#cat!graves

[crazyfandomluver]

Cat!Graves will bite your hand with little to no warning. Send post

[natecchi]

THE WIZARD'S CAT / / ao3

He exited the building and turned left, into a narrow alley to apparate, but something flashed in front of his eyes and he stumbled backwards. Trying to regain his balance, he noticed that it was staring at him. And by it, he meant a black cat with a pair of striking golden eyes. “Beautiful…” Newt murmured under his breath.

[aethelar]

Oh goodness, I meant to say this earlier, thank you for reblogging my humble little story! :O Work is still busy but I'll definitely keep writing on weekends. The idea of a fluffy Graves (flouncing around everywhere and shedding fur all over Newt because the man seems to have the self preservation instinct of a dodo and he had saved Graves' life so he needs to stick close okay? It's not because the Brit gives good ear scratches or has a sweet smile or anything) is too precious to pass up. :P

(whoops, I meant to answer this earlier so I think we’re two for two!)

And yes you fabulous person, a thousand times yes. In fact. In fact, let’s take this and run with it.

The issue, the biggest issue about being an animagus, is that when you’re a cat you’re… a cat. Cats have different priorities to people. Cats see the world in a different way, and Graves isn’t just talking about being a foot off the ground or filtering out the reds of the world to leave a decidedly blue-green tint to everything.

As a cat, Graves thinks differently. Not a lot. Not enough to lose his grasp of logic or to forget his plans and his goals, certainly not enough to impede his reasoning or his ability to carry out his missions. If anything, it helps - cats are straight forward. No worries. No distractions. No silly fretting about whether or not it would be appropriate to drape himself over a certain British wizard’s lap and demand head scritches, because dammit, Graves wants the British wizard and his feline half wants the head scritches and when Graves is a cat, that’s all the matters.

When Graves is not a cat that last bit causes issues.

“It’s important to maintain a good cover,” he says in as calm and even a tone as he can. Is his face scarlet. His face feels scarlet. Oh god his face is scarlet. “A cat that didn’t act like a cat would only raise suspicions, and the point of a covert guard is to avoid that. So.”

“Oh, I completely understand,” Newt says earnestly. “And I do appreciate you taking the time to look out for me.” He smiles, slightly awkwardly, slightly lopsidedly, and in a rare moment of self preservation Graves diverts his gaze to the lapel of Newt’s coat.

There’s cat hair on Newt’s coat from where Graves stood on Newt’s lap and rubbed himself over Newt’s chest to demand petting. Evidence. There’s evidence. Oh god.

“MACUSA owes you a great debt,” he assures at a completely normal pitch, not high and squeaky, oh dear me no, “Grindelwald’s lackeys could be lurking anywhere, can’t have them get to you, good lord is that the time please don’t do anything dangerous got to run bye - “

And the worst part is, he can’t even curl up under his tail to hide from the mortification (cats, unsurprisingly, are incapable of feeling shame and it’s something Graves has hidden behind several times in the past) because his damn traitorous cat self will just march straight back to Newt.

This is ludicrous.

Ludicrous.

Is he or is he not Percival Graves? His will power is stronger than a fucking cat. He refuses to be barred from his own animagus form like this. Let the world know, head scritches have no power here. Hah.

Preposterous.

As if Graves would ever.

He’s a grown man, damnit.

Head scritches.

Honestly.

…

“They could strike at any time,” he stammers out to Newt the next day because no, no Graves is not stronger than his cat self.

Newt’s smile is less awkward this time but no less lopsided, and he’s not wearing his coat but instead has his sleeves rolled up and there’s black fur all over his white shirt, particularly around the shoulders where Graves draped himself like a fucking sybaritic scarf and really, Graves should just go. He should. He should throw himself in the Hudson, see how his cat self likes that.

“If I was a dark wizard,” Newt begins carefully, “I should think I’d work at night. People are more vulnerable when they’re sleeping, aren’t they?”

It takes Graves a second to process the implication there, and then a few seconds longer while his brain completely checks out because did Newt just ask him to spend the night did he really what 

“Well,” his shameless cat self says in is that a fucking purr oh god, “I can hardly leave you vulnerable, can I?”

Graves would like it known that he’s outnumbered. Also that Newt is far too cute when he tilts his head like that with his pupils blown wide like that and darts his tongue out to lick his fucking lips and basically, no one’s playing fair.

On the plus side though, Newt’s hands can give a lot more than head scritches.