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Newt

Newt had prepared himself for being in the city again. Towards the end of his journey he had even daydreamed about it, spending long afternoons on the deck of the boat staring out at the horizon and picturing soaring buildings and stable ground. Now that he had reentered the urban world, however, he remembered just how intimidating New York could be.

The air was just as stifling and perhaps even more polluted than before, and Newt wondered if a dozen more skyscrapers had been built in the short year he had been gone. He followed the buildings up with his eyes as he walked, high up to where they seemed to scrape the clouds, and readjusted his grip on his suitcase. It was wrapped in twine and secured with magic to prevent any mishaps, but the city was already bringing back bad memories.

He turned down the street, glanced down at the hastily scrawled address in his hand, then pocketed it. He could have apparated but he always preferred to walk when he could. One never knew when it would come in handy to know the surroundings, after all, and after what had happened last time, he didn’t want to  be caught off guard in a strange city again.

He strode up the sidewalk, drawing his blue coat tighter around himself, and mounted the steps. At the top, he stopped, recalling the rule the landlady had about male visitors. He hesitated with his hand on the door knocker before pulling his wand out and murmuring a soft Alohomora instead.

The first floor was empty, but the stairs creaked alarmingly underneath his feet. He winced and crept to the top, clutching his case to his chest.

A movement in his pocket startled him, and he looked down to see Pickett poking his head out, sleep dazed and curious. He smiled at the bowtruckle as he stepped up to the door. “Ready?” he asked. Pickett made a small sound and ducked back down again. Newt wasn’t sure if he was agreeing with him or mocking him. He sighed, curled his fingers around the handle of his case, and knocked.

The door burst open.

“Newt!” He processed pink and gold and the sweet scent of flowers before he was seized in a hug. He tried to return it the best he could, burdened as he was by his luggage.

“Hi, Queenie,” he said, voice muffled by her hair.

“Let me look at you.” She drew back and beamed, eyes shining. She was just as beautiful as when Newt had met her-- her hair perhaps a little longer, her lips a paler shade of pink, but still unmistakably Queenie.

"Oh, you’re the absolute sweetest,” Queenie said, tugging at the collars of his coat. “Have you been tanning?”

“Newt?”

Queenie stepped aside and Newt got a clear view into the apartment. Tina had grown her hair out as well, the edges of her bob curling around her jaw. She tucked her arms behind her back and smiled, silky fabric of her jacket rippling. “Hello, stranger.”

“Hi, Tina.” He ducked his head shyly, and then Tina came forward and drew him into a hug as well, slower and briefer than Queenie’s.

“I missed you,” she said as she released him.

“I missed you, too.”

“Newt!” Jacob strode forward, dressed casually with his shirt half untucked and a glowing grin plastered onto his face.

“Jacob.” Newt laughed. “How are you?”

“Just fine.” Jacob took his hand and shook it warmly. “Golly, did you get even taller?  I feel like a child standing next to you.”

“You can borrow my heels if you want, sweetie.” Queenie had already moved into the kitchen again, waving her wand to send finished dishes flying to the table. The warm scent of garlic and tingling magic permeated the room, and Newt nudged the front door closed with his foot before the neighbors took a peek inside.

“That’s alright,” Jacob said, “my ego has suffered worse than a height difference.”

“How are the memories, Jacob?” Newt asked, earnest and a trifle curious. It had been a surprise to Newt when, months after he had left New York, a letter from Jacob had arrived, short and startlingly formal for such a warm man. As correspondence continued the letters had lengthened and become more personal. Jacob had started to reclaim his memories the moment he had seen Queenie in his store-- and perhaps before, if what Tina had told him about Jacob’s astounding subconscious memories of his creatures was true-- but shaking off the venom had been a slow process.

“Patchy,” Jacob said, “but there. Still get a little mixed up sometimes, but I remember the things that count.” His eyes strayed toward Queenie.

“Dinner’s ready!” she chirped, flicking her wand to send the mashed potatoes to the table. “Newt, you can go set your case down in mine and Tina’s room, they’ll be safe there. You must be starving after that trip.”

    XXXXX

“Your book, Newt,” Queenie said. She leaned forward in excitement, her necklace almost catching in the pot roast. “Congratulations!”

“Oh, thank you,” Newt said, awkward and hesitant. He was still getting used to the wash of praise that came with successful publication. He had nearly vomited during his first interview for the Daily Prophet. “I have copies for you all.”

“We’ve already got one.” Tina smiled behind her water glass. “We couldn’t wait. I’ve already read it twice.”

“Oh.” Newt felt heat rising in his cheeks. He toyed with his fork. “Did you… I mean…”

“We loved it!” Queenie cried. “You’re an absolute genius, Newt. The entire ministry has been raving about it. I even saw Picquery with a copy the other day.”

“I especially liked the chapter on those horse things,” Jacob said through a mouthful of steamed broccoli. “Is it true you can only see them if you’ve seen death?”

“Thestrals,” Newt said, “yes, you can only see them if you’ve witnessed and accepted the reality of death. I have one in my case right now, actually. It’s only a few months old; it hurt its ankle trying to cross a river, and I’m afraid it got separated from its mother. Hogwarts has a flock in their forest, though, so I’ve arranged with Professor Dumbledore to have it delivered there when it’s healed. We can visit it later, if you’d like.”

“Jacob’s been rambling about your case for the weeks.” Queenie sighed, a fond noise, when Jacob perked up at Newt’s offer.

“I like the case, sue me,” he said with a shrug.

Newt smiled, unable to believe that Jacob was really back. Newt had so few friends as it was, and he would never forget the heart-stopping pain of meeting his eyes in the street and seeing no recognition there. He had never expected that Jacob would recover from the venom, but he had always reacted strangely to magical creatures.

“Has Picquery said anything about Jacob?” Newt asked.

“Not since I started working for her,” Queenie said, chin raised in pride. She winked at Newt. “I’m a consultant.”

“Best lie detector in America,” Tina said with a small smile.

“What?” Newt asked.

“They call me into court when they need to check if someone’s lying,” Queenie said. “I’ve been on a few high profile cases already. And that, coupled with all the wonderful help I provided last year and Tina’s reinstatement as an Auror… well, they’re turning a blind eye to Jacob.”

“Thank god for oversight,” Jacob said, raising his glass of water to the ceiling in a toast.

“That’s wonderful,” Newt said, beaming. “And Jacob, your store…?”

“Flourishing!” The mere mention of his pride and joy brought a new light into Jacob’s face. “We’re so busy I’ve had to hire even more staff. It’s everything I ever dreamed of.”

“I’m happy for you,” Newt said. Jacob had always been comfortable in his own skin, but Newt could see the newfound confidence in the way he held himself now, shoulders thrown back in ease.

“I have you to thank,” Jacob said. “For the collateral, that is. I never got to properly thank you for what you did.”

“Anything for a friend,” Newt said, warmth blooming in his chest.

XXXXX

“Is it nice to be an Auror again, Tina?” Newt asked. It was after dinner now, and the feast on the table had been replaced by a tray heaped with pastries courtesy of Kowalski’s bakery. Newt had been delighted to pluck out a sugar encrusted doughnut shaped like a niffler, complete with beady raisin eyes. Tina was intently tearing apart a croissant, while Queenie and Jacob seemed more occupied with each other than the pastries. They leaned in close and giggled occasionally over nothing in particular. Newt thought it was sweet.

“Wonderful,” Tina said with a broad smile. “I’ve actually had a promotion, of sorts. Mr. Graves has started taking me on for more important cases. The real Mr. Graves, that is. He wasn’t very happy when I told him that Grindelwald had played a hand in my demotion. I think he feels a little bad, to be quite honest.”

“How is Graves?” Newt asked curiously. Newt had only seen him once, at his rescue only hours after the subway incident. Grindelwald had been holding him in a nearby apartment to keep as a steady supply of DNA for his polyjuice potion. The poor man had been so dehydrated and malnourished Newt hadn’t been able to say a word to him before he was whisked away to the healers.

“Much better,” Tina said. “He sulked for the first five months, though, kept muttering that no one had even noticed he had been replaced by Grindelwald. But he seems to be, uh… lightening up?”

“You don’t sound sure about that,” Jacob chuckled.

“Oh, he doesn’t say much,” Tina said, pulling a part off of her croissant taking a bite. “He doesn’t really talk. But he’s good at his job and he gets it done, and that’s all we can ask of him at the end of the day. He hardly socialized before he was kidnapped, anyways, so it’s not a change.”

“The strong and silent type, huh?” Queenie wiggled her eyebrows. After a moment she laughed, mind catching at a stray thought. “Oh, don’t worry, honey, I’ve got eyes for only you.” She grabbed Jacob’s hand in both her own and smiled at him.

“That’s too bad,” Newt said. He was still holding his untouched doughnut. Every time he thought about eating it he felt bad. Those raisin eyes really were quite realistic. “I mean, that he’s so…”

“Brusque?” Tina offered.

“I suppose.”

“Some people are just like that,” Queenie said. She reached out and picked up a cookie drizzled with chocolate. “Newt, I have the most marvelous vacation planned for you. You’ve been working on that book for years now-- working so hard, in fact, that most of our letters went unanswered.” Her gaze carried a threat and Newt stared determinedly at his niffler. “This month you are going to relax and enjoy yourself.”

“I always enjoy myself,” Newt said.

“Insightful,” Queenie said drily. “Now, I’ve made plans for us to go to the zoo next week, I know you’ll have fun there, and visiting Jacob’s store, of course, and I’ve charted out some of the most interesting magical historical landmarks--”

“He only just got here, Queenie,” Tina laughed.

“I’m just telling him the plan!” Queenie grinned at her sister. “And you’re coming, too, I don’t care how time-consuming your new case is. Newt hasn’t been here for a year, and knowing him it’ll be another five before he comes back to visit us again.”

“Case?” Newt asked, looking up.

“Of course that catches your interest.” Queenie rolled her eyes and leaned into Jacob’s side, breaking her cookie in half.

“There’s been a string of disappearances in the past few weeks,” Tina said. She curled a strand of hair around her finger, slipping into her thoughts. “Both magical and No-Maj. I’ve been investigating with Graves. It’s quite high-profile.”

“Disappearances,” Newt murmured with a frown.

“No!” Queenie sat up again. “No, Tina, I said not to mention it. Newt will get interested, and then he’ll do something to get involved, and suddenly we’ll all be wanted criminals when we could be visiting the zoo instead!”

“She’s very excited about the zoo,” Jacob explained to Newt.

“You are on vacation.” Queenie shoved a finger in Newt’s face, red nail polish flashing in the lamplight. “And you are going to act like it and enjoy yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

Newt swallowed, intimidated by the flash of intensity in Queenie’s gaze. “Yes,” he squeaked.

She glared at him a moment longer, then smiled and melted back into Jacob. “Good,” she said, plucking another cookie off the plate. “Jacob, darling, these are wonderful . Your grandmother’s recipe?”

“Of course,” Jacob said, tilting his head to smile down at her.

Newt met Tina’s gaze, startled. She just shrugged and ripped the last of her croissant in two.

XXXXX

“Do you need a cot, Newt?” Tina straightened the pots and pans in the kitchen with a wave of her wand.

“No.” Newt clutched his cup of tea. Queenie had prepared it for him after laughing about how the English couldn’t go more than an hour without a cup. Newt had borne the teasing with a smile because, well, she was right, and he had really been craving a warm drink. “I’ve got a hammock in my case, and I need to keep an eye on the occamies, anyways. One of them has caught a cold and I’m afraid he’s passed it on to his siblings.”

“Mummy has to stay close by, huh?” Tina’s eyes shone with amusement.

Newt ducked his head. “Well,” he said into his tea, “they haven’t got anyone else.”

He knew Tina was looking at him but he kept his attention on his tea. After a moment he heard movement, the clinking of ceramic as Tina stacked washed and dried plates back into the cupboard.

“Did you get into any more trouble this year?” she asked. “Without me there to watch you, I mean.”

“Contrary to popular belief, my life isn’t that exciting.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” Tina said. She pocketed her wand and came to sit down on the sofa with him, sighing in relief as she raised her stockinged feet and stretched. “You attract trouble wherever you go, Scamander.”

Newt just shrugged, uncertain of what to say, and glanced at the front door. Jacob and Queenie had stepped out to say goodbye for the night, but it was going on five minutes and there was no sign of them.

“They think they’re very discreet,” Tina had said when the two had slipped out, giggling and clutching at each other’s arms.

Newt raised his tea to his lips but didn’t drink. It was still too hot.

“These disappearances,” he said, because he couldn’t think of another conversation topic and something about it was nagging at him. He couldn’t place what exactly it was.

“Oh, Newt.”

“I’m just curious.”

“It’s not a creature, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Tina said. “The disappearances are too clean, too sterile. We would know if it wasn’t human.”

“You’d be surprised,” Newt murmured, trying another sip of his tea and wincing when it burned his tongue.

“We only have creature problems when you’re around,” Tina said, tipping her head over the back of the couch, exposing the pale curve of her neck. Newt turned away again. “Don’t act like New York is constantly overrun with-- with nifflers, or swooping evils, or whatever it is you have in your case.”

Newt held his unoccupied hand up in surrender. “I know, I know,” he said, but he couldn’t help but add, “You exterminate them too often for that to happen.”

“We are not doing this on your first night,” Tina said, raising her eyes to look at him. Newt turned away.

“I know,” Newt said.

They fell quiet, Newt warming his hands on his mug, Tina staring at the coffee table, a frown on her face.

“There’s a magical residue left at each site of disappearance,” she spoke suddenly. She couldn’t help but think out loud sometimes.“We sent experts out this morning to take a look to see if they can determine what spell was used. I haven’t heard back yet.”

“Hm,” Newt said, taking another careful drink. “And you’re in charge of this case?”

“Well… no, not exactly,” Tina said. “No one’s officially in charge yet. We’re waiting for Picquery to assign it. But I’ve been sent to all of the sites to take a look along with Graves. There’s no doubt that he’ll be the lead investigator, Picquery has thrown every high-profile case in the past year at him. I think she still feels bad that it took so long to find him. But he’ll need a partner.”

“I’m sure you’ll be chosen,” Newt said.

“Hopefully.” Tina sighed and settled back further against the cushions. “It took a while to get the President’s trust again, but like I said, Graves has been a big help. He’s invited me on several of his cases, and even if I’m just the consultant, it helps build up my credentials again.”

“You deserve it,” Newt said.

Tina smiled. “Thank you, Newt.” She nudged him with her foot. “How are you? I mean, really. Personally, I guess. Anyone special we should know about?”

“No,” Newt said. He pulled a face even as he felt heat flooding his cheeks. “Merlin, no. I haven’t had the time, haven’t had… the presence of mind, haven’t…”

“Alright,” Tina laughed, “I understand. Perhaps now that your book is published, though…”

“We’ll see,” Newt said, unable to meet her eye. Talk of romance had always made him uncomfortable, even back at Hogwarts when that was all anyone talked about. He had much preferred to sneak into the forest and try to spot the centaurs then sit around with his dorm-mates discussing which girl they would like to take and where. Just the thought made his nose wrinkle in distaste.

The front door clicked open again and the room filled with Queenie’s laughter. It bounced off the walls like bubbles of joy, infectious and bright. Well, maybe there was one kind of love Newt was interested in. “I’ll see you tomorrow, honey,” she called into the hall, “buh-bye!”

“You really should be quieter,” Tina admonished as Queenie swung the door shut with a dreamy sigh. “She’ll hear you.”

“Oh, the old lady doesn’t really care.” Queenie waved her sister off and beamed at them. “My, you two look cozy. Ready to call it a night?”

“I should,” Tina said, getting to her feet. “I’ve got to be into the office early tomorrow.”

“And we have plans,” Queenie said, coming forward to take Newt by the hand and pull him to his feet. He steadied his mug so the hot drink didn’t slosh over the side. “I have the most delicious breakfast place picked out, and then we can go to Jacob’s bakery for a visit.”

“That sounds lovely,” Newt said. A rush of emotions filled him, and he blinked them back. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Queenie said, and squeezed his hand once. By her suddenly soft smile, Newt knew she understood just what he was feeling.

Chapter Text

Occurentes

Newt

“It just doesn’t make sense.” Tina huffed and tugged on the brim of her hat. The wind was blowing hard, and Newt was sure it was only magic keeping it glued onto her head. “We know that it’s magic, and it’s recent enough that we should be able to tell what spell it is, but our experts haven’t gotten anything from it. It's done us absolutely no good.”

“You at least know it’s not a No-Maj doing it,” Newt offered, trying to offer some kind of solace. It hadn’t taken much prompting to get Tina to vent about the case-- as soon as they had stepped out of earshot of Queenie, that is.

“And a fat lot of good that does us,” Tina said. “If it was a No-Maj we could just pass it off to them and that would be that, but no, we’re on the hunt for a magical serial killer who doesn’t leave a trace. Or not a trace that we can follow, that is.”

Newt frowned. They were strolling through the streets as the late August sun sank behind the skyscrapers, casting odd shadows over the rest of the city. Newt had been in New York three days already, but he didn’t think he’d ever get used to being so surrounded by buildings at all times. He had yet to see a tree today, except for in his case, and really, when nature was more plentiful in a suitcase than a city, there was a problem. “Serial killer? I thought you said they were just disappearances?”

“They are.” Tina sighed. “I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s just… the first disappearance was a witch about three weeks ago, and there hasn’t been a single sign of her since. What are the chances that she’s still alive?”

Newt looked out at the street. An automobile blasted by, beeping loudly to disperse a group of children jumping in the dirty puddles. They scattered with shouts of laughter. It had rained last night, and the entire city seemed to sparkle with dew. It made it look almost beautiful, excepting the lack of green.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Tina glanced at him. “Oh, bugger,” she said. Her hair whipped around her face in the brisk wind, and Newt’s own was getting into his eyes. “Queenie told me not to talk work to you. Now you’re going to start getting all curious.”

“Queenie is overprotective.”

“Queenie wants you to have a holiday,” Tina corrected, “and so do I. You worked so hard on that book. You didn’t even have time to write us.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Oh, it’s alright,” Tina said. “Just don’t go missing on us again, alright? Even if you’re in Majorca, or Italy, or wherever you are. It’s worrying.”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing too much traveling over the next year,” Newt said. “The sales of my book are going well, and my family has been pressing me to take some time off and go home for a bit. I’ll probably head back to London for a visit when I’m finished here.”

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want,” Tina said, “you know that.”

“As long as I’m not an intrusion.”

Tina snorted, sounding remarkably like a mooncalf. “You, an intrusion? You’re the best house guest we could ask for. You’re in your case most of the time, anyways.”

Newt smiled a little. “Thank you, Tina.”

Tina looked about to respond and then gasped, soft and startled. “Oh,” she said, putting a hand in her pocket. Newt frowned in concern as she grabbed his elbow, grip firm, and turned them down a small alley. When they were hidden she slipped her wand out of the inside pocket of her coat. The tip was lit up with a bright white light, steady and unblinking, emitting a low hum that only grew louder the longer they watched it. The light cast shadows on Tina’s face and illuminated her puzzled frown. “Someone at MACUSA wants me. There must be something wrong. Do you mind…?”

“I’ll go with you,” Newt said. When Tina raised her eyebrows, he tried for an innocent smile. She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t tell Queenie,” she said, grabbing his arm again, and with a twist of her feet they disappeared.

They were spit back out on a side street near the Woolworth Building. Tina tucked her wand firmly into her coat and ducked her head into the wind as they headed out onto the sidewalk. Newt trailed after her up the steps to the doorman, who was covered from head to toe for warmth despite the time of year. He glanced at them, nodded, then pulled the side door open for them.

Stepping into MACUSA again was at once comfortingly familiar and alarming. As Newt’s gaze wandered to the clock-like danger detection device, the intricate iron hand currently fixed on “Level 2, Moderate Threat,” he was filled with the same wonder that had seized him the first time that Tina had dragged him here to be arrested. Now he trailed after her, shoes slapping against the polished linoleum of the steps, grateful that his presence here was much more innocent this time. It was easier to appreciate the sights when he wasn't worrying about the imminent destruction of his creatures.

“Ms. Goldstein!” A young girl with a thick Spanish accent approached Tina on the small bridge connecting the entryway to the rest of the facility. She was very young for a MACUSA employee, with long black hair that trailed to her waist in ringlets and sharp dark eyes. “Mr. Graves asked me to summon you,” she said, all business. “There’s been some sort of disturbance.”

“What is it, Sofia?” Tina asked.

“Mr. Scamander.”

Newt turned to see President Picquery striding towards them, her face twisted in disbelief and suspicion. Her turban, a deep shade of purple, matched her professional suit, cinched at the waist and flowing down to her knees. Two curls of blond hair stuck out from underneath the headwear, plastered to her dark skin in a neat swirl. She was impeccably regal, carrying with her a presence that caught attention without trying.

“Madam President,” Newt said, dropping into a quick bow, suddenly aware of every one of his gangly limbs. To be perfectly honest, he hadn’t expected to see Picquery again-- had, in fact, been hoping for it, especially when she was glaring at him like he had just summoned the devil into her office. He stood and dropped his eyes and hunched his shoulders in further, trying to make himself as small as possible to avoid further attention.

It was no use.

“Why is it,” Picquery said, stopping in front of him and crossing her arms, “that you seem to arrive just when trouble here seems to be at its peak?”

“Bad luck?” Newt offered. He glanced past her and his eyes caught a familiar face: Mr. Graves, expression as severe as the fake’s had been, dressed in a smart business suit, oblivious to the exchange. He was murmuring something to a young man, probably an intern judging from his anxious expression and stammered responses. “I’m afraid I have a rather chronic case of it.”

“Don’t test me, Scamander,” Picquery said, threat in her voice, and Newt resisted the urge to take a step away. He blinked at her shoulder and clutched the sleeve of his coat. “Have you released any of your creatures into New York? Is that what this is?”

“No.” Newt glanced at Tina, helpless. “Of course not. I’m just here for a visit. I haven’t even been here a week yet.”

“Are you quite certain they are all accounted for?”

“I did a head count this morning while I was feeding them.”

“Hm.” Picquery didn’t seem convinced. She looked at Tina for the first time. “Ms. Goldstein, my office, immediately. Mr. Scamander may come if he wishes; we might have some use of him, if he is willing to offer his expertise.”

She turned and strode off, dress flying behind her. Newt watched her go, motionless for a moment, before his eyes found Mr. Graves once more. The Auror was paying attention now, watching Newt with a sort of shrewdness that made him fidget. Newt blinked and looked away.

“Mr. Graves,” Tina said, “what is going on?”

This Graves wasn’t the same as the fake one Newt had been acquainted with. That man had been prim and polished, so sharp that Newt had been half convinced that if he brushed against him he would cut himself. The real Graves had slightly longer hair, sharper frown lines, a spot of mud underneath his jaw garnered from a morning in the field. Still, Newt had never seen someone wield authority and capability so effortlessly. He was nearly as intimidating as Picquery, and Newt hadn’t thought that possible.

“A body has been found,” he said, his voice low and deep and dripping with the arrogance that came with being in charge. He looked at Newt again, swept his gaze from Newt’s scuffed shoes to the unkempt curls he couldn’t keep out of his eyes. His frown deepened. Newt felt like he had just been sized up, and had the awful, gut-wrenching feeling that Mr. Graves wasn’t impressed with what he saw. He wrung his hands and dropped his head, wishing he had his case to hold onto, as Mr. Graves turned and started walking, throwing his words over his shoulder, expecting them to follow. “By a No-Maj.”

XXXXX

“Eighteen year old Debbie Forecoster,” Picquery said, dropping a packet of pictures on the desk. They fanned out magically in a graceful arc. Newt looked over Tina’s shoulder at the images of the dead body. He couldn’t tell if they were magical pictures, charmed to move, a new invention from the Middle East. The body in the picture was still, and perhaps he should be thankful for that. “Found by a Mr. Dennis Quincy on his way to work half an hour ago. He tried to call the No-Maj police, but we intercepted it.”

“She was the first to disappear,” Tina murmured, picking up one of the photos and studying it closer. A strand of hair was caught under the brim of her hat, and Newt’s hands twitched but he didn’t reach out to fix it. “I spoke with her parents a few days ago.”

“She went missing on her way home from the store,” Picquery said. Mr. Graves was standing behind her, apart from the group, arms crossed. His eyes were fixed on Picquery’s desk, his jaw clenched. Newt tried not to look at him. He didn’t want to be caught under that judgmental stare again. “She lived on East 106th street.”

“Those look like…” Tina said.

“Bite marks,” Newt said quietly. The girl’s clothes were covered in mud and ripped in several places, and through the shreds Newt could see dried blood caking her shoulder, the deeper crimson of the puncture wounds shining through her dress.

“What’s wrong with her eyes?” Tina asked.

Newt came closer to look. Tina’s shoulder pressed against his, and for once Newt was glad for the contact, because he suddenly felt cold from head to toe.

The girl’s eyes were milky white, devoid of both iris and pupil, shining out like two marbles in the photograph from between filthy blond hair. Newt swallowed and dropped his gaze, unable to look any longer. Tina suddenly felt too close, and he took a small step away.

“That bite mark isn't from a human,” Picquery said. "Mr. Scamander, do you have any knowledge of a creature that might have these sorts of effects?”

“I know of several whose venom causes a loss of pigmentation,” Newt said. Mr. Graves wandered over to the window, peering out as though he was searching for something, but Newt knew he was listening because of the rigid set of his shoulders. “In her eyes, and it looks like her hair as well, look at the roots... There are all kinds of poisonous bites that would have these effects.”

“And what about the behavior of whatever did it?” Mr. Graves shifted to look at Newt, eyes narrowed, and Newt squirmed under the intensity. “She’s been missing for three weeks. What kind of creature holds a body that long?”

“Our healers listed the time of death as about six o’clock last night,” Picquery said.

“Then it was holding her captive,” Tina said, placing the picture back on the desk and picking up another, this time of the place the body was found. “Newt?”

“Hm.” Newt leaned closer to the first photograph, squinting at the bite marks. “It’s strange behavior for a creature, but not altogether unheard of. There could be a number of reasons for this sort of treatment. It could be malicious, a creature holding a person until it’s ready to feed… Acromantulas have been known to wrap prey in cocoon-like web encasings, and their venom could certainly have strange reactions like this…. Or perhaps the creature wasn’t malicious at all.”

“If it wasn’t malicious, it wouldn’t have killed,” Picquery said, fixing him in an intense look.

“Not necessarily.” Newt met her eyes. “Creatures kill for all sorts of reasons, just like people. They kill because they’re threatened, frightened, in danger. Perhaps this creature was protecting its young. We can’t know for sure until we know what exactly it was.”

“Then we need to find out as soon as possible.” Picquery rested her elbows on the table and leaned closer. “Mr. Scamander, you are the world’s leading expert on magical creatures,” she said, and Newt couldn’t help the thrill of excitement that ran through him. “I don’t know why you’re back in America, or how this timing worked out, but if you offer your help we will gladly accept.”

“I can try,” Newt said, looking back at the bite wounds again, mind already running through the different creatures it could be. He hesitated to get involved in any animal extermination politics, but the lurch he felt in his stomach when he saw the girl’s blank eyes filled him with a familiar determination. If there was a creature running rampant, he had to stop it before it hurt anyone-- and hopefully he would be able to step in and help it as well. Perhaps he could find a way to contain it before MACUSA got involved.

“You are supposed to be on vacation,” Tina muttered.

“Don’t tell Queenie,” Newt said. He thought he heard a small chuckle and glanced over to see Mr. Graves just as impassive as before, expression schooled and flat. Perhaps it had been Pickett; he reached up to the space between the lapels of his coat where Pickett liked to peek out, and a soft, feathery touch brushed his finger.

“Excellent,” Picquery said. “You’ll be listed as a consultant on the case. Goldstein, Graves, I’m putting you two in charge.”

Tina blinked, slightly surprised, then straightened. “Yes, Ma’am,” she said, pride shining through her words, and Newt smiled a little.

“There are five more people missing,” Picquery said, “and three of them are under twenty. Find them before another body turns up.”

XXXXX

“Anything?” Tina murmured, so close that the words tickled Newt’s ear. She might have meant for the close proximity to be comforting, or perhaps she was trying to be discreet, but she failed in both endeavors; Graves could hear every word, and the warm breath on his cheek made Newt want to sidle away. He resisted because he knew it would hurt Tina, and also because any movement would put him closer to the dead body.

“I don’t think so,” Newt said, eyeing it briefly before looking away again.

“If he would get closer, maybe he could do more than think about it.” Mr. Graves’s back was to them, broad shouldered and imposing as he leaned over the sterile metal table. The body of the girl lay there, covered by nothing but a thin white sheet drawn up to her armpits, leaving the bite marks on her shoulder visible. They were bloody and uncleaned and although this room, tucked so far under MACUSA it may as well not be part of it, had that sharp metallic scent that came with doctor’s and dentist’s offices, Newt fancied he could smell the blood from where he stood pressed against the wall.

“He’s not an Auror, Graves,” Tina snapped. “Can’t you see he’s uncomfortable?”

Mr. Graves snorted. “This is a murder investigation,” he said, still not looking at them. “If he hasn’t the stomach for it, he can leave.”

Tina looked ready to protest further in Newt’s defense, but Newt touched the wool sleeve of her coat lightly to stop her.

“It’s a full set of teeth,” Newt said, stepping forward once, twice, stopping after three steps. He couldn’t bring himself to get as close to the table as Mr. Graves could, but at least he could see better from here-- not that that was necessarily a good thing. “Not just fangs, so that dismisses vampire.”

“Werewolf?” Mr. Graves looked at him over his shoulder, eyes and expression dark. He was close to the table but carefully not touching it, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.

“She wouldn’t be dead,” Newt said. He cocked his head and stared at the puckered flesh. “Bite like that, no other visible mauling… that would have turned her, not killed her. And it wouldn’t explain the eyes either.”

“Then what is it? I thought you were the creatures expert here.”

“Graves,” Tina said again, coming up on Newt’s other side.

“A girl is dead, Goldstein.” Mr. Graves’s jaw was clenched. “We don’t have time to mess around.”

“There is no need to be rude.”

“If it will get him to do his job, then--”

“What’s this?” Newt, who had tuned their argument out completely, came forward so quickly Mr. Graves took a step away from him. He bent close to the puncture wounds and reached out, fingers hovering just above the skin surrounding the bites. His aversion was momentarily overshadowed by curiosity.

“Burns,” Mr. Graves said. “Probably the venom.”

“Her skin has turned black,” Newt said, and indeed, splattered here and there around the deep wounds were spots of black, crusty skin-- Newt was afraid that if he touched them, they’d crumble like burnt charcoal. He frowned, deep in thought. “What sort of poison would do that?”

“You tell us.”

Newt’s eyes roved upward to the girl’s face, and he took in the half-lidded eyes peering back, murky and white. Up close he could see they, too, were veined with black, thin web-like structures that looked like cracks. Her light hair was knotted and caked in mud. Newt reached out and took a strand between his fingers, rubbing so the mud came off on his hands. He looked at it with a frown, mind turning the information over.

“Don’t touch, Mr. Scamander,” Mr. Graves said, sharp and exasperated. “It might tamper with the evidence.”

“Mud,” Newt murmured. “She was being stored somewhere dirty, possibly earthy, and definitely wet. The creature probably prefers nature. Which means you won’t normally find it in the city, but then… why New York?”

“Newt?” Tina was holding her hat in her hand, letting it swing with every step she took. Her hair was a mess and her expression was calculating. “Do you have any idea what it might be?”

“I need to do research,” Newt said, running through books in his head which he thought might help him. He would first look for creatures common to North America, but these symptoms coupled together were so obscure he had a feeling that the creature had been brought from elsewhere.

“Then do it,” Mr. Graves said. Newt finally forced himself to make eye contact with the man, more out of curiosity than anything. Mr. Graves’ eyes were dark brown, bordering black, and the look he turned on Newt was irritated, as though Newt was doing something to hinder the investigation instead of help it. It made him lightheaded, more so than it usually did when he looked people directly in the eye.

“I’ll need to get back to my case.” Newt dropped his gaze again, blinking away the discomfort blooming in his stomach. He looked again at the girl, and this time he saw the shape of her nose, the small silver studs in her ears, the realness of her, and dear Merlin, that was a dead body, a dead child --

“Newt?” Tina grabbed ahold of his arm and steered him away from the table. She searched his face with her gaze, taking inventory, and Newt tried to smile at her but that only made her more concerned. “It’s alright, Newt, breathe. Graves, I’m going to take him out of here.”

“Hm,” Mr. Graves said, eyes following them as Tina pulled Newt out and into the hall. When the door was shut behind them she guided Newt until his back was against the wall, supporting him. His hands came out, scrabbling at it, smooth plaster under his fingers, and he gripped the stability of it.

“Breathe, Newt,” Tina said. She didn’t try to comfort him, thank Merlin, and instead stood there and watched with her arms wrapped around herself as he calmed himself down and steadied his breathing. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Newt said. “I’m sorry, I just-- I haven’t seen many dead bodies, uh, human bodies, that is, and--”

“I understand.” Tina finally reached out to brush a piece of hair out of his eyes. She sighed, and her forehead creased with worry. "I'm sorry about Graves. He's awful, but I promise that it's not just you."

"That's alright," Newt said. He wished he could be comforted knowing that this was just what Graves was like, and he was used to people disliking him, but the immediacy of it was unsettling.

Tina was still watching him. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I should have listened to Queenie, you shouldn’t be seeing this stuff.”

“No,” Newt said, “I can help.”

“You don’t have to,” Tina insisted. “This isn’t your job, Newt, it’s mine.”

“There’s a girl lying dead, and there’s an entire city of people out there who could share her fate if we don’t stop this,” Newt said. He smiled even though the situation was nowhere near funny, because he could see the worry in Tina’s expression and wanted to do something to ease her mind. “Besides, there’s a creature running rampant in New York that shouldn’t be here. I’d say that’s exactly my job, isn’t it?”

XXXXX

“I’m alright, Queenie, really.” Newt tried to reassure her even as she pressed a hot mug of tea into his hands with a distraught expression. “I really ought to get down into my case and start researching.”

“You’re going to sit right there until I say so,” Queenie said, and then she turned on Tina, who was standing with Jacob by the front door. Tina shrank under Queenie’s sharp look, chewing on her bottom lip nervously.

“When you two said you were going for a walk,” Queenie said, voice dangerously light, “I assumed you’d be taking a stroll around Central Park, not looking at dead bodies.”

“It wasn’t planned, Queens,” Tina said. She had shed her heavy coat and stood now in a simple button down shirt and trousers, short hair still mussed. “I got a call from work and Newt offered to--”

“I know what Newt offered to do, and you should have told him no,” Queenie said. She swept past her sister without looking at her, flicking her wand at the kettle to refill it. “Now he’s as involved in this case as you are, and you’re both in danger. What about you, Jacob? Do you want to go help as well?”

“Queenie,” Jacob started, but Queenie cut him off.

“Do not tell me to calm down,” she snapped. He fell silent and looked at Newt, helpless. Newt hugged his tea closer to his chest, not drinking, eyes fixed on Queenie as she stalked around the small kitchen like a tornado, waving her wand here and there to clean and straighten things that didn’t need it.

It had taken her only seconds to sense Newt’s residual distress, and after a few moments of probing had the whole story. Newt had never been good at Occlumency, had never been able to grasp the subtleties of the skill, but now he decided that it was time he learned, if only to prevent situations like these.

“I put up with you being an auror, Tina,” Queenie said. She had run out of things to do in the orderly kitchen and was now leaning against the table, wand clutched in her hand, pink lips quivering despite the glare still fixed on her face. “I put up with it because you’re good at it and I’m so proud of you. But I can’t bear it. This case is one of the most dangerous ones you’ve ever had, and now it’s not just you, it’s Newt, too, and the both of you are going to be putting yourself in danger…” She slumped against the sharp corner and pressed her face into her hands, wand clattering on the table as she dropped it. “God, Tina, I can’t bear it.”

Tina and Jacob both started forward, hesitant, unsure, but it was Newt who set down his mug and got there first. He moved slowly, and when he was close enough to Queenie he reached out and touched her wrist because he knew she responded best to physical contact..

“Queenie,” he said, his voice as gentle as it was when he dealt with his creatures. “Would you look at me?”

Queenie trembled under his touch. When she peeked between her fingers at him, hands dropping infinitesimally, her grey eyes were filled with tears. Newt took advantage of the relaxed position and slipped his hand into hers, entwining their fingers, and her mouth fell open in surprise. Newt rarely initiated any sort of contact, but he knew that was what she needed right now the same way he knew when the occamies needed space to prevent overstimulation.

His instincts were confirmed when she squeezed his hand, clutching his fingers in hers like it was keeping her from drifting away.

“Queenie,” he said, “I know that it’s frightening. But Tina’s the best in the business, you know that.”

Queenie exhaled in what might have been a laugh, swiping at her eyes with her free hand. Newt took that as positive feedback.

“And I know what I’m getting into,” Newt said. “I’ve gotten myself into worse, after all. You know Tina has my back, and I have hers. I’ll protect her, Queenie, I promise. We’ll be safe. But this is something that we have to do.” He dropped his voice, even softer now. “A young girl is dead, a girl who should be… talking to her friends, exploring her career, not lying in a vault in MACUSA being studied. We can’t let that continue.” He let the memory of seeing her there enter his mind, let the helplessness he had felt overwhelm him, and Queenie gasped softly as fresh tears sprang into her eyes. “We have to do this,” Newt said. “But we’ll be safe.”

Queenie made a small choking noise and fell forward, arms wrapping around Newt. He let her press her face into his shoulder and held her as she shook, until a hand touched her shoulder and they both turned to see Jacob there. With a soft sob Queenie let go of Newt and threw herself at Jacob, who caught her easily and held her close, arms around her waist and lips at her ear as he whispered softly to her.

Newt stepped away, feeling terribly intrusive. The refilled kettle rang out sharply, startling them all, and Queenie and Jacob detached to look at it. Queenie was wiping furiously at her eyes. Newt waved his hand and the whistling stopped.

“I know you’re all quite fond of coffee,” he said quietly into the empty room, “but I think you’ll find that there’s nothing quite as medicinal as a cup of tea.” He got a fresh mug and spooned the tea leaves in from the still open tin, quickened the steeping process with a tap of his wand and a murmured spell, then turned to Queenie with the offering. She smiled shakily at him and accepted it, one hand still clutching Jacob’s arm.

“Thank you, Newt,” she said.

Newt smiled at the ground and turned to Tina, who was still standing by the doorway. Her eyes were wide and glistening with unshed tears, her attention fixed on her sister. Newt hesitated before moving towards her.

“I’m going to step into my case,” he said. “It’s feeding time. Would you…?”

“I’ll join you,” Tina said, quickly. She tore her eyes away from Jacob and Queenie, who were locked in an embrace again. “I’ll join you.”

XXXXX

“I wish I could read her thoughts sometimes.” Tina absently reached out and stroked Dougal, who was entwined in Newt’s arms. The demiguise blinked at her. “It would make it easier to know how she’s feeling. Maybe then I wouldn’t say all the wrong things.”

“You putting yourself in so much danger scares her, it’s not your fault,” Newt murmured, shifting his weight so he could support the demiguise and lean down to his bucket to pull out a handful of wriggling woodlice. He tossed them towards the tree. The bowtruckles fell upon them with a buzz of noise, and a light weight scuttled up Newt’s arm to perch on his shoulder. “Hello, Pickett,” he said, offering his hand. Pickett jumped onto the back of it. “Want to go back?” He knew it was pointless to ask, but he always tried. When he tried to offer the tree to the small creature reached down to wrap leafy appendages around his finger, refusing to even look at the other bowtruckles. Newt laughed. “Alright, just take a woodlice, then. You’ll want to go home at one point.”

“I don’t mean to.” Tina gazed at the feasting bowtruckles, hand knotted in Dougal’s hair. He shifted defensively, fingers curling against Newt’s neck.

“Don’t grip his fur so tightly,” Newt advised. “They’re hunted for their fur, it’ll frighten him.”

“Oh,” Tina said, letting go of the demiguise. It pressed itself closer to Newt, burrowing into his side, and Newt laughed again, unable to help himself.

“Queenie will be fine,” Newt said. He stooped down and set Dougal down. The demiguise touched down on the grass with a mournful expression. “I know, Dougal, but Mummy has to go now. I’ll be back for more cuddles later.”

Tina watched the demiguise bound off toward its nest as Newt picked up the bucket. “You’re so good with them.”

“I should hope so,” Newt said, staring at his feet. “It is my job, after all.”

Tina was lost in thought as they walked back to the shed. Newt dropped the bucket outside and strode through the door, rubbing his hands together, looking around at his bookshelves thoughtfully. There weren’t too many of them, because before him there had been no massively circulated books on magizoology, and that’s the only kind of book he was interested in. Aside from the couple dozen books on creatures he had collected from around the world, all he had on the shelves shoved into the far corners of the room were miscellaneous natural healing and potions books, and a few fiction novels to keep him busy if he ever had a free moment to sit down (which he never had, but it was a nice thought nonetheless).

“We need to find a venom that burns the skin while simultaneously removing pigmentation from the eyes,” he said. “I know of a few creatures that would have those individual effects, but when coupled together…”

“Do you think she’s alright?” Tina looked up at the hatch door.

“Jacob would have come to get us if she wasn’t,” Newt said distractedly, “but you can go check on her. Maybe something from Asia…” He bent down to rummage in his bookshelves, running his fingers over the worn spines. Many of the copies he had were unique, personal journals gifted to him by shamans and herbalists on his travels. Much of the leather binding was handmade and already peeling.

“No, it’s probably fine.” Tina sighed. “Thank you, for calming her down. I never see her upset, so I’m afraid I never know what to do.”

“Quite alright,” Newt said. He pulled a book out of its place and crouched, flipping it open. It was a medieval text with yellowed pages and bold misspellings, more speculation than fact. He skimmed the first page once before shaking his head and closing it. “No, these are all water creatures. The creature would have to move on land, unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless it was using the sewage systems.” Newt stood, thoughtful. “That’s the only wide-reaching water system in the city. But that would mean its victims would have all had to wander down there as well… Unless, of course, it’s only semi aquatic…”

“I do hope you don’t expect me to be of any help.” Tina took a seat at his table, resting her chin in her hands and tracking his movements as he paced back and forth. He had opened the book again with renewed energy. “I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“That’s alright, I don’t need you,” Newt said, still skimming the book.

“Oh, well in that case…”

“Huh?” Newt twirled to look at the other side of the room, frowning deeply. “Where did I put that handbook? I thought there was a creature like this in it…”

“Should I go?” Tina sounded vaguely amused as Newt dropped down to dig underneath the sink.

“What?” Newt poked his head out of the cupboard, craning his head awkwardly over his shoulder to look at her. “Oh, Tina. You should probably get some analysts in to test the mud, figure out where it’s from. That will help.”

“Already on it,” Tina said. She cocked her head to the other side and raised her eyebrows. “Do you need any help, Newt?”

“No,” Newt said, diving back under the cupboard. He reached out and felt in the far corners. He knew he had placed that book somewhere down here “Just researching.”

Tina laughed. “Let me know if you find anything.”

“Semi-aquatic,” Newt murmured as his fingers scooped up dust and shriveled potions ingredients in the back of the cupboard. He distantly heard the hatch door creak open and then close again. “Hm…”

Chapter Text

Suspicio

Percival

Percival used to consider walking through MACUSA one of his favorite parts of the day. He rarely ventured out of his office, hounded as he was by paperwork at all hours of the day. But when he was summoned to another part of the building or had to go and take care of some problem, he would pull on his most short-tempered expression-- the one that ensured he wouldn’t be approached-- and enjoy every poorly concealed look of awe or nervousness he garnered. He knew that he was intimidating, because he had spent years building up that persona. Intimidation got you places. He and Picquery had worked hand in hand throughout their careers, building each other up and tearing other people down to get to their respective positions. They had nearly destroyed each other multiple times, but thankfully had managed to salvage some kind of a friendship despite it all. Now at the top, their appearance amongst the common folk drew stares and whispers and cowering, and it amused Percival to no end.

It was different now. It had been for the past year. There were whispers, yes, and more stares than before, but Percival could read in his admirers’ body language that they were no longer frightened of him. Intimidated, perhaps, but no longer cowering. After working side by side with Grindewald for so long, there wasn’t much that they were afraid of anymore-- except the chance that it could happen again.

Percival knew the rumors that had circulated after Grindelwald’s advantageous position was revealed. Picquery had squashed most of them before he had returned, but for months afterwards he heard snippets of whispered conversations, listened to his name flit from person to person. He had heard every variation of the story: he had always been working for Grindelwald and still was, he was just a political puppet, he was probably still Grindelwald and it was only a matter of time before they were all attacked again. Many questioned why he was even still allowed to be the Director of Magical Security if he couldn’t even keep himself secure. Percival had no answer to that, because it was the first thing he had asked Picquery upon his return.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she had said when he asked whether she was letting him go. “You’ll be back in your office on Monday or you will answer to me.”

“I would completely understand if you fired me,” Percival had murmured. “There will be talk--”

“Damn the talk,” Picquery had said. “There’s always talk. You do good work, Percival, and I refuse to condemn you for one slip. One monumental slip, yes, but my point stands. We are stronger with you than without you, and that’s my final say on the matter.”

He had spent the first few months doing abysmal work, constantly worried that today was the day that the hammer would drop and he would be fired. Picquery had been been frustratingly gentle with him, forgiving any temperamental outbursts or mistakes in the field. He wasn’t used to being in this position, wasn’t used to being pitied and coddled and looked at like he was something dangerous about to snap. He hated it, and he couldn’t stop that nagging question in the back of his head, the one that kept him up at night: Why had no one noticed?

He knew his social life wasn’t exactly flourishing. He had drifted away from school friends, saw no one outside of work, hadn’t dated at all since his Ilvermorny days, and even those had just been flings, hook-ups in deserted classrooms when the rest of the students had been asleep. His father was dead and he hadn’t spoken properly to his mother in years. But still, no one had noticed that he had been replaced by the darkest wizard in recent history. Was he really that awful, that alone?

After a few months of what others might call sulking and he called mental processing, he had thrown himself into his work with renewed energy to avoid thinking that question through. He looked into the eyes of people who hadn’t noticed he’d been gone and made up for lost time with tripled efficiency. He had tried, at first, to soften himself, to make up for years of ill temper, but the subsequent drop in respect had driven him back to shouting and barking orders. That got the job done at the end of the day, and Percival told himself that he didn’t care if he was well liked as long as he was still respected.

Now, a year after being found in that deteriorating apartment, he still loathed making the walk from his office to Picquery’s. He swept through the atrium at breakneck speed, steps quick and short, eyes fixed on his destination. The stares had calmed down considerably, but he knew his appearance anywhere piqued interest, and not the kind he had once coveted. He breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped into the hallway leading to the President’s chambers, straightening the sleeves of his black coat, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

“Come in,” Picquery called when he knocked. He turned the golden handle, carved in the shape of an eagle’s head, and let the door swing open under his touch.

Picquery’s office was surprisingly homey for such a harsh woman. It was simply decorated, but something about the gentle light of the fire she always kept burning in the hearth softened the edges of the stately portrait hanging behind her desk and made the likeliness of Picquery on it look thoughtful instead of threatening. The real Picquery, in the privacy of her office, held herself with less rigidity. She sat behind her desk now, paperwork splayed in front of her, and looked up at Percival over her plumed quill.

“Percival,” she said, setting it down. “Thank you for coming. Have a seat”

Percival remained standing, ignoring the wooden chair she kept in front of her desk. “Madame President,” he said, “did you need something?”

Picquery eyed him, lips flat. She waved her hand at the papers and they jumped into a single neat pile. “It’s about your newest case,” she said.

“What about it?” Percival had only just gotten back from his examination of the dead body after Goldstein had been forced to escort Scamander from the building. Percival couldn’t imagine suffering from such a weak constitution.

“I’ve officially put in the notice that you and Goldstein are in charge,” she said. “It’s a primary grade investigation, so the auror office is at your disposal until this thing is caught. I’m placing a lot of trust in you and Ms. Goldstein, Percival.”

“I understand, Madame President.”

“I hope my instincts about her are right,” Picquery said. The fire danced across her features as she looked at Percival. “She has been considerable trouble in the past, but her record has strengthened in the past few months.”

“I have faith in Ms. Goldstein, Madame,” Percival said.

“I’ve noticed.”

Indeed, Percival had taken something of a liking to Goldstein, or at least as close to a liking as he was capable of. She had been new to the team before his disappearance, and he hadn’t even recalled her name when she appeared with the other aurors in the apartment Grindelwald had been holding him in. After her reinstatement he had taken to watching her more closely, however, and he was impressed with what he had seen. Quick on her feet and passionate for the field, she took every job, even if it was beneath her skill level, and treated it like the only thing that mattered. Percival admired that in a person.

“The parents of the girl have been notified of her death,” Picquery said. “We’re refraining from further questioning until a more appropriate time.”

“I don’t think they can be any more help,” Percival said. “Goldstein already handed me a full report of their statements. They don’t know anything.”

“And neither do we,” Picquery said. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed tightly. “Do you have a single lead, Percival?”

“I have several places that I want to investigate.”

“Is it based on fact or speculation?” When Percival didn’t respond, she sighed. “I want a lead within the next few days, Percival. The board is already on me about that zebra case, and if there are any more deaths… well, make sure there are no more deaths.”

Percival knew what she was talking about-- a group of wizards had recently been arrested for publicly tormenting a flock of zebras at a zoo. Eighty No-Majs had been obliviated that day, causing a scandal even bigger than Goldstein’s New Salamers debacle.

“Understood, Madame President.”

Picquery appraised him. Percival kept his posture rigid and eyes fixed on the Remembrall on her desk, a gift from one of her uncles after the election. The smoke inside swirled, curling sleepily against the glass walls of its enclosure.

“I’d like to have a word with you about Mr. Scamander,” Picquery said after a moment of silence.

Percival frowned. “What about him?”

“You didn’t have the pleasure of being present during his last visit to America,” she said, “and thus don’t understand the certain element of… chaos he brings with him.”

“I think I do, Madame,” Percival said. Scamander had featured heavily in the reports of the Grindelwald incident. Percival remembered reading in disbelief about the mess he had made in the execution chambers, how he and the Goldstein sisters and a No-Maj of all things had escaped with the aid of some sort of creature from hell that had killed one auror and injured several others. It was a mystery that he had never been charged for it.

“I’ve allowed him onto this case because when it comes to creatures, he knows everything there is to know,” Picquery said, “and not because I trust him. Mr. Scamander is unpredictable, which makes him a threat to himself and everyone around him.”

“Dangerous?”

“Only accidentally.” Picquery’s voice was dry. “I have no doubt that he has already broken a dozen different laws in his short time here, and he and Ms. Goldstein are a particularly ill-advised combination. You will have to watch out for that.”

“I will,” Percival said. He remembered the strange dynamic between the pair of them, the way Goldstein had defended him with such fierce protectiveness, the way she had seemed hesitant to touch him, cautious. He wondered if there was a romantic element to their relationship, and inwardly groaned. He loathed dealing with lovestruck colleagues.

“What did you think of him?”

“Madame?”

“I hired him as a consultant without first discussing it with you,” Picquery said, “But I want your opinion. What do you think, can you work with him?”

Percival frowned. If he was being honest, Scamander confused him. After all the reports he had read, he had expected someone bubbly and energetic, bursting with the potential for disaster. The man he had met this morning was anything but. Tall and gangly with a hesitant, twitchy smile, he had lingered in the background whenever possible, shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller. Scamander jumped when someone addressed him out of the blue and communicated through soft stutters and quick words. Percival had only seen him make direct eye contact twice. He didn’t fancy the idea of dragging someone so soft-spoken and timid into battle with him.

“I’m not sure,” he answered. “If his expertise is truly what you say it is, though, I can make use of him.”

Picquery flicked a thin wrist at her bookshelf and a volume slid off of it, bobbing through the air to Percival. He reached out and took it, curious, glancing at the front cover. It was a beautiful book, bound in soft green leather and embossed with gold wording. “ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, ” he read. He looked up at Picquery, who had stood to turn on the coffee pot on the counter behind her desk.

“Read the author,” she said over her shoulder.

Percival dropped his gaze. “Newt Scamander.” He pulled a face. “That guy published a book?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of it,” Picquery said. She waved her wand and a cupboard opened. “He's sold thousands of copies already and it’s only in its second month of circulation. It’s on its way toward breaking records.”

“It’s about animals.” Percival watched as the coffee pot rose into the air and tipped to pour a steaming stream of dark liquid into each mug. The office filled with the bitter scent of it.

“It’s the most comprehensive guide ever published on magical creatures,” Picquery corrected, “and Mr. Scamander knows far more than is written there. He could be invaluable if he puts his full attention to this case.”

She picked up both mugs and walked them over to Percival. He accepted his without a word and tried to give the book back, but she raised a hand.

"Keep it," she said. A wry smile sprung onto her lips. "Perhaps it'll teach you a thing or two."

Percival didn't think any of the information in there would be useful-- really, they were just animals-- and he didn't think he'd be able to read it without picturing its author going white in the face at the sight of a routine dead body. He couldn't imagine Scamander sitting down to write a book, especially not a bestseller like this, but authors did tend to be on the shy side, he supposed. Maybe it made perfect sense.

He slipped the book into the pocket of his coat, then raised his mug to his lips to take a sip. The drink burned the inside of his mouth but was just the thing he needed after a long day, and prepared the way he liked it: strong with just a dash of milk.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to keep a close eye on him, though.” Picquery stood close to Percival, holding her mug in both hands, expression serious. “I want you to watch him. I can’t entrust Goldstein with the job, she’ll let her emotions tamper with her judgment. But you need to make sure that Scamander isn’t going to do anything dangerous.”

“Like?”

“Like try to save whatever it is killing people.”

Percival raised his eyebrows. “Only a madman would do that.”

Picquery snorted. Her gold earrings swayed back and forth, drawing a small shadow across her cheek. “I assure you that Mr. Scamander is only slightly more rational than a madman,” she said. Her dark eyes glinted in the dim light. “Watch him, Percival. When it comes to dangerous creatures, you can’t trust him. The man won’t let any law get in his way when it comes to protecting things he deems important.”

“Very well,” Percival murmured.

Picquery watched him, close enough for their elbows to knock. Her gaze was a searchlight. “You haven’t been sleeping again,” she said.

Percival sighed. “Madame.”

“If I couldn’t see through Glamours, I wouldn’t be president,” she said. She turned and walked back to her desk, waving her hand. A plush armchair replaced the small wooden one. “Sit. Please, Percival.”

Percival curled his fingers around the mug, which stung his fingers, and then gave in. He sank into his seat as she dropped primly into her own, watching him from across the desk.

“Care to explain those under-eye bags you’re trying to hide?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

“I’ve had a few late nights,” Percival said. “It’s nothing.”

“Nightmares again?” Picquery drew her eyebrows together in a concerned knot. Percival raised his eyes to the dark ceiling overhead. He knew it had been a mistake telling her about those.

“No,” he lied. “Just cleaning up after my department’s ineptitude.”

Picquery blew across the top of her coffee, dispersing the steam rising from it. “You always blame work.”

“Work is always to blame.”

“You’re not as subtle as you think, Percival.” There it was, that softened tone that Picquery had adopted for the first few months after his return. It made Percival’s blood boil. “I know this has been hard, but your recovery has been truly impressive.”

“Madame President,” Percival said mechanically, “I ensure you that I’m--”

“Oh, drop it, Percival. You never called me Madame President before.” Picquery’s lips twisted. “I recall a moment of impertinence in which you called me a ‘blasted harlot’ at my mother’s Christmas party.”

“I apologized repeatedly for that,” Percival muttered. “But to be fair, you called me a snob.”

Picquery snorted. “You are a snob, Percival. When’s the last time you had a steak that didn’t cost more than tuition to Ilvermorny?”

“You’re being hyperbolic again, Seraphina.”

“Only snobs say hyperbolic.”

Percival cracked a smile. Picquery returned it.

“Let me know if you need to talk, Percival,” she said. “My office is always open.”

“I know,” Percival said. He looked down into the swirling depths of his coffee. “Thank you, Seraphina.”

XXXXX

Percival always walked home. He knew that it would be easier and quicker to Apparate, but he enjoyed the brisk chill of evening and the last bit of exercise before the day was over. He thought more clearly on the empty sidewalks, strolling through the quieter streets of the city back to his apartment, unbothered by memos or appointments or other aurors jabbering at his door. It was his opportunity to try and unwind, and he coveted those fifteen minutes he had to himself.

He got home that night later than usual after taking the scenic route. He had used that time to formulate a plan for tomorrow’s investigation. He would go back with Goldstein to investigate the place the body had been found, and then meet with Scamander on his own. Perhaps without Goldstein there Percival would have a better shot at figuring the man out. Maybe Scamander would even have an idea of what creature it was, and Percival could drop him and move on with his investigation without having to drag the shy man into a fight. He didn’t think Scamander would fare well in any sort of duel, human or otherwise.

He mounted the front steps in the dark, memory telling him where to place his feet. He was tempted to cast a Lumos as he entered the entrance hall, but his neighbor was a No-Maj with a tendency to stick her nose where it didn’t belong. Percival had already had to Obliviate her three times since moving in, and Picquery was getting exasperated with him. So he strode forward into the dark, hand grappling for a moment before finding the railing of the stairway.

At his front door he touched the knob, glanced over his shoulder, and then murmured “ Alohomora. ”  It was at least dark enough to do that. He felt the tingle of wandless magic run through his arm, delightfully warm, and the door sprang open with a click. He entered and turned the entry light on, pulling off his hat and coat.

It was a large apartment, spacious with a vaulted ceiling, because Percival had always gravitated to the more grandiose architecture (which did not make him a snob). He toed his shoes off in the entryway and waved his hand to close the silk curtains and turn on all the lights, illuminating the empty space. His footsteps broke the heavy silence, the tiles cold through his wool socks. He walked into the kitchen and debated for a moment making a pasta dish for dinner, but he couldn’t justify going through all that work for just himself. Instead he grabbed the last hunk of bread from the loaf he had bought a few days ago and filled a glass with tap water to appease his hunger.

It was still early, so he pulled out some current case files and sat down on his sofa. As he tore off pieces of stale bread he read through the reports, signing off where he needed to and adding comments for his aurors when he thought they had done the job well or perhaps needed to do something different next time for safety. When he came to the zebra case he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. Sometimes he didn’t think he could put up with the world for a moment longer.

When the bread was long gone and his glass was empty, he closed the folder and rubbed his eyes. It was late, he knew it, and fatigue was dragging at his muscles, but he was still reluctant to go to bed. He stood with a groan as his muscles stretched and walked down the short hall to the bathroom, deciding to take a quick shower.

He drew it out as long as possible, standing under the boiling stream until it started to run cold, then stepped out and wrapped himself in a towel. Coming out from behind the curtains sent a trail of goosebumps up his arms, and he took a deep breath, standing still to get accustomed to the temperature. His eyes wandered to the mirror and he looked at himself for a moment. His Glamour had dropped, and the bags under his eyes were pronounced in the cloud of steam surrounding him. Even though his hair was wet and untidy he could see the silver peeking through and the new lines that had appeared on his face, lines that only became more pronounced when he frowned at his reflection. He looked… old. He knew he wasn’t young, of course, but he had never seen himself so worn out. It was unnerving.

He towel-dried his hair as he walked into his bedroom and took out his nightclothes with a wave of his hand. He pulled the shirt on and wriggled into the pants, and then there was nothing left to do but lay down. He clapped his hand once to extinguish the light and then laid back against the cold pillows, drawing his sheets up to his chin, staring up into the dark.

Percival wished that he could relish the comfort and the silence, but this was always his least favorite part of the day. It took him hours to fall asleep. Most nights it didn’t even happen. Left alone with his thoughts there was only so long before they would twist and turn to darker matters, memories of weeks spent chained up in a moldy bathroom, pressed uncomfortably on the hard tile floor, the sound of Grindelwald moving around in the other room and the jarring fear of seeing his own face smiling down at him. The thought of it made Percival grip the sheets more firmly and scowl into the night.

He shut his eyes and tried to fall asleep, tried to think of his case. He thought of Goldstein and how he hoped to have her promoted soon so he could work more closely to her. She was an efficient worker. And then he thought of Scamander, with his darting eyes and soft words, and tried to picture him doing half the things Percival had read about him. The descriptions didn’t fit.

But eventually his thoughts circled back to their original train and he turned onto his side, curling his knees up into the empty space. The silence of the room pressed down on him as his mind asked the same question again and again: How did nobody notice?

Chapter Text

Painitet

Newt

“And then you just twist your wrist and cut off the pressure, and-- there.” Jacob lifted his piping tool and beamed at the cookie. “Perfect swirl.”

Newt frowned down at his own workplace. The bag of blue frosting felt awkward in his hand, and every time he tried to get it onto the cookie it squirted wildly and ruined everything. Jacob was trying to teach him how to decorate, but so far Newt had only succeeded in making a mess of an entire batch of sugar cookies. “I’m afraid I’ll never have as light a touch as you, Jacob.”

Jacob chuckled, setting another of his masterpieces aside. His cookies depicted intricate designs that wouldn’t have been out of place on an art gallery wall: the New York cityscape in fluffy grey frosting, a beautiful sunset in shades of yellows and oranges, the swirling blues and greens of the sea.

Newt’s were a mess of coagulating colors that didn't appeal to sight or taste. He felt bad for the waste of frosting.

“Don’t worry,” Jacob said, “I’ll add yours to my abstract collection.”

They were tucked into the back of Jacob’s shop after closing, and the faint smell of baking pastries and sickly sweet frosting was finally putting Newt’s mind at ease. He had a feeling that Queenie had instructed Jacob to invite him over to take his mind off of his research, and Newt was grateful. He was glad to be able to spend some time with Jacob. He hadn’t been with him alone in the week he had been in New York.

“You’re truly an artist, Jacob,” Newt commented, reaching out to straighten a cookie decorated with a beautiful pink flower, sliding it on the wire rack until it aligned with the rest. Each petal burst from the center of the cookie, rising in a three-dimensional display of beauty. The lamplight reflected off of the icing, making it look alive in the faux breeze Jacob had created. Newt knew a child would become infatuated with it tomorrow. It would be gone before ten. “Have you ever tried your hand at paper?”

“You mean proper drawing?” Jacob’s smile was good-natured even as he shook his head. “I’m afraid my skills don’t extend that far. If it’s not edible, I can’t do it, I’m afraid.”

Newt laughed. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Well,” Jacob said, “maybe when the shop isn’t so busy I’ll give it a try. There are hardly enough hours in the day as it is.”

Newt hummed and picked up the piping bag again, determined to try once more. Jacob was working on something that shined blue, but he kept his elbow angled to block Newt’s view. Newt didn’t pry, figuring it was another surprise. Jacob had already presented him with a green dragon and an attempt at a thestral, and although the coloring and the placement of body parts were wrong, Newt had been delighted with them.

For a few moments they worked in companionable silence. Newt, tongue between his teeth, succeeded in drawing a straight line and set to work filling in the space beneath it, hoping to create a decent depiction of the harbor. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows to keep them clean and out of the way. He normally tried to hide his arms, which were mottled with scars-- an occupational hazard of a magizoologist-- and although Newt wasn’t ashamed of them, they always drew unwanted attention. Jacob, thankfully, hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even spared them more than a glance. Newt was grateful.

“Here we are.” Jacob was the first to break the silence, setting down his tools and appraising his work for a moment before twisting it towards Newt. “What do you think?”

Newt looked up from his gloopy ocean, peering through his hair. His breath caught in his throat. “Oh,” he said. “Jacob, it’s beautiful.”

“It’s an occamy,” Jacob said, pride in his voice.

“I see it.” Newt twisted his head to look at it better, fascinated. The blue icing swirled around and around the circular cookie to depict the coils of the snakelike creature. At the very center sat the head, shaped from impossibly small iced feathers and two large yellow eyes that stared up at Newt. It was gorgeous, and as near to lifelike as a pastry could get.

“It’s wonderful, Jacob,” Newt said. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to take up painting? Queenie says my shed can use some decoration that's not manure.”

Jacob chuckled, but his response was interrupted by a knock on the main door. It was distant, but it made them both look, their view through the doorway blocked by the counter. Jacob frowned.

“Who could that be at this hour?” He stood, wiping his hands on a dish-towel. When Newt made to follow Jacob waved him off. “No, no, it’s probably just a delivery guy. I put in an order for a new set of rolling pins, but it wasn’t supposed to come until tomorrow. I’ll just go collect them real quick. You keep working on your…” He peered over Newt’s shoulder at his current disaster. “Sky?”

“It’s supposed to be the harbor,” Newt muttered, unable to keep the sulking note out of his voice. “I drew a boat.”

“Right.” Jacob clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s looking great, buddy.”

He sighed as Jacob swept off, humming to himself as he disappeared into the front of the shop. Newt brushed his hair out of his eyes with the back of his wrist and examined his cookie. Perhaps if he added in the sunset it would look more like the ocean. Or maybe that would just make it look more like the sky? He bit the inside of his cheek in debate before shrugging. Either way, the sun couldn’t make it any worse.

He had just picked up the yellow piping tool and placed the first dollop above the horizon line when voices floated to the back of the shop. He bent his head down further, trying not to eavesdrop, even as the words grew louder and closer.

“He’s right back here,” Jacob was saying, “he was helping me out with some baking…”

Newt turned in his seat to see Jacob leading Mr. Graves into the kitchen. He sat still for a moment, startled, as they appeared. It was odd seeing Graves and Jacob side by side; the height difference was poignant, and Newt might have chuckled if it hadn’t been Mr. Graves.

“Mr. Graves,” he said, trying very hard not to trip over the chair leg as he got to his feet.

Mr. Graves was dressed as regally as before in a sweeping black coat and grey pinstripe suit. As he stepped into the kitchen he reached up to take his hat off, looking around the room. His hair was mussed in a way that made him look carefully windswept. As Newt watched, his gaze wandered the counters, climbed the table legs to look at the mess of sugary decorations, then fell on Newt himself, and Newt once more had the uncomfortable feeling that Mr. Graves was sizing him up. Then Mr. Graves frowned.

“Mr. Scamander,” he said, “you’re dripping.”

“What?” Newt looked down, surprised, to find that he was still clutching the yellow icing bag, and that he was applying enough pressure for it to squeeze out of the tip in squiggly lines. “Oh!” He set the bag on the table and dropped to his knees beside the pile of yellow. Jacob appeared to hand him a towel.

“I’m so sorry,” Newt said, frantically swiping at the mess. He only succeeded in spreading it even thinner over the tiles and bit his lip, feeling his cheeks heat. “Jacob--”

“It’s alright, Newt, I can go grab the mop.”

"Scourgify. ”

A wash of magic brushed Newt’s wrists as he lifted the towel to reveal sparkling clean tile. He blinked and looked up at Mr. Graves, who was watching him with an odd expression.

“Thank you,” Newt said, scrambling to his feet. The useless towel dangled from his fingers. “I forgot.”

“That you’re a wizard?”

Newt opened his mouth and then closed it, because he knew that if he said ‘yes’ Mr. Graves would just think he was more of an idiot than he already was. When Jacob reached for the towel Newt handed it over and said softly, “I’m terribly sorry.”

"No harm done,” Jacob chuckled. “Same thing happens to me all the time. It’s a pity I can’t use any of those nifty charms to clean my messes up.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Jacob seemed to realize what he had said. He looked at Mr. Graves, momentary panic crossing his face, but Mr. Graves just sighed and waved a dismissive hand.

“No need to worry, Mr. Kowalski,” he said, “I know all about your… situation with Ms. Goldstein. MACUSA is tolerating your presence.”

Jacob just blinked. “Ah,” he said. “Well. Thank you.”

“Mr. Scamander,” Mr. Graves continued, “I thought I might have a word with you concerning the case we were assigned yesterday. Ms. Goldstein informed me that I would find you here.”

“Oh,” Newt said. “Right. Let me just, um…” He teetered for a moment, unsure of what to do or where to look, but Jacob interrupted him before he could do something stupid.

“I’ll give you two a few minutes of privacy,” he said. “I need to go count up the register for the day, anyway. Let me know if you need anything, Newt. Mr. Graves,” he said, inclining his head. Mr. Graves nodded once as Jacob left.

Newt realized he was now alone with Mr. Graves for the first time, and a heavy silence settled over the room. Newt wrung his hands and looked at his feet, face still burning with embarrassment. He had been hoping that after his poor show at MACUSA yesterday he’d be able to somehow prove himself to Mr. Graves, but he wasn’t off to a great start. In fact, he was off to probably the worst start anyone had ever had, and he’d only known the man for slightly over twenty-four hours. Perhaps Newt had broken some kind of record for the worst first impression.

Mr. Graves cleared his throat. “Shall we sit?”

Newt blinked. “Oh!” he said. “Yes, let’s, uh… right here.” He dropped hurriedly into his seat at the table as Mr. Graves sank into Jacob’s vacated chair. Mr. Graves appraised the table for a moment before delicately laying down his hat in the cleanest area.

“Those are beautiful,” he commented, eyes on Jacob’s tray of cookies.

“Ah,” Newt said, “those are Mr. Kowalski’s. He’s something of a genius.”

“Quite,” Mr. Graves said. Then he looked at the others and his face twisted. “Yours?”

“Ah,” Newt said again, awkwardly, “yes. I’m afraid I’m quite the opposite of a genius.”

“No,” Mr. Graves said, “I didn’t mean… I see that you’re drawing space.”

Newt stared into his lap. “It’s the harbor, actually.”

Mr. Graves frowned and twisted his head to look at it. “Is it?”

“I drew a boat. Right there.”

“Oh,” Mr. Graves said, but it seemed that not even cordiality could take him any further down that route. Newt hurriedly changed the subject.

"Are there any new, uh... developments?"

“No," Mr. Graves said. "I’ve made a list of the places we should visit in order, starting with all the sites of disappearances. They’ve already been checked by our aurors, but perhaps there’s something they missed, or something that you will be able to see and recognize as a hint as to what this creature is. Speaking of… have you any leads in that department?”

“Well,” Newt said, shifting in his chair with his hands buried in his lap, “I’m still looking for exact creatures, but I think I’ve narrowed it down to semi-aquatic.”

“Semi-aquatic?”

“That means they live both on land and in water.”

“I know what semi-aquatic means, Scamander.” There was a lick of heat in his voice that made Newt recoil. “What made you settle on semi-aquatic?

“Well,” Newt said, moving his gaze back and forth between Mr. Graves’ shoulder and Jacob’s flower cookie, “the mud. The body came from somewhere wet, which means the creature is hiding somewhere wet as well. But it would need to be able to move on land, too, to take people. Thus…”

“Am I to take it that you are only researching semi-aquatic creatures?”

“Um… So far?”

“Mr. Scamander.” Mr. Graves’ voice was pointedly patient. “We can’t afford to narrow our search so significantly with such little evidence. You’ll find that in this line of work that can be dangerous.”

“Right.” Newt twisted the sleeve of his shirt between his fingers, wishing he had his coat on. He felt bare without the heavy weight of it on his shoulders. “I’ll, uh, widen my scope a bit.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Graves said. “And if I might suggest one more thing-- try to actually focus on your job and not waste time sitting around with your friends icing gingerbread cookies.”

“These are sugar cookies, actually.” Newt dared to meet Mr. Graves’ eyes, briefly, and saw the other man was staring at him with unimpressed raised eyebrows. “I was only taking a break,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll be back to researching within the hour.”

“Sooner than that, Mr. Scamander.” Mr. Graves’ voice was dry. “President Picquery seems to think that your expertise will be invaluable to this case. I caution you to prove her right.”

Newt hesitated. “You don’t agree with her?" he asked quietly.

Mr. Graves twisted his head to scrutinize him. “I think that you will do everything within your power to help us find this creature,” Mr. Graves said. “But I also think that you’re still the same person who released dangerous-- and definitely illegal, might I add-- beasts onto my city and placed their safety over fellow wizards and innocent civilians, and I think that you were never forced to take proper responsibility for those actions.”

Newt knew he shouldn’t rise to the bait, but the implication in Mr. Graves’ voice was clear, and he had never been one to take an insult lying down-- especially when it targeted his creatures. “The last time I was here you were locked up in an apartment in the Upper East Side while a monster with your face tormented and murdered an innocent boy,” he said, eyes trained on his lap. “Do not lecture me about responsibility, Mr. Graves. We have both unleashed terrible things on this city, but at least I cleaned up after mine.”

The silence reverberated in the air, and although Newt wasn’t looking at him, he suddenly felt sure that Mr. Graves was about to hex him. He flinched but didn’t lift his eyes when Mr. Graves stood, chair scraping on the tile.

“Do not presume to understand me, Mr. Scamander,” he growled.

“As long as you grant me the same courtesy.”

Mr. Graves made a low sound in the back of his throat. His shoes clicked against the tile as he walked away, then stilled as he paused in the doorway. “Find that creature before more than five lives depend upon it, Scamander,” he said. “Do your job right and we’ll never have to see each other again.” There was another pause. "You've got icing on your face, by the way."

Startled, Newt raised his hand to his forehead. His fingers came back streaked with blue icing, and he inwardly groaned, something inside him begging to crawl under a rock somewhere and never come out again. He had been covered in icing the entire time?

“Mr. Graves,” Newt heard Jacob saying distantly. “Can I wrap up something to go?”

Newt jumped again when the door slammed shut, bell tinkling angrily. He scrubbed at his forehead blindly. His pulse was pounding, that familiar dread creeping up his spine, but he pushed it down as Jacob appeared in the doorway.

“Newt?” he asked. “He certainly left in a rush. What on earth happened?”

“Nothing,” Newt said. He swallowed and then forced his lips into a smile. “Terribly sorry for disturbing you, Jacob.”

XXXXX

Newt kept his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat to avoid accidentally touching something. This was, Graves had explained, an “active crime scene, Scamander, so try not to ruin the evidence.” Newt had never felt more out of place than he did now in this ‘active crime scene.’ He felt like his very breath might taint the most important clue if he didn’t watch his step.

He kept close behind Tina, nearly trodding on her heels a few times, but if she minded she didn’t say so. She and Mr. Graves were canvassing the small apartment in opposite directions with their wands out, checking for any discrepancies. Newt listened as Tina droned spells to reveal bloodstains, footprints, even a complicated one that Newt had never heard of that apparently revealed signs of a struggle. They searched for an hour, Newt and Tina taking the bedroom and bathroom, Mr. Graves covering the living room and kitchen.

When they met in the center Newt stared at the ground as Mr. Graves made a noise of frustration.

“Well, we didn’t think there would be anything,” Tina reasoned. She toyed with her wand, rolling it between her fingers. “The others already searched this place top to bottom.”

Mr. Graves didn’t answer her. Newt chanced a look at him. Aside from the cursory warning when they had first arrived, Mr. Graves hadn’t spoken to him directly all morning. Newt knew it was because of what had transpired last night, and guilt was gnawing at his chest. He felt awful. Mr. Graves wasn’t the most pleasant man, but Newt knew that he was under a lot of pressure at work, and there had been no excusing his words last night. He had to apologize, but he hadn’t had a chance with Tina around.

“There must be something,” Mr. Graves said. He turned and pulled up a couch cushion, flicking his wrist to illuminate his wand. Tina just sighed.

They were searching the apartment of Randy Simmons, the second wizard to disappear. His neighbors had gone to the No-Maj police a week after Debbie Forecoster had been reported missing. According to reports he had been rather reclusive, but Newt wouldn’t have guessed it from the lack of homeliness in the apartment. For someone who spent most of his time inside, Randy hadn’t done much decorating. The place looked catalogue-standard, right down to his bedroom, without a personal touch to be seen. The starkness made Newt uncomfortable, accustomed as he was to his own lived in shed and the Goldsteins’ cozy apartment.

“Graves,” Tina said, “there’s nothing here.”

Mr. Graves scowled at her over his shoulder. “And what of our consulting magizoologist?” He straightened and looked at Newt for the first time that day. Newt’s chest clenched with shame. “Anything?”

“Not that I can tell, no,” Newt murmured, dropping his gaze.

Mr. Graves clenched his jaw and looked around the apartment again. “We need something,” he said. “Picquery wants a lead today and if I don’t give her something new she’ll have my head.”

“We don’t know for sure that Randy disappeared here,” Tina said. “He could have disappeared at work, or--”

“He clocked out of work at 6:15 P.M. on July 2nd,” Mr. Graves said, “and his neighbor saw him arrive here at 6:30, just like he did every day. Besides, there’s been magic here that doesn’t belong to Simmons. Can’t you feel it?”

“No,” Tina said. “I already told you, I’m not good with that stuff.”

Newt’s hands were hot and sweaty inside his pockets. He stared at his feet. He knew exactly what Mr. Graves meant; the apartment thrummed softly with magic, mundane, stale spells all performed by the same hand. Newt could feel the distant tingle of it when he reached out with his own power. Most of them were simple domestic spells Randy had cast about his apartment. There was something else, though, fresher than the rest but fading quickly. It brought a bitter taste to Newt’s mouth when he reached for it. Something magical had been there that didn’t belong.

“I don’t think it’s a spell,” Newt said, letting his eyes wander the apartment. The furniture was too big for such a small place. The long sofa nearly touched either sides of the walls, and Newt was starting to feel claustrophobic.

“Oh? And what, pray tell, does our resident genius have to say?”

Tina frowned. “Graves--”

“It’s a creature,” Newt said before Tina got caught up in Mr. Graves’ mood. “It has to be, I know this kind of magical register. Spellwork moves differently. It’s tight, controlled, but magical creatures… their magic is primal. You can feel the way it settles on your skin-- can’t you?” He directed this at Mr. Graves, who had his hand out, palm facing upwards. He was frowning, but the expression was more thoughtful than annoyed now.

“Do all magical creatures leave this?” he asked.

“They all leave some kind of trace,” Newt said. “Magic runs in their blood, but depending on how much actual magic was used it can be either stronger or weaker than usual. Something as heavy as this… whatever was here used a lot of magic.”

“You both sound crazy,” Tina declared. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Some people are more sensitive to it,” Newt said, turning to continue searching the apartment with his eyes. He and Professor Dumbledore had discussed this once, the curious ability of some wizards that allowed them to feel the magic in the air. Dumbledore had written a few papers on this peculiarity, and his theory was that it had to do with the individual's magic reacting to the foreign environment.

“That’s why we couldn’t get a read on what spell it was,” Mr. Graves said. “It wasn’t a spell at all.”

“Alright,” Tina said, “but that doesn’t put us any closer to a lead. We still can’t figure out what kind of creature it was.”

“No,” Mr. Graves said. “But if we can find a way to trace whatever this is, maybe pick up a trail…”

Newt’s eyes caught something in the entryway and he frowned. Hands still deep in his pockets, he moved forward, away from the discussion. A single picture frame hung on the wall near the door. Newt had missed it when he had come in, but as he got close to it he saw that it was a black-and-white portrait of a woman, unmoving and stiffly posed. She wasn’t particularly pretty, but there was something in her flat lips and downturned eyes that drew Newt closer. Unbidden, his hands came free of his pockets and he reached for the picture, lifting it off of its hook.

“Mr. Scamander, what did I say about touching?” Mr. Graves asked, exasperated.

“Who is this?” Newt asked, running his thumb along the edges of the cool metal frame.

“I don’t know,” Tina said. “A family member, probably. What does it matter?”

“It’s the only picture in the entire apartment,” Newt said.

“So?” Mr. Graves sounded annoyed again. “Stop messing around and put it back, Scamander. This is a crime scene.”

Newt chewed on his bottom lip, unwilling to let this drop. It seemed important to him.

A sharp knock on the door made him jump and nearly drop it.

“Get back.” Mr. Graves was at his side in an instant. He grabbed Newt’s arm to draw him away from the doorway. His wand was already out and aimed as Tina crept forward, wand clenched in her own fist. When another knock sounded Mr. Graves tightened his grip on Newt’s coat as though to keep him from bolting. He needn’t have worried; Newt was frozen to the spot, clutching the picture frame in both hands, heart pounding as he watched Tina. Mr. Graves’ hand was warm through the wool of his coat.

Tina dropped her wand behind her back and twisted the doorknob. She pulled it open a fraction and peeked out. “Hello?” she asked, her voice forcibly calm and casual.

“Oh, hello!”

At the pleasant voice, Newt relaxed marginally in Mr. Graves’ grip. Over Tina’s shoulder he could see an older woman standing there, eyes wide underneath bright blue eyeshadow. Her pale pink lips clashed with the rest of her heavy makeup. “I’m so sorry, I heard noise, and-- well, hello there!”

She had just caught sight of Newt and Mr. Graves. Mr. Graves dropped Newt’s arm and pocketed his wand in the same move, moving forward smoothly.

“Hello,” he said, the picture of perfect poise. “We’re sorry if we disturbed you. We’re from the police station, and--”

“Oh, are you still looking for Randy?” The woman’s face dropped. She tightened her grip on her orange purse. Newt looked at it, fascinated by her fashion sense. “I did think that he’d be back by now. The poor boy, I hope he’s alright…”

“Were you close with Mr. Simmons?” Tina asked.

“Close?” The woman shook her head. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t say any of us were really close to him. He was rather a quiet boy, didn’t come out much. I live right next door and I’ve only had a handful of conversations with him. Still, he was very sweet. Sad, maybe, but sweet.”

“Sad?” Newt asked. The woman looked at him, thin eyebrows furrowed, but before she could respond Mr. Graves spoke again.

“You’re Ms. Patriclan, correct?” he asked. “You notified the police of his disappearance.”

“Yes,” she said. “His mail was piling up. I could see it through the little window in the box, you know that glass pane? And that’s just not like him, he may not come out often but he never fails to get his mail. So I saw it and I thought to myself, ‘Now, that’s not right,’ so I came straight up here and knocked but no one answered. That’s when I called the police.” Her eyes found Newt’s again. “He always had this expression on his face,” she said, as though Graves had never interrupted her. “Like he was about to cry, or maybe he had just been crying. I don’t know. He just always struck me as sad. I tried to reach out to him, but he didn’t seem to like company very much.”

Newt tightened his grip on the photo frame and stepped forward before Mr. Graves could stop him. “This woman,” he said. “Do you know who she is?”

“Oh,” Ms. Patriclan said. She reached out and took it, tipping her head to the side to look. The orange purse dangled from her wrist. Newt realized that she was younger than she had first appeared; up close, she didn’t look much older than sixty. Her eyeshadow was caked on and creased. “I believe that’s his mother. I asked about it, too, the first time I came to visit him. He didn’t want to talk about it, but I believe that’s who he said it was.” She raised her eyes once more to meet Newt’s.

“You remind me of him.” Her voice was softer now. “Randy. You have the same look in your eyes.” She raised a hand from the photograph and let it hover between them, like she was about to touch Newt’s cheek. “Sad.”

Something grabbed his hand and he looked down to see Tina threading her fingers through his, applying pressure to get him to take a step back. He reached out and took the photograph again as he stepped away. His hands were shaking. “Thank you,” he said, trying not to stumble over his words.

Ms. Patriclan moved her gaze to Mr. Graves, who had come up on Newt’s other side, and Newt felt a weight lift from his shoulders as her attention shifted and the eye contact broke.

“Thank you, Ms. Patriclan.” Mr. Graves’ voice was professionally firm. “We were just about to wrap up here. We’ll let you know if we find anything.”

“Please do,” Ms. Patriclan said. “And, please-- find Randy. He’s a sweet boy, really.”

Mr. Graves murmured his promises and shut the door. It locked with a click. He turned away and rolled his eyes. “She’s completely off her rocker.”

“Oh, she only wants to help.” Tina released Newt’s hand, leaving him holding just the photograph, which felt strangely heavy now. He stepped over to hang it back on the wall, placing it carefully back onto its hook. He checked that it was straight, brushing the cold glass with his fingers. The woman stared back at him. Her narrow eyes were disapproving.

“And what a lot of help she was,” Mr. Graves said. “Well, at least we have a lead now-- the guy had Scamander’s sad eyes . I’m sure we can do something with that information.”

Tina shifted her weight from foot to foot, thoughtful. Newt could feel the tension in the air. He tugged the sleeve of his coat. What had he gotten himself into? This was a real murder investigation, and even if it was a creature-- supposedly his ‘area of expertise’-- the more he saw, the more he knew that there wasn’t really anything he could do.

"I’m going to go check the bedroom again,” Tina said. "Maybe he left something behind, wrote something down..."

“Once you’re done we’ll head back to MACUSA to file a report,” Mr. Graves said, “and then we’ll figure out our next course of action.” He opened the drawer to the table in the entrance hall, peeked in, then shut it when he saw that it was empty. He looked over the apartment again, expression shrewd, as Tina disappeared and Newt realized that they were alone.

He swallowed. He had wanted to apologize, and now was as good a time as any. But Newt had never been one for confrontations of any kind. He wished that he had Pickett with him to provide some comfort, but he had left him with Queenie for the day for safety. The bowtruckle had protested so much it nearly hadn’t been worth it, and now Newt decided selfishly that he would let Pickett come on these investigations, if only for the moral support.

"Mr. Graves,” he said when Mr. Graves made no sign of acknowledging him.

“What, Scamander?”

Newt didn’t let the sharp tone deter him. “I’d like to apologize for last night,” he said softly, aware that Tina could return at any moment. “My behavior was uncalled for.”

Mr. Graves turned away from him, wandering back into the living room. Although the front of his coat had been pressed neatly, the back was wrinkled and creased, as though no one had told him that his outfit wasn’t ironed correctly. This realization felt too intimate to Newt, who dropped his eyes and waited for his response.

“I appreciate that,” Mr. Graves said after a moment. “I suppose that I, too, spoke… out of turn. I… apologize.” He sounded like a niffler did when someone tried to pry a piece of gold away from it, like every word, every motion, hurt. Newt couldn’t help a small smile.

“I’d like you to know,” he said, still quiet, “that I am doing everything I can for this case, and I will continue to do just that. I can’t promise you that I will provide anything useful. But I will promise you that I will try.”

Mr. Graves turned his head a fraction. The blinds were partially drawn over the window, and the sunlight touched the sharp curves of his cheekbones in fractured lines. “I suppose that’s all we can ask,” he said.

Newt bit his top lip, blinking hard at Mr. Graves’ shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. “I, uh… just thought I’d clear things up a bit.”

“Nothing.” Tina walked back into the room, lips puckered in annoyance. “Alright, we’ve completely searched this place. We should head back to MACUSA.” She stopped and looked at them. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine,” Mr. Graves said, and his voice sounded odd, a shade gruffer than before. He cleared his throat and he was back to normal so quickly Newt was sure he had imagined it. “I’ll meet you in my office,” he said, turning. His expression was back to its usual half grimace, half glare. “We have no further use of Mr. Scamander for the day. See him home and then return.” He strode away without looking at either of them, coat flapping against the back of his legs, and yanked the door open. He slammed it shut behind him.

“Drama queen,” Tina muttered. She picked her hat up off of the coffee table and jammed it firmly back onto her head. “Alright, Newt, let’s get you home.”

Newt had to force himself to lift his feet, to follow her out of the apartment. “Right,” he said, even as the sound of Mr. Graves slamming the door shut rang in his ears.

XXXXX

A hot mug of tea impeded his vision, set so close to his wrist he could feel the heat emanating from it. He glanced at it and then up to Queenie. It was nearing evening, and without any plans to go out, she had taken her makeup off. Her concerned smile looked smaller without her usual lipstick.

“Oh,” he said, “thank you.”

“You’ve been working all afternoon, honey,” Queenie said, “why don’t you take a break?”

“I’m just trying to get through this book.” Newt frowned down at the writing. The cramped font was starting to give him a headache. “I thought it might be the Barbear-- it’s a land animal that’s been known to attack humans in the past-- but they’ve been extinct since 1829.”

“Take a break,” Queenie said again. Her smile widened. “I know I’m not the baker around here, but I thought I’d make some chocolate chip cookies, just as a little treat. They’re Teeny’s favorite, she’ll be glad when she gets home.”

“That sounds great,” Newt said, mind already back on his book. It was an old one, and fragments of the worn yellow pages had been lost to time. It made for extremely difficult reading.

Queenie sighed. “You haven’t even eaten anything all day,” she said. She reached out and pushed a hair behind Newt’s ear. He stiffened at the sudden contact, fingers tightening on the book. “This was meant to be a fun visit, and we’ve got you holed up investigating a murder.”

“It’s interesting,” Newt said, completely still as Queenie ran her fingers through his hair. Her movements were absent minded, distracted, and he wasn’t sure she knew that she was doing it. Newt had often seen her doing this very thing to Tina, but he didn’t quite know how to deal with it himself.

Queenie laughed, moving her fingers again down his scalp. They came to a rest at the base of his neck and started rubbing small circles, slow and gentle. “You’re a strange man.”

“I know,” Newt murmured, his eyes slipping shut of their own accord. The light touch sent prickles down his spine, and when Queenie moved to scratch behind his ear Newt made a small sound he felt immediately embarrassed of. He knew as well as anyone the power that touch could have; he had used it as medication for countless creatures, and he couldn’t deny that the innocent and well intentioned human contact was sending thrums of relaxation through him. He was often so isolated on his expeditions that he could go weeks without even seeing another human being, let alone touching one.

“I know,” Queenie said, her voice quiet, still running gentle fingers through his curls. “You really should do something about that, Newt. You can’t be alone forever.”

“I’m not meant to settle down, Queenie,” Newt said, sighing as she brushed from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck. “It’s not in my job description.”

Queenie laughed. “Well, you’ll just have to find someone who can fit into that description as well, won’t you?” Queenie asked. “She’s out there.” After a moment, she said, “Oh, I’m sorry. They’re out there.”

Newt opened his eyes, breath catching in his throat. “Queenie--”

“Shh, it’s alright,” she said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to read that thought.” They were silent for a moment. Newt felt suddenly uneasy under her touch, and she immediately pulled away. She clasped her hands together and looked at him, biting down on her bottom lip in worry. “Newt.” She hesitated before dropping into the seat across from him. She leaned forward in her earnest, curls falling to frame her face. “You know I don’t mind. None of us would mind at all, as long as you were happy.”

Newt stared into his lap, knowing it would be useless to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about. Shame rose in his throat, familiar and painful. “It’s okay,” he said, “I’ll never act on it.”

“No, Newt!” Queenie’s hand twitched like she was about to reach out for him but then thought better. “Newt,” she started again, “you can’t let fear hold you back. I was terrified of trying to be with Jacob again, and look at us now!”

“I’m not afraid,” Newt said, refusing to meet her eyes. “I just… well, I’m not the most attractive of men, and I don’t mean in the purely physical sense. My lifestyle, my personality… I’m just not suited for… anything. Anything of that sort.”

“Oh, but you’re so wrong.” Queenie edged closer onto the edge of her seat, gaze imploring. “Newt, any man-- any person -- would be lucky to have you. You’re kind, and intelligent, and… I know there’s someone out there for you, I know it. And you’re going to find them.”

Newt smiled awkwardly at her arm. “Thank you, Queenie,” he murmured.

Queenie might have continued speaking if the door hadn’t burst open. Tina strode in, shaking off rain. Newt looked out the dark, water-streaked window. Dear Merlin, he really had been working all afternoon, hadn’t he? “Oh, blast it,” she said, “this was a brand new coat.” She pulled off her hat and tossed it aside. Queenie waved her hand before it hit the ground and sent it fluttering to dry near the hearth.

“You’re back early,” she said, voice as chipper as always, rising to take Tina’s coat

“Thanks.” Tina shrugged out of it. “Graves had some paperwork he needed to do,” she said. “I’ve just sort of been loitering in his office for the past two hours anyways. You didn’t miss anything, Newt.”

“Except for another one of that man’s sour moods.” Queenie frowned at Tina. “Did he really shout at the receptionist?”

“You’re doing it again, Queenie.”

“Oh, you know I can’t help it.”

“Mr. Graves is under a lot of stress.” Tina’s words were delicate. She wandered over to the kitchen, hair damp, and peeked into the bread box. “He was in a meeting with Picquery when I got there. I’m pretty sure she chewed him out.”

“It still doesn’t give him an excuse to bluster about taking his anger out on other people,” Queenie said. When Tina reached into the box she said sharply, “You’ll ruin your dinner, Tina.”

“I’m starved,” Tina complained, ripping off a piece of bread from the half-finished loaf. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mr. Graves eat. He didn’t even mention a lunch break.”

"Perhaps he’s a vampire,” Newt said, eyes back on his book, lips forced up into a small smile. He could feel Queenie’s eyes on him and tried to ignore it.

“I think you’ve cracked it,” Tina said through a mouthful of crust, pointing at him. “And the reason he’s so angry at the world is because he has to go out when it’s sunny.”

“It wasn't very sunny today,” Queenie pointed out.

“Perhaps someone offered him garlic bread,” Newt said, and they both laughed.

“Oh, you two are awful,” Queenie said, flicking her wand at a cupboard. It opened with a pop and her apron fluttered out, flapping its strings to direct itself towards her. She raised her arms to let it slip over her head.

“I thought you didn’t like him?” Tina asked, grinning at her sister.

“I don’t,” Queenie said, “but you definitely aren’t going to win any favors by calling him a vampire .”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Tina said. She watched as Queenie started floating ingredients out of the ice box. “What are you making us?”

“Lasagna,” Queenie said. “I figured you could both use some comfort food. I invited Jacob over as well; the shop closes at five, so he’ll be over then.”

“I have to wait that long?” Tina complained. Queenie jabbed her wand at her and a carrot spun off the counter, whacking Tina on the back of the head. Queenie caught it in one hand while Tina winced, reaching up to grab her abused head. “Ow, Queenie!”

“My hand slipped,” Queenie said with a sweet smile.

Newt ran his fingers over the spidery ink in his book. The letters were swimming in front of his eyes, and he didn’t think he’d be able to get anymore work done tonight, so he closed it and let the sound of bickering sisters and the pop pop pop of the gas stove igniting wash over him. Outside, the rain pounded on the windows, dark and cold, but inside, the apartment was warm and bursting with light and full of people. Despite the unsettling conversation Newt had just had, he felt himself relaxing into the atmosphere, laughing along when Tina tried to overturn the salad bowl on Queenie’s head in revenge and only succeeded in splattering herself with tomato sauce. But a thought pressed against the back of his mind, nothing more than a niggling curiosity-- how was Mr. Graves spending this cold night? Newt hoped that he wasn't at the office, holed up in an empty department with just paperwork, but something told him that that’s exactly where he was.

Newt drew himself out of his thoughts and tried to push it to the back of his mind, smiling as Queenie twirled, apron fanning out around her knees. How Mr. Graves spent his time was none of his business, after all.

Chapter Text

Fora Ante  

Percival

Sometimes Percival wished he had done what his mother had wanted for him. He wished he had settled for a nice desk job in Wand Regulation, or perhaps Magical Financial Aid, where they did nothing but dull paperwork all day. Percival bet the only stress they had was when the copying machine got jammed-- not a murder investigation that refused to be solved.

He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. An unfinished report sat in front of him, pen discarded beside it, while Picquery wore a hole in his carpet with her pacing. Complaints poured from her mouth like a broken faucet.

“It’s been a week, Percival,” she said, turning sharply on her heel to glare at him.

“Actually, it’s been four days.”

“Don’t.” Her voice carried a heavy warning. “The people are going ballistic. Two bodies turn up within days of each other under mysterious circumstances, and the most their President can do is tell them that the government is working on it. Tell me, Graves, is the government working on it?”

Percival could feel a headache building up. He would kill for a drink. “Yes,” he said, biting his tongue when his temper threatened to tack on a more scathing comment.

“Well, you could have had me fooled.”

“Seraphina, you know I’m working on this. Goldstein and I--”

“Goldstein.” Picquery said the name with venom. “Perhaps if I had assigned a more senior auror to this case, we would actually be somewhere by now.”

Graves opened his eyes to frown at her. She had just come out of a meeting with her advisors, and she was frazzled in a way that she only allowed herself to be behind closed doors. He bore it because he was used to it, and because Picquery always let him storm and rage at her when he needed to. They understood the other’s need to blow off steam out of the public eye. He would not, however, allow Picquery to take shots at Goldstein when she wasn’t here to defend herself.

“Goldstein is an exemplary auror and partner,” he said. “It is most certainly not her fault, and you know it.”

Picquery’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t say anything. Clasping her hands behind her back, she strode to the window, lifting her chin to gaze out. The auror department was on one of the top floors of MACUSA, and the view from Graves’s office was wonderful. Below, the busy streets were filled with cars and pedestrians going about their lives, unaware of the magical crisis happening right over their heads. What a simple life No-Majs must lead.

“Mr. Scamander doesn’t know what it is yet?”

Percival took advantage of the President’s turned back to roll his eyes in exasperation. “I’m afraid he hasn’t much to work with, Madame,” he said, voice carefully calm. “It is no more his fault than it is Goldstein’s. If anything, I’m the one who--”

“Oh, I already blame you, Percival, no need to worry about that.” Picquery pinched the bridge of her nose. The sunlight glinted off of her gold earrings. “If it was just the murders, it might be quieter, but this bizarre pattern has frightened everyone. People disappear for a few weeks and then their body shows up in a ditch. We can’t even tell the people what they should be looking out for, let alone how to protect themselves, and they’re only going to get more paranoid if we don’t tell them anything. But we have nothing to say, nothing to reassure them with.”

“Tell them that we are putting our best efforts into this investigation.”

“Efforts aren’t enough, Graves, not when they don’t yield results.” Picquery turned back towards him, dark eyes narrowed. “I don’t need to remind you that your situation is still precarious.”

“I know,” Graves murmured. He knew what the higher powers thought of him: if he couldn’t fix this in a timely manner, his position as the Director of Magical Security would be handed to someone else, someone who hadn’t gotten themselves kidnapped by Grindelwald. It was just like everything in his life now. Perhaps he would be eligible for a raise… if he hadn’t been kidnapped. Perhaps the public would actually trust him to do his job… if he he hadn’t been kidnapped.

He needed to clear this mess up, and quickly.

“I don’t enjoy putting you in this position, Percival.” Some of the anger had left her voice now. Percival hoped it had run its course. He was already exhausted, and being yelled at was doing nothing to help.

“I know,” he said.

“We’re stuck between a basilisk and a hard place.” Picquery tugged on her bottom lip, staring across the room. Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. “God, this is a mess.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Damn right you’ll take care of it.” Ah, so the anger wasn’t quite gone yet. Graves sighed. “You’ll take care of it because it is your job and if you don’t get me some answers you are going to be fired, Graves! And do you want to know what will happen when you get fired? You’ll-- what?” she barked when a tentative knock on the door interrupted her.

After a moment it creaked open. Percival groaned and tilted his head back as Goldstein poked her head in, hesitance scrawled across her features. He stared up at the ceiling. He was definitely getting a headache, and he was going to name it Seraphina. Lovely name for a migraine.

“Ms. Goldstein.” Picquery’s voice was calm and collected once more, as though she hadn’t just been shouting threats. “Mr. Scamander.”

Percival blinked and brought his head back down to see a familiar head of curls tucked behind Goldstein. When she pushed the door open a little more his thin, awkward smile popped into view.

“Madame President,” Goldstein said. “We’re sorry, we just wanted to speak with Mr. Graves. If we’re interrupting anything…”

“Not at all. I was just leaving.” Picquery pursed her lips and turned to Percival. He met her gaze, eyebrows raised coolly. Her nose twitched at his impertinence. “Remember what I said, Percival,” she said, “and get on it.”

Her heels clicked threateningly as she stalked away. Goldstein and Scamander pressed themselves against the doorway to let her through, murmuring goodbyes that went ignored.

“Come in,” Percival said, sighing as he got to his feet. He had been sitting all morning, and his knees popped when he moved. “I suppose you’ve heard?”

“There’s another body.” Goldstein waited until Scamander shuffled in before shutting the door. The buttons on her shirt had been done up wrong and her short hair was a mess, but she was here, and in good time, too. Percival admired fast response.

“Yes,” he said. “They found Mr. Simmons floating facedown in a lake in Central Park early this morning. His body is currently being examined, but it bears the same bite and other physical symptoms as the first body. Whatever creature is doing this has struck again.” He pulled his wand out of his pocket. “Coffee?”

“Please.” Goldstein huffed and collapsed into the hardbacked chair in front of Percival’s desk, slumping down and letting her arms hang loosely over the sides. She looked as exhausted as Percival felt.

“Mr. Scamander?”

“What?” The man blinked like he was surprised at being spoken to. “Oh. Uh, yes. Thank you.”

Percival flicked his wand and the coffee machine in the corner of the room came to life. That thing was the best investment he had ever made. He wouldn’t have a job right now if it hadn’t been there to get him through dozens of sleepless nights.

He twirled his wand between his fingers and took a moment to appraise Scamander. He looked more put together than Goldstein, but his hair was even messier than usual and his darting eyes were shot with red from lack of sleep. He didn’t appear to know what to do with himself. While Goldstein made herself at home without invitation, Scamander stood in the center of the room, shoulders hunched, wringing his hands nervously. Percival didn’t think Scamander was ever still. He was always moving, always fiddling with something, always holding himself like someone was about to scold him.

“I don’t suppose you’ve had some breakthrough in the past twenty-four hours?” Percival asked him.

Scamander, as usual, didn’t look at him when he responded. “No.”

Percival sighed. “Pity,” he said as the light on the coffee pot flicked on, indicating readiness. “Sugar?”

“Just cream for me,” Goldstein said as Percival fetched three mugs from the cupboard. He waved a hand and let the coffee pot fill each of them, looking over his shoulder at Scamander.

“Um,” Scamander said. So many filler words. “Yes, please. Sugar, I mean.”

Percival poured a splash of cream in his and Goldstein’s cups, then hesitated over the last. Scamander was an Englishman, and they quite notoriously couldn’t stand the bitter taste of coffee. He frowned, thinking of Scamander’s soft words and quiet smiles, and poured a generous helping of cream and sugar in, stirring it until it was shades paler than the other two. It was nothing he would be able to stomach, but he figured Scamander would enjoy it.

“Here.” He levitated Goldstein’s mug to her as he walked over Scamander’s. Goldstein snatched it eagerly out of the air and took a sip even though it was still piping hot. She moaned, letting her eyes slip shut.

“God,” she said. “I needed that.”

Percival offered Scamander his mug handle first. He blinked a few times at it before reaching out to take it. “Thank you,” he said.

Percival inclined his head once before turning to retrieve his own mug. It warmed his hands, hot enough to prickle. He turned and pressed his lower back against the table the coffee pot stood on, lifting the mug to his lips and watching Scamander over the rim. The other man was blowing on the drink halfheartedly, gaze wandering around Percival’s office. After a moment he took a distracted sip and his eyebrows darted upward in surprise.

“Oh,” he said. He looked at Percival, making direct eye contact for the-- what, fourth time since Percival had known him? The shock of blue-green always gave Percival a start. It was easy to forget the intensity of Scamander’s eyes when he so often kept them hidden. “This is lovely.”

“Newt Scamander liking a cup of coffee? The apocalypse is truly upon us,” Goldstein said. The drink seemed to be perking her up. She straightened in her seat, crossing her legs and taking another long sip. She had already drained half the cup.

A faint flush rose in Scamander’s cheeks and he ducked his head to hide it. Percival watched him. For someone so reserved, his pleasant surprise was a visceral reaction, as though the semi-decent cup of coffee was the nicest thing he had ever been offered. Percival had never met someone so easily and genuinely pleased.

“Okay.” Goldstein set down her empty mug on Percival’s desk, swiping the back of her mouth with her wrist. “So. Simmons is dead three days after Forecoster. He has all the same physical injuries, the bite, the white eyes, etcetera, etcetera. He was found in a lake in the middle of Central Park. Is that all we know?”

“Well, we also know that most of the magical community is starting to panic, but I don’t think that will help us any.”

“No, but it definitely adds to the pressure,” Goldstein said. “How do they even know? I thought we were keeping this quiet.”

“We were,” Percival said dryly, “but I’m afraid the location of the body was quite public. We obliviated the No-Majs, of course, but the Ghost got ahold of the story. It headlined this morning.”

“Well, there’s much to be said about their quick turnaround.” Goldstein sighed. “Crap.”

“Mr. Scamander,” Percival said, “do you have any ideas?”

Scamander looked up from where he had been intently enjoying his coffee. He was still standing alone in the center of the room, bright jacket hanging off of his bony shoulders. He glanced briefly at Percival before directing his words to Goldstein.

“Nothing definite,” he said. “I’ve compared the bite marks to every other one I have on record, and while I found a few promising matches, the other symptoms just don’t fit. I can’t find anything that would account for the white eyes. The Draconis Anculubni has a venom that attacks melanin, causing something akin to albinism in its victims, but that’s much too extreme for what we’re dealing with. Then there’s the Draconis Lugubriotis. It’s from the same family as the Anculubni, but the Lugubriotis’s poison is sort of ecto-parasitical. It sticks onto the skin, poisoning the prey slowly over a period of time. It even causes blindness meant to weaken the victim, so I thought… but then, it wouldn’t have needed a bite to administer its venom.”

Percival blinked. He wasn’t used to not understanding things, but he had to admit that most of what Scamander had just said had gone right over his head. Never had Scamander talked for longer than a few seconds, and never had he used so many sentences at once. It threw Percival off.

“Alright,” he said, trying valiantly to act like he knew what Scamander was talking about. “So the dragons are out?”

“Draconis,” Scamander corrected. “It’s a family of reptiles. All of them are extremely poisonous, and large enough to drag a human short distances.”

“But they don’t kidnap those humans for weeks and then dump their bodies in the middle of Central Park, do they?” Goldstein asked.

“Well, no,” Scamander admitted. Then he brightened again, as if someone had flipped a switch behind his smile. “But both bodies were found in the morning and were killed only hours before, meaning that the creature operates at night. Now that I can add nocturnal to my list of characteristics it might help me narrow things down.”

“Wonderful,” Percival said. He tapped his finger against the side of his mug. “Now all we have to do is try and quell the looming mass panic.”

“I’m sure Picquery can handle that,” Goldstein said. “She’s amazing with the public.”

“She’ll want one of us to appear with her and assure the people that our team is handling it,” Percival said. At Goldstein’s horrified expression he rolled his eyes and said, “Don’t worry, Goldstein, I’ll do it.”

Goldstein tried to hide her relief. “Ah, well, if you insist,” she said dismissively.

A sharp knock sounded on the door, drawing their attention. Percival set down his coffee and straightened in case it was someone important looking for him. “Come in.”

The door opened and Bentridge, a relatively recent appointment to the auror office, poked her head in. Her dark skin shone with sweat in the lamplight. “Mr. Graves,” she panted. “I was wondering if you knew where-- Tina! There you are, we need you down in the cells. Lakes was taking this group of kids he nabbed trying to hex some No-Majs to the cells and they got loose, so now they’re running rampant, and-- it’s alright, Sir, we’ve got it!” she said hurriedly when Percival took a step forward, hand dropping to his wand. “We just need all hands on deck. Tina, could you--?”

“Coming.” Goldstein stood. Percival wondered if he should warn her that her shirt wasn’t on properly, but she was already moving towards the door with purpose. He shrugged to himself. She could handle it. “I’ll be done soon, Newt, just hang out here until I get back.”

“But--” Scamander started, but Goldstein had already slammed the door behind her. Percival winced at the sharp noise. He would have to have a word with her about that. Slamming doors was unacceptable unless he was the one doing it.

“Lakes is a complete idiot,” Percival announced, picking up his coffee again. “I ought to demote him.”

Scamander was still standing in the middle of the room, staring at the door. Without Goldstein he looked even more like a lost puppy than usual. Percival was tempted to leave him there, but his conscience-- his very, very small conscience-- took pity on the magizoologist, who would most likely remain right there unless told where to go.

“Have a seat, Mr. Scamander,” Percival said, waving his hand at the chair Goldstein had just vacated as he sat down in his own, mug in hand.

“Um.” Scamander made no attempt to move. He stared carefully at Percival’s desk. “Mr. Graves, I can step outside and wait in the atrium, it’s really no--”

“Not to worry, those clowns will have this sorted out in five minutes,” Percival said. “If they don’t I might as well disband the auror department.” When Scamander still didn’t move, Percival frowned at him. “For god’s sake, Scamander, do you have a fear of chairs?”

Scamander’s eyes widened and he scurried forward, clutching his mug to his chest. He sat down, heavy coat flapping against the legs of the chair.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Percival just grunted. He picked up his pen again and went back to his report, determined to knock out another paragraph before Goldstein returned. It was what he had been working on before he had been assigned this nightmare of a murder case, and he wished he could return to the simple smuggling ring he had been investigating.

“You played Quidditch.” Percival looked up, pen poised over the paper, to see Scamander staring at something over Percival’s shoulder. He turned to follow his gaze.

“Yes,” Percival said. He had nearly forgotten he had tucked that plaque away on his shelf. The metal was engraved with the names of his teammates in fancy, curlicue script. “I played for Wampus house in school. I was Keeper.”

“Oh,” Scamander said. Percival expected him to say something else, but when he turned back around Scamander was already looking away. Percival clenched his jaw. Scamander had absolutely no social graces-- that much was obvious-- but it annoyed Percival how quickly he dropped conversations, especially when it was one of the first pleasant ones the two of them had ever had.

“Did you play?” Percival hid a smirk when Scamander’s eyes darted back to him, surprised.

“What?”

“Quidditch,” Percival said. He set down his pen and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Did you play?”

“Oh, no.” Scamander’s lips twitched, less out of amusement and more for want of something to do with them. “I wasn’t very sporty in school. But my brother played for Gryffindor and I would help him practice during the summer. He was a Keeper, so I always ended up as Chaser, but I’m afraid I wasn’t very good.”

Percival cocked his head and looked Scamander over, taking in his thin frame. “I would have had you pegged for a Seeker.”

Scamander ducked his head. “I’m rubbish on a broomstick,” he admitted. He bit his bottom lip. “I have rehabilitated several Snidgets, though. Did you know they were the original Golden Snitches?”

“I’ve heard stories,” Percival said.

“It was quite barbaric,” Scamander said. “The Hunter-- later called the Seeker-- had to kill the Snidget to end the game. They used to be quite common, but after they started being used for sport their numbers dropped drastically. Now they’re protected, of course, but you’ve still got factions of Quidditch purists who use them illegally in their games. I rescued a whole flock of them from a family down in Wales.”

Percival frowned. “That’s awful.”

“Oh, it was.” Scamander nodded earnestly. “The poor things were all bruised and battered. It took me weeks to get them to trust me. I couldn’t heal them that first day because as soon as I let them go in my case they took off. And, like I said, I’m rubbish on a broomstick.” Scamander chuckled, a genuine laugh that Percival had never heard from him.

It was remarkable watching him open up like this. Every other interaction Percival had had with him had been tight, nervous, controlled. He had seen parts of this passion when Scamander had talked about creatures before, but it had always been brief flashes, gone so quickly that Percival was certain he had imagined it. Now, though, Scamander had unfolded in his chair and raised his head, and when Percival looked at him he actually made eye contact. Another memory popped into Percival’s head-- Scamander staring him down across the table, mouth set in a determined line as he told Percival off with a streak of blue icing arching above his eyebrows. The situation had been ridiculous at the time, but now Percival looked back on it with grudging admiration. It was rare that someone stood up to him like that.

“Do you have any Snidgets now?” he asked. He wanted to keep Scamander talking like this, and if all it took was a conversation about magical creatures to do so, then Percival could chat about Snidgets all day. Or at least until Goldstein got back. Contrary to popular belief, Percival didn’t necessarily enjoy when people were frightened of him. Respectfully intimidated, yes-- but he always felt awkward when people were as genuinely scared of him as Scamander seemed to be. Not that he didn’t have good reason after Percival’s attitude over the past few days. Percival felt the first coil of guilt curl in his stomach and pushed it down.

“To be quite honest, I’m not sure,” Scamander said. “I released most of them onto a Snidget reservation, but they’re so quick it’s possible that a few of them are still hiding in my suitcase. I’ve suspected that something is stealing food from the Mooncalves for quite a while.”

Percival raised his eyebrows. He had read the description on Scamander’s suitcase, but was it really so big that he could lose entire animals in it?

“Perhaps you should hire a Seeker to go in and find them,” Percival said.

Scamander laughed. “If you have any player recommendations,” he said, “I can promise them some good practice.”

He caught Percival’s eye, a genuine smile lighting up his face. A split second later, though, it dropped, and he looked down to his lap, curling back in on himself.

Percival frowned. Had he done something wrong?

“Your brother,” he said, searching for a topic that wouldn’t make Scamander uncomfortable. “That would be Theseus Scamander, correct? Auror?”

“Yes,” Scamander said, but what Percival thought was a safe conversation instead made Scamander’s voice lose the strength it had when discussing his creatures. He went back to fumbling softly for his words.

Percival remembered Theseus Scamander. It was hard to forget someone like that, even if the conversation Percival had had with him on wand techniques had been short and unmemorable. At first glance the two brothers looked alike, with gangly figures and hair that looked as though they had just walked out of a fight. But Theseus’s proud posture and loud personality turned heads in a crowd, while Scamander always looked as though he was trying to disappear into one, trying to blend in with the people around him even though he never quite fit in. Percival hadn’t thought it possible for two siblings to be such antipodes of each other.

Right now, though, he was just grateful that he had some basis for a conversation topic.

“I met him once,” Percival said, “at a conference. We had a lovely conversation. It’s astounding how different you are.”

“Yes,” Scamander said, shifting in his seat, “I’ve heard that.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Percival realized what he had said, and how it might have been interpreted. “Oh,” he said, “I didn’t mean-- I only meant to say that he’s quite-- and you’re very-- I mean, it’s not that you’re not pleasant as well, you’re actually--” He stopped when he realized Scamander was staring at him. He cleared his throat and scowled. “Your brother worked wonders during the war. You should be proud of him.”

“I am,” Scamander said, and Percival knew that he meant it.

Another awkward silence settled over them, and this time Percival didn’t try and stop it. He picked up his pen again and bent down, scribbling intently without really thinking. He knew that every word he wrote was further ruining his report, but it was easier to focus on that than Scamander. Even when Percival was actually trying to be nice he couldn’t hold a successful conversation with the man. It was like Scamander was intent on making Percival’s life difficult. He remembered Picquery’s words: “You don’t understand the certain element of… chaos he brings with him.”

If Percival hadn’t understood before, he was starting to.

For a few moments the only sound was Percival scratching away at his paper. Then Scamander said, “That’s my book.”

Percival paused and looked up. Scamander was looking at the pile on Percival’s desk, a stack of handbooks and reports that Percival had yet to go through. Towards the top, the bright green binding stuck out like a sore thumb. An unfamiliar heat crawled up Percival’s neck.

“Yes,” he said, “President Picquery gave it to me.”

“Ah,” Scamander said. Two spots of red appeared in his cheeks, shining bright underneath the freckles.

Percival twisted the pen in his fingers, unable to look at Scamander. “It’s very good.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he said. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t know much about magical creatures.”

“Well,” Scamander said. “I hope it teaches you something.”

“I’m sure it will.”

Silence again. They sat there, desk between them, neither looking at the other. Percival felt like he should say something, perhaps discuss more of Scamander’s book, but his mind was drawing a blank. What was wrong with him today? Perhaps the stress of it all was starting to get to him, and he really should take a break.

The door opened again. “Goodness,” Goldstein said as she walked in. Her shirt was buttoned properly now, but she looked even more exhausted than before. “I’m sorry I was gone that long. They took refuge in the mailroom, and it had to go through every single crate looking for them. They’re in the cells now.”

“Good,” Percival said, trying to inject some authority back into his voice and shake off his… well, whatever that had just been. “Now, President Picquery is planning on speaking to the people this evening, so I should--” He stopped, gaze catching Scamander’s book once more. The golden title embossed on the spine glinted in the light: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, by Newt Scamander .

“Graves?” Goldstein asked when he made no move to keep speaking.

“I have an idea,” Percival said, more to himself than anyone else. He turned to Scamander, who stared back at him with big blue eyes. God, they were bright. Percival wished Scamander would look at him more. “Mr. Scamander,” he said, “how do you feel about public speaking?”

XXXXX

“This is the worst thing we have ever done.” Goldstein’s whispers were sharp in his ears. Percival leaned slightly away, keeping his attention fixed on Picquery.

“You know very well that we’ve done much worse things,” Percival murmured. “Now shut up and pay attention.”

“I assure you that we are doing everything within our power to get to the bottom of this,” Picquery said. Cameras clicked and flashed from the crowd of reporters assembled in front of her. Charmed notepads hovering amongst them took furious notes.

“Do you have any suspects?” piped up a voice from the back of the crowd.

Picquery gazed in the direction of it. She was dressed in a glitzy black dress that pooled around pointy red heels, expression calm and assured. Her public persona was on and ready to keep the peace. “No,” she said, “because we do not believe the perpetrator is a human. We believe,” she said, raising her voice over the sudden chatter, “that whatever is doing this is a magical creature. We have therefore hired the assistance of Mr. Scamander, author of the bestselling book Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them . Mr. Scamander is consulting on this case, and with his efforts we hope to locate whatever creature is doing this before anyone else gets hurt.”

The room exploded. Percival winced. They were in the main conference room, and he and Goldstein had taken seats high above the heads of the reporters to watch. Picquery stood on a raised platform in front of the crowd, and a few steps behind her Scamander was attempting to shrink into the background. Percival could see his panicked expression from here and another set of doubts seized him. It had seemed a good idea at the time, but now that Scamander was really up there… He could hardly hold a conversation with one person. How was he going to handle dozens of them?

Beside him, Goldstein groaned. “Queenie is going to have my head,” she muttered.

“Mr. Scamander!” shouted a voice from the crowd. A tiny wizard was hopping up and down, waving his pen wildly in the air. His hat popped off his head with every jump, settling back at different angles every time he came back down. “Mr. Scamander, do you have any idea what this creature might be?”

Scamander shifted. Percival watched him look at Picquery for guidance, but when she said nothing he turned back to the crowd. He was coiled as tightly as possible, hands clenched behind his back, heels pressed together. “Well,” he said, his voice so soft Percival could hardly hear him, “I have a few ideas. It’s a little tricky, but I’m, uh, sure that with more research we’ll find something.”

“Mr. Scamander!” A witch with long red hair stepped forward. A camera flashed next to her and Percival saw Scamander flinch. “What kind of creature holds hostages for weeks before killing them?”

“There’s any number of animals that hold prey captive,” Scamander said. “Acromantula, for example, tend to--”

“Mr. Scamander, wasn’t it you who unleashed a number of creatures on New York just last year?”

Scamander hesitated. “That was an accident,” he said, and Percival groaned as the press lit up again.

“We need to get him out of there,” Goldstein said, gripping the arm of her chair.

“No,” Percival murmured. “He’s got this.”

“Is it possible that it’s one of your creatures?”

“No.” Scamander’s voice was stronger now. There was that defensiveness he had shown Percival in the No-Maj’s bakery. Use it , Percival urged him. “All of my animals are accounted for, and I can assure you that none of the creatures in my possession are dangerous. Whatever is doing this is probably scared, or trapped--”

“Are you sympathizing with the murderer, Mr. Scamander?”

“Of course not! I’m only trying to--”

“Are there going to be anymore disappearances?”

“I hope not, but--”

“How do you feel about your book coming out on top of Quidditch Through The Ages in Witch Weekly’s book of the month poll?”

“I-- I hardly think that that--”

“Are you seeing anyone, Mr. Scamander?”

“W-what? I beg your--”

“Aren’t you from London, Mr. Scamander?”

“Well, I grew up in--”

“Mr. Scamander, do you intend to offer your services to every country should they have problems with magical creatures, or just MACUSA?”

“I-- I don’t--”

“Enough.” Picquery silenced the growing frenzy with a single word that sliced through the chatter. The reporters immediately stepped down. Percival breathed a silent sigh of relief. He and Goldstein were on their feet, and Percival knew they had both been prepared to jump in there if necessary. Percival wasn’t about to let Scamander ruin the face of this investigation, after all. “If you would like to ask Mr. Scamander questions about his book, you will have to schedule an interview. Until then, we’re finished here.”

Percival watched with fingers tight on the railing as Picquery whispered something to Scamander, who had been staring out at the crowd, petrified, for the last thirty seconds. When she turned she pressed a hand to his back and guided him off the platform with her, ignoring the shouts of the reporters. They disappeared through a side door.

“Come on,” Percival murmured, turning and striding quickly through the door behind him. Goldstein’s shoes clacked behind him as he walked down the narrow set of stairs that would take them back onto ground floor. He could still hear the dozens of reporters leaving the room, talking amongst themselves in voices that echoed throughout all of MACUSA, but as they turned right and walked further down the hallway they began to fade.

Percival really hated reporters.

“That was awful,” Goldstein panted beside him. “God, Queenie is going to skin me.”

Percival made another sharp right turn. Rows of doors appeared on either side of them, bare and unnumbered. Goldstein’s footsteps faltered beside him, but he continued forward towards the door at the very end. When he reached it he stopped and knocked three times.

“Come in,” called a voice, and he pushed it open.

It was a small, unused conference room with a big circular table dominating most of the space. Every room in this hallway was vacant, an unneeded section of MACUSA that most employees weren’t even aware of. Picquery always used it to decompress after stressful meetings, and Percival had rightly deduced that this was where she had gone today.

“Madame President,” he said, stepping inside.

“Graves.” Picquery arched an eyebrow. “Took you long enough.”

“Newt!” Goldstein pushed past Percival, pulling up short in front of Scamander like she wanted to touch him but was unsure about it. She looked him over, anxiety written all over her face “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Scamander murmured. His eyes found Percival’s over her shoulder, and for a moment Percival held his gaze. Scamander looked shaken, but he was still standing. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Scamander, it could have gone much worse.” Picquery waved a dismissive hand. “That’ll have the public off of our backs for a while. Graves, meet me in my office as soon as possible.” She moved to the door and opened it. Before she left she paused. “Nice job out there, Scamander,” she said without looking at him. She was gone before he could respond.

“Newt, are you sure you’re alright?” Goldstein asked, wringing her hands.

“I’m fine, Tina, really,” Scamander said with a half smile. A bit of color had flooded back into his cheeks now. He drew his coat tighter around himself, looking at Percival again. Perhaps holding eye contact didn’t seem quite as scary now after that crowd.

Percival appraised him anew. He hadn’t thought Scamander capable of handling Percival’s suggestion; he knew first hand how difficult it was to handle oneself in front of legions of bloodthirsty reporters. He had thrown Scamander into the ring and the man had come back... somewhat victorious. Despite himself, Percival was impressed.

“Nice work,” Percival said. He knew that he was smiling, and after a moment Scamander hesitantly returned it. “You even got Picquery’s approval. Quite the impossible task.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure that deep down she still hates me,” Scamander said. Percival laughed.

“I should go see what she wants,” he said. He inclined his head to each of them in turn. “I’ll be in contact if I learn anything new.”

“Thank you, sir,” Goldstein said.

“Thank you, Mr. Graves,” Scamander said quietly.

Percival paused with his hand on the door. Without looking back, he said, “You’re welcome,” and left before he could decide who he was responding to.

XXXXX

Percival liked to think he was a decent auror. He figured he could allow himself a small amount of ego in this one aspect of his life; he was, after all, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so that sort of made him MACUSA’s Supreme Auror (a term he had coined years ago with Picquery when they had both been very, very drunk).

This case, however, was completely stumping him.

It helped a little that Goldstein was equally confounded. It had been a week since the press conference, and while no new bodies had turned up and no one else had disappeared, they were also no closer to finding whatever was doing it.

They had filled the first few days with visits to each of the disappearance sites, where Scamander had confirmed that it was the same creature based on the magical residue left behind. But aside from that, they had nothing else to go off of. The victims didn’t seem to be linked in any way. The creature left nothing behind but its energy. There were no signs of it anywhere.

Percival had never been so infuriated.

He was back to working on his smuggling ring case in the interim. The leg work was being done by some of the junior aurors, leaving him to take on the directing and strategizing. On Monday he received intelligence that his target, Vincenzo Bianchi, had been spotted in a speakeasy downtown, and on Tuesday he sent out three of his best aurors to make the arrest.

When he was notified that they had the place on lockdown and were just waiting on permission to bring Bianchi back to MACUSA, Percival felt good about his job for the first time that week.

He signed off on the arrest warrant, then laid down his pen. As he watched, the paper folded itself into a crisp airplane, rolling over and over on his desk until it was suitable for flight. It leapt into the air, dipping its sharp nose at him in a tiny bow, and then whirled around and sped away. At the last second the door flew open to allow it passage through, and it went careening out into the auror department.

“Oh!” As the door opened Percival heard a soft shout of surprise. He raised an eyebrow.

“Come in,” he called. He rolled his shoulders to alleviate the stiffness that had settled there, watching his visitor enter. When he saw who it was he straightened up. “Mr. Scamander.”

Scamander shuffled in sheepishly, clutching a beat-up suitcase in both hands. Percival’s gaze fell to it, interest piquing. That had to be the legendary case that had featured so heavily in last year’s reports.

“I’m sorry,” Scamander said, “your, uh, paper gave me a fright.”

“No need to worry. Come in, sit down.”

Scamander, as usual, didn’t take off his coat upon entering. He set the case on the floor by the chair, but kept one hand on it as he sat down.

“How can I help you?” Percival asked. He had no idea why Scamander was here. He hadn’t even seen the man in the last two days; with nothing else to investigate, he suspected that Scamander had gone back to whatever actual business he had in New York. Percival wondered idly what that was. Skulking around looking for stray animals to rescue? Percival could picture him wandering the streets like some magical vigilante.

“I was actually looking for Tina.” Scamander blinked rapidly at Percival’s ink blotter. “Queenie-- um, her sister-- needed to know if she was coming back for dinner, and I wasn’t doing anything, so I thought that I would stop by, and, uh, ask.”

“I sent Ms. Goldstein out to make an arrest,” Percival said, “but she should be back in a few minutes. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Oh, no, I’m quite alright,” Scamander said, lips quirking up in a polite half-smile.

“Hm.” Percival stood and wandered over to his coffee machine, waving his hand to pour himself a cup. “Is that the suitcase, then?”

“What?” Scamander looked down at it, as though just realizing he had it. “Oh. Yes.”

“Do you always carry it around like a security blanket?”

Scamander’s hand tightened on the handle, and Percival turned his back to hide a grin. He stirred cream into his coffee by hand.  

“I feel best when I have it with me.” Bless his heart, he actually sounded a little indignant. “It makes it easier to stop any emergencies.”

“Like?” Percival turned back and cocked a head at Scamander, raising his cup to his lips. 

Percival was being infuriating, and he knew it. He hadn’t seen Scamander in days, though, and he felt deprived of that flush that rose in Scamander’s cheeks as if by command. Percival enjoyed embarrassing people. It was a sadistic little streak he’d had since childhood, and Scamander was proving to be an excellent target.

Scamander was quiet for a moment. “If one of my creatures were to get hurt, I would want to be close at hand to help.”

Percival stared. He hadn’t expected that.

“Well,” he said, for once at a loss for words. “They’re lucky to have you, then.”

Scamander turned a bright shade of pink. He shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. “How long did you say Tina would be?”

Percival opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden pull in his stomach stopped him as the alarm he had laid in the atrium went off. He set down his coffee mug with a sharp bang, startling Scamander. “Come with me,” he said, snatching his coat off his chair as he passed.

Scamander scurried after him as Percival strode through the auror department, shrugging his coat on. All around them his employees talked and worked, small plane memos swooping back and forth over their heads. In one corner Lakes and Eisenhower were throwing balls of paper out of each other, shouting and laughing as they ducked behind their desks for cover. When they saw Percival approaching they froze, guilt creeping into their faces.

“Back to work,” Percival said without looking at them, “or I’ll fire you both.”

He heard them scrambling for their pens as he walked away.

He turned down the hallway that would lead to the atrium, letting the other people walking part for him. Scamander was panting behind him, clutching his case to his chest, stumbling every once in awhile over his own feet. The elevator was open and waiting for them at the end of the corridor.

“Atrium, no stopping,” he barked at the house elf manning the controls. It muttered something to itself and punched the buttons, shutting the doors with a heavy clank.

When they stopped on ground floor Percival pushed through the doors before they had fully opened, striding into the atrium and mounting the stairs that led to the bridge. Scamander kept tight to his heels.

A small group was assembled at the start of the bridge-- three finely dressed aurors and a tiny man who looked bored with life itself.

“Mr. Bianchi,” Percival said, coming to a stop in front of them. The aurors surrounded the him on all sides, wands out and pointed. His hands hung limp, cuffed together with magic at the wrist. “How nice of you to join us.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Graves.” Bianchi bowed as regally as was possible with three wands pressed to his neck. “Have you redecorated?”

“Most extensively,” Percival said. “I think you’ll especially enjoy the cells.”

“I do hope you’ve redone the flooring, that concrete was dreadful.” His voice was as oily as his hair, and although his mouth was turned up in a smirk, there was anger in his eyes. “Would you mind calling off your dogs here? I’ve nowhere to go now.”

Percival glanced at his aurors. Goldstein was staring at Newt, trying to communicate with her glare. “Wands down,” he ordered. “I’ll escort Bianchi to his cell.”

“Newt,” Goldstein hissed as she dropped her wand and stepped away with the others so Percival could take their place. “What are you doing here?”

A flash of something crossed Bianchi’s face. He lifted his gaze and fixed it over Percival’s shoulder. His expression was inscrutable, but Percival thought he had glimpsed something ugly and violent there.

“Mr. Scamander,” he said, empty amusement curling in his words. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

Percival had to physically stop his jaw from dropping. He turned. Scamander’s face had twisted into an expression Percival had never seen on him before, a hardness that rendered him unrecognizable, and a shiver of something Percival didn’t recognize crept down his spine.

“Vincenzo,” Scamander said, his voice harsher than it had ever been.

“One of MACUSA’s little watchdogs now, are you? I must say, your talents are much better suited elsewhere.”

“What are you in for this time, Vincenzo?”

“Oh, the usual.” Bianchi’s lips twitched wickedly. “What, are your precious feelings hurt that you didn’t even know we were here? If it makes you feel any better, we had no idea you were here, either, or we would have dropped by to say hello.”

“Scamander,” Percival muttered so Bianchi couldn’t hear, “do you want to explain why you are so intimately acquainted with a criminal?”

It was no use. “Scamander and I have a rich history,” Bianchi said, hearing every word. He caught his tongue between sharp teeth as he grinned.

“We most certainly do not,” Scamander snapped. He looked ready to say something else, then stopped. He pushed past Percival, a deep frown twisting his lips, suitcase swinging in hand. Bianchi’s eyes were drawn to it like a cat’s to a mouse, mouth curling with greed.

“Lovely little case you’ve got there, Scamander,” he said. “We can’t wait to get our hands on it, you know.”

“There’s a creature going around killing people.” Scamander stepped so close Percival started forward, hand going to his wand, but Bianchi didn’t make a move to attack. “What do you know about it?”

Bianchi leered forward until his nose was only inches from Scamander’s. “That depends. What kind of deal can MACUSA offer me?”

Scamander narrowed his eyes. “So you do know something.”

“Newt, what is going on?” Goldstein asked, looking back and forth from Bianchi to Scamander.

“This man,” Scamander said without breaking eye contact, “is a highly influential magical beast smuggler. If he’s in America, he and his friends have a plethora of dangerous creatures in tow. If one of them escaped… then perhaps that’s what’s responsible for all of these disappearances.”

Chapter Text

Memoriae

Newt

"Five minutes."

“That man is a convicted criminal, Scamander, you are not getting five minutes alone with him. Do you want to get killed?”

“Isn’t it your job to protect civilians?”

Graves’s expression flattened into a hard glare, and Newt looked nervously away. He glanced through the glass separating them from the interrogation room where Vincenzo Bianchi sat, lounging in his chair as though waiting to be served dinner. His hands were pressed to the arms of his chair, bound by invisible magic, but he made it look like it was his choice.

“You are not a civilian, Scamander, you are a liability.”

“How do you know this guy, Newt?” Tina stood apart from them, distracted enough to be oblivious to the small battle raging between her partners. She was staring into the interrogation room, scrutinizing its occupant. Bianchi, as though sensing her gaze, turned blindly towards the one-way glass and winked. Tina wrinkled her nose.

“It’s complicated,” Newt said. “If you could just give me--”

“We go in there with you, Scamander, or you don’t go in at all.” Graves raised an eyebrow, delivering that cool, deliberating look that made Newt want to sink into the ground and disappear. “Unless you have you something to hide?”

Newt bit the inside of his cheek. “Of course I don’t.”

“Good, then we will be accompanying you in,” Graves said. “Stand aside.”

Newt shifted his weight from foot to foot, staring hard at Mr. Graves’s right hand. He had chosen this spot on purpose, but now, with Mr. Graves’s polished derby shoes edging closer and closer, he was losing his nerve. There was no way he’d be able to stop Graves from doing something he wanted done.

“Um,” Newt said, clutching his suitcase behind his back. Tina had offered to store it in the auror department while they handled this, but he hadn’t been able to bear parting with it. The familiar weight was reassuring, as was his knowledge that every creature was safe and accounted for. Something moved in the breast pocket of his coat-- Pickett could sense the tension hanging in the air. Newt wouldn’t have any backup in that department.

“Mr. Scamander.” Graves’s voice was threatening. “Stand aside.”

“Well,” Newt said, “you see, I would really like just, uh, one word-- no, a few words, preferably-- with Mr. Bianchi, and I-- I--”

He quailed as Graves took another step forward. The toes of his shoes brushed Newt’s, and Newt swallowed and turned his head, trying to hide his fluttering nerves. He could feel the scowl on the auror’s face, sense the phantom weight of his nearness pressing in on Newt’s chest, smell the bitter coffee and tobacco on his breath-- did Graves smoke?

“Mr. Scamander, I think you forget that you are just a consultant on this case.” Graves didn’t have to raise his voice when he was this close. “If you continue to impede my job, I will make that title go away.”

Newt wished he could hold his ground, but the overwhelming stimuli and his general fear of Mr. Graves made him step away, eyes lowered.

Graves snorted and reached out to turn the doorknob. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said as he pushed open the door and strode inside.

As Tina followed him, she touched Newt’s elbow reassuringly. “Asshole,” she muttered, eyes on Graves.

Newt was the last to shuffle in. He closed the door behind him, eyes on his feet. Tina had positioned herself near the door, arms crossed, and Newt took his place awkwardly beside her.

“Bianchi,” Graves said with a glare, “you know why you’re here. We know why you’re here. Let’s cut to the chase. Where are the animals?”

The yellow light overhead was artificial and scathing, painting everyone in shades of harshness. The sharpness of Tina’s nose was thrown into prominence, as were the lines on Graves’s face. There were so many of them-- worry lines and frown lines twisting between each other.

“The what?” Bianchi twisted his head to blink innocently up at Graves and a wave of dislike washed over Newt, foreign and familiar at the same time. Newt wasn’t the type to be vengeful, but he couldn’t help the vindictive stab of pleasure he felt at seeing this man in custody.

“The magical creatures you brought to New York.” Graves pressed both hands onto the reflective metal table, leaning in close to Bianchi. The intimidation didn’t work; Bianchi just cast a lazy look at him.  “The ones you intended to sell on the black market for profit. Where are they ?”

“I don’t know anything about any magical creatures, sir,” Bianchi said. His eyes found Newt’s and he smirked, chapped lips stretching wide. Newt glared even as his heartbeat quickened nervously. “But if you’re looking for black market animals, you might want to take a look in that suitcase over there.”

Newt’s fingers tightened reflexively on the handle.

“We aren’t interested in Mr. Scamander right now, Bianchi, we’re interested in you,” Graves said.

“ You may not be interested in Mr. Scamander, Graves, but I certainly am.” For the first time Bianchi showed something more than disinterest, a flicker of anger lighting up his face. Newt raised his chin and tucked shaking hands behind his back. He refused to be frightened. “That man is a liar and a thief --”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Tina spat.

“Who are you?” Bianchi glanced at Tina. “How does that saying go again, Graves? How many aurors does it take to crack a criminal?”

“Where are the animals, Bianchi?” Graves asked, straightening up and frowning down at the man. Newt remembered his own interrogation last year, remembered staring into Graves’s face and being asked simple questions in a concerned, almost apologetic manner. He didn’t understand how Grindelwald had gotten away with the performance for so long. The real Graves handled himself with authority and assuredness, leaving no question as to who was in charge.

Bianchi laughed, and the throaty sound scratched Newt’s ears. “We both know you don’t give a rat’s ass about those animals, Graves,” he said. “None of you do, except maybe saint Scamander over there. You want some other kind of information, don’t you?”

Tina crossed her arms and glared. Graves’s expression didn’t change.

“I don’t want anything, except to see you rot in jail,” he said.

“Poignant, Mr. Director, sir.” Bianchi rolled his eyes. “Do you know you are the biggest drama queen that I ever--”

“What do you know, Vincenzo?” Newt asked.

His soft voice stilled the criminal. Bianchi clenched his jaw, a vein jumping in his neck.

“What do I know?” Bianchi turned to Newt the best he could in his confines. Newt sensed the invisible restraints tense and resisted the urge to step further away. He knew how Bianchi worked. If he showed any weakness it would be exploited, and Newt didn’t feel like getting embarrassed in front of both Tina and Graves. “Scamander, if I had free range of mobility right now, you and your stupid suitcase would be splattered all over this lousy excuse for an interrogation room.”

Graves made a sound deep in his throat, almost a growl. “Watch your threats, Bianchi.”

“Mind sharing how you two know each other?” Tina asked, cocking an eyebrow at Newt. Newt bit his lip and turned away, a flush rising in his cheeks.

“I’ll tell you how I know Scamander,” Bianchi snapped. He leaned forward, straining against his bonds. “Scamander has been a thorn in my side for years. He sneaks around and takes things that don’t belong to him, drives off paying customers, steals-- two years ago, he posed as a customer looking to buy an entire cage of bowtruckles. Then, when I had my back turned, he made off with it! All thirty of them, gone! Without paying!”

Newt felt Pickett shift again in his coat, curling closer to his chest. Sharp branches dug into his skin as he glared at Bianchi. “You were going to sell those bowtruckles into slavery,” he said. “And besides, I did pay you for them.”

“YOU LEFT A FUCKING NO-MAJ BUS TOKEN!”

Newt flinched. “It was all I had,” he muttered when both Tina and Graves looked at him incredulously.

“I lost a fortune.” Bianchi fell back in his chair. The wooden legs scratched against the tile. “Not to mention the dear old boss almost had my head for it. But that wasn’t the end of it, no, sir. Scamander nicked all my radishites two weeks later. He broke in and took them right off of my desk.”

“Radishites?” Tina asked.

“They’re small, pink creatures about the size of a fist,” Newt murmured, “and their fur is used for--”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Scamander.” Graves’s words cut through his, and Newt dutifully fell silent. “Would you like to explain-- without shouting, please-- how you first became acquainted with Mr. Bianchi?”

“Well,” Newt said, “I became, um, aware of his group a few years ago, when I was just starting to travel for my research. They’re very notorious smugglers who deal almost exclusively in magical creatures. I witnessed them mistreating their animals, and I… stepped in?”

“Scamander has been sneaking in and out of our headquarters for years pilfering our animals, following us from country to country--”

“Were we speaking to you, Bianchi?” Graves’s voice was chilly, and Newt repressed a shiver. Bianchi clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils, but didn’t try to say anything else. “No? I didn’t think so. Continue, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt toyed with the clasp on his suitcase. The room was starting to feel smaller, each blank gray wall looming closer, the one-way mirror reflecting their own images back at them and crowding the room with more people. Newt glanced at himself in it. He looked as pathetically anxious as he felt. 

“They don’t care about the animals,” he said, trying to explain himself. “Half the time the buyers they sell to slaughter them for parts or chain them up as some kind of sick decoration. I wasn’t stealing them, I was rescuing them.”

“Let me get this straight.” Graves pinched the bridge of his nose. “You have been sneaking into clandestine black market operations to rescue abused animals for years, and you have actually been getting away with it?”

“For the most part?” Newt shuffled his feet and licked his lips. “And for the record, I haven’t done it in America, so technically you can’t, um, arrest me for it. I know the law, and this is outside of MACUSA’s jurisdiction, so you can’t make me give them back.”

Newt would have called the expression on Graves’s face fond exasperation if he hadn’t known any better.

“I’m not going to make you give them back.” Graves’s voice was quiet but clear in the silent room.

Newt stared at his shoes. “They don’t know how to properly care for their animals,” he said. “I believe it’s quite possible that one could have escaped. If they can tell us which one it is...”

“Alright.” Tina crossed her arms and glared down at Bianchi. “What is it, then?”

“Look, I don’t know what you idiots are on about,” Bianchi said. He tilted his head sharply to the side and cracked his neck. Newt winced. “We just got to New York three weeks ago, and I haven’t heard about any animals getting loose. I was just doing my job.”

“A job you got arrested for,” Graves said coolly.

“Oh, we both know you won’t be able to hold me longer than a few weeks.” Bianchi rolled his eyes. “Although knowing you, you’ll try to go for life in prison yet again.”

“You said ‘we’,” Tina said, “as in, your entire ring is here in New York? What’s to stop us from bringing them all in?”

Bianchi let out a bark of laughter. “They haven’t done anything illegal while they’ve been in America,” he said, “and you don’t have jurisdiction for anything out of the country according to Mr. Scamander there. I worked this job alone. Do you think we’re stupid? This way, if I get caught, I can’t rat on anyone even if I want to. Boss’s orders.”

“And who’s your boss?”

Newt’s hands jerked, a nervous twitch that Bianchi caught. His lips split into a broad grin.

“Mr. Scamander knows,” he said. “You got to know her intimately during your stays in our cells. Where was that, Croatia?” His eyes narrowed. Newt stared hard at the ground, trying not to look too nervous, but he couldn’t say anything to defend himself so he stood there and tried not to tremble. “Of course, then you commandeered an Erumpent and ran for the hills, but we still appreciated your time with us. I just wish that I had been able to--”

A loud bang made Newt drop his suitcase. He dropped to the ground and scrambled to pick it up, mouth forming wordless apologies, but his fingers were shaking so badly he could hardly get them to close around the handle. He looked up, eyes wide. Graves loomed over Bianchi, hands flat on the metal table where he had slammed them. His expression was twisted with anger. Tina had her wand out, poised for attack, eyes moving back and forth from Graves to Newt, who was still crouched on the floor.

“If you don’t shut up, Bianchi, I promise that I will find some way to get you the death penalty,” he growled. Bianchi shrank in his chair, horror painted so grotesquely across his face that Newt would have laughed if he hadn’t been equally terrified. “Care to test me?”

Bianchi whimpered something that might have been a “no.” His wrists tugged at the invisible restraints under the table. Newt couldn’t blame him; the hair on the back of his neck prickled as he stood on shaky legs, watching Graves. Pickett was quivering, and Graves… Newt tried to think what had made his temper boil over, but he couldn’t rationalize it. Perhaps he was just annoyed that Bianchi was so off subject?

He was grateful for it nevertheless, even if Graves hadn’t set out with the intention to rescue him. Dealing with Bianchi was hard enough without being reminded of what had happened the one time he had caught Newt.

“Now,” Graves continued in a low voice, “I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen. First, you are going to tell me where those animals are, the ones that you smuggled into America to sell. Then, we are going to allow you to arrange a meeting for us with this boss of yours, and we are going to question her about the creature your organization may or may not have let loose. Understood?” When Bianchi didn’t answer, he leaned farther across the table, fingers curling on the smooth metal. “ Understood? ”

“Yes!” Bianchi swallowed roughly. “Dear god, Graves, calm down.”

“I’ll calm down when you’re out of my sight.” Graves stood and looked at Tina, a residual glare cooling on his face. “Take him down to the cells, Goldstein, and get that information out of him. Oversee the scheduling. I would prefer to meet with this woman sooner rather than later.”

“Right, sir.” Tina strode forward and grabbed Bianchi’s arm, unchaining him from the chair with a wave of her hand. She pulled him to his feet and tugged him away, still looking worriedly at both Newt and her boss. Bianchi, mostly recovered from his terror, turned to Newt as he passed.

“Say hello to the boss for me, Scamander,” he said. Then he winced and glared at Tina. “Ouch! Not so tight, lady.”

“My apologies.” Tina’s voice was tight and professional.

The door slammed shut behind them. Newt stood perfectly still, frightened of another outburst, while Graves released a deep breath and scrubbed at his face with his hand. All of the anger seemed to have leached from him by now. The lines of exhaustion on his face became more prominent as he relaxed.

“Are you alright, Mr. Scamander?” he asked.

“Me?” Newt shifted his grip on his case. He still felt bad about dropping it, even though the animals wouldn’t have felt anything. “I’m fine.”

Are you ? The question was on the tip of his tongue, but Newt didn’t think it would be appreciated, so he bit down on it.

“The suitcase is alright?” When Newt shot a quizzical look at him, Graves said, “You dropped it. The animals, are they alright?”

“Oh,” Newt said, not expecting the polite concern. He was still half worried that Graves was about to yell at him. “Yes, they’re fine. Thank you.”

Graves hummed. He shoved his hands into his pocket, staring at the chair Bianchi had vacated. His expression was distant. “I don’t want to pry,” he said, “but…”

Newt swallowed. “Oh,” he repeated. “Well, like I said, I’d been… um, visiting these people for years, and one time they caught me?” He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug even though Graves wasn’t looking at him. “They pitched me in one of their cells to hold me while they tried to figure out if I could be useful. I got out after a few weeks, of course. That’s when I rescued the erumpent. They were going to sell her to the highest bidder for her horn, so it’s a lucky thing that I got caught when I did.”

“Lucky…” Graves turned his head a fraction of an inch, and Newt’s breath caught in his throat. He was already slightly scared of Graves, frightened of how he could make Newt tremble with just a look, but the expression on his face now was more terrifying than any other. His eyebrows were pinched in concern, his lips softened at the edges, and an unfamiliar fluttering sensation took root in Newt’s stomach. He bit his lip hard and turned away, hoping his face didn’t give away his sudden nerves.

“Mr. Scamander, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a Gryffindor,” Graves said.

Newt shuffled his feet. “I’m actually a Hufflepuff through and through, sir,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

Graves’s lips twitched. Then he cleared his throat and raised his shoulders. “I ought to check on Goldstein. I’ll be in contact later, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt stared after Graves as he disappeared through the door, letting it click shut behind him. Newt’s fingers had gone lax on the handle of his suitcase.

“Okay,” he said into the empty room.

It was a long time before he was able to leave.

XXXXX

“An international smuggling ring is operating out of here ?” Tina squinted up under the brim of her hat, blinking into the sunlight.

“It’s a temporary residence,” said Newt. “They probably acquired it just for this meeting.”

“I don’t even want to know how they acquired it.” Tina crossed her arms and appraised the small building. The address Bianchi had given them had taken them to a rundown section of the city; the street they were on was lined with empty businesses. Ripped closed signs dangled from their doors. Their meeting was set to be in an abandoned furniture store, with glass windows that were tinted and broken in several places. A faded sign over the door read ‘Montgomery Furnishings.’ “Does the plan still stand, Graves?”

Mr. Graves stared at the building, expression shrewd and calculating. His hair was slicked back as usual, but a strand of it had come loose and curved gently across his forehead, just brushing the arch of his brows. Newt thought it suited him.

“Yes,” Graves said. “Head around back and see if there’s another entrance.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Keep quiet and out of trouble, see if there’s anything we can catch them on. If we can get the whole lot of them on smuggling, you’ll be the hero of America, Goldstein.”

“Got it.” Tina tugged on the sash around her waist, tightening her coat. “I’ll give you twenty minutes. If you’re not out, I’m calling backup and coming in.”

“Perfect,” Graves said. When Tina turned to loop around back, he said, “Goldstein.”

She stopped and looked back. “Sir?”

“Be careful.” Graves’s voice was rough. “I know you thrive in reconnaissance missions, but these people are dangerous, and I would hate to have to replace you.”

Tina’s lips twitched. “I could say the same of you, sir,” she said. She rested a hand on her hat as a breeze rustled by and blew her hair into her face. “Look after Newt, please.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Goldstein,” Graves said, “I’ll take care of your little boyfriend.”

“What?” Newt asked indignantly.

Tina just rolled her eyes and turned around. “I mean it, Graves,” she called over her shoulder. Before Newt could say anything she disappeared into the darkness of a side alley.

“Come on, Scamander.” Graves was already walking towards the front door. Newt tripped over his own feet when he tried to follow too quickly, shoes snagging on the sidewalk. He caught himself. His eyes darted towards Graves to make sure his blunder hadn’t been seen. He was trying to get the auror to respect him, just a little bit, and he didn’t think stumbling into a meeting as important as this would earn him any points.

“Mr. Graves,” he said, hopping up the curb half a pace behind Graves, “shouldn’t, um, Tina be accompanying you instead of me?”

“It’s standard protocol, Mr. Scamander.” Graves drew up in front of the door and squinted at it as though analyzing it for threats. “Goldstein is extraordinarily skilled with espionage. Her job is to figure out what’s going on behind closed doors so we don’t have to open them. If these people decide not to cooperate with us, hopefully she’ll be able to learn something-- and in the event that our safety is compromised, we will have the element of surprise on our hand.” Graves drew his wand out of his pocket and waved it over the handle of the door. “And I need you here because I don’t know a damn thing about magical creatures.” Appeased, he straightened and slipped his wand back into his coat. “Ready?”

“Um,” Newt said.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Mr. Graves raised his hand and knocked three times on the glass. The entire door shook at the impact. The painted sign above loomed over their heads, threatening to come crashing down. One of the chains holding it groaned in the wind.

Newt was so busy watching it that he didn’t notice the door had opened until a croaky voice said, “Yes?”

Newt dropped his gaze to the house elf peering up at them through the crack in the door.

“We have an appointment,” said Mr. Graves. Newt’s spine straightened without him consciously thinking of it, trying to appear half as professional as Graves did.

The elf looked them over, jowls quivering. His yellow, lamp-like eyes were unimpressed. “Alright,” he said after a moment, “come in.”

The door creaked loosely on tired hinges as they stepped inside. Newt reached a distracted hand up to offer his finger to Pickett, who was still tucked into his breast pocket, too terrified to emerge. A leafy limb wrapped around his pinky.

The store had been abandoned for a long time. Deep cracks had worked their way into the cement floor, trailing from one decaying, outdated sofa to the next. This might once have been a beautiful showroom, but now there were weeds sprouting from the walls and mold eating the rolled up rugs. It carried a heavy, musky scent that made Newt’s nose itch. He sniffed loudly.

“Stay near me,” Graves murmured into Newt’s ear, passing so close that their shoulders brushed. Newt repressed a shiver and wound himself more tightly into his coat, jerking his head in a nod.

The house elf murmured to himself as he waddled betwixt the furniture. A stained towel flapped around his waist, held up at the hip by an old clothespin. “Absolutely filthy,” he murmured, “won’t even let me clean it, the mistress won’t…” He slipped behind a rusted metal counter, where an ancient register was gathering dust, and gestured to the door behind it. “She’s through there,” he said.

“Thank you,” Newt said as he followed Graves through the doorway.

The next room was even larger. It had probably been used for storage at one point. Empty shelves lined every wall, and overhead a stream of sunshine trickled towards the center of the room through a cracked skylight. Sitting right beneath it, on a red fainting couch that had withstood the test of time far better than its peers, was a woman. When they entered she lifted her head, blond hair parting like a waterfall to reveal a blinding smile, and Newt’s heart skipped a beat as the smell of mildew was suddenly replaced by something warm and distantly familiar.

Graves drew up short, bristling as his senses picked up on the change.

“Scamander,” he muttered, eyes sharp on the woman, “you didn’t think it was important to mention what she is?”

“Oh,” Newt said. He tugged the sleeve of his coat, repressing the spark of fear that had lit in his chest at the sight of the woman. “She’s not a full Veela, sir, only half.”

Graves clenched his fists at his sides. “That’s still fifty percent more dangerous than a regular person.”

“Come in.” Her voice was silk spinning through the air, wrapping around their wrists and tugging them forward. Newt braced himself even as his feet drew him nearer, Mr. Graves at his side. “Have a seat.” She waved a hand and two armchairs skidded across the floor from opposite sides of the room, sliding to a smooth stop in front of her. “Mr. Scamander, how lovely to see you again.”

The faintest hint of her charm touched his mind, but Newt shook it off with a scowl, searching for his defenses. He sat down on the edge of one of the armchairs, eyes darting away, looking for a way out or perhaps a sign of Tina. When he didn’t respond the woman arched a delicate eyebrow and turned to Mr. Graves.

“You must be Percival,” she said. She extended her hand to him, pink lips twisted in a sweet smile, and fluttered her eyelashes. Mr. Graves took her fingers in his as a gentleman would. His lips were parted just slightly as he stared at her. Newt felt a flutter of unease. Maybe he shouldn’t have forgotten to warn Graves that they would be facing a half Veela. Her powers may be diluted, but she had spent so long sharpening them as a weapon that the generational gap didn’t matter much at all. Newt had seen grown men dissolve into tears just because she sighed in disappointment.

“My name is Sarreia,” she said.

Graves’s chest rose and fell slowly. He hadn’t blinked yet. “Percival Graves,” he murmured, swooping down to brush a kiss against her hand. Newt turned away, fingers closing reflexively over the air, wishing he had the handle of his suitcase to grip for comfort.

Sarreia giggled, withdrawing her hand. “What a gentleman,” she cooed.

“Sarreia,” Newt said before Graves could respond. The name was acid on his tongue. “There’s a creature in New York that’s--”

“Oh, Newt, you’re always so serious.” Sarreia crossed her legs and her silken gown, split at the hip, cascaded to reveal a moon-white thigh. Her ankle dangled in the space between them, and even Newt’s eye was drawn to it. “Can I get you boys something to drink? Tea? You take two sugars, don’t you, Newt?”

“No, thank you.” Graves sounded a little dazed. He sank down into his chair, far too relaxed for Newt’s comfort. “Ms. Sarreia--”

“Oh, just Sarreia, please, Percival.” She caught her tongue between her teeth as she smiled. “We’re just chatting, are we not?”

“We want to know--” Newt tried.

“Newt, dear,” Sarreia said, “how have you been this past year? You published a book, correct? Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them . It’s absolutely marvelous.”

Newt tried not to respond, but the word was drawn from the back of his throat before he could stop himself. “Thank you,” he muttered.

Sarreia’s eyes sparkled. She leaned back against the fainting couch, trailing one long red nail against the velvet. Newt risked a look at Graves. The auror was slumped in his chair, head tilted to the side. His attention was entirely fixed on Sarreia, but not in a particularly calculating way. Or perhaps it was calculating, but not in a fashion that was entirely appropriate. A spasm of panic seized Newt. Sarreia had gotten even better since Newt had last dealt with her. Even he could feel his mind getting clouded, his eye drawn back to the curve of her neck and the slope of her breasts as she shifted in her seat. The neckline of her neck plunged lower than any dress Newt had seen, bringing heat to his cheeks every time he looked at it.

“And you.” Her expression softened as it settled on Graves. “Recovered from that dreadful business with Grindelwald last year? Yes, I heard about that,” she said when surprise stirred Graves’s features. “You poor man. I do hope he didn’t hurt you.”

Graves frowned like he was fighting something. “I’m fine,” he murmured.

“I’m ever so grateful for that.” Her voice carried a promise that made Graves relax again. Newt bristled.

“We aren’t doing this,” he said. “Sarreia, we came here to ask you a few questions, and then we are leaving.”

“How is my erumpent doing, Newt?” Sarreia leaned forward, balancing her chin on the tip of her nails, blue eyes wide. “I’m sure you’re taking very good care of it. After all, you’re the best out there, aren’t you, doll?”

Newt swallowed. He was rusty. He had encountered half-Veelas before, even full Veelas, and knew the basics of how to throw off their charm, but Sarreia was extraordinarily powerful. He felt her magic pressing in on him, drawing relaxation out of tensed muscles. He strained against it, maintaining a glare even as discomfort welled in his joints. Sarreia twisted her head, the picture of serenity, and with a faint whisper her power slipped through Newt’s defenses. Sudden relief clouded his mind as his shoulders dropped of their own accord, endorphins flooding his system as he gave in.

“You’ve stolen from me, Newt.” Her words were reprimanding, but they lacked any venom. “It’s made me very unhappy.”

“You were hurting those animals.” Newt’s words came out soft, murmured, and he knew he should be angrier but something was kneading his mind and he suddenly felt warm from head to foot, another wave of pleasure washing through his body. He knew distantly that she had turned on her full charm and that he should be struggling, but that rational part of his brain grew quieter and quieter with each passing moment.

“Oh, but I wasn’t.” Sarreia stood, the black silk falling back across her legs as she stood. Newt watched the sliver of skin disappear behind the curtain as she stepped closer to him. He tilted his head back to keep looking at her face, at the slope of her nose and the deep blue of her eyes. “You know I wasn’t. You stole them from me.” She bent down, and Newt was encased in the scent of flowers. It filled his mind until all he could think about was daffodils and roses and lilies. “We still have a cell open for you, you know.” Her voice was a whisper. Something brushed his chest, right over his heart, and Newt dropped his eyes lazily to her hand smoothing back his coat, toying with the buttons of his shirt. “This time your stay will be much longer, won’t it?”

“Don’t touch him.” The sharp voice jilted Newt’s stupor. He blinked as Sarreia straightened, taking with her the flowers and the relaxation until the numbness dripped away and Newt could feel his clenched muscles again. He sucked in a breath of air, shaking his head to rid his mind of her influence.

“Oh, I was only playing, Mr. Graves.” Her voice was sweet again. “Besides, my charms have never worked quite right on Newt. I’m not his type, isn’t that right, dear?”

Heat flooded Newt’s face. He dropped his gaze to his trembling hands. He had let her in, and suddenly he had been back in her office, helpless to watch as she draped herself across her desk and toyed with his emotions. At one point he had been so deep he had thought himself in love with her.

Then, of course, she had sent him right back to his cell, and sharp reality had slapped him in the face again. The cold disillusionment, that stripping of comfort, had been more painful than any physical punishment.

“We have Vincenzo Bianchi in custody.” Graves’s expression was shrewd and annoyed. He didn’t look at all dazed anymore. “We know that you have done nothing illegal on American soil that we can convict you of, so spare us the gloating and tell us what you know about the recent murders in the magical community.”

“You mean those serial disappearances?” Sarreia tucked her hair behind her ear. “I know plenty. Everyone’s terrified. The markets are flooded with phony protection charms.”

Graves made an irritated noise. “You deal in magical beasts-- don’t bother denying it, I’m not trying to get a confession, I’m just trying to get information.” He sat back in his seat and looked at her coolly. “These disappearances are the work of some kind of magical creature. We don’t know what it is, but all of this started the same time that you and your little group arrived in America.”

“What are you insinuating, Mr. Graves?”

“I’m insinuating nothing, I’m simply stating the facts.”

They stared at each other. The air rippled with the same energy that had nearly incapacitated Newt a few minutes ago. He watched Graves anxiously, waiting for the shift to take over his expression, but Graves’s eyes remained hard and fixed on Sarreia.

After a few seconds Sarreia sat back in her seat. She licked her bottom lip.

“Well,” she said. “It appears I’m not your type, either.”

Graves’s jaw clenched. “What do you know about this creature?”

Sarreia glanced at her fingernails, raising one eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?”

“How about I don’t throw you into a cell?” Graves growled.

Sarreia laughed. It sounded like music, a forgotten tune that Newt couldn’t quite place. “Please,” she said. “I don’t respond well to intimidation. I prefer to be the dominant one, Mr. Graves.”

A lesser man might have blushed, but Graves just said, “What do you want?”

“Full immunity for anything that I reveal in this conversation,” she said. Her eyes strayed to Newt. Her lip curled. “And every creature that Scamander here has stolen from me.”

Newt curled his fists and sat up straight. “No.” He glared, fear forgotten. “I will not allow you to sell them for--”

“Relax, Mr. Scamander.” Graves kept his eyes fixed on Sarreia as Newt looked at him in surprise. “The animals are not in the negotiation.”

“Those creatures were taken illegally,” Sarreia said. Her fingers tightened, nails digging into the velvet of her chair. “MACUSA is harboring a criminal. I am just demanding what is rightfully mine.”

“They are not yours,” Newt snapped.

“The animals are non-negotiable.” Graves’s voice was ice.

Sarreia pursed her lips and crossed her ankles. Her black heels reflected the lightbulb hanging far above their heads. “Then it appears we are at a stalemate,” she said.

Graves looked thoughtful, and Newt resisted the urge to reach to Pickett for comfort. Graves was going to trade them. Why wouldn’t he? Newt had obtained them illegally, and they were just animals after all, at least to Graves. Newt had left his case with Queenie for safety, and now he regretted it. If Graves made the deal how fast could Newt get to them? Assuming Graves let him leave, of course, which he most likely wouldn’t.

“Bianchi,” Graves said.

“What?” Newt asked.

Graves shot him a look that plainly said, Shut up, Scamander.

“I will pardon Vincenzo Bianchi,” he said, “ and offer you full immunity for whatever information you give us, granted that you tell us everything you know and Bianchi leaves the country within the week.”

Newt repressed a sigh of relief, keeping perfectly still so as not to disturb the negotiations. Sarreia narrowed her eyes, silent for a long moment, probing the air between them for deceit. Then she sniffed.

“Deal.”

Graves leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Is it your creature, then?”

Newt’s chest tightened. He bit his lip, watching Sarreia look lazily from Graves to Newt. She was savoring the tension. Her lips curved into a smile.

“No.”

Graves snapped.

“I made that deal with you on the basis that you had information to give us,” he snarled, rising half out of his seat in anger. “I am not playing games with you. Just because your pretty face gets you everything you want in life--”

“Do not underestimate me so easily, Mr. Graves.” Sarreia’s face twisted, and suddenly she wasn’t quite so beautiful anymore. “I am here today because I was born with talents and I know how to use them, and I will remain here because I am smarter than your entire auror department combined.” She smoothed her dress, chin raised high. “Besides, I do have information. The creature isn’t one of mine, yes, but I know whose it is.”

“Who?” Newt asked, swooping in when Graves looked ready to start shouting again.

“One of my employees,” Sarreia said. “She had a rather… dangerous hobby. I told her explicitly that I would not allow it to continue while she was under my jurisdiction, but I’m afraid she doesn’t know how to listen very well. But oh, she was marvelous with the animals. Her skills might even rival yours, Mr. Scamander.”

“If she was so good, how did she let something get loose?” Graves asked as he dropped back into his seat.

“She let her own talents run away with her,” Sarreia said. She examined the toe of her shoe idly. “She had quite the penchant for experimental breeding, you see.”

Something clicked in Newt’s mind. “Oh,” he said softly.

“You understand now,” Sarreia said, smiling at him. Newt’s stomach turned. “A few weeks ago she created something that was just a little too strong to handle, and it got out. Not before it destroyed my office first, of course.”

“This employee, what’s her name?” Graves asked.

Sarreia tilted her head, letting golden hair fall to frame her face. “No idea,” she said. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Mr. Graves, I run a very tight business here. Almost all of my employees use fake names. What I can tell you is that she was operating under the name Helen Boyd and that her apartment is only a few blocks from here. I can get you the address, if you want.” She cocked an eyebrow at Newt, gaze slipping down to his chest. “If you throw in the bowtruckle.”

Newt’s hand came up to cover Pickett. “No.”

“What?” Mr. Graves turned to look at him, lips parted in bewilderment. “Do you have a… how long have you had a bowtruckle?”

“He always stays with me, he has attachment problems. We’re working through it together.”

“You’re…? No, we’ll talk about this later.” Mr. Graves shook his head. “The bowtruckle is not on the table.”

“It was worth a shot.” Sarreia reclined back on the fainting couch, crossing her ankles. “She lived in the apartment buildings on Varick Street, know the ones? It should be under her name. You’ll find it. Now then, I think our time is coming to a close. Your associate will get worried if you’re not out soon, won’t she?” She smiled when they exchanged panicked looks. “Please, you think I didn’t know she was snooping around back there? Don’t worry, I didn’t harm her-- this time. But if you try and cross me again--”

“There won’t be a next time.” Graves got to his feet and Newt hurriedly followed his lead. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“I want Vincenzo Bianchi freed within the hour, Mr. Graves.” She stood as well, silk dress sliding and rippling with every movement.

“He’ll be crawling back to your doorstep very soon, I promise you.” Graves adjusted his coat and turned away. “Come on, Scamander.”

“Mr. Scamander.”

Newt feet stopped before he could think about it. He turned around slowly, fingers twitching protectively toward Pickett, mind preparing to block off any advances. He could still feel it pulsing in the air around him, the power that was so seductively destructive.

“I do hope we never see each other again.” Sarreia’s voice was dangerous. “I don’t have to tell you what happens when you cross me, because you already know. Stay away from my animals.”

Her words teemed with threats and memories, the promise of more time in her cells. Being brought to her office in the evening so she could search his mind for advice on how to restrain and control creatures, and then being sent back to his prison so the smugglers he had stolen from throughout the years could poke and prod at him. 

Graves shifted beside Newt, sensing the change in mood. His hand moved to the pocket where he kept his wand. Newt reached out and brushed his arm to stop him, watching Sarreia closely. Graves stilled underneath Newt’s touch.

“Could I ask you to stop dealing in animals, Sarreia?” Newt asked quietly.

Sarreia’s smile became more of a grimace. “It is my job, Mr. Scamander.”

“And protecting them is my job. As long as you continue to hurt them, you will continue to have to deal with me.” Newt glanced at Graves. The other man was staring at him, dark eyes wide, expression dazed in the same way it had been under Sarreia’s spell, and Newt knew they had to get out of there before she pulled anymore tricks. He dropped his hand from Graves’s coat. “Goodbye, Sarreia.”

Newt turned and strode away, and he didn’t look back when Sarreia said, her voice silky with distaste, “Goodbye, Mr. Scamander.”

The house elf was sitting in an old wooden chair behind the counter, using magic to balance the furniture piece on only three splintered legs. Newt dipped his head to the creature as he passed. “Thank you,” he said, receiving nothing but a blank stare in return

Newt didn’t stop until he pushed open the glass doors and burst outside. It seemed bright compared to the dim interior of the furniture store. He blinked at the empty street and took a deep breath before turning to Mr. Graves, who had followed him out and was standing just in front of the door, eyes roving around the area.

“Tina isn’t out yet,” Newt said.

“It’s only been eighteen minutes. She’ll be here at twenty, no use going to fetch her.” Mr. Graves exhaled heavily. More of his hair had come out of its slicked style, strands falling to loop gracefully across his forehead, shifting in the breeze. Newt watched them dance.

“I’ll get a team to that address immediately, but I doubt anyone will be there,” Graves said. “Scamander, how much will this information help you?”

“Quite a bit,” Newt said, forcing his gaze away from Graves’s hair. “I’ve studied breeding patterns before. I’ll cross-reference all of the symptoms of the victims with the creature’s behavior and maybe I’ll be able to figure out which animals were crossed. Oh, alright, you can come out.” He lifted the collar of his coat and offered his hand. Pickett clambered onto it, squeaking indignantly as he scrabbled at Newt's knuckles for traction. “What is it this time? I’m sorry for all the movement, but we sort of needed to get out of there. If you don’t like it, you can go back to your tree.” Pickett hissed, crouching on the back of Newt’s hand. Newt rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know.”

A movement from the curb drew Newt’s eyes, and his cheeks prickled with embarrassment. He had momentarily forgotten that Graves was watching him.

“Um,” he said as Pickett strode back and forth across the top of his hand, pulling faces with every turn. “Pickett, this is Mr. Graves. Mr. Graves…”

“Why on earth,” Graves said, staring at the pacing creature, “do you carry a bowtruckle with you?”

“I told you, he has attachment issues,” Newt said. “He feels safer when he’s with me. Ouch!” He glared at Pickett, who had just pinched him. “Although I don’t feel safer with him. Will you stop?”

“Mr. Graves, Newt!” When Tina came running out of the alley again relief bloomed in Newt’s chest. He placed Pickett carefully back into his pocket as she came to a panting stop. She had lost her hat. “Are you alright?”

“Quite alright,” Newt said with a half smile, grateful when Pickett stopped shouting at him and settled down.

“I didn’t find anything,” Tina said “I didn’t even see anyone. Did you--?”

“We have a name and an address,” Mr. Graves said. “We’re going back to MACUSA to dispatch a team. Come on, both of you. And Scamander,” he said, eyebrow cocked in a way that brought a flush to Newt’s face, “don’t forget that bowtruckle, will you?”

Chapter Text

Stercore

Newt

“We traced Helen Boyd to her apartment, but the landlord says she hasn’t been there in weeks,” Tina said. “She paid her rent three months in advance but didn’t say a word about leaving early.”

“He didn’t report her disappearance?” Newt asked. “If she’s been missing for weeks…”

“All he cares about is that she paid,” Graves said. He twirled a gold pen in his fingers. “Goldstein, did you get a picture from wand regulation?”

“No, sir.” Tina’s posture was perfect, her shoulders thrown back professionally, the picture of business. Newt looked down at his hands. There was dirt under his nails; Tina had pulled him out of his case in the middle of feeding time, and he had barely had time to grab his coat, let alone wash up. He was grimy and sweaty under his jacket, and every time Graves turned to scrutinize him he tried to hunch further into his seat. He prayed that he didn’t have any dirt on his face, or-- Merlin forbid-- manure.

“They have a record of her arriving in New York on May 14th,” Tina continued, “but her picture isn’t on file.”

“Of course,” Graves said. He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked so strained that Newt’s hand twitched reflexively towards him to-- what, exactly? Newt’s cheeks flooded with heat, and he kept his hands firmly in his lap. “Scamander,” Graves said, “where are you on that experimental breeding thing?”

“I’m looking into it,” Newt said, watching how the frown lines rimming Graves’s mouth moved when he spoke. “I’ve got a, uh, few ideas.”

Graves leaned back in his chair, his shirt stretching at the shoulders when he draped his arms over the back of his seat. He tipped his head to look at Newt. “Well?”

“Um,” Newt said, staring at the top button of Graves’s shirt just below the curve of his throat. Then he snapped out of it and turned to Tina, who was frowning at him. “Well, the behavior seems to come from acromantula predatory habits, but there’s no way an acromantula could be coerced into breeding outside of its species. So I thought maybe something in the same family-- magical arachnids, that is, eight-legged invertebrates with a taste for human flesh and--”

“Newt,” Tina muttered.

Newt swallowed. “Right, sorry. So I’ve been researching scordieces, which are similar to scorpions except that they’re ten feet long and their stingers shoot poison from up to twenty-five feet away with impressive accuracy. I’m fairly certain that that’s one of the animals that was cross-bred; they, too, subdue their prey and can hold them for months at a time before killing them.”

“And they eat humans?” Graves asked.

“Yes,” Newt said. “Magical ones, if they can get them. They like the taste.”

“Alright,” Graves said, expression thoughtful. “So if the scorpion thing is one animal, all you have to do is find the other, right?”

“Well,” Newt said, biting the inside of his cheek. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“It depends on how deep Ms. Boyd was into her experimentation,” Newt said. “She could have crossed a dozen animals before adding the scordiece, and maybe that’s the point at which it went wrong. Or maybe this was her first attempt and there is only one more animal. I have to do more research.”

“We’re running out of time, Scamander,” Graves said. Even though his tone was more weary than accusatory, Newt felt the sting of his disappointment like a physical slap.

“I don’t know much about experimental breeding, Mr. Graves.”

“Isn’t that what you do?”

Newt bristled, straightening in his seat despite his sweaty discomfort. “No,” he said, “I care for animals. I don’t force them to breed like it’s some sort of game. It’s against everything I stand for.”

Graves’s expression was calculating as he stared at Newt, who held his gaze.

“Okay,” Graves said after a moment. “So you’ll research.”

And then the tables were turned again and Newt was back to bouncing his leg nervously under the desk.

“I’ll send a letter to Professor Dumbledore,” Newt said. “He’s done some preliminary studies into experimental breeding-- mostly the political side of it, granted, but he might be able to offer some advice, or at least direct us to someone who can help.”

Tina stirred, turning in her seat to stare at Newt. “Albus Dumbledore?”

“Yes?” Newt blinked at her and then risked a glance at Graves, whose eyebrows were furrowed. “It shouldn’t take too long to get a response, he writes back quickly.”

“You’re in direct contact with Albus Dumbledore?” Tina asked incredulously.

“Um,” Newt said, “he was my professor at Hogwarts.”

“He’s a lot of people’s professor, Newt,” Tina said in exasperation. “Those people don’t have a direct correspondence with him, though.”

Newt shrugged, uncomfortable. “I suppose he likes me,” Newt murmured. “We’re just colleagues.”

“I’m with Goldstein on this one,” Graves said. “He’s one of the most esteemed scholarly minds in the world right now. What makes Albus Dumbledore like you so much?”

The question rang familiar in Newt’s ears, and despite himself, his lips twitched into a surprised smile. Graves’s frown deepened.

“What?” he asked, and there was a note of defensiveness in the words.

“Nothing,” Newt said quickly. “It’s just… well, the other Graves-- Grindelwald, I mean-- asked me nearly the same thing. It’s just funny, that’s all.”

“Ah,” Graves said, expression smoothing into something blank and professional.

Newt sensed the shift and glanced at Tina, but she didn’t seem to have noticed. “Don’t worry,” he said awkwardly, “I like you much better. Than Grindelwald, I mean. Well, I guess that’s obvious, but I mean to say that I like you better than the Graves he created. You’re much better, you’re…” he trailed off when he realized his attempt to break the icy chill that had settled over the conversation wasn’t working. He dropped his gaze to his lap. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Scamander,” Graves said. Brisk, businesslike, carefully dismissive. “I think we’re finished here, unless you have anything else to add?”

“No.”

“Goldstein, you work on securing a photograph of Helen Boyd,” Graves said. “Contact me if anything comes up.”

“Yes, sir,” Tina said. “Come on, Newt.”

Newt rose from his chair. Graves picked up a manila folder on his desk and flicked it open, eyes moving down the page. It was a clear dismissal, but Newt still stood there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He felt like he should apologize, or at least say something, but nothing came to mind. He turned on his heel and hurried out of the office after Tina, shutting the door behind him.

The auror department was chaos as usual. The ambulatory room housed dozens of desks shoved here or there at random intervals, quite unlike the polished department of the British Ministry. Theseus had taken Newt into his office a few times, and Newt had always been intimidated by the stoic aurors and the sterile quarters. Americans were different. They were loud and rarely used their desks, preferring to wander the room or shout across it to each other. Bird and plane shaped memos swooped through the air, ducking and diving around each other. One clipped Newt’s ear and he jumped, hand reaching instinctively back for Mr. Graves’s closed office door. His fingers splayed over the cool wood, and the solidity of it calmed his sudden nerves.

“I’ll have to check in with security and see if anyone saw Boyd entering on the day she registered her wand,” Tina said to herself, moving forward into the chaos. It didn’t bother her; she was at home here. Newt hesitated before deciding that being left alone was substantially worse than braving a crowd and plunged in after her, watching his feet so as not to trip over the briefcases and piles of paper left everywhere.

“Of course, the day guards are out now.” Tina picked through the crowd expertly. Her desk was towards the center of the room, ringed on all sides by other aurors. Newt knew which one it was because he had taken every step to avoid having to go there, but now he kept close to Tina’s heel as she reached it. She snatched her hat off a pile of papers. “Come on, Newt, the office is about to close.”

“Goldstein!” A blonde man Newt vaguely recognized waved from across the room, weaving through the maze of desks.

“Hey, Lakes.” Tina fitted her hat on her head, smoothing down the ends of her hair. Newt edged closer to her desk, pressing his thigh against the sharp corner. A fluttering in his ear drew his eye up to watch a paper bird fly delicately overhead. His eyes followed it from one side of the room to the other, where it swooped through the open doorway that led to the atrium.

“Boss keeping you late again?” Lakes had a large, open face with round cheeks and lots of smile lines. When he spoke his gaze roved, moving past Tina and Newt to the crowd beyond. He looked ready to move onto the next person at any second, and Newt immediately felt ill at ease.

“Not tonight, no,” Tina said. “I was going to go turn in early.”

“Nonsense! A whole bunch of us are going to Patty’s, and don’t think that I’m letting you spend your first night off in--what, three weeks?-- at home!”

Tina grabbed her coat off the back of her chair and slung it over her shoulders. “I would love to, Lakes, but I told Newt he could walk me home.”

Lakes seemed to notice Newt for the first time, and his face split into an even wider smile. “Newt Scamander!” he said. He stepped forward and took Newt’s hand in his own, wringing it. Newt stood there and stared blankly as the other man pumped his arm up and down. “Montgomery Lakes at your service, but you can just call me Lakes, everyone does. Hey, I saw your interview last week! Really good stuff. How’s the search going for that creature thing?’

“I--” Newt started. He wished Lakes would let go of his hand.

“You know we can’t tell you that, Lakes,” Tina said with a roll of her eyes.

“Ah, it was worth a shot.” Lakes relinquished his grip on Newt’s fingers. He was still beaming. “You must join us at Patty’s, Newt. Half the department has been dying to meet you! Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Oh,” Newt said as his heart picked up a faster tempo. He smiled politely at Lakes's shoulder. “Oh, no, I really must get home, I have to… my animals…”

“I insist you join us, Newt! We expect quite the turnout, everyone’s going to be there. Isn’t that right, Eisenhower?” Lakes clapped Newt on the shoulder as he turned to another approaching wizard, this one weedy and dark haired with a sour expression. Newt dug his nails into the palm of his hand to stop himself from squirming in Lakes’s grip.

“We’re leaving, Lakes,” Eisenhower said, nodding his head towards a large group of aurors milling by the door. He glanced at Tina. “You coming, Goldstein?”

“Wish I could, boys, but I need to get home. It’s been a long day.”

Newt moved a little to the side, slipping out from under Lakes’s heavy hand. “You should go, Tina,” he said quietly. “I can find my way home.”

Tina frowned, but Newt could see the indecision on her face. “Are you sure?”

“You’re not coming, Scamander?” Eisenhower asked.

“Oh, no, I really must get home and, uh… I need to…”

“Come on, Goldstein, tell your boyfriend to join us,” Lakes said, flashing a grin at her.

Newt was spared from utter humiliation when Graves’s office door swung open and the head of the department walked out, dressed in his traveling coat. The room quieted just a little when he appeared, expression dark under the brim of his hat. His gaze roamed his employees and settled on the knot gathered in the center. For a brief moment he made eye contact with Newt. Then he looked away, lips downturned.

“Hey, sir!” Lakes raised a hand in a gesture of welcome to Graves, who just stared back at him coolly. “Want to join us for a drink at Patty’s?”

“What the hell are you doing, Lakes?” Eisenhower muttered under his breath.

“Don’t worry,” Lakes murmured out of the corner of his mouth, still smiling at Graves.

Graves straightened and drew his black coat tighter around him. “No,” he said. “And don’t expect to get out of your responsibilities just because you’ve found a new cheap speakeasy. I want that report on my desk tomorrow morning at eight o’clock sharp, Lakes.”

“Right-ho, Mr. Director, sir.” Lakes saluted as Graves strode off, coat whipping behind him. The crowd parted for him as he disappeared through the door. Newt watched him leave, forever intimidated by the way the man could command an entire room.

“What did I tell you?” Lakes glanced at Eisenhower. “He never says yes, but I still get points for trying.”

“You’d need a million points to get him to stop hating you, Lakes,” Eisenhower said.

“Man, that stick has been shoved even further up his ass lately,” said an auror Newt didn’t recognize. She had perched herself on Tina’s desk, one stockinged ankle kicked up in front of her for examination.

“That man was born with a whole tree shoved up his ass,” announced Lakes, and a smatter of laughter broke out amongst the listening aurors. Newt frowned sharply as indignation flared in his chest. The corner of Tina’s desk dug sharply into the back of his leg, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak up in front of all these people.

“Lakes,” Tina admonished.

“She’s right,” Eisenhower said, “you’ve got to be careful. That man has eyes and ears everywhere. Paranoid as a mouse in a trap shop, he is."

“I would be, too, if I had gotten kidnapped by Grindelwald.” The woman on the desk was flexing her other ankle now, looking down at it almost curiously. “Hey, I think I pulled something this morning.”

“We’ll get you some booze, that’ll clear the pain up,” Lakes said. He turned his smiling eyes on Newt. “So, Newt, you coming?”

“No,” Newt said, still annoyed. “I don’t want to.”

Eisenhower raised an eyebrow. “Careful, buddy,” he said, “spend too much time with Graves and his manners will start to rub off on you.”

“Oh, leave him alone,” Tina said with a scowl. She grabbed Newt’s arm. “Come on, Newt, let’s go home.”

“No, you go,” Newt said.

“What?”

Newt reached up with his other hand and gave her fingers a quick squeeze. “Go on, have fun.” He smiled at her. “I’ll tell Queenie where you are.”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “But I--”

“Go,” Newt said with a laugh, shaking her off of him.

She hesitated a moment longer before smiling. “Alright,” she said. “Thank you, Newt.”

“Move out, troops!” Lakes hollered, and the group of aurors started moving, tripping over each other as they fought to get through the narrow doorway first. They looked half drunk already, and Newt was relieved to see them go. He waved to Tina one last time when she looked back at him, one arm already threaded through another man’s, and then he was alone in the auror department. It seemed suddenly huge in the resounding silence. A few last animal memos scrambled across the desks, skidding to a stop at their destinations and curling into tiny balls. Newt watched a mouse poke around in a pen holder curiously until it realized it was being watched, at which point it self destructed, shredding itself into a hundred tiny little pieces.

Newt took a deep breath, relishing the silence, and put his hands in his pockets. He started walking, picking his way easily through the mess now. Something tugged at the collar of his coat and he glanced down to see Pickett clambering out of his pocket and onto his shoulder.

“Let’s get home,” Newt said. He was tired and still felt gritty with dried mud. “I need to finish feeding everyone, and then you can sit with me while I write a letter to Dumbledore. You remember Dumbledore, don’t you? He’s the one who gave you that flower you carried around for a month straight.”

Pickett clung gently to a strand of Newt’s hair to keep himself upright as Newt walked through the empty halls. Tina would be out most of the night, and Jacob had made dinner for Queenie at his bakery, which meant that Newt had the apartment all to himself for the evening, and he was very grateful. He loved his friends, he did, but he hadn’t had a moment alone since… well, since he had first gotten to New York, almost a month ago now. Newt was exhausted. It would be nice to have a night to cook himself something simple for dinner and just take care of his animals. He had been neglecting them for too long.

Pickett pressed himself against Newt’s neck as they crossed the atrium, which was still crowded with people leaving for the day. Newt hurried across the bridge, eager to get outside. He wanted to check the weather before he decided whether to walk home or not. Apparating was quicker, but he had time to spare for the scenic route.

Newt stepped out into the evening air. The sun was going down in the distance, casting orange light that bounced off of the reflective windows of the buildings. The air tasted of summer, warm and sweet with just a hint of incoming fog. Newt took a deep breath and caught a whiff of something sharper. He frowned and turned his head, looking curiously for the source, and his heart skipped a beat. The man’s back was to him, but it was undoubtedly Graves tucked behind one of the marble pillars of the building, almost camouflaged in the shadows. Smoke hung in the air like a halo above his head.

He wasn’t looking. He hadn’t seen Newt. Newt could just apparate, or even just walk away, and Graves would be none the wiser.

Instead, Newt took a step towards him, clutching his coat around himself. Pickett tugged on a strand of Newt’s hair. It seemed he, too, wondered what Newt thought he was doing.

“Mr. Graves,” Newt said as he approached.

Graves whirled around, both hands moving to the waistband of his trousers where his wand was tucked. A cigarette hung from his lips, caught between his teeth. When he saw Newt his face relaxed and his hands dropped. “Scamander,” he said around his cigarette.

“Oh, I, uh, didn’t mean to frighten you.” Newt stopped where the fading light met the shadows, the tips of his shoes toeing the division. Something held him back from going any nearer. Perhaps it was the suspicion he could read on Graves’s face, the way his eyes narrowed behind the cloud of smoke like he thought Newt was about to try something. Something in Newt’s chest twinged. He was used to people not liking him very much, but they at least trusted him most of the time. He didn't think of himself as very threatening.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Newt said to break the stretching silence.

Graves reached up and took the cigarette out of his mouth. “Do you want one?”  Smoke danced out of his lips with every word.

“Oh, no,” Newt said hurriedly. “I don’t smoke.”

Graves snorted. “I didn’t think so,” he muttered. He turned to look out at the street, taking another long drag.

Pickett tugged on Newt’s hair again, trying to get him to give up and go home. Graves’s eyes darted over to look at the creature.

“Attachment issues?” Graves asked.

“I think he’s faking them,” Newt said, and then winced. “Pickett, what have I said about hair pulling?”

Graves didn’t laugh, but his lips quirked up very briefly. They settled back into a frown before Newt could really look. Graves’s expression was cool, but his body language kept Newt standing there even though his pulse was racing and the summer air suddenly felt suffocating. There was something in the rigid set of Graves’s shoulders, the sharp line of his clenched jaw, even the way he was holding his cigarette, so tightly he was crushing the paper, and when he raised his hand up Newt thought it was shaking, just a little bit. So Newt stayed, and slipped instinctually into the gentle persona he used when confronting wild animals.

“I've taken in almost a hundred other bowtruckles, but they’re all quite content to stay in their tree,” Newt said. He reached up and let Pickett climb into the palm of his hand. He felt Graves’s eyes on the creature but didn’t look up. “Bowtruckles always have a single home tree, you see. It’s the place they always return to, the place they feel safest. I’m afraid that Pickett has chosen me as his tree. I’m not complaining, of course, he’s lovely company. But I worry he leads a rather lonely life sometimes. A person can’t be a home.” Newt watched Pickett, who had taken a seat in Newt’s hand and was now playing with his pinky, seemingly unaware of the conversation. For a long time they stood there, Graves puffing on his cigarette, Newt examining the bowtruckle.

“I thought you were going out with the others,” Graves said.

Newt let Pickett crawl back onto his shoulder. A breeze ruffled his hair, tickling Newt’s forehead. “Oh, no,” he said.. “I’m not, uh, one for crowds.”

“I know you aren’t.” Graves looked down at the cigarette in his fingers. “I’m not either.”

Newt toyed with the cuff of his coat. He knew the next words out of his mouth were insane, and that he would get shot down immediately, and maybe Graves would even fire him for being unprofessional, but the sinking sun and the heady smell of Graves’s tobacco and the shadows creeping closer and closer to Newt filled him with a strange recklessness that tingled in his toes.

“Do you have plans tonight, Mr. Graves?”

Graves stared, lips parted just slightly in surprise. “What?”

“It’s just that I was taking care of the animals when Tina called me here,” Newt said, tripping over his words in his haste to explain, “and I didn’t get to finish, so I have to go home and make up for lost time, and if you weren’t doing anything I thought that maybe you would want to come and… help? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume that you didn’t have plans, I just know that I don’t, and-- it would be dirty and it would be a lot of heavy lifting and you know what, you definitely don’t want to do that, so I’m just going to leave you in peace and go and I’ll see you--”

“Mr. Scamander,” Graves said, and Newt clamped his mouth shut. His entire face felt red hot, and he wished he was in the shadows like Graves. He waited for Graves to decline, but a small smile had curled its way onto the auror’s face. It was unnatural, but at the same time… pleasant.

“I would enjoy that very much,” he said.

“Really?” Newt blinked. “Well. Wonderful. That’s, uh… great.”

Graves dropped his cigarette and ground it into the cement with the toe of his shoe. “Are we walking?”

“Walking where?”

Graves’s lips did that funny little twitch again. “To your animals.”

“Oh!” Newt considered it, but the idea of walking into the sunset with Graves and having to make conversation for twenty awkward minutes made him so nauseous he was afraid he might vomit. “I was planning on apparating.”

“Alright,” Graves said. He stepped out of the shadows, and the sun touched his hair and the lines of his face and the curve of his neck. He offered his arm. “Lead the way?”

Newt swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt dry. “Right,” he said. He reached out and grasped Graves’s elbow. Newt spent a terrifying moment hoping that his palms weren’t sweaty, then realized that Graves wouldn’t be able to feel it through his coat anyways. “Ready?”

Graves dipped his head in a nod. Newt took a deep breath, preparing himself, then turned on his heel  and let the sharp crack of apparition take them away.

XXXXX

When Newt touched down in his shed and felt the worn wood creak underneath his foot, his shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch. He had been stuttering his way through small talk for the last five minutes, and just that had drained him of all energy. What had he gotten himself into?

The ladder groaned under Graves’s weight as Newt shrugged off his coat and dropped it onto a spare chair.

“You can set your jacket over there,” Newt said, waving vaguely towards his table. He wished that he had thought to clean up earlier. His shed was even more of a mess than usual due to all of the late nights spent researching, and most of his bookshelves had been overturned onto the table, as well as a dozen stray quills and inkpots. Something was bubbling on the stove and Newt didn’t remember putting it there. He frowned and waved a hand to turn the burner off.

“So this is, uh,” Newt said. He glanced at Graves out of the corner of his eye. “My shed. It’s not much.”

“It’s impressive.” Graves looked around as he slipped out of his jacket. “Really, Mr. Scamander, the magic this must have taken…”

Newt turned away to hide a smile. If Graves thought this was impressive… “Thank you,” he said, taking a step towards the door. “The animals are actually through-- hey!”

Newt stumbled as something bounded past his feet. He caught his footing, whirled around, and glared when the tiny blur dove under the table. Small nails sounded like nails on a chalkboard as the animal scrambled on the wood floor.

"Which one of you is that?” Newt demanded, falling to his hands and knees to peer beneath the chair legs. He craned his neck, trying to search for the creature’s hiding place, then yelped when it leapt at his face. He brought one hand up to shield his eyes, but the animal changed direction at the last second and shot over his shoulder, landing with a scuttling thud, nails clacking as it tried to gain traction on the floor. Newt grabbed the edge of the table and hoisted himself to his feet, looking wildly for it.

“Mr. Scamander!” Graves sounded alarmed.

“I’m quite alright, Mr. Graves, I just-- gotcha!” Movement in the corner of his room caught his eye, and he lunged across the floor with his arms outstretched. He winced at the sharp pain as he landed with a ricocheting thud and wrapped his hands tightly around the furry creature as it squirmed and clawed at his fingers. Pressed flat on his stomach, Newt raised his hands to look at the animal. The niffler froze and stared back at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“You.” Newt panted and scowled. “How many times do I have to tell you that the shed is off limits? Alright, empty your pockets. What did you take?”

The niffler wriggled in his grip, reaching a tiny paw into his pouch to pull out a quarter. He waved it at Newt, blinking innocently.

“I don’t think so.” Newt heaved himself up by the elbows and sat cross-legged on the floor. Tipping the creature upside down and holding it by its ankles, he started shaking it, ignoring its indignant squeals. “If you don’t like it, don’t break into my shed!” Knicknacks started raining from the Niffler, mostly things Newt recognized from its nest. And then-- “My compass!” he exclaimed. “You little thief-- whose watch is this?”

“Oh.” Newt glanced up to see Graves lift his bare wrist, a note of surprise on his face. “That would be mine, I think.”

“I’m going to murder you,” Newt muttered out of the corner of his mouth. The niffler raised its hands in a shrug, dangling upside down in Newt’s grip.

Newt picked up the watch from the pile of coins and jewelry, keeping a firm hold on the niffler. He pushed to his feet, wincing when his bruised knees straightened, and walked over to the door. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Graves,” he said over his shoulder, “he’s a bit of a troublemaker, I’m afraid. Always getting into places he doesn’t belong. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s quite alright,” Graves said.

Newt opened the door just a little bit and shoved the niffler through. “Stay,” he commanded as it fell to the ground. It poked its head back up and turned to blink at him, almost imploringly, eyes dragging down to look past Newt’s knees to its spoils lying in a discarded heap on the floor.

Newt shut the door with a firm click.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, walking back over and holding the watch out. Graves accepted it, dark eyebrows drawn tight.

“What exactly was that?” he asked.

“A niffler,” Newt said. “He likes shiny things.” He looked at the room, at the pile of gold and silver and the chairs strewn wildly about, and sighed. “And now I’ll have to clean all of this up.”

He bent down and fished his golden compass out of the pile of coins. He turned it over in his hands, checking for scratches, but it was as immaculate as always. At least the niffler was careful with the things it stole.

“He’s not the first creature I would have liked to introduce you to,” Newt said, chewing on his lip. He couldn’t bear to look at Graves, certain that he had ruined whatever fragile camaraderie had brought him here. “I had hoped to start with someone… less annoying.”

“No, that was fascinating,” Graves said, and a measure of hope blossomed in Newt’s chest. “Really. I didn’t even notice it take my watch.”

“It only means he likes you,” Newt assured him. “Well, he likes your taste in jewelry, at least. I don’t know how he feels about your personality.”

It was a weak joke, but Graves chuckled as he fastened his watch back onto his wrist. Newt smiled down at the compass in his hands and twirled it between his fingers.

“Right,” Newt said, slipping his compass into his trouser pocket. “Let’s get going, then. I’m sure everyone’s starving by now.”

“Lead the way,” Graves said.

Newt hesitated as he turned the doorknob, his wrist stalling. Then he pushed the door open before he could change his mind, and his own little world unfolded underneath his feet.

He jumped down the three steps, touched down on the grass, and stooped to pick up the buckets he had left there. He had never been so nervous about showing someone his case, his life. With Dumbledore, he had been proud. With Jacob and Tina and Queenie he had been confident. With Graves… well, Newt was still sorting through his feelings there.

Newt stepped out of the way as a bellbeetle rolled a rock past, headed for the small mountain behind the shed it had been building for the last few months in anticipation of its third child. Newt smiled as it chirruped a greeting at him, black exoskeleton rippling with every push of the boulder.

“Hello,” Newt said. “It looks great!”

It clicked its pincers in thanks and pushed past, arms straining as it started up the incline.

“What on…?” Newt turned to the voice behind him. Graves walked down the steps in a daze, mouth agape. His eyes moved a mile a minute, up to the billywigs flying overhead, down to the bellbeetle, out to the rolling hills and bright blue sky. Somewhere the nundu screeched its long, shrill yell, clamoring for dinner, but Newt was too focused on Graves to notice any of that now.. “How…?”

“Simple expansion charms,” Newt said, rocking forward onto the balls of his feet. “Well, not simple, it was actually quite, uh, difficult. But it worked in the end, I suppose. Um… come on, the mooncalves were supposed to have dinner two hours ago.”

He turned and started up the hill towards the night habitat, cheeks burning. Picket clung to the fabric of his shirt for stability as he walked, and Newt thought that the tiny creature chirped a word of reassurance in his ear, but he was too busy marinating in his own embarrassment to care.

Newt peeked into the niffler’s nest as he passed, half to check on it, half to glare. It looked up from polishing a sickle and beamed at him, all big eyes and cute innocence. Newt rolled his eyes. No wonder Queenie fawned over it.

“Right through here,” Newt said when they reached the end of the main habitat. He nudged the curtain-like flap open with his shoulder and looked around at Graves, who had lagged behind him. The auror still looked stunned, mouth hanging open as he turned left and right, trying to take everything in. When he saw the opening to the new enclosure and he raised his eyebrows incredulously.

“There’s more?” he asked.

Newt tried to chuckle. “Come on,” he said, ducking inside.

The dark enclosure swallowed them in a wave of quiet night. Artificial stars flickered overhead, constellations hand-picked by Newt glittering in the distance. The space, reserved for newborns who needed calm and for light-sensitive creatures, was peaceful and near silent except for distant chirruping and gurgling.

“Oh.” Graves, too, seem to be affected by the sudden change, his voice dropping to a low whisper that made Newt’s fingers curl around the handles of the bucket.

“You don’t have to whisper,” Newt said, “just be a little quieter. The animals that live here like the calm. It took forever to get the others to understand that, but a lot of them don’t care much for the dark, anyways. The mooncalves are over here. We just had a fresh litter the other day.”

“What are mooncalves?” Graves was closer to Newt now, stepping almost in time with him, so near that Newt checked to make sure the buckets wouldn’t knock into Graves’s legs.

“They’re… well, they’re right there,” Newt said, a smile curling across his lips. As he set one of the buckets down and moved forward, the crowd of mooncalves perked up out of their sleep and swiveled their heads toward him, blinking fatigue out of huge blue eyes. When they heard the clattering pellets in the bucket they started popping up onto their feet, a low clamor arising. Newt laughed.

“Alright,” he said as they swarmed him, rushing to gather around him. He lifted the bucket high out of their reach and laughed again when one nudged the back of his knee, knocking him off balance. “Alright, alright! I know you’re hungry, I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Settle down, loves.” To quiet them, Newt reached into the bucket and pulled out a handful of pellets. Their attention diverted, they watched with dilated pupils as Newt threw the pellets to hang, suspended, above their heads.

Newt turned to look back at Graves, who stood some distance from the group, watching as the mooncalves bobbed their necks up and down, sucking the pellets out of the air. His face had softened into an expression Newt didn’t recognize, and Newt’s chest filled with something both heavy and light, so strong it threatened to replace the air in his lungs and suffocate him.

“Mr. Graves,” he called, pleased when his voice came out steady and even. He held out the bucket to Graves’s questioning look. “Care to try?”

Graves’s eyes darted back to the mooncalves, who had finished the first handful of pellets and were now chirruping for more, reaching up to nudge the underside of the bucket with damp noses. He hesitated.

“No,” he said, “I think it’s best that I leave that to you.”

Newt tried not to let his disappointment show. “Come on,” he said. “They’re very gentle. I promise they won’t hurt you.”

Graves met his eyes. They were so dark Newt couldn’t see his pupils in the dim lighting. Then, after what seemed like hours, he moved forward cautiously, reaching out to accept the bucket from Newt. The mooncalves immediately switched their attention to him, bright noises increasing as they hopped up and down eagerly.

“Just grab a handful,” Newt encouraged when Graves froze, clutching the bucket close to his chest, eyes suddenly wide. “Toss it in the air and they’ll stop. Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Graves snapped, and he shoved a hand into the bucket and came back out with pellets. He hesitated before he tossed the pellets out, flinching when the mooncalves surged for them. When they began stretching to nip them out of the air a quick, surprised smile glanced across his face.

“Perfect,” Newt said, and grinned back when Graves turned that smile on him.

“Can I do another?” Graves asked as the pellets began to dwindle again.

“Go ahead,” Newt said. “I owe them for making them wait.” While Graves reached in and fished out some more food, Newt’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching for a certain straggler. He found her huddled at the edge of the group, slightly stooped, eyes mournfully following the pellets bobbing above her head. There was a bandage wrapped around her leg.

“There you are, girl,” Newt said, weaving through the crowd. He crouched in front of her and rolled up his sleeves. “Can I take a look at your foot? Ah, thank you, that’s the ticket.”

The mooncalf dutifully let him lift her right foot. The white bandage had gone grey with dirt, and Newt deftly unwound it and let it fall to the side. He shifted carefully, reaching up to stroke the mooncalf’s flank as he peered at her hoof. The gash near her ankle was still open and raw, but it had healed considerably, the area around it gummy with healing salve.

“Oh, you’re looking beautiful, love,” Newt said. “A few more days and you’ll be good as new, alright? Let me just bandage you up again and we’ll get you some dinner. Are you alright with standing?”

The mooncalf dipped her head in agreement. Newt drew his wand out of his pocket and flicked his wrist, conjuring a new set of bandages. He didn’t bother with more salve; there was only so much that would do, and the wound was already healing well on its own. He positioned the bandage carefully and started wrapping, checking in with the calf as he went.

“That’s not too tight, is it?” he asked as he circled her ankle with the wrapping. “You’re doing wonderfully, love. I know this hurts, but you’re being so brave.”

As he tied the bandage off, the mooncalf extended her head and nudged his shoulder, purring deep in her throat. Newt smiled and lowered her foot gently to the ground, then reached up and scratched the top of her head. Her eyes dipped shut in pleasure. “Hungry?” he asked, and the eyes opened wide again in excitement. He laughed and looked over his shoulder to find Graves watching him, the bucket dangling loosely from his hand.

Newt swallowed. “Could you, uh, pass me a few pieces?” he asked quietly.

Graves moved forward. The mooncalves had had their fill and were now milling about, trying to get the attention of Newt or Graves so they could be pet. Graves reached out with the pellets, and when Newt offered his hand to accept them their fingers brushed and a shiver ran up Newt’s spine.

“Thank you,” he said, dropping his gaze and turning back to the mooncalf. She blinked at him, quizzical. He offered her the handful of pellets and she dipped her head to lick them out of his hand.

“What happened to her?” Graves asked behind him.

“She tripped over a rock,” Newt said, lips quirking up as the mooncalf’s tongue lapped at the palm of his hand. “She’ll be alright. Unfortunately, I can’t get her to stay off of it, so it’s not healing as fast as I’d like. Isn’t that right?”

The mooncalf finished off the last pellet and nudged his fingers with her head. Newt smiled and patted her flank once more, then stood. “I have-- oh.” His words died when he turned and found himself face to face with Graves, so close that their chests were almost brushing. Graves had been standing closer than Newt had thought, and now when Newt raised his eyes he could see every strand of grey shining in his dark hair, and every dip in his face, and the golden undertone of his dark eyes, which were suddenly wide.

“Oh, sorry,” Graves said, stepping hurriedly back. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth to say something, then stopped and shut it again. Newt stared at him, unable to look away from his gaze, as the mooncalves grazed around them, wandering now that their meal was over.

“I should go,” Graves said.

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I… I have things to do. Paperwork, and…” Graves trailed off, eyes straying away from Newt, and a weight Newt hadn’t noticed lifted from his shoulders.

“Okay,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Scamander,” Graves said, passing over the bucket. Newt took it. “This was very interesting.”

“Anytime,” Newt said a little too quickly. “Really, if you ever want to stop by--”

“I appreciate that,” Graves said. His smile seemed forced. “I can show myself out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. “ Graves backed away towards the exit. “I’ll see you tomorrow, perhaps?”

“Yes.”

Graves dipped his head, reaching behind him for the curtain. Brilliant sunlight streamed behind him, touching his hair with golden rays. “Good evening, Mr. Scamander.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Graves,” Newt said softly.

Graves turned, then seemed to hesitate, one foot out in the daylight beyond. Newt watched him, half hoping, but then Graves stepped out and the curtain swung shut behind him, leaving Newt in darkness once more.

Legs unsteady, Newt walked over to a nearby rock and sat down, staring at the closed flap. The bucket sank into the wet grass and an owl cooed above him, swooping through the air. A mooncalf wandered over and pressed its head into his lap, and Newt raised a hand to absently scratch behind its ears. His mind was bubbling, practically frothing with the evening, running through every word Graves had said, every movement he had made, lingering on the image he had struck standing there with the bright sunlight illuminating him from behind, and Newt noted his suddenly racing heart and thudding pulse, wondering what it was.

Then he recognized it for what it was, and an exciting, sickening lurch made him suddenly queasy.

“Shit,” he said out loud, the curse unfamiliar but therapeutic.

The mooncalf hummed its agreement.

Chapter Text

Aemulator

Percival

“Mr. Graves, my plan will cut interdepartmental spending by at least eleven percent, and with the way this economy is going--”

“Bentridge, this really isn’t the time.” Percival strode over to his desk and rifled through his papers, scanning sheet after sheet of frivolity. “Didn’t I ask you to get that report from this morning?”

“No,” Bentridge said. Although her expression was carefully professional, there was a hard, annoyed set to her mouth. “Sir, you’ve been putting off this meeting for weeks now. It’s important that we act now before paychecks go out--”

“Someone was supposed to get me that report,” Percival muttered. He flicked his wrist and a filing cabinet behind his desk sprang open. He peered inside, looking over the files. “Where is it?”

“Sir, if you would just take a look at this plan--”

“Do it, Bentridge!” Percival slammed the drawer shut and whirled around. Bentridge looked taken aback, dark eyes widening. “I trust your plan, I’m sure it’s great, go do your plan, alright?” He strode past her and threw open the door to his office, shouting, “Who the hell was supposed to deliver that report to me?”

His aurors all turned to look at him, clutching their files and paperwork with defensive shock. Percival curled his lip and stared hard at them, waiting for the guilty party to speak up. A movement caught the corner of his eye and he looked over, ready to snap, but a second later that feeling died and his chest pinched sharply.

“Scamander,” he said.

The man was standing just beside his door, mouth open in a small ‘O’ of surprise. He was clenching his suitcase tightly in both hands.

“They, um, told me you were busy,” Scamander said.

“I’m not,” Percival said. He was painfully aware that the entire department was staring at them, and judging by the red in Scamander’s cheeks, so was he. “You can come in.”

Scamander ducked his head and hurried past him into his office. Percival gripped the doorknob and turned back to his department, narrowing his eyes once more. The few aurors who had believed themselves off the hook straightened up again.

“Someone had better hand me that report in the next ten minutes,” he said, his voice low but resounding, “or the only spending cuts we’ll be making will be on your paychecks. Does that sound like a plan, Bentridge?”

“I think someone needs another cup of coffee,” Bentridge muttered as she swept past him, chin high in the air. Percival glared at her back, then swung his office door shut with a loud bang.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “I ask them to do one simple thing… Have a seat, Scamander.”

Scamander dropped into the chair in front of Percival’s desk. He peered at Percival over the top of his case as Percival paced to the windows and back again, too jittery to sit still. He was as on edge as he had ever been; every move he made was jolted, every thought half finished and pulsing with nerves he refused to let show.

“Are you alright?” Scamander’s voice was careful, so careful and soft that Percival couldn’t stand it.

“I’m fine,” Percival snapped. “Just peachy. Absolutely spiffing. Isn’t that what they say where you’re from? I’m bloody spiffing fine.”

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose.”

“I don’t even know why I pay them at all.” Percival clasped his hands behind his back and glowered out the window, forcing himself to be still. Outside the sky was grey and cloudy, and the streets were almost empty at this time of the morning. “Ruddy useless, the lot of them.”

Scamander didn’t say anything. Percival watched a No-Maj child dart across the street, bright red coat flashing in the monochrome world. “Goldstein isn’t here,” Percival said. “She’s out making an arrest.”

“I know,” Scamander said. “I, uh… well, I heard about what happened.”

“How?”

“Queenie,” Scamander said. He rapped his fingers on his suitcase like he was playing a piano, quick from finger to finger, as jumpy as Percival felt. The frantic noise did little to calm Percival’s nerves. “Tina’s sister?”

“The legilimens.”

“Yes,” Scamander said. “She came to work, and she passed an auror, and… well, she went to get me.”

“Alright,” Percival said, looking to the window again. He didn’t feel like explaining it, but Scamander was technically part of the team. “What do you want to know?”

“Huh?”

“What do you want to know?” Percival wasn’t able to keep the impatience out of his voice. “Why are you here, what do you need to know? I don’t have time to just sit around.”

“Oh, I-- I don’t need to know anything, Mr. Graves.” Scamander sounded surprised. “I just wanted to check in.”

“Why?”

“Um,” Scamander said, and he sounded awkward even for him. “Well, I wanted to see if you needed anything, or…?”

Percival was glad his back was turned. He stared out at the puffs of cotton in the sky, throat tightening. Scamander sounded as though he was honestly inquiring, and Percival didn’t think the man had it in him to try any mind games or dirty tricks. No one had been worried about Percival, even just politely so, in years.

“I’m perfectly fine, Mr. Scamander,” Percival said.

“Oh,” Scamander said, “okay.” There was a pause. The air felt suddenly heavy. “I… do you want to talk about it?”

“Do I what?”

“I don’t know,” Scamander said, and there was that tense awkwardness again.“My brother always-- he’s an auror too, and he used to like to talk his cases through with me. He said it helped him think.”

Percival looked at him, sweeping his gaze over the jiggling knee and the sharp curve of his jaw. Scamander was all sharp angles, cheekbones and elbows and knees that turned inward, but there was still a softness to him that Percival struggled to place. Maybe it was in his eyes, or his hesitant smiles, or the way he ducked his head when he laughed. Maybe it was just him.

“Your brother’s an auror?” Percival asked, forcing the words out over his thoughts, which had begun to stray into dangerous territory. Now was really not the time.

Scamander fidgeted like he always did when put under close scrutiny. “Yes,” he said.

“Wait,” Percival said, because now he remembered, “Theseus, correct? War hero?”

Another fidget. Softer this time, “Yes.”

Ah, yes. Scamander didn’t like to talk about his brother.  Percival turned back to the window, trying to make Scamander feel more at ease. It always seemed to help him when Percival didn’t make eye contact, even though Percival could spend all day holding his gaze.

“Well, you know about the disappearance,” Percival said. The No-Maj child outside was still in the street, splashing in a puddle in front of the laundromat. The red flashed. “Lucinda Tresenbloom. Worked here, in the law office. She was a great attorney.” Percival tilted his head back to look up at the gloomy sky. “She left work last night and never got home. Her roommate notified the auror office early this morning.”

“Are they certain it’s…” Scamander’s voice was soft again.

“They’re certain of who they want to blame,” Percival said. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “The roommate swears that Lucinda would never just disappear, and everyone in her office agrees. That means it was foul play, and the only foul play that’s been going on around here lately…” A bit of residual annoyance bubbled up in him. “And so I get called into Picquery’s office before I even know what the hell is going on, and she threatens to fire me yet again --” Percival pressed his eyes closed before he could continue. He didn’t want to go off in front of Scamander.

“What?” Scamander sounded shocked. “Wait, she’s threatening to fire you?”

Percival turned to look at him. The suitcase was still perched on his lap, but Scamander had stopped fiddling with it. His eyes were fixed on Percival with an intensity that had never been there before, and suddenly Percival felt nervous.

“Well,” he said, “it’s my job to catch this thing, and I haven’t done it.”

“But no one else has, either.” Scamander leaned forward, earnest. “You have an entire team working with you and no one knows anything. This creature is highly intelligent.”

“Yes, well,” Percival said, cheeks burning. “It’s still my job. And after that whole mess with Grindelwald, the powers at large aren’t very pleased with me.”

Scamander furrowed his eyebrows in bewilderment. “What has that got to do with anything?”

Percival bit the inside of his cheek. He would have thought Scamander was messing with him had it been anyone else, but he obviously didn’t understand. “The director of magical law enforcement cannot get… kidnapped .” The room was uncomfortably warm. “It’s… a joke.” The word popped out before he could stop it, but Percival couldn’t take it back. It was true, even if he hadn’t said it aloud before.

“Don’t.” Scamander’s voice was sharper now. “That’s ridiculous. What happened with Grindelwald is not your fault.”

Percival dropped his gaze to the ground, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Mr. Scamander, that’s very kind of you, but--”

“No,” Scamander said, and Percival was so stunned that Scamander had dared interrupt him that he shut his mouth. “Mr. Graves, I deal with poachers all the time, people that kidnap innocent creatures so they can profit off of them. The one thing that all of them have in common is that they don’t play fair . Animals have a certain instinct to them. They do what they’re supposed to do, go where they’re supposed to go- but sometimes these poachers cheat, and they sneak up on them, and they get them. And it’s not the animal’s fault.”

“Mr. Scamander,” Percival said, “are you comparing me to an animal?”

Red flooded Scamander’s cheeks. He opened his mouth, eyes wide with panic, until he saw that Percival was smiling indulgently. He relaxed again, his lips quirking into a sheepish grin.

“I suppose so,” he said. “I do have a point, though. Grindelwald doesn’t play by the rules. He didn’t with me or Credence, and he didn’t with you. And none of us are to be blamed for what happened to us.”

Percival stared at Scamander, and Scamander held his gaze, and even though Percival wasn’t quite convinced, the knot that had kept his chest tied up these past few months loosened just a little.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly.

Scamander smiled at him. It was that gentle, genuine smile that he always directed at Goldstein or his creatures, far different from the awkward twitch he put on in public. It did something funny to Percival’s chest, and he had to look away.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I’m a minor infraction away from being fired, though,” he said.

“Oh, that one’s easy,” Scamander said. “We just need to find that creature, and then you’ll be a hero. Problem solved.”

“Ah, yes,” Percival said, “problem solved. Do I have to remind you that we’ve been searching for this thing for weeks and we still aren’t any closer to figuring it out?”

“Yes, I know,” Scamander said, “but now we have a lead.”

“We do?”

“We need to check out this lawyer. Maybe we’ll learn something. Don’t look at me like that,” Scamander warned. He got to his feet, letting his case swing beside him. “We’ll find something. I’m going to go and find Tina, and then we’ll head to the law offices and talk to some of her coworkers, alright?”

“Fine,” Percival said as Scamander turned to head towards the door, an odd inflection to his voice.

Scamander paused halfway there. He looked over his shoulder with a frown. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Percival said. And then he thought, screw it . “I just like it when you’re confident.”

He didn’t think Scamander had ever been more red in his entire life.

XXXXX

“We really don’t know anything, Percival.” Lilliana shrugged, mouth twisted apologetically. “She was here yesterday, and she’s not here today. That’s all that I know. Say, have you spoken to her roommate yet?”

“She’s the one who reported her missing,” Graves said. “Why?”

“They were awful close,” Lilliana said. “If anyone knows what happened, it’ll be her. Nice girl. She came in a few times, to visit and all that.”

“Does she work in the Ministry?”

“I don’t think so. I believe she wants to be a professor at Ilvermorny. She’s doing an independent study or something, traveling a lot. Lucinda talked about it sometimes, but…” Lilliana adjusted her glasses and tilted her head so her dark hair spilled over her shoulder. She tried to smile. “Listen, try to find her, alright? She’s a good woman.”

“We’ll try,” Percival said. “Maybe she’ll turn up on her own.”

“We can hope,” Lilliana said. “Now then, did you happen to leave that young man you came with by the reception desk?”

Percival frowned. “Scamander?” he asked. “Yes.”

Lilliana smiled and rested her elbows on her desk. “Poor choice,” she said. “He’s just Jan’s type.”

Percival spun in his seat. The door to Lilliana’s office was slightly ajar, and through the opening he could just make out the bright blue of Scamander’s coat at the front desk to the department of Magical Law. Percival tilted further in his seat and saw a woman leaning across it, one hand creeping closer and closer to Scamander’s.

“Goodness, Percival, you mustn’t look so murderous.” Lilliana laughed when he turned back around to glare at her. “People will get the wrong idea.”

“Lilliana.”

“Oh, I’m just teasing you.” Lilliana waved a hand and leaned back in her seat. “He’s very cute.”

“Lilliana .”

“What, I can’t joke with you anymore?”

“It’s not- it isn’t-”

“Wow, he’s even got you flustered. You must formally introduce me to this man of yours.”

Percival stood abruptly. “Goodbye, Lilliana.”

“I’m just teasing , Percival, lighten up! I saw the way you were looking at him when you two first came in, so I-”

“It isn’t like that.” The dangerous snarl finally shut Lilliana up. She straightened, the smile slipping off her face.

“Oh,” she said. “My apologies.”

Percival clenched his fist around nothing and dropped his glare to his shoes, trying to ignore his quickening heart. “Tell me if you hear anything else.”

“I will,” Lilliana said. “I’m sorry, Percival.”

“It’s fine,” he murmured, then turned and strode to the door, shoving it open with his shoulder.

Both Scamander and the receptionist looked up, startled. When she saw the murderous expression on Percival’s face, the woman released her hold on Scamander’s coat, a hold that she had been using to pull him closer to her across the desk. They sprang apart. Scamander’s face was pink.

“If you are done flirting ,” Percival said through gritted teeth, “I do believe we have a job to get back to, Scamander. Tina said she would meet us in my office. Come on.”

He pushed past Scamander without looking at the receptionist, and when their shoulders brushed Percival ignored the spark of heat that settled in his abdomen. Behind him he heard the scrawl of a quill, and then the receptionist saying, “Drop by anytime.”

Percival pushed through the door and into the hallway without bothering to check if Scamander was following. He was halfway down the hall when the magizoologist finally caught up to him, panting and clinging to his suitcase with one hand and a crumpled piece of paper in the other.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing happened,” Percival said. “She didn’t know anything.”

“Oh,” Scamander said. “Then why-?”

“I have nothing that I want to discuss with you, Scamander,” Percival growled without looking at him.

Scamander fell quiet as they rounded a corner and mounted the stairs that led to the atrium. Then- “Don’t you want to hear what I found out?”

“What, that witch’s home address?”

“No! Well- yes, but, I didn’t ask for that, and that’s certainly not what we were talking about, I don’t even know why she gave that to me, we were just discussing-”

“I have absolutely zero interest in your love life, Scamander.”

They reached the elevator at the end of the hall and Percival stabbed the button. He looked up and glared at the arrow as it started to glide smoothly towards their floor number. The machinery whirred quietly in the empty hall.

“We weren’t talking about that,” Scamander insisted. “We were talking about Lucinda.” When Percival didn’t respond, he pushed on. “Jan says that she always struck her as a touch sad.”

“Oh, is that what Jan says?”

“It was just funny, the way that she said it. ‘I always thought she was a touch sad.’ It reminded me of what Ms. Patriclan said, about Randy Simmons? It was the same description.”

The elevator dinged as it arrived and the doors slid open. Percival stepped inside, ignoring the inquiring look of the house elf inside.

“Wonderful, Scamander,” he said. “It appears that you’re just as good of a detective as you are a flirter.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means- what the hell are we supposed to do with this information, Scamander? Picquery would literally kill me if I walked in and told her that my only connection between the subjects was that they were both a little sad . ‘Yes, Madame President, I assure you that both victims were a touch moody.’”

Scamander frowned at him. “Have I done something to upset you?”

“No,” Percival said. “Let’s just go pick up Goldstein and go talk to the roommate. We’re already running late.” Percival furrowed his brow and looked around. The elevator doors were still wide open. “Why aren’t we moving?” he demanded.

“You never gave me a floor, sir,” the house elf croaked.

“Atrium,” Scamander said with that small smile he reserved for Goldstein and creatures- and maybe Jan , if she was lucky.

The bell that dinged as the doors slid closed was so cheerful it made Percival want to blast it to pieces.

XXXXX

“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Um, tea?”

“No, thank you,” Goldstein said politely.

Scamander, seated opposite Percival at the scratched kitchen table, gazed idly at the pile of books in the center of it. “Tea would be lovely,” he said.

The woman looked almost relieved. She got up and stepped to the stove, grabbing a pot off one of the burners and pointing the tip of her wand into it. “Aguamenti ,” she said, watching carefully as it filled to the top. When it was ready she flicked her wrist and a fire sprang up underneath it. She turned back to them and crossed her arms tightly, defensively.

“I don’t know anything.”

“Ms. Fredrickson-”

“Annie.”

“Annie,” Percival said. “You reported your roommate missing before she had been gone more than twelve hours. Isn’t that a bit strange?”

“I know Lucinda,” Annie said. Her eyes darted from him to Scamander to Goldstein, nervous even though her squared shoulders made her appear confident. “She wouldn’t just disappear.”

“Still,” Goldstein said, “isn’t there a possibility that she could just be doing something? That maybe she had plans that you didn’t know about?”

“No,” Annie said. “She’s missing.”
Goldstein glanced at him, and the expression in her eyes said that she gave up. Percival resisted the urge to look at Scamander even though he knew the other man wouldn’t meet his gaze. Scamander hadn’t looked at him properly since the elevator incident.

“Annie, it’s just that it’s a touch… odd that you are so quick to point to foul play.”

Annie leaned forward, eyes narrowing. A heavy-set, curly haired woman in her early forties, she was proving to have quite the threatening glare.

“She. Would. Have. Told. Me,” she said, her words laced with acid.

“Annie, have you any pets?”

Percival glanced at Scamander, exasperated. The man was leaned all the way back in his seat, the picture of leisure, looking around the tiny apartment’s kitchen like he had never seen anything quite like it. He had draped his coat over the back of his wooden chair, so he was wearing just his white button-down.

Annie’s taught defensiveness seemed to relax somewhat. “We have a cat. Well, Lucy has a cat,” she amended. “She brought her here when we just moved in. She’s probably hiding. She doesn’t like visitors.”

Scamander smiled. “I love cats,” he said. “Do you mind if I try and coax her out?”

Annie shrugged. “Go right ahead,” she said.

Scamander got up and wandered away, disappearing into the living room. Percival heard him making some weird kind of crooning noise a moment later. He tried to ignore him.

“Did your roommate have any enemies that you know of?” he asked.

Annie snorted. “Lucy? Of course not. Everyone loved her.”

“So there’s no one that would have wanted to see her hurt?” Tina prompted.

“Of course not,” Annie said, scathing.

“We’re just trying to figure out how foul play could have fit into this if--” Percival started.

“Don’t try that on me, Mr. Graves . I know exactly what happened. It was that damn creature that everyone’s in a tiff about! The one that’s snatching off magical folk left and right, that’s what took her!”

The water on the stove was boiling. Annie pointed her wand angrily at it and the fire cut out abruptly.

“And,” she continued, turning back around to brandish her wand at Tina and Percival, “I thought it was your job to try and stop this thing so people like Lucy don’t get snatched out of their beds in the middle of the night!”

“Annie, I can assure you that-“

“Found her!”

They all looked up to see Scamander re-enter holding a large orange tabby cat. It was a massive creature, almost a foot long in length, but Scamander was cradling it as though it were a baby.

“Goodness, you found Millie.” Annie looked surprised. “She hates everyone that isn’t Lucy.”

“Well, I have a certain affinity for animals,” Scamander said. He smiled down at Millie, who nuzzled his shoulder with a tiny pink nose. “All these people just made Millie a little nervous, isn’t that right, Millie?”

The cat meowed and tried to bury her head into the crook of Scamander’s elbow.

“Oh, is the tea ready?” Scamander asked, looking back at Annie, who had been gazing at the cat. The woman blinked and seemed to come out of some kind of daze.

“Oh, yes,” she said. She opened a cupboard and pulled down a chipped white mug and a metal canister labeled ‘Tea Leaves.’ “Milk, sugar?”

“Please,” Scamander said, rocking back and forth and making small clicking noises. The cat meowed appreciatively.

Percival caught Goldstein’s eye as Annie prepared the tea. She looked just as bewildered by this turn of events as he did.

“Annie-“ Tina started.

“Here’s your tea, Mr….”

“Scamander,” he said, “but please, call me Newt.”

“Newt.” Annie smiled and offered him the mug of tea. “Interesting name.”

“Well, my parents are an interesting pair. Besides, we’re British, funny names are a thing of national pride. Here, I’ll trade you.”

Percival missed the exact acrobatics of the endeavor, but they managed to switch cat and mug, and then Annie was clutching Millie to her chest and cooing and Newt was absently blowing on his mug of tea.

“Oh, there you are, sweet girl,” Annie said in a tone that was surprisingly gentle. “Oh, she never lets me hold her when Lucy isn’t around.”

“Some animals are just very particular, it’s nothing personal,” Scamander said. “I have a snortpop who doesn’t even let her mother touch her. Let me tell you, that did not go over well with Belinda. She likes to hug her children.”

“Snortpop?” Annie looked faintly bemused.

“Kind of an aardvark looking creature? Except they can fit into the palm of your hand, and they have a tentacle-like snout that comes down sort of like this.” Scamander waggled his fingers in front of his nose. Annie laughed.

“They sound fascinating.”

“Oh, they are. Wonderfully intelligent creatures.” Scamander sipped his tea. “Annie, do you think you could tell us the last time that you saw Lucinda?”

Annie tightened her grip on Millie. The cat wiggled in her grasp but didn’t try to escape.

“Alright,” she said. Goldstein glanced at Percival again and he shrugged helplessly but didn’t say anything. It seemed that they were better off leaving the talking to Scamander.

Percival never thought he would say that.

“It was when she left for work yesterday,” Annie said. “I’m doing an independent study, trying to get my credentials to teach Charms, so I always sleep in. But Lucy wakes up at six in the morning- she’s an early bird, you see- and goes bustling around the bedroom and the kitchen, so it always wakes me up. And yesterday, let’s see… she made a pot of coffee, asked if I wanted anything for breakfast. I said no, so she said that she was going to try this new bakery off of Third that everyone’s been raving about.”

“Kowalski’s,” Scamander said with a tiny smile.

“That’s the one, yes. So she got ready, and I stayed in bed, and then…” Annie hesitated. “Then she said goodbye and she left.”

Percival narrowed his eyes. Something about that seemed incomplete, but before he could ask Scamander said, “And that was it?”

“Yes,” Annie said. “And then she didn’t come home. And I know it’s weird to file a person as missing when they haven’t even been gone a full day, but I know Lucy, I just know her, and she would never disappear like this and make me worry if there wasn’t something wrong. She would have sent me a message or gotten in touch or-“

“I know.” Scamander’s voice was soft, reassuring. “I believe you.”

Annie’s shoulders dropped. She bent down to place Millie on the ground, and the cat immediately wandered over to twine herself between Scamander’s feet, nuzzling his ankle.

“Thank you,” Annie whispered. “I… thank you.”

“Annie, I know that it’s hard, but is there anything else you’d like to tell us? Has Lucy been acting unusually lately? Is there anything at all, any detail, that might help us?”

Annie hesitated. “Well, I don’t like to air our dirty laundry, but… well, if it’ll help.”

“It will,” Scamander said.

“Lucy’s been… off, recently.” Annie crossed her arms again, the move more uncertain than defensive now. She chewed on her lower lip. “She’s very… bright , usually. She absolutely glows. But in the past few months she’s been… well, different.”

“Different how?” Scamander pressed.

Annie tried to smile. “Sad, I guess,” she said. “She’s been eating less, spending more time locked up in the bedroom. We haven’t gone out as much.”

“Sad,” Scamander murmured, and he finally looked at Percival, just a glancing look that made the hard knot of guilt that had settled in Percival’s stomach tighten.

“Yes,” Annie said, “and she hasn’t talked to me about anything, so I don’t know what it is.”

“Of course,” Scamander said. “Thank you, Annie. That’s very helpful.”

Annie looked nervously between him and Percival and Goldstein. “Do you… have you got a plan?”

“I’m actually a close friend of Mr. Kowalski, who owns the bakery Annie said she would go to,” Scamander said. “I’ll stop by and ask if she came in that morning. From there, we’ll continue to talk to people at the Ministry and se who was the last person to see her before she left.”

“Okay,” Annie said. “Alright.”

Scamander tilted his head at her. “Annie?”

Annie blinked at him, clutching her cardigan tightly around her. She swallowed. “Just… find her, please?” She blinked quicker, biting down so hard on her bottom lip Percival was afraid she might hurt it. “Please, I- this isn’t like her, there’s something wrong, she’s in danger-“

“I know, Annie. Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

“Please, you need to make sure she’s okay, if she’s hurt I’ll-“ Annie shook her head rapidly and sniffed. “Oh, god, she can’t be hurt.”

“Annie.” Scamander set his mug down and stepped closer, and then he reached out and laid a hand on Annie’s arm, and Percival stared because Scamander never initiated physical touch with anything except animals. For god’s sake, he jumped out of his skin when Percival stood too close to him. “I promise that we’ll find her.”

Annie laid her hand on his and smiled through mounting tears.

As they left, Millie the cat mewling in despair behind them as Scamander walked away, Percival stepped close to him and murmured, “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Scamander.”

“I don’t,” Scamander said without looking at him. Then he strode down the hall after Goldstein, leaving Percival standing in the middle of the hall, staring as the blue coat disappeared.

XXXXX

Percival prepared his own dinner that night. He normally picked something up on his way home, but he had been so worn out by the day that he had just apparated directly back to his apartment. After returning from Annie’s apartment, Percival had had just fifteen minutes of time to himself to write up a report and do some thinking before Picquery had come in once more to chew him out.

“This is unacceptable , Percival!” she had shouted at him. “I’ve got parents writing me asking how they can keep their children safe from the New York Monster! Fix this !”

Percival pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to breathe, to relax the growing discomfort in his shoulders. He needed a massage. Or maybe a new job.

His apartment seemed larger than usual tonight, and twice as empty. Every sound he made was amplified a thousand times in the distant corners of the space. He pulled out a piece of bread and toasted it with a wave of his wand, and then buttered it, and then decided that he didn’t want it and dropped it in the trash. He searched fruitlessly through his pantry for something to eat and finally settled on a jar of expensive olives a colleague had brought him from Italy. He unscrewed the lid and pulled out a fork and sat down at his kitchen table.

They were small and bitter, and each bite made him screw up his face to ward off the assault of salt on his senses. He rested his elbows on the counter and prodded at the olives, watching them bounce up and down in the oil. He sighed.

He tried to run through the day again, but he had already exhausted himself doing that. It had been a long one. Two confrontations with Picquery, one with Scamander- god, Scamander. He hadn’t even spoken to Percival after leaving Annie’s apartment. He and Goldstein had left together, chatting and laughing like neither had a care in the world, and had left Percival behind to write up the official report and muddle through the rest of the day.

Maybe Scamander would go to Jan’s tonight. Percival stabbed an olive.

When he couldn’t eat anymore Percival screwed the lid on the jar and left it there, wandering off into his living room. He stood for a moment in front of the bookcase and wished that he had something new to read. Then he shuffled over to his sofa and sank into, tipped his head back and tried to relax, but he was too on edge, and eventually his thoughts wandered back to the expression on Scamander’s face when Percival had yelled at him earlier.

Percival groaned into the silence. Maybe he should just go to bed.

Percival walked into his bedroom, kicked off his shoes and socks, and started towards bed without undressing. He collapsed into it, pressing back into the billowy pillow and comforter, and shut his eyes. After a moment he turned his head towards his night table to turn off the lamp, and his eyes caught on something green.

He frowned and sat up. It was a book. He grabbed it and glanced at the cover, and then groaned again, louder.

“Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,” he muttered.

“Fine,” he said aloud, dropping the book back onto the table. “Fine.” He got up again, grabbed his coat off the chair he had dropped it on earlier, and rifled through it for his wand. Then he tugged the jacket on and raised his wand and rolled his eyes, and then he twisted on his heel and disappeared with a crack .

He landed off balance in the hall. He looked around nervously at all the closed doors and hoped that no-one had heard him. He had only been here once to fetch Goldstein for an emergency, and he hoped that he had the address right.

Straightening up and tugging on his coat to make sure he was presentable, he took a deep breath and knocked.

It was a few moments before the door clicked open, and when it did Percival found himself staring at one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He blinked. She blinked.

“Mr. Graves,” she said, sounding surprised, and then Percival recognized her- Goldstein’s sister, the legilimens. He quickly called upon his very limited experience with occlumency and threw up a hasty mind shield.

“Miss Goldstein,” he said. “I’m terribly sorry to intrude.”

“Are you looking for Tina?”

“No,” Percival said, glancing over her shoulder into the apartment. The lighting was warm and inviting, and he could hear people talking within. This had been a mistake. “I was actually wondering if Mr. Scamander was here?”

She raised an eyebrow. Without looking away from him, she called, “Newt, you have a visitor.”

Percival shifted uncomfortably as Scamander’s head appeared behind Miss Goldstein. He looked confused, and when he saw Percival he blinked and looked even more bewildered.

“Mr. Graves?” he asked.

Percival swallowed. “I wondered if I might have a word with you.”

“Come in, Mr. Graves,” Miss Goldstein said, opening the door wider and stepping aside. Percival entered, trying to look like he knew what he was doing, and glanced around the small apartment. It was like stepping into a bath of warm firelight; it was one of the coziest places Percival had ever seen. He glanced at the kitchen and saw that the table was laid with half-eaten plates. Goldstein and the No-Maj baker were both seated there, looking at Percival curiously.

“Oh,” Percival said. “I’m so sorry. I can come back another time.”

“No, not at all!” Miss Goldstein had apparently gotten over her momentary surprise and was now smiling, hands clasped in front of her. “You ought to join us. Jacob has the most wonderful dessert prepared.”

“Thank you, but I don’t want to impose,” Percival said.

“Not at all! Come, sit down.”

“Thank you, Miss Goldstein, but I really only came to speak to Mr. Scamander for a moment.”

He looked at Scamander, who was staring openly at him. He was dressed casually in an untucked white shirt and a pair of loose trousers Percival had never seen before, and his hair was tousled in a way that made Percival swallow.

“We can, uh, step into my case.” Scamander gestured over his shoulder.

“If you want to finish your dinner first-“

“No, that’s alright, I’m finished.” Scamander glanced at the table, caught the No-Maj’s eye, and Percival felt as though he was some terrible intruder. What had he been thinking?

“It will only be a moment,” he said.

“No problem at all,” Scamander said. “Come on.”

The case was lying on the couch, carefully propped up against one of the pillows. Scamander took it and laid it on the coffee table, then lifted the hinges. He looked at Percival again, curiously, and then stepped inside. Percival watched, still not used to seeing Scamander’s leg disappear all the way inside of it.

When the top of Scamander’s head disappeared, Percival hurried to climb into it as well, not looking at the other people in the apartment, who had fallen silent. He found the first rung on the ladder and lowered himself down, checking to make sure that he wouldn’t be stepping on some kind of creature.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your meal,” Percival said when he had reached the bottom and turned around.         

“Don’t apologize, Mr. Graves,” Scamander said. His eyes dropped from Percival’s face down, far down, and Percival felt the back of his neck heating, and then Scamander said, “You aren’t wearing any shoes.”

Percival looked down and realized that, yes, his feet were bare, and yes, he hadn’t noticed it.

“Oh,” he said. “I’m not.”

Scamander looked back up at him, squinting in a thoughtful way. “Are you alright, Mr. Graves?”

“I’m fine,” Percival said. “I just wanted to apologize.”

Scamander frowned. “What for?”

“For my attitude earlier. I was under a lot of stress, and- I’m not trying to make excuses, I was awful, but I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t anything that you did.”

“You mean at the law office.”

“Yes.”

“You came here this late, without your shoes, just to apologize to me?”

“Yes.”

Scamander tilted his head, and a stray curl fell across his forehead. Percival stared at it.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize, Mr. Graves,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Well,” Percival said, “I normally have so little to apologize for.”

Scamander laughed, a startling sound that seemed too sharp and abrupt for his normally gentle demeanor, and Percival found himself smiling sheepishly. “Alright, that might be a lie,” he said.

“I didn’t say that, Mr. Graves. I’m sure you’re very humble in your apologies.”

“Now you’re just making fun.”

Scamander smiled and reached up to tuck the curl behind his ear, out of the way. “Well, I accept this one,” he said. “And I appreciate you coming here to make it.”

Some of the tension that had been haunting Percival all day drained from his shoulders. He curled his bare toes into the cold wood of the floor. “Good,” he said. “Good.”

“If I might ask, though,” Scamander said. “I know you were under stress, but… I mean, what made you so…” He was struggling for the word, and Percival shifted uncomfortably.

“Just stress,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Scamander looked doubtful, but he didn’t push it, and Percival was grateful. “Alright,” he said.

“I also came to thank you,” Percival said, “for what you did with Annie earlier. You really helped.”

Scamander shrugged. “I just talked to her.”

“Yes, but you talked to her the way that she needed. Goldstein and I wouldn’t have been able to do that. So, thank you.”

“It was nothing,” Scamander said.

“It was definitely not nothing.”

“I know how it feels.” Scamander wouldn’t look at him now, and Percival frowned. Scamander had been better with eye contact lately, so when he couldn’t meet Percival’s eye Percival had learned to recognize it as nerves or anxiety. “You know, to have someone you love in danger.”

“Oh.”

Scamander dropped his gaze to his feet. His hair shifted and the light from the lamp on the table hit him in just the right way and his freckles seemed to shine in it, and oh, Percival had known for a while now, had recognized his mounting affection for what it was, but he had been doing a wonderful job of pushing it away until now.

This was bad.

“I, uh, I’ve done some more research,” Scamander said, still not looking at him. “On the creature. Do you want to see it?”

“No,” Percival said, because he was selfish and maybe a touch masochistic. “I’ve kept you long enough. Could you bring it by my office tomorrow?”

Scamander looked up at him, lips parted just slightly, and Percival tried not to stare at them. “Sure,” he said.

“Perfect,” Percival said.

Scamander’s shed was tiny and cluttered and most of his things were buried underneath a thin layer of potting soil, but looking at him here Percival realized that he was in his element. That Scamander belonged here, and he fit so well here that Percival thought he could stare at him forever.

“You really should stay for dessert,” Scamander blurted out. “Jacob made cannolis, and they’re absolutely wonderful. And even though I don’t like coffee Queenie still makes a really great pot of it, and I’m sure that you would enjoy-“

“Thank you, Mr. Scamander,” Percival said, “but I really should be getting home. My feet are a touch cold.”

“Oh,” Scamander said. He looked at Percival’s bare feet again and laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Right.”

Percival hesitated, and then turned and mounted the ladder again. He wanted to stay- oh, god , he wanted to stay- but if he lingered even a moment longer he was afraid he would do something he’d regret. So he climbed up and away from Scamander and his cozy space and the possibilities, and back to reality.

“We’re serving dessert, Mr. Graves,” Miss Goldstein called out as he clambered off of the coffee table.

“I really must be going, Miss Goldstein, but thank you very much for the offer.”

Scamander poked his head out and blinked into the bright lights. Percival waited while he crawled out of the opening and shut the case.

“So I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow,” he said when he had straightened up.

“I’m looking forward to it, Mr. Scamander,” Percival said, walking towards the front door. Scamander hurried past him to open it for him, quirking his lips upward.

“Newt,” he said.

“Sorry?”

“You should call me Newt.” He blinked. “I mean, only if you want. I just thought, you know, we’ve known each other long enough, and Mr. Scamander always reminds me of my brother-“

“Newt,” Percival said, and the name was short and sweet and familiar on his tongue. He hid the beaming smile he felt like giving behind a smaller, polite one. “Alright. You have to call me Percival, then.”

“Percival,” Scamander- Newt- said, and Percival had never loved his name more. “Alright.”

Percival stepped into the hall, drawing his coat tighter around him. “Enjoy your cannolis, Newt.”

“Go put some shoes on, Percival.”

Percival laughed. He held Newt’s eye for a moment longer, and then nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Newt said. Percival turned to walk away, and a moment later he heard the door shut behind him.

Percival knew that he should be quiet, that it was late and he shouldn’t wake the neighbors, but he couldn’t resist bouncing down the stairs with a skip in his step. He couldn’t wipe the grin that had settled on his face away even though his muscles weren’t used to making that expression and were probably trying to protest. A delightfully warm tingle was spreading from his chest down to his toes, and Percival forgot for a moment that this was wrong, that he was making a big deal out of nothing, that this was not a feeling that he could ever have for his own.

He decided that he would walk home instead of apparating, despite his bare feet, just so he could see the stars.

Chapter Text

Newt

Inventa

Newt shut the door, trying to calm his suddenly rapid heartbeat. He took a long, slow breath and bit his lip to temper the smile building on his face.     

“Well.” Newt turned around to see all three of his friends staring at him from the kitchen table. Queenie’s eyes were narrowed. “That was interesting,” she said.

“What did he want?” Tina asked.

“He just wanted to apologize,” Newt said, stepping away from the door. “He was a bit short with me earlier, and he wanted to explain that he’s just stressed about the case.”

“He came all the way over here just to apologize?” Jacob asked, reaching out to take a cannoli off the plate in the center of the table. “That’s good of him.”

“That’s weird of him.” Tina wrinkled her nose. “Graves doesn’t apologize. He’s notorious for it.”

“Well, he did tonight,” Newt said, joining them at the table. “He was just being nice. Which ones are the chocolate ones?”

“These three in the corner, made specially for you.”

“Cheers, Jacob.”

“And all you did was talk?” Queenie asked, raising her eyebrows.

Newt frowned as he took some cannoli and set it on his plate. “Yes?”

Queenie shrugged. “You two just seemed awful cozy, is all.”

Newt felt himself go bright red as both Tina and Jacob looked at him in confusion. Perhaps Queenie read the sudden panic in his thoughts, because her gaze softened and she said, “I just thought you might have gotten some kind of breakthrough in the case.”

“We didn’t,” Newt assured Tina when she sat up straight and excited in her chair. “No, he just apologized, and I promised that I would stop by tomorrow and go over some research with him.”

“Oh, god, now I’m going to have to go in, too.” Tina picked up her fork and broke the crust of her cannoli. “This case is turning out to be a giant ball of stress. I thought it would be fun.”

“Are murders ever fun?” Queenie asked.

“When you solve them. And it looks like that’s never going to happen.”

“Don’t say that,” Jacob said. “I’m sure you three will think of something.”

“I don’t know,” Tina said, “I thought that Graves has been acting a little off recently, and if he’s going around apologizing to people- especially Newt-“

“What does that mean?” Newt asked defensively.

“Oh, you two hate each other, Newt, we all know it,” Tina said, and Newt refused to meet Queenie’s eye.

“Right,” Queenie said. She stood up. “Coffee, anyone?”

After the plate had been cleared of dessert and Jacob had been bid farewell, Queenie and Tina got ready for bed while Newt cleaned up the kitchen. He wet the sponge in the sink and wrung it, shaking off the excess water, then went to the table to start scrubbing it down.

“You could do it with magic.”

He looked up to see Queenie standing in the doorway, dressed in a short pink nightgown. It shouldn’t have been proper for him to see her that way, but they had lived with each other for far too long to care at this point.

“I like to do it the Muggle way,” Newt said. “It’s relaxing.”

Queenie cocked her head, curls bouncing. She had wiped off her lipstick, so her lips were just faintly colored pink. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Why?”

“What did Mr. Graves want?”

Newt hunched over the table and started scrubbing, watching the soap bubbles shift and pop every time he squeezed the sponge. “I told you, he wanted to apologize.”

“And that’s it?”

“ Yes .” Newt twisted so she couldn’t see his face. “Stop reading my thoughts.”

“I’m sorry,” Queenie said softly. “I can’t help it.”

Newt didn’t look at her.

“Newt-“

“Don’t, Queenie.”

“Why don’t you want to talk about it?”

“Because there’s nothing to talk about.”

“You know I don’t mind.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You shouldn’t be afraid of your feelings, Newt. And seeing you two together-“

“Queenie.”

Queenie sighed and tugged at the hem of her dress, running her thumb over the satin. “I just wanted to say,” she said softly, “that seeing you two together made sense.”

Newt looked up. The sponge was creating a pool of water on the wood. “What?”

“You fit. I didn’t think you would, but then I watched you two talking, and the way that you both looked at each other... ”

“What do you mean?” Newt straightened, daring to hope for one moment, but Queenie winced.

“No, Newt, I… I’m sorry. I couldn’t read his thoughts. He knows occlumency.”

Newt deflated and turned away again. Queenie stepped forward, earnest now. Queenie, who was trying so hard to help, who thought she could, but was only making things worse.

“But I’m still really good at picking up on this kind of stuff! Just because I couldn’t read his thoughts… he was looking at you, Newt, I promise.”

“Of course he was looking at me, we were having a conversation.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Look, Queenie, thank you for… being so supportive, but there’s nothing to support. Alright? Whatever I… however I…” Newt gazed across the apartment to the window. It was too dark outside to see anything. “It doesn’t matter. He’ll never feel that way.”

“You don’t know that.”

Newt laughed. “Queenie, I have much more experience with this than you do, and I can assure you that he will never feel that way.”

“Newt…”

“It’s alright.” Newt tried to smile at her, tried to reassure her, but she looked so sad and concerned that he couldn’t hold her gaze. “Really, Queenie. I’m used to it. This will pass. We’ll figure this case out, and then I’ll stop seeing him, and then I’ll get back to my life and it will be fine.”

Queenie hesitated. “If you’re certain…”

“I am,” Newt said. He turned back to the table and started scrubbing again, and tried not to think. He tried to forget the way that Graves had looked at him in his case, with an unfamiliar fondness that had sparked something close to hope in Newt before reality had set in again. He tried not to think about how Graves seemed to glow from within when he laughed, and how Newt had glowed while watching him, standing there barefoot in Newt’s case, looking to all the world as though he belonged there with Newt and his creatures, and he definitely tried not to think about how that could never, ever happen.

“Oh, honey,” Queenie said, rushing towards him, and Newt realized he was shaking.

He let Queenie wrap her arms around him, and after a moment of hesitation he returned the embrace. Although his fingers were soapy and were probably ruining her beautiful nightdress, she said nothing as she squeezed him tightly. Newt shut his eyes and relaxed into the contact, trying to breathe. He wouldn’t cry.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No.” Queenie tightened her grip. “Don’t you dare apologize, Newt Scamander. You’re allowed to have feelings and you’re allowed to be upset. Do you understand me?”

Newt nodded and took a sharp breath, blinking back wetness in his eyes. A door creaked open behind him and he tried to pull away, but Queenie held tight.

“Newt?” Tina sounded worried. Newt sniffed and glanced at her, and her expression softened in concern. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Newt said. “Nothing happened.”

Tina glanced at her sister, and then wordlessly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around both of them. Newt swallowed back his tears and closed his eyes and let them hug him, let himself have at least this contact. It was nice when he was too tired to worry about it, and it made him feel just a little bit less like his world was falling apart around him.

They stood there, the three of them, clutching onto each other for what felt like hours, and at the end of it Newt felt just a little bit better.

XXXXX

“We haven’t got the resources to post a guard at Annie and Lucinda’s apartment, but it shouldn’t be necessary,” Graves said. “There’s no evidence that the creature strikes twice anywhere. Annie should be fine.”

“We can’t spare one auror, just to be safe?” Tina asked with a frown.

Graves steepled his fingers and furrowed his brow. Newt clasped his hands tightly together and hoped that his staring wasn’t too obvious. “I don’t think it’s necessary,” he said. “Newt?”

It took Newt a second to remember that that was his name. “Oh,” he said. “Actually, I think that might be a good idea. I’ve been studying up on the emotional intelligence of certain magical creatures, and I think it’s highly likely that what we’re chasing has at least some attraction to strong negative feelings.”

Graves frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Every victim has been described as sad in some capacity,” Newt said. “There are some magical creatures that are drawn to particular emotions. This animal might be attracted to negative feelings- sadness or grief, for example- because it makes their prey weaker, more vulnerable. And if that’s true-”

“Then Annie is in danger,” Graves said. He nodded. “Alright. We’ll put Lakes on it. Goldstein, let him know when he gets back from his patrol.”

“On it,” Tina said with a nod.

“Good work, Newt,” Graves said. “Do you have anything else?”

Newt almost wished that he hadn’t acted so impulsively last night and asked Graves to call him by his first name. It made their relationship too casually intimate, which was turning out to be more of a problem than Newt had expected. It had been easier to ignore his mounting infatuation when they had been strictly professional. It had also been easier when Graves had been short and irritated with him all the time; now he was polite and respectful in a way that made Newt warm all over whenever they spoke.

“Um,” Newt said, “no. Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Graves said, and there was that heat again. “Goldstein, if you could-”

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. All three of them looked over at it. Graves sat up in his chair.

“Come in,” he called. When the door swung open and Picquery walked in, both Tina and Newt got quickly to their feet.

“Madame President,” Tina said, “good morning!”

“Goldstein,” Picquery greeted. “Scamander.” She turned her gaze on Graves and her expression hardened. He stared back at her, his face carefully blank. Newt frowned. “Percival, can I have a word with you?”

“Yes,” Graves said.

Tina started to move away, but Newt remained rooted to the floor, unwilling to leave Graves alone. Picquery raised an eyebrow at him in that sophisticated, intimidating manner, and Merlin did Newt wish he could just back down. But Graves was watching him from behind Picquery with so much surprise that Newt knew he couldn’t give in quite yet.

“Can I help you, Mr. Scamander?” Picquery asked coolly.

“Um,” Newt said, because despite his sudden bravado, he had no bark to his bite. He made eye contact with Graves, who cocked his head ever so slightly in a silent question. “No.”

“Good,” Picquery said. “Then you won’t mind when I ask you to leave.”

Newt blinked, still staring at Graves. He was suddenly very conscious of his every movement, of how his shoulders rose and fell with every breath, every blink of his eye. “No,” he said. “I’ll just… wait outside.”

“If you must,” Picquery said. Behind Newt, Tina coughed, and he finally broke eye contact with Graves and turned to follow her out.

“Are you alright, Newt?” she asked as soon as they had shut the door behind them. “You kind of froze in there.”

“I’m fine,” Newt said, distracted. “What do you think she wants to talk to him about?”

“I don’t know,” Tina said. “Business stuff, I suppose. You can’t really question the president.”

No, he couldn’t, and neither could Graves. Newt was itching to turn back around and interrupt whatever was going on behind that closed door, because he had an awful feeling that Picquery would threaten Graves again. He still wasn’t quite over the conversation he had had with Graves yesterday or the poorly concealed vulnerability in his confession. Had that only been yesterday?

“I need to go cross reference some stuff with wand regulation,” Tina said, unaware of Newt’s internal struggle. “Want to tag along?”

“Oh- oh, no, thank you. I think I’ll just, uh, wait here.”

Tina frowned. “For what?”

“For, uh…” Newt gestured over his shoulder. “You know.”

Tina narrowed her eyes. “Alright,” she said slowly. “I’ll drop by again later.”

“Alright,” Newt said, too quickly. Tina looked at him suspiciously one last time before leaving, disappearing into the throngs of the auror department.

Newt pressed his back against the wall next to Graves’s office door and looked around, hoping that he wouldn’t draw any attention. The office had only just opened and it was bustling with people preparing for the day. Very few aurors were out on patrol this early, so the department was stuffed with workers. They were their usual loud selves, shouting and tossing things to each other, and Newt once more marveled at the intensity of America. Everything was so loud here.

“Newt!”

Newt turned and his heart sank. “Mr. Lakes,” he said, right hand closing reflexively over nothing, a nervous tic he had developed from carrying his case around too often. Now he regretted leaving it with Queenie this morning. “Um, how do you do?”

“Just fine, just fine.” Lakes took Newt by the hand and tugged him forward, pulling him off the wall at a stumble, and slapped him on the shoulder. Newt swallowed and tried to smile, darting another half glance at Graves’s office door. “Was that the president I saw go in there?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Newt mumbled, slipping his hand out of Lakes’s grasp.

Lakes laughed, a loud and boisterous noise that grated at Newt’s ears. “Don’t be silly, I know you’re chummy with our dear director. Don’t exactly know how that works out, but hey, it’s a great way to get ahead! Say, you hoping to be an auror?”

“No,” Newt said, wishing intensely that he were somewhere else.

Lakes laughed again even though Newt didn’t think he had said anything remotely funny. His large cheeks were spotted with red, as though he had recently been drinking. Newt suspected he had been born tipsy and hadn’t yet recovered. “Probably for the best, you wouldn’t be well suited to such a fast-paced job.”

“Oh,” Newt said. He didn’t think it warranted any further response.

“So, listen, I’m planning a little get together at my place this weekend and I’d love to have you over.” Lakes stuck both his hands in the pockets of his trousers and beamed at him. “It’ll be mostly aurors, and the lovely Ms. Goldstein is welcome to join us as well.”

“I’ll pass on the message to her,” Newt said, “but I’m afraid I have to decline.”

Lakes frowned, so infinitesimally and quickly that Newt thought he had imagined it. Then he grinned again. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“That’s too bad,” Lakes said. “I’d love to get together some time. Talk, uh, breeding, or whatever it is you like to talk about.”

“I’m not a breeder.”

“Sure you aren’t.”

Newt was spared answering when the door behind him clicked open. He spun around and came face to face with Picquery, who broke her stride to arch a perfect eyebrow at him.

“Madame President!” Lakes sprang to attention beside him and greeted her with his most charming smile, all flashy teeth and no substance. “You look lovely today.”

“Save it, Lakes,” Picquery said, and shot one last look at Newt before she swept off, tossing her head importantly as witches and wizards scrambled out of her way. Newt watched her sweep off like a wave, and then turned and peered into the open office. Graves was at his desk, head bent over his work and a scowl plastered on his face as he scribbled out a report.

“Excuse me,” Newt muttered to Lakes, and then slipped in and shut the door before the other man could respond.

“Not now, Scamander,” Graves said without looking up as Newt turned around.

Newt hesitated, then took half a step forward. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I’m not fired, am I? Although that should be coming soon.” Graves dotted an i with a vengeful expression on his face, and Newt winced at the sharp sound of metal on wood.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Oh, it is, at least according to our dear president.” Graves took a deep breath, set down his pen, and pinched the bridge of his nose. The move was so very tired, so human, that it made Newt’s chest ache. “Look, now is really not the time. You have the day off, alright? Go… do whatever it is you do in your free time. Find Goldstein. Enjoy yourself.”

Newt bit his lip and tugged on the sleeve of his coat. “Mr.- Percival,” he corrected, and Graves looked back up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “I want to help. If I can. Please?”

Graves reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, gaze straying distractedly from Newt, and Newt was free to stare at the auror’s suddenly ruffled hair in open enrapture. He looked amazing with his hair slicked back, of course, but when it was like this, half neat, half messily tousled--

“That’s very kind of you,” Graves said, “but there’s nothing further to do right now. You should go do something fun.”

Newt swallowed and tried to tell himself that what he was about to say was just self sabotage, but his mouth wasn’t listening to that logical part of his brain. “You know, I haven’t, um, actually seen New York,” he said, awkward, staring hard at the leg of Graves’s chair. “Not in a proper tour-like manner, I mean. Not like- well, you know. And I was wondering, if you weren’t doing anything- I mean, it’s a nice day out, or at least it’s sunny, and that’s what makes it nice in London, but if it’s not actually that nice or you’re busy I completely understand if you don’t want to-”

“Show you around New York?” Graves’s voice sounded odd. Newt couldn’t look at him.

“You said I should do something fun,” he murmured. “It’s silly, I know, I shouldn’t have-”

“I would love to.” He said it fast, cutting Newt off before he could back out, and Newt was so surprised he shut his mouth and looked at Graves again. The man was sitting up in his seat, eyes locked on Newt in such an intense way it momentarily took Newt’s breath away. And for just one second Newt let himself think about what Queenie had said- he was looking at you, Newt.

Did he look at him like this, when Newt wasn’t paying attention?

“If- if you want to,” Graves said, fumbling over the words when Newt didn’t respond. The awkwardness was so uncharacteristic Newt had to smile.

“That sounds nice,” Newt said.

Graves smiled back at him, just a little, then stood up and pulled his coat off the back of his chair. “Alright,” he said, “let’s get out of here before Picquery comes back.”

Newt laughed. “I think I should make it clear that I don’t endorse skipping out on work.”

“Well, it’s too late, because I blame you entirely.” Graves slipped into his coat and cocked an eyebrow at him, and he looked more professional than ever in spite of his ruffled hair. “You, Mr. Scamander, are a very bad influence.”

XXXXX

“And that building used to be a great bar before the No-Majs got it into their heads that banning alcohol would somehow make their lives better,” Graves said, tipping his head towards a derelict building at the end of the block. “Now it’s a laundromat, and a rather poor one, I hear. But the previous proprietors took a lot of their stock down south, and they supposedly have an excellent speakeasy running right now.”

“Ah,” Newt said. Graves glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Drink much in England?” he asked.

“Does tea count?”

Graves laughed, tilting his head back so the sun could slide past the brim of his hat onto his face. He was dressed in black from head to foot, and Newt was certain that he looked like a clown next to his sleek professionalism. He wished for the millionth time that he wasn’t quite so tall.

“Have you ever had a drop of alcohol before, Newt?”

Newt kicked at a rock on the sidewalk and sent it skittering into the road. A horse and buggy passed over it, heavy reigns rattling and clinking like the Bloody Baron’s chains, hooves clip clopping on the pavement. A group of tourists giggled in the back and peered down at him, and Newt looked away.

“I went to Hogwarts,” Newt said. “Of course I have.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard stories about what you kids get up to down there. All that butterbeer can wreak havoc on your test scores, you know.”

Newt snorted. “Amongst other things.”

“Oh? What substances were you abusing when you should have been a good, proper schoolboy, Scamander?”

Newt stared ahead so Graves wouldn’t see his grin. “Firewhiskey,” he said.

“That’s made up.”

“What?” Newt looked at him, shocked. “Are you telling me you’ve never had firewhiskey before?”

“That is not a real thing.”

“Oh, Mr. Graves,” Newt said, shaking his head. “I have so much to teach you.”

“You, teach me ? I’d like to see that.”

“I’ll have my brother send a bottle over,” Newt said. “If you think you can take it.”

“Pretty sure that’s illegal, Scamander. You really shouldn’t be talking about it with me.”

“What are you going to do, turn me in?”

Graves laughed, and Newt let himself be swept away by the sound. It was all so perfect; the sun was shining in a way it never did in London, there were no pressing events to worry about, and, best of all, he was walking with Graves. For the first time in a long time Newt found himself relaxing into a conversation, not fixating so much on what he was doing wrong and whether the other person hated him or not. At least in his head he could pretend that Graves was enjoying this just as much as he was.

“Speaking of your brother,” Graves said, all casual nonchalance. “I mean, I don’t mean to pry…”

“No, that’s alright.” They turned a corner and Newt looked across the street at a flower vendor. A woman in a green apron stood out front with several bouquets, holding them out to passersby and gesturing to a sign in the window that listed prices.

“He’s an auror,” Newt said. “A really good one. And you know about what he did in the war, everyone does. He’s sort of a national hero. It’s fantastic, I’m proud of him.”

“But?”

“But what?”

“You don’t seem so eager to talk about him.”

“Oh, that’s not it,” Newt said. “I love him. I mean, we don’t always get along- we’re too different for that- but he cares. It’s just… I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

Newt looked at him. Graves was squinting into the sunlight in a way that made it look like he was scowling, but Newt knew better at this point.

“People always… want to talk about him,” Newt said awkwardly. He put his hands in his pockets, suddenly self-conscious. He felt Picket stir in the breast pocket of his coat, napping in the warmth of the sun and the fabric. “And they have all these expectations of him being a war hero, and then they meet me, and- well, you’ve seen me. I’m not much of a hero.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Graves said. When Newt looked at him in surprise he cleared his throat and scowled harder. “What I mean is- maybe you’re not a war hero, but that doesn’t mean you’re not, you know, heroic. I mean, you’re a hero to all those animals you save, aren’t you?”

“I guess,” Newt said, ignoring the warmth blooming in his cheeks. “It’s not the same as my brother’s Gryffindor bravado, I’m afraid.”

“Gryffindors are overrated,” Graves said. “I, for one, happen to like Hufflepuffs very much.”

Newt couldn’t hide the flush that caused. He looked at Graves again, mouth open just a bit, surprised at the frank kindness. Even though he and Graves had been on better footing recently, Newt still wasn’t quite used to the random compliments. Had that even counted as a compliment?

“I know a lot of Hufflepuffs,” Graves said quickly when Newt didn’t respond. “They’re, uh, great.”

“Oh,” Newt said, his spirits falling. It had just been a general compliment, then. He tried for a smile.  “Yeah, they are.”

“My cousin’s a Hufflepuff.”

“Would I know them?”

“Um. No.”

“Oh.”

Newt tipped his head back, following the skyscrapers up, up with his eyes. They seemed to disappear into the clouds, and not for the first time Newt marveled at the wonders Muggles could create without magic. He couldn’t imagine understanding the architecture and mathematics that went into an endeavor like these buildings.

“Your family,” he said abruptly. “Uh, how are they?”

“Fine,” Graves said, and Newt thought he detected a note of amusement in his voice. “Small. My father died years ago, and I don’t get along with my mother much. I see her on most holidays, when she isn’t traveling. No siblings.”

Newt frowned despite himself. “I can’t imagine that,” he said, trying to think of a life without his older brother constantly sticking his nose into his business.

“It’s not so bad,” Graves said. He bit down on his bottom lip, swift and short, like he always did when he was sitting on more information than he was giving. “I guess it’d be nice to have someone. Sometimes. To take care of Mother.”

“What about your cousin? We Hufflepuffs are particularly selfless, you know, I’m sure they would help.”

Graves smiled a little. “Not close with that side of the family.”

Newt looked away, wondering for the millionth time about Graves’s personal life. He wasn’t very sociable at work, but perhaps that was because he had enough relationships outside of MACUSA to satisfy him. Newt couldn’t imagine Graves hanging out at a bar or laughing with friends, but he knew that it must happen, even if Newt never got to see that side of him.

“I’m being an awful tour guide,” Graves said, stopping abruptly. Newt followed suit “Central Park is just a few blocks away. Do you want to head over?”

He wasn’t looking at Newt, but somewhere past his shoulder, and Newt resisted the urge to turn and look as well. Regardless, it was clear that Graves was distracted, and Newt felt suddenly as though he were intruding upon his day.

“Oh, no,” Newt said. “You’ve humored me long enough. You should go back to work.”

Graves’s eyes snapped back to him. “Are you sure?”

Newt tugged the sleeve of his coat. “Yes,” he said. “I have to go feed my creatures anyway.”

“Alright,” Graves said. “If you’re sure.”

Newt smiled at Graves’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. “For, uh, the walk. It was nice.”

“Yes,” Graves said, “it was.”

We should do it again sometime . Newt opened his mouth to say it, but his bravery died at the last moment and he cleared his throat instead. “Yes,” he said. “Um. Bye.”

“Goodbye,” Graves said, and smiled just a little bit. Newt turned and started walking back down the sidewalk, stiff, aware of his every step until he turned the corner and was no longer in Graves’s sight.

Newt pressed himself into the shade the corner building cast across the sidewalk and took a  moment to calm his pounding heart. Something stirred in his pocket and he lifted his lapels and peeked in, then smiled and offered a finger.

“Hey,” he said as Pickett used it as leverage to climb onto his hand. He held his palm flat so Pickett could stand. “How are you?”

Pickett blinked sleepily at him and yawned. Newt laughed.

“That’s your own fault,” he said. “I know you were in Queenie’s makeup again last night. She said that something left footprints in her face powder.”

Pickett looked unconcerned by the accusation. A flash of dark across the street drew Newt’s eye; it was Graves walking away, retracing their steps back to MACUSA.

Newt sighed and leaned his head back against the cold brick wall. Pickett plopped down on his palm, already dozing off again.

“Oh, Pickett,” he said. “What am I going to do?”

XXXXX

“Newt, you really don’t have to stay.”

“No, that’s alright,” Newt said, glancing quickly as a group of aurors nearby shouted and cheered about something. He crossed his arms tighter. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

Tina looked up from her paperwork and grinned a little. “I thought your Niffler had a sore throat? Shouldn’t you be at home mothering him?”

“I gave him some honey before I left,” Newt said. “That way he feels better and his paws are too sticky to steal effectively. It’s a win-win.”

Tina laughed and shuffled through her papers. “Only five more minutes, I promise,” she said. “Then we can go get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Newt let his gaze wander around the office, which was bright with workers popping in to visit during their lunch breaks. It was loud enough that it was starting to make him a little bit anxious, and although he wished Tina would hurry, he wanted to let her finish her work in peace.

“What is that for, anyways?” he asked, because as long as he looked like he was already having a conversation, no one else would approach him.

Tina’s fingers curled around her pen. “It’s actually about Bianchi.”

“What?”

“What Graves did was pretty unorthodox,” she said. “You know, trading him for information. There’s a lot of paperwork to fill out.”

“Oh,” Newt said, relaxing again. He sat back against the edge of her desk. “He’s not causing any more trouble, is he?”

“No,” Tina said, “and I stopped by that old furniture place where they were based. It’s empty now, they’ve all moved out. Who knows where they are now?”

“Did Mr. Graves think they were still involved somehow?”

Tina shifted in her seat and didn’t look at Newt. “No,” she said. “I… well, I didn’t exactly have permission to go, but--”

“ Tina .”

“There was no one there, it was perfectly safe!” She signed the bottom of the paper and twisted in her seat to smile at him hopefully. “Don’t tell Queenie?”

Newt rolled his eyes but returned her smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” Tina pushed her chair back and grabbed her coat off the table. “Shall we go?”

Newt opened his mouth to respond but a sudden ripple in the crowd of aurors drew his attention. He looked to the door and saw an auror he faintly recognized burst in. She paused for a moment, searching through the crowd for something with her gaze, and then started running, pushing people aside and leaving a trail of irritated coworkers behind her.

“Slow down, Bentridge!” shouted Lakes as she shoved him aside.

“What the…?” Tina frowned, and Newt read the moment of realization in her face. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Newt by the wrist and tugging him along behind Bentridge.

Bentridge had burst into Graves’s office and was already talking by the time Tina and Newt poked their heads in the doorway. Graves was on his feet, watching intently as Bentridge panted, clearly out of breath.

“I wrote it down,” she gasped, waving a piece of paper at him. “I didn’t want to go in without backup, but-”

Graves strode around his desk and snatched it out of her hand, reading it quickly. His frown deepened.

“Goldstein,” he barked. Tina straightened beside Newt. “Get five aurors to this address immediately and get yourself there as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” Tina said, hurrying over to take the paper. She was gone before Newt could say a word to her.

“Bentridge,” Graves said. He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and stopped briefly to meet her eyes. “Fantastic work. Go get some water.”

“I’d like to go and help, sir,” Bentridge said, throwing her shoulders back to meet his gaze.

Graves’s lips twitched upwards. “Alright,” he said. “Follow me.”

He turned and stopped abruptly, and the rush of action hung suspended in the air. “Newt,” he said in surprise.

Newt glanced at Bentridge, who was still trying to catch her breath. “What’s going on?”

“I identified that woman you’re looking for,” Bentridge said, “Helen Boyd. I was on patrol and I saw her entering her apartment just a few blocks from here.”

“Newt, you wait here,” Graves said, shrugging into his jacket.

“I’m coming.”

“Newt-”

“I can help.” Newt set his jaw. “I’m just as much a part of this case as you are, Percival.”

Graves hesitated, but the press of time won out. “Fine,” he snapped. “Stay close.”

Newt stepped back to let Graves and Bentridge out first, then hurried along behind them as they made their way through the department. They passed Tina, who was shouting at a group of confused aurors, but Graves didn’t spare her so much as a glance as they strode through the doors and down the hall.

The house elf in the elevator seemed to sense their urgency and didn’t bother with small talk. He punched in the atrium’s button and they swung upwards. Newt thought that he could feel the agitation pouring off of both of the aurors, who waited impatiently as the lift climbed upwards. He supposed that patience wasn’t a quality needed in aurors.

They practically sprinted through the atrium, and no sooner had they burst into the sunshine than someone seized Newt’s arm and he gasped as the press of apparation closed around him.

His feet hit the ground hard and he stumbled. The hand held onto him just long enough for him to find his footing and then released him. Newt looked to see that Graves’s attention was already fixed across the street, and Newt followed his gaze to a tiny brick apartment building across from them.

“She had a suitcase with her, sir,” Bentridge said in a low voice. “I only saw her for a moment.”

Loud cracks behind them made Newt jump. He turned to see Tina and a group of other aurors clustered in the shade, all with their wands out. Newt scrabbled in his pocket for a moment and came up with his own, which he gripped tightly.

“What’s the plan, sir?” Tina asked, coming to Graves’s side.

“Sporelli, check around the building for other exit points,” Graves said. “Peters, Kristoffson, set up anti-apparition wards. Everyone else, follow behind me.”

Three of the aurors ran off, faces set. Newt looked around for where he was supposed to go as Graves started forward. Someone grabbed his arm and he jumped to see Tina glaring at him.

“Tina,” he said in relief.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“I’m helping.”

“Damn it, Newt, Queenie’s going to skin you. Alright, stay behind me, and don’t run off alone.”

He was slightly miffed about being treated like a child, but it wasn’t the time to argue so he nodded and positioned himself behind her. They hurried across the street single-file; the sidewalks were thankfully empty. They mounted the front steps, and Newt tread as carefully as possible so he wouldn’t trip.

Graves tapped the doorknob with the tip of his wand and murmured “Alohomora.” The lock clicked and the door swung open.

He glanced over his shoulders at them, eyes bright and alive in a way that Newt hadn’t seen before. Despite the stress of it all, there was a lightness in his steps and shoulders as he tiptoed over the threshold and started up the stairs that lead up into the apartments.

Newt bit his lip and tried to focus on not stepping on creaky wooden planks. He took every step lightly at first, testing it with some of his weight before finally stepping up. It was slow going, but he kept close on Tina’s heels- so close that when she stopped he didn’t realize and stumbled right into her.

“Newt,” she hissed, catching herself on the banister.

“Sorry!” he whispered back.

Graves threw a scowl over his shoulder, nostrils flaring threateningly. Newt tried to smile at him and he rolled his eyes.

They lit their wands as they crept up into the darkened hallway. Newt looked around, his eyes adjusting quickly to the dim lighting. There were at least ten doors here, all with rusted gold numbers hanging above the peephole.

“Start checking,” Graves murmured. He pointed his wand at Newt, and Newt blinked into the sudden brightness. “Newt, stay put.”

“Fine,” he muttered, blinking away the spots dancing in his eyes as the three aurors moved away from him.

It was painful to stand in one place and watch as they worked. He alternated his gaze from one to the other. Their movements were identical; they would step up to a door and then would either lean down (Bentridge and Graves) or stand on their toes (Tina) to look into the peephole, bringing their wands up with them. Newt didn’t know what spell they used, but it only took them moments to check each door, until finally Bentridge made a small sound and started gesturing wildly, drawing them to a door at the far end of the hallway- number 8.

She stepped back to let Graves in. He moved up to the door, pressed his wand to the lock, then paused, glancing back to make sure they were all ready. He made eye contact with Newt, briefly, and Newt tried to look like his palms weren’t sweating so much that his wand felt slick in his hands. His heart was pounding so loudly he was afraid it would give them away.

“Alohomora,” Graves muttered, and the lock clicked.

It happened quickly. All three of them strode in at the same time, wands aloft, shouting different versions of “Hands up!” and “Wand down!” It took Newt a moment to realize what had happened, and another one to force his feet to move out of the hallway and into the apartment. And when he did-

“Damn it!” Only Graves was standing in the living room, wand still raised, glaring around at the room. After a few seconds Bentridge and Tina came out of the hallway that split off from the main room, which looked like a kind of joint kitchen and living room. Their wands were lowered.

“It’s empty,” Tina said.

“Are you sure this is hers?” Graves demanded.

“That’s the bag she was carrying.” Bentridge nodded at a purple suitcase lying on the floor beneath the coffee table. Graves strode over and kicked it open. It was empty.

“She must have known we were coming,” Tina said, walking over to poke her head around the counter in the kitchen. “There’s only one bedroom and bathroom. There’s nothing in them. Totally empty.”

“Shit,” Graves said. He kicked the suitcase again, hard, and sent it skidding across the floor. Newt took a step back in surprise and trod on something that crinkled. He looked down to see a pile of scattered papers on the floor. He frowned.

“Damn it!” Graves clenched his wand and looked around him again as though hoping Helen Boyd would pop out from behind the sofa. Newt crouched down and picked up one of the papers, reading it quickly. His breath caught in his throat.

“No, this is alright,” Tina said quickly. “We have an address, we know she was here-”

“She doesn’t live here,” Graves said. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “This is just a front, or a checkpoint, or something. No one lives here, it’s empty. Look at that- the pantry’s empty.”

“I’m sorry, sir, this is my fault,” Bentridge said.

“No, Bentridge, your information was good. She just got the best of us.”

“Mr. Graves,” Newt said, eyes fixed on the paper as he stood up. He felt the attention of the aurors shift onto him.

“Newt?” Graves was at his side in a second. “What is it?”

Newt held the paper up with eyes wide, beaming in excitement. Graves looked at it, frowning, confused. Bentridge and Tina drew close as well.

“What is it?” Tina asked.

"They’re notes,” Newt said. “Boyd’s notes on her experiments. I know what the creature is.”

Chapter Text

Percival

Inventiones

Percival was trying very hard not to pace. He had already been told several times that he was being “distracting, and, frankly, annoying,” but despite his general indignation about being called annoying he was unable to force himself to sit still.

He contented himself instead with moving meticulously around the small shed examining Newt’s personal effects. Not the most polite thing to do, especially as he hadn’t asked, but he had to do something or he would be driven mad.

Percival pulled open a cupboard and peeked in at a bunch of pots. Behind him, Newt’s quill scratched on paper. He glanced over his shoulder.

“Anything else?”

“Percival, I really think it’s best if you go home and get some sleep.”

“You might need me for something.”

Newt looked up. The table had been completely cleared of debris and was coated now in a flurry of notes and paper. Newt’s eyes were rimmed with red from hours of uninterrupted reading, and Percival was torn between wanting to get this case finished and wanting Newt to get some rest. “I really don’t want to discredit you,” he said, “but I’m absolutely positive you’ll be no help with this.”

Percival scowled at him. He turned back to the pots as Newt went back to his writing. He glanced in at the darkness, bored, then jumped when a pot shifted on its own, scraping against the wood. He stared at it.

“Newt?”

“What?”

“...Nevermind.”

Percival shut the cabinet, deciding not to engage with whatever was in there.

He turned and wandered to the other side of the shed. He felt jumpy, anxious. Newt had been reading through the notes for hours and hadn’t told him a single thing. Goldstein had given up and gone upstairs to bed, but Percival couldn’t, not when they were this close. He reached up and let his fingers brush a bunch of basil dangling from the eaves overhead. “How much more do you have to read?”

Newt’s quill stilled. “Do you want a run-through of what I’ve figured out so far?”

Percival was at the table so fast Newt looked startled. Percival sat down in the chair across from him and asked, “What?”

“It’s not much,” Newt said. “These notes are… extensive. Whoever this woman was, she obviously knows her stuff. It’s taking awhile trying to get through them and cross-reference it all, and my breeding knowledge is pretty shaky--”

“What is it?” Percival asked, impatient.

“It’s definitely at least somewhat aquatic,” Newt said, rifling through pages filled with his own looping handwriting. “One of the first experiments she did was crossing a hidebehind with a kappa, which-- I mean, I’m not even sure how that worked anatomically, let alone where she found a kappa, because the Japanese have very strict laws regarding--”

“A what with a what now?”

“A hidebehind is an American creature, sort of… sort of like a noncorporeal dog? And a kappa is a water imp, so think of it like crossing a ghost dog with a… water thing.” When Percival just stared at him, Newt shrugged. “I’m trying to simplify it for you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“The resultant creature lived entirely in water, according to her notes, but could also assume a gaseous state that could travel over the land in short distances. But then she took that and bred it with a sphoron-- kind of a leaf animal?-- and that creature could only eat seaweed, so she crossed it with--”

“She was just throwing random things in there, huh?”

“Not at all.” Newt ran his fingers through his hair, looking exhausted, and Graves ached to order him to bed, and maybe join him… “It was all extremely precise and calculating. She was breeding certain animals to produce desired effects, and most of the time she got it right. There’s so much to read here, and I definitely will once this mess is over with, but right now I’m just trying to pinpoint the steps she took that led to the creature we’re chasing.”

“What will you be able to tell us from all this?”

“It depends on how thorough she was with her description of it,” Newt said. “I should be able to provide a probable list of features and possible attacks it might use, whether in offense or defense. And if I can find a way to mimic the poison it uses I might be able to brew an antidote, but that’s not very likely.”

“Anything you can give us will be helpful.” Percival rested his elbows on the table and watched Newt stifle a yawn. The poor guy’s eyes were drooping. “Do you need to get some rest?”

“Not at all,” Newt said. “I’ll maybe brew a pot of coffee, though.”

“Not tea?”

“I think I’ll need something a lot stronger than tea leaves for this,” Newt said, lips twitching in an almost smile. He nodded his head at the ladder. “You should get going, though. It’s past midnight.”

“I don’t want to leave you to do all the work on your own.”

“Percival, honestly, I’ll be able to do this a lot faster on my own. Besides, you look dead on your feet.”

Percival frowned even though he knew Newt was probably right. It had been a long day, and despite his jitters he was aching for bed. “Are you sure?”

Newt chuckled. “I’m sure,” he said. “Stop by again in the morning and hopefully I’ll have something for you.”

“Alright,” Percival said. He stood and snagged his coat off the back of his chair. “Try to get a little sleep.”

“Sure,” Newt said. He was already writing again. “Be quiet up there, Queenie and Tina are asleep.”

“I mean it,” Percival said, walking to the ladder, “don’t work all night.”

“Mhmm.”

Percival turned to look at him, one foot on the bottom rung of the ladder. Newt was hunched over his work, head twisted in a way that must be hurting his neck, and god did Percival wish he could go over there and run his fingers through his curls, which had turned red in the dim lighting. He wished he could kiss him on the cheek and pry him away from his work and make him crawl into bed beside him and sleep.

But he couldn’t, because not only would Newt never want that, he deserved someone far better than an old, dried-up auror.

Percival swallowed and turned away. He started climbing up the ladder, and took extra care to be quiet on his way out.

XXXXX

When Percival knocked on the Goldstein’s door the next morning, he didn’t expect his partner to open the door in her nightclothes, glare at him, and ask, “What?”

“Terribly sorry for intruding,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at her, “but I was under the impression that there was some very sensitive case material in your apartment that I need to take a look at.”

Goldstein rolled her eyes and stepped back, drawing her cotton flannel robe tighter around her. Her hair was tangled and she looked exhausted.

“Sorry,” she said, “you woke me up. Queenie’s still asleep.”

Percival glanced at the clock. He had used all of his willpower to stay away until eight, but he supposed it was still a little early for a Sunday.

“I just came to check on Scamander’s progress.”

“He’s in his case,” Goldstein said, waving a hand in the direction of the living room. She winced and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ugh. My head hurts. I’m going to make a pot of coffee, do you want some?”

“Please,” Percival said, taking off his coat and hanging it on the hook by the door. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night either, but his hopes that they would make some serious progress today had filled his energy reserve. “Should I…?”

“Just head right down,” she said, rubbing her eyes as she shuffled off into the kitchen.

The latches were already undone on the case, so Percival just lifted the lid and peered in. All the lights were still on below, bathing the wooden floor in deep gold. He stepped gingerly inside, still getting accustomed to the sensation of crawling right through the coffee table.

“I do hope you’ve managed to turn up something, Scamander, because--”

Percival turned and stopped. Newt was slumped over the table, long arms spread out across the piles of paper, a quill still dangling from his fingertips. His chest rose and fell steadily with each breath.

Percival took a second to brace himself. He crept forward, trying to be quiet, and leaned down. Newt’s face seemed younger in sleep, and Percival’s heart gave a tremendous leap. At the same time, a spark of fear lit in his stomach. Newt was so young.

Percival was so tempted to leave him there, but he knew from experience that passing out at a table could lead to some serious neck pain. Despite his better judgment he reached out and touched Newt’s shoulder softly.

“Scamander,” he whispered. He shook his shoulder a little. “Newt.”

Newt gave a violent sniff and sat up so abruptly that Percival withdrew his hand. He blinked, looked around with half-open eyes, and spotted Percival. A smile melted onto his still-sleepy face. Percival clenched his fist around his desire to lean in and peck him on the cheek.

“Percival,” Newt said, sounding pleased.

“Morning, sunshine,” Percival said. “I see you’ve been working hard.”

“Mm,” Newt hummed. He rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Morning,” Percival said. “I wanted to stop by and see how you were doing.”

“Oh, yeah. The stuff. Look,” he said, scrambling to pick up one of the papers. There was a smear of ink on his cheek. “I got through most of it. Here’s a list of probable characteristics, uh… at least partially aquatic, so it’ll probably be found near places with… water, I would check out, you know, uh… lakes? And any places with… water…”

“This is great, Newt,” Percival said, taking the paper from him. Newt squinted at his empty hands, looking confused. “Now let’s get you to bed.”

“I’m fine,” Newt said, waving him off. He turned in his seat, yawning again, and jabbed a finger at the paper. “It’s probably also got pincers. You know, kind of like a crab, like…” He made pincer-like motions with his hands. Percival raised his eyebrows. “I can teach your aurors how to deal with that.”

“Fantastic,” Percival said. He folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket, then bent down and put an arm around Newt’s shoulders. “What else did you find?”

“It might shoot poison,” Newt said, allowing himself to be pulled into a standing position. He teetered unsteadily, leaning against Percival for support. “Like pew pew pew, you know?”

“Pew pew pew,” Percival agreed, leading the way to the small cot tucked into a corner of the room. Newt had tossed most of the stuff from the table onto it. Percival waved his hand and piled it all neatly on the floor. “Alright, come on.”

He eased Newt down. Newt yawned and fell back against the pillow, out his arms and letting them flop on either side of him. He was still dressed in very rumpled clothes, but Percival had absolutely zero intention of trying to get him into pajamas.

“Here you go,” Percival said, drawing the thick quilt over him. Newt hummed and flipped onto his sides, peeking blearily up at him.

“It’s also definitely attracted to negative emotions,” Newt murmured.

“That’s nice.”

“So you should probably talk to your aurors… if any of them have any personal issues going on… you might want to pull them off the case…”

“We can discuss this after you get some sleep.”

“Alright,” Newt said, letting his eyes slide shut. Percival stood, looked at him for another moment, then turned to go. He stopped when Newt snagged his wrist.

“I didn’t say hello,” he mumbled without opening his eyes.

Percival laughed even though Newt’s hand on his wrist was making his heart pound. “Hello, idiot.”

“Hello.”

Newt was remarkably cat-like in sleep, curled tightly, breathing softly. His hand dropped and hung over the side of the bed. Percival eased it up beside him and smoothed the blanket once, briefly, before stepping back.

He stopped at the table to peek through Newt’s notes, but he didn’t understand any of them. He would need to wait until Newt was a little more rested and coherent. Surprisingly, though, he no longer felt like he was in any kind of rush to get answers.

He lingered for a while doing nothing in particular, just soaking in the sleepy contentedness of the shed, straightening some of the papers, and then decided that it was a little creepy that he was just hanging around and climbed the ladder up to the apartment above.

Both the Goldsteins were in the kitchen when he popped up. Tina was at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, still half-asleep, while her sister spun around with her wand out. Food items flew through the air above her head.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Graves!” she said as he stepped out, turning a beaming smile on him. “I hope you’ll be joining us for breakfast?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Percival said, stepping off of the coffee table.

“Nonsense,” she said, giving her wand a flick. A jug of milk emptied itself into a bowl. “I’m already making more than enough as it is, you’ll be doing us a favor.”

“Well… alright, then,” Percival said, trying to sound reluctant even though he was quite relieved. He hadn’t had dinner the night before, and it was nice to have breakfast sorted.

“Is Newt coming up, or is he locking himself down there?” Tina asked.

“I sent Mr. Scamander to bed,” Percival said, hovering in the living room. The sister was twirling around so rapidly he was afraid to step foot into the kitchen and get in her way. “I’m afraid he was half-delirious with lack of sleep.”

“Oh, that man,” the sister said with a small frown. “Coffee?”

“Please. Thank you, Miss Goldstein.”

“Queenie, please,” she said, waving a wand to send a mug to the kitchen table. “Come have a seat.”

Percival sat down across from Tina, who waved her hand absently to stir more milk into her coffee. He pulled the paper Newt had given him out of his pocket and slid it across the table to her.

“I got this from him,” he said as Tina opened it curiously. “It’s a list of physical attributes the creature likely has. It also seems that he’ll be able to pinpoint places we should be looking, and can tell us how to subdue the creature should we come across it.”

“This is fantastic,” Tina said, reading through the list. She frowned. “Pew pew pew?”

“Like I said, he was a little delirious at that point.”

“I’m glad you all will be able to defend yourselves,” Queenie said, setting a flat pan on the stove. “I don’t like the idea of you running blindly after some killer animal.”

“I assure you, Miss Goldstein--”

“Queenie.”

“Queenie. I assure you that your sister has had the best training possible, and she is quite a competent auror. She’ll be fine.”

Tina blinked at him. “Thank you, Mr. Graves.”

Percival inclined his head. “I don’t compliment you enough, Goldstein.”

The sister, Queenie, was looking at him strangely. He felt something in his mind, something pushing, and he reaffirmed his Occlumency. He sipped his coffee.

“Newt told me that you’re a natural legilimens, Queenie,” he said.

Queenie waved her wand, mixing ingredients in a bowl. “I am,” she said. “I was born with it. I’m terribly sorry if I ever accidentally intrude.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’m quite well versed in Occlumency.”

“I know,” Queenie said. She winced. “Not that I’m trying to get at your thoughts, it’s just-- it’s instinct, and I feel a barrier around your mind, which is so totally fine, and--”

“It’s quite alright,” Percival said with a reassuring smile. “Really. I think it’s fascinating.”

“You do?”

“Can we stop fawning over my sister’s powers? It’s too early for this,” Tina said, rubbing her eyes. Behind her, Queenie scowled and flicked her wrist. A piece of bread whacked Tina in the back of the head.

“Ow! Queenie, stop that!”

“Sorry,” Queenie said, smiling sweetly at Percival.

Tina and Percival spent the next hour swapping the paper back and forth, talking about their plans for the day, what they were going to tell their aurors and what they would keep private, while Queenie cooked up a storm. She spun around them, chopping fruit and pouring batter into the pan where it sizzled and crackled alongside strips of bacon. She hummed as she did so. Despite the early hour, she was wearing a simple day dress and her hair was perfectly curled, lips painted a gentle pink.

Tina was slowly waking up with her third cup of coffee. She squinted down at the list again. “Water,” she said. “There aren’t too many bodies of water in New York. Maybe in Central Park, I suppose, but that’s such a public area I can’t imagine it being used as some kind of lair…”

“I agree.” Percival frowned. “Perhaps there’s some kind of hidden stream somewhere…”

“In the city?” said Tina doubtfully.

“Have you checked the harbor yet?” Queenie asked, flipping a dozen slices of bacon. The sharp sizzle cut through the kitchen. Percival and Tina locked eyes.

“We haven’t,” said Tina.

“We will,” Percival said. “That’s a wonderful idea, Queenie, thank you. When Newt finally gets up we can ask if that’s a possibility.”

There was a scuffle from the living room and they all turned to watch the lid of the case swing open. Newt’s head popped up, hair standing up straight on his head, blinking tiredly at them all.

“Newt,” Queenie said, scowling at him, “go back to bed!”

“The sounds woke me up,” Newt said. He shimmied a bit and the rest of his body appeared, clambering out of the case. His foot caught on the edge and he stumbled, nearly falling off the coffee table. Tina snickered, and Percival tried to hide his own amusement. “Is breakfast ready?”

“Nearly,” Queenie said.

Newt straightened up and rubbed his eyes, looking around. His gaze caught Percival’s and he froze. “Percival,” he said. “How long have you been here?”

“You mean you don’t remember me carrying you to bed an hour ago?” Percival asked.

Newt’s cheeks colored. “I thought that was a dream,” he mumbled, shuffling into the kitchen.

“Dreaming about me, are you?”

Newt tripped over his own feet, stammering something like, “No, of course not, why would you… I don’t…”

Queenie shot Percival a look he couldn’t decipher and flicked her wand to send an empty mug into Newt’s hands.

“I can make a you cup of tea, Newt,” she said.

“Coffee’s fine.”

“Oh, really?” Tina asked, looking up from her own cup. “How the mighty fall!”

“Apparently I’m running on one hour of sleep,” Newt said, pouring himself the last of the pot, “which was more than I expected to get, so, yes, I’m giving in and having some of this god-awful drink.”

“Mr. Graves and I were looking over your list,” Tina said.

Newt frowned and snagged it from the middle of the table as he sat down. “Oh,” he said, reading it over. “Could you understand it?”

“We aren’t imbeciles, Scamander,” Percival said. When Newt just stared at him, he said, “Although we could use some clarification on some of the terminology.”

“A lot of the other stuff I wrote is more helpful,” he said. “I can go grab it. I wanted to talk to you about--”

“Nope,” Queenie said, putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back in his seat when he tried to stand. “Breakfast first, then work. You all must be starving.” She waved her wand and sent all the plates to the table, the fruit, bacon, pancakes, bowls of syrup…

Tina moaned and leaned in to spear a pancake with her fork. Percival stared at the piles of food in surprise. It had been a long time since he had sat down to such a meal. To any meal, actually.

“Incredible, Queens,” Tina said, taking a bite of her pancake without bothering with syrup. “God, I’m hungry.”

“This looks wonderful, Miss Goldstein,” Percival said.

“Thank you,” Queenie said, looking pleased with herself. She sat down and delicately transferred a pancake to her plate, then grabbed the bowl of strawberries. “Dig in. And Newt,” she said, taking on a dangerous tone, “ eat .”

Newt mumbled something Percival didn’t catch and reached out for the fruit bowl.

They ate in pleasant silence, all of them too distracted with their meals to talk. Percival ate most of the bacon and a hefty plate of pancakes, savoring the slow movements of a sit-down meal. Tina set another pot of coffee on the stove to brew while Newt picked at a plate of fruit, chin rested sleepily on his hand.

“Try a pancake, Newt,” Queenie said, waving her hand at the plate to send it hovering in front of him.

“Thanks, Queenie, but I’m not very--”

The plate nudged his arm. He grudgingly picked one up and dropped it onto his own plate. “Fine.”

Queenie smiled brightly. “So, I was just thinking that we haven’t had the chance to go to the zoo like we had planned.”

“The zoo?” Newt tore off a piece of his pancake. “I’m not sure we have the time. If I could just go and grab my notes--”

“How about tomorrow afternoon? The weather should be nice.”

“Queenie, I really don’t think--”

“Because you haven’t been able to do anything I had planned, Newt, and I was so looking forward to your visit.”

Queenie looked at him, gaze imploring, and Percival could see Newt’s resolve crumbling. He glanced up from his plate briefly, caught Percival’s eye, then dropped it again. “I guess I can go,” he said.

Queenie clapped. “Wonderful!” she said. “You’ll come too, Tina!”

“Excuse me?”

“And you, Mr. Graves.”

Percival looked up from his bacon. “Sorry?” he asked. “Oh, no, I don’t have the time to--”

“It’s a few hours,” Queenie said. “I’m sure you can spare it. So it’s settled then, tomorrow afternoon? Wonderful!” She stood up, taking her empty plate with her. “Oh, Newt! An owl came for you this morning, I totally forgot.” She deposited her plate in the sink and grabbed an envelope off the counter, which she handed over to Newt. He took it and broke the seal immediately, sliding the letter out.

“It’s from Dumbledore,” he said, reading it over. “I sent him an owl last night.”

“When did you have the time for that?” Tina asked.

“There’s a 24-hour owl post over on 22nd street, I went around two this morning,” Newt said. He stood up, eyes scanning the letter. “He says he’ll take a look at some of my notes and give me his input-- fantastic. I’m going to-- thanks for breakfast Queenie, it was really-- grab my notes--”

He hurried off, practically diving back into his case. Percival watched him go with raised eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, did he say that Dumbledore was going to take a look at his notes?” he asked.

“Friends in high places, I suppose,” Tina said, taking a swig of coffee.

The table had been cleared by the time Newt returned holding a pile of papers. He had drawn his blue coat on over his rumpled clothes, but his hair was still a mess. “I’ll go send this,” he said, “and then I’ll come back and walk you through what I found out last night.”

“Allow me to accompany you,” Percival said, standing.

“No, that’s alright, Percival, I’ll be quick. There shouldn’t be a line.” Newt slipped the papers into his pocket, then hurriedly pulled them back out and peeked in. “Sorry, Pickett, didn’t know you were in there.”

A tiny green head poked out of Newt’s pocket and glared up at him, squeaking indignantly.

“You really should brush your hair, Newt,” Queenie said, walking over and reaching up to rake her fingers through his curls. Newt made a face and twisted out of her grip.

“It’s fine, Queenie, it’s just the post,” he said, reaching up to flatten his hair down across his forehead. Percival resisted the urge to speak up and say that he quite liked his hair messy. Instead he took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee and held his tongue. “I’ll be back in a jiff.”

Newt spun on his heel and disappeared with a crack.

Tina drained the last of her coffee, then sighed and stood up. “I’m going to get dressed,” she said. “We’ll need to head in and debrief everyone, and I feel like an absolute mess.”

She passed the sink, where the dishes were washing themselves, and slipped into what Percival guessed was her bedroom. Queenie flicked her wand and let the dishes drop. They settled with a soft clatter in a perfect stack.

“Mr. Graves,” she said. “Newt and Tina have told me so much about you.”

Percival fiddled with his coffee mug. “All good things, I hope,” he said, even though he was certain that they hadn’t been good at all.

“Of course,” Queenie said. She picked up a dishtowel and began languidly cleaning the kitchen table, looking more like a model for towels than someone who had just labored in the kitchen for an hour. “So, you haven’t got a girlfriend that we’re keeping you from, correct?”

Percival held back a laugh. “No,” he said.

“Boyfriend?”

That one got him. He narrowed his eyes at Queenie, who was innocently scrubbing at a spot of syrup on the table. He checked on his mental shields but they were firmly in place.

“No,” he said, slower.

“Alright then,” Queenie said. She flashed a broad smile at him.

Percival folded his hands in front of him. “Miss Goldstein,” he said quietly, “I take pride in my Occlumency skills, but if there’s any way that you are somehow getting any of my stray thoughts, I would thank you to--”

“Oh, I’m not getting anything, Mr. Graves,” Queenie reassured him. “Don’t worry, you’re blank as a wall.”

Percival frowned. “Oh,” he said.

“Why did you think I had gotten anything?” Queenie blinked at him, eyes bright and wide. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, I didn’t… it wasn’t…” He could feel his cheeks heating. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “Nevermind, I was just wondering.”

“Alright,” Queenie said, moving to scrub another spot at the table.

The bedroom door opened again and Tina stepped out dressed in a nice blue pantsuit. She finished buttoning her shirt up and closed the door behind her with her foot. “Newt not back yet?” she asked.

“No,” Queenie said.

Tina glanced at Percival. “Maybe we can just go down and peek at the notes.”

“You two are so impatient,” Queenie said as Percival stood up.

They were spared having to respond by a sharp crack, and Newt was standing in the living room again, looking more windswept than ever. He looked from Percival to Tina. “Well, come on, then.”

“Thank you for breakfast,” Percival said to Queenie as he pushed his chair in and turned to hurry after the other two to the case.

“You’re welcome!”

Newt was already talking by the time Percival hopped down from the ladder.

“The creature has major influence from scordieces, like I suspected. That means we’re going to be dealing with things like an exoskeleton, pincers, a stinger. In addition, it’s most likely sedentary, which means it will rely on one location to keep its prey in. This location will probably be near a body of water.”

“Like the harbor?” Tina asked, dropping into a seat at the table and picking up one of the papers.

“Exactly. Check underneath all the docks. That would be a perfect place. The other strongest contender would be the sewage system.”

“The sewers?” Percival asked, watching Newt flutter around the room, blue coat flying behind him.

“Yes,” Newt said, stopping at a bookcase. He looked over the titles, chewing on his bottom lip. “The creature’s nocturnal, so the darkness and quiet would be well suited to its preferences, and it would also explain how it can navigate the city so well… speaking of navigation…” He crouched down and plucked a book off the shelf, flipping quickly through the pages. “Aha. Here, read this.” He stood, crossed the room, and shoved it into Percival’s hands. Percival looked at it. It was an old, yellowing book written in old English. At the top of a page was a sketch of what looked like a dog, with several paragraphs following the title “Hidebehind.”

“I’m guessing it can assume a gaseous state, and I’m guessing that it navigates via water. That means that anywhere there’s water, the creature can get to.” Newt moved to another bookcase and parsed through it, pulling out another book. “It’s attracted to negative emotions because that customarily means weaker prey, and it’s a partial magical arachnid, so it will target magic users whenever it gets a chance.”

“This is… a lot,” Tina said, shaking her head at all the notes.

“I know.” Newt opened the book and frowned down at it. “Whoever was doing this breeding… I’ve never seen it go so far. They went completely off the books, but they knew exactly what they were doing.”

Percival closed the book. “It’s like they were breeding some kind of…”

“Super animal,” Newt said, meeting his eye from across the room. He was frowning. “That’s exactly what they were doing. And look, here.” He shoved the book back on the shelf and hurried to the table, rifling through the papers. “They kept talking about trying to control it. They performed all these experiments, tests, to see whether it was tamed or not. There were varying degrees of success, but the last one I found… look.” Newt picked up a piece of paper that was torn at the top, and read from it. “‘July 3rd. Tested commands again. The creature responded to attack orders, but did not heel when I requested. Problems getting it back into its cage, nearly got scorched. Will try again tomorrow.’” He lowered the paper. “That was the most recent note.”

“There’s nothing after that?”

“No,” Newt said, “which leads me to believe that something went terribly wrong with that next test.”

“July 3rd,” Tina said. “Just a week after that is when the first attack was recorded.”

“It fits the timeline perfectly,” Newt agreed. He looked down at the paper again, perplexed. “What I don’t understand is why . I don’t get the endgame, the purpose of all these tests…”

“Some people are just crazy,” Percival said. “We don’t have time to think about that right now. We need to get to MACUSA and create two groups.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again, anxious to go. Adrenaline was pumping through him. They finally had something. “One will canvas the sewers, the other will search the harbors. Newt, any ideas about how the thing is holding hostages?”

“Probably a mild sedative,” Newt said, “that the creature continuously distributes. If you can get to them and get them off of it, they should be fine.”

“We don’t have any time to waste, then,” Percival said. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the day ahead. “Let’s go.”

XXXXX

“None of these features are definite, Madame, I’ve, uh, contacted some professionals and they’re going to cross-reference--”

“How sure are you of your conclusions, Mr. Scamander?”

Newt hesitated. Percival, standing at attention right next to him, stared at the portrait hanging above Picquery's head. The firm interpretation of her did little to assuage his discomfort. They just needed to get her approval. “Ninety-five percent, Madame President.”

“I’ll take it,” Picquery said. She turned away from the window and glared at Percival, who dropped his gaze from the picture. “Graves, you have my permission to assemble search teams. Make sure to warn your people about the possibility of targeting based on negative emotions, make sure anyone who’s recently suffered trauma is not spearheading the mission. Get out there and finish that creature off. I want it killed.”

Newt stiffened. He started to speak, but Percival snaked his arm around and discretely pressed a hand to the small of his back. Newt inhaled sharply and shut his mouth again, and Percival breathed a mental sigh of relief. Now was not the time to annoy the president.

“Thank you, Madame President,” Percival said smoothly. He inclined his head, dropped his hand, and turned to exit with Tina.

“Mr. Scamander.”

Percival glanced over his shoulder to see Picquery staring at Newt, expression sharp and appraising. Newt turned around again, crossed his arms behind his back, and stared back.

“Excellent work," she said. Her earrings glimmered in the lamplight.

Newt raised his chin, maintaining the eye contact, and Percival couldn’t help but be impressed. Newt had much more spine than Percival had originally thought.

“Thank you, Madame,” he said stiffly. Then he turned on his heel, coat flapping, and strode past Percival out the door.

“Goldstein, go and get Bentridge for me, I’m going to need her help,” Percival said, stepping out into the hallway and shutting the door behind him.

“Yes, sir,” Tina said with a small salute. She turned and sprinted off down the hall in the direction of the law enforcement department.

“Mr. Scamander,” Percival said. Newt’s gaze, which had wandered down the hall where a couple of goblins were walking together, snapped up to meet his. Percival tried to smile, tried to make himself appear pleasant. “You did well.”

“I thought we were on a first name basis,” Newt said, lips quirking upward, eyes dropping to fix on Percival’s shoulder, and Percival felt a pang of disappointment that he was still this uncomfortable around him.

“Newt,” Percival corrected. He straightened up, preparing himself for the speeches ahead. “Well, are you ready to go finish this thing?”

Newt hesitated, eyebrows contracting just once before his expression smoothed out again. He smiled, but it came out more of a grimace. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Newt

Basium

“Queenie, I really don’t think he’s going to make it,” Tina said. “Yesterday the department got hit with a wave of No-Maj hit and runs. We had to spend the entire night getting rid of extra appendages, and then we had to obliviate them--”

“I’m sure Mr. Graves is a man of his word,” Queenie said, smoothing down the front of her dress. The wind picked up from the other side of the square, ruffling her curls peeking out from underneath her hat. The overcast weather had cleared most of the other visitors for the day; the zoo looked relatively empty. “Newt, what time is it?”

Newt didn’t have to check his pocket watch, because he had just put it away seconds ago. “2:58.”

“It’s not even three yet,” Queenie said, casting a glance at her sister. Tina rolled her eyes.

“There are investigations going on right now that could very well end this whole case. I would have thought you’d be happy about that.”

“I am, but that doesn’t mean you all can’t have a bit of a break. I thought that Newt would enjoy this.”

“Did you ever ask Newt about it?”

“Of course I did! Right, Newt?”

Newt squirmed as both sisters rounded on him. “Um,” he said. “I’m, uh, perfectly fine with--”

“Sorry I’m late.”

Newt’s heart jumped. He turned to see Graves striding towards them, still dressed for work in a fitted black overcoat and a hat slung low across his face. He glanced at Newt once, briefly, then smile-grimaced at Queenie.

“Not at all! You’re right on time.” Queenie beamed, some of it directed at Graves and some smugly at her sister. Tina scowled.

“I’m sorry if we’re keeping you from anything, sir,” she said.

“Not at all,” Graves said. “We’ve all been working through the night, it’s nice to have something of a break. I can only stay for an hour or so, though. I sent a few search teams to the harbor and I need to debrief them this evening.”

“Of course, Mr. Graves,” Queenie said, coming forward and taking his arm. Newt and Tina exchanged a glance but Graves didn’t object as Queenie pulled him towards the till. “We’ll get you back in plenty of time.”

To Newt’s embarrassment, Graves offered to pay for their admission. Newt managed to stutter out a few protests, but Graves just cocked an eyebrow and handed him a ticket. Newt was grateful for it; he had forgotten all of his muggle money in his case.

“I think we should see the otters,” Queenie declared as they stepped through the gates. Tina had picked up several maps and was parsing through them, brow furrowed. Newt tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Thoughts?”

“The otters are right next to the seals,” Tina said. “If we start there and loop our way around the perimeter we’ll be able to hit most of the exhibits in… twenty minutes, maybe?”

“Great,” Queenie said. “Any other thoughts?”

“That sounds fine,” Graves said.

“I like otters,” Newt said.

“Fantastic,” said Queenie. “Tina, can I see the map?”

The sisters set off ahead, bickering about directions, leaving Newt and Graves to trail behind them. Newt shot Queenie a look, wondering… and a moment later Queenie glanced back at him and winked.

For Merlin’s sake.

“I really am sorry you were dragged into this,” Newt said quietly after a few moments.

“Nonsense, I meant what I said.” Graves tilted his head up to catch the few rays of sun that were peeking through the clouds overhead. They passed a cage full of parrots that squawked at them, voices sharp. “Although I’m afraid I’m much too exhausted to offer any comprehensive thoughts on the exhibits.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Newt murmured. He tugged on the sleeve of his coat. “Tina told me-- us-- what happened last night.”

“Utter chaos.” Graves’s lips twitched downwards. “People seem to think it’s funny to curse No-Majs and leave the magical law enforcement behind to do the clean-up. It was probably just some kids, but when I find them…”

“We have that same problem in England with cursed objects,” Newt said. “Wizards seem to think it’s funny to mess with Muggles. It infuriated my brother.”

“Well, it’s loads of paperwork.” Graves flicked the brim of his hat upwards and glared at the parrots, which were still screeching. “Too much work for such a juvenile action, and when we do catch the perpetrators they get off with nothing but a slap on the wrist because of some outdated laws. If you ask me, it should be treated the same as an assault on a magical person. Just because it’s a No-Maj doesn’t mean no harm has been done just because they’ve been Obliviated, and-- I’m sorry.” He stopped, glancing at Newt. “I’m boring you.”

“No,” Newt said, quickly, blinking himself out of his reverie. “No, not at all. I quite agree with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s, uh, really interesting.”

“Oh,” Graves said. A child ran past them, shrieking something about monkeys.

“Yes,” Newt said, “I’ve always thought that America’s laws about Muggles-- er, No-Majs-- are outdated in general.”

“That’s right,” Graves said. “In England you allow marriage between magical and non-magical people, correct?”

“We do, yes.”

“Don’t you feel that that puts our world in danger, though?”

“On the contrary,” Newt said, “I think it opens us up to a wider world, and that in itself promotes progress. Integrating Muggles into our world is the only way to ensure that we remain connected to the world at large and don’t lose touch with it.”

“And if a No-Maj finds out about magic and decides to go public with it?”

Newt shrugged. “It hasn’t happened yet. Besides, who would believe them?”

Graves looked amused. “You’re willing to base a lot on an assumption, Newt.”

“I find that the most astute observation comes from assumptions.”

They met up with the girls at the otter tank, where they spent a few minutes watching Queenie coo over them. Tina was leaning against the glass, scanning the empty park around them as though for potential threats, although when Newt asked if something was wrong she said “I’m looking for a popcorn cart. I’m starving.”

“I expected you to be more excited by the animals,” Graves said as they followed Queenie and Tina to the sea lions exhibit.

“To be quite honest, I’m not the biggest fan of the concepts of zoos,” Newt said, looking quickly at Queenie to make sure there was enough distance between them. “I didn’t know how to break it to Queenie, though. She was so excited.”

“Really? Isn’t it sort of what you do?”

“Not at all,” Newt said, affronted. “I release my animals back into the wild as soon as they can survive on their own. The only ones I keep are for their own protection or because they have clearly expressed that they prefer to stay with me. These Muggle zoos… the animals stay here their entire lives. Most of them are born into captivity and they die in it as well. I mean, look at them.” He moved to the nearest railing and peered in at the ditch, where a couple of tortoises were trying in vain to soak up a few sunrays. “It’s sad.”

“Well,” Graves said. “You’ve just made this visit a hell of a lot more depressing.”

Newt’s stomach twisted. He bit down on his lower lip. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I shouldn’t have--”

“No, no,” Graves said, laughing, and to Newt’s relief he didn’t look at all annoyed. “I love hearing your opinions. They’re fascinating.”

Newt flushed and turned away.

“If you aren’t particularly interested in seeing anymore animals,” Graves said, oblivious to Newt’s embarrassment, “I might have an idea as to how we could better use our time.”

Newt’s cheeks got even hotter. “Oh?” he said, his voice cracking.

“One second.” Graves quickened his pace to catch up to Tina and Queenie, who were forging ahead relentlessly. “Mr. Scamander offered to show me the reptile exhibit,” he said as Newt jogged after him, trying to catch up. “You two continue on to the sea lions, and how about we meet at the entrance in an hour?”

“Oh,” Queenie said, throwing a look at Newt, who tried his best to look like he wasn’t blushing like a tomato. “That sounds like a wonderful plan, Mr. Graves. Come on, Tina, let’s go see the lions.”

Tina protested as Queenie dragged her off. Graves straightened his coat, turned on his heel, and said briskly, “Come on, then.”

“Mr. Graves,” Newt said, trying to make it look like he wasn’t panting as they wound back through the exhibits. The parents started screeching again as they rounded into view, and Graves tossed a scowl at them. “Uh, Percival-- where are we going?”

“It’s just up here.”

They came to small, unimportant looking building behind the dove cage. While the birds fluttered and cooed at them, Graves stepped up to the door, glanced around to make sure they were alone, then flicked his wrist. The lock clicked open and the door swung inwards.

“This feels illegal,” Newt noted as Graves stepped in the door.

Graves glanced over his shoulder at him with a mischievous grin. “Only if we get caught. Come on.”

Newt swallowed, glanced once more behind at the doves, who seemed like they were calling out a gentle warning, and then followed Graves in, shutting the door behind him.

It was dark in the building, but a moment later the lights flickered on overhead, revealing a collection of the oddest things Newt had ever seen.

“What in Merlin’s beard…” He stepped in, cautiously, and leaned down to pick up a foam bowling pin. He turned it over in his heads and then looked up in confusion at Graves, who was watching him. “What is all this?”

“It’s the props building,” Graves said. “For all the animal shows and the holiday parades. We had a situation here years ago-- someone was making all the monkeys fly every Sunday like clockwork-- so I was posted as a lookout. It was before I was head of the department. I stumbled across this place, and… I don’t know, I thought it was interesting.”

Newt set the bowling pin down and peered into a plastic box full of shiny stuff. He stuck his hand in and ran his fingers through gold tulle.

“We can go back and look at the animals now,” Graves was saying behind him as Newt dug through to the bottom of the box. “I just thought, you said the animals were depressing, and I knew this was here if you wanted to--” He stopped when Newt popped his head back up clad in a ridiculous neon-green headband he had found in the container. Plastic pom-poms stuck out of the side like ears.

“Does this match my coat?” he asked, looking down at it appraisingly.

Graves gave a startled laugh. “It’s a look,” he agreed.

“What did they even use this for?” Newt pulled the headband off and looked at it. “Some kind of costume?”

“I think it’s from the Christmas parade.”

“Do you watch Muggle parades, Percival?”

Graves frowned. “I only saw it last year because there were rumors that there was going to be an attack there.”

“But you remembered the costumes.” Newt put the headband back on and smiled when Graves glowered at him. “Come on, let’s find you something.”

They split up to opposite sides of the room, which stretched out on either side of them like a huge storage closet. There were mounds of animal-related props: plastic balls festooned with stars, flags picturing cartoon caricatures of monkeys, and Graves even found a full body polar bear suit tucked into the corner (which he refused to put on even when begged). They assembled all of their treasures in the center of the room and sat down to go through them, debating the usage of each one.

“It’s obviously for one of the parades,” Graves said when Newt held up a stick with plastic green hands attached to the end. When he shook them they clapped together, producing a sharp sound.

“I think it’s for the sea lion show,” said Newt.

“How on earth is a sea lion supposed to use that?”

“If they stick it in their mouth--” Newt took the stick between his teeth and flicked his head up and down, creating sporadic clapping noises.

“Alright,” Graves said. “Then by that merit, the thing you currently have in your mouth has also been in the mouth of a sea lion.”

Newt spit it out as Graves laughed loudly.

Later: “There is no way anyone could wear this as a sock,” Newt protested as Graves held up the foot-long tube of material. “Besides, there’s only one.”

“What is it then? A hat?”

“It’s obviously a hat for monkey’s tails.”

He ducked as Graves threw it at him, laughing. They were surrounded by the wreckage of their search, piles of discarded party supplies and costume props. Newt was just reaching for a pom pom when the creaking of a turning doorknob echoed through the space.

Graves and Newt shared one look before Graves hissed “Nox” and grabbed Newt’s arm to pull him behind a cardboard box. They crawled to safety in the dark just as the door opened and afternoon light streamed into the room.

They pressed themselves against the box. Newt’s heart was jumping. He shifted to peek around the box and saw that the intruder was a Muggle security officer shining a flashlight in with a confused frown. Newt swallowed back an absurd giggle at the prospect of being caught, as a grown man, raiding a zoo’s costume bin.

Graves clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him back behind the box just as the flashlight beam swept over them. Newt stifled laughter against Graves’s grip, and after a moment the door creaked shut again and they were left in darkness once more.

Graves dropped his hand and whispered “Lumos,” conjuring a ball of light to hover between them and illuminate his glare. Newt dissolved into laughter, leaning back against the cardboard for support.

“You almost gave us away,” Graves complained.

“Can you imagine what he was thinking? He was probably thinking some kids got in here and were messing around, not two fully grown men.”

“Remind me to never take you on a recon mission ever ,” Graves said, but a small smile was crawling onto his face. “Will you stop laughing , he’s going to hear you and come back!”

“I’m sorry!” Newt clutched his sides and took a deep breath, calming himself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll stop.”

He grinned and glanced at Graves, but the smile petered off when he realized how close they were. Pressed side by side against the box, separated by nothing but a small orb of light, legs tangled together…

Graves cleared his throat. “It’s been about an hour,” he said. “We should probably go and meet the Goldsteins.”

He stood up and the orb followed him. Newt clambered to his feet as well.

“Alright,” he said, quietly, trying to calm his own racing pulse.

XXXXX

“Oh, Queenie, we haven’t the time,” Tina sighed, re-knotting her coat around her waist as the wind skipped across the sidewalk.

“Nonsense! Mr. Graves, Newt? Are you two up for ice cream?”

“It’s like fifty degrees,” Tina muttered. Queenie glared at her.

“Thank you very much for the invitation, Miss Goldstein, but I’m afraid I--”

Both Tina and Mr. Graves stiffened. Then, in one fluid movement, they both pulled their wands out of their pockets. The tips of both were emitting a pulsating white glow.

“Emergency,” Tina said at the same time Graves said “We have to go.”

“What is it?” Queenie asked.

“MACUSA needs us. Sorry, sis, no ice cream today.” Tina shoved her wand back in her pocket and turned to Graves. “Apparition, sir?”

“Do you think it’s the creature?” Newt asked, nervous.

“Most likely,” Graves murmured. “Yes, Goldstein, Apparition. We should head straight to the office and--”

“I’m coming with you,” Newt said.

“No you aren’t!” Tina said as Graves frowned at him.

“If it's the creature you’re going to need me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Mr. Graves, tell him that--”

“Alright,” Graves said, “but you stay behind me at all times , do I make myself clear?”

Newt nodded as Queenie straightened up in outrage.

“I’m coming as well,” she said. “I’m a Legilimens and I work for MACUSA and--”

“No, Queenie.” Tina’s voice was flat.

“Why not? You get to rush off into danger all the time, so why can’t I--”

“Because I said so!” Queenie blinked in surprise as Tina took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Please, Queenie, just… don’t do this. I need you to be safe, I need to be certain that you aren’t in danger, I need…”

Queenie reached out to touch her sister’s wrist. Tina lifted her head. Queenie smiled. “Alright,” she said softly. “Go do your job.”

Tina looked grateful. Newt started when Graves grabbed his arm, pulling him closer, and muttered, “Hang on,” and a moment later they were twisting on the spot and they were gone.

Newt was briefly aware of a building, people swarming around them, knocking into his elbow, and then a doorman approaching and saying “Harbor” and Graves pulled him back into the shadows and they Apparated again, away from MACUSA.

They landed in wet mud. Graves released Newt and pulled his wand out, looking all around them with narrowed eyes. Tina made a small noise as her shoes squelched beneath her.

“Where are they?” she asked, wand at the ready.

They were on the shore, where the pungent dark water met mud and dirt and layers of fine rock. Above them stretched the alternating wood and cement of the docks, branching off into piers that met boats. The overcast sky was milky soup above them, and behind them stretched a wall of rocks worn from being beaten by the high tide.

Graves stared down across the beach, waiting. A moment later a pulse of red light shot up, distant, and he said, “There,” and they took off running.

Newt lagged behind, slipping and sliding in the mud with every step he took, struggling to stay upright. His coat flapped behind him, sea salt spray danced across his cheeks. He had his wand out but his palms were sweating so badly he was afraid it would fly out of his hands and disappear into the surf.

There was a group of aurors waiting for them, all pressed up against the rocks. Newt recognized Bentridge and Eisenhower and a few others he didn’t know by name, all of them grim and alert.

“Brief me,” Graves said, keeping close to the rock wall.

“We got a tip about a disturbance underneath loading dock 7,” Bentridge said. She had tied her curly hair out of her face the best she could. “Evidence of spellwork, voices, sounds.”

“Sounds?” Tina asked.

“Animal noises,” Eisenhower said. “You know, growling and stuff. We think this is it.”

“Alright,” Graves said. “Bentridge, I need you to take Stevens and Orullian and Apparate to the other flank. Approach from that direction. Everyone else, stay with me, assume attack formation. Newt,” he said, shifting his gaze, “stay close to me and behind me. We may need your advice, but under no circumstances are you allowed to enter the fray. If I am taken down or in any way incapacitated, or if things look to be going badly, you Apparate out of here immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

The waves lapped up the shore, stopping just short of their feet. Newt met Graves’s gaze head-on, unsure of what to say because he knew he would never follow those orders.

Graves’s face hardened. “I said, do I make myself clear ?”

“Yes, sir ,” Newt said, lying through his teeth.

Graves looked at him for a minute more before turning away. “Go, Bentridge,” he said. “Give it thirty seconds before approaching.”

Bentridge saluted and Apparated away with her team.

“Goldstein, take the right flank. I’ll be on the left.” They shifted, Graves stepping towards the water, and everyone fell into position behind them. Newt scurried to stand behind Graves. His heart was pounding, as were his thoughts; he ran desperately through what he could remember of his notes, struggling to think of something that would help them. He might know a way to stun around an exoskeleton, but he wouldn’t be able to convey it in a timely manner. He should have told all of them this earlier…

“Go,” Graves said, and they started forward, stealthy and moving as one.

Footsteps pounded on the docks overhead. Men shouted to each other about loading, machinery whirled. They approached a long cement pier that trailed out into the water, connecting at the end with a massive cargo ship painted red and black. The shore beneath the pier was dark.

“Steady,” Graves said, quiet. Their pace slowed so they were treading lightly, and Newt took extra care not to slip or be noisy. He was panting now, trying to control his quick breathing. Graves glanced over his shoulder at him, just for a second, and Newt thought there was something comforting there.

They drew to a stop just before the pier. Graves raised his wand and stepped into the shadows. “Lumos,” he said, and light filled the space, illuminating a woman so beautiful that Eisenhower gasped and dropped his wand standing just feet in front of him. She smiled, blond hair waltzing in the wind, canines flashing in the glow of the light.

“Hello, Mr. Graves. How lovely of you to see us off,” she said, and the shadows burst to life.

Newt stumbled backward as spells were launched at them. The aurors started shouting, throwing up shields that the spells ricocheted off of. Newt looked around for Tina but she had already sprinted off  into the fray.

“Protego!” Newt gasped and whirled around to see a shield bloom in front of him, blocking a stunning spell that burst like fireworks.

“NEWT!” Graves shouted, looking angry. “Get out of here!”

Newt debated it-- he wasn’t sure he could be of any help here, and he could go and get more help at MACUSA-- but then a familiar laugh drew his attention away again.

“That’s right, Scamander,” Bianchi said, grinning at him out of the shadows behind Graves. And behind him: a massive cage filled with cornish pixies, all buzzing angrily and pulling against the bars. “Listen to your boyfriend.”

Newt pointed his wand, glaring. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he said. “STUPEFY!”

“Newt! For God’s sake!” Graves yelled as Newt charged past him towards the fleeing Bianchi.

Mud slid under his feet as Newt came to a stop at the cage. Bianchi had run, laughing over his shoulder, and Newt fully intended to chase him-- after he helped the pixies.

“Calm down,” he muttered, grasping one of the bars and giving an experimental tug. One of the pixies nipped at his fingers and he yelped and pulled back. “Hey!” he said. “I’m trying to help you.”

He heard a noise behind him and turned instinctively to throw up a shield. A hex bounced off of it and he fired another stupefy after the perpetrator.

He whirled back around to the cage, finding the door. “Don’t attack the aurors,” he said earnestly. “They’re trying to help you, I promise. Alohomora .” The cage sprung open and the pixies streamed out, making Newt stumble backwards away from the flow.

Now there was a new element to the chaos. The pixies, all screeching at the top of their lungs, descended upon the fray. They launched themselves at the enemy, yanking on hair, scratching at exposed skin, biting the tips of noses. The aurors took steps back, stunned as the pixies set out to take their revenge. One by one the smugglers began Apparating or allowed the aurors to take them into their protection at the cost of their freedom.

“You,” snarled a voice behind Newt. He turned to see Sarreia approaching, red silk dress whipping behind her in the wind. Her face was twisted into something horrific, her hands clenched like claws. Newt scrabbled for his wand and fired off a hasty jinx, but she just waved her hand and deflected it.

“I am getting sick and tired of letting you mess up my plans.” She thrust her hand out and Newt’s chest clenched against an invisible impact, knocking the wind out of him. He fell backwards, struggling to breathe, wand falling. He reached out for it but another invisible weight forced his hand down, pressing it into the mud.

“I should have finished you off in Croatia,” she said, slashing her hand through the air, and a sharp pain sprang up across his abdomen. He gasped, struggling to get up, but her eyes were flashing dangerously and power radiated off of her.

“Sarreia,” he managed to get out, trying to suck air into his lungs. “What are you--”

“We were trying to leave. Trying to get out of this damn country before we were attacked like everyone else around here. But of course MACUSA managed to fuck up and get in our way, so we decided to take some aurors out with us.”

A pixie buzzed around her head, trying to reach for her hair. She raised a hand and the pixie froze, then dropped, lifeless, to the ground. Newt watched it, chest heaving, something warm and dark pooling across his stomach.

“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen now,” Sarreia said, crouching down beside him. Her heels were coated in mud, her dress dragged in the water, and there was something crazed about her that made Newt very, very afraid. “I am going to kill you. I am going to kill dear Mr. Graves. I am going to kill every last one of your aurors, and then I am going to take my men and my creatures and leave this country. Does that sound nice?” She reached out and took his face in her hand, digging sharp nails into his cheeks. He stared at her, unable to draw enough air in to speak, unable to lift his hands to fight back. Spots danced across his vision.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, releasing his face. She raised her hand over him, a twisted smile scratched across her face, and Newt braced himself, his vision going dark as the pressure on his chest increased.

Someone shouted and Sarreia’s eyes widened briefly before she was thrown from him. As her magic was wrenched off of him Newt sat up, gasping for air, scrambling in the mud for his wand. By the time he had it and turned to look, Sarreia was nothing but a motionless lump fifteen feet away, curled in the low tide like a sleeping cat.

“Newt.” Someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him around and Graves was there, face open and panicked. He had lost his hat, and there was a smear of blood across his cheek. “Newt, are you alright?”

Newt’s chest was still too tight to talk, so he just nodded. Graves searched his face, then dropped his gaze. He sucked in his breath.

“Shit,” he said, reaching out to move Newt’s coat. Newt looked down to see that his shirt was drenched with blood. Funny, he could hardly feel it. “Shit, shit, shit,” Graves said, pulling out his wand, pointing it. A spell shot over their heads, so close it ruffled Graves’s hair, and he looked around wildly. “Shit,” he said one more time, and then grabbed Newt’s shoulder and twisted.

The press of Apparition made Newt’s stomach twist, and he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again there was wood underneath him and Graves’s face was in his, frantic and worried.

“What--”

“What spell did she use? Shit, I don’t know if I can…” Graves had lifted his shirt and was staring at the cut across his stomach. Newt looked around, trying to get his bearings. They were tucked behind some cargo crates on what seemed to be an empty part of the docks. There were scratches all down Graves’s neck, probably the work of some rogue pixies, and Newt felt bad.

“Percival,” he said, reaching out and grabbing Graves’s wrist. Graves looked up at him, eyes wide. Newt tried to smile. “I think it’s fine,” he said. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Are you sure?”

Newt shifted, sitting up, pressing his back against the metal container. He peered down at his stomach and pulled out his wand, wincing when the wound tugged. He murmured a few words over it.

“There,” he said. “The bleeding’s stopped. I can heal it completely when I get home. I’m fine, really.”

Graves sat back on his heels, breathing. He licked his lips and looked out across the empty docks. It had started misting, spritzing water on them from overhead. Distantly, the waves crashed.

“It was a trap,” he said.

“They were trying to get the animals out of the country,” Newt said.

“I should have seen it coming.”

“It’s not your fault.” Graves continued to look out at the docks. Newt leaned forward, ignoring the pain, and touched Graves’s arm. “Hey. It’s not your fault.”

“I saw you lying there, and I saw that woman, and I--” Graves swallowed and turned back to Newt, brow furrowed. “I thought the worst.”

Newt tried to smile, even though his chest hurt and they were pressed so close together that Graves’s hand was dangerously close to resting on Newt’s thigh. “But I’m fine,” he said. “And it’s not your fault.”

Graves looked miserable. His eyes roved across Newt’s face, meeting his eyes, dropping to his lips. Newt took a shallow, shaky breath.

“Percival,” he said quietly.

Graves murmured something-- something that might have been “Screw it”-- then leaned forward and pressed his lips to Newt’s.

Newt froze, his eyes wide open, staring at Graves’s closed ones, at his face as he brushed his fingers against Newt’s cheek. Graves’s lips were chapped and tasted faintly metallic, of blood, and heat was blooming in Newt’s body from head to toe but he was too startled to do anything but sit there and let Graves kiss him and wish that he could kiss him back but he was too stunned and--

Graves pulled back abruptly, dropping his hand. He turned away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I-- shit, I’m sorry.”

Newt started shaking his head, but although he wanted to reassure Graves that it was fine and ask him to kiss him again, no words came out.

“Can you get home on your own?” Graves was standing. He still hadn’t looked at Newt. “Go… rest. Later… just go. I need to go-- shouldn’t have left-- they need me--” He took a step away, out on the docks, staring at his feet. “I’m so sorry,” he said, and he Apparated away.

Alone, Newt took a deep breath, trying to stabilize himself. He felt lightheaded, but he wasn’t quite sure what from.

“It’s okay,” he finally said. It had begun to drizzle.

Chapter Text

Sacrificium

Percival

Percival had made many mistakes in his life. In his first year at school he had mixed together a dangerous potion that had nearly cost another student their eyebrows. He had once tripped in front of all of his colleagues at a departmental development meeting. He had never said goodbye to his father.

And he had kissed Newt Scamander behind some boxes on a pier, and then he had run. It certainly hadn’t been his proudest moment.

By the time he had Apparated back to the beach his Aurors had the situation under control. Most of the smugglers had fled. The few that hadn’t had been rounded up and were being escorted one by one back to MACUSA. Percival scanned the tides for Sarreia, but didn’t spot her.

He caught Bentridge’s arm as she rushed past him. There was a cut on her temple, and already drying blood shone bright on her dark skin.

“The woman,” he said.

Bentridge was already shaking her head. “The last of them scooped her up and ran,” she said. “But you did a nice number on her, it looked like.”

Percival nodded vaguely, letting his eyes wander back over the proceedings. His Aurors were Apparating away with the captured smugglers. None of them looked seriously injured apart from a couple cuts and bruises. Lakes was sporting a swollen lip.

“Are you alright, Sir?”

“Hm?” Percival was still holding loosely to Bentridge’s elbow. He dropped it. “Yes. Fine. Where’s Goldstein?”

“Here!” piped a voice behind him. He turned to find Goldstein scrambling through the dry sand towards him. The front half of her shirt and her hair were dripping with water, and one of her sleeves was entirely coated in sand, but she didn’t look hurt. “Well, that was unexpected, but at least we caught most of them. I don’t know what this means for- where’s Newt?”

“He’s fine,” Percival cut in before Goldstein could work herself into a panic. “I sent him home.”

“Oh.” Goldstein seemed appeased by that. She brushed her coat off and straightened herself up the best she could in the sand. “Bianchi and Sarreia got away, but I estimate that we caught at least eight of them. Are you going to question them about the creature?”

“About the… oh, no,” Percival said. He wondered if Newt had actually gone home, or if he was still sitting on the dock in stunned disgust. God, Newt had only stared at him. He hadn’t been given the chance to say no. Percival felt as though some core part of him had been dirtied, and suppressed a shiver.

“...Sir?”

“What?” It came out harsher than he intended. Goldstein raised her eyebrows.

“I asked what you wanted me to do next.”

“Oh,” Percival said. “I’ll need someone to lead the questioning.”

Goldstein nodded her head emphatically. “Right,” she said. “And me?”

Percival didn’t have time for this. He needed to go after Newt, he needed to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He needed a shot. “You lead it,” he said.

“Me ? Alone?”

“Yes, Goldstein, that’s what I said.” Percival drew his coat tighter around himself. The last of the smugglers had been taken away. There were only a few stray Aurors left on the beach, walking the perimeter and making sure there was no evidence of the fight left. A few of them seemed to be attempting to deal with the cage. All of the pixies had disappeared. Percival wondered if they would find Newt and his case.

“Sir, are you…” Goldstein didn’t finish her sentence, but she appraised him with a very worried look. The wind whipped hard, stirring the sand at their feet and burning Percival’s eyes. He scowled into it.

“I have business to attend to,” Percival said. “Lead the questioning. Get the minimum necessary to lock them up, and then report back to me.”

“Alright.” Goldstein didn’t sound certain. Percival ignored this, opting instead to turn around, stride a few steps away, and spin on his heel to Disapparate away.

The doorman opened the door for him silently as he walked into MACUSA. It was quiet in the atrium. Percival thought he could hear the click of his own heels bouncing in his head. Click, clack, click , his mind straying to panic and desperate anger and relief and soft lips under his, and he didn’t know where he was going until he found himself knocking on Seraphina’s door.

“Come in,” she called from the other side.

Percival slipped inside and shut the door securely behind him. It was warm in Seraphina’s office. The fire crackled as she looked up from her work, dark eyes glowing in the dim lighting.

“Percival,” she said, laying down her pen. “What happened?”

“False alarm.” Percival stood squarely, staring at the polished wood of Seraphina’s desk. “We broke up a smuggling ring trying to flee the country. We captured a fair amount of them. Many got away.”

“So it had nothing at all to do with the New York Monster.” Percival could sense the anger in her voice, but his own irritation lay dormant somewhere behind his chest.

“No,” he said.

There was a moment of silence, and then Seraphina sighed heavily. “What happened?”

“I incapacitated the leader,” Percival said, “but unfortunately-”

“Percival.”

Percival closed his mouth. He could feel his own chapped lips and imagined he could still taste flecks of salt water and grainy sand and disgust.

“I have been… emotionally compromised,” he said, still without looking up from the desk.

“That much is clear,” said Seraphina. The legs of her chair scraped the floor as she stood. “Sit.”

Percival came forward and dropped into his usual chair. He watched Seraphina walk over to a wall panel and wave her hand over it, murmuring something quietly. There was a click and the panel sprung open.

“For emergencies,” Seraphina said, reaching in and drawing out two glasses and a bottle of some amber liquid. She closed the panel and walked back over to her desk. The glasses clinked as she set them down.

When she offered Percival a glass, he accepted it. The crystal was cold and heavy in his hand. He stared down at the drink, which shone as though it was lit from within, and then raised it to his lips and drank.

Only years of practice kept it down. It scalded the back of his throat, burned so that he could feel it traveling down his esophagus, leaving a trail of warmth behind. He swallowed, tasting something spicy. “What is this?” he asked.

Seraphina took a long sip of her own, then lowered it with a satisfied hum. “Firewhiskey,” she said.

The burning redoubled as Percival snorted. “Of course,” he muttered.

“Alright, tell me what brought you moping to my door, and please do make it quick, Percival.”

Percival tapped his finger against the lip of his glass. He had always come to Seraphina with his most dire of problems, and every time she had offered him some piece of advice that was vital in his success, but the thought of admitting to her what he had done made his stomach bubble like it was already filled with firewhiskey.

“I acted on an emotional impulse,” he said carefully, “that I fear may have been poorly received.”

Seraphina arched a thin eyebrow at him. “Poorly received… legally?”

“No,” Percival said.

“Ah.” Seraphina sat back in her seat, smoothing her lips back into the semblance of a smirk. “Percival Graves, are you here for romantic advice?”

Percival resisted the urge to scowl, because however much he hated her smugness, he was desperate for some kind of reprieve from his own emotional instability. “Only hypothetically.”

“Hm,” Seraphina said. “And am I hypothetically acquainted with this person?”

“Hypothetically.”

“I’m afraid there’s no advice I can offer you without some expansion upon your particular… hypothetical situation.”

“I made a mistake.” Percival curled his fingers around his glass and squeezed. He hoped it wouldn’t break. “I imposed my own… weakness upon someone who is undeserving of it. Not- no, not undeserving, someone who deserves better .”

Seraphina set down her glass and leaned forward, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Percival.”

“Don’t try and convince me otherwise, Seraphina. You know as well as I do that people like you and me fall woefully short in every romantic capacity.”

“Then why did you come?”

Percival opened his mouth, and then closed it. He had irritated Seraphina with his comment, and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. He blinked and took another long sip of his firewhiskey, focusing on the deep burn in his throat.

Across from him, Seraphina reached up to touch the gold earrings hanging from her ear. The annoyance was dripping from her face and was being steadily replaced by a kind of deeper understanding Percival could read in the lines by her eyes.

“How did you do it?” Percival finally said, his voice hardly above a whisper.

Seraphina raised one shoulder in a shrug. “My career always came first. I thought that was something that we agreed upon.”

“It is. But surely you must have attempted to reconcile the two.”

“I did,” Seraphina said, her voice dry. “I tried everything, but it wasn’t enough. My feelings were holding me back at a time when I needed my focus most. Sacrifices had to be made.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Ah.” Seraphina’s eyes drifted towards her window as though she were searching for the words. “I try not to have regrets, Percival. It distracts from my accomplishments.”

“But-”

“If you’re asking if I miss her,” Seraphina said, “the answer is yes. But I like to think I have done an immeasurable amount of good as President, and that’s something I never could have achieved with my own attachments holding me back.” Seraphina leaned forward towards him. The light caught her eyes the way it might a snake’s as she pursed her lips. “You and I are where we are at today because we sacrificed more than our competitors, Percival. That was a choice that we both made to get here.”

The taste of firewhiskey in his mouth suddenly felt stale. Percival nodded. “You’re right,” he said.

“I don’t think I need to remind you yet again that your job is very much on the line right now, do I, Percival?”

“No.”

“Good.” Seraphina sat back and drained the rest of her firewhiskey, tipping her head back to get everything done. She set it down with a clink in front of her. “I like seeing you happy, Percival,” she said, “and nothing has ever made you happier than your career.”

“I know.”

“Have I in any way helped your little hypothetical situation?”

Percival nodded again, his movements mechanical. His legs felt heavy and his feet felt suddenly like bricks. He felt like crawling into bed and taking a week-long nap.

“I’m glad.” Seraphina gave him a small smile, the kind she reserved for only the most intimate of occasions. “In that case- is there anything further that I should know about our favorite creature case?”

Percival hesitated, her words swimming in his head. Sacrifices had to be made .

“Actually,” he said, “there is one thing I’d like to discuss with you.”

XXXXX

Goldstein looked surprised when she opened the door. “Mr. Graves,” she said. “Come in!”

“I’m looking for Mr. Scamander,” Percival said, stepping into the small, cozy apartment and immediately turning his gaze on the surroundings to check for a familiar head of curls.

“He’s in his case,” Goldstein said. “Want me to get him?”

“That’s quite alright,” Percival said, “I’ll show myself in. Thank you, Goldstein.”

He was aware of Goldstein’s eyes on him as he crossed the room to the coffee table where the familiar battered case sat. It might have been indiscreet if Percival hadn’t known what was inside.

The latches were already unlocked. He opened the case slowly, peering down at the wooden floor below. There was a light on, but he couldn’t hear anything from within.

Without looking back at Goldstein or giving himself a chance to think about his actions, he climbed over the lip of the case and found his footing on the ladder. He climbed down, sinking into the magically enlarged space, and pulled the case shut behind him.

He dropped down into the small shed and straightened up, brushing nonexistent dust off of the lapels of his coat. It was empty, but there was a scattering of papers and fresh inkwells on the table next to what looked like a fresh mug of tea. Percival wandered over to it, looking over the pages and pages of loping handwriting crawling across the page, interspersed by the occasional hasty but impressive sketch.

The door opened and a voice filtered through. “I know I told you that, Pickett, but now I’m telling you that I’ve changed my mind- oh.”

Percival looked up from the sketch of some kind of lobster creature he had been examining. Scamander was standing in the doorway of the shed dressed in a muddy white shirt and trousers held up with suspenders. His sleeves were rolled up so that Percival could see the freckled scars scrawled across his arms. He was holding metal buckets in both hands.

“Percival,” he said.

For a moment, they just stood there. Then, Percival said, “Might I have a word?”

The buckets clanged loudly on the ground when Scamander put them down, and he winced. He reached up and offered a finger to the bowtruckle sitting on his shoulder, who crawled on obediently and let Scamander set him down on the table.

“Um, yes,” Scamander said. “I’ve been meaning to, uh- I haven’t had the time to, um-”

“I’ve come to apologize.” There was no use beating around the bush.

“Oh?” Scamander’s cheeks were already bright red. He looked painfully uncomfortable, which was all the more reason for Percival to hurry up and just get this over with.

“Yes,” Percival said. “I am well aware that my momentary lapse in judgment put you in a rather unenviable position, and I would like to issue my most sincere apology for it.”

Scamander frowned. Before he could say anything, Percival plowed on.

“You must understand that I have been under a rather undue amount of stress in recent weeks, and I’m afraid the thought of a colleague in danger made me momentarily lose my grasp on propriety. Nevertheless, I’ve come to assure you that I harbor no real attraction towards you and it was simply the heightened emotions of the situation that caused my… slip.”

He nearly stumbled over the last word, both because he wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it and because Scamander showed no inclination towards speech now. He stood silent, mouth pressed in a thin line, bright eyes fixed on Percival in a way that made Percival’s knees want to shake. There was a streak of mud on Scamander’s temple. Percival wished he could brush it off.

“I understand if my actions have made you uncomfortable,” he said, “and I would like to once more express my apologies for it and assure you that under no circumstances was it backed by any real emotion.”

The bowtruckle had crawled over to the warmth of the mug of tea and had curled itself against the cracked clay. Somewhere within the general chaos of the shed, a clock was ticking. Scamander had moved his gaze from Percival to a spot just above his right shoulder.

“Mr. Scamander?” Percival asked, searching for some sign that he could get the polite forgiveness he had been searching for so he could run before his actual emotions spilled over.

“Right,” Scamander said. “Yes, that’s exactly what I assumed had happened. I’m… terribly sorry, it’s just that this entire matter has taken me by surprise.”

Percival swallowed. His throat was dry. “I apologize.”

“You’re forgiven. I completely understand the lengths to which adrenaline can push humans in times of great stress, how it can bring about actions that… one might otherwise not even consider.”

“Yes,” Percival said, relieved, because at least Scamander didn’t seem too upset by the situation. Percival would have never forgiven himself if he had caused some kind of lingering trauma. “Exactly. Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course.” Scamander smiled vaguely above Percival’s head. “No hard feelings. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have several more feedings that I must attend to.”

“Oh, certainly. I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

Percival turned and mounted the rungs of the ladder, climbing up, listening to the ticking of the clock somewhere behind him. As he reached out and pushed on the lid of the case, he hesitated, aware that although he had been forgiven, he would never be able to crawl back to whatever semblance of companionship he and Scamander had developed over the past few weeks. Not only would it be unwelcomed, but Percival knew that he had allowed too many of his emotions to distract himself from his work.

Percival climbed up and out of the case without looking back at Scamander, and then closed the suitcase behind him.

He stood staring at the battered, peeling leather, listening to his own heartbeat in his ears. He felt every breath that passed through his lungs and out again, felt the rise and fall of his chest. His hands on the metal clasps of the trunk felt sweaty.

“Mr. Graves?”

Percival looked up. Queenie Goldstein was standing there in a pale pink nightgown, a concerned expression on her face. Behind her, Goldstein was seated at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee watching the proceedings over her sister’s shoulder in bewilderment.

“I’m sorry,” Percival said, only dimly aware that the voice saying those words belonged to him. Did that voice belong to him? “I’ll be going.”

“Mr. Graves, will you please let me get you a glass of water? You look a bit pale.”

“No,” the voice that sounded like Percival’s said as he moved across the room towards the door, “I need to go.”

“Mr. Graves-”

“Thank you for having me, Miss Goldstein.” Percival slipped out into the dark hall, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t bother to check if there were any No-Majs that might see him as he turned on his heel and Apparrated with a crack.

Percival stumbled into his living room and fell towards the general direction of his sofa, barely reaching it in time to drag himself onto it. He sat back against the cushions and laid his head back so that he was staring at the ceiling. The apartment was large and dark and empty. If he said anything, it would probably echo.

He was breathing heavily. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down, tried to focus on his racing heartbeat. He raised two fingers to his neck and pressed on his pulse point, feeling it rapidly thrum under his fingertips. Dimly he registered that he might be having a panic attack of sorts, but he didn’t feel any particular emotions overtaking him. He mostly just felt numb.

Percival sat there for a long time with two fingers pressed against his pulse and his eyes firmly shut to his empty apartment. Eventually, his breathing slowed and his heart began to work normally again. Eventually, he realized that the worrying numbness seemed to be here to stay.

Percival took a long, deep breath in through his nose. He was going to be alright. He had done what he had to do today.

Sacrifices had to be made.

Chapter Text

Relinquo

Newt

“He’s kind of cute, in a… scary way.” Jacob leaned closer to the bird, squinting curiously when it turned to him and opened its beak. No sound came out. “Can’t say I’m the biggest fan of the eyes, though.”

Newt fished in the metal bucket and pulled out a handful of pellets, which he offered to the bird. The creature regarded the food for a moment before swooping forward to peck one up. It happened so quickly that Jacob took a step away, eyes widening in surprise.

“Oh, they’re quick, those little buggers are. What’d you say they’re called again- Fompers?”

“Fwoopers,” Newt said, watching the bird crane its neck to reach the food. As it did so, Newt raised his wand, pointing it carefully at the neon pink feathers coating the bird’s neck. “ Silencio .”

The bird paused as the shiver of the spell passed over it, then shuffled forward on the branch it was perched on to reach the last pellet.

“What’d you do to it?” Jacob asked.

“Their song drives anyone who hears it mad,” Newt sad. He pocketed his wand and wiped his hand on his trousers, watching the Fwooper shake its head. “You have to keep them silenced.”

“Gee,” Jacob said. He startled when the Fwooper spread its wings and took off, leaping from the branch and soaring far over their heads. He turned to watch it, his eyes alight with the same wonderment they got every time he entered Newt’s suitcase.

Newt picked up the bucket, feeling the weight of the leftover pellets like a bag of rocks. He turned and set off down the hill towards the rest of the enclosures. Jacob fell into step beside him, whistling a small tune to himself.

“What’s left?” he asked, ducking easily under a billywig that went speeding over them.

“Mooncalves.”

“Those things with the big eyes?”

“Yes.”

Newt brushed aside the fabric separating the enclosures and stepped into the quiet darkness where the mooncalves stayed. Despite himself, he took a deep breath, feeling some of the tension drain from his shoulders as he listened to the soft buzzing of the creatures inside, the gentle trickle of water from the stream that ran through the grass.

The mooncalves were mostly dozing, but they perked up when Newt came forward with the bucket. He reached in, fished a handful of pellets out, and tossed them to the calves. Their necks bobbed up and down as they reached for them.

“Say, Newt,” Jacob said. He sat down carefully on a rock that had just been abandoned by the mooncalves, shifting his feet carefully so he didn’t accidentally kick any of them. “How are you doing?”

“Hm?” Newt grabbed another handful of the pellets, smiling a bit when one of the calves nudged the back of his knee.

“Are you… doing alright?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just, you’ve been distracted in the last few days.”

“There’s a lot to be distracted by.” Newt scanned the crowd of creatures, searching, and- there she was, the calf that had been injured. Her leg had healed by now, and she was battling to get to the pellets just as fiercely as her siblings were.

“I know, but I was just wondering if you were alright.”

Newt set the bucket on the rock beside Jacob to keep it out of the mooncalves’ way, then sat down carefully on the grass. One of the calves immediately walked over to him, offering her neck to be scratched, and he dutifully complied. “Did Queenie tell you to ask me?”

“No,” Jacob scoffed. He offered a hand to a mooncalf, who sniffed it curiously. “Well… yes, but I’ve also noticed that you haven’t quite been yourself.”

“You can tell Queenie that I’m fine,” Newt said. “I’ve just been distracted by the case.”

That was mostly true. He had finished compiling all of Boyd’s notes into one compact description of the creature, and had made a list of what he thought were the most relevant characteristics. He had decided yesterday that he had finished all he could based on the information he had. Tina hadn’t said anything about any further developments, and he hadn’t spoken to Graves since their conversation three days ago, so Newt was just playing a waiting game now.

“Are you sure that’s all it is?”

Newt looked up from the mooncalf, who was making a small purring noise as he scratched it just under its chin. Jacob was patting a calf on the head, but he was staring at Newt with a shrewd slant to his brow. Somewhere further into the darkness, a frog let out a deep ribbit and the stream trickled on. It was all strangely intimate, and it reminded Newt of a different time, a time when someone else had been carefully feeding the mooncalves and Newt had been adjusting bandages and then had looked up to wide eyes watching him.

Newt blinked and turned back to the calf he was petting. He ran his hand down its flank, and it wiggled its ears in appreciation.

“Yes,” Newt said.

There was a pause, and then Jacob sighed. He gave the calf a last pat and got to his feet, groaning as he did so. Too many hours on his feet left him sore most days. “I need to get back to the shop,” he said. “I’m making a fresh batch of cannolis if you want to join me.”

“No, I still have work to do,” Newt said. “But thank you.”

“Anytime, buddy. I’ll see you for dinner?”

“Hm.”

He listened to Jacob’s footsteps fade away, heard the whisper of the curtain as it fell back into place. One of the mooncalves curled itself against Newt’s thigh and rested its head on his knee. He stared at it, watching the rise and fall of its chest as its breathing slowed. The other mooncalves had wandered away, a few of them getting close to the bucket of pellets and sniffing curiously at it. Most had gone back to their respective spots and laid back down to rest.

The frog called out again, and something twisted hard in Newt’s chest. He bent over the calf, pressing his forehead to its fur and squeezing his eyes shut.

It was all a waiting game that he was losing.

XXXXX

Newt’s palms were sweating. He reshuffled the papers he was holding and tried to take a long, slow breath to calm his racing heart. Beside him, Tina stood perfectly calm, idly looking around the hallway.

“Alright, Newt?” she asked, sounding perfectly at ease.

Newt swallowed and ran his thumb over his own writing on the top page he was holding. “Fine,” he said.

He looked down and re-read the first few bullet points in his notes, searching it for any flaws- which, of course, weren’t there, because he had already triple-parsed each page. He understood the importance of getting this right. It was only nerves that sent him scurrying back now, wishing he could crawl into the pages and stay there.

A door opened and closed at the other end of the hall, and then Tina straightened beside Newt and said, “Hello, Sir.”

Newt’s fingers twitched so hard he nearly dropped the papers. He tightened his grip on them and looked up to see Graves striding down the hallway towards them, looking as intimidatingly put-together as always in neatly pressed trousers and a black coat. Newt bit his lip and tried very hard to pull a blank face in anticipation of eye contact, but Graves kept his eyes fixed on Tina as he approached.

“Goldstein,” he said. And then, after a moment, “Scamander.”

Newt knew he should say something, but he just ducked his head and stepped aside so that Graves could move past him and knock sharply on the wooden door.

“Enter,” said a voice from within.

Graves opened the door and walked in, followed by Tina and then, reluctantly, Newt. The President was seated and already looking at them expectantly as they entered.

“Sit down,” she said, gesturing to three wooden chairs arranged in front of her desk and at the same time waving her hand so that the door slammed shut behind them.

Newt hovered for a moment, trying to decide whether it would be a good idea for him to sit next to Graves, but luckily Tina dropped into the middle chair without a second thought. Newt hurried over to sit next to her, balancing his papers carefully on his knees and willing himself not to look at Graves as the other man lowered himself into his seat.

“Seraphina,” he said, crossing his legs primly.

“I’ve been informed that you have updates to share with me?” Picquery laced her fingers together underneath her chin and narrowed her eyes at Graves.

“We have a full description of the creature that we’re looking for,” Graves said, “complete with the most probable defense mechanisms and detailed methods of getting past them, all courtesy of Mr. Scamander.”

Picquery turned to stare at Newt, her thin eyebrows raised. Newt blinked, momentarily disconcerted by her gaze, then started and said, “Oh! Um, here.” He leaned forward and handed the stack of papers to Picquery, hoping that no one noticed that his hands were shaking. She took them and glanced at the front page, giving it a cursory examination.

“This has everything?” she asked.

“Practically,” Newt said, dropping his gaze to his feet. “Based on the notes we recovered, this is the most accurate description of the creature that I could get. I, uh, cross-examined my findings with Professor Dumbledore.”

“Albus Dumbledore?” Picquery flipped to the second page, scanning it.

“Yes.”

“Wonderful.” Picquery tossed the packet on the desk in front of Tina. “Goldstein, when we’re done here I want you to take this to the copy department and make sure that every Auror on the case has access to it. And tell them to read it.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Tina said, hurriedly picking up the papers and setting them carefully in her own lap.

“Graves, what are your next steps in the case?”

“We’ve nearly finished canvassing the docks, and then we’re going to move onto the sewers. Those are noted in Mr. Scamander’s findings as the most probable hiding places for the creature.”

“Perfect,” Picquery said. She leaned back in her chair, a pursed not-quite smile gracing her lips. It looked sharp in the light shining from the fireplace. “Onto our next order of business, then. Mr. Scamander, you have been invaluable on this case, and MACUSA thanks you for the dedication that you’ve shown in the pursuit of justice. Upon consideration of the completion of your notes, I’m going to ask you to step off of this case.”

Newt’s foot twitched. He lifted his gaze to stare into Picquery’s dark eyes, wordless, as beside him, Tina sat up in her chair and said, “What?”

“If you go to the Wage Distribution Desk, I assure you that you will be fairly compensated for your time,” Picquery continued. She reached out and straightened a quill on her desk. “Thank you again for your service.”

“Wait, wait, no- what?” Tina asked. “We need Newt on this case!”

“Goldstein.” Graves’s voice made Newt’s heartbeat rise and then fall in one fell swoop.

“No- Mr. Graves, tell her, we need Newt-”

“Miss Goldstein, I am going to ask politely that you keep your voice lowered to a respectable volume,” said Picquery.

Newt could sense Tina’s growing turmoil in the air, could feel her panic steadily rising, and he knew that he should be having similar feelings, but all he felt was a vicious numbness crawling up his feet and through the rest of his body. He wasn’t even particularly surprised. He should have figured that he would no longer be welcomed on the case after Graves’s mistake. He realized now that the waiting game of the past few days had been in anticipation of this.

“Madame President, you can’t make this decision unilaterally.” Tina had forced calm into her voice, but Picquery’s eyes still narrowed.

“I think you’ll find that I can do as I see fit for investigations that I, as President of MACUSA, preside over,” Picquery said. “But pardoning your indiscretion, I can assure you that this is not my decision alone. Graves and I have already discussed the matter extensively.”

“What?” Tina sounded shocked. “But- Mr. Graves- you can’t.”

“Mr. Scamander has prepared a very thorough set of notes.” Graves’s voice was so quiet Newt could hardly hear it over the crackling of the fire, yet every word still felt like a blow. “In his own words, it is the most accurate description of the creature that can be possibly obtained with the information that we have available to us. It is doubtful that any further developments necessitating Mr. Scamander’s knowledge of magical creatures will arise. Therefore, it is in everyone’s best interest that he be removed from the case.”

“Mr. Graves, you know that that’s not-”

“Mr. Scamander,” Picquery interrupted, “do you have any particular protest, or are you leaving your defense up to Miss Goldstein?”

Newt clenched his fist reflexively over nothing. He wished that he had his suitcase. “If this is what Mr. Graves thinks is best,” he said quietly, “I’ll take my leave.”

Newt thought he felt eyes on him, but when he glanced over, Graves was examining the arm of his chair.

“Very well, then. I will notify the Wage Distribution Desk that you’ll be stopping by. If that’s all, Mr. Scamander, you can be on your way.”

“Thank you, Madame President.” Newt stood, keeping his head low.

“Newt.” Tina stood, looking prepared to reach out for him, but Piquery interrupted with a short “Sit down, Miss Goldstein, your job isn’t over.”

“It’s alright, Tina.” Newt forced a smile, staring hard at her chin. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the back of Graves’s head, the black spotted with grey catching the light. He wanted Graves to look at him, wanted that eye contact almost as much as he now feared it. “I’ll see you back at the apartment, alright?”

Tina looked doubtful, but Newt turned away and walked towards the door.

It was quiet in the hall. Newt shut the door behind him and stood there for a moment, staring out across the long expanse of carpet. He couldn’t hear any voices from the closed office behind him.

A small chirrup drew his attention down to his pocket. He pulled it open and peeked in, staring down at Pickett’s small, beady eyes. His mouth was downturned in what looked like a concerned frown.

“Oh, hullo, Pickett,” Newt said. “I do hope you’re having a better day than I am.”
Pickett made another squeak, this time more indignant. Newt shut his pocket and began walking, letting his feet guide him down the hallway, through the open doors, and all the way to the elevator. The house elf inside poised its long finger over the elevator buttons and stared expectantly.

“Atrium, please,” Newt said.

The rumbling of the elevator ran up through Newt’s feet. He closed his eyes and felt each jolt, trying to match them to the speed of his thoughts. He needed to make sense of things quickly, needed to sort through his thoughts so he could plan his next steps.

The elevator opened at the atrium. Newt opened his eyes and stepped out, saying “Thank you” behind him to the house elf. It was crowded in the cavernous room, with everyone rushing to and fro, bumping Newt’s shoulders as he stood there staring towards the exit. He needed to leave. He probably wouldn’t be coming back, there was no reason for that, if he wasn’t on the case anymore there was no reason to come to MACUSA.

His mechanical footsteps took him all the way across the bridge to the front doors. He stepped outside, past the doorman, and immediately drew his gaze up to the skies. The sun had mostly set by now. It was dark and cloudy overhead, and the air hung heavy with foreboding dampness.

“Gonna rain,” said a voice behind him. He turned to see the doorman watching him, hat slung low over his eyes.

“Yes,” Newt said. “Isn’t that nice?”

He set off down the steps, onto the busy sidewalk. He thought about going back to the apartment, to his suitcase, but he would have to first get past Queenie, who would probe his thoughts and worry when there wasn’t anything to worry about at all, because Newt was perfectly fine, all things considering. He really ought to be upset. He had not only been told to his face by the man that he loved, or at the very least had a strong infatuation towards, that said man could never have feelings for him.  He had also just lost his job, which wasn’t a particularly nice addition to this chain of events.

Newt blinked. He reached a hand up to press against his chest, right over his heart, which was slowly picking up speed. On the one hand, being kicked off the case meant he no longer had to see Mr. Graves, which was good because he had kissed Newt and then decided that it had been utterly repulsive, while Newt had found said kiss to be extremely enjoyable, so that difference in opinions created a bit of a schism between the two. On the other hand, being kicked off the case also meant that he no longer got to see Mr. Graves. He would likely never see him again. He would never chat with him about Quidditch or creatures or stand in awe of his charisma or melt when he showed his soft side, and he certainly would never get to kiss him ever again, even though that had been the only kiss that Newt had ever enjoyed in his life (except Mr. Graves had thought it extraordinarily unpleasant, so Newt didn’t feel comfortable thinking back on it warmly).

He would never, ever get another chance to kiss Percival Graves.

“Hey, buddy.” A hand touched his shoulder. Newt looked up at a man wearing a nice suit and carrying a black umbrella who was frowning in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Oh- yes,” Newt said, realizing that he had been standing in the middle of the sidewalk for far longer than was socially acceptable. It had started to sprinkle. His cheeks were already coated with rain. “Yes, I’m fine, sorry.”

He turned and wandered away, leaving the man behind and heading around the side of the Woolworth building. He walked until he came to a small side alley. It was dark and narrow and completely deserted, but he thought it might provide enough shelter from the drizzle, which was steadily turning into rain.

He crept forward, stepping through puddles that had already formed, and stopped a few feet in. He turned and pressed his back against the concrete walls, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. It hitched. He swallowed and reached up to brush the rain off his cheeks, but the water felt warmer than anticipated.

“Oh,” Newt said out loud. He was crying.

Pickett stirred in his pocket as Newt slowly sat down, his knees suddenly weak. He didn’t think about the state his coat would be in later as he sat down in the small pool of water that had formed at his feet. It was raining fully now; the sky had opened overhead and although he was somewhat shielded by the tall walls of the buildings on either side of him, he could still feel it dripping down the back of his neck and pooling in his shoes.

A tug on his sleeve pulled his attention back to Pickett, who had clambered out of his pocket and was now struggling onto his knee. Newt sniffed and reached out to give him a leg up.

“Hello,” he said. Pickett sat down cross-legged and looked up at him, leaves falling to one side in a way that reminded Newt of Tina’s concerned frown in Picquery’s office.

“Oh, I’ll be alright,” Newt said. “A little bit of heartache hasn’t killed anyone yet, has it?”

Picket squeaked.

“Let’s not take Shakespeare into account right now.”

Another squeak, this time more inquisitive.

“Oh, well- Mr. Graves. Percival. You’ve met him. I’m afraid that I’ve recently realized that I’m rather in love with him, or at least, I think I could be. I could be very much in love with him if I let myself. Or- I already have, maybe. Oh, bollocks, Pickett, I’ve made a right mess of everything, haven’t I?”

Newt buried his face in his hands and sniffed again. His nose had started running and he could feel rainwater clinging to his hair and the back of his neck.

Pickett touched his wrist in concern. Newt peeked out at his wide black eyes.

“Well, he thought it was disgusting, didn’t he?” Newt asked. “I mean, I thought that maybe, when he kissed me, maybe it meant- but no, it was all some sort of mix-up, and he made it very clear that he could never have any sort of feelings for me, because that’s wrong, isn’t it? Merlin, as though- as though someone like him would ever look twice at me. I was… it was stupid, the whole thing was-” Newt broke off as his breath caught in his throat. He choked down a sob, turning to press his mouth against the damp sleeve of his coat. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the tears welling up. He couldn’t break down in an alley behind the Woolworth building.

“Merlin, Pickett, I was so dumb,” Newt whispered into his sleeve. He was ashamed of how small his voice sounded. “I thought- I thought that maybe someone- I thought that he- it was so stupid, he could never, ever feel the same way that I do-”

Pickett made a loud chirp of disagreement. Newt wheezed out a small laugh.

“Look at me, Pickett,” he said. “I’m having a nervous breakdown in a damp alley. I’m not the most attractive prospect to… well, anyone. And now he doesn’t even want anything to do with me, doesn’t want to- he kicked me off the case, he doesn’t want to-”

Newt couldn’t say it, not even to Pickett, who felt like an extension of himself most of the time. Newt had been sad often throughout his life- when he had been expelled from Hogwarts, when his mother had gotten very sick, when he had been ordered to put down one of his dragons during the war. All of those had sent grief like bile rising in his throat, but nothing compared to this ache, this chill of sadness that had taken up residence behind his ribcage since Percival had looked him in the face and told him that it had all been a terrible mistake. Newt was afraid that it would never go away.

He curled in on himself. The rain was thundering against the ground on either side of him now, harsh and cold, but Newt could barely feel it even though he was practically sitting in a pond at this point. He tucked his head down and cried, letting his shoulders shake, taking care not to bump Pickett, who he knew was watching him worriedly from his knee. He couldn’t help it, though. His emotions had to get out sometime, he knew that from experience, and he would rather do it here where no one else could see.

The rain was splashing heavily now. He could feel it lapping against the toe of his boots. Pickett made a shrill noise of concern and tugged on his sleeve again, but Newt just pressed his face further into the fabric of his coat. He couldn’t bear to even look at Pickett now.

“Stop it, Pickett,” Newt muttered as Pickett stomped on his knee. Newt thought he was probably protesting the rain, and he was about to lift his head and invite Pickett back into his pocket when he heard it- a clicking sound Newt recognized as exoskeleton on exoskeleton, and suddenly the dampness surrounding Newt felt like ice.

He raised his head at the same time that he felt a sharp pinch in the side of his neck. He winced, hand coming up to press against the stinging pain, which was already spreading warmth through his bloodstream. Newt could feel the sedative taking effect; he blinked, squinting through the rain and the darkness and his own rapidly blurring vision, raising his head slowly up. It dropped against the cement behind him, leaving him to stare at the great hulking creature in front of him.

Rain was falling onto his face. He closed his eyes, letting it cool his warm skin as his head spun. Somewhere Pickett was shrieking, but Newt could no longer feel his knees, or his arms or his head. He felt as though he was drifting off through the dirty puddles of the alley.

The last thing he remembered was a splash of water as he fell.

Chapter Text

Actum

Percival

Goldstein was upset, and it was showing on her face. Percival wanted to tell her to pull herself together, to school her expression so no one could see the downward slant of her lips and the way she wrinkled her nose whenever Picquery spoke, but he couldn't when he was already working hard to do that himself.

“I think it best that we hold off on the Benson case until we’ve caught this creature.” Percival heard his voice as though it were someone else speaking, and took a moment to admire how calm it was, how smooth, even though his heart was pounding. He could still hear the echo of the door clicking shut behind Newt. “We need to devote all the Aurors that we have to canvassing the sewage system.”

Picquery scrawled a note on a piece of paper, lips pursed. She seemed to be the only one in the room not reeling from her sudden dismissal of Newt. “Fine,” she said. “How are you planning on executing this search?”

Surely Newt was alright, though. Percival certainly hadn’t anticipated Picquery letting him go in such a public or abrupt manner- his skin had crawled the entire time, and he hadn’t been able to even look at Newt- but Newt would be duly compensated for his time, and he was a best-selling author, anyways, so it wasn’t as though he was wanting for money. Surely he would enjoy having more free time to spend with his animals.

Surely he would be grateful to get away from Percival.

“I don’t want Lakes in charge of anything,” Picquery said sharply. “Who else do we have?”

Newt wouldn’t be hanging around MACUSA anymore, of that Percival was certain. Picquery had been too harsh with him for Newt to be able to return anytime soon. His only reason for coming now was Goldstein, and he didn’t need to come all the way to the Woolworth Building to see her. Newt didn’t even live in New York- he would probably be returning to Europe soon, and Percival might never see him again.

Percival stumbled over Bentridge’s name. He stared at Picquery’s hand as it stilled over the list she had been writing, feeling sudden heat spreading up into his cheeks.

He might never see Newt again.

“Graves?”

“What? Oh, yes- sorry- yes, Bentridge, mark her down for a top position.”

That was good. Newt could never return his feelings, they were- unnatural, and unreciprocated, and unwanted. It was best for all of them that Percival take a step back from whatever association had formed between them, which was why he had recommended that Newt be taken off the case in the first place.

But a deeper, more selfish part of him recoiled in fear at the thought of never seeing the magizoologist again, never watching him stutter over his words or blush or care for one of his creatures. Even though Percival knew it was wrong, he couldn’t get the look on Newt’s face after Percival had kissed him out of his head- breathless, flushed with surprise, a red tinge to his freckles. Percival knew that he had stolen that kiss, but the memory of it still made him feel as though he were melting into the earth.

"Graves .”

“I’m sorry, Seraphina,” Percival said. “I think I need to cross-reference a few things with my Aurors. Can we return to this later?”

“You do realize that you are on a very sensitive time-crunch, do you not?”

“I do.”

Seraphina’s jaw clenched. She set down her pen sharply on her desk. “Fine,” she said. “Go. Come back to me with a list of all available Aurors to work the search.”

Percival dipped his head in understanding as he stood. Beside him, Goldstein’s movements were mechanical as she scraped her own chair back. She followed Percival as he turned and walked towards the door, opening it and stepping out into the hall.

He knew it was coming as soon as the door closed behind them, so he didn’t flinch when Goldstein said, “Fuck you.”

“Careful, Goldstein,” Percival said without looking at her. “Madame President can still hear you.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “You had no business treating Newt that way. I thought- I know that you act like you don’t have feelings, but you ought to at least respect him after everything he’s done to help you.”

“I do respect Mr. Scamander.” Percival started walking, staring straight ahead. Goldstein scurried after him, still glaring.

“You obviously don’t,” she spat. “If you had even an ounce of empathy for someone other than yourself you would realize that your actions have consequences, and that you had no right to-”

“Goldstein.”

She didn’t heed the warning. “You don’t even care!” She was raising her voice now as they reached the end of the hall. “Newt put everything he has into this case to help us- to help you ! You know he never wanted compensation for it, he was doing it because that’s what he does, he helps, and you repay him by publicly humiliating him?”

Percival stopped abruptly, toes of his shoes digging into the floor. “I would thank you to remember that I am your superior, Goldstein,” he said, clenching his teeth around what he really wanted to say. “And you will treat me as such unless-”

A flicker of movement on the windowsill caught his eye, and he stopped with a frown.

“Unless what?” Goldstein crossed her arms, straightening her shoulders to look more intimidating. “You’ll kick me off the case as well? If I weren’t worried about the fate of New York I would tell you to go right ahead.”

It was small and green and jumping wildly, and Percival recognized it immediately. He moved forward, crouching down so that he could squint at the creature.

“Graves? Where are you- Pickett?”

“What on earth are you doing here?” The creature- a bowtruckle, he thought Newt had called it- was waving its tiny stick-like arms and letting out a shrill squeak that Percival hadn’t heard at first. He wasn’t sure how cognizant the animal was of its surroundings, but its tiny face looked almost afraid.

Goldstein peered over his shoulder as Percival offered his open palm to the creature. “Pickett is always with Newt,” she said. “He wouldn’t have left him.”

The bowtruckle was so light it felt like a tickle of air on his hand. As soon as it had crawled on it went back to jumping and waving leafy arms in the air, still emitting a series of sharp, panicked chirps.

“Graves.” Goldstein was pulling on the sleeve of Percival’s jacket to draw his attention out of his reverie. “Did you hear me? Newt wouldn’t have left Pickett. ”

Percival stared at her. She stared back. The bowtruckle screamed, louder than he had before.

In one swift move, Percival opened the pocket of his coat and slid the bowtruckle inside. He turned on his heel and ran through the open doorway out into the main hallway, turning in the direction of the elevator with Goldstein on his heels.

“Atrium,” he spat at the house elf. He could feel the bowtruckle wriggling in his pocket, probably attempting to continue its wild flailing despite being out of sight.

He shouldered his way through the elevator doors before they were properly open and hurried out into the Atrium, hurriedly scanning the crowds, hoping to see a familiar head of curls bobbing through it. He swerved around a cart full of medical supplies a couple of witches were wheeling in the direction of the infirmary and nearly flew through the exit.

Percival ground to a stop in the fresh air, chest heaving, and stared out. It was raining. The sidewalks were crowded with a mass of plain black umbrellas and upturned coat collars. There was no turquoise to be seen.

“Graves,” Goldstein hissed. He allowed himself to be pulled off to the side where they were mostly hidden by the bulky doorman, and then Goldstein turned on her heel and Percival felt the sharp pinch of Disapparation.

They appeared suddenly in front of the Goldstein’s closed apartment door. Goldstein opened it and rushed inside, yelling, “Newt!”

“What on earth?” Goldstein’s sister Queenie emerged from a side room and stared in bewilderment as Goldstein ran across the room to the suitcase lying on the coffee table. Her hair was pinned up nicely and she was wearing a dress that looked suitable for a fancy dinner, but she looked as though she had only gotten halfway through her makeup. Her eyeshadow was dark and defined but the absence of lipstick made her look younger.

“Did Newt come home?” Goldstein asked, unlatching the case.

“No, I thought he was still with you. Mr. Graves, what are you doing here? What’s going on?”

Goldstein flipped the suitcase open. “Newt,” she said shortly, and jumped down.

Percival’s mouth felt dry. He knew he ought to follow Goldstein, but he was afraid to, afraid to enter that safe, warm place that he associated with Newt and find it empty. The bowtruckle in his pocket was still moving. Percival carefully reached in and scooped it out, letting it sit flat on his palm.

“Mr. Graves, is that- is that Pickett?”

Queenie walked forward and offered her own cupped hands. Percival wordlessly transferred the bowtruckle to her and watched as she looked down at it, a concerned slant to her brow. The bowtruckle chirped and waved every limb it had, rolling over desperately in her hands.

“What is it, Pickett? What’s wrong?”

Percival didn’t have time to ponder the absurdity of the attempted communication. He turned as Goldstein poked her head out of the case.

“He’s not down there,” she said.

“Tina, what is happening? Where’s Newt?” Queenie asked, shifting her hands carefully so the bowtruckle had a more solid place to jump.

“We don’t know.” Tina scrambled up out of the case, tugging her legs up and over the lip. “We went into a meeting with Picquery, and she and Graves fired him-”

“You what?” Queenie asked, shocked. Percival dropped his gaze.

“And then he said that he was going home, but then Graves and I left Picquery’s office and Pickett was waiting on a windowsill and- well, look at him, he won’t shut up!”

They turned back to Pickett, who was tugging on Queenie’s thumb and shaking his head rapidly.

“Well, maybe he just took a little detour,” Queenie said. “I’ll- I’ll give Jacob a quick ring, one moment.”

She held Picket close to her chest, turned, and hurried off into her bedroom. Percival stared after her, feeling the silence fall over the living room.

“He wouldn’t have gone anywhere without Pickett,” Goldstein said behind him.

“I know.”

“Do you think-”

“Let’s wait for your sister.”

Percival’s heart was beating in a way it hadn't been before. He shut his eyes, trying to think of anywhere Newt could be, but if the man wasn’t in his case he was with one of his friends, and if he wasn’t in his case and he wasn’t with his friends and he had left behind one of the creatures that depended on him-

“Jacob hasn’t seen him all day,” Queenie said, stepping back into the living room. She had transferred Pickett to her shoulder. The small bowtruckle was gripping the pink fabric of her dress and rocking in time with her steps.

“Shit,” Goldstein said.

Percival shut his eyes again. He could feel his pulse in his ears, heard the thrumming of it rolling through his head. He remembered Newt’s face in the office the one time that Percival had dared look at him, remembered the confusion there. It was as though Newt were a puppy that had just been kicked, and Percival had been the one kicking him.

What had he done?

There were hands on his shoulder. Percival opened his eyes to see Queenie there, looking at him with such obvious concern Percival might have been embarrassed had he not been preoccupied with a rush of panic.

“Mr. Graves,” she said. Her voice seemed muffled, as though it were coming from very far away. “Sit down.”

Percival allowed her to lead him over to the kitchen table. He dropped into one of the wooden chairs and dropped his gaze to his hands. He held them out, curious. They were trembling.

“Sir?”

Percival looked up at Goldstein, who was watching him with raised eyebrows.

“Yes?” he managed to say through the pulse pounding in his ears and his throat and his mouth.

“I asked if you thought we should send out a search party now, or if-”

“A search party,” Percival repeated. “Yes. Yes, that’s- excellent idea, Tina- Goldstein- we need to send one out immediately, if he’s- if Newt is-”

“Sir?”

Percival pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration leaking through the overwhelming panic surging through his body. He couldn’t do this now.

“Tina, maybe you should give us a few moments,” he heard Queenie murmur to her sister.

“Goldstein,” Percival said, trying to keep his voice level. “Go and get every Auror that we have on the search. You’ve already heard my planned divisions, but I authorize you to do whatever you see fit to get this search started. If anyone questions you, tell them that if they won’t help they can work on their letter of resignation instead.”

“But- sir-”

“Go, Tina,” Queenie said.

Percival watched out of the corner of his eye as Queenie reached out for her sister’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Goldstein,” Percival said. The two women turned to look at him, twin grimness on their faces. “Start your search in the sewage system. That’s where it would have taken him.”

Goldstein gave a short nod, then turned and hurried for the door, disappearing through it with a loud slam.

The trembling had spread up through Percival’s shoulders. He pulled them taut to try and stop them, brought his shoulder blades back so far that they hurt. He needed to stop this, needed to think so he could be of some use to everyone.

“Mr. Graves.”

Queenie crouched down in front of him, smoothing her dress down over her knees and peering up at him. Pickett had stood on her shoulder and was clinging to a piece of her blond hair to support himself. Both of them stared at Percival as he looked back and stretched to try and stop the tremors from moving up his spine and into his face and his eyes even though he could feel heat already pressing there. 

“What happened?” Queenie’s voice was more serious than he had ever heard it.

“I’m quite sure you just heard.”

Percival didn’t feel the press of her legilimency pushing on his protective barriers, but he still felt stripped completely naked under her gaze. He pressed himself backwards in his seat, curling his fingers around the wooden arms to try and stabilize himself.

“It’s my fault,” he said, proud of his steady voice. He didn't want to talk, he wanted to be able to stand and move and help, but if he didn't say something he thought the guilt might rip a hole through his stomach. “I think I- might have upset him.”

“Tina said you fired him?”

“I asked Picquery to remove him from the case. Yes.”

“Why?”

Because he was scared of the way he felt when he saw Newt laugh, or talk, or smile, or do anything, really. He was scared of how he had felt when he had kissed him.

“That’s beside the point,” Percival said. He took a deep breath in through his nostrils, trying to calm himself. He definitely didn't have time for an emotional breakdown. “Thank you, as always, for your hospitality Miss Goldstein. I need to go and help my Aurors.”

Percival was far from religious, but he decided it was divine intervention that helped him get to his feet and stay standing. He was almost to the door when Queenie said from behind, “You love him.”

The cold metal of the door handle felt almost warm against the palm of his hand. Percival stared at it, felt his pulse in his wrist and the emptiness in his mind. She wasn’t in his thoughts.

It was no use pretending now. “Is it that easy to tell?”

“To everyone but him, it seems.”

Percival shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. Newt was in trouble, and it was his fault, and he couldn’t let himself get caught up in his own emotions when there was work that he had to do.

“It’s alright to feel, Mr. Graves.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Miss Goldstein, but I’m afraid I don’t have any time for that.”

Percival opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Before he closed it, he hesitated, then said, “I’m sorry,” without looking at Queenie.

He shut the door and turned to the stairwell. He didn’t have time to fall apart. He had pushed Newt into this mess from the very beginning, and he would get him back out again.

Chapter Text

Inveniet

Newt

Newt had left the door of his shed open. One of his creatures was pressing against his arm, tugging on the fabric of his shirt, begging for his attention when all he wanted to do was sleep. He knew he ought to get up and see what was wrong, but his eyes seemed sewn shut and his mind was murky with thick exhaustion, and he wanted very much to curl up under his thin blankets and slip back into unconsciousness.

He had just been drifting off again when the creature poked him sharply in the chest, and Newt tried to grunt his disapproval, but no sound came out. He still felt as though he were swimming through a fog, but there were different sensations prodding him back from the edge now. The poking, for one part; that wasn’t pleasant. And distant murmurs, too, close to his ear. Whatever creature had gotten into his shed was big, Perhaps it was Dougal.

But Dougal knew basic social boundaries, he wouldn’t have come for Newt unless there was something wrong. Most of his creatures wouldn’t have bothered straying into the shed unless there was something they needed help with. And if there was something wrong that his creatures needed help with, then Newt needed to get up.

With great effort Newt managed to turn his head to one side, scrunching his face up against the sharp pain in his skull. He had a headache. Was he sick?

“Newt.”

There was something sticky on his cheek, too, something that he had rolled into, something that was stuck to what felt like hard concrete beneath him. Newt didn’t make a habit out of sleeping on concrete. He could have sworn that he was in his bed. He could still feel the weight of his blankets over his shoulders, tugging him back into sleep, away from his splitting headache…

“Ennervate! ”

Newt’s eyes flew open of their own volition. Immediately he registered that he was most definitely not in his own bed in his shed in his case. He was lying on something cold and hard and vaguely sticky. The second thing he registered was that there was someone leaning over him, but he had no idea who it was.

“Newt! Newt, can you hear me?”

Newt blinked, slowly, feeling exhaustion still tugging at his eyes even as the energizing spell surged through his body. It was confusing him, and he was even more confused about where he was and who was touching his shoulders and why he felt as though he had been bludgeoned with a Beater bat and left out in the rain for several days.

He tried to move his lips to ask what was happening, but they felt glued together. Instead he let his head fall limply to the side, staring across the concrete floor. Far off to the side he could see the curve of a concrete wall arching upwards, disappearing into the darkness overhead. The space had a very damp and heavy feel.

“Newt- oh, god, are you- are you hurt, are you-” The person seemed afraid to touch him. They placed a gentle hand on his arm, and through his thick coat Newt thought he could feel them shaking.

Newt was tempted to shut his eyes again to think, but he was afraid he would be struck with another ennervate that would only worsen his headache, so he squinted instead. He knew that voice, knew that hesitant touch. He thought he did. Maybe he was a little too mixed up at the moment to place it.

“It’s alright, Tina should be here soon, I- as soon as I get this- shit, I don’t know how to-”

Newt dragged his head back to look at the figure, squinting through the darkness at his face. Tina. This wasn’t Tina though, Tina was smaller and didn’t have a shadow of a beard ghosting his jaw and Percival god it was Percival he was here-

Newt’s lips finally split apart with a surge of panic. He gasped, trying to raise a hand to grab at Percival, but only succeeded in making it twitch against the concrete. Percival looked up from his wand, which he had been fiddling with, with wide eyes.

“Newt,” he murmured, dropping the wand. It clattered sharply to the ground.

“P-” Newt managed before breaking into a cough that tore at his throat, which he suddenly realized was incredibly dry. Newt felt Percival reach out and touch his shoulders, easing him gently back to the ground so that he was lying flat again.

“It’s alright,” Percival said. Newt looked at him, ran his own gaze over the worry lines snaking from the curve of Percival’s frown. He wanted to reach up to smooth them out, but when he tried, his hands didn’t move from his sides.

Newt’s heart was pounding, his head still ached, and although he felt relief at Percival’s presence tingling through his body, he still had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. He tried to talk again, managing to choke out a gruff, “What?”

“I’m going to get you out,” Percival said. He was still staring down at Newt, his eyes dark and concerned. Newt wanted to know what had him so scared. “I’ll call Tina, she’s out with a search group right now, but-” He ducked his head back down and picked up his wand, turning it over in his hands, frown deepening into a twisted grimace.

Newt shifted his shoulder so that he could brace it underneath him, then pushed himself up. Immediately Percival’s wand clattered to the ground again and his hands were on Newt’s shoulders trying to push him gently back down.

“‘M fine,” Newt said, embarrassed when his words came out slurred. He struggled into a sitting position, feeling every muscle in his stomach clenching to yank him forward, and brought his palm up to try and rub the tiredness out of his eye. His hands felt sticky.

“You should lie back down,” said Percival, sounding overly concerned again.

“What- happened?”

Percival opened his mouth, then closed it again, eyebrows drawn together uncertainly. He left one hand on Newt’s shoulder, gripping it gently. His touch was warm and Newt clung to it through the chill.

Newt blinked and tried to look around more. They were in a big open space, somewhere cold and moist, and there was a slime-like substance coating the ground all around them. There were shapes near them- Newt squinted and managed to make out the shiny glint of something much like a web encasing very humanesque shapes in haphazard lumps.

All at once it hit Newt, and he gasped. He had been sitting in an alley, and the creature had showed up, and Newt had probably been sedated and moved here, could still feel the remnants of the poisonous sedative in his bloodstream, and he had probably been very much wrapped in a cocoon like those other people until very, very recently.

“Newt,” Percival said as Newt curled forward, panic squeezing him tightly. Newt shut his eyes and pressed his forehead into what he knew must be Percival’s chest. He tried to listen for the heartbeat there. He couldn’t melt down now, he had to shake off the last of the sedative and try to help.

“How long?” he asked.

“A little over a week. I- we’ve been searching everywhere, but the sewage system is so intricate, but I- I thought I felt something, a magical signature, so I split off and found you- found- I’m going to get you out of here, I promise.”

Newt swallowed. No wonder his throat felt so awful; the creature had done its job keeping him alive, but he hadn’t had any water for over a week. Over a week .

Newt raised his head, renewed panic surging through him. “My suitcase,” he said, reaching out to grab Percival’s arm. “My creatures, has someone been-”

“Jacob’s been looking after them.” Newt thought he saw a shadow of a smile cross Percival’s face. “They’ve been very frightened, but well taken care of.”

“Oh,” Newt said. He dropped his hand, letting it fall back into the slime beside him. “Good.”

Percival shifted so that he was kneeling in front of Newt. “Are you hurt?” he asked, giving Newt a hurried once over. “I mean- is anything hurting, can I-”

“I’m fine,” Newt said, trying not to look at the cocoons over Percival’s shoulder. “You said- you said Tina was coming?”

“Oh.” Percival reached down and plucked his wand up out of a pile of the dark sludge, wiping it quickly on the sleeve of his filthy white button-down. “Yes, I’m trying to send her a message, but I’ve no idea why- expecto patronum.”

A burst of elegant silver fog unfolded from the tip of Percival’s wand, gathering into a shape that was vaguely wolf-like. Newt watched, momentarily enraptured, as it turned and bounded off towards what he presumed was the exit- only for it to dissipate in a burst of white smoke.

“Nothing is getting through.” Percival raised his hand and dragged it through his hair, which stuck up on end as though he had run styling product through it. Newt didn’t even want to consider his own appearance.

“That’ll be one of the creature’s defense mechanisms,” Newt said, letting his gaze wander again. They were in the sewers, then. No wonder it felt so damp here. His head had begun drumming in time to an old lullaby that his mother had once sang him. He shut his eyes and tried not to sway to it.

“Newt- Newt.”

“Hm?” Newt opened his eyes again. Percival was leaning forward again, very close to touching Newt but not quite brushing against his knees.

“Where are you hurt?” he asked.

“Uh- nowhere, I think,” Newt said. “Just- tired.”

Percival pursed his lips, obviously unconvinced. He didn’t look particularly refreshed himself. He looked as though he hadn’t shaved in days, and general muck clung to the sleeves of his coat and his trousers.

“What were you saying about defense mechanisms?” he asked.

“Oh. Yes. Um, it has a particularly strong magical signature. You can sense it, right? It will have blocked any kind of foreign magic from leaving the immediate area that it’s chosen as its nest.”

“Nest,” Percival repeated. “Good. Then we need to get out of the… nest…  so that we can get a message to Tina. Do you think you can walk?”

“Yes,” Newt said. He braced himself, moving joints that felt as though they’d been coated in a thick layer of cement, and attempted to push himself to his feet.

“Hey,” Percival said, swooping in to catch him when his knees buckled. Newt grabbed at Percival’s forearms and scrambled for footing even as his head ached so badly he had to squeeze his eyes shut to try and stop it. “Are you alright?”

Newt nodded, finally managing to straighten up on shaking legs. He opened his eyes, feeling the sharp pain beginning to recede and settle somewhere behind his temple.

Percival was staring at him. Newt stared back, feeling his grip soften on Percival’s arms, feeling the heat of his chest so close to his, and Merlin, Newt was still exhausted and aching all over and more than a little bit confused about where he was, but he couldn’t stop looking at the way Percival’s lips moved when he frowned.

“Newt,” Percival said, and it was hardly more than a whisper. “We have to go.”

Newt blinked, slowly, then pulled away. Percival released him reluctantly, still holding his hands out in an offer of support as Newt teetered unsteadily before managing to stay standing.

“What about them?” Newt asked, looking back at the cocoons left on the ground. He saw four of them.

“We’ll come back for them,” Percival said, “after we get you somewhere safe.”

Newt shook his head. “We can’t just leave them,” he said, turning around to waddle towards them.

“Newt, for god’s sake-”

“I’m fine, Percival, you need to wake them up as well, I can’t- do I have my wand?”

“Newt .” Percival sounded exasperated as Newt peeled the pocket of his coat open and reached in. His fingers closed around his wand and he felt a wave of sharp relief wash through him.

“Come on, we can do this quickly if we work together.”

“You’ve been heavily sedated for a week, Newt, we need to get you out of here before the creature comes back.”

“No, we need to get these innocent people out of here before the creature comes back. Right?’

Percival curled his fist over nothing. He glanced over his shoulder at the empty expanse of shadow behind him, then let out a harried sigh.

“Quickly,” he said. “If I hear anything, we’re leaving.”

They crouched down over a pair of cocoons. Newt held out his wand, taking a deep breath to steady his shaking fingers, and made a downwards slashing movement. The thick webbing sounded like fabric being ripped haphazardly apart. Newt reached out and pried it open, clawing at it so that the face of an unconscious man poked out from between the white thread. Newt recognized him- Randy, the man from the first apartment they had investigated.

Beside him, Percival said, “Newt.”

Newt looked. Percival had already gotten the cocoon entirely off of the woman lying in front of him; the empty webbing sat like a pile of old clothing beside him.

“It’s Boyd,” Percival said. He pointed to the angry red scar splitting from her temple to the corner of her mouth. “Bentridge reported the scar.”

“It turned on her,” Newt murmured.

“More like she couldn’t control the blasted thing. I have half a mind to leave her here.”

Newt frowned at him. Percival scowled.

“Fine,” he said, raising his wand once more. “Ennervate. ”

Boyd’s body twitched, her eyelids fluttering so that only the whites showed. Newt glanced at Randy, but he felt vaguely nauseous and still far too shaky to trust himself with a spell as delicate as ennervate.

“Ennervate ,” Percival said again, his magic working against the pull of the sedative, and this time Boyd gasped and opened her eyes.

Water dripped loudly off the walls behind them. Newt glanced over his shoulder back towards the shadows, looking over the steady brickwork, but didn’t see anything.

“What?” Boyd’s voice was like a frog’s. Her shoulders shook as she coughed, but Percival just watched and made no move to help her.

“Ms. Boyd- or whatever your name is- my name is Percival Graves, head of the department of magical law enforcement at MACUSA. We managed to track down the creature that you’ve been illegally cross-breeding, one that appears to have gotten the best of you.”

“But-” Bits of white cocoon clung to the edges of Boyd’s scar. She heaved herself up onto one elbow and rubbed at it, still blinking slowly, tiredly. “I don’t- I don’t remember-”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Percival said. “Needless to say, you are very much under arrest as soon as we get you out of here and into MACUSA custody.”

The water was so steady now it sounded as though it were scratching against the concrete. Newt closed his eyes, trying to get a grip on his headache so that he could think straight.

“But-” Boyd looked wildly from Percival to Newt. Her eyes widened. “You’re Newt Scamander!”

Percival shifted so that he was kneeling in front of Newt, blocking him from Boyd’s view with a deep frown on his face. Newt leaned to peer around him.

“You know me?” he asked.

“I bought your book,” Boyd said. She was mostly sitting up by now, and was resting her trembling hands on her knees. “It was quite informative.”

There was the scratching sound again, and this time Newt saw Percival’s shoulders tense through his dark jacket. Newt reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder, turning to look back towards the shadows.

“Fuck,” Percival said as a large dark shape materialized out of the shadow.

Boyd was scrambling backwards, hands and feet moving like a crab’s would to propel herself away from the creature. Newt gripped his wand tightly in one hand and the fabric of Percival’s coat in the other. Percival raised himself up into a crouch, wand pointed on the shadow skulking on the outskirts of the almost amphitheater-like sewage area.

“Newt,” he said in a low voice, “you need to run.”

“No,” Newt said. When Percival’s nostrils flared, he said, “No sudden movements. It’s faster than we are.”

Boyd seemed to have remembered that as well. She had stopped moving and was sitting there, staring across at the creature with wide eyes. Newt watched her hand snake into her pocket, then come back empty. She didn’t have her wand.

There was a small amount of light coming down from above, cutting beams across the creature as it circled them. Newt caught a flash of a familiar dark exoskeleton and the glint of small yellow eyes. The click of what he knew were pincers echoed across the space.

“Boyd,” Percival said. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s your damned creation,” Percival hissed.

“I can’t control it.” Boyd’s voice was shaking. “It- I tried to train it, and I thought that it was picking up on my commands, but one day it just- stopped listening.”

“Perfect,” Percival muttered.

It was edging out of the shadows now. The pincers came first, large, half the size of Newt himself, with jagged sharp bits that rang out when they clicked together. Those were attached to large, skeleton-covered arms, which were attached to-

“Jesus Christ.” Newt felt Percival tense again as the creature emerged fully into the dim light.

It was huge, at least eight feet tall, with four thick legs that moved back and forth like a scorpion’s, and two small beady yellow eyes set into the black plates covering its face. Monstrous pincers hung low to the ground, and a huge scaly tail swung back and forth behind it almost lazily. From this far away Newt could even see the mouth, a slash cut across the exoskeleton that revealed a row of sharp teeth and a purple tongue flicking against them.

“Newt,” Percival said.

Newt shifted so that he was closer, pressing his leg against Percival’s and leaning in close to murmur, “The pincers look like the most intimidating part, but the main thing to watch out for is the poison. It’ll shoot from glands in its mouth, and it will burn through anything on contact. It’s very unlikely that it will try to use sedative if it’s feeling threatened- it will go right for the kill. Also, be mindful of the tail, it will use it as a weapon if possible.”

“Great,” Percival said. “Weaknesses?”

Newt scanned the creature. It was creeping closer, slowly, so that it was only nine or ten feet from them now. “The exoskeleton will repel all spells,” he said. “We need to find an unprotected spot.”

“See any?”

“No.”

“Great,” Percival said again. “Alright, you need to stay back. I’m going to try and get around it so I can check from behind if-”

Behind them, Boyd let out a sharp yell and scrambled to her feet, spinning to make a break for it. The creature let out a great hiss that made Newt’s ears ring and sprang forward, surprisingly nimble for the number of legs that it had.

In one quick move Percival threw an arm around Newt and pushed him to the ground so that he narrowly escaped getting hit by the stream of dark brown liquid the creature shot from its mouth. It moved quickly, flying straight as an arrow over their heads, where it hit Boyd squarely in the chest.

She screamed and fell over, tearing at the front of her shirt as smoke rose from it.

Percival leapt to his feet and shouted “Protego!” as the creature fired another shot at them. It splattered against the invisible shield, dripping like water onto the concrete floor where it began eating away at large chunks of it. Newt scrambled to get up, glancing over his shoulder at Boyd, who was lying motionless on the ground, then snapping his attention back to Percival, who was sprinting in a circle around the creature. It spun with him, backing up to keep him in the line of fire. He was luring it away from the cocoons still left on the ground.

Newt’s heart pounded as the creature fired another round of acid and Percival twisted to avoid it. He frantically scanned the creature’s exoskeleton as it turned, examining the interlinking plates for some part that was exposed. He couldn’t see any.

Percival had completed a full circle and was backing away now, wand poised. The creature stalked forwards, still letting out a low hiss, pincers opening and closing as a warning as it moved.

Newt’s palms were slick with sweat and slime and mud. He wiped them on his pants and gripped his wand tightly, trying to think. Percival was walking backwards, wand raised in front of him, and he was getting closer and closer to the wall. The creature knew that it had him cornered, it was moving slower now, favoring its right side. Limping.

Limping?

Newt stepped forward and shouted, “Hey!”

The creature whipped around, opening its mouth to shoot poison, but before it could Newt raised both of his hands in a show of surrender. Slowly, deliberately, he opened his hand and let his wand fall. It clattered against the concrete and rolled away.

“Newt!” Percival shouted, but the creature had its attention fixed on Newt now. It stared, seemingly fascinated, as he began to edge forwards, keeping his hands up and his palms spread to show that he was still unarmed.

“Don’t move, Percival,” Newt said. He was staring right into the creature’s yellow eyes, maintaining eye contact without blinking and keeping his chin lowered.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Trust me.” Newt lowered his shoulders and crouched a bit so that he made himself a little bit smaller, and then said in the low, cooing voice he used to talk to the animals in his suitcase, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. Can you let me get a bit closer to you? I want to take a look at your leg.”

Newt’s hands were shaking, but he kept his fingers spread. The creature stopped moving and stayed crouched where it was, mouth open in anticipation, watching him. Its tail swung gently, low to the ground. If it wanted to, it could fire right now and kill Newt in an instant.

It didn’t.

Out of the corner of his eye Newt could see Percival standing completely still, back to the damp sewer wall. He had let his wand hand drop so that it was dangling at his side, trying to mimic Newt’s unarmed approach without fully committing to it. It didn’t matter; the creature was entirely focused on Newt.

“That’s right,” Newt said, making his voice almost a low purr. “I won’t hurt you. See? No wand, no weapons. I just want to look at your leg. Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?”

He was close enough to smell the creature now. The breath pouring from its heaving mouth was rancid, but it wasn’t any worse than the manure that Newt worked with daily.

When he was only a few feet from the creature it shifted, rocking back on its feet so it was poised to jump. Newt stopped, his hands high, his heart pounding. He didn’t risk looking at Percival for fear that it would make him panic. His head and neck hurt and the sedative still in his system was willing him to fall back asleep, but he swallowed and maintained eye contact with the creature.

“It’s alright,” he said, and then began to slowly edge forward again. The creature just watched him.

“I’m just going to crouch down right here, is that alright if I- oh, thank you, there’s a good girl. Now, let’s take a look at this. Oh, dear.”

The creature’s back leg was a mess of blood and dirt. The skin was heavily covered by the exoskeleton, but dried blood clung to the plates and told Newt that something had somehow gotten wedged underneath it.

“Oh, no,” Newt said, his heart twisting as the leg twitched. He reached out and rested his fingers on the undamaged part, careful to keep his touch light, and the creature snorted but didn’t move. “I’m so sorry. That can’t be comfortable at all, can it?”

Newt kept his head bowed, aware that the creature was watching him closely, but allowed his gaze to sweep upwards. It was an almost breathtakingly beautiful exoskeleton, and it shone like polished onyx in the dim lighting. Newt moved his thumb, brushing the plate softly, cleaning off a fleck of dried blood with his nail. The leg was shaking with exhaustion beneath his touch.

Newt raised his eyes further to the pincers. The creature’s arm was thick and completely covered, but when Newt looked to where it met the rest of the body- there . Just as he had thought, the exoskeleton didn’t fully cover the joint, allowing for a broader range of movement. Behind the arm Newt could see a patch of uncovered black flesh about the length of his hand. It was probably the creature’s only weak spot, and it could only be reached from where Newt was positioned.

He needed a wand, but his was somewhere on the ground behind him. He licked his dry lips, tasting something sour, and put his gaze back on the injured leg.

“Let’s take a look, then,” he said in a calm voice, desperately trying to place where Percival was behind him. “I can try to clean it off for you, if you’d like. Is that something you’d like? Goodness, I wish that I could read your mind.”

He said the last part with a sharper inflection and then ducked back over the leg. He bit his lip, hoping, praying, and then- there it was, a hesitant prodding in his mind that he had grown familiar with through Queenie, and he felt relief flood through him as he dropped whatever shoddy Occlumency he had in place and left his mind wide open.

“Hm, let’s see,” he said in a soothing voice, shoving a thought to the front of his mind. He felt a somber presence there for a moment, observing, before it retreated again. Newt hoped that it had gotten through.

Something moved behind him and the creature tensed and let out a long, low hiss. Its tail lifted off the ground and raised in warning, similar to the way a wolf would bare its teeth.

“No, it’s alright.” Newt shifted where he crouched, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder and instead rubbing his thumb soothingly over the creature’s exoskeleton. “It’s alright, nothing’s going to hurt you, just focus on me, alright? I’m going to try and clean you up a bit, and then you’ll feel a little better. Does that sound good?”

Newt began to shimmy out of his coat slowly, effectively drawing the creature’s attention back to him. It froze and turned its head partway to stare at him as his coat slipped off his shoulders and fell to the ground.

“There we go,” Newt said, rewarding the creature’s stillness with a coo. He picked his coat up and rested it across his knees. “I’m afraid I don’t have any medical supplies with me, but we’ll try and make do with what we have.”

He lifted the sleeve of his coat and very carefully touched it to the crust of dried blood. The creature tensed and hissed again, tail raising, and behind Newt he heard a sharp intake of breath. Percival had gotten into place.

“It’s alright,” Newt said, moving the sleeve so that it brushed off some of the blood. It began to flake off in thick chunks, and when the creature realized that Newt wasn’t trying to hurt him, it stilled again.

Newt could tell that someone had attempted to train it. It had the same wary stance that wild animals who had been in training for performances or as pets had, and it knew enough to recognize when a human was attempting to help. Newt felt another rush of sympathy for it- it was the only one of its kind, a mixture of dozens of different magical creatures. It was probably confused and injured and had no idea where to channel the bloodthirsty instincts that had been bred into it. Newt wished that he could help, but without his wand he couldn’t do anything more to heal it than cleaning off the blood caked onto the exoskeleton. Newt was short on time; as soon as it grew impatient and realized that he couldn’t make any real difference for its injury, it would grow angry again.

He needed to act quickly.

“Good girl,” he murmured, eyes firmly on the creature’s leg. He scrubbed at the plate coated in the thickest dried blood, rubbing stains into the fabric of his coat. “That’s right, I’m not going to hurt you, I’m just going to clean you up a bit so you can go back to what you were doing. There we go, that’s right…” Newt dropped one of his hands slowly, still moving the coat in a steady, even pace, and twisted so that he could reach a different portion of the creature’s leg. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Percival standing several feet away, completely motionless.

“There’s a good girl,” Newt whispered. He slowly raised his free hand, and then, in as calm a manner as he could, he clicked his tongue.

The creature noticed Percival throw his wand at the same second that Newt did. It hissed and lifted its tail as Newt twisted and caught the wand desperately, turning in the same moment so that he was pointing it directly at the patch of uncovered skin. The creature turned its head so its mouth was pointed at Newt, and he stared directly into the rows of yellowed, sharp teeth as he shouted, “Stupefy!”

Percival’s wand elicited a red blast so strong Newt stumbled backwards. The creature’s hiss cut off in a sharp whine as the spell made contact, striking the spot where it was weakest and spreading through its body. It took one hunkering step forward, and then a force like a train hit Newt squarely across the shoulder blades and sent him flying several feet into the air

He heard someone shouting as he came down hard, banging his forehead against the cement. Percival’s wand was no longer in his hand. He clenched his fist over nothing and listened to the sharp ringing in his ears, shutting his eyes against the loud sound as he struggled to breathe.

There were hands on his shoulders, flipping him over, but Newt didn’t want to open his eyes and have to hear that ringing again. The exhaustion was catching up to his body again. He felt it dragging at his brain through the pain spreading through his spine and his ribs and his head, and Merlin, all he wanted to do was go to sleep.

So that’s what he did. He felt himself tip backwards into unconsciousness, and then he was gone.

Chapter Text

Confessio

Newt

When Newt woke up, he was in the Goldstein’s guest bedroom where he had spent his very first night in New York. The curtains were drawn but there was a candle burning on his bedside table casting the room in a dim warmth that made him blind to the actual time of day. Newt’s body ached all over and his neck felt sore when he tried to turn it.

And Percival was sitting in a stiff-backed wooden chair next to his bed, fast asleep.

Newt had been watching him for what felt like hours, watching the rise and fall of his shoulders and the way that his head had drooped forward so that his chin just brushed his chest. He, too, would have awful neck pains when he woke up.

Newt had been disoriented for only a few moments after waking up before it had all come back to him: his rather embarrassing abduction, waking up to Percival rescuing him, stunning the creature and praying that the shot wouldn’t kill it. Newt must have passed out again after that, because he had no further memories between then and waking up in the Goldstein’s apartment.

With Percival sleeping at his bedside.

Newt couldn’t understand why Percival was in a chair when there was another perfectly good bed not three feet from Newt’s, and furthermore, he couldn’t understand why Percival was even at his bedside in the first place. He had to have been there for a long time, because he had been asleep when Newt had woken up. He might have been on some kind of guard duty to watch over Newt’s safety, but Percival wasn’t one to fall asleep on duty. Percival wasn’t one to fall asleep at all. Newt had never seen him asleep, never seen the way that the lines around his eyes smoothed into creases and his lips parted, just slightly, as he breathed.

Newt dropped his gaze to the quilt in his lap. This was creepy, watching Percival while he was sleeping without his consent, when Percival had obviously been trying to perform his shift on guard duty or whatever it was that MACUSA had arranged for Newt’s safety. Newt couldn’t just sit here and stare at him, not when he wanted to reach out and touch the smoothed-out worry lines and run his thumb over his bottom lip. No, Newt couldn’t sit here and think those things against Percival’s wishes.

Newt’s legs were beginning to feel cramped. In the flickering of the candlelight he could see what looked like his case propped up against the wall. A lump rose in his throat as he stared at it over Percival’s shoulder. Over a week . How long now? How long had he been lying here, with his creatures so close by, unable to care for them?

He moved carefully, pushing the blankets back and crawling to the bottom of the bed so he could slide quietly past Percival. Newt took a moment as he stood, gripping the duvet, trying to steady himself as his legs wobbled. He had been changed into his softest pair of flannel pajamas, and he felt a flush rising to his cheeks as he realized how childish he must have looked lying there.

It was five short steps to his case, but every one felt like a leap. When he had a firm hold of it Newt turned and counted the five steps back to the bed. He laid his case down carefully and ran his fingers along the well-worn leather edging, touching the clasps softly. Percival had promised him that Jacob had been caring for the animals, and Newt trusted Jacob to know his way around the case well enough to do a decent job of it, but an uncertain nervousness had lit itself in Newt’s stomach. What if he opened his case and something had gone wrong? What if his creatures were hurt, or hungry, or… gone?

Newt flicked open the clasps and then winced. He glanced at Percival to check that he hadn’t woken him, but the other man was still breathing slowly, deeply. He was so calm when he was asleep, when he wasn’t blustering about like an incoming storm or scowling or doing any of the sorts of things he thought he needed to do to assert himself. Percival didn’t need to do anything to assert himself. He made people crumble merely by existing.

Newt eased open the lid of his case, glad that he had oiled the hinges a few weeks ago, and carefully lifted his leg up and over the lip. His first foot scrambled for a moment before it found the rung of the ladder, but the second one came down with practice ease. He climbed all the way down, not risking his usual jump from the middle of the ladder, and touched down gently on the wooden floor of his shed.

He looked around worriedly, but everything seemed the same as he had left it. His books and papers were still spread haphazardly across the table, dried herbs swung from the eaves, and his cot was dreadfully unmade. It was a disaster, but it eased Newt’s worry to see that it was all still there.

Newt’s bare feet creaked across the wood as he approached the door leading to the rest of his case. He took a deep, steadying breath, then turned the knob and opened it.

He blinked into the sunlight, standing still for just a moment before a great cacophony reached his ears. He had just a moment to smile broadly before an invisible force hit him around the midsection and he stumbled back.

“Dougal!” Newt bent down to scoop the invisible mass up in his arms and a moment later the demiguise flickered into existence. Big amber eyes stared at Newt as Dougal wrapped his arms around Newt’s shoulders and gripped the back of his flannel securely.

“I missed you, too,” Newt said. He hopped down the stairs onto the grass and stumbled again when something poked the back of his leg.

“Hello,” he said with a laugh to the huge Dungbeetles bumping their heads against him. “Get a lot of work done while I was gone?”

They chittered a few times, wagged their antennas, then turned to go back to their boulder pushing.

Several insects were buzzing around Newt’s head now, flying so close he could feel the air brushing past his ears. With Dougal tucked securely in his arms Newt began walking, heading first towards the Graphorn enclosure where he was greeted with great roars of excitement and an embrace from each one.

“Oh, goodness,” he said, laughing into the tentacles brushing against his cheeks, reaching up to pat their necks in appreciation. “You certainly know how to make a man feel missed.”

Afterwards he passed the bowtruckle tree, waggling his fingers in response to their waving. As he did so he felt a sudden weight on his ankle. He frowned and looked down to see that the Niffler had wrapped itself around his foot and was clinging to it with every step he took.

“Oh, for Merlin’s- come here.” Newt shifted Dougal so that he was rested securely on his hip and bent down, offering a hand to the Niffler. It scrambled up, clinging to his thumb as Newt raised it to look it straight in the eye.

“Can I help you?” Newt asked.

The Niffler blinked at him, unnaturally quiet. Then, it reached both hands out and touched his cheeks, spreading its tiny fingers out so they were pressed flat. Newt felt his expression soften as the Niffler shut his eyes, hands pressed lightly on Newt’s face.

“I missed you as well,” Newt said softly. He swallowed to push back the tears he felt rising in his eyes.

Newt let the Niffler crawl on his shoulder where it sat perched, one hand bunched into Newt’s curly hair and the other braced against his flannel. He walked carefully, trying not to shift either Dougal or the Niffler too much as he walked towards the dark enclosure, lifting the edge of the flap with his foot and sliding into the calmness.

He kept his steps light as he walked towards the small box that housed the occamy nest. He peered in to see a dozen pairs of sharp black eyes peering up at him.

“Oh, you’ve all gotten so big,” Newt said in a soft whisper. “Oh- it’s alright, it’s alright, Mummy’s home.” Newt dipped his hand into the bundle of sleepy occamies to let them nudge his fingers with their beaks and smell him. When they were satisfied, most dropped their heads down to go back to sleep, except for one particularly perseverant one who nipped at Newt’s thumb with the tip of its beak.

“Do you need attention? Come on, then,” Newt said, offering his hand. The occamy coiled around his wrist, winding around and around like a bracelet until it was able to rest its chin squarely against the inside of Newt’s elbow.

Newt raised his arm out of the enclosure and walked slowly towards the mooncalves, beginning to feel the weight of Dougal in his right arm. The mooncalves all made excited purring noises and leapt at his feet as he approached, and Newt smiled as he waded into the center of them all.

“Yes, hello, hi,” he said, keeping the occamy elevated and away from the bobbing heads. “Aren’t you all just a bundle of energy? Alright, I’ll stay for a moment, don’t worry.”

Newt slowly sat down, moving carefully so as not to upset any of the creatures. He pressed his back against part of the rock outcropping making up the mooncalves’ habitat and crossed his legs. Immediately several of the mooncalves attempted to crawl onto his lap, and Newt laughed as they wrestled for space.

“There’s room for everyone, don’t worry,” he said, raising his arm so that the occamy was away from the struggle. The Niffler made a disgruntled sound and planted himself more firmly on Newt’s shoulder, glaring down at the calves piling into Newt’s lap. Dougal had rested his head on Newt’s other shoulder and seemed content enough to be falling asleep already.

By the time it had all settled down Newt had three mooncalves piled one on top of the other in his lap and several more lounging in the grass around him. Newt rested his hand on top of calf’s head and scratched, smiling when it closed its eyes and purred deeply. The occamy had wound itself further up Newt’s arm and seemed to have fallen asleep again.

Newt’s throat burned with emotion, and he beamed down at the animals surrounding him. God, he had missed them. And they had missed him, evidently, and even though Newt knew that they were partial to him, it made his heart feel like bursting when he saw what he meant to them. Here he was, sitting in the midst of a flock of resting mooncalves, laden with a demiguise and a niffler and an occamy, and for the first time in over a week, Newt felt himself relax.

He tipped his head back against the rock and listened to Dougal’s slow breaths at his side. The Niffler had curled against his neck, a warm, comforting weight, and was toying with Newt’s hair in a way that felt incredibly calming. Newt pet the mooncalf’s ears, letting his eyes drift shut, letting the purring and the hums of his creatures lull him into a state of almost sleep.

Quiet footsteps spurred him back to consciousness. Newt opened his eyes, staring first up at the starry sky, then tipping his head slowly to see Percival standing there. Newt couldn’t see his face clearly in the darkness, but Newt’s heart still made a little jump, even though he had known that Percival would come after him, even though he had left his case in such an obvious location so that Percival would come after him.

“Hello,” Newt said, his voice hardly above a whisper.

Percival stared at him. “I brought you someone,” he said after a moment, and Newt dropped his eyes and realized that Percival’s hands were cupped together.

He frowned as Percival knelt down in front of him. Newt looked- and a broad smile split his face so quickly it hurt.

“Pickett!” He was barely able to keep from shouting. He lifted his arm- the one with the sleeping occamy, because Dougal was sitting on his other- and let Pickett hop onto his hand. He raised the bowtruckle close to his face and laughed when Picket reached out and wrapped both arms around the tip of his nose in a tiny hug.

“Oh, it’s wonderful to see you,” Newt said, pulling Pickett away so he could look him over and check for injuries. The bowtruckle, safe and whole and healthy, sat down squarely in his palm and chirped softly at him.

“He came to get us, you know,” Percival said. Newt looked at him. He had backed up a bit, just outside of the flock of sleeping mooncalves, and as Newt watched he lowered himself swiftly to the ground. He crossed his legs and clutched his hands together in his lap, staring hard at Pickett in Newt’s hand. If Newt hadn’t known any better, he would have thought Percival nervous. “As soon as the creature got you he came running for me and Tina. Alerted us right away of your disappearance.”

“Is that so?” Newt peered down at Pickett with a small smile. “Well, aren’t you the little hero?”

A dark green blush spread on either side of Pickett’s mouth.

Newt looked up again at Percival, who was still watching him closely. “And… the creature?” he asked, afraid of the answer.

Percival pursed his lips and sighed, and Newt’s heart dropped. “Well,” he started, “I had to pull several hundred strings, and quite possibly might have gotten myself diagnosed with lunacy in the process, but I somehow convinced President Picquery to allow me to transport the creature to a dragon reservation in South America. They handle the most dangerous of creatures and assured me that they would be able to give this one a good home. I sent them all of your notes so that they would be able to have an instruction guide of sorts, but since they received him into their care yesterday there have been no mishaps.”

Newt didn’t realize that his mouth was agape until the Niffler reached out and poked the corner of his lips. Newt closed it and instead swallowed. Now he could definitely feel tears welling up in his eyes.

“Oh,” he said, softly. “Oh, that’s… that’s wonderful , I thought that…”

“You gave me some hope that it might have a chance at behaving under appropriate supervision,” Percival continued. “Although I’m not sure if you are an appropriate meter stick to measure by. It seems there’s not a species in the world that doesn’t love you, Mr. Scamander.”

The sound of his surname on Percival’s lips made the joy flood from Newt. He dropped his gaze back to the sleeping mooncalves in his lap. The Niffler had gone back to fiddling with his hair.

“Why’d you save it?” Newt asked without looking up.

Percival seemed to hesitate. “Well, I… I knew that it would hurt you if it had to be put down.”

Newt clenched his jaw. Pickett was scaling the coils of the occamy one after another as though they were tiny mountains, aiming for Newt’s head. Newt let his hand fall back into his lap.

“Well,” he said, after a long moment of silence. “You have my sincerest gratitude for that. And, of course, for coming to my aid when I needed it. I am forever in your debt, Mr. Graves.”

“No.” Percival said it so quickly that Newt looked up again to see that the other man’s brow had furrowed. “No, you could never be in my debt, I- No.”

Newt frowned, but decided he was too tired to argue. “Well, you still have my dearest thanks. I appreciate the danger you put yourself into in coming to my rescue, Mr. Graves, and I could never-”

“Percival.” It came out nearly a whisper. “Don’t… just. Please call me Percival.”

Newt shut his eyes, listening to the hum of the insects all around him. He could stay here forever, he thought, in this enclosure, surrounded by his creatures. He didn’t feel nearly as anxious as he normally would be in this conversation.

“With all due respect, Mr. Graves, I think it best if our relationship remain on a professional level from now on,” Newt said even though every word made his tongue sting.

“I shouldn’t have fired you, Newt,” Percival said in a great rush. Newt looked to him in surprise to see the other man had leaned forward, eyes gleaming earnestly in the dark. “I shouldn’t have let Picquery take you off the case, I- I shouldn’t have told her to-”

“You told her to-?”

“Yes,” Percival said, and it came out so miserably that Newt stopped talking so he could listen. “Yes, I told her to take you off the case.”

Newt ran his fingers absently along the mooncalf’s head as disappointment curled in his stomach. He shouldn’t be disappointed- he had known this, it’s what had made him so upset in the first place- he knew that Percival would have never been comfortable working with him after the mishap they had had on the docks.

“That’s…” Newt started, looking for a word. “Perfectly reasonable.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Percival said. “It was childish and clumsy and not at all the way to treat a person, and you have my deepest apologies.”

Newt nodded. He was still upset, but he wouldn’t be the cause of someone’s clouded conscience. “You’re forgiven,” he said.

“No, Newt, don’t- you can’t-” Percival let out a strangled huffing sound and pinched the bridge of his nose. While his eyes were shut Newt risked another look at him, remembering how calm he had looked when he had been sleeping. He wasn’t calm now.

When Percival spoke again, his voice was low. “I have not been entirely honest with you,” he said. “There are key aspects to this situation that I have purposefully excluded for the sake of preserving your comfort.”

“My comfort?” Newt frowned, confused. Pickett had finished climbing the occamies and was shoving past the Niffler to grab at Newt’s hair, tugging gently on them as he climbed. “What do you mean?”

“When I came to speak to you,” Percival said, “about… what I did on the docks. I tried to express to you that it was simply a spur of the moment, adrenaline-rushed burst of emotions, and that I harbor no lingering romantic feelings towards you.”

Newt could feel heat crawling up his throat as familiar shame rushed over him. He had already dealt with enough disappointment when Percival had explained it the first time- did he need to restate his feelings on the subject now, when Newt was still so tired? Surely Percival just wanted to reaffirm that he could never feel anything for Newt so that none of his recent actions could be conflated with romantic interest.

Which was going to be particularly painful, because Newt could still remember the rough press of Percival’s lips against his, and he wanted to feel it again very badly.

“Yes,” he said instead of expressing those dreadfully misplaced emotions. “Yes, I quite understand, Mr. Graves, you made your point perfectly clear the first time.”

“Yes,” Percival said. “Yes, I, um- well, the fact of the matter is, Newt, that I may not have been entirely… truthful, I suppose you might say. At least, not in the matter of my emotions, especially involving those which spurred me to action on the dock. While you must understand that I was indeed running almost entirely off of the adrenaline of having seen you almost get killed, and that I promise that I would not have shirked my propriety otherwise, I can admit that it was not entirely a subconscious decision that was made in the heat of the moment. Or, it was, but not quite in the way that I explained it to you in our subsequent conversation.”

Newt inched himself forward so that he was sitting up all the way. Dougal shifted in his arms, adjusting himself so that he was sitting half on Newt’s limp hand, half in the soft grass. Newt could feel Pickett burrowing into his hair as Newt stared across the tops of the mooncalves’ heads at Percival. Percival, who always got straight to the point, who never beat around the bush as he was doing now unless he was remarkably nervous about the answer.

Newt’s heart was pounding. He didn’t say anything, letting Percival continue talking in fear that an interruption would scare him into stopping.

“What I mean to say,” Percival continued, sounding as though he was half tripping over his tongue, “is that there exists the possibility that it is not altogether… impossible that I might harbor a, uh- well, an affinity towards you that goes deeper than I might have previously expressed. I have concealed it thus far out of fear that it would make working in proximity to me uncomfortable, but in light of recent events I think it would be unfair if I continued to hide the… depths of my feelings.”

Newt’s breath caught in his throat. His fingers curled so tightly into Dougal’s fur he felt the demiguise moving in his sleep. He stared the few feet across the flock of mooncalves into Percival’s dark brown eyes, looking at his furrowed brow and his lips, which were curled in a way that made him look as though he were afraid Newt would curse him. He looked more vulnerable than when he had been sleeping, more vulnerable than when he had been staring across a great beast at Newt in a sewage system.

“I don’t understand,” Newt said in a whisper, because Percival couldn’t be saying what he thought he was, he wouldn’t believe it until-

“I harbor a deep affection for you, Newt,” Percival said. “A romantic affection. I… well.” Percival finally dropped his gaze, hunching his shoulders down so that he was staring at his lap.

Newt swallowed and very carefully set Dougal down fully on the grass. He reached onto his shoulder and plucked the Niffler up, setting him down next to Dougal, and then carefully roused the occamy so he could unwind it from his arm and set it in the grass as well. Then he reached up and held his hand out for Pickett to jump onto. Pickett obliged, watching with big black eyes as Newt carefully set him down beside Dougal and murmured to the tired demiguise, “Watch them, please.”

The mooncalves stirred and slipped off his lap as Newt stood. He took a moment, bracing himself on both feet as a bout of dizziness swept over him briefly and then faded again. Then he turned and stepped very carefully over the sleeping calves, toes finding empty patches of cool, dark grass to sink into.

Percival was staring at him again. He looked up at Newt as he approached and then stood as well, regarding Newt with open nervousness.

Newt stopped when he was still a foot away from Percival. He crossed his arms over his flannel pajamas, imagining a breeze brushing through the habitat even though he knew that was impossible.

“Romantic affection,” he said, softly.

Percival opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again. He nodded once, sharply.

“But I…” Newt shook his head, feeling dazed. “You said-”

“I was lying,” said Percival. “I thought that if I could make you believe that that kiss meant less than it did, then perhaps I could salvage any kind of friendship- uh, companionship- that we had fostered.”

“But then, why ask Picquery to fire me?”

The corner of Percival’s lips quirked up. “I must admit that was self-preservation,” he said. “I couldn’t continue working so closely with you after I had been forced to confront my own emotions towards you. I thought it kinder that we distance ourselves, especially as you could not feel the same way towards me.”

“Not feel-” Newt felt humor curling in his throat even though it wasn’t appropriate. To hide it he pressed his face into the palms of his hands, hiding there, feeling his own cool touch on his warming cheeks.

Percival had feelings for him, romantic feelings, that kiss had meant something to him after all.

Newt felt tears welling up in his eyes, and he sniffled. Immediately he heard Percival’s panicked voice saying, “Oh god, I’ve upset you, Newt, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Shut up,” Newt said into his hands, his voice muffled and lacking any heat.

Percival quieted.

Newt sniffed again and raised his eyes. Percival was watching him, his expression extremely worried. Newt looked at the lines at the corners of his eyes and wished he could touch them, smooth them.

Could he?

He took a careful step forward, toes brushing against the grass. Percival’s eyes grew wider as Newt approached, coming forward until he was so close to Percival he could feel the other man’s quickening breath on the tip of his nose. Entranced by their nearness- they had never been this close to one another, not like this- Newt raised his hands and placed them carefully on either side of Percival’s face.

He felt Percival’s breath hitch and Newt looked at him curiously as he ran gentle fingers over Percival’s cheekbones, down the line of his unshaven jaw. His facial hair was coarse and scratched at Newt’s hands.

“Newt,” Percival breathed, and his voice made Newt’s legs feel weak. “What are you-”

Unable to restrain himself, always suffering from poor impulse control, Newt leaned forward and pressed his lips to Percival’s.

For a moment Percival stood frozen, unresponsive, and Newt was about to pull away when Percival’s lips started moving under his. Hands came down hesitantly on Newt’s waist, and almost unconsciously Newt pressed forward so that his knees knocked against Percival’s. Underneath Newt’s lips, Percival moaned into his mouth, a sound that made alarming heat flood through Newt’s body.

Newt forced himself to turn his head and break the kiss. He pulled back, breathing hard, and backed several steps away, heels scratching at the grass. Percival watched him with wide eyes, lips still parted.

“Sorry,” Newt said, ducking his head down and wiping at his mouth with his flanneled sleeve. “Terribly sorry about that, I didn’t mean to rush at you quite so suddenly, it was just- it was just that you were being daft, weren’t you?”

“Newt.”

“No, you were, I’m sorry, you were being- you were being remarkably obtuse, saying all those things about- about affection, and how I couldn’t reciprocate, and then you got all- and you expected me not to come and kiss you, except I probably should have asked first, I truly am very sorry about that, I promise that it won’t happen again.”

“Newt.” Newt looked up now, peering at Percival from behind his curls. Percival’s hands were hanging limply at his side as he stared at Newt. There was something other than worry on his face now, but Newt didn’t know if he was capable of looking closely enough to place it.

“Newt,” he repeated, “I don’t understand. Does this mean that you have feelings for me as well?”

Newt couldn’t help it now. He laughed, short and breathless, then said, “Of course.”

For the millionth time, Newt marveled at the impressive figure that Percival cut, even when he was just standing there. His shoulders were straight, his posture impeccable, and although Newt was slightly taller than him, Percival was so present Newt couldn’t help but be in awe of him.

“Oh,” Percival said. And then- “Ah. I might have… misjudged the situation.”

“Quite.”

“Yes,” Percival said. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat and stared at Newt, head cocked just slightly. “Might I… if you truly do reciprocate romantic interest in me, might I ask for the honor of hosting you for dinner?”

“When?” Newt asked, hoping that his embarrassingly rushed speech didn’t betray his giddiness.

“Tomorrow?” Percival suggested, then frowned. “Only if you are feeling up to it, of course. Actually, we ought to wait until you have had an appropriate amount of time to recover, you certainly shouldn’t put yourself into any strenuous situations until you are quite certain that-”

“Tomorrow is perfect,” Newt interrupted with a small smile.

“Are you positive?”

“I think so. It’s just dinner, yes? Unless you are also planning some kind of strenuous activity.”

Percival dropped his head to stare at his feet. Newt, realizing at the last moment what he had just said, felt his cheeks immediately flush with heat. Oh, dear Merlin.

“Tomorrow works,” he managed to say in a small voice, fixing his gaze carefully on a low-hanging branch above Percival’s head. He thought he saw a few stray bowtruckles crawling around there. He really ought to look into that and ensure that their tree wasn’t becoming overpopulated. That normally wasn’t an issue, because they enjoyed living in small herds, but perhaps-

“Tomorrow, then.”

Newt forced his eyes from the tree and focused instead on Percival’s right shoulder. “Tomorrow.”

“You really ought to go and rest, Newt. Please don’t worry about caring for your animals. Jacob showed me how to do it, so rest assured that they will be well taken care of until you are adequately recovered to reassume your job.”

Newt couldn’t help but smile at Percival’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. “I think I’ll just make sure that I get Dougal to bed alright, and then I promise I’ll rest.”

“Right,” Percival said. “Well, I should, um- I’ll leave you alone, then.”

As Percival turned to duck towards the exit a sudden swarm of nerves overcame Newt, and he blurted out, “Until tomorrow?”
Percival paused. He turned, looked over his shoulder, and smiled softly. This time, Newt was able to maintain eye contact as he spoke. “Until tomorrow,” he said.

When he was gone, Newt let out a long, ragged breath. He turned and picked his way back through the slumbering flock of calves, stopping near the rock and placing a hand on it to stabilize himself. He stood there, staring at nothing in particular for several moments.

Something poked his ankle. He looked down to see the Niffler prodding him. Dougal sat on the ground beside him, the occamy curled safely in his arms, Pickett perched comfortably on his head. Newt tried to smile at them, and then realized he had already been smiling quite widely, and that his cheeks hurt.

“Yes,” he said. He stooped down to pick up the Niffler with one hand, tucking it securely under his arm so that its arms and legs dangled. “Yes, I think it’s time to get all of you to bed, yes? We have to get plenty of rest, all of us.”

Chapter Text

Contentus

Percival

Percival was curled on his couch flipping idly through Newt’s book when his fireplace signaled that a Floo call was coming through. He sat up, dropping the novel on the coffee table and hastening to fall to his knees before the steadily roaring flames. Hardly anyone had his personal Floo line, but he had given it to Goldstein in the midst of the Newt debacle, and Newt was due to arrive in only ten minutes, but perhaps he had changed his mind after all (as Percival had expected) and was calling to cancel, and if that was the case it would be rude of Percival to keep him waiting.

Percival took a moment to take a deep breath before waving his hand to allow the Floo call through. After a moment a pair of familiar eyes blinked up at him through the embers.

“Percival,” said Seraphina, her voice polite.

Percival sat back on his heels. He hadn’t been into work at all in the past week, and hadn’t exchanged more than a few passing words with her since they had last spoken on the day Newt disappeared. He knew that she hadn’t been impressed with his insistence on front-lining every search party instead of assuming his role as director, but there was nothing he could do about that now. There was nothing he would have done different, either.

“Seraphina,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ve called at a rather inconvenient time. I’m expecting company shortly.”

“Really?” Flames licked her temple as she raised one eyebrow. “How coincidental. I was just about to inquire towards Mr. Scamander’s recovery.”

“Is there a reason you have decided to take this question to me instead of him? He’s not terribly hard to get into contact with.”

“I didn’t want to bother him.”

“So instead you bother me?”

The wood shifted, falling so that a small puff of smoke emitted from Seraphina’s chin. She stared at him. Percival stared back, attention straying behind him towards the door.

“It’s late,” she said. She was apparently opting for her ‘continue to make polite conversation to avoid an outright altercation’ tactic. “You never have company over, let alone this late.”

Percival was not in the mood.

“Well, Madame President, I assure you that this tiny infringement upon the iron-clad principles that comprise our social lives will do nothing to affect my workplace behavior, and that I will not allow any enjoyment I get from entertaining guests to detract from my performance.”

“There’s no need for this, Percival.”

“There’s also no need for your thinly veiled attempts to divulge for yourself the nuances of my relationships, but here we are.”

A soft knock on his front door, so quiet it nearly wasn’t there, had Percival turning to look at it. A resurgence of unfamiliar nerves made his lungs momentarily stop working.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Drop by my office tomorrow.”

“Yes, whatever,” Percival said, and waved his hand to dissipate the embers until her face was gone and the fire was once more crackling peacefully in the grate.

Percival stood, wiping his hands hurriedly on his pant legs, and triple checked his appearance in his head. Freshly ironed dress shirt, his nicest trousers, hair neatly styled back. He took a moment to straighten his shoulders before striding over to his front door and grabbing the knob.

“Newt. Do, uh- oh.”

Percival’s tongue tied itself together as he took in Newt’s appearance. He had exchanged his usual white button down for a blue one, a blue that was darker than his eyes but still rich in color, and complete with a vibrant orange bowtie. The black coat hanging from his lanky frame was slightly too large, but he had rolled the sleeves up to counter this, and even though Percival knew a dozen charms that could spell it to be better fitting he found it incredibly endearing. And Newt’s hair- artfully mussed as always, perhaps a bit more carefully so than usual, and if Percival hadn’t known otherwise he would have thought a small army of styling products had gone into every curl.

“Um, I’m sorry,” Newt said, fiddling with the rolled up sleeve of his coat and not quite meeting Percival’s eyes. “Am I late?”

“Not at all,” Percival said. “I’m- my apologies. You look very nice tonight, Newt.”

The pink in Newt’s cheeks did something strange to Percival’s chest. “You do as well,” Newt said, eyes glancing momentarily down Percival’s appearance before fixing firmly on the floor.

Remembering his manners, Percival shook himself out of his daze and stepped back, opening the door. “Come in,” he said, tipping his head as Newt stepped inside. “May I take your coat?”

The side of Newt’s mouth quirked upwards as Percival shut the door behind him. “Your hospitality is impeccable,” he said as he shrugged out of his jacket, and Percival stared at the way his shoulders rolled beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m a Graves,” he said, taking the coat from him and reaching out to send it flying through the air to the coat hanger, where it carefully hung itself. “We take our manners very seriously.”

“Do you?” Newt was still half-smiling, but his gaze had wandered away to the rest of the apartment. Percival clasped his fingers behind his back, watching Newt appraise his space, wondering what he would think. It was nothing like Newt’s cozy shed, or the Goldstein’s warm apartment. Percival knew that his place felt large and minimalist and a touch cold at times, but he had always enjoyed it. Now, though, as he tried to imagine what Newt thought of it, he felt embarrassment crawling up his throat. That was certainly an emotion he was unaccustomed to feeling.

“Your apartment is lovely,” Newt said.

“Thank you,” said Percival. “Would you like to sit? Dinner will only be a few more minutes, I’ll go check on it.”

Percival slipped into his kitchen, trying not to watch Newt settle down on his couch. He glanced at the pots on the stove where what he hoped was decent enough spaghetti was simmering. He stared at the counter, trying to think of what to do- he should fetch wine, right? He should offer Newt wine. That was what he ought to do.

When he returned to the living room with two wine glasses, Newt was looking at his own book on the coffee table.

“I was doing a bit of light reading,” Percival said, sitting down next to Newt and holding out one of the wine glasses.

“Anything good?” he asked, accepting the glass.

“Tremendously so.”

Newt smiled down at his drink. Percival leaned back against his cushions, appraising Newt over the top of his wine glass as he touched his lips to it. Newt looked nervous, and though Percival was trying to maintain a calm demeanor, he could feel his own anxieties eating at him. Had this been a mistake? Perhaps it had been foolish to try to make their relationship anything more than it was.

Percival took a sip of wine to fortify himself, and then lowered it. “You’ll have to forgive me for any clumsy conversation,” Percival said. “I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Done what?”

“This,” Percival said, motioning with his wine at Newt. When the other man still looked confused, he said, “A date.”

“Oh,” Newt said, his cheeks going pink. “Yes, a date. That’s- that’s quite alright. I mean to say, you aren’t clumsy at all. Ever. It’s… it’s fine.”

Despite his nerves, Percival couldn’t help but smile at Newt’s fumbling. Newt took a hasty sip of his drink, hair falling into his eyes as he ducked his head down over it.

“Me neither,” he said. “I mean- I haven’t done- this- much at all. I’m sure I’m dreadful at it.”

“You aren’t,” Percival said before he could think. When Newt looked at him, Percival felt heat rising in his face. “I mean- I’m sure you aren’t.”

Newt continued to look at Percival even as Percival forced his gaze to Newt’s book on the table, on the gold curlique of the embossed cover, forced his gaze away from Newt and Newt’s lips and wondering if Newt was remembering yesterday, in the enclosure.

“Dinner,” Percival blurted out. “Are you hungry?”

“Quite,” Newt said, a smile playing on his lips.

“I wasn’t sure what wanted,” Percival said as he stood and walked towards the kitchen. Newt followed him, sipping at his wine. “I went with spaghetti, because Miss Goldstein said that was something you enjoyed.”

“You asked Queenie?” Newt asked, sounding surprised.

Percival stopped with one hand on the lid of his pot, and turned around with a frown. “Is that alright?”

“Yes,” Newt said. “Of course. I only mean- that was kind of you.”

“Well,” Percival said. “It was important that I got this right.” He turned back to the stove and lifted the lid of the pot with a flourish.

“Can I help with anything?” Newt asked after a moment, coming to stand beside him. His elbow brushed Percival’s, and Percival nearly dropped the spoon he was using to prod at the pasta.

“No, that’s alright,” he said.

Newt knocked elbows with him again. “I insist,” he said, so close he could have whispered it and Percival could have heard every word, and surely he had to be doing this on purpose, standing so close Percival could feel the phantom brush of breath on his neck.

“There’s salad in the refrigerator,” Percival said, if only so that Newt would step away from him so that Percival could clear his head. Newt had confessed that he didn’t go on dates often; Percival didn’t want to embarrass himself by being too forward, and Newt standing so close to him wasn’t helping with his impulse control.

As Newt moved away, Percival waved his hand and summoned two of his nicest plates down from a cabinet. Another flick of his wrist and the fork he had been using twirled servings of pasta onto each one. Newt watched the fork spin in midair as he walked back over with a bowl wrapped in plastic.

“You’re good at wandless magic,” he said, setting the bowl down on the counter.

The fork dropped back into the pot with a small clang. “I have to be,” Percival said, reaching for the bowl and lifting the plastic from it, “in case I get into a situation where I have to use it.”

“Is that often?”

“Not particularly,” Percival said, dishing a small portion of salad onto each plate. “These past few weeks have been a bit of an anomaly for me, action-wise. Since becoming director I haven’t had the chance to be in the field as much. I generally have too much paper to get through.”

Percival handed one plate and a fork to Newt and said, “I’m afraid I don’t have a formal dining room. As inappropriate as it is, I usually eat on the couch.”

“That’s alright,” Newt said. Percival eyed him warily as he carefully turned, balancing his full plate in one hand and wine glass in the other. He sincerely hoped that Newt didn’t trip and spill his dinner, because Percival didn’t have a plan B prepared.

Percival plucked his own wine up and followed Newt, who had made it to the couch in one piece and was arranging his food carefully on the coffee table.

“Do you like it, then?” Newt asked as Percival sat down beside him.

“Like what?”

“Being director. You know, the paperwork.”

Percival stared at Newt as he considered the question. He could feel himself frowning as he pondered how to respond, and after a moment Newt looked up from his spaghetti with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Have I said the wrong thing?”

“What? No, of course not. It’s only- no one’s asked me that before.” He picked up his wine and examined the drink for a moment. “Yes, I do enjoy it. It’s challenging, and it’s a very good title to have under one’s belt.”

“I’m sure being in charge is a plus as well,” Newt said. Percival glanced at him to find the other man grinning, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Are you insinuating that I’m bossy, Newt?”

“Certainly not,” Newt said. “I think that the people who work for you might have a slightly different opinion, however.”

“Well, that’s fine, then,” Percival said. “It’s not their opinion that I’m concerned with.”

Newt ducked his head, and Percival worried for a moment that he had messed up, but when Newt looked up again he only looked a bit flustered.

“This is good,” he said. “The food, I mean. It’s lovely.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Percival said, “because pasta is the extent of my culinary abilities.”

Newt raised his eyebrows. “You also make the only decent cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”

“True,” Percival conceded. He leaned back against the pillows, throwing one arm over the back of the sofa, and felt Newt’s eyes following his movements. “And is Pickett with us tonight?”

Newt raised his hand to his breast pocket as though to check. “No,” he said. “I bribed him into staying with Queenie and Jacob.”

“Bribed him with what?”

“He loves sweets,” Newt said. “I asked Jacob to bring him a sugar cookie. Two, actually, because he was initially quite adamant on coming along with me. He’s taken quite a liking to you, you know.”

“Has he,” Percival said, feeling oddly pleased with himself about that.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Percival silently admired his own cooking skills, because he had been quite worried that he would butcher the meal. He was still too nervous to be truly hungry, however, so he set his plate aside after only a few bites.

“What will you do now, then?” he asked. “Have you got more business in New York?”

“No, I haven’t,” Newt said, picking at his salad and not looking at Percival. “I’m not quite sure what to do next. I’ll probably stay for at least a few days longer, because Queenie is rather convinced that I’m still on death’s edge, but I haven’t anything further to do here.”

“A few days,” Percival repeated. He dropped his arm, straightening where he sat. His chest twisted suddenly, threatening to constrict his breathing, and he bit the inside of his cheek sharply to keep from showing any of that outwardly. Surely Newt wasn’t being serious? He wouldn’t simply… leave.

“My family has been writing to ask me to visit,” Newt continued, seemingly unaware of Percival’s sudden panic, “so I might stop by England for a bit, and I really ought to visit Dumbledore to thank him, anyways-”

“Stay.”

Newt looked up from his plate, eyebrows raised. Percival swallowed, but lack of communication had been what had endangered Newt in the first place, and Percival wasn’t going to let his own fear take Newt from him again.

“I was… quite serious, yesterday,” he said, “when I told you of the feelings that I have for you. If you’re willing- if you want to- I would like to give… this… a true chance.” When Newt looked still puzzled, Percival said, “Stay for me, if you have no other reason.”

Newt blinked. Then he looked down at his half-finished meal, lips parted in a small ‘o’, and Percival’s heart began to sink.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, clasping his hands together in his lap, “that was… a foolish thing to say.”

“No!” Newt said it forcefully enough that Percival looked up in surprise. Newt seemed to hesitate, and then he set his plate down on the coffee and reached out to touch Percival’s knee. “No,” he repeated again. “No, it wasn’t. You only caught me off-guard. I didn’t think…”

“Surely,” Percival said, frowning, trying to push aside his initial instinct to fixate on the weight of Newt’s hand on his knee, “surely you understood yesterday.”

“I did,” Newt said. “You asked me to dinner, and-”

“This is not a casual date, Newt,” Percival said, and he gave into the desire to cover Newt’s hand with his own. Newt’s fingers were warm beneath his own. “You are not an idle infatuation. I…”

Newt had leaned forward slightly, seemingly enraptured by Percival’s words, and Percival raised his free hand and touched Newt’s jaw. He admired the cut of his cheekbones and the smile lines around his lips, and Newt’s fingers were curling into the fabric of his trousers beneath Percival’s grip, and Percival gave into his impulse control.

He leaned forward and kissed him, harder than he had yesterday, and felt Newt respond immediately. Percival brought both his hands up, touching Newt’s hair, his shoulders, running down the front of his shirt. Newt fell back against the pillows behind him and Percival twisted so that he was lying hal on top of him.

This is what he had wanted for weeks, wanted perhaps the moment he had first seen Newt, wanted every time Newt had surprised him or proven his own prejudices wrong. He rested his knees on either side of Newt, catching his lips and pressing forward with his tongue in a way that made Newt moan beneath him, and Percival was struck by a wave of desire that made him want to push Newt down into the cushions and keep him there forever, stretched out beneath Percival with red cheeks and curly hair already askew.

“Stay,” Percival mumbled against Newt’s lips. He dipped down and pressed his mouth to Newt’s jaw, sucking on his neck, and Newt inhaled sharply and let his head fall backwards, one hand coming up to grip the back of Percival’s shirt.

“Stay,” Percival said. He kissed Newt’s chin, and then the other side of his neck, and then kissed a line down to his collarbone, punctuating each one with, “Stay, stay…”

“Okay,” Newt said, his voice breathless. Percival felt fingers on his chin, tilting his head up to look into Newt’s eyes, which were wide and shining. His lips were red and already swollen, but there was a smile spreading across his face. “I’ll stay,” he said. “Merlin, Percival, you only needed to ask. There wasn’t a need for theatrics.”

“I beg to differ,” Percival said. He reached up and pushed Newt’s hair back, threading the curls between his fingers so he could pull at it and watch Newt’s eyes flutter with a rush of excitement. “I quite enjoy the theatrics.”

Newt’s hand had wandered upwards to trace Percival’s shoulder blades. Percival bent back down to fasten himself once more to Newt’s neck, kissing him just beneath his ear and smiling when the hand on his back tightened on his shirt again.

“I will have to go- ah- visit my family soon,” Newt said, fingers coming up to tangle themselves in Percival’s carefully styled hair. “Theseus wrote to me this morning to tell me that I’m- Percival, please, I’m trying to talk.”

“I know,” Percival said, fingers stilling on Newt’s bowtie, which he had been attempting to remove. “I’m listening. This bowtie is absurd, by the way.”

“You don’t like it?”
Percival leaned in to kiss Newt again, fingers working at the bowtie again. “I love it.”

“Anyways, as I was trying to say- I’ll need to go back to England to visit my family, and possibly stay with them for a short period of time.”

Percival had worked the knot out of the bowtie and slid it off Newt’s neck, unable to stop his fingers from moving down to start unbuttoning his shirt even as disappointment rose like illness in him. He ducked his head down lower to kiss at the exposed skin of Newt’s chest as he tried to keep his shaking hands moving down the row of buttons.

“Percival.” Newt took Percival’s chin in his fingers and lifted his head gently so that he met his gaze, and god, Newt’s eyes were so blue, and crinkled at the corners as he smiled gently down at Percival, his expression as unguarded as it was against his creatures, and Percival’s heart surged with warmth. “Would you like to come to England with me?”

Percival stared at Newt, watched as his smile faded and his expression twisted into something more self-conscious, uncertain. Newt’s chest rose and fell beneath his fingers.

“Unless,” he said, “unless that’s too soon, and stupid, it’s fine if you don’t want to, I completely understand if you aren’t- if I’m not-”

“Newt,” Percival said, spreading out his fingers so they laid flat against Newt’s chest. “Stop. I’m… I would be… honored, to go to England with you.”

Newt’s smile began to grow once more. “Really?”

“Really,” Percival said. “I’m sorry if it took me a moment to respond. I was simply trying to think of the fastest way to divulge you of your shirt.”

Newt somehow managed to grow even redder than he already was. He laughed, the sound slightly breathless, and said, “You’re shameless.”

Percival leaned down and pressed his lips to the corner of Newt’s smile. “Only for you.”

X X X X X

“Let me see if I understand what you’re asking me,” Seraphina said, staring Percival down with sharply arched eyebrows. “You have already taken leave of your duties for a week in order to lead several search parties that I expressly directed you not to, and now you have come here only days after returning to your actual job to ask for time off in order to go to England?”

“That would be correct, yes,” Percival said. He resisted the urge to smile, because he had never seen Seraphina so genuinely bewildered. He didn’t want to have to fight her on this, however; it would be much easier to get her approval, even if he would manage a way to leave no matter what.

“And I expect that this little… vacation, will be conducted in companionship with Mr. Scamander?”

“Also correct.”

Seraphina pursed her lips and sat back in her seat, dark eyes still fixed on Percival. Percival stared back, refusing to be cowed by the obvious intimidation tactics she was employing.

After a long minute, she glanced back down at the papers on her desk and said, “Alright.”

Percival blinked. “Really?”

“Yes,” Seraphina said. “Your request for time off is approved. Please provide me with a list of the dates that your presence will need to be pardoned and I will send them through to be scheduled.”

She picked up her pen and went back to writing. Percival frowned openly at her, trying to sort through what had just happened. He hadn’t expected Seraphina to give in without at least something of a fight.

“Why?” he finally asked.

Seraphina flipped a paper over and read over the next one. “Because,” she said, “despite your recent behavior, you are an exemplary employee, Percival. And you have not taken a vacation in years. I think your request is more than reasonable.”

“Yes,” Percival said, “but-”

“Did you want me to say no so that you could continue fighting with me?”

Percival leaned back in his seat. “Perhaps.”

Seraphina snorted. “Well, go ahead,” she said. “I’m done arguing with you, though.”

Percival waited for her to say more, to admonish him for his continued grudge, but she just continued working. Well. If that was all that it took, then he could be on his way.

“Thank you, Madame President,” he said, standing up.

“Percival.” Seraphina looked up again. “I am… truly pleased that you and Mr. Scamander seemed to have worked through whatever difficulties you had.”

Percival hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you.”

“Are you happy?”

Percival stared at her. Seraphina stared back. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was asking, so he said cautiously, “I’m not sure. I think… I think I’m getting there.”

“That’s good,” Seraphina said. “I’m glad that I was wrong, and I’m very sorry about any problems my advice might have caused.”

Percival watched as she picked her pen back up and bowed over her work again. Her office felt too large, suddenly, too empty, with just her at the desk and her own looming portrait behind her.

“You should find her,” he said.

Seraphina’s pen stilled. She didn’t look at him. “Sorry?”

“You were wrong,” Percival said, “about sacrifices. They’re much more trouble than they’re worth, and you… deserve a chance to be happy, Seraphina.”

He half expected her to get angry with him and throw him out of her office. Instead, she stared down at her paperwork, her mouth curved in a fine frown.

“Well,” she said. “Perhaps I will, Percival. You should go.”

He didn’t sigh. He just inclined his head, and then turned to leave.

He traced the familiar path down the hallways and back to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Most of his Aurors were working from their desks today, filling out paperwork and conducting individual research. Several of them looked up when he entered and cast him small smiles before returning to their work. Across the rooms, Lakes waved enthusiastically, beaming. Percival’s eyes sought Goldstein, who was already staring at him with a coy smile. When he scowled at her, trying to mentally tell her to get back to work, her grin just widened, and she winked at him.

Percival rolled his eyes and strode over to his office.

He paused in the doorway as he looked at the familiar head of hair bent over his desk. He felt a smile growing on his face as he looked at Newt, who had stolen Percival’s chair and was perusing what appeared to be a book on magical law with a very bored expression. When Percival shut the door, he looked up.

“Oh, hello,” Newt said, cheeks dimpling as he smiled, and it was as though Percival had opened the curtains and let in the sunlight into the room. “I brought over some snacks that Jacob made for you,” he said, gesturing to a wicker basket he had set on top of a stack of paperwork. “They’re muffins, but don’t worry, they’re poppy seed- I told Jacob that you don’t really fancy blueberry.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Percival said, approaching the desk and peeking into the basket. He quirked an eyebrow when a pair of tiny black eyes blinked up at him. “Hello, Pickett.”

“What- Pickett!” Newt stood and looked into the basket with a sharp frown. “Oh, Merlin, he’s gotten into all the muffins. Those were for Percival!”

“That’s alright,” Percival said with a chuckle when Pickett squealed in protest. “As long as he enjoyed them.”

“No, I’m trying to teach him about boundaries,” Newt said. He crossed his arms and glared down at the bowtruckle, looking adorably like an upset schoolteacher. “Pickett, what did I tell you about respecting other people’s possessions?”

“Let him have them,” Percival said, rounding the desk. Newt looked up, chastising expression slipping off his face as Percival stepped closer to him.

“You’re no help at all,” Newt said over Pickett’s enthusiastic chattering. He reached up and grabbed the lapels of Percival’s shirt, smoothing them down absentmindedly.

“I know,” Percival said. “Did you come all this way to deliver muffins, then?”

“Yes,” Newt said, pursing his lips to hide a smile. His hands slid up over Percival’s shoulders and stayed draped there. “Is there a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” Percival said, stepping even closer so that he had Newt pressed against the desk. He grinned as Newt’s eyes widened, his hands coming up to brush Newt’s waist. “I was just about to take a lunch break, actually.”

“I came at a good time, then,” Newt said, and Percival hummed his agreement as he leaned in to kiss him.

Newt tasted like lemon and poppy seeds, and Percival suspected that Pickett wasn’t the only one that had snuck something from the basket. He gripped Newt’s waist and deepened the kiss, enjoying the feeling of Newt pressed against his desk, bending backwards over it, pliant under Percival’s grip.

“Don’t take this as a lack of enthusiasm,” Newt murmured against Percival’s lips, “but do you think that perhaps we should not be doing this in your office, with all of your employees only feet away?”

Percival pulled back slightly and regarded Newt, who was still grinning despite the flush in his cheeks. Percival curled his fingers into the fabric of Newt’s shirt, feeling the smooth line of his waist beneath, and marveled at the fact that he got to do this, that he could touch Newt and hold him and kiss him, and Newt was there smiling at him through all of it.

“I love you,” Percival said.

Newt’s expression changed. It softened, his mouth falling open in surprise. His hands slipped from Percival’s shoulders and instead came up to carefully cup Percival’s cheeks, his long fingers cradling Percival’s jaw as he let his gaze wander Percival’s face.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh- Percival.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Percival’s cheek, to the corner of his lips. “Darling,” he said. “I love you, too.”

Percival swallowed past a peculiar lump that was growing in his throat. He leaned in to kiss Newt again, and Newt let him, letting his hands slide back to tangle in Percival’s hair. He kissed Percival more fiercely than he ever had before, mouth open and warm and alive beneath Percival’s, apparently having forgotten all about the aforementioned public aspect of this particular location.

He didn’t care, neither of them did, because Percival’s lips were soft and Newt was so solid beneath him and they were both there, wrapped around one another. Percival flicked his wrist to lock the door, and Newt moved a napkin in the basket to tuck Pickett safely out of sight as Percival pressed him even further against the desk, and they lost themselves in the heat of one another, content to ignore the rest of the world around them for as long as they wanted.