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The first time Percival’s timer approached 00:00 was when he was 6. He honestly couldn’t care less though, there were more exciting things to do than stand around waiting for his forever best friend to bump into him. Like the tree in the garden that needed climbing to get a better view of the grounds. When none of the adults were watching, Percival slipped out from all the fussing and began to climb. His hair that his mum had spent so long fussing over fell out of its neat styling, his best clothes were quickly covered in moss. From up top Percival could see his parents, dressed in their finest as they glanced out the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of his intended. A glance down at his arm at the numbers ticking down their last few seconds was all that was needed. Percival lost his balance and tumbled with a shriek. Warm hands grabbed him and a red haired boy with an unnaturally strong grip pulled him until his waistcoat snagged on a branch.
“Percival!” his mother screamed form the ground below him.
“Hold on son! I’ll come get you.” His father grumbled as he began to climb the tree. By the time Percival was firmly two feet on the ground, his counter had skipped and he had another eight years to wait. Nobody believed his story about the freckled boy who caught him and the quiet disappointment from his parents lasted a few days.
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The tittering around him in Ilvermorny grew as his counter ticked down the last few days. Older now, Percival understood the meaning of the counted. The implications of how he was about to meet his soulmate and how rare it was to find them so young. Yet Percival dreaded the moment too. He didn’t want to be tied to someone through some mystic means, fearing they wouldn’t want him to become an auror. That they might try to change him, tame him. The counter continued its steady rhythm to zero.
Percival was on top of the stairs, in a throng of students and trying to get to his class. It was unusually busy as his friends and everybody else wanted to be there when he finally met his soulmate. Nobody expected him to miss the step in the hubbub and almost tumble down the stairs. An almost familiar freckled face reached for him and pulled him back from his fall.
“Careful where you step.” Sparkling green eyes and a smile dazzled Percival and he could only nod. A glance at his arm and the timer was up again. He had another seven years to wait. The collective disappointed sigh from everyone around him went unheard by him, too fixed on trying to remember red curls and a wide smile. When he asked around, nobody seemed to know who his saviour was.
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He was a newly qualified auror, still wet behind the ears but what he didn’t have in experience he made up for with enthusiasm. As the uniform dictated he wore a band over his counter and it was easy to forget that is was merrily ticking its way down to zero once again. One of the first cases he worked was a major operation to take down a smuggling ring. There was nothing glamorous about it, just anxiety, fear and the impulse to stay alive at all costs. The creatures were howling and screeching around them, spells screamed with venom and horrendous yowls when a spell hit someone or something. It was carnage all round and Percival was barely able to keep his own let alone help others. A body bumped into him and a young man with a familiar smile tumbled under the green curse which had almost hit Percival.
“Watch your step.” The stranger grinned and shook off the spell. Percival didn’t want to believe it was the killing curse. It couldn’t have been but there was no other spell quite that colour.
“Wait.” Percival called after the taller man as he walked through the frenzy of spells. “Who are you?”
“Nobody you need to worry about.” The man smiled and continued on his way to the creatures which he ushered into his case and Percival was sucked back into the fight. Under his wrist band his counter reset once again to two more years.
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Automobiles were becoming more popular by the day and Percival grumbled about them constantly. It seemed that everybody was buying them with little concern for safety and tradition. Crossing roads became a training challenge of observation, timing and speed. There was no predicting when some young fool would careen round the corner at a breakneck speed and lose control.
It was lunchtime. Percival had stepped out of the Woolworths building for a breath of fresh air and a little bit of solitude. He loved his colleagues, he really did but sometimes it was nice to just have a moment of peace without their rowdy, crass jokes. His arm itched under the band and Percival pulled it up for a scratch. The time was ticking down its final few seconds and in his surprise he didn’t hear the screeching of tyres or the horn. Something thumped into him and screams erupted along with a sharp pain in his leg. Above him a blue coat and freckles groaned. A brown case was strewn a few meters from them. People were rushing towards them, some were heaving as they lifted the car off them. The red haired man sat up above him and shook his head.
“Oh deary me.” He muttered and pushed himself up. Percival could have sworn he heard and saw bones popping back into shaped as the man shook himself out.
“You okay?” someone asked the stranger.
“Just fine, thank you.” His voice was soft and lilted with a foreign accent. Perhaps British.
“Hey,” Percival called after him, “what’s your name?”
“Newt.” The reply was accompanied by a warm smile. “Watch your step, Percival.”
“Thanks.” The stranger melted into the crowd and everyone seemed to forget about him, focussed on Percival and his broken leg. Another glance at his arm and Percival sighed. He had another twelve years to go.
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The years hadn’t been kind to Percival. People began to whisper about him. He was once again an outlier, but this time too old to meet his soulmate. Perhaps he was a cradle snatcher, his tastes ran along the lines of too young for his age and position. With no one to worry about, Percival climbed the ranks quickly and he thought himself fortunate in those terms. He thought back to his concerns back in Ilvermorny, how his soulmate might drag him down, hold him back. Now it was the opposite. His house felt empty and he was ready to meet whoever his destined was. Each morning he checked his arm and the counter continued its steady journey toward zero. It was down to a few weeks now and Percival found himself getting nervous yet excited at the prospect. Perhaps that was why he never saw Grindelwald until it was too late.
His whole body ached. Grindelwald had been a cruel captor, at first torturing him for information which in the end he forcefully ripped from his mind but once that was done the torture was for his own entertainment. The day he saw the counter, only a week and a half away from zero, he laughed. The knife had been blunt and burnt as it cut through layers of skin. Once a sliver of skin fell away the counter froze and faded. Grindelwald’s laugh hurt more than the raw flesh left behind under his counter. It had helped keep him sane, given him a measure of time until someone came to his rescue. Percival had never thought he’d be the damsel in distress that waited for his knight in shining armour but now he was just grateful that someone was coming.
Pain pulsed through his body. The bruises were a mottled black and purple like the depthless nebulas painted on canvas and devoid of stars. His captor had just left with a spring in his step wearing his face and Percival was curled on the cold stone ground trying to catch his breath. It must have been over a week now. Over a week of being a maniac’s punching bag, test subject for new spells and general source of sadistic entertainment. It was too much. Percival didn’t think he could hold out until his soulmate turned up. He didn’t think he could last another hour let alone another day or week.
Footsteps melted from the dark corner of his cell furthest from the door. It couldn’t have been Grindelwald back already. He had gone to work, to make Percival’s people dance to his tune. The rustle of clothes settled behind him and a warm hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present.
“I’m so sorry.” It was Newt. Voice soft, face pained in distress.
“I’m tired.” Percival replied, uncaring for how this man had managed to yet again appear in his hour of need. Their previous interactions played through his mind and slowly realisation dawned on him. “It’s you.”
“Yes. I’m so sorry Percival.” Newt sighed.
“I don’t think I can go on.” The tears which had refused to fall trickled out the corner of his eyes and Newt gently shushed him, pulled him into his lap. For the first time in so long Percival felt warm.
“I’m so tired.” He cried.
“I know love. I know.” Newt stroked fingers through his hair.
“I’m sorry.” Percival’s breath hitched in his throat.
“Don’t be. You have a choice. You always did. But this time I’ll ask you rather than choose for you. Would you like to come down into my case?”
Percival nodded.