Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Graves stared down at the red string tied around his pinky finger.

For the first time ever, its trail was showing, and that meant that whoever it was connected to was wandering somewhere around nearby. Although he’d grown indifferent to the whole notion of soulmates and the hysteria that surrounded it, he couldn’t help but watch, completely fascinated, as the string moved on its own. The string’s movements were light, and it provided a sort of ghostly sensation, as if there were actual material brushing against his skin.

It almost felt as if it was pulling him, egging him on to get up out of bed and head out his door. But before he could even consider the thought, the string went still. Graves wondered why. What was the other person doing? Why had he or she stopped?

Would the string move again? Had the person on the other end of the line realized where the string ended? Graves waited, and the string moved slightly for a few minutes before settling once again.

When he was younger, he remembered being fascinated by the concept of strings that tied people together. He’d ask his parents about their strings constantly – did it hurt? Did it ever get tangled? As he’d gotten older, he found the notion of soulmates and symbolic red threads increasingly less interesting. He’d encountered people who were more than happy with someone who they weren’t quite literally attached to, people who hated the person that their string was connected to, and beyond all that, he had pressing responsibilities which left him with little time or energy to spend on someone else.

And yet, despite years of indifference, Graves couldn’t quite bring himself to go to sleep. He lifted his left hand and watched as the red string rose along with the gesture, then slowly, he reached over with his right hand and gently picked up the string using his thumb and index finger. He tugged at it weakly and waited. Would the other person tug back? Had the other owner even felt the gesture at all?

Nothing happened, and Graves felt oddly disappointed despite the fact that he still didn’t quite know what he wanted out of this whole situation. He tugged at the string again, childishly so, and yet again, there was no ensuing response.

He didn’t know how long he’d been staring at the thread before he’d fallen asleep, but when he woke up in the morning, the string around his finger was once more a closed loop.

---

If he really wanted to, Graves knew that he could find out who was living in room 304. The simplest thing to do was to knock, but having no intentions of coming up with plans for a direct approach, he refused that option. Majority of the people living in his building were snobbish, moneyed Purebloods, and he grew nauseous at the thought of his life being intertwined with any of them. Of course, surely there were some respectable neighbors, but Graves was not particularly inclined towards chit chat and testing his luck. After all, he had surely spent an entire lifetime’s worth of luck on the forces of nature that had made Grindelwald decide not to kill him immediately.

He’d considered writing his sister about the matter but decided against it. Knowing her, she’d somehow make things worse. Talking to his colleagues certainly wasn’t an option either. He didn’t need them to take an interest in his personal life. He’d seen the results of the awful blind dates they’d set each other up on, and nearly half had ended with howlers being sent to their office. So, after ruling out all possible confidants, Graves decided that he’d have to tackle the matter on his own.

He wasn’t one to shy away from confrontations, but it wasn’t like talking to another person about a soul bond was a particularly easy issue. There was a whole other person he had to consider. Misguided romantics would try whisking away their bonded ones, and more often than not, charges of attempted kidnapping would be filed soon afterward.

And so, while he was well aware that his preference towards inaction could be considered as unromantic and cowardly, it was clearly the right choice. After all, it couldn’t be ignored that whoever was tied to him hadn’t bothered to seek him out either, and it was highly unlikely that the person he was tied to didn’t realize that he was nearby. Most people received at least a rudimentary education on what the strings meant, and so, barring the unlikelihood of some sort of unnatural hindrance, whoever he was connected to surely had his or her own reasons for not wanting to meet, and Graves could respect that.

Though, when he was particularly bored or idle at work, Graves couldn’t help himself from wondering what those reasons were. But then someone would burst into his office or something would explode and then there’d be no need or time for those thoughts at all.  

---

Today was clearly one of those days, occasions in which the universe had decided that it was the best time to mess around with Percival Graves. As he tried to salvage his still burning toast, Graves realized that it’d been naïve for him to think that life would leave him alone after allowing for a psychotic madman to steal his life for a few months. He was absolutely sure that by the time he got to the office, there would be a mound of paperwork on his desk, and at least two of his Aurors would’ve already spilt coffee on someone or something.

He was just going to have to go without a proper breakfast and medicate with caffeine in order to get himself through the day. With a flick of his wrist, Graves disposed of his toast’s charred remains and made a quick magical summon for his wristwatch – which didn’t come.

Graves paused. He’d seen it on his nightstand when he’d woken up. He picked up his wand and summoned for it again, only to garner the same result. As soon as he’d taken a step in the direction of his bedroom, something clattered loudly to the floor just as someone knocked on the door.

“Excuse me! I think –“

A greyish figure burst out from his corridor, and Graves tightened his grip on his wand and ducked behind the nearby table. And while some strange creature was running around his apartment, the person at his door was banging at his door. “Excuse me! I think something of mine has made it into your –“

The creature came out from underneath his sofa, practically wrapped in his sister’s jewelry, and Graves lunged for it immediately. It let out a squeak and attempted to wriggle away, but he kept his grip firm and hugged it close to his chest. He looked down at the animal and recognized it immediately to be a Niffler.

It looked up at him innocently despite his glare. It was practically docile in his arms, acting as if it hadn’t just ransacked his apartment in its search for shiny things. But before he could give it a quick shake, the continued banging on his door reminded Graves that there was someone calling for his attention. Graves kept a tight hold on the Niffler and used his free hand to gesture for the door to unlock and for him to see who’d been knocking.

“I just need to see if –“ the person paused, and Graves held out the Niffler.

“Is this yours?”

“Yes, but – yes, well,” the person swallowed, as if to collect himself. “It’s mine, and it must have something of yours as well.” He held out his hands to take the Niffler from Graves, and it was at that moment that Graves noticed the tiny red string tied around the other man’s pinky finger. He glanced at his own outstretched hand, then back at the other man’s.

They were tied to each other.

“I’m sorry that we’re meeting like this Mr. Graves, I had hoped that I would properly get to meet you under better circumstances, but it seems like –“

Graves drew his hands back self-consciously, but the hurried gesture tugged on the string tied to the other’s hand, which in turn made him briefly loosen his grip on the Niffler. Although the other man hadn’t completely let go, Graves reacted immediately and reached out to grab it.

“I’m sorry about this. The Niffler comes off as a difficult creature at first, though…” The man paused. It seemed that he had finally caught sight of Graves’ left hand. “Oh.”

Graves swallowed hard. He hadn’t felt this awkward in a long time. He looked at the Niffler, which seemed to have stopped squirming, and wondered if it could sense the tension in the atmosphere. He had no clue about what people were supposed to say in these situations, and so he said the first thing that came to mind.

“I need to go to work.”

Not allowing for the other man to get a word in, he made a strategic retreat and walked away. If he were a weaker man, he probably would’ve run.

---

“You look like death.”

Graves didn’t bother to look up. There were only two people who could say such things to him, and the other was still wandering around in Paris. “I wasn’t aware that you had signed me up to be the director of a beauty pageant.”

His reply went ignored. “Maybe you’d lighten up if you started taking your coffee with Giggle water instead of milk.” Seraphina sat down across him and primly folded her hands over her lap. He could feel her eyes boring into him, and with a sigh, he set down his quill.

“What is it?”

“I heard there was a disturbance in your building.” She paused. “What happened?”

Graves reached for his coffee. “Why, are you worried that you’re speaking to a second replacement of Percival Graves?” he asked. Although he felt little remaining bitterness over the fact that no one had figured out Grindelwald’s trickery, at times, there was a slight sting that would re-emerge at inopportune moments. He let out a tired sigh and tried to make his tone light. “Something broke into my apartment. It’s been taken care of.”

“Something, not someone?”

“A Niffler,” he supplied. “It helped itself to my personal belongings, and it seems that it belongs to my neighbor.”

“Mr. Scamander?”

Graves paused. Suddenly, things made sense. He’d been trying to place the man’s face the whole morning, and now he knew why the other had looked so familiar. He opened his drawer, pulled out a case file, and rifled through its contents until he found a photo of the man. At the sight of him, he could almost feel the string around his finger tighten.

“Knowing the man’s penchant for causing trouble, I suppose I shouldn’t have allowed for him to be given a residence beside yours.” Seraphina rose from her seat, “I’ll have him moved, and do file the necessary paperwork if you need something reimbursed.”

“Wait.”

Seraphina raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“There’s no need to move Mr. Scamander.”

He could see on Seraphina’s face that she was surprised, but before either of them could say anything further, the door to Graves’ office opened and a secretary reminded Seraphina of her two o’clock meeting. It was a brief reprieve, but Graves used the opportunity to put his case files away. As soon as the door was shut, Seraphina gave Graves a look. It was the same one she had used frequently in Ilvermorny, whenever she was annoyed and amused by him at the same time.

“Do tell me the next time something or someone tries to break into your house. My tender feelings get hurt whenever I have to hear about you secondhand.” Seraphina said dryly as she turned to leave the room. “And I hope that you seriously consider my advice about the Giggle water, with Mr. Scamander as your neighbor, I feel like you’ll need it.”

---

The next day, Graves found Mr. Scamander waiting for him at his office. He paid him the magizoologist no attention as he passed by but was more than distracted by the other’s mere presence. He ended up barely listening as his secretary Marjorie ran over his schedule for the day and had only paid enough attention to know that the magizoologist had scheduled a meeting. Marjorie was blindingly enthusiastic in the morning, and she personally brought Mr. Scamander into the room, completely unaware of the underlying tensions between the two men. She excused herself with a smile and left the two alone.

Mr. Scamander’s eyes hardly lifted off the floor, but Graves said nothing. They sat across each other in awkward silence, and Graves distantly wondered if it would be possible to get rid of all the magazines that had claimed that meeting one’s bonded was an easy, natural process. Clearly such writing was misinforming the public, and the people of America deserved the truth.

“Good morning.”

Graves startled, he hadn’t expected the other man to speak quite so soon. “Good morning.” He replied mechanically, a conditioned response that came from years of being on the receiving end of his mother’s lectures on politeness.  “Can I offer you some coffee?”

Mr. Scamander smiled slightly, “I’m quite alright Mr. Graves.” He reached into the pocket of his blue coat and placed a box upon the desk between them. “I do believe these items are yours. If anything is missing, please let me know.”

He reached for the box then paused. It was strange to see the red string attached to his finger trail in the direction of another person. He lifted his hand slightly, and he watched as it moved. He rested his hand upon the box, sighed, and fixed his eyes upon the man across him.

“I owe you an apology for my behavior yesterday.” At that, the magizoologist looked up, as if he hadn’t been expecting one. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do.” The admission was difficult. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said anything similar to “I don’t know” but it was something that had to be done. He’d mastered the art of pretending to know things; it was part of the job description, but at times like this, Graves knew that there was no other approach that he could live with.

They were more or less strangers, and their relationship was one founded on whatever bad memories Mr. Scamander had of Grindelwald’s impression of him and the uncertainty of soulbonds. Since they were placed in such a precarious state, there was no point in complicating things further with lies. In fact, if Mr. Scamander wanted to be on the first ship back to England, Graves couldn’t blame him.

“What do you propose we do about,” Graves lifted his hand, “This issue?” He glanced at the report on his desk, an immigration report that Marjorie had the good sense of placing atop his other files. “According to this, you’ll be here for only a month.”

“I can stay longer.” Mr. Scamander replied instantly, “My schedule is…flexible? Of course I can’t be in New York all the while, but, if we want to try something – or well, anything, I can delay my return to England.”

“You’ll need to file the paperwork.” The words were out before he could stop himself, and Graves cringed. Perhaps his sister was right. He needed a vacation – a long one, and one as far away from the United States of America as possible. He risked a glance at Mr. Scamander, who luckily, didn’t seem annoyed by his comment. “I’m sorry –“

“No need for apologies Mr. Graves.”

“In any case,” he cleared his throat. “I suppose we can start with introductions.” He held out his right hand, “Percival Graves, director of Magical Security. You can feel free to call me Percival.” Hardly anyone outside of Seraphina and his sister addressed him as such, but Mr. Scamander didn’t need to know about that. If they were each other’s bonded, he’d need to at least try to make things more casual between them.

“Newton Scamander, magizoologist, but do call me Newt.”

They shook hands, and looking at the relatively peaceful expression on his face, Graves had to ask, “Are you not worried?” He gestured to the two of them with his left hand, the red string swaying as he did so. “Does this arrangement not bother you?’

Newt gave him a small smile, hardly more than a little quirk of the lips, but it was enough to somehow calm Graves’ pacing nerves. “My philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice, so no, I’m not particularly worried.”

---

Their agreement is simple and almost scientific. As Graves recalled the details, considering how professional they’d been about the whole thing, it was a wonder that they hadn’t ended up inking up a contract. Their arrangement was simple – they were to discreetly spend the next few months getting to know each other, and if things didn’t work out, they’d leave things at that and go their separate ways.

If only things had been so easy in his professional life. Work had been slow. He’d been questioned over matters considering Grindelwald again , and it’d been a drawn out and toxic process that was made even worse by the fruitlessness of it all. What did he remember? Next to nothing, he’d been incapacitated. Why had Grindelwald impersonated him? Anyone’s guess was good as any.

Just going over the day’s events made him feel ill, and by the time Graves made it to the restaurant he’d agreed to meet Newt at, the desire to go back home and sleep through the rest of his life was looking incredibly tempting. He’d been the one to choose the place, a somewhat rundown little establishment that was right beside a No-Maj speakeasy. It was a quiet place, and no one ever bothered him there, which was why it was a favorite of his.

He took a table beside the window and glanced at his wristwatch. Newt was late. Graves ordered a drink and tried to ignore that fact. It’d been a while since he’d gone on a proper date, and he’d forgotten about the little anxieties that came with wanting someone to actually like him for longer than an evening. He distracted himself by looking at the other patrons and thinking about things at work, but his patience had his limits. He checked his watch again.

Newt was more than an hour late.

Graves paid for his drink quickly, annoyed at himself and at Newt. No one knew that MACUSA’s director of Magical Security had just been stood up, but that didn’t make the matter any less embarrassing. Dozens of thoughts ran through his head, one of which was the idea that he should just have a certain Scamander deported back to England. However, before that thought could really take off, he noticed a familiar figure in a blue coat.

“Percival!”

He froze in shock – not because he was pleased to see Newt, but more out of mortification that someone who was not his sister had called him Percival in public. The magizoologist closed the distance between them, and up closer, it was then that Graves noticed the overall disarray of the other’s appearance. It looked like he’d been swept up in a tornado.

Several thoughts came to mind, the most prominent of which being that it would’ve been easy to start a fight right then and there. After all, his ego was still somewhat bruised, Newt Scamander was the first person to have ever kept him waiting like that, and surely laws of society would be on his side. It was rude to be tardy. He reprimanded his aurors for tardiness constantly. But, none of his aurors were Newt Scamander. As he studied Newt’s freckles under the streetlight, Graves realized two things. First, that he was thankful for his good eyesight; and second, that he was perhaps more shallow than he’d thought.

“You’re late.” It was an obvious fact, but nothing better had come to mind. “Why is that?”

“It’s a long story, and I wonder if it would be wise for me to confess all of it to an officer of the law.” Newt replied. Graves raised an eyebrow, and the magizoologist offered him a crooked smile. “The Niffler got out again.”

Graves was silent for a moment, considering whether he was interested in learning more or whether it would be wiser for him to remain ignorant. Unable to fully set aside his duties to the law, he had to ask, “Did you break any laws?”

“None that I know of.”

“I suppose that’ll have to do.” Graves said with a shrug. He glanced at his wristwatch, a habit of his whenever he felt unsure of a situation or of himself, which gave him a short moment to gather his thoughts. “Unfortunately, it’s rather late now, and I have a joint session tomorrow –“

“I can walk you home.”

Graves paused. “You do remember, Mr. Scamander, that we’re neighbors?”

“All the more convenient,” Newt replied. “The walk will be easier for the both of us.”

There really wasn’t any reason for him to say no, and so Graves allowed for Newt to walk beside him. The streets were more or less deserted aside from a few other night owls who were still out and about, and the somewhat stilted conversation between the two did little to liven up their surroundings. Graves wondered if his feelings were normal; if the many others who’d discovered their bonded had also struggled with bringing together the knowledge that this other person was supposedly meant for them, and the reality that they were still just strangers, unaware of how they were actually meant to fit in each other’s lives.

On his part, Graves was aware that he was trying to avoid sounding like he was interrogating Newt, especially since Grindelwald had already done that for him previously. As for Newt, well, Graves suspected that he was trying to project that their entire situation was completely normal. As they walked up the stairs together, Graves wondered if Newt thought of him to be some sort of skittish animal that needed to be calmed down.

“I am sorry that I was late,” Newt said suddenly as they reached their floor. Graves glanced at him, but the other man’s eyes were focused elsewhere. Newt was silent for a few minutes and then suddenly stopped walking. “I’m sorry that I didn’t think of this earlier, but I do think that I should make it up to you.”

“All we need to do is reschedule Mr. Scamander,” Graves paused, realizing that he was being more formal than he liked. “Newt, we can meet another night. How is,” he checked his wristwatch again, “How is tonight?”

Graves didn’t miss the way Newt’s glanced briefly at his suitcase before replying. “Provided that there aren’t any…untoward incidents, I can assure you that I will be arriving on time. Where should we meet?”

“Let’s…” He trailed off. There wasn’t enough time for him to properly consider a place that would suit Newt’s tastes, especially since he didn’t even know what the other liked aside from animals. “You can come over to mine.”

Graves realized belatedly that inviting another person over could be considered too forward for what was really a first date at best, but there was no way out. He’d already spoken. Before he could add anything else, Newt spoke up.

“You can cook?”

“Passably at best, but I won’t let you suffer through it.” Graves gestured to Newt’s suitcase. “In many ways, I suppose my cooking could be considered more dangerous than the worst of what can be found in there.”

Newt’s amused smile grew a little wider at that. “Nothing in my case is truly dangerous, and I’m sure the same can be said for your cooking.”

“My attempt at a pineapple upside-down cake last year sent my sister to the hospital.”

“Well,” Newt replied, “I suppose we can just skip dessert then.”