Chapter Text
1
Newt was once again summoned to assist. They had managed to capture Credence - or what remained of him. He existed in an unstable state in the holding cells, at one point nothing but an amorphous roaring fog that pushed at the wards that held him, and at other times the thin shade of a boy who sat with his knees pulled to his chest.
It seemed to Graves that Newt was affected when it came to this particular case. He'd known him long enough now to tell when something was bothering him. He had grown jittery and more distracted than usual and wouldn't make eye contact with anyone. His face had taken on that drawn, pinched look from a lack of sleep.
Graves tried not to worry - he didn't want to push his concern onto Newt where it wasn't wanted - but one day Queenie stopped by his office.
He set down his paper in surprise and stood to greet her.
"Miss Goldstein. Is something the matter?"
"Oh, me, I'm fine," she said, with a cheerful smile, but the next instant it shifted to a worried expression. "I just came to give you some advice."
"Of course," he said, with a growing frown, and moved to shut the door. He sensed this was something confidential.
"What advice do you think I need?" he asked.
"You oughta keep an eye on Newt. That's all."
"Is there something I should know?"
She shifted uncomfortable from foot to foot. "Look, people don't like me meddling too much. So I try not to... but I want to help. So this is me helping. It can't come from me, it's gotta come from him. Just... look out for him, Mr Graves."
He nodded. "I'll keep it in mind. Thank you."
She flitted over to him and kissed him on the cheek. For a moment he was enveloped by a cloud of perfume, and then she moved back over to the door.
Later that day he approached Newt at lunch time and tried to take a direct approach.
"Are you all right?" Graves asked.
Newt blinked, wide-eyed and surprised.
"What do you mean?"
"Look, I..." Graves ran a hand through his hair. "I know you were involved in the case with the boy before. These things can be difficult, even for people who've worked as aurors for decades. There's no shame in working on something else..."
"No, no, no," said Newt with a strained smile, "I'm always happy to help. And I want to help Credence."
It was one of those rare moments where his selflessness became an irritation.
So Credence's case continued with Newt assisting. Newt had advised them to wait it out rather than trying to separate the obscurus straight away, and that he would ask for advice from someone in Britain - someone who he said knew more than him about the creatures. He said that it was possible for an obscurus to live and survive, if only the parasite could be severed and contained separately.
But debate still raged amongst the team of aurors.
Some of them insisted that it should be destroyed. With Grindelwald escaped and at large, its existence was a danger to the entire wizarding community. What if it got loose? What if Grindelwald tried to get it? Could it ever be controlled? Sometimes Graves felt like he was the only one defending Newt's position. It escalated to yelling matches and Picquery calling for order.
Graves had never see the department so on edge and at war with itself. And he had never seen Newt so tense before, either.
Then, of course, Newt went missing.
He didn't show up to lunch, wasn't there at Graves' office in the morning, and finally was absent at the meeting with Picquery.
Graves started the search himself. He couldn't rest while Newt was missing and it was impossible for him to concentrate on anything else.
He visited familiar haunts - the bakery, the museum, Central Park - to no avail. But it was finally, as he slipped into Jacob Kowalski's apartment unnoticed, that he found the suitcase. It looked innocuous resting on the table. He knew that it was the place that Newt would feel most safe.
The suitcase was far too easy to open and he made a mental note to teach Newt some proper security spells.
He braced himself and stepped down inside.
The chaos within was exactly as Newt had left it. Piles and piles of books. Shelves crammed with vials and bottles. Plants hanging from the ceiling. On the desk there was a cup of half-empty tea that had gone cold. There were no clues in Newt's scattered papers and notes. Only more detailed zoological information. Graves wasn't sure if this was a normal level of disorganised for him.
As he got deeper into the space his unease grew. He got the feeling of being watched. With each footstep out the door and into the habitats, he could sense the observant eyes of the residents. One by one, they slunk into view, all of them sizing him up.
He felt a soft tug on his leg and, looking down, saw a green flash of something. He recognized the bowtruckle that rode around Newt's coat pockets.
"Where is he?" he said aloud, half to the creatures, half to himself. One of the mooncalves nuzzled at his palm. They were hungry, he realised, and that made him worried.
Newt would never abandon his creatures.
He continued further into the space, and made his way through each of the habitats. For a while he was lost in amazement at what Newt had created. It was nothing short of incredible.
But the only inhabitants he found were the creatures.
A chill wind pricked at his skin. Graves turned, and saw a gap in the sky, as if a piece of reality itself had folded back. There was a strange buzzing in the back of his head that he recognised as an intense concentration of magic. Auror's instinct drew him onwards. It felt as if he was being pulled inside the doorway.
The frozen waste beyond was bare - save for one thing. His mouth fell open at the sight. An obscurus. A cloud of constantly shifting darkness. It looked wrong to his eyes. Like a tear in the world itself. The only thing that kept it from expanding and swallowing up the room and the suitcase and everything in it was the bubble that contained it. The obscurus pressed against the boundary as if it sensed his presence and was reaching out to him.
He felt drawn forward by an inexorable force. The same force that drew human beings to open flames and the edges of cliffs.
Step by step, closer and closer. And the obscurus moved, too, shifting forwards and pressing against the bubble. He could feel the buzzing under his skin and hear a strange whispering. It sounded like a crowded room in the distance.
Even without eyes or ears it was aware of him.
He swallowed and reached out a finger to touch the edge of the bubble. The obscurus surged forwards and enveloped him.
He was aware of the feel of it shifting over him like a cold mist, and the next instant, his own perception was gone. He was hit by a wall of images. A jumble of sights and sounds and feelings that rushed in at once.
A dark room with a single high window and birds that perched on the ledge.
A wooden chair.
The feel of a strap digging into his wrist.
The feel of water in his nose and mouth and burning as he choked. Resurfacing only to be shoved back down again.
The crack of his head against stone tiles.
A dead bird plucked clean of its feathers.
Running, running, running until his lungs burned. Incoherent screaming.
A forest.
The unstable reflection of a child staring back at him from a stagnant pool of water. A thin, pinched face dark with bruises.
Then the thing had passed over and through him. He staggered backwards and almost fell. The pressure of his skin was unbearable and his own heartbeat felt foreign. He drew in deep lungfuls of cold air.
The obscurus was now behind him, still shifting, still observing. It had been like a shark nudging a swimmer in the water, more out of curiosity than hunger. As if it had sensed his discomfort.
Graves realised they were more than impressions. They were memories. So vivid that they felt like his own, though he knew none of it had happened to him. He recognized nothing in them, save for the boy in the reflection.
"Newt..." he said aloud.
As if summoned, there were footsteps behind him.
"Step back." He had never heard that tone of command before.
Graves turned and raised his hands.
Newt stood in the doorway. He looked rain-damp and disheveled with mud on the edges of his coat and his hair dripping. There was no politeness left in his face. He just stared Graves down with his hands tucked deep in his pockets and shoulders hunched like some awkward vulture.
"Step back," he repeated.
Graves put more distance between himself and the obscurus which was still shifting.
"Did it hurt you?" Newt asked in a gentler tone.
Graves cleared his throat and spoke: "No. I don't think it wanted to hurt me. I was looking for you... I saw..." Graves tried to form words for what it was that he'd seen. He was still trying to process the feeling. "Where have you been? Why didn't you tell me you have an obscurus in your care? I was worried."
Newt looked at the floor.
"I was visiting an old friend who might be able to help Credence. I - I rather lost track of the time, I'm sorry. We should get back."
Newt was not good at deflection. Graves pointed to the sentient cloud of darkness hovering between them.
"And that?"
"Picquery knows," said Newt, "But I didn't tell her everything."
"You didn't tell me everything either. Did you?" said Graves.
"I told you that I knew it was possible for an obscurus to survive outside its host, but I never told you how."
He let out a shaking breath. The obscurus hovered closer to Newt, resting alongside him but never quite touching, and billowing softly against the edges of its prison. At certain angles it almost appeared friendly, even beautiful, in the way a jellyfish was beautiful.
"Newt..." said Graves, "What are you saying?"
"It's mine," he said.
"You mean you were... Like Credence."
"Similar, yes. I can't stand to watch him - I know the measures are necessary, but it just - it reminds me."
"How do you...?" Graves asked.
"Do magic?" Newt supplied. "I have control over it now. I can do almost anything except a Patronus charm. But Dementors can't do much to me anyway."
There was only silence and the cold wind. Graves had many questions and none of them he wanted to know the answers to. He didn't want to think of the boy he had seen.
Newt's gaze darted towards the obscurus. His expression had grown cool and distant. He continued talking as if he wanted to fill the space.
"I suppose it's why I've always preferred animals to people. I owe a debt to Professor Dumbledore... he helped me. When I talked to him today he seemed optimistic. Maybe he could help Credence. He knows more than anyone about separating soul from body..."
Graves said nothing.
Newt turned away, back through the doorway, and Graves followed after like a dog on a leash. He moved through each of the habitats, stopping one by one to feed and greet the animals, who ran to him. His movements were a ritual. His mind was a thousand miles elsewhere and untouchable.
At last, he moved back inside, and Graves followed after. Newt tugged off his coat and hung it up. He pottered around, moving papers and pencils with an air of distraction.
He still had not looked back.
"I expect you'll want nothing to do with me," he said as if he'd rehearsed it a hundred times, "Don't worry. I'll help on the case, as much as I can, and then I won't bother you anymore. I'm planning to head to Australia, there's a creature called a bunyip that I want to find..."
He had already turned away and had stepped onto the first rung of the ladder.
Graves approached with soft steps. One, two, three, four. He stopped an arm's length away. If there was anything he had learned from Newt, it was that people - like creatures - liked to be greeted on their own terms.
"You don't have to go," said Graves, "You could stay."
He was itching to reach out and touch.
"Why?" said Newt, finally turning around.
Graves swallowed. "Because... because we need your help. You're a brilliant expert, Newt, you're one of the smartest and kindest people I know. The department needs you. I need you. We work well together, don't we?"
"Aren't you angry?" Newt's eyes darted to his face and then away again.
"A bit," he answered, "But mostly I'm worried about you. I'd miss you if you left."
A bitter smile crossed Newt's face. "You don't mean that." It occurred to Graves that Newt believed that. He was convinced that nobody cared.
"I do mean it," said Graves, placing a hand on Newt's shoulder. Just resting lightly. Even that felt like a risk and he saw Newt's eyes widen. "Please. I want to help."
Newt shut his eyes for a moment, as if he found the contact painful. He looked at Graves and it was the first time he'd made eye contact.
"This isn't something you nor I can fix," he said, "It's contained, not cured."
"No, I can't fix it," Graves murmured, "Perhaps I can cheer you up. You've done so much for me, at least let me return the favour."
He approached Newt slowly, carefully, as one would a skittish animal. Reached out a hand to tilt his chin up and look at him. Finally he could see that Newt was just as devastated at the prospect of leaving as he was. If only he had an excuse to stay.
"Just a favour," he said, "You can take it or leave it."
His fingers brushed Newt's jaw and travelled across his cheek. He was sure that at any moment the man would flee. But he didn't.
Graves crossed the distance between them and cradled Newt's face between his hands and kissed him. It was the barest, softest brush of lips. It was all that he dared. Then he drew away to give him space. Newt let out a sigh.
His eyes had closed and Graves took advantage of the moment just to drink in all the details of his face and commit them to memory. The shape of his brow and the soft line of his lashes against his cheek and the flush that had come to his lips.
A second later Newt surged forwards and kissed him back. It took him by surprise with the force of it. He stumbled backwards and flailed with one hand to grip at the ladder.
All of a sudden he had an armful of Newt Scamander. There was a warm body pressed against him and thin fingers moving through his hair and pulling him closer. Newt kissed him as if he was dying of thirst.
Graves touched his hair and urged him to slow down. For a moment his shoulders relaxed and he was lost in it.
At last he had to pull away and they separated just to get some air. Newt was flushed and gasping and even more dishevelled. It was a sight he could get used to.
"You're very persuasive," said Newt. "I think I'll stay for a while."
Graves couldn't help the smile that bloomed across his face. "I'd miss you." He brushed some of the droplets out of Newt's hair and felt him shiver.
"You need to warm up," said Graves, "Coffee or tea? I'm buying this time."
"You're good but not that good," said Newt, "The answer will always be tea." He took his hand with a shy smile and they ascended together.