newtralize | The End Of Love

Losing the magic part of his case has been somewhat of an ordeal if purely because of the niffler. Harry was an absolute menace. Here he was thinking that Greg would be the problem because he's an elephant-sized cat, but it still ends up being the niffler that's getting into trouble.

It's why he finds himself running through the streets chasing after the platypus-like creature and really wishing that his ability to teleport was still a work in progress.

"You come back here. What did I tell you about taking things that don't belong to you?" Despite the creature not being able to pocket as many items, it certainly still tries its best. It drops a few things here and there as it scurries through the cobblestone pathways.

Eventually though, Newt catches up and grabs the darned pilferer. This, of course, is not the end of Newt's troubles. Or at the very least, his day is about to get a lot more interesting. He ends up crashing into a figure and he's honestly impressed he didn't completely bowl them over with how quick he was chasing after his companion. "I-I'm- I'm really quite sorry about that..." His voice is quiet and he doesn't look up at who he had accidentally crashed into.

While never having done so before, Percival Graves is fairly sure he died. It was the only way to describe this, his state before and where he found himself now. Physically and geographically. For a man used to a degree of change and keeping on his feet, he feels quite lost here. It could be the fact he woke in a hospital no longer with his magic, or the fact he was told he was a vampire now, but he didn't like to cherrypick.

This was not New York, not by a long shot, and and he felt more alone here than he did before trapped in some stone room. How odd, that. Surrounded by people and other folk and feeling isolated despite walking amongst them. Yet, feeling better than before, his mind can't help but wonder if this is some strange, twisted trick.

He pushed the shades glasses back up the bridge of his nose and sighs. It's probably the sun. The witches had told him he wouldn't burst into flames but he certainly wouldn't enjoy it any longer, and they were quite right. Already, just walking a few blocks has him starting to sweat and feel a little woozy. Even standing in the shade, he's wondering where to go from here to regain himself. Not that he has much time to think it over.

It's a small commotion coming up behind the corner, fading into the din of the town as Percival tries to come up with his next move that won't have him fainting in the middle of the street. A thought he can't fully process before he's slammed into. They didn't crash to the ground, no, but there was certain a few shuffling steps that threatened it.

Biting the grunt down, Percival sighs as he pushes himself away from the streetlamp to get his balance back. "No, that's..." He shakes his head, straightening out his dark coat. "Quite alright." No harm no fowl, as far as he could tell, especially going off he other man's tone. "You're not hurt?" Turning his head he glances over him, eyebrows furrowing at the creature in his hands. "...What have you got there?"

The niffler looks up at Percival curiously with beady eyes. Newt is still looking down at the ground as he holds the creature in the crook of his arms. "Oh. He's a niffler. Arrived with me..." His voice trails off for a moment, because he's sure he recognizes that voice before. It hadn't been that long since he had left New York and one doesn't simply forget what had happened given the circumstances.

His head shoots up as he looks up at the other. Percival's appearance was so peculiar, but he doesn't think he could mistake the other for anyone else.

Of course, his mind doesn't think Percival Graves. He has never met Graves for who they were. His only memories of the other was Grindelwald pretending to be Graves and his memories of that weren't anything to look back fondly. From the man taking his case to the interrogation to his near execution. That's ignoring the events of the subway.

The name he blurts out is really just a sudden outburst. "G-Grindelwald."

Percival stares right back at those glitter-seeking eyes, regardless of the darkness covering his own. If he had learned anything about beasts in his time, it was not not give them an inch. A beast... a niffler. A niffler? From home, his mind finally clicks after a few too long moments. There was no mistaking it.

Looking up from the small creature to the other man, his eyes scan him over as quickly as he can as his mind hobbles together the full realization.

He's had no interaction with the man before him, nothing to do with the Ministry beyond paperwork—and that's where he recognizes him. A thick file, flagged with more red than sunset, and a photo, clear as the deer-in-the-headlights that stared back at him now. Wait—

Why was he staring at him like he'd seen a ghost?

The following sound that fills his ears hits him like a blow. If there was any doubt he had about this man being from the same world, it was gone now. Percival feels positively green, less at the realization this was a man from his own time than it was of who he thought he was.

"Grin—" He chokes on the name, swallowing it down as he clenches his jaw to stop it from shaking. "No," The near whisper is insistent, far more confident than his body language which seems drawn in. He tries to get the words out once, failing when they get caught in his throat. He'd done it... that madman—he'd actually done it; stole his life and ruined it.

He wishes he were leaning on that pole again suddenly, his feet readjusting slightly to compensate for the imbalance hitting him. Shaking his head, he takes a sharp breath if only to jolt himself into spitting the words out: "I'm the man he stole a face from."

Percival's reaction was peculiar. It was so sudden. Strong. Genuine. It makes the magizoologist relax just a little. On one hand, it was best for him not to let his guard down so quickly. On the other hand, the way the reacted just seemed to real; to honest for it to be a well played act. Grindelwald may be a master manipulator, but there was certain things that one could not easily pretend. These felt like Percival's honest feelings. Of course, he should still be skeptical for now.

Newt keeps the niffler tucked safely against his chest. "Oh." His mind was racing as to what he should do. Even if it were Grindelwald, he certainly couldn't just let the man walk around freely could he? And if it wasn't Grindelwald, he surely had to make up for insinuating they were the man who had done so many atrocities.

"Percival Graves," Newt corrects himself. "Oh. Oh dear." This was...certainly not what he had expected to happen today. "I- Uhm. I believe there's a lot that we should talk about," Newt manages to say. "My place isn't far from here. Would you like to return with me?" He couldn't just let the man be now that they've come across each other.

He was still wrapped up by the sudden meeting that he hasn't even taken note that the other may be something more than just an unfortunate wizard who had his identity stolen. That this world was not so kind to let him merely be a witch like it had made Newt.

Swallowing thickly, his head is dizzy with thought and mouth dry in thirst. But was it water Percival needed? His mind shouted at him what it wanted to hear, but his gut twisted in truth. Shaking his head as he takes a few uneven steps away, the man leans against the streetlamp they nearly rolled into. His chest is tight, the shallow breaths doing little to help with it as he tries to sort himself.

He has to pull himself together. It's unbecoming, this overreaction. Those events at home, the things that happened—the fight, his abduction, the torture—they didn't matter here. And Grindelwald wasn't here, based on the other's reaction to himself. Maybe there were others here but maybe they weren't personally effected. Maybe that was just the excuse he used to explain away why it felt he was falling apart at the seams.

Newt's voice echoes into his ears, disorientated. Had he asked him a question? Something about talking?

The shake of his head is slow. "No, I..." A gloved hand comes up to wipe at his forehead, hoping to make it look like a brush of hair and not pushing away sweat. "I need to get out of this heat." What a better excuse than for a man clothed in all black under the blazing hot sun.

In fact there's a bench not too far from where they are, shaded by a tree. When Percival looks up and sees it, without so much as a word he starts walking towards it, slow and a sort of steady he had to put all his focus into as he put one foot in front of the other. How could the open sky feel so suffocating?

Newt takes note of the other. From their state of dress to their apparent poor state of health. Honestly, a bench and shade was only going to help the other so much, but they most definitely needed to get inside completely if they really wanted to get better.

He can only guess why the other was dressed as they were in the middle of the day.

While he certainly wasn't very comfortable with the idea; helping the other outweighed his discomfort. Newt takes a few brisk steps forward before he slung Percival's arm over his shoulder and firmly had his arm around their waist. "Come now. You can come back to my place and cooldown proper. You'll be able to sit or lie down and I can get you some water."

He didn't even realize the problems of having himself so close to the other. How close and easily accessible his neck was in such close proximity. "Sitting out here is only a temporary relief. I'm not far from here."

The magizoologist drops the niffler and gestures at the creature, who starts scurrying ahead of them. Not quite leading them home, but knowing not to run off from Newt.

So focused is he in getting to that spot, the last thing he would ever expect from the other was to herd him away like some sickly thing. Which, truthfully, he is. There was only so much they could heal him here with his new affliction and his reluctance to accept it. How could he have?

To Newt's touch Percival flinches, half stumbles in an attempt to get away, the movement startled and fearful. It was different than being ran into; this was intentional, this was hands on his body and holding him in place. Even as gentle as he was it still makes Percival's skin crawl and anxiety spike, recalling a less kind man. "I don't want to impose," He replies in a hush, pushing out the words.

He isn't him, are the words that repeat in his head, and in return his gust twists further and tells that paranoid part of his mind: But what if he is? It would only make sense, the strange world, the unhelpful witches who had little information for him, who told him he was something he would never willingly become. Then again, what more harm could Grindelwald do to him...?

Such thoughts all piled together only make him feel more ill. Grindelwald could fake kindness in small bursts but he never got this close. So Percival focuses instead on the niffler as it scampers in front of them, dark eyes tracking the creature bounding just off path to sniff something before scuttling back into line. And then he realizes: "I never got your name."

"I can't just let you be," Newt replies. His tone seems genuinely apologetic. He doesn't like people to invade his personal space and in return, he very much didn't like to invade the personal space of others. "To leave you be to your own devices while obviously unwell would be awful of me to do though. I can't not assist you." It may seem ridiculous because most people are polite at best and usually just unkind and stuck in their own agendas, but Newt didn't have the heart to just leave him to being unwell.

His grip on the other is firm, but its loose enough that if the other truly wanted to break free; they could. "I'm sorry. Please tolerate this for a little while longer. Until we're properly settled." It's said so softly.

Newt never looks at the other. His eyes are trained on his creature and perhaps the bustle around them, but never on Percival. "Newt Scamander." Newt isn't aware that the other may have corresponded with his brother. He didn't keep up with the official business of aurors and his brother. It had never came up in letters or conversation either. Newt had no business being involved in the intricacies of dark wizards and the headaches they gave aurors. He was just part of the Beast Division.

Some small part of him realizes he might have offended the other in some way with his physical lashing out. Only a small part and very brief at that. Truthfully, he hadn't meant to. "That's... kind of you." While the words themselves are sincere, his tone doesn't reflect it—again, unintentionally. Percival is cagey, cogs in his mind turning to think of ways out of this if he needed to go. He's stiff, shaking, and from what he can't pinpoint anymore. It's doubtfully only one thing.

Even if he had wanted to break free, there isn't an ounce of strength in him for it right now. As much as he protested being touched moments ago, while still not keen to it, Percival doesn't make move to push away. He's not sure if it's for leverage or stability but Percival ends up gripping the arm of Newt's coat as he asks him to tolerate it all. "I'm trying..." He needs all the support he can get with his gelled legs and frying mind.

Newt might not be looking to him but Percival certainly makes an effort to look at him. It's difficult, between sunglasses and dizzying vision, but he manages to take in his profile well enough. "Scamander..." The echo is just that, some grounding sound to keep his mind anchored in the moment. It doesn't hit him right away, or really at all in that manner, as much as is does slowly come to realization as he thinks more on the name. "Scamander," Percival repeats more confidently. "The magizoologist." Not young Scamander, or Theseus' brother. Newt. Newton Scamander.

A potential thorn in Percival's side, back home. And how odd—his file never read as if this were something he'd do. He laughs something bitterly faint, half nerves and half delusion. "How fitting..." Is the murmur.

"Kindness is all we can really offer to each other in such a foreign place. We can't really offer much in knowledge, although I've been here for a bit of time." Newt had been here long enough that he had settled down well enough. As well as Newt could settle down when the man spent so much of his time leaving the city on excursions.

Newt's pace is steady. Not so quick that the other might struggle to keep up. It almost looked like two men who might just be a bit cozier with each other while they walk. Nothing too out of place for the most part hopefully.

There's a soft chuckle from the man. Magizoologist was more of a self proclaimed title than something that people may say to him. At least from his point of view, he was still working on his book and what people say about him are less than ideal. "Most say fanatic, so I appreciate the proper use of profession title." It's not like there's really anyone else in the 1920s running around with the amount of knowledge that Newt held.

They make it back to wear Newt has settled in. The large zouwu that Newt took care of was currently sunbathing, but sits up to look at the two carefully while Newt awkwardly gets the door open while still balancing Percival's weight. His niffler scurries inside to hide in wherever the creature has made its makeshift burrow as Newt leads the man to his bed to let him sit down on.

He immediately gets Percival a cup of water and places it in their hands before he closes the door and draws the curtains. The other did seem rather sunsick, so it made sense to him that he should do this.

Not because he realizes the other is a vampire.

"I suppose that's true." What a strange concept kindness is to him now. He remembers things from home—making coffee in the morning for Seraphina when nights ran long, getting dinner for his staff when he knew they were running themselves ragged on a case—they feel more like dreams than memories now. Maybe that's why this feels so detached; he doesn't feel real. He has to tell himself he is, that this is.

Having Newt against his side helps, his hold grounding, though the sound of his laugh does more than the touch. It might have been quiet but it was light, amused; gentle. It didn't twist his gut in fear or make a chill flood his veins. He watches Newt through his shades, a mix of surprise and relief. He looks away, back o the ground and the niffler ahead of them before speaking.

"It was in your file when the Ministry sent it to us." A note from another auror, of the same last name. Spacey as he currently was, he doubted he needed to clarify just who made the annotation to the file. Newt was, after all, a one-of-a-kind in the field of beasts. Fanatic was apt, of course, but the title gave it depth, a purpose; one that reflected in his actions. It was how Percival remembered it.

He doesn't have any difficultly keeping up, luckily, aside from a rare moment or two of a knee deciding it didn't want to support his weight. Each misstep came with a small apology, one of which comes after the sight of the sunbathing zouwu--the large creature giving Percival some slight apprehension. He'd never seen a creature so large in person, and was rather relieved to have Newt between them.

Once he's sat down it takes him a few moments to move and remove all his protective clothing. The scarf is first thing peeled away from him, pulled out from under his coat and off his head. The glasses find their way on top of it beside him, then his gloves. When Newt returns Percival slowly shrugs off his coat, though he doesn't move it out from under him just yet.

His wincing goes away as the curtains are drawn, a soft sigh leaving the pallid man after he'd taken a sip of the water. It's not as refreshing as he remembered, or hoped. "Thank you."

Vampire AU

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