Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9336497.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Fantastic_Beasts_and_Where_to_Find_Them_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Original_Percival_Graves/Gellert_Grindelwald
  Character:
      Newt_Scamander
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Hogwarts, Angst, Manipulative_Relationship
  Collections:
      Fantastic_Beasts_Kink_Meme_Collection_(Non-Anon)
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-01-24 Completed: 2017-02-05 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 20451
****** and twisted and deranged ******
by kaiju
Summary
     For Percival, evil always seems to prevail over good.
     The thing is, though, he almost prefers it that way.
Notes
     **Unbeta'd
     Every fandom, even the Fantastic Beasts one, needs a Hogwarts AU.
     I originally intended for this fic to be lighter, but... like all
     other GG/PG fics it went dark and I just couldn't help but let it go
     that way.
***** don't you know? he's a fiend for you *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Percival’s fifth year at Ilvermorny starts off terribly.
This is most likely because his fifth year at Ilvermorny… isn’t exactly at
Ilvermorny.
His mother decided that it would be a good idea – a great one, even – to
surprise Percival by signing him up for a year abroad at Hogwarts, a wizarding
school located miles and miles away from America. Of course, he’d heard of this
school. Just about every young witch and wizard had. It’s regarded as one of
the finest magical institutions in the wizarding world. Anyone would be lucky
to study there. But that doesn’t mean Percival wasn’t furious when his mother
told him he’d be staying there for his fifth year.
Every member of the Graves family has spent at least a year in a foreign
school, where they learned to properly harness their powers and improve the
bloodline further. It's a Graves family tradition - a rite of passage, you
could even say. Even Gondulphus Graves, one of the original twelve Aurors of
MACUSA, had spent a year abroad at Durmstrang, a school that rarely accepts
international students. There, Gondulphus mastered wandless magic and excelled
in the Dark Arts – a subject rarely conquered in the United States.
The difference between the Graves ancestors and Percival, however, is that
their mothers asked for their permissions before sending them off to a foreign
school in the middle of nowhere.
It’s all incredibly overwhelming for a fifteen-year-old boy.
                                       —
Travelling via The Hogwarts Express is nice, he supposes. There isn’t anything
to do but stare out the window for the entire duration of the ride. Vast fields
of green covered with flecks of yellow dandelions and a sky so pleasantly baby
blue. Nothing at all like the urban landscape of New York which is covered in
tall grey buildings and dark paved streets. It's like living inside one of
those paintings in his father's office.
Tina’s sister Queenie would love this, he finds himself thinking. The third
year Pukwudgie loves nature and all things beautiful. Tina, however, would
probably be more excited about spending a day in Diagon Alley, exploring the
strange British shops and novelty sights. Percival grumbles to himself. He
misses his friends already.
Trolleys pass by every so often, and Percival becomes acquainted with the taste
of chocolate frogs and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. They’re so different
from the sweets in America. All he’s ever had before are flavor-changing
lollipops and spice-filled sodas. He munches on these newfound treats for the
remainder of the ride.
Almost everyone points his accent out when he arrives. He talks weird,
according to his new peers.
“An American accent! How strange!”
“Never heard it before. Me mum says to stay away from Americans. Says they're
dishonest fellows.”
He doesn’t care, though. They can poke fun at him all they like. All he needs
to do is work hard, learn some new skills, and he’ll be out in a jiffy.
Everyone gathers in the Great Hall for the sorting ceremony. Small, nervous
first years shuffle around him, all wearing the same plain black robes he is.
One by one they’re called up and sorted. The sorting hat shouts its decision,
startling a few of the students, and then they go to sit with their Houses.
Percival stands attentively, surveying the area as he waits for his name to be
called out.
There’s an eerie feeling in the room that he can’t really place a finger on. A
tingle, one that raises the hair on the back of his neck, washes over him. It's
a chilling feeling, too. Like the gaze of someone whose blood runs cold.
Percival shivers and turns.
An older boy stares at him from the other side of the room. His long, sharp
face is framed by shoulder-length blonde hair, and his eyes are cold and
calculating. There's almost no sign of emotion on his face. He’s wearing a
Slytherin’s robes, Percival notices. But just as he’s about to glare at the
boy, someone shouts his name.
“Graves, Percival!”
All eyes land on him, and the room turns quiet. Whispers erupt as Percival
starts walking up the steps.
“It’s the American!”
“Graves? My father worked with a Graves before.”
“He’s sort of handsome, don’t you think?”
The Sorting Hat is placed on his head and he sits as still as possible, with a
face like stone.
“Ah… Percival Graves. A young boy from a famous line of prestigious wizards. An
American… Ilvermorny, is it? Wonderful school. So then - why are you here?” The
hat wonders, voice trailing off.
Percival scoffs.
“I see. Mothers will do just about anything for their children. Now let’s take
a look - intelligent, quick-witted, and tastefully talented. Yet adventurous
and daring. You’ll do just about anything to prove your worth, won’t you? Well,
then – Ravenclaw, it is!” The hat shouts.
Percival cracks a smile. He’s glad to have been sorted into Ravenclaw, a house
he’s always admired. They share similar values to Horned Serpent, his house at
Ilvermorny. Both yearn for wisdom and strive for excellence - two values that
the Graves family takes great pride in.
Ravenclaws clap as he takes a seat at their table. They welcome him with open
arms and congratulate him, patting him on the back. He hears whispers and
murmurs around him, some skeptical about the presence of an American wizard in
their house and others pleased to have such a talented young foreigner. Either
way, he’s glad to have made such an impression.
But he still feels the same pair of eyes drilling into his skin. He tries to
look around, eyes leaping around the room as they search for the blonde-haired,
sharp-faced boy at the Slytherin table. But he comes up short. There doesn't
seem to be any wizard of that description there.
                                       —
History of Magic is his first class. The Professor is dull and he speaks with a
voice so monotone that all of the students simply drown him out. It’s by no
means any fun, but it’s where Percival makes his first friend.
His name is Newt, and he’s not a very good student – he says this himself.
Percival can tell though, that Newt is bright and warm. With him he has a small
Bowtruckle that hides in the hood of his robes throughout the lecture. Newt
gently pokes at it every so often and whispers, which makes Percival wonder
what else Newt could be hiding in there.
They sit together and Percival learns that Newt tends to get in trouble for his
intense interest in magical creatures. The caretaker once caught him in the
restricted section of the library, researching Basilisks, which are thought to
be one of the deadliest creatures. They redacted twenty points from Hufflepuff
because of him, and the other kids in his house have bullied him since.
"It's alright, though. I have a friend right here," Newt taps on his
Bowtruckle's head. "Isn't that right, Pickett?"
"Are there any professors I should be worried about?" Percival asks.
"I wouldn't know, to be honest. None of them seem to like me much. Oh, but I do
have a favorite. Professor Dumbledore - he teaches Transfiguration. He's
awfully kind and he's always there to help students, with just about anything,"
Newt says, practically gushing.
"Thanks. That's good to know."
“But do watch out for some students,” Newt says, voice soft yet stern. “They’re
very competitive here at Hogwarts. They’ll do just about anything to overcome
others, especially someone like you.”
“I’m sure they aren’t too different from the ones at Ilvermorny,” Graves says.
“But do be careful,” Newt says, ignoring him.
Class ends and Percival says goodbye to Newt. Normally he'd be sad to part with
his new friend, but he learns that they also share a few other classes
together, so they’ll be seeing each other again later in the week.
The rest of the day goes by smoothly.
Percival performs well in all of his classes, which is nothing out of the
ordinary. He particularly excels at Defence Against the Dark Arts and he’s
quite happy with himself. It’s a staple subject in his family, considering the
amount of Graves that are federal Aurors, and he’s proud to have talent in the
area. He can’t help but think of how pleased his father will be to hear this.
                                       —
“At night they come without being fetched, and by day they are lost without
being stolen,” the eagle knocker says.
“Stars,” Percival answers without missing a beat.
The door opens to the Ravenclaw common room. It’s a little emptier than usual,
the typically airy room is windier and colder. The Prefect tells him that it’s
because most students are exhausted after their first day of classes and have
headed to bed early. Exhausted is an understatement, Percival thinks. He heads
up to his dorm.
He doesn’t bother to take his robes off before falling face-flat on the bed.
Percival's incredibly glad that they were kind enough to give him a single
room. Maybe the elite, pureblood family lineage did come in handy.
Sighing, he melts into the sheets. Life at Hogwarts is, so far, very tiring. He
suspects he’ll get used to it after his first week but right now – all he wants
to do is sleep. It isn’t easy to get adjusted to an entirely new country, after
all.
Lazily waving his wand, Percival undresses and fits himself into a pair of
pajamas. He tucks himself into the warm bed, blankets thick and full. His body
grows warmer and his eyes grow heavy but just as he’s about to fall asleep, he
hears a tapping noise. Percival ignores it at first, believing it to be some
kind of mind trick created out of fatigue but it happens again, louder this
time. He waits for a couple of moments, just to see what'll happen. All of a
sudden, it sounds like his window is being pummelled by heavy hail.
Grumbling, Percival throws his sheets off the bed and sits up.
At his window are ten owls, frantically tapping at the glass. Percival stares,
in shock, as more owls appear – around thirty of them tap at his window, each
trying to overcome the other.
“What the…”
With every step he takes forward, more owls arrive. And then he notices that
they all have letters stuffed in between their toes. This must be some kind of
sick joke, he thinks. A prank on the American kid, a weird Ravenclaw
initiation, or just some British tradition.
Percival finally gets close enough to open his window and nearly a hundred owls
fill his room. He tries not to shout in anger, in case he wakes the others.
Instead, Percival ducks down, covering himself in his arms as he watches them
fly in circles until they each find something to perch on. A white one sits on
the knob of his door while a brown one settles itself on the edge of his bed.
He pushes through the feathers with a hand out, reaching around until his
fingers find the feet of an owl. Percival pulls the letter out from its toes.
The letter reads:
I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. You’ll be seeing a lot of me. Prepare
yourself.
Percival makes a face.
It looks like it's supposed to be a threat, but not a very intimidating one, at
least not to Percival. To him, it sounds more like a sick love letter. He
crumples it up and throws it on the ground. Now, even more curious as to what
the other letters read, he manages to pull out a letter from another owl. He
opens it. It reads exactly the same as the first. Percival opens another one,
and another. They all read the same thing, in the very same handwriting.
Whoever wrote these letters wants to make a big impression on Percival and for
some reason, he thinks it has to do with the blonde boy at the sorting
ceremony. But what would he want with Percival?
“Depulso!” Percival sends the owls out of his room. They pour out of his window
like a flood, dispersing once they return to the night sky.
Turning back, he looks at the state of his room and grimaces. Dozens of small
feathers and letters are scattered all over the floor. He groans. It’s just his
luck. His first day at Hogwarts and he's already found himself targeted by a
bully.
                                       —
Newt walks into Care of Magical Creatures ten minutes late – ironic,
considering this is his favorite class. He quickly finds Percival and sits next
to him. The Professor doesn’t even notice Newt’s tardiness as she rambles on
about something completely unrelated to magical creatures.
“She’s absolutely out of her mind,” Newt whispers. “Haven’t had a decent class
with her, not even once.”
Percival nods. If he listens very closely, he can make out the words “deathly”
and “horcrux,” which just sounds like utter nonsense to him. She doesn’t even
look at the students as she mumbles, her gaze focused on the ceiling instead.
Rolling his eyes, Percival pulls out his Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook
and scribbles notes instead, drowning out the Professor.
Beside him, Newt babbles about Hippogriffs and Demiguises for the next hour.
This is something Percival has gotten used to with all the time he's spent with
Newt. By the time class is over, Percival has finished his homework for the
next week and Newt ends his little spiel with a fact about Centaurs.
While Newt heads off to his next class, Percival decides to spend his break at
the library.
Swiftly, he makes his way to his favorite corner of the library, eager for some
alone time. It's small and quiet, not a good environment for more than one or
two people - which is perfect for Percival because it's always empty during
break periods.
He pulls out a wizard’s chess set with the intent to practice. Back at
Ilvermorny, he and his close friend Seraphina would always play during breaks
or lunch. Seraphina's smart, some would say she's smarter than him. She would
beat him at chess seventy-five percent of the time, but that doesn’t stop him
from practicing.
Percival's in the middle of a game when he feels a familiar chill.
“Bishop to E7,” someone says.
The Bishop moves to E7 and Percival looks up.
The blonde Slytherin boy from the sorting ceremony walks towards him with a
poise so confident that it’s menacing. He stares down at Percival with an icy
glare and upon closer examination, Percival notices that one eye is grey and
the other is black. He finds himself unable to look away.
The older boy sits opposite from Percival, hands clasped on the table.
“I'm playing alone, if you couldn't tell,” Percival says, eyebrows furrowing.
“Knight to B2,” the older boy disregards him, doesn't even look at him.
Percival sighs and gets up, hands pushing down on the table. All of a sudden,
the Slytherin pulls out his wand and points it at Percival. He gestures with
his head, urging Percival to sit back down.
“We’re going to play a game together,” he says, with no emotion.
So Percival sits back down, not wanting to cause a scene in the library.
The two play quietly for a while, each knocking out an equal amount of pieces,
skill levels almost matched. The older boy keeps his wand pointed at Percival,
threateningly. And Percival has his hand in his pocket, clenched around his own
wand – just in case.
“You sent me those owls, didn’t you?” Percival asks suddenly.
“And what if I did?”
“If you were expecting to scare me, it wasn’t very effective,” he says as a
matter of fact. “More annoying, I’d say.”
“I didn’t send them to scare or annoy you,” the older boy says, eyes focussed
on the game. They both watch as the pieces move.
Percival eyes him. “So you admit it. You did send them. Why?”
“Checkmate.”
Shocked, Percival looks down at the board. His King is smashed, crushed into
rubble as the other’s Queen animates itself back into its standard pose.
Percival huffs, frustrated.
“You should pay more attention to what’s in front of you,” the Slytherin says,
slipping out of his seat and then standing up. Percival looks up at him,
baffled. “The name is Gellert Grindelwald. We’ll be seeing each other again
soon, Percy.”
Percival shudders at the way Gellert says his name. He watches as Gellert heads
to the entrance of the library, and then gasps when he disapparates. Confused,
Percival simply stares at his broken chess pieces. After a few moments alone,
he starts packing up his chess set, getting ready to leave. The clock in the
library chimes and Percival realizes he’s late to class. He rushes out, running
as fast as he can.
He's... a little pissed. No - scratch that, he's really pissed. Who does that
asshole Gellert think he is? He thinks he can just waltz right into Percival's
game, force him to play and then beat him? Percival stomps down the hall, face
red.
And if he didn't want to annoy or intimidate Percival with those letters, what
exactly were his intentions? "We'll be seeing each other again?" What does
Gellert want with him?
                                       —
As Gellert promised, the Slytherin makes his presence much more frequent and
much louder.
Percival receives a Howler the next morning during breakfast. He’s thankful
that it isn’t a Red Howler – one that screams the letter’s contents – because
it’s from Gellert Grindelwald. The Howler recites the letter in a calm voice.
“Dear Percy, I know exactly what you’re thinking. You would be hard-pressed to
want to get rid of me. I’ll be following your every move. Sincerely, Gellert.”
That's certainly unsettling, Percival thinks. To any other wizard, this would
be appalling - frightening, even. To Percival, it's simply annoying.
Gellert must be well known, Percival thinks, because the students seated around
him stare at him with both worry and concern in their eyes. Just what he
needed, another thing to set him apart from the rest of the students at
Hogwarts.
He grumbles and gathers his books to leave.
                                       —
Percival receives some form of correspondence from Gellert every other day now.
Sometimes they're letters. They mostly recite the same things, things along the
lines of: 'I'm watching you,' 'I'm following you.' But some of them comment on
how Percival looks that day - 'I like how you've parted your hair today.' And
some compliment his duelling stance, or even the way he writes his papers.
Sometimes he finds notes scribbled into his desk. Today, this note tells him
the answers to a quiz he's supposed to take in his next class.
Now Percival has no idea how the older boy knows of his every move. He has no
idea how Gellert knows what he's thinking inside of his head, but... it's a
little flattering. That someone would take so much time to get to know
Percival, even if it's in some kind of psychopathic way. Don't get him wrong,
it's definitely annoying - creepy, too. But he's gotten used to it, so much so
that he almost expects it now.
It's strange. Percival doesn't like to think about it, but sometimes he finds
himself searching for Gellert. Any sign of his presence - physical, or not.
It's not that he wants to see him. It's not that he wants contact with him
either. Definitely not. He just wants to make sure Gellert isn't bothering
anyone else, that's all. Because he can take the pestering and the teasing,
he's strong enough. It doesn't affect his mentality or his work ethic. In fact,
he's acing all of his classes.
Yes, he may get a little excited when he receives the odd Howler or hidden
message, but that doesn't mean anything.
He walks down the hall in between classes, pushing and slipping through a sea
of black robes. Percival turns and enters a corridor, and notices that it’s
strangely empty, save for a group of students and a Professor staring at a
wall. One student spots Percival standing alone at the end of the corridor and
points at him.
“Look! There he is!”
They all turn to look at him and the Professor starts walking towards him, his
long robes gliding across the floor. Percival can’t read the man’s expression,
but he does recognize him as Newt’s favorite Professor – Professor Dumbledore.
“Don’t be startled. I have a feeling I know who did this,” Professor Dumbledore
says, placing a hand on Percival’s shoulder, guiding him over to the wall.
“Did what?” Percival asks.
The crowd opens and Percival can see a dozen eyes staring at him. Some look at
him with curiosity, others snicker and tease. He looks up at the wall and he's
shocked - his eyes widen and his brows lift so high they almost reach his
hairline. Carved into the thick, grey stone is Percival’s name accompanied with
the words: I’m watching you.
Percival's cheeks heat up.
“So you know who did it too?” The Professor asks, smiling.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Percival shakes his head, embarrassed. “I’ll clean it up.
I'm used to it.”
Dumbledore holds a hand in front of Percival, stopping him from pulling his
wand out. He then waves his other hand over the wall and the words disappear,
returning it back to untouched stone.
“Show’s over. Get to class, everyone.”
The students stare at Dumbledore in awe, and then murmur amongst each other as
they start leaving one by one. Percival looks up at the Professor and mutters
an apology.
“No need, dear boy. I simply found it strange. Gellert Grindelwald has never
acted like this before. He’s a seventh year student – he should know better
than to vandalize school property just to get someone’s attention,” Dumbledore
says.
“I don’t know why he’s doing this. I don’t even know him,” Percival complains,
avoiding eye contact with the Professor. He's still blushing, for a reason
unknown to him.
Dumbledore smiles at him. “Oh, you’ll understand soon enough. Now, off to class
with you.”
Percival has no idea what Professor Dumbledore means by that, but he nods,
dumbfounded, and walks quickly down the now empty corridor.
                                       —
“Good morning, Percy.”
Percival’s eyes jump open at the sound of Gellert’s voice, and he sits up
immediately. His eyes take some time to adjust to the light in the room before
they finally land on Gellert. The Slytherin sits in a chair across from
Percival’s bed. His legs are crossed and he sits relaxed, like a prince without
a care in the world.
“How did you get into the tower? You knew the riddle?” Percival squints at him.
“Something like that,” Gellert smiles devilishly. “I’ve been watching you
closely.”
Percival blushes at that, but then he frowns.
There’s an odd feeling in the air and he knows that something isn’t quite
right. He throws his sheets off the bed to find his legs bound together,
magically. He looks up at Gellert with an exasperated expression, blush now red
with anger. And then he notices the position of the sun outside of his window.
In a panic, he checks his wristwatch.
He overslept.
Gellert must have deactivated his alarm or stolen it from him, or something, to
stop him from waking up in time for class.
Percival searches for his wand frantically, first under the covers of his bed
and on top of the bedside table, and then he’s bunny-hopping around the room as
Gellert laughs at him. The floor rumbles every time Percival jumps, making
Gellert laugh harder.
“Looking for this?” Gellert finally asks, holding Percival’s wand out.
“Give it back!” Percival lunges at Gellert, but he misses and falls, hitting
the ground instead. Groaning, he rubs his aching chin.
“Did you really think it’d be that simple?”
Percival growls.
“Look. I’m late for class and if I don’t show up, the Professor’s going to tell
my parents,” Percival says, struggling to stand. He wobbles and nearly falls
over, but manages to get on his feet. Gellert makes his way to the other side
of the room, twirling Percival’s wand in the air. Annoyed, Percival huffs, and
hops over to Gellert.
“I’ll give you back your wand on one condition,” Gellert says. He side-steps
each time Percival reaches for him and dangles the wand teasingly over
Percival’s head. Percival jumps for the wand, arms reaching out to grab it but
he’s much shorter than Gellert and it’s proving to be very difficult. Gellert
waves the wand around before bringing it down, holding it in front of his face.
Percival’s eyes follow the wand and he finds himself staring directly into
Gellert’s eyes. “Accompany me to the Yule Ball.”
Percival blinks, flushing a deeper shade of red. He takes a moment to process
what Gellert has just said. “Why in the world would I want to do that?! We hate
each other.”
Gellert pauses. He stares blankly at Percival and then he scoffs, unimpressed,
and paces around the room, examining Percival’s wand closely.
“I always did want a wand made of Wampus cat hair core. Those beasts are only
native to the United States. Hm, and what else? Oh, I know. They’re featured in
the folklore of various American native tribes. Am I right, Percy?” Gellert
asks, nonchalantly pointing the wand at Percival as he continues to walk. “I’d
be the only wizard in Hogwarts with a wand like this.”
He’s fucking crazy, Percival thinks. What does the Wampus cat have anything to
do with this?
Suddenly, Percival really wishes he had paid attention to his father’s lecture
on wandless magic.
There’s a long silence between them as Percival broods in the corner of his
dorm room, waddling like a penguin in an effort to stand straight. Gellert
fakes a yawn and then checks his nails for dirt. “Really, Percy, it isn’t that
difficult.”
The younger wizard takes a moment to think, even though he knows that the only
way he’ll get out of this is by saying yes. So he sucks on his teeth, drumming
up the courage to throw his dignity away by agreeing to the older boy’s
insufferable demand.
“Fine,” Percival sighs, defeated. “I’ll go with you to the Yule Ball.”
Gellert smiles and it makes Percival shudder. He whispers a counter-curse and
purple light tickles Percival’s legs, setting them free. Percival almost trips,
but quickly regains his balance before snatching his wand out of Gellert’s
outstretched hand.
“I would consider skipping this first class altogether if I were you. The
Professor tends to make an example out of tardy students,” Gellert teases,
walking to the door. “See you soon, Percy.”
Percival watches as the door gently closes. His mind is a puzzle, trying to
piece whatever just happened together. It’s a trick. It has to be. Gellert is
probably forcing him to go just so he can torment Percival further. All of the
annoying pranks were probably in preparation for this – Gellert’s final act as
Percival’s bully. He's going to humiliate him at the Ball, ridicule him and
make him look like a chump.
Sighing, Percival sits at the edge of his bed with his head in his hands.
He can’t believe he’s being forced to attend Hogwart’s traditional Christmas
Ball with a deranged madman.
                                       —
Percival ends up skipping his first class.
He meets up with Newt later, in the Great Hall, for lunch. They sit away from
other students, at a table near the door. It’s loud and bustling, a busy time
now that students are excited to be finished with classes soon.
Newt tells Percival about what he missed in today’s lecture, but Percival’s
mind can’t help but drift off to thoughts of Gellert. The older boy could be
watching Percival right now and he wouldn’t even know it. He looks around the
room, scanning desperately for even a glimpse of the Slytherin.
“– with Gellert Grindelwald.”
Percival’s ears perk up at the mention of Gellert. He looks at Newt. “Sorry,
did you say something?"
“I said, people seem to be avoiding you more often than usual. And I’m assuming
it has to do with Gellert Grindelwald,” Newt clarifies, unoffended by
Percival’s clear lack of interest in what he had to say before Gellert was
brought up.
“What makes you say that?” Percival asks.
“Well, he carved your name into a wall, for one. And I’ve heard he sends you
Howlers every morning. Oh, and I’ve also heard that he once tried to pluck a
hair from your head for a polyjuice potion,” Newt says.
Clearly, someone’s been spreading rumors already. Percival shakes his head.
“No, no. I mean, why do people avoid me because of Gellert?”
Newt fidgets a little, tugging on his yellow and black scarf as he sniffs for
no particular reason. “Well, it’s just that – that everyone’s a little afraid
of him. There’s rumors that he's been seen after hours in the forest,
practicing the Dark Arts, which – which I think is quite worrying. He’s very
intimidating, don’t you think?”
Percival thinks back to all of the annoying things Gellert has done to him.
“He’s more annoying than intimidating,” Percival says, shrugging, trying to
play it cool. “I’m sure I’m not the only one he bothers.”
“No, definitely not. But you are the only one he flirts with,” Newt says,
lightly petting his Bowtruckle on the head with the pad of his index finger.
Percival stares at Newt with wide eyes.
“Flirt?! You call what he does to me flirting?” Percival nearly shouts.
“Well… yes. People think you two are dating. Those Howlers do sound like love
letters."
He does have to admit, they do.
Newt continues. "Have you seen him bully others before? He sets first years on
fire, he makes second years puke slugs. Just yesterday he blinded a sixth year
right before a very important test,” Newt says, eyebrows lifting in sympathy.
“A little while ago, he stole poor little Pickett here, and I only got him back
after he forced me to tell him all I know about Wampus cats.”
Percival sighs. That explains Gellert’s extensive knowledge on the beast.
“Well, we aren't dating. He hates me, I'm sure of it. I'm just his latest
target. This morning he cursed me - bound my legs together and stole my wand.
He forced me to go to the Yule Ball with him in exchange for it,” Percival
says, trying to convince Newt.
Newt gives Percival a look. One side of his mouth quirks up into a half-smile.
“So he asked you to be his date to the Yule Ball? You don’t think that’s
flirting?”
Percival flushes, hard. He's left speechless, unable to think of a response.
Class is about to start soon and Newt gets up to leave, waving Percival
goodbye. Percival simply nods, mind stuck on processing the information he’s
just learned. Flirting. Dating. The Yule Ball. He’s silent the entire walk to
his next class, stepping down the hallway mindlessly. He doesn’t even notice
when the ghost of Sir Nicholas passes through him.
“Take a look at this guy! He didn’t notice me at all!” The ghost barks
laughter.
Is Gellert really flirting with him? Does Gellert like him? His ears grow hot
and red as he asks himself more questions. Does Gellert genuinely want to take
him to the Ball?
Chapter End Notes
     Also, a fair warning. This isn't going to be a very happy story -
     it's a little dark, but not too dark.
***** simmer down and pucker up *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings: Underage sexual activity
When he tells his mother about the Ball, she sends him his father’s old suit
from his years at Ilvermorny. The ensemble is entirely black, save for a navy
blue bowtie. The waistcoat is tight – it’s meant to be worn that way, his
mother says in the letter that comes with the suit. It’s a little bit too big
for him at the shoulders and the overcoat is way too long - the coattails hang
only inches above the ground. Percival decides to keep his hair simple. He
simply slicks his front bangs back, but no matter how hard he tries, small
strands keep falling forward.
His face, however, can’t seem to express anything other than a scowl.
“Well I think you look great, Percival,” Newt says brightly, mistaking
Percival’s annoyance for self-consciousness. He looks at him through the mirror
and smiles.
“It’s not that,” Percival says, shaking his head. “I’m worried about a certain
Slytherin.”
“Ah.”
Percival turns to look at Newt, who’s dressed in a light blue suit. Around his
neck is the yellow and black scarf that he can never seem to get rid of. And of
course Pickett is there, hiding in between the folds of knit fabric, whimpering
and whining whenever Newt ignores him.
“Now what would Gellert want with me at the Yule Ball?” Percival asks, staring
at the floor as he paces in his room.
“I’m sure he just wants to dance – just like every other wizard with a crush,”
Newt says.
Percival shudders at the word ‘crush,’ but burns red all the same.
“He does not have a crush on me!” He hates how whiney he sounds.
Newt cocks his head to the side and shrugs. “Everyone else would say
otherwise…” he whispers.
Annoyed, Percival pretends not to hear what Newt says. Instead, he continues
pacing around his room, trying to think of all the ways Gellert could
potentially humiliate him at the Ball.
                                       —
They arrive a little late, but once they enter the Hall they head straight to
the refreshment table to loiter.
Percival isn’t a fan of all the extravagance and folly. It isn’t pleasing at
all. His family holds enough ceremonies and dances to last him a lifetime.
After having to put up with all of those charades, he can’t seem to find any
pleasure in dancing. No, he’s more of an all-business type of boy. He much
prefers when the Great Hall holds duelling club or apparition classes. Newt
must feel the same way about dances too, because he’s nervously avoiding
watching the others dance. His eyes glance just about everywhere except the
dance floor.
“Newt?”
Both boys turn around.
“Oh, hello Leta,” Newt blushes. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Leta laughs lightly. “Well, it is the Yule Ball, after all.”
“Oh, yes. I suppose that’s right.”
The three of them stand there in an awkward silence.
Percival takes this as his cue to leave. He whispers Newt a good luck and then
bids them both a good night before sitting down at an empty table. Students
rush around him and he spots some unfamiliar faces, probably from other
European wizarding schools. There are just so many people and he tries not to
look into the crowd but he just can’t help it. He’s squinting, peering over
countless heads as he searches for Gellert, but there’s no sign of the older
boy. Percival pouts.
He tries not to feel too disappointed.
“Good evening, Percy,” a breath suddenly tickles his neck.
Startled, Percival turns to see Gellert. He’s wearing a suit that's entirely
black and his dress shoes give him a slight lift, which makes him look all the
more menacing. His blonde hair is perfectly coiffed, accentuating his angular
features and unique eyes. And he’s smiling, but it’s not a friendly smile –
it’s more like one that a predator uses when it’s finally caught its prey.
Chilling… but slightly charming. It’s slightly refreshing to see Gellert out of
those Green and black robes, the ones that make him seem so soulless.
Percival’s ashamed to admit it, but Gellert does look a little handsome, albeit
frightfully so.
“Evening,” Percival grumbles.
Gellert pulls him up by the arm, forcing him to stand.
“This suit is far too big for you. But otherwise, you look more than
presentable,” Gellert says, looking him up and down and pulling on loose areas
of his suit. Percival jerks backward when Gellert reaches for his neck, but
calms down once he realizes that Gellert is only trying to straighten his
bowtie.
Percival’s heart races at their closeness. The way Gellert looks down at him
without tilting his head makes him feel small, like a mouse. His eyes can't
help but jump around the room, trying to avoid looking anywhere but straight
ahead. Maybe Newt was right. Maybe Gellert is intimidating.
Clearing his throat, Percival rolls his eyes and huffs. “Let’s get this over
with.”
He expects to be dragged to the dance floor, where even more students arrive to
dance, but instead he’s hauled out of the Hall and into a corridor. Gellert
wraps his hand tightly around Percival’s upper arm, squeezing so hard that it
hurts.
“Hey, what –”
They run faster and Gellert pulls him into disapparition. Percival feels his
stomach twist and churn as he’s dragged into an invisible black hole. His ears
fill with sounds of crackling and popping and his head feels like it’s being
ripped to shreds. The whole process ends with a loud snap.
Suddenly, he’s outside, on the field in front of the school. Percival drops to
his knees and coughs in an attempt to expel the nausea. His throat burns as
bile threatens to leave his body. After what feels like hours of coughing, he
wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and sits up, resting on his legs as he
tries to catch his breath.
His eyes take some time to adjust to the darkness but once they do, he spots
the Dark Forest just a few feet away from them.
“Get up,” Gellert says, facing away from him.
“What are we doing here?” Percival demands.
There’s no answer.
“We shouldn’t be here,” Percival tries to sound reasonable.
“I said get up!”
Percival stands, knees wobbly. He pats his leg pocket to make sure his wand is
there, and to his relief, it is. He’s never actually been anywhere near the
Dark Forest before, let alone outside on the field. Why would he ever think to
leave the castle? It’s much more enjoyable to spend time either in the library
or in the Ravenclaw common room, where it’s quiet and warm.
It’s cold, he realizes. Freezing, actually. The fields are covered in banks of
snow and it begins to seep into his suit and shoes. Percival shivers.
“Why are we here?” He asks, again.
“Don’t play dumb, Percy. I know what that Newt boy has been telling you. You
know all about my experimenting with the Dark Arts,” Gellert says. “As you
know, I’ve been watching you. Hell, I’ve known about you since your first year
at Ilvermorny. Percival Graves, descendant of Gondulphus Graves – master of the
Dark Arts. I was pleased to see that you’re just as talented, especially in the
area of Defence Against the Dark Arts.”
Percival has no idea where Gellert is going with this.
“What’s your point?”
“There’s something in that forest that I need. Something very difficult to
obtain. Something guarded by extremely Dark forces – ones that even I can’t
defend against. So, I need the help of a talented young wizard,” Gellert uses
his wand to tip Percival’s chin upwards.
Percival shakes his head, backing away and nearly tripping. “No, no. I’m not
doing this. I could risk expulsion. My parents would kill me.”
“If you go back, I’ll tell the Headmaster you were out here. I’ll tell them
this was all your idea and they’ll expel you from both schools. How would your
parents like that?” Gellert threatens, stepping closer.
“Don’t kid yourself, Gellert. They’ll know the truth,” Percival scoffs,
quickening his pace.
All of a sudden, Gellert points his wand at Percival. The tip glows bright
yellow with tinges of green seeping through. Percival freezes. He knows exactly
what this is.
“You wouldn’t,” Percival pales, heart beating rapidly.
“Oh, but I would. You see, I’ve cast the Imperius Curse before and I can cast
it again, just as easily,” Gellert says, thrusting his wand forward.
Somehow, Gellert has forced him to walk in the direction of the forest. His
wand keeps Percival moving, glowing brighter each time he threatens to cast the
curse. The back of Percival’s foot hits a boulder in the snow and he stumbles,
landing on his back. He yelps but manages to keep himself steady enough not to
submerge into the foot of snow - which is harder than expected because he can
barely see anything. Everything around them is dark, pitch-black except for the
intense glow that comes from Gellert’s wand.
It’s blinding.
Heart racing, Percival pulls his wand from his pocket, moving slowly so as not
to alert Gellert. He makes a show of shielding his eyes from the light,
squinting dramatically.
“Alright! I’ll do what you want,” Percival says. “Just put your wand away. I –
I can’t see a thing.”
After a moment of heavy silence, Gellert pockets his wand. Just as he’s about
to step forward, Percival swiftly uncovers his wand and aims it at Gellert.
Taking a deep breath, he shouts.
“Flipendo!”
Blue light streams from Percival’s wand in a burst, knocking Gellert back as
the spell hits his chest. He flies backwards, body folded in half.
In a rush, Percival pushes himself off the ground and makes a run for the
castle. He conjures a stream of hot air from his wand to help melt the snow in
front of him. But it only sets him back, slowing him down as his feet drown in
deep puddles of water. The bottom half of his suit is soaked, weighing down on
his legs. Frantically, Percival tries to dry himself off and he barely notices
Gellert stalking him from behind.
A purple flame suddenly slashes through Percival’s lower half and his legs
collapse in on themselves.
He screams – not because it’s painful, but because of the shock it puts him
through. His legs feel paralyzed - numb, as he drops. Percival manages not to
fall face first into the snow by sticking his hands out in front of him, but
they only do so much. He winces as they dig into the sharp gravel and icy
grass. Percival rolls his body to lie on his side, suit fully covered in snow
as he tries desperately to spot Gellert, wand pointing in all directions.
“That was impressive,” Gellert hums. He’s clutching onto his stomach but other
than that he looks perfectly sound. “Quicker than any Ravenclaw and braver than
any Gryffindor.”
I’m going to die here, Percival thinks. He watches as Gellert closes the gap
between them as he marches over to Percival.
“Don’t worry. I’ve only twisted several nerves and muscles in your legs.
They’ll heal in a matter of days,” Gellert says. “But I’m very impressed. You
managed to use a simple jinx to knock me off my legs. Nobody’s ever done that
before.”
“I can do it again if you want me to,” Percival spits.
“Merlin, you’re still so feisty. I’ve always loved that about you,” Gellert
says, crouching to look Percival in the eyes. He comes even closer, until
they’re nearly face to face. “Even like this – damaged and dirtied – you still
manage to look so dashing. There really isn’t anyone in Hogwarts like you.”
Percival recoils, confused but at the same time excited, by the older boy’s
sudden advance.
Unconsciously, he licks his lips. “What are you doing?” It doesn’t come out as
rough as he wants it to – it sounds more like a rushed whisper, needy and
disoriented.
“Don’t forget Percival, I’ve been watching you every day since you got here. I
know we both want this.”
Instead of hexing or cursing him like Percival thought he would, Gellert leans
down and brushes stray hairs away from Percival’s face. It’s an oddly gentle,
foreign feeling. Percival pauses as he tries to make sense of Gellert’s
actions. His heart no longer beats from fear, but from nervousness. Dazed, he
thinks deeply about what Gellert says.
He does want this.
They’re only inches apart, eyes locked and shallow breaths mixing. Percival
swallows, and then he finds himself closing his eyes and tilting his head.
Gellert’s hand lifts Percival’s chin upwards, but just as he’s about to lean
in, they hear shouting.
“Percival!” It’s Newt’s voice. With him are several Professors, including
Professor Dumbledore. They all hurry towards him.
Cursing, Gellert abruptly stands. He disapparates and leaves Percival in the
middle of the field. Suddenly, Percival remembers the pain that’s shooting up
his legs and he groans, clutching his swollen calf. The rest of his body grows
numb as the freezing cold catches up to his nerves. He shivers, teeth
chattering as he curls in on himself, trying to warm his body as best as he
can. Cotton fills his head and the world starts spinning.
“He’s hurt!”
All he can make out is a flurry of robes and boots trampling in the snow before
everything turns pitch black.
                                       —
“You’re awake.”
Newt smiles down at him, his muffler wrapped tightly around his neck with
Pickett sitting snuggly within it. Percival can’t even begin to explain how
glad he is to see such an ordinary sight.
But he doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he sits up and surveys his
surroundings – a large room with flat white beds, all of them empty. He’s in
the hospital wing.
“How long have I been out?” His voice is groggy and his tongue feels dry.
Percival clears his throat and Newt offers him a glass of water, which he takes
readily.
“Only about four days,” Newt says this like it isn’t a problem. He points to
the small table beside Percival’s bed, where his wand sits on top of. “You
dropped your wand when you fainted so I went and found it for you.”
“Thanks, Newt.”
“Oh, you’re very welcome. And also, the nurse told me to tell you not to move
your legs. You were hit with an unknown curse – one that jumbles your muscles,
but you’ll be fine, she said. They just need some time to heal,” Newt says.
Percival nods.
Newt chews on the inside of his mouth. “Some bad news though. They haven’t
found Gellert Grindelwald yet. Professor Dumbledore supposes he’s still around
Hogwarts, maybe even lurking in the dark forest,” he chuckles nervously, trying
to lighten the mood. “But he hasn’t shown up to the Slytherin common room yet.
And nobody’s seen him since the night of the Ball.”
Percival pauses at the mention of Gellert’s name. His ears burn as he remembers
the intimate moment they shared just before he fainted.
“But – but don’t worry! I’m sure they’ll find him soon and the school will take
care of him,” Newt says, mistaking Percival’s feelings once again.
“Yeah… I hope so.”
Now that the hard part’s over, Newt begins to tell Percival everything he’s
missed since the Christmas holiday break started. Newt decided to stay at
Hogwarts this year because he needed the library to research more magical
creatures. And besides, he’d rather spend time looking after his injured friend
than return home to do nothing for two weeks. Percival appreciates this, very
much. He likes Newt. He’s dedicated to what he loves and he’s a great friend.
Although sometimes he can talk a little bit too much.
He also informs Percival about a rumor that's going around. Apparently, he and
Grindelwald are scheming something dark together - a plan to take over
Hogwarts. But Newt tells him not to worry because they’re just that – rumors.
Percival rolls his eyes at the immaturity of the other students.
“It’s getting late. I should probably let you rest,” Newt says. He leaves just
before curfew starts, yawning and rubbing at his eyes as he waves Percival
goodbye.
The door shuts, probably louder than Newt intended, and it leaves Percival’s
ears ringing. There’s a sudden chill in the room and he guesses that it’s just
a draft, but he knows by now that it’s much more than that.
“I thought he’d never leave.”
Percival turns.
“Gellert,” he knits his brows together. Pushing at the sheets, Percival tries
to move, tries to get up to fight or do something, but he feels a stabbing
sensation in his leg and he yelps. Gellert places a hand on Percival’s shoulder
and gently pushes him back down, shushing him.
“I’m not here to hurt you or anything of the sort. Quite the opposite,
actually,” Gellert kneels on the floor beside Percival’s bed and strokes his
leg tenderly. “I’m sure you remember what happened before we were so rudely
interrupted.”
Blushing, Percival stares – his eyes tense. “Yeah. What of it?”
Gellert smiles and pretends not to notice the redness that colours the younger
boy’s face.
“Well, did you like it?”
There’s a pause.
Percival flushes deeper, blush reaching all the way to his ears.
“…What if I said yes?”
“Would you like to continue?” Gellert’s voice is low and suggestive.
He didn’t think it humanly possible to blush an even deeper red. Percival feels
like he’s on fire. His heart beats so loudly that he’s sure Gellert can hear
it. It takes him some time to make sense of the situation, which he figures
doesn’t make sense at all. All he knows is that he wants this.
“Yeah – yes,” Percival says, trying not to sound eager.
Gellert swoops down and pecks his lips once, twice, before lengthening the
kiss. Heat pools in Percival’s belly as he squeezes his eyes shut and pushes
forward. He leans on his elbow and then raises his other hand to grasp
Gellert’s arm. The kiss starts off slow, but gradually becomes rushed. Gellert
pushes against Percival’s lips with his tongue and Percival complies, parting
his lips.
He’s only ever done this once before – it was a dare, and it surely didn’t
involve any tongue. During third year, Percival lost a bet to Tina and had to
peck Seraphina on the lips during the Ilvermorny President’s Day dance.
Needless to say, it didn’t go too well. Queenie had to treat the bruise on his
cheek for several hours. Tina had laughed at him for almost a month.
So it’s absolutely nerve-wracking what they’re doing right now. What makes
Percival even more anxious is that Gellert seems to be an expert. His mouth
overpowers Percival’s, completely dominating the kiss.
Percival whimpers low in his throat and Gellert starts slowing down to
accommodate him.
With the lightest of touches, Gellert places a hand on Percival’s chest and
entangles his other hand in Percival’s hair. He strokes his hair tenderly,
tucking strands behind his ear. All of this makes Percival feel numb.
The hand resting on Percival’s chest begins pressing down on him, long fingers
fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. Gellert only open the bottom half of
his shirt, creating an opening that he uses to spreads his hand over the skin
of Percival’s stomach. Percival twitches when Gellert’s hand suddenly twists
and glides down, sliding under his drawstring pants. He grips the older boy’s
arm tighter.
“Relax. It’ll make things easier,” Gellert whispers against his lips.
Percival nods and unclenches. “Okay.”
Looking down from above, Percival feels dizzy as he watches Gellert’s hand fold
around his cock. His breath hitches, making Gellert chuckle. Percival’s eyes
follow the movement of Gellert’s hand – up and down, up and down. His cock
quickly hardens, and he’s leaking already.
In an instant, he’s completely forgotten about the pain in his legs.
And then Gellert’s lips are on his again. Their bodies are closer this time,
and they kiss deeper – mouths open and wet, tongues twisting fervently.
Percival clutches Gellert’s shoulders with both hands now, shuddering as the
older boy continues with his ministrations. Gellert uses his index finger to
toy with the head of Percival’s cock, rubbing the pre-come along his length
before quickening his pace. Every so often, Gellert’s grip turns vice-like
around the base of his cock, teasing Percival with the idea of orgasm. His body
shakes.
Of course, he’s aware – so painfully aware of the control that Gellert has over
him. The boy is bigger than him in every way – he’s older than him, physically
larger, and his magic is much darker and more powerful than his.
He hates it. He hates how much he enjoys it.
Percival digs his fingers into Gellert’s robes, panting. He’s close. So close
that he wants to beg Gellert to let him come, but he can’t bring himself to
abandon his dignity like that. Gellert twists his fist around Percival’s cock,
squeezing and running his thumb along the shaft.
Gellert breaks the kiss to focus on the task at hand. He loosens his grip and
then strokes Percival in fluid motions as he watches him closely. Percival
bites his lower lip to keep from moaning.
“Come,” Gellert says. “For me.”
Those words are all it takes for Percival.
He gasps, squirming on the bed as he comes. His vision grows blurry, eyes
fluttering like mad. After he finishes, he lets go of Gellert and falls back to
his bed, panting. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment, recuperating, and
then he looks down at the mess. Come is smeared onto the inside of his pants –
sticky and hot, but most of it is in Gellert’s hand.
Glancing to the side, Percival catches Gellert staring at his dirtied hand,
rubbing the come in between his fingers – almost like he’s inspecting it.
Percival blushes, embarrassed.
“Tergeo,” Gellert whispers quietly, removing all evidence of Percival’s
pleasure.
Out of breath, Percival sits up and reaches for Gellert. He tries to slip his
hand into the older boy’s trousers but Gellert stands, shrugging Percival off.
“But what about you?” Percival asks.
“I’m fine.”
Percival blinks. He looks Gellert up and down. The Slytherin looks the same as
always. Both his hair and clothes are perfectly in place and there doesn’t seem
to be any sign of arousal at all. The only indication of anything close to lust
is his face, as his usually ghostly white skin is tinted pink and his lips are
swollen red. Gellert looks statuesque compared to Percival, who looks like an
utter mess – skin crimson and hot, hair soaked in sweat.
“I don’t understand.”
Gellert uses his wand to wrap Percival in his blanket, gently tucking him in.
Without warning, he’s hit with an intense wave of exhaustion and his body
relaxes into the bed.
“I like you, Percival,” Gellert says. His voice is sharp, as if he’s stating a
fact. “And I know you like me too. Just keep in mind what I do for you… how
much I care about you. I’m sure you’ll find a way to repay my kindness some
day.”
Percival wants so desperately to respond to what sounds like a threat, but he
finds himself dozing off, eyelids unmovably heavy.
“Recover well, Percy. And don’t forget – I need you.”
                                       —
By the time he’s out of the infirmary, there are only a few days left of
Christmas break. Percival originally intended on going back home for the
holidays, but those plans fell after the incident.
“Percy, honey. I hope you’re healing well. Christmas just isn’t the same
without you. Your father and I are very worried, but we know that you’re a
strong boy and that you’re ready to challenge the world. Professor Dumbledore
told us all about what happened at the Ball, which is why we’ve decided to gift
you with something that is very valuable to the family. But please, stay out of
trouble. Love, Mom and Dad,” the howler slowly closes and then burns itself,
leaving a pile of soot.
He stares at the gift his parents mentioned in the letter. It’s a silver locket
– an old family heirloom engraved with a ‘G’ for Graves. Percival’s never
touched the locket, never seen it either. He’s only ever heard of it from his
father.
The Graves family locket is used to ward off against Dark forces, protecting
the wearer and those near it from terrible evils. And only members of the
Graves family can use it. Its activation process is tricky, but necessary. A
Graves must touch the center of the locket with a finger coated in their own
blood and only then will it produce a ward that is both protective and
defensive. But if used excessively, the locket will shatter and the ward will
temporarily reverse its power, exposing the user to amplified levels of Dark
forces.
“What’s that? I’ve never seen it before,” Newt asks from beside him.
“It’s just an old family heirloom. Not that special,” Percival shrugs. “What
did you get for Christmas?”
Newt pulls out a box – it’s small, probably around the size of a ring case.
Inside it is an egg, gently wrapped in velvet cloth.
“Isn’t it nice? There’s only one problem. I have no idea what it is.”
"We could always go find out."
The two boys spend the rest of the holidays exploring the library, reading up
on ancient texts and learning new things about magical creatures. Other times,
they go outside and play in the snow, practice their magic, and even go hunting
for interesting herbs or plants – things that Percival would usually never do
in his spare time.
It’s the most fun he's had since he got here.
But even with all the fun and games, only one thing stands out in his mind. One
person, to be exact.
He hasn’t seen Gellert since he was hospitalized.
'Refreshing' – is one word he uses to describe the feeling. But 'yearn' is
another. Desire. Need. Want. He actually misses Gellert’s presence. The absence
of the usual air of tension should bring him relief but instead, it makes
Percival feel insecure and vulnerable. Like his metaphorical security blanket
is gone. Like he can't trust anyone around him. Like he needs Gellert to watch
him at all times.
Like he’s missing a part of himself.
***** a very necessary evil *****
Chapter Notes
     I should just point out that this will not have a happy ending (might
     depend on what your definition of "happy" is). That being said, it
     won't be unrequited love either.
Finally, Gellert thinks as he watches Percival receive the locket from his
parents.
It’s all coming together now.
                                       —
“A Seer.”
His ability lets him peer into the future – the more immediate future. But
sometimes he sees things that are meant to happen years ahead. They’re muffled
and blurred, but he knows that they’re far off in time. He can just tell. As he
grows older he finds that his visions become clearer and much more frequent.
The first vision happened when he was eleven, a freshman at Hogwarts. He
predicted something simple: the answer to a question on a test, nothing
revolutionary.
But then he started seeing prophecies of Darkness. Things that aren’t supposed
to happen, things that older witches and wizards warn young ones about. The
thing is, Gellert was never perturbed by these visions. In fact, he began to
see the beauty behind the Dark teachings - the wonderful, exquisite world of
the Dark Arts. They all rang true. Why should wizards conceal their power and
hide among muggles? Why bow down to lesser wizards when he could create a
benevolent system using his own strength? The attraction of the lore, the
potential for unlimited power... The Dark Arts had seduced him and he had
fallen hard.
That's when he learned of the Deathly Hallows – three powerful objects created
by Death himself.
Gellert started immersing himself into finding these objects, no matter what
the cost.
Obsessed with power, he spent the next six years of his school life researching
in the Hogwarts library, travelling to other countries, and making "friends" in
high places. Manipulation and coercion came easy to him, like a sixth sense.
Nobody thought to defy him, and nobody could. He mastered the art of apparition
and learned to perform basic wandless magic. With these skills he managed to
discover that there lies an item hidden deep within the Dark Forest that could
possibly be the key to finding the Deathly Hallows.
And that is precisely why he needs Percival Graves and that locket of his.
Gellert knew it wouldn’t be all that simple. He needed to build a reputation,
first. After all, the boy comes from a long line of Aurors who specialize in
Defence Against the Dark Arts. He's talented, quick-witted, and calculating. It
doesn't hurt that he's also very good looking. What with his strikingly bold
brows paired with those doe-eyes and milky skin, Gellert would have lured him
in even without the incentive. But Percival’s young. He’s in the prime stages
of puberty and, although book smart, he’s quite naïve – something Gellert can
easily exploit.
It’s a simple game of cat and mouse, really. He’ll manipulate the boy into
falling in love with him. Plain and easy. Graves are known to be loyal -
they’ll devote themselves to those with any form of authority over them. That's
why they're such perfect Aurors. Even Gellert admits it’s a little harsh, but
then again - it’s all for the sake of the greater good. With a wizard like
that, he’s almost guaranteed to get exactly what he wants. Now that he thinks
about it, it's a shame he won't be keeping him. Gellert supposes he'll only be
good for this instance.
It may have been pure coincidence that the Graves received a letter from
Hogwarts, inviting their son to study at the school for his fifth year, or… it
may not have been.
Flirting was the most difficult part, but the timing of the Yule Ball couldn’t
have been more perfect.
The whole incident outside of the school was just for show, of course. Gellert
wasn’t planning on dragging Percival into the forest at all. It was to scare
him, assert power over him, show him who was boss. But it was mostly to scare
the Professors and the Headmaster. If he managed to endanger Percival’s life by
threatening him with Dark forces, the Headmaster would be forced to notify his
parents. But because they wouldn’t want to cause an uproar on there being Dark
magic present in the school, they would have to keep it inconspicuous and beg
Percival’s parents to let him stay at Hogwarts.
Percival, being the stubborn little boy he is, would persevere through whatever
comes his way, and the Graves would have to gift him with something that will
protect their precious son.
Now, Gellert’s read about the locket before, in the restricted section of the
library. The book was titled, 'American Wizardry: Powerful Knick Knacks and
Trinkets.' The name of the book was unnecessarily childish, which is probably
why most people have never read it before. The locket is an ancient relic
passed down by members of the Graves family for generations. An item perfectly
suited for what Gellert has in mind.
It’s all coming together now.
                                       —
“I’m going to be late,” Percival says, hushed yet annoyed.
Gellert ignores him and presses kisses down his neck and collarbone, hands
roaming along the younger boy’s sides. He licks and bites, sucking until
Percival’s skin is peppered in red. The younger boy squirms beneath him.
It’s break period and they’re pressed up against a book shelf in the library,
robes and ties discarded on the floor. Spines of several books dig into
Percival’s back, leaving marks and indentations, but all he can concentrate on
is how every single part of his body burns when the older boy touches him. He
moans softly when Gellert slips a hand under his shirt and fondles his chest.
“Skip class and stay with me. I can do more than just kiss you,” Gellert
breathes against his neck. Percival’s face heats up.
“I can’t. My parents –”
“Enough about your parents. You’ve missed me, haven’t you? And Merlin knows how
much I’ve missed you,” Gellert always speaks with a razor-sharp tongue,
frightening Percival. He pecks Percival’s cheek and combs his hair lovingly.
It’s so hard to say no to Gellert, especially when the older boy is so
intimidating. Percival always feels like he’s compelled to agree, to give into
his demands. He doesn’t know whether he really wants to or if his mind is just
trying to help him survive. Biting his lip, Percival calms himself down and
drums up the courage to refuse Gellert. Maybe he’ll be okay with it just this
once.
Percival shakes his head and stares at the floor. “Next time. I have to go to
class.”
Gellert narrows his eyes and Percival panics. His breath catches in his throat
and his heart thumps intensely – but then the older boy smiles and Percival’s
weak in the knees. Slowly, he breathes a stuttered sigh of relief.
“You’re right. Wouldn’t want to anger your parents, now would we? But let me
kiss you until you really have to leave.”
“A - Alright.”
It’s slow and intense, the way Gellert kisses him, as if he wants to devour
Percival’s soul, conquer him completely. He holds Percival’s face with both
hands and traces the inside of his mouth with his tongue.
Percival shrinks into him, trying his best to respond.
His eyes shoot open when his lower lip is suddenly pierced between teeth and he
pushes Gellert away. The older boy doesn't even flinch. Shaking, Percival
brings a hand to his lips. They’re swollen, wet and parched at the same time,
but most importantly – they’re bleeding. It stings when he presses a finger to
the cut.
“I’m sorry, Percy,” Gellert looks at him with a provoking stare, like he’s
trying to see how Percival will react. “I can’t seem to control myself when I’m
around you.”
Normally, he’d be furious – so angry that he’d be unable to speak. Red flashes
through his mind but then he looks up at Gellert and his flight response nearly
kicks in. The older boy’s glaring at him, looking as if he’ll strike Percival
if he doesn’t forgive him. His heart sits impossibly still.
“No. It’s okay,” Percival says, shaking his head cautiously.
“A simple healing spell should fix it.”
“No, no thanks,” Percival’s still shaking his head. “I think I’ll just go to
class now.”
Gellert doesn’t respond, his face unreadable as he pecks Percival on the cheek
and he helps him put on his robe. He whispers in Percival’s ear – I’ll see you
soon.
It’s always the same. Gellert’s never really physically present, but he’ll see
Percival soon. All of Hogwarts is searching for him, after all. Still, he tells
Percival he’s watching him, he always is and always will be. And of course,
this puts Percival right at ease.
He hears a pop as he leaves through the library doors. Gellert’s probably
disapparated back to his hiding spot, wherever that is. Percival chews his
lower lip as he dashes down the halls and corridors, ignoring the pain in favor
of pleasure. He allows himself to feel a little happy, to crack a small smile
now that he’s alone. Picking up his pace, he hugs his books closer to his chest
and thinks about when Gellert came back.
The Slytherin showed up in his dorm room the evening after classes resumed. The
first thing Gellert did when he saw Percival was hug him. He pressed the
younger boy against the wall and held him until his arms hurt. Although he
didn’t show it, Percival was elated. He’d thought about Gellert for the
remainder of his holiday break. Where is he? Is he okay? Will he come back for
Percival?
He got his answers that night.
They only hugged, but it had been more intimate than the kissing, and even more
than the touching. Gellert embraced him, inhaling his scent as he assured
Percival that he’d never leave his side.
“You know by now that I’m always watching you.”
“I know.”
It’s the first relationship he’s ever been in, and he wants it to be a good
one. Gellert’s positively insane, yes, but there’s something about him that
Percival can’t quite escape from. He nearly stumbles as he thinks about him,
but catches himself and slips into the classroom after regaining his composure.
Thankfully class hasn’t started yet, so Percival runs to the empty seat beside
Newt just before the Professor turns to face the class.
“Usually you’re the first one here. What happened?” Newt whispers, looking at
Percival from the corner of his eyes.
“Nothing,” Percival says. “I got caught up with something in the library.”
Newt hums, unconvinced. “I don’t want to sound rude, but it feels like you’ve
been avoiding me lately. Is there something wrong?”
“I’m not avoiding you.”
Newt looks like he’s at a loss for words. He twists his head to respond to
Percival, but gasps when he catches sight of his friend’s lip.
“Percival, why are you bleeding?”
Shocked, Percival turns away. He’d forgotten about his lip.
“Episkey,” he whispers after quickly pulling out his wand. Heat tickles his lip
as it mends itself together and then it cools back down. Cracks of dried blood
dissolve until there’s no trace of injury left.
“I will not pretend I didn’t see that,” Newt says, disappointed.
“I’m not asking you to,” Percival hisses.
Annoyed with each other, both boys turn to face the front and sit in silence.
Newt fidgets in his seat, picking at his quill before leaning in to whisper.
“Was it Gellert Grindelwald?”
The Professor suddenly thwacks her wand against their desk.
“Mr. Graves. Mr. Scamander. You boys seem to be talking about something much
more interesting than the Giant Wars of the nineteenth century. Care to share?”
She asks before gesturing to the students around them. “I’m sure the whole
class would love to hear.”
Perfect. They’ve managed to piss off their strictest Professor. She’s alarming
in all ways. The wrinkles on her cheeks flap as she talks and her eyes nearly
bulge out of her head. Her voice is shrill and piercing and she’s incredibly
tall. It’s hard not to stare, but both boys look down and shake their heads,
embarrassment filling them both as the rest of the students glare at them.
“You’ve interrupted a very important lecture. So – who will come forward to
take the blame? Come now, or I will deduct points from both of your houses. Who
started talking first?”
They stay silent.
“Well, then. It looks like I’ll be deducting twenty-five points from Ravenclaw
and Hufflepuff.”
Groans are heard around the room.
“It was me,” Percival blurts.
The Professor raises an eyebrow at him, and then smiles.
“Thank you for the refreshing honesty, Mr. Graves. Since I’m feeling generous
today, instead of losing points, you’ll be serving one session of detention
with Carpe, the school’s caretaker. It’ll be up to him what your punishment
will be, but I’m sure it won’t be too different from his day to day work,” her
tone is mocking. “Now, I’m sure there won’t be any more interruptions for the
rest of my lectures.”
Newt hangs his head as the other students snicker around them.
“You didn’t have to do that… It was my fault,” he says softly.
Percival isn’t exactly sure what he’ll get out of ignoring Newt, but he does it
anyways. In fact, he makes a point out of it. Never once does he turn his
attention away from the Professor. The boys don’t talk for the rest of class
and walk their separate ways when it’s over.
                                       —
“You missed a spot,” Carpe says. His voice is rough like a calloused hand.
Detention involves bathrooms – dirty ones.
Carpe makes him mop and scrub an entire floor’s worth of bathrooms. Percival
really doesn’t think that talking during a lecture warrants a punishment like
this, but then he remembers how uptight the Professor is. And then he thinks
about her flapping wrinkles and saggy cheeks and he shudders.
It’s past after hours.
“This way I can work without students comin’ in and ruinin’ the floors,” the
caretaker had said.
Percival’s only a little scared – more of the caretaker than anything that
could happen after curfew. So he secretly conjures up a simple spell to help
combat the stench of the toilets and continues cleaning. The way the mop moves
is hypnotizing. He swishes it back and forth across the tiled floor, doing
nothing but moving dirt from one place to another. He thinks about Newt. Why
can't he just mind his own business? Percival knows how much Newt dislikes
Gellert, but a real friend wouldn't hate who he chooses to date. Even though
Gellert's a little mean, he looks out for Percival. He can't believe that Newt
can't see that.
Carpe clears his throat to catch Percival's attention.
“Listen. I’ll be right outside cleanin’ the hall. Don’t think of pullin’
anythin' stupid. I can give you an entire week’s worth of detention if I wanted
to,” Carpe grunts.
Percival rolls his eyes, but nods. He watches as Carpe slowly trudges out of
the bathroom and into the hall. As soon as he leaves, Percival drops the mop
and sits on the cold tiles, leaned against the wall. Rubbing the exhaustion out
of his eyes, he allows himself a few minutes of rest. Janitorial work is way
more tiring than he thought it would be. The house elves always make it look so
easy.
A familiar chill creeps into the room and Percival lights up. Quickly, he
stands, unable to conceal his excitement.
“Gellert? Is that you?”
Arms suddenly wrap around him and he’s engulfed in warmth. Gellert’s hair
tickles the side of his face.
“I’ve waited so long to see you, Percy,” he breathes into the crook of
Percival’s neck.
Gellert moves in to kiss him, but Percival jerks back.
“Wait. Not here. The caretaker –”
“Taken care of. A little Petrificus Totalus never hurt anyone,” Gellert says,
smiling before leaning in once again.
Percival doesn’t jerk back this time. He moves forward and eases into the older
boy’s hold, fluttering his eyes shut and kissing back eagerly. It goes on like
that for a while. An even pace, steady and almost calming. He feels a pressure
in between his legs as Gellert presses him up against the wall. The older boy
gently kneads his knee into Percival’s crotch, his foot rolling up Percival’s
pant leg. Gellert's knee pushes harder, and harder, and Percival can feel
himself heating up. Fingers creep into his hair, scraping his scalp lightly as
Gellert sucks on his lower lip. The younger boy shudders.
“What if someone comes in?” Percival blurts without thinking.
Gellert chuckles, low. “Why? Afraid to be seen with me?”
Percival hesitates because, yes, he is afraid. But before he can answer,
Gellert sinks to his knees and unbuckles the front of Percival’s trousers.
He panics.
“Wait! Are – are you sure?” Percival tries to cover himself with his hands,
face colored red in embarrassment.
“Just trust me, Percy,” Gellert says sharply as he pushes his hands away.
It’s a blur, then. He blinks rapidly as Gellert takes him into his mouth. It’s
an entirely new sensation, of heat and pleasure. He tries hard not to let a
sound escape from his mouth, biting his lower lip and grinding his teeth –
doing just about anything not to embarrass himself. Gellert takes more of him
in, reaching the base, and Percival has to clamp both hands over his mouth to
bury a string of stuttered moans.
Eyes squeezed shut, Percival doesn’t move his hands, not knowing where to place
them. He keeps still, scared he’ll anger Gellert by doing something he isn’t
supposed do. And the thing is, he really doesn't know what to do. This is the
first time anything like this has ever happened. Deeply, he breathes in through
his nose as Gellert continues. He can't comprehend what the older boy is doing,
and he doesn’t dare look down.
He clenches his muscles, stomach tightening and body shivering.
Gellert’s mouth is promptly replaced by his hand and he finishes Percival off
like that, stroking quickly until Percival releases on the floor with a
strained moan.
Drained, Percival slides down until he’s crumpled on the floor. Gellert helps
clean him, as per usual, and even removes whatever’s on the floor. But just
like last time, the older boy looks wholly intact and, if Percival’s being
honest, flawless. So flawless that shame immediately takes over Percival. What
does a boy like Gellert see in him? Again, he tries to offer himself to
Gellert, to return the favor, so to speak – but just like last time, Gellert
refuses.
It’s quiet.
The only sound present in the room is the shuffling of fabric as both boys
adjust themselves. Gellert squats in front of him, but now that Percival’s
sitting down, he looks tall and intimidating again.
“Do you not let me do anything for you because you think I’m no good at it?”
Percival asks before he can stop himself.
Gellert looks at him with a raised brow. “No. My will is simply stronger than
yours.”
“But it isn’t fair,” Percival says. “It’s not fair that I get to feel all these
things but you don’t.”
A strange feeling wells up inside him when Gellert smiles. His eyes turn cold
and his smirk resembles those of gargoyles. “Actually… I do have something you
could do for me.”
“…What is it?”
“Remember our first night together? How I needed you to retrieve me something
from the Dark Forest?” Gellert asks.
Percival doesn’t like where this is going. He swallows. “Yeah.”
“Do that for me and I won’t think anything of your reluctance to return the
favor.”
Reluctance? Percival stares at Gellert with wide eyes. “What? No, I –”
Gellert suddenly grabs Percival’s wrist. His grip is so tight that his nails
dig into Percival’s skin, making him gasp. “I pleasured you. I gave you so
much. Isn’t it your wish to give me something in return?”
Tears burn the back of his eyes, threatening to spill if he blinks. Percival
tries to pry himself out of Gellert’s grasp but he’s just too strong. His bones
feel as if they’re being crushed.
“I could get expelled,” his voice cracks.
Gellert lets go and Percival is nearly flung backwards.
“Fine. Seeing as you can’t handle this simple task by yourself, I’ll go with
you,” Gellert says, like all of this is Percival’s fault. He grabs a hold of
Percival’s wrist again, but this time he brings it up to his mouth and kisses
it, softly. “I give and give, and I never take. I’m not asking much of you,
Percy. I thought you liked me.”
Percival’s so confused he wants to cry. Instead, he nods silently, unsure of
what exactly he’s nodding in response to. Gellert strokes his hair and wipes
away the tears forming at his eyes. He can only watch as Gellert presses a
lengthy kiss against each mark, against each of the small bruises forming on
his wrist. The red hand mark is a stark contrast to his pale skin, alarming
him.
And Percival wishes, so bad, that he was stronger.
                                       —
It was all much too easy.
Percival Graves might actually be in love with him, the poor kid. He’s falling
much quicker than expected, which is good nonetheless. Perfect, actually. He
learns that the younger boy is easily persuaded by words, by affection and
touch. Percy loves the idea of being loved – of being wanted. Gellert has no
idea how Percival’s relationship with his father is, but he thinks it might
have something to do with his eager response to an authoritative male figure.
He makes a mental note to thank Percival’s father later.
Watching Percy cry, watching the confusion flash across his face, was too much
for Gellert to handle. He had to will himself not to do anything more than
kissing or touching. It surprisingly takes much more skill than wandless magic,
but he endures it – he endures the desire and want because he has to.
It’s all for the greater good, he has to remind himself constantly.
                                       —
Gellert apparates into his room at midnight. His face stern and posture stiff.
“Are you ready?”
Yes, Percival nods.
“And the locket. Are you wearing it?”
Percival blinks.
“Oh, don’t be stupid. I know all about that locket of yours,” Gellert says.
“Now – are you wearing the locket?” He places emphasis on each word.
“Yes.”
He clings onto Gellert’s arm, shaking as they disapparate. The second time is
better than the first, but not much so. Nausea overtakes him when they arrive
in front of the Dark forest and he gags. Gellert kindly waits for him to
recover and then pulls him into the forest by his wrist, his fingers pushing
into the same bruises he left the night before. Percival winces.
“Lumos,” Gellert lights his wand and then gestures for Percival to do the same.
They walk with caution, stepping over large roots and avoiding insects. The
trees tend to move, swinging their heavy branches overtop their heads. It’s
hard for Percival not to twist and turn his head at every sound, at every howl
of the wind. Even with their illuminated wands, it’s hard to see anything when
the dense fog clouds their vision.
Halfway through the forest, Gellert stops and pulls out a small knife. Had he
always had that? Percival wonders.
“Give me your finger,” he says.
Before Percival can even think to refuse him, Gellert pulls his hand away from
his body and forcefully unclenches his fist. The older boy exhales, like he
knew Percival would try to fight him about it.
“This is for our safety, Percy. It’s what your parents wanted, right? For you
to stay safe in a school infested with Dark forces?” Gellert says, creating a
shallow cut in Percival’s index finger. Percival clenches his jaw and lets out
a small noise of discomfort. “I want to protect you and if this is the best
way, then so be it.”
He pushes the front of Percival’s robe aside, revealing the locket. It rattles
against Percival’s chest as his bloodied finger gets closer. Once his finger
makes contact, the locket swallows the blood and starts to click. In a flash, a
ward is placed over the both of them – blue and transparent.
“How curious,” Gellert says, examining the ward.
Percival clears his throat. “So… what exactly are we looking for?”
“What we’re looking for is a compass. Legend has it that inside of the compass
is a portion of the soul of the man who currently possesses the Elder Wand. The
compass will direct its user back to him and destroy itself once it completes
its purpose,” Gellert says as they walk deeper into the forest.
The Elder Wand… Percival remembers briefly learning about it during Defence
Against the Dark Arts, but never had a chance to look more into it. But he does
know that it’s an incredibly Dark item, something extremely powerful and
wicked.
But what does Gellert want with it?
On second thought, he doesn’t want to know.
The ward suddenly makes a noise, similar to the sound it makes when you pop
your ears, and both boys turn to the source. A bugbear claws at the ward,
screeching as it dissolves. Percival almost feels sorry for it. He turns to see
Gellert smiling widely. “It's magnificent.”
Curiously, the darkness surrounding them becomes even darker, and even colder.
This is it – the depths of the forbidden forest. As they walk, the ward
continues to protect them, deflecting attacks from evil creatures and defending
them against the intense strain of the darkness. There’s an eerie glow coming
from the trunk of a dead tree, not too far away from them. The boys walk
closer, and then Gellert breaks into a run, pulling Percival along with him.
It’s the compass.
“There it is.”
They suddenly come to a halt when hundreds of acromantulas climb down from the
tops of the trees, surrounding the compass, guarding it. Several of them jump
to attack, only to be killed by the ward. A hoard of others stay stationed at
the base of the dead tree.
Gellert curses as he points his wand. “Arania Exumai!”
The spell blasts back a group of the acromantulas with a stream of bright blue
light, scorching the spiders as they’re flung into the air.
“A little help, Percy?” Gellert yells.
Percival nods and shouts the same spell. Although he doesn’t agree with what
Gellert is doing, he figures that if he doesn’t help, Gellert would do much
worse to him than he’s doing to these creatures. It takes them a while but they
manage to fight off the arachnids and reach the compass. Thanks to the ward,
they come out of the battle without injury.
Once they make sure the area’s free of other Dark creatures, Gellert pushes
past Percival and with his wand, he points at the branches weaved around the
compass. “Reducto.”
Smirking, Gellert grabs the compass and turns, pointing his wand at Percival.
“Wait, Gellert. No –” Percival says, alarmed. He’s going to kill me. Percival
holds both hands up and shuts his eyes, expecting the worst.
But it doesn’t come.
“Geminio,” Gellert whispers.
Percival’s locket shakes violently, pattering against his chest, and then it
duplicates itself – an exact copy. Gellert summons it towards him and then
throws it around his neck. Percival’s ward falters and fades slightly,
shrinking in size.
“Thanks for everything, Percy. I hope this was as much fun for you as it was
for me,” Gellert says as he pockets the compass. “I do hope we get to see each
other again.” He disapparates, leaving Percival in the depths of the forbidden
forest – alone.
“Wait!” Percival goes after him, hoping he can jump into Gellert's
disapparition but he falls flat onto the ground. His chin digs into the dirt
and he nearly dislocates his jaw.
Fear hits the back of his throat. It burns.
Panting, Percival’s instincts kick in, telling him to make a run for it. And he
does. He sprints in the direction they came from, legs jumbling over each other
as he tries desperately to escape. Darkness overcomes him. The forest shrieks
and bellows, haunting him. His mind has yet to catch up to his body, but he
tells himself not to cry, not to scream in agony because Gellert left him in
the Dark forest alone.
Gellert used him, and he used him so well.
He remembers apparition classes in the Great Hall, but he knows he hasn’t been
to enough of them to do it right. In fact, the last time he was there he could
only watch as the older students teleported across the room, smiling as they
did so. The Professor told them how disastrous apparition is if not done
properly – practice makes perfect.
But he just can’t find a way out of this forest. Every tree, every patch of
grass looks exactly the same in the dark. It’s frightening being in here, all
alone. Percival sniffs. He’s scared.
Pressing a hand to his chest, he squeezes his heart, trying to stop it from
beating so violently. Concentrating on the silence, Percival breathes slowly
and makes his decision.
Apparition will have to do.
He slows down and holds his wand out in front of him. Percival closes his eyes
and tries to recall his dorm room, how it looks and how it feels. The air
around him swirls, particles of dust and dirt mix together. His heart throbs
loudly and cold sweat dribbles down the sides of his face. Everything moves in
slow motion. Recklessness rushes him, and then he tries it.
Out of nowhere, he’s propelled forward by an invisible force and his arm twists
painfully, as if it’s being sucked into a black hole. Percival screams and
falls to the ground, clutching his arm. He failed. His only chance at escape
and he’s failed. Tears spill out of his eyes and he sobs at the unbearable ache
that spreads from his arm to his shoulder.
Even magic insists on tearing him down.
Twitching and shivering, Percival wonders idly, if he’s going to die. It’s not
fair, he thinks. None of this is his fault. And while he curses Gellert for
taking advantage of him and then leaving him alone in this hell, Percival can’t
help but miss him. Is he still watching? Can he see Percival right now?
“Gellert…”
Slowly, the world fades away as he passes out from the pain.
                                       —
“He – he left me. He left me all alone.”
“Who, Percival?”
“Where is he? I – I need him.”
“Who are you talking about? Who did this to you? Percival, please. Wake up,”
Newt says, shaking his arm. “You’re safe now.”
His eyes burst open and the first thing he sees is Newt – a look of concern
wrinkles his face. The pain in his arm burns incredibly and he groans, rolling
on the ground as he holds onto his throbbing limb.
He’s still in the forest, but it’s now morning. Dew coats the grass and the sun
has barely come up, casting a soft glow through the trees, warming him. His
eyes are rimmed red and the bottom of his robes are battered and torn. Newt
tries his best to help Percival with his injury by conjuring a numbing charm,
which does nothing but dull the pain. Still, he’s grateful that Newt was able
to find him. Wait, how did he find him?
“How did you find me?” He croaks.
Pickett peaks out of Newt’s scarf and looks down at Percival. He makes an odd
ticking noise, and oddly enough, Percival can tell Pickett’s trying to reassure
him. “Well, you see. There’s an entire colony of Bowtruckles living in the
forest. Little Pickett here had a feeling something was wrong and dragged me
out.”
Percival doesn’t know what to say.
He lets go of his injured arm, which is now number than before, and leans on
his elbow. His cheeks numb from being pressed against cold, solid dirt. And
he’s sweating beneath his robe, clothes stuck against his skin.
Newt’s looking at him with an unreadable expression. Is it pity? Is it remorse?
Percival cocks his head.
“I’m sorry, Percival. About what happened during class last week. I didn’t mean
to be so nosey. After the incident at the Yule Ball, I – I just wanted to make
sure you were safe,” Newt says. “You are my friend, after all.”
Percival shakes his head and knits his eyebrows together.
“No, Newt. I’m the one who should be saying sorry,” he says. “All you were
doing was looking out for me. I owe you that much.”
Newt smiles and helps Percival up. He stays silent but his actions speak louder
than words ever will. Gently, he leans Percival against a tree and then tells
him to stay put, that he’ll be right back with some help. When Newt stands to
leave, Percival wants to tell him to stay. But then he realizes that he’ll need
all the help he can get. So he lets Newt leave and then relaxes against the
tree.
The morning air fills him with vigor and, for what feels like the first time,
he’s able to see the forest for what it truly is. There are no dark creatures,
no evil beings. No arachnids, no swinging trees. Just a lush, colorful forest
that takes the form of a guardian during the day when it gets a break from
being a warrior at night. Looking around, Percival finds his locket shattered
on the ground, pieces of silver speckled across the dirt. He reaches for it,
but only manages to pick up a couple of pieces. The cold silver reacts to his
touch, glowing slightly and then fading before the metal rusts. It must have
worn itself out protecting Percival through the night.
Then he remembers why he was in the forest in the first place.
Gellert had left him. He had used Percival and then thrown him away like a
dirty rag. It suddenly turns cold and darkness descends upon him. He’s lost –
both in his mind and in his heart. It hurts. Everything hurts. Percival wants
someone to tell him how he should feel. He wants Gellert to tell him.
                                       —
“I’ve missed you Percy.”
Percival wakes up, gasping, drenched in his own sweat.
He’s been having dreams about Gellert every night for the past week. They’re
sexual in nature, and always end the same – with Gellert leaving him. He
whispers sweet nothings in Percival’s ear, promises to stay with him, to watch
him, to protect him. But in the end, Gellert pushes him aside – tosses him out
like he’s nothing, and then leaves.
This time his dream went differently. Gellert came back for him. He said he
missed him. Naïvely, Percival believes this.
He shifts to lie on his side and inches his hand downwards, hesitating for a
few seconds before wrapping it hastily around his cock. It’s the dead of the
night and other students are asleep – he can’t afford to wake anyone with his
noise. He takes the bottom of his shirt and stuffs it in his mouth.
Gellert will come back. He has to.
Closing his eyes, he strokes himself. He runs his thumb over the head of his
cock and squeezes tighter, mimicking Gellert’s movements from the night in the
infirmary. His pants constrict him, so he pushes them down around his ankles
and uses his other hand to touch his chest. He imagines that it’s Gellert doing
all these things to him. Sweat coats his neck.
Gellert’s always watching him, right?
Kicking at the covers, Percival groans around the fabric in his mouth. The
temperature of his body rises rapidly and his hand sets a pace to match.
Scrunching his face in pleasure, Percival’s body trembles and little breaths
slip from his lips. His chest heaves and stutters. The shirt becomes soaked in
his own saliva and it dribbles down his chin as he gets closer to his climax.
He keens.
“Gellert,” he whispers.
And then he’s coming, onto the bed and all over the sheets. His shirt falls out
of his mouth and wrecked moans escape from the back of his throat. Stroking
himself a few more times to ride out his orgasm, his mind fills with thoughts
of Gellert.
It hits him like a ton of bricks and his heart drops to his stomach.
He’s in love with Gellert Grindelwald.
It’s not like he never knew. He always had. But he never let himself believe
it, not until he realized that he was a fool for believing every single word
that came out of Gellert’s mouth. Percival cries, his body wracked with sobs.
He brings his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around himself, ignoring
the mess that’s on his bed. Percival wishes he had the strength, or even the
will, to cast a silencing charm on his room. His cries fill the space, and he
can only hope that no one can hear him weep.
                                       —
He doesn’t see Gellert again for years.
***** kiss me roughly and ruin my heart *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
They say that Monday mornings are always the worst. The fun, hassle-free
weekend ends and the dull, boring work week begins. You’re no longer drunk on
freedom and instead, you’re hungover from work.
But not for Percival. Percival loves Mondays.
This is most likely because his work week never ends. But he doesn’t care. He
loves his job. Aurors don’t get days off and they shouldn’t, not when safety is
at stake. “Vacation” isn’t a part of their vocabulary. Weekends are just
another set of days used to finish organizing files, to work on cases, or to
fulfill some other tasks. Percival thrives in MACUSA. He just doesn’t see
himself being anything other than an Auror.
After graduating from Ilvermorny as valedictorian, he was able to land an
internship at MACUSA, which he did without any help from his father. As a
matter of fact, he hadn’t seen his father for years. His father left his mother
after Percival was sent to Hogwarts for his fifth year. Mrs. Graves apparently
received the letter from Hogwarts at a very convenient time in her life and she
was able to hide her divorce from Percival for an entire year. Of course,
Percival was occupied with other things at the time, which is why he wasn’t
able to sense the shift in his parents’ relationship.
Good riddance, he had thought back then. All his father ever did was take from
his mother and he wasn’t very kind to Percival either. He always made him think
his efforts weren't enough - not in school nor at home. His mother told him not
to think too ill of his father, that he’ll understand when he grows up. But
even now, Percival harbors hatred for him.
Upon successfully completing his internship, he was able to land a job as a
Junior Auror, where he showed off his duelling skills and wandless magic.
Senior Aurors were surprised to see such a talented young wizard and instantly
warmed up to him, taking him under their wings. The President’s intern was so
impressed by his performance that she managed to help him rise quickly up the
ranks. The President’s intern was, predictably, Seraphina Picquery.
Right when she earned the position of President, Seraphina appointed Percival
as her right-hand man and gave him the title of Director of Magical Security.
This was ten years ago, but it still feels like it was just yesterday. He’s
still as happy as he was when he was promoted – determined, bright, and
ambitious, like nothing could tear him down. But even then, at one of the
happiest points in his life, he would still think about his dreadful year in
Europe.
There was never a day that went by when he didn’t think about Him.
Percival immersed himself into work, a vice morally better than alcohol or
smoking, but not healthier. He made sure he was never alone for a second,
mingling with other office heads, overseeing tasks, watching over subordinates.
Any time alone would be time spent thinking about the unspeakable and he just
couldn't let that happen.
Now, at thirty-five, he doesn’t think about Hogwarts anymore – at least, not
the bad parts. The only good that school ever did for him was make his resume
stand out from all the others. Percival does admit, though, that he still keeps
in touch with Newt Scamander, who is apparently planning a trip to New York
some time soon. Perhaps in a couple of months, he had said in his letter.
Percival was glad to hear that Newt's still obsessed with magical creatures,
and he was even happier to hear that Newt decided to make a career out of it.
Although seeing Newt will bring back a few bad memories, he’s still excited to
catch up with his dear old friend.
Walking up the stairs in the lobby, Percival greets his subordinates. Some are
afraid of him – mostly because of his title and the authoritative air that
surrounds him, but others admire him. Like Abernathy, who always seems to know
exactly where he is and what he’s doing. The kid doesn’t really understand
social cues. Either that or he ignores them. And then there’s Tina and Queenie
Goldstein, two brilliant young witches with a diverse set of talents, always
ready for action.
“Good morning, Mr. Graves.”
“Morning, Queenie.”
“I picked up a cup of coffee for you – your favorite: with a shot of espresso,”
Queenie says, smiling. Always so gentle, that Queenie.
“Thank you, Queenie,” Percival says, accepting the coffee. “Please tell your
sister to come see me in my office this afternoon. I have a case for her.”
“Will do, Mr. Graves,” she waves.
He nods a goodbye before stepping into the elevator. Red, the goblin bellboy,
greets him with a tip of his hat.
“Graves.”
“Red.”
With his long, button-pushing stick, Red presses the number indicating
Percival’s floor and the elevator dings. They descend at an inhumane speed, but
it’s nothing out of the ordinary for a wizard and a goblin. Once they arrive,
Percival throws Red a tip, “Say hello to Ruby for me.” Red grunts as the doors
close.
His office is quite possibly his most favorite part of the Woolworth, and for
good reason. It’s comfortable – he has everything he needs in one moderately
sized space. For the longest time, he used to sleep right at his desk. But this
was before he got used to his position. The amount of work involved in this job
would drive even the strongest No-Maj insane.
Percival places the coffee on his desk and then peels off his heavy winter
coat. With a flick of his wrist, the coat floats over to the coat rack and
hangs itself on a knob. Sighing, he relaxes into his chair, preparing himself
for a long day of work.
Suddenly, the door bursts open, making him jump in his seat. Tina rushes in,
coat flying all over the place as she all but runs towards Percival.
“Mr. Graves, have you seen this?”
Immediately, Percival sits upright and clasps his hands together. “Tina. I
thought I told your sister to tell you to see me in the afternoon.”
“Yes, but – Mr. Graves. You have to see this,” she slams the morning’s Daily
Prophet down on Percival’s desk and points to the headline.
GRINDELWALD STRIKES AGAIN IN EUROPE: IS HOGWARTS SAFE?
Grindelwald. His heart drops to his stomach. “Who else knows about this?” It’s
a dumb question, but it’s the only thing his mind can think to say as his eyes
focus on the name in the paper. He tries his best to keep his composure, back
stiff and muscles clenched.
“Well, just about everybody!” Tina stares at him in confusion. “Who knows when
Grindelwald will invade America? He’s gone through half of Europe! And it’s
only a matter of time the same anti-wizard sentiment starts showing up in
America. Look – we’re already seeing it with the Second Salemers.”
“They’re just a cult. No No-Maj in the right mind is going to believe them,” he
says, avoiding the real issue at hand. “Contact the Daily Prophet and tell them
to recall these papers immediately.”
Tina exhales, exasperated.
“We need to take action now, Mr. Graves. Please, sir. You have to believe me,”
she pleads.
The thing is – Percival does believe her. But if this spreads to civilian
wizards and other American wizarding communities, it’ll cause a nationwide
panic. Sadly, the witch hunt in New York is growing. Wizards are, frankly,
terrible at hiding their powers and No-Majs are becoming more and more
suspicious. The last thing MACUSA needs is a terror scare about the possibility
of Gellert Grindelwald invading America.
“I’m sorry, Tina, but it’s best to keep this under wraps. Just until we can
decide what to do with the threat.”
“That’s exactly what Madam President said…” she trails off.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. Percival massages his temples and then picks up a
folder, pushing it towards Tina. “Here – you might be interested in this case.
The Second Salemers are apparently holding sermons now, in a small church on
16th. It’s a simple reconnaissance job and I figured you’d be the best pick,
seeing as how you’re already investigating them on your own.”
Tina sighs dejectedly. "Thanks, Mr. Graves," she mumbles as she takes the
folder and leaves his office, gently closing the door shut.
Percival waits until the room falls silent to stare at the paper in front of
him. His eyes burn holes into the blurry moving photo as he analyzes every
movement, every shape and line. There’s a tall, dark figure – no facial
features or any other specifics can be seen. It moves, swinging its arm like
it’s casting a dark, dark curse. And just as the paper states, it’s Gellert
Grindelwald.
He has a brief flash of Gellert’s face, smiling as he twirls a lock of
Percival’s hair in between his fingers. Percival clutches his chest, nails
digging into his skin through the fabric. “You know by now that I’m always
watching you,” he remembers Gellert saying. His heart burns and he winces,
breathing raggedly like his lungs have just collapsed.
Even after twenty years, he’s still hurting.
Percival really thought he’d gotten over it – over him. But it’s like they say:
you never forget your first love. Obviously, he tried. He went on dates
afterwards, even had a few serious relationships, but the men were never as
charming or dangerous as Gellert. It was the adrenaline that hooked him in –
the fact that Gellert was never supposed to be the nice, gentle, perfect
boyfriend. It all made him feel like he was important because someone as smart
and powerful as Gellert had chosen him. He knows now that their relationship
was borderline abusive, but he can’t blame his younger self. He was sad... and
lonely. And Gellert used that to his advantage.
Shaking his head, Percival forms a fist and presses it into his heart, like
he’s trying to stop it from beating for just a few minutes. It’s unfair to
fifteen-year old Percival to feel this way. He’s an adult now – a successful
one, a strong one. He doesn’t need to feel this pain anymore.
Exhaling, Percival adjusts his shirt. With his index finger and his thumb, he
lifts the newspaper and sets it down onto the floor in front of him.
“Incendio,” he says, without lifting his wand. Flames swallow the paper,
creating a ring of smoke as it burns. The smell of it isn’t as nauseating as
the feeling in his stomach, so he steels himself as he stands there, watching
as the only evidence of Gellert’s existence disappears.
The only thing he’s left with is a small pile of ashes.
                                       —
If he discounts what happened in the morning, his Monday went fairly well.
He was able to get two days worth of work done in his attempt to ignore the
whole Grindelwald issue. Work comes in handy when you need to ignore pain.
Queenie dropped by his office a couple of times, offering him drinks and
pastries, all of which he refused because sweets aren't exactly his thing.
She's a Legilimens - she probably just wanted to make sure Percival was okay.
Tina found some valuable information regarding the Second Salemers and plans to
go back to do some more research. She discovered that the brains of the
operation is a rather peculiar woman by the name of Mary Lou Barebone.
Apparently, she and her adopted children run the entire operation, circulating
pamphlets and brainwashing orphans. Tina advised Percival that it’s best that
they stop the anti-wizard sentiment at the origins than let it trickle into the
brains of unsuspecting No-Majs. He agreed.
Percival thinks about making Tina a permanent addition to the Major
Investigation team as he walks out of the Woolworth. Normally, he’d just
apparate home but he thinks a good walk will help clear his head. The brisk
winter air stings his cheeks, but it’s a welcomed feeling. White collar No-Majs
spill out of their respective buildings and fill the streets, all cabbing or
walking home now that the work day is over. Sometimes Percival likes to watch
them. Their mundane lives seem so hard without magic.
For a split second he thinks about the fact that he would never have met
Gellert if he were a No-Maj, but quickly dismisses the thought as he reaches
his house. It’s a modest little brownstone in a calm neighborhood. His mother
wanted him to inherit the mansion, but he decided against it. It’s just too
much of a political statement – and not a good one.
He unlocks his door with a twist of his fingers and steps inside.
A familiar chill creeps around him, seeping into his skin. He shivers
involuntarily and prays to Merlin that it isn't who he thinks it is.
“Director of Magical Security,” a deep voice drawls. “I knew you had it in
you.”
Percival whips his head to find a man sitting in his armchair. He doesn’t need
an introduction.
“Gellert…” Percival says.
The man looks almost unrecognizable, except for those same pair of chilling
eyes. The coldness must have spread from his heart to the rest of his body,
Percival thinks, because his skin is almost translucent and his hair is so
blonde that it’s white. It’s cut sharp, shaved at the sides and spiked up
front. He wears an expensive black suit made of thick fabric, flowing around
his body. His face looks worn in - the once youthful attractiveness now settled
into his skin and he’s still as charming and intimidating as ever. Percival
stares blankly.
How did he find him?
“I thought you would have remembered. I’m always watching you,” Grindelwald
says, as if he read Percival’s mind.
The thought of being civil quickly escapes from him.
“Why are you here? You’re all over the newspapers. I know what you’ve done in
Europe, Gellert. These – these merciless attacks and killings. What good are
they for? Are they just another show of power for you? Like what you did to
me?” Percival spits. “I should have known better.”
“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. You were only fifteen, Percy.”
“Did you enjoy it? Did you like taking advantage of a fifteen-year-old boy –
using him and then breaking him like he meant nothing to you?” Percival pulls
his wand out and points it at Gellert, but the man doesn’t move.
“Is that what you’ve thought of me for all these years? I used and abused you?”
Gellert sighs. “Aren’t I the reason why you’re where you are today? Imagine if
I hadn’t pushed you to your limits. You’d be a lackey. MACUSA’s top pencil
pusher, just like your father. I made you.”
Percival tightens his grip and narrows his eyes. “All you did was hurt me.”
“If it wasn’t for me you’d be married to that idiot politician – Oh, what’s his
name? Gunderson. The man can’t even apparate, Percival. You deserve so much
better.”
Mort Gunderson… his most recent serious relationship. Gunderson was incredibly
boring, one of the most boring wizards Percival has ever met. Even his name was
boring. All he would talk about was his collection of No-Maj baseball cards,
something no sane wizard would even bother to care about. Percival ended up
breaking up with him because something told him that he could find better. And
better, in his mind, always seems to mean Gellert.
“Why?” Percival asks. “Why did you keep watching me?”
“Because, Percy. I’m still in love with you,” Gellert says as he stands up and
walks towards Percival. “Don’t you still love me?”
Yes.
“Maybe I did twenty years ago, but not anymore, Gellert. You were horrible to
me. You left me in that forest to die.”
“I could say the same for myself – twenty years ago I was only seventeen,
nothing but an immature boy who was desperate for power. It was a mistake to
leave you. But don’t you see? I have power now. I can create an empire just for
wizards - just for us! We can control everything together. Join me,” Gellert
embraces Percival. Percival lifts his arms like he's about to push Gellert
away, but then something overcomes him. He closes his eyes and lets himself
relax in Gellert’s arms. It all feels so natural, like Gellert never left. But
then he realizes what Gellert’s saying and he pushes him away, clenching his
wand again.
“No,” Percival says. “I should arrest you for even setting foot in America.” He
opens his mouth to conjure a jinx or a curse.
But then Gellert smiles. It’s a recognizable expression. Percival remembers
seeing it so often.
“You would never do that,” Gellert says, once again closing the space in
between them. He brings a hand up to Percival’s head and twirls a lock of hair
in between his fingers. “I’ve seen inside your mind – the way you think of me
each time you sleep with another, the way I make your heart burn. I know
everything about you.”
Percival’s mind is flooded with new memories of Gellert. He just doesn’t know
if his heart is making them up or if Gellert’s the one implanting them.
“We would be invincible, Percy.”
A little voice in the back of his mind tells him not to give in, not to fall
for his tricks again, but he finds himself closing his eyes as Gellert leans
down to kiss him. The voice screams, yells at Percival for being so weak. And
he knows – he knows he’s weak.
He hurt you, the voice tells him.
Gellert’s rougher than he remembers. His lips are chapped and broken as they
fit against Percival's, teeth and tongues battling. Everything about him is
cold. His fingers send shivers up Percival’s spine when they slip under the
bottom of his shirt, ghosting along his sides.
You can’t do this.
Without parting from Gellert’s lips, Percival unbuttons his vest and then his
shirt, throwing them both on the floor haphazardly. Gellert takes this
opportunity to kiss the side of his jaw, and then his neck, and then he’s
moving his mouth downwards as he thumbs Percival’s nipples. Every hair on
Percival’s body rises and all he can do is breathe heavily, raggedly, as he
tries not to make a sound. If he does, he knows he’ll sound desperate and eager
– and that’s the last thing Percival wants right now.
You loathe Gellert. Don’t forgive him for what he did to you.
“I know,” Percival breathes, trying to calm his conscience. Gellert either
ignores him or knows that he’s talking to the voice inside his head.
Gellert takes his own shirt off and unbuckles Percival’s trousers as he closes
his mouth around Percival's nipple. He teases him, teeth grazing against it.
Percival gasps and then hisses. His hands shake as they lift themselves into
Gellert’s hair, fingers clenching the locks. Gellert slides his hand over
Percival’s drawers, palming him through the already damp material. He traces
the outline of Percival's cock with his thumb and smirks when he shudders.
“Let’s take this into the bedroom, shall we?”
Percival nods hurriedly without opening his eyes.
He’s pulled into Gellert’s disapparition, which he can now handle with the
utmost ease. The room is impossibly black, but he thinks nothing of it. Gellert
pushes Percival face down against the bed, making him reflexively grasp the
sheets. Gellert massages his waist, hands gripping and grasping at his skin,
repeating the motion until they reach his thighs. Percival instinctively raises
his hips and immediately curses himself after.
“Someone’s eager,” Gellert says.
“It’s just been a while,” Percival says curtly.
Gellert only hums in response as he kneels, settling himself between Percival’s
legs. Then he holds either side of Percival’s waist as he greedily presses
kisses along the inside of his thighs, skin warm and soft. Percival exhales and
steels himself against the side of the bed when Gellert trails his thumb along
his hole. He does it so lightly that it's almost ticklish and Percival
reluctantly squirms beneath him, embarrassed by the reaction of his body.
Gellert whispers a spell, and Percival flinches when he's suddenly hit with
cold liquid. “Fuck,” he whispers.
“Not very Director-like of you,” Gellert teases.
“Shut up.”
Gellert easily slips a finger into him, curling and uncurling, and then he adds
another, unravelling Percival slowly. “Gellert,” Percival says angrily – his
own way of telling Gellert to speed up and Gellert listens. He increases the
speed of his thrusts, his own breathing coming out irregular and ragged as he
watches Percival’s body clench and shake. He fingers Percival like that for a
while, both men silent. Short breaths and the squelching of skin against skin
are the only sounds present in the room. Gellert withdraws his fingers without
warning, earning a sharp hiss from Percival.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” Gellert asks. He lines his cock up against
Percival's hole, trailing it along the muscle, trying his best not to push in.
The question reminds Percival of the first time they kissed. He turns his head
to look back at Gellert and he nods.
“Yes.”
Gellert pushes into Percival with a groan and begins to fuck him hard, rough.
Percival winces as he lets out a trembling breath. He shouldn’t have been so
eager. He grips the sheets harder, knuckles turning white as Gellert’s cock
stretches him wide, burying deeper and deeper every time he thrusts. Gellert
leans down and nips Percival’s ear with sharp teeth, and then he licks down the
side of his neck and bites him on the shoulder. Percival moans, relishing both
the pain and the pleasure.
“I’ve been thinking about this for years,” Gellert rasps.
Then why did you leave me? Percival wants to ask. Instead he says, “Fuck you.”
Gellert chuckles and sighs against Percival’s skin, but stays silent.
Percival grunts and pushes back against Gellert, urging him to go faster. He
forgets himself completely, face pressed against the bed as Gellert rocks
forward. A hand creeps around hips and latches itself onto Percival’s cock,
which is angry and red and wet. Gellert pumps Percival in time with his
thrusts, using what’s leaking from the tip to help him along. Teasingly, he
tightens his grip at the base and Percival lurches forward involuntarily.
There's a dull pain in his lower back, but he doesn't care. Not when Gellert's
cock - hot and thick, fills him completely full. Gellert switches from bites to
kisses and back to bites again, leaving marks of red and purple along this
entire back. Percival aches, his body still unadjusted to the stretch and it
hurts, but in a good way.
Gellert uses his other arm to bring Percival even closer and pounds into him
with short, angled thrusts. Percival’s cheeks are stained red and he can only
let out a stream of incoherent curses and words that, when stringed together,
sound a lot like he’s begging Gellert to let him come.
The thrusts speed up and Percival’s body burns. “Please,” he discards his
dignity to say.
At first, Gellert doesn't listen. His mind preoccupied with pumping himself
with Percival's body - unable to control the pace of his fucking. But then he
moans when he hears Percival begging him for release. And he's so close. He
thrusts harder, deep and steady, all the way to the hilt.
Gellert comes at the sight of Percival’s desperate pleading, emptying himself
into the heat and filling Percival with a rush. He pulls out and watches as
come leaks out from him. Percival, with his tousled hair and sweat slicked
face, looks rather youthful. The heat from his body and the slack, open-mouthed
expression on his face reminds him of all the times he undid Percival in the
past. Percival looks at him through half-closed lids and begs again, "Gellert,
please," and then Gellert strokes him quickly, until he comes in short spurts,
onto the sheets.
“Percy,” he murmurs as he kisses Percival’s back.
He twists Percival’s pliable body until they face each other, lying on the bed,
and kisses him long and slow. Intimately, he brings his thumb to Percival's
face and slips it into his mouth. Percival closes his mouth and tongues
Gellert's thumb.
Percival opens his eyes when Gellert pulls his thumb out. He shudders at the
way Gellert caresses his face, smearing his own saliva over his cheek. And he
lets himself be used like this, like a clean rag begging to be dirtied. He
misses the way Gellert would dominate him. He craves it.
“See, Percy? You need me. This could be our life if you join me.”
The post-orgasm bliss starts to die down and all of a sudden, the room isn’t so
dark anymore. The lights are dim but they’re enough for Percival to see that
they’re not in his house anymore. The room is eerily empty save for a bed and a
drawer on the side. It’s a bedroom, but it’s not his. He pushes Gellert off of
him and sits up.
“Where are we?” Percival demands.
“Don’t worry. We’re still in the same city, just a different part of it,”
Gellert says calmly. “You won’t be needing that house of yours anymore, not
when we live together.”
Percival looks everywhere for his wand and his clothes, but he comes up short.
“I already told you I won’t be joining you, Gellert.”
Gellert narrows his eyes and stands. Swiftly, he dresses himself with magic and
his clothes fit around him with ease. Percival feels more naked than he’s ever
been.
Panic starts to settle in and Percival can’t believe he’s been tricked again.
Lied to by the same man who broke his heart twenty years ago. He told himself
he knew better, that Gellert would do the same thing again. But of course, he’s
stubborn and always has to prove others wrong, including himself.
“You still feel nothing? Even after all of this?” Gellert grabs a hold of his
chin. “Why can’t you just accept your love for me?”
“What you’re doing isn’t love, Gellert,” Percival grips Gellert’s wrist and
tears his hand away from his face. “I’m leaving.”
Percival tries to disapparate back home. The air around him swirls and the
ground rumbles but else nothing happens.
“It won’t work. I’ve placed wards around this place and the room only responds
to my magic,” Gellert says. “The things I do for you...” he shakes his head,
looking at Percival with disdain.
“You… you’ve kidnapped me.”
“You came with me willingly.”
“Gellert,” Percival says sternly. “Let me go this instant.” He doesn’t sound
all too convincing, mainly because he’s been stripped of his magic and his
dignity. He also doesn’t know where to go. Percival moves backwards on the bed
until his back presses against the wall.
In a moment of desperation, Percival separates himself from reality. In another
life, he could find himself being happy with Gellert. He'd listen to him, obey
his every whim and go forth with his plan to rule the world. They'd live in a
magnificent house, have servants cater to them and do everything they say. And
the power - oh, the power. With Gellert and the Deathly Hallows, no witch or
wizard would dare try to take them down. That would be what happiness with
Gellert Grindelwald looks like. But Percival doesn't want that... he doesn't
want anything close to that at all. Shaking his head, he snaps out of it. "I
won't ever join you, not when all you do is manipulate me."
Percival's hope starts to flicker. He's running out of space to run as Gellert
stalks closer.
“It feels like you’re testing me, Percival. Toying with my heart, playing me
for a fool – refusing me after all I’ve given you,” he pulls a wand out of thin
air. Percival gasps when he recognizes it. The Elder Wand. Gellert points it at
him, the tip glowing a muted yellow.
“And you know how much I hate to be refused.”
Chapter End Notes
     Thanks for staying with me through this whole fic.
     In the beginning I wanted this to be happier, but I liked the idea of
     a tie-in to the movie/popular fanon and went with it.
  Works inspired by this one
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