs to-“

“Hagrid knows that, Newt,” Percival interrupted and took a deep breath. “Look, everything is taken care of. I promise you. Now will you please hurry up?” If they delayed any longer, Percival’s and Seraphina’s carefully planned schedule would go to hell.

“I just don’t understand why Theseus wants me to spend two days with the Lovegoods down in Sussex. We’ll see them in Balmoral anyway,” Newt huffed, and for a second he looked close to stamping his foot in frustration. Percival’s insides tightened uncomfortably as he wondered if this had been such a splendid idea after all.

“It’s not within my rights to question His Majesty’s decisions,” he replied, hoping his voice came out neutral, rather than anxious. Newt huffed and picked Pickett up again, cuddling the cat close and whispering something in her ear, before setting her down on the bed.

“I’ll be back before you know it, Pickett, I promise.”

Pickett starred at Newt, before her head swivelled around and her gaze settled heavily on Percival, as if to say ‘this is all your fault anyway.’

“Bye, Pickett,” Percival muttered. At least he’d get two days without having to dodge sneak attacks from a cat.

The car was already waiting for them in the courtyard and Percival opened the car door for Newt, who threw himself into the backseat like a petulant child.

It took them driving out the back entrance of the palace and through narrow side streets for five minutes until Newt’s heartache over having to leave Pickett behind subsided enough for other thoughts to fill his mind.

“This isn’t the car we usually take,” he said and sat up a little straighter, letting his gaze roam over the interior. The seats were made of leather, creaking whenever one of them shifted, but otherwise the car was unassuming; the most obvious things were the windows, which lacked the dark tint of the other palace cars. Newt looked out of them for a few seconds before he turned to Percival.

“We’re not going to Sussex, are we?” He looked torn between being excited and being resigned to the fact that he probably had to go somewhere far worse.

“No, we’re not going to Sussex,” Percival agreed. After checking that the divide between the driver and them was up, he reached over to take Newt’s hand.

“So? Where are we going?” Newt’s fingertips twitched a little as his grip on Percival’s hand tightened, then loosened again.

“That’ll be a surprise. But I promise you’ll like it,” Percival hastened to add when Newt’s face fell.

Newt nodded, though a skeptical twist remained to the curve of his lips. Looking out of the window distracted soon enough though, as he admired the world passing by without the tinted windows draining everything of colour.

It took them almost three hours to get to Brighton, with the driver taking backroads to throw any possible followers off their track. The moment Newt realised where they were going all doubt were erased from Percival’s mind and he knew that he’d done the right thing. The lines on Newt’s face that tiredness had etched there over the past few weeks suddenly smoothed out, and he turned to Percival with wide eyes and an even wider smile.

“Are you serious?” Newt shifted and leaned forward in his seat, his knee bouncing restlessly.

“Obviously,” Percival replied. He felt lightheaded with relief. “There’s a car with two bodyguards following. Your brother wouldn’t agree to leat you go completely without security.” And if Percival was honest, he wouldn’t have wanted Newt to be unprotected. Even though he had endured a few basic security lessons with the insufferable prat Snape, Percival felt more comfortable knowing that there were two professionals with them who had Newt’s back. “They’ve got orders to stay in the background though. And dress like normal people,” he added with a wink, causing Newt to huff out a laugh.

“How long have you been planning this?”

Percival shrugged. He felt pinned beneath the weight of Newt’s gaze and turned to look out of the window, as the back of his neck grew hot. “A while,” he said vaguely.

He could hear Newt huff again, and a second later he pressed against Percival’s side. There was only so much they could do in public, but Newt’s weight against him told Percival everything he needed to know.

***

Percival had reserved rooms for them in a little bed and breakfast not far from the ocean, hoping that Newt’s theory would work once again, and people wouldn’t recognise him because of the simple improbability of it.

“There you go, dears,” the elderly lady smiled as she handed them their room keys. She reminded Percival strongly of his grandmother, with her twinkling eyes and mischievous smile. “Are you lads here for a stag do then? Lotsa folks come down from the city to celebrate.”

“No, just getting a bit of a break. And give the missuses a break from us as well,” Harry, one of the bodyguards, winked, causing the innkeeper to giggle and swat his shoulder.

“You lads enjoy your time and let me know if you need anything at all.”

They made their way to their rooms, Percival watching with amusement as Newt struggled to get his suitcase up the stairs.

“Regret wanting a weekend as a normal person already?” He asked, low enough that only Newt heard him, once they’d reached the top of the stairs and Newt had dropped his suitcase with a groan.

“No. I’m fine. Splendid,” Newt said. Despite his breathlessness, he picked his bag back up quickly when Harry made a move to carry it for him, now they were out of sight. “I’m fine,” he repeated and marched ahead.

Harry and Arthur had the rooms on either side of Newt’s, Percival the one across from him. It wasn’t ideal, but any other setup would’ve been suspicious.

“I’ll let you know when we plan on leaving the hotel,” Percival said, watching as Harry and Arthur disappeared in their rooms. “I’ll unpack some of my stuff and then I’ll come over,” he added with a wink at Newt, once the doors had closed behind the bodyguards.

***

Percival never traveled with much, and he’d never been particularly fond of unpacking. Consequently, he was settled into his room within five minutes and after a quick cigarette (smoked half hanging out of the window) he made his way over to Newt’s room, taking care to open the door as quietly as possibly. Not that Harry and Arthur would suspect anything beyond the Prince’s valet coming to help him with the mundane tasks of everyday life, which were so ill-suited for royalty, but still. It never hurt to be extra careful, especially in their situation.

Percival wasn’t at all surprised to find the suitcase abandoned on the bed, and the curtains billowing in the breeze, the doors to the balcony wide open. In the distance the ocean shimmered in shades of blue, the rays of the sun glittering on the waves. The wind carried over the smell of salt and caressed Newt’s hair, twisting and tugging it this way and that.

“It’s beautiful.”

Percival nodded in agreement, though he was looking at Newt, watching the way he squinted and in the sun and smiled that relaxed little smile Percival so rarely saw. I’m glad you think so.”

Tearing his gaze away from the horizon, Newt turned around and took Percival’s hand, pulling him inside where they’d be sheltered from curious looks.

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

It might’ve been Percival’s imagination, but when Newt kissed him he thought he could taste the ocean on his lips, as if the wind had imprinted water and salt on them.

“Do you think we can go for a walk?” Newt’s eyes were shining with excitement, and Percival was sure that he’d never seen anybody this excited at the prospect of a simple walk. 

“Sure. We’ll have to take Arthur and Harry, though.” 

To Percival that was a drawback but Newt, used to a life constantly observed by others, merely shrugged.

“They’re discreet.” 

***

Having two guys in simple clothes follow them at a distance was entirely different to having two guys in suits follow two steps behind, and Percival almost forgot that it wasn’t just Newt and him walking along the beach. 

It was a warm, if slightly breezy evening. Couples and families were walking along the beach, children running up to the water and quickly jumping back when yet another wave fizzled out into a gently swap of water. Newt’s eyes were darting back and forth, from the water to the people surrounding them. He was taking everything in like he was seeing it for the first time, and the look on his face was reminiscent of the one he’d worn the night when Percival had first met him. Wonder mixed with disbelief, all wrapped in happiness that made Newt’s eyes shine. 

Every now and then he’d glance at Percival and raise his eyebrows, like he couldn’t quite believe that they were here, and that they were walking undisturbed. The tension he’d carried in his shoulders when they’d reached the beach eased the longer they went without anybody taking any notice of them at all. It was a little strange, even for Percival. In the month’s he’d worked for Newt, he’d gotten used to the fact that a mob of people was going to attempt and push into Newt’s personal space as soon as he set foot outside the secured perimeter of the palace.  

He’d almost forgotten himself what it felt like, being just another face in the crowd. He found that he’d quite missed it. Despite Harry’s and Arthur’s presence, he kept a watchful eye on the people around them, and yet their walk was relaxing like nothing had been for a while. Since becoming Newt’s valet, Percival felt that he was constantly vigilant, constantly on edge, watching for potential threats, or ensuring that nobody saw through their facade. Being someone’s valet was only an excuse for so much.  

“I’m going to hold my feet in,” Newt said as he came to an abrupt stop and started to undo his shoelaces. 

“You...what?” Percival blinked as he watched, his mind taking a little to catch up with what Newt was intending to do. “You’re going to get a cold, the water isn’t all that warm.”

Newt shot Percival a look that spoke volumes about how much he didn’t care about that. 

“I’ve never been to the ocean, I can’t leave without having at least held my feet in,” he said as he stuffed his socks into his shoes and rolled up the pants of his trousers. Percival couldn’t do anything but stand next to Newt and watch, dumbfounded. When he glanced over his shoulder he saw Harry and Arthur having a smoke a few feet away, watching the entire thing with amused smiles. 

“You should come in with me,” Newt said when he straightened back up, the rolled up pants revealing his pale legs. 

“I’m not particularly fond of turning my feet into icicles. I’ll stay here and have a smoke.”

Newt’s lips pursed. “Why, Mister Graves, I wasn’t aware of the fact that you’re such a boring old man.” 

“If you think you can bait me by taunting me, you’re sorely mistaken.” Pulling out his pack of cigarettes, Percival clamped one of them between his lips as he looked for his lighter, just to show Newt how serious he was about not getting into the cold water. 

“Fine, I’ll go by myself then.” For a second Newt looked a little unsure, but then he squared his shoulders and marched towards the ocean. Percival sat down in the sand next to Newt’s abandoned shoes and watched as his walk slowed once he’d reached the water. Newt held one toe in and, apparently decided that he had to do this quickly, before he lost his nerve, took a few quick steps forward. He waded out until the water was licking at the fabric of his rolled up pants, and when he turned he wore a brilliant smile on his face. 

Percival tried his hardest to commit the image to memory. The sun setting in the sky, making it look like the waves were tipped by sparkling diamonds, and Newt in the middle of it all, outshining the sun and the diamonds with his carefree smile. When their eyes met, Newt’s smile widened the fraction of an inch before he turned around himself and looked down, probably watching as he wiggled his toes in the water. 

His joy was infectious and, after taking a last drag of his cigarette, Percival took off his own shoes, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be out there with Newt. There was no point in denying that he’d become a helpless moth, forever seeking, forever drawn to Newt’s light. 

The water lapped at Percival’s toes and he grimaced at its coldness. It wouldn’t get better the longer he waited though, so he took one step forward and then another. He didn’t pause, even when the cold water hugging his calves pushed the breath out of his lungs. 

“See, I told you it was great,” Newt said, once Percival had reached him, despite the fact that he was threading water, by far not as immune to the cold as he liked to pretend. Percival knew about that all too well; he woke up often enough with Newt’s ice-cold feet pressed to his calves, and never left for an event without making sure that an emergency jumper was packed for His Highness. He knew all about Newt’s tendencies to get cold. 

“Well. ‘Great’ might be pushing it a little.”

“It’s great,” Newt repeated and turned to look towards the horizon, squinting as if that’d help him to see what lay beyond.  

“Percival?”

“Mh?” Percival wondered if it would make him look like a pretentious arse if he lit a cigarette while standing in the ocean. 

“Are you happy?” Newt didn’t take his eyes off the horizon, and despite his casual tone the question weighed down the air between them. 

For some reason, Newt was still under the impression that Percival was going through hardships for him. In reality, the things Percival had had to give up were minor annoyances, compared to what he’d gained. He could still see his friends, and earned enough to send money home to his family. Being unable to go down to the pub for a pint on Friday nights was a very small price to pay for that. 

Most important of all, he had Newt. Quirky, eccentric, wonderful Newt. 

“Yes. Yes I am,” Percival said before lighting his cigarette, watching from the corner of his eyes as Newt’s shoulders dropped the fraction of an inch. The wind was ruffling his hair, hiding his eyes from view, but Percival could still see the curl of his lips. 

“Good. Me too.”