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Chapter Text

“You must drop by for dinner, I insist!”

Sam Goldstein was reliable, one of the department’s best Aurors to be partnered with or to have as a mentor. His forebears came over in the late 18^th century, fleeing famine, war, persecution… you name it. A wizarding family must be in dire straits or overly ambitious to strike out for the New World. Jewish, halfblood with a grandfather owned a pawnshop over at Queens. His mother was No-Maj born. Blood status always counted for little in the field.

Percival was a direct descendant of one of the original Twelve Aurors. His family hailed among the wizarding elite in the New World. Yet he always felt the weight of tradition nipping at his heels and his family’s expectations sitting on his shoulders. He had always known he would become an Auror. Still, that did not really prepare him for his first day at work, tripping over a wayward mop and landing smack on his face in the lobby of MACUSA. It was Sam Goldstein who helped the young rookie up and took him under his wing.

They were partners and often worked together on assignments. It was natural that they became close, close enough for Sam to extend that invitation to dinner one day. Sam Goldstein was married to a medi-witch who worked at St Kitts, a beautiful blond whose photo graced his desk, alongside those of two little girls. Elsa Goldstein had retired to take care of her children as good childcare help was hard to come by in New York City.

That evening was the first time Percival Graves met his mentor’s daughters - Tina and Queenie Goldstein.

His mother had always emphasized the need for a gift for the hostess when invited for dinner. Percival considered the sorry selection of flowers at the nearest florist before opting for a bottle of red wine from the liquor store. November could be harsh on blooms.

The Goldsteins lived in a modest apartment in Queens, likely in the same neighbourhood as their ancestor’s pawnshop. It was a wizarding neighbourhood all the same. He knocked on the door. The elderly caretaker grinned at the guest from his sub-basement window and indicated that Percival should ring the bell for the Goldsteins to be let in.

Percival never got the chance to ring the bell. The door burst open, and a broomstick zoomed out, knocking him clean off his feet. He tumbled down the five steps before the door. There was a broomstick poking into his shoulder and a weight on his abdomen. A knobbly hand reached out from sub-basement window and snagged the wine with a chuckle.

“Grazie, signore!”

“Sorry, Mister!”

A little girl about seven in age was sitting on him. The child wore a pinafore and white stockings. She had a messy mop of dark hair and twinkling brown eyes. Sam’s daughter. There was no mistaking her for anyone else’s.

“Porpertina Esther Goldstein! What did we say about touching Papa’s broom?”

Elsa Goldstein’s voice called out within the building. Footsteps on the inside staircase. A gasp from Mrs Goldstein. Hasty apologies, and reassurances from Percival he was not injured. A quick once-over of the child for any injuries before a sound telling-off. Brooms were not toys to be flown indoors. Sam poked his head over the banister. With him was a younger child with golden curls the splitting image of her mother.

“Sorry, Mister Graves…” Tina apologized to their guest. Thus went Percival Graves’ first meeting with Sam Goldstein’s girls.

The apartment was spacious enough for a small family. The dinner was a cosy, informal affair. Elsa was a talented cook, whipping up casseroles, chicken dumplings, and strudels with ease. Tina was permitted to sit at the table with the grownups. Queenie was only five and too young for dinner parties. Sam was just getting her ready for bed when the older Tina saw fit to try his broom.

Other invitations would follow. Percival grew to like these gatherings. His family was too far upstate for him to visit as often as he would like. Moreover, his parents often travelled across to Britain to visit his older sister, who had married there. She had children and his parents were keen to spend time with the grandkids.

Tina was mischievous and as sharp as a tack. She would slide down the banister or climb out of the window. A regular tomboy. Queenie was demure and would play with her dolls. For Tina’s birthday, he gave her a book of wizarding tales. He gave Queenie a doll for hers. He was also the first to discover her unique talent.

“What’re suitors? Why would Papa have to beat them off with a stick?”

Young Queenie had looked him in the eye and piped up at one dinner where she was allowed to join them at the table. Percival exchanged looks with her parents. He had been thinking quite innocently about how the child had inherited her mother’s beauty and would probably attract more suitors than her father would care for when she grew up. A visit to St Kitts confirmed their suspicions – Queenie Goldstein was a born Legilimens.

When Percival fell ill from the wizarding flu, Elsa ensured that he was eating right by cooking and sending food to him until he recovered. He soon became an honorary uncle to the girls. Everything changed when the Dragon Pox came to the city. The illness cut a swathe through the MACUSA offices. Most recovered. Percival was fortunate enough not to get infected at all. Sam Goldstein caught it first. Elsa contracted it while caring for her husband. The girls were sent to a distant cousin. It would be the last time they would see their parents alive.

It did not seem fair. His friend had been in the prime of his life. Likewise, his wife. He saw the girls at the funeral. Tina had a solemn look on her face as she hugged her weeping little sister close. The look on her face struck Percival cold. He knew the smiling little girl was no more. It had only been over a year since he was first invited to the Goldsteins’ for dinner.

Sam Goldstein had named him as executor in his will. It was a hastily drawn-up affair the entire department did after losing two Aurors to a werewolf attack. Sam had moderate savings that should be able to see both girls into adulthood and cover their fees at Ilvermorny with some scrimping. Then there was the business of who to care for them. The distant cousin was already elderly and could not possibly be expected to care for an eight-year-old and a six-year-old in the long run. The apartment the family had been renting had to be let go along with the furnishings. Only a few small items of sentimental value were set aside for the girls.

For one crazy moment, Percival wondered if he should adopt the children. His parents quickly disabused him of that notion. He was a single male in his twenties who hadn’t the foggiest idea about child-rearing. Moreover, he was an Auror. He would face danger on an almost daily basis. Had he given any thought to what would happen to the children in the event he be hurt or even killed in the course of his duties? And no, his parents and sister were not interested in fostering any orphans. The best he could do was to ensure that the girls were placed with a loving foster family or a decent children’s home.

Tina was too old for most fosterers. Moreover, she was too serious for a child her age. The shock of losing her parents seemed to have pushed her into the role of both mother and father to her sister. She was also fiercely independent. McMillan from the Underage Magic Department called Graves in after little Tina was caught trying to use her mother’s wand to break into their former home. The sisters had left their elderly relative’s home in the dead of night after the witch had threatened to send them to an orphanage. The children managed to cross the city to try sneaking back into their old home, not knowing it was no longer theirs.

When Graves asked her what she was thinking leaving their relative’s house in the dead of night, Tina had shrugged and replied that they were going home. She was going to take care of Queenie. Tina had not given any thought to how their grocery bills and living expenses were to be paid for or how Queenie would need to fend for herself when she went up to Ilvermorny.

Queenie had a higher chance of adoption since she was such a pretty and loveable child. The only drawback was her legilimens status. Some families might not be comfortable about that. Graves did not want to split the pair up. After much thought, he settled on Mercy Brown’s Children Home – an orphanage specializing in Magical orphans and free of any complaints or scandal in its history thus far. He even checked in on them unannounced. The child residents appeared happy and reasonably cared for.

With that, Uncle Percy stepped out of the pair’s lives. Like his family advised, it would be best for the girls to come to terms with their parents’ loss and their new status as orphans without any more painful reminders of the past.

Chapter Text

Porpertina Esther Goldstein.

The name leapt out at him. Swearing under his breath, Percival Graves flipped through the Auror test scores. Impeccable. Top of her cohort of recruits. The candidate’s file was also in order – a set of glowing referral letters from Ilvermorny’s headmaster, Defense Against the Dark Arts tutor, and the head of the Thunderbird House. Near to top of her class for her year in DADA. Her academic results were flawless. No major disciplinary issues on record. There was no reason why Sam Goldstein’s daughter should not follow in her father’s footsteps as an Auror.

“Problem, Percival?” Franklin Matthews asked. He was the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, a solidly built, grizzled wizard who was already planning retirement within the next few years.

“No, I was just surprised to see Samuel Goldstein’s girl in this year’s recruits …”

“Ah, you were not involved in the Ilvermorny recruitment drive in 1917 because of the War,” Franklin gave a low whistle. “Made quite an impression. Sharp as a tack and tough as nails, so I hear from the instructors. I doubt this one will be pouring any coffee for your boys. A word of advice – treat her like any of your guys.”

“But she’s Sam’s daughter.”

“So? Problem here is that we wizards here have picked up some flawed ideas from the No-Majs about females, but times have changed. While the soldiers were off fighting in the trenches, the women back home were tilling the fields and manning the factories, among other things, and a damn good show they did. If you ask Miss Goldstein to pour your morning coffee, you might not like where it ends up. Trust her, Percival. This one can definitely hold her own.”  

Old Franklin Matthews was right.

Tina Goldstein was a talented duellist. She could hold her own against three rogue wizards and cover a wounded comrade until rescue came. She would not give up. He had witnessed her taking a beating during the course of her work, getting hit with a Crucio once even, and then pick herself up once the curse wore off to continue fighting. She had fought off an attempt at Imperius once, cast by rogue witch. She proved her smarts following unexpected leads during investigations that often yielded results – like that smuggling of runespoors disguised as a shipment of ladies’ leather goods. Or that time she spotted a trap and called out a warning before the team ran headlong into an ambush.

Tina could also hold her own among the guys. Old Matthews was right about some aspects of wizarding society in the States. Even with the indomitable Madame Picquery looking set to be in the running for President in the next election, any female Auror in MACUSA was often subject to locker-room humour and needed to constantly prove herself to her colleagues to be treated as an equal. There were few witches who made Auror and lasted long. Maggie Proudfoot lasted three years in the field before she got married. There was the scandal back in 1910 of the young Auror and her older, married partner being caught in the act in one of the interview rooms. More simply transferred out to another department, like Executions or Wand Permits.

Tina was not pretty in the traditional sense, but she was not exempt from male attention. Things reached a head at the MACUSA Yule party. A wizarding duel broke out in fifth floor corridor. Tina’s then-partner could not accept no for an answer when the younger witch rebuffed his advances repeatedly. Tina was scrappy as they came. Former Auror Donald Leech ended up in St Kitts' with a concussion. They could have blamed the drinks, but an enquiry had to be called in. The wizard who instigated the duel was demoted and transferred to a backwater, apparently Tina was not the first witch to lodge a complaint against him for harassment. Tina was assigned a new partner, a reliable Auror who was happily married and would never dream of cheating on his little wife.

It was a year after Tina Goldstein joined MACUSA that another Miss Goldstein entered the MACUSA fold.

That same day, no less than seven male employees were admitted to St Kitts' for various injuries caused by walking into streetlamps, walls, and doors or tumbling down a flight of stairs because they were distracted by the gorgeous Queenie Goldstein. If her mother had been considered beautiful, the daughter took it to the level of a silver screen goddess with her spun-gold curls, pouty lips, and bombshell curves. And those emerald-green eyes framed by long lashes… that seem to look deep into a man’s soul. Given her born legilimency, there was little doubt for Graves that she was.

She was working in Wand Permits, under Abernathy, who had a reputation for liking the ladies a bit too much. That got Percival a little concerned. Even he was not immune to Queenie’s beauty. He had to keep reminding himself that she was the same cheeky little girl who had climbed onto his lap at her Papa’s dinner party and made off with his ice-cream when she was around. He certainly did not want Queenie to know that he was imagining her posing in one of those naughty French postcards so common among soldiers returning from Europe after the War. Captain Theseus Scamander sent him a pair as a joke. Magical ones with the cancan dancers flipping their skirts and a curvaceous blond lady taking her bath.  

“Oh, we can take care of ourselves, Mister Graves,” Queenie reassured him when he tried as nonchalantly as possible when she came with the coffee cart to ask how she was doing in her new job.

He wondered if either sister recalled him as Uncle Percy or if they had an unspoken agreement to be professional about Head Auror Graves. If Abernathy puts one foot out of line with Queenie, he swore he would have the little weasel gelded. The Director be damned. Perhaps Old Franklin might even look the other way.

The sisters graduated from Ilvermorny, Tina from Thunderbird house and Queenie from Pukwudgie. Most of Sam Goldstein’s folks never accepted his marriage with Elsa. His mother had given the union her blessings but passed before the girls were born. No one from the Goldstein clan kept in touch with the sisters once they were residents of Mercy Brown’s. Elsa’s parents were both No-Maj born and died long before the Dragon Pox epidemic in a potions accident. There was a squib brother, but as with many squibs in the States, he chose to live as a No-Maj and had not been in touch with his sister since their parents’ funeral. Moreover, the law made it impossible for magical children to be given to the guardianship of a squib.

The Graves’ family fortunes had changed over the years. His sister Ethel was thriving in Britain, producing a succession of nephews and nieces whom he had never met. His parents’ marriage had always been rocky. An amiable separation had been reached. His mother flitted off to Italy to live with a gentleman friend while his father continued living up in their Connecticut manor, growing increasingly bitter and isolated. Percival tried to visit but the visits tend to end in fights and with him storming back to the city.

Harold Graves never let up on his only son and heir never getting married to any of the young society witches his parents sent his way – witches whose only redeeming quality was their family reputations and good looks. Often Percival would feign an urgent call from MACUSA to have a tedious dinner date with some featherbrained witch cut short. He used to have Eddie the elf on standby for that. He preferred women whose conversation topics extended beyond weather, gossip and fashion. He dated Seraphina for a bit when both were fresh out of Ilvermorny. It never went further than a few stolen kisses and cuddles in the theatre when the lights went down. His folks did not approve of her. They grew apart when she went into politics. They were still friends though.

The sisters were close. Queenie would often meet up with Tina for lunch or coax her out to the bar for a drink or two after work. They lived in a modest rented apartment, a women-only establishment for single working women. Coincidentally, it was only about two blocks west of Percival’s own rented bachelor apartment.

He watched the pair from an arm’s length. He had to be fair about them. If Tina were to be promoted up the ranks in Auror, she would have to earn it the same way as her male colleagues, with blood and sweat. Queenie was not in his department, but he still refrained from being overly friendly with her. Franklin Matthews retired in time. No one was surprised when Head Auror Graves was promoted to Director of Magical Law Enforcement.

In 1926, Tina Goldstein got into trouble, big trouble. As Director, he had to act in a manner that was impartial and just. A demotion to Wand Permits was the furthest in leniency he could go, and he hated it. Tina was one of the best Aurors out there and being an Auror was everything to her. And he had to take that from her.

Tina stood before the disciplinary committee in her blue-grey dress, matching cloche hat and that locket about her neck – her late mother’s. Percival recalled Elsa Goldstein wearing it at the dinners. Stubborn to a fault. It did not matter to the committee if some No-Maj mother had been beating her child bloody. All that mattered was Tina wilfully using magic in front of No-Majs.

“Sorry, Director Graves, I did what I had to.”  

A promising career clipped short. She would not seek help from Uncle Percy. Queenie tried. She cornered him in the office, begging him not to destroy her sister’s dreams. There was nothing he could do. It could have been worse. Tina could have had her wand taken from her and be expelled from MACUSA entirely.

The same night the committee reached their decision on Tina Goldstein’s future, he ran into Gellert Grindelwald. What followed seemed an endless nightmare that he did not expect to survive. But survive he did.

Chapter Text

Director Percival Graves’ residence. It was in a No-Maj neighbourhood, just like the Goldstein sisters’ apartment. Housing in magical areas became increasingly costly after the war. A predominantly white, upper middle-class street. Grindelwald was not cooperating. He had so far proved impervious to the effects of Veritaserum.  

Three days since they captured Grindelwald. Two wasted days of paperwork, getting Tina’s Auror credentials back in order and filing the permits for Newt Scamander’s creatures. They had to round up additional trustworthy Aurors for the search too, calling them in from retirement or out of town. No one knew how deeply MACUSA’s New York HQ had been infiltrated. Old Matthews was called out of retirement to fill in the post of Director.

The place looked lived in. The dark wizard probably used it as a base. He had also been reportedly haunting the vicinity of the Second Salemers’ Church. Smarting from their collective black eye, teams of Aurors had descended on both neighbourhoods, seeking out any clues as to the whereabouts of the real Director Graves. Still, it never paid not to be careful where a dark wizard was involved.

The first thing that struck Tina was the wardings. Any wizard living in a non-magical neighbourhood were required by law to ward their residences to prevent accidental magic being spotted by the No-Majs. The wards had been shattered recently. Of course, the Obscurus. The Obscurus had passed through just a street away. Magical energy of that level would shred any low to middle-level warding, even if no physical damage was done to the building. The Goldsteins had found their wards on their home broken too even after the Aurors had fixed up the windows shattered by the Obscurus.

The No-Maj landlady’s memories of that day were hazy, an effect of the rain of Swooping Evil venom. She did recall that Mister Graves had no significant changes in his habits, at least until he failed to return home. Not that she was the prying type. Mister Graves was free to stay out as late as he wished to long as he did not bring any women back to his rooms or make a nuisance of himself with the other lodgers. She was making an exception for them as his family. Matthews, Tolliver, and Tina had agreed on the story that they were visiting family from upstate checking on their cousin, who had failed to meet up with them and were concerned about him. Franklin Matthews had been Graves’ partner after Sam Goldstein and insisted on coming along.

There were days-old plates in the sink and an open newspaper on the table, dated two days before Grindelwald’s capture. There were even cigarette stubs in the ashtray. The bed was slept in. No sign of any nefarious happenings. They had to leave shortly. Standing in the doorway, the old woman was making a fuss about Graves disappearing as he did. Matthews managed to dig out a few No-Maj dollars for her trouble. No chance of using their wands with her nosing about. 

“Another dead end,” Tolliver muttered as they left the lodging house and walked around the corner. A light drizzle was starting. Tina suddenly stopped and turned to face the building. Something was wrong.

“Tolliver, which direction was the window in the bedroom facing?”

“Why? Oh Fanny Adams, you are right,” Tolliver stared in the direction where Tina was looking. A wide-open window facing a quiet little street. There had been no windows facing that way when they were in the apartment.  

The trio ducked into an alley and quickly Apparated back into the apartment with wands drawn. There was a strong hiding charm on a wall that survived. The charm was disabled to reveal the door to a second bedroom. Tolliver made the entry, quickly backed out and was violently sick onto the carpet. A single cot bed, the reeking sheets dark with blood and other fluids. Hanging from the iron bedstead, a pair of bloodied magic-constraining shackles, the type outlawed because they leached away a wizard’s magical core. The charms on them had shattered too, just like the wards. The air within was thick with the lingering stench of dark magic, torture, and pain.  

“You shouldn’t see this…” Matthews made a move to block Tina, but she pushed past him towards the open window. There was a smear of dried blood on the window sash. She felt the curtains. Damp. The carpet below the window was also damp. The window must have been open for some days to the rain and snow.

She looked down from the window. A thin strip of dirt dotted with bare bushes and fenced by ornate rails that ended in nasty spikes. A sizeable drop. One of the bushes looked squashed. 

“Goldstein, what do you see?” Matthews asked. Tina Apparated to the street beside the fence. Dried blood on one of the points.

“Someone must have seen something…” It was a No-Maj area, rarely covered by Auror patrols. What do the No-Majs call their Aurors? Policemen?

Magical tracing was futile. The passage of the Obscurus and following magical repairs had left significant magical echoes. Any magical traces left by a wizard already weakened by the shackles could not be tracked even by the best creatures Newt could volunteer. They believed Percival Graves had somehow made use of the magical disturbances caused by the Obscurus to make an escape. The question now was what happened to him afterwards and the condition he was in. How badly hurt was he?

“We are doing all we can. No one has seen Percival Graves…”

Tina barely heard Acting Director Matthews’ words as they stared at the notice normally reserved for criminals. They got the photo from the personnel file. Graves looked a younger man than he really was. A generous reward was offered for anyone with information on his whereabouts. Already they were fielding the loonies. Mister Graves had been spotted in Hawaii running a tiki bar. He has entered a monastic order in India. One caller even claimed he was her husband and sitting across the table from her. It seemed hopeless. A local Seer claimed to have seen Graves in St Dymphna’s in a vision.

“Best get him out quick or there might be nothing left…” The Aurors had already gone through St Kitts’ and St Dymphna’s. It seemed hopeless.

“We need to start asking the No-Maj Aurors, their policemen…” Tina suggested.

“No-Majs? We cannot possibly ask them to look for a wizard,” an Auror from Kansas retorted. 

“He might be mistaken for one of theirs. We do not know how badly his magic is damaged,” Matthews looked thoughtful. “His mind too. He might not remember who he is. Shall we speak to his neighbours again? Or does anyone know a squib we can use for an informant?”

It was a start just stopping them from arranging a funeral for Uncle Percy. If they put his name up on the MACUSA memorial wall, it would be admitting there was no hope of finding him alive.

There was a report in the No-Maj papers of a tramp hit and killed by a milk wagon. Having no identification papers, he was buried in the Potter’s field. Two Aurors had a rather unpleasant night digging up the week-old corpse to confirm it was not Graves. After the war, many returning men lived rough on the streets and died unmourned. Some came back mentally disturbed. In the days after the Obscurus incident, there were no less than ten incidents recorded in the city by the no-Maj authorities involving such poor veterans. The Aurors followed up on these incidents and ruled out that any of the subjects could be Graves. They looked at unclaimed or unidentified bodies in morgues. They also looked at unidentified persons admitted into the local No-Maj hospitals.

A Graves cousin came to the city to deal with the apartment, paying five months of rent upfront. He brought a house-elf to tidy up the place once the Aurors were done. Mrs Graves came back to the States where she and her husband waited in their sprawling upstate mansion for news of their son. There was a short solemn vigil in the lobby which ended when a report of a snallygaster in the subway came in.

“Poor Uncle Percy… Do you think he is… dead?”

“No, I do not want to think that.”

Tina tried to shield her mind the best she could. It was hard keeping it up all the time she was about Queenie. Queenie had wanted to join them in the search, but old Matthews put his foot down hard. Queenie was not an Auror. She had volunteered to join in Grindelwald’s questioning using her legilimency but Madame Picquery forbade that. There was something about the dark wizard that drew wixen to him. Several Aurors who had been tasked with guarding him had to be transferred out after it became clear that he was influencing and swaying them to his cause. 

Newt Scamander. The British Magizoologist had to leave the States, but he left quite an impression. Letters were exchanged. Tina also realized something was up when Queenie brought a pair of Demiguise-shaped cinnamon buns. Her sister had reconnected with Jacob Kowalski despite the laws.

“The oblivation did not take. And who knows what will come tomorrow?” Queenie had replied when Tina confronted her. In truth, Tina had little time to bother about her little sister’s boyfriend. She had Percival Graves to find. Perhaps it was also her penance for failing to save Credence. One by one her colleagues gave up as leads dried up.

“I am done, Goldstein. It is time we accept it,” Matthews announced one morning as he dumped the stack of files on her desk. “Have one more look through these before we file them away.”

“Are we giving up?”

“I know Percy’s a fighter, but it has been almost six months. We gotta move on. The Europeans are coming for our dark wizard tomorrow evening and good riddance to him.”

Franklin Matthews’ words spurred Tina to look through all the reports filed by various Aurors and the dead ends they hit. Most had a visual confirmation of the corpse or patient to rule them out as being Graves. A witness saw a man fall or jump into the Hudson. The body was never recovered. The witness was sure the man had red hair, so that ruled out Graves if she was not mistaken. A child claimed to have seen a naked man running through the street one night but could not be sure of the date. Nothing could be found to prove or disprove the account. There was a brief report from Auror Alfie Lopez about a lunatic attacking a child and getting shot by the child’s father for it. It was a second-hand account from a patrolman. The injured perpetrator was shipped upstate to Penhurst Mental Asylum given his aggressive and erratic behaviour. Alfie had decided not to pursue the lead further.

“He’s scared and confused, more so than us. That’s why he is lashing out…” Newt cradling an injured murtlap that was trying to bite through his gloves. Tina frowned. She had to find out more.

Tina dropped by the No-Maj library to look up old news articles on the alleged assault on the child and Penhurst Asylum. When she finally left the library, she was ready to hex Auror Alfie Lopez into the new year. If he had been more meticulous and bothered to follow up his lead by interviewing the witnesses or taking a drive upstate…

Attacking a child was something her Uncle Percy was not capable of. But if he were confused? A tabloid had captured a photo of the child with her father. The father had blond hair and a moustache. He looked a little like Grindelwald. The daughter looked a lot like Queenie as a child. What if Graves had not been attacking the child but trying to save her from a perceived threat? A witness described the attacker as wild-eyed, filthy, and naked.

Penhurst had started off with the best of intentions in the middle of the last century before falling into disrepute. Overcrowding, under-funded with the unfortunate inmates subject to all manner of abuse. Most never leave the place alive. There were several editorials calling for the state to shut it down.  

The Seer’s words came back to Tina. Why couldn’t Seers be more specific in their visions? Or was the Seer referring a to future where Percival Graves would be in St Dymphna’s?

It took some time to present her case before their Acting Director and convince him. More time to obtain the necessary permissions to break into a No-Maj institute from the President’s Office amidst a high-level prisoner transfer. It took time to assemble the Aurors. They did not know where Graves was in the sprawling institute which housed up to between a few hundred inmates at any given time. The night they were to act, everyone was recalled as Grindelwald had escaped from custody. No one, not even Tina or old Matthews, could be spared.

It was almost a week before they could try again. This time, Matthews called in a favour of a squib who worked as a No-Maj doctor.

Forged identification papers and story in hand, they went upstate to Penhurst. The doctor introduced them to the Director and gave out a story of a nephew who returned damaged from the war and had escaped the family’s home while they were touring the Orient. The careless servants responsible had been fired without a reference of course. They would prefer to care for him at home in familiar surroundings. They understood that he was sent there after a misunderstanding – Bill would never hurt a child, he just gets confused. Awful things they did, dropping bombs on schools on London. Poor Bill got hit by some masonry on the head getting children out of a burning building and has not been quite right since.

On seeing Percival’s photo, the Director was reluctant to release the patient, citing violent tendencies. After much persuasion and thinly veiled threats to speak to a senator about shabby treatment of a hero and forcible confinement against the family’s wishes, the man relented. The first patient he returned with was not Graves. It was an older man with a blank look on his face. The normally mild-mannered Matthews roared and insisted that he was informed by the commissioner that his nephew had been sent here very much alive and well, and he was not leaving without him, even if he had to call in his men to tear the place apart brick by brick. He looked the very picture of the hardnosed industrialist he was passing himself as. Cowed, the Director promised the orderly would fetch the right man this time. Nothing could ever prepare them for what awaited.

Tina did not need to pretend to swoon in her role as a no-Maj society lady. When Graves was brought in, her knees just buckled, and she fell into the waiting arms of the squib doctor. Her vision blurred. If she did burst into tears, she had no memory of it. She did recall Matthews raging at the hapless Director. What have they done to his nephew? Threats of lawsuits exchanged with hasty apologies and limp explanations about medical treatments and such.

Graves remained eerily quiet throughout.

Chapter Text

Strangers, but they are different from those he had seen over the past weeks, somehow.

No, he was in no state for any company. His vision was blurry. His head hurt. No, everything hurt, both inside and out. His shattered mind tried to make sense of what was happening. Was this a prelude to another round of torture? He felt cold. Someone was wrapping a coat around him. He flinched at the touch. An arm over his shoulders. Soothing words that made no sense. It felt good, safe. He shuffled out the door and down the endless flights of stairs. Best not to fight. He was too tired to fight.  

“Director Graves, can you hear us?” A female voice whispering into his ear.

A motorcar. His sluggish brain supplied. He had driven one of those…

“Hang in there, Percival,” a male voice this time. Hands, oddly gentle, steered him carefully into the vehicle’s backseat. The doctor climbed in beside him. A flashlight shone into his eye. It hurt. He whined.

“St Kitts’ and quick. If you can make this old gal fly, Frank, do it,” the doctor snapped. 

“Hold onto your hats, folks! And hang the paperwork!” Matthews started the car and waved his wand.

Matthew’s car was a battered old workhorse with many miles under her belt. It had protested vigorously on the drive out. Still, the car rose into the air and flew over the asylum grounds and surrounding woods like a giant hawk. Tina hastily cast a Disillusionment charm to hide their passage.

She stole a glance at the backseat. Percival Graves was gaunt, no, little more than skin over bones. There was a crude patch over his left eye and his right sleeve hung empty. His skin freezing cold and soaking wet as if he had been ducked into an ice bath before having dirty clothes two sizes too big thrown on him. She did not like that shuffling gait as if every step pained him. There was far too much grey in his hair and the patchy beard that had grown in. His face was badly bruised and his good eye dull and lifeless.

They barely got him to St Kitts’ in time. Two more hours and Percival Graves would be dead. Hypothermic and malnourished, Graves had lost almost a third of his bodyweight. Over the past few months, he was subject to constant beatings, possibly raped, and barely fed enough to keep him alive. Bones had been broken and allowed to set badly. Wounds allowed to fester over time. He had numerous No-Maj level infections in his body, his magic and immunity too weakened to even fight them off. His mind was a mess. Someone had torn his mental shields and memories to shreds. The healers found fading marks of repeated Crucios and Imperios, among others left over from his captivity under Grindelwald.

He stared mutely at his maimed left hand. The ring and little finger were gone. His right arm was long gone. That he understood. His eye was gone. He had lost toes. Visitors came and went. Most seemed strange to him. Or their faces and names hung just out of reach. He was asked questions he could not understand. On some days, he wondered if the kind healers and ward was another illusion designed to taunt him. That he would awake to find him laughing at the captive Auror… Other times, he would be back in the other place with the coarse men, rough hands, and the constant screaming. The people at the other place did things to him…

They said the No-Maj healers did something to him that no magic could fix. He should never expect to be a father. That left him a bit confused as he distinctly remembered two little girls, but he could not recall a wife…

An old man visited shortly him after the healers broke the news. The old man had yelled at him while the woman with him wept. Was he their son Percival? He could not really remember them. He had broken out into hysterical laughter instead, until the healers came running and poured a calming draught down his throat, plunging him into a deep sleep riddled with nightmares. St Dymphna’s beckoned once he was stable enough to be moved.

Hopeless. Too broken to recover.

“Let me see him, please, Teenie…”

“They will not allow visitors. He attacked a healer and an Auror.”

The sisters stood on the rooftop of their building, watching the world slip by. It was a warm July night, too warm to be indoors in the stifling apartment even with a cooling spell. Queenie’s relationship with Jacob was blossoming much to Tina’s dismay. Queenie now spent a few nights each week over in Jacob’s rooms above the bakery. Marriage was impossible unless they did it outside the States. Even so, they could not possibly live openly as man and wife. Did Jacob understand that? The last time she thought of confronting the baker, it was Queenie she ended up quarrelling with. Now they maintained an uneasy truce built on their shared wish for Uncle Percy’s recovery.

Tina’s own relationship with Newt had hit the rocks shortly after his book was published and was without a doubt sunk by now. A Spellbound article in mid-March had Newt Scamander engaged to a French pureblood witch. The letters came to an end about then. Tina stumbled into a relationship with Auror Achilles Tolliver that was quickly proving to be a mistake for both. He could not seem to accept that she intended to continue as an Auror even if she were to become a wife and mother. Being an Auror was everything to Tina Goldstein.  

MACUSA tried to help their own after so spectacularly failing him in the first place. The Graves family fortune helped too. St Kitts’ best healers were assigned to the patient. He had gone too long without treatment. The scars could be lightened, they would remain. They could fix his broken and lost teeth using magic or settle for dentures. The lost arm, eye, and other body parts could not be regrown even with magic due to the extensive scarring. They could fix the botched healing of the fractures in his leg and feet. It was an unpleasantly long and painful process, compounded with the fact that the patient’s magical core was severely compromised.

As good as a squib, one healer had whispered. The patient had suddenly gone berserk and attempted to throttle a healer in front of several Aurors. Auror Malcolm MacDuff tried to peer into Percival’s mind to try to calm him down. That only aggravated his outburst. No one knew how that glass shard ended up in Percival’s hand. MacDuff narrowly dodged being stabbed in the face. The following day, he resigned.

“His mental shields are all shot. I saw everything. The worst of it. It was not just Grindelwald who did that all to Graves. It was those No-Majs!”

MacDuff had shouted at old Matthews as he flung his badge to the floor. Perhaps that was the final straw for the beleaguered Auror. MacDuff had been transferred out of the team assigned to guard Grindelwald earlier on grounds he was falling under the dark wizard’s sway. It had bruised his pride as a direct descendant of the Original Twelve. It did not help that he was also passed over for a promotion to Head Auror.

Director Percival Graves was finished. He was her friend and former lover, but that Percy was gone.

Seraphina Picquery sighed sadly as she signed the papers that would transfer the Directorship to the next in line for the post. Old Matthews wished to step down from Acting Director and return to his ranch out west. They had double-vetted and triple-checked Emerson Abbot to ensure he was not under Imperius, a supporter of Grindelwald, or a dark wizard in disguise. Auror Emerson was also looking forward to retirement and accepted the post with great reluctance, only for so long as it took for MACUSA to get hold of the full extent of the damage done and get things back on track, as he put it.

Was it worth it? Tina and Queenie stopped by the Twelve Aurors memorial. All the sacrifices made for the protection of wizardkind. Of the dozen only two made it to old age. Graves’ own ancestor Gondulphus died in his prime, leaving behind two sons who would follow in his footsteps as Aurors. It was only in the middle of the last century that the Graves clan ventured into other professions. The Lopezes, Wilkinsons and MacDuffs still appeared regularly on the Auror rolls. Well, MacDuff just quit, so it was just the Lopezes and Wilkinsons now. Alfie Lopez paid for his earlier oversight by having to track down all the witnesses who had contact with Graves over the past months to ensure that any oblivation needed was carried out. His trip to the No-Maj asylum left the young Auror shaken to his core.

“They did horrible things to him in that No-Maj place, didn’t they? I ran into MacDuff on the way in and Lopez in the breakroom, I peeked,” Queenie confessed.  She looked pale, almost sick.

“Oh, Queenie…” Tina hugged her sister.

“I need to see him, Teenie. I need to know if he is still inside…”

Within the week, MACUSA would receive news that a former Aurors had gone rogue. A No-Maj was attacked by wizard Malcolm MacDuff while strolling with his daughter in a park. MacDuff then vanished without a trace, just as Abernathy did in the aftermath of Grindelwald’s escape. He would later resurface as one of Grindelwald’s loyal followers.

St Dymphna’s would rattle anyone - constant muffled screaming from somewhere, and random bursts of uncontrolled magic. Tina’s Auror badge got them in. Official business. Graves’ parents had paid for a single ward for their son, with a personal healer in attendance. The healer-in-charge informed the pair that the patient had been calmer recently. It might be the calming draught they fed him with daily. They had to force it down his throat along with the nourishing potions since he refused all food or drink.

Shoulders hunched, Percival was sitting on his bed and staring out the window. His remaining fingers clutched at his blanket. A house-elf was scroungifying a bedpan. The healer knocked on the door and announced the visitors. Percival turned to face the sisters. He had been shaved and his hair trimmed and styled. His scarred cheeks had filled out a little even if he was still too thin.

“M-Mrs Goldstein?” His voice cracked. His brow furrowed as his eye met Queenie’s eyes. Queenie’s legilimency always had a gentle touch. Tina realized she was reading him, and he probably sensed it too. Graves had reacted badly to MacDuff’s attempt at legilimency…

“Hello, Uncle Percy…”

“Tina… Queenie…” Two names clicked into place. Things were slowly making sense. Queenie approached him and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“R-real?” He reached out his stump and stared at it momentarily confused. They had taken off his wand arm halfway up to the shoulder. He reached out with his left hand to stroke Queenie’s hair and gave a shaky smile. They had not done anything to fix his teeth yet.

“A-all grown up…” A tear ran down his cheek. “Real?”

“Yes, Uncle Percy. We are real. You are safe…” They had not called him that for a very long time.

“He will come back…” A flash of panic in his eye. “They’ll come back…”

“He’s gone,” Tina replied as she joined her sister sitting on the bed. She was not sure who Graves was referring to – Grindelwald or his No-Maj tormentors. “You are safe…”

“I thought I ordered MACUSA to stop bothering my son! Get out now!” Mr Harold Graves’ voice boomed out. Percival cringed and hunched in on himself. The senior Graves glared at the sisters and the healer. Tina set her jaw and prepared to snap back a retort. Queenie beat her to it. Her sister stood up, spine straight and eyes fearlessly facing the older wizard.

“Mister Graves, we beg your pardon. Can you please stop yelling for a bit to hear us out? We are friends of Percival’s. I know you are worried about your son, but all this shouting is not helping anyone. You are scared he would never recover… that you have lost him for good…”

“Do not presume to read my mind, Missy. I will lodge a complaint to the President!” Percival Graves made a choking sound and clutched at Tina’s arm with his hand, burying his face in her shoulder. Tina wrapped her free arm around him.

“Percival is in there still. He’s just lost and scared. I know, no, we know he will find his way back. It just needs time… He needs our patience …” Queenie continued.

“Eddie, get these two out now!” Graves Senior ordered the house-elf.

“Forgive me for being so bold, sir. First time Master Percival recognized a visitor and spoke proper… You really want them gone?” the elderly elf asked. “You might as well give me a sock now, sir. I’ll hop over to Master Sheridan’s.” Graves Senior stared at the defiant elf and the sisters for a few moments of silence before throwing up his hands in disgust.

“Get them out if Percival starts tiring.” The disgruntled wizard stormed out. Tina was amused to see the house-elf flash a rude sign at the wizard’s back. Uncle Percy did not speak again after his father left.

They had another win before they left. Tina managed to convince Percival to willingly take a sip of water to the amazement of the attending healer and house-elf. Graves Senior allowed the sisters to continue visiting Percival.

After the third visit, Queenie stopped going. It was too painful for her. She could not stop herself from reading Uncle Percy or any of the inmates she might chance across in St Dymphna’s. Tina soldiered on, juggling her Auror duties with visits to Uncle Percy. It would be a long and slow road to recovery if that were even possible. Tina did not even realize that she and her sister were drifting apart.

Chapter Text

Malcolm MacDuff groaned. He had really messed up this time. The No-Maj was not expected to die from a simple Stunning spell, but he did. There was the kid screaming her head off and he had to cast a Silencio. That got his former colleagues' attention. It wasn’t meant to get that far! He just wanted to talk about Graves getting shot in his wand-arm. Percival Graves was no child-abductor or pervert. They had been in Wampus House at Ilvermorny, about five years apart. He looked up to the Head Boy Percival. They were both direct descendants of the Twelve, and both subject to the pressures of their family names.

He had lost it, just like he had lost it with Liz’s fella. Liz, his little squib sister, was sent to a no-Maj orphanage when it became clear she had no magic. It was common practice to let young squibs to adjust to a No-Maj life. He had reconnected with her after he started as an Auror. Liz had married too young to a brute who abused her sorely. He would have helped her leave if she wanted, but his sister refused, believing things would get better after she had her baby. Malcolm was also looking forward to being an uncle, even if the kid was likely to be a No-Maj.

Poor Liz kept the rabbit’s foot charm he had given her for good luck before she was sent away. She still had that rabbit’s foot on her when they found her badly battered corpse in the shack the couple shared. MacDuff tracked down Liz’s killer before the No-Majs did and beat him with his fists and feet very much the same way he had done to poor Lizzie. No magic was needed. It had felt good. Afterwards, he had collected the broken teeth from the ground and strung them up on that same rabbit’s foot chain.

Disgrace, prison… It was not fair. He was only trying to protect his own, their own… Grindelwald had understood. Somehow MacDuff found himself telling the prisoner about Liz while his partner was in the john with a tummy upset from day-old burritos. He even let Grindelwald hold the rabbit’s foot chain for a bit. Grindelwald’s words made sense. Grindelwald understood.

“The decision is yours. You will know when the time is right…” That was before he was transferred out and the bitch Picquery had the dark wizard’s tongue cut off.

Could it be? MacDuff cautiously took out his wand and held up the rabbit’s foot. “Portus.”

The portkey activated when his wand touched it. Momentarily disoriented, he found himself in a large hall with a roaring fire in the fireplace. Tall windows looked out on a rugged mountain range.  He was no longer in New York City. A dark-haired witch was waiting for him.

“Welcome, Monsieur MacDuff. You are expected by Lord Grindelwald,” Vinda smiled. Once more, Grindelwald’s prediction was spot on.

Tina dropped by Kowalski’s bakery to buy some pastries for Uncle Percy. The healers had weaned him off the nourishing potions and back on normal food, but the fare in St Dymphna’s was sadly lacking in flavour. Old Eddie had mentioned his young master was fond of cinnamon rolls as a child. When she saw Jacob, Tina was furious and forgot all about the buns. Someone had cast a love charm on the No-Maj. That someone could only be Queenie Goldstein. It was reckless beyond belief given the laws on No-Maj fraternizing. There was a fierce quarrel in the sisters’ apartment that night. Queenie decided to move in with Jacob permanently as blazing August plodded on.

If there was something Percival Graves could still do in his current state, it was to listen. Conversation, even if mostly one-sided, helped take Percival’s mind off the constant stabbing pain in his legs and jaw as the healers attempted fixing his legs and teeth. It might work, or it might not. He could understand a bit more of what they discussed while he sat feigning disinterest. His magic was so worn down they were not sure if their spells and potions would have any effect. Some days he thought he was back in that room waiting Grindelwald’s return or that hellish cell. Or he was hunkered down in a muddy trench surrounded by the dead and injured. Or he was a little boy again, hiding under his covers while his parents quarrelled in the next room. Time and memories got all tangled up for him.

“His loss,” he had croaked when Tina told him about Newt Scamander, their blossoming love, and the abrupt end of their relationship. She had been worried any mention of Grindelwald would trigger a bad reaction from Graves, but he had to know MACUSA caught Grindelwald. He did not need to know about the escape, or MACUSA staff defecting to Grindelwald’s cause.

Percival noticed Queenie’s absence and asked if she was well in his halting words. Tina told him about Queenie’s No-Maj love interest and her concern about the pair. Tina omitted the bit about the love charm. Oddly, Percival did not show any sign of disapproval like she would have expected from the old Director Graves.

“A-are they h-happy together?”

A simple question that seemed to answer Tina’s unspoken questions a little.

Percival liked it when Tina visited. He felt safe whenever she or Queenie visited. He dreaded his parents visiting. He always felt he disappointed them as a son, that he had failed them, failed as a Graves. He remembered his father yelling at him for failing Transfiguration in his second year, or the time his House Head had to call up his parents because he had gotten into a scuffle with some Thunderbirds. He was a disgrace to the family… It hurt to see his mother crying. It hurt. She cried a lot whenever she visited, and he did not know how to make it better.

Eddie the house-elf was always there, plumping up the pillows or fetching him a glass of water, or any of a thousand little tasks, including dressing and shaving him. Percival could not get the knack of doing up his own buttons or combing his hair with his three remaining fingers. No one would trust him to hold a razor. Eddie would encourage him as a child, tell him to ignore all that hot air from his father. Percival was doing swimmingly well despite what his father said.

Madame Picquery had a solo mission for Tina Goldstein. She was to go to Paris without any backup. The Obscurial had survived and was spotted in Europe. There were other forces at work, forces that wanted to turn Credence to their own purposes. Grindelwald’s supporters were congregating on the city. Queenie was still not speaking to her, so she wrote a brief note on the back of a postcard with the name of the Parisian pension she had arranged to stay at. She slipped it under the door of the bakery after hours.

Tina did not know if she could do it. She would have preferred a partner, someone to support her, watch her back. Old Matthews, Tolliver, or even Alfie Lopez. She voiced her fears in whispers to her Uncle Percy.

“T-Tina can do it. I believe in you. Stronger than you think…”

Eddie the house elf had been there when Percival Graves and his sister were children. He was reserved around Tina at first, but soon opened up when he saw how much his young master trusted her.

“Old master always push him hard. Had to, Master Percival being heir, not like Master Sheridan and his boys… Maybe ask too much.” Percival’s elder sister had married across an entire ocean. The relationship between the older Graves were strained at best. They lived in separate wings of the family mansion once they got the required heir. The old house-elf was worried about his young master. For the future head of the clan to have no magic was unthinkable. Master Percival was raised a wizard. He had no idea how to survive in a No-Maj world, even if he recovered all his memories. There was little they could do about that but wait. It might take years for Percival’s magic to recover. Or never.

“You go do your duty, Miss Tina. Master Percival would’ve wanted it. Don’t worry, old Eddie will watch out for him…”

With a heavy heart, Tina bade her Uncle Percy a goodnight. Visiting hours were over. She did not know how long her mission would take or what it would bring. Or even if she would see Uncle Percy again.

Queenie chewed her lower lip nervously. Visiting hours were over. Another wasted chance. She had grown reckless with Jacob, going so far as to confess that she would get in trouble for marrying him. Jacob, ever the gentleman, had proposed that they end their relationship before someone other than Tina learned of it. Tina was not the type to report her own sister. She had resorted to a love charm on Jacob. She could not afford to lose him.

It had been dizzily good having his attentions so dedicated to her. He made her favourite dishes for dinner when she returned from work. He showered her with little gifts of flowers and chocolates. At the same time, he allowed his bakery to slide. He opened late and ended early. The baking he left to his apprentice and the pastries were no longer as good as they once were. The customers were noticing and taking their custom elsewhere. It was the fault of the love charm, it blinded Jacob so he could only see her. She could lift the charm but where would that leave them both? Jacob would be furious when he found out and leave her all the same. Could they move to Europe where the laws were not so strict?

She wanted to talk to Tina before they left for London. They could visit Newt. She got his address from Tina’s letters when she dropped by their apartment. Tina was out. She knew Tina visited Uncle Percy almost daily after work. Queenie felt bad about that. She lied to Jacob whenever he asked if they should invite Tina for dinner. She told him Tina was still dating Tolliver, even if Tolliver had moved on to dating another Auror.

St Dymphna’s unsettled her. Peering into Uncle Percy’s scrambled mind, even the merest brush, was painful. He could not shield against her inborn talent. How could those No-Majs be so cruel? True, there were good No-Majs like Jacob, just as there were dark wizards like Grindelwald. Then there was the fact that she had broken several laws regarding No-Maj fraternization and improper use of a love enchantment. Uncle Percy would be upset with her, just like he was when he caught her trying to steal his wand and hide it in her dress. Young witches were not allowed to use wands without going to Ilvermorny to learn how to use them properly, and Mama told her daughters not to touch the grown-ups’ wands where they were left on the mantel during dinner.

Queenie heard from the breakroom gossip how President Seraphina had written repeatedly to St Dymphna’s. The president cared for Graves deeply as a friend, perhaps more, but she was not allowed to visit him. None of the other Aurors or Graves’ friends in MACUSA were allowed to visit him. Tina had let slip that Graves was improving, but very slowly where his memories were concerned. The damage to his magic might be irreversible. A wizard’s magical core recovery was closely tied to his spirit, and Graves’ spirit had broken in that No-Maj place.  

There was nothing she could do tonight. They would leave on Sunday for London. Perhaps she might find the courage to face Tina and Uncle Percy tomorrow. It was time to return to Jacob before he got too worried. Love hurts but she could not give Jacob up.

Tina did not come. Percival frowned and picked at his shirt buttons. He had walked properly for the first time in months and the healers were so pleased. He wanted to tell Tina and show her he could walk. Eddie explained Tina had work and needed to go away for a bit.

Would Master Percival like some cocoa?

No, he did not want cocoa. He wanted Queenie and Tina to visit him. They were his friends. Maybe Queenie would bring her Jacob. There was another wizard he had trusted with his life from those memories of a muddy trench. Scamander, the name came to him. Was he Newt Scamander? It did not sound right… His head was pounding.

A well-dressed stranger came to his room announced his father was dead. Harold Graves had died suddenly in his sleep thanks to years of imbibing too freely of the firewhiskey. Percival Graves was now officially the head of his family. His mother wanted him at home for the funeral. There would be relatives and family friends flying in from all over on brooms, threstals or via Floo. It would take Ethel and her children time to get an international portkey. Mrs Graves needed help in the meanwhile.

It was not his place as a house elf to offer his opinion, but Eddie thought that the Graves clan might just undo any progress Master Percival had achieved so far. He was in no state to oversee his father’s funeral. If they do not watch it, they might drive poor Percy into his own grave as well.

Ah well, all he could do was to support his master the best he could. If it came to the worst, there was always Master Sheridan for him. Eddie rubbed his ears. He was not looking forward to encountering Sheridan’s brood of little savages. He still had nightmares from the time those brats tied fireworks to his ears at the Fourth of July family gathering. He hoped the children would be kept on a tighter leash or at least trained enough to be civil.  

Chapter Text

His memories were coming back. The familiar unchanging halls, ancestral portraits, and furnishings of a century ago jogged his memories. The grand staircase, the marble-tiled ballroom… It reawakened long-forgotten childhood memories, both happy and sad. At the last family funeral, his grandmother’s, he had been a little boy and exempt from the duties.

They had placed his father’s coffin in the parlour for the wake. His mother was clad in black from head to toe, with a heavy veil over her face, acting the part of the bereaved Victorian widow. Eddie got him into a sombre suit with the right sleeve pinned up. His still-healing feet would not allow him to stand for long, so Eddie placed him in an armchair in the hall to greet the visitors with his mother. After a while, Percival wished Eddie had just covered him with a sheet or casted a Notice-me-Not spell to hide him from all the prying eyes and pitying looks he received.

Cousin Sheridan came with his wife and two younger children. The two elder ones were at Quidditch camp but would join them shortly. His sister Ethel came from England with her husband and their brood of six. There were several other relatives he did not recognize who hugged and offered the widow their condolences, for both the loss of her husband and her maimed son. A little witch of about nine asked if a dragon bit Percival’s arm off. Her teenaged brother insisted it was a werewolf that did it, so Uncle Percy might turn into a werewolf and eat her in her bed tonight. Ethel chided her son for scaring his sister. She then hustled the pair into the sitting room with hushed apologies to her younger brother.

“Gawd, I should have killed that bastard for this!”

Seraphina Picquery. His father was a prominent enough figure in wizarding circles for the President to offer her condolences. He tried to smile but it would not come out right. Seraphina had offered the customary words of courtesy to his mother, but unlike the other visitors, she stepped up to Percival and took his left hand in hers with her thumb stroking the back of his hand, a little gesture she often did back when they were still dating. She could not linger. Not with the eyes of her security team on them.

“I’m so sorry, amigo…” a whisper from Alfie Lopez. His brain supplied. He glanced at the rest of the team. Secretary Pollyanna Walker with that infernal quill stuck behind her ear, Auror Bobby Chang who was left-handed, and two others he did not recognize. The President and her entourage were soon off to another appointment.

“My poor boy… you have to be strong…” His former Transfiguration tutor, now Headmaster of Ilvermorny. His name would not come. Percival was so tired. He just wanted to crawl back under his blankets and let it all go. Just like Cousin Ferris did.

Ferris was a cousin who like Percival had been swept up in the European war. He never even made it to the front. He was a healer. A bomb dropped on the London hospital he was in one night in 1918. He was buried alive for almost three days with his arms broken, wand snapped, and listening to the dying cries of others trapped around him in the rubble. He had been caught out during his night rounds in the children’s ward. He was the only one from that ward to be pulled out alive.

His physical hurts healed but something changed inside him. His wife confided to her mother that Ferris was no longer the same wizard she had married. He was prone to fits of rage or tears that terrified the children. An amiable separation was reached with his wife taking the children to live with her folks in Dublin. Two years later after the bombing, Ferris Graves took an overdose of Dreamless Sleep. He never woke up during the week it took for his heart to finally stop beating.

The verdict returned was suicide. Ferris had downed an entire bottle of the stuff. Back then, Percival had been furious with his cousin. It was a senseless waste. Ferris was a gifted healer, a loving father and husband outside those fits. Surely the other healers at St Kitts’ or St Dymphna’s could come up with something. Instead, he had bottled it all up inside until it became unbearable.

Now Percival understood why Ferris acted as he did. His condition was worse than his late cousin’s. Hopeless. Already some of the relatives were questioning if he was mentally competent to even act as the Head of the Graves family, well within his earshot.

They got him into the church for the funeral service, and later to the graveside in the family plot. He had been so exhausted that he had fallen asleep in the bathchair Eddie dug out to move him about the cemetery in. There were documents to be read and signed with regards to inheritance and taxes, which his mother did on his behalf as he languished in his old bedroom. There was also the issue of the succession. Percival was now sterile. Should Cousin Sheridan’s eldest boy be named as his heir? Or his sister Ethel’s second son?

He had been kept away from the bulk of socializing during the wake and funeral. Eddie brought him his meals in his room. His mother hosted their guests downstairs at the reception. The children were also kept away and told not to disturb Uncle Percy. He never figured out his nephews’ or nieces’ names. The voices and footsteps constantly travelled up from the galleries and halls below to his room, a painful reminder of a life that he had been cut off from.   

Once the funeral was over, the relatives and friends slowly left. The children needed to go home and prepare for the new school year. The mansion seemed almost like a mausoleum in its echoing silence. His mother shut herself in her rooms to seek solace in her stash of liquor once Ethel left with her children, the last of the guests to go. There had been talk of sending him to a private institution in the countryside, away from the city. Widow Graves would shut up the mansion and move back to Italy. Graves’ own apartment in the city had already been let go. It irritated him that no one consulted him about it, even if he had no wish to live in that apartment again after his ordeal there.

Alone in his room, his thoughts chased each other in circles. His imprisonment by Grindelwald. They had duelled but he was not good enough. He had felt a certain grim satisfaction that even from Wand Permits, Tina had inadvertently given the dark wizard enough grief for Grindelwald to take out his frustrations on his captive. When the chance came, he had bungled his own escape and got locked up in that no-Maj place. He did not want to think about what happened to him there.

He tried to touch his magic again but there was nothing there. The idea of never being able to use magic ever again threw him into despair. He was finished as a wizard. Eddie would have to go to Cousin Sheridan, his mother, or Ethel. The laws governing house-elf employment forbade them from serving under a squib or no-Maj. That he did recall. It was impossible to get hold of more sleeping potion than what the healers had prescribed. The loyal house elf kept the potions out of his reach. Razors were kept away from him, along with other sharp objects.  It was as if the elf had sensed the dark turn in his thoughts.

Percival Graves dragged himself out of his bed. He limped out towards the long gallery overlooking the ballroom. It was hard going. His leg muscles were weakened from long hours spent lying in his bed or sitting around. He ignored the various family portraits calling out to him along the way - his grandmother’s portrait stridently demanding he stop, someone from the 1800’s berating him... There was even one child portrait that demanded he sing her a song first.

“Halt, Auror! Just where do you think you are going?” Gondulphus Graves’ small portrait in the upstairs hallway demanded. He shut the voices all out and soldiered on.

He was so tired when he got where he wanted to be. He had to stop to regain his strength. A distant childhood memory of himself trying to climb up the banister for a closer look at the large Christmas tree they put up for the family’s Yule ball and his older sister warning him he would break his neck if he fell from there. That was back in the days when his father was running for Congress, and their parents had lots of very important wizards to host. Naturally, young children were not allowed to attend the grownups’ parties.

Percival leaned over the banister and peered down. It was a two storey drop onto an unforgiving marble floor. Hopeless. Broken beyond recovery. Climbing up the banister was hard with only one arm, but he managed it. The wooden banister was solid under him. His ancestors had built the place to last. He closed his eyes, no, eye. If he could get it right…  

One last push and let it all go…

Chapter Text

It did not hurt as much as he would have expected. No, he did not even feel landing on the hard marble. The next thought that occurred to him was that he was still alive. The clamouring voices from the family portraits was still there. He had messed up, again.

He was lying on his back on the ballroom floor. He could feel the cold marble beneath him. He was staring into a pair of large, teary eyes as Eddie the elf grabbed him by the front of his shirt. The elf was still wearing the black velvet table runner he used as a formal uniform for the funeral instead of his usual pillowcase. The elf shook him hard. It must have been Eddie’s magic that saved him from splitting his skull open or snapping his neck.

“What you thinking, master? How can you do this to old Eddie, or your mother?” the furious elf howled and pointed over to the sobbing witch crumpled up at the foot of the stairs. He blinked away tears.

“S-sorry…” Percival tried to crawl over to his mother, but she was on him in a thrice.

“My son, Oh Percy…” she blubbered as she hugged him close as if he were a little child. “Why?”

“N-no magic… w-would never come back…”

“No, Percival. It will come back,” she kissed him on the top of his head. “We’ll get the best healers to help… Don’t dare you give up!”

The portraits had raised such a racket, his mother had emerged from her rooms to see what the commotion was about. Gondulphus had left his portrait frame to appear in a landscape painting hanging in the parlour where Eddie was putting away the last of the silver to alert the loyal elf.

“Madame and Master Sheridan spoke. Eddie’s stuck with you,” the old elf explained. “I go with you to St Dymphna’s or wherever Percival wants to go. So don’t go hurting yourself. What will Missy Tina and Queenie say?”

Tina and Queenie. His girls. Percival Graves closed his eye. Yes, he must stay strong. Tina would be back from her mission soon and visit him.

“Bath and bed, master. Things better in morning,” the elderly elf grunted.

The mission was a disaster. Tina endured a painful debriefing session. Madame President was very much displeased. Grindelwald had won this round, coaxing not only Credence into his fold but her own sister Queenie as well. She had been horrified to spot former MACUSA Auror Malcolm MacDuff and Wand Permits’ Abernathy among the acolytes at the rally. Too many of MACUSA’s had left their posts, seduced by the dark wizard’s words. The open betrayal by the European Aurors who joined Grindelwald when their wands were most needed…

She had cleared up that misunderstanding with Newt and had resumed their correspondence. Newt had his travel ban lifted and places to go. A second book was in the works and he needed to carry out research. Tina met the famous Albus Dumbledore, Newt’s one-time professor, about whom she had mixed feelings. She also met Newt’s elder brother, who had been surprised to learn that his wartime comrade Percival Graves had survived. The word Theseus had received from MACUSA back in February was that Graves was killed in action. The elder Scamander had his own wounds to lick after Paris, having lost his beloved to Grindelwald’s flames. New friends were made in Paris - Yusuf Kama and Nagini. Freed of his unbreakable vow, Kama was charting a new future. Nagini’s situation was a bit trickier. Identity papers had to be obtained for her and help to get her back on her feet after being in captivity for so long.

Tina wanted to speak to her Uncle Percy about Credence and Queenie. But how? He did not even know Grindelwald had escaped…

“Mr. Percival Graves has been released to his family, Miss Goldstein,” the medi-witch at the reception desk explained. “Mrs Graves wished to move him to a private care establishment in the countryside.”

“Oh,” Tina gave a sign of relief. She had been alarmed when she found Percival Graves’ ward empty and the bed stripped down, waiting for a new inmate. She had feared the worst.

Part of her was disappointed she did not have a chance to speak with Uncle Percy before he left. Another part was glad his family would ensure he was cared for. Out in the countryside, she would not be able to visit him. The medi-witch was unable to confirm where Graves had been transferred to.

The news about Queenie’s defection slowly trickled down to the Auror Office. There were calls for Director Abbot to take Tina Goldstein off the team, calls that Emerson Abbot chose to ignore. Some Aurors would move away or clam up whenever she neared them. Was she one of Grindelwald’s too? A mole? Was the entire business last December an act? It hurt having her loyalty questioned. Director Abbot had a team go through her desk and apartment to prove that she was not hiding any links to the dark wizard. Alfie Lopez agreed to partner her after Paris, but they were both relegated to desk work. That suited Lopez just fine as he avoided physical exertion as much as he could. Only Millie Constable the occulumens would join her after work for drinks. Millie had been one of Queenie’s friends back in Ilvermorny and still stood by her old friend.

Alone. Tina was alone in this densely populated city. Queenie was not coming back to their apartment. She could go over Jacob’s bakery for a chat if the baker had recovered enough to reopen his establishment. She hoped that Travers did not obliviate him before they sent him back like he had threatened to. There had been a row between Travers and Theseus over the matter. If he did, she hoped the oblivation would fail as it did the first-time round. She could buy pastries for her fellow Aurors and leave them in the breakroom. Tolliver’s current romance was blossoming. Wedding bells were expected between him and fellow Auror Lucy Wilkinson within the year. Lucy was about to transfer out to No-Maj Fraternization Department soon. It would be a nine to five desk job which would suit Tolliver’s expectations of his future wife just fine, until their first baby came along. At least Tina had Newt. Hopefully, his travels would bring him back to New York.

Percival studied the brochure for the magical nursing home his mother had selected for him. Wizarding chess tournaments, pufferskein tennis, and hippogriff rides. The whole thing sounded perfectly boring. He wondered if he could convince her to send him back to St Dymphna’s. At least he would have Tina’s visits to look forward to. His late father had wanted to shut him away from the outside world. Now his mother was doing the same.

Working the case, that was what he needed. He wanted to be back in the Auror Office with his wand and magic. They had returned his wand to his parents. He asked his mother for it and held it in his remaining fingers. Nothing. The familiar connection he once shared with it was gone. He had that wand since Ilvermorny. When a wizard suffers magical core trauma on the scale he did, he might require a new wand since his magical balance would have changed. It was rumoured that the legendary Theodard Fontaine went through no less than five different wands in his time as Auror for that reason. In Percival’s case, there was no magic, not even a spark.

There had to be things he could do still. After the funeral, Percival practiced speaking in front of a mirror, so that his words came out right. He had been going through the old photo albums with his mother to jog his memories. He exercised the muscles in his legs and arm daily just as the healers taught him to. Perhaps he should start learning to write with only his left hand. He would like to write to Tina. Perhaps a letter to Captain Theseus Scamander was due. Scamander had written a few letters since September, but Percival never got round to composing a reply. The British Auror had led Muggles in the trenches once it became clear to the Ministry that the magical community in Britain could not possibly stay out of the war. Bombs hit magical neighbourhoods as often as Muggle ones in London. Men lost limbs and suffered other injuries that needed prosthetics. Then there were those ghostly pains where his eye or right arm was. He could not rely on the painkilling potions forever. He dropped the brochure into the wastepaper basket.

Tiring easily, he sat down on the settee and noticed a six-month-old newspaper that had fallen between the seat cushions. Curious, he fished it out. The headlines read - Grindelwald Escapes During MACUSA Prisoner Transfer.

The roar of rage that broke out from Percival’s throat sent both his mother and Eddie running to him.

“Eddie, help me send a Howler please.”

A Howler. Someone sent the Auror Office a Howler addressed to Tina Goldstein. The terrified owl dropped the howler on her desk and flapped off hastily. Best get it over with.

“How long did you intend to keep from me Grindelwald has escaped? I demand a complete report from you by this weekend!”

Tina groaned and tried to ignore the startled stares and curious looks from the other MACUSA staff in earshot, who were now peering into the Auror Office. The old Director Graves was back, or at least his voice was back. At least she now had a return address to look for Graves at. And he would not be happy about what happened to Queenie. 

There was a second owl with a politely worded invitation from the Dowager Graves. The contents sent Tina’s heart into her mouth. What did she, a working-class witch, know about social weekends? Did they dress up for dinner like in Queenie’s romance novels? Or go riding hippogriffs or play tennis? Graves’ family lived in a world far removed from the one the Goldsteins inhabited. Feeling sick to her stomach, Tina dashed for the ladies with the invitation still in hand.

“Gawd almighty, you got one too.”

Bent over the sink, Tina froze when she heard that Southern drawl over the running water. Madame President. She timidly glanced up. Reflected in the mirror was Seraphina Picquery, holding an identical invitation. The normally poised witch looked just as shaken. The Graves were still in mourning for their late patriarch. It simply was not done for their class to host a social gathering so soon after the funeral.

More invitations were sent to MACUSA HQ. Achilles Tolliver, Lucy Wilkinson, Bobby Chang, Alfie Lopez, Millie Constable. There was even one addressed to Malcolm MacDuff, which Picquery replied with a tersely worded ‘Addressee has moved.’ Going by the look on her face, Tina knew Picquery probably had more cutting words about MacDuff she would prefer not to commit to paper. The first weekend of December. It was hard to imagine it was only a year since the Obscurus incident of 1926.

Chapter Text

Eddie the elf turned up outside Woolworths after work on Friday with a portkey for Tina.

“Pity about Miss Queenie. Guess you never know until it comes to the shove.”

Tina’s invitation had also included her sister. Uncle Percy had not heard about Queenie yet. Would he ask where she was? Tina dropped by her apartment to get her suitcase and inform Mrs Esposito she was going away with friends for the weekend. The portkey brought Tina Goldstein to the main gate of the Graves mansion.

“Oh wow,” Millie Constable gushed as she appeared beside Tina, holding own suitcase and portkey. Constable was a former Auror who had transferred to No-Maj Fraternization after Grindelwald’s arrest. Plummy Hire’s house-elves, easily identifiable by their plum-coloured rags, had been hired for the weekend. A pair of elves silently took the witches’ luggage and ushered them up the driveway to the front door. The mansion was huge. It was impossible for Tina to imagine living in such a place.

Most of the male guests were already partaking of the pre-dinner cocktails in the sitting room. Madame Picquery and the Dowager Graves were engaged in what seemed to be a strained conversation. The dowager was still wearing the sombre black widow’s garb. There was no security detail. The Graves mansion must be warded enough for the President to forgo her usual team of security officers. Tolliver and Lucy Wilkinson arrived shortly after Millie did. There was an elderly couple who kept to themselves and a white-haired, dark-skinned wizard who was smoking a pipe by the window. These were introduced as the Grimsditches and Dr Fontaine. Out of deference for a house still in mourning, everyone had dressed in subdued shades.

Dinner was served in the dining room with seating for eleven. Their hostess apologised and explained her son was indisposed. Eddie muttered under his breath as he personally served Tina her soup course that Master Percy was not so much indisposed than stubborn. If all twelve guests invited had turned up, he would have had to join them. Thirteen at a table was unlucky.

After dinner, the widow invited the Grimsditches and the healer to the parlour for a round of bridge. Eddie the elf suggested that the remaining guests might be interested in the library. Percival Graves was waiting in the library, sitting in an armchair among several chairs and settees by the fireplace.

“Good evening, Madame President. It is so good of you to come,” Percival managed a smile. “Do take a seat, please, all of you.”

“Percival, I have received your request, but you should know we cannot allow it given the current condition of your magic,” Picquery chose a spot on the settee. To her dismay, Tina noticed too late that everyone else had taken the remaining seats, leaving her with the spot next to the President.

“Perhaps we can discuss this later. Goldstein, I am expecting that report now. And do take a seat. I assure you Seraphina will not bite.” Seraphina. The use of her first name did not escape Tina’s notice.  

Percival had worn his favoured style of clothing instead of the pyjamas and dressing gown he had worn in St Dymphna’s. Even the scorpion collar pins. It was almost like the old Director Graves was back, apart from the faint scars on his face, greyer hair, the pinned-up sleeve, and that eyepatch. And the missing fingers when he lifted his hand to brush off a piece of lint on the knee of his trousers.

“Let’s start from what happened after I was captured. The rest of you can help fill in anything we might have missed out.”

He did not know how much Tina had hidden from him during his recovery in St Dymphna’s. Queenie’s defection had been a rude shock. Eddie picked up on the whispers in MACUSA about her defection when delivering the portkeys. Percival had expected her to have more sense, but Grindelwald was a sly one. Who knew what lies he said to convince her to join his cause?

Abernathy and MacDuff? He could guess at their reasons. Ambitious but mediocre Abernathy always sought to align himself with power. MacDuff was always conflicted over No-Majs. There were rumours about a sister’s misfortune. Graves had always sensed inner darkness within his colleague. Perhaps he used Stunners too freely, even when their target was already down. Still, MacDuff was good in a fight, magic or none. There were probably more who had defected. He was thankful most of the core group of Aurors he had worked with in the past were still there. If he made a mistake of judgement and invited a spy into his home, it was all over for them.

It took almost three hours for Percival to be brought up to date. Eddie interrupted constantly warning his young master not to get worked up or he would need to fetch Dr Fontaine to administer a calming draught. Eddie also vanished his cigarettes and the brandy, citing doctor’s instructions. Percival already had part of a lung removed in that No-Maj place and he should not be putting any more filthy smoke into the remainder. Nothing stronger than gillywater with the potions he was on. Seraphina interrupted a few times with regards to Tina’s Paris mission. A good part of it was still classified and as a civilian wizard, Graves was no longer privy to such information.

Things had changed during his absence. Wilkinson was unlikely to continue as an Auror. Bobby Chang would be transferred to the President’s security team by the new year. Lopez was requesting a transfer out to the West Coast where things were said to be quieter. The run-in with Grindelwald and its aftermath had unnerved him. Millie confessed she had recently accepted a proposal from a French wizard she had known for a while. She intended to leave the States to join him in France. Percival had even tried to reach out to old Matthews when he visited him the other day, but the former director no longer had the stomach for chasing dark wizards.

“Listen to me, Percival. You have already given up so much for MACUSA. Take the pension and retire to the countryside. Write a memoir, raise hippogriffs or whatever your class do for fun.” In other words, live out his remaining life sitting about, doing nothing of use.

“Director, the fact is that what happened to you got the rest of us scared,” Tolliver admitted grudgingly. “He was in the Auror Office, meeting with Madame President and stuff. None of us caught on, not even when he sentenced Goldstein and that magizoologist to death. He had us all fooled. He could have kedavra-ed all of us anytime. The worst of it was his speech in that subway tunnel about us hiding, they actually made some sense… at least then.”

Tina nodded in agreement. Back then she had been too horrified by the change in Graves’ demeanour and Credence’s apparent demise to take in his words, but she had seen how some of the Aurors had wavered at Grindelwald’s words. The following summer, she had witnessed the same in the Lestrange Mausoleum and their European counterparts joining him. Had Newt and she not bested him that day, would he have convinced Tolliver and the others present to turn against MACUSA and on the President?

“We cannot allow Grindelwald to run about freely…” Graves started. Bobby stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes. It was getting late. Tolliver had excused himself for a smoke. Millie and Lucy disappeared off to the washroom. Tina was sure Alfie Lopez was asleep slouched in his chair.

“He is now in Europe, possibly Germany or Austria, out of our jurisdiction,” Seraphina reiterated and placed a hand on his wrist, just touching the deep scars left behind by restraints. “I know you want to act, but sometimes…”

Their eyes met. Percival was reminded of the first time he asked the beautiful witch out for tea at Libby’s in his final year. He had been waiting for his Auror training application outcome. He had been fretting himself into a lather when she took his hand and calmed him down. He later learned she was a granddaughter of the Picquerys who owned the Liberty Teashop franchise.

“Master Percy! It is past your bedtime. Madame has already retired. Eddie put you to bed now,” the house-elf chirped.

“Eddie, I do not wish to see you now.”

“Very well, sir,” Eddie stepped behind the chair and out of his line of sight. “I work for Madame and Madame would like her son not stay up too late. The Plummy elves will show your guests to their rooms shortly. You may want to wish them a good night now, sir.”

There was a pop of magic. Percival Graves and the armchair he was in were gone.

A girl could get used to this. Tina sighed as she settled into the long bath. Long enough to stretch her legs out without casting an extension spell on the room, fancy that. Fragrant rose-scented soap bubbles floated about her. The guest room was fancier than any hotel she had been to, even the one Newt put her up at for a night shortly before her return to the States. The Rochester. They had spent the evening at the bar knocking back too many shots of gigglewater before he escorted her back to her room. He stayed the rest of the night.

The witches’ rooms were on the same floor. The wizards’ rooms were a floor below. Only the Grimsditches and the doctor were given rooms in the family’s wing. Lucy had slipped downstairs to her fiancé. Tina could hear muffled laughter from the pair downstairs as she dried her hair with a spell. She could not sleep. Perhaps she should check if Millie was still awake to share a nightcap.

Tina stepped into the hall to spot Seraphina’s deep purple gown disappearing in the direction of the family’s wing. The President was sans her turban, her white-blond curls tumbling down her back. Silently, Tina returned to her room and shut the door behind her. Perhaps she did not require a nightcap after all.

Chapter Text

Percival growled with frustration as he struggled with his shirt. He needed to get hang of doing things sans magic with only three fingers. Eddie had assisted him with his bath, but Percival insisted he would get into his pyjamas without any help from the house-elf. He managed the pants with a bit of wriggling and tugging with his hand. Thank Merlin for the No-Maj who invented the elastic waistband. The buttons on his shirt look set to defeat him entirely. The right side kept slipping off his stump. He had to use his mouth to hold it in place. Next, he could not seem to get his buttons and buttonholes aligned.

He heard the faint pop of an Apparation. He had dismissed the house-elf, but Eddie was not above reinterpreting his master’s orders to suit his intentions.

“Eddie, need your help here…”

“Oh Percy, what’ve they done to you?”

“S-Seraphina?” Percy looked up in surprise and dropped his shirt. The wards he set up back in his youth ensured no intruders could Apparate into his room, but Seraphina was never an intruder, at least not back then. She could have fastened his buttons with magic, but she chose to sit next to him on the edge of the bed and use her hands.

A multitude of scars marred his flesh. Scars collected from past battles and more recent ordeals. His ribs still stuck out too much. There was a dark scar on his right shoulder blade, no, a brand. The Deathly Hallows. Grindelwald had branded him like some animal. Poor Percy…

“Don’t cry, please…” A gentle brush of calloused fingers against her cheek. A distant memory. The giddiness of first love. A young couple sneaking away from the ball for a quick kiss and cuddle in a quiet corner. They ended up in his bedroom where his father caught them. The Picqueries were summarily removed from the premises. Old Harold Graves had to swallow his pride and invite them back when their granddaughter seemed set to be elected President years later.

The memories hung heavily in the awkward silence. Seraphina took a deep breath and steeled herself.

“Percival, I came here because I want to be clear on this,” Seraphina started. “We cannot possibly in good faith allow you to return to work in your condition. The Congress will never allow it.”

“My condition? Me a crippled squib?” The words were bitter on his tongue. “That I am finished as an Auror, a wizard…” He felt her hand on his knee. The buttons were all done up.

“Don’t you dare start, Sera… It will be best if you leave now, before either of us do something we will regret…” The modicum of control he still had threatened to give entirely. He could see the pity in her dark eyes.

“Goodnight then, Percy.” Seraphina shut the door behind her as she left. Percival threw himself down onto his pillows and bawled into them. Badly played. A quarter century back, a younger Seraphina would have slapped him and informed him they were finished.

In school they were more rivals than friends. Their relationship as a couple had been rocky. Both were equally headstrong. It was much later when they reconnected as President and Head Auror that they achieved some form of balance. She was the President of MACUSA and his superior. He was her right-hand man and confidant. Now that balance was thrown askew. If things had gone differently back then…   

The older Graves never took to Seraphina. There was some old disagreement over land which had their elders at each other’s throats. Percival was posted to Oregon for his Auror training. When he returned east, Seraphina had married wizard politician Orwell Grimsditch. His mother never quite forgave Seraphina for that. It was probably not by chance that she invited Seraphina’s former in-laws to make up the numbers. That union lasted two years before the pair separated. Brief marriages to society scions Herbert Weiss, Corrigan O’Brien and Milford Boots followed. Somehow, they managed to keep it out of the scandal papers enough for Picquery to enter politics and run for Congress. There was a bit of a flutter in 1924 when Picquery was seen in the company of the debonair playboy Ajax Fontaine at a campaign event. Percival simply buried himself in his work as an Auror until Fate threw them both together again. Now that was over as well, not that he had anything he could offer her.

It was a pipe dream. His mother went along with his idea to indulge him. He could not possibly act against Grindelwald or assist in his capture. Hell, he could not even best Grindelwald with all his limbs and magic intact. Everyone was just there to humour him before they ship him off to that nursing home with the hippogriffs and pufferskein tennis. Foolish Percy Graves. No use to anyone now, are you? He could almost hear Grindelwald’s mocking laughter in his mind.

Percival did not appear at breakfast. Eddie took a tray up to him. Tina was disappointed. She had hoped she could discuss things further with Uncle Percy. Snow had fallen in the night. Tolliver and Wilkinson were out enjoying a stroll as a couple in the snow-covered garden. Constable had brought along her sketch kit and was busy capturing the winter scenery. Lopez and Chang were no fans of the cold and were currently engaged in a vicious game of Wizard Chess.

Tina found the doctor in the library reading a book. She had learned over dinner the night before that Fontaine had been Graves’ attending physician since after his discharge from St Dymphna’s.

“Forgive me, doctor. How is Mister Graves? I know it might be too much to ask…”

“Ah, Miss Goldstein.” Dark eyes twinkled over his reading glasses. “What can I say about your Uncle Percy’s condition?”

“You are reading me,” Tina tried to feign outrage. She had barely felt any probing. Perhaps she had let her mental shields slip in Queenie’s absence.

“Not so. It is obvious what he means to you and you to him. Your sister too. You must understand he is in a difficult place now, adjusting to what he has lost. He must start anew, learn to speak, walk… Already he has made much progress. He is a man of action, now he must sit aside and let others run ahead. It galls him.”

“What about his magic?” To Tina as a rookie Auror, Graves had seemed almost invincible in the field. His level of magic and skills were unparalleled in the Auror Office. All that drive, energy, and commitment to his duty as an Auror…

“Ah, that we cannot say,” the doctor shrugged, put down his book and strolled to the window so he need not look Tina in the eye. “It is already something that he has gotten this far in so short a time. Mentally he is recovering, but there will be slips, relapses. Some nightmares do not let one go that easy - Oh dear…” 

Tina hurried to the window, looked out, and gave a gasp of horror. Percival Graves was running in the snowy garden clad only in his pyjamas. Eddie was trying to keep up, but he kept sinking into the snowdrifts. There were dark splotches in the snow where Percival ran, blindly headed for the ornamental lake. Both Tina and the doctor Apparated to the garden. They were not alone.

“Incarcerous!” Tolliver’s slightly muffled voice yelled out the spell. Percival went down hard as the ropes bound him.

“He boke me dose!” the Auror was bleeding from his nose and his clothes were muddy.

“Just ran out from nowhere and when we tried to stop him, he just went wild and headbutted Achilles in the face…” a flustered Lucy Wilkinson collaborated her fiancé’s account. “Now hold still so I can fix your nose,” the witch fumbled for her wand as poor Tolliver moaned about his broken nose.

Percival was still struggling against his bonds, but he was weakening. There was blood spurting out of a deep wound in his thigh. Tina instinctively pressed her hand on the wound to try to stop the flow. The doctor joined her and started the healing spell. It was hard with Percival acting so feral and trying to fight them off. They could not work Vulnera Sanentur with him in such a state. Tina magicked a gag after Percival almost tore Dr Fontaine’s ear off with a wild lunge.

“Uncle Percy please, we need you to calm down. You are safe.” She gave up pressing on his leg and took his face between her bloodied hands instead. His pupil was blown with panic, as if seeing something only visible to him. The struggling slowed as recognition returned. He blinked. His eyepatch had been torn off in the struggle and Tina could see the sunken eyelid that covered an empty socket. She quickly vanished the gag so he could speak.

“T-Tina?”

The healer quickly made use of the lull in his patient’s struggles to complete the healing spell before he bled out. He also extracted a large glass shard from the wound. The patient had jumped through a glass window while his house-elf was fetching an extra blanket. Eddie managed to fire off a spell to cushion the fall, but he was not quick enough to restrain his master before he ran off.

“What’s going on here?” Mrs Graves’ voice shrilled. “Our family protection wards going off all over the estate and – oh, Percival!”

The commotion had drawn almost everyone from the house and the house-elves in attendance for the weekend as well. A shocked Seraphina had her hand up to her mouth as if to muffle any sounds of distress. Lopez was gaping like a goldfish.Bobby was stoically looking off to the side as if to allow his former Director some privacy. His nose fixed, Tolliver now looked shamefacedly at his boots while Lucy fussed over his attire. Millie was dabbing away at her eyes with her gloved hands. The Grimsditches were huddled together like a pair of vultures, no doubt ready to spread the word about the barking mad Graves’ family head.

The worst of it was Tina, whose face was streaked with tears.

“S-sorry…” Percival pitched forward and blacked out.

Some hours must have passed before he regained consciousness. He found himself staring at the canopy of his four-poster bed. He could not move his arm or legs. Panic set in. Deep breaths, deep breaths. He turned his head to find his left wrist tied to the bedpost. His ankles were similarly bound.

“Eddie!” he yelled. The house elf popped up literally at his bedside.

“Sorry, Madame’s orders. Gave everyone a scare, you did. Even old Eddie.”

The broken window had been fixed and bars added across it and its twin. Percival closed his eyes. He had done it this time - proven to his colleagues and Madame Picquery he was not fit to return to his post. He did not understand what happened to him. One moment, he was just standing at the window admiring the snow-covered scenery. The next, he was seized by an unreasonable fear that Grindelwald was coming back for him, and he needed to get away at whatever cost. The window sash was heavy. He could not raise it with one arm, so he smashed his way through it. Perhaps he was really going mad.

Eddie freed his wrist, helped him sit up, and offered him a mug of hot liquid.

“Beef tea,” the house elf explained as he magicked pillows behind the patient to support his back.

“N-no. H-hate the stuff…” Percival was wearing a clean nightshirt. They had changed him out of the pyjamas.

“Dizzy?” The elf rubbed his back in small circles as if he were a child. Eddie had been assigned to care for him as a young child until he went away to school. Ethel had her own house-elf Abby, who had gone with her to Britain when she got married. Percival never got figured out the complex laws covering elf transference between families. His father could have gifted Abby as part of his daughter’s dowry. He recalled seeing the old house-elf at the funeral, corralling her mistress’ brood while juggling Ethel’s valise and parasol.

“Not dizzy.”

“Drink it all up, or Eddie feed you like baby with a bottle, like old times. Later blood-replenishing potion. We try to keep you home, but if she cannot cope, Madame will have to send you away,” Eddie warned.

Home? He had not really thought of the mansion as home since he became an Auror. His home was New York City - its filth, the pigeons, the surging crowds on the streets. His family estate was just somewhere he visited out of familial obligation. He reluctantly sipped at the salty liquid and tried to ignore the brown gelatinous lumps in it.

“Am I allowed visitors?”

“Sorry, no one other than your mother and the doctor for now. Of course, the doctor can decide if you are up to receiving…” Eddie winked.

“Can you please magic my coat or dressing gown over? I need to apologize to Tina, Seraphina, and the others. Can I have my legs freed up too?”

“No can do about them legs,” Eddie shrugged. “Madame no want you jumping out of window again.” He did magic a dressing gown over Percival’s shoulders.

“Do you want Eddie turn your hair less grey while we at it?”

Chapter Text

His mother refused to allow him to receive any visitors. Percival was to spend the rest of the day recuperating. If he were better, he would be allowed to join his guests for dinner before they returned to the city the next day. To make sure he stayed in his room, Eddie was assigned to watch him, alongside the portrait of Gondolphus Graves. The dowager then spent the rest of the day renewing the broken wards on the estate. It was the responsibility of the head of the clan but with her son without any magic…

The chore needed someone to watch the caster’s back in case anything went wrong. The old witch reluctantly approached Tina Goldstein to stand guard. Original Twelve descendant Lucy Wilkinson would have been her first choice, but she decided against it when she caught her and her beau snogging in the music room. A young lady as giddily in love as her would not make for a watchful guard. Seraphina and Mrs Grimditch were out of the question. Constable was nowhere to be found and she was not going to be accused of gallivanting about the premises with a male.  

Wand in hand, Tina stood guard while the dowager cast her spells along the perimeter of the grounds. Each spell took several minutes to complete, during which the caster’s shields would be down and his will committed entirely to the warding. During that time, a wizard would be easy prey for enemies or any dark creatures. This was a higher level of warding from those Tina used on her own apartment, likely brought over from the Old World with the first Graves. Tina had previously encountered wardings that require a blood sacrifice to renew them. Such wards have thankfully fallen out of favour.

By the time the wards were renewed, Tina had to support the dowager as they plodded back to the house. There the dowager insisted she join her for a cup of tea.

“Miss Goldstein, please take a seat, how do you take your tea?”

“Tina please. Milk and no sugar please.” Tina sat down opposite the dowager. Percival had inherited her colouring and perhaps a bit in the stubborn set of his chin. The late Harold Graves was fairer in his colouring. The widow would have been a beauty in her youth, with large eyes and fine cheekbones.

“Then you must call me Emilia, Tina. I never thought I would be saying this, but you are good for my Percy.” Of course, the daughters of a middle-class wizard would not be considered suitable company for her son, Tina thought wryly.

“He was rather fond of your family… He used to write to me back then before I went to Italy. Nothing but praise for your parents. Sometimes I do wonder if he was looking for something there. Harold never liked Percival staying on as long as he did as an Auror. Harold would have preferred it if Percival had run for Congress…”

“Do you intend to return to Italy?”

“Well, given Percival’s current state, it is unlikely it will be anytime soon. But I do wonder if the climate in Capri would help him. The villa had been in my mother’s family for generations. Ethel never really cared for the place, which is a real pity.” They continued in idle chit-chat for a good fifteen minutes before Tina dared to broach the question that had been bothering her.

“Forgive me for being direct, ma’am, but what caused the wards to go off so strongly? Most wards are designed to react in event of an intruder or fire… and even then, not to the extent of shattering…”

“Why, they probably went off when that Auror threw a binding spell at my son. The estate viewed that as an attack on its owner – oh!” Understanding dawned on the older witch. “The estate would not acknowledge a squib as heir, so my son still has his magic.”

The wards went off again, this time a more muted alarm.

“Intruder,” Emilia Graves muttered. “Perhaps we should fetch some of the men. I do hope it is not a sasquatch again.”

“Theseus?” Tina gaped at the sight of the beleaguered British Auror. The man looked a mess, and not just from being snared by the estate’s vines. Bobby Chang and Alfie Lopez were standing with wands pointed at the trapped wizard. The lady of the manor was less than amused.

“Friend of yours?” Bobby asked Tina who nodded mutely in response.

“Mr Scamander, when I mentioned back in 1919 that you are invited to drop by anytime as Percival’s friend, I expected you to have the courtesy to write first, not show up reeking of firewhiskey and climbing over the fence like some ape,” the dowager retorted.

About half an hour earlier…

Percival growled as he tugged at the doorknob. Locked. Eddie was fussing about with a feather duster and keeping up a steady stream of nonsensical chatter that his master was barely paying attention to. He was a prisoner in his own house. Déjà vu. At least he coaxed Eddie to untie him.

There was the soft boom of someone trying to use the Floo, but the fireplace linkage in his room was always faulty.

“Hey, pug, howdy yah do?” a familiar voice slurred.

“Tadpole? Are you drunk? At four in the afternoon?” Percival replied as he stared at the familiar face in the flames of the fireplace. He had not seen Theseus for almost two years, and the Briton looked worse for the wear.

“I’m in town, thought I would drop over shortly… Old Silas said you moved back with your mom. Your folks got you locked up, right? Not to worry, gonna get you out…”

“Wait!” Theseus was gone. Percival hoped he would not try Apparating into the estate. The Anti-Apparating jinxes his father had placed on the property generally resulted in horrific splinching.

“Theseus, what happened to you?” Tina asked once they got the British Auror disentangled. He had splinched part of his left leg as well and needed a healing spell, which Dr Fontaine administered. The elder Scamander was dishevelled and unshaven, a far cry from the wizard Tina had left behind in London when she needed to return to New York.

“Getting Percy out…”

“Mr Graves is doing fine,” Tina tried to reassure Theseus. When she left London, he had been in control of himself, the proverbial stiff upper lip. “Is this Ministry business?”

“Nah, s-suspended. Take time off, he said. Go meet some girls, he said…”

“Who said that?” Tina asked. Newt had mentioned he was concerned about his brother burying himself in his work, but those words were too callous for Newt. Newt was never callous.

“Travers, right before I punched that sorry git in the face. Is Percy doing well? Where’s he?” Traver, it had struck Tina that Travers was never one to overly concern himself about the well-being of his subordinates. Percival might have been a man of few words, but Tina always knew he cared about his team. Others might dismiss him as aloof or arrogant, and Grindelwald had acted the part to a tee.

“Mr Scamander, I assure you my son is doing well, but he needs his rest…” Dowager Graves insisted even as she poured out a cup of tea for her unexpected guest. She dosed it generously with a dash of sobriety potion before handing it to Theseus.

“I would still like to see him, if it is alright with you, ma’am.”

“I suppose we’d have to set a place for you at dinner. There is no way you can get back to town tonight in your state,” their hostess sniffed. She rang a bell and Eddie Apparated before them. She gave the house-elf instructions before he Disapparated. About ten minutes later…

“Tadpole! You blooming idiot! Did you try to climb up the Strangling Ivy?” Percival plodded into the room. He was still leaning heavily on a cane. He was dressed suitably for a casual weekend instead of his working suit – in knitted vest and shirtsleeves. Eddie had informed his master of Theseus’ misadventure. Theseus dropped his teacup.

“Pug, was this all Grindelwald’s doing?” Theseus bit back a colourful oath that had their hostess tutting in disapproval. He cast a Repario on the broken cup after Scroungifying the carpet and the shards. The shock had driven the alcohol from his system.

“Technically, it was not all him…” Percival suddenly felt weak. Eddie guided him over to an armchair where he all but collapsed into. That No-Maj place… His eye met Theseus’ before he could turn away. Tina noticed how the Brit’s hand clenched about his wand until the knuckles were white.

“Stand down, Scamander… It’s over.” After that disaster with MacDuff, he did not want another Auror or friend to get into trouble for breaking the law, or anyone else getting hurt.

“Percy, you have dark circles about your eyes, and you are too thin, thinner than you were even in the trenches. What happened is still affecting you. I have seen the same in my men, Muggle and magical, after the War – men who had gotten pinned down in No Man’s Land, gassed or wounded by artillery…”

“Tadpole, what were you thinking showing up as you did?” Percival knew he had to change the topic. Theseus was probing a bit too close for his liking.

“Because I care, you dolt. You never replied to any of my letters since September.”

“Showing up drunk and scaring my mother?” At this point, his mother flashed Percival a look that suggested Theseus did not scare her as much as her son did with his earlier flashback.

“Touché, my apologies. I have had a rough few weeks, not that it is any excuse.”

“Theseus, you lost your fiancée in Paris, punched your boss, and got suspended from your duties. I think that is more than a rough week,” Tina added. There was an awkward silence between the four. The other guests and Aurors had long made themselves scarce.

“If you wish to join us for dinner, Mr Scamander, it will be much appreciated if you take a bath and freshen up first,” the dowager cleared her throat. Tina put down her plate of half-eaten finger sandwiches. The tension in the air was too thick. Percival and Theseus needed time alone to talk things over. Emilia must have sensed that too as she asked Tina if she would like to see the greenhouse.

They were stopped by a Plummy’s elf in the kitchen garden. He handed Mrs Graves the dinner menu.

“Ma’am, may we confirm that there will be one more place at dinner in addition to Master Graves?” the elf asked politely.

“Of course,” the dowager replied.

“Thirteen places, ma’am?” the elf raised an eyebrow. Magical folk were superstitious.

“Oh dear. Is there any Lucky Clover in the garden at this time of the year? Or perhaps I might be indisposed…” the witch frowned. The hostess was expected to oversee the meals. She could not absent herself.

“Emilia, if you do not mind – I do feel a little under the weather. Perhaps a tray will suffice for me.” Tina did not believe in that superstition, but she understood how things could be awkward for her hostess. Society wizards were sticklers for tradition.

Chapter Text

It was strange being treated as an invalid when one was clearly well. A bit annoying too. Tina poked at the limp vegetables and lacklustre chicken. The mashed potato looked equally unappetizing. Either that or the house-elves were protesting having to make up a tray or a house party with thirteen guests. The mushroom soup was cold, but she could heat it up with a heating charm. Perhaps a heating charm could make the food taste better. How she missed Queenie’s cooking.

Dessert was fruit flan, brought over by Eddie instead of a grouchy Plummy’s elf. The house-elf must have caught onto Tina’s reasons for forgoing the dinner downstairs. The upside was that she need not fuss about her hair or dressing. She had caught a glimpse of Lucy in a navy-blue gown and pearls. Madame Picquery had a style all her own with a forest green gown and matching turban. Millie had to drop by to ask for help transfiguring one of her day-clothes into a suitable dinner gown. Tina was not sure if the flapper had made it up to the upper classes, but Millie insisted. She was not going to dress up as if she were going to the opera.

Tina just conjured a shawl over her shoulders before settling in for her dinner at the writing desk. She was not an invalid to have her meals off a tray in bed. Her position gave her a magnificent view of the dining room’s French windows across the courtyard. Eddie explained that she would tune into the radio or change the scenery outside the window, but Tina liked the quiet and the view as it was. The house-elf also informed her that she might ring for a mug of hot cocoa later in the night or a nightcap.

Did Graves feel the same about being treated as an invalid? Having his family and everyone tiptoeing about him. After his initial shock, Theseus and Graves had exchanged news of old friends. When Tina excused herself just before dinner, she had encountered the pair standing before a portrait of one of Graves’ ancestors and discussing how related or not related their families were. Perhaps the Scamanders, being of landed gentry, had married spouses from descendants of the Original Twelve. Some of the Twelve had come over from the Old World. Abraham Potter’s family had fled back to the Old World after his demise fearing retribution from the Scourers. They were not the only ones. In more recent times, it was common for wixen to marry across the ocean as Graves’ sister had done.

Would she end up marrying across an ocean too?

Newt Scamander had been horribly embarrassed when they made a stop at his parents’ place on their way to London. Perhaps his mother had been too blatant in her desire for her younger son to settle down. Theseus had gone on ahead of them with the rest of the Ministry people while they lingered behind in Hogsmeade. His father was out but Mrs Scamander wasted no time in making Tina feel welcome. Newt went all red when his mother asked him to show her the long gallery and the grand ballroom. Thankfully, a young Hippogriff foal tottered by and that got both mother and son’s attention. Tina and Newt spent the remaining hours in the Hippogriff paddock until it was time for them to resume their journey. The last postcard Newt sent was from Siam. That was three weeks ago. Merlin knew if he were now in Africa or Asia. Would she end up travelling from place to place with Newt someday? Paris had seemed exotic enough for her. She put down her fork.

Queenie liked traveling, meeting new people, going new places. Queenie had applied to participate in an exchange programme at Beauxbatons in 1919 but had failed to make the grade for French. She had scrimped and saved for a trip to Mexico with some friends once. A trip Tina had to forgo due to her work. Now Queenie was goodness knew where. Credence too. Grindelwald was rumoured to have a stronghold in the Alps. No one knew where. Yet his organization had supporters and safehouses globally. MACUSA was still uncovering his supporters in the States even a year after his arrest and escape. Would Grindelwald want to keep the pair close to him? Grindelwald was a charmer. Part of her was mad at Queenie for falling for those lies. Poor Jacob did not deserve that. Hopefully her sister would come to her senses soon and be able to leave the organization.

Her appetite quenched. Tina pushed aside her half-eaten dessert. The thought of that dark wizard hurting Graves… Men do not like to share their feelings. The one who could closest understand him was probably Theseus the war hero, who had also gone through the trenches with Graves when he was sent to Europe in 1917 as an observer. Tina had still been in school then, but she knew of wixen who ended up fighting on either side or both, caught up in the madness of the war.

The gaiety was too forced for a house still in mourning. The widow cast concerned looks at her son between the courses. Percival had not touched any alcohol, but his eye was a little too bright as he related the Angel of Mons incident – a case of intervention by a wizard in the battle that needed extensive covering up. She was not the only one concerned. Theseus and Madame Picquery seemed equally perturbed. Lucy Wilkinson, seated on his left, even reached out to touch him lightly on the arm. He flinched at her gentle touch as if startled. For a moment, the dowager feared her son might just leap out of his chair and do something rash, but he seemed to regain control of himself.

The Grimsditches were sniping at their former daughter-in-law’s unseemly show of concern for Master Graves, much to everyone’s discomfort. The dowager decided that the pair would not be welcome at any of her future parties. This weekend was not going at all to plan. She had hoped Picquery might find an excuse to leave early given the Grimsditches had gone out of their way to make her unwelcome just short of lobbing a jinx her way. The doctor left his seat twice to escape the increasingly poisonous atmosphere around the pair. The dinner finally plodded to its end. Everyone went their separate ways.

Percival looked exhausted when dessert was cleared.

“How’s Tina feeling? Those wards can really take a lot of work… Perhaps she was the smart one sitting this out.”

“I suppose we can have Eddie check on her,” his mother replied. “Oh, I only wish… well, Tina would have made a fine wife and mother…”

“Not for me, mum. Perhaps for some other lucky man.” Possibly that redhead magizoologist she kept talking about. He never thought of her more than a niece or a protegee. Moreover, it would be grossly unfair to any young woman to be bound to him in his current state.

“Would you like Eddie to help you upstairs for bed?”

“No, I would like to sit and chat with Theseus where we left off before dinner. Perhaps in the library,” Percival smiled wanly as the Brit approached, having shaken off the company of the MACUSA Aurors in the games room he just left. Lopez was laughing at some joke Tolliver was making, probably choking on his port in the process. He could also hear Dr Fontaine’s clipped tones droning on about magical core injuries and rehabilitation. Sound tended to travel in the manor in the oddest way. He was not sure who the good doctor was conversing with.

In the games room, Seraphina listened as Dr Fontaine, perhaps having one too many glasses of wine, was discussing the extent of Graves’ magical core injuries and the likelihood of recovering.

“Doctor, was there a method employed between wedded wixen for treating such injuries?” she asked.

“True, but that would require physical intercourse between willing partners of a compatible power range, but Mister Graves is sadly incapable of in his current state. Not even Wizard’s Staff could fix that. Oh, did you not know he was sterilized?” the doctor turned red in the face and clammed up, looking about to see if anyone else heard his slip.  

Bobby Chang was choking on his port. He had overheard the doctor. As did Alfie Lopez and Tolliver. The trio were staring in horror at the extent of their former Director’s disability, Oh dear, Seraphina reached for the wand she always carried up her voluminous sleeves. She had worked as an Oblivator before her move into politics after all. And she still had the knack.

The trio outside the room heard everything. Trembling, Graves shook off Theseus’ concerned hand and pushed past his mother. Seraphina was coming out of the games room.

“Percy…”

“Don’t…”

He climbed up the stairs, tears burning in his eyes. He stumbled near the top and would have tumbled down were it not for Theseus.

“Leave me be, Tadpole.”

“Not on your life, Pug. Madame Picquery obliviated everyone in the games room who heard your doctor. Shall we have her obliviate us and have us obliviate her?”

“You know that is not the point…”

“Is your family requiring you produce an heir, or did you promise marriage to some young lady recently? No? Or is it because Picquery knows?” Theseus steered Percival into his own room instead and conjured up two mugs of warm cocoa from the kitchens. Percival had mentioned his past relationship with Picquery to Scamander while they were back in the trenches. How he had returned from Auror training to find her wed to another. In 1918, Picquery had just gone through her last divorce and Percival had been considering whether to rekindle the relationship. Apparently, he settled for pursuing career instead. There was no whiff of any romance between the President and her right-hand man.

“Cocoa. I understand you are forbidden wine,” Theseus poured out a cup. It was his mother’s recipe for a soothing night’s sleep. Mrs Graves had kindly sent Eddie to fetch his belongings from the small inn he had taken rooms in.

Theseus had been there before, counselling men under his command who had lost limbs, blinded, or been disfigured. He was normally there to catch them early, just after they wake up to find their leg gone. There were a few he caught up with later in the rest homes after the war. Some were reduced to former shells of themselves. Others were able to overcome their disabilities to continue living the best they could. Engagements were broken, families thrown into turmoil. Theseus considered himself fortunate to have emerged relatively unscathed.

Their earlier conversations had been reminiscences of happier times in the States or London and news of mutual acquaintances. Percival was not ready to talk or share yet, just as Theseus was not quite ready to address his own more recent losses – the Aurors who defected or perished in Paris. And Leta…

“Tadpole, you are crying.”

Theseus rubbed at his eyes.

“N-need to talk?” Percival asked, his eye met Theseus’. Let me help, please.

“I miss her…” Theseus blurted out. All the grief he had been keeping bottled up exploded into tears. Percival leaned forward and wrapped his arm around his friend as he wept.

Tadpole and Pug were two of the many incongruous nicknames to be spawned in the mud of the trenches. Theseus earned the nickname tadpole for his youthful looks and naivety when he first signed up as a junior officer in the early days of the war. The naivety and innocence were left behind soon enough though the nickname stuck. Percival Graves initially came into the war as an observer from MACUSA in 1917. He was not thrilled by the assignment and showed by constantly scowling. They would have nicknamed him the Bulldog, but that title was already taken by a gruff Yorkshire sergeant.

Now, Percival simply listened as his friend poured out his grief at the loss of not only his fellow Aurors, but the witch he was going to marry. They had already bought a little apartment in London and the furnishings they ordered from Italy before Leta’s death had just arrived. That was when it hit home for Theseus. He could not bear to be in that apartment with the artisanal Italian dining set Leta had chosen, or the marble vases.

He felt guilty over the deaths of his colleagues – having to help Auror Forrest’s widow with his funeral and pension, writing to Auror Williams’ aged parents, passing the hat around to scrounge funds for Auror Morris’ youthful brood of seven, now all orphaned since their mother perished from a werewolf attack a year ago. Leta was never supposed to be there. Would it have changed anything if he had not asked her to check her family’s records in Paris? Would she still have gone to the mausoleum, to her death?

He had spoken briefly with Yusuf Kama, Leta’s half-brother, during that short visit to Hogwarts. The dark-skinned wizard was as stoic as any Englishman. A strong woman, he had said of his sister, while blinking away tears. Our mother would be proud. The grief had not hit Theseus fully yet. It had not hit him when Newt tried to speak with him before leaving London.

“I got you, Tadpole,” Percival patted him on the shoulder as the war hero purged all the hurts he had been holding back for so long.    

Chapter Text

Eddie had called on Theseus at eleven, insisting his master would sleep better in his own bed. Percival declined and insisted he would stay the night with Theseus. After a brief argument between the couch and the single guest bed, Theseus transfigured the couch into a matching twin of the single bed. Eddie shrugged and informed them that he would have Percival’s bed things brought over. He would come in the morning with the hot water and morning things as he did not wish for his master to mess up his shaving. 

His father had allowed the estate to literally fall apart in the recent years. Percival felt a little ashamed as he showed his old friend about. The once manicured gardens, fountains, and gazebos had long fallen into ruin. Eddie, the only house-elf left in the manor, had his hands full keeping the house inhabitable. The dusting of snow softened some of the ugliness, but not all. He could sense the wards along the perimeter, Percy realized, freshly renewed by his mother. Theseus allowed him to stroll along his side unassisted and in silence. It was a grey dawn that promised more snow later. The pair had agreed to take a morning walk before the rest of the household were up for breakfast.

For Theseus, odd hours came with being an Auror. For Percival, time and sleep had long lost any real meaning for him. Some days, he would remain in bed for hours sleeping. Others, he would spend hours staring into the darkness. The nightmares still came on occasion. Sometimes he would be seized by an irrational fear that he was still a prisoner of Grindelwald or a nameless inmate in that No-Maj place. He had talked things through with his doctor, but Fontaine recommended a mind-healer. Percival was not ready to allow anyone to probe through his mind yet.  

Finally, they stopped for a breather at a pavilion that still retained a portion of its roof. The pair sat back-to-back on a broken stone bench. Theseus allowed Percival to talk at his own pace, barely interrupting. There had been no debrief by MACUSA after his rescue. His mental state was too fragile then. After that, he had been written off by the Congress. The flashes of panic, uncertainty – the niggling fear that he was still a prisoner… The loss of his magic on top of his physical disability. Theseus allowed him to purge – ranting and sobbing in turn, at Grindelwald, the No-Maj asylum and MACUSA.

The household was about to send out a search party when the pair finally returned for a much-needed late breakfast. Looking at the pair, Tina sensed something had shifted for them since she last saw them. Both appeared calmer, more balanced somehow, even if still weary.

The Grimsditches left soon after breakfast, to everyone’s relief, even Dowager Emilia Graves’. Percival was glad to see the last of them for a while. There was still a generous breakfast spread on the sideboard for Theseus and him. The house-elves thoughtfully brought up a tea service for the British Auror. Coffee was what Percival preferred. It had been a point of ribbing in the trenches where both coffee and tea tasted of mud than anything else. Eddie knew Percival liked his coffee – strong and robust with a cube of sugar and no milk.

Despite having eaten, Tina joined the pair at the table with her second cup of coffee.

“Theseus, you are looking better. I guess that walk worked, huh?”

“Bracing weather,” Theseus gave a small smile as he scarfed down his ham and eggs. He then took on a serious look and waved his wand slightly, casting a muffling bubble about them.

“Before Travers suspended me, I received news members of Grindelwald’s Alliance were sighted in Berlin – near their Ministry. They included former Aurors from various countries…”

“Is he up to his old tricks again?” Tina gasped. They suspected Graves had been ambushed on his way home or even in his apartment. If they could replace a Minister of Magic…

“I doubt Grindelwald would try the same stunt twice. Spielman has sent out a notice to all the Ministries to warn them of the use of Human Transfiguration by Grindelwald and his followers. It is likelier they would attempt to suborn the ministry. There’s been a growing rise in the persecution of Muggleborn wixen… Such pureblood supremacy ideas have been gaining traction on the Continent after the war alongside anti-Semitism among the Muggle populace.”

“As if what we suffer under the No-Majs and Scourers through the ages weren’t enough, we have to turn on our own!” There was a bitter edge to Graves’ voice that did not go unnoticed.

“This appears to run counter to what we know of Grindelwald, but he might be banking on the support of the purebloods… The eggs are delicious, you should try some,” Theseus urged and summoned over a helping of scrambled eggs onto his friend’s plate of buttered toast. He waited until Percival finished his toast and eggs before returning to his news.

“One of Spielman’s sources in Berlin identified Queenie Goldstein but there was no reason to take her in for simply shopping on Main Street with a young man. We do not have any confirmation on the young man’s identity, but we can make a guess.”

“Credence. My sister’s impeccable fashion sense. There is no way she will allow him to run about in the clothes he had on in Paris if she has a say in it,” Tina’s mouth quirked up in a smile. It was some reassurance her sister and Credence were alive and well. She placed her teaspoon down on the saucer before picking up her coffee cup. There was a soft clink of metal on porcelain.

Percival froze as he stared at the spoon.

A teaspoon. That was what he saw before someone gouged out his eye. The pain and blood, chaos. The orderlies trying to restrain his assailant. Someone yelling for a nurse as his assailant broke into peals of manic laughter.

“Deep breaths, pug. Deep breaths…” Theseus was rubbing his back as he emerged from his flashback. Pervical fought the gorge that rose in his throat. Why now? He had been using spoons all this while without any flashbacks. What if another innocent sight or sound would trigger another episode?

“We will get through this,” Tina reaffirmed. “Together.” She placed one hand on Percival’s and the other on Theseus’.

The guests left as planned after lunch amidst a light snow. Seraphina promised she would put in a word with the Congress for Graves for his return, but it would be subject to the recovery of his magic. Moreover, she was soon to step down in the coming year. Graves doubted anything would come of it despite his eagerness to contribute towards Grindelwald’s capture. Tina promised to visit Graves if he wished the following weekend. Dr Fontaine made an appointment to call on Friday to check on Percival. Only Theseus remained behind.

Graves had not been to his former residence since his escape. He wondered if it would help if he were to visit the scene, or it would be too soon. Theseus had visited the former battlefields in France several years after the war ended and found some form of closure. He had not been to his office or MACUSA since his capture by Grindelwald.

Percival found Theseus staring at a photo in the library. Leta. He had seen that photo last night when Theseus spoke of his late fiancée. Miss Lestrange was a beautiful witch with an impish grin. She would have made a fine couple with Theseus. They had started courting in late 1924, before making the engagement official in March 1927. She had been pleased enough by his attentions to agree when he proposed. It was expected at that point for him to do so. The problem was that Theseus was never quite certain where they stood, until he lost her.

There had been an earlier relationship. It was the photo of a different girl Theseus had with him in 1917, a French Muggle nurse Theseus sometimes went to town with. Like so many such relationships, it died when Theseus went home to Britain. Percival was unattached at that time, and staunchly resisted all efforts by his fellow soldiers to introduce him to the ladies who often offered their companionship for a fee. He resorted to sticking in his billfold an old picture of Seraphina back from their brief relationship so everyone would just leave him be.

Finally, Theseus put away the photo.  

“Tadpole, I would like to go to my old place in the city and Woolworths,” Graves blurted out before his courage abandoned him. “Would you mind giving me a lift, if the motorcar is still working…”

He was not sure if a Portkey or Apparition, even a Side-along would work for him given his messed-up magical core. Thankfully, his cousin had brought his motorcar up from the city when he let Percival’s old apartment go.

“Well, if you are up to it. Perhaps we should see if the car works first,” Theseus concurred. The vehicle would have been sitting in the old carriage house neglected for the past few months.

It took them several hours of tinkering to get the engine going enough for a bumpy ride around the grounds. Percival attempted a go and added a dent in the bodywork after grazing a tree. It was hard manoeuvring on icy gravel with only one hand. Theseus fixed that dent with a spell. Eddie apparated with a scarf and demanded his master return indoors before he caught a cold. Driving was out of the question for Percival for now even though Theseus admitted that there were Muggle ways of rigging a car to be driven one-handed. He knew a farmhand who had lost both his hands to the elbows but had a mechanic rig his tractor to be operated with his feet only so he might continue supporting his old mother.

All the Plummy elves had gone by then as per the terms of their contract for the weekend. Only Eddie remained to serve a modest dinner for the family and its sole guest – roast beef with a side of potatoes and mushy peas. Dessert was a spiced bread pudding with apples.

The following Monday was gusty with flurries of snow that threatened to engulf the roads. They spent their time playing wizard chess and listening to old records. The weather cleared late on Tuesday. It was only on Wednesday that it appeared possible for them to drive to the city. Eddie prepared an overnight bag for both as Percival estimated that they might have to stay the night in New York rather than risk driving back in the dark on wintry roads. It would do no harm to drop by at Theseus’ hotel in the city to pick up his remaining luggage before his stay was up. The hotel also offered decent rooms at a modest rate for travellers. He might get a room there himself.

Percival suspected that his friend might have resorted to a few Charms on the car, but he did not mind arriving in the city earlier than he expected. They turned by his old place first. He knew his cousin had removed all Percival’s belongings back to the family estate, leaving only the bare furnishings that came with the apartment. He recognized his former landlady sweeping snow off the stoop. Another tenant had moved into his apartment since. There was a makeshift birdfeeder hanging from the front window. A No-Maj. There were no signs of any wards left.

Next was MACUSA.

For a moment, Percival considered if he should ask Theseus to turn round. It was almost lunchtime. Tina, the Aurors, and the staff would be thronging the corridors, headed for lunch in the cafeteria or out to the ubiquitous food carts for their hotdogs or the café across the street.

Theseus must have noticed his discomfort.

“Pug, do you want to stop for lunch first?”

He shook his head. He wanted it all over and done with.

Chapter Text

They drew up at a kerbside parking space near Woolworths. Normally, Graves would park in the building’s garage. However, he did not wish to commit to entering the building yet. For almost ten minutes, he just sat staring at the department store’s facade of Christmas lights and holly.

“Ready, Percival?”

“Ready.”

Theseus reached over to help with his door. His mother had insisted he took along his cane. It had been his father’s – an unwieldy thing topped with a golden orb. However, he was glad for its support as well as Theseus’ as they approached the building. It was lunchtime. Long queues had formed before the food carts. Another queue snaked out the café.

“Graves?” a squeak of recognition from Alfie Lopez who was queuing for tacos. That was enough to turn the heads of the MACUSA employees queuing in the street. Too much attention… too many eyes staring and too many voices talking about him. He felt like ducking behind Scamander for all the good it would do him. They ducked into Woolworths with Theseus taking his elbow to steady him and guide him along just in case.

They emerged into the grand lobby. Apparently, he was still able to enter magical spaces with his damaged core. There was a murmur of surprise and shock as other employees slowly recognized the much-altered Percival Graves, former Director of Magical Law Enforcement.

“Percival, what are you doing here?” Seraphina. The President glided across the floor towards them, her security detail in tow.

“Just v-visiting…” Graves struggled. Perhaps it was too much, too fast. His head was swimming, his vision blurring. His heart was racing. He felt as if iron bands were being tightened about his chest. Madame Picquery motioned for her security officers to stand back to allow him some space.

“Come along now,” Seraphina Picquery ushered both visitors to the elevator, which promptly emptied out except for the elevator-elf. She gave the order for a mediwitch to be sent to her office.

“My office, Red.”

“Sure he still alive, ma’am?” Red asked as he pushed the buttons. Percival had apparently fainted into Theseus’ arms. The cane clattered on the elevator floor where Red picked it up and handed it to the President. The impudent elf lifted Percival’s eyelid to peer into his eye.

“Well, alive enough,” he proclaimed as they reached the President’s Office.

Seraphina transfigured a chair into a couch for Theseus to lay Graves on it. Percival was just starting to come to. The summoned mediwitch looked him over.

“He walked through some sort of hex, specifically geared towards him,” the senior mediwitch declared solemnly. “When he entered the building, it activated and started reacting with his magic. I am not sure of the mechanics but had his magical core been stronger, it would have stopped his heart cold.”

“G-Grindelwald…” Percival spat as he clutched at his chest. “He told me I’d never set foot in MACUSA again… Didn’t anyone check the building for hexes after he was caught?”

“Matthews had all the offices and rooms checked, but not the main lobby. Too much traffic…” Bobby Chang had caught up to them and had entered the office. “We are getting a Cursebreaker to look at the lobby entrance now.” Sealing off the lobby would be a nightmare given it was the main entrance used by close to three hundred employees and countless visitors, who would now have to be directed to the garage exit. 

“The spell has been worn down over the past year so as not to be as deadly as originally cast. Still, I will strongly recommend Mister Graves drop by at St Kitts for a specialist curse-doctor to look over.”

“Is there another route out that would not involve crossing the lobby?” Theseus asked as he held Graves’ hand. It was cold and clammy.

“Emergency Disapparition protocols, Chang,” Seraphina announced. “Allow temporary Disapparition from my office to St Kitts emergency department.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Chang nodded solemnly and waved his wand.

“Hang on, Percy.” Seraphina sat down next to Percival and hugged him close before Disappariting with him in a side-along. The attendant mediwitch and Theseus followed. Once the four had gone, Auror Bobby Chang reset the Anti-Disapparition and hurried to the Apparating point outside the building to catch up.

Percival was amazed to find that both he and Seraphina arrived unsplinched. He had felt awfully ill during the process and quickly threw up his breakfast on the tiles. They tumbled onto the floor in front of the receiving desk to the alarm of the greeting witch. Healers were summoned and potions applied. However, leaving the building seemed to have worked for Graves as the colour slowly returned to him.  

They received news from Auror Chang that the curse had been lifted off the lobby and it should be safe for Graves to return if he wished. Seraphina sternly demanded that they scanned the entire building from roof to basement for any leftover jinxes or hexes which might be lying in wait for unsuspecting wixen.

“Why did you go back?” Seraphina asked. Theseus had stepped outside to speak with the healer.

“I was never debriefed…”

“Forget that debriefing… you were in no state for it, and as far as I am concerned, you are in no state for it now.”

“I wanted to look at my old office.”

“You would never recognize it now. Emerson Abbot redecorated the place in Western chic after he was convinced to stay on for another year.” Another voice cut in.

Tina had Apparated over to St Kitts, having returned from her lunch to find the lobby in an uproar after Graves’ collapse and the discovery of a curse left behind by the Dark Wizard of their era. She had feared the worst but was now beaming to see her Uncle Percy sitting up and arguing with the President of MACUSA.

“Tina.”

“Uncle Percy…” she enveloped him in a hug.

“What did Abbot do to my office? Hung his banjo on the wall?” Graves never thought he would miss the worn mahogany desk and filing cabinets that had been handed down since before the war. 

“For starters. He had the place done over to look like a saloon with country music Tuesdays,” Tina added with a grin. “It helped that Matthews had to refurnish the place after we gutted it as part of dehexing MACUSA last year.”

“I approved of his mini saloon and the gigglewater,” Seraphina added.

“What did it look like under Matthews?” Percy asked.

“Bare bones. He just hauled in a spare desk and chair from the store and used an Extension charm on his briefcase for the files.” 

“Percy, they would like to keep you for the night,” Theseus returned after his chat with the healer. “The good news is that your magic core seems to be stabilizing. Maybe you can try using magic a bit since it is still there.”

Hopeful, Percival concentrated on a glass of water on the table. “Accio- glass.” Nothing happened.

“Here, try it with a wand,” Seraphina offered her wand. Percival held it and tried again. Nothing, not even a spark.

“There, there. You are tired. Maybe tomorrow,” Seraphina coaxed the crestfallen wizard as he gave back her wand. “Don’t give up now.”

Outside in the corridor earlier…

“Mister Scamander, we will be frank with you. There has been a rather worrisome development when we scanned his magical core. His core is not only stabilizing, but also strengthening at a rapid rate. He has not been using his magic at all, has he?” the senior healer asked. When Theseus nodded, he continued.

“His current condition is not that of a no-Maj or squib. Before his injury, he was a powerful wizard, no? There is a risk he might develop a condition similar to an obscurus if his magic is unable to be expressed. There is something blocking him mentally. My recommendation is a mind-healer or else magic regulating restraints to prevent any sudden outbursts as his magic returns to former levels.”

“Out of the question.” Putting any form of restraints on his friend was unthinkable. Percival had already expressed an aversion to any form of probing into his mind. “If we can force him to express his magic, would it help?”

“I do hope you are not intending to shove him down the stairs or drop him in front of a train. That might tip him over the edge if not seriously injure or kill him first. He needs to grow back into his magic. After a year without it, he’d be out of practice.”

“What is the prognosis?”

“Well, in all my years I have only encountered a single such case. A young child who was attacked by a Rougarou. He only regained the use of his magic in his majority and received his acceptance to Ilvermorny after he was accepted to Harvard. The family did not have that strong magic to start with. He was attuned to No-Maj life by then thanks to being raised by his No-Maj grandfather in England after being written off as a squib. Chose to continue with Harvard. From what we last heard, he was performing magic tricks to entertain children in his free time when not designing buildings. Drove the No-Maj magicians crazy trying to work out how he did his tricks. Probably signed himself up for a Kwikspell course after work, but that is neither here or there.”

“About Graves…” Scamander tried to draw the healer back to the topic.

“A wizard of his age and power. It might be difficult for him to control his own power when it finally comes back. There was a historical account in the 1860s of a grown witch. The records state that she was traumatized and unable to use any magic after her rescue from Scourers despite having been known in the community for her magic previously. Until the day a snallygaster threatened her grandchildren.”

“What happened?”

“Twenty odd years of disuse and pent-up magic let loose at once. They found a charred crater where the beast was. The strain killed her, but the children survived unscathed. I suggest you encourage your friend to continue trying to use magic but stop if he encounters any discomfort and return for another scan. Perhaps simple spells to start off.”

Tina exchanged glances with Theseus. She had noticed his discomfort when Percival fluctuated between hope and despair. Yet he had suggested Uncle Percy try to use a spell. Why?

Later. He would have to tell someone in the States. Perhaps Mrs Graves or Tina. He hoped his suspension would end soon so he would go back to working to bring down Grindelwald. The Auror core of the British ministry had been gutted, just as the French Aurors were after the rally. Should he tell Percival about his condition? He did not know how he would react, or if he already knew.

“Accio,” Percival repeated as he reached for the glass again. No one noticed the glass shift slightly.

“Allow me,” Theseus sensed Percival’s growing frustration. He accio-ed the glass over so his friend could quench his thirst.

Chapter Text

Theseus was to ring in the New Year with the Graves. There was no summons from the British for rest of December. The wizards agreed to keep their stop at St Kitts quiet from Mrs Graves. Dr Fontaine dropped by weekly and was pleased with his patient’s recovery. Like the healer in St Kitts, he encouraged Percival to try using his magic. There were other things Percival worked at – writing with his left hand, trying to drive his motorcar when the weather allowed without crashing into anything. Eddie introduced a half-elf mechanic to his master after he parked the car in the empty fountain. There was no follow up from MACUSA over the long overdue debrief. Perhaps it did not matter anymore. Grindelwald’s plans might have changed drastically since last year’s events.

They started with the basic spells taught to first years. When he tried his old wand again, it remained a dead rod of ebony wood in his hand. Theseus was not familiar with how wands were obtained in the States, other than issued to students at Ilvermorny or applied for with a special wand replacement permit to replace broken wands. Emilia Graves offered her own wand for her son to try, but that did not cause so much as a spark. The same for Theseus’. There was no point applying for a replacement wand yet without definite proof of Percival’s magic recovery, so they worked on wandless magic instead.

At his mother’s invitation, Tina visited over the Christmas holidays with a delicious selection of festive pastries from Kowalski’s. She confessed she was never any good in cooking magic and worse at No-Maj cooking. The rest of the Aurors had their own families to spend the holidays with, and Tina’s sister was across an entire ocean, as was Theseus’ only brother.

Newt managed to send a letter to Tina via some exotic African bird with a face only its mother, or Newt Scamander, could love. He was in the Congo on the trail of runespoor smugglers. He sent a Christmas gift for Tina – a necklace made from colourful beads and shells. Theseus shuddered to think what his brother might deem a suitable gift for him. He hoped it was not a live creature like the Cornish pixies he received in his fifth year from his baby brother. A grownup Newt would have more sense knowing his busy schedule as an Auror to saddle him with something totally dependent on him for survival. There might be some native knick-knack lying in his letterbox. He should really consider renting out or selling his new London apartment. It was too big for a bachelor. Newt already had his own little place there, which he allowed his assistant Bunty to live in gratis in exchange for housekeeping and caring for the resident menagerie in his absence.

All too quickly, it was time for Theseus to return to Britain. Travers learnt the hard way how badly gutted the Ministry’s Auror core were and how few recruits there were. The fallout from the rally reflected badly on the profession, as did his shoddy treatment of a respected professor in Hogwarts. They needed Theseus back to train any new Aurors. Graves realized how much he had come to enjoy the man’s company. It was unreasonable to expect Tina to travel up every weekend. His mother tried to manage his social life, inviting his various cousins over to visit and help keep his spirits up. It was horridly awkward finding his mother had invited the MacDuffs and knowing one of their sons had defected over to Grindelwald’s. The Easter weekend was a pain with Sheridan’s children gambolling through the house and using their wandless magic with ease. They had to stop two of the boys from getting into a full-blown duel in the ballroom using their parents’ wands.

Theseus and Percival wrote to each other constantly. On occasion, Theseus would update Graves and Tina on events in Europe. Queenie had been sighted in several other European cities, often accompanied by one or more other acolyte. Credence had not been sighted since his shopping trip with Queenie, but there were whispers that Dark Wizard had found himself a protégé whom he kept close. Percival practised his spells even though they appeared not to work. There was one day when he swore that Theseus’ letter had fluttered when he accio-ed it, but he later convinced himself it was just a draught from the window.

He enjoyed Tina’s visits when she came. Things were moving on in the MACUSA Auror Office without him. Tina spoke of the cases she worked on, at least those she was allowed to share and office gossip. Alfie Lopez stayed on in New York after he got engaged to a witch downstairs in the Records room. Millie Constable landed a teaching post in Beauxbatons as Charms Mistress. Tolliver was happily married to Lucy Wilkinson in spring. There were rumours that the pair would be expecting a child by fall.

There was an election that summer and a new President was elected. Seraphina Picquery stepped down and retired for a more private life that allowed her to visit him over the weekends. Graves was surprised to learn that his mother and Madame Picquery had somehow negotiated a truce. The new President Able Fisher had expressed little interest in meddling in European matters as he referred to Grindelwald’s reign across the Atlantic. Bobby Chang’s career with MACUSA ended with a literal bang. A badly-cast Bombardo backfired and set fire to the new Presidential limo. He was fired by an irate Fisher and took himself out west in search of fresh pastures.

“Doctor, will I ever be able to use my magic again?” Graves asked after a consultation with Fontaine during his many home visits. “I just cannot seem to get a hold of it at all, if it is even there.”

“Don’t give up, Percival. Try holding your wand or using a simple spell to open a door or move an object,” the doctor advised. “The last scan shows your core is stabilizing… it might return to its former strength or part of it. Do you experience any discomfort? Aches, tingling?”

“I feel throbbing in my left eye or where my fingers and arm used to be at times.”

“When you try using magic? Any odd sensations? Warmth, a buzzing feeling?”

“Nothing. Accio, book.”

Both doctor and patient stared at the book sitting on the side table Percival was trying to fetch. Nothing happened. No one noticed a second copy of the same book on the bookcase behind them just slip slightly out of alignment with its fellows.

It was almost Halloween before Percival made another trip to New York City, chauffeured by the loyal Eddie. Side-along Apparition and portkeys still left him casting up his accounts on arrival. His mother detested the city for all its noise and filth. Eddie allowed him to take the wheel on the quieter stretches of road. After a few close shaves with trees, fences and a haycart, Graves resigned himself to being unable to drive his own motorcar outside his family estate.

On a whim, he dropped by the bakery owned by Jacob Kowalski. The baker was in – a smiling plump fellow. Not exactly handsome but Queenie always saw beyond the exterior. As Percival paid for his occamy-shaped cinnamon rolls and niffler apple buns, he sensed that the baker’s smile and jolliness was only superficial, a front for the sake of greeting the customers. A year had passed since Queenie left her No-Maj beau and the man still missed her.

He passed Woolworths without a second glance. His life at MACUSA was over. He had made an appointment to meet Tina in the diner across the street for dinner. Tina had recently been promoted to senior Auror, having risen through the ranks in the months following debacle in Paris by dint of her own efforts. Director Abbot was as fair as they came, and his soon-to-be successor Joel Pickles was unlikely to find fault with his protégé. Tina suffered from losing her sister. Graves found her too thin and pale at times when she did visit him. Even his mother had expressed concern that Miss Goldstein might be pushing herself too hard. As far as he knew, Tina hardly ever took any vacation time.

Graves was surprised to find that Tina was not alone at the diner. With her was her beau, Newt Scamander. The Scamander brothers were as alike as chalk and cheese. Newt was shorter than his brother, and had reddish-brown hair, freckles, and blue-green eyes. He had heard so much about the younger man and was pleased to meet him. Newt was understandably awkward about him at first. The last time he was in the city, he had faced ‘Graves’ as an enemy. They enjoyed a cordial dinner and Graves found he approved of the young man courting Tina. He had that sense of honesty about him that rang true. Eddie the elf declined to join them and had gone off to visit some relative in the city, agreeing to pick Graves up later at nine.

Newt was not staying long. He would be catching a train west to meet up with another magizoologist regarding a population of possibly unknown horned serpents in the Northwestern States. His travels took him all over the world and into the most inhospitable places.

The sisters had decidedly good sense in choosing their beaus, if both unconventional by wizarding standards. He only hoped Queenie would come to her senses and be able to leave Grindelwald’s alliance safely.

No one was sure whose idea Capri was. Perhaps it was his mother’s. She secretly loathed winters in the Northeast States and preferred a more Mediterranean climate. If possible, she would have spent all year at her villa on Capri. A Mediterranean holiday beckoned. The dowager must have cajoled Tina into joining them. Some enterprising wizard started a line of flying ships inspired by Muggle airships and his mother booked first-class tickets for three. House-elves travelled free. Eddie came along as Graves’ personal valet. Mrs Graves left her house-elves at the villa to maintain it.

The last time he was in Europe, it was in the middle of a bloody war. Now he had a chance to see the continent at peace. The airship drifted across the ocean, over plains, rivers and towns in the Southern France before making a stop in Nice. The crossing was smooth for the most part, as they were blessed by a lull in the normally blustery November weather. Tina was fascinated by the travel guide book his mother had recommended to them. It was likely the furthest Tina had been from home. Due to his lack of magical prowess, many of the passengers looked at him askew, probably believing him a squib. Or they might be staring at his many scars. Percival quickly learnt to ignore that as he went about doing things No-Maj style.

A ferry took them from the Italian mainland to Capri. He had not been to his mother’s villa since he was a young child and the villa still the property of his great-grandmother. He remembered it as a place of huge open atriums and terraces decorated with mosaics and too many urns and vases just waiting to be broken. It had forced him and his cousins to learn Repario quickly. He had long lost touch with the pack. He recalled several Zabinis and perhaps a pair of Rosiers. Most were European purebloods who would not give him a second glance once they knew he had any No-Maj ancestry. The villa and its gardens were lovingly maintained by a family of house elves. 

“Aslan!” Emilia called out a greeting to a turbaned, olive-skinned man who was perched on a tall ladder working on a large mural.

“Emilia! Darling, what do you think?” the wizard Apparated down from the ladder and waved his arm at the mural. Percival could not make head or tail of it. The riot of colours and shapes failed to make any logical sense. Perhaps it was meant to be a dragon or some exotic bird.  

“So this is your brave son,” Alsan greeted Graves warmly before turning to Tina. There was a look of surprise that quickly faded away.

“Enchantez, I will not compare thee to Aphrodite. You are undoubtedly an Athena,” he lifted Tina’s hand to his lips and dropped a kiss on her fingers. Aslan Shafiq was Emilia Graves’ friend, or perhaps more than friend. He gently herded Emilia over to an alcove for more privacy. There was a heated argument in Italian before Emilia stepped away. Shafiq followed, more composed. Tina guessed he was the same age as Percival Graves or perhaps even younger. Unless that glossy raven hair and unwrinkled skin came from some potions. He acted as steward for the villa in its mistress’ absence.

The resident elves spoke Italian or some rustic dialect that even Eddie did not understand. The old elf was quickly ushered to the kitchens to be fed by an elderly she-elf. Canapes and cocktails were set up on the terrace before dinner.

“I think it is a Thunderbird,” Tina studied Shafiq’s mural from her seat on the terrace.

“It is a dragon,” Percival added

“It is a phoenix, look at all the orange hues…” the lady of the house added.

“It is all and nothing,” the artist replied with a secretive smile. The pigments shimmered in the rays of the setting sun. “It is a pity Madame Picquery would not join us. A little bird told me she is in Paris this season.”

“Seraphina made her own decision not to join us,” Mrs Graves replied too quickly. Percival was not sure if his mother had extended any invitation in the first place. She might tolerate Seraphina visiting Percival in his family home, but an invitation to her villa might be too much to ask.

“Accio, wine…” Percival murmured a spell. He was now allowed to drink alcohol in moderation but nothing stronger than watered-down wine. Nothing. He turned to look for the pepper shaker. He felt the wine glass press against his fingers as he looked away. When he looked back, he spotted Eddie clearing the plates beside him. Perhaps it was the house-elf after all.

Chapter Text

The Blue Grotto of Capri was legendary in both No-Maj and magical circles for its beauty and lore. Wizardkind knew it as a sanctuary for their local kindred from persecution during the Middle Ages. The locals were said to have established their village at the bottom of the Grotto and hidden passages within the cave leading other parts of the island. However, these were long lost to time.

The weather held off enough for them to take for Shafiq to take them out in a rowboat out to the Blue Grotto. The sight of the deep blue water took their breaths away. They were surprised to find another party of sightseers there, a gaggle of young American witches probably in their first season. They were chaperoned by a dour-looking matron and a very familiar witch.

“Seraphina?”

“Good morning, Percy. I am accompanying my niece and her friends on a tour of Europe. Perhaps Tina and you might join us for a picnic lunch later at the Olive Inn.”

Seraphina greeted his mother more coolly. The older witch was a bit perturbed her son’s old flame had turned up on the island as well. The small boats bobbed lazily in the calm water as everyone admired the grotto’s otherworldly beauty. No one noticed the wave until it was too late.

Shafiq shouted a warning to hold on. Leaning over to peer into the depths, Percival lost his grip. He went over the side of the rowboat with a splash, too far off for his three companions to get hold of him. He cracked his skull on something hard. He was sinking, weighed down by the heavy overcoat he had worn against the nippy air that morning. His legs refused to work. He was floundering.

Such a beautiful blue… he thought as he sank beneath the surface… Blackness closed in.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

Sweet salty air flooded back into his lungs. He was floating in the air, dripping seawater. Three wands glowing in the dim grotto, the combined spell enough to keep him and his waterlogged garments aloft. Three witches – his mother, Tina, and Seraphina. They kept him hovering long enough for Shafiq to manoeuvre his boat under him before the witches released the spell. Tina cast a drying spell on him and his clothes. It was a disastrous end to their so far enjoyable outing.

The gloom settled in Percival with the arrival of storm clouds as they sought shelter in the villa. Once more he was painfully aware of his inability to use any magic. The inn was too far off for the party of young witches to reach before the storm broke and Emilia Graves was not averse to opening her villa to the party after Seraphina’s part in rescuing her son. The six young witches were from an elite Southern finishing school for society witches and were a breath of fresh air in the otherwise quiet villa. They were accompanied by their headmistress and Seraphina, who was standing in for a teacher who had fallen ill. Emilia Graves and the headmistress Grace Leblanc soon found they shared mutual acquaintances in the elite wizarding circles back home and were soon exchanging gossip over coffee.

The young witches swooned over the dark and handsome Shafiq and were intrigued by the battle-scarred former Auror Percival. The handsome Shafiq flirted with the girls while Percival chose to ignore their attentions in favour of perusing a pocket Italian phrasebook. When they learned Tina was an Auror, she was besieged by questions on being an Auror and the training needed. One young lady was especially concerned for her beau who had just started his training. Tina reassured the young witch that trainees were allowed to write and receive mail from home that would be left in the training centre’s owlery for them to collect at their convenience. The owlery also arranged for mail collected to be posted to the recruits’ families and friends.

“Aunt Sera’s beau left her when he was away training. Mama said she wrote loads of letters, but he never replied,” the girl unwittingly blurted out.

There was a soft thud as the phrasebook fell out of Percival’s hand. There was an awkward silence as Percival fumbled for the book while Seraphina stared at her coffee dregs.

“I never received any letters…” Percival muttered quietly. “I wrote… Two years…”

“I wrote until I read about your engagement to Margery Fischer. I thought it was over between us when I accepted Orwell’s suit.”

“Margery Fischer? Whatever gave you that idea, Sera?”

“There was an article in the Southern Witch and a photo of the both of you at the Gala…” Seraphina looked off into the distance. Sensing the pair’s need for privacy, Shafiq deftly persuaded the young witches to come view some sculptures in his workshop with their headmistress. Percival swallowed. It sounded so familiar. Tina Goldstein excused herself to the bathroom.  

“I was tasked with escorting Miss Fischer to the Gala during my home visit…” Percival started. The homely Margie ended up marrying one of the MacDuff boys and was for all accounts, deliriously happy popping out offspring for the large MacDuff clan and tending to her brood.

“Percy, your father was a stakeholder of that newspaper before it folded,” his mother cut in. “As for those letters, I believe he had one or more of your instructors in his debt. Sorry, son, it went as it did, if only someone had waited…”

“Mother!” Graves had enough. He rose from his chair and stormed off down the villa’s many galleries, pushing past Tina as he did so. He was furious. All those wasted years. His father’s meddling, Sera not waiting for his return, and his mother’s complicit silence. He lashed out at a terracotta vase, sending it clattering over the side of the rain-soaked terrace, and quickly regretted it. The villa’s elves had been given the day off to enjoy a local festival in town. Goodness knew if Eddie had been persuaded to take a day off as well. The vase will likely lie shattered where it had landed until someone noticed its absence. Rain plastered his hair to his scalp and face, soaking through his clothes. Lightning flashed and thunder roared as the storm raged on without any sign of abating. Exhausted, he sank to his knees.

Emilia Graves frowned. There was something off about her villa underneath the storm’s chaotic energies. Madame LeBlanc’s girls were the pearls of Southern society – the twin daughters of a wizard inventor, the niece of a former MACUSA president, the granddaughter of a former MACUSA President and a descendant of the original Auror Lopez. Then there was that quiet one – Eva Prince, named for her English mother as her parents never married to each other, so the gossip went. The child’s father was rumoured to be President Able Fisher. She was sent to the States as a toddler after her mother passed. Whispers had it that the respectable Mister Fisher denied paternity and left the child in an orphanage until a teacher at Ilvermorny, and some claim archnemesis of Mister Fisher, intervened and made the child her ward. This allowed little Eva to walk in the very same circles as the children of her father’s peers. The uncanny resemblance between the pair did not go unnoticed. The scandal could destroy the career of the current President if it were to spread beyond the upper-class sitting rooms. Some claimed Fisher might even run for Supreme Mugwump…

Madame LeBlanc had become concerned about Eva recently as the witch seemed to be carrying on a secret correspondence with someone. Not that she minded the quiet girl having a new friend especially given her Ilvermorny guardian’s recent passing, but something about those letters seemed off. She had glimpsed some of the letters, by accident of course, and they were enough to worry her. Eva’s letters had been signed off with Grindelwald’s symbol. She had confronted the girl, but Miss Prince shrugged it off as a joke and took offence at her letter being peeked at. She could have taken the girls to the Orient for their graduation trip instead of the traditional European jaunt, but that would be too foreign for them. Grindelwald’s organization had been quiet after that infamous Paris rally.

Emilia Graves entered the cellar, almost regretting giving the elves the day off. She had her guests to feed. The generous lunch spread the elves had left behind for them was almost gone. Amphorae of olive oil, garam, and wine were stacked along the walls. Pots of cheese cured on the shelves under hanging bushels of dried herbs. Her son had once hidden in the cellar as a child once after being teased by his European cousins for being small compared to them. Perhaps she was expecting to find him there, but no such luck. She climbed out of the cellar to see a man silhouetted against the kitchen window.

“Percy?” the shadow shifted. Two arms. Not Percy. “Who’s there?”

Emilia ducked behind the olive-oil press as a hex flew above her head, obliterating the mosaic panel behind her. Not Aslan either. That wizard would cut off both his hands first before destroying any of the villa’s artwork. She gathered up her skirts and ran for cover, cursing her foolhardiness in leaving her wand on the coffee table. The Stunning spell hit her hard and everything went black.

They had lost sight of Graves in the dim galleries and loggias of the sprawling villa. Emilia Graves declined to chase after her son, deciding he needed some time alone to process what he had just learnt. Tina and Seraphina were not that sure. They split up to cover more ground.  

Seraphina turned a corner to find the sculptor’s workshop. Aslan Shafiq was enthusiastically demonstrating the use of a potter’s wheel with Grace LeBlanc’s help. Clay was being flung everywhere to amused laughter from the girls, who were being splattered with clay as well. The studio would need a thorough scroungifying after this.

The wards went off. Aslan glanced up from his work trying to guide Madame LeBlanc’s large hands in shaping a pot. The wards placed on the villa were nowhere as strong as they once were with Shafiq having free run of the villa in Signora Graves’ absence. He would often bring his arty friends over for a weekend of creative exploration. Was it a magical beast? Or an intruder with ill-will towards the villa’s residents?

“Shafiq, Gracie, stay with the girls. I will look for the rest,” Seraphina ordered. She had her wand with her. Some of the witches fumbled for their wands, terrified. Madame LeBlanc worked to calm the young ladies. Shafiq yanked aside a tapestry to reveal a hidden room. The flighty artist was gone. Aslan Shafiq was a warrior at heart. She could tell from the confident way he held his wand. He herded the girls and their headmistress into the small room and cast a quick glamour, so that the tapestry appeared to cover an earthen wall.

“You stay too, Signora. I know the grounds better…” that was as far as the wizard got before a Petrifying spell hit him in the back. It came from behind the tapestry…

“Selena!” Picquery feared the worst as she caught the petrified wizard before he hit the tiles face-first. There came screams which were too quickly silenced. She threw back the tapestry and quickly raised a protego to deflect a Stupefying spell. The headmistress and five of the students were petrified, including her niece. The last student…

“Revelio!” Seraphina shouted and cast her charm. Well, well, isn’t this a surprise…

“Uncle Percy…” Tina approached Graves cautiously. She found him huddled in a corner of the terrace, utterly miserable. She transfigured an umbrella from her hat to shield them from the rain.

“Leave me be…”

“Let’s get you back inside, warm and dry.”

“All those wasted years… After she left Orwell, I should have told…” He felt the shock of the alarm wards going off. “Tina, we need to get back inside!”

His long years of training and experience as a Auror were kicking in after lying dormant for so long after his duel against Grindelwald. Innocents were in danger. His mother, best friend, their guests… He did not know if it was a wizard or a beast that menaced them, but he was going to protect them as far as and for as long as he could.

Tina nodded grimly and unsheathed her wand.

Chapter Text

“The kitchens, this way,” Graves led Tina not through the maze of galleries but down a flight of stairs through the cellars and up to the kitchen where…

“Mother,” Percival choked.

Mrs Graves was sprawled facedown on the kitchen floor. Tina quickly held Percival back before he could charge into danger. There was someone else in the kitchens, perhaps more than one. The kitchen was too dark, the fire in the oven long banked down, but there was enough light from it where Emilia Graves had fallen to show that she was still breathing.

“I’m sorry… no one was supposed to hurt…” a young witch’s scared voice. A harsh male growl. Soft sobbing. Tina motioned for Percival they should shield their eyes.  

“Lumos!” she cast the spell, lighting up the kitchen as bright as a summer’s day. A muffled squeak of alarm and running footsteps. She glimpsed a man dragging a young woman out into the villa’s living area. Percival bent over his mother, checking her vitals. Tina paused, torn between remaining to guard the defenceless Graves mother and son or to give chase.

“Goldstein, go now! I have this!” Percival looked up at her with a fierce determination he had not shown for many months. Emilia Graves’ eyelids fluttered. She was coming round. Tina nodded and gave chase.

“P-Percy…”

“Yes, mother?”

“Help me sit up. I believe I busted my knee,” Emilia Graves gently worked a healing spell. Some spells simply could not be rushed. She could sense her son straining to go after the intruder, but in his current state, he was helpless. Yet to ask him to stand by and watch…

“I left my wand on the coffee table… could you fetch it for me, please? Be careful, will you?”

Percival nodded and kissed her on the cheek before making his way to the sitting room, moving stealthily like he was taught in Auror training. Percival should be familiar with the secret passages of the villa. All the children who played in it learned them during games of hide and seek. She let out a soft sigh. She only hoped to Circe that she had made the correct decision.

“Abernathy, you look utterly ridiculous,” Seraphina remarked as she held the disgraced MACUSA employee at wand point. Abernathy was wearing a witch’s travelling dress – Eva Prince’s, complete with stockings and sensible ladies’ shoes. He scowled at the dark-skinned witch. It was a standoff. Abernathy was standing between her and the hostages. There was no sign of the real Miss Prince. Shafiq was still incapacitated. Seraphina dared not take her wand off Abernathy.

A kidnapping? Able Fisher had sold himself on his honesty. If that torrid affair in his past and the resultant lovechild he abandoned were to be made known, there would be no way anyone would vote him in for another term, much less support his bid for Supreme Mugwump in the next ICW election.  

“Uncle Percy?” Tina was surprised to see Graves approaching her when she was certain she had left him behind. She lifted her wand, wary of a trap.

“Oh, put that away, it is me. You can read me if in doubt.” He had no shields up to impede any legilimency. He offered his mother’s wand to Tina, handle-first.

“No need for that, sir,” Tina smiled wanly. The tension was getting to her. She had cleared two of the larger rooms and the atrium. She had no idea where the girls and their headmistress were.

“The sitting room is empty, I have checked that wing of the villa,” Percival reported.

“Do you know where Shafiq’s studio is?” Tina asked. Shafiq had waxed lyrical over his craft over dinner last night. It was likely he would have brought the girls on a tour of his workshop.

“The annex. This way,” Percival grunted. His mother should be able to take care of herself, even without her wand. There was always the cellar she could retreat to if it came to the worst.

Eighteen-year-old Eva Prince was barely keeping it together. It would be unladylike to go into hysterics even as one was being dragged through brambles by some lout who was not what she had expected from his letters. Or perhaps the letters were not written by him to start with. She had expected someone more refined, not a gruff fallen Auror. At least he had raised a rain-repelling charm over them as they bashed their way through the garden to studio. Elopement had sounded more romantic on the pages of a novel.

Everything had gone sideways with the storm. She was supposed to leave from the inn, instead of being stranded in a remote villa due to bad weather. The portkey she was to use was still stuck in her room and had since expired. Miss Weiss had warned her of strange wizards who might have designs on her person, but that was before her guardian had that fatal potions accident. It started innocently enough with an anonymous letter seeking a pen pal and snowballed from there.

“Abernathy! Where are you? Quit playing about, you dolt!” Malcolm growled. This assignment was not going remotely to plan at all. It was taking too long. They were not even supposed to encounter anyone, but the Tracking spell they planted on the girl had led them to this villa when the portkey failed to activate as scheduled. The storm was meant to cover their getaway, not impede it. Where was Abernathy?

Tina and Graves arrived to find Seraphina in a standoff. Tina unpetrified Aslan Shafiq first. Aslan gracefully rose into a crouch, his wand at the ready. They dared not fire any spells at Abernathy for fear of hitting any of the still petrified girls.

“Give up, Abernathy,” Tina ordered. They had one of the studio doors covered. The second doorway led outside, but Abernathy would have to get past Seraphina and Shafiq first. Abernathy’s eyes darted between Tina and Seraphina. Then looking over Seraphina’s shoulder, he smiled.

“Bombardo!” someone else shouted from the second doorway.

The studio exploded.  

“Sera!” Graves yelled. The air was full of choking dust. He and Tina were on their knees, bruised and battered. The painted ceiling and skylight of the studio was gone. A young woman was screaming.

Assess the situation. Percival glanced about him. Tina was bleeding down her face but still grimly clutching her wand. Seraphina and Shafiq had both been knocked down by the blast. Shafiq was moaning, his leg pinned under a piece of masonry. His wand was nowhere in sight. The blast must have disarmed him. Seraphina was sprawled on the ground, covered in dust. She was not moving. . There was a huge piece of metal from the roof sticking out the small of her back. An ominous dark stain under her that was rapidly growing. Percival’s heart sank. Abernathy was still standing. He had cast a protego which shielded both him and his hostages in that hidden alcove.

“MacDuff, you could have killed us!” he snapped at the newcomer. Still, he stepped out of the alcove, purposefully stepping on Shafiq’s broken leg as he did so.

MacDuff smirked as he approached. He had his wand pointed at the throat of a terrified young witch. “Wand down, Goldstein. Or else.”

Tina cast her wand away from her and out of the nearest window into a rose bush. She glared at the pair in disgust. Smart move. She could call it back to her quickly if the chance arose. The pair would not think of looking for her wand in the thorns to break it. Shafiq was immobilized. No one knew how badly Seraphina was injured.

“Queenie sends her regards, Goldstein. I am sure she will take care of our little miss here. No one else move now…”

Dragging their hostage with them, the pair edged their way over the rubble to the exit. Too slowly. Percival darted forward, pressing his palm against the terrible wound in Seraphina’s back. He had to stop the bleeding. Vulnera Sanentur… He murmured the spell, desperately trying to reach for his magic. He could feel her pulse fluttering. Should he risk pulling out the piece of metal impaling her? The blood kept flowing out.

He looked up to find MacDuff pointing his wand at him. It was Abernathy who was now steering the girl out of the building.

“Pathetic. A crippled squib and eunuch still playing at Auror… such a disgrace…” his former colleague sneered. “I suppose it will be a kindness to put her down… Ava…”

No, you don’t. Percival felt a burning rage roiling inside him. It was his magic calling out to him. He reached for it. This time he got hold…

“Expelliarmus!” Percival lifted his hand from Seraphina and waved it at MacDuff. He did not have time to reach for his mother’s wand. The force of the spell threw MacDuff across the room against the far wall, knocking him out cold.

Seeing her opening, Tina accio-ed her wand back through the window and unpetrified both the headmistress and her charges. Madame LeBlanc and her charges immediately converged on the wounded. Shafiq had recovered his wand and cast an Incarcerous, tying MacDuff to one of the few columns left standing. Tina sprinted out into the rain. There was no sign of Abernathy or his hostage.

Percival staggered to his feet, reluctantly surrendering Seraphina’s care to Madame LeBlanc. He had used his magic without a wand. His knees were shaking, no, his entire body was trembling.

“Percy!” His mother came running in the demolished workshop with her house-elves. The blast had been spotted from the town by the elves and they had cut their revels short. Once she had reassured herself her son was not badly hurt, Mrs Graves directed the house-elves to fetch bandages and healing potions.

“Master did it!” Eddie hopped about, wearing a paper cup rakishly on his head.

Seraphina was still out cold from both a wound to the head and blood loss. Emilia sent a house-elf to seek medical aid from the mainland and inform the Italian ministry they had one of Grindelwald’s lackeys in custody. Tina limped back into the workshop with a face as dark as a storm cloud. Abernathy had given her the slip and taken Miss Eva Prince with him.

MacDuff was coming to with a soft moan. Percival rose to his feet with Eddie’s help and dusted himself off. He returned his mother’s wand to her before he strode over to the prisoner.

“You, sir, are a disgrace to MACUSA and the Twelve,” Graves spat. MacDuff could only glare back in sullen silence.

The Italian Aurors came, a dozen of them. The destruction of the villa’s annex had attracted attention from the No-Majs on the island as well. The mediwizards that accompanied the Aurors set about tending to the injured. Seraphina came to, much to Percival’s relief, but she needed to be moved to the hospital on the mainland. Shafiq had his leg set and was allowed on remain on the condition he took it easy for a few days. Tina received a gash on her scalp. Percival little more than bruises and scrapes.

“I should have been quicker,” Tina murmured grumpily. MACUSA had been alerted of MacDuff’s capture and the kidnapping of an American witch off the island of Capri. It would be a matter of time before Tina was summoned back to the States.

“Stop being so hard on yourself, Tina,” Percival admonished. “You did your best.”

“It was Abernathy.”

“Same Abernathy who colluded with Grindelwald in his escape and made a fool of Spielman and the European taskforce?” 

“I think we underestimated him.”

“This villa has no Anti-Apparition wards,” Emilia Graves admitted. “It never required them.” Her cousins and aunts had made full use of that weakness to Apparate themselves and their shopping from an abandoned house in the town straight to the villa or even from the mainland if they missed the ferry.

“The security here is terrible…” Percival flexed his fingers. He wordlessly summoned a teacup over. Though shaken, the girls had rallied and viewed the whole encounter as some adventure. Madame LeBlanc was distraught. It was the first time in her school’s history a student had been kidnapped, or worse, eloped. Tina managed to obtain access to the girl’s room in the inn. They found several love letters in Miss Prince’s valise, signed off by an unknown A. These letters were treated carefully as potential leads to the witch’s whereabouts. MacDuff was not talking.

Graves summoned his wand over, running his fingertips over the smooth finish. He carried it with him despite not being able to use it, even on this trip. He gave it a wave as his mother, Tina, and Shafiq watched on. Nothing.

“Percival, was that wand used by another besides you?” Shafiq asked quietly, his dark eyes thoughtful.

“Grindelwald used it when he was impersonating me.”

“Did it work for him?” Percival froze. Grindelwald had used it against him. Used it to torture him…

“Grindelwald used it to duel me…” Tina interjected.

“Ah, I see. You will need a new wand then,” Shafiq reasoned. “A wand that has lost its loyalty to its master is tainted and will never work for its former master. May I?” the artist held out his hand for the wand. Percival handed it over. Shafiq took the wand and snapped it in two before returning the pieces to Graves.

“Cast them in fire or saltwater. Get a new one that suits your new balance. I will recommend a place in Naples – Vulcan’s. They are specialists in more than one field.”

Chapter Text

The summons came for Tina Goldstein, two weeks after the attack on the villa. She was to use an international portkey from the Italian Ministry’s Naples office to return to New York on Boxing Day.  Meanwhile, Tina worked with the Italian Aurors to come up with a joint report on their investigations into the kidnapping. Seraphina had recovered enough to be interviewed in her ward at San Gennaro’s. Miss Prince was described as plain in looks but a talented potioneer by her peers and teachers. She was shy and reserved, not the type one would expect to be consorting with terrorists. The school tour ended abruptly with Madame LeBlanc besieged by owls from parents of the remaining girls demanding their immediate return to the States. Shafiq’s workshop was fixed, just barely. The artist decided he would like to plan a makeover of the entire annex.

There had been no ransom demands or blackmail threats to Eva’s supposed father, at least none the Italians or MACUSA were aware of. Some wrote off the whole affair as little more than an elopement, perhaps with someone in Grindelwald’s organization. Love letters found in the witch’s belongings suggested that. Surely such a non-entity would not attract any notice from the Dark Wizard. Credence had been considered a non-entity before he was recruited by Grindelwald for his power as an obscurial. No one thought anything of Queenie’s natural legilimency, until Grindelwald recruited her. No one could fathom the twisted workings of the Dark Wizard’s mind. There was nothing Graves or Tina could do to convince the Ministry otherwise.

A shopping trip, right before Christmas. They rode the funicular into the hills where Naples’ magical emporium was located. There were six of them, including Eddie the elf. The witches were delighted with the wares on offer and Eddie was soon juggling various purchases by Madame Seraphina and Mrs Graves. Tina purchased some souvenirs for her colleagues and landlady, both magical and no-Maj. Shafiq recommended that the ladies wait for them at a café while he took Percival to meet Signor Guido Vulcan, wandmaking maestro. It would take some time unlike the wand selection in Ilvermorny. Wandmakers in Europe preferred to meet the future owner of their wands where possible, so to ensure a better fit.

The wand shop was half-sunken into the hillside. There was no sign to indicate it was there between a shop selling dried potion ingredients and a cauldron store. Signor Vulcan was likely part goblin or house-elf. He was gnarled, bald and twisted as an old tree root. He limped along with the aid of a staff as tall as he was. He was clad in a toga-like garment that was none too clean.  

Once the pleasantries were out of the way between Guido Vulcan and Aslan Shafiq, the wandmaker peered at Percival through his bottle-green glasses. He tottered over and hoisted his staff to prod at the stump of Percival’s right arm and lifted the hair away from his face to study his eyepatch.

“Oho, I suppose you will be wanting my brother Aldo as well. Let’s start with the wand first. I hope you are not shy, signor.”

“No, signor.”

“Good to hear… Now go into the back and strip. We will need some measurements,” Signor Vulcan chuckled as he summoned a measuring tape from his worktable. The back opened into an olive grove with a bubbling fountain in a small sunken courtyard. An extension charm. Percival stripped down to his underwear using the magic he had just mastered over the past week. Signor Guido tutted.

“We need everything off,” Guido chided. Percival froze.

Pain. Grindelwald cutting into his bare skin as he lay naked and bound to his bed. Taunting him. Being doused in freezing water. Rough hands grabbing him, touching in the wrong places… Helpless…

“Percival, you are safe.” Shafiq’s voice cut through the fog. Percival blinked. He was on his knees in the wandshop’s courtyard.

“Tch, been through the wars and some, hasn’t he?” Guido shrugged. “I cannot match a wand to him without a full set of measurements, but I will not insist.”

Percival made it down to his shorts before he gave up. The wandmaker made some random measurements, poked at some of his scars, and asked some questions that appeared to have no bearing on wands or magic.

“Mama mia! You did not tell me have guests, Guido!” a centaur trotted into the grove. Like his kind, he was naked. The back left leg was made from bronze almost up to the quarters. He trotted by Shafiq to share a hug and exchange pecks on both cheeks. “Is this the American who survived Grindelwald? The plaza’s buzzing with it. Signora Graves’ boy too.”  

“Aldo, make yourself useful and help me measure Signor Graves’ eyebrows.”

“No need for that. Cypress and sphinx-hair for him,” the centaur protested, his arm still hooked around Shafiq’s waist and hauling the wizard about like a ragdoll.  

“Sphinx-hair? Try olive and mermaid-hair instead!” the two Vulcans bantered over the pros and cons of various wand woods and cores, each combination becoming more outlandish in turn.

“There is only one way to settle this. Go over to the fountain and stick your hand in the water,” Guido muttered. He drew the tip of his tape measure across Percival’s palm such that it scored a thin line of blood across it.

“This will be interesting,” Shafiq murmured as he gave up trying to free himself from Aldo’s arm and buried his face in the centaur’s flowing beard instead.

“No peeking now,” the wandmaker warned. The water in the bowl of the fountain was dark, almost ink black. Percival closed his eye and plunged his bleeding hand into the water. He felt a flash of warmth and light, then something warm was pressed almost into his hand. He gingerly lifted it out of the water.

A wand. The fountain ran clear now. In it were numerous wands. The wand in his hand was a far cry from the sleek wand he had used since he entered Ilvermorny. It was rough, almost as if it had been chopped off its tree and barely polished. Only the grip seemed to have been extensively worked and Graves was amazed to find it fitted perfectly in his left hand.

“Nine-and-quarter inches, flexible, cypress and unicorn hair. Try it out.”

Expecto Patronum!”

Best to go for broke. Percival held up his wand. He dared to wave it too much. His first kiss with Sera under the mistletoe at Ilvermorny’s Yule Ball in his final year. Feeding ducks in Central Park with little Tina and Queenie. A white mist, slowly forming into a large feline - a lynx. The patronus held just long enough to pad slowly about the fountain before dissipating.

“Brava!” Aldo clapped his hands, finally releasing Aslan Shafiq. “Give it a week or so, then we shall see if we have any prosthetics to suit you, if you wish. It might take some work though… perhaps an arm or an eye…”

“How do witches buy wands here?” a ridiculous thought just occurred to Graves as he magically dressed. He could not picture any of his European girl cousins stripping down to be measured for a wand. He slipped the wand into the inner pocket of his coat.

“La strega? Our sister Vesta will take care of them and kick us out of the store while she’s at it. She’s one of the best wandmakers this side of the Med,” Aldo chuckled. “Vulcans’ is more like a guild than a family business since the original Signor Antonio Vulcan got badly gored by a unicorn in 1660. Afterwards, each master just adopts their apprentices if they prove worthy. I guess they tried and failed to regrow your arm and eye since too long has passed. We could do a detachable or an implant… Come back in the new year and let us see what we can do for you. The process might not be pleasant though.”

“The wand is nine galleons. Bespoke. We will discuss the prices for the prosthetics after New Year,” Guido added. He fished out a folder and flipped it open to a page showing prosthetic arms, hands and fingers. He waved his staff and created a copy of the page before doing the same for one of eyes and toes.

“Regrettably, we do not have anything to replace bits lost there,” Guido gave a pointed look at Percival’s groin. “If your missus faults you on that account, you are better off without her. You aren’t the first wizard to be wounded thus.”

“I-I’m not married,” Percival blurted.

“Oh, it depends when you ask her,” Aslan Shafiq nudged Percival. “Now let’s go back to the café before the ladies get worried.”

Tina left reluctantly but there was nothing to be done. She was still beholden to MACUSA as an Auror. Graves remained in Capri with his mother with a visit to Vulcans’ to assess the possibility of prosthetics. He could do without the eye, but having a right arm back…

Percival had his eye on a handsome model with a working elbow, wrist and fingers. Aldo Vulcan deemed an implant more feasible than a strap on prosthetic. As he demonstrated, a detachable prosthetic arm would require constant and conscious inputs of magic to manoeuvre the elbow and hand. However, Mrs Graves balked on learning they would need to slice into her son’s back and attach it to his spine in order to allow his magic to flow into it directly from his core. It would be an immensely painful process and there was a small risk of him bleeding out since they would be unable to use any other magic during the operation. Graves walked away without a new arm.  

Seraphina was discharged from the hospital and sailed back to the States in February 1929, but not before spending some time at the villa with Graves before her ship sailed. Percival noticed Shafiq and his mother allowing them to go about alone, unchaperoned. Like Tina, Seraphina had misgivings about the attack on the villa and the kidnap of young Miss Prince. No one understood if this was done at Grindelwald’s bidding and what the purpose behind such an act was.

The rest of his time was spent with his mother, renewing the wards on the villa, practising his magic and learning the ropes of what it meant to be a family head of one of the Twelve. There were social commitments he needed to fulfil, many of which had been allowed to lapse since his father’s decline into drink. He winced at the idea of having to hobnob with the wizarding elite. They went through the family’s finances at the local wizarding bank. His father had left a surprising amount of wealth accumulated through various investments, including a few grey ones in No-Maj industries in the States. The money would come in handy if they were to fix up the estate and start hosting parties again for wizarding society. 

His mother’s wanderlust kicked in by March. Percival and Eddie found themselves hauled across Europe from city to city. Mrs Graves persuaded a house-elf named Gabby to follow them on this jaunt. In each city, Mrs Graves reconnected with friends and family. Percival soon became aware that his mother was paving the way for his re-entry into the society he had long turned his back on when he decided to stay on as an Auror after the first few years. Eddie and Gabby got along well, too well in fact. By the time they reached Milan, the pair shyly requested permission from their masters to breed. Both Graves agreed. Gabby could return with them to the States and join Eddie at the Graves family estate. Perhaps a cousin or two from Capri would join them later. The villa had a surplus of house-elves.

“It is worrisome, these notions of magical and pureblood supremacy,” Percival admitted to his mother as they trundled on through the alps by train. “And no one seems to be looking for Miss Prince at all.”

Back in the States, Tina had hit a brick wall in her investigations into the abduction. Her report had vanished into the depths of MACUSA’s archives. She was tersely warned by the President himself to drop it. MacDuff was shuffled off into the depths of their prison system. No one had heard of him since. Graves grimly thought it would be no surprise if the MacDuff family head had quietly arranged for their black sheep to disappear. Tina engineered interviews with Miss Prince’s tutors in Ilvermorny under the guise of visiting her alma mater. Although still a student, Eva had collaborated on several high-level papers on potions, including a controversial one involving the Cauldron of Bran the Blessed. According to legend the cauldron was able to revive the dead. Professor Sweeney Millard, who authored the paper with his student, apparently vanished during a recent trip to Cornwall.

“Prince – an English pureblood family, but with blood ties to Saxony and Bavaria. There can’t be that many of them left,” Emilia Graves sipped at her tea. “Experimental potion-making has its risks after all. Oh, never take tea with them.”

His mother had a prodigious memory for the complicated familial and marriage ties that bound the elite wizarding families on both sides of the North Atlantic as well as any gossip or scandals attached to them. Mrs Graves had recounted over tea with a distant aunt in Florence how the current MACUSA President had fallen hard for the wife of the English envoy in Rome despite being married with two children back in the States during his stint as ambassador. The torrid affair quickly soured, but not before a lovechild was conceived. There was a divorce and the unfaithful wife was sent back to her family in shame. The Princes sent the child back Stateside when the mother was killed in a potions explosion.

Chapter Text

Tina called in all the connections she knew, and a few others suggested by Graves, old Matthews, and even her House Head at Ilvermorny. The trail led here to the Tombs. The prison was hidden under Mount Rushmore. The stink of despair was so thick, the prison walls were permeated with it. Most sent here were for life. Solitary confinement in near total darkness, save for whatever light came in from the corridors through the cracks at the bottom of the doors or the flap for wardens to check on their charges. Malcolm MacDuff, or rather Prisoner 1576, was held there, if he had not yet got round to ending himself or gone stark mad.  

A dishevelled MacDuff was huddled in a corner of his cell, little more than a six-by-six-foot space with a bucket in the corner and little else. He was wearing the prison’s standard issue uniform and it was filthy. He was shackled to the far wall. He blinked blearily when the warden called out his number. He shuffled towards the door before being pulled short by his chain.

“L-Liz?” his voice was hoarse from either screaming or disuse. His face was gaunt. Tina was reminded of how Graves had appeared when they freed him from that No-Maj asylum.

“MacDuff…”

“Use their number, ma’am. Names no mean nothing here. Not to them,” the warden warned. Tina nodded.

“What does Grindelwald want with Eva Prince? Where is she?” Tina ignored the harsh intake of breath from the warden at her mention of the dreaded dark wizard. The warden would not report her visit. He owed Matthews a wizard’s debt that he was now repaying.

“She knows how. Bring back dead…” MacDuff babbled.

“Miss Prince is a necromancer?”

“No, no, not her. She does not know what she knows.” MacDuff’s voice took a sing-song pitch as he strained at his chain. Malcolm MacDuff had lost it, Tina realized. Gone mad from his confinement or by design. It was rumoured that family heads sometimes resorted to memory modification charms to keep troublesome relatives in check. If MacDuff’s mind had been damaged in some way…  

“Queenie and Aurelius send their regards from Nurmengard.”

“Back, 1576,” the warden warned and lifted his wand and motioned for Tina to leave.

“Lizzie, don’t go! Please don’t leave!” the wailing screams were cut short with a Stunning spell not before setting off his neighbours as well.

The Cauldron of Bran the Blessed, a talented potioneer, possible necromancy? What was Grindelwald up to? In Welsh myth, the dead were placed in the cauldron and brought back to life. Did Grindelwald intend to raise an army of inferi? And who is Aurelius? Where is Nurmengard?

There was one other thing she needed to do. Tina sighed as the warden led her out of the prison.

“Obliviate,” she whipped around and wiped the wizard’s memory of the past hour or so. No point getting the poor man in trouble later.

Grindelwald was back. Queenie could sense the change in the castle’s atmosphere. Credence, no, Aurelius glanced down from the gallery, torn between running downstairs to greet his master and fearing his wrath. MacDuff had been captured, so the whispers went. Queenie confirmed this with her gift when she met Abernathy. The new witch, Eva, was terrified out of her wits. They had her locked up in one of the guestrooms. At least Abernathy had the decency to feel sorry for her enough to put her in there instead of the dungeons.

The professor they had snatched from Cornwall proved stubbornly uncooperative. Grindelwald’s acolytes had tortured the captive for his secrets. Queenie did not recognize the man’s name. He must have joined Ilvermorny after she graduated. Part of her was thankful it was a stranger. She would not bear to think of any of her professors being hurt. Aurelius had been brought down to the dungeons for a lesson in casting Crucios on their prisoner. Queenie had found the young man close to tears afterwards.

Aurelius or Credence was not a bad kid. Just messed up and dealt a hard hand by Fate. He had confided in her initially, until MacDuff let slip she was a legilimens. After that, the young man withdrew from her. There were few who lingered overlong in her company. She learned to curb her tongue and watch her words. Grindelwald would casually ask her about the loyalties of various acolytes. She had learnt the hard way after she had reported doubts in the mind of one of the followers. The man disappeared from the castle and was never seen again. 

Aurelius looked up to the dark wizard as a father-figure. Grindelwald could be so charming and so persuasive. He took care to keep his shields up when Queenie was near, but Queenie could see how he was grooming Aurelius under the guise of helping him with his magic, slowly feeding his rage against his supposed family. A lost, lonely boy just yearning for a place to belong. She had to look out for him. She had taken him into town to get a decent wardrobe once at Grindelwald’s insistence. Quality menswear, dinner suits and travelling clothes so he would not look so shabby when accompanying Grindelwald to those society events and rallies. That shy, awkward smile when she caught him feeding his phoenix. They had chatted for a bit. He knew Tina. Tina had sought to protect him from the cruel woman he had believed was his mother for a very long time.    

Queenie knew little of the Dumbledores, Aurelius’ supposed family. There were rumours of a Hogwarts professor of that name who might be powerful enough to stop Grindelwald. Could this be the same former professor Newt spoke of?  Or was the entire thing a lie or half-truth woven by Grindelwald?

A harsh rebuke. Aurelius stumbling out of the room. Grindelwald had no need of him for now. There were more important things needing his attention than his protégé’s current progress in his magical studies. He stood forlorn in the draughty hallway, uncertain and lost. Queenie knew she had to act.

“Ah, Aurelius, there you are. How would you like to come help with the flowers?”

Something to take his mind off Grindelwald, just for an hour, and maybe get him out of the castle before he gets tasked with torturing any of their captives. Grindelwald had him trained in duelling and martial magic, but no basic charms were taught to the boy. Charms any magical child should have learned at their parents’ knee or in their first year of school. Healing spells or simple conjurations. Tales by Beedle the Bard. These were things Aurelius or Credence should be introduced to as part of his magical heritage after having lost out for so long, not Unforgivables.

For the Greater Good? Queenie rolled her eyes as they stepped out into the courtyard where a few stubborn blooms fought to survive in the thin, rocky earth. Grindelwald’s slogan was etched into the lintel. The dark wizard had chosen the symbol of the Deathly Hallows from the tale of the Peverell brothers for his mark. The Elder Wand was owned by Grindelwald. The whereabouts of the remaining two Hallows were unknown.

She missed Jacob so at times. She had hoped she would have the freedom to marry him, but it seemed No-Majs had little or no place in Grindelwald’s new order. Even Vinda thought her a fool to be infatuated with a No-Maj when there were so many worthy wizards available. Why weaken her magical bloodline thus?  Queenie had known wixen from No-Maj origins who are in no way inferior to their pure or halfblood brethren. Perhaps they thought she would forget Jacob, but she could not.

She blinked away tears prickling at her eyes.

“Miss Queenie… For you… Please don’t be sad…”

A bouquet of daffodils conjured up by magic. A bit droopy and already wilting, much to Aurelius’ dismay. Queenie smiled wanly and accepted the blooms.

“Thank you, hon.”

Summer was punishing in Casablanca. Percival Graves waved his wand and cast a light cooling spell. Sweat was running down his brow. His iced tea was already tepid. Some of the more complicated gestures were now beyond him with only three fingers. He still could not get the hang of Apparating without being splinched. Portkeys and Sidealongs left him sick on arrival despite healers’ reassurances he was recovering his magical balance. He was reliant on more traditional conveyances like motorcars, trains and ships. Brooms were only good for short distances with only one hand to grip on.

He had sent his mother and the house-elves ahead to New York after months away. It was time to take control of his life again now he had most of his magic back. A meeting arranged through a mutual acquaintance. He was not MACUSA’s man anymore. He no longer had an army of Aurors awaiting his orders. Yet he had more freedom to act than he ever had as an Auror. Ostentatiously, he was acting in his capacity as family head, renewing ties in the Old World. His mother had already helped establish connections with the society wixen, but it was up to him to contact the others. Foremost was…

“Monsieur Graves, I do not believe we have met before.” Yusuf Kama.

Like Graves, he had been touched by Grindelwald’s evil. It showed in his eyes, the sorrow and hurt. The Senegalese wizard slid into the chair across Graves at the small magical café in the souk. The tragedy of the Kama family and the Leta Lestrange were known to Percival Graves.

“He is unable to come?”

“The Ministry has him watched. They always have him watched since before Paris,” Yusuf ordered a glass of mint tea. “Aslan has vouched for you, so has Tadpole.”

“They say he is the only one who has the power to stop Grindelwald.”

“He cannot act against him, so I understand. Perhaps a past vow? Tricky things, vows. You have a niece who was taken in Paris. You fear for the young lady.” Yusuf’s eyes showed understanding.

He has already taken much from you. You are a warrior, battle-scarred but not yet defeated. You will not sit back in safety and watch him win, hurt more innocents…

“If there is any way we can help stop…”

“Ah, I will convey your offer to him. Perhaps we will be in touch again soon,” Yusuf finished his tea and Disapparated with a soft pop. He left behind a name card on the table.

Albus Dumbledore. A friend of Gellert Grindelwald in his youth, before he started down a very different path from Scamander’s old professor. What must he think, reading of Grindelwald’s deeds in that remote corner of Scotland? Durmstrang Institute’s administration had been tight-lipped about their former student. They had expelled him for some reason they refused to disclose. Students do get expelled and not all of them turn into dark wizards. Newt Scamander had been expelled from Hogwarts and he turned out to be a decent chap and a brilliant magizoologist. Perhaps he would find some excuse to visit Hogwarts.

It was alarming how many of the elite European wizarding houses were drawn to the Alliance’s ideas. The Zabinis, Rosiers and Carrows had family members rumoured to be in Grindelwald’s inner circle. Others had expressed support for ideas of magical or pureblood supremacy if not openly willing to pledge their support to a terrorist organization. The bohemian Aslan Shafiq admitted his cousins were looking into how the Alliance could be legitimized as a political entity given its growing wave of support after the Paris rally. The artist did not care about politics so long as he had his little corner of Capri and the continued patronage of Mrs Graves. If Graves was expected to foot the bill for rebuilding Aslan’s studio, the wizard might as well help pull a few strings for them.  

It was the end of summer 1929. His duties as family head beckoned Stateside. Moreover, he owed Sera a visit. Hopefully before she stumbled into a fifth potentially disastrous marriage judging by the gossip rags. He likely needed to drop by at St Kitts for another medical scan.  

Perhaps he could use his European businesses to stay out of States for at least half the year like his mother had done with her Italian villa. Cousin Sheridan has the running of the family’s Stateside businesses under control ever since his father’s decline. There was a luxury train that Percival would like to invest in in Europe. Perhaps it might come in handy. For now, he would need to deal with the heads of the Original Twelve, the same wixen who had written him off two years back.

Chapter Text

Eddie and Gabby wasted no time in breeding. Percival was not familiar with house-elf breeding habits, but triplets were a large brood. They had two elves from Capri join the household – twins Morty and Frollo. The pair soon set the grounds to rights in time to host the first ever Halloween gala dinner at the Graves family seat open to the wizarding elite in many years. Still, they need to hire from Plummy’s again to cater to the guests.

His disability was known to most by now, and no matrons were urging their daughters his way with an eye for marriage. Seraphina was another matter. Seraphina was attending on behalf of her brother and as co-owner of the prominent Liberty Teashop franchise in addition to her status as former President. She hovered nearby, close enough to intervene and extricate him from any tricky social situation or potential gaffe but not so close as to stifle him. There were discussions about developments in Europe and Grindelwald’s apparent rehabilitation in Germany, pushed forward by the incumbent Supreme Mugwump Vogel too. Percival earned himself Seraphina’s heel on his foot when he got too undiplomatic in his remarks about what he thought of the situation.

There was talk of President Able Fisher’s decision not to run for the post of Supreme Mugwump in 1932. The MacDuff family head apologized and assured Percival that Malcolm MacDuff would trouble them no more. That made the wine sour on Graves’ tongue. They likely had Malcolm buried so deep in prison or an asylum, that he would never be free in this lifetime. No one from MACUSA attended. President Fisher had declined the invitation, pleading urgent family matters. Graves planned to invite Tina Goldstein and his former colleagues to a more intimate gathering after the gala.

An hour and a half into the dinner, he felt like Apparating into the woods, or even Alaska, splinching be damned. Seraphina laid her hand in the crook of his elbow and steered him into a discussion with representatives from Ilvermorny, including Professor Lally Hicks. Professor Hicks gave a glowing report of the current batch of Graves children schooling in Ilvermorny and thanked Graves for his family’s contribution to the new medical wing. Graves jested that seeing the current generation’s misadventures in Quidditch, it might be prudent to ensure his heir had the best medical care available.

He glanced over to Cousin Sheridan and his eldest son. His cousin and potential heir were both enjoying the party, mingling with the guests. He would allow a few more years before making the naming of his heir formal. Dr Ajay Fontaine called him aside for a quick medical scan when he noticed how his patient was flagging. He was slapped with doctor’s orders to hold back on the wine in favour of gillywater or pumpkin juice.

It was three in the morning when the last guest left. Most guests do not stay over apart from family and close friends. Mrs Graves had long retired to her room by then. Percival was so exhausted, he fell asleep in the drawing room and awoke to find himself cuddled up to Sera, who was similarly sleeping on the couch. He thought the smell of her stale rose perfume mixed with sweat was sweeter than any fragrance from the scents his mother had the elves douse the place with to remove the stale cigar smoke and other unsavoury odours.

The press representatives at the gala could have had their photos splashed on the front pages of all wizarding newspapers but Percival found he did not mind. If anyone had anything to say about a former MACUSA president and her Director of Magical Law Enforcement cuddling together on a couch, they could stuff their wands up where the sun doesn’t shine. He would not mind waking up each morning to a kiss from her.

There were only eight other families remaining of the original Twelve, the remaining families having died out or moved back to the Old World. Lord MacDuff was not keen on intervening in the wizarding war. Madame Lopez was similarly unwilling to choose a side. Lord Jonah Wilkinson was already well past his hundredth year and fell asleep over his pudding. Lord Grimsditch firmly stated that Grindelwald was a European problem despite his little stint in New York. Lords Weiss and Fischer declared that they would support Grindelwald’s organization if it left behind its terrorist ways. No one needed any more wars. Lords O’ Brien and Fontaine were more amendable to Graves’ belief that Grindelwald might intervene in the Americas at some point. However, even they would not commit, at least not openly. Were it not for Sera’s hand on his elbow, he might have hexed his peers into the new year.

There were more social events he attended with Seraphina or his mother by his side. Seraphina was the picture of charm and dignity as she beamed at the press, keeping him from bolting at times. The Yule Ball and New Year slipped by as 1930 arrived. Newt found time to visit Tina in New York, on a stopover to the West Coast. At the same time, Graves drove down to the city for a routine scan at St Kitts and meet up with the pair for dinner.

Jacob Kowalski was not doing well. He could not accept losing Queenie and began to withdraw from his magical friends. Newt was perturbed when Jacob declined to meet up with him and Tina to see some new hatched occamies in his suitcase. Graves was invited into the suitcase and tried his hand at feeding the bowtruckles. He chose to ignore any licenses Newt might have overlooked for his creatures to enter the States, so long as he kept his creatures in his suitcase, especially that Niffler.  

Theseus dropped by for a brief visit in early spring. They talked of the upcoming election in 1932. The candidates were massing their supporters, running and being eliminated from the race. The British candidate suffered a crushing defeat against the Scandinavians’ candidate. The Russian candidate had an accident with a Ukrainian Ironbelly, squashed flat like a blini. The African candidates refused to run in protest over the ICW’s biased wand criteria. The Latin Americans were fielding Madame Vicencia Santos and the East Asian ministries had flagged dark horse Liu Tao as their man. Their original candidate got mauled by a Qilin. There were whispers, especially in the European ministries, about suspicious illnesses or accidents, or candidates suddenly opting not to run for personal reasons.

One of the hardest things about Nurmengard was the loneliness that set in with the first nip of fall and did not lift until the daffodils peeked out from the snows. Young Eva and her professor were persuaded to work for His Lordship. The old professor was not doing well. Queenie was not sure if his health was frail to start with or if the Crucios had taken a toll on him. The pair worked in the deepest dungeon of the castle, concocting goodness-knew-what potions for their captor. Only a select few were allowed to witness the works and none of them would divulge anything.

During the long winter nights, it was too easy to allow one’s guard down and seek solace in another’s embrace. There were affairs aplenty in the castle in the winter months. Even the stern Vinda had her flings. Only Grindelwald remained aloof for the most part during his too brief sojourn over Yule. There were times when he showed some affection to Aurelius – a smile, a word of praise, a kiss to the brow. Queenie did not know if they were genuine or merely crumbs to keep the boy’s loyalty.

Queenie spent her free time with the professor or Aurelius. She knew both would never take advantage of any weakness on her part. The professor was researching some reverse Death potion, that Queenie gleaned from his mind when she peeked. The idea made her skin crawl as she imagined pools with inferi lurking beneath them. Eva Prince was hopelessly naïve when it came to matters of the heart. Queenie had warned Abernathy off the girl. Perhaps the toad could not pass up such easy prey, or it might be another acolyte. The results were the same.

“Deep breaths, sweetie…” Queenie coaxed as the poor girl retched over the sink. How far along was she? Most witches learnt contraceptive potions from their mothers or older female relatives, just in case. Perhaps the potion was badly made, or she ran out of ingredients.

Queenie was no healer, but the signs were undeniable. Eva Prince had been looking awfully pale and peaked. For the past week, she had been running from the breakfast table to the privy each morning, if not buried under her quilt in misery. Still, the progress of whatever work the pair were engaged in must have been to Lord Grindelwald’s satisfaction.

This was no place for a child to be born and raised. Would Eva be allowed to keep the child, to birth it even? Someone else would figure it out soon. If only they could get the young woman away from here…

“I believe a word of congratulations is in order for Miss Prince,” Grindelwald tapped his spoon on his wine glass for attention at dinner. “Did anyone not notice we have a little one among us?” His mismatched eyes swept over his acolytes.

The poor witch sank down in her chair with a whimper. The wizards exchanged glances, but no one made any move, until Queenie did.

“Oh, how darling! A baby,” Queenie drawled. She took Eva’s hand and give it a squeeze. “You’d need things for yourself and the baby…” She was sure she sounded like a giddy schoolgirl as she chattered about baby quilts and maternity robes to Grindelwald’s bemusement.

Queenie glanced at each of the wizards in turn. Abernathy was suddenly very interested in his soup. Nagel refused to meet Queenie’s eyes. Krafft simply smirked and stared back at Queenie, enough for her to confirm he was not the father as he had been bedding Vinda over the past months. Zabini simply shrugged indifferently. Carrow was spluttering some protest about not wanting Eva or the baby about to hold back His Lordship’s plans.

“Oh, madame, I agree. Perhaps Miss Prince should leave to have the child…” Queenie grabbed her chance.

“No, we still have need of Miss Prince’s talents and the baby will not be due for a while…” Grindelwald interjected. “After her work here is done, Goldstein may bring her elsewhere to have the child.”

A slight win. Queenie patted Eva’s hand reassuringly.

“I miss Queenie,” Tina murmured as she burrowed against Newt’s bare chest. Another stopover in New York before he returned to Britain to write on the White River Monster.

“I know…” Newt kissed the top of her head. Both were tangled up in the sheets of the cot in his shed. “Where is Mister Graves now?”

There was something he needed to approach Graves about. His parents have been reminding him of it. He needed permission from him as Tina’s de facto guardian to formally court her. It was ridiculously old-fashioned and proper. He had a ring ready more than once, but he kept losing them thanks to Teddy and company before he could string together a proper proposal without muffing his words. He knew where to look for the ring now. It was likely in Teddy’s pouch or in the nest.

“In Alsace or Geneva… Family business matters” Tina murmured sleepily. Graves’ world was a far cry from hers now. He had left the world of Auror work and MACUSA behind. As did Madame Picquery. The pair attended charity galas and society dinners. Spellbound splashed the couple’s photos on their pages captioned the Beauty and the Beast. Madame Picquery was still strikingly beautiful at her age, and Graves came by his scars honourably. The Auror office had an ongoing wager as to whether the pair would ever make their relationship official and get hitched. The New York Ghost wrote about Graves’ foolhardy investments in European railways and airships. Tina could not believe that after regaining his magic, her Uncle Percy would be content to sit back and spend his time dabbling in business.

Has it been three years already? Three years since they rescued Uncle Percy. Three years since they lost Queenie and Credence. Three years since they reconnected but their relationship did not seem to be going anywhere. Could she give up her career in MACUSA to follow Newt chasing after rare magical beasts? Or would he stop his adventuring to settle down?

“They sighted a Qilin in Kweilin, China. They believe it is part of a mated pair. We do not see them that often. This was the first recorded Qilin attack in four centuries. The locals know it as the kingmaker beast…” Newt gushed on about his plans for his next adventure.

Charmed two-way pocket mirrors. Percival Graves browsed the meagre selection of souvenirs on offer in the station store. A luxury wizarding express to run from London, along the coast to northern France to Germany, Austria, Switzerland and down to Italy. It had looked good on paper, but once he was on the ground… Graves chuckled. A lot of work was needed on the alpine side of the tracks. Alpine trains were used mainly for transporting goods and livestock. The scenery was great only for a few weeks when the flower meadows bloomed. Local wixen preferred broomsticks or hippogriffs to get about the valleys. Cousin Sheridan would tear into him when the accounts came up at the end of the year. Perhaps he was not suited for business either. He bought a pair of mirrors as souvenirs.

He had forgone his fashionably tailored clothes in favour of more practical garments for walking in the alpine valleys. It made a welcome change from hobnobbing with the elite. He probably looked like a tramp after that run-in with the billy goat sharing his railcar on the way up. He gave up on shaving after losing his charmed razor in Vienna. Results shaving with his wand were highly unsatisfactory. Purchases in hand, he strode off to the waiting room and was surprised to find it occupied by two witches. One was a pale middle-aged witch. The other was…

“Gutentag, Fraulein…” Percival called out a greeting in German and sat across from the pair, looking directly into Queenie’s green eyes as he took a swig from his flask of elderflower tea. Could she recognize him? More importantly, were they in danger in this Swiss backwater?  

Chapter Text

Queenie stifled a gasp as she recognized who was sitting across the room from her. How could she have missed the eyepatch, empty right sleeve, and the three fingers on his left hand? He had looked like so many of those unfortunate war veterans, seeking solace in a flask of cheap gin, she never thought to give him a second look when she passed him at the store. She hoped her Uncle Percy had not fallen so far into the gutter. She had had so little news of him aside from a hint from Abernathy that Mister Graves and Tina Goldstein were seen in Capri where they had kidnapped Miss Prince. She had so little access to news from outside since she joined the Alliance. In Nurmengard, they were shut off from the rest of the world as if in a gilded cage.   

Percival had not used any legilimency since he recovered his magic. He was not sure if he could pull it off. Instead, he let his mental shields down. Queenie blinked and kept her features stoic as he asked her silently. Tina misses you. Can we trust you? He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. A simple spell returned the capped flask back into his greatcoat pocket. There were so many more questions he wanted to ask.

A slight nod of the head. There was a crackle of a spell and the Queenie’s companion slumped on her bench, fast asleep. A quick Mufflato on the room.

“We can speak. No one else could be spared to accompany us to the sanatorium at Lake Constance.” There was a storm brewing over the valley. That should buy them some time. He plodded over to sit on the far end of Queenie’s bench, so they need not speak across the room.

How good are your occulumency shields?

“I have been working on my shields. Grindelwald doesn’t keep that much an eye on me now. I think he is starting to trust me…”

There was at least another hour and a half before the next train was due. Percival could see that the sleeping witch was both pregnant and very ill. He was startled to recognize her as the kidnapped student. Eva Prince. She looked decades older. Her hair was streaked with grey.

“What happened to her?”

“I don’t know exactly, but it might be the potion they were concocting for Grindelwald. It sickened them. A necromantic potion to bring back the dead, like in that Welsh myth about Bran’s cauldron. Professor Sweeney Millard died last week. They just finished it, at least enough for Grindelwald to let her go.” That tied in with what Tina had reported from her visit to the Tombs.  

“The baby’s father?”

“Not sure, I don’t think she knows for sure too. I can only rule out some candidates. Oh, I wish I knew more of what they are up to. The Alliance keep most of their plans away from me. Grindelwald only asks me to use my legilimency to report the loyalties of any new recruits arriving at Nurmengard. The place is warded up to the spires,” Queenie paused. “And I am to keep watch on Aurelius, or Credence.” The Obscurial. 

“Who is Aurelius exactly?”

“Grindelwald claims he is a Dumbledore. He’s got the poor boy so messed up inside. I’m not sure his folks even know about him. They most likely think he died when his ship sank those years back. Grindelwald mentioned an uncle, Albus… Can you please try to get hold of Eva’s folks too? They expect me back… I cannot stay with her until the baby… She’d need someone…”  

“Come back with me, Queenie.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I cannot leave him with Grindelwald…”

Queenie was almost in tears. He wanted to go hug her as if she were still a child, but they must be careful. Even with a storm outside and the shutters of the room barred…  

“Be careful, Queenie,” he slid one of the two-way mirrors to her across the bench. He hoped the local charms were good enough. His eye met hers. Jacob is still waiting for you. Tina is waiting. Please be careful.  

Someone else was coming towards the waiting room. Their conversation was at an end. A family of seven, parents and children, dragging along a goat and a cockerel, all seeking shelter from the storm and exclaiming aloud about their visit to one Tante Hilda. Their voices roused Eva from her sleep. Graves retreated to the far corner of the room, surrendering the bench nearest the stove to the soaking wet newcomers. The matriarch distributed homemade anise biscuits to their fellow travellers and fussed over how poorly Eva was looking. Graves asked the father if there was an owlery in town so he might owl his old Mutti he was on his way back.

The beleaguered owl smacked loudly into his window, rousing Theseus from his slumber. The poor bird likely had flown through a North Sea storm. Grumbling, Theseus spelled a lumos and opened the window. He had to peel the bedraggled owl off the pane thanks to the squalling wind. He had let go of the apartment he had planned to share with Leta in favour of this tiny bachelor flat within walking distance of the Ministry. The bird perched on the mantelpiece, drying off and partaking of the bowl of owl treats the Auror had rustled up.

The handwriting on the waterproof-charmed letter was unmistakable. It was the crabbed scrawl of a quill held in fingers still stiff from past injury. Theseus was pleased to learn that his old comrade had regained his magic, at least part of it. There would always be limitations given the damage done to his person.  

“Oh Pug, what have you gotten into now?” The idea of Graves gallivanting about the European countryside alone, with whatever uncertain scraps of magic he managed to coax out…

It would be best to leave the Ministry out of this considering Graves was no longer with MACUSA. Theseus threw on his dressing robe and started a letter to his old Professor. Hopefully, they would have an answer soon.

Abel Fisher had long washed his hands off his illegitimate offspring. With luck, they would find a member of the Prince family willing to take in the poor witch and her child. Queenie stared at the mirror. She did not know how it should be used. There was no time before the little Swiss family and their livestock descended on them. She had taken the mirror out numerous times during the cart ride from the station, hoping to get a hint of how it should be used. Her fellow passengers must think her exceedingly vain.

“Uncle Percy?” This time, the mirror shimmered. Queenie was surprised to see words appear.

Write. The words quickly faded away. Don’t use my name.

Reached Lake Constance. Eva admitted. Queenie added the name of the sanatorium where they had admitted Eva.

Will try to send help. Be careful.

They say she is in a bad way. Please hurry. Any news on Aurelius’ family?

Owl just sent. No word from them yet.

Percival put away his mirror. It had taken multiple tries before he got a reply from Queenie. He had a long way to go before meeting up with Theseus in London. It would take him a week to get into France and three to five days to cross the Channel. He did not trust his fluency in the local language to use the Floo. The alternative would be purchasing an international portkey in Zurich central station and being sick on arrival in London. He wondered how much time they would need to track down any members of the Prince family and confirm where Aurelius sat on the Dumbledore family tree. Taking a leaf from Newt’s suitcase, he had extension charms added to his knapsack and tent. He still preferred an inn if any were available, No-Maj or not. The nightmares still came, but not as frequently now he had a goal to work towards – bringing Grindelwald down.

Hog’s Head Inn

“When were you intending to tell me?”

“You never asked.”

“Would you have answered if I asked?”

“Not likely.” The two brothers stared awkwardly at their soup.

Albus had suspected for quite a while, but he dared not confirm it with his brother, not with their relationship already so fraught. The whispers of Gellert’s protégé, a young man who had been spotted in Grindelwald’s company at some of his recent rallies. He was an Obscurial just like Ariana. It was only with Theseus’ owl that he had resolved to confront his brother. Writing to Dame Prince was the easier part of his response to Theseus’ request.

“You were so wrapped up with that German berk, you would not even notice what was happening under your pointy nose.”

“Who was she?”

“None of your bloody biz.” A pause. “Her folks sent her away. She had a son. They sent him to America. Blasted ship sank, end of story.”

“What if Aurelius did not die when the ship sank?”

“Get the bloody hell out of my inn!” Albus dodged the jinx flung his way just barely. He Disapparated back to his office. Aberforth would need time to calm down.

Aslan Shafiq had an apartment in a chateau in the outskirts of Paris which he shared with like-minded bohemians. He had extended an invite to an artists’ house party to Percival and gave him a key if he was available to drop by. Normally Graves would turn his nose up at such parties where there would be too much wine and where all decorum and sometimes even spouses were lost. However, he needed a place to rest after days living rough out of barns, station waiting rooms, or railcars. His stamina was no longer what it had been.

“Graves, I thought you might turn up here. Shafiq is indisposed. Snake bite.”

He did not expect to find Yusuf Kama lounging in the hall, next to Newt Scamander and a huge snake. The serpent was trapped in a magical orb and was hissing angrily. Graves hung up his coat and hat. He sat on the settee and accio-ed a glass of mint tea over. 

“I am sure Nagini didn’t mean it. Whenever the curse kicks in, she loses more of that human part of herself,” Newt was mixing some vials of unknown potions at his makeshift worktable. “With a bit more work, I’d have an antidote…” 

“Aslan is in St Denis where they are trying to stop him from bleeding out,” Yusuf observed grimly. “Blood curses are tricky things. Nagini was taken too young to remember her family. I have contacted wixen in Africa, but they do not know of any family thus afflicted.”

“My sources in Sumatra confirmed there was a wizarding family with a similar hereditary curse, but they apparently died out some years back. If we can find someone able to help her adjust, even if we cannot slow the process…” Newt mixed two potions in a flask. “There is a witch in Albania who had a sister who was transfigured into a snake by a curse. They could not break it. She took care of her sister until she passed… She is already in her 70s…”

“I thought you were off to India, Newt.”

“I was, until I received an urgent message from Kama. She has been a snake for a week now…” Newt explained.

“What are you doing here, Kama?” Graves asked. The Senegalese wizard looked out of place amidst the glided baroque-style furnishings and jungle-themed wallpaper in his sombre clothes.

“I own the place. Shafiq’s renting rooms from me,” Kama shrugged. “The last wizard who rented it left five dead Aurors on the lawn and ran off without notice. After five weeks being questioned by the Ministry, I can put up with wild parties from Aslan’s set and his remodelling. It’s the least he could do after his friends wreck the house.” He waved away a parrot that had peeled off the wallpaper and was flapping about the room. “Can anyone explain how we got hoofprints on the ceiling, huh?”

There was a soft sigh, and the snake transformed into a confused young woman.

“I’m sorry…” she whimpered. Newt waved his wand and the orb around her vanished. Kama offered her a glass of mint tea and a throw from the couch. Both of which were gratefully accepted.

“What did this Albanian witch say?” Kama asked.

“Her sister was hexed into a boa, smaller than Nagini’s snake form and non-venomous. She lived in the chicken coop and later a den in the forest. The witch was also the local midwife, so she could not keep the snake in her hut when she had new babies in her care. She’s also a parseltongue, so she was able to communicate with her sister to some degree,” Newt managed to reply despite levitating a selection of small vials and adding their contents to a flask which he was stirring with his wand.  

“Nagini, you should have a say in this. Would you be interested in meeting this witch? Perhaps we can find a way…” Kama asked. Newt was swirling his flask, watching its contents change colour from black to sliver and back.

“No one can break the curse on me, can they?” Nagini murmured. “Just like Credence’s obscurus…” Percival Graves shifted in his chair at the mention of that name. Credence Barebones – the boy Tina had risked her career to protect. The same obscurial recruited by Grindelwald for purposes unknown. He had never met the young man. He was uncertain if he would ever with how close by Grindelwald kept him. That he had survived to adulthood was remarkable. Graves held his tongue and took a sip of his mint tea. He was unsure of the depth of Nagini’s relationship with Credence, but the poor girl had enough troubles of her own without knowing her friend was in thrall to a dangerous dark wizard.

“Can I get from here to St Denis by Floo? I think this antidote should work on Shafiq,” Newt declared and decanted the contents of his flask into a bottle.

Chapter Text

The winter of 1930 was spent in the States with his mother, Tina, and Sera. Graves managed a short-distance Apparition from his bedroom to the dining room without being splinched. Sera managed to do a Side-along with him without him being sick when they arrived at the opera house for the Christmas charity concert. He informed Tina of his meeting Queenie in Switzerland but decided against giving her the twin of Queenie’s mirror or even mentioning it. Tina was slated for a possible promotion to Head Auror. It would never do for her to be found communicating with her sister, a known member of Grindelwald’s inner circle. He warned Queenie to be wary of her fellow acolytes. Queenie’s position was already precarious enough. It was important that they limited any communications to the barest minimum. It would be too easy to slip up. Grindelwald was not known to be forgiving.

He also hoped that Jacob would still be there for her when she got back. Tina reported that instead of serving her himself, Jacob would call his apprentice to attend to her while he disappeared into the kitchen.

“He was badly hurt by what happened with Queenie, I think he now wants nothing to do with us,” Tina said. There was no point forcing their company on the baker, so they just left him be. Tina still bought apple-stuffed paczki or cinnamon rolls fortnightly from the bakery. The good times had ended for the No-Majs and recession loomed. Small businesses like Kowalski’s had a hard road ahead.

In Kama’s chateau, Newt Scamander finally got round to asking Lord Percival Graves for permission to court Tina Goldstein. An annoyed Percival had tersely rebuked that it would be up to Tina to decide whether to accept Newt’s suit. He would not stand in the way of her decision as she was an adult witch.

“Percy, you look tuckered out…”

“I am exhausted,” Graves leaned back against the seat of Seraphina’s limousine. She had bought one and hired an elf-chauffeur to make a better impression on arrival at social events instead of using Graves’ old motorcar. Graves came to appreciate the extra legroom and the chance to rest in the backseat. 

“It has been a while since you had to speak in public, to a hundred students.” Graves had fronted the MACUSA Auror recruitment drives at Ilvermorny before the war.

“What was Professor Hicks thinking, having me give a speech for the dedication of the new medical wing?” It was the questions that popped up after the speech from the curious students that taken up most of his energy. It would be too easy to leave immediately after the ceremony instead of staying for dinner, but he could not disappoint the children and faculty.

“You have changed, Percy. I half-expected you to leave after the speech…”

“Life changes us all… Sera, back then in 1926, when did you realize I had been replaced?”

“Not until Grindelwald was unmasked, I’m afraid. Even when you had Tina and Scamander sentenced, I never thought you meant to go through with it, even with emergency protocols called…” Executions were generally held a few days after the sentence to allow the condemned to get their affairs in order.

“I never got round to apologizing to Tina or Newt about sentencing them...”

“That was Grindelwald’s doing, not yours. Come on here now, I will wake you up when we reach your place.” Graves found his head pillowed on Sera’s lap. With a contented sigh, he closed his eye for a much-needed nap.

Miss Prince had outlived her usefulness to the Alliance. Although the sanatorium was discreetly watched by the Swiss Aurors, she did not receive any further visitors from the Alliance during her stay. Not even Queenie visited after she returned to Nurmengard. Percy was disappointed that despite Theseus’ efforts to keep the information on Eva Prince’s whereabouts secret, Spielman had somehow got hold of it. Perhaps their owls were being intercepted by the Ministries. Was it the Brits or the Europeans? He wished he had bought more two-way mirrors.

With Professor Dumbledore’s help, they managed to find a member of the Prince family willing to take Eva and her baby in. However, it was too late for Eva. She died shortly after being delivered of a daughter. Dame Prince returned to Britain with the infant and insisted that all further information on the child be kept secret.

The enigmatic Professor Albus Dumbledore remained uncontactable.

In spring 1931, Mrs Graves handed over the last of the responsibilities as family head to her son and announced that she was retiring to the fair isle of Capri for good. Percival sent an urgent owl to Shafiq to warn the artist to get his hard-partying friends out of the villa and the place fixed up before her arrival. Newt informed them that he had brought Nagini to Albania and into the care of the witch who might be able to help her adjust to life as a snake. They had exhausted all avenues for a cure after asking the best healers in St Mungo and St Denis. The ancient blood curse was just too strong.

That summer, Percival and Tina both received an invitation from Theseus for a summer holiday in a small village in Scotland – Hogsmeade. It was the wizarding village nearest Hogwarts. They had to sail over to Bristol and catch a train up. During the journey, Percival often thought about the small mirror in his coat pocket. Queenie had last contacted him at Easter to inform him that she would be travelling with Grindelwald to Berlin. She would not carry the mirror with her during that time since she often shared rooms with another witch when traveling. There had been no news since from Queenie. Graves had obtained a copy of a German newspaper dated April 1931 showing Grindelwald leaving the German ministry a free man in the company of his acolytes, including Queenie. He thought of telling Tina, but he held his tongue. Queenie would not be able to resist communicating with her sister and that would put her in further peril.

The Hog’s Head Inn. The sign of the inn named by Theseus as their meeting place did not inspire – a severed boar’s head leaking blood onto a tablecloth. The windows were grimy. The place looked uninhabited. Dead weeds drooped in cracked pots beside the door. A long-mummified mouse cowered in a corner of the doorway. Everything seemed designed to turn off any casual visitors. The other inn down the road, The Three Broomsticks, looked far more promising. He was about to walk away when he heard Theseus’ voice.

“Come on up, Pug.”

He glanced up to see the Brit leaning out a window. The door opened to allow them in. The interior reeked of some barnyard animal. A surly barkeep directed them up the stairs to the first room on the left, where they found Theseus and a red-haired gentleman. Albus Dumbledore.

Polite greetings were exchanged. Graves was a bit disappointed. He did not know what he was expecting, but it was not this kindly schoolteacher before him. Tina did not appear overly impressed. They discussed the upcoming election for Supreme Mugwump. Even if the Americans were not fielding a candidate of their own, a fair number, including Graves, threw their support behind Santos. Albus asked about the businesses in which the Graves family were stakeholders, in particular the proposed luxury train line. Midway through the conversation, Graves felt the familiar hum of magic from the mirror. Queenie was trying to contact him. He fumbled for some excuse to leave the room, but the professor placed a restraining hand on his wrist. Graves noticed that the skin of Dumbledore’s forearm was marred by welts both old and new.

“Percival, you have a secret in your pocket that has to be revealed now.”

Reluctantly, Percival took out the mirror and placed it on the table.

Hello.

“This will not do at all,” Dumbledore grumbled and tapped it with his wand. The mirror shimmered and they were looking at Queenie Goldstein’s face. There was a stifled shriek of shock. They had a dizzying view of a room as the mirror was dropped and likely cracked. There were muffled voices before Queenie returned to the mirror.

“Teenie? Uncle Percy?” Queenie whispered. Tina glared furiously at Graves, who stoically accepted her silent rebuke.

“No names, please, Miss Goldstein,” Albus warned.

“Are you alone?” And safe to talk. Percival asked. A slight nod of the head.

“I don’t have long. They want me to look in on Aurelius. Grindelwald had him kill someone. He’s locked up in his room for hours now and he is not letting anyone in.”

“Miss Goldstein, we need to use your mirror to speak to Aurelius. The current charm on this mirror will not last long. I will teach you to transfer the original writing charm from your pocket mirror to another so it cannot be linked back to you. Are there any mirrors that only Aurelius would use?”

“He has one in his room.”

“Good, you will need to touch both mirrors together with your wand. Do you still have it? Yes? Listen now, the incantation is…” The professor had Queenie repeat the incantation until he was satisfied. “This will be hard, but do not let him know of us yet. We will write when the time is right.”

“Please let it be soon.”

“Tina, do you wish to say anything?” The image in the mirror was fading.

“Queenie, please stay safe. I trust you,” Tina blurted as the last line of communication with her sister narrowed. “Love you.” The image vanished.

Love you too. Send Jacob my love. The words appeared on the glass before fading into nothingness.

“Well then, I’d need this.” Albus pocketed the mirror and excused himself. He needed to have another difficult conversation with his brother. It might take weeks or even months for his brother to accept the possibility of his son being alive, or even communicating with him.

“Mister Graves, were you ever going to tell me about being in touch with Queenie?”

Tina was furious. Percival had witnessed the Auror’s fury in duels and he did not fancy bearing the brunt of it. Theseus had one hand on Tina’s arm, trying to coax her into hearing him out first.

“Tina, will you and Queenie be able to resist not contacting each other for weeks or even months on end? They are all watched in Nurmengard. I was hoping if she could escape, she’d get in touch…” Percival tried to explain.

“She could not leave Credence behind,” Tina grudgingly acknowledged, but not without a chill in her voice. Forgiveness would not be forthcoming for a while, at least a week or more.

Albus stared at the grimy mirror behind the bar. Aberforth was nowhere in sight. He had likely gone out back to feed the goats. He tapped the pocket mirror to the bar’s wall mirror and said the incantation. As an afterthought, he cast a cleaning spell on the wall mirror.

“What by Morrigan’s tits are you doing? Leave my bar alone!” Aberforth was back.

“I just thought you might want to write to Aurelius,” Albus indicated the newly cleaned mirror.

“For the last flipping time, she’s dead, our son’s dead! So let them lie in peace,” Aberforth gave a snort of disdain. He grabbed a dusty rag and started attacking the countertop.

Albus could only hope that Queenie would be able to transfer the charm without being caught. It had been pure luck that he managed to get past Graves’ shields during their conversation to learn about his communication with someone within Nuremengard. Had his shields been slightly stronger… Gellert had used a similar pocket mirror back in 1899. These were common souvenirs in the alpine regions of Germany and Switzerland. Albus had thrown his away after Ariana died and he failed to get a reply from Gellert. Perhaps the twin to his mirror was gathering dust in Bathilda’s attic.

There was one other thing he needed. He had spoken to Theseus earlier before the Americans arrived. Theseus was still reluctant to let go of that locket with a picture of his deceased fiancée. Albus would prefer that he give it up willingly instead of resorting to coercion. Yet he could not tell Theseus everything. Lally Hicks reluctantly agreed to obtain a special wand from Ilvermorny’s vaults - the coreless snakewood wand of their cofounders’ squib daughter. There was no guarantee they would get it back even.

Newt had been sent into the remote interior of Asia on the trail of the rare and elusive Qilin. With the recent upheavals in the global wizarding community and the slow march of the Muggles towards another terrible war, there was talk of using the kingmaker beast to decide their next leader. Newt was to ensure the safety of any Qilin. There were whispers of other wizards asking the locals about the creature. It would never do for them to fall into unscrupulous hands, considering what he had learnt of the unfortunate Professor Millard’s research. It was unthinkable.

Back in the summer of 1899, it had been unthinkable that he and Gellert would ever become bitter enemies.

Chapter Text

“Sera, it is getting impossible to go a day without seeing his face,” Percival tossed the day’s New York Ghost on the coffee table. It had become the norm for him to stay over her apartment in Manhattan if commitments required him in the city.  Grindelwald graced the front page beside the German Minister of Magic, Anton Vogel.

“They have not fully absolved him yet, have they?”

Still wearing her satin nightdress, Seraphina glided over to kiss him. They had celebrated Tina Goldstein’s promotion to Head Auror at dinner the night before. Tina was around for the first two hours or so before she went off to meet her colleagues at a jazz club. Jazz was never to Graves’ taste. Instead, Graves and Picquery spent the rest of the evening together in Picquery’s apartment after giving the house-elves the night off.  

“It’s only a matter of time,” Percival harumphed. He had given up smoking and firewhiskey, but at such times, he wanted to reach for a packet of cigs or a bottle of alcohol. “The inquiry has been on for more than a year and his supporters keep growing in strength. They are just waiting for our current Mugwump’s decision.”

The race between Liu and Santos was already fierce enough without the addition of a third candidate. There were whispers that they might be reviving the ancient ritual of the Walk of the Qilin given these troubled times… If such a noble beast could be found and persuaded to assist…

“Are you going to attend the Candidates’ Dinner?” Seraphina summoned up a full American breakfast from the kitchen, complete with strong coffee the way Graves loved it. “I see you have booked a first-class railcar on the Great Wizarding Express, in addition to two regular carriages.”

He had booked the two regular carriages for States-based and British supporters of Candidate Santos. The remaining one was a favour to a British professor. He had also called in a few favours through the social network established by his mother to get hold of tickets to the candidates’ dinner. Dumbledore had not specified how many he needed or who they would be from. He managed a half dozen.

“Do you wish to attend, Sera? There is unlikely to be another election in the coming decades.”

“You are taking risks, Percy. The rest of the family heads are officially neutral. Well, I heard from his grandniece that Weiss had made a sizeable contribution to a possible third candidate. There was also the editorial from Fischer about why Santos is not a suitable candidate, but no one has spent that much that openly as you have on a candidate’s campaign.”

“Grindelwald will be there…” Perhaps Queenie might be in his entourage.

“And you will be here, in New York, beside me,” Sera concluded. “Queenie’s a lot smarter than you think and doesn’t need anyone rescuing her. You owe it to the rest of us to keep safe – Tina, your mother, and me. If he gets hold of you again…”

“I do not intend for that to happen, Sera.”

“Good, now will you please eat your flapjacks before they get cold?”

As it turned out, Picquery need not worry about Graves going to Berlin.

It was dumb luck or some act of Providence. Graves had gone for his morning walk in Central Park, a habit he cultivated since ever since he started staying over at Sera’s place. The weather had turned unusually cold and there was ice on the pavement even in late October. He was crossing the street when he slipped on a patch of ice. Percival felt a sharp pain in his arm and hip when he tried and failed to break his fall – using magic in the middle of a crowd of No-Majs would be problematic. He was quickly assisted with much difficulty to the side of the road by a policeman and several other Good Samaritans. He had broken something, or at the very least, severely twisted his ankle. His arm felt odd. He realized he had also gashed his head open on the kerb when he fell. Someone called an ambulance and before he knew it, he was in a No-Maj hospital.

He had broken his only arm and they put a cast on it. His ankle was only a bad sprain. He earned some stitches for his head wound and he was sure his left hip must be bruised black and blue. The No-Maj doctors wanted him to stay the night for observation – in a common ward. No chance of using his wand there, even if his hand was not partially encased in plaster. The doctors here were different from those he encountered in the asylum. At least they treated him as a human being. The well-kept garments he wore probably helped and the fact that he was relatively coherent on arrival. His story of visiting family in the city from out of town when he had his accident was accepted. Still, it put him on edge to be confined in a No-Maj hospital.

He had his wand tucked in his coat that morning. Thankfully, it had survived the fall intact. It did not attract too much comment when they helped him out of his coat so his doctor could tend to his arm. Perhaps they were used to patients coming in with an odd range of possessions. In the waiting room, Percival had spotted a child with his arm stuck down a length of pipe. Another patient had come in with a bleeding head and the shattered remains of a flowerpot cradled in her paper bag.

Percival managed to dictate a note to a nurse with instructions for it to be delivered to his niece at Tina Goldstein’s address in the No-Maj neighbourhood. He did not want his family to worry. There was also the need for her to bring some money for payment as his wallet had apparently been pickpocketed when he was being helped. Percival wisely kept quiet about his mokeskin pouch. No No-Maj messenger would be able to find Picquery’s apartment or access the magical part of the city. Tina would only see the note after work if she had already left her apartment. The boy would leave it in her letterbox if that were the case and her landlady out.

To while away the time, he looked about the room at his fellow patients. They were all male and ranging from barely out of their teens to elderly, all apparently No-Maj. Percival’s attention fell on the youth in the bed next to his. The lanky teen looked barely old enough to be out of Ilvermorny, and he was missing a leg from below the knee.

“Hi, mister. How d’you lose your arm and eye?” the boy asked.

“In the war,” Graves replied. He really shouldn’t be chatting too much with a No-Maj.

“Do you ever get used to it?”

“With time…”

“I was working on the trams with my pa. One ran over me… The docs had to take my leg off. Now I cannot walk or stand without falling over…” the stoic facade just cracked a little. “Will I have to stay in bed forever?”

“Definitely not. You might have to learn to walk again on crutches or with a wooden leg, but a young man like you will be up and about in no time. There will be some changes – maybe you might not run as fast as before but you look a smart lad. You would figure it out.”

“Do you get nightmares about losing your arm and the war? Did a shell go off near you? I sometimes get nightmares about the tram…” the youth looked very young as he kicked his remaining foot restlessly.

“Look, what happened was a scary thing to you. You might get nightmares at first, and maybe for a while afterwards. For me, they faded when I started learning to do things again, like writing with my left hand and wearing my clothes. There are still some things I cannot do with only three fingers – like tying my own shoelaces. I need a bit of help at times…”

Lunch was served. A bowl of soup with some bread. Percival stared at the tray and then at his plastered arm.

“Apologies, ma’am, some help here please?” he called out to the nearest nurse, who looked very overworked.

“Can I help?” the youth chirped. By hopping over to a chair beside Percival’s bed, the lad was able to spoon feed his fellow patient while partaking of his own lunch.

Percival learned that the lad’s name was Bertie Adams and his family worked as tram drivers, conductors or mechanics. He dropped out of regular school to help his family and attended night school twice a week before his accident. Percival lied about working as an accountant and that he was on vacation visiting his niece in the city.  

It was dinner time when Tina and Sera arrived to visit him. Sera tried to dress-down, but her sheer presence was enough to turn heads. Like always, she walked in holding herself like a queen.

“You had us worried, Percy. Good to see you are doing well. Mostly,” Seraphina sat down on his bed and poked at his cast. “Tina, have a word with the doctor. Let’s see if we can get him discharged tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am…” Tina smiled as she walked off briskly to look for a doctor. Seraphina decided the hospital fare on offer would not do and promised Percival she would get him some proper food.

“Is that fancy dame your niece?” a gobsmacked Bertie asked. Percival shook his head.

“The lady who left earlier is my niece. I didn’t mention I work for a theatre, did I? Madame Picquery is our retired leading lady and a close friend,” Percival glibly explained.

Tina had returned to the ward.

“Uncle Percy, they’ve agreed to discharge you early. Madame Picquery can be very persuasive. I believe she has even got a taxi waiting for us outside.”

The taxi turned out to be Picquery’s limo, driven by her elf-chauffeur. They dropped by St Kitts to see if it was possible to get the cast off and fix his injuries the magical way, but the healers advised against it after scanning Percival’s magical core and noticing some residual instability. Perhaps his magic was limiting itself to heal his injuries non-magically in the presence of No-Majs? It would do no harm to allow the healing process to complete naturally before they sawed the cast off. Dinner for two was served in Picquery’s apartment – an Italian-style dinner whipped up by the house-elves. Tina had a prior agreement with landlady for dinner that night and she was not risking Mrs Esposito’s ire by wasting her culinary efforts. On hindsight, it appeared Tina was allowing them time alone.

He had to decline the invitation to the MacDuffs’ Halloween ball. It was fortunate that he had planned to give the family mansion an overhaul that year. They had termites in the timbers and leaks in the roof that need more than house-elf magic to fix. The décor was also horrendously outdated, as Sera had pointed out on her visits. Remodelling was overdue. It would take a while yet before the place would be a fit venue for any parties and none were planned until at least 1934 or later.

Percival was looking forward to a quiet Halloween night when a long-distance owl arrived at Picquery’s for him. Sera insisted he stayed in New York until the cast came off. He had to ask her to read it for him as he could not bend his elbow enough to read the letter or use magic to levitate it steady enough.

“Percy, why would Professor Albus Dumbledore be asking if you could obtain six tickets to the Walk of the Qilin ceremony at the Eyrie, Bhutan?”

“I’m trying to help him stop Grindelwald.” Seraphina would have been aware of the unusual situation of the British wizard who was said to be Grindelwald’s equal but had staunchly declined to assist his Ministry in stopping the dark wizard.

“Well, you can’t get that many unregistered tickets, even as family head of one of the Twelve. But if I pull in a few favours, we might be able to meet this request,” Seraphina grinned. “Whatever this Dumbledore has planned to stop Grindelwald, it better be worth the trouble of calling up Corrigan O’Brien at this hour.”

“Your ex-husband?”

“We parted on amiable terms. Corrie learned something about himself he did not figure out before we got married.”

“You mean he and Jon MacDuff are actually…”

“Percy, let’s just leave them be until they are ready to come out into the open. Not that it is any secret in society by now.”

Chapter Text

Percival, when are you going to make an honest woman out of her?

Word had reached his mother in Capri about his cohabiting with Sera for far longer than could be written off as a casual fling. The New York Ghost had published a photo of her straightening his tie at a gala event. Percival could not help but smile at the irony. Many years back when he was younger, he would not have thought twice about proposing marriage to Sera. However, too much has changed since. It was not unusual for family heads to have long-lasting intimate relationships outside their official marriages once the problem of an heir had been dealt with. Divorces were rare among the elite and Sera herself had narrowly avoided scandal. Seraphina’s three previous marriages had floundered for various reasons - incompatibility, infidelity, and her inability to produce a child. Thankfully, the separations were mostly amiable except for her divorce from Orwell Grimsditch on grounds of cruelty. Graves dared not ask her to marry him given his circumstances. For her part, she had not shown any sign of wanting to change their current status quo.

He did not need to concern himself about his successor. Cousin Sheridan was going a great job grooming his eldest boy for the role. The lad had applied to join the Auror core on his graduation and was now undergoing training. After a few years as an Auror, as per Graves family tradition, it would not be unusual for him to transfer to another department in MACUSA before taking the plunge into politics or business. Judging from what he knew of his nephew. Percival expected him to go into business, probably broomsticks or other Quidditch-related businesses. However, that would be many years into the future. Now, the wizarding world teetered on the edge of a precipice.

“Percival, wake up! You must listen to the radio now!”

Sera was shaking him awake. Somehow, he had fallen asleep on the couch. Rubbing sleep from his eye, he realized it was already dusk.  

They had managed to send the requested six unregistered Election tickets over to Hogwarts by urgent owl. Corrigan O’Brien had come through, securing two tickets. Graves managed to get another two through his own family connections. Sera obtained one through her MACUSA connections and another through another ex-husband turned good friend Milford Boots. Boots now lived in Alaska. They took a long time to contact him even via Floo.

Graves’ first thought was that Dumbledore’s plan had gone horrendously wrong. There was an announcement on the radio of Grindelwald being not only acquitted of all charges by the incumbent Supreme Mugwump Anton Vogel but receiving his support to run as a third candidate. There was also an item on an assassination attempt at the Candidates’ Dinner, rumoured to be carried out by a No-Maj who had somehow infiltrated the Dinner.

A worried Tina Floo-ed in at nine that evening. She had received an alert in the office about the assassination attempt at the Candidates’ Dinner along with a likeness of the assassin. She had hurried over to Kowalski’s bakery to find the place closed. She understood from speaking with the neighbours that the bakery had not opened that day. His apprentice, Albert, who lived across the street, was puzzled to find the place locked as Jacob had not indicated any intent to go on vacation. The rooms above the bakery were empty when Tina checked them.

The morning papers did even less to inspire their confidence. Jacob Kowalski was suspected of not only infiltrating the Dinner but attempting to assassinate Grindelwald. There were eyewitness accounts of some altercation between Jacob and a member of Grindelwald’s entourage, which might have precipitated the attack. There was a small article that confirmed that the German Ministry had managed to secure a young Qilin for the ceremony where both the Bhutanese and Chinese Ministry had failed to deliver despite their region being the native habitat of the magical beasts. No further details were given as to how they came to possess the beast. 

Tina was unable to share more with Graves as all Aurors were to be recalled to their posts in Woolworths. MACUSA was on high alert. The Aurors were already swamped by work at MACUSA with recent run-ins between Grindelwald’s and Santos’ supporters in the city rising. Now that Grindelwald was legitimately recognized as a candidate, there was a risk of possible riots and violence towards No-Majs in the aftermath of the alleged assassination. She did promise to keep them informed of any updates she could share.

Sera reminded Graves that as family head of one of the Twelve and former President, they were entitled to watch the Walk of the Qilin from Woolworths with the other family heads and political elites. He had her promise not to send off any Howlers to the British Ministry or Hogwarts yet. They need not alienate the Brits that soon. Urgent requests to speak with Theseus at his London apartment via long distance Floo went unanswered. Percival Graves regretted not purchasing another set of those two-way mirrors back in Switzerland. As for Newt Scamander, Merlin alone knew where he was. Tina received a postcard from China two months ago before he plunged into the country’s unexplored interior.

Graves dropped by the No-Maj hospital to have his cast removed after his arm had healed completely as instructed. He was perturbed to see there were several No-Maj patients who had clearly fallen prey to magical malice and that the city’s Aurors were too thinly stretched to deal with them before they took themselves to the hospital. There was a wailing little girl who had her fingers turned into hotdogs. Percival took a moment to cast a counter-spell to reverse the curse and a quick Obliviation spell on the child and her mother. He was briefly detained by an Auror team that finally appeared at the hospital but released after he offered to assist them in undoing the curses inflicted and obliviating the victims and medical staff.

It had taken a long while to complete the paperwork to get his foreign-made wand registered and licensed before he was allowed to wield his wand in the country. He spent those two months in Europe until he received the approval by owl. Seraphina reminded him of her own difficulties with wand registration since her wand had a Rougarou hair core. She had pointed out then to the MACUSA office that if the alleged link of her wand core to dark magic were such a concern, why were students to Ilvermorny being offered such wands on admission. Such were the oddities of magical law.

The wizarding elite were given a place along the galleries overlooking the MACUSA lobby on the day of the Election. A large screen was set up to project the Walk as it happened in real time. There was an almost festive air with house-elves serving refreshments in the form of canapes and cocktails. Yet the uneasiness hung heavily on all the attendees. Any conversation was stilted. Down on the lobby floor, the Aurors and lesser MACUSA staff were standing almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Head Auror Tina Goldstein no doubt among them.

The German ministry’s claims of having a Qilin seemed so incredible that even on the day of the Walk, many were expecting the ceremony to be called off. Instead, a baby Qilin was produced. To Graves’ horror, the creature stumbled forward on unsteady feet towards the candidates and bowed before not Santos or Liu, but Gellert Grindelwald.

It was over.

Seraphina had to grab hold of his shoulder to stop him from falling out of his chair. He dropped the glass of wine he had been sipping. That had the nearest elf tutting as she cleared the mess before it could soak into the carpeting. The dainty little salmon puff he had allowed himself to consume earlier sat heavily in his stomach. Seraphina was muttering something under her breath.

Grindelwald was the Supreme Mugwump – leader of the entire wizarding world. He wasted no time in casting a Crucio on the alleged assassin and calling the wizarding world to rise up against their No-Maj oppressors. Graves heard an enthusiastic cheer on the gallery that was cut off. He turned to find Sera nonchalantly sheathing her wand while the wizard next to them fell face down on his plate of pate de foie gras canapes.

“Not sure about you, Percy, but it smells of trickery,” Seraphina admitted.

“But the Qilin…”

“I do not think it is over yet, Percy.”

The Walk was not yet over. A redhead wizard pushed through the crowd of spectators, accusing the new Mugwump of fraud. Yet he had no proof the Qilin had not chosen. A deathly-pale young wizard also stepped out from the crowd and supported Newt’s claims that the first Qilin was indeed dead and reanimated through the dark arts of necromancy as a puppet by Grindelwald. He would learn later that this young wizard was the Obscurial that had caused so much destruction in New York.

A second Qilin was produced from Newt’s suitcase. The second Qilin knelt before Albus Dumbledore. The professor spoke to the creature, too softly to be heard, but it was clear that he was declining the post. The Qilin then knelt before Santos. There was a brief protest by Vogel and an attempt to instate the initial choice. However, the first Qilin died in the now disgraced Minister’s hands, proving the truth of Newt’s accusations and Grindelwald’s lies.

What happened next was almost too fast for anyone watching in MACUSA to follow. A green light – a killing spell – directed at the pale young wizard who had turned against Grindelwald. Two bolts of light to intercept the spell. For a moment it seemed that both Dumbledore and Grindelwald vanished. Then they were back. Grindelwald shouting out to Dumbledore words that were whipped away by the wind as he stepped off the Eyrie and Disapparated.

It was over. Vicencia Santos was declared the new leader of the wizarding world. Grindelwald was once more declared a criminal in the wizarding world after his attempt to rig the election. It would be much later that they learnt how deeply the German ministry had been infiltrated. Many German Aurors and high-level ministry figures were imprisoned, or at the very least forced to retire in disgrace after colluding with the dark wizard. Other European ministries were similarly forced to purge their ranks of any diehard supporters of Grindelwald.

It was a fortnight later that Graves was approached by a beaming Queenie Goldstein and Jacob Kowalski. Jacob had recovered from his experience with the Cruciatus Curse. The pair were back together in New York. After the pair’s love was witnessed by so many wixen globally through the broadcast of the ceremony, the International Confederation of Wizards had been pressuring MACUSA to allow them to live as man and wife. Graves supposed he missed that part because he was staring at some fool Sera had stunned into inhaling his liver pate.

Most importantly for Graves and Tina, Queenie was safe and away from Grindelwald’s malign influence. There was a debrief by MACUSA, of course, for intelligence on the Alliance. With Grindelwald’s plans in disarray, it was likely they would have strengthened their wards on their hideouts if not abandoned them entirely. There was talk of punitive measures against Queenie, but these were set aside because of her willingness to cooperate. She was forbidden from having any contact with the Alliance. She was not allowed to leave the country without permission. She was not to work in MACUSA or in any sensitive jobs. Graves quietly offered her seed money to start a robe-store if she wished, knowing how interested she was in fashion. 

MACUSA relented after much outcry from all levels of the States wizarding society in defiance of Rappaport’s Law. The entire Auror core in the city and other branch offices walked out when the current MACUSA president suggested the pair might consider migrating to a country that allowed such unions, permanently. However, the pair could not find a willing notary from the city to officiate. Many low-level MACUSA workers still feared running afoul of their stringent laws on No-Maj fraternization.

“Roles and responsibilities of a family head, Percy. You can officiate at their wedding,” Seraphina pointed out over dinner when he discussed Jacob and Queenie’s current predicament. The pair could not travel into Canada to get married after Queenie’s travel request was turned down.

“But that only applies to family members, doesn’t it?”

“It also can be extended to honorary family members in exceptional circumstances – I believe there is at least one precedence set by your own ancestor Gondulphus Graves for a young Auror and his expectant No-Maj lover during the blizzard of 1698. I believe he acted in his role as the man’s godfather but that might be disputed.”

“But the documents…”

“I can squirrel a blank marriage document from the No-Maj city hall, it should be binding enough for Kowalski. I understand your ancestor issued his marriage certificate on a piece of buckskin in 1698 and on a scrap of canvas in 1700 when he officiated at his sister-in-law’s marriage. Both were recognized.”  

“That was well before Rappaport’s Law. Still, you’ve talked me into this, Sera. But to be on the safe side, what would you say to a holiday in Europe or South America lest the other Original Twelve family heads or the current President start writing in to complain?”

Since they had wandered into the territory of marriage…

“Sera, forgive me for being so bold… would you be…” The words deserted him.

“Your wife? Percy, in case it escaped your notice, we have been living as a couple for many months now. And the answer is yes if you wish to make it official.”

“But my…” Percival gave a vague wave at his lower body.

“Hon, I think I can do without the sex and children. Who else can I discuss politics and policy with?”

Chapter Text

On a quiet December morning in 1932, a pair of high society wixen slipped into the Woolworths Building to register their marriage with the Magical Congress and then slipped out just as quietly. Seraphina took off in her very recognizable limo for a drive upstate towards the Graves family mansion while Percival Apparated to their Manhattan apartment from the back-alley Apparition point.

He had Tina help him practise Apparating to a quiet side alley near the Kowalski bakery. He was now confident enough he could pull it off later even without Tina or Sera around and without splinching. Tina would be busy helping Queenie as her maid of honour. Percival read through the outline of the marriage ceremony and the various blessings as per tradition. The wizard who oversaw their ceremony earlier had stumbled over the part of the blessing that mentioned ‘bountiful offspring’. No wonder too, with both parties long having given up hope of having children of their own. Jacob and Queenie were both young and healthy enough to have children, magical or otherwise.

Seraphina had volunteered to lead any nosey reporters on a merry chase upstate. There was always a spy or two in MACUSA ready to tip off the reporters. They wanted to keep Queenie’s wedding low-key and out of the public eye. MACUSA leadership had insisted on it. He doubted they would be happy to find the entire New York Ghost office camped out outside the bakery. They had cast some protective wards and Disillusionments over the bakery to guard against accidental magic and nosey neighbours. Newt Scamander was the best man, and the ring-bearer was a bowtruckle. At least it was not the Niffler. The little thief had attempted to make off with Graves’ pocket watch more than once. He never found the garnet cuff link he lost the last time Newt visited.

There was another No-Maj present in the wedding party – the baker’s apprentice. For a moment former Director Graves considered if this was a violation of their agreement with MACUSA. Then Percival Graves just shrugged and smiled, accepting one of the dainty pastries recommended by the young man. Jacob would need all the help and support he could get to get through the ceremony. The poor man was all a-fluster and a walking bundle of nerves. Lally Hicks was sharing a joke with Newt’s assistant even as the bride made some last-minute adjustments to her gown.

Glancing out the shop window, he thought he caught a glimpse of a bearded, red-haired professor watching from outside. However, Dumbledore was gone when the ceremony was over. Somehow Percival managed to get through the ceremony without stumbling over the words and he never felt prouder than when he pronounced the happy couple man and wife, or witch and husband as Lally jested. Queenie was now Queenie Kowalski, though she would retain her maiden name Goldstein on most documents as far as MACUSA was concerned.

“How did it go?” Seraphina was already back and waiting for him when Percival Apparated back to their apartment in Manhattan. She put the book she had been reading on the bedside table.

“No reporters. No gate-crashing neighbours. Too many shots of gigglewater,” Percival hung up his coat and scarf with a wave of his wand. “I thought I saw Dumbledore, but he did not join the party.”

“I do hope he stays away. We had to lead those reporters halfway to Wyoming before they gave up.” Their marriage would be splashed over the front pages despite their efforts at secrecy, which should distract everyone else in the States from the Kowalskis.

“So where to for our honeymoon?”

“Santorini, Greece. Now go take a bath and come join me in bed. We have an airship to catch in the morning.” It would be after the Repeal of Rappaport’s Law in 1965 that the Kowalskis got their official marriage certificate from MACUSA.

Dining out was always a bit of a trial given his physical limitations. If it were a No-Maj restaurant, he always had to request his meat pre-cut to smaller pieces since he could not use a fork and knife simultaneously. Seraphina was making some jest about the opera they had watched the other day at the Met.

The chill crept up on him as a waiter cleared his soup bowl away, replacing it with the main course. He glanced up. Abernathy. His waiter was Abernathy. He froze. The restaurant had gone deathly silent. All the muted conversations and music were gone. Before him, where a smiling Sera had been sitting a moment before, was the Dark Wizard Gellert Grindelwald, nonchalantly slicing his sirloin steak.

“Is the filet mignon not to your liking, Graves?” Mismatched eyes smirked at him. Graves screamed in horror.

“Percy, wake up!”

Graves awoke to find himself drenched in sweat, on the bed he shared with his bride. Santorini. They had dinner at the local taverna, danced on the beach and perhaps had too much wine. Seraphina was by his side. She hugged him before accio-ing over a glass of water for him.

“You’re safe. It’s only a nightmare,” she reassured him.

“Will we truly be safe?” Grindelwald had gotten away, even as his followers were being rounded up globally. Perhaps even now, they were lurking in the shadows, biding their time.

“Percy, Tina and her Aurors are working on tracking down any remaining supporters in MACUSA and the States. I believe your friend Theseus is doing the same in Great Britain. The Germanic States probably got the worst of it with their ideas of magical and pureblood supremacy.”

On reflection, Graves supposed he could have just as easily fallen for that spiel when he was younger and before he met Jacob Kowalski and other No-Majs. He allowed Sera to drape a blanket over his shoulders.

“You do know that Henry O’Brien is calling for a repeal of Rappaport’s Law, do you?”

“Henry O’Brien? Big whiskers, rides a threstal? I heard he is a bit radical…”

“Well, his support base has been growing, but I doubt he has enough clout to fully repeal it, not for another decade or two. He might be running for MACUSA president in few more years…”

It was 1935 before Percival walked Tina down the aisle in a small chapel in a bucolic corner of Britain.  

After a purge of the MACUSA Auror core of any remaining Grindelwald sympathizers, the MACUSA leadership sought to soothe the ruffled feathers of the wizarding elite by reinforcing the existing laws, in particular Rappaport’s. There was a huge scandal over wizards and their No-Maj spouses, legally married abroad, suddenly being declared illegal. Most were living together for decades and had a mix of magical and non-magical children. Many disgusted mixed families simply packed up their cauldrons and moved north or south. Long established businesses catering to the wizarding community suddenly shut down. Ilvermorny’s university town lodged a protest when they lost almost their entire Quidditch team, their local school supplies store, Quidditch outfitter, and the local teashop within a week of the new regulations.

Jacob and Queenie both managed to dodge the short-lived crackdown by keeping a low profile. Moreover, Kowalski’s baked goods were a favourite in MACUSA’s Auror pantry and no one wanted their favourite baker leaving town. Head Auror Tina was reassigned to Britain as a liaison officer after proving too vocal about the new directives. Shouldn’t they be going after Grindelwald’s remaining support base instead of hassling honest hardworking wizards and witches over their No-Maj partners? At least the new Head Auror – Ronnie Lopez – turned out to be as sensible as her predecessor. The crackdown on No-Maj fraternization frizzled out and everyone got back to the business of countering Grindelwald’s propaganda they best they could. There was still the occasional pocket of trouble Stateside that needed to be dealt with.

For some reason, the American liaison officer ended up sharing an office with the Beasts Department’s special consultant – Newt Scamander. Things just picked up from there. A proposal quickly followed, one that became the talk of the British ministry because a Niffler ran off with the ring before Newt could get it on Tina’s finger. The couple had to pursue the furry thief across five levels of the ministry and collared it before it got into the Mysteries department. It was MACUSA’s loss when Theseus Scamander deftly poached their liaison officer out from under them into his Auror department within two months of the engagement.

There were other changes. Percival’s mother quietly remarried, to the artist Aslan Shafiq. Kama slipped quietly back into the shadows of high society. They learnt from Newt that the Obscurial Aurelius Dumbledore had lived out his remaining days with his father in quiet corner of Scotland. As for Nagini, they lost contact after the witch charged to be her caretaker died suddenly. Newt wanted to go to Albania, but he could not get his request to travel approved after some diplomatic incident involving a Qilin and the Chinese ministry. He still had a young Qilin living in his basement on grounds the beast was still too young to survive in the wild without a mother. Newt hoped to release the creature once he was certain it would survive. He did not want the Qilin to spend the rest of her years in a golden cage in the Chinese ministry’s lobby.

It was a pity neither Jacob nor Queenie could attend Tina and Newt’s big day, not with their first child on the way. They sent along a huge basket of Kowalski’s best-selling pastries with a freshness spell to keep them freshly baked for the couple. Graves managed to obtain an international portkey. He had recovered enough to travel using portkey without being sick.

Tina was in the guesthouse with her maid of honour, Lally Hicks, making the final adjustments to her gown. Percival and Seraphina admired the old chapel with its stained-glass windows. Some of the panels had been replaced with scenes from wizarding lore – Merlin and Morgana duelled over the eastern nave. Queen Maeve stirred her cauldron in the window on the right of the door.

“Lovely place, isn’t it?” Theseus grinned. “Passed down from a Muggle ancestor. Has anyone seen the groom? He is not in his suitcase.”

“He’s in the woods behind the chapel. Thought he heard some critter in distress,” Seraphina replied. There was a crashing sound, followed by angry bellowing. Newt Scamander shot out from the trees on his broom with an angry hippogriff in hot pursuit. A sparks spell convinced the cranky beast to return to his herd.

“I was just trying to help… A quick spell to fix his wing…”

“Newt, it’s your big day. Old Winston can wait,” Theseus pulled a leaf out of his brother’s hair. “Now let’s get ready so old Pug here can walk Tina down the aisle.”

Tina was uncharacteristically teary when she met him outside the chapel doors. Lally tiptoed and peered through the stained-glass of Queen Maeve’s panel, waiting for the signal to march in.

“I cannot believe this is happening,” Tina blurted. She looked stunningly unlike her usual self with her ivory gown trailing behind her and matching gloves.

“Well, it is,” Percival gently used his handkerchief to brush away a tear from her cheek.

“I wish my parents and Queenie were here.”

“Me too, Tina. Would you allow me the honour of walking you down the aisle in your father’s stead?”

“The honour will be mine, Uncle Percy.” Tina slipped her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow.

“Places, everyone,” Lally called out. She hastened to pick up Tina’s train as the music started. The ceremony went off without a hitch. Newt even managed to sneak off after the vows to treat his injured hippogriff.

It was only midway through the dancing that followed the ceremony that Percival noticed Sera was no longer chatting with Lally by the punchbowl. She was speaking with Albus Dumbledore on the porch. He had not noticed the professor among the guests at the ceremony.

“Is it too much to ask that you leave us be? He’s already given so much. I do not know what you have planned to deal with Grindelwald but leave us out of it…” Sera’s words drifted on the breeze.

“Sera,” Percival placed his hand on her shoulder. He nodded to Dumbledore in greeting. “Good evening, professor.”

“A pleasant evening, isn’t it?” Albus started. “If only there would be many more such evenings to look forward to. There is war in the air, and not only in the wizarding world. I do hope not to call on you and yours again for help, but when the time comes…”

“We’ll see, Professor. Now, I believe I owe my wife a dance…” Percival replied tersely. He had seen the signs himself during his travels in recent months minding his European business interests.

“I do hope someone would be more honest about it,” Sera huffed even as her husband offered her a drink once they re-joined the party. “Really, one would think him in politics!”

“I suppose they can get political in academia too. Sera, let us enjoy the rest of the evening,” Percival smiled and whirled her onto the dance floor to join the others. Lally was dancing with Theseus. Tina had transfigured the skirt of her gown short to dance with Newt. The parents of the groom were dancing in a slow, possibly drunken waltz despite the swing music. Other guests danced, drank and chatted around them. For now, they had this little quiet corner of happiness.