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.”

Chapter Text

Graves hadn’t realized how terrifying it was to have someone watch him cook until it was too late for him to avoid the situation. Newt, who was settled on a kitchen stool, had suddenly asked him a question. In response, he’d almost chopped off two of his fingers.

“Do you always cook like this?” Newt asked kindly, repeating his question. Graves double checked that he was still in possession of all of his fingers before turning around. Perhaps Newt hadn’t noticed.

“The manual labor is a good distraction.” Graves answered. “But I’ll be taking the easy way out soon enough.” After everything with Grindelwald, cooking without magic had become a better and more sustainable distraction than drinking ill thoughts away. It kept his hands and mind busy, especially when things went awry. Besides, he had his mother’s cookbooks, things that his sister had no interest in and were too valuable to be sold or left to rot.

He’d never had to worry too much about whether he was awful at it before. It was something he did on his own for the most part. But, now, things were different.

Graves glanced at Newt. The other man was idly flipping through a cookbook. “I’ve heard that food tastes better when you don’t know how it’s cooked.”

Newt looked up at that, “I’ve never heard that before.”

“I don’t know what you like to eat.” Graves walked over slowly and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I should’ve asked you beforehand.” He had actually thought of asking, but each time he’d attempted, something or the other had prevented him from doing so, the number one disturbance being Newt’s Niffler.

“Well, I don’t think that there’s anything you’re cooking that I’d find offensive.” Newt smiled for him, a small, shy quirk of his lips that did more to Graves’ heart than it should have. “I know you did warn me about it, but did you make a pineapple upside down cake? I don’t see those in England, but I’ve seen quite a few of them here.”

Graves tilted his head to the side and wondered if that had been an attempt at some sort of joke or if the other man simply lacked self-preservation skills. “Trust me when I say it’s not a good idea Mr. Scamander.”

“Newt.”

“What?”

“I think it’d be best for you to call me Newt, don’t you think?” Newt raised his hand as he gestured between the two of them, and the movement drew Graves’s eyes to the red string that connected them. “If, perhaps, not in public, but since it’s just us here, I think that it would be better if we were to, well –“

The other man was well on his way to rambling, and Graves decided it was best to save him from soaking in any further embarrassment. “I think that’d be a good idea. I’m sorry.” He held out his right hand for Newt to shake. “It’s been a while since I’ve had guests or since I’ve ever really had to…” He paused, wondering how he could best say that he wasn’t very friendly without making himself sounding like a terrible person. “I’m not good with people.”

“I’d say the same for myself.”

Graves couldn’t help but smile at that. It was nice to have common footing, even if it fell into the territory of their weaknesses. Newt’s hand clasped against his as they shook hands, and without their red strings in view, it gave their situation a bit of normalcy. Perhaps things wouldn’t be quite so awful. At the least, they could be two strangers looking to become friends.

Newt’s hand lingered for longer than the usual limit for a handshake, and Graves noticed the way the other’s eyes averted from his when he’d made the same realization. Slowly, so as to avoid causing any misunderstandings, Graves withdrew his hand and slipped it into his pocket. He glanced back at the food he’d left to cook on its own, and when he looked back at Newt, the other was once more reading.

Although they had both returned to what they’d been doing previously, things weren’t quite the same as they’d once been. Perhaps the last few minutes hadn’t meant or caused much, but it was a start.

--

After that one dinner, Newt began to come over on a more regular basis. Sometimes he’d come over to share another meal, or other times, he’d stop by for no particular reason at all. In response to Newt’s decision to start making more visits, Graves had taken to leaving work earlier, and none of his co-workers were as pleased as his secretary Marjorie, who had now begun to start asking if he was seeing someone.

His usual answer was a reminder for her to leave him alone, but he could see in the curious expressions of his aurors – particularly a certain Tina Goldstein – that they were all wondering the same thing. It was a good thing that none of them could hound him to provide a genuine answer because if they could, he really had no clue as to how to explain the situation. In a literal sense, they were seeing each other, but not in the manner that anyone would expect. The visits weren’t much – Newt never seemed to stay long, or well, long enough for Graves’ liking. But he’d never been one to overstep his boundaries, so Graves had never bothered to ask for more.

And despite the brevity of Newt’s visits, Graves’ work skills had allowed him to pick up a few things about the other. The first of which was that Newt was somewhat of a picky eater. But, being as polite and bashful as he was, this was a fact that had never been openly admitted. However, Graves had seen the magizoologist push enough things around his plate to realize that the other wasn’t particularly fond of mayonnaise, cherry tomatoes, and for some unknown reason, chocolate. Graves hadn’t even been aware that there were people that didn’t like the thing.

But, he supposed, all things could be considered to be less strange than the overall oddity of their current situation.

“Is this yours?” Newt had finally turned to face him after spending the last few minutes circling Graves’ study, and he was holding a book in his hand. Graves briefly wondered if Newt was aware that he’d been watching him go around his study for the past five minutes.

“What’s the book’s title?” He pushed and shuffled around a few papers, hoping to look as though he’d been interrupted. In reality however, they were nothing really, mostly all half-written letters to his sister or newsletters, but Newt didn’t know that.

Newt peered at the cover. “The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald,” he turned the book over to look at the book. “I can’t say I’ve heard of him before. He’s an American author?”

“He’s a No-Maj American writer,” Graves corrected as he left his desk to walk over to where Newt was standing. “This isn’t actually mine, however. It belongs to my sister. She’s quite a fan of the man and other No-Maj writers. If you like, you could borrow it. I’ve never gotten around to actually reading it.”

“I’d rather not,” Newt replied hastily as he handed the book back to Graves. “It’s your sister’s and surely it has some sort of value to her. I don’t think it’s safe in my possession, and who knows if I could get her a replacement if anything were to happen to it.”

Graves shrugged at that.  “From what I know, it didn’t sell too well.” He commented as he placed the book back on the shelf. In fact, he vaguely recalled his sister complaining about that fact and then going on to buy multiple copies to gift to people. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be too difficult to find another copy.”

“Do you own any other books written by Muggle authors?” Newt asked. “I didn’t expect for you to be keeping any.”

“I’m sure I do. My sister doesn’t believe in separations between the magical and non-magical societies,” Graves replied as he took a look at his bookshelf. He ran his fingers along the spine of one of his books. “Unfortunately I won’t be able to recall the titles of the books I do own since my sister is the one who purchases them. She’s rather in love with the lifestyle of several No-Maj writers. She’s run off to Paris because of it.”

“A romantic then?”

“I suppose you could say that. Others would call her a fool.” It was funny how they’d been quite alike as children, only to find themselves on completely separate paths in the present. Then again, the more Graves thought about it, Persephone had always been the braver one between the two of them. “I can’t blame her for choosing to live elsewhere. After all, in many ways, we’re not as advanced as we’d like to think ourselves to be. Though wherever one ends up, I suppose we may still end up running into the same problems we find at home.”

Graves paused and glanced at Newt, “You’re quite the traveler, aren’t you? What do you think?”

“I try not to judge too harshly. I’m an observer, for the most part.”  Newt replied. The answer was rather safe, but considering that he was in the presence of one of the highest officials of the American magical government, Graves could understand that. However, he did hope that one day Newt would speak more freely around him.

“How is your brother?” Graves asked. He’d only met the man a few times previously, but they’d gotten along well enough. He could see the differences between the renowned auror and Newt just as clearly as he could pick out the traits that distinguished himself from his sister.

“He’s doing well enough.” Newt replied, a small smile coming to his face. “He wrote me a letter quite recently actually, and he told me to pass on his regards to you.” He picked out another book and glanced at its cover. “Theseus was never much of a fan of reading, and I have to say that we’re somewhat alike in that. We always wanted to be out there and never had enough of the self-control that reading requires.” 

Graves watched quietly as Newt continued, his gestures imbued with passion as he began to explain about how so much of previous writing concerning magical creatures was vastly outdated or just outright incorrect. It far from the speeches he’d become used to. It wasn’t some political maneuver, sly yet forceful attempts to achieve some end, nor was it any form of seduction. It was passion in its most genuine form, an outburst of whatever it was that inspired Newt’s countless adventures.

It didn’t matter that Newt didn’t realize how one-sided their conversation had become. Graves was listening to Newt, paying attention to the rush of words that were pouring forth but also to the way he moved. He noticed the slight actions that suggested nervousness and even the way Newt bit at his lip slightly. The book in Newt’s hand was long forgotten, a mere prop that moved with each hand gesture and jostled just like the red string that had brought Graves and Newt together in the first place.

“Oh.”

Newt had finally realized how long he’d been speaking. Graves gave him a small smile and took the book out of the other’s hand. “You ought to give me a copy of your own book sometime,” he suggested easily as he slid the book back into its place. The distraction would be good for Newt; there was no point for the other to start thinking that he’d stepped out of line by going off tangent.

“Ah, yes, I probably should.” Newt looked somewhat embarrassed – the magizoologist probably hadn’t thought of giving Graves a copy, and he regretted the suggestion immediately. Perhaps Newt felt it would be a sign of arrogance to give someone a copy of his own book, or perhaps it just really hadn’t come to mind. Whatever Newt’s reasons were, Graves had probably overstepped their boundaries. Immediately put off by the soured turn of the atmosphere, Graves changed subjects immediately and resolved not to press the matter further.

It didn’t matter that Newt hadn’t thought of giving him a copy of his book. It really didn’t. And if, he were honest enough to admit to himself that he was a bit bothered, well, he wouldn’t know what to do about that anyway.

---

“Breakfast,” Newt explained, “Is the only the only thing I can do right.” He picked up two plates, and Graves watched as he leaned over the kitchen counter so that Pickett the Bowtruckle could hop off of his shoulder.

Graves still wasn’t quite awake, but Newt had come over early in the morning to apologize for the fact that the Niffler had broken in the day before, and Graves wasn’t the type of person to turn down free breakfast. It didn’t look like Newt had lied about his capability to prepare breakfast either. The eggs and toast looked more than edible.

“Coffee?” Graves asked.

Newt paused. “I hadn’t thought of that.” It was then that Graves realized that there was only tea on the table.

“I’ll live,” Graves replied. Despite his answer however, he gestured for the coffee to start preparing itself. He wasn’t so sure he could live without it in the morning after all, especially when he remembered that there was another inter-departmental meeting in the afternoon.

“Do you enjoy it that much?” Newt asked. His hands cradled his mug of tea, and there was a genuinely curious expression on his face. “Theseus is quite fond of it. Oddly enough, I find that it makes me feel sleepy.”

“It’s very popular nowadays,” Graves explained. “Especially since the No-Maj government has chosen to ban alcohol.”

“But you’re not deprived of it.”

“No, I’m not,” Graves replied as a mug full of coffee floated towards the table and landed right in front of his plate. “But I don’t sleep very well, and it’s not an option to keep consuming alcohol so that I can get through the day.” He smiled a bit and chuckled. “The entire office runs on the stuff, if Grindelwald truly wanted to get to us, he’d just have to take it all away.”

“Well, I would think that –“ Newt suddenly stopped speaking, and just as Graves looked up to ask why, the other man flew out of his seat and went to the stove. The smell of something burning hit him right then and the flurry of movement all made sense. Graves watched in amusement as Newt dealt with the burning sausages while Pickett moved across the kitchen counter in order to open a window.

“You’re not trying to kill me, are you Newt?” Graves asked as he buttered a piece of toast.

“Not at all,” Newt replied as he cleared some pots and pans away with the flick of his wand. He turned back to look at Graves, quite a picture of attractive disorder, and grinned cheekily. “If I were really trying, I would’ve hidden your coffee.”  

---

The door to his office creaked open slowly, and Graves didn’t bother to look up. “What is it?”

“This isn’t a good time, is it?”

The sound of Newt’s voice was enough to make Graves pause. He put his quill down and gestured for the other man to sit. As he watched Newt try to assume an air of normalcy, Graves wondered in passing if Newt wanted to know what had happened, or if he didn’t want to know at all. Maybe he already knew.

The entire office was a mess, a result of Grindelwald’s supporters going on yet another rampage. The fact that he’d escaped MACUSA custody had only further pushed his loyalists down the path of madness. Today’s incident had involved a No-Maj bank, and as a result, three of his aurors had been injured, and they’d had to wipe the memories of more than a dozen No-Majs. In the morning the press would swarm the MACUSA building, and he’d be forced to make a press conference on the matter.

He could feel a headache coming on at the mere thought of the affair. There’d be dozens of useless questions for every substantial one, and surely, some idiot looking for five seconds of fame would ask if they were all talking to the real Percival Graves. Graves glanced at the red string that connected him and Newt. If he got their bond registered, anyone could just ask Newt for the truth. But, that wasn’t an option, not now or anytime soon, and so he’d just have to deal with an extra dose of idiocy until further notice.

“I brought you coffee.”

Graves watched mutely as Newt placed a plain white mug upon his desk. He knew the correct and immediate response was supposed to be a thank you of some kind, but the gesture had caught him off guard and words were currently failing him. He stared at the steaming liquid and wondered if Newt somehow knew how he liked his coffee. Still at a loss for words, he picked up the mug and took a sip.

It was sweet – so much so that he’d almost winced. However, the incorrectness of its taste didn’t diminish the kindness behind the gesture. “Thank you.” Graves said finally, hoping that Newt hadn’t noticed that anything was amiss. “But, are you here just to give me coffee?”

“Not quite.” Newt admitted. “I was asked to come in. Tina’s hoping that I can act as a consultant regarding the smuggling of magical creatures.”

“I see.” Graves expected a response to that, but nothing came. He glanced at Newt and realized that the other was looking at the raw wound on the back of his left hand. Graves coughed awkwardly and motioned over the cut with his right hand, and the wound swiftly healed. He wasn’t usually quite so aware of what other people felt, or perhaps, it was more of an issue of him not caring. After all, no one got to where he was without keen observation skills. However, regardless of the actual cause behind his inclination towards cool indifference, with Newt he found himself paying attention to every movement, every word, and every expression.

It was an awful thing really, he mused, as he pushed aside some of the documents on his desk. All of his work, most of it important and certainly involving national security, were all currently deemed as low priority due to the presence of one man. As he continued to distract himself by idly re-arranging his files, Graves tried to remember his younger days and if the feeling of wanting to be liked by another person was just as troublesome and persistent back then as it was now.

“Should I have brought you tea?”

“I don’t think we actually have any.” Graves replied. He was fairly sure most people that worked in his department mostly survived on a diet of coffee and some form of liquor. It was likely that the only person who ate normally, aside from himself, was Tina Goldstein, and that was because she had a sister who could cook. “But no,” he assured Newt, “I prefer coffee, so I’m glad you brought me some…though I wonder how you got it.”

“I asked for Pickett to steal it off of someone’s desk,” Newt replied, an amused smile on his lips. It was a surprising flash of humor, especially after his hellish day, and Graves couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m not sure it’s wise to confess a crime to me,” Graves replied. “I’ll have to file a report.”

“Surely my status in the Ministry of Magic should provide me with some sort of diplomatic immunity.”

“You’re pushing your luck Mr. Scamander.” 

“Is it too sweet though?” Newt asked. “Honestly I’m not quite sure how most people take their coffee, and I didn’t think to ask. It’s certainly more bitter than tea, so I’m afraid that I overcompensated.”

“Just milk would be fine next time. I don’t usually add sugar.”

“I could get you another.”

“Don’t.” Newt was halfway out of his seat, and he slowly lowered himself back down. “I’d rather that you stay. There’s no need for more coffee.” Graves let out a sigh and leaned back into his chair. The events of the day were finally hitting him - tiredness was seeping into his bones and all adrenaline had worn off. What a picture he surely made, hair no longer falling into place and clothes somewhat tattered and tainted with the messiness of his work.

In contrast however, Newt still seemed bright. He was restless, but somewhat subdued, probably due to the hour, but without the weariness that lingered upon Graves and the rest of his aurors like an unwanted cold. He mulled over whether he could ask Newt to visit him at work more often. He could think of multiple excuses to explain the magizoologist’s presence. It didn’t matter if they continued speaking about the smallest of issues. Keeping Newt in his office for a bit longer would save him from thinking about work concerns like borderline carnivorous press conferences and escalating national security issues.

“Have you eaten?” Newt asked.

“I think.” Graves replied after a moment’s pause. “It’s been a long day.”

“If you’d like, I could –“

Graves waved Newt’s offer away. He chuckled and stood up so that he could get some feeling back into his legs. “You’re far too qualified to be running secretarial duties, and there’s no need to fuss. I’m not one of your animals.” He glanced at Newt, “Besides, would you even know where to get something to eat at this hour?”

Newt’s held his gaze and smiled back, “I’m sure Tina would know.”

“Yes, but she’d probably settle for getting something to eat from the canteen. The food there is absolutely awful.” Graves made his way over closer to Newt and settled for leaning against his desk. “I have higher standards than that.” He relished the moments when Newt didn’t shy away from him, even though it was becoming more frequent. Each time the other man responded to him, Graves felt like pushing his luck more and more.

“However, if you’re so concerned about my wellbeing Newt, perhaps you ought to take me out for dinner –“

The door to his office swung open, and Graves shut his mouth immediately while Newt coughed and fixed his gaze onto the floor. Graves took a deep breath before he acknowledged Tina’s presence at the door. “What is it Goldstein?” In other circumstances, he probably wouldn’t have used such a level tone, but the embarrassment of being interrupted in the midst of an attempt at flirting drowned out his irritation.

“I’m sorry Mr. Graves, but I need Mr. Scamander. There were some non-human footprints found at the scene, and we’d like for him to profile what creature it could’ve been.”

Graves left his desk and distanced himself from Newt. “Go ahead Mr. Scamander.” He busied himself by pretending to be distracted by his files at the window and waited for them to leave.

“Ah, Mr. Graves?”

“What is it Mr. Scamander?” Graves asked, turning around to see that while Tina had left his office, Newt had remained by the door.

“About, our meeting, would you be available Thursday night?”

Just as he was about to ask when he’d ever scheduled a meeting, realization struck. He clenched the book in his hands a little tighter and smiled.  “Yes, Mr. Scamander, I will be free on Thursday evening.”

“Okay.” Newt paused, awkwardly lingering by the doorway, before quickly adding, “Good. I’ll see you then Mr. Graves. Good evening.”

Graves watched in amusement as Newt managed a hasty exit, and as soon as he was alone once more, he returned to his chair, took a sip of his too sweet coffee, and went back to work.

---

“Are you much of a traveler?”

“Not really.” Graves admitted. He glanced at Newt, who was walking right beside him, “I don’t think there’s any need for me to ask if you enjoy it.” Newt chuckled in response but otherwise remained silent. Graves wondered what he was thinking about.

While Newt was very much an original, Graves knew several people quite like him – his sister being one of them. There were people who simply preferred to see the world and everything it had to offer, and on the other hand, there were those who were content to settle where they were. Graves wasn’t quite sure, but he estimated that Newt had been in New York for almost four months.

Was he going to leave soon?

Surely the revelation of their bond had delayed Newt’s plans, whatever they were. It was only a matter of time before he grew restless. Beyond New York, there was still so much waiting to be seen. And while Newt was fairly busy running the occasion consultation for MACUSA, Graves doubted that it was a satisfying substitute for being out in the field.

“It seems you have something important on your mind.”

“Is there something you want to ask?” Graves prompted, completely ignoring Newt’s observation. It was an attempt at redirecting their conversation, and based on the slight change in Newt’s expression, it seemed that the other was well aware of that. But, polite and reserved as usual, Newt didn’t bother to call him out on his behavior.

“Does your sister enjoy Paris?”

It was an unexpected question, and it took Graves a few seconds to think about his answer before he replied. “She’s certainly stayed there longer than anywhere else.” He cut his reply short and gently pulled at Newt’s arm. The other man was about to turn in the wrong direction. It seemed that despite the months, Newt still hadn’t gotten used to New York.

“I can’t remember what she says about it,” Graves continued once they were back on track. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his coat and chanced a glance at Newt, who was listening to him intently. “But, I suppose it’s home to her now. She’s been there for almost three years.”

“It’s strange, really.” Newt replied. “I’ve travelled all around the world, and I’ve yet to really think about where I want to stay. England is my home in its own way, but, I can never stay there for too long. After a few weeks, I pack my bags and head to where the wind takes me.”

Graves didn’t have much to say to that. He’d never quite felt the same. Newt fell back to silence, and Graves wasn’t sure of how to interpret their current situation. “Newt, you do know that you could leave whenever you want?” He trailed off, and when his words failed to garner a response, Graves continued carefully. “There’s no need to remain in New York out of some sense of duty to me or to anyone.”

“There’s no need to think that way,” Newt replied, so softly that Graves almost hadn’t realized that the other had spoken. He met Graves’ curious eyes with a serious look, “I’m staying in New York because I want to.”

Graves didn’t quite know what to say to that. Part of him wanted to ask Newt what it was that he wanted exactly, but another part of him thought that it’d be best to keep things where they were. There was no point in rocking the boat with such a question and risk sending Newt running off to some distant part of the world.

“Besides,” Newt said hesitantly, once again interrupting Graves’ train of thought. “You’ve yet to make pineapple upside down cake for me. I asked Queenie, Tina’s sister, for one, and she said she wasn’t a fan of pineapples.”

“You’re quite persistent about that.” Graves commented as they entered the elevator. He gestured for Newt to go inside first. “You could easily buy one yourself.”

“I don’t know which bakeries in the city are trustworthy.”

“Now you’re just lying,” Graves replied, and although he was doing his best to sound stern, his attempt at seriousness was ruined by the smile on his face.

---

While Graves had grown used to Newt’s visits, but he hadn’t expected to find the magizoologist in front of his door at around two in the morning. It was a thing of luck that he hadn’t been in bed yet; if he had been, there was a slight chance that their neighbors would’ve found Newt passed out in the hallway. They didn’t need any more reasons to threaten to have Newt evicted, especially after the incident with the Occamy. 

Newt was far too inebriated to recognize that the door had opened, and as he motioned to knock once more on the door, Graves reached out to gently grasp the other’s closed fist.

“What are you doing?” he asked tenderly, as if he were dealing with a toddler instead of a fully grown man. Even in the dim light of the corridor, he could see the slight flush in the other’s cheeks. He’d clearly been drinking.

“I just,” Newt paused, and he wrinkled his nose in thought. It was quite cute, but luckily, Graves had more than enough self-control to not comment that out loud. “I had something to say.”

Graves carefully set his other hand on Newt’s side and turned him around. He didn’t feel the need to rush the situation, so he kept his touches gentle and their motions slow. After all, the hallway was still quiet, and despite Newt’s drunken antics, it was unlikely that anyone would’ve been woken up. He had more than enough time to get Newt inside his apartment and into his own bed.

“You’ll remember it in the morning,” Graves pushed Newt in the direction of his door. “Now, let’s get your door open.” He paused, but Newt didn’t move an inch. Graves glanced at him in concern, only to notice that Newt was staring determinedly at his door.

“I don’t feel like going home.” Newt turned around, a sloppy movement that resulted in him knocking against the wall, but his hand was still firmly gripping Graves’. “Let’s go back to yours. I want to read your books. Who was it? Heming-who?”

Graves opened his mouth to protest, but Newt cut him off by putting a finger against his lips. He leaned against Graves awkwardly, “You’re not allowed to say no to me. We’re,” Newt paused, as if he were about to share some great secret, then grinned brightly. “We’re soulmates. You can’t deny me of my right to higher learning.”

Before Graves could say anything else, Newt had pushed past him with surprising ease and was making his way inside. Graves trailed behind the other man, watching him in amusement as Newt wandered around the apartment. He opened one door after another, even mistaking a cabinet for a room, and despite openly declaring he was looking for Graves’ books, he bypassed the office and entered Graves’ bedroom instead. 

“I thought you wanted to read?” Graves asked as he entered the bedroom. He didn’t expect an actual response, and as expected, he didn’t get one. Instead, what he had was Newt sitting on his bed, his face in his hands.

“Please tell your room to stop spinning. Rooms don’t spin in England.”

Graves chuckled. “All Americans like for their rooms to spin.” He watched Newt carefully, especially as the other began to kick off his shoes and shrug off his coat, “Do you plan on staying the night?”

“I’m going to hibernate,” Newt explained, hardly answering the question. He threw his coat onto the floor and grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed. At the sight of the first pillow, Newt frowned in distaste and suddenly threw it across the room. Graves cringed – it’d been his favorite. “Did you know Mr. Graves,” Newt said abruptly, his voice serious, “That animals hibernate?”

Graves was picking up his pillow off the floor when he replied, “Yes, Mr. Scamander, I am well aware that animals hibernate.” When he straightened out, Newt was curled up in the middle of his bed, completely asleep and buried under a mound of pillows. He’d taken the entire thing for himself, and Graves didn’t have the heart to move him or to bother trying to find some space on his own bed.

After one last look at Newt’s sleeping figure, Graves took his favorite pillow and headed out. Sleeping in his cluttered guestroom would have to do for tonight.

---

“You’re awake.”

Graves had expected for the other to wake up much later and was surprised to find Newt in his kitchen, making breakfast. He supposed it was easier this way; it would’ve been awkward for Newt to wake up in his room or for him to wake up Newt himself.

At this sound of his voice, Newt turned, his face flushed with embarrassment this time around. He scratched the back of his neck and smiled shyly. “I’d like to apologize for stealing your room.” He paused and coughed awkwardly, “And for, well, anything…odd I might’ve said last night.”

“You were quite polite,” Graves replied as he made his way to sit down at the table. He glanced down to see that Newt had already prepared his coffee. “Despite being inebriated, you managed to educate me further on animals. I think that’s quite an accomplishment.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Good morning would be a start.” Graves took a sip of his coffee. It tasted as if he’d prepared it himself, and while he wanted to compliment Newt for it, he had a feeling that it would currently fall on deaf ears. He’d have to delay it for later – for when Newt was more himself and less frozen with embarrassment.

Aside from the sounds of things cooking, the kitchen was otherwise quiet. They’d had breakfast numerous times before, but their usual easygoing atmosphere had been replaced by an air of awkwardness that was fueled by Newt’s restless energy. Graves took another sip of his coffee, more for courage rather than wakefulness, and motioned for Newt to sit down across from him.

Luckily, Newt didn’t miss the cue, and he slowly lowered himself onto the seat.

“Is there anything in particular that you’d like me to say?” Graves asked. He waited for Newt to say something and absently noted how the red string that tied the two of them rested upon his table. It was perfectly still, like Newt, who seemed to have frozen up once more.

He’d taken Newt’s hand so easily last night, but doing so now would mean something else. It would mean differently, and in many ways, would mean something more. Physical intimacy wasn’t something that he and Newt had really progressed into, but, the longer he looked at Newt, the more Graves wanted to reach out and close the distance between them.

“I’m not upset with you.” He paused, and while Newt forced a small, tense smile, it didn’t feel as though words would be enough to convey what he felt. He wasn’t upset – far from it actually, but it was obvious that Newt didn’t quite believe him.

He moved slowly, as if he were approaching a skittish animal, and leaned forward. With his left hand, he carefully reached out to take Newt’s hand in his. He paused and waited for Newt to say something. Graves watched as Newt looked down at their hands and then slowly run his finger along the red string that had brought them together.

At that moment, Graves thought of how they’d never quite talked about the future. If things did work out – what then? He looked away from their intertwined hands and at Newt, who was smiling more genuinely now.

There was nothing that could quite explain what Graves felt at that point. It was a mix of security uncertainty; emotions that had blended together into a lingering feeling of happiness. It wouldn’t last, he was sure of that, but he’d make the most of it. As soon as Newt realized that his food was burning, they’d have to separate, but until then, he’d cherish the warmth of their intertwined hands and the thought that perhaps they really were meant for each other after all.

Chapter Text

Many things in his life had shifted due to the entrance of Newt Scamander. One of the bigger changes was in his eating habits. Learning how to cook with Newt wasn’t too difficult of an activity, they weren’t too bad at following recipes, but Newt had a habit of wanting to try new things out constantly. Graves’ collection of spices had multiplied over the past few weeks, and Newt kept buying strange fruits and vegetables with names that he couldn’t pronounce. However, his growing and diversely stocked pantry made for interesting meals, even if one out of six of them weren’t actually edible.

Aside from the change in his eating habits, Graves had become used to having another person around. Newt didn’t quite live at his apartment, but he was there more often than he wasn’t, and so Graves had adjusted his work schedule accordingly. He was coming home earlier on a more frequent basis, and sometimes he picked up things just so that he could talk to Newt about them.

Thus, with all of those shifts, it shouldn’t have been surprising to Graves that his furniture had followed suit. His couches had gotten rearranged, pushed around by Newt’s magical creatures, and hardly anything ever stayed in its place for more than a day. There was an increase in not only domestic activity, but also disorder. It was sometimes caused by Newt’s magical creatures, but most of the time, it had to be attributed to Newt himself.

Perhaps there was some kind of order in chaos, but as far as Graves was concerned, he was still blind to it. He’d given up trying to move or fully organize Newt’s things. While the disorganization had been bothersome at first, he’d gotten over it faster than he’d expected, and over the past few days, Newt had been making some attempt at becoming more organized, so there was that too.

“Are you going somewhere?” Graves asked, when he noticed that a good number of Newt’s clothing was thrown over his living room. He walked through the mess carefully, taking care not to touch anything unless it looked like it was in a hazardous state.

As Newt continued to rummage through his things, Graves picked up a mug that was sitting upon a tilted stack of books and held it safely in his hands. “What are you looking for?”

“A scarf.” Newt replied. He stood up and dusted his hands off on his pants. “Tina asked me to wear it to dinner tonight.” He let out an indignant huff, and just as Graves was about to offer his help, Newt seemed to have finally noticed how cluttered his things were. He shot Graves a guilty smile, an increasingly common yet nonetheless charming sight, and with a quick flick of his wand, all of Newt’s clothes were stacked on a neat pile on the coffee table.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“I know,” Newt approached Graves, and he took the mug out of the other’s hands. “However, I was alerted by the slight dip in your eyebrows.” His hands brushed against Graves’ gently, and the gesture drew their attention down to the red string that tied them together.

Time had made him a little bolder, and Graves used his left hand to brush aside some of the hair that fell on Newt’s forehead. “You’re quite observant.”

“It’s part of the job,” Newt replied as he leaned a little into Graves’ touch.

“It’s a shame that punctuality isn’t.” Graves lips curled into a hint of a smirk, and he couldn’t help himself from teasing a bit more. “You do realize that you’re running late? And by the way, your scarf is in my study. You left it there last night.”

Newt’s eyes widened, and he immediately bolted for the study. As he scrambled, Graves called out after him, “Perhaps if you got your animals to help you look for things, you wouldn’t be late for everything.”

All he got in response was a string of somewhat comprehensible British curses. Nonetheless, amusement kept him in good spirits, and Graves chuckled to himself as he headed to the kitchen for something to eat. He could still hear the faint sounds of Newt running about, though only Merlin knew what the other was still looking for.

He opened a cupboard and then paused, as something with bright blue eyes blinked at him from inside of it. He stared at it, somewhat transfixed by the brilliant color of the animal’s eyes, before realizing that he couldn’t allow aesthetics to override his sense of self-preservation. He shut the cupboard silently and wondered if it was worth telling Newt that one of his animals had escaped again.

There was a nearby clattering sound, and Graves turned to see the Niffler stuffing cutlery into its pouch. Alerted to his attention, the animal paused then immediately scuttled off. Graves didn’t bother to give chase. Instead, he glanced at his cupboard once more and briefly considered re-opening it. After a few seconds, he decided that his snack wasn’t worth the trouble, and left the kitchen so that he could see if Newt needed any more help.

---

Late nights brought on strange conversations, and while Graves usually wasn’t one to contribute to them, that didn’t mean that he didn’t enjoy listening to his aurors talk about something that wasn’t about work. Lighthearted conversation was a good distraction from the constant heaviness of their workload, and it was certainly less of a career hazard in comparison to anything that involved any alcohol.

On the occasions that they were forced to work late, group conversations often ended up into passionate discussions about ridiculous conspiracy theories, but tonight, they’d somehow gotten onto the topic of soulmates.

“I’m never going to find mine. I’m giving up.”

Graves nearly snorted at that. Everyone knew that Kinney was constantly reading about soulmates and was nowhere close to giving up on his. His desk was constantly cluttered with the latest magazines or papers on the topic, and underneath it all was his much neglected paperwork.

“I can’t believe Lachlan found his,” Tina commented. “He hardly leaves the office. Where did he meet his soulmate again? At the zoo? What was he even doing at the zoo? I thought he hated animals.”

“He was with Mr. Scamander. I can’t believe you guys forgot about that.” Adler took another sip of his coffee and flipped through the report that he was reading. Everyone was eyeing him with curiosity, and he hadn’t even bothered to look up. “Besides, at least some good came out of that day. He nearly got mauled by the feral Hippogriffs that got set loose.”

There was a mild chorus of murmured agreement as everyone remembered the incident, and Graves had to hide his amused smile behind a document on his department’s spending.

“How many of us have met his or her bonded?” The question was supposed to be a simple one, but Graves nonetheless felt himself tense up. He sat up a little straighter and cleared his throat, and he watched as people slowly began to raise their hands.

He’d been asked the question dozens of times in the past, but things were different now, and he wasn’t sure how to approach the issue. It wasn’t like he’d ever felt particularly compelled to share his feelings on meeting Newt either. But, now that he was on the receiving end of the curious gazes of ten other people, he was left with only three options.

The first option was to lie in some form. It would’ve been easy enough to say no; it was a short word, but just the thought of denying his bond to Newt made him feel uneasy. The next option was to ignore the question entirely. He was the Director of Magical Security, and although unofficially stated in any government document, it was surely well within his jurisdiction to cancel department meetings whenever he felt like it. But, doing so would only make things awkward, and it would surely make him a topic for discussion during everyone’s breaks.

So, in the end, it seemed like he really only had one option – he had to tell the truth.

“Yes, I’ve met my bonded,” Graves said finally, after he’d decided that using words was a better option than exerting effort to do the useless gesture of raising his hand. Everyone was already looking at him anyway.

Kinney’s mouth fell open, and everyone else was barely better off in terms of concealing their collective shock. Graves wasn’t particularly impressed, but he wasn’t surprised either. At the end of the day, he knew his department well enough to be aware of the fact that majority of his well-trained and experienced team of Aurors were, in many ways, still children.

“It would’ve been great if Goldstein was a Legilimens like her sister.” Adler chuckled, and he shot a cheeky grin at Graves. “We’d get to know who the director’s bonded is, and then we could send the poor soul a bouquet of flowers.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment, perhaps it’s best that you save the flowers for Kinney instead. He looks like he’s about to drop onto the floor in shock at any second.” Graves shot a look at Kinney, who straightened up immediately. “Do we need to send you to the healers?”

“No sir.”

“Get yourself together. People meet their bonded every day.”

The group went quiet, and Graves made an executive decision. There was no point dragging things out, and so he rose up from his seat with as much dignity as he could muster. All eyes were on him, and with a straight face, he announced, “Everyone is dismissed.”

Despite the chorus of boos and taunts that followed, Graves turned around and to leave, his back straight and his head held high. On his way out, he was fairly sure someone chucked a ball of paper at him, but he kept walking.

After all, if ever he had to name one thing he was truly good at, it was ignoring people and pretending that they didn’t exist, and he refused to let anything change that.

---

In the end, Tina Goldstein was the first to figure out who his bonded was. There’d been no need for spells or excessive investigation. It’d simply all made sense to her, and she’d confidently come into his office to tell him to treat Newt kindly or else. Graves had never been one to respond well to threats, but in that situation, he’d let Goldstein walk out of his office unharmed.

He’d never expected for things to go quite so well for them, but at the same time, he was terrified by their long term prospects. At work, he was constantly playing the long game. He made decisions that were aligned with his objectives, but now, faced with Newt, he was somewhat at a loss.

All of his previous affairs had been somewhat cold, especially on his end; they were all brief flings, a mutual exchange where he and his partner would simply take and give nothing beyond the limits of keeping things casual. There had been warmth in teasing exchanges and hurried touches, but it was dampened by the awareness that each encounter was time bound and each person was guarded. Whether it was him or whoever he was with at the time, no one wanted to be the person that gave more in a relationship that was built to mean nothing.

In the end, it meant waking up to freshly empty beds and quiet mornings, but he’d never particularly cared about that before.

But now, while his bed still remained otherwise empty, his mornings and evening were rarely ever quiet, and he cared for Newt, so much so that he was well aware that it was dangerous. It was a feeling that had snuck up and settled into his heart, but it gave him quiet joy, so he wasn’t actively trying to get rid of it just yet.

As he watched Newt fidget across him, Graves wondered if one of the reasons he enjoyed breakfast so much nowadays was because of Newt. Newt in the morning was quite a sight. His hair was a mess, and his smiles would come even more easily, as if he found everything to be more charming and amusing in the early hours of a day.

However, Graves noticed that things were somewhat different today. Newt was restless, and he kept dropping his spoon. After he’d dropped it for the fourth time in five minutes, Graves opened his mouth to ask if something was wrong, but Newt ended up speaking first.

“I wrote my brother,” Newt said slowly, his grip on his mug tightening slightly although he was keeping his voice casual. Graves didn’t say anything in response. Rather, he waited quietly, well aware that Newt had something else to say. “I told him, about us. Is that alright?”

A few days back, they’d mutually agreed that they could share the news about their bond to whoever they liked. Since then, Graves had made three half-written letters to his sister, all trying to explain whatever it was that he had with Newt. He wondered what Newt had told Theseus, and if it was far better than the tragically emotional letters that he’d drafted while under the influence of alcohol and unwanted emotions.

“Of course it is.”

Newt looked visibly relieved at that, and a smile graced his face instantly. “Oh, good.” The way he said the words seemed rather off; it was although Newt was surprised to have not been welcome by some kind of fight. It was odd, considering the agreement they’d made a few days prior, and such a reaction made Graves wonder briefly what his previous relationships had been like for him to react in such a way.

“I’m trying to write my sister,” Graves shared, hoping that such information would help shake off whatever nerves Newt had been feeling. “But if I write anything that’s too positive, I’m sure she’ll make her way back her immediately, and I’d rather not bother you with her meddling.”

“Oh. Well.”

Graves raised an eyebrow, “What is it?”

“I may have invited Theseus to visit, but if you like, I could write him again –“

“No, it’s fine.” His stomach might’ve churned at the thought, but there was nothing he could do now. Theseus had probably already received the letter. He swallowed tightly and then repeated his words, possibly more to reassure himself than to reassure Newt. “It’s fine.”

Newt’s smile grew wider at that, and as he reached across the table to squeeze Graves’ hand, he began to talk about how Theseus had enjoyed America the last time he’d visited. Graves glanced at their intertwined hands and then looked at Newt, who’d thoroughly forgotten about his tea and looked visibly relaxed.

Graves smiled to himself. Maybe everything really was fine after all.

---

“You’ve been drinking.”

Graves looked up from where he was seated on the hallway floor. Newt’s arms were crossed in front of his chest, and while he didn’t look upset, he didn’t look particularly pleased either. The fact that he’d been staying at Graves’ apartment rather than his own couldn’t even be a matter of debate. Newt was practically living with him, and Graves belatedly realized that it was because of that fact that he’d thought to knock on his own front door in the first place.

“Yes.”

Newt knelt down, and the look on his face softened. “MACUSA’s Director of Magical Security, and yet you can’t even hold your liquor.” He held a hand out, “How many fingers do I have up?”

Graves scowled instinctively. “I’m not blind.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” Newt straightened up. “Do I need to help you stand?” He offered his left hand, and Graves reached out with his own. Briefly, he wondered if it was possible to get their strings tangled.

Getting him off the floor was hardly a graceful motion, and he instantly collided with Newt as soon as he was on his feet. Acting on instinct, he grabbed Newt and pulled him tight. All the while with his other hand, he tried to reach for the door. He failed at that, and the whole time, Newt was trying to balance the two of them. What ended up happening was that they tumbled backwards, resulting in Graves’ back hitting the door and slamming it shut.

The whole thing was more or less a blur, and when Graves’ senses somewhat came back together, he realized that first, he still had Newt in his arms, and second, his back was hurting from where he’d slammed into the door knob. They were so close, but as much as Graves wanted to relish the feeling of Newt’s body against his, the growing pain in his back was a bigger distraction.

Graves groaned, and without much thought, he leaned forward and settled his forehead against Newt’s shoulder.

“And you say I’m the mess.” He could feel Newt’s light rumble of laughter, and when he drew back, Newt was smiling up at him in amusement. Newt’s hand came up to brush back some of his hair, and Graves closed his eyes at the touch.

Perhaps with his eyes closed, the pain would go away. Although he’d never asked for more, he’d been waiting for the opportunity to get closer to Newt. He was helplessly drawn to him, and as of late he’d been wanting but unable to speak of what it was that he wanted from him. Their current situation wasn’t ideal, with his thoughts tinged with the influence of numerous drinks, but at its most basic nature, it felt right to have Newt’s body close against his and to feel the rhythmic rise and fall of the other man’s chest.

He reluctantly opened his eyes to look at Newt, who was watching him with faint amusement. Before he could think twice, Graves leaned forward, leaving only centimeters between his lips and Newt’s. He waited, then wondered if Newt would meet him halfway.

He didn’t.

“You need to go to bed.”

Graves jerked back just as Newt took a step away from him. It felt like a rejection, and it stung, but at the same time, he also wanted to pull Newt close once again. However, instead of doing that, he kept his eyes on Newt, who wasn’t moving away.

“You’re upset.”

“I’m not.” He wasn’t annoyed at Newt. He was annoyed by himself. He felt like the alcohol had somehow sent him back to his unfortunate early teenage years, a time marked by awkwardness and emotional ineptitude. The easiest thing to do was simply ask Newt for more, for just about anything that involved more touching and less talking, but he didn’t know how to put that into the right words.

Everything he wanted to say were heavy on his tongue, but his mind was jumbled and he didn’t even know where to start. What was it he wanted anyway? A kiss? More?

“Let’s not do this now,” Newt murmured as he closed the distance between them. Graves watched as Newt’s hand moved close to touch him gently and noticed how the string that bound them together was a sharp contrast against Newt’s skin. With a soft sigh, he felt his body relax once more, and although he could no longer see it, Graves felt as though he could feel the string’s touch just as well as he could feel the warmth of Newt’s hand against his cheek.

---

The next morning, he’d slipped out of his apartment far earlier than he usually would. Just the thought of what had happened with Newt the previous night brought about a flush of embarrassment. The first plan of action that had popped up in his head was to run away. Unfortunately, he’d followed it. It was only when he’d locked himself in his office during lunch time that he’d realized that perhaps pretending that nothing had happened would’ve been a wiser course of action.

After that moment of realization, he’d spent about an hour berating himself mentally for making such a mistake. The only thing that saved him from doing so for an hour longer was a knock on his door.

He opened his door immediately, only to come face to face with a certain unamused face. After a short glance over, Seraphina brushed past him and made her way inside of his office.  “You don’t usually lock your door.”

Graves shut the door gently, and when he turned back around, she was settled on the chair closest to his desk. “Is there any reason for this visit?” With a flick of his wrist, the paperwork on his desk stacked itself up neatly and gave an added semblance of order to the room.

“Aren’t you going to offer me coffee?”

“You don’t like it,” Graves replied easily as he made his way to sit down at his chair. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back, “Are you testing me? What is this about?”

Seraphina pursed her lips in thought, a habit she hadn’t been able to break since their days in Ilvermorny. Graves waited. Unlike him, she’d say what was on her mind soon enough. “It’s taken a while, but news has trickled down the grapevine, and I’ve heard you’ve met your bonded. Is this true?”

She gave him a pointed look at where she knew his red string would be, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“You’ve been busy.” It was a weak excuse. Graves cleared his throat and looked away, “It’s not like I’ve been telling anyone willingly. It’s a private matter.”

“Is it Mr. Scamander?” Seraphina asked. “He told me the other day that he’s no longer in need of the accommodations that we’ve been providing him.” She paused, and although he wasn’t looking at her, from her voice alone, Graves knew she was amused with the situation. “You’ll be doing the magical community’s taxpayers a true service, the money we spend on his apartment could be going elsewhere.”

Graves finally looked up so that he could glare at her. “You’re having too much fun with this.”

“That I am.”

“So are you here just to embarrass me, or is there something more important that you have to talk to me about?” Graves shot her an annoyed look, but unlike with his Aurors, it had no effect upon on Seraphina. If anything, he seemed to have started boring her.

“Will you get yourself and Mr. Scamander registered?”

“Not today.”

“But in the future?”

“We’ll talk about it.”

Considering the current state of their relationship, Newt was probably more likely to get onto a ship to England than to want to get their bond registered. After all, for the most part, bond registrations were followed by weddings. Of course there were bonded pairs who simply got registered due to practicality and security reasons, but those were rare incidents. After all, most people didn’t want to be an official part of another person’s life if they had no interest in making things stay that way.

“Trouble in paradise?”

His facial expression soured. “You may be president of this country, but my personal affairs do not fall under your jurisdiction. Stop meddling.”

Seraphina smiled innocently, and all the more Graves felt like he was fighting a losing battle against her perpetual state of cool. “But Percival, we’re friends aren’t we? Your problems are my problems.”

“If you weren’t technically my boss, I’d tell you to get out.” Graves motioned to his door with his right hand, and it slowly swung open. “However, and I want to make this clear, I’m speaking to you as a friend right now, and I’m telling you to leave me alone.”

Seraphina rose from her seat gracefully, and although she was being kicked out, she was completely unruffled by Grave’s mood. “You should buy him some flowers, everyone loves flowers.” She gave him a fond smile despite his continued glaring and after she’d shut the door behind her, Graves lowered his head onto his desk and groaned.

There was not enough coffee in the world to sustain him through the embarrassment that he’d endured in the past twenty four hours.

---

He hadn’t meant to stay late, but in the end, as usual, the world didn’t listen and there’d been an attempt to rob a Gringotts branch. The goblins had complained for far longer than necessary, considering that the attempted robbers had been apprehended and all valuables were accounted for. Graves was quite sure that there was some underling that could bear taking his place as verbal target practice, but the goblins were stubborn and entitled. According to them, local law enforcement would not do. They deserved to speak to the director himself about their concerns regarding national security.

The entire thing had been incredibly draining. Instead of re-hashing the day’s events or thinking about what things would be like when he went back home, Graves closed his eyes and tried to think happy thoughts. Maybe Newt would’ve prepared him dinner. Maybe Newt wouldn’t be upset with him. Maybe –

“Are you avoiding me?”

Maybe Newt had somehow ended up in his office without him knowing.

Graves opened an eye. His hearing hadn’t failed him; Newt was standing at the doorway. They studied each other carefully, and Graves mentally weighed out which response would get him into the least amount of trouble. Newt took a step closer, and Graves couldn’t help but notice the way he was clutching his suitcase tightly.

“I had to work late.” It was a half-truth of sorts. Graves certainly hadn’t expected to end up avoiding Newt for a whole day. He gestured to the seat across his, “You should sit.”

“I’d rather not.”

Graves let Newt have that. He didn’t bother to press – if Newt didn’t want to sit, then so be it, he didn’t have to. He got up from his seat slowly, and walked over to close his office door himself. After a second thought, he decided to lock it too. The room already had silencing charms, but if they were going to fight, he’d rather that no one stepped into it. After getting that out of the way, he distanced himself from Newt slowly and backed up against his desk.

“You’re upset.” Graves realized only a few seconds later that he was repeating Newt’s words back to him.

“If you wanted to kiss me, Mr. Graves, I’d rather that you didn’t try while you were drunk.”

“Oh.”

At that point, frustration was written all over Newt’s face. Graves didn’t quite know what to say. In the back of his mind, he briefly congratulated himself for closing his office door – it was turning out to be a good idea. He was quite sure that anyone overhearing their conversation would have lost any respect that they had for him.

Unfortunately, or perhaps, in some ways, fortunately, the only person who was bearing witness to his complete breakdown into incompetence was Newt. He was given one last minute to get things straight, before Newt finally gave up and grabbed his coat. However, despite the rough nature of the action, Newt’s lips were soft and only pressed tentatively against his.

It took a few seconds, but Graves’ mind finally caught up with the situation. Although they’d already been close, he surged forward to deepen the kiss and close any of the space in between them. He had Newt pressed against his office door, and the intensity of finally having dulled his senses. His head was flooded with the taste of his coffee on Newt’s tongue and the brief gasps of breath that escaped their lips between kisses.

He kissed at Newt’s jaw then pressed his hips against Newt’s, which pulled an annoyed curse from the other’s lips. At that moment, all Graves wanted was to pull Newt down onto the closest bed – his office was far from an ideal location and someone was bound to come knocking at any minute. But his sense of self-control was overridden by his desire to simply have more, and Newt’s hands were already working at his belt, so really, he couldn’t quite be faulted for ignoring MACUSA’s rules regarding workplace conduct.

---

“I don’t think I’ll be able to look at my office the same way ever again.”

Newt merely laughed off his comment, and it was enough to tell Graves what he needed to know. While he didn’t quite enjoy being a source of amusement so early in the morning, Graves’ greater concern was the empty spot on his bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for something.”  Newt called back. Graves rolled over onto the other side of the bed and lazily looked for his wristwatch on the nightstand. In the process of reaching it, he’d knocked over some cufflinks, but he’d look for those later.

“It’s probably in the kitchen.” He shouted – after all, it seemed like everything Newt needed always ended up there. He glanced at his bathroom door and considered taking a shower, but if Newt was going to be returning any time soon, perhaps it wouldn’t be needed. And so, with that in mind, he opted for the lazy route and settled for curling up in bed instead.

He wasn’t quite sure how long it’d taken for Newt to come back, his mind was hazy with sleep and a numbing sense of satisfaction. Either way, Newt returned, this time with a book in his hands.

“This is for you, because I know you wanted me to give you one,” Newt explained. “It’s a copy of my book.” He flipped it open to the first page, and on it, Graves could see that he’d written a dedication in his messy scrawl. But, before he could even read what was written, Newt shut the book. “You can read it later.”

Later. It was a funny word, short but with a promise of more. There were still conversations for them to have – talks about Newt’s next adventure and what Graves’ apartment really was for the two of them, but for now, all that fell into the abstract domain of the future. It was all hazy and unreal, completely unlike the man sitting beside him on his bed, who was tracing the cover of his book as if he hadn’t seen its text and illustrations dozens of times before.

With each slow, unhurried movement, the red string upon his finger followed, and Graves felt himself falling into some kind of trance. Everyone had said that soul bonds were different, that it couldn’t quite be defined. One of Kinney’s magazines had described being with one’s bonded as a rush of emotions and a sensation of everything coming together.

Had everything come together? Graves wasn’t quite sure of that. He reached out to brush his fingertips against Newt’s wrist.

“I don’t know how to feel.”

“That’s okay,” Newt whispered reassuringly as he moved so that he could put his book aside. He turned to look at Graves after and smiled. “Neither do I.”

Graves laughed, and he sat up slightly so that he could press a quick kiss against Newt’s lips. He brushed at his cheek and Newt tilted his head to lean against his hand. “Would you like breakfast?” The sunlight that came through the windows gave him a soft glow, and Graves said nothing, if only to study Newt for a little longer. Inevitably, Newt would have to run off on another adventure, and he would need moments like these to remember him while he was away.

“You’re staring, it’s quite rude.” Newt scratched at the back of his neck and looked out the window. After a few seconds, he turned his attention back to Graves, a shy yet fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “So, breakfast?”

Graves shook his head and closed the distance between them with another kiss. He could feel Newt’s smile against his, and he let out a little laugh of his own before pulling Newt back down with him.

Breakfast could wait.