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The moment Percival Graves stepped through MCUSA’s doors he felt eyes on him. He’d known it would happen, had been preparing for it ever since he woke up in a hospital bed two weeks ago. The prospect of so many prying questions and misguided well-wishes was almost enough to keep him in hospital another week. He had a job to get back to, though, and with Grindlewald in custody his presence was more necessary than ever.
Graves straightened his back and marched through MCUSA’s foyer and up the stairs to the lift. Abernathy called after him, but Graves ignored him, punched the button to call the lift and waited. His department had no reason to speak to Abernathy’s – the only thing the other wizard could want was to express his sympathy. His jaw clenched at the thought; if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was pity. A quiet cacophony of muttering grew behind him and he was glad to step inside the blissfully empty lift. Its house elf operator barely looked at him and his shoulders eased with the familiarity. At least some things were the same.
His happiness was cut short when the lift stopped on the third floor for Wulfrick Mayweather to get on. Mayweather, grey-haired and loud, was a few years older than Graves, but several posts below him as head of the small misuse of muggle artefacts office.
“Graves!” Mayweather exclaimed, a bright smile on his face as he stepped into the lift. “Wonderful to see you again!” He clapped Graves on the back.
Graves grimaced, both at the wizard’s brashness and from the ache that still polluted his body.
Mayweather saw and snatched his hand back. “Merlin, I forgot. How are you? Are you sure you’re ready to come back to work? You’ve been through a lot –
“I’m fine,” Graves ground out. His hands fisted at his sides – was his ordeal at the hands of Grindlewald common knowledge at the ministry?
“There’s no shame in asking for help.” Mayweather blundered on despite the hard glare Graves was sending him. “I’m here for anything you might need,” The lift slowed “There’s no reason to be ashamed if you’re not as strong as you were,” Mayweather finished, just as the lift doors opened. The half-dozen witches and wizards gathered outside goggled at Graves and his temper slipped out of his control.
“I’ll take the stairs.” Shoving past Mayweather, Graves pushed through the crowd and out of the lift. He paused, glancing back. “I expect a full report of important cases and developments in your department on my desk by the end of the week.” A steep time limit, but manageable if the man applied himself. The horrified look on Mayweather’s face soothed Graves’ wounded pride as he strode through the department of magical games and sports. Lost his old strength indeed.
He’d almost reached the stairs when James Harwood, the department head, managed to waylay him. In under a minute, Harwood managed to question Graves’ release from hospital, imply it was time he retired, and suggest he take the lift.
By the time Graves reached the auror floor, he was ready to put anyone who dared offer him help on report. He breezed past Tina Goldstein, who called out to him from her desk, without even looking at her. He’d had more than enough sympathy for one day. The other aurors seemed to gather from his attitude and the thunderous look on his face that he wasn’t in the mood to talk. He made it the rest of the way to his office unaccosted and yanked open the door to his office, looking forward to locking it behind him. He froze in the doorway when he realised there was someone already sat behind the desk.
She had smooth, silky silver-blonde hair caught up in a twist at the back of her head and pale skin that seemed to give off a faint glow. Though she hadn’t looked up yet from the papers she was sorting, he could already tell she was beautiful. More than beautiful. The room felt suddenly small and airless and what kept Graves hovering in the doorway was awe rather than surprise.
“I’m almost finished, Tina, just – oh!” The woman broke off when she glanced up and saw him there. For a moment she was identically still, giving Graves time to see that her eyes were a striking shade of cornflower blue, then she flushed and leapt up out of his desk chair. “Mr Graves! We weren’t expecting you until this afternoon.”
Her movement stirred his brain back into action. What was he doing gaping at her like that? She moved around the desk, inhumanly graceful, and his mind at last clawed itself back to its normal parameters. Veela, he realised, and the self-hatred he’d been struggling with from the moment Grindlewald captured him flooded back. He’d fallen for a cheap trick again, just as he had with Grindlewald.
“Who are you?” Graves snapped, letting anger colour his voice. “What are you doing in my office?”
The witch halted halfway towards him, eyebrows drawing together in hurt-touched confusion. “I’m Genevieve, Sir, Genevieve Marcus.” She took a half-step closer and held out a small, long-fingered hand. “I’m head of the Obliviation department.”
Graves glanced down at her hand but didn’t take it. “And what is the head of the obliviation department doing in my office?”
She retracted her hand and took a moment before she spoke. “I’ve been helping out with the running of the auror department while you were…” He watched with mild satisfaction as she struggled for the right word. “Away.”
His eyes narrowed. Her hedging around the subject annoyed him even more than Mayweather’s pity. “I see.” His eyes flickered around his office, catching on her coat hanging on the stand, her quill and ink bottle on the desk. “Well, you’ve certainly made yourself at home.”
“I didn’t mean to –
“One thing does puzzle me.” He cut her off before she could attempt to apologise, turning his back on her and strolling over to settle in his desk chair. He knew her type: they were all out for his job. “Why would the head of obliviation be brought in to help run the auror department? Surely one of my aurors would be a better choice.” He looked back at her and caught the exact moment her exasperation turned into irritation.
“If you must know, I –
“Enough.” He spoke over her again and her lips pressed hard together. “Whatever it was you thought you were doing, your help is no longer required.”
Genevieve stared at him without saying anything for a full ten seconds. In the silence, he heard his own words, how ridiculous they sounded. The rush of anger that had pushed him quietened a little and the hard set of his jaw loosened. He might have apologised, but she started speaking.
“Right.” She turned and yanked her coat off the stand. “I’m terribly sorry to have disturbed you, sir.” Her eyes grazed the quill on his desk but it clearly wasn’t important enough to her for her to brave him to retrieve it because she began shoving her arms through the sleeves of her coat. She was magnificent even in her anger, blue eyes flashing like sunlight hitting ice. “Obviously I overstepped my boundaries by trying to make sure you had a functioning department to return to. Good day, Mr Graves.”
She started toward the door, then seemed to change her mind. Whirling back to face him she glowered across the office at him. “I suggest you take a look at the search and rescue plan Tina Goldstein put together before you speak to her. After all the effort she went through to get you back here, I’d hate for you to accuse her of trying to steal your job too.”
Then she turned on her heel and marched out of the office without a backwards glance.
The door thudded shut behind her and Graves let himself slouch back in his chair, ran a hand a across his jaw. He shouldn’t have lost his temper, that was obvious. It wasn’t Genevieve Marcus’ fault he’d been captured by Grindlewald. Or that she was beautiful. The soft scent of her perfume hung in her wake, offering a tantalising reminder of just how stunning the woman herself had been.
No. Graves sat upright and pushed that train of thought aside. It was the Veela in her which was making him feel guilty, nothing more. He refused to be taken in by a trick again.
Grabbing the top file from a daunting stack on his desk, he braced himself against the onslaught of cases and paperwork which had come up in his absence. Only to come up short the moment he pulled out the parchment. It wasn’t a casefile. It was a list of all the personnel changes, departmental adjustments, and serious cases which had taken place in his absence. There was also a short list of cases in progress which, judging from several struck-through lines, had been kept up-to-date for at least the past week. When he flicked through the rest of the files on his desk, he realised they’d been colour-coded according to the severity of the cases concerned, a thick sheet of parchment separating current from resolved.
Regret began to gnaw at him even before he’d opened some of the case files and found that each contained a short summary of the case, offender, aurors assigned, and actions taken. To say that whoever had been running the department in his absence was thorough would be an understatement: these notes were more detailed than even his own. With all this information, he could slip back into the department as if he’d never left.
Naturally, every word was written in an elegant, looping script which was entirely unfamiliar to him and could only belong to one person. The one he’d just accused of coveting his job.
Graves groaned.
Ten minutes after Genevieve Marcus had left, there was a soft tap at his door. His first thought was that the witch might have returned for her quill but he had a feeling her knock wouldn’t be so hesitant.
It was Tina Goldstein’s sheepish face that appeared when he called out permission to enter.
“I’m awfully sorry to disturb you, sir, but I have these…” She gestured to a stack of files he could barely see through the tiny gap in the door. He could well understand why she was so reluctant to enter, especially if she’d seen Miss Marcus on the way out. Merlin he’d never wanted his employees to be afraid of him. Graves’ shoulders slumped.
“Come in, Miss Goldstein.” For a moment, it looked as though she might refuse, but then her jaw set, her back straightened. She pushed the door open, walked straight to his desk and held out the files for him to take.
“I’ve just been checking over what we did while you were, uh, I mean...” Her eyes dropped as she fumbled for words.
“While I was away?” he suggested dryly. He leant back in his chair, observed her over steepled fingers. “I understand you led the search for me.”
“No. Yes. Well, that is-
“Did you have this much trouble speaking to Miss Marcus?” he asked suddenly as he watched her twist her fingers in knots.
“I’m sorry, Sir. It’s not you, not really, but Grindlewald looked like you when he did it and I... He.. It’s a long story.” Her eyes darted over every object in the room apart from him.
A tinge of guilt pulled him upright in his chair, pulled him just a little away from his self-loathing. Grindlewald’s presence had touched more than just him. He made an effort to smile and Tina’s shoulders relaxed.
“Why don’t you take a seat, Tina. You can catch me up on what’s been going on around here.”
Considering her run-in with Mr Graves, it perhaps wasn’t surprising that Genevieve was dreading the weekly interdepartmental meeting.
She’d had lunch with Tina and her sister Queenie the day after, fully expecting to hear that Mr Graves had given Tina the same dressing down that he’d given her. Instead, Tina seemed the most relaxed Genevieve had ever seen her. But then Genevieve had always known Tina as a nervous stand in for an absent head of department she thought she could never live up to. Tina the auror held her head higher, wasn’t afraid of every step she took.
“It’s just not for me; all that paperwork and organising and managing,” she’d said while wolfing down her sandwiches. “I’d rather be out there on the streets, looking for Grindelwald’s followers.”
“And Mr Graves?”
“Aw, don’t be too hard on him,” Queenie had objected. “He’s had a real rough time and he can be a bit gruff but he’s a sweetheart when you get to know him.”
Tina had choked on her sandwich, presumably as horrified as Genevieve was to hear the director of magical security called a sweetheart. When she could breathe again, she smiled gently at Genevieve.
“He’s really not that bad, Gen. He thinks we did a good job while he was away.”
Genevieve had snorted at that. While she was glad to see her friend happier, she wasn’t about to write off the terrible first impression Mr Graves had made until she had some first-hand evidence that he was a ‘sweetheart’.
It was with this sceptical view that she entered the meeting on Friday morning. Naturally, the first thing she saw when she entered was Mr Graves, sat at the head of the long table they used for these meetings, a place which had remained vacant during his recovery. Their eyes met and despite the surge of apprehension squeezing her chest, Genevieve held his gaze until he nodded a greeting.
Taking her usual place at the table beside the head of International Cooperation, she made an effort to relax, setting her notebook down and neatly folding her hands in her lap. James Harwood from Games and Sports briefly tried to engage her in a conversation but she was too on edge to hold up her end and he gave up rather quickly. Nobody, she noticed, had tried to strike up a conversation with Mr Graves. Since he was scowling rather harshly, she didn’t blame them.
Mr Graves stood to begin the meeting dead on the hour. The instant he moved, the room fell silent. If Genevieve hadn’t already decided he was unreasonable and rude, she might have been impressed. She might also have taken the time to note how tall and broad he was and how the grey hair at his temples did nothing to detract from his chiselled jaw and handsome face.
He chaired the meeting with a practiced ease which nobody else had managed in his absence. He was confident, but open to discussion, firm in his decisions but never unreasonable. When Harwood corrected him on something, Graves gave him a gracious nod and amended what he had been saying. After how scathing he’d been to Genevieve, it was really quite frustrating to seem him so patient and measured now. It also did nothing to prevent the slow, romantic picture Genevieve's mind was painting of him.
As the meeting was drawing to a close, Rochelle Penn stood to speak. Genevieve groaned inwardly. Rochelle headed the committee for the disposal of dangerous creatures and she dealt with humans almost as ruthlessly. In her mind, Genevieve fell into the former category.
“Mr Graves, I’d like to raise the issue of staff appointed during your absence.”
Genevieve stiffened. She knew exactly where this was going.
“There are many among us who feel that department leaders appointed by Grindlewald shouldn’t be allowed to continue in their posts.” She threw a nasty look in Genevieve’s direction. “After all, we should hardly trust the judgement of a dark wizard as to who is safe to lead.”
Bristling, Geneveive pressed her lips tight together. Rising to Penn’s bait would only give her more ammunition to use in her argument that Genevieve was unstable and dangerous.
“I see,” Graves said. He was looking at Genevieve’s now too, though his expression gave nothing away. “Is that the only objection you have?”
Penn choked. “Only? Sir, these staff members were appointed by –
“By myself, as far as you were all aware. Unless you’re implying you knew that I had been replaced?” There was steel in his tone as he turned to look at Penn.
“Of course not Sir, but –
“And whoever was appointed has now been in post for several months. I would hope that if they were deficient, it would have been noticed by one of you.”
There was a general murmur around the table that nobody had noticed anything. Penn stared hard at the wizard beside her until he, rather reluctantly, raised his hand.
“There’s been some issues with the Obliviation department recently.”
Genevieve opened her mouth to say that, as he well knew, she’d been managing two departments and if he and Penn could sod off that would be excellent, but Graves shot her a quelling look.
“Ah, yes. Thank you for reminding me. I wanted to take the opportunity to thank Miss Marcus for stepping into the breach while I was recuperating. She did an excellent job and I thank you all for understanding any short delays which may have been caused.”
He swept his icy gaze over the room, conveying without words that he would brook no argument on his assessment of her work. Genevieve blinked up at him in surprise, taken-aback by his abrupt change of opinion where she was concerned. Then she saw Penn’s furious expression and had to repress a grin.
“My apologies, Mrs Penn.” Graves turned his attention back to her, face as stony as ever. “I believe you were about to put forward evidence of negligence to support the removal of staff members.”
Genevieve was in a wonderful mood by the time the meeting ended. She’d never seen anyone so expertly deliver a set down and that Penn had been on the receiving end only made it sweeter. She wasn’t stupid enough to think this was the end of the witch’s campaign to have her removed, but it had at least derailed it for now.
While Penn and her motivations were clear as water, Genevieve was having a harder time understanding Graves. He seemed so different today, so reasonable and smooth, so capable and, well, handsome. After his announcement to the room, she was both mollified and more confused than ever. She hung back as the meeting ended, determined to get things straight between them.
He looked up as she approached him. His expression gave nothing away but he at least looked more approachable than the last time they'd spoken.
“Miss Marcus, I owe you an apology,” he said, cutting her off before she could begin. “I was unfair and rude to you when you didn't deserve it. I hope you can forgive me.”
His apology was stilted and awkward, typical of a man who didn’t have to use one very often. He stood looking down at her with his arms clasped behind his back, face dour, but there was an awkwardness to it; as though he’d defaulted to this position when he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. It softened her heart to him in moments.
“It’s alright,” Genevieve said. “It’ll take more than a little shouting to scare me.”
“Oh?” He quirked a brow.
She nodded sagely. “I’m quite prepared to argue with you again whenever it’s necessary.”
“I do hope that’s not too often,” he said. “It’s been some years since anyone scolded me the way you did.”
Genevieve felt her cheeks go hot. She couldn’t quite tell if he was reprimanding her and wasn’t adept enough at reading his face to guess. Perhaps she had gone too far in trying to tease him? She raised her chin in challenge.
“I understand if you want to submit a complaint.” She understood but would not apologise. “My boss is technically –
“I’m aware.” His mouth twitched downward, his posture straightening so there was more space between them.
She realised she’d miscalculated, that he’d only been trying to tease her back, but it was too late. He’d become the implacable, unknowable Mr Graves again. The change grated on her more than it should have.
“I won’t be submitting a complaint about you, Miss Marcus,” he said.
Then he was gone, striding from the room with a formidable sense of purpose that surely cleared whole corridors for him.
Genevieve found herself looking after him with curiosity. Perhaps there was some truth to what Queenie had said and Graves was indeed a sweetheart deep down.