4
As Graves followed Abernathy through the halls of the former MACUSA, he couldn’t help thinking that, this time, he was screwed. Even with his eyes firmly ahead of him, all he could see was Seraphina’s hunched form in the corner of the cell. He hadn’t had the chance to communicate to Queenie the state he found her in. By the time he and Abernathy were passing the guards on their way to the elevator, Queenie was gone, presumably retreated to the bullpen to wait for him and pretend to prepare coffee for the stragglers still working at this hour.
Abernathy opened his office door with a wave of his wand and stood back, gesturing for Graves to enter first. It was hard not to feel a spark of dread at the click of the door closing behind him.
“Please, sit.” Abernathy gestured as he himself settled into an ornate chair behind his desk. Percival nodded, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and obliged.
“Mr. Graves.”
Percival tilted his head, settled in his chair. Better to be quiet, to see what Abernathy knows before he volunteers any information. It’s not lost on him, the irony. How he, the auror, is now the one who is under suspicion, who is having his rights read to him.
It strikes him, suddenly, how easily he could overcome Abernathy. The man was weak. He had no auror training. Despite Grindelwald’s claims that his new world order was a pure meritocracy, Abernathy had risen the ranks only because of his unquestioning loyalty. It was now widely known that he had been working for Grindelwald for a long time, long before the attack at the MACUSA Ball.
“Who gave you permission to visit the dungeons?”
Graves steeled his expression, and his occulmency shields, just in case.
“Lord Grindelwald ordered me to go down there. He put me in charge of the upcoming execution ceremony, and wanted me to observe and choose which prisoners would be included.”
“Right.” Abernathy stared into his eyes, searching for any movement or expression. “You see, I’m not sure that’s exactly true. I know you’re in charge of the execution, but there are absolutely no records indicating you have permission to enter the most secure floor of this building.”
So there was no question then. Abernathy was undoubtedly onto him. But he had to respond quickly. “While there may be no paper records, I was simply following—“
“Alright, let’s cut the crap, shall we, Mr. Graves?” Abernathy rapped his knuckles on the mahogany desk in front of him. “Something smells here. And while I may not know the precise details of what it is, I do know that Lord Grindelwald will not be happy about it. Especially when you still have a long way to go in earning his trust.”
“Mr. Abernathy, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. Everything was completely legitimate. Above board. I was ordered to plan for an execution, and that’s what I was doing.”
Graves held in a grimace as Abernathy, that skinny, overconfident rat, stood up and walked over to Grave’s side of the desk, stopping in front of him.
The man’s posture was relaxed as he leaned against the desk and crossed his arms, less than a foot away from Graves. Percival clenched his jaw. He knew he could easily knock Abernathy out with minimal effort. He had worked in wand permits, for Merlin’s sake. He wouldn’t stand a chance before the former Director of Magical Security.
But the roles had been reversed, and they both knew it. Abernathy had the full power of Grindelwald’s regime behind him. Infuriatingly, Abernathy towered over a seated Graves, confident that he wouldn’t dare lash out.
Abernathy leaned in until he was only inches from him.
“And this execution assignment,” he spoke low and close to Graves’s ear, “it involves begging Seraphina Picquery to wake up? Hmm? Kneeling in front of her cell and promising it will all be okay?”
So it was true. He was absolutely, royally done for.
Abernathy returned to behind his desk. “I’m sure you’re aware this puts you under suspicion of treason and sedition.” Suddenly, he looked over Percival’s head and gestured. A couple of Grindelwald’s personal guards came into the room, blocking the door. Damn it! No doubt this was Abernathy’s little idea to ingratiate himself even more to Grindelwald.
Percival stood up. “Now, Mr. Abernathy—“
“Percival Graves, you are under arrest on suspicion of undermining Lord Grindelwald and the Greater Good.”
The two guards grabbed him roughly. Now it was over. Really, truly over. He glared at Abernathy, nearly growling when he saw the self-satisfaction in the man’s beady eyes.
A few seconds of manhandling later, Percival felt the nauseating pull of side-along apparition. Yet when he landed on solid ground once again, the awful pit in his stomach was stronger than ever.
~
Graves woke up a few hours later to the sound of footsteps ricocheting across the hard cement and tile of the dungeon. It had been a long night of fitful sleep. Not that he wasn’t used to it. But this time, instead of the plush bed in his townhouse, he lay on his back on the floor of a jail cell in the Woolworth. Right. Abernathy had had him arrested.
After the guards had thrown him in here, stripping him of his wand and slamming the magically-warded door with a little too much enthusiasm, Graves had paced. He walked back and forth in the tiny cell all night, alternating between deep thought and pure, sharp panic. It was an old habit, and something that often brought him comfort. Something Sera used to make fun of him for. After countless steps back and forth, he had practically collapsed on the ground, settling into a troubled sleep.
Rubbing his temples to try to focus and ease his aching head, Graves listened to a far-away murmur. It seemed to be people talking, accompanying the footsteps. The closer they got, the more he could make out. Two people, maybe three. One annoyed, the others deferent. A head guard and his juniors?
He had to prepare for what would come next. It wasn’t easy to face. There was no doubt that Abernathy would tell Grindelwald of what he saw in the dungeons. There would be no trial, except for a show trial, perhaps. There would be no mercy. Probably, a public execution. He and Queenie, the last two standing. Now it would be down to one. He had failed. And Grindelwald would certainly take pleasure in it.
The footsteps and voices echoed close enough to finally hear.
“-ridiculous. You have no right to act on these fantastical hunches.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where is he?”
“Cell 43, sir.”
In an instant, Grindelwald himself stood before him. This was it, it was over. Still, he had to try. Percival carefully stood up, brushing the chalky dirt of the dungeons off his trousers, and bowing his head.
“Lord Grindelwald. Please let me explain. This is a mistake. I was—“
“Enough, Director.” Grindelwald held up his hand. “You do not need to explain to me.”
Graves tried his best to steel his face into a mask of composure, to iron out his furrowed brow. What sort of game was this?
“I know as well as you that Abernathy can be a bit overeager. I sincerely apologize for that, and for your ordeal last night.”
Grindelwald snapped his fingers, and a guard ran over, wand out. Unlocking the wards of his cell.
At the man’s gesture, Percival tentatively stepped out of the prison.
Grindelwald extended his hand. Percival shook it. He glanced up at the man’s eyes, one brown and one icy blue. They stared him down the same way they had in the President’s office. A disturbing mirth at odds with his words of trust and apology.
“I trust your visit to the prison was productive? Generative of any new ideas for the upcoming show, perhaps?”
Percival cleared his throat and hesitated. The news that he was not doomed, that he would live another day, had not quite reached his body, still achey and cold from the cell floor and the fear of losing, forever. “Yes, I believe it was. And I apologize, if I overstepped in going by myself—“
“Oh, Director Graves, no, no. In fact, I appreciate the initiative.”
They walked together down the cavernous hall. Then suddenly, Grindelwald turned.
“I’d like to pay a visit to the former president. I’m sure you have work to catch up on after your ordeal, but please do accompany me.”
Ah. So this was the punishment. It was impossible to read Grindelwald. His expression was matter-of-fact, but something about the hardness in his eyes made Graves suppress a chill running through his body. He was usually good at these things, good at shaking Grindelwald’s hand and nodding and hiding his nausea at the mere sight of Grindelwald’s cold smile. But the stress of last night had taken its toll. He swallowed.
“Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
Grindelwald looked at him. “Good.”
The two men walked past saluting guards, whose number grew larger as the cells became darker and more secure.
And then, they were there. Standing in front of Sera’s cell. But this time, she was awake. Percival thanked all the gods he could think of. There she was, alive, wrapped in the same blanket, but sitting up against the cement wall, eyes open.
His heart clenched in his chest, relief mixed with dread. There she was. She was okay.
He looked at her, really looked at her, trying to communicate that everything would be alright. Then, he took a steadying breath to calm the tears he felt coming. Seraphina stared at him in shock, then concern, but didn’t say a word.
“Madame Piquery.”