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Chapter Text

December was the height of summer in Australia. Sydney was unbelievably humid after the desiccating heat of the red sand desert, but the rain was wonderful. Credence removed the light summer hat he'd worn for most of the past year and tipped his head back, letting the fat drops splatter against his closed eyelids and dry lips.

Without having to look, he knew Graves had stopped too and was standing patiently by his side, waiting for him. His own hat was no doubt still in place, but neither of them had an umbrella. Rain was such a rarity, almost unheard during the long months they'd spent in Australia's desert Outback, despite the banks of clouds that occasionally rolled by overhead.

Gentle fingers brushed at a runnel of water trickling down Credence's jawline, and his heart tightened in his chest. Graves touched him like no one else ever had. Moreover, he didn't seem to care whether any of the people hurrying through the downpour past Ollie's shop noticed a minor impropriety.

"Percy." Credence opened his eyes and held Graves' gaze for a long moment. He had a sudden impulse to find out how the rain tasted on Graves' lips, but his own propriety held him back.

Here in the streets of Sydney, no one knew what they were. They walked among ordinary people who knew nothing about magic and would never guess that the two well-dressed men strolling along the sidewalk like it was sunshine pouring down on them and not rain were wizards, or that their finely-cut jackets concealed wands in secret inner pockets.

Sydney was so like New York (at least in comparison to the wild and alien desert) that Credence couldn't help but be aware of how much he'd changed. His new life had altered everything from his posture to his shoes. If people's eyes skated past him, it was because he blended into the crowd, not the snubbing aversion he'd inspired pushing hand-copied religious bills at indifferent passers-by. Even in a lavishly tailored suit, he was overshadowed by the more striking and confident Graves. Credence preferred it that way. He was more than happy to trail along unnoticed, his real, secret life unguessed at.

Because while he looked different now and the fine clothes had taken getting used to, the real changes had taken place inside of him. The most important one had happened in the instant he'd turned on Grindelwald, or Grindelwald had turned on him. It had been a long, awful moment when he'd come face to face with the horrible anger and power inside himself.

That anger was still there. It was a weight in his heart, on bad days a churning in his belly and a tension at the base of his skull that made him want to hunch his neck and curl around it until he was so dense he exploded outwards. But most days he could stand tall. The darkness wasn't the only thing inside him anymore. He had learned kindness and a type of magic he could control. He had tasted the hot, scouring desert sandstorms from the inside. Even now, the feeling of Graves' hands shivered on his skin. He had learned that he was stronger than the ugly snarl of fear and anger that lodged in his chest, strong enough to love.

Strong enough to survive.

They had come into the city today from their camp far out in the unmapped desert at the heart of the continent to pick up supplies for the next month. This was the third time Credence had come along on the trip. Usually, they visited a few shops in the morning, gathering food staples and potions ingredients for Credence's continuing lessons. Graves had used to hurry back after eating lunch with Ollie and Sanna's family; but now Credence was coming with him, they'd started spending the afternoons exploring the city, and especially Sydney's magical library. Graves sniffed a little and said it wasn't a patch on the ones in New York, but Credence thought it was more than wonderful enough for him.

Today, though, it wasn't the library Credence was looking forward to. Last time they'd visited the city, Graves had given him a wallet full of strange money as well as a purse full of even stranger coins. It had made Credence very uncomfortable, and they'd had a fight about it. Graves had said that if Credence was going to share his bed, he was going to share everything, and they weren't so short on money that he had to dole it out by the sprink.

Credence had, eventually, faced up to the fact that money was the least of what Graves had given him. Refusing it wouldn't balance out all the other things Graves did, things Credence couldn't refuse and selfishly didn't want to.

Credence knew what Graves had sacrificed to bring him here, to keep him safe and teach him. His old life, his position, his friends, his family, as well as his own chance for revenge against the dark wizard Grindelwald who had captured, tortured, and impersonated him. Credence didn't like to think about it, because he couldn't imagine how he could deserve that kind of utter devotion from such a man, and a dreadful guilt still twisted in his stomach sometimes. He couldn't imagine what Graves could ever see in him to make it all worth it, but he had never seemed resentful. More than teach Credence magic, which was everything he wanted in the world, he had comforted Credence, and for some reason Credence would never understand, he'd taken him into his broken and battered heart.

Credence gave back what he could, but it was always little things. All he had was himself, which didn't seem like very much. But Christmas was coming up, and Credence had thought of a use for part of the ridiculous sum of money Graves had pressed on him, if only he could get a moment on his own at one of the shops they were going to visit today.

He was nervous and excited. The rain soaking his hair and collar was a refreshing novelty, not something to hide from. Credence could remember how storms in New York had sent him scurrying for cover, afraid of ruining his clothes and of how soaking would turn his stack of pamphlets into a dangerous, pulpy mess. But today, it was easy to set that aside.

They had only gone a block from Ollie's when a voice cut across the noise of splashing footsteps and rattle and rain-slick hiss of a passing trolley. "Percy!"

It was a woman's voice. Not Ollie's peculiar accent; but whoever it was knew Graves' name, and that couldn't be good. Was it someone from MACUSA, catching up with them at last? Graves knew witches and wizards from all over the world. Maybe it was just a chance acquaintance. Maybe—

Graves turned in the direction the call had come from. Standing shoulder to shoulder, Credence turned with him. He didn't reach for Graves' hand, although he wanted to. Instead, he drew on Graves' steadiness to bolster his own confidence, straightening his spine despite mounting pressures inside and out.

Two, it was two women. They were cutting across the crowd towards Graves and Credence, a pair of umbrellas sheltering them from the rain. Neither was young; one had auburn hair shot through with grey, and there were glints of silver in her companion's short, neat crop of black hair where it peeked out from under her modish hat. They weren't dressed alike, but they looked alike, from the set of their equally determined jaws to the brisk stride that was rapidly closing the distance between themselves and where Credence stood next to Graves.

"Oh, Proctor," Graves muttered.

"What is it? Who are they?"

"I've told you about my sisters, right?" Graves said.

Chapter Text

Credence's eyes widened, and it all seemed to fall into place. They really could be. The cheekbones, the penetrating eyes. Credence stared at them in a completely different kind of apprehension now. Both Graves' surviving sisters were aurors.

The older one would be Innogen, whose onetime partner was now the President of the Magical Congress of the United States. Graves had talked about his youngest sister, Celandine, like she was some sort of rebel; but to Credence's eye she was the more conservative of the two. While her hair was cut startlingly short, the ends barely visible under her cloche, the hat itself was navy blue felt with little embellishment, and the skirt and jacket she wore were a light grey tweed—neat and obviously expensive, but not showy.

Her sister, by contrast, was decked out in some kind of baggy jumper under a light coat, both vividly colourful. The silky green material brought out a flash of hazel in her eyes. Its neckline plunged over a slip embellished with seed pearls and tiny beads. She wore more jewellery; even her umbrella was decorated. She didn't look like a flapper, but she did look like a person ma would have forbidden Credence to talk to. The voice in his head pointing that out was quieter than it had used to be, but Credence wasn't sure it would ever go away for good.

"I wasn't expecting you," Graves greeted his sisters.

"Really?" Innogen asked.

Graves made a throwaway gesture. "I figured you'd have shown up a while ago if you were coming after me."

"We decided you could use some time off, since you never take any. And the political furore needed time to die down," Celandine explained.

"Now we see what's been keeping you so long." Innogen looked Credence up and down critically, making it obvious what she meant. Point made, she dropped him from her attention. "By all accounts, you needed a break, or we would have come after you sooner; but you've had more than enough time."

"We're going to have a conversation about you taking on the Obscurial on your own, by the way," Celandine added. "That thing could have killed you before it self-destructed."

Credence felt his back go stiff. Graves' expression had settled into the one he shared with Asperity. His hand came up to rest on Credence's damp jacket at the dip of his spine.

"Sisters, allow me to introduce Mister Credence Barebone. Credence, my sisters, Innogen Graves and Celandine Sabry. They usually," the look Graves directed at them held a definite rebuke, "have better manners than this. Slightly."

The hissing and splashing of the wet streets was loud in the sudden halt in the conversation. Both women were giving Credence their full attention now, trying to match him with the descriptions of the Obscurial they'd been given. It was so close underneath his skin he was surprised they couldn't see it. But Credence still had control. He knew when it slipped. There was a danger of it, but it hadn't happened yet.

Graceful, manicured feminine hands reached for wands but did not quite draw. Uneasily, it occurred to Credence to wonder whether they might know the same kind of wordless, wandless magic that Graves sometimes performed.

Stubbornly ignoring his own reaction as well as theirs, Credence stuck out his hand. "Pleased to meet you both."

Innogen's eyes locked with his then instead of assessing him like an inanimate object—well, like a probably-rabid dog. Credence held himself steady by force of will, refusing to falter.

The incisive force of Innogen's gaze intensified. Not breaking eye-contact, she clasped Credence's hand, shaking it decisively. Then she turned back to Graves. "Why are you always so self-destructive in your love life, Percy?"

Chapter Text

They went to a magical coffee shop Graves had discovered, to do their talking out of the rain. It was a tiny place, crammed into an even tinier space on the first floor of an old brick building, around a corner most people would never think of turning. For just the two of them, crowding in close at one of the small, wire-frame tables, it was snugly romantic.

With the addition of Graves' sisters, it felt more like being trapped. Credence couldn't help thinking there were less cramped cafés to choose from, but that at least Graves could apparate them out of here without causing more problems than they escaped. Innogen and Celandine had obviously come hunting their brother, not a fugitive Obscurial, but only because they'd assumed he was already dead. Credence wasn't at all sure what they'd do now they knew he was still around.

"How's the family?" Graves asked after they had given their orders.

The question was evidently directed at Celandine, because she was the one who answered. "Same old, same old. Iah's keeping busy at the museum, but Alexandria is still trying to lure him back. I say we hold out until the girls are off to Ilvermorny."

Something about that surprised Graves. "I thought you were married to your career first and Iah second."

Celandine picked up the fine, patterned china cup of coffee the waiter had just poured for her and took a careful sip. "After raising two children, you're not the only one who could use a vacation. And if that gets boring, I can always try my hand at curse-breaking like little Jaslyn. International experience is always an advantage."

"Sounds like my idea of a vacation," Innogen approved. She wrinkled her nose. "What have you been doing down here to keep yourself occupied? Or dare I ask?"

Credence felt his face grow hot. It was more than obvious that Graves' preferences weren't a secret from his family.

"Sera didn't send you. Does she know where we are?" he asked, ignoring his coffee as well as his sister's question.

"Pretty much everybody's assuming this one's dead by now, and half of them think he's taken you with him," Innogen told him frankly.

"It might be better for everyone if Mister Barebone here stays dead," Celandine added

"Dead might be simplest for both of us," Graves mused. "Why come now?"

"We all thought you might come back on your own, once you got your head screwed on straight," Celandine said. Her wary eyes flicked momentarily to Credence. "We assumed that was what was taking you so long."

Because Obscurials died, died spectacularly sometimes, but death in childhood was the inescapable fate that had reached out to claim every one before him. That danger was there in the core of the power roiling around Credence's chest, agitated by the sudden upset of all their quiet patterns. Graves' sisters didn't know what to make of him any more than he knew what to make of them.

Innogen looked from Credence to Graves. "It's been a year, Percy. There are questions that need to be answered, legal questions about the estate as well as the personal ones."

"Mother?" Graves asked instantly.

Innogen made a dismissive motion with her coffee cup before taking a sip. "Fine, but she's not getting any younger. If you're going to insist on being dead, we'll have to deal with the inheritance spells on top of the legal bureaucracy."

Graves drummed his fingers thoughtfully. "What's the political atmosphere like? Did you come looking for me because things have cooled down, or because you need another hand on the reins?"

"Picquery's got her work cut out for her if she wants another term, but catching Grindelwald counts for a lot, no matter how much of a mess it was," said Celandine.

"That kind of thing is always going to be a mess," Innogen commented with an air of professional assessment. "They've shipped him back to Germany, by the way."

Grindelwald. Credence swallowed, then remembered the tea in his cup. He'd asked for white tea, which was not nearly as strong as coffee and had a much more calming effect. The rising steam wafted a delicate, soothing fragrance into his nostrils as he inhaled deeply, as always unsettled by mention of the dark wizard.

Although the conversation was passing him by, Credence could tell all three siblings were watching him. And where did he fit into all of this? He couldn't see MACUSA welcoming him back, even if he was less of a danger now.

And did he want to go back? There was nothing left for him in New York. The thought of returning to the tall buildings and grey streets, the chill and the crowds, made Credence feel more apprehensive than excited. If Graves went, though, there was no question that Credence would follow. Graves had come as far and given up more for him. Credence had felt guilty enough about his family before they actually showed up.

Graves nudged at his coffee cup on its saucer, the first attention he'd paid to it since it was poured. "My testimony arrived?"

"Months ago," Innogen confirmed.

Graves nodded. "That's all there is to say about that, then."

Celandine washed down a bite of pastry with a dainty swallow of coffee. "What's your decision?"

Graves chased Credence's eyes until he managed to catch and hold his gaze. "We'll have to discuss our options."

"I suppose you can hardly leave him unsupervised, at that," Innogen mused.

Credence felt himself flush again, his guilt resurfacing. And it was true, wasn't it? Maybe he was okay in the city for a day here and there, but he wasn't really safe. Graves wasn't just protecting him.

To his surprise, the look Graves levelled at his sister was stern, anger leaking through. Innogen drew back a little, and Celandine was watching him carefully. "We'll let you know what our decision is."

"Mother said to bring you back for the holidays so we can sort everything out," Innogen persisted. Graves' glower didn't waver; she threw her hands up. "Oh, fine, both of you. We'll have as much firepower there as an ICW meeting anyway."

Graves still didn't look very happy, but he didn't take her further to task. Credence tried to imagine Christmas with Graves' family, his fearsome mother and cosmopolitan sisters, witches all, and obviously members of their society's upper crust. He came up with a blank and a presentiment of inexhaustible discomfort.

Although they pressed him for an answer, Graves refused to let his sisters pin him down. At long last, he extricated himself and Credence.

"We'll let you know our answer in the morning."

Innogen put on an exaggerated moue of reproach. "What, you're not going to invite us to stay with you? Word is that you've been holed up out in the boonies somewhere. We've been staked out here for two weeks, waiting to catch sight of you."

"The correct term is the Bush. Unless you reach the point where there aren't any more bushes; then it's the Outback."

"Oh, come on, Percy. You? Roughing it? I've got to see what that looks like."

"You'll survive. Tomorrow."

Graves reached for Credence then, and this time he did disapparate. As he was tucking Credence's hand into his arm, he twisted them out of the real world in a nauseating contortion of time and space.

The ground had barely solidified under their feet when Graves drew him in more securely. "Hold on," he said, which was all the warning Credence had before the second taffy-pull transition. By the time they arrived, he was half out of himself already. His internal balance was disrupted beyond the point of caring how close they might still be to the city, let alone whether anyone could see them in such a close embrace, but he could tell by the sudden dryness in the air and the harsh rays of sunlight beating down on the back of his neck that Graves had taken them all the way back out into the desert.

"Sorry about that," Graves apologised. "I wanted to get us out of there without giving them a chance to follow us, and there are ways to stop someone from disapparating if you know it's coming."

"Are we running?"

Graves, when Credence stepped back far enough to see his face, was frowning. "No," he said slowly. "They're good enough they'll track us down if they want to, no matter where we go. I have to deal with them. But I don't have to go with them."

"We," Credence corrected, more forcefully than he might have on a more even keel.

Graves found his hand and squeezed it. "They do have a point: if I'm never going back, it's no good the estate going to me. But I don't think for a moment that my sisters spent a month and a half on a boat. They'll have a portkey; they can bring the paperwork here."

"Is that what you want?"

"It's probably for the best to keep you out of MACUSA's reach."

"But what do you want? Maybe you needed to leave after Grindelwald and I gave you that excuse, but forever? You have a real family. I don't want to be the reason you never see them again."

"You're what I need," Graves insisted stubbornly.

"Percy."

Graves took three steps away and dropped into one of the chairs by the char-streaked fire pit. Both of them were getting weathered, their upholstery bleached by the relentless sun. Credence leaned against the other one, curling his fingers around its arm. He was nervous and unsettled, and it would be easy to let this go instead of confronting Graves' choices on a subject Credence didn't really know anything about. But this was important. He'd told Credence and he'd told his sisters that Credence's opinion mattered, so he was going to get it now.

"Is it dangerous?"

Graves rubbed his eyes, shaking his head disbelievingly. "You think we should go."

Credence drew in a breath and tightened his grip on the chair to keep himself from fidgeting. "I think that if it's not going to land us in trouble with MACUSA, you should have Christmas with your family. I've told you before, I'm better now. I won't fall apart as soon as we set foot on the continent."

Graves' inward look transferred itself to Credence's face, considering him. His fingers drummed on one sand-scratched chair arm as he considered his objections before voicing them.

"What about the rest?" Graves asked at last. "I brought us here because we needed time and space. Going back to New York would be pushing it, but we don't have to stay here. We can go anywhere you want."

Credence glanced around, at the firepit on one side and spell-camouflaged tent on the other that constituted their campsite, at the uneven, scrub-dotted ground that blurred to a uniform red in the distance, and above it a sky bleached by the sun as it rose towards noon. It was a harsh landscape. For a moment, Credence wondered what it would be like to live in a comfortable place. Surely they existed somewhere. But life was never going to be easy for him, no matter where he went. Graves could hardly be content with this barren isolation, though.

Credence swallowed against a rising tide of uncertainty. "Let's start with Christmas."

Another grimace twitched Graves' mouth. "You're probably right. That will be more than enough to deal with for the time being."

Chapter Text

"Will there be a lot of people there?" Credence asked, nervously shifting his grip on the suitcase with his wardrobe folded up inside it.

Magic had made packing easy. Their entire lives reduced to three pieces of luggage: their two cases, plus the larger bundle of the collapsed tent.

Some of Credence's resolve had eroded now the moment was here. It made something twist in his stomach to think that everything they had built could be dismantled so easily. Out here, they had made their own rules. The fact that he was going to have to explain himself to Graves' whole family was just dawning on him in alarming prospect.

"A dozen or so," Graves said. "I didn't ask whether Drusus would be with his wife's family this year. He has three children, all grown now. The youngest is in his last year at Ilvermorny. Ilithyia's four are all Beauxbatons; Gwenël always brings them over from France. Celandine's are both younger."

"Is Innogen married?"

"No. Her partner Sage joins us for the holidays sometimes." Something seemed to occur to him, and he grimaced. "Sage is a metamorphmagus, someone who can change their appearance. It's useful in our line of work, but it can be unsettling when you're not used to it."

Especially after Grindelwald, Credence thought.

"It's not a sure thing," Graves offered.

Credence shook his head. "I'll be fine."

The Obscurus hadn't even come out yesterday, although for the first time in a long time Credence was seriously worried about it. Not surviving it, but doing damage, being seen, being out of control. Had he really improved? Or was all his safety in their isolation? He was the one who could ruin everything for the both of them.

But going had been his idea, and he couldn't back out now. It wouldn't be for very long, Credence reassured himself. He had some idea of the kind of family Graves came from. Credence knew better than to think being born into money meant people used all those fancy manners more than half the time, but they'd be polite enough to him for Graves' sake. Or because they're afraid of the Obscurus. Credence had endured worse, and it would only be until New Year's.

Graves was casting a last look around their campsite. All they had left behind were a few charcoal sticks in the fire pit and a large, flattened swath of sand. His eyes settled on Credence's shoulder.

"She won't like winter in New England, you know," Graves warned

Credence stroked the raised scales on Asperity's head. "Don't worry; she'll sleep by the fire, not in the bed."

Throwing a look of deep misgivings at the lizard on Credence's shoulder, Graves stepped in close enough to press their lips together. Credence took hold of his lapels to extend the kiss, then just to keep him close. Graves stroked his back as he rested their cheeks together. The brims of their finely-woven straw hats jostled, the charms on them deflecting the hot rays of the rising sun.

"Let's go," Credence said at last.

Graves hesitated for a moment, then tilted his head to kiss him once more before stepping back to hoist his suitcase and the tent. Credence took his arm, linking them together securely, other hand sweaty on the handle of his own case.

Credence didn't think there was much to prefer between apparition and portkeys, but they'd left the portkey in the back of Ollie's shop yesterday. Asperity was wrapped around his torso when they arrived; Credence could feel her claws digging in through his suit.

Graves leaned into him. He said the trip was well within his range, but it obviously wasn't easy. Credence wasn't sorry for the chance to recover either, but the door to the storage room opened less than a minute later, and Ollie's husband Agapios Sanna poked his head in.

"Twice in two days. We were expecting you for lunch yesterday," he chided them.

"I know; I'm sorry. Something came up," Graves apologized.

Sanna nodded as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "I thought it might have. There are some people here looking for you."

"It's all right, they're my sisters. Unless someone else has tracked us down in the last twenty-four hours."

Sanna looked enlightened. "Family business?"

"Sent to retrieve us for the holidays," Graves passed it off with enviable smoothness. "I was wondering if you'd mind looking after our gear; it didn't make sense to leave the camp up."

"Of course not; there is plenty of room. You will be back?"

"I can't say when exactly."

Credence thought uneasily of their conversation yesterday as they followed Sanna out into the show room. Innogen and Celandine were already there waiting for them, wandering idly through the lanes of furniture.

"I see you've made a decision," Innogen said with more than a trace of smugness, not missing the suitcases they were both carrying.

"Wardwell, Redd, and Scott, what is that?" Celandine exclaimed, her attention captured instead of by the lizard wound around Credence's torso. Asperity was only a couple months old, but snout to tail she was already as long as Credence's arm.

"Australia's version of a familiar," Graves said in a tone of resignation.

Celandine squinted at the lizard. "Are you sure it's not yours? Because that's exactly the expression you were wearing when we cornered you yesterday—that one, right there."

"And here I thought you were the only one who could out-glare mother." Innogen snickered. Credence felt torn between defending Graves and agreeing with them. Loyalty won out, but he was starting to feel a little—just a little—less apprehensive about the whole prospect of this visit. He did like Graves. Maybe his family wouldn't be so bad after all.

Graves ignored his sisters and turned to Sanna. "Thank you for all your help, and thank Ollie, too. I wouldn't want to interrupt her while she's working."

"She is in the wood shop teaching the children how to make dovetails. They would like nothing better than to be interrupted. I would never hear the end of it if I let you go without saying goodbye," Sanna added, overriding his protest.

Credence went with Graves back down the short hallway, relieved to be out from under the scrutiny of Graves' formidable sisters. Already, he missed the privacy of their desert camp, but he wasn't about to back out now.

The children looked up in slightly disturbing unison, their wands all raised. Credence felt silly for expecting them to be working with anything so mundane as a saw or chisel, but it hadn't occurred to him that they'd use magic for nonmagical creations, even though Graves used it for everything from the firewood to their laundry.

"Be patient. There is nothing in your world except for these two pieces of wood. You must listen to them to learn how they can be joined together. It takes more than just making the right cuts; you are making something whole, solid, and harmonious," Ollie lectured.

She held the ends of two boards together at a right angle with one hand and drew her wand up the corner with the other. It was the first time Credence had ever seen her use a wand. He supposed, given the vast desert where her father's people and their magic came from, they didn't do a lot of carpentry.

There was a brief, furious spray of wood shavings and the two pieces of wood clove together like a zipper. The children looked from the perfect joint back to their own boards with expressions of adolescent dismay.

Ollie drifted past them and over to where Graves and Credence waited by the door. As always, her silvery eyes gave the impression of looking through to some part of you no one else could see.

Whatever she saw, though, it didn't make her afraid of him. Credence wasn't sure whether that meant she didn't see enough or that it really didn't matter to her. He was grateful for it all the same. Graves' sisters hadn't exactly looked on him kindly before they knew what he was, but now they watched him like they might have to draw their wands at any moment, despite all the banter they threw around between them.

"Sorry to interrupt the lesson," Graves apologised.

Ollie shrugged, tucking her wand behind one ear. "They won't get it right for some time yet."

There was a loud groan from one of the children at the workbench.

"We're sorry for missing lunch yesterday, too. I'm afraid something unexpected came up."

"A problem?" Ollie ushered them back out into the hall and closed the workshop door behind her.

Graves grimaced. "Family business. We'll be back after the holidays."

Ollie nodded absently and drifted towards the other end of the hall where voices were coming from the open door to the magical workshop and display room. Celandine was circling a large desk, trailing her manicured fingertips over the complicated abstract figure inlaid in the top.

"This one holds paper flat," Sanna was saying. "Scrolls, books, or loose papers. Anything you set down stays where you put it, no pens rolling off the edge. We have some dining room tables spelled specifically to prevent spills, but we've worked it on desks before, if you'd like to order a commission."

"Could you have it packed and shipped? I'd hate to send it through the Floo and risk charring it or scratching the finish."

"You're travelling by portkey? I can shrink it for you," Sanna offered.

One of Celandine's eyebrows rose. "That doesn't cause problems?"

"Mostly with vanishing cabinets," Ollie interjected. She blinked her large, silver eyes at Celandine, drawing attention to how pale her eyelashes were against her dark skin.

Celandine stared right back. The whole family seemed to treat everything like a staring contest, something Credence had noticed about Graves early on, although he at least had been more circumspect about meeting Credence's eyes in the first place.

"You must be Ollie." Celandine held out her hand. "You and your husband do good work. He tells me you're a wand-maker to boot."

Ollie caught Celandine's hand and turned it palm up instead of shaking it. She gestured vaguely with her free hand towards the wands and wand blanks hanging from the rafters in the back of the workshop, where Credence supposed they were less likely to be disturbed. "The family business. I wouldn't recommend a change for you right now, though."

Celandine recovered her hand. Looking between Ollie and Graves, there was a thoughtful expression on her face. "I wasn't planning on it. I'll take the desk, though, for my husband."

While Ollie shrank the desk into something that Celandine could fit in her handbag and Sanna slipped back out to mind the front shop, Innogen came over to speak with her brother. She was still wearing trousers that looked more like split skirts, this time in a heavier fabric, like Graves and Credence were wearing wool-blend suits instead of linen in anticipation of the New England winter, and with a pleated blouse.

With a resigned glance between it and the negotiations in progress, Innogen closed the pocket watch she was holding and tucked it away. Graves' attention locked on it.

"Is that grandfather's watch?" he asked.

Innogen pulled it back out and looked at it. It was a gold half hunter, enamelled with a fan of intricate floral designs radiating out from the off-centre window showing part of a face like no clock Credence had ever seen in his No-Maj upbringing. The gold and colours were bright against the black background.

"Grindelwald had it on him. The rest of your things were packed up after being cleared; they're at the house. Do you want it back? I know Ilithiya left it to you."

Graves paused, then shook his head. "No. You keep it. It should stay in the family."

"And you're not?"

"Who else is going to be there? I didn't ask yesterday."

"Pretty much the whole circus, so buck up. You're going to have to deal with us all being glad you're alive," Innogen allowed the change in subject, although both her tone and her expression were dry.

Graves quirked an eyebrow. "Even Drew?"

Innogen rolled her eyes at him. "Come on, you two put all that behind you years ago. I know you don't have much to talk about, but he was as worried as the rest of us when we found out what happened and you promptly dropped off the face of the earth."

"Is Sage coming this year?"

"I doubt it; solo undercover assignment. I took time off for this, and I didn't know how long it would take. Thank you for not making us scour the entire continent by broom, by the way."

Graves glanced at Credence, lingering to catch his eye before turning his attention back to Innogen. "That level of discretion didn't seem necessary. I figured that by the time anyone caught up with us here, the heat would have died down. Mostly, I wanted to break our trail. I don't want anyone else to know we're here. Preferably, I'd like for no one else to know we're even still alive. But that's more to head off trouble than anything. After all, neither of us has actually done anything wrong."

This last, Credence was sure, was added for his benefit. He was also pretty sure he'd been responsible for a lot of property damage, and not all of it had been before what Graves referred to as the altercation with Grindelwald, when he knew very well what he was doing. But now wasn't the time to rehash that argument.

"I'm not sure Sera sees it that way. I don't think I've ever seen her that angry."

"Sera had Grindelwald standing next to her for three months; I'm sure she blew the roof off the sixtieth floor. But she doesn't want to get into a contest with me over who's angrier about it."

Innogen's lips twitched.

"I'd hoped she'd have had enough time by now to figure out it wasn't me she's angry with," Graves added, relaxing slightly.

Beside him, Credence felt some of his own tension ease. She's not attacking him, he schooled himself. Graves might need more looking after than he wanted to admit, but Credence couldn't afford to forget himself, ever.

Innogen gave her brother a sympathetic look. "I won't rat you out. If you don't want to let her know you're still alive, that's your business. In fact, personally I think you're right: it's really kinder not to let her know where she can put her hands on you two."

"You don't seem to mind the moral dilemma," Graves observed.

"I've never had political ambitions," Innogen sniffed.

"So Sera hasn't roped you into the job?"

"No. Mercy Lewis, you know me better than that. No, it's Lovelace."

Graves nodded slowly. "So she brought him back from Europe. Has he—"

"Percy," Innogen cut him off gently but firmly.

Graves huffed a disgruntled sigh, his gaze slipping away from her sympathetic expression and landing on Ollie and Celandine. Having finally come to a price for the desk, Ollie cast a shrinking spell on it. Celandine watched the wandless magic with polite interest, brown paper sailing out from under a strange paperweight or magical implement to wrap the now-miniature piece, followed by a length of twine. The final result was a small, neat package that floated over to Celandine and fit into her handbag.

"Ready?" Graves asked her. "Then let's get this over with."

"Don't bowl me over, here."

Celandine reached into her handbag again and pulled out a flat, round little case that might have held makeup or a compact mirror if it had belonged to an ordinary woman. Instead, the black-lacquered halves opened to reveal a small brass hoop resting on a blue velvet lining.

Celandine used her wand to enlarge the hoop and levitate it at chest height in the air in front of her. It was a different style than the impromptu one Sanna had enchanted for Credence and Graves when they first arrived. A simple engorgement charm and it would be able to transport as many people as necessary

Credence replaced his hat on his head, settling it firmly in anticipation of the strong wind of a portkey passage and checking that Asperity still had her claws sunk securely into his suit jacket. She had moved and was now clinging to his shoulders like a scaly stole. Her long tail trailed over his chest, twitching occasionally.

"Thank you," Credence told Ollie.

"Take care," Graves added, dipping his chin in a curt nod.

Everyone resettled their grips on their possessions, and then it was the familiar countdown. Celandine was the one speaking, but Credence couldn't help looking to Graves in the moments before their hands closed around the portkey and the world blurred away as magic yanked them across thousands of miles in the space of seconds.

Graves' expression, looking back at him, was set in a resolve touched around the edges with his acerbic brand of defiance. As always, it woke an answering determination in Credence. Fear was a hard habit to shake, but Credence had lost his taste for it.

Chapter Text

No amount of internal bracing could make portkeys less unpleasant, though. This was worse than the trip to their camp, which he had just been starting to get used to. What had been so dangerous the first time, the violent rush of magic around him that had been too much like the howling fury of the Obscurus, didn't inspire the same panic it had when all magic felt like losing control.

It wasn't the same at all as coming back to himself after the Obscurus. Something about the passage did stir it up, though, and Credence needed a few minutes on the other side to gather his composure. According to Graves, even some wizards got portkey-sick, although he seemed to be unfairly immune.

There was, Credence realised now, another downside of portkeys as opposed to apparition. Apparition was flexible, but portkeys went where portkeys went. And this one, of course, went straight to Graves' mother's house.

All Graves had told him was that, after she retired, his mother had moved out of the city and into the family's summer house on Martha's Vinyard. Credence realised almost immediately after they arrived that that had been a prime example of Graves' habitual understatement.

Credence couldn't have helped but be aware that Graves had money, and that his family had money; more, anyway, than Credence had ever seen. Enough for the elegant wardrobe Graves had insisted on buying him. Enough for them to live on for a year with no end in sight, the reduced expenses of camping out in the desert notwithstanding.

Credence had been uncomfortable enough with the suits. Eventually, he had at least come to understand it was a funny kind of respect, not just upper-class high-handedness and sartorial snobbery. Graves wouldn't give him anything less than he'd get for himself. It had never occurred to him that Credence might deserve less.

That had taken Credence a long time to understand; he'd kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Generosity with no strings attached had been a foreign concept. Even ma's charity had had conditions.

When Credence had finally pieced together Graves' motivations, they had been nothing like what he'd expected. As baffling as it was, he loved Credence for his own sake. His only hidden motivations had been the wounds left by the brutal death of his first love and a desperate, unacknowledged need to escape his old life, where he'd have pretended to be fine despite Grindelwald's shadow lying over everything until he went mad or dead inside.

These people were part of that life. Standing in what was obviously the foyer of a sprawling mansion, it struck home to him how different that life had been. How different had Graves been? Would his family expect him to return like nothing had happened?

The first person to appear wasn't Graves' mother or the human servant Credence had been half-expecting, but something else altogether. The plain dress she had on was something a girl might wear, but even though she was less than three feet high, there was no way she was a human child. Her skin was too wrinkled, her eyes too large, and her ears were huge and membranous like the bats that had sometimes tried to roost in the rafters of the chapel.

"Oh! you found him," she squeaked.

A genuine smile broke across Graves' set expression as Celandine tucked the portkey away again. "Pinny! It's good to see you. How are Retta and Trace?"

"Well, very well, youngster. And you, looking much less pasty than last I saw you. You've been causing all sorts of fuss; it always did suit you. Brought a guest, too, I see." Pinny blinked owlishly at Credence.

"Fuss indeed. Percival, would you like to introduce Mister Barebone?"

This voice came from one of the rooms opening off the foyer. This time, it belonged to a woman, tall, straight-backed, and sharp-eyed. Her hair was the same iron grey Graves' was headed towards. A fine net of wrinkles over her face didn't manage to make her look old.

Credence felt Asperity's claws dig in in protest as he reflexively squared his shoulders under the weight of that disconcertingly familiar gaze. He tightened his grip on the handle of his suitcase and deliberately did not reach for Graves.

"It seems I don't have to, mother," Graves replied in a much less easy tone than he'd greeted Pinny with. He rested a hand on the small of Credence's back, drawing him in closer and turning him to face Mrs Graves head-on. His face, which had barely started to cool from the portkey passage, flushed hotly again. "Credence, let me introduce my mother, Jedidah Graves. How much have Innogen and Celandine told you?"

"Absolutely nothing. The young whelp Picquery sent up to question me about your disappearance had a photograph."

Innogen snorted. "As if you've told us anything, Percy."

Their mother glanced away from her intent inspection of Credence long enough to shoot Innogen a dry look, then extended him a hand. Feeling more than a little trepidation, Credence shook it.

"Tell me, young man: did the sudden appearance of Grindelwald throw everybody into mass hysteria, or did my son have a reason for running off to the underside of the globe other than your pretty brown eyes?"

When Innogen had made a similar comment back in Sydney, Credence had been struck by a surge of embarrassment even over his mounting panic. Now, Credence found he was suddenly angry. As if Graves would have been so easily distracted. As if he didn't have a dozen good reasons for picking up stakes and never looking back that had nothing to do with either Credence's Obscurus or his—his eyes. As if he couldn't tell she was prodding him for a reaction.

If she wasn't careful, she was going to get it. Graves' mother was seeing the Obscurus in his eyes, Credence realised with a chill. His anger never stayed hot. Where's the ever-loving door? Credence hated losing control, but he'd dive out the nearest window before he let himself take his nerves out on other people. Again.

He let go of Mrs Graves' hand, focussing on Graves' instead and the weight of Asperity on his shoulders. At his side, Graves remained collected and unflinching and probably all of three seconds away from throwing himself between them.

"Not all hysteria, anyway," Mrs Graves murmured with a considering expression that didn't make Credence any less nervy.

"Mother," Graves reproved warningly.

"No, it's not," Credence replied, briefly resting a restraining hand on Graves' shoulder. "I know this isn't what you were expecting. I'll leave if you want."

"Credence—" Graves started to object.

"I can look after myself for a few days." Graves had foisted enough money on him, even if most of it was Australian; he was sure it would buy a hotel room even here.

"That's not the point."

"Don't fuss, Percy. Of course he's welcome to stay. You could do with some of his manners, you know," Mrs Graves added.

Graves vented a disbelieving snort. "Since when have manners gotten anywhere with you?"

"Is Iah here yet?" Celandine interrupted before the conversation could degenerate any further.

"He Floo'd in with the children last night; they're out doing some Christmas shopping right now. Iah took the north-east suite, and the girls are in the bedroom on the end."

"No one else is here yet?" Innogen asked.

"Drew's youngest came straight from Ilvermorny, but you're early. The rest of the mob should be along by the end of the week."

Celandine shrugged. "We didn't know how long it would take to smoke Percy out."

"Celandine was all set for a cross-country adventure by broomstick. I thought you were over trying to run away from family gatherings, sis," Innogen teased.

Celandine ignored her the way only siblings could. "Are they coming back for dinner? Wait, what time is it back here?"

"Six o'clock Wednesday evening," Innogen told her. It had been Thursday morning when they left Sydney just now. She seemed to take it in stride, but with her job she must have been used to travelling.

"Dinner's at eight. Pinny, would you get them settled in?" Mrs Graves asked the tiny creature.

"All the suites on the west side are ready, of course, and the smaller bedrooms. Little Matty's staked out the south wing for the boys, and the girls have the bedroom at the end of the east wing."

While Pinny was still rattling all this off, Graves had tugged the handle of Credence's suitcase from his grip and walked over to a small door half-concealed by the decorative moulding. Graves gestured with one of the cases and the door sprang open on a dumbwaiter. He put both cases inside.

The dumbwaiter had barely closed before a commotion erupted off to one side. It came not from the door to the house, which turned out to be behind them, but from somewhere further inside.

"Take your coat off first, ya danaaya—!" a man's voice called, then continued in an exasperated ripple of foreign words.

Two young girls came pelting through the open archway that must have led to the rest of the house. Mrs Graves swung the smaller, still wearing a snow-dusted winter coat, into her arms as the other came dashing out into the foyer, followed by a man carrying several parcels in one hand and a child's scarf in the other. Both children had dark hair and bright black eyes. Their faces were rosy-cheeked with cold but still golden-tan, a few shades paler than their father's more definite light brown.

"Uncle Percy!" The older girl, who was maybe eight, flung herself across the room, ignoring the rest of them, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Don't you want to say hello to your mother?" Graves asked, returning the embrace with one hand on her back and the other resting on her wavy dark hair.

The girl bounced back a pace to beam at Celandine. "You found him!"

"I told you we would," said Celandine. "Come on now; you'll have plenty of time to say hello to your uncle later. Right now we have to get ready for dinner."

Another little creature appeared to collect everyone's coats while the man who had to be Celandine's husband—what had she said his name was? Iah?—handed off his burdens to Pinny, to go into the dumbwaiter along with Celandine's valise. Credence hadn't heard it move, but it was empty again when Pinny reopened the door.

"No peeking, 'umri," Iah teased her as Pinny passed her with the Christmas shopping. He spoke English with a soft, sophisticated British accent.

"Of course not," Celandine said ingenuously.

"Who are you?" the older girl asked, staring up at Credence with a child's frankness.

"I'm a friend of your uncle's. My name is Credence," Credence answered her after a pause that went on for slightly too long, feeling a sharp pang for his own lost sisters.

He didn't miss the look that passed between Celandine and her husband. Credence was notorious, it seemed: not quite the way he'd wanted to be noticed. It would take some getting used to.

"Isra Sabry. Pleased to meet you."

Credence tried to shake her hand as though everyone in the room weren't watching him. Graves nudged her.

"Aren't you going to introduce your sister?"

Isra rolled her eyes, but the younger girl had already escaped her grandmother and bolted past the other adults to bang into her annoyed older sister.

"This is Lulu," Isra said in a weary tone of absolute distain such as only children could manage, trying to pry her sister off with very limited success.

"What's that?" Lulu asked, still clinging to Isra's arm, pointing up at Asperity.

"His familiar. Obviously. Don't you know anything?"

"Familiars are toads or cats or owls," Lulu argued.

Isra crossed her arms. "It could be a salamander, if it was on fire."

"She's a ngintaka," Credence said before the argument could get any farther. "Most people haven't seen one. She's from Australia."

"Can I pet it?" asked Lulu.

"What's its name?" asked Isra.

Credence cleared his throat, glancing at Graves. "You uncle calls her Asperity. But you'd better not touch her; she's not really tame."

Innogen didn't quite manage to muffle a fit of snickers, giving her own sibling an amused look. Graves stared her down with the expression he frequently accused Asperity of, and Credence spared a moment to wonder what kind of faces he used to make at her when they were five and eight, too.

When he looked away, Credence's gaze was caught by Mrs Graves. She was watching him, her expression not hostile but not easy to read. She met Credence's eyes and it felt like she was looking through him, with none of the sympathy of Graves' sometimes equally penetrating scrutiny.

Chapter Text

When everyone finally dispersed to their rooms to prepare for dinner, Credence followed Graves up a wide spiral staircase that wrapped around an open circular atrium. They passed an enormous crystal chandelier on their way to the balcony landing, where Graves turned in the opposite direction from Celandine and her family.

The landing opened out into a parlour with three doors. Innogen disappeared through the one on the left; the set straight ahead were glass and seemed to lead out to a balcony.

Graves guided him through the door on the right, into a bedroom large enough to be called a suite. The bed reminded Credence of the ones Mr Scamander had conjured for them among the wonders of his magical case: solid, gleaming dark wood with high posts supporting heavy drapes, now drawn back.

Obviously restless, Graves surveyed the room. "Mother had the plumbing and everything updated when she moved in," he said, opening a door that turned out to be a full and modern-looking bath. There was a round sitting area past the bed on the other side, surrounded by tall windows screened by more opulent-looking drapery.

Walking over to the fireplace where there was already a cheery fire crackling, Graves opened a panel on the side of the mantel to reveal both their suitcases.

"It's a system of vanishing cabinets," he explained. "We used to use them to sneak around between rooms, when we were small enough to fit."

Credence was still hanging back by the door. "Are we really both going to stay here?" Credence hadn't thought of that when they decided to come. They'd been sharing a bed for over a year, much longer than they'd been doing anything else in it, and he found the idea of sleeping alone unexpectedly upsetting.

Graves set the suitcases down and reached for his hand. Credence tangled their fingers together.

"It's not a secret in the family—they're all too sharp. And if they're going to make bad jokes about it, they can damn well live with the actual fact," Graves told him decisively.

Credence wasn't sure it would be as simple as all that, but he let himself sag into Graves, their arms coming up around each other.

"Pinny, what is she?" Credence asked before they went down to dinner.

"She's a House Elf. Pinny, Trace, and Retta are the family that looks after this place."

"I suppose wizards wouldn't be servants," Credence mused.

Graves made an ambiguous gesture with one hand. "It's a little more complicated than that. They're called House Elves and not family elves or something for a reason. It's the places they're attached to. Since a house doesn't have much of a point without people living in it, House Elves take care of us, too, the same way they tend the garden or fix a leaky roof. It's a symbiotic relationship. They have strong magic, though, and some wizards got nervous living alongside something that powerful with reasons of its own, so somewhere back in history they forced a magical contract—"

Graves paused, grimacing as he belatedly realised how that sounded in light of the Obscurus. "—Europe still holds to it, but it was abolished here a long time ago, and rather less messily than No-Maj slavery," Graves felt compelled to point out. "Most of them don't work in houses anymore. You'll find them in museums, libraries, restaurants; but Pinny's family has been here longer than ours has. It's their house, really; we're just living in it. She's a good cook too."

"That'll be a change."

Graves snorted, the corners of his mouth twitching up to reward the attempt at humour. They did all right, but neither of them was really much to boast about in the kitchen.

They left Asperity basking by the hearth and made their way downstairs to a formal dining room. Credence wasn't surprised to see Mrs Graves at the head of the table, even though by normal standards Graves would have been considered head of the family. He was seated at her right hand; Innogen as next-oldest was to her left.

Credence was grateful to see that a space had been left for him between Graves and Celandine, although that might just have been prudence: he couldn't help noticing he had been ringed around by aurors.

As it turned out, they weren't the last to the table after all. A preoccupied-looking young man with wavy dark brown hair and a loose-cut brown tweed suit hurried in, coming up short when he noticed the new arrivals.

"Uncle Percy! Dad told us you weren't dead after all. Where've you been?"

"Hi, Matty. How's school?" Graves asked in a slightly ironic tone.

"It's Matt," he corrected automatically. "There were all kinds of wild rumours last year, but things have quieted down."

Graves' already sideways smile tilted a little more. "That isn't exactly what I meant."

Matt seemed to really look at Credence for the first time and blinked at him. "Hi, you're not Hils." He peered at Credence more closely. "Aunt Sage?"

Innogen's partner, the one who could change faces. "Credence Barebone; pleased to meet you."

Matt pumped the offered hand with jovial enthusiasm. "Matt Graves. You come in with Uncle Percy? Have you been with him all year?"

"Yes," Credence replied with an uncertain glance at Graves.

Matt noticed and huffed. "Dad's right: you really do need to be an auror to find out anything in this family."

"Matt, why don't you sit over here next to me?" Celandine suggested. "Girls, sit down," she told Isra and Lulu, who settled into places across the table.

Matt took the seat on the other side of Celandine from Credence with a see-what-I-mean? sort of eye-roll. Credence had been taken a little aback by his enthusiasm, but he would have liked to ask him what actual wizarding school was like. He didn't have any idea what to say to Celandine, or to her husband who sat opposite and was busy keeping an eye on their daughters anyway.

Iah had a surprisingly puppyish face. Woman or not, Celandine was the most focussed and professional of the siblings. Credence had expected her husband to be as sharp and ambitious—he thought uncomfortably of Senator Shaw. But Iah seemed pleasant and at ease in the midst of the intimidating Graves clan. Credence wished he knew how he did it.

Somehow, Credence made it through dinner. Everyone was careful not to talk about anything more than the bewildering roll of family members they were still expecting, except for Matt, whose excited questions about where Graves had vanished for a year and what he'd been up to Graves blew off with equanimity.

Credence breathed a sigh of relief when the bedroom door closed behind them. Graves looked at him more closely, coming out of his own distraction to search him for signs of dangerous distress as he exchanged suit jacket for dressing gown. Credence was sure he was finding some.

The fire was still crackling in the hearth, burning sedately. The warmth drew Credence to it, and he tried to soak it in with the same unmoving totality of purpose as Asperity. It had been dark already when they'd arrived. The drawn curtains closed them in, muffling the winter night.

"It still seems like we lost a day," Credence observed. No matter how weary-long today had seemed, he didn't think he could sleep again already.

"We actually gained sixteen hours."

"I know, it just feels like it should be the middle of the day. Well, I guess if we don't try and sleep now, we'll be nodding off over our porridge tomorrow."

The extra rest was probably a good idea anyway. Their shortened day with Graves' family had left him more tense, not less. Credence wished he was the sort of person who could take things in stride.

Graves stepped in close behind him, resting his hands on Credence's shoulders. "I can think of some other ways to spend the night," he murmured in Credence's ear.

Credence turned into his embrace, starting to smile despite himself. There was a knock at the door.

Graves cupped his face as an apology for the interrupted moment. His touch lingered as he moved away.

It was Innogen. Credence felt suddenly exposed, standing barefoot in the middle of the room, wearing Graves' favourite dressing gown.

She offered Graves something dark and thin. His back went stiff, and Credence forgot about himself. As Graves turned it over in his hands, Credence recognised the wand Grindelwald had used. So it had been Vivian's wand. The wand of the lover who'd died in Graves' arms.

"I don't know if you got a new one or you've just been going completely wandless, but I thought you should have this." Innogen's tone was cautious, almost gentle. "Once MACUSA was done examining everything, it got boxed up and shipped here. Like I said, the rest of it's upstairs in the carriage house."

"Thank you," Graves replied neutrally, although the tension in his shoulders was making Credence's muscles hurt in sympathy.

Graves was staring resolutely at Innogen and not at the wand, pretending it didn't affect him at all, because no matter what, Graves refused to flinch. Mercifully, Innogen looked away first. Her gaze landed on Credence, always questioning. Credence lifted his chin in response.

"Well. I'll see you both in the morning. Good night."

There was a long silence after Innogen withdrew. Credence didn't know what to say. He didn't think there was anything to say. Twenty years barely seemed to have dulled this loss. As he stood there stupidly, Credence could see Graves' heart breaking all over again, and he was powerless to stop it.

Well, nerts to that, Credence thought firmly. There were two armchairs in front of the fire, which was home-like enough. Forcing himself to calm down, Credence pulled out his wand and concentrated on the spell he wanted.

That was a mistake. His focus was too shaky. It was hard to get the spells to feel right sometimes. If he panicked and clamped down, like he had for all of his life before this, the Obscurus reacted, churning dangerously inside him. As much as Credence wanted to control himself, there was something as strong that wanted to be free.

The only way to settle it was to relax, to remind himself that he was free. It was very hard to relax when he was worried about someone noticing an Obscurus in the skies over America again, and harder to believe in his freedom when he felt so hemmed in here.

The absolute last thing Graves needed to deal with right now was the Obscurus, though. Credence might pay for it later, but he could throttle the thing into submission for a while.

Graves grimaced when Credence's slightly hesitant touch jolted him from his reverie. "Sorry."

"Come on, sit down."

After a brief hesitation, Graves got moving again. He went over to where they'd opened their suitcases earlier and they now stood expanded back into wardrobes. The wand disappeared into a drawer, and Graves traded his own suit jacket for the slightly worn dressing gown he'd been wearing since Credence had ended up with his favourite blue and silver brocade one. Credence's had suffered a fatal encounter with a bottle of spilled ink months ago, casualty of their mounting passion.

Credence realised he was holding his breath. He tried to get a better grip on himself as Graves turned back to him.

He followed easily when Credence tugged him down into the enlarged armchair, sliding an arm around him, their legs tangling comfortably. Credence bowed to the weight of the day and let his forehead rest against Graves' greying temple.

"I could probably find some tea," Credence offered. "Or firewhiskey?" He definitely wasn't up to conjuring tonight, but this house had to be well-stocked with every amenity.

Graves made a sound of acknowledgement, somewhere between a hum and a grunt, and slid his free hand under the open front of Credence's dressing gown, drawing him closer. "Stay. Just like this."

That was more than fine with Credence. He closed his eyes and relaxed into Graves' familiar caresses, rubbing his own thumb over the spot at the back of Graves' neck where he carried his tension.

Gradually, Credence began to feel warm again. The clock told him it was late by the time they finally disentangled themselves and headed for bed.

They undressed, the silence like a buffer between them. The fire had burned down to embers, faintly illuminating the room with a dim, reddish glow.

Credence was about to put on his pyjamas when Graves reached for him. He kissed like he needed reassurance, with a searching, breathless intensity. Credence held him as tightly as he could.

Neither of them was wearing much, and it didn't take long before they were twisting naked between the sheets. Graves clung as tightly as Credence: they had become each other's anchors this past year. Somehow, Credence could hold Graves together even when he was falling apart himself.

There was more than a little desperation on Credence's side of the embrace, too. He hadn't taken a breath yet that hadn't been part Graves' first.

Credence, who had been pressing Graves into the soft mattress, found himself on his back with no memory in-between except the bottomless well of Graves' mouth. Graves' body was a welcome weight on him, hot and sweaty now and hard as he hitched a leg over Credence's hip.

The spell Graves murmured was one Credence recognised, even half-muffled by the tail end of a kiss, but he didn't feel the usual effect of slickness, warmth, and a relaxation that seemed to flow up from the base of his spine and through the rest of his body. Instead, he felt a shiver run through Graves, followed by a sharp intake of the breath Credence had been exhaling.

"Do you want to?" Graves asked, his voice rough. His spit-slick lips dragged against the skin of Credence's jaw. The head of his arousal, almost as wet, rubbed against Credence's stomach.

Did he want to—? Holy god in heaven. "Yes," Credence choked out, barely able to hear himself over the blood suddenly pounding in his ears.

Graves hitched his leg a little higher and reached back to find him and guide him in. Credence's hands followed, slipping lower and lower but not quite daring to go all the way, to where Graves was slowly taking him inside.

Graves felt like nothing he had ever imagined. Credence whispered his name reverentially as, inch by slow inch, they slid together. He was already close. He was so close that holding in the Obscurus was all that was keeping him from the edge, and Graves wrapped around him bodily was all that made that possible.

His mouth drifted, smearing sloppy, sucking kisses down Credence's sensitive neck, reviving marks that had almost faded. Graves was always a little more careful in the week or so before they went into town, even though a collar and tie hid a lot.

Credence had latched onto Graves' shoulders for what leverage that gave him. Neither of them could do more than rock in short, helpless thrusts, both still unwilling to move apart even so they could come back together. The sounds Graves was muffling into his skin were sharp, short noises, not the usual indulgent hums. Protectively, Credence tightened his embrace, smoothing one hand up his spine to cradle his head against his chest.

Credence stopped breathing about when Graves started shuddering. He'd thought he was close before, but the shudders turned to shivers as Graves' whole body locked up, and his breath stuttered, and he bore down on Credence as he came.

Credence came immediately, like his orgasm was a shot or a balloon bursting. It left him gasping unevenly for air, wheezing out moans through a throat that felt abruptly raw. He was trembling as much as Graves. It was too much. He couldn't stand to lose any of it. Everything disappeared except for the feeling resonating between them.

Chapter Text

They didn't move for a long time. They didn't really sleep, but they did lie there with their eyes closed, recovering. Eventually, they went into the bathroom to clean up and soaked for an indeterminate time, nestled back to front in the large clawfoot tub. Every once in a while, Graves warmed the water again. Their fingers and toes were very pruney by the time either one of them was ready to do anything besides lie together in the warmth.

They were still early down to breakfast. Although Credence felt steadier this morning, he had little appetite, limiting himself to a cup of white tea, a luxury he could only be grateful for. It was gentler on his nerves than the coffee Graves poured himself out of habit, even though Credence thought it might not be the best thing for his nerves, either.

Graves had demonstrated his own capacity for self-control under more duress than breakfast, though, so he wasn't unduly worried. Credence opted out of the general small-talk. Mercifully, everyone was generous enough to let him.

It was only the two of them, Innogen, and Mrs Graves. Celandine's family were all sleeping late, it appeared, and so was Graves' nephew Mattan.

"I think it's time we had a long talk, Percival," Mrs Graves said, wiping her hands on her napkin.

"Oh?"

She gave her son a flat look. "You quit. It's your prerogative not to explain yourself to Picquery."

"But not to you?"

"No," Mrs Graves said equably.

Innogen snorted. Both Graves and their mother shot her identical irritated scowls. Innogen looked unrepentant.

Graves turned to Credence. "Will you be all right on your own this morning?"

"Sure." He should probably have wanted to support Graves during the grilling he was about to get, but his own internal barometer was still signalling a storm on its way, holding back for now but still lowering on the horizon. Alone definitely sounded preferable.

"I can show you where the library is."

Credence mustered a brief smile. "Thanks."

Breakfast had been served not in the imposing dining room, but in a large, open sun room whose windows looked out over a garden blanketed in snow. Credence looked around with more interest as they passed down a short hallway and into a parlour with a set of French doors that led out onto a covered porch that seemed to run the entire length of the house. Two more sets of doors in the far wall, heavy and wooden, opened into the library.

It was a ridiculously large house, really a mansion; but at least the library did seem out of the way. The early morning light came spilling in through large windows lining three walls, onto reading tables that flanked the heavy wooden shelves standing in the middle of the room. To their right, on the wall between the doors, was an enormous fireplace with wing-back chairs set up in front of it for reading in comfort.

"If you need anything, just call for Pinny or Retta. I'll be in the study."

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Credence asked, beating Graves to the punch.

A small, rueful smile tugged at Graves' mouth, there and then gone. "I've survived worse. Don't worry. They give me a hard time, but I can take it."

Graves left him with a lingering kiss. He shut the door behind him, and Credence was alone.

He circled the room, at first looking out the windows more than at the musty books on their shelves. The view was of the same snow-covered garden he'd glimpsed before. Closer to the house, a broad patio area had been kept clear. Only the faintest dusting of fresh snow was visible on the flagstones.

When Credence reached the back of the library, he saw that the careful landscaping gave way there to a long downward slope. A winding path tracked down it out of sight; Credence thought he could glimpse the grey and turbid waters of the Atlantic at its end.

Around the other side, there was a courtyard, paved in slate like the patio had been. Across it stood the carriage house Innogen had mentioned last night. An arched gate connected it to the main house. The gates themselves were forbidding, fantastical contortions of wrought iron.

It's the next thing to a castle, Credence couldn't help thinking. He hadn't seen the outside yet, but at least the building didn't seem to be made out of stone. It did have a covered porch that wrapped around all of the structure Credence had seen so far, as well as rounded protrusions at the corners he couldn't help thinking of as turrets.

Credence was sitting in one of those semi-circular nooks with a book on the magical herbs of New England when the door opened. He leaned back from the table he was using to see who it was. Probably not Graves yet, although he couldn't help hoping.

It wasn't. To Credence's surprise, it wasn't one of Graves' sisters, either; it was the nephew, Mattan.

Matt froze when he saw Credence, a look of obvious panic stamped across his face. Looked like someone had clued him in to who Credence was. He felt his stomach turn a little. This was the reaction he'd been expecting ever since he found out what he really was, the look he'd seen on countless faces during his rampage across Manhattan. The raw anger that had fuelled it had long since dulled to a sick weight in his stomach, although his fierce defiance of Grindelwald's betrayal had hardened into a lasting resolve.

So he didn't cast his eyes downwards or apologise or slink out of the room. Instead, he politely pretended that Matt wasn't looking at him like he was a twenty-foot runespoor and said, "Good morning." If one of them was going to bolt, it wasn't going to be him.

"Um. Good morning. I didn't know anybody else was in here."

"Just doing a little reading." Credence gestured at the book lying open on the table in front of him.

Matt nodded nervously. "Sure. Makes sense. Um. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Don't worry about it." Credence paused. "You know, you can come in."

Matt was still a little wild around the eyes, strangling the doorknob as he hovered in the doorway. Hesitantly, he pried his fingers loose and took another step into the library. When Credence didn't immediately erupt into a cloud of hateful violence, he kept edging forward, a little haltingly.

"Did someone tell you, or did you put it together for yourself?" Credence asked.

Matt froze. That was what he got for employing Graves' conversational techniques, Credence supposed, but there was no point in pretending.

"Aunt Innogen," Matt managed at last. His expression became a little shamefaced. "It's a good thing I don't want to be an auror, I guess. But your name didn't make it into the papers, and all of the photographs were of, um."

"Oh." That was actually a nice surprise. "What did she tell you?"

"She wanted to make sure I didn't say the wrong thing. By accident. I'm really sorry about what I said at dinner; I didn't realise."

"It's okay, really." Credence's lips twisted wryly. "You should have heard what your aunts said before they realised who I was."

Matt's horrified face this time held more sympathy for Credence than fear of him. "I'm afraid to guess." He actually smiled then, apparently heartened by Innogen and Celandine's continued survival. "Has Uncle Percy shown you around yet?"

"No. We didn't get here until just before dinner."

"Come on; I'll give you the grand tour."

Matt set the stack of books and notebooks he'd been clutching to his chest on one of the polished tables. Credence looked at them curiously, pushing to his feet.

"School work?" he guessed.

Matt heaved a groaning sigh, relaxing further. "I'm taking about two dozen HODAG courses."

"HODAG?"

"Horrible Omnisubject Draconian Assessment Gauntlet. You'd think the exams were next week. Anyway, I'm trying to finish my assignments before everyone gets here and it's impossible to concentrate."

"You shouldn't let me distract you," Credence told him.

"Anything to escape arithmancy," Matt contradicted himself with cheerful disgust.

Leading Credence out of the library, Matt showed him the short hall off the back parlour that led out onto the courtyard via a semi-circular portico. Another door led into the kitchen and other servants' areas, the domain of the mysterious House Elves.

They left the same way Graves and Credence had come, through the hall at the other end of the parlour, near the doors out to the patio.

"What's it like, wizard school?" Credence asked as they traversed the sun room, where he could see that breakfast had already been cleared away. "Percy's only told me a little."

"There isn't anyplace like it," Matt told him enthusiastically. "I mean, I guess you, uh, grew up with No-Majs; but even old wizarding families like ours aren't completely separate. There are all these rules about underage magic and keeping anybody from seeing anything, which is fine, I guess. But at Ilvermorny, you don't have to worry about any of that. That's the study, through there." Matt gestured at a closed door on their right as they approached the atrium and its wide, curved staircase. For the first time, Credence noticed the mirroring one disappearing into some kind of basement below.

"I know what that's like," Credence reflected.

"It's this big castle up in the mountains in the woods. Even the building's magic," Matt continued. "Pukwudgies guard the grounds, and there are ghosts floating around all through it."

"It's haunted?" Credence asked, eyes widening.

Matt made a face. "Well, sort of. They're not dangerous or anything, or they wouldn't be allowed to hang around. Although if you get out into the grounds at night, with the fog rolling in—there's almost always a lot of fog; it's part of how the school stays hidden."

Credence wondered, not for the first time, what it would have been like to be whisked away at age eleven into a world of magic. The fantasy was always short-lived. Besides the fact his ma would never have let him go, it had probably already been too late for him by then. Apparently, most Obscurials died by age eleven, victims of their growing power. He'd survived his Obscurus, but it would have been with him by the time he was old enough to go.

Matt looked around. "You've already seen the dining room," he said, gesturing at the door on the left side of the foyer. "Oh! Hi, Uncle Iah."

They turned through the doorway on the right into an airy sitting room where Celandine's husband was watching Isra and Lulu playing on the floor in front of the crackling fire. There was another rounded corner over on the other side of the room, this time with window seats surrounding a grand piano. Did Graves play?

"Good morning, you two. Taking a break?" Iah greeted them.

"Procrastinating," Matt admitted amiably. "I'm down to arithmancy. I can't make head or tails of it without Hefina helping me. I don't know why I ever thought going on for a HODAG was a good idea."

"I'm sure it wouldn't have anything to do with outdoing Jaslyn and Hilary," Iah said, pursing his lips to flatten out a smile.

Matt adopted an expression of pious innocence. "Course not. I hate being the youngest; I can see why Aunt Celandine ran away."

"She never actually ran away," Iah said, but his eyes were twinkling with amusement.

The comment had attracted the attention of the girls with their porcelain dolls. Lulu looked between Matt and her father with wide eyes. "Mama ran away?"

Iah gave his nephew a dry look. "Only metaphorically, ya danaaya."

Lulu frowned up at him in truculent confusion. "What for?"

"It means not really," Isra explained haughtily.

"Close enough," Iah told her, looking slightly pained but also like he'd trade accuracy for anything that would discourage this sudden new interest. "What are you two up to?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I'm just giving Mister Barebone here the tour of the place, since Uncle Percy's locked up with grandmother and the aunts."

"You can just call me Credence," Credence suggested a little uncomfortably.

"Um." Matt was back to looking daunted.

"Matt was telling me about Ilvermorny," Credence said in an effort to put him at ease again and fill the awkward silence he'd created. "Is that where you met Mrs Sabry? Or did you go to Hogwarts?"

"Ouagadou, actually, in the Mountains of the Moon; and then the Unseen University at Alexandria."

"I want to go to school on the moon like Baba!" Isra declared, face lighting up at the prospect.

"The Mountains of the Moon are in Africa, silly," Matt told her.

"That's stupid. What about the mountains on the moon?"

"They're mostly named after the ones in Europe."

Isra frowned in disapproval of this inconsistency. Her father stroked her hair fondly, mostly suppressing a smile as he turned back to Credence. "Celandine and I didn't meet until a couple years before the war, in Washington. She knocked me off my feet."

"Literally, from what I hear," Matt couldn't resist adding.

"Mama saved his life, and he fell in love," Lulu explained, since her sister was still sulking. "He says it was romantic."

"That's right." Iah quirked an eyebrow at Matt in silent commentary. He wasn't nearly as successful at downplaying his amusement as his uncle. "Some political radicals started throwing hexes around at a diplomatic function. Celandine was running security for the event. She's very poised under fire; it left quite an impression."

"It seems to run in the family," Credence agreed. He also gave Matt a dubious look.

"I'd say it skips a generation," Matt said a little wistfully, "except you haven't met Aunt Ilithiya's bunch yet."

"Percy's mentioned Ilithyia," Credence said, cautiously. The eldest of the Graves siblings, who'd been killed fighting in the war. He knew her family and the rest of Matt's were supposed to arrive tomorrow, and that all the remaining cousins were old enough to ask potentially awkward questions.

"Gwenël and the children are all very well-mannered," Iah reassured him kindly. "Percy will probably get most of the attention anyway."

Graves was likely to spend most of his time shut in with his mother and siblings, dealing with arcane magical rites and other family business; but it was nice of Iah to say. Ma had taught him better than to fidget, but meeting more of Graves' family hadn't significantly dulled his apprehension at meeting the rest of Graves' family.

Credence realised that the younger girl, Lulu, was staring at him. They started young in this family. He offered her a tentative smile.

She narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me, Mister Credence. Where did you get your nin—nink—"

"She means your lizard familiar," Isra explained.

Her sister scowled and stamped her foot. "Don't be such a know-it-all, Izzie."

"Well, you were getting it wrong." Isra crossed her arms and lifted her chin stubbornly.

"Was not!"

"Girls." Iah quickly stepped in to head this off before it could degenerate any further. "Why don't you give Mister Barebone a chance to answer?"

They turned to look at him expectantly.

"You've got a salamander?" Matt guessed.

"No, ngintaka are a kind of beaded Australian lizard. I don't think you can find them anywhere else. A nest of them hatched outside our camp a couple months ago."

"Excuse me, you're saying that was a baby lizard you were carrying around yesterday?" Iah said. "How big are the adults?"

"How big is the one he brought?" Matt asked.

"Huge. As big as Lulu," Isra said enthusiastically.

"Not quite as long as your arm, I think," Iah answered, and it was oddly reassuring that at least one person was more wary of Asperity than of Credence.

Matt turned the half-interested, half-intimidated expression on his face back to Credence, officially making him the centre of attention again. "So, how big do they get?"

"The adults I saw were six or seven feet. But most of it was tail," Credence added. Honestly, these people grew up knowing about dragons. He still hadn't seen a dragon. Maybe Scamander had left him with some unrealistic expectations. "Um, I could go get her, if you want to see for yourself."

"Take Matt with you; finish your tour," Iah told them. "Learn your way around before the horde descends."

That got Credence moving. One one level, he knew there wasn't any point in hiding. He didn't really want to hide; he just wasn't ready to deal with everything, everybody yet, even in potential. Today, that was all right. What Credence didn't know was whether he'd be ready tomorrow.

Credence crouched down to stroke Asperity's head where she lay basking on the hearth of the room he shared with Graves. She snagged his cuff with her claws and started climbing up the sleeve of his plain brown suit.

"Is she friendly?" Matt asked when Credence stood up again with Asperity on his shoulder.

Credence thought about that. "She's not used to people. She and Percy don't always get along; I think they're too much alike."

Matt tried to disguise what Credence was fairly sure was a startled laugh by coughing into his hand.

Increasingly uncomfortable at being the main topic of conversation, Credence ventured a few more leading questions about Matt's studies and life at school. As they continued their tour, he heard a lot about the stresses of being a seventh year at Ilvermorny, enough to make Credence glad that his own lessons with Graves were much more casual, not that they weren't demanding in a different way.

Matt was also the youngest of Drusus Graves' three children, and it wasn't hard to see he felt a bit overshadowed. While Matt was a prefect and on the Pukwudgie house team for quidditch—Credence had seen mentions of the game in the Sydney Spectre when he had a chance to read a copy, which wasn't often—but hadn't made head of house or team captain as his sister Jaslyn had done. His brother Hilary had apparently graduated with top marks in every advanced subject the school offered and was currently studying potions at a wizarding institution in South America.

He also heard a lot about the girl Matt was sweet on. Inevitably, this made Credence think of Graves. This wasn't the longest they'd been apart since escaping New York in Newt Scamander's enchanted suitcase, but they'd spent so much time together that Graves' absence was more noticeable than his presence. Credence never realised how much he took that reassurance for granted until Graves went somewhere.

Asperity stayed on his shoulder as they moved out into the parlour that separated the room Credence and Graves were sharing from the one Innogen was staying in. It opened out onto the balcony landing of the grand staircase, following the curve of the wall.

On the other side, there was another bedroom to the left, this one belonging Celandine and Iah. A set of smaller bedrooms straight ahead in what Matt called the east wing were currently unoccupied except for the girls.

Matt and Credence turned right, where another parlour stood in front of the master suite. Off to one side, a corridor lined with landscape paintings led to an intersection at the back end of the house.

"That's the south wing up ahead; I got here first and claimed it for us boys. The rooms at the back of the house share a balcony, but that's more of a draw in summer. Makes it easier to sneak out by broom, though, and they're closer to the washroom. These two big rooms are reserved for the grownups, like the rest of them."

"Where does this go? The attic?" Credence asked, peering curiously at a wrought-iron staircase spiralling up from the middle of the wide hallway to their right, before the doors to the last two bedrooms.

"That? It goes up to the roof. They call it a widow's walk. No-Maj sailors' wives used to keep watch for the ships coming in. The view is amazing, but it's a little cold..." Matt let the sentence trail off, obviously not eager to take hospitality quite that far.

That was fine by Credence. He'd never liked the cold, and a year spent baking in the desert had spoiled him. "We're not really dressed for it," he agreed.

Matt looked relieved. "There is an attic, but I'm not actually sure how you get to it. It's where the house elves live. Grandmother stores all the old furniture and things upstairs in the carriage house."

Leading Credence past the staircase, Matt ignored the doors to the bedrooms and opened a third on the opposite wall. "Servants' hall. See? That door opens on the east parlour, and these stairs come out by the kitchen."

Credence could see he was right. There were storage or linen cupboards to the left of the door, then a dim, narrow hall sandwiched between the family's part of the house and an equally dim, narrow staircase. Everything was still polished and immaculate.

Closing the door to the east parlour, Matt tripped lightly down the the staircase. Credence followed at a more sedate pace, peering curiously around the corner at the bottom of the stairs.

"That's the porte cochère again." Matt waved vaguely over to the right. "Courtyard entrance is that way, past the coat room. And this," he swung around to the left, "is the most important room in the house."

Clearly, thoroughness wasn't his only reason for taking Credence down the back way. The kitchen was large, and it was obvious at once that it belonged in a magical house. In a big sink, the pots and pans from breakfast were washing themselves with a froth of bubbles, while a towel flew around drying the dishes before they saucered over to stack themselves in the china cupboard. The pots on the stove looked ordinary enough, except that they were stirring themselves. On one of the counters, a large knife was filleting a chicken. Credence stared for a long moment at a mass of bread dough that seemed to be kneading itself, transfixed and slightly horrified.

There was also a wide shelf extending out from halfway up the lower cabinets, dividing them in two. Standing on it was the diminutive figure of a house elf. For a moment he thought it might have been Pinny, but her skin wasn't as wrinkled and her eyes were hazel instead of dark brown.

"Master Mattan, good morning!" the house elf squeaked cheerily.

"Morning, Rhetta. You don't still have any biscuits or anything from breakfast lying around, do you?"

Matt sweet-talked a plate of pastries out of Rhetta, who seemed willing enough to be charmed, although slightly wary of Asperity still looking over Credence's shoulder. Casually, Matt hopped onto a stool in front of an unused area of counter, waving for Credence to join him. Credence had put a lot of effort into seeming nonthreatening during his life, and it seemed the year he'd spent with Graves hadn't erased those reflexes completely.

Credence wasn't entirely certain how to feel about that, but he slid onto a second stool and politely nibbled on a pastry while Matt and Rhetta caught up. It was the sort of familial domesticity he'd only ever skirted the edges of, during his few visits to Ollie's, something warm and solid. It made him miss Graves more, even though he was only a few rooms away. He wasn't used to having him out of reach even a little anymore, and it felt wrong after last night.

"There haven't been any more owls this morning, have there?" Matt asked hopefully.

"There was one for Mister Sabry just before you came in."

Matt slumped.

"Is Master Mattan expecting a letter?" Rhetta's high, thin voice was arch.

"I haven't heard from Hefina since classes ended. She knows I'm staying here; her owl should be able to find me." Matt picked dejectedly at a half-eaten pastry.

For his part, Credence still hadn't been persuaded that owls were a reliable means of communication, although he supposed that if you could train pigeons to carry messages, you could train other birds. He had the private thought that ravens or crows would have been more wizardly, though.

"Where does she live?" Rhetta asked.

Matt heaved a tragic sigh. "San Francisco." That was where Drusus Graves' family had settled, Credence recalled.

"That's probably all it is. It takes a bird a while to fly all that way." Rhetta patted his hand consolingly and changed the subject. "Are your folks coming here directly tomorrow? Nobody's said."

"I think Gwenël's bunch are, but dad and Sherah and Jaslyn and Hilary are all arriving at the main Floo terminal in Salem tomorrow evening. I was actually thinking of going out to meet them, get in some last-minute Christmas shopping."

"Don't go catching a cold," Rhetta tutted him.

They left the kitchen through what had obviously been intended as a servants' back way, although Matt seemed not to make a distinction, and found themselves in the rotunda once again. Credence's gaze lingered on the still-closed door to the study, but he allowed himself to be ushered down the equally wide curving staircase tucked underneath the main one to the second floor.

This one led down to a basement that was as finished as the rest of the place, red paint above polished walnut wainscoting, floorboards solid under the carpet runners. More paintings lined the walls, mostly portraits, and Credence was startled when they greeted Matt aloud.

"And who's this you've brought with you?" asked the portrait of an older gentleman. He had been posed with several weighty-looking tomes, some occult instruments, and the skeleton of a rat, which skittered around the tabletop. "A school friend, yes? or business associate. Not a prospective in-law already." The portrait gave Matt a gimlet stare.

"Uh, sorry about that; they're kind of nosy. Grandmother keeps them down here so she doesn't have to listen to them gossiping all the time."

A witch wearing a hat with a live owl nested in it gave an offended sniff. "Young man, where are your manners?"

"See what I mean?" Matt told Credence. "They do sneak into the landscapes upstairs, though, so watch out. If you really want to know, he's Uncle Percy's guest. I'm just showing him around," he said, turning back to the portraits.

"It's nice to...meet you?" Credence told the portraits, somewhat uncertainly. It was silly, but he wasn't sure he was up to dealing with a scolding, even from a bunch of paintings. The one with the owl on her hat sounded a little too much like his ma.

The basement turned out to be more obviously magical than the rest of the house. There were the talking portraits, of course, but in addition to what Credence assumed was a normal wine cellar—most of the cellars he'd been in before just had rats, or at most bootleg gin mills—there was also a large, empty room with scarred but polished surfaces that Matt said was a duelling salle, as well as a much more familiar-looking potions setup. Apart from some old, ingrained stains, it too was immaculately clean; still, the half-used ingredients and general working clutter of notes and reference books argued for its regular use. No dragons guarding hidden troves of gold or arcane knowledge, at least not that Credence saw, and he didn't really think that Matt would have been able to successfully keep quiet about it if there were.

Most of the rest of the basement was used for storage. Matt tried a few doors before he found the one concealing the servants' stair. There were the usual things you would expect to find in storage and supply closests, although the tins and boxes were labelled things like Argent Plate's Self-Applying Silver Polish and Eradicus Prewett's Preternaturally Powerful Pixie Dust for the Permanent Expulsion of Pesky Pixies. Some things that would have looked normal otherwise started hovering or hopping around excitedly as soon as their doors were opened.

Matt eventually found the right one through process of elimination and navigated through the kitchen corridor back to the parlour outside the library at last. They'd bypassed the study, so Credence had no idea whether Graves was done yet.

Back in the library, Matt regarded his piled schoolwork with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Guess I'd better get it over with."

He heaved a sigh and plunked down into the table's straight chair. Credence watched, hesitating. Mindful of Asperity perched on his shoulder, he picked up the herbal he'd been leafing through earlier in the morning and shifted away from that table to one of the wingback chairs nearer the fireplace.

When at last the library door opened and Graves came through, Credence felt a wave of relief wash over him. Reading Graves wasn't always easy, but he was clearly looking a little worn around the edges after dealing with whatever family business he'd been closeted with his mother and sisters about all morning.

Credence abandoned his idle reading and rose without thinking. Graves smiled faintly, but some of the tightness disappeared from around his eyes.

"How did it go?" Credence asked.

Graves cupped his cheek briefly, brushing the corner of his mouth with his thumb in place of a semi-public kiss. "I didn't really expect to settle anything before Drew shows up, but I suppose it's better for them to get it out of their systems now."

Credence frowned, but before he could pursue what exactly that meant, Matt looked up from his Arithmancy and joined the conversation. "Oh, there you are, Uncle Percy. Can I ask you, in Arithmancy, if you have—"

"No." Graves cut him short. "I'm retired; I don't have to deal with Arithmancy anymore."

Matt slumped back in his chair, huffing in annoyance. He set his pen down, willing to be distracted.

"Looks like you two had an exciting morning."

"Actually, Matt gave me a tour. Of the inside, anyway. It's a very nice house."

"It was always a treat coming here when we were kids," Graves reminisced. "Sometimes mother and father would squeeze in a holiday in the summers, but more often we'd be left to our own devices during the day. I think the laws restricting underage wizardry are the only reason the place is still standing."

"I came of age this Halloween," Matt told him proudly, displaying his wand. Evidently, under-age wizards weren't even allowed to carry them outside of school. Matt's was more or less in the style of the wand Graves had inherited from Vivian, a smooth length of pale, varnished alder inset with mother of pearl in an overlapping pattern of chevrons inside chevrons.

Credence, who had been informed of this earlier in the morning, had been more than a little surprised to learn that the age of adulthood in the wizarding world was only seventeen. For his part, Matt had been equally taken aback to learn that the usual age among No-Majs was twenty-one.

"Congratulations," Graves told him.

"Now all I have to do is pass my HODAGs." Some of Matt's cheerful confidence deserted him at this daunting prospect. "You wouldn't believe how much work they expect us to do between terms. I might as well have stayed at school. Arithmancy or no, I need to go into Salem tomorrow or I won't have anything but questionably-balanced equations to put under the tree."

"Were you planning on Floo or apparition?" Graves asked. "I have some business in town myself."

Credence swung his head around to stare at him closely. This was the first he was hearing about it.

"Guess it makes sense you have shopping to do. Or are you going to meet my parents?

"No, it's...personal."

Matt looked between them, brows drawing together. "But you're not going to leave Mister Barebone here alone with the harpies." He sounded aghast.

One of Graves' eyebrows ticked upwards in reaction to this earnest tactlessness.

Matt's face coloured, and he looked around nervously, as though his grandmother or one of his aunts might materialise out of thin air to chastise him personally. It wasn't an entirely unreasonable fear.

"I mean, if you want, Mister Barebone, I wouldn't mind the company. If it's not going to be a problem for, you know." Matt made a vague gesture encompassing the potential violent catastrophe that was the Obscurus and stopped talking. He was glancing between the two of them again, chewing on his lip self-consciously. Maybe the older relatives' reserve was down to years of auroring and not a family trait.

Credence considered. They'd been interrupted by Graves' sisters before Credence had a chance to pick out his Christmas present. Matt would be able to tell him where to look for something here, and it would definitely make keeping it a secret from Graves a lot easier.

"I'd like that, thanks," Credence told him.

Chapter Text

"Ready?" Graves asked him the next morning after they'd finished dressing.

Credence blinked at him, so startled by his appearance that it took a moment to process what he'd said. Graves hadn't volunteered what his errand was today, and Credence hadn't ventured more than the most tentative inquiry, which had been deflected with an uninformative general reassurance.

Neither of them had slept last night. Credence had retreated to their room after lunch and dozed a little over a book, but not even the soothing, repetitive rhythm of Graves stroking his back for what seemed like hours had lulled him into slumber.

Credence had taken extra pains with his appearance today, not wanting to miss some detail that would make him stand out in the crowd. He was wearing a neat blue suit—Graves had included more than one in the wardrobe he'd furnished for Credence when they'd arrived in Australia last year, a staid enough colour, and Credence didn't miss the conservative black he'd always worn before, the inky shade of the Obscurus' cold heart.

Graves was wearing black this morning. Black on black, the different fabrics and textures of suit, tie, and under-vest only serving to accentuate their absolute pitch darkness of hue. Black spats, shiny black shoes, even the metal settings of his obsidian cuff links and collar bar had been lacquered black. The silk shirt he wore looked like liquid ink.

It was unquestionably a funeral suit, and Credence didn't need to ask to know that whatever Graves' plans were for the day, they involved Vivian's wand. He bit his tongue on the offer to accompany Graves. He shouldn't have to do this alone, but with a wound that near your heart, even a friendly touch could be unbearable.

Credence hated this helpless feeling. Ruthlessly, he stuffed it down; the Obscurus rattled the cage of his ribs, not quite attempting to break loose but definitely growing restless with his internal disquiet. He knew all too well what it was like when an emotion rose up to overpower you. To have the past burned into you so indelibly that you would never be free of it.

"Credence?"

Right now, what he could do for Graves was keep it together. Credence brushed a speck of lint from the shoulder of Graves' suit jacket.

"Ready," he said.

They had planned yesterday to leave after breakfast, but it appeared that Matt wasn't an early riser. Most of the other adults were already ranged around the table, breakfast at various stages of completion before them. Innogen essayed a few prodding remarks at Graves, whose responses were unusually repressive, before decamping; Celandine was notably absent.

"Celandine taking her breakfast in bed?" Graves asked his brother-in-law, tone deliberately light.

"She and the girls ate earlier. I've been minding them the past six weeks; now it's her turn." Iah delivered this with a smug little smirk and flipped over his neatly-folded newspaper.

Noticing that Credence didn't have the stomach for food this morning, Iah had casually offered him a section of his morning paper. Gratefully, Credence took refuge behind the arts section of this morning's edition of the Salem Sentinel. He couldn't stop thinking about what his ma would have had to say about such a publication proclaiming itself so brazenly from the very birthplace of the original witch trials.

Matt at last made an appearance, slouching in bleary-eyed and pouring equal parts cream and coffee into a cup before loading his plate with what in a non-magical house would have been a cold breakfast by now. Mrs Graves took a break from hassling her son to interrogate her grandson. Credence, staring unseeing at the newsprint and mobile illustrations, gradually began to suspect her of deliberate delay. How much did she know about Graves' errand this morning? Or was it Credence she didn't trust?

Whatever her objection to this excursion was, her attention was diverted when a breathless Lulu burst in through the open door, her older sister hard on her heels, demanding their grandmother's participation in some game. Never one to let an opportunity pass by, Graves seized the moment of distraction and lost no time in executing an escape. His mother watched over the children's heads, but evidently didn't feel strongly enough to interfere further.

The house Floo was located in what Credence might have called a mud room by the courtyard portico. He'd wondered what the huge fireplace was doing so close to the door yesterday, but they'd passed through too quickly to ask. Apparently, it was person-sized because people came and went through it.

"Coats please," Graves said, apparently to the empty rack by the coat-room door, and three long winter overcoats appeared, one Graves' second-best dark grey with black lining, one a tan polo, and the last a very unusual burgundy Credence assumed belonged to Matt.

Matt, however, plucked up the tan coat, which shook itself out and hovered in mid-air while he shrugged it on. Credence looked back at the coat rack. Graves was holding the burgundy coat, but the getup he was in, Credence had no illusions who it was for. He'd still been adjusting his tie when Graves sent theirs down to the coatroom via the dumbwaiter this morning, and he'd just assumed that he'd be wearing Graves' spare, or maybe a loan from someone in his family.

This was obviously new, the purplish-red colour as rich and heady as wine, made even more striking by bronze silk lining. It would transform Credence's sober navy suit into something positively flamboyant.

Credence met Graves' eyes and gave him a hard look. Graves returned it blandly, and his mouth actually twitched into a brief smile.

Credence sighed, having no heart for argument if it would take that light out of Graves' eyes, and let him help him into the ridiculous coat, lingering for a moment close behind with his hands on Credence's shoulders. Matt kept his eyes firmly on his fingers as he pulled his gloves on.

Completely unselfconscious, Graves wrapped a pale gold scarf around Credence's neck; Credence didn't even try to resist. "There. No one would even recognise you."

Credence fingered one of the bronze buttons and had to admit he was right. And the coat was wonderful despite its hue. It would have been warm without any charms. Hitting just below his knees, it was double-breasted and deep-collared. When he stuck his hands into the pockets, he found a pair of fur-lined gloves in a buttery leather.

The hat still sitting on the rack was at least the same sedate black homburg he'd worn before, although Graves had renewed the warming charm on it, let lapse in the mild Australian winter. There were warming charms on everything, down to the gloves. Credence was grateful; he could hardly imagine that Salem in December would be any more forgiving than the hateful bite of New York.

Graves donned a bowler he'd never seen before, completing his funereally sombre appearance. He was nearly as inwardly-focussed as in the first days after their escape. Credence's hands itched to strip away all of that cold black and find the warm, human core. The blazing sun of the Outback had slowly thawed him over the last year, but Credence had the disturbing impression that they were both freezing over in this bitter season.

They were to make the journey by Floo powder, since portkey usage in most countries was apparently regulated, and Matt was still new to apparition. While Credence had never travelled by Floo before, if his experiences with other magical forms of transport were anything to go by, it would be at least as uncomfortable as it was convenient.

Graves summoned an oriental urn down from the high mantelpiece. They each scooped out a handful of oddly glimmering powder. Credence stirred it curiously with his finger. At least travel by fire ought to be warm.

There was a cemetery at Salem you could only find if you knew it was there, hidden behind seemingly impenetrable hedges and blanketed with spells. It was the largest wizarding cemetery on the continent, even bigger than the debatable ones in New Orleans, where the line between magical and non-magical was dangerously blurred; but the oldest graves in it did not belong to wizards.

Graves had no trouble finding Vivian's grave, even with the thick blanket of snow covering everything. It was at the edge of a family plot, latest in a long string.

Gently, Graves brushed the accumulated snow from its face with a gloved hand. His fingers lingered over the deeply-graven letters of the familiar name. Below it, the unchanging dates: May 12, 1877 – August 28, 1909.

"Hey there, lover," as soft as crooning it into his ear. "I still miss you, you know. For a while I actually thought I was getting over it, but I guess not. You're not the kind of fellow a guy forgets."

The numbers never changed, but somehow he kept getting further and further away. There was almost twenty years of distance between them now, an uncrossable ocean of time.

Graves swallowed, but his voice still came out rough. "You'd like Credence, though. He's...I mean, he's something else. He saved me, just like you did. I don't know how I'd have survived this last year without him. I don't think I would've wanted to." His mouth twisted into a rueful smile. "That seems to be a pattern with me. Falling for men I can't save."

Popping the top button of his coat, Graves reached into his suit jacket's inner pocket and drew out Vivian's wand. He discarded one of his gloves to weigh it in his bare hand. Persistent ebony, true and unbending (well, slightly springy).

"This is ours, more than it was ever his," Graves said. It made his stomach turn to think Grindelwald had ever profaned it with his touch, and he had unquestionably known what it would mean, as deeply as he'd delved into Graves' memories. Even so, it was Vivian's touch he felt holding it now. "But it belongs with you now."

He went down on one knee in the drifted snow and plunged Vivian's wand down until it hit the frozen earth behind Vivian's headstone. A frisson of magic crackled up his arm, and he felt the thing take root. Massachusetts wasn't the normal climate for an ebony tree, but Graves had no doubt that it would prosper and grow, reaching down, down to where Vivian slept and up into the sky as a living monument.

Maybe someday Graves would come back and see it. But whether he did or not, a part of him would always be here with Vivian now, and nothing could change that.

"I'll take care of him," Graves promised, still kneeling by the headstone in the snow. "Sleep well, lover."

Credence hated the cold. It was a gnawing, numbing bleakness that had matched the harsh reality of his old life far too well. Made it harder to ignore, and so harder to endure.

He used to feel cold all the time. He'd thought it was just the weather.

Winter bit him less cruelly through all these insulating layers. This coat, no matter the flashy colour, was by far the warmest he'd ever owned. He had real gloves and boots without holes, an embarrassment of riches.

Still, the icy wind would slip in through all the warming charms, causing Credence to turn up the deep collar, shielding his face as much as possible. He discovered he preferred the stinging of sandy grit on the red plain of the Outback.

Thankfully, most of the magical areas of Salem—known collectively simply as Historic Salem—were hidden in or connected by an unexpected series of very old tunnels. The Floo terminal was attached to an underground train station, the better to conceal wizardly comings and goings. The way it had been explained to Credence, the reasons for scheduling Floo travel via long-distance portals like the one here were more logistical than magical, making it easier to regulate the flow of wizards into and out of the stations.

"People do come out the wrong fireplace sometimes, and I guess it cuts down on that if everyone's going to the same place," said Matt's brother Hilary, a little too casually for Credence's comfort.

After Graves had left them in the Floo terminal this morning, Credence and Matt had gotten started on the promised holiday shopping. A little awkward at first, Matt hadn't taken long to recover his usual slightly absent-minded enthusiasm, and he'd conducted Credence on a genial tour of the mostly-underground district before returning to the terminal to meet his siblings. Credence had obtained Graves' present without any trouble; the package was tucked safely away in a pocket of his coat.

Then they had all set up camp in the terminal's busy café for a hot lunch, easy for Graves to find whenever he returned and wait on Drusus and Sherah Graves, scheduled to arrive during a later time-slot. Matt's older siblings had come up together via the ancient Peruvian city of Cusco, which was apparently the largest wizarding community on the South American continent, making it a logical hub for magical travellers.

Jaslyn, the eldest, was working as a cursebreaker, which sounded like more excitement than Credence wanted to see again. If he went by her brothers' excited reactions, anyway; Jaslyn's auburn hair might have given her a resemblance to her aunt Innogen, but her disposition reminded him of Graves more than anyone, although even Graves wasn't so phlegmatic.

"Hefina says you've been working with her sister at Malqui-Machay," Matt angled. "Mehitabel Le. Have you met her?"

"Sure. It's a big operation, but not that big," Jaslyn said.

"Does she ever talk about her sister?"

"Not about her love-life," Jaslyn told her brother repressively.

"What, is there trouble in paradise?" Hilary teased, not bothering to keep a sly grin off his face.

Matt paused in stirring the dregs of his soup with his spoon to glare across at him. "What would you know? You don't have a girl. You don't even have a pet monkey."

Hilary feigned a shudder. "I'd rather have the girl. She'd be less likely to chuck random ingredients into my cauldron while I'm brewing."

"More likely to chuck your boots at your head, though," Matt teased.

"That wasn't a girl I was sweet on," Hilary objected. "She wanted me to make her a love potion. I wouldn't do it." This explanation directed to Credence, since his siblings were obviously familiar with the story.

Hilary looked a lot like Matt, with slightly wavy dark hair and the family's ubiquitous brown eyes. He was of a more middling height and build, not as tall or thin as Matt, and his personality was even more ebullient, trading Matt's occasional vagueness in for a distinct sense of mischief and a flair for the dramatic. He'd come braced for the northern chill wrapped in an extravagant fur coat—Credence wouldn't bet it was anything so humdrum as raccoon—that made even Credence's ridiculous burgundy one look tame. Credence, who by this point had learned a good bit of brewing, privately wasn't at all sure that he'd trust Hilary Graves near a cauldron any more than he would the monkey.

Credence dipped his chin in a brief, noncommittal nod. He'd been doing his best to stay out of this lively reunion, an effort hampered by Jaslyn and Hilary's overt curiosity about his connexion to their uncle and what had happened to him since Grindelwald. Deterred either by Credence's presence or being out in public, Matt hadn't had a chance yet to fully explain the situation, and he squirmed with discomfort whenever the subject came back around.

Conspicuously so. There really wasn't a chance of keeping who—what—he was secret from the rest of the family. The best he could have was not here, not now, not yet.

Credence distracted himself with covertly scanning the crowd for Graves, not that it wasn't interesting in its own right. He'd never seen so many magical people in one place before. Some were wearing robes. Some were wearing very fantastical robes. Most of those arrived, according to the flipping cards with their gleaming, gilded letters in the timetable above the cavernous fireplace, from foreign parts, and either disappeared back into the uncanny green flames or disapparated. None of them looked as outlandish as Ollie's brother Ngiyari, but Credence supposed it was a lot colder here.

Others looked so nearly normal that you wouldn't have given them a second look on the street. It was only gathered like this that little details started to jump out at you. Hats a little too pointed, coats a little too robe-like, jewellery in a decidedly occult style, if you really looked at it.

"But we're being rude," Hilary said after the siblings had finished catching up. "Matty said you've been travelling with Uncle Percy. You're sure it's not secret auror business?" he fished.

"Matt," Matt corrected for the dozenth time.

Credence hadn't thought it was rude at all; Credence had been hoping they'd forget all about him until Graves and their parents arrived and they all whisked back to the sprawling Graves family mansion, where he could hide in some corner, or at least behind Graves.

"I'm not an auror," Credence managed.

"So did you meet in Australia?" Jaslyn asked.

"No, Manhattan," he replied, then wondered if he should have. Even Matt could see that this wasn't a good place for this conversation. This wasn't a good conversation to have. Involuntarily, Credence remembered the desperate clutch of Graves' arms holding him together, a stranger with a familiar face and even more familiar suffering in his eyes. There had been no reservations in that embrace.

Credence sent Matt a beseeching look, but Matt was chewing nervously on his lip. His eyes darted around the underground terminal as though searching for something that would distract his brother and sister.

Suddenly, he sat up in his chair, his expression lighting with recognition. Credence's head snapped around; he nearly melted with relief when he caught sight of Graves. Jumping to his feet, Credence barely stopped himself from running to him through the crowd.

When he reached them, Graves greeted Credence with a brief, unconvincing smile and a more reassuring touch on his arm. He cast a surveying glance over his niece and nephews, lingering on the very uncomfortable-looking Matt.

"Hi, Uncle Percy," Hilary said. His look between Graves and Credence was frankly speculative, but he didn't say anything else as he stood to shake Graves' hand. "You're looking menacing today."

"Hilary. Jaslyn." Graves accepted a brief hug from his niece. "Still waiting for your parents?"

"You have good timing," Hilary told him. "Floo from San Francisco should start any time now."

Credence hurried to seize a chair for Graves from the nearby table where they'd deposited their coats and hats and Jaslyn and Hilary's suitcases. Graves waved away the menu that whizzed up to him and all their offers to order him coffee or hot pumpkin juice, but he did add his hat and coat to the pile and sit down between Credence and Hilary.

Credence took some comfort from their knees bumping together underneath the table. He hadn't quite realised how much effort he'd been putting into hanging on until Graves got back, though. Now he had, Credence found himself suddenly much less certain of his ability to do it for much longer.

The café where they were sitting was on the edge of the vaulted hall, within sight of the cavernous main fireplace. Once the San Francisco arrivals were announced, Credence found himself watching the crowd again along with everyone else, even though he had no way of recognising Graves' brother or his wife.

"There's dad." Jaslyn knocked Matt on the shoulder with the back of her hand and waved at someone. "I don't see Sherah with him, though."

Graves was already standing and putting on his coat. Credence followed suit, wanting to be gone already. When he wrapped his new coat around himself, he wished it were Graves' arms instead. He wanted to put his hat back on and pull the brim down low to hide his face.

There was a brief, polite handshake when Graves introduced him to his brother, but Credence couldn't focus enough to process what Drusus Graves looked like or what he thought of Credence. Probably what his sisters had thought, but at least he didn't say it. Credence had caught a glimpse of himself in a shop mirror. Graves had been right: no one would recognise him. No one would guess, looking at him, what he was.

"Where's Sherah?" Graves asked.

Drusus shifted his grip on the handle of his suitcase. "She decided to spend the holidays with Amulius and Ibbie. We missed them last year because we came out after you—anyway. And you know she hates travelling."

"If only I could've persuaded our sisters I feel the same way," Graves said ruefully.

"Well, they know better."

"I wish one of you had told me," Matt complained. "I could have gone home after all. Um, no offence, Uncle Percy. It's good to see you—"

"—But his charms can't compete?" Hilary teased him "Or maybe you just wanted to avoid your dear siblings. Got used to not having us around?"

"I wish."

They lined up in front of one of the smaller fireplaces meant for local travel. Graves touched his shoulder, measuring his tension in a way that could pass as ushering him ahead. The conversation went on without Credence really hearing it.

Wordlessly, Graves tucked Credence's hand into his arm before taking his turn, and they stepped into the emerald flames together. Credence was prepared for the noise and the spinning this time, and the sparkling Floo powder transformed the fire from searing to a pleasant warmth. They held each other close to keep from being jolted apart in the narrow passage.

Stumbling a little, they came out the other side into the solidity and relative safety of the house on Martha's Vineyard. The tight clutch of panic eased a little in Credence's chest.

Graves pulled him out of the way of the next traveller, fastidiously brushing the soot off the burgundy coat. Nothing showed on his own dark clothes, Credence noticed.

Jaslyn and Hilary had gone through ahead of them, and people were already coming and ushering them all into the south parlour. Iah stuck his head out of the library; beside him was a tall, slightly portly man wearing wizard's robes in a travelling brown tweed. His tightly-curled hair was greying, and his skin was almost the exact shade of the coffee Hilary had drunk back in the Floo terminal's café, heavily doctored with cream.

A cluster of young people also wearing wizard's robes were already gathered around Matt, Hilary, and Jaslyn. They all had light brown skin, sprayed with freckles like Jaslyn's, and curly red-brown hair. Ilithyia's family, Credence concluded after a surprised blink.

He hung back from the happy reunion even as Graves was pulled in along with his brother. The air was full of excited greetings and kisses exchanged on cheeks, and suddenly everyone was speaking French.

It was all too much. Quietly, Credence slipped out to the servants' corridor, then up the servants' stair. He hesitated at the top; his goal had been the room he shared with Graves, where with some time and quiet he could pull himself together again.

A sudden wave of claustrophobia overtook him, and instead of going left out the closer door, he slipped along the narrow corridor. The stairs to the widow's walk spiralled up beyond the far door.

Credence felt his way up them blindly, scrunching his eyes closed. He was holding his breath, too, like he could keep it in that way. That was bad; he should breathe. He couldn't make himself. He knew this awful chill inside and out.

He could make himself. He wasn't a child throwing a tantrum. He would breathe easier alone in the free air.

Credence pushed open the trapdoor, and he knew things were bad when the blast of wind that hit him didn't feel cold. A sob tried to tear its way out of his throat, but he had too much practice swallowing them. He hated being like this. Everyone had been perfectly nice; there was no reason for him to be reacting this way.

It was all just too much. Pressure outside; pressure inside. Credence wrung the wrought-iron railing between his hands and felt it twist under the assault of something that wasn't hands at all.

He curled around himself, still trying to resist even though he was already smoke. I don't want to be alone. That wail was his last coherent thought, but he knew he only had himself to blame.

Graves glanced up from greeting Ilithyia and Gwenël's youngest to see how Credence was doing and found him gone. Salem hang it. Maybe he was overreacting, but Credence had been shaky since they'd got here. Graves felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as he excused himself and left the young people to each other.

Quietly, Graves made his way to the kitchen stairs, taking them two at a time. He couldn't be too far behind.

The wrong door was open when he reached the top. Moving on instinct, Graves strode to the spiral stairway leading up to the roof. He ran up the steps, using magic to throw the trap door open ahead of himself even as a familiar anguished wail broke over the sky above.

Wordlessly, wandlessly, Graves cast his patronus into flight like a falconer. It soared after the Obscurus as it boiled up into the sky.

"Proctor and Corey."

Graves spun around to see his brother standing halfway through the trap door, staring up at the spectacle in awe. Night had fallen, but the Obscurus was still visible as angry red gleams and flashes of light, blotting out the stars.

Drusus had a hard time dragging his eyes away to look at Graves. The wry twist of his lips had more to do with resignation than amusement. "No wonder you're in love."

Chapter Text

Credence burrowed his face into the dark safety between Graves' shoulder and the bed. A familiar shame curdled his stomach.

He was less afraid of the Obscurus than he had been, but by its nature it didn't sit easily in him. He felt worse about it than usual this morning, aware that he had made a fool of himself in front of Graves' entire family.

Graves slid his warm hand up Credence's back and cradled the back of his neck in one palm, helping him hide from the world. The story of our life together, Credence thought bitterly, although he only clung on tighter.

"Sorry," he managed, voice muffled. He had a vague recollection of saying that last night, but it wouldn't hurt to repeat it.

A gentle squeeze from the hand on his neck. "Everything's okay."

Credence couldn't really agree with that when even the prospect of breakfast with Graves' family made him want to pull the covers over his head. But at least part of the hollow feeling in his stomach was hunger; he'd barely eaten anything yesterday, and the Obscurus always left him famished as well as exhausted.

Credence turned his head, staring blankly at the buttons on Graves' pyjama shirt and the pattern of blue-green stripes. Lying slug-a-bed wouldn't solve anything. Resolutely, he made himself sit up.

Graves rolled onto his back and looked up at him for a moment. He had been waiting for Credence when when he returned to himself last night, bundled once more in his winter coat against the terrible cold. Credence had felt his patronus join him and guide him back, the way it always did.

He hadn't been expecting Drusus; but although Graves' brother looked a little wild around the eyes, he'd gone down ahead of them to check that the hallways were clear. The burgundy coat had reappeared, and Graves had wrapped him in it for the short trip inside and back to their room, where he'd had Pinny send up a small cup of thick and intensely dark hot chocolate that Credence had needed a spoon for.

That had revived him enough to feel up to getting ready for bed and crawling in beside Graves. Crawling out again was much less appealing. He reached for his dressing gown and stopped, staring at the clock.

"Percy! How could you let me sleep this late?"

Graves was still lying under the covers, blinking slowly in the late morning light. "You needed the rest."

"Well, you didn't have to stay up here, anyway; you've missed breakfast," Credence fretted.

"We can ask Pinny to send something up." Graves pushed himself up and edged closer, so his front was pressed to Credence's back. His arms slid around Credence's waist. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

For a moment, Credence kept up his consternation. Then he abandoned it, letting himself relax back into Graves' embrace.

"Still determined to corrupt me?"

"Always." Graves nuzzled inside the collar of Credence's pyjamas to kiss one of the day-old marks on his neck. "Mother wants to talk about some things now everyone's here, but I don't have to go if you don't want me to."

"You should have woken me up." Already, Credence's chagrin was losing its force.

"Don't worry about it. We can stay up here for as long as you like."

"No, you go ahead. I'm okay now, really."

"Pinny will bring up something for lunch, too, if you want," Graves offered.

"I'm not going to hide under the covers for however long we're here."

"I would if I thought I could get away with it," Graves said, mostly joking. "You know you don't have to prove anything, to me or anyone else."

"But sometimes hiding just makes you more scared. I'd rather face them."

It was getting close to lunch time before Credence managed to drag Graves out of bed. To tell the truth, the quiet (if late) breakfast alone together had been a welcome respite. From the first, Graves had been good at being there without pressing. The simple fact of Credence's company had seemed enough for him, and maybe it wasn't surprising, all things considered.

Reflecting on his experiences with the family so far, Credence coaxed Asperity to climb up onto his arm before heading downstairs. Graves' only reaction was to walk on his other side. Credence felt a smile tugging at his lips despite himself, which earned him a bland look.

"Good morning, Credence. Finally decided to join us, Percy?" Innogen greeted them as they crossed the atrium at the bottom of the grand staircase.

Credence was a little surprised to be acknowledged, and so politely. It was the new reality of the Obscurus, he figured. Good, he decided resolutely. If he had made an impression on Innogen, he shouldn't have to worry about anyone except maybe Graves' mother. Innogen was the one who enjoyed catching people off-balance—she was even worse than Graves that way—but with any luck she really had been persuaded that his equilibrium was more important than her sense of humour.

Celandine was standing with her sister and one of Ilithyia's children outside the door to the sun room. They both turned to watch the pair approaching. The nephew—Credence hadn't been catching names last night—regarded them with keen interest. Celandine's face expressed her disappointment with Innogen's level of tact, her own version of Graves' hairy eyeball. Credence was already familiar with the look.

Graves tilted his head in acknowledgement, not rising to the bait. Celandine stepped in smoothly with introductions.

"Kofi, may I introduce Mister Credence Barebone. Credence, this is Kofi de l'Isle, Ilithyia and Gwenël's oldest. Kofi works at the Département Inconnu in the French Ministère Magique."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Kofi said. His voice had just the hint of a sophisticated French accent. He was tall and broad across the shoulders, like his father, although not so much across the gut, and at a guess somewhere around Credence's age. The flowing wizard's robes he wore were an exact match for the auburn of his tightly-curled hair, dark brown with a glint of red. He'd carefully shaved a part on the left side, since it was too short to comb. A handful of large freckles dotted his serious face.

"Pleased to meet you." Credence got the impression, as he shook Kofi's hand, of being examined with more than personal curiosity.

He met Kofi's eyes warily but without faltering. The morning after was never really great, but it was better now he knew what was happening and how to tell bad dreams from living nightmare. Not to mention easier to deal with people without the Obscurus howling inside him, furious to bust out.

"Would you mind introducing Credence to your brother and sister?" Innogen asked Kofi. "We were given instructions to steal Percy as soon as he made an appearance."

"Mais bien sûr, ma tante. Everyone's still in the solarium," Kofi added to Credence in English.

"I'll see you at lunch, if I can't get away sooner," Graves said, touching the shoulder Asperity wasn't perched on.

"Drew's holed up with Iah and Gwenël, as usual." Celandine said. "I'll go pry him away."

She headed off down the hall while Graves and Innogen disappeared into the study. Kofi gestured, and with a last glance after him, Credence let himself be ushered into the airy sun room.

The cousins were gathered in clusters. At their entrance, they all turned to look at Credence and Kofi outright, instead of sneaking glances out the corners of their eyes like they'd been doing up to now.

He could tell by the way everyone watched him—like one of Scamander's graphorns had just walked into the room, dangerous and fascinating, liable to be spooked by sudden movement or loud noises—that they all knew. Credence was sure they knew everything. It hadn't occurred to him until after it was done that taking Matt up to show him Asperity had also meant showing him the room Credence and Graves were obviously sharing. He'd apologised, shamefaced; but Graves had just shrugged it off. "He'll tell the rest of the brats for us; good. I wasn't sure Innogen and Celandine would. One less thing to worry about."

Easy for him to say. Credence shifted his shoulders as Asperity resettled her weight, surveying her new surroundings.

Happily unaware of their elders' tension, Isra and Lulu bounced over to greet her, trailing the older girl who had been watching them. Another of the French cousins, she was also wearing robes. Hers were fancier and a cheery, festive red, but her face was set in an expression of adolescent long-suffering.

"Asi, je te présentes Monsieur Barebone, qui accompagne notre oncle. Mister Barebone, my sister Asi," Kofi said, switching effortlessly between languages.

"Miss." Credence ducked his head, caught by the probably inappropriate urge to bow. So far this branch of the family was less...forthright...than the rest, but their aristocratic formality was just as intimidating.

Asi brushed a curl of reddish hair out of her face with the back of one hand, then switched the book she'd been holding in it to the other before offering it. She looked younger, and her curls were looser, not quite tamed by the pomade sleeking them to her head.

Credence barely had time to shake hands before Isra and Lulu demanded his attention again with an onslaught of questions about Asperity. Jaslyn and Hilary drifted over to listen, too. The youngest of the de l'Isles advanced dragging Matt, not to be left out.

"Okay, okay; I'll introduce you," Matt said, shaking him off.

Credence noticed he was still hanging back, though. Matt ventured a nervous smile in his direction but looked away quickly, gesturing at his cousin.

"Um, this is Sisi. Sisi, be polite."

Sisi looked at Credence less like he was mentally dissecting him than had most of the family, which was something. Actually, he was making a face at Matt. When his attention finally landed on Credence, he was immediately distracted by Asperity's snout snaking out towards his face. Well, at least that plan was working.

Sisi didn't yelp, although he did edge backwards just a little. "So what do these things do, peer into your soul?"

"Mister Scamander said he thought most animals in Australia were magical, but I haven't seen her do anything," Credence admitted.

"The guy who wrote that book?" Hilary asked. "Wait, hold on just a tick. When did you meet Newt Scamander?"

"The three of us travelled together for a bit," Credence said warily. He didn't think that anyone here knew enough to interpret that as he smuggled us out of the country. The elder aurors probably would have, though. Better be more careful; he didn't want to get Scamander into trouble. "He goes all over the world for his research."

"Is it true he only travels by dragon?" Lulu asked.

"No," Credence said, unable to quite hide his disappointment. "I still haven't seen a dragon."

"Well, neither have any of the rest of us," Sisi told him.

"Speak for yourself," Hilary said, more than a little smugly. "Peruvian Viperteeth. We catch them and milk their venom."

Jaslyn twitched a sceptical eyebrow. "You mean professional dragon-wranglers at the institute catch them. If you'd ever been within biting-range of a Peruvian Vipertooth, you'd be dead of Dragon Pox by now."

"Says you. Just because I'm not a cursebreaker or an auror like everybody else in this family, you think I can't handle myself?"

Jaslyn flicked a glance at her brother, up and down. "No," she told him equably.

Hilary crossed his arms. "I got top grades on my Defence HODAG same as you."

"Hilary, don't be ridiculous. I don't know why you and Matt always have to make everything a competition."

"Says the girl who's never lost one," Matt grumbled.

"I beat her once at—"

"Macette, do you three ever stop arguing?" Asi asked under her breath.

"No," Lulu replied impertinently.

Sisi smothered a laugh, but his brother frowned at them both disapprovingly. And that was it; Credence was no longer the undivided focus of everyone in the room.

Isra was still asking questions about Asperity and reciting her own reasons for wanting a wampus cat and not a less interesting and useful house cat as a Christmas present. The serious tone of her fantasies reminded Credence with a pang of his sister Modesty. Looking at these happy, well-dressed children, it was hard not to think of the crowd of orphans in rags his ma had fed.

Chapter Text

Credence made it through to lunch, when Graves re-emerged to serve as a buffer. As interested as everyone continued to be in Credence, everyone was much too intimidated to actually ask him much of anything he didn't want to answer.

They didn't actually ask Graves about the Obscurus, either—at least not with Credence right there. But he was evidently a more comfortable target in general.

"What ever have you been doing with yourself in Australia for all this time?" Gwenël de l'Isle asked, and for a change he didn't glance significantly at Credence.

"I've retired," Graves answered easily.

Gwenël raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Well, if you say so. I think you could have found a more congenial place for it."

"You're a city slug, Gwenël," Innogen told him. "You've never spent a more than a week outside town in your life. Some of us are more widely-travelled."

Gwenël shrugged eloquently, not denying it. "Ah, I am afraid you've got me there, ma chèrie."

"What's the point of the country anyway?" Sisi piped up in adolescent disdain.

"Mind your manners," Kofi scolded his younger brother.

Sisi rolled his eyes, returning his attention to the conversation he and Matt had been having. Kofi's frown lingered on him until he was sure no further outbursts would be forthcoming.

"Well, I don't know about Australia, but there's plenty to keep you interested out in the jungla," Hilary said.

Jaslyn rolled her eyes. "Please don't start talking about dragons again."

"What, dragons aren't exciting enough for the big, bad curse-breaker?"

"Children," Drusus interrupted in a weary tone that was very unlike the parenting Credence was most familiar with.

Down at the other end of the table, Matt was doing a bad job of concealing his smirk. But when Credence caught his eye, the expression froze on his face. Credence looked away quickly.

After lunch, Credence was surprised when Graves didn't disappear back into the study for more private estate business, or familial interrogation, or whatever they'd been doing in there. Instead, he led Credence through the sun room and the back hall to the South parlour.

"Are we going somewhere?" Credence asked as Graves peeled off from the trio of Iah, Drusus, and Gwenël, steering them in the direction of the house Floo instead of the library.

"Just the carriage house," Graves reassured him.

"Oh, are we getting your boxes?" Credence asked, enlightened.

"I thought I should at least look through them," Graves said.

"You keep saying you want your school books."

"Damned British techniques," Graves muttered. "Give you bad habits."

Credence's laugh was cut short by the sudden cold draught from the port cochère as Graves opened it for him. He hustled across the covered walkway behind the wrought iron gate to a side door in the carriage house. There seemed to be some kind of charm cast to keep out the weather, but some of the wind still slipped through.

It was dim inside. Credence was feeling all right, so he conjured a light while Graves closed the door behind them.

The first thing he saw was a luxury automobile, which surprised him a little, like maybe he had expected an actual carriage. There was another under a cover on the other side of it. A rack of brooms on the opposite wall might almost have been normal, except that they were all hung sideways. Several rolled carpets leaned in the far corner. Credence would have expected those to be in the attic, but what did he know? This carriage house was as large as the Second Salem chapel where his family had all lived.

A touch from Graves got him moving again. They walked past the car, close enough to reach out and leave his fingerprints on the gleaming surface, to a steep, old staircase on the far wall.

It led up to a more comfortable dusty storage space under the sloping rafters. The room was large, full of old furniture and crates and divided by a wall taken up mostly by a fieldstone fireplace. Credence eyed that speculatively. In the clear winter light admitted by a series of dormer windows, he could see there were a few old logs in the basket by the hearth. It wasn't as cold as Credence thought it ought to be, but he wouldn't call it warm, either.

"No electric out here," Graves said, coming up beside him and slipping an arm around his waist. "I'll check the lamps if you'll start the fire."

Practiced, Credence laid and lit a fire in the hearth while Graves circled the room, conjuring oil so he could light the disused glass lamps in their brackets. Credence made a half-hearted effort at brushing off his hands without ruining his suit, but even the relatively cleaner pile of crates he assumed contained Graves' possessions had accumulated at least half an inch of dust.

"I'm surprised Pinny's family don't live up here. It could be really nice."

"They prefer to stay in the main house. House Elves always do." Graves shrugged. "This is where the hired driver would stay, back when everyone still travelled by carriage. I can remember flying in at night to Gay Head and switching out the hippogriffs for horses."

Graves told more stories about what it had been like growing up a wizard while they sorted through the life he'd left behind. Credence soaked up everything; Graves didn't usually like to talk about his past. Maybe coming here had been good for him. Maybe, a voice in the back of Credence's mind suggested, he'd been more homesick than Credence had realised.

The room had heated up quickly enough that Credence suspected Graves of a surreptitious warming charm. Graves had already discarded his jacket, and the expert tailoring of his grey tweed vest and trousers were enough to distract Credence whenever he bent over to dig around in the crates.

"Aha!" he exclaimed, lifting out something the size of a small chest.

"What is it?" Credence asked, looking up from the battered trunk full of old school books and papers they'd unearthed earlier.

"Radio."

Graves shifted his grip on it to free one hand. At a gesture, one of the discarded lids flipped back up onto a half-emptied crate; Graves set the radio down on top of it.

"Where will you plug it—oh."

Graves raised an eyebrow, drawing his wand from where he'd tucked it up his sleeve and giving the radio a sharp rap. It crackled to life, and Graves started fiddling with the dials. Credence leaned in and watched with interest. He hadn't seen many radios, his ma not having much more use for technology, music, or other entertainment than she'd had for witches.

Voices gradually rose from the static, then faded again. Credence caught snatches of talk and music as stations faded in and out.

"—to this special performance of Polyphonous Pryzgoda's masterpiece Incantatoris Capillosus Cor—"

"—ston financial report this ev—"

"—Majs this year, after last year's—"

"Ah, here we go," Graves said with satisfaction as the mellow tones of jazz music started pulsing from the radio.

Credence smiled in response to his smile. Leaning in, he stole a kiss.

Instead of going back to Graves' school trunk, he joined in sorting through the rest of the crate the radio had come out of. The radio host had a Boston accent; from the sound of it, this was a No-Maj station. He finished his spiel and put on the next song.

The light, bouncy music did as much to warm the chill air as the fire. After a few minutes, it segued into a familiar tune.

"Summer journeys to Niagra…" the singer began.

Credence laughed. Graves stepped around the crate and put a hand on his shoulder, turning him so Graves could draw him up and catch him about the waist.

"You know, I still don't really know how to do this," Credence told him, clasping Graves' hand back and hooking his other around Graves' shoulder.

"Foxtrot is simple; just step backwards when I step forward," Graves told him. "Follow my lead."

"I think this was easier when we didn't have to worry about where we put our feet." Credence thought he was starting to get the hang of it, though.

"We'll have Manhattan," the radio played on—and really, it was a ridiculous song for the two of them, neither very likely to step foot on the island again. Credence didn't particularly remember it as an island of joy, either; but he was taken back in memory to dancing on air above the endless desert horizon and Graves literally sweeping him off his feet.

Heads bent together, they danced between the crates and abandoned, shrouded furniture, leaving a trail of footprints in the dust. Graves led him through a gentle turn and tensed unexpectedly.

Credence glanced over his shoulder at the top of the stairs. Graves' niece Jaslyn was standing half-hidden behind the doorway.

Reflexively, he jerked back, but Graves followed him smoothly even though it was out of step with the music. Credence felt his face heat abruptly as a flush mounted his cheeks. They were still scandalously close, and he was horribly aware of Graves' hand resting on his hip.

Jaslyn offered a nervous smile and edged out a little from behind the door frame. "Sorry to interrupt," she apologised.

Graves removed the hand on Credence's waist, to his relief, but kept a tight hold of his right hand with the other. He tugged Credence around to stand close beside him, interlocking their fingers.

"Hello, Jaslyn. I take it somebody's looking for me," Graves prompted. Credence didn't know how he could be so shameless.

"Just me. I wanted to catch you alone."

Jaslyn finally left the shelter of the doorway. Her unflappable confidence seemed to have deserted her, and the thought came to Credence that there might be more bothering her than surprising her uncle dancing with another man.

"Well, here I am."

Jaslyn gave that the unimpressed look it deserved. She skirted them, leaning over to glance into a couple of open crates before hopping up beside the radio.

"How've you been?" Graves asked. He showed no signs of ever letting Credence's hand go.

Both Jaslyn's nervousness and her composure seemed to melt away in the face of a blushing smile. "I met someone. I wish you hadn't run off, though, Uncle Percy. I miss having someone to talk to about everything."

That was a puzzling remark, given all the female relatives she had that were closer to her in age, but Credence held his peace.

"You could always talk to Innogen," Graves pointed out.

Jaslyn rolled her eyes. "Aunt Innogen's strategy for coping with her romantic life is to be as deliberately vague about it as humanly possible," she said.

Graves snorted. "Well, that's true."

Credence finally felt the light beginning to dawn. Oh.

Jaslyn's eyes narrowed, briefly side-tracked. "So even you don't know if she and Aunt Sage are...?" she trailed off leadingly.

Graves raised an amused eyebrow. "Your Aunt Sage is part of the family, and that's all any of us needs to know. I'm guessing you haven't told anyone else about this relationship, then?"

"Not yet." Jaslyn smoothed her hair back, crossing her legs. She picked at the drape of her skirt, then let it fall back over her knees.

"Well, it's up to you," Graves told her. "You know, the family will give you some grief, but they won't actually mind. Even Sherah."

Jaslyn vented a huffy, irritated exhalation. "It's complicated."

"Why? Is it her family?"

"It's both. How it was is, Mehitabel and I—"

"Not Mehitabel Le," Credence blurted in shock.

Graves turned his head to regard him with surprise. "Who's Mehitabel Le?"

"Matt's girlfriend's older sister," Credence said.

Graves swivelled his head back slowly around to deliver a strongly sardonic look to his niece. She crossed her arms and met his gaze belligerently.

"You couldn't let him have one?"

"What's with you guys always turning everything into a contest?" Jaslyn complained. "Believe me, my little brothers are the last people I want involved in my love life."

"I'd say that broom has flown," Graves observed dryly.

Jaslyn gave him a flat look. "It's not like I can tell him; you know how he'd get."

"You're going to have to sooner or later," Graves pointed out. "You might not know this, growing up with brothers, so let me share a fact of life: sisters talk to each other."

"If I wait to tell Matt until after they've broken up, he won't be able to get as mad," Jaslyn said, practically.

"Is Hefina going to break up with Matt?" Credence asked, worried for...his new friend. Maybe friend. Strange to think. Was that why Matt hadn't heard from her in so long?

Jaslyn shifted her gaze to him, looking a little worried herself. "Well, I can't see it lasting. I mean, it's Matty."

"I'm not sure I'd want to count on that as a strategy," Graves observed mildly.

Jaslyn went back to scowling at her uncle. "I can at least count on you not to spill the beans, right?"

Credence's stomach started to sink. He cast a covert look at Graves, but Graves just sighed and shook his head ruefully. "Sure, kiddo. No skin off my nose, right?"

Jaslyn's expression grew sly. "You just want to get everyone talking about someone else's love life, admit it."

Chapter Text

The next day was Christmas. Credence woke feeling better than he had since before they left Australia. Warm and comfortable, he snuggled in closer to Graves, sliding a hand around his back under his pyjama top.

Graves murmured wordless approval and nosed down to steal a waking kiss. It carried on into something unhurried and tender.

Credence loved these moments of simple closeness, just the two of them. When they could forget everything else and just be...happy.

They were both aroused, but there was no urgency in it. Just slow, sleepy pleasure in Graves' arms. Credence's heart filled. This, this was all he wanted.

The ding! of a small bell from across the room interrupted their lazy embrace just as it was beginning to grow in intensity, signalling the arrival of something in the dumbwaiter. Graves exhaled quietly against Credence's lips, all of the breath seeming to empty from his lungs as his shoulders slumped.

He expected Graves to get up and check it, but all he did was tangle their limbs together more firmly, as reluctant to be disturbed as Credence was. He slid his mouth across to a spot behind the hinge of Credence's jaw, below his ear. Nothing that would leave a mark, but Credence caught his breath.

There wasn't anything like the feeling of Graves' mouth or his body pressed against Credence's. It was the best magic, zinging along his nerves wherever they touched. Warmth to warmth—skin to skin, as they burrowed out of their pyjamas towards each other.

Graves gasped into his skin as he spent, a blurred eternity later. He held Credence so close he could barely move, and it was in that unrelenting embrace that he finally toppled over the edge.

The dumbwaiter dinged again, not for the first time. Credence distantly remembered hearing it a couple of times, but his mind had been occupied with other things. It was his turn to sigh as reality intruded insistently on their stolen moment of privacy.

While Graves finally gave in and went to see what was in the dumbwaiter, Credence headed for the bathroom. He slipped on his dressing gown but didn't belt it closed to avoid getting any of the mess from his stomach on it.

Showering quickly, Credence felt his stomach tighten in apprehension for no reason. He told himself to stop being stupid, but the admonishment was about as useful as ever.

Graves, also wearing nothing but an open dressing gown, was perched on the straight chair in front of the room's writing desk with a steaming cup at his elbow, nibbling on a piece of toast and writing something on a scrap of paper. He glanced up when Credence emerged, washed and freshly shaved; the smile crinkling the corners of his eyes did a better job of settling Credence's nerves.

Finishing his toast, Graves dusted off his fingers before picking up note and cup. He walked over to the dumbwaiter, placed the note inside, and closed the door.

"I had some of your tea," Graves told him, handing him the cup along with a kiss as he went to take his turn in the bathroom.

Once he saw the tray, Credence could see why. Someone had evidently sent up breakfast by way of a hint that they should get up and ready for the day in a timely manner; there was an un-subtle note to that effect underneath the cutlery. But when they'd failed to respond or appear, it had been followed by several more notes, landing on top of the uncovered tray.

Well, Credence supposed he knew what Innogen Graves' handwriting looked like now. He surprised himself by not feeling so much embarrassed as annoyed at the tone.

Graves had pushed one of the notes aside from the pile of toast, spotted with butter, while another was translucent with grease from the sausages. The tea had arrived safe in a pot, but two of the little scraps were sticking up out of the cup containing Graves' coffee, their ends increasingly soggy and brown.

"Remember, it's formal dress today," Graves added over his shoulder before closing the bathroom door.

Credence sighed, just a little, privately, and sipped his tea. With the rest of Graves' family now in attendance, dinner last night had involved the tail coat he had successfully avoided thinking about since it appeared in his wardrobe a year ago. But formal, to wizards, apparently meant robes.

Credence had glimpsed some robed wizards in their few excursions to various wizarding haunts in Sydney. He'd seen more during his visit to Salem two days ago. It wasn't that Credence thought there was anything wrong with robes. They were just...wizardly. And for all that he'd spent the last year learning magic, he still felt more than a little like a sight-seer looking in from the outside.

There hadn't been any robes at all in his dresser before, but he'd given up trying to argue with Graves about buying him clothes. The ones he'd picked out for Credence to wear today looked warm at least, a thick, textured double-weave of dark brown and green wool.

After some fumbling around he was just as glad Graves hadn't seen, Credence got it on. There turned out to be an underlayer of shimmery dark green silk that peeked out between the panels of the—you almost had to call it a skirt. The over-layer had ornate little lacquered fasteners, but they only went down to the waist, and it was split into overlapping pieces like a coat, to allow for movement while keeping a slim silhouette.

Credence was adjusting the sleeves in the full-length mirror of his dresser-cum-suitcase when Graves emerged. The robe's chest and arms fit him closely, but the high, round collar wasn't much worse than a shirt with a tie.

"You look wonderful," Graves told his dubious expression, sliding his arms around the tailored waist of the robes from behind and resting his chin on Credence's shoulder to survey him in the mirror.

Credence met his eyes in the reflexion; they were dark with appreciation of what they saw, and Graves, who had snuck in close behind him, still wasn't wearing many clothes.

"Don't you have to get dressed too?" Credence asked primly, stepping away.

Graves leaned an arm against the dresser frame for a moment, his loosely-tied dressing gown gapping open teasingly, then straightened, his point made. Credence returned to the breakfast tray and poured more tea into his cup, but most of his attention stayed on Graves as he dressed.

He managed it more gracefully than Credence had. His robe was similar to Credence's but fancier, the fabric a finely-woven herringbone, with sleeves split at the elbow and trailing towards the ground, exposing a rich cream lining and the more fitted sleeves of a navy under-layer. The mix of wizardly and professional he presented was disorienting, but also very Graves.

Graves had told him there were permanent silencing charms on all the bedrooms for the sake of privacy, so the loud and repeated banging on the door came as a surprise. "Uncle Percy!" It was a child's voice, one of Graves' young nieces. "Aunt Innogen said we're not supposed to leave until you come out!"

"It never was safe to assume that woman's buffing," Graves muttered, straightening the seams of his sleeves.

Gingerly, Credence picked up one of the notes that had landed in the coffee and peered at it, trying to make out the contents. He was quick to drop it back in when he noticed Graves watching him, concern behind the amusement in his eyes.

Credence wiped his fingers fastidiously with one of the napkins, reflecting that he'd already known Graves didn't care much about the rules. He checked his appearance in the mirror one last time and was surprised all over again to see a wizard looking back at him. Credence's fingers found the wand tucked carefully up his sleeve, lingering for reassurance.

"Ready?" Graves asked, hand lingering on Credence's shoulder on his way to the door.

Hair in order; no stubble burn; no bruises visible. Credence nodded and watched in the mirror as behind him, Graves leaned in to kiss the back of his neck.

"Uncle Perceeeeeeeey," came the voice from the other side of the door. Credence jumped guiltily. "Come on! We can't open presents without you."

Credence followed as Graves swept aristocratically towards the door and opened it to reveal Isra and Lulu. They beamed up at their uncle beatifically, seemingly unbothered to find Credence with him.

"Someone's being awfully noisy out here," Graves scolded in mock-severity.

"Only because someone's being awfully lazy," Lulu pronounced.

Isra gasped and shook her finger at her sister. "Don't talk like that to grown-ups; it's rude. Mama and Baba will take away all your presents."

"Aunt Genie talks that way all the time."

"But that's grown-up rules," Lulu said. "They don't work until your hair goes grey."

Graves was hiding a smile in his hand.

"You know, you don't have to bother," Credence leaned in to tell him in an undertone. "Your hair's already going grey."

"But you still have to mind your manners, young man," Graves murmured back, almost managing to keep a straight face.

"Let's see them try and make me."

Graves barked a surprised laugh, and Credence couldn't help smiling himself, feeling unexpectedly brave. They descended arm in arm, Graves' nieces tugging at their robes to hurry them along. When they encountered Gwenël de l'Isle at the doorway to the front parlour, Credence's manners were impeccable.

Chapter Text

The sight of all Graves' family assembled in one place still gave Credence a moment's pause, but Lulu towed him inexorably on into the thick of things. She dragged him over to an empty spot on a settee, next to her grandmother, and climbed blithely into his lap. For a moment, all Credence could think of was Modesty, and he had to swallow down a sudden lump in his throat.

Isra and Lulu's child's robes looked more like velvet capes, with white skirts peeking out from under peaked hems dangling golden tassels, but the women were all in a different style, fancifully beaded and embroidered, with slashed sleeves caught at the wrist and necklines plunging to reveal ornate lace plackets, and even lower waists that dropped to the longer skirts of ten years ago. Asi, sitting with Jaslyn, was the exception in bright silks, all voluminous, trailing sleeves, draped with an intricate lace shawl for added warmth.

That seemed to be the style in France, similar to how they'd dressed yesterday. Kofi's robes were if anything more dramatic, a pattern evoking a bird's wings woven into the dark red fabric over his chest and shoulders. He and Hilary, whose robes were a flamboyant and beaded variation of what Graves and Credence were wearing, stood talking over Asi to his sister.

Iah, Drusus, and Gwenël were clustered together as usual. Iah's robes were loose, a panel of intricate geometric embroidery pricked into thick, soft-looking wool all the way down the front to the hem. Standing next to the two of them, Drusus looked almost staid in brown pinstripes, skirt or no skirt.

Over by the tree, sizing up the pile of beautifully-wrapped presents, were Matt and Sisi. Christmas trees were another item on the long list of holiday frivolities Credence's ma hadn't gone in for, and of course a wizard's tree would be spectacular. Little candles with golden flames nestled in the branches, glinting off what Credence would swear was a rime of real ice and dusting of snow over the sharp-smelling needles and somehow not setting the tree on fire. Striped glass balls spun hypnotically, and little silver bells with bright red bows chimed musically.

Seeking Graves out, Credence saw that Isra had positioned him between his sisters, halfway across the room. Credence couldn't hear what they were saying, but he hoped they all remembered the little girl was sitting right there.

Celandine's mouth tightened a little when she saw her daughter perched in the lap of the dangerous Obscurial, and she shared a look freighted with meaning with her own mother. Credence darted a nervous glance down at the unconcerned Lulu; when he looked up, he found Mrs Graves watching him.

He met her gaze guardedly, not tightening his hold on the excited little girl. One side of Mrs Graves' mouth curled up in a wry smile her son must have learned from her; but when she spoke, she spoke to her granddaughter.

"I see someone's made a friend."

Lulu twisted around and beamed up at Credence with pure, unclouded affection. "Aunt Genie asked me and Izzie to get him and Uncle Percy so we can open presents." She shifted the full force of that winsome smile to her grandmother, dark eyes wide with an astonishingly manipulative charm.

"Really?" Mrs Graves pursed her lips, making a show of thinking it over. "Do you think it's time to open presents, Mister Barebone?"

"Is this when you usually open them?" Credence asked, straight-faced, over Lulu's head. "We shouldn't break with tradition."

Mrs Graves' smile at Credence grew a bit more genuine. Credence had to admit, he found the slightly perverse sense of mischief more familiar than alarming.

"It is, it is!" Lulu exclaimed. "Grandma!"

"Well, since we're all all here—okay. Why don't you show your sister what you got for her?"

Lulu hopped down off Credence's lap and made a beeline for the pile of brightly-wrapped presents heaped under the tree. Around the room, the various cousins moved in closer, no longer attempting to pretend they weren't all as excited as Isra and Lulu. Parcels zipped through the air, givers directing them to their intended recipients.

Mrs Graves raised her wand, too. It was cedar, and the close red-blond grain had been carved into elegant and symmetrical scrollwork, then varnished to a high, polished shine. To Credence's surprise, the wrapped box that levitated in response flew towards her and not somewhere across the room.

He was even more surprised when Mrs Graves handed it to him. Credence stared blankly at the striped paper, hefting the weight of the unknown contents. The dimensions were wrong for a book, although maybe not a magical book, square and as thick as the width of his palm.

"That's really not— I didn't get you anything," he objected, unexpectedly embarrassed.

Mrs Graves waved his concern away. "Go ahead and open it."

Carefully, Credence's fingers found the seams where the wrapping paper had been folded over and taped down. He peeled it away carefully, revealing a wooden box with some kind of grid inscribed on its flat top. There were no obvious hinges, but the mechanism might have been magical in some way.

"Go?"

Credence looked up from his inspection at the sound of Graves' familiar voice to find him with a hip hitched up on the arm of the sofa, leaning over curiously. His mother shrugged.

"Less excitement than chess."

Graves tilted his head in acknowledgement of some point Credence was apparently missing. He turned back to Graves' mother.

"Thank you." Credence paused. "What is it?"

"A strategy game from China. Actually, it was Mattan's idea," Mrs Graves told him.

Credence glanced over at where Matt was craning his neck to get a look at the desk, still shrunken, that Celandine had purchased for her husband back in Ollie's shop. The memory made Credence wistful for a moment. It seemed like a lot longer ago than just a few days.

"—wait to do that—" Celandine was saying when Iah bent to set the miniature desk on the carpet and waved his hand.

Suddenly, a large, solid oval desk was taking up half the space in front of the tree. Matt covered his mouth; Hilary laughed outright.

"—until we get home," Celandine finished with a sigh. She looked to her sister for commiseration, but Innogen only gave her an arch look. Iah seemed too busy inspecting the desk to notice the byplay.

While everyone else was distracted by the excitement, Credence used his wand to summon a small box, the only one he had asked Pinny to put under the tree. He directed it to Graves, who turned his hand palm-up to accept it.

"Credence..." Graves cupped his face with his other hand, then gestured to bring another package flying to him.

Credence accepted it, but didn't move to unwrap the gleaming, colourful paper. "You first."

Graves cocked an eyebrow at him but obediently began to tear away the wrapping of his present. The box beneath it was even more beautiful, gleaming wood inlaid with the maker's seal. Graves' fingers slowed as it was revealed, unlatching the clasp with a respectful gravity.

Nestled in the velvet-lined interior was a pocket watch. Instead of silver or enamel, it shone with gold and ruddy copper, rippling together in broad stripes like the afternoon sun gilding hills of red sand.

Graves extracted it reverently. When he opened the lid, the face was a swirl of hands and bright markings and astrological complications, but his eyes fixed on the words Credence had had inscribed on the inside of the lid.

PG
For as long as you're here.
CB

It was the promise he had made to Graves—that they had made to each other. A vow exchanged. Graves met his eyes, and the emotion in them was so overwhelming Credence thought Graves might kiss him right then and there.

Credence cleared his throat. "It's not your grandfather's, but I thought..."

"It's perfect. Thank you, Credence."

Credence held his gaze for a little longer, then looked down at Graves' present to him, still unopened in his hands, for a distraction before they made a spectacle of themselves. He concentrated on parting the seams and unfolding the creases without damaging the thick paper.

This time it was a book. The words Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them were impressed in the leather cover, gleaming with gold foil, surrounded by the stylised, undulating necks of hydra-headed dragons. "Mister Scamander's book!"

Grinning, Credence cracked it open on the spot. Familiar creatures peered back at him from ink drawings, rolling over and stretching their limbs.

"Did you find it here? I didn't think it was out in Sydney yet," Credence said. "Oh, it looks like he left out your paragraph on graphorn slobber."

"Slobber?" Sisi cued in on the interesting word. He leaned over a puzzle Isra and Lulu were trying to put together, whose pieces kept changing shape, to get a better vantage and was met with cries of protest from the girls.

"Percy has very strong feelings about graphorns," Credence explained. "They really liked him, though."

Graves rolled his eyes at Credence, delivering him a dry look. "I suppose it could have been worse."

"I still wonder if they pined for you the way the erumpant missed our other friend," Credence teased.

"As long as I'm not there to hear it," Graves answered practically.

"What kind of sounds does a pining erumpant make?" Sisi inquired, captivated.

Mrs Graves cocked her head in interest, not quite bothering to hide the amused quirk of her lips.

"Explosive ones," was all Graves said. His expression was pained.

Credence could laugh about it now, but both their nerves had been worn kind of thin at the time. He remembered the haunted shadow behind Graves' eyes, the way he'd suddenly become absent, lost to some awful memory. Then as now, it made him want to reach out and draw Graves in, confirming his reality for them both.

After the wealth of presents had all been opened and exclaimed over, the younger generation, spurred by Isra and Lulu, decided to all go outside and romp around in the snow. Credence claimed a seat near the fire as everyone went to find boots and cloaks.

As the commotion faded, someone approached. Credence looked up, expecting to see Graves, and was surprised to find a nervous-looking Mattan instead. Afraid of the dangerous Obscurial?

"Merry Christmas," Matt said uncomfortably.

Credence hesitated but managed to keep his voice even as he replied. "Merry Christmas."

Matt huffed out a breath and ran his hand through his hair, meeting Credence's eyes for an instant and then looking away again. "Look. I'm sorry about, you know. I didn't mean to— I just though you'd enjoy seeing Salem. I guess I can kind of get carried away. You shouldn't feel shy about telling me to get lost."

Oh. Credence felt embarrassment heat his cheeks at his own less than charitable thoughts these past few days as he realised Matt had been avoiding him out of guilt, not fear. He shook his head. "It's not—it just happens sometimes. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Well, keep it in mind anyway." The uncomfortable tension eased from Matt's shoulders, and his usual grin started peeking out.

"I wanted to thank you for the game; your grandmother said it was your idea," Credence said, steering the conversation away from the fraught topic. "Maybe you could should me how to play."

"If you want to learn how to win, you should ask Uncle Iah; but I can show you the basics, at least. We usually have a few in stock."

"I'd like that," Credence told him.

Matt shrugged self-depricatingly. "Hey, I know you said you don't like the cold, but the solarium should give you a pretty good view of the snow battle that's about to be staged out back, French versus Americans, if you're interested. And tell Uncle Percy that if he jumps in, it better be on our side this time."

Chapter Text

"Aren't you two going to join in the fun?"

Celandine glanced aside at her brother. "Aren't you?"

Graves shrugged. They were standing looking out the solarium windows at his nieces and nephews, who had all wrapped themselves in heavy cloaks and were now wading out into the snow on the grounds out past the courtyard. Iah's shudder of distaste matched Credence's feelings, but most of the cousins were looking bright-cheeked and cheerful.

Credence tightened his hands around a steaming cup of pumpkin juice. He still wasn't sure about the taste, but it was warm and that was good enough for him.

"Of course he is." Innogen tossed Graves' coat at him.

He caught it reflexively as Innogen pushed another coat at Celandine. Iah held up his hands in a fending gesture.

"Come on; I feel like teaching those youngsters a thing or two. Some of them are getting cocky."

Graves looked past her at where their brother stood, also dressed for the outdoors. "You get pulled into this, too?"

Outside, the two sets of cousins had already started. Hilary stumbled from a hit to the side of his head while he was charming a pile of snowballs different colours for Isra and Lulu. Sisi jumped up and down in excitement and was hit himself by a wave of snow directed by Matt and Jaslyn.

"Looks like it," Drusus said. "Has anyone put the cover up yet?"

"Since we brought in the Lost Boys," Innogen said.

Graves turned to Credence. "Go ahead," Credence told him before he could ask. Maybe he could sneak away upstairs again; but at any rate, most of the family would be occupied outside for at least the next hour—Credence didn't know how spectacular this was going to get—and indoors ought to be pretty quiet in the meantime.

Gwenël de l'Isle came through, already dressed for the weather. He clapped Innogen on the back and headed for the tall glass doors that led out onto the covered porch and then to the patio and grounds as the other siblings donned their coats.

"Come, sit with me," Iah invited Credence.

They settled into upholstered chairs. The snow fight was still clearly visible out the windows lining the solarium's outside walls, younger cousins hastily conjuring fortifications to duck behind when they saw their elders bearing down on them.

"And how are you doing?" Iah asked.

It was the closest anyone but Graves had come to directly mentioning the Obscurial since they'd arrived, but Credence didn't feel the question was at all prurient or tinged with fear. He seemed quiet and kind, much less intense than the Graveses.

"Okay, really," Credence told him. "This morning was nice. I've never had a Christmas like this."

"I hadn't either, until I married Celandine. But we did have big family celebrations."

"Where are you from?" Credence ventured. "Did you say it was somewhere in Africa?" While his conception of geography was a lot less vague than it had used to be, it was still full of holes.

"Percy not fill you in? For shame," Iah tutted.

"I think he was more concerned about, er." Credence glanced outside, where the Graves siblings plus Gwenël seemed to be in the process of creating an avalanche under which to bury the younger generation.

"Well," Iah said slowly, following his gaze, seemingly unconcerned about the survival of his progeny, "I can see how he wouldn't want you being blindsided by that crew."

He didn't miss Credence's wince.

"Oh. Oh, no."

"Well, he told me he had sisters. We weren't really expecting them to turn up. To be fair," Credence defended Graves.

"I'm from Cairo, in fact; Egypt. I do miss it on days like this." Iah eyed the snow, stirred into a flurry by the mayhem outside, with disfavour.

"We've been staying in the desert," Credence volunteered. "I didn't think I'd miss it this much."

Iah nodded. "Egypt's like that, away from the river. Washington's not bad, but the climate up here is beastly winters."

"It's summer in Australia right now." Credence sighed wistfully.

That inspired a good-natured laugh. "It's been years since I visited."

Credence's interest was stirred. "You've been there?"

"An instructor of mine was friends with a shaman, but from the north coast. I stopped to relay a message once, on my way to Asia. "

Their conversation was interrupted by a dramatic snowy explosion outside. Credence flinched automatically, but as things settled, heads started popping up out of the snow. He recognised Graves immediately. One of his sisters offered Drusus a hand up. He accepted, only to pull her back down instead, planting on her face in a snow drift to unsympathetic hoots of laughter, distantly audible even across the patio and inside the house.

Iah, attention also drawn to the spectacle, rubbed an upward quirk from lips. He didn't seem very concerned for his wife.

"You're not—I mean, are you an auror?" Credence asked, watching the violent-looking revenge now being enacted outside the windows.

Iah smiled, not taking offence. "And well you ask in this family, but no. Just a dull historian. Diplomat at need, I suppose."

"You must be good at that," Credence said, considering. It occurred to him to ask, "Is anybody else not an auror?"

Iah was laughing at him now, good-naturedly. "None of the children are, yet. Sisi, maybe; we'll see. Gwenël retired after Ilithiya was killed, took a teaching position. His Amma will be along with her husband at the end of the week; she's a beater for the Saint-Tropez Sirènes, you know. Sherah—Drew's second wife, you haven't met her. Nice enough woman, I suppose; we don't see her much. She helps him run the shop. You know his bunch."

Credence nodded, recalling vaguely someone had mentioned Gwenël and Ilithyia's second child was spending Christmas with her in-laws on some Caribbean island before coming up for New Year's. Her pregnancy was a topic of almost universal interest in the family, although for differing reasons depending on the age cohort. There were a lot of aren't-we-old comments interspersed with the anticipatory excitement from the older generation. Their own children seemed a little more uncertain about the whole thing, their fascination mixed with disquiet at the personal implications. A baby. What would I do with one of those?

Credence couldn't help but sympathise; he'd never really considered having children, although he'd cared for his younger sister. He'd mainly had wistful visions of some quiet, solitary life of his own in those days.

The younger cousins were much more excited about Amma's career as a professional athlete. Although Credence still didn't think he really understood the game, he'd seen mentions of it in the Sydney papers. It was apparently very popular across the entire wizarding world. Credence had never been on a broomstick. The idea of being up that high didn't bother him anymore; but they didn't look very comfortable, and Credence definitely thought he'd be better off without angry balls cannoning themselves at his head.

At length, the snow fight broke up, barely in time for the combatants to clean up before lunch. Graves was bright-eyed with exertion, exchanging serious remarks with an excited Isra balanced on his hip.

Celandine, carrying Lulu, unceremoniously dumped the snowy girl on her father. Graves followed suit, equally unperturbed by Iah's long-suffering sigh.

It was interrupted by a loud crack. Pinny the house elf apparated out of thin air, still wearing a food-spattered apron like she'd dropped everything in the middle of preparing lunch to come out and scold them all. She made a bigger impression; even the incorrigible Innogen looked a little shame-faced as she handed over her snow-caked coat and stood still for a drying spell to her shoes.

"Upstairs, now; go on," Pinny shooed them all towards the atrium. "And I expect you all back down for lunch on time."

She turned to Credence, beaming benevolently around the pile of coats. "Master Barebone, can I get you anything? More pumpkin juice? A cup of tea?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine, thank you, ma'am."

"Hot tea it is," Pinny said firmly.

Before Credence had a chance to object any further, Rhetta cracked in beside her mother. "We just had an owl from San Francisco," she announced with a sly glint in her over-large eyes, holding up a large, odd-looking envelope. "If someone was expecting a letter."

Credence caught a flicker of panic on Jaslyn's face. "I wonder who that could be for," she said, attempting a bright, teasing tone, although her usual aplomb looked somewhat strained.

She reached as though casually for the envelope, but even though she was closer, Matt was quicker. His longer arm stretched past her to pluck it from Rhetta's grasp.

Credence caught Graves' eye. The letter was probably for Matt, after all. If they were keeping it quiet, surely Jaslyn's girl wouldn't send a letter here, where she had to know Matt would be. Unless she'd told her sister...

"Well, Matty?" Hilary asked, leaning over his shoulder. "Is she pining away, or is that just you?"

"Buzz off." Matt elbowed him distractedly.

Jaslyn had switched to trying to slip out of the room unnoticed. Credence thought that was a great idea and started edging around to the back hallway. He could use some peace and quiet before lunch, even if it was just a few minutes—

"I don't..." Matt said slowly. "...Jazz?"

Sneaking a glance back, Credence saw him turn the envelope over to read the address more closely. "Jaslyn?"

"JASLYN!" Matt shouted at a surprising volume.

He shoved his way through the amiably chatting crowd still dripping half-melted snow as they filtered out into the atrium on their way upstairs. Asi shoved him back, but Innogen just stepped out of the way.

Credence started at the feeling of a hand settling at the small of his back, but of course it was only Graves. He exchanged a sidewise look with Credence and gently steered him out the back hallway.

"Come on," he said underneath the commotion. "We can drop your present in the library on our way."

After lunch, Credence was sitting in the library, watching Graves' brother Drusus set up the Go board while Graves sat reading a book on advanced magical theory he'd brought along from Australia. At a tap from Drusus' wand, two covered bowls slid out from the sides. The lids flipped themselves off to reveal heaps of little polished pebbles, black in one, white in the other.

Credence picked one up. They were smooth and rounded on top, but flat on the bottom. "Do you set it up like checkers?" The board was laid out in a similar grid, but none of the squares were shaded.

"The basics are simple," Drusus explained. "We take turns putting pieces on the intersections. When a piece is surrounded, you take it off the board. You add up those points with how many pieces you have left at the end of the game and how much of the board you've blocked off, and that's the score."

He paused a moment before pushing the bowl of black stones towards Credence. "Black goes first."

Drusus had the expression of a man trying to distract himself from his problems; it made him look like his brother. Credence had gotten very familiar with that particular look on the voyage to Australia, and it made Drusus seem a little less of a stranger.

Lunch had been civil, if strained, by fiat of Mrs Graves. Matt was taking the news pretty hard; Credence winced, feeling guilty. It probably didn't help that most of the family was treating the whole situation like it was entertainment.

But really, it was hard to blame them. You could still hear them thundering through the house.

"What do you want from me?" Jaslyn's exasperated voice penetrated the calm of the library. "By the time we heard about you and Hefina, we were already together. I'm not going to apologise to you for falling in love."

"Love! Now she's in love!" Matt exclaimed. "It's been this way my entire life! Anything I want, anything I do, one of you has gotten there first and broken all the records! And now I finally meet someone I'm serious about—"

"Matt, you wouldn't know how to get serious about a dragon if it set you on fire. I'm supposed to believe you're suddenly serious about some girl?"

"Argh!" There was a series of thumps that sounded suspiciously like Matt stomping in a circle out in the south parlour.

"I knew you'd be like this," Jaslyn continued. "If you'd just—"

"Don't you dare lecture me!" Matt spun up again.

"Well, it's what you get for opening other peoples' mail! I wasn't going to say anything until after the two of you broke up."

Matt might have been spluttering into the pause that followed, but it didn't have the volume to carry. "Because of course I couldn't possibly care as much about Hefina as you do about Mehitabel. I'm not ten years old anymore!"

"Well, you could have fooled me!"

"Just you wait. We'll get married, and that'll show you!" More loud footsteps, followed by the sound of an outside door slamming.

"A fine brother-in-law you're going to be!" Jaslyn shouted after her youngest sibling.

Graves had abandoned his book and was staring in the direction of the doors with a hand over his mouth, eyes crinkled with laughter. Drusus pitched a stone at his head, which only made him break out in snickers.

"You can just grow up, too," Drusus told him grumpily.

Graves accio'd the little white pebble and tossed it back to Credence. Credence was still a little shell-shocked. This wasn't at all what growing up with his own family had been like. He gave the still snickering Graves a repressing look and turned back to the table.

"Is Go a popular wizard game?" Credence asked Drusus, groping for a neutral topic of conversation.

"The wizarding version isn't really any different from the No-Maj version," Drusus said, visibly pulling himself back from his family problems. "I kept getting special orders from my Asian customers, so I started stocking them. We leave one out along with a chess board, and I get my head handed to me regularly at both. Better for business that way, I guess. Iah's the one to go to if you want to really learn how to play, but Matt's not bad. Proctor knows you'd be doing me a favour if you could give him something else to think about..." He sighed heavily.

Credence pointedly did not look in Graves' direction. "Your mother said something this morning about wizard's chess, so I was wondering."

"The pieces fight each other," Drusus explained, glancing at him and then away. "It gets a little violent."

Credence looked at the bowls of apparently sedentary stones with new misgiving. "What about Go?"

"They'll try to slip out of your fingers if you make to put them down in a risky position. Until you get them to trust you," Drusus added.

He shook off his distraction and showed Credence the correct way to pick the stones up between his fingers. He found himself quickly drawn into the game, which was straightforward but, he soon learned, deceptively complicated in strategy. It was so absorbing that he was surprised when the bell rang to warn them all of dinner.