Ignis et Diluvium (Fire and the Flood)

Ignis et Diluvium (Fire and the Flood)

March 1927

***

He left on a Tuesday.

There’d been no real reason for that particular Tuesday. Percy had gotten up, ate breakfast, and then gone to work, all per usual. Also per usual, he’d greeted his co-workers with even nods and quiet hellos and then went to his office and shut the door.

He managed to work for an hour. It was mostly catch-up, a pile of documents and case files he was slowly working through, reviews of the investigations performed while he’d been… Well, not himself.

Percy was in the middle of deciphering young Grimsditch’s sprawling, adjective-ridden report on the Bowery incident when something, a noise like the creak of door made him stop. He cocked his head. The noise wasn’t repeated; he could only hear the rhythmic tick of his pocket watch and the broken Harkaway Remberall, which was forever activating and rolling from its velvet perch. It rested against the glass door of his artifact case, vibrating every time it turned bright red. He should just get rid of it. There was no real point in keeping it around. Harkaway had been a disgrace—why bother displaying the belongings of a failure?

The thought, random and shallow, settled in Percy’s mind and he realized he was sweating. Surprised, he touched his forehead and then looked at his fingertips. Yes, he was sweating as if it were a hundred degrees instead of a balmy sixty-eight. He sat back and loosened his tie. It didn’t help. In fact, it made everything worse and he suddenly felt as if he were suffocating in the perfectly fine air, as if there was a noose around his neck, relentlessly tightening and—

He closed his eyes and growled deep in his throat, dispelling the panic, forcing it back to where it belonged. That didn’t help either, and, as if he’d planned this long in advance, he calmly put his desk in order. With a flick of his fingers, he sent the documents and case files back into a neat, numerically ordered stack while he got a sheaf of notepaper and a quill out of his desk.

On the first note he simply wrote the name Auror PE Goldstein and then placed it on the case files. On the second note, he wrote:

M. Picquery,

I have a family emergency. I will be taking a leave of absence for a minimum of three weeks. Goldstein or Lopez can handle any situations that arise in the meantime.

PG Graves, Auror

He signed his name with less than his usual flourish and then folded the note with a wave of his wand. The paper crinkled and protested but in a moment, it had folded itself in the shape of a long-winged gull. It hovered above the desk, waiting expectantly.

“Not until I’m out of the building,” Percy said as he got his greatcoat and tugged it on. “And only to Picquery, yes?”

The note bobbed and followed him out the door. He cast his own version of a colloportus charm and waited. The lock on the door blazed a bright blue that turned a putrid green. Percy sighed and cast it again. This time the lock flashed a strong, steady blue. Percy tried it, just to be sure, and then turned to the elevators.

When he got to the lobby, Seraphina’s note went one way and he went another. Across the crowded hall to the stairs, avoiding eye contact, completely aware he was making a break for it but unable to stop, unable to even define what it was.

It was only when Percy was entering his apartment that he slowed down and considered what he was about to do. It was absurd. He should just stick it out. He hadn’t been through that terrible an ordeal. And even so, if this was a sensible course of action, he could fly by broom or portkey or even by carpet. The latter wasn’t outlawed, not like it was in Europe. But no, he thought, looking at his own hands. He didn’t dare use more than the most basic of magic—who knew what would happen?

Resolved, determined, he packed the bare necessities and pocketed all the cash he had on hand, and then left the apartment, this time using his no-maj key. He’d make it easy on MACUSA when they came to investigate. There was nothing to discover, in any case. The only thing his apartment housed were the essentials of a bland life and the rosemary from his mother that kept insisting on dying.

His hand still on the doorknob, Percy hesitated. If he were any kind of son, he’d tell his parents. Once they found out, they’d worry. But no, he decided, turning the key firmly in the lock, he wouldn’t because…

…well, just because.

***

When Percy got to the docks just past five, he booked a cabin on the RMS Adriatic. His only requirements were privacy and deck-side access. The room cost a pretty penny, almost two month’s rent but he didn’t blink as he handed the cash over without word.

He was shown to his room by the porter, a boy who couldn’t be more than seventeen. When the porter made to unpack for him, Percy sent the boy on his way with a, “I can take care of it,” and a fifty-cent piece.

As soon as he was alone, Percy hung up his overcoat and jacket and then stripped down to his undershorts and undershirt. One more thing, he thought wearily as he went to the door. He whispered an incantation, this one a mild charm intended to keep no-maj’s out, but also anonymous enough so the average witch or wizard would be oblivious as to the charm’s very existence.

Finished, he got into bed and then turned on his side. As if precipitated by the lack of movement, all the worries and concerns he’d locked away in the leaky prison of his mind slipped free. He let them have sway for a bare moment, then pushed them back and slammed the door tight. By main force, he relaxed, letting the deep rumble of the engines draw him into sleep.

***

Later, Percy only remembered the most superficial parts of the eastward voyage: the ever-present staff, the no-maj actress that was traveling with her coterie but who tried more than a few times to engage his interest, the soft strains of the orchestra that featured a different composer each night.

He stayed in the shadows as it were, experiencing the journey without really living it. Each sunrise lightened the stranglehold on his heart, each sunset tightened it that much further. The strange seesaw of emotions, not new but surprising in its intensity was infuriating and by the time they got within sight of Liverpool, he wondered if he was going mad.

***

Disembarking the ship was like stepping into fleeting quicksand and feeling the same strange sense of escalating urgency that he’d felt at the office, Percy made his way to the ticketing agent. With as much calm as he could manage, he asked, “Can you tell me how to get to Godrick’s Hollow in Surrey County, please?”

***

Hmm, he thought as he strolled down the lane to stop before the iron-enclosed graveyard. Hmm.

Percy had never been to the Hollow before. He knew the stories, of course, the tales of the famous battle and the repercussions from the same. He hadn’t, however, expected the setting to be quite so prosaic, verging on the mundane.

He’d arrived just as the sun was setting. The shops were closing and the few people that were about gave him vague stares and vaguer smiles. That was all right. He wasn’t here to make friends.

“Percival? Percival Graves?”

Percy turned slowly. Standing in the shadows of a pine was a familiar figure. “I should have known. You set wards?”

“My own personal alarm system, set to go off whenever a powerful witch or wizard visits.”

“I suppose I should be flattered.”

“I suppose you should.”

Percy made himself smile. “Hello, Albus.”

Albus Dumbledore stepped from the shadows and into the glow cast by a gas lamp. “It is you. I thought I was dreaming, something not entirely out of the realm of possibility in this place.”

“No, no dream. You’re looking well.” And it was true—Albus’s hair was shorter and he was sporting a mustache and beard. But other than that, he seemed much the same. “What’s it been, four years?”

“No,” Albus answered, “six, last September. You and Seraphina attended the ICW’s decennial in Paris, remember?”

Percy nodded, his smile fading. Had it really been that long? Six years? “Did I interrupt you?” he said, nodding towards Albus’s diamond-patterned robe. “Were you off to bed?”

“Percival,” Albus said slowly. “What is it? Why are you here?”

“I—” And there Percy stopped, unable to answer, unable to explain the pull that had led him to the Hollow, the fear that he was no longer himself and if he wasn’t, then here was where he needed to be. He was, he thought, like a mortally wounded bear, trying to find a safe place to die only he had no intention of dying or any such—

“I see,” Albus said even more heavily than before. He stepped closer. “We heard, of course, what had happened, what he did to you.” He touched Percy’s arm. “Seraphina said you were fine, that you had recovered, but you’ve always excelled at hiding, haven’t you?”

It was too much, Albus’s light touch, his empathetic gaze. Percy shook his head, a brief jerk, expressing all he couldn’t say. “Albus, I can’t, not here.” He tried to smile and thought he might weep, something he hadn’t done since he was a child. Either that, or take his wand from its hiding place and torch the village until there was nothing left but scorched earth.

Albus seemed to understand because he let go and stepped back. “You’re right, of course. We’ll meet back in my rooms. Do you remember how to get there?”

One more smile, this one a bare crack of his lips. “I can’t apparate, Albus. I’m afraid to try.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. And then he nodded and crooked his elbow. “Then, my dear, I’ll lead the way.”

***

The trip to Albus’s private suite was mercifully quick, though Percy’s stomach roiled when they landed.

Albus let him go and then went to his tiny kitchen. “Tea, I think, is in order.”

Percy set his suitcase near the settee and examined the room. “I’d prefer something stronger.”

“Such as?”

He’d only been to Albus’s new suite the once and that had been on a school tour many years ago. Back then, the place still held the air of anonymity. Now, it was a messy hodgepodge of styles that still captured the essence of its inhabitant, unlike his own spartan home. The painting above the settee seemed to agree for it was giving Percy such a look, part curiosity, part snobby disdain. “Whiskey, Scotch, even gin,” he answered absently, thinking on the differences, the comfort of Albus’s home and the ephemeral quality of his own.

Albus poked his head around a statue of a phoenix. “Gin? We can do better than that. We have no prohibition here, remember.”

“I remember.” The coiled unease that Percy had been living with for three months began to relax and unwind. He removed his hat and overcoat. It felt good to be here, good and safe. Other than that regrettable five minutes after one of the Scamander’s London parties, Albus and he had never been all that close, their bond truly cemented by a shared affection for a pain-in-the-neck wizard.

“By the by,” Albus called out, “have you heard anything from Theseus?”

Percy smiled once more, this time with a lighter heart. Speak of the devil. “He writes sometimes.” Choosing the sofa over the settee, he sat and leaned back. “He floo’d in for a few hours during our last Hallowe’en party. In ‘25, I mean.”

“By your tone, I imagine, ‘he floo’d in’ means he surprised you and Seraphina and caused a fracas?” Albus came back from the kitchen with a tea tray and a plate of sandwiches.

“If you call breaking into my office and breaking a few hearts a ‘fracas,’ then yes, he did.” He was so tired. It had been months since he’d had any true sleep, his rest peppered with half-dreams and nightmares that always seemed so real… “He took Winnie Massingberd into the broom closet. When he’d kissed her senseless, he went after her brother. Then, he stole the time-turner I had locked up in my desk, the one given to me by Philo McGilliguddy. Cornelia Monk asked me to dance three different times before I managed to get the watch back.” He’d wondered why Theseus kept slipping an arm around his shoulders—when he’d discovered the reason, he’d been mostly amused.

Albus snorted and sat down. “That sounds like our Theseus.” He handed Percy a cup that held an inch of tea and then wanded over a brown bottle. “Say when,” he murmured as the bottle opened itself and tipped sideways.

Percy waited until the liquid was a fingerwidth from the top and then said, “When.”

“Hmm,” Albus said, waving the bottle over to his own cup. He poured less than a tablespoonful before ordering the bottle back to the side table. He gave Percy a rather prim look and they both smiled.

“All right,” Percy said, “but this is the first real drink I’ve had in months.” He’d been too apprehensive, worried that his inability to cast even the simplest spell would be made that much worse under the influence of alcohol.

Albus sat back with his cup and crossed his legs. “I, as well. Teaching has necessitated a great many changes.”

Percy sipped the whiskey. “Such as?”

“Oh, this, that and the other,” Albus answered, still prim.

It was Percy’s turn to say, “Hmm,” because he knew what Albus was referring to. Albus had never been what he would call wild but he’d had his moments. He had been one of those moments. So had Grindelwald, and just the recollection twisted the something inside Percy’s chest. He sat the cup down. His hands were shaking, a fine tremble that traveled up his arms to his throat. His anger rose, as well, and he wanted to snarl and snap.

Albus sat his cup down and leaned forward. He covered Percy’s hand with his own and said, “Enough. You’re safe here and he’s locked up. Tell me.”

***

It turned out to be at once easy and hard, relating the whys and hows of his abduction. How it had felt being captured, not recognizing Gellert for who he was when he’d approached, guised in the fiction of Percy’s dead sister, Dindrane. How it had felt to be locked up, held powerless by charms and spells that not even he could break. And then to realize that the incantation that Gellert had used had been just the tipping point, that each visit had taken a bit more until he was fairly sure there was nothing left.

And finally, on the road to recovery but still weak, the notion that wormed its way in, trapping Percy in a new, albeit non-magical spell: that what he’d thought had been a one-way street perhaps was not. That maybe Grindelwald was still in there, guiding his thoughts and day-to-day actions like the master puppeteer that he was…

By the time he was done reciting the bald facts, Percy’s throat was tight and his face was hot. Albus had moved to sit next to him, patting his hand as if he were a first-year and not a grown man of forty.

“Were any muggles hurt?” Albus asked when Percy’s story had run dry.

“When? Oh…” Percy frowned. “You mean the Bowery incident? No, but it was a close call. I managed to catch the beam before it fell. It burst into flame but the only thing that hit the no-maj was ash and some splinters.”

“I take it you obliviated her on the spot?”

“Goldstein did.” The room was suddenly confining and he shifted uneasily. “That wasn’t the point. It should never have happened in the first place. I should never have—” He broke off and shook his head.

“What did Seraphina say?”

“Nothing.”

“Hm,” Albus mused. “And she’s in agreement, that your supposed illness is a result of contamination by Gellert?”

“I never inquired but what else could it be?”

Albus gave him a sharp look. “This may seem obvious, but have you simply asked him? He’s a maniac, but his mania has a purpose. He might tell you.”

Percy glanced down at his glass. “I never interrogated him.”

“Never—” Albus said. “Why on—” He stopped short and then drew a deep breath. “Percival.”

“You weren’t there, Albus,” Percy said, unable to quash the bitterness.

“All right, yes, it was an awful thing that he did to you,” Albus said after a long moment. “He used your love for your sister to fool you and then betray you.”

“He did.”

“And knowing you, this was counseled to you already but fell on deaf ears because you always think you’re better and stronger than everyone else.”

Percy frowned and set his drink down. “Albus—”

“No,” Albus said, curling his hand over Percy’s, his grip carrying no gentleness of any kind. “You’re descended from one of America’s most famous wizarding families and you’ve always known it. As much Gellert used your childhood worship of Dindrane, he used your vanity.”

Percy tugged to no avail. “I didn’t come here for this, Albus.”

“Then what did you come for? Absolution? Forgiveness?”

“I came,” Percy snapped, finally pulling free, “because I thought that if any place could wake him, it would be the Hollow! If he’s still there, I should be able to feel him.”

“And can you?”

Percy was silent and then he muttered, “No. I can’t.”

Albus’s blue eyes had never been so piercing nor so distant. “He fooled you. He made you believe in things that didn’t existed.” He smiled and was once more the man Percy remembered. “You forget that he fooled me first. Our world was almost destroyed, Percival, because I was vain and stupid and blinded by love.”

Percy relaxed, the words soothing a portion of the burning in his chest. “And you think I have nothing to worry about? That he’s not truly in me?”

“I can’t think how. You say that during his visits, he put you in some sort of trance? It could be that was necessary to take what he needed, but a glamour can’t just take part of your soul.” Albus tapped his chin, musing, “Polyjuice had been my guess when I heard the news, but by your own account, that can’t be the case if you were subsumed within a few days. Beyond the fact that the potion never lasts beyond twelve hours, of course.”

“Maybe he’s found a way to refine it.”

“If anyone could, it would be him.”

It wasn’t quite the answer Percy was hoping for.

“I think a little investigation is in order.” Albus smoothed out his robe and then gave Percy a sidelong glance. “I’ll need a lock of hair and a bit of fingernail.”

Stifling a grimace at the idea of handing over such personal and identifiable effects, Percy nodded shortly. “That’s fine.”

“And it might take as much as a fortnight.”

“I have no place to be.”

“I imagine Seraphina would say otherwise.”

He shrugged. “She owes me. I haven’t taken a day off in years.”

Neither spoke for a moment, and then Percy surprised himself with a great yawn. “Sorry,” he said as soon as he could close his mouth. “It was a long trip.”

Albus patted his hand and then stood up. “That’s quite all right. If I’m any judge—and I am—I’d say you need a good, long sleep.” He picked up the tea tray and then paused. “I can’t let you stay here, of course.” He gestured with the tray, indicating the school. “I’d like nothing better, but it would be unseemly.”

He was tired, he was worried, but Albus’s modesty, no longer an act, was almost endearing. “It’s all right, Albus. I’ll find a room in Hogsmeade or Montrose.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Albus said as he let go of the tray and waved it into the kitchen. “I’ve just had a thought. I have the perfect place for you. No one around for miles, just south of here in Yorkshire.” He got out a slip of paper and a quill. The quill began to write, a quick back and forth. “You can rest and sleep to your heart’s content and when you get a moment, owl me and I’ll come down for a visit.”

Percy got up and looked over Albus’s shoulder. The quill had sketched a house and a surrounding wood. By the look of it, the house was of the cottage variety complete with thatched roof and a half-timbered upper floor. “Is it yours?” he asked, watching as the grounds took shape.

“No, it belongs to a friend. And before you say no,” Albus added, giving Percy a sharp look, “he will appreciate your presence. The last tenant left the property in a bit of a shambles; it could use a good cleaning out.”

“So I’m to be your dogsbody?” He should be insulted at Albus’s temerity but found he was just amused.

“Busy hands are happy hands,” Albus replied as the quill finished up. He picked up the paper, blew on the drying ink and then handed it to Percy. “You need this, Percival,” he added, all sarcasm fading. “You need the simplicity of normal. It will be a practical lesson in the struggle and achievement of hope and trust; right now, you can’t get either in New York or your ancestral home.”

Percy nodded and then, shifting the conversation to something less grim, asked, “Do you trust me to get there on my own?”

Albus grinned and got something out of his desk drawer. “I do, but if you can’t, that will be a valuable lesson, too. Now…” He rose and held up a small pair of scissors. “Those samples, please.”

Percy tucked the map in his breast pocket and then stayed still while Albus cut off a two-inch strand of hair and a sliver of fingernail.

“I’ll be handing these off to a mediwitch who is very talented,” Albus murmured, wrapping the hair and nail in a piece of parchment, “and very, very discreet.”

“Thanks, Albus.” Percy got his overcoat and then turned back. “And I mean that. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Albus replied, adding, “I’m just sorry that you were caught up in my mistake. I sometimes think I’ll be paying for it until the end of time.”

“Let’s hope not.” Percy tugged on his coat and put on his hat. He got out his wand.

“Percival?”

He looked up. Albus was watching him now with a shuttered, opaque gaze. “Yes?”

“How much did Seraphina tell you? Of what happened in November?”

“Everything, I assumed.”

“So you know it was young Newton that broke Gellert’s spell.”

“One of my Auror’s told me and I read the report. I was surprised that he was in town—he didn’t stay to say hello, but then…” But then, no one had even known where Percy was, or if he was even alive. “I don’t remember him very well.” Just a faded recollection of the boy, all elbows and red hair, always there and gone in a heartbeat, leaving only a trace of a brilliant smile.

“And that’s all she told you?”

“I don’t understand, Albus,” Percy said with a frown. “Do you think she lied?”

“Probably not, but Seraphina has always been good at keeping her own council.”

“Yes, she is.” Percy cocked his head. “What aren’t you saying?”

“Just…” Albus turned his gaze to the floral carpet and then shook his head. “No. It’s nothing.”

“Albus—”

“It’s nothing,” Albus said again, this time firmly, smiling faintly. “And if it is something, only time will tell. Now, I just remembered another letter I must write.” He came forward and picked up Percy’s suitcase. “735 Verity Close. Be off with you. I’ll be down over the weekend.”

Still frowning, Percy took the suitcase. He waited for Albus to expound on his cryptic comment but he just waved goodbye and disapparated out of the room. With no other recourse, Percy got the drawing out and glanced at the address. Then, he drew a deep breath and did the same.

***

The journey wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. He arrived, with no wild side trips and no body parts ending up where they shouldn’t be.

Albus’s map had ported him perfectly and he stood in the dark, looking all around. There wasn’t another house in sight, though he thought he caught a glimpse of lamplight through the trees. ‘No one around for miles,’ Albus had said. Wondering if he should be worried, Percy decided to save it for the morning. He walked up the dirt path and pushed the gate open and closed. Albus hadn’t said anything about a key; indeed, as soon as he touched the doorknob, it gleamed a chartreuse green and turned. The door swung open.

A step over the threshold and he was inside, standing in a small foyer. Before him was a staircase. Off to the left was a dining room, to the right was a parlor. He couldn’t tell if the house was in a shambles. It seemed relatively clean to him, but then it was also relatively dark. The air did, however, hold a faint odor of seared dittany. Maybe the last tenant had hurt themself and had made a healing salve. Percy hesitated, then turned. The door closed very gently; just as gently, the lock turned and clicked. Given his recent past, the notion of being locked in should have made him at least anxious, but it didn’t—it made him feel safe and secure, much like at Albus’s.

Perhaps his sometime friend had somehow forwarded the charms to put him at ease? Perhaps he’d cast another charm to make the house seem welcoming and friendly? Like before, Percy didn’t much care. He just shrugged and went upstairs.

The upper rooms were as still and dark as those down. With only three choices, he picked the bedroom nearest the front, thinking that it was always best to be prepared for unexpected visitors, just in case.

The room, Percy was surprised to find, had its own small bathroom complete with a towel warmer and bathtub. A bath would be nice but suddenly, as if something inside had clicked off or maybe it was on, he was exhausted, even enervated. He set his suitcase on the only chair and then disrobed. Off with his overcoat, jacket, vest, trousers and footgear. He started to get out his pajamas and thought, what the hell, and pulled the bedclothes back.

He got into bed. The room was cold but the blankets and heavy quilt was a cocoon and in a minute, he was warm. As he drifted off, he waited for the familiar worries and fears but all that came was the muzzy thought that he should have set wards, and that the pillow smelled of lavender or maybe it was bloodroot. He fell asleep, still trying to decide.

***

Percy slept. On through the night and the next day, waking at sunset. He opened his eyes and saw the gold-illuminated trees and—relief and satisfaction at sleeping more than a few hours warming his blood—he closed his eyes and dropped off again.

***

The next time he woke, it was to the sound of voices. He listened to the rise and fall, coming to the conclusion that two someones were having an argument downstairs. Fumbling for his pocket watch, Percy remembered where he was and what he was wearing. Sitting up was an exercise in will and as he waited for his head to stop swimming, he tried to make out what the argument was about. He couldn’t, and after his vision had cleared, he got to his feet. The voices stopped immediately. Curious, but curiously not apprehensive, he pulled on his trousers and left the room, dragging his suspenders over his shoulders.

A moment of investigation and he found the kitchen, tucked behind the dining room. As he padded into the kitchen, he was greeted with a, “There you are,” and the scent of warm biscuits and coffee.

It was Albus, sitting at the table as if he owned the place. There was no one else about.

“Good morning. Are you alone?” By the angle of the sun it was mid-morning—the broad rays streamed in, making the pots shine and the wooden table glow.

“As always,” Albus answered, pushing a plate of biscuits towards Percy. “You must try these. They’re delicious.”

“I heard voices, Albus.”

“Oh…” Albus waved a hand. “That was just me conversing with the stove. It wanted to let you sleep a bit longer but I told her that three days was quite enough.”

In the process of sitting down, Percy paused. “Three days?”

Albus nodded. “Hm, mm.” He took a sip of his tea. “How do you feel?”

Percy rubbed his jaw. Three days. “Better.”

“And did you dream about Grindelwald?”

“No,” he said with a faint but honest smile. “I just slept.”

“Good.”

Percy picked up the coffee cup and examined Albus. In the clear light, he could see a few grey strands in Albus’s beautiful dark red hair and a few wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. They only added an air of wisdom and sophistication. “Thank you. For telling me about this house.”

“My dear boy, of course.”

Percy snorted gently and then took a sip of coffee. The heat and taste cleared the last of the cobwebs from his brain. “You do realize I’m less than five years younger than you, right?”

Albus grinned. “To me, you’ll always be the boy who thought that quidditch was—what was it? ‘A stupid, pointless game’ until you actually tried it.”

A living memory appeared above Albus’s head. In its shimmering blue haze, a compact, soaking wet, dark-haired boy glared at another boy as he picked weeds off his shoulders and head. Percy grinned into his coffee. “I had dragon’s moss in my hair for weeks.”

“Better there, than in your—”

“Albus,” Percy interrupted.

Albus grinned, too, and they fell into a companionable silence.

“How are your parents, by the way?” Albus said after a moment.

“They’re well,” Percy replied, glancing down at the table. There were faint scribbles across the surface, as if someone had been writing a letter and forgot to stop at the edge of the paper. “They’re on holiday with the MacDuffs. In Havana, I think.” And then he added, because if anyone would understand, it would be Albus, “My mother is on me to marry again. She wants grandchildren.”

Albus pursed his lips. “She wouldn’t be a parent if that weren’t the case. It’s how things are. Especially, considering recent events.”

He hadn’t thought about it that way. His death would mean the end of a century’s-long bloodline. “I suppose.”

“Is it really so bad there?”

He glanced up. “We’re not the Ministry, Albus. We’re not you. We’ve been living underground so long we don’t know any other way. And that paranoia extends to all parts of our lives, public and personal. It’s not healthy.”

Albus picked up a biscuit. “You sound like Gellert.”

Percy gave Albus a sharp look, then shrugged. “I may sound like him, but I’m not him.” I hope. “I realize it’s the way it is. I live with the way it is. Every day.”

“Hiding from yourself surely won’t help.”

Percy shrugged once more; they’d had this conversation, or a simulacrum of it a long time ago. “You’re one to talk.”

“Ah, but in my case, it’s intentional. I simply don’t have the time.”

Nodding sagely, Percy sipped his coffee and said nothing.

“It’s true,” Albus insisted. “If I’m not grading exams, I’m teaching and if I’m not teaching, I’m—” He broke off and grinned. “Oh, stop it.” His smile died. “The truth of it, Percival, is that I’m afraid to try again. There has been the occasional offer, but after him, there didn’t seem much point.”

“That was over twenty years ago.”

“So it was,” Albus said softly. “So it was.”

The mood had turned somber and Percy cleared his throat. “Well, at least you had offers; that’s something.” He looked up as the air stilled and whispered. “Was Theseus one of those supplicants?” he asked, raising his voice just a bit.

Albus paused, then gave him a keen, knowing look. “He was, though I’d rather sleep with a viper.”

The air crackled and slipped as someone apparated in, saying at the same time, “Oh, that’s rich. See if I ever supplicate you again.” Theseus materialized, a supercilious, mock-angry expression on his face.

Percy grinned and got up, arms out as Theseus embraced him, squeezing so hard he lost his breath.

“Perce. I just heard,” Theseus said into Percy’s shoulder. “When did you get here?”

They both stepped back. Theseus, like Albus, had changed little in the past few years—still the same tall, imposing figure, the same gold hair and direct gaze. Percy was suddenly reminded of the time they met right after Germany had thrown in the towel. Tired but elated, they’d shared a beer in a little cafe in Austria. Theseus had been much the same then, too, but Percy with his partial gift for reading beneath surfaces and beyond time, had known better. “When did I get here? A few days ago.”

“Then the next question is why are you here?”

Percy’s smile faltered.

“He needed a holiday,” Albus interjected evenly.

Theseus squeezed Percy’s shoulders. “Finally. I’ve been trying to get you out of that office for years. I sent you a letter. Did you get it?” He let go and picked up a biscuit. “Actually it was a handful of letters.” With a wave of his wand, Theseus got a teacup from a cupboard and went to the stove. “That bastard,” he said conversationally as the teacup flew over his shoulder to rest on the stovetop. “Picquery should have just put him down.”

“Theseus,” Albus said with a dark frown.

“It’s all right, Albus,” Percy said. “I thought the same thing.” Theseus had opened the small icebox and had gotten out a bottle of milk. While the tea was pouring itself, he added the milk.

“And now?” Albus asked.

“And now, I don’t,” Percy answered. On the same breath, he asked, “Theseus?”

Theseus ported everything over as he bit into the biscuit. “Hm?”

“You seem very familiar with this kitchen.” Percy glanced at Albus. Albus was watching as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “How are you so familiar with this kitchen?”

Theseus sat down. “Because it’s mine. Or rather,” he added, gulping his tea. “It’s mother’s. I suppose it will be mine some day. Mine or Newt’s.”

Percy shot Albus another glance. So Albus had lied to him. Why? “Ah.”

Theseus looked up, one eyebrow raised. “You didn’t know? That’s our place on the other side of the wood. You didn’t know that, either? Strange. Anyway, how long are you staying and what are your plans for tonight?”

Being with Theseus had always been like standing in the middle of a whirlsprite frenzy and now was no different. “I have none, other than sleeping. And a little housekeeping,” he added with a look Albus’s way.

“Housekeeping?” Theseus asked, his brow wrinkling. “Whyever for? Why not just make the brat do it? Where is he, by the by? I would think that he of al—”

A biscuit flew off the plate and stuffed itself in Theseus’s mouth. He choked, glaring at Albus.

Albus folded his hands together and said calmly, “Theseus was just going to say that he’s hired someone to come clean. They should be here in a day or so, if you don’t mind the mess.”

Suspicious and confused, Percy glanced around. “It’s not that bad, Albus. What’s going on?”

By now, Theseus had spat out the biscuit and had taken a drink of tea. He didn’t meet Percy’s gaze as he said, “Nothing’s going on. I just forgot I’d hired a housekeeper.” He glanced at Albus. “To come clean. The house.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “What are you two—?”

“And now,” Albus interrupted as he got up. “I must be off and so must you, Theseus, or did you forget you promised my second-years a visit from the great war hero?”

Theseus groaned. “Albus—”

“No,” Albus said with a shake of his head. “A promise is a promise and you promised.”

Percy tried once more, “Thes—”

“All right.” Theseus stood and tucked a biscuit in his coat pocket. “Don’t forget, Perce, you’re mine tonight. The Spotted Toad, just outside of Ilkley at the end of the street, eight p.m., don’t be late. And by the by, that half-undressed mode is a good look on you.” And with a wink and a brilliant grin, Theseus disapparated out followed by a waving Albus.

It was like the aftermath of canon fire, Percy thought, hearing the echoes of the conversation as a concussive silence settled in. What was that all about? Albus had lied and was now clearly keeping something back. Theseus, too. And—he turned to look at the stove—that stove didn’t seem in the least bit magical which meant Albus had lied about that, too. Albus wasn’t a liar. As far as Percy knew which wasn’t much, apparently.

Frowning, he put the dishes in the sink with a wave of his hand; they landed too hard and one of the plates broke. He rubbed his forehead. He should go for a walk. Sunshine and a pretty view might help him unravel this particular riddle.

***

Sunshine didn’t help unravel the riddle but the view was pleasant, Percy decided as he rested against a knoll and gazed at the small lake.

He’d found that the cottage sat in the curve of a crescent-shaped wood, separated by a fallow kitchen garden that looked as if a knarl had been at it. There had been an odd silence as he’d walked through the garden, but the moment he stepped into the wood, the world came alive with the sounds of insects, the creaks and groans of the trees and some other noise, a soft susurration he couldn’t quite identify. It was rather like the sound of the wind blowing through the wind, if that were even possible, and it had soothed and played with Percy, teasing him along until he’d cleared the wood.

He hadn’t been surprised to find a pond just beyond—the humid scent of duckweed and dragon’s moss had been hard to miss. Dragonflies and bees and gnats danced above the water’s surface, each making way for the other with mixed results. On the far side, the trees thinned and Percy had been able to make out the lines of a large mansion. It had to be the Scamander house and though he had no wish to visit, it was nice having it nearby.

He’d taken a seat against a knoll and drawn a deep breath and closed his eyes. So different from New York. No noise, no soot and smoke, no one trying to hurt another. No need to watch one’s every word and action, afraid of losing control or saying the wrong thing or looking at the wrong person in the wrong way. He loved the city but perhaps a little variety now and then wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

He rested there dozing, when a noise, soft yet hard like the sound of a rabbit stepping on a bed of old leaves made him look around. Other than a flash of red-brown that turned out to be a roe buck, there was no one there. Percy nodded his hello; the deer answered, bobbing its head in return.

Smiling crookedly, Percy settled back and closed his eyes again, letting the peace of the place lull him to sleep.

***

It was the afternoon clouds that woke Percy up. Chilled, he rose and went back to the house. As he was crossing the garden, head down, not thinking of much other than a desire for a glass of whiskey, he felt an odd pressure in the middle of his back. He stopped and looked all around. There was no one and no thing in sight. Shrugging, he went into the house.

***

‘The Spotted Toad, just outside of Ilkley, eight p.m.’ was all well and good but it would have helped if Theseus had managed clearer directions.

Percy had headed out early because, well, just because. He found the village of Ilkley easily enough but the clouds followed him and opened up just as he got to the edge of town. Drenched within seconds, he tried the near end and then the other. Ilkley had only three intersections—how was it possible to get so lost in a town that had only three intersections? Finally, just as he was giving it up for a lost cause, he spied a young no-maj couple hurrying across the road. They passed behind a long row of houses. A long row of houses that Percy had thought butted up against the wild but didn’t. They fronted another narrow street and at the end of that street was a pub.

Thoroughly soaked now, Percy ran for, hesitating in the small vestibule. He glanced inside—no one was watching so he got out his wand and said a cautious, grade school-level drying spell. It took longer than normal, but finally, he was dry or dry enough. He put away his wand and was slicking back his hair when he heard a voice, as clear as if the man was speaking right beside him, say, “…can’t explain it. He just seems like paper.”

“Paper? Are you serious?” Came another voice, this one much lower.

“Not paper paper, just…” There was a pause and the man added, “He’s too thin. I could feel his ribs.”

“And how would you be in his situation? Thin would be the least of it.”

“I know, I know, bu—”

“But nothing. You’re supposed to be his friend. Why don’t you act like it?”

“That’s not fair, and you know it. I wrote, I told you I did.”

If the other man answered, Percy couldn’t hear the response, try as he might. After a long silence, the first man spoke, his voice now low and serious, “You have to be careful. This is a dangerous game you’re playing. I don’t want either of you—”

Whatever he was about to add was lost as the door opened behind Percy and another no-maj couple came in. There was a confusion as they, smiling and apologetic, tried to step around him only to push him into the room. He brushed off their apologies and then looked around. So, yes, one of the voices belonged to none other than Theseus, sitting under the head of a stuffed stag. Who the other voice belonged to couldn’t be guessed because Theseus was alone.

Percy caught Theseus’s eye and made his way over. Maybe Theseus was going crazy and had taken to talking to himself. Maybe it was himself, after all; he’d been waiting for months—maybe it had finally happened.

“I was about to send out the search dogs,” Theseus said, getting up to shake Percy’s hand.

“Next time you might say that the end of town really means the middle,” Percy answered, taking a chair on the opposite side. “End means end and middle means middle.” It was an itch in the back of his throat, the need to ask Theseus who he’d been talking to. But for all Theseus came off as being a great blabbermouth, he was generally incredibly mealy-mouthed and stubborn. “What are you drinking?” he asked instead, nodding to Theseus’s beer.

Theseus got up and reached for his wallet. “A bitter you have to try to believe. Best thing you’ll have all year, trust me.”

As Theseus went to the bar, Percy wondered if he was more angry that Theseus, like Albus, had been talking about him behind his back, or because Theseus had just lied without ever really lying.

***

It ended up being the perfect night. Percy and Theseus drank and shared stories of the war and the life of an Auror, using coded words and gestures. An hour or so in, they were joined by some of the other patrons and the stories became more general and bland. At one point, Theseus and a no-maj got up the table and began to sing at the top of their voices. The crowd joined in and Percy watched, chin on hand as he tried not to pass out.

Later, Percy never remembered what time they left the pub, only that it was well after dark and well before morning. He did remember Theseus pouring him into bed and helping him with his clothes. With a light kiss and a reminder that he was to come to dinner on Tuesday, Theseus left him, singing once more.

***

Percy woke and opened his eyes, then immediately closed them again. His head was pounding, his throat was as dry as ash, and something sharp and hard was digging into the small of his back. He turned and pulled whatever it was free—it was his wand. He held it up and looked at it. Forty was too hold to be falling asleep on his own wand, wasn’t it? When he was first learning magic, his mother had given him a practice wand. He’d carried it with him wherever he went including bed, until his father had suggested he keep it on the nightstand. It was better, his father had said, for it to be within easy reach if a boggart came calling. Now, Percy wondered if his father hadn’t simply been trying to keep him from poking out his own eye.

Grinning softly, he cautiously murmured a soft spell and his headache eased. Feeling much better, he decided a bath was in order and rolled out of bed. He went to the bathroom and turned on the hot water. The pipes creaked unforgivably and water trickled out, quickly gaining speed. He held his hand under the stream. Lukewarm but that was all right—even he could heat water.

He waved his hand and maybe it was the contrast of his skin against the blue-tinged water but he suddenly remembered, ‘He just seems like paper.’ That had been Theseus talking. What had he meant that Percy hadn’t seen the sun in months or that he’d lost weight? Maybe it was that he seemed fragile and weak? It was disturbing and when Percy finally muttered the incantation to heat an element, he miscalculated and set the water on fire. Cursing, he put it out and then tried again.

Second time was a charm and in a moment his clothes were on the floor and he was in the tub.

Like sitting in front of the pond the day before, floating in the hot water felt good to the point of sinful. Back in New York, he rarely took the time for baths—there was always too much to do and not enough hours in the day to do it. Investigations, paperwork, management of his team—it was more than one wizard could handle. Seraphina had asked him, when she’d offered the position, ‘What about an assistant, a real one that can help you with the day-to-day work?’

Percy had immediately said no, that he worked better alone. But now he thought of Goldstein and her quick, almost prescient ways. When he’d reviewed the reports of the November incident, he’d read between the lines. No one had said, but he knew she had furthered the investigation into the New Salemers because she knew when to stop and when to keep going.

Maybe Albus was right. Maybe his vanity and his need to be the best was a detriment not a benefit. If he’d actually asked for help when he’d first spied what he thought was his sister, then maybe none of this would have happened.

He was frowning, rubbing his chest as if that would make the rising tightness in his throat go away, when a clang and then loud pop broke the silence. It made the windows rattle and the bath water shiver.

“Albus,” Percy muttered as he got out of the tub and reached for a towel. “What are you up to now?”

He dressed quickly, choosing his only other pair of trousers and an undershirt. He didn’t bother with shoes because this was only going to take a moment—he’d deal with Albus and then return to the warmth and peace of the water.

Chancing a quick apparation, Percy was still buttoning up his trousers when he crossed the kitchen threshold. “For someone so busy, you have an awful lot of free time on your—” He trailed to a stop, face to face with a complete stranger. “You’re not Albus,” he said stupidly.

With his wand between his teeth, the man was bent over a wicker basket trying to get the lid to stay down. “No,” he mumbled around his wand, turning to look over his shoulder. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. The wand fell to the floor. Picking it back up, he gave Percy a quick up and down and muttered, “Sorry.”

Feeling the sudden urge to cover up, Percy ran his fingers through his wet hair, remembering what he should have before. “Yes,” he said, “you’re the man Scamander hired. The housekeeper?” Either that or the gardener because the man’s clothing fit the part—no coat, a dirty shirt that was half-unbuttoned and half-untucked, and trousers that had seen better days. Even his fingertips were dirty, though they seemed to be stained by ink, not soil. “Yes?”

The man’s gaze flickered. And then he swallowed and squared his shoulders. Turning to sit on the basket, he said, “I’m not him, either. Not that I couldn’t be, if you need some assistance with the sweeping or the scrubbing or even with the new thatch because—” The man stopped with a sigh and then held his hand out. “Let me try again. I’m Theseus’s brother, New—”

“Oh, of course,” Percy interrupted as he came forward to take the man’s hand. “I’m so— Newton Scamander. How long has it been?”

“Nineteen years and—” The basket jerked and Newt’s voice jerked with it. “Eight months and an odd number of days.”

“Oh,” Percy said again, taken aback. Nineteen years, eight months and an odd number of days.

“Yes, well, if you wouldn’t mind?” Newt said, gesturing to the roll of twine on the table. “I can’t quite—”

“I— Yes, of course,” Percy replied, picking the roll up. “Do you need help?”

“If you can just…” Newt slid off the basket and knelt beside it. “I suppose this is one of those times when an extra pair of hands would be, well, handy.”

Percy raised an eyebrow but said nothing while Newt held the lid down and the basket up. Carefully, hoping he wouldn’t accidentally tie Newt’s fingers to the wicker or make the whole thing explode, he ordered the twine to wrap around the basket several times. He finished it off with a neat double bow, sighing silently when the twine obeyed.

“There,” Newt said. “All done. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. What’s in there?”

“A doxy,” Newt said, giving Percy a quick glance.

“I’ve never seen one,” he replied mildly, wondering what Newt had expected him to say. “What’s its name?”

Newt raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s a very good question, though I probably won’t have time to name her.”

“Where did you find her? Had someone trapped her?”

“Not a bit of it. She was laying her eggs by the river, the foolish girl. Can you…?” Newt reached up again. Unable not to, Percy pulled him to his feet. “The mud bank shifted and the nest shifted with it. When I happened by, she was holding her clutch and in the middle of drowning. She lost quite a few of her eggs.”

They were standing too close; Percy stepped back and put his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind.”

Percy frowned. He hadn’t lied to Albus—he barely remembered Newt. If they’d met on the street, he’d pass right by because Newt was no longer a boy. Over three fingers taller, he was still thin, but the thinness spoke of manual labor and not just youth. But his eyes, Percy noticed, were the same muted green and his hair was the same mop of reddish gold. “What are you going to do with her?” he asked, feeling the need to fill the silence with words, like casting a broad-sweep charm meant as protection against unknown danger.

Newt patted the basket. “I’m going to find her a new home, someplace safe for her and her children.”

The basket shook and the doxy made a soft mewling sound. “She doesn’t seem to be so keen on your plan. Is she dangerous?”

Newt smiled and it changed his face entirely. “She’s got teeth as long as my nails, so yes, quite a bit.”

“Oh,” Percy said again. “Do you need any help?”

Newt looked off to the side and then ran his fingers through his hair. “No. I think not. Doxies are unpredictable and very territorial, even when they’re not laying eggs.”

“All right.”

“I mean,” Newt added, backing up a step, still looking off to the side, “maybe next time, although it’s doubtful I’ll run into another doxy laying her eggs on a riverbank; they’re very smart and generally careful.”

“I see.”

“But you never know, so maybe?”

“All right.”

“Yes, well, I must be off.” But Newt didn’t leave. He shot Percy a quick glance and said abruptly, “Thee said you’re coming for dinner on Tuesday.”

“Yes, your cousins are visiting,” Percy replied slowly. “I’m not sure I’m up to a big crowd.”

“It won’t be. My parents are in London. Thee promised it will just be a few of us. No muggles, no crowds.”

“Well…”

Newt turned to Percy and straightened to his full height. “I wish you would. I think it would be good for you, after…” He shrugged. “You know.”

It was an odd, still moment, caught between Newt’s gaze and the memory of a time that was no true memory at all and it suddenly hit him afresh: Newt had been there, Newt had seen it all. Newt had been the one to capture and reveal Grindelwald. Newt had been the one that had helped Goldstein and Lopez track Percy down to that house out in Oyster Bay, and Percy found himself saying quietly, “Then, yes, if you wish it, I’ll come.”

“Good.” Newt smiled again and backed up, hitting his elbow on the door. With a wince and a dip of his head, his eyes shining like the sun, he turned and left.

***

The rest of the morning went by with no more visits or interruptions. At one, an owl flew in with a message from Albus suggesting drinks and dinner. Feeling as if he were lying with every stroke, Percy wrote back, asking to postpone until Saturday or Sunday as he wasn’t feeling well after the late night with Theseus. He sent the owl off, wondering what Albus would make of the falsehood.

***

Not wanting any mishaps, Percy decided to walk to the Scamander house on Tuesday. It was a mistake because it had rained and the ground was muddy. By the time he got to the shell-covered drive, his good shoes were caked with clay and he was in a temper. He paused by the gate and cleaned them off with a swift spell, breathing a thin sigh of relief when nothing caught fire.

It was good he stopped, he thought, as he was shown into the big drawing room, because the ‘just a few of us,’ turned out to be at least forty people. They were all dressed to the nines, the women in gowns that sparkled, and the men in formal evening jackets. Percy had to keep from touching the lapel of his own jacket. His good suit, the one he’d only brought out for special occasions, was at the bottom of an ash pit. He’d burned it as soon as he’d had the chance, not wanting to ever wear it again after MACUSA had returned it to him.

“There you are!” Theseus shouted from the far side of the room, detaching himself from a group of women. “Seven, I said, not eight!”

Percy took a martini from a passing waiter and strolled over to where Theseus was holding court. “My watch is still on New York time?” he tried, not surprised when Theseus rolled his eyes. The women, however, cooed and drew nearer.

“You’re an American? ” a small, no-maj brunette said, leaning into Percy. “My sister just got back from New York. Is it as fabulous as she makes it out to be?”

Percy didn’t lean back though he wanted to. The girl reminded him of Goldstein, but in the most superficial of ways. Goldstein would never be so vapid and he suddenly missed her calm demeanor and serious smile. “I really can’t say. I tend to see the dark side, not the fabulous side.”

Theseus came around to Percy’s side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “My friend Graves is a detective, ladies.”

The women cooed again and Percy had to stop from jabbing Theseus with his elbow. He glanced around, a quick survey of the room. He saw no one he knew. “Scamander.”

Theseus squeezed and then let go. “But I have to make our apologies, my dears. Graves and I have a little business to discuss, but I assure you, we’ll be right back.”

The women all sighed and the short brunette brushed up against Percy and said, “Don’t be too long.”

Percy started to say, ‘I will, if I can possibly help it,’ but didn’t because Theseus pinched him and then took his arm.

They were silent as they traversed the big room. It wasn’t until they got to a small antechamber that Theseus began to laugh.

Percy jerked free. “What’s so funny?”

“You, you idiot. You take on one of Volkov’s infantries single-handed but you’re frightened of a few bright young things? It’s hilarious.”

Percy straightened his tie. “You’re the war hero, not me.”

Theseus sighed and linked arms again, tugging Percy towards another door. “That’s their word for me. You know how I feel about it.”

Percy touched the back of Theseus’s hand. “I know.”

The room Theseus led him to was a smaller version of the larger drawing room, complete with crackling fire and a tray of drinks. Theseus waved his wand and the drinks poured themselves.

Percy took the seat nearest the fire and sat down. When Theseus waved a tumbler his way, he murmured, “Thank you.”

“For the drink or the rescue?” Theseus said as he sat across from Percy.

“Both, I suppose.” The painting over the fireplace was a portrait of a man. He was dressed in hunting gear and surrounded by fawning dogs. As Percy watched, the man gave him a sidelong glance and a wink. The apple, it seemed, didn’t fall far from this particular tree.

Theseus crossed his legs. “I’m sorry, by the by.”

Percy turned to Theseus. “What for?”

“That crowd out there.” Theseus nodded towards the door. “It was just supposed to be Albus, my cousin, his wife and her parents. They all showed up at my door an hour ago. There are a few muggles mixed in, so hush-hush and all that.”

The portrait held his finger to his lips and winked again, this time in conspiratorial secrecy.

“I couldn’t very well have just thrown them out,” Theseus said, as if Percy had complained.

“Well,” Percy said with a little moué, “you could have, if you wanted.”

Theseus snorted. “That’s what Newt said.”

Feeling as if he was about to step onto a newly frozen lake, Percy asked, “Where is he, by the way?”

Apparently, he wasn’t as circumspect as he’d hoped because the portrait turned to him, hands on hips, and Theseus lost his ever-present smile. “He’s off somewhere with Albus. I think they’re looking at his latest find.” Theseus recrossed his legs. “Perce, I need to—”

The door opened, stopping Theseus in mid-comment. The portrait shook his fist. Percy turned.

“There you are,” Albus said. Behind him was Newt.

“Yes, here we are,” Theseus answered.

“We’ve been looking all over for you. Some of your female guests have, too.” Albus came into the room; Newt did, as well. He was wearing a perfectly tailored evening suit and a lilac-colored vest. The sight did odd things to Percy’s stomach. “Your artwork is very unhelpful,” Albus added.

“As I’ve said before, Mother values her privacy. No floo’s, no gossipy paintings. Only last month, she caught the portrait of great-uncle Kadir telling tales to one of the footmen. She cast a spell removing the footman’s memory and rolled great-uncle Kadir up and stuffed him in the attic. The rest of the paintings are terrified of her.” Theseus grinned. “Besides, it’s not like we were hiding or anything.”

“I was,” Percy said into his drink.

Newt snickered and then covered his mouth.

Percy made sure not to look up.

“Well,” Albus said, “it’s time to play host and go back to your guests. Your major-domo is beside himself. We were supposed to sit down to dinner thirty minutes ago.”

“We can’t have that.” Theseus stood with a sigh. “Mother will murder me if we upset him. The Lestranges have been trying to poach him for months.”

Percy had gotten up as well, and he was able to catch the quick look that Newt threw Theseus’s way. Puzzled, he glanced back at the painting. The man was frowning, finger to his chin as if he too was taken aback by the sudden tension in the room.

***

Because of the size of the gathering, dinner was a chaotic affair.

Theseus sat at head of the long table with Percy on his right. Albus was down a bit and further on was Newt. The girl on Percy’s right was a no-maj, the woman across was a witch, so he had to kept his conversation to the mundane—the price of beef, the cultural differences between America and Britain.

He half listened, half answered, uncomfortable until he realized he was paying more attention what was going on down the table than nearby. Newt was sitting next to a witch that was somewhere in her nineties and a no-maj in his forties. Every time either one said something to Newt, he’d shrug or smile. And then without fail, he’d look over at Percy. They were never long, the cursory glances, just the short-lived, side-of-the-eye variety, but they were disturbing nonetheless. It was as if Newt kept reaching out in front of everyone to touch Percy and say, Here I am? and, How are you?

Percy eventually reined in his wandering attention after a dinner roll mysteriously scooted across the floor and hit his shoe. He looked around. Albus was staring with a camouflaged frown, silently telling Percy to watch himself, that he was being rude.

Chastened, Percy kicked the roll back to Albus and accepted the rebuke, returning to the conversation at hand.

He was doing well and was possibly even enjoying himself when a stray comment from the no-maj girl—something about the war and the side effect of having no young men with which to dance—set off a succession of recollection and he was suddenly in the middle of a memory. It was one of his most unclear, that of lying on a cot in a triage center, his wand arm burned and useless. Amidst and around the ribbon of pain, he remembered: gunfire and canon fire and the roar of a dragon. Then, as if from a dream, a man slips into the tent and kneels beside the cot. With a whispered, ‘Hold on, it will be better soon, I promise,’ he lays a featherweight hand on Percy’s arm and —

— and the memory changes, bleeds from old to new, and now he’s on a filthy mattress, so cold and hungry, the hand that was light now heavy and cruel. He looks up, not surprised to see Grindelwald crouched like a gargoyle by the bed, crooning lovingly against his cheek, ‘This will hurt, I promise—’

A sharp burst of laughter drove Percy back to the present. He touched his forehead. He was sweating and his pulse was racing. He glanced to the left and then the right. Theseus hadn’t noticed but Albus had. He was now looking at Percy with quiet, covert concern. As if pulled by a summoning charm, Percy turned his head. Newt was watching him, too, although his gaze wasn’t quiet or covert. He seemed almost angry.

Feeling as if he were suffocating, Percy dabbed his mouth with his napkin and said to no one in particular, “My apologies. I’m suddenly unwell. I think I’d better…” He pushed his chair back and nodded his apologies to his startled companions. Avoiding Theseus’s and Albus’s twin looks of concern, he hurried from the room.

A footman was guarding the anteroom door. Percy asked for his overcoat and then went up the short flight of steps to the front doors. A thin breeze seeped through the cracks and he drew a deep breath, grateful for the cold. He should have left the moment he saw the size of the crowd. He should have lied to Theseus and said, ‘Sorry, but I’m already bored. Owl me if you want to go for another beer.’

“Here you are, sir,”

Percy took the coat, murmured his thanks, and then reached for the handle.

“Wait!”

Not really wanting to, wishing to be gone already, he looked over his shoulder. Newt and Theseus were in the drawing room doorway. Theseus had Newt by the elbow and waist, and was trying to hold him back.

With a jerk and a shove, Newt freed himself and ran across the hall, sliding to a stop as soon as he got to the steps. “Just wait,” he said again.

“I need to go.” The footman had disappeared into the anteroom; Albus had joined Theseus at the door.

“Yes,” Newt said with a quick half-smile. “I understand, but it was just supposed to be us, not this—” He gestured to the house, to Albus and Theseus with a grimace. “I’m sorry. Thee is, too.”

Percy made himself smile. “It’s okay. I just—” He didn’t even know what ‘I just,’ meant. I just can’t stand being around all those people, not just yet. I just need to be alone for a while. I just realized that I’m still not myself and I don’t know what that means or what to do about it.

Newt stepped forward. “I understand. I truly do.” He cocked his head. “I’ve spent my entire life wanting to be alone, but…” He shrugged and smiled weakly, “It’s not always good, you see? A person can’t always be alone. Sometimes you just need someone else.”

Percy frowned. Albus pulled Theseus back into the drawing room and the great hall was suddenly empty of everyone but he and Newt. It eased the tension in his throat and chest. Like before with Albus, he suddenly felt childish and stupid. “I—”

“My parents will be gone until Sunday,” Newt interrupted softly. “Come back for dinner on Friday. It will just be the four of us. I’ll disapparate anyone who tries to crash it.” He smiled up at Percy. “I promise.”

Percy swallowed and then said, “Why is this so important to you?” Why am I so important to you? We hardly know each other.

Newt opened his mouth, then shook his head as if the question surprised him. “It just is.”

“All right,” Percy said with a slow nod. “All right.”

“You’ll come?”

“Yes.”

Newt reached up and then drew back, giving Percy another lopsided grin. “Friday, then.”

***

The ground was still muddy but Percy walked through it without mind. What a bizarre evening. His own reaction to the unexpected guests, the nosy portrait, Albus and Theseus and their unspoken subterfuge and above all, Newt.

With the clarity of hindsight, new information, and the, ‘I’m sorry. Thee is, too,’ ringing in his ears, he realized that it had been Newt with Theseus in the pub that night. It had been Newt that had insisted, ‘You’re supposed to be his friend. Why don’t you act like it?’

So what did that mean? Percy had few friends. Theseus was one of them, a friendship forged over the winter of ‘01 after his mother had sent him to stay with her cousin in Scotland and his sister to Paris to stay with her mother, all because of the rise in wizard vs no-maj violence. Enrolled in Hogwarts only a few months, Percy had been dazzled by the older, fair-haired boy from Yorkshire who knew a stunning variety of swear words and could out climb and out magic any other.

They’d become acquaintances and then friends. When his mother sent for him at the end of term, Percy had hid in his room for days, sure his heart was breaking. He’d thought at the time that he was in love with Theseus. Later, he’d understood that his infatuation had been due to Theseus’s natural charm and because Theseus accepted him for who he was, not who he pretended to be.

All of which meant nothing because it didn’t answer the, ‘above all, Newt,’ question.

Tired but strangely energized, Percy went to bed that night with a smile. Unusual for him, he also dreamed, a transitory vision of standing knee-deep in the Scamander’s pond while he tried to catch an elusive, sharp-toothed doxy.

***

The next day brought two visitors: the no-maj postman with a letter from Seraphina, and Albus.

When Albus apparated in, Percy was in the drawing room, sitting in the sun while he read the letter. “Don’t you ever knock?” he asked mildly giving Albus a sidelong glance.

Albus took off his cloak and made himself comfortable on the settee. “Not if I can possibly help it.” He waved his wand and a tea set appeared on the table, complete with biscuits, cucumber sandwiches and two teacups. “I take it you’re still afraid to use your wand?” He nodded at Percy’s simple meal coffee and a biscuit.

“How do you know I didn’t just finish a four-course meal that I made in less than five minutes?”

“Because I know you, my boy.”

Percy smiled sweetly. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching right now?”

Albus grinned and poured the tea. “Temperance has graciously taken over my Transfigurations class for the day.”

Percy remembered Temperance Truebottle; he didn’t envy Albus’s students. “Ah.”

Albus took a sip of tea and then sighed. “That hits the spot.” He nodded to the letter. “So, what does Seraphina have to say?”

Percy reached for a sandwich and—ignoring Albus’s indignant huff—ate it in one go. “Are you spying on me, Albus?”

“Of course not. Her crest is hard to miss.”

Percy snorted for it was true—Seraphina liked to make herself known; the seal at the bottom of the letter glowed in response to his gaze. “She wants me to come home. ‘Posthaste’ was how she put it.”

“Ah.”

“She says that one of our biggest newspapers just published an article on the existence of witches.”

Albus sat back. “That is indeed troubling.”

“There’s always noise, Albus.” Percy folded the letter and set it on the table. “Every few years someone publishes a book or article on witches.”

“This is different and you know it.”

He shrugged even though he knew Albus was right. The Second Salemers had started a slide that wasn’t quite an avalanche but it might be soon. “She’s needs me. I should go.”

“You should.”

He looked up. “I don’t want to.”

Albus gave him a look that was half-smile, half-frown. “I know. And that’s why I’m here. Well, one of the reasons.”

“Is one of those reasons the fact that I can’t get over what Grindelwald did to me?”

“Well, that, and young Newt.”

Something inside Percy stilled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Albus rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. How could you possibly miss it? The boy is so in love with you, he might as well be carrying a sign written in letters three wands high.”

And there it was, out in the open for all to see. “I didn’t realize it. Before I came here, I mean.”

“I know,” Albus said, this time with sympathy. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

Percy frowned and picked up a teacup. It was a beautiful thing with a gold-rimmed lip and handle. “There is nothing to do about it. I’ll go home and he’ll stay here, as it’s always been. That’s the best way to handle a crush.”

“A ‘crush’?” Albus actually laughed. “This is no crush, my dear; it’s much, much worse.” He shook his head, his laughter dying. “Newton has been in love with you since you came to stay all those years ago.”

“What?” Percy’s frown deepened. “That’s impossible. I was fifteen. He was what, five?”

“Not then,” Albus sighed. “That summer when you and I first met. I’d just turned twenty-five, Theseus was twenty-three and you were a few weeks shy of your twenty-first, which would have made Newt about…”

“About twelve,” Percy finished for Albus, recalling that golden summer spent at the Scamander’s summerhouse near Maidstone. Three months of swimming and carousing and drinking with Albus and Theseus. Newt, he suddenly remembered, had been there the whole while, off on the periphery with a small wicker basket, following them whenever he could. “He was just a boy. He couldn’t possibly have— You know…” He shrugged at the notion, absently picking at the teacup, scraping the gold off the delicate rim. “He was too young.”

“You’ll find that Newton can do anything he sets his mind to and he set his mind to you when he was twelve. He’s just been waiting, or so he says.”

Percy almost didn’t want to know, but he had to ask, “For what?”

“For him to get older so you would see him as something other than that boy,” Albus said evenly. “For you to get over the war.”

Percy frowned. “I am over the war. I was over the war when I got back.”

Albus leaned forward and took the cup from Percy’s hands. “I think this would be better over here.”

Percy glanced down, somehow not surprised to find the cup in two pieces. He watched as Albus repaired it with wave of his wand. “I’m over the war, Albus,” he said after a long moment.

“Percival, you are not. Do you remember how you used to be, because I do.” Albus reached over and laid his hand on Percy’s. “You were always too serious and sure of yourself, but you used to smile more and laugh more.” He glanced at Seraphina’s letter. “Your people weren’t afraid of you as they are now. The war did something to you as it did to all young men.” He tightened his grip. “I fear your recent difficulties has only made it worse. You never used to run from problems.”

Ignoring the ‘your people’ comment, Percy muttered, “And that’s what I’m doing now, running?”

One more squeeze. “You know you are.”

Percy turned his hand so he was holding Albus’s. “And what do you suggest I do about it?”

“Face what happened to you during the war. Face what happened back in New York.”

“And Newt?”

“Yes, Newt.” Albus gave Percy one last squeeze, then pulled away and sat back. “Did you know that it was Newton that saved your arm?”

Percy wrinkled his brow and then touched his forearm, feeling smooth muscle and bone under the rough cotton shirt. “He did? I don’t remember much after arriving in the Carpathians with Seraphina and Wilkinson.” Other than the reek of dragon’s breath, the stench of charred flesh and the sight of bodies everywhere.

“According to Theseus, you had just attacked one of Volkov’s infantry line when a wizard broke free. Amidst all the smoke and ash, he circled around to catch you by surprise. He cast a Killing Curse your way. It would have got you, but a dragon swooped down at the same time. The curse hit the dragon, causing it to expel a great deal of flame. That was how your arm got burned.” Albus leaned forward. “Newton was riding that dragon.”

“I—” Percy said through numb lips. “Was he hurt?”

“He received a few minor injuries and a tongue-lashing from his section leader as he’d been expressly told to stay off the dragons, but that was the worst of it. More importantly, he apparated you to the medical tents. From what I understand, it was a scene out of a nightmare. Newt waited for a mediwitch and when none had the time to look at you, he apparated to his workroom here in Yorkshire to gather up the necessary herbs and potions.”

“He can do that?” Percy asked with a frown, feeling more than a little dazed by the influx of information. “He can apparate that far?”

“Whether he can on a daily basis is anyone’s guess, but needs must and he needed to. That was Theseus’s speculation, at least. Newt has never spoken of that bit and has refused to every time I’ve inquired.”

Percy thought on that, on the whys and hows. “I remember a little, I think. I remember someone coming to me and placing their hand on my arm.” He touched his arm again, right over the spot, up higher and a little to the left. “I thought I was going to die from the pain.”

“So I was told. Newt said you arm was mostly a piece of blackened bone. Apparently, when the tissue began to reform and heal, you screamed your throat raw and passed out.”

“What happened next?”

“Then, a mediwizard kicked Newt out. He fought, of course, but had no grounds to stay. When Theseus found him later, he was so angry he was barely speaking. By then, I had joined the fray.”

“I remember none of that.”

“You wouldn’t. I visited you while you were recuperating. You were still unconscious but your arm was perfectly fine.”

Trying to understand, feeling off-balance from the story, Percy couldn’t find a thing to say. Finally, because he couldn’t just sit there like lump, he asked, “What do you think?”

“What do I think about what?”

“Newt. And me.”

Albus tipped his head, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. And then he said, “I think it would be a good thing.”

Expecting more, Percy tightened his lips. “That’s all you have to say, that it would be a good thing?”

“Well, I’ve had more time to ponder the question given that you were all Newton would talk about for several years running. ‘Is Mr. Graves doing well, do you think?’ and, ‘I found a fire-red flitterby on the green today. I’m going to name it Percival, and, ‘I wish Thee would invite him again. It’s been ages.’” Albus smiled. “He drove me mad. I finally told him to either do something about it or keep quiet about it altogether. That was after he was well and grown, you understand. Before that, I just suffered in silence.”

Percy shifted in his chair. “And what did he say to that?”

Albus shrugged. “Nothing, but it wouldn’t have mattered—the war started a few months later.”

Silence fell again only this time Percy didn’t want to fill it with chitchat. He wanted to go back to bed and sleep for the next ten years; maybe by then he’d be able to think clearly. However, parts of the conversation were circling round again, triggering a slip of recent memory. He looked up. “It was Newt and you that day.”

“What day is that?”

“The day after I got here. The morning I came downstairs and you said you were talking with the very unmagical kitchen stove. That day.”

“Ah, yes,” Albus said with a soft gleam in his eye. “I was making tea whilst waiting on Theseus when Newton stopped by, ostensibly to check on one of his creatures.”

“And he wasn’t, I take it, checking on one of his creatures?”

“He was not. He left to use the loo and I caught him sneaking upstairs. I told him to leave you alone and things got a little tense. He was angry, you see, because he thought I should mind my own business and because Theseus had told him the same that morning. The leaving you alone part, I mean.”

Percy nodded, remembering the traces of an argument he could still feel in the air. “Theseus is mad at me.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Just…” Percy shrugged, unwilling to reveal the details of the overheard conversation, including the participants. “I’ve picked up crumbs here and there.”

“Sometimes your mother’s gift isn’t quite what it should be,” Albus observed and then added before Percy could respond, “He’s not mad at you. He was unhappy with me for siding with Newton. And he’s been upset with Newton because he’s worried about you.”

Percy covered his face with his hands. “I’m not sure how many more revelations I can take, Albus,” he muttered into his palms. Then, he peered through his fingers and asked, “But, because it will kill me not to know, why is Theseus worried about me? Other than the obvious, I mean.”

For the first time that morning, Albus looked uncomfortable. “It’s his story to tell, not mine.”

“Albus—”

“Very well, but remember, you asked.” Albus hesitated, then said, “You’ve invited Theseus several times to your parent’s house in the Catskills, yes?”

“I did. I have.”

“Well, he got to know your mother and—”

Ah. “And he knows how much she wants me to marry and have children.”

Albus nodded. “Apparently, that last visit was difficult.”

Percy nodded, remembering too. It had been right after the war. He’d sent out the invitation not just as an antidote to the adulation and attention Theseus had been receiving, but also because he could. The war was over, things were back to normal. The holiday had started off well enough but then his mother received word that Enoch Fontaine had gotten engaged to Mathilda Roche. The weekend had gone downhill from there. By the time Theseus had left, saying he had an appointment he’d clean forgot, Percy’s mother was in tears and he was red-faced with anger. “And you wonder why I’m alone, Albus.”

Albus leaned across the short space and clasped Percy’s hand. “I don’t wonder—I understand. I just don’t agree that it’s your lot in life. Theseus doesn’t either, but he’s not sure what to do about it.”

“Albus?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you telling me all this now? You were never a gossip.”

“I’m telling you this because I saw how you looked at Newton last night,” Albus said quietly. “I’m telling you this because the evening was a fiasco and it needn’t have been. It was like a drawing room comedy without any of the comedy.” He half smiled. “It’s also exhausting watching young Ne—”

“What’s going on?”

Percy and Albus sprang apart and then turned as one.

Newt was standing in the doorway, another basket under one arm. He was wearing a short green canvas jacket, canvas trousers and had what had to be wading boots slung over his shoulder. He glanced at Percy and then Albus. “I asked what is going on?”

Albus glared at Newt and then got out his wand. “Nothing is going on, other than two old friends having a conversation that doesn’t include you.” He waved his wand over the tea tray; in a moment it was gone. “Don’t invent a fantasy where there is none.”

Newt darted another look Percy’s way. He bit his lip and then seemed to deflate, his hard expression easing. “I— Yes, I suppose that’s fair.” He shifted the basket to his other hip. “I’m sorry, professor.”

“So you should be,” Albus said on a lighter note as he got to his feet.

Percy got up as well and waved his plate and mug back to the kitchen. The dishes got there safely, a surprise because the way he felt, stomach too warm and feet too cold, anything could have happened. “What was the other reason?”

In the middle of settling his cloak about his shoulders, Albus looked up.

“You said you were here for two reasons,” Percy reminded him. “The second, or first, was?”

With a lightning quick glance in Newt’s direction, Albus smiled. “It’s nothing that can’t wait.”

One more lie to add to the others, but for some reason this one didn’t bother him. “Then I’ll see you on Friday?”

Newt coughed and Albus looked puzzled.

“Will I be where on Friday?” Albus asked.

Percy wanted to roll his eyes but didn’t—drawing room comedy, indeed. “Never mind,” he said, the same time Newt broke in with, “Friday. I forgot. Theseus and I are trying it again, this time with just us. Truly us and no one else.”

“Hmph,” Albus said, though he didn’t call Newt out on the blatant fib; he just settled his cloak about his shoulders and said to Percy, “And you—what are you going to tell Madam Picquery?”

At the sound of Seraphina’s name, the letter’s seal lit up again. “I don’t know.”

“Well, don’t keep her long in the dark. She won’t like it.”

Newt was watching the two of them, his frown back in full force.

“It’s good advice, Albus,” Percy said, still watching Newt from the corner of his eye. “Shall I see you to the door?”

Albus smiled and said, “My dear…” and disapparated with a pop and a whoosh.

“Well,” Percy said into the silence that was now heavy as stone.

“Well,” Newt agreed, shifting the basket once more.

Percy stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded at the basket. “What’s in there? More doxies?”

Instead of answering, Newt glanced at Seraphina’s letter and blurted out, “Are you going back to America?”

“I—” He wasn’t sure what to say and he thought how it would be, having someone port him to the station to catch a train back to London. Then onto Liverpool and the weeklong boat trip… The thought actually made his chest hurt and he found himself saying, “No. No, I’m not going home just yet.” Newt’s smile was like the sun coming out after a particularly dreary day and the warmth and cold in Percy’s stomach and feet exchanged places.

Newt patted the basket. “Well, then, this is lunch to make up for such a spectacularly awful evening.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Then it’s an apology for leaving the house in such a blasted mess.”

“Oh,” Percy said, looking around. “You were the one staying here. Did I kick you out? I’m sorry. Why don’t—”

“No,” Newt said. “It was nothing like that. I was stuck anyway, and in need of a new place to write.”

He smiled. “You’re writing a book?” That explained the blue fingertips and the scribbles on the kitchen table. “What’s it about?”

“Magical creatures.”

Percy’s smile softened. A book on magical creatures—what a surprise. “I’ve heard that writers don’t like to show what they’re work—”

Newt interrupted him once more, stepping forward with another bright smile. “No, I’d love your opinion. I’m on my fourth edits and only just realized I need at least two more chapters. Theseus won’t look at it and Albus just says it’s fine even though he hasn’t read it, either.”

“Then…” Percy made a ‘then’ gesture and Newt nodded several times.

“Right, then let’s be off. That is, if you’re interested in lunch.”

“I’m always interested in lunch,” Percy lied as he went to get his jacket, not wanting to tell Newt that most times he forgot all about lunch and caught up with his hunger at dinnertime. “There’s a place by the lake that might be—”

“Yes,” Newt said as he stepped onto the porch. “The hillock. I sit there all the time. I was going there, anyway. To the pond, I mean. There’s a certain mellyweed that lives in the very middle that I need for my kit. I even have a blanket.”

Hiding his smile, Percy followed Newt out and shut the door. “So,” he said as they started off, “what chapters do you still need to add?”

***

As they walked through the woods, Newt explained in great detail what he’d finished and what he was still struggling with. Percy listened carefully, trying to keep up, partly because Newt seemed to notice every time his attention lagged, mostly because the conversation with Albus kept repeating in his head. He was nervous, almost twitchy, something he could never remember being. It didn’t help that Newt walked too close and he smelled too good, a mixture of lavender and bloodroot. When Percy remembered where he’d last smelled that particular combination of scents, he stumbled on a tree root, saved only by Newt’s quick grip around his waist.

“All right?” Newt asked.

“Yes,” Percy answered, another lie because Newt’s body was snug up against his and the pressure set off a chain reaction of dormant lust. He stepped out of Newt’s loose embrace and then tucked in his shirt. It was a good thing the woods were so dark—he was fairly certain he’d turned an unbecoming shade of red.

Thankfully, Newt had little more to say after that and they were both silent as they exited the woods and found their spot by the pond.

While Newt spread the blanket, Percy got out the lunch. He’d been expecting a few watercress sandwiches but Newt had brought a meat pie, what looked to be a Waldorf salad, some sort of cake covered in a napkin, a thermos and proper dinnerware.

“Did you make this yourself?” Percy asked, peering under the napkin.

“Well,” Newt said with a diffident shrug as he set out the plates. “I did and I didn’t, if you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“I can, you know, cook. Mother insisted Thee and I learn when we were boys. It’s come in handy over the years.”

“While you were in the field doing research?” Percy paused in the middle of cutting the pie. “Where have you been, exactly?”

Newt’s eyes lit up and as Percy served lunch, he once more began to talk.

***

Side by side they ate and Newt talked, relating his experiences in the great beyond. Under the umbrella of the Ministry, he’d traveled to every continent on the planet and visited hundreds of countries. He’d collected an equally large number of creatures, most unknown to Percy.

“How many of the smugglers came after you?” Percy asked as he tucked the dishes away.

“All of them, unfortunately,” Newt answered.

“And you weren’t terrified?”

“Well,” Newt said, thinking about it. “I suppose I was, but it didn’t matter. Reticulated auguries are incredibly trustworthy creatures as well as being incredibly rare—I had no choice. Here, I’ll take that.” He reached for the basket and then smiled. “Wait, you have a bit of…” Leaning forward, he brushed something off Percy’s cheek and then ducked his head, hiding his smile. “Not that you don’t look attractive even with crumbs on your face, of course.”

Percy rubbed his fingers over the place Newt had touched and then drew back. “Newt?”

“Yes, Percy?”

He smiled at the sound of his name on Newt’s lips, at the odd pleasure it gave him. “You know what I did—what I do—at MACUSA, right?”

Newt wrapped his arms around his knees. “Yes. I do. You’re the director of magical security.”

“I also perform much of the memory work for the Congress.”

“I know. You get the ability from your mother. Thee told me.”

Percy plucked a flower from among the green. It was a tiny orchid, pale and shivering on its stem. “I talked with everyone who was connected with the incident in November. Because Miss Goldstein was most directly involved, I interviewed her several times.”

“I imagine her memories were very clear and precise. She seems that sort.”

Percy smiled down at the flower. “They were, very, and she is.” His smile faded, recalling Tina’s memory of Newt reaching out and… “The thing is, Newt, every time she spoke of you or remembered you, she glowed. Not literally, of course.” He glanced up. “I think she’s in love with you.”

Newt’s face sort of scrunched up and he nodded. “I know. I wasn’t careful. I just liked her so very much, you see?”

“I do see.” Gently, he twirled the flower, making it spin this way and that way. “Newt?”

“Yes?”

“She’s not one of MACUSA’s best Aurors but she could be. I don’t want to lose her.”

Newt leaned forward. “You won’t. There’s no reason and if there is, well, she’s smart and, I believe, very dedicated. She’ll get over me.” His smile was wry. “I’m fairly easy to get over, or so I’ve been told.”

“Who told you that?”

“Leta Lestrange, for one.”

A flicker of warmth set up shop in Percy’s chest. “I’ve heard of the Lestrange family.” Ridiculous that he should be jealous because of something—or someone—he’d never had.

“Yes, well, Leta and I were in school together. We became good friends when…” Newt looked down, suddenly engrossed in his bootlaces. “When I decided that I needed to forget certain somebodies and get on with my life.”

‘Oh, Newt,’ Percy wanted to say but didn’t.

“Anyway,” Newt continued with a shrug. “Leta forgot me quite quickly after I left school. I heard she was seeing Linus Oddpick within the month.”

“And then you joined the Ministry and became a magizoologist?”

“Something like that.”

Carefully, as if he was reaching out to touch a frozen fairy wing, Percy laid the flower on Newt’s sleeve. “I’m glad you did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten to hear such interesting stories.”

Newt flushed, a bloom of red that made his eyes shine a clear green. He picked up the flower and then slipped it in his buttonhole. “And I wouldn’t have made the journey to America and gotten to see you again. Well,” he added with a wince and a shrug, “you know what I mean.”

For once the reminder of Grindelwald didn’t bother Percy. For once he was able to ignore it. “Something for which the entire wizarding community owes their lives. If you hadn’t seen under—” He stopped, pondering it for the first time. “How did you know? No one else did. Do you have some special ability? If Grindelwald tries it again, we’ll need to be ready.”

“A special ability?” Newt said. “No, I just know you so—” He broke off and looked away before adding, “No, mostly, it wasn’t anything he did. It was just the things he didn’t do. Your—his, rather—letters to Thee had gotten so strange, almost as if they were written by another hand. Then there was the last one, the one that told Theseus to leave off from visiting for a while, as your muggles were becoming a danger.” He shook his head. “There was no reason for you to write such a thing and Thee grew suspicious. When he found out I was travelling to Arizona, he asked me to stop in for a tic and look you up.”

Newt touched the flower and grinned. “I didn’t need to be asked twice, of course. And then…” He trailed off with another shake of his head.

“And then?” Percy encouraged.

Newt looked up. “And then I discovered that you didn’t remember me at all. Not that you should have, I suppose, but I had thought…” He tried for a smile. “The first time, he barely looked at me. The second time, he called me ‘Mr. Scamander.’ It was a blow to my ego, I can tell you. I didn’t understand what was going on for a day or so. By then I was busy trying to rescue my creatures from the wilds of New York.”

Percy thought on all that, thought about Albus’s observations. If he hadn’t grown so predictable and machine-like, would his staff have seen past Grindelwald’s spell? Maybe, but probably not.

“What are you thinking?” Newt asked quietly.

“That I’m lucky you came along. That I’d be long dead if you hadn’t figured things out, if you hadn’t helped Goldstein and Lopez with that reperio spell.”

Newt leaned sideways, his arm pressing against Percy’s shoulder. “I’ve thought about that, too. More than a few times, to be honest. I almost went mad, thinking about that. I’ve never been a devotee of worrying, but all the ifs and maybes—they can be a bit much, can’t they?”

“They can.” Percy met Newt’s gaze. “They can also surprise you in a good way.” He hesitated, feeling the heavy beat of blood in his throat. “Newt, do you know what I’d like to do right now?”

Newt’s eyes widened and he said a little breathlessly, “What do you want to do right now?”

Percy grinned. “I’d like to nap for an hour or two.”

Newt’s mouth dropped open and then he elbowed Percy, pushing him over. “I’ll pay you back for that, don’t think I won’t.”

Percy righted himself, still grinning. “I expect you will, but now, I’m tired.” It wasn’t quite a lie. Too much had happened too soon and he needed a moment, even if it was just an hour. So, he handed Newt the thermos and the napkins, then watched as Newt sent the whole thing back to the house with a flick of his wand. “It’s so strange,” Percy said as he lay back and rested his head on his hands. A carpet of fluffy white clouds had crept up while they’d talked and he thought it might rain.

Newt conjured up a pillow. “What’s so strange?”

He yawned. “You, using magic out in the open. Even in Ilvermorny, we learned to be cautious.”

“What’s strange is living as you American’s do. I can’t imagine it. Here, lift up…”

Obediently, Percy let Newt tuck the pillow under his head. “You get used to it but maybe it’s not such a good thing. We should be able to live our own lives without fear.”

“You sound like him, like Grindelwald.”

“So I’ve been told.” Percy turned his head. “Newt?”

“Yes, Percy?”

He hesitated, then touched the back of Newt’s hand. “You might know—do you think there’s any chance that Grindelwald is still in me?”

Newt gave him a slight smile. “The professor told me you had asked about that.” He turned his hand so he was lightly clasping Percy’s. “I can tell you with absolute certainty that he’s gone. Everything about you is Percival Gondulphus Graves, from your walk, to your smile, to that bizarrely quirky thing you do with your eyebrows.”

“What bizar—”

“Just teasing.” Newt squeezed Percy’s hand. “No, there’s nothing remotely quirky about you. You’re perfectly you.”

Percy searched for any lie or quibble and when he found none, he smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome and…” Newt tugged free. “…while you’re napping I’ll look for my mellyweed. The best time to find them is when it’s raining.”

Against the cloud-filled sky, Percy watched as Newt stood and pulled on his waders. “If you start to drown, can you get your brother?”

“As Theseus is in the city, if I start to drown, I’ll get you.”

“All right.” And then, because he couldn’t help it, Percy added, “Please don’t drown.”

Newt turned and gave Percy a singularly sweet smile. “I would never.”

***

Eyes half closed, Percy watched Newt fish about in the pond for all of a bare minute before he sighed and fell asleep.

***

He woke sometime later. The sky had darkened and Newt was covering him with another blanket, this one a rough wool woven in stripes of gold and black.

“I’m almost done,” Newt whispered. “Then we can go.”

“Good,” Percy mumbled as he closed his eyes again. Good.

***

They arrived at the cottage just as the sky opened up. Running, they were laughing as they reached the cottage’s tiny porch. It was a precarious moment, Percy thought later, as his natural discipline and caution fought with what was left of his recklessness. He knew without asking that Newt was the forever type just as he knew that he couldn’t stay. Two different worlds meant distance and separation and where did one go with that?

In the end it was Newt’s creature that solved the problem. Just as Percy was edging towards recklessness, thunder rumbled and the mellyweed shrieked in fear.

With a wry grin and a shrug of his shoulders, Newt said, “Friday,” and then disappeared.

***

If Percy expected visitors in the form of either Albus or Newt over the course of the next few days, he was sadly disappointed. He told himself he was fine on his own and he had things to do, anyway. He practiced with his wand. He answered Seraphina’s letter, giving away nothing, only that he’d return within the promised three weeks. Eventually, he made up for his lack of company by reading the available books and sleeping long hours.

As early as Thursday, he was well read, well rested, and just the tiniest bit bored.

***

On Friday, Percy followed his newly minted ritual of going downstairs to make a pot of coffee. This morning there was a surprise in the form of a big brown box. Puzzled, he opened it. Inside lay a beautiful dinner jacket; a card that said Read Me was tucked in the breast pocket. He opened it and in Newt’s voice, the card said:

“Dear Percival, This is just in case. You’ll want to shake it out some as it probably got wrinkled in transit. Yours, Newt. Post Script, Theseus helped me with the measurements.”

Percy touched the slightly wrinkled satin lapel and then, smiling faintly, carefully raised the jacket from its bed with a wave of his hand. The jacket didn’t burst into flames, so he sent it upstairs to hang itself.

***

Taking a chance, Percy tried an apparation spell and arrived at the mansion thirty minutes early.

Theseus greeted him in the small drawing room with a warm handshake, a glass of brandy and some sobering news. “The Ministry has had word that Grindelwald tried to escape.”

Percy clenched his jaw. So much for boredom. “It was to be expected. What did he do?”

“He charmed his morning porridge into a counterfeit wand. When the guards saw it, they thought he’d somehow retrieved his own and they entered the cell without permission. Grindelwald snatched one of the guard’s wands. Unable to use the Avada Kedavra curse himself, he magicked one of the guards to do it for him, attacking the other guard. The burst of magic set off the alarms and the entire prison was locked down.”

Percy went to stand before the fireplace. “Did the guard die?”

“He was hit full on, so yes.”

“He was supposed to be chained up.” He turned. “Every minute of the day. I ordered it myself.”

“Perhaps he was,” came a voice from the door. Percy turned as Albus entered. “As we all know, Gellert excels at surprises. He probably planned this for months.”

Percy gave Theseus and Albus a troubled glance. “I should go home.”

“Now, it would be pointless. You can’t put the hippogriff back in the egg,” Albus said as he sat by the fire. “He’ll slink back into submission and wait until your Aurors grow lax once more. That’s when you need to worry, that’s when you should be back in New York.”

Percy nodded, accepting the bitter truth. “Seraphina’s wrong. We’re not going to be able to hold him.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Albus replied heavily. “All you can do is be as prepared as possible for the moment it does happen.”

“Who’s to be prepared as possible for when what happens?” came another voice, this time from the door opposite the fireplace.

Percy had felt Newt before he heard him and he turned. And then smiled. Newt was wearing a dinner jacket but his hair was standing up, his tie was undone, and something green was sticking out of his pocket. Percy thought it was a piece of lettuce until it moved and glared at him.

“Grindelwald tried to escape this morning,” Theseus answered. “And why do you have that thing with you? You promised mother that he’d stay in your room.”

Newt tucked his chin in, and looked down at the green thing. “Pickett’s having issues with his tree mates again, so I thought I’d give him some air. Mother won’t mind. Besides,” he shot a quick glance Percy’s way, “he has yet to meet everyone.” Gently, he took the green thing out and held it up. “Pickett, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Percival Graves.”

The creature cowered, still glaring, and Newt sighed, “Oh, yes, I forgot. You did meet him before, didn’t you? Pickett,” he said again, enunciating slowly, “that was an imposter. This is the real Mr. Graves. He’s much nicer and will not hurt you. Don’t be bothered if he doesn’t like you,” he said to Percy. “He doesn’t like anyone, sometimes including me.”

Feeling a bit foolish, Percy leaned forward and said solemnly, “It’s good to make your acquaintance, Pickett.”

Pickett stuck out his tongue and turned his back.

“Pickett!” Newt chided but Percy just laughed, a surprise even to him.

“Such a rude creature,” Theseus said, “but it’s good to hear you laugh.”

“I don’t mind,” Percy replied, still smiling. “At least he’s honest. I know a few wizards and witches that could take a page from his book.”

They were interrupted once more, this time from one of the footman. “Cook says dinner is on, sir.” He glanced at Newt. “She also says she won’t be serving nothing if the walking celery is at table.”

“Newt?” Theseus said.

“Very well,” Newt said. “I’ll run him back up.” He turned to Percy, his eyes brightening. “Would you like to see my work room? It’s just upstairs.”

“No,” Theseus answered before Percy could open his mouth. “Knowing you, you’ll be up there all night, doing Merlin knows what. And yes, I mean that the way it sounds.”

“Theseus,” Albus chided as Newt blushed and Percy raised an eyebrow. “A little subtlety is never a bad thing.”

Theseus snorted. “Have you gone daft? I’m the most subtle person in this room. Now, if you want the opposite, just look at—”

Albus interrupted, “I realize MACUSA’s news is troubling to us all, but I won’t let it spoil my evening. If you want to fight with your brother, please have at it, but Percy and I are going to eat. Percy?” Albus gestured to the door. “Will you join me?”

Giving Theseus a, ‘what can you do—it’s Albus’ look, Percy started to follow. At the last second, he turned to Newt and raised his hand. With a quick slide of silk on silk, Newt’s bowtie curved and wrapped until it had knotted in a neat batwing.

Newt gave Percy an off-to-the-side delighted grin, Theseus groaned, and Albus just hummed.

***

Unlike the dinner party from before, the meal was pleasant and relaxing. By silent agreement, they kept the conversation light, speaking mostly about the Ministry and the latest quidditch drafts.

Initially, Percy listened but didn’t contribute, his mind still on Seraphina’s news. Gradually, he let go of worry and began to enjoy himself and his companions. Albus and Theseus were as usual, witty and droll, never sticking to one subject for very long. Newt, however, was a revelation, for once meeting Percy’s gaze head on, holding his own against Theseus’s down-covered barbs with aplomb, giving back his own with confidence and ease. For the first time, Percy saw the possibilities of him, for the first time he saw the man and not the boy.

He could feel it, the change in his head and heart as the idea became a fact. Was it really only on Tuesday that he’d asked Albus, ‘What do you think?’ He truly must have been lost to himself to have been so blind to the charm Newt had cast. He should have noticed it the minute they met anew and he made a noise, a small protest deep in his throat.

“Hm?” Albus said, turning to Percy. “What was that?”

Percy sipped his wine and shook his head. “It was nothing.” He chanced a quick glance at Newt and received a crooked smile in return.

“I think it’s time to take this to the drawing room,” Theseus said, eyeing Percy and then Newt.

“Agreed,” said Albus. “These chairs aren’t the most comfortable things in the world.”

“Don’t tell mother,” Newt said as he got up. “She just recovered them for the third time this year. She loves them.”

“I wouldn’t hurt your mother’s feelings for the world, Newton.”

Newt grinned. “It’s not her feelings I’d be worried about, if you take my meaning.”

Percy started to get up but before he could do anything more than put his hands on the armrests, Newt came around the table. While Theseus watched, stunned, Newt helped him with his chair. It was a courtly, old-worldly gesture and he couldn’t help but smile. A smile that changed to a grin when Theseus muttered under his breath, “Oh, for—”

They went into the small drawing together only this time Newt stayed by Percy’s side, hand cupped lightly under his elbow.

***

“As pleasant as that was,” Albus said when the footman had closed the door, “I know we all were biting our tongues not to tell tales in front of the staff.”

Pouring the after-dinner drinks, Theseus answered. “Really? You mean you truly weren’t devastated when Maximilian broke his leg in that last match against Moldovia?”

Albus almost grimaced. “I wish quidditch was all we had to worry about, but times have changed. Gellert Grindelwald has created a new world for us and I’m afraid we will all have to deal with it.”

At the mention of Grindelwald, the man in the painting dove for cover behind a tree. Newt snorted softly and shared a look with Percy.

Albus had chosen a chair by the fire leaving the other for Theseus and the sofa for Percy and Newt. They sat a respectable distance from each other, but Percy felt Newt’s presence as if they were only inches apart. “He’s right, Theseus,” Percy said. “There’s no going back from this. Wizard against wizard—the world has indeed changed.”

Theseus came over and gave Percy a drink. Newt took his but immediately set it on the side table.

Percy leaned forward. “You said we’ll need to prepare, Albus. What did you have in mind?”

“Play the game, do what he would do,” Albus answered with a gleam in his eye. “Get in front of him and then hide in wait. When he gets free—as we all know he will—he’ll no doubt travel first to Europe to gather his sheep. That would be our best chance, when he’s relatively alone.”

“Wouldn’t it be better, then, to catch him before he even gets to Europe?” Newt said with a frown. “Moreover and to back up, if that’s the sum total of your plan—wait until he gets free—why not just find some way to hold him permanently.” Newt glanced at Percy. “Nurmengard has such ways, yes? If he can do it, why can’t we?”

“They tried,” Theseus said. “We tried. Gellert contrived some type of ward that we can’t replicate.”

Newt’s expression turned thoughtful. “When I work with my creatures, I don’t operate from a position of my feelings and fears, I operate from theirs.” Newt turned. “Percy, you said it yourself, MACUSA lives in fear of exposure. Every decision they make is based on that fear. Isn’t it possible that Grindelwald will use that weakness against you?”

It was a new thought and Percy glanced at Albus before saying, “Possibly. What do you suggest we do?”

“Form some sort of tribunal or committee. Start working on the problem now, together, not when he’s gone and someone else’s headache.”

“There is the ICW,” Albus reminded gently.

Newt nodded. “Yes, but once they finally decide something, it takes months to ratify and years to implement. We won’t have that kind of time.”

Theseus cleared his throat. “You’re not suggesting this as a way of keeping Percy around, are you?”

Newt straightened up, his hands clenching. “Theseus,” was all he said.

Theseus actually looked ashamed but he’d always been the first one to admit when he’d made a mistake and he said, “Sorry, Newt. That was uncalled for.”

“It’s a good idea,” Percy said, speaking partially to fill the silence, partially to bring the smile back to Newt’s face, mostly because it was a good idea. “And you’re right—the time of factions is over. We need to convince MACUSA, however, and that won’t be easy. They don’t like change.”

“Theseus,” Albus said, “why don’t you use that fading glory for something other than dinner invitations, and pay MACUSA a visit. See if you can prepare the way for Percy.”

Theseus considered it. “I can think of a handful of holdouts that will grumble, but yes, I’ll give it a go.”

“If anyone can do it,” Albus said, his voice holding a ridiculous amount of exaggerated servility, “you can.”

“Thank you, Albus,” Theseus answered, just as snide.

Percy looked down. He was still holding his untasted drink. With a quick toss, he downed it and then announced, “I should get back—” He almost said ‘home’ “…to the cottage. I need to contact Seraphina and suggest we look at other angles using Newt’s suggestion as a guide.”

“Er…” Newt leaned towards Percy. “I wouldn’t mention my name if I were you. It’s likely to get you thrown out on your ear. Not literally, of course.”

Percy smiled. “Are you serious? She thinks you hung the moon and sun—if I tell her that you’re behind all this, she’ll listen.”

“Poor MACUSA,” Theseus said with a glint in his eye. “Doomed without even knowing it.”

Newt threw a pillow at Theseus, a lob that Theseus quickly blocked with one of his own.

“And I am off before the hijinks start,” Albus said, getting to his feet. “Percival, I’ll walk you out.”

Newt jumped up. “Actually,” he said, not looking at anyone but the floor, “I was thinking I would walk Percy home.” He shook his head. “Not home, home, just…” He shrugged, ending weakly, “Home.”

Percy stood up and said, “Don’t,” to Theseus as he opened his mouth. “Just don’t.” He turned to Newt. “You’ll need your coat; it will be cold.”

Newt grinned and took off. Percy followed more slowly, turning at the last moment. The man in the painting had come from behind his tree and was watching avidly. Theseus was smiling with only a hint of worry but Albus was beaming as if someone had just given him the location to all the lost spells of the wizarding world. Wanting to sigh, Percy left the room, his pulse already pounding.

***

It was cold. And difficult to walk because of the hardened mud. Percy tried to make conversation but Newt’s responses were pale, almost glum.

They entered the wood, still carrying on the stilted conversation. Even with the moonlight, it was hard to see the way, as if the trees were closing ranks on purpose. Percy was remembering the last time they’d traveled this path when Newt lost his footing.

Without thinking, he caught Newt’s arm and pulled him upright. “It’s dark here. Shall I use my wand?”

Instead of a yes or no, Newt turned, his eyes wide and a little bit lost. He just said, “Percy.”

Discipline and caution gone in a wash of black desire, Percy slipped his arm around Newt’s waist and tugged.

Oh.

That’s what he remembered later, when he had time to remember, just a nonsensical, ‘Oh,’ because Newt’s mouth was sweet but not sweet as he leaned into Percy with a soft moan. Newt was also trembling, an unadorned shudder that seemed to transfer to the very air itself.

“Newt?” he murmured. When there was no reply, Percy relinquished Newt’s lips and gently pushed him back. Newt’s eyes were closed and hair had fallen over his forehead. Percy combed it back. “If we’re going to do this, perhaps we should get indoors.”

“Yes.” Newt took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “Yes. It’s just that I’ve been waiting for so many years and I—” He broke off and shook his head. “I want you so bad. I feel like I’m burning up from the inside out. Can one die from this feeling?”

Percy reached inside Newt’s coat and got his wand. The slim piece of wood shivered and sang at his touch. He held the wand out to Newt and whispered, “Let’s find out.”

***

They were inside and upstairs in a flash, but the landing was rough and they both swayed.

Newt dropped his wand and wrapped his arms around Percy, burying his face in his shoulder. “Sorry. That was a little slapdash and I— Just give it a minute, yes? The dizziness will pass.”

Percy gave it a minute, letting his guard slip and fall at the same time, savoring the whip-hard warmth and feel of Newt, enjoying the moment of just being.

If they were in New York they wouldn’t be, at all. Hemmed in by life and duties, if he’d found this in New York, he probably would have ignored it. Even then, if he was tired and lonely, he might have succumbed but only as far as discretion allowed. Exchange the passionless but necessary confidences and assurances, and then slip back to a neutral place because he would never, ever use his own apartment. And after, he’d leave with no promises, sated but not happy, ready to face the new day with a barely renewed purpose.

But he wasn’t in New York and this was Newt, and Percy pressed his mouth against the space behind Newt’s ear, smiling when Newt gasped. “I’m okay, now.”

“Oh? Good. That’s good.”

“But we’re wearing far too many clothes.”

“You better do it,” Newt mumbled into Percy’s shoulder. “I’m afraid I’ll do something stupid if I try.”

“Then, here…” Percy stepped out of Newt’s arms and pushed Newt’s overcoat off and then his own, tossing them on the chair. Next were their dinner jackets but just their dinner jackets because Newt reached for Percy’s hand, stopping him as soon as the jackets had joined the coats. Curious, Percy let Newt guide him, pushing him until he was on the bed, flat on his back.

“Just lay there for a moment,” Newt murmured, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “I just want…” He placed his hand on Percy’s chest. “I’ve dreamed of this so many times, you here with me, all the ins and outs and I…” Newt stopped again. He tugged at one of Percy’s buttons. “It’s not too silly, is it? Me, I mean?”

Percy covered Newt’s hand with his own. “You don’t really need me to answer that, do you?”

Newt flashed a smile. “I suppose not. I think I’m still getting used to the real you, not the grown up you. That I knew as a boy.” He looked up. “Do you know what I mean?”

Percy tightened his grip. “Yes. I know what you mean.” More than you know.

Newt tipped his head. “When I was in school and homesick, I used to picture you with me. Sometimes we would be reading together, sometimes you would be in my bed. It was never very…” He smiled and shrugged. “But there was always a point I bumped over. I could never reconcile me with you because you were sophisticated and full of life and everyone liked you. The professor, Thee’s friends, and—” He paused and looked down again.

Percy stroked Newt’s hand with his thumb. “Newt, is this your way of asking if your brother and I ever…” He hesitated, unwilling to say the words that might hurt, knowing he had to get this right.

Newt raised his head and watched Percy with a calm, blunt-edged gaze. “Did you ever? You and him?”

“No,” Percy said evenly, truthfully. “We never did.” Please don’t ask Albus. Please…

Newt sighed, a heavy breath that seemed to come from the bottom of his soul. “Good. I wasn’t worried, mind you. Your affairs are your affairs and I know you’ve had a life as have I, though I really imagine your life has been much more of a life than mine has—”

Percy shut Newt up by pulling him down for another kiss.

In a heartbeat and a breath of a laugh, Newt was on him, long legs tangling with his own, giving and taking kiss after kiss. “Percy?”

“Yes, Newt?”

“I’m more of a doer than a planner. Can we just—”

Percy slipped his hand under Newt’s vest. “Yes. We’re here to find out, remember?”

***

They found out.

Stripped down to their underwear, on the bedclothes because Newt couldn’t wait, Percy tried to keep up, his senses drowning, responding, he thought, as animals would respond. Instinctively, he spread his legs wide when Newt nudged his thigh with his knee. Unconsciously, he urged Newt down when Newt gave up on his mouth and began kissing a line along his jaw to his throat to his chest.

“Percy?” Newt asked, hot breath on Percy’s belly.

“Yes?”

“Can we—?” Newt slid off Percy and slipped his hand under his hip. “This way?”

In a lovely daze, Percy nodded and rolled to his side. Newt eased up behind him.

With a shallow breath, Newt pushed Percy’s undershorts down and then his own. He kissed the point of Percy’s shoulder blade and reached around.

They started that way, they came that way, with Newt’s clever hands doing clever things, hard and insistent against Percy’s backside.

***

“Am I too much?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because I ca—”

“Newt.” Percy tightened his grip. Newt was lying against him, leg over his own, arm over his waist. “I’m fine. You’re just not that heavy.”

Newt sighed against Percy’s neck. “That was amazing.”

It was. It hadn’t been much of anything, but still, it had been amazing. He craned his neck. “Are you cold?”

“A bit.”

“You’ll need to…” He pushed Newt away.

They undressed completely and pulled the bedclothes down and then got in bed. Percy waved his hand and drew everything back up and then turned on his side so Newt could find his place again.

Newt made a soft noise of satisfaction when they were settled. “I think that’s when I fell in love with you,” he said into Percy’s shoulder. “When I saw you throw that shin guard at Theseus’s head without using your wand, I mean. I’d never seen anyone use magic without a wand before.”

Albus had already told him, of course, but Newt’s easy admission of love made Percy close his eyes for a very brief moment. “I’m not the only one that can do it.”

“Yes, but they’re professors. Even Thee was amazed and he’s never amazed.”

“More like he was furious. We lost the match because of my temper.”

“I remember.” Newt was silent for a long moment and then he asked, “Where does it come from, do you think? The ability? Your mother’s side or your father’s?”

“Definitely my father’s, but it tends to pass some generations by. My grandfather had it but not my great-grandfather.” Percy began to stroke the back of Newt’s hand, from wrist to fingertips. “The family story is my great-howevermany-grandfather Gondulphus barely survived being burned at the stake by a scourer because he was caught using magic without a wand.”

“And how did he do that? Escape, I mean.”

“Supposedly he cast a spell that sent down a blinding rain and dowsed the flames. While the scourer was slipping around in the mud, Gondulphus loosened the ropes and fled.”

“He was one of the original twelve, yes?”

“Hm, mm.”

“It would be interesting to research your family. Do you know of the muggle field of genetics?”

Percy cocked his head. “A little. It’s to do with inherited characteristics and traits, right?”

Newt kissed his shoulder. “Exactly. Your family has a one of the purest magical bloodlines in the States. I think we could find a way to track your lineage and find the root of your power.”

“To what end?”

Newt shrugged. “I don’t know—it’s just interesting.” He hesitated with a caution Percy could feel. “I know about Dindrane,” he finally said. “The professor told me a while ago.”

Percy turned his head. “He did?”

“He wasn’t telling tales. I was just confused as to why you were so angry that one time, even with Thee.”

“What did Albus say?”

“That your sister had inherited your mother’s gift for divination and she was practicing one day and died.”

Newt’s tone was questioning and curious. Percy knew he wouldn’t ask and it was that tact that made him answer, “It was my fault. My parents were at a MACUSA meeting. I was supposed to stay with her in case the divining went wrong, but I left to go write a letter.” To Theseus, as it had happened, inquiring if their holiday was still on because his mother had begun asking weekly if he’d met anyone at school. “Dindrane became confused by what was real and what wasn’t and fell over her balcony railing. At least, that’s what everyone assumed—I found her on the terrace.” On her side next to a potted agathosma mucronulata, her eyes closed, one palm curled up as if she were sleeping.

Newt ran a firm, comforting hand up Percy’s stomach. “You couldn’t have known. It was an accident.”

“And you know as well that it doesn’t make it any less my fault.”

Newt was quiet for a moment and then he murmured, “You’re right, it was. But,” he added, clearly putting the subject aside, “to answer your question more fully, I think figuring out why some characteristics are passed on and why other are not would be valuable information. Tracking your lineage, the traits the body deems valuable—it would be interesting.”

Percy pushed restlessly into the curve of Newt’s body. “I don’t see how. Divination doesn’t even work most of the time. From the time I was fifteen, my mother divined a future for me that never came true.” It wasn’t quite a lie. There had never been conclusive results with him, not like the times when she would cast another’s future. He remembered that last time, the orb revealing a wash of color like the flash of a blue jay’s wing and his mother crying and crying. He pushed again and turned his head. “Anyway, do we have to track my lineage right now?”

“I wasn’t proposing we do, but why do you ask?”

“Because,” Percy said, turning, forcing Newt back. “I was thinking a nightcap would be in order.”

“As in a celebration nightcap?” Newt asked, pushing up on one arm. “Champagne?”

Against the light from the appropriately romantic full moon, Newt was just an aggregate of greys and blacks with a thin line of white highlighting the rim of his ear, shoulder, and bicep. Feeling an equally appropriate tenderness, Percy reached up and traced the line along Newt’s arm. “Champagne would be perfect.”

But his voice hadn’t hidden the tenderness and when Newt took his hand, kissing his palm a little too reverently, Percy could only say, “Come here,” celebrations and sisters forgotten.

They made love once more, this time with Newt on his back, his long legs around Percy’s hips. When they were done, they fell asleep, Percy still encircled.

***

Percy woke to the sound of rain drumming against of rain on the windows and the smell of coffee.

Newt was just coming into the room, concentrating on the tray floating by his side and the cup in his hands. He was wearing a familiar paisley robe.

“Are those scones?” Percy turned on his side and propped his head on his hand. His robe looked better on Newt than it ever had on him.

“Coffee for you, tea for me, and scones for us both.”

“It smells good.”

“It should,” Newt said, waving the tray to the desk. “I slaved over it for all of two minutes.” He set the cup on the nightstand. “I’m not positive I got this right. I’ve never made coffee before.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“You say that now,” Newt said as he went to get his tea. “What did you have in mind today? Is Albus coming by?”

Percy didn’t answer right away, waiting until Newt had glanced over his shoulder. Then, he rolled to his back and placed his palms flat on the quilt. “It’s raining,” he said. They’d had their night—another day wouldn’t hurt.

Newt set his teacup down. “Is that an invitation?”

“No,” Percy said with a frown, preparing for the worst. “Didn’t you say the best time to catch a mellyweed was during a—”

He never got a chance to finish. With surprised laugh, Newt leapt and tackled him, pushing him into the mattress, his mouth eager and happy.

***

They decided that the rain was a sign, so they stayed in bed all day.

In the fugitive light of the fugitive sun, Percy discovered that Newt’s freckles extended beyond his collar and that he had more than a few scars of various shapes and sizes on his body. One, a double half moon of deep indentations on the curve of his hip must have hurt like anything. Percy said that, said that he was sorry that Newt had been hurt and that he’d wished he’d been there to at least help.

Newt swallowed and said, ‘But you were. You were always there.’ Not knowing how to respond to such a gift, Percy had kissed the ruined tissue.

Then, thinking about the war and about Grindelwald but telling himself it wasn’t in recompense, he rolled onto his belly. It was a request Newt didn’t misunderstand. With liberal application of one of Newt’s unguents and more than a little encouragement on his part, Newt made love to him, hot on his back, murmuring words too low and fragmented for Percy to hear.

***

Sometime in the late afternoon, Percy roused to see Newt sitting up in bed, writing a note. There was only one person Newt could be writing to and Percy tried to be concerned that Theseus would soon know exactly what they were doing. It didn’t take, his effort, and he curled his knee over Newt’s feet.

Newt gave him a sweet smile and sent the letter off with a wave of his wand.

“Done?” Percy murmured.

“Yes,” Newt said.

Percy took the wand and laid it on the nightstand, and then held out his hand. “You’re too far away.”

***

A night and a day and at the end they got dressed and went downstairs for a late dinner.

Percy wasn’t the least bit hungry; he imagined Newt wasn’t either, but he found it hard to say the words that would send Newt on his way. So he told Newt to sit because it was his turn to cook. Eschewing magic for the real thing because it was somehow important, he went to the icebox. As there wasn’t a lot of food available and his repertoire didn’t extend much beyond the basics, he made an easy meal of eggs and fried potatoes.

When he was finished, he set a plate in front of Newt. Instead of eating, Newt swiveled around and wrapped his arms around Percy’s hips and buried his face in his shirt.

Startled but not, Percy ran his hand over Newt’s hair. “You’re not really hungry, are you.”

Newt didn’t look up. “No.”

“I suppose Theseus will be worrying about you.”

“Yes.”

One more stroke—he could surely stop after that? “Do you want me to walk you home?”

“No.”

“Newt?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not going to be able to ask you to leave.”

At that Newt looked up. His gaze was once again solemn, opaque.

It was a watershed, the moment and Percy should say something, give assurances and promises—Newt was clearly waiting for them. But there were too many unknowns. If he were his mother, he’d be able to look into the future and see the right path and work backward from there. But he wasn’t his mother and he hesitated too long.

“It’s all right,” Newt said, not drawing away but doing just that all the same.

“Newt—”

“It’s all right,” Newt repeated, this time giving Percy a small smile. “I need proper alone sleep, anyway.”

“Once you’ve had your proper alone sleep, will you come back?”

Newt stood. “Yes, if I can.”

If, but he couldn’t complain because it was his doing. “Good.” He held out his arms and Newt came to him. They hugged, a long embrace of seconds where Percy told himself not to hold too hard or too long.

They stepped apart and feeling as if the moment had slipped from him, Percy let Newt go without another word.

***

After he was alone and the house was silent once more, Percy sent the food off to the garden for the knarl in case there really was one. Then he went upstairs and went to bed, ignoring the messy sheets and the imprint of Newt’s body.

***

“You and Albus need to work on your etiquette,” Percy growled as soon as he opened his eyes the next morning. The room was flooded with bright sun, clearly illuminating Theseus. He'd dragged the chair over to the bed and was watching, legs crossed, hands clasped loosely together. “What time is it?” He’d been half-hoping for a morning visit by a Scamander, just not this one.

“Very much past the time when you should be up.”

“That is supremely unhelpful.” Percy was wearing his underclothes but looked for his robe, anyway. It was on the floor somewhere—he was fairly certain of that.

“My brother appears to have very sharp teeth,” Theseus said, examining Percy’s neck and shoulder with almost clinical interest.

Percy clapped his hand over the mark on his neck. “Stop that. Do you see my robe?”

“Find it yourself. You need to get over this ridiculous idea that your magic has gone wonky.”

“Scamander.”

Theseus sighed. “Very well.” He got out his wand and waved the dressing gown from the floor to the bed.

“Thanks,” Percy muttered. And then, when Theseus looked on with great interest, “Do you mind?”

“It’s not anything I haven’t seen before. You’re not even naked,” Theseus added with a shrug and an exaggerated leer. “So you’re a little older and a wee bit thicker.”

“Theseus.”

At Percy’s quiet protest, Theseus lost his lascivious air and his awful attempt at a Scottish accent. “Newt has been walking into things all morning. He broke Mother’s astrolabe and had an argument with the portrait of Great-grandfather Arsenios. Great-grandfather was not amused.” He stood and turned his back to Percy. “Neither was mother.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You don’t sound it. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Percy got out of bed and pulled the robe on. It had to be a false sense, the notion that the robe carried the scent of lavender, or maybe it was bloodroot… “You can turn around.”

Theseus did, giving Percy a long, measuring stare. “Percival—”

“Can I get some coffee before you grill me?”

Theseus gestured to the door. “After you,” but Percy hadn’t gone two steps before he asked again, “What’s wrong?”

Percy walked down the hall, running his hand over the small side table, the wallpaper that was stained and faded. He was going to miss this house, even the rackety pipes and the non-magical stove. “Nothing,” he finally said as he started down the stairs, “Nothing is wrong.”

“I told Albus this would be a mistake. You’re you, and Newt’s, well, Newt.”

Percy paused on the stairs and looked up. “Meaning?”

“Meaning you’ve never made room for anyone in your life. You don’t know how.” Theseus gave Percy a sad, slightly bitter smile. “It’s not your fault—your mother saw to that. And then there’s the Grindelwald business…”

Ignoring the comment about his mother, Percy cocked his head. The Grindelwald business. Yes—the before and after of him that he’d thought was nothing but foolish emotion. “‘Refresh me with apples for I am sick with love,” he finally said, giving Theseus at least that.

Theseus frowned. “What does that mean?”

Percy turned and continued down the stairs to the kitchen.

“What does that mean?” Theseus demanded, hot on Percy’s tail like a hound to a fox.

Percy went to the stove and picked up the percolator. “If you must know, it means that my stomach feels like an insane flitterby has taken up residence. That my heart has gone missing and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to find it again if I even want to, and that I can’t think about leaving or I might smash something.” He started to fill the percolator with water and then said a mental, Oh, well, because Theseus was right—there was nothing wrong with his magic. He muttered a spell as proof and in an instant, a cup of coffee appeared on the stove. “Do you think Newt would notice if I placed a protection charm on him?”

“Merlin’s Beard…” Theseus breathed.

Percy sat in the chair Newt had used the night before. “I take it that’s a no?”

Theseus dropped more than sat. “So you’re saying it’s not just him?”

“No, unfortunately, it is not.”

“And you really did fall for the brat?”

Percy sipped his coffee and then eyed the cup with surprise. It was quite a good brew, maybe his best one yet. “The quote was from a no-maj religious book, so you tell me.”

“The Bible? You’re quoting the muggle Bible?”

“It appears so.”

“Love at first sight,” Theseus marveled softly. “I would never have believed it.”

“It wasn’t at first sight,” Percy answered although he wasn’t really sure and he recalled the moment in this very kitchen, Newt kneeling before him, his eyes shining, hiding nothing. “It wasn’t.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

Theseus watched Percy for a long moment and then he asked, “And you really do feel sick?”

“I really do.”

“It sounds horrible.”

Percy actually laughed. “It’s awful.”

Theseus made a gesture, as if he were casting a curse. “Then what’s the problem because I know there’s a problem, and don’t tell me it’s your mother or MACUSA, because I simp—”

The air about them grew heavy and Percy raised his hand, stopping Theseus mid-gripe. A moment later Albus apparated in with a crack and a hiss. “Can you two coordinate your schedule?” Percy asked mildly. “That way I only have to be annoyed the once and not twice.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. “You almost sound like your old self. That’s a good sign.” He glanced up at the ceiling “Is young Newton around?”

Percy sighed. “It would also help if you would leave off with the ‘young.’ I’m having enough trouble with the whole thing as it is.”

Albus gave him a sharp look, but just took a seat and said, “I received word from that certain party about those certain inquiries into that…” Albus glanced quickly at Theseus. “…certain issue. The results are negative. You are fine.”

Percy had known, of course, but still, it was a relief. He was about to thank Albus and tell Theseus—who was gathering steam in preparation for his own inquiry—to mind his own business, when something hit one of the front windows. It came again and they all hurried out of the kitchen. It was an owl with a small tube slung around its neck, pecking at the sitting room window.

“Theseus?” Albus said. “Isn’t that one of yours.”

“It is,” Theseus answered as he opened the window.

“This can’t be good,” Albus muttered.

Percy could only agree because he had it now, the change in the light and the air—this wasn’t going to be good.

Theseus had retrieved the message and had taken out a rolled up parchment. Inside was another parchment and a folded leather pouch tied with a gold thread. “It’s from my assistant. That…” He nodded to the scroll and the pouch. “…arrived at the Ministry by floo an hour ago. It was addressed to you, Percy.”

“From Seraphina,” Albus said.

Percy took the scroll and the pouch. “What does yours say?”

Theseus read: “‘Auror Scamander, I received this from MACUSA only minutes ago. Will you be so good as to pass it on to your guest?’”

Percy gave the pouch to Albus and unrolled the letter. With Theseus leaning on his shoulder, he read, “‘Minister McLaird, I’m writing to inform you and the ICW that the New York obscurus might have survived the assault on 16 November of last year. An, ‘odd shadow, like a wisp of swimming smoke,’ (as described by witnesses) has been spotted near the Queensboro Bridge. Aurors Goldstein and Lopez were sent out to investigate but came away within nothing more than anecdotal evidence. Still, given recent events, MACUSA will take no chances. We will open an investigation and place spotters around the city. Director Graves will head the investigation himself and will update the Confederation as necessary. Yrs, S. Picquery, President, MACUSA’”

“Well,” said Theseus.

Percy handed the letter to Albus. “I need to go home.”

“That was Madame Picquery’s feeling, as well. She also sent this…” Albus had unfolded the pouch. In the center was a silver locket inscribed with an elaborate ‘P’. Under the locket was a small note that read, ‘By floo or portkey, Graves.’

“You’re leaving today?” Theseus said.

“Now,” Percy answered. “I’m leaving now.” He looked up. He was a private man and never liked to show his hand, but it was far too late with these two and they knew, anyway. “I have to find Newt.” How hard was it going to be, leaving Newt behind?

Theseus got out his wand. “I’ll do it. You need to get dressed and packed.” And then he was gone, disapparating from view.

Percy looked at Albus. “Does Hogwarts still have that floo behind the old kitchen?”

“We do indeed. I’ll pop over, though, to make sure it’s in working order. That will give you and Newt time to—” Albus hummed under his breath. “Yes, well, I’ll be back within the hour.”

“Thank you, Albus.”

Percy must have looked as forlorn as he felt because Albus sighed and then touched his shoulder. “Because I know you so well, I know what you’re feeling right now. It will be all right, you’ll see—he’ll make it all right.” And then he was gone, just like Theseus.

***

It took Percy all of five minutes to get into his traveling clothes and another four to pack. He then sat on the bed, hands on his thighs, suitcase at his feet. He should change the bed linen. He should take a bath or at least shave. He should probably do a handful of things but he just sat there, waiting for Newt.

He’d left on a Tuesday and now it was Sunday. In less than three weeks, his world had been turned upside down and right side up. Like a flood, Newt had swept in, scrubbing out the foundations of Percy’s life, making a clean sweep of all the flotsam and jetsam acquired over the years. Maybe that’s why he’d never taken any steps into any kind of long term affair—this feeling of being not who he’d been was disturbingly disconcerting. But not, he thought, touching the brass bedframe and remembering, not entir—

Footsteps pounded up the stairs and then stopped. An instant later, Newt apparated into the room. He was half undressed, his hair was sticking up, and he was carrying a brown leather suitcase. “Hello.”

Percy swallowed. He’d expected dejection and melancholy, but Newt seemed surprisingly calm, even happy. He gestured to the case. “Is that what I think it is?”

Newt nodded. “It is. Theseus said you have to leave. That there’s been an incident.”

“There has. The Barebone obscurus has been seen in New York.”

That got a frown and a glance to the side. “I can’t leave now,” Newt said. “My graphorn is about to give birth again and she can’t take the change in air pressure. I need to be here, but then I can come. A day or two at the most and then I can come.”

He drew a breath to explain gently why Newt wouldn’t be coming to New York, but before he could, Newt interrupted, stating quietly, “You might as well not. You need me. I’m the only one who understands how to care for an obscurus. If it still exists, we must contain it at once. Grindelwald must not find it. You know this.”

Percy opened his mouth again and nothing came out, no objections or protests or even the question he most wanted to ask: ‘Why aren’t you as upset about me leaving as I am?’

Newt, as if hearing something of that, knelt and put his case on the floor. “I’ve been busy this last week working on a new project, one that will affect both of us.” He unlatched the suitcase. “Do you want to see?”

“Albus will be here soon.”

“It won’t take a moment.” Newt tipped his head. “Please.”

It was impossible to say no to that look so Percy nodded. “Lead the way.”

Newt opened the lid. Inside was a ladder. He stepped in and clambered down.

Percy followed more slowly. When he got to the bottom he turned around.

He knew, of course, about Newt’s creation, about the world within a world, restrained by the boundaries of an ordinary suitcase. Still, it was something to see and he gazed in wonder. He was standing in a field work room full of books, jars, flora, and fauna—everything one might need when dealing with animals. In the distance, he could just make out a landscape that looked surprisingly like the dessert complete with a deep blue sky. Magic of this sort would take an incredible amount of work as well as an enormous amount of power. Even just formulating a stable atmosphere that would support life… It was beyond anything he thought possible.

“We don’t have time for it all,” Newt said, touching the back of Percy’s arm. “What I want you to see is over here…”

As Newt guided Percy towards the door, he leaned over and snatched a picture off the wall. “Never mind that,” he said, placing the frame face down on a table. “It’s no one special.”

“Hm, mm,” Percy said, hearing the lie but shelving the topic for another time because he’d stepped into a living museum. Animals of every variety strolled, flew, or ran by. “What is that?” he said, pointing to an ape-like creature that was sitting by a wicker nest and watching him with a broad smile.

“My demiguise,” Newt said. “He seems quite happy to see you, which is interesting as he’s generally suspicious of anyone new. Odd.” He gently tugged on Percy sleeve. “Anyway, I’ll introduce you later, if there is a—” Newt cleared his throat, and then muttered, “Come on.”

Newt led Percy around another nest and then through a flap of canvas. There he stopped and gestured. “After you.”

A startled breath was Percy’s only reaction as he stepped under the canvas and onto the tiled foyer of an apartment.

“I need to explain,” Newt said.

“I think you should.” Before him was a long room with tall windows that let in the morning sun. The room was furnished but held that odd stillness that said it hadn’t been lived in yet.

“See, an hour ago I was thinking I wouldn’t be needing this place after all. The way we left it yesterday…” Newt shrugged. “Anyway, I was feeling not very happy and then Theseus came and told me you were leaving.”

Percy turned to Newt. “Please tell me that doesn’t mean what it sounds like.”

Newt slipped his hand in Percy’s. “It most certainly does not. He told me what you said. About how you felt about me and everything and…” Newt flushed and looked down at the floor.

Percy wanted to sigh. “He told you about the quote, didn’t he?”

Newt smiled at the floor. “He most certainly did.”

He should be angry, but he wasn’t, not at all. “I’m glad.”

Newt looked up. “I realize it’s probably something you wanted to tell me yourself but yes, I’m glad too.”

They were only inches apart. Percy could lean in for a kiss but somehow the moment wasn’t right. “And this place is?”

“Yes, well…” Newt let go and went to stand by the sofa. “At first I thought to recreate the cottage but after talking to the professor, I decided to make something new.” He picked up a pillow, then set it down again. “I wanted a place for us where we could just be… Us, but I didn’t want to confuse you with what was real and what wasn’t. Not that you would,” Newt added quickly, looking over at Percy, “get confused, I mean, but still, I just didn’t.”

Dindrane, Percy thought, and swallowed. “It’s—” He shook his head and then walked across the floor, slowly examining the space. Main room with a fireplace and bookcases, kitchen off on the right and a bedroom and tiny den on the left. He went to one of the open windows and leaned on the ledge. Down below was a street. A normal London street. There was no one about and no traffic, but he thought he could hear the sounds of cars and catch just a hint of a flowering crabapple. 

“You can have the study,” Newt said, coming to stand next to him, looking out, too. “My things wouldn’t fit, anyway.”

“How will we get back and forth?”

“That’s easy.” Newt pushed the window up, just a hair. “With the professor’s help, I’m going to make us two portkeys to be kept in the locations of our choosing.” He pulled the window down, still just a hair. “I know you can make your own keys but the professor thought it might be better for your career if you had no hand in it.”

“But you’re willing to risk your career?” Percy said, turning to face Newt. “How is that right?”

Newt smiled crookedly. “Mine was over when I was expelled from Hogwarts. I go where I want, mostly, and there’s nothing they can do about it.”

“Yes, but—”

Newt cocked his head. “You might as well give in on this one, too. My mind is made up and it’s no good arguing about it. Best pick your battles elsewhere and all that.”

Percy hesitated, then looked down at Newt’s mouth. He wanted to kiss Newt again and there was no real reason not to, other than the air was flat and heavy as if urging, No, not yet, wait…

And, as it happened, the decision was taken out of his hand by a loud thump and a booming shout, “It’s been more than enough time! Don’t make me come down there!”

Newt laughed and Percy smiled.

“We’d better go because he probably meant that,” Newt said.

“He has no shame,” Percy agreed.

They turned as one.

With a hesitation Percy didn’t miss, Newt took his arm again. “So, a day or maybe two, and then I’ll be there.” Newt pulled the door closed as soon as they were outside. “I’ll bring my suitcase, of course, and my kit. If we’re working with an unstable obscurus, anything can happen. While I’m there, I’m going to look up a gentlemen that has been selling ashwinders on the black market.” He held back a curtain of flitterbies for Percy—with a wash and a whoosh, the insects flew off in a haze of blue. “Now, I know many would argue that ashwinders are a menace but they can actually be quite sweet if you know how to treat them right, which I do. I also want to introduce you to my friend, Jacob. I know you’ll like him as much as I do.”

They’d reached the office. Percy was tempted to turned the framed picture over but held off; Newt would tell him in his own time.

He’d taken two steps up the ladder, feeling as if another moment was hurrying out of reach but not sure what to do about it, when Newt stopped him with a hand on the small of his back.

“Percy?”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to say that I’ve been babbling but it’s just because…” Newt frowned and then smiled. “I know you’re probably in a whirl. I can push too hard when I want something and I’ve never wanted anything qui—”

A shadow loomed above, startling them both. It was Albus, leaning into the case.

“Anytime now, Percival,” Albus said.

Newt craned his neck, answering before Percy could, “We need another moment.”

“And the fate of world might rest on that moment. Are you really telling me that—”

“Albus,” Newt interrupted firmly. “A minute. Please.”

Whether it was the use of his first name or the tone in Newt’s voice, but Albus shut his mouth, gave Percy an odd glance that only partially hid his amusement, and then disappeared.

Newt drew a long breath, his smile coming and going. “Anyway, back there, yesterday, when I said that I loved you, I felt your reaction.” He shrugged. “Regardless of what Theseus told me, I know I’m not what your family wants for you, but—” He shook his head and let go, his arm dropping to his side. “I need you to understand that I can wait. I’m patient and I can wait. And now, I suppose my minute is up.”

While Percy watched, searching for the words that would make everything better, Newt got out his wand.

In a moment, Newt was properly dressed wearing boots and a long, peacock blue wool coat. “I’m going to pop over to my place in London and fetch some books. Then I’ll get started on the research on my obscurus. I doubt it will give up any more secrets but you never can tell. I thought I might try an environmental approach, changing altitude and temperature and whatnot to see if…” Newt wound down, frowning. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Almost dazed, Percy stretched a shaky hand to touch Newt’s sleeve. The coat was old and the wool rough, but when Newt had changed clothes, Percy thought he’d seen a wash of color, like a glimpse of water on water. Or like the flash of a blue jay’s wing.

“What is it?” Newt said again, stepping close, reaching out to wrap his arm around Percy’s waist.

“It’s—” Percy shook his head and then looked down at Newt. “It’s nothing I can explain right now,” he muttered, still floundering on ramifications and possibilities. It couldn’t be true… Could it?

“All right,” Newt said slowly, and then, “Are you sure, because you don’t seem—”

“Newt?” Percy interrupted, a queer lightness filling chest. He should have never fought this, not even for a moment; it was fate, after all. ‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ he added silently, casting the non-apology to the ether. ‘I'm sorry, but you always knew this would happen.’ “Do you remember what your father said to you that time we floo’d over to Hogsmeade and that woman, Mrs. Flume, came after you because you told her that she was mistreating her kneazle?”

Frowning at the change of topic, Newt said doubtfully, “I think so—Father told me not to spend all my money at Honeydukes, and to watch out for pickpockets, and that if I was worried about any little thing I should remember to always—” He stopped talking, his frown fading, his green eyes widening. “He said I should always—”

“Listen to your brother,” Percy interrupted once more, trying to curb a broad smile.

Newt’s mouth worked but all that came out was a soft, “Percy.” And then he reached up and pulled Percy’s head down.

And so, when Albus looked in on them again, stomping and huffing in his temper, they were still hard at it, just kissing and kissing.

***

Coda

Percy arrived at the office on Monday morning at nine sharp.

As he passed his co-workers, he greeted them with even nods and quiet hellos and a smile he couldn’t quite extinguish. A few actually stopped in their tracks. Red, in particular, seemed confused by Percy’s, “Hello. How was your weekend?” and was still grumbling when he opened the elevator doors.

Percy strolled to his office and turned the corner, narrowly missing a collision with Goldstein.

“Director Graves,” Tina said, clutching at her falling paperwork. “I’m so sorry.”

With a wave, Percy caught a folder before it hit the ground and ordered it back up. “It’s quite all right.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back.” He hesitated because he never had used her first name. But the past was the past and he added awkwardly, “Tina.”

Tina’s eyebrows raised and she shifted from foot to foot. “I suppose you heard the news?”

Percy unlocked his door with another wave. “I did.” The door opened. “We’re going to be busy, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, it’s fine, sir—I’m looking forward to it. Sir.”

“Is there anything urgent?” He took off his scarf.

Tina looked through her stack of papers and then shook her head. “No, not as such. Other than the,” she hesitated with a quick look over her shoulder, adding in a whisper, “obscurus, sir.”

“Good.” Percy sent the scarf to the coat stand with a flick of his fingers. “As soon as I get settled, we’ll meet in the third floor conference room to discuss procedure. If that suits your schedule.”

Tina nodded several times. “Yes, sir, it does. I’ll tell the others.”

“Thank you.” He pulled off his overcoat. “And Tina?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’ve been thinking, with all that’s going on, a restructuring of personnel might be in order.” Tina’s expression turned positively glum and Percy found himself cursing Grindelwald anew—what had that man done to his staff? “With Madame Picquery’s approval, I’d like to make you my assistant. It will mean only a little more money and a superficial title, but much more responsibility.” He sent his overcoat after the scarf and gave Tina a steady look. “Are you up for it?”

He really didn’t need an answer because she was almost bouncing on her heels and beaming so hard, she might as well have been a candle. Just like Newt, he thought with a certain measure of joy and sadness.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “I’d love to. I mean, I appreciate the opportunity. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said as he sat down behind his desk. He straightened his waistcoat. “It will mean long hours.”

“I can handle it, sir, you’ll see.”

The stack of documents and case files had shrunk to a single warrant and a sheaf of vacation requests. He touched the warrant and said a silent, ‘Tina, you’re a treasure—I won’t forget it.’ “Let’s make the meeting at ten. Can you ask your sister to get us coffee and donuts?”

“Ten o’clock, yes, sir, and I’ll ask her. Thank you, sir.”

Tina practically ran from the room. Percy couldn’t be sure, but he thought she gave a little ‘yipee!’ as the door closed.

He sat back, relishing the familiar creak of wood as his chair welcomed him home. If anyone had told him that in less than three weeks, he would be happy to be back in the office, he would have just sneered.

But that was before Albus and all his disclosures. That was before Newt.

Percy allowed himself one sigh of happiness, and then shoved thoughts of Newt and the life to be back where they belonged. He had two days. Two days to review the recent investigations and rearrange his department. Two days to interrogate Grindelwald and see what that bastard had to say. Two days to confer with Seraphina and Theseus and formulate a plan of non-attack because he could almost feel Grindelwald down in the cells, planning and scheming.

Two days to make sure his sheets and towels were clean and the refrigerator was well stocked with food a magizoologist might like because…

…well, just because.

fin