Chapter Text
How could he have been so stupid?
A mistake. And a colossal one at that.
He had been too impatient, too desperate. It had been so close after all.
Percival Graves was the Director of Magical Security, Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the descendent of one of the original Aurors of MACUSA. Currently, he is known as the traitor Percival Graves, and a follower of Gellert Grindelwald.
Additionally, he wasn’t exactly known for his patience either.
The New Salem boy had been a special case; Percival had seen many cases in his career as an Auror. Humans - wizards and no-maj alike are cruel, twisted beings. Abuse victims and domestic violence like those of the Barebone family weren’t uncommon, but never had Percival encountered an Obscurial. Failings of the system, perhaps - something Percival was very much aware of, as an employee of said system and bitterly resents - or just cruel fate.
His anger had taken hold of him, and it was ugly. Percival knew of his temper, his aggression, and he’d taken it out on Credence undeservedly. He wasn’t going to admit it out loud that soon though - pride of an high-standing official perhaps, but the words he said were truth, even if they were uncalled for. He had thought the boy a squib, unteachable, and of no significance other than a useful informant, but oh, was he so, so wrong.
Percival had met with Grindelwald a few times. Once while chasing after the man; second after he was captured and… persuaded; third for his first mission from the man himself. Percival Graves may be an Auror, but he had shared some ideas with Grindelwald. The amount of injustice done to their people, wizards, all in favour of the no-maj, those who sought to persecute them for who they were.
The dark wizard had given him good reasons, convincing and enthralling speeches, accompanied by ideas and plans that were plausible enough for the seasoned Auror to acknowledge and be lured into. When the wizard told him of his vision of a powerful child and had sent him on his way back to MACUSA, Percival had thought that this would be the key to making change for wizards, for all of them. He would be doing things for the greater good.
When Tina Goldstein, promising and so kind-hearted, attacked the New Salem matriarch, she had done him a generous favour. While she wasn’t aware of the boy’s power, Percival was - even if he'd mistaken him for a squib -and he’d used that as an advantage. While information on Obscurials were few and buried deep because people did not enjoy learning of the dark side of history, Percival knew enough about the conditions needed for one to develop.
And the New Salem Philanthropic Society was the best possible environment for it.
However, even if Percival was keen on bringing greatness for his fellow wizards, which, as Grindelwald would say - to bring them out of the shadows - he was not unkind. Credence had his sympathies; he was an earnest, innocent boy with the misfortune of being taken in by an abusive no-maj with no compassion for the ‘unnatural’. Every time he healed the boy's scars, soothed the boy’s whimpers, he did feel for him. The no-maj woman was mad, and their Statute of Secrecy was the only thing protecting that vile woman. Credence was a victim of the injustice that he was fighting against after all, and the reason why Percival had chosen to follow Grindelwald. Perhaps, if they had met in different circumstances…
Well, no use worrying about it now.
Credence was gone. Killed by the fool Aurors and even more foolish Madam President who had no idea what they'd done. Newt Scamander and his pesky creatures may have incapacitated him, but Percival was an accomplished Auror. While being without his wand may have crippled him in offensive and defensive magic, no tricks or properties of a beast could hold him for long, so it didn’t take much for him to escape his Auror escorts and Disapparate.
First, he Apparated into a small bunker, hidden away from prying eyes of both no-maj and magical alike. His hideout for a rainy day like this (which, ironically, is still raining thanks to Scamander’s Thunderbird) held his needed supplies of potions and spare wands. Losing his wand wasn’t exactly common, but it was bound to happen in his line of work, especially after losing a couple from vicious battles with dark wizards in his time as an Auror. Nothing would feel the same to his original wand, though, Percival thought ruefully.
Then, to contact Grindelwald… Would sending an owl be a good idea? He doubted it. He’d need to procure a couple of proxies first or even a portkey to get further into hiding. The plan was to get the Obscurial, bring them to their side and whisk him off to Europe where Grindelwald was. That plan had been obliterated, along with Credence. The thought brought a slight ache to his chest.
But what can he do now? His mission had failed, and he was exposed. Laying low for a while would do good… A long, long while.
Percival sighed, sinking to the only chair aside from the single bed, desk and a couple of cupboards in the tiny room. He ran his hands over his face, still damp from the rain and sweat.
Credence… Damn, he really messed up.
The boy didn’t deserve his fate at all. Someone that powerful could have changed their world. If only Percival had held onto his patience just a little longer and not let those venomous words escape his lips. The betrayal and anger in the young man’s expression were unforgettable, seared into his memory. At that time he had been too impatient to think much of it, but… But it was the power that came after - that overwhelming magic that came in the form of black-red smoke, sweeping everything in its path away - that made him truly shudder.
He recalled the moments as the kinetic mass towered over him, ready to consume but yet hesitant, a clear sign of Credence’s conscience. Perhaps he was still aware, still fearful despite his overwhelming power, or maybe, he still held some feelings for him? If only that Magizoologist wasn’t there, or Tina - if it were just the two of them in that subway, Credence would’ve been by his side this very moment. He would have protected that precious, immense, uncontrollable power to the best of his abilities. Something as powerful as that won’t come by again so easily.
He gritted his teeth in frustration, angry at himself and at how things had turned out. If he were given a second chance, maybe he could set things right by the boy, and properly get the grand plan to work…
And then - his necklace warmed.
His necklace in the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, a copy given to him by Grindelwald. But this wasn’t connected to the dark wizard. This was -
Percival snatched up a spare wand and Disapparated.
--+--
He shuddered and sobbed, breath coming and going in desperate rasps. It was hard to breathe in between his tears and panting, unable to get a good grip on the very act of breathing itself. He had only managed to gather himself, hidden away in the shadows of an abandoned shelter in the outskirts of the city.
Weakened and in pain, Credence collapsed against the rough concrete floor, uncaring of the filth. Rats skittered and hid away from him, leaving him completely alone. The shelter was small, full of holes in its roof with the rain gently showering over him and filling the cracked floors with puddles.
Credence closed his eyes and prayed. He prayed for it all to be another nightmare, another image conjured by the Devil to torture him as Ma would always say. He hoped that the betrayal by the one man he fully trusted was but an illusion. He wanted to hear that kind Englishman’s voice again. He wanted to see that warm, kind lady - witch - who saved him from a beating before. Was it all just a dream and he was going crazy?
No, of course not. All this suffering was thanks to him and the darkness he’d so desperately tried to keep inside. Ma was dead, and so was Chastity. What of Modesty? She was the only one whom he could really call family, and he had betrayed her too. He was no different than that man - the wizard with the steely eyes and the imposing presence, the powerful and alluring voice that tempted him, the one he respectfully called Mister Graves - for betraying her trust and involved her in all this. A wrecked sob escaped his throat as Credence curled up in foetal position, shivering from the unforgiving cold.
A glint of something shiny in his hand caught his eye. A triangular trinket, familiar and was once something that would comfort him after every beating. Mister Graves had given it to him, his body and voice so close. And to think it was all a lie made him so ashamed of his foolish, gullible self. He wanted it all to go away. He wanted to disappear, along with the destructive creature that resided in him.
In his desperation, Credence held the trinket close to his heart and thumbed along its shape, murmuring prayers like one would with a rosary.
“Credence?”
Credence’s eyes snapped open and he shrunk back. He felt the creature inside slither, weak but still volatile. It was ready to pounce on whoever was out there.
A figure stepped into the shelter from the only doorway. The familiar, recognizable shape of it made Credence gasp, eyes wide and pressed himself into the corner, as if hoping the shadows would swallow him whole.
“No, no, no, please,” Credence whispered, pleading to the figure as it came closer. “Leave me, please.”
“Credence, shh shh, it’s okay,” the man’s voice was soothing. Lies , Credence reminded himself. The older man stopped himself and knelt before him, palms open in a bid of a friendly, non-hostile gesture. The man looked rumpled, out of place, a little haggard, despite his full attire of his lavish coat and scarf. Not the sleek and proper Mister Graves he was used to. “Credence. I owe you an apology.”
Credence said nothing, wild-eyed as he looked around for an escape route. He caught sight of the slight furrow of the other man's brow and whimpered, as if expecting a blow. The hit from his former hero figure did not go forgotten. Never will.
“Credence, listen to me,” Mister Graves said again, voice low, quiet, and almost pleading. “I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I shouldn't have hit you. I shouldn't have said all of those words.”
Credence didn't dare to move, but he had little to focus on other than Mister Graves’ voice. He tried not to listen, not wanting to be fooled by his treachery again.
“I'm sorry for what I've said,” Mister Graves continued, “You… you're a miracle, Credence. I've been searching for you. You helped me look for the child I spoke of but it was you all along. I was a fool for not seeing it. You really are special, Credence.”
Mister Graves inched closer, but the hiss of the Obscurus kept the man at a reasonable distance. He continued speaking, voice calm, expression softer now, as if understanding.
“I'm so sorry, Credence. Give me a second chance. Let me make it right. Please,” he added. Slowly, he held out his hand. Credence stared at it, still breathing heavily, panicking but just a little calmer. His eyes darted from the offered palm to the man's face, looking deep into his eyes.
“You hit me,” Credence whispered, hating how broken he sounded. Mister Graves’ face fell, and he looked ashamed.
“Yes, I know. I was desperate and I… no, it doesn't excuse my actions. I've done you great wrong, Credence. I want to make up for it, if you allow me. Let me help you. I know you can prove me wrong, show me how powerful and special you are, Credence. I want to see it, and truly, I want the same for you.”
They were the same words as before. Lies, lies, the creature hissed furiously, but Credence was so tired and confused. The face before him was kind, none of the viciousness and anger before. He had no one else, anyway. Where was the man with the red hair and kind voice? Where was the witch who saved him and protected him not once but twice?
“Credence, please,” Mister Graves was so quiet, desperate and pleading now. It stirred something in him, and the creature made a strange sound, as if puzzled and unsure. “I need you.”
Those words, however, left Credence in a heaving sob as he crumbled forward, crying into the dirt.
It was pathetic how a few words left him like that. To be - needed?
Credence half wanted to shove the man away and the other half wanted to take the man's hand, grasp it and pray into it, desperate for any offer of chances.
“Shhh,” he heard Mister Graves say, followed by hands over his back and enveloping into an embrace. The same pair of hands that were always so soft, so large and warm and affectionate, but yet had harmed him once, burning both his body and soul.
“Thank you, Credence. I won't make the same mistake again,” Mister Graves murmured, full of promise, something Credence was so afraid to believe in, but unable to turn away from. With that, Credence felt the tug of magic and felt his body pulled away.
--+--
Percival was given a second chance. An opportunity to right his wrongs and redeem himself from his blunder.
Credence.
The boy was truly a miracle.
A wonderful, powerful miracle.
When he saw Credence again, huddled in the shadows of an abandoned shelter he had tracked him to, he could already sense the Obscurus from the doorway. True, it was severely weakened, but with the proof right before him, Percival was sure the boy could regain his strength and return to his peak if given the time.
And Percival will be there to teach him, guide him like he'd promised, despite it being a lie before.
Now the boy was in deep sleep, clearly exhausted and the Side-along Apparition to his hideout did the young man's current state no favours. He'd passed out from the side effects, but it was good for Percival. The boy didn’t rouse or resist while he cleaned him up and put him to bed.
The room felt cramped now, quite claustrophobic due to the extra body taking up the small space, but he could charm the room bigger later. He himself was too exhausted by the day's events, physically and mentally. Shrugging off his heavy coat and scarf, Percival slid down to the floor by the bed, eyes settling on Credence’s sleeping form.
Percival had been truthful; when he pleaded to Credence, that was real. Or as real as it could be. He still had the plans to follow through with, but he did need Credence and he wanted to correct his mistake. Percival was a shrewd, prideful man, but he knew when he was wrong, no matter how much he hated to admit it. And he was the sort to correct such wrongs.
And this was Credence, the longest living known Obscurial, whose power ravaged half of New York and would have killed him easily if it wanted. Weakened but unstable, and showing little to no signs of its existence but Percival won't fall to his foolishness and impatience again. To have that kind of power right beside him, hidden in a young, nearly broken man… he had to be careful and he had to tread lightly. Who knows what would happen if he set the boy off again.
The former Auror shuddered at the thought of the parasitic magic. The way it hissed and slithered and spread its tendrils like a tentacled demon. The way it consumed and destroyed everything, like a black hole capable of sucking the life out of everything in its path. The shadow of Credence's conscience screaming within it as Percival had first spoken to it in an attempt to appeal to the boy had given him chills. That was the first time he felt such fear and awe and wonder. Not even Grindelwald, the most powerful dark wizard Percival had encountered and put him through torture had invoked such raw emotions.
His dark, tired eyes settled over Credence, studying. This boy, with his deathly white skin and hollowed cheeks, healed scars and fresh scabs over the palm of his fragile hands. Chapped, almost blue lips, with dark sunken shadows around his eyes, red from fatigue and tears. But otherwise, beautiful. That New Salem woman had scarred the boy under his clothes, but was careful not to show any other signs of her brand of maternal love on the young man’s face. Perhaps she saw the blessing of God’s beauty on the boy that even she couldn’t deny, and had to refrain from blemishing that perfect face. Who knows how the no-maj think. She was crazy anyway.
But how could he have known?
How could anyone have expected this? Did that woman know? Was that why she focused all her hatred on Credence? That was her error, thinking she could stamp it down, keep it repressed. She had unknowingly stoked the fire within the boy and now that fire had become a blazing inferno. The consequences of her fallacy would be a reminder for Percival. He’d remembered how mutilated the corpses were at the church. Truly, a force to be reckoned with. And to admire.
Percival found himself tucking the boy's disheveled hair behind his ear. An unusual, intimate and sincere gesture he barely ever acted on.
But he had been gentle with the boy all this while, had he not? Kind and patient with Credence, always having to talk slow and careful, using soft words to calm the young man’s soul and with feather light touches to dry his tears. It may have been a pretence before, but…
Percival chuckled tiredly to himself and settled by the bed. He was too exhausted for this that he was becoming sentimental. The bed was too small to fit and Percival didn’t want to wake Credence.
For now, they were allowed to rest. When the next dawn comes they can start a new slate.
Percival closed his eyes. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.
--+--
Credence woke with a jolt, a scream dying in his throat as he gasped for breath. The unrecognizable room he was in left him scrambling back, only for it to be met by a wall. His chest heaved, his heart still pounding. Where was he…?
Mister Graves?
Memories poured in. The man had found him, asked - pleaded - for a second chance, and brought him there with magic. But he couldn’t remember what happened after passing out from nausea.
He looked down and his clothes were still his own but he felt cleaner, with less grime and sweat, but the nausea was still there. In one of his hands, the triangular pendant remained. Automatically, his fingers curled around it, unsure whether to throw it away or keep it close.
Credence searched the room but realized he was alone. Not a trace of Mister Graves, other than the familiar coat and blue scarf thrown carelessly over a desk chair. The room he was in was quite large, apparently fitted for two. With a door across the bed slightly ajar and what appears to be the bathroom. It seemed to be empty of anyone else's presence.
He shuddered from an imaginary breeze and brought the blanket on him to cover his shoulders, comforted by the warmth it offered. Credence was still confused and exhausted to really think over everything, but for now he just wanted to hide and cocoon himself in the bed. He prayed that Mister Graves wouldn’t come back from wherever he was so soon.
He didn’t want to be hit. Not again.
Credence caught sight of a wisp of smoke coming from him and closed his eyes, afraid. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it.
But what is going to happen now? Why didn’t I just die?
Credence sniffled.
Then he heard the sound of a loud crack, followed by the thump of feet hitting the ground.
“Credence?”
He didn’t dare move, other than a timid peek over the covers. Mister Graves was without his coat, leaving just his shirt and vest. It was the most casual Credence had seen him.
“You hungry?” the man asked, avoiding eye contact. He had a paper bag of bread and fruit in his arms. Credence willed himself to nod, feeling how dry his lips and throat were. Mister Graves placed an apple on the bed and placed the rest at the dining table Credence didn’t notice before.
Carefully, Credence took the bright red fruit and began to eat, as quietly as he could. The man continued to ignore him, though there was a sense of awkwardness that was strange. Credence could never associate that with the man before, but it felt as if the man was quite determined not to face him as if he didn't know what else to say and didn't want to embarrass himself.
Once Credence was done with his apple he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, more comfortable and relaxed now that his stomach wasn't empty, while Mister Graves disappeared into the kitchen, which, again, Credence hadn’t noticed. Did the wizard just make the formerly small room bigger with magic?
After what seemed like a while, the older man came out with tea, complete with a teapot and teacups and it was such a strange sight that Credence hadn’t realized he was gaping in shock.
A cup of tea was poured and offered to Credence without a word, just a nudge of the cup and a raise of the man’s heavy brows as a silent order to drink. Credence took it quickly and nervously, almost scalding himself in his hurry.
Finally, Mister Graves took the desk chair and sat across him with a sigh.
“How are you feeling, Credence?” Mister Graves asked, their gazes finally meeting.
“B-better, sir,” Credence muttered. Mister Graves’s brows furrowed slightly, just a slight sign of impatience that was enough for Credence to repeat himself, louder this time. “Better.”
“I didn’t mean -” Mister Graves sighed, rubbing at the crease in his brow. He looked tired, much more so than the day before. It had been a day, right? Credence couldn’t tell with the lack of windows in the room. Were they underground?
“I’m… sorry, if I appear more impatient, Credence. It hasn’t been a great week. I’m sure you can relate to that,” the man admitted, in which Credence responded with a slow nod. “Truthfully, I’m not known to be a patient man. But I pro-” the man stopped at his almost promise and chose his words carefully. “I won’t hurt you again. We do, however, need to start on some things. Are you following me so far, boy?”
Credence stared at him, eyes never left his steely gaze. He sounded stilted, as if he wasn’t used to speaking like this, and Credence thought that maybe this was the most truthful the man had been. His voice was stern, strong, but familiar and similar to the soothing tone he’d used before. It left a pang in Credence’s chest. He hadn’t answered, but Mister Graves showed no impatience this time, no pressing for a response.
“Yes, Mister Graves,” Credence replied, voice still hoarse. His answer seemed to make the older man relax, just a little.
“Good… Come, let’s finish breakfast then we can really talk,” Mister Graves said, sounding more relieved than he must have realized, gingerly placing a hand over Credence’s shoulder. Credence stiffened just a little bit, but it was less of a severe reaction than both of them had expected. The wizard withdrew his hand anyway, conjuring up a second seat for Credence at the dining table, where they had a quiet breakfast.
At least this time, the silence wasn’t as awkward.