Damned Difficult Game

There’s someone watching him.

Credence doesn’t react to the knowledge as it thunders through his mind. He feels it, a gaze that is heavy and thick like water closing around his head, but he doesn’t react. He pretends he does not notice. He allows himself to be preoccupied with the flurry of activity around him instead: the hurried movements of the nurses and the clipped, rigid steps of the Aurors as they approach. There’s always one nearby, wherever and whenever Credence looks. He doesn’t look often--these are the people that tried to kill him, and that fear, while dampened by confusion and the overstimulating environment, is still remembered. They arrive quickly, changing their posts, their strides all equal in length and timing. He doesn’t know any of their names, except for Tina, but he hasn’t seen her in a long while and he doubts he ever will. He didn’t think he harmed her, but his memories are fuzzy, broken things that only cut him when he tries to fit them back together. His life has become a million shards of shattered glass; he clings to the largest of the pieces even though it shreds him a little more each time he grasps it.

His hands become increasingly interesting the closer the Aurors get. He doesn’t want to look up, fearful of what he might see. He catches tiny glimpses from the corners of his eye, when he’s brave enough to change a glance. There’s nothing unusual about what he sees. But he still feels the weighty scrutiny of some unknown presence, and Credence doesn’t dare guess who it belongs to.

The past weeks have come and gone in a blur. Credence saw none of the people he knew before; Tina, the red-haired Mr. Scamander, and--if there’s a heaven Credence praises it for this--Mr. Graves are all gone, lost to him like dust thrown into the ocean. He thinks he should care more than he does, but everything is a bit numb. He does miss the solid presence Tina exuded. She was never stoic, never rigid like Ma was, like so many of the people he had known. Her own barely kept emotions were calming, because she was a woman of capability and kindness who didn’t try to fight her feelings. She was… successful, successful like Ma assured him he never would be. And she was successful without dampening who she was.

Credence picks at his nails, at the rough callouses that cover the inside of his hands. There are no red marks anymore, but old scars still remain. It seems even magic can’t fix the past. Credence frowns a little at the thought.

Before the group reaches his room, the Aurors halt, their steps ceasing in unison. A nurse offers a hushed protest to a person in the group, and the reply is a cold type of silence. Credence feels it in his bones. He wonders if there’s some sort of  magic that gives extra weight to emotions, because right now, the air is thick with surprise and anger. A minute passes in uncomfortable quiet, and the air shifts to anger tinted with an over-awed incredulousness.

“I am going to see him.” A voice declares, punctuated with a strained emphasis on am and see him. There’s an extra force on the word him, and Credence cannot believe the explosion of absolute dread that begins in his stomach and travels upward. He clenches his jaw to keep the wave of fear in check. He can’t assume… he can’t believe…

Credence looks up. In the hall, close enough to see exact features, stands a group of four Aurors and familiar figure in the middle. Credence doesn’t want to believe his eyes. These days had gone by like a dream, and so he hopes this is a dream, too. He hopes he’s hallucinating even as he blinks and clasps his hands together so hard he feels his nails tear through his flesh. Somehow he manages not to make a sound, so frozen by horror is he, but when Mr. Graves turns to the side and his eyes lock with Credence’s, the boy screams. Or rather, he tries to. The sound that issues from his mouth is a whimper and a snarl and a yell all in one. He sounds more like some sort of beast than a human and he scrambles back, pressing into the corner where the two walls meet his bed, willing them to open and swallow him whole. Mr. Graves remains in place, the Aurors all wearing equal expressions of shock, and the lights begin to flicker and pop around them. Credence breaks off into small sobs, waiting for the man to advance on him or for his Aurors to pull out their wands and end him right there. Neither thing happens.

“With all due respect, sir.” The nurse Graves had been arguing with begins, “I told you it was better if you don’t see him.”

Graves frowns at the nurse’s snarky tone, glancing from her to Credence.

“Initial shock.” He tries to explain. “Looks like he’s fine now.”

The man takes a step toward the room and Credence squeaks a protest, bending over at the middle just as the one window in his hospital room explodes inward. The shards bounce off of iridescent bubbles that form around Graves and his Aurors, as harmless as a hatpin to a dragon. But the underscored piece of unspoken information is that, contained or not, Credence’s uncontrolled power can be dangerous (not like any of them didn’t know that). Credence feels it in his gut for the first time since he woke up, dazed and bleeding, and he almost wants to let it go. He fights it, even though the taste of destruction sounds so good, because he does want to live and these people haven’t killed him yet; he really doesn’t want to give them a reason--another reason.

Hunched over on the bed, Credence rocks back and forth, gritting his teeth together to suppress the desire for mayhem. He squeezes his eyes shut and recites the Twenty-Third Psalm over and over in his head, mouthing the words to himself.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,  I fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff--they comfort me… they comfort me…”

Credence breaks off the prayer and repeats those three words over and over, until he forgets to move his lips and the sounds grow foreign in his head. He hears without listening the voice of Mr. Graves speaking to the nurse.

“I, ah, suppose you’re right.”

“Director Graves, I’ve watched this boy for two weeks now. He isn’t ready. And if I may be so blunt, you aren’t either.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from the Aurors, followed by a half-hearted scoff. The nurse clicks her tongue.

“You need rest as well. Forcing this won’t be good for any of us. I don’t want the building collapsing down around me and I don’t want the Director of Magical Law Enforcement keeling over on my floor.”

There is silence so thick Credence wonders if the Aurors and Mr. Graves had choked on it. After a moment, he lifts his head slowly, the outright urge to murder and destroy gone. He sees the nurse with her hands on her hips and Mr. Graves failing to be imposing. Credence thinks this must be the first time that has ever happened before.

The Director gives up with a sigh and there’s a lost expression etched into the somewhat sallow-looking skin of his face. It dawns on Credence that he’s never seen Mr. Graves look so… defeated. There was color to his skin before, whereas now, he appears dim, like a light about to go out. Credence takes to analyzing him as he hadn’t before, out of fear. There’s something amiss, and Credence feels it just as he felt the man’s gaze earlier. Credence sweeps his eyes up and down Mr. Graves’s form, noting the thinness that wasn’t there before. There are hollows in his cheeks deep enough to seem like bruises, and then it all connects.

One name that had been continually whispered throughout Credence’s stay in the hospital was Grindelwald. He was a dark wizard, an evil without chance of redemption, and he had used a child to try and start a war. It didn’t take long for Credence to realize that child was him, yet, his mind continued to lump Graves and Grindelwald together. People had aliases, he knew. It was easiest to imagine Grindelwald was Graves, and Graves, Grindelwald. Now, Credence sees he was wrong. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open at the prospect.

It is at this moment that Mr. Graves--not Grindelwald--again looks to Credence. The man’s expression is one of remorse, maybe, but Credence cannot say for sure because regardless of the identity mix-up he had just sorted through, Credence has no intention of trusting him.

Then, Graves smiles, just a slight movement, a half-stretch of the lips, and Credence freezes. He furrows his brow and looks away, because that smile was the last thing he expected to see on the face of the man that used him to murder and hurt--but this Mr. Graves is not that Mr. Graves. Credence looks up again, and the smile is still there, framed by tired eyes and hair that hadn’t looked that grey on Grindelwald. The boy tilts his head, unsure of what Mr. Graves is expecting him to do. Murder him, maybe, or turn into a cloud of swirling black mist and escape through the window.

But the strangest thing is, Credence notices that when his eyes meet Mr. Graves’s, that painful gnawing of corrupted power is still and quiet in the hollow of his chest. There’s a sense of genuineness in the depths of the older man’s eyes that Credence had never seen before when the man’s face was a mask for Grindelwald.

So Credence smiles back, knowing he looks a sight. The Director of Magical Law Enforcement’s grin widens and becomes a bit lopsided. That, Credence thinks, is a real smile.

“Alright.” Graves says, turning back to the nurse. “If anything happens with him, send for me.”

“Director, I don’t think--”

“I don’t care what you think, Miss Ermine.” The lightheartedness that had once been present in the room dissipates, and the Aurors stiffen at the Director’s words. “If anything happens, you tell me immediately. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” The nurse nods.

Graves turns to his Aurors and jerks his head back in the direction they came. The group marches away, and Credence thinks he hears Mr. Graves grumble about not needing an escort in a MACUSA hospital, but the words fade into nothingness and Credence stares until he can no longer see the man or hear his voice.

“Are you alright?”

Credence jumps at the nurse’s closeness. He snaps his attention to her, unaware she had walked to his side. She raises an eyebrow.

“Y-yes, I’m… I’m fine.” He stammers. “A-are you alright?”

“Me?” Miss Ermine laughs. “Oh goodness, why would I not be alright?”

Credence doesn’t answer and she continues to chuckle while she cleans up the glass with her wand and forms it back into a window. He watches her do it, his amazement at magic not yet gone. He’d seen a little of it around the hospital, but most of it was a domestic type of magic: floating clipboards and pens that took dictation or hovering trays of food that delivered themselves to the patient’s bed. Credence is fascinated by the thought of making something broken whole again, and he wonders, mischievously, if he could break the window just to watch the nurse repair it again. Then he realizes how horrible that would be and red colors his face in shame.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Credence hums an affirmative, hoping it will make the nurse go away. Instead, he feels an extra weight on the side of his bed and glances up to see the young woman perched on the edge. His face reddens even more.

“I’ve not gotten to talk to you much.”

“Y-you want to?”

Miss Ermine shrugs. Credence hugs his knees to his chest, debating whether or not to explain that he wasn’t supposed to talk when he was under Ma’s care. Speaking recklessly was an awful sin, and Credence had, by the end, realized it wasn’t that hard to avoid. He just didn’t talk. It was safer that way.

“You’re a very interesting person, Credence Barebone. There are a lot of people who’d like to talk to you.”

“Why?” Credence stammers, not meeting the woman’s eyes. He tries not to flinch when she says his last name.

“Well, you’re the only person to have survived this long as an obscurial, and you also survived a direct attack by over a dozen senior Aurors. I think that makes you quite special.”

With the rate the conversation is going, Credence feels his face might catch fire soon.

“I’m not special.” He attests. Miss Ermine shrugs. She flips a curly strand of white hair from her eyes.

“Well that isn’t for me to judge, but most people don’t get a visit by the Director of Magical Law Enforcement unless they’ve done something really horrible.”

Credence begins to explain that he has done really horrible things but the nurse cuts him off, waving her hand as if to dispel his prospective words.

“Especially when the Director should be resting on leave.”

“W-what?”

Miss Ermine snorts and rolls her eyes. Once her gaze settles back on Credence, she points a finger at him.

“Don’t spread this around. Plenty of folks already know, but I don’t want to get scapegoated for spreading rumors, even if they aren’t rumors. Got it?”

Credence nods violently.

“Well,” A smirk paints Miss Ermine’s lips. “Director Graves should be nowhere near MACUSA anything right now because President Picquery insisted he ‘recover his health’ first. That means she kicked him off duty for a while.”

“W-why?” Credence asks, confused but wanting to know more, against his better judgement.

“Because Grindelwald really did him a doozy, if you know what I mean.”

Credence doesn’t know what she means, but he nods anyway, and seems to receive some form of approval from Miss Ermine. The nurse sniffs before she continues.

“This whole situation is just a big mess, you see. Though, and don’t tell anyone I admitted it, I’m glad to see Director Graves back. He may be a Mrs. Grundy but he does get things done, and well, when he came in, after Goldstein found him, he really looked horrible. I’m kinda surprised he has recovered this well, actually, in such short time.” Miss Ermine breaks off into thought, pursing her lips before shrugging her shoulders. “But what can you expect? He’s Director Graves!”

The nurse giggles at some joke Credence doesn’t have the faintest clue about. She remains lost in her mind, sitting on the edge of Credence’s bed. He doesn’t know if it’s appropriate for her to be this close. He doesn’t think so, but the door’s open and people mill about in the hall. No one looks into Credence’s room; they never have.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“No. S-sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“You said you wanted to talk to me.” Credence recalls.

“Well I’m not talking to the wall.” Miss Ermine huffs. She studies Credence for a moment, blinking rapidly and cocking her head. “You know, there really is something special about you. It took the Director’s attempted visit for me to finally realize it.”

Credence blushes and looks away. There are little half moons etched into his hands from earlier. He studies them and scratches at the little wells of dried blood.

“I’m not special.”

“Sure you are! I’ve never seen the Director smile before, and he smiled at you. That has to count for something!”

The breath leaves Credence’s lungs as if was was drawn from him as he tries to understand what Miss Ermine is getting at. He stares at her, unable to discern the message behind her words and too afraid to let his mind guess.

“So you think I c-could make him smile again?” Credence asks. The thought of seeing Mr. Graves’s smile is an immediate incentive to do… whatever it his he’s there to do. Credence can’t explain it, and he isn’t sure if he wants to, but the calm and security that rushed over him at the upturn of Mr. Graves’s lips and at the crinkles in the corners of his eyes elicits a strong... need. Credence almost wishes the man had stayed. He almost wishes Miss Ermine hadn’t shooed him away.

The young woman’s surprised gasp draws Credence from his thoughts. She’s grinning sillily at him, eyes wide and open like big brown saucers.

“For crying out loud, you really are something special.”

“What did I say? Did I say something wrong?”

“You just said you wanted to make Director Graves smile. I think you’re the first person ever to say something like that!”

“O-oh.” Credence’s shoulders fall. He mentally kicks himself. He’s such an idiot. He shouldn’t have said that. Why in heaven’s name did he say that? Of all the questions that had been burning in his mind for the past weeks, why did he have to voice that one?

Miss Ermine pokes a finger under Credence’s chin and lifts his face to hers. There’s a bright and fiery amusement burning beneath the surface of her skin. Credence wonders if that’s her soul, and if it’s normal for a woman--a witch--to be so outspoken.

“No, this will be fun.” She says with a conspiratory wink. Credence only shakes his head. “I want to see if you can do it.”

“What?”

“Make Director Graves smile again, silly. This can be like a game. It’ll be a damned difficult game, but oh Merlin will it be worth it!”

Credence flinches first at the curse and then at the realization of what he just got himself into.

“How do you know that Director Graves will even come back?”

“Oh don’t worry sweetheart, he’ll be back.”