Chapter Text
New York, December 17th, 1926.
The battle was won, but at a too much of a cost. Gellert Grindelwald was in custody and the entire city of New York -- Maj parts and No-Maj parts alike -- were in complete chaos. The devastation was immense, and the No-Maj’s who had witnessed the magical world were innumerable. Obliviators were erasing memories has fast they could shoot off spells, but gossip in New York spreads at a rate second only to the speed of light.
In the subway station where the worst of the damage occurred, a magizoologist, a Legilimens, a No-Maj, and about 30 members of MACUSA tried to come to terms that the most powerful Dark Wizard in over a century was kneeling with hands bound behind his back, smirking and unrepentant, on the shattered subway tiles. In the pandemonium that ensued and the questions that it raised -- Where do we keep Grindelwald imprisoned? How do we keep him imprisoned? What magical government has jurisdiction over this? How do we Obliviate tens of thousands of No-Maj’s at once? Are we exposed for good? -- it is quite understandable that no one was paying attention to the gaping hole in the roof of the subway station. As such, it’s no one’s fault that a tiny dark mass floating up to the city level went completely unnoticed.
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By the time that Credence had pulled himself together again, he had no idea where he was or how much time had gone by. He opened his eyes, gasping in painful breaths of frigid winter air, only to slam them shut again against the bright light. He hurt. God, did he hurt. There was no end to it. Every shuddering breath made his chest feel like it was cracked open, every twitch of his closed eyelids felt like icepicks shoved into his brain.
Maybe this is Hell, he thought. Maybe I’m finally getting what I deserve.
Hell was a lot colder than he thought it would be. For all of Ma’s talk of brimstone and hellfire, it was positively chilly.
Credence pulled himself up into a sitting position, trying to will his body to stop trembling. Trying to keep his body from bursting apart at the seams. Even now, he could see the darkness pulsing beneath his skin on his hands, poking around for a way to get out. He didn’t even know why he was trying to control himself anymore, what the use of trying to keep that power inside was. He wished those witches had killed him.
Everything that he had was gone, and it was his fault. He had destroyed the only home he had, he had killed his Ma, Modesty was terrified of him and Mr. Graves --
Mr. Graves had lied.
He had told Credence that he was special, he had pretended to care for him and all he did was use him. All of these months, Mr. Graves was the only good thing in his life, the only person who ever looked at Credence like he was worth something. Mr. Graves never wanted him, he only wanted the the demon inside him. Ma was right, Credence was a sinner, he was worthless, he was a monster --
Credence’s fragile control snapped and he let himself get washed away in the power and the anger and the hate, until he only had one driving force:
He was going to make Mr. Graves pay.
In the corner of an alley in lower Manhattan, a shadow stirred.
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President Seraphina Picquery was having a bad day, and it was getting worse by the minute. Six different countries were requesting that Grindelwald be extradited to them, each citing that they had suffered the most from the wizard and thus deserved to sentence him. Picquery didn’t trust any of them not to lose him. Hell, she barely trusted her own people not to lose them, not that she would ever voice that thought out loud. It was just...Grindelwald.
MACUSA wasn’t prepared to detain the most powerful dark wizard in the world. And why should they be? Grindelwald, up until now, had been Europe’s problem to deal with. His American followers were small fish, mostly disgruntled purebloods whose families had lost power in the last few decades. It was the No-Maj’s that have been the focus of MACUSA’s efforts these last few years.
Right now, though, Picquery was less concerned with the havoc that Grindelwald wreaked in New York and more concerned with how he did it. Percival Graves, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been replaced by Gellert Grindelwald. That much was known and accepted. The obvious follow-up question: Where was Director Graves now? Was he even still alive? All of the Aurors not detaining Grindelwald or minimising the damage from the Obscurus were scouring the city for a sign of him.
The question plaguing President Picquery was when the switch took place.
Picquery closed the case file in her hands with a disgusted sigh and tossed it onto her desk. She leaned forward, pillowed her head in her arms, and tried to wrack her brain. When did Graves go missing?
She didn’t know. It could have been yesterday. It could have been weeks ago. She had no idea, had never even had the faintest suspicion that Graves had been replaced. He’d been more serious, more antisocial -- but that was just how Graves always was, it was how he always became when work got rough.
There was a knock on the office door. Picquery flinched, and then scowled at herself for doing so. She sat up and tried to wipe the exhaustion from her eyes. Making a half-hearted effort to bring order to her desk, she reopened the case file and tried to look more Presidential than she felt.
“Come in” she barked.
The door to her office creaked open a bit, and her secretary, Goldie Meyers, stuck her head in. “Uh, Madame President? I know you said not to bother ya, and I’m real sorry about barging in, but it was just that, uh, there’s a memo and I thought you would wanna know right away, so I --”
“ Please , Miss. Meyers, get to the point.”
Meyers jumped a bit and stepped into the office, twisting a ring on her hand. “Senior Auror Eckhart sent a memo up, just now. He said, G-Grindelwald has been secured and cleared for interrogation. Ma’am.”
Picquery stood up so quickly that her chair slid back into the wall behind her. She looked down at the case file in front of her, where a picture of Percival Graves scowled and blinked up at her.
Status: Missing in Action, Feared Deceased
She gripped her wand until her knuckles turned white and gathered up the file. “Cancel my appointments for the rest of the afternoon, Meyers. I’ve got some questions for Mr. Grindelwald.”
In the darkest parts of the city, a shadow searched.