「graves.」
not so much as the city bistros interrupt them, its people oblivious in every manner and concerned only for themselves. but any prying eyes that follow discreetly are unwelcome. graves flicks a coin at the ground and a doorway to another side appears. his scythe-like jaw angles and he stoops in, waiting for the scamander and the creature to follow before it disappears.
he feels the cold in his face now. parallel white lines still run down his garments in order, whipping near the hem in the wind. they stand at the roof of woolworth, alone at last, his disinterest in the petulance of those who did grindelwald’s bidding only growing.
graves steps out to the edge, looks back over his shoulder at newt. ‘ you think albus is a true, great friend? ‘ there’s a smile on his face. it is not humor, in fact it is the opposite. ‘ and i am the undertaker, watching over the graveyard. ‘ he turns back to the city, gaze too far out. they had made him the scapegoat in the events before credence’s death. he was director. he did the work and he would have taken the obscurial all the same. ‘ he paints a fair picture of himself. modest. why would he want to disappoint those he enlists for help? ‘ he keeps his own disappointment at bay. he had gone to albus, but albus had refused him with spirits weaker than starcrossed lovers divided, not even when through graves’ pensieve he’d seen with his own eyes that grindelwald would kill him the first chance he gets. foolish to large fault.
a sigh leaves his swelling chest, hands tuck behind his back. ‘ help albus to be a better wizard than he is now. ‘
@moralstrong
the moment graves makes his move, careful and poised hands scoop up the animal who trotted hungrily at the coin the auror had thrown, he sighs gently. “what have i told you? about behaving hm? now in you get.” the niffler gave a gentle sniff of disapproval before disappearing into his coat as feet gave way to his movements, one foot clumsily following the other as he passes through, gaze tipping to survey new surroundings.
the air thickened, opening wide for the sky above them and for a moment, a dark shadow of understanding passed across newt’s features. his jaw tensed, if only for a moment before fingers found the hem of his coat pocket, delving deep into its confines as graves questioned him. “no --- in fact, i quite feel the privacy of dumbledore’s life provides room for little great friends i’m afraid.” he shifts, it felt odd to him, them discussing dumbledore, the only man to fight for him, and the very reason for his own fight now. “but i do owe him a great deal and there is the small matter of respect and trust ---...” he stammers off for a moment, of course he’d love nothing more than to have albus as a true friend, someone beyond a mentor, but now was not the time for wishes.
“t-that is NOT why i am here, please, if you would just listen....” newt was not in fact here on dumbledore’s orders. a rarity perhaps, but the man knew better than most that graves had suffered, at the very hand of the man they all were fighting against.
“mr. graves, i would like your help because i feel as if you --- more than anyone i’ve seen, survived something unique. he kept you alive, even after his capture and it is you, who could potentially provide valuable insight to his nature.” newt was a researcher, an analyst by birth and career path. he understood that in order to tame something, you first needed to understand it.
