Palette

When he finally leaves the St. Jouge’s Hospital for the Ailing and Maimed, it takes a lot of courage to return to his own house where… everything had happened. He stands in front of the door for several minutes as if trying to decide whether it is worth even returning, and then pushes the door open. Seraphina was a friend enough to keep looking for him even with a dangerous lunatic on the loose. She was also practical enough to keep searching for him dead or alive, and, to be fair, Percival Graves can’t make out sometimes which way he turned out to be in the end. And it wasn’t that Aurors were looking basically for his dead body, as any reasonable person would have, basically, that hurt Percival, it was that they found him alive. He was astonished to finally learn how long he had spent in what Grindelwald would jokingly call his “caring embrace”… a year and a half. Percival hated himself for staying alive but he did not — could not — hate the man responsible. After all this time hating Grindelwald seemed useless, like hating the storm that crushed your house. He learned to see the man of his nightmares more akin to a natural disaster than a living and breathing creature. Disasters happen, and so did Gellert Grindelwald — he happened. Percival spent many days in the hospital and managed to return to the world that had once been very logical and easy to navigate, and at first he was adamant to claw his way back, to take by force what had been stolen from him… and then he learned what had actually happened. It seemed that everything he had assumed before was a lie or a futile attempt to make himself believe the fantasy he had once lived. Grindelwald, wearing his face and his suits, ordered the execution of Tina Goldstein and Newt Scamander, and nobody had bat an eye. Nobody took five seconds to think this order over. Nobody said: Hey, that doesn’t sound like Mr.Graves, he can be a dick, yes, but isn’t an execution a little bit too much? Nobody questioned. Percival had to step down and didn’t accept Seraphina’s words of encouragement that he’d get his position back once he “felt better”. Madam President was a friend, a school-friend, actually, and Percival knew there was no contempt or disdain hidden in between those lines. There could possibly be none because Gellert Grindelwald did them all, and did them good. Nobody wanted to admit their own faults, and so Percival didn’t become a wizard who had lost to Grindelwald in the public eye — they all did, even if they weren’t ready to admit, — he became the man who had survived Grindelwald. As if. The real reason Percival Graves had to step down from his position didn’t sound as pretty as the newspapers made it — well-deserved rest, an opportunity to work on secretive and important projects… In reality he simply was not safe to be around anymore. And it didn’t become obvious right away, at the hospital, because all of the nurses there were female. Then one of his subordinates decided to give Percival a good old pat on the back and the next moment he was hurled into a wall, crushing everything on his way. The instinctive magic that needed neither wand, nor his consent almost crushed the man who touched him without his permission. “Well… I know how it feels. To act before you have a chance to think,” Seraphina said when they were finally left alone to discuss the situation. And after a moment of hesitation she ruthlessly added. “It sounds just the way I would automatically slap someone’s face if someone decided to smack my ass.” “I very much doubt anyone would be that rude.” “You very much don’t know shit about being a lady in a bar full of pisshead drunkards.” Graves managed a smile and decided against asking Seraphina what the hell she was doing among pisshead drunkards. He also decided against asking in a voice vibrating with drama whether she was suggesting that Percival had acted like a lady touched inappropriately without her consent. Because the real thing Seraphina was suggesting sounded much grimmer and couldn’t be turned into a defensive joke. What did He do to you? Percival Graves resigned quietly. He started researching his own condition, and through the series of unpleasant experiments and mistakes came to a conclusion that he had already suspected — he became untouchable. Or, at least, so it seemed. It was fine if Percival knew that somebody was about to touch him. Things like polite handshakes were pretty normal, though it felt uncomfortable. As if there was a storm brewing inside his chest, and the air was desperately trying to escape his lungs to get as far away from the storm as possible. The real trouble started when someone touched him by mistake. Or without Percival being prepared for that. That touch would stir things in him that Percival wasn’t ready to embrace or even acknowledge. The smallest touch unraveled everything he didn’t want to admit, to believe, to suffer through again. What is that on you, Percy? Percival Graves decided that he wasn’t going to let what had happened to him dictate what would happen to him. He decided he was going to find the best healers, the ones that specialise both in physical and psychological scars magic can leave. He decided he would take control over his life back, he would claw it back if needed… What is that on you, Percy? A blush? He woke up panting, and sat in his bed, his wand dancing in the trembling hand. “You are not real. Not here. I am alone,” Percival Graves said firmly and waited for the tremor to go away. It did in a few minutes. He decided that everything was going to be alright from now on… and then he decided against lying to himself. Percival Graves didn’t need to see a boggart to know what his biggest fear looked like. Who it looked like. What he needed was to write some letters to some people who owed him some favors. After all, it was not at all impossible to schedule a visit to Nurmengard.