Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You know, for someone coming from old money and basically political royalty, you have a terrible liquor selection, Gracie,” Daniel Dewitt called from the liquor cabinet, inspecting her wine bottles like they’d insulted his lineage. “Where’s the Rougarou Bourgon? Or that vintage Bayou spirit? Those were good.”

Grace didn’t even glance his way. She smirked behind the rim of her wineglass, listening to him rattle off his running commentary like she hadn’t heard it a dozen times before. Daniel had opinions about everything, especially her alcohol. At this point, he practically submitted Auror reports on the contents of her cabinet.

They’d known each other for nearly a decade, since her very first day at MACUSA in 1918. She’d been the new dark arts researcher: all polished shoes and duty-bound ambition. He’d been a junior Auror with a smart mouth and a habit of giving his superiors migraines. Somehow, they’d stuck.

“I have wine,” she said, lazily twirling the deep burgundy in her glass. “And I’m not letting you raid the cabinet… again.”

Daniel made a face. “That happened one time, I caught the Tucson Hexer. Worth the celebration.”

He continued his self-appointed mission, inspecting every label like he was analyzing evidence. Eventually, he plucked a bottle with a delicate silver-stamped label and poured a generous glass. “The fact that this,” he said, lifting it, “comes from a vineyard with a silent ‘x’ in its name tells me everything I need to know.”

Grace frowned and set her glass down. “Hey, that was a gift.” Though the laughter threatening to break in her voice and to betray her attempt at indignation.

Daniel chuckled. “From who? Look at it, collecting dust, begging to be drunk, Gracie. A real travesty.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “The French ambassador. Last month.” She kicked off her heels, setting them aside. “And… I like the bottle.”

“You would.” He sat beside her on the velvet sofa, feet up on the coffee table.

“Dewitt,” she warned, “this isn’t your apartment. Feet off the table.”

Daniel sighed but obeyed. “Gracie, I took off my shoes. You’re sounding like Graves.”

“Yeah, well, I spend a lot of time with him. That’s what assistants do.”

Daniel chuckled into his glass. “He’s been… interesting lately.”

Grace shot him a sideways look. “Define interesting. Graves has always been a… ’concerned’ individual’.”

Daniel shrugged a little too casually. “Just odd, that’s all. Not that he was ever warm, but lately he feels... colder. Calculated. Even for him.”

She frowned. “I mean yes, he’s been tenser with the Grindelwald threats and keeping magic under the No-Maj’s view. Besides that–” But before she could finish, Daniel cut in with a grin.

“Anyway, enough about the boss of the year, we can talk about that tomorrow,” he said, cracking his neck. “I did the same thing to Captain Noble, feet on the table. Should’ve seen his face. Looked ready to murder me.”

Grace stiffened slightly. “Yeah, well, Theseus is rather proper, as you know.”

“Yeah, proper,” he said, laughing into his glass. “Guy still needs a lesson in relaxation. Block could shit diamonds…”

Grace snorted, “Poetic as ever Daniel.”

“I aim to impress,” he replied, clinking his glass to hers. He let out a breath, one Grace knew meant he was in a serious mood. “Have you written to him?”

Grace’s gaze remained on the floor, “A little.”

Daniel didn’t press, instead leaning back in his chair and sipped his wine. Grace knew Daniel well. One does after over six years of friendship. He knew when to push buttons, and when to stand down and be patient.

“He still writes, doesn’t he?” he said gently.

She nodded. “Yeah. Not exactly like before.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Some letters still feel like him, warm, like before. But others? Curt. Precise. Like Auror reports. Like… protocol.”

Daniel swirled the wine in his glass, giving a low whistle. “I mean, you went from seeing him for weeks every two months or so to taking Graves’s offer, and now you see him as often as a Qilin is born.”

Grace didn’t say anything, only giving him a look. Daniel tilted his head, watching the flame flicker. “He ever say why?”

She shook her head. “No. And I didn’t ask.”

“Why not?”

Grace hesitated. “Because I didn’t want to know the answer.”

He smiled faintly. “Such a Grace Wickford thing to say. Pride is practically a family heirloom.”

Daniel stretched, stifling a yawn. “I know you’ve got stuff you refuse to share. But anyway, he’s still writing, right? That means he still obviously cares… Maybe you should be a little… I don’t know, less Wickfordy?”

Grace gave him a look. The kind that said drop it without needing words.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Gracie, come on. Maybe put your bad traits aside and open your eyes just a little.”

Grace stretched too, shifting in her seat as she exhaled.

Daniel stood, setting his empty glass on the table with a soft clink. “I’ll see myself out. Long day ahead tomorrow, he’s stretching us like crazy. Especially now we’re down a few.”

Grace nodded, watching him pull on his boots. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. At the door, he paused, boots halfway on, and looked back over his shoulder.

“Y’know… you used to be the fun kind of dangerous.”

He gave her a lazy grin.

“Now you’re just… very Wickford.” He admired his tie for a moment, then glanced back at her.

“Let me know when you feel like breaking the rules again. I’ll bring the snacks.” He winked, then disappeared with a soft click of the door.

Grace stared at the door. “Bring the snacks,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she stood. “Unbelievable, Dewitt.”

She walked to the window, her view overlooking Central Park. Her father would only provide the best for a Wickford, Carnegie Hill was just as luxurious for No-Majs as it was for wizards. And it was safe. Protected.

The fire crackled softly, the only sound left in the room. Its glow flickered across her MACUSA badges and the newest dueling trophy, casting distorted shadows.

She thought she’d made the right decision, fully returning to MACUSA. But tonight, the conviction didn’t sit so comfortably. The weight of the last few years pressed down on her chest.

Grace moved to her desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out an empty diary.

“Darling, perhaps letting your mind flow freely will help your thoughts,” her mother had said.

So, she sat.

And she wrote.

October 19^th 1926

At the beginning of the year, my favorite part of the month was when I was given my travel papers and permission to go to England. MACUSA is grand and intimidating but I feel like I am constantly being watched. President Picquery does not like me or my family, you can tell by the look on her face whenever the words “Wickford and MACUSA” are uttered.

My father always wants to know what I’m doing. He thinks I don’t know that he meets with my superior, Percival Graves, every week to get his intel.

Of course, it took me some time to accept how I got here in the first place. My father then Director of Magical Relations got me an interview with Graves, they needed someone to take over a retiring wizard’s job as the dark arts researcher.

I suppose my qualifications were: Wickford, dark magic legacy, and, as a bonus, excellent marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms. I feel stupid, believing it was completely on merit when I got the position. Now I see perhaps Graves did it as a favor. He’s done many things as favors. It matters not anymore, that position got scrapped once Picquery merged the division into the Auror department.  

But still, during the four to five years I was there, I loved every minute of it. I knew at times, I was walking a fine line between legacy, duty, and desire. Mother was worried I would be enchanted by what I saw, and walk down the path so many in my family have done in the past. I know now why she was concerned, my grandfather and father worked hard to clean the slate. The draw of the Dark Arts is a strong one. Once you taste such power, it is difficult to resist the urge for more. I could see why so many have fallen to it.

My research brought me to many states in the US but also to Europe. Transylvania was a top favorite; the vampires had many dark artifacts wizards were drawn to using. Their blood mixed with a curse and an enchanted pendant could make the wearer live almost forever. But no, my favorite destination was England. Not as much for the history, the research, or even the actual Ministry. No, it was my favorite because I got to see him.

Theseus Scamander was someone I could never get out of my head no matter how hard I tried. He was dedicated, dutiful, brave, an Auror. Well, Head Auror now, but not when we met. He was deserving of his hard work. When we talked he didn’t see the name, just the person. We would always go to the pub after a long day when I was there. He would get a firewhisky, without fail every time. Have his hands on the table with his finger intertwining. And he would have this look in his eyes, the determination, the sparkle, the fire. He had a smile that was infectious when it was true.

We exchanged so many letters, each time I received one I could not wait to open it. I was as giddy as a schoolgirl. He would tell me about his days at the Ministry, and I would tell him about MACUSA. I would write about my little brother, and he would reply with a story about Newt from their youth.

Oh Newt, I forgot to mention him. What a wonderful wizard he is. He is so eccentric and caring for his creatures. He was a little difficult to crack, but I found a way. Now I cannot imagine going a month or even a week without hearing from him. Never in my life had I ever met someone like Newton Scamander. He challenged authority in his way, bent the rules, and did everything in his power to make it right for his creatures. In some way maybe, we were a little alike. I know I have taken some rules as more of a guideline anyway. Theseus though, he was more by the book.

I remember one night after the pub, we apparated to his apartment, I had one more day before returning to MACUSA so we went out. I got him to his sofa before he started talking.

“You know Grace.” He said to me, after perhaps too many “I do not think I have ever met someone like you.”  

“That is what they all say,” I replied

“I mean, really. You could do anything with your name, your money. Anything and you choose this.” I shook my head, giving him his water.

“It is not a noble reason Theseus, I have my reasons with my fam…”

“No. No.” he cut me off, “Not listening to your status excuse again.”

I wish I had said more that night. Or that he had. But we didn’t. Not really.

And maybe that was the beginning of it, too many words left unsaid, too much left to interpretation.

I was so convinced I needed to walk the same path as my father, needed to be the “Good Wickford girl”, keep the name in the influential circle and to prove MACUSA that I made a difference. I was too blinded by arrogance to see that I didn’t even stop to choose. That I took the easy path, the path expected of me.  

Now it feels like I’ve lost him. All because of misread silences. Stubborn pride. Missed chances, and a series of misunderstandings.

At the time, it felt easier to leave. Easier to return to America than to sit with everything I didn’t understand.

I thought back to everything when I read it. In my early life, meeting both Scamander brothers the same year, how Theseus and I went from friendly acquaintances to friends. Then I thought of the feelings that started to creep up, I took the easy way there too, burying them telling myself he would not want a spoiled little rich girl, who had no concept of hard work.

We came from different countries and different worlds…

Grace then put down her quill, she could not continue.

“I’ll finish this later,” she said, walking to her window. “I wonder what you’re doing now, Theseus.”

Her gaze drifted over the skyline as her mind pulled her back, to their late-night talks in his apartment, the walks through London, the look in his eyes when she’d drop off stacks of reports just to annoy him.

She remembered one day in particular, only about two months before everything started to feel… different. She waltzed into his office, initially, she only had hers and Graves’s to hand over, but she decided to ask all his Aurors to if she could carry their reports, she enjoyed messing with Theseus Scamander, and dropping off over 300 pages of reports was the best idea of her day.

She’d found him focused, brow furrowed over a Ministry document. She’d entered quietly, then dropped all 300 pages onto his desk from just high enough to startle him.

“The bloody hell! What the—Wickford!” Theseus barked, voice echoing through the office before he took a breath to calm himself.

Grace stifled a laugh, watching him try to organize the chaos now flooding his once-neat desk.

“Merlin’s beard, Grace! How are there so many?” he exclaimed, standing and fixing her with a look.

“Don’t blame the owl. Mine’s only ten pages, Graves about twenty. The rest? From your colleagues. Enjoy.” She finished the sentence with a wink.

Theseus stepped around the desk, the irritation already fading into amusement. Grace could still see the way his brown eyes softened as a smile pulled at his lips.

“Do you take pride and pleasure in torturing me like that?”

“Only on Tuesdays,” she replied, matching his stare.

She walked out of the office, heart light. A few seconds later, she’d poked her head back in to find him back at his desk.

“Hey, Scamander,” she called, catching his eye. “Dinner? My treat tonight.”

“I’m holding you to that, Grace.” His smile widened.

She smiled at the memory… then realized that’s all it was. Just that. A memory. She sat back down at her desk closing her diary and setting it back into the drawer. She took out a piece of parchment staring at it for a short while before writing.

Dear Newt,

Thank you for your last letter. I’m glad your travels are treating you well. You must have all the material you need for the book by now. I hope to receive a first edition (signed, of course) when you’re finished.

Things here are… steady. Graves is determined to gather more intelligence on Grindelwald from Europe. There’s been some increased activity on the No-Maj front, but that’s all I can say. I’m writing you the traditional way, MACUSA’s screening all fast-owl mail now. Graves pushed for it, and of course, Picquery approved.  

I wanted to ask if you’ve heard anything from Theseus lately. I know your relationship can be… complicated, but I thought I’d ask. His letters are either wonderfully detailed or oddly brief, like he’s toggling between a friend and an Auror.

I’m still kicking myself for what happened, but thank you, for always being supportive.

I miss the regular updates. The easy conversations. It feels strange not knowing what’s going on with him, especially after all these years of friendship.

I replayed that ridiculous moment again, when I brought him three hundred pages of correspondence, mostly from his own department. You know the story; I’ve probably told it too many times. His face was a mix of pure horror and grudging amusement.

Take care of yourself, Newt. I look forward to your next letter, and maybe, if I’m lucky, it’ll include some news about Theseus too.

Yours sincerely,

Grace

She set the quill down and stared at the letter, nostalgia curling at the edges of her thoughts. She remembered those long evenings in Theseus’s office, the quiet dinners, the casual routines they’d fallen into whenever she visited London. Even during her holidays, he had made time for her.

The memory lingered.

She had always admired him for his unwavering dedication, for the strength he never flaunted, only embodied. But it was in the small, unguarded moments—when his eyes softened, when his smile crooked just slightly, that she realized how deeply she cared for him.

“Maybe Mother was right,” she murmured. “Maybe I should walk my own path.”

With a final glance at the sealed letter, she set it aside for the next owl post.

Her thoughts wandered, trailing back to when she was just fifteen, wide-eyed and headstrong, on her first visit to the Ministry of Magic in England.

The Wickfords were still a name that commanded weight, and she had wanted nothing more than to live up to it.

Chapter Text

United States of America,
Ashfern Hollow, Vermont
August 1st 1914
Wickford Estate

Wickford Manor stood tall on its Vermont estate, nestled near the wizarding town of Ashfern Hollow, just north of Willoughby State Forest. The Manor had been a family jewel since the late 1790s, larger, grander, and more refined than their original Salem estate. It was the perfect location. It was the ideal location, far enough from prying wizard eyes, and more importantly, out of reach from the No-Majs.

The Wickfords left England in the early 18th century, to the surprise, shock, and horror of the British pure-blood elite.

They chose the New World.

They didn’t fear the Salem Witch Trials, not the No-Majs who led them, nor the flames they lit.

For the Head of the Family, Aurelius Wickford, it was the perfect opportunity. Fewer pure-blood families meant more room to influence. To manipulate. To claim power.

They kept their riches from England and built upon them in the New World.

Now two centuries later, they remained above all the others.

Rich. Powerful. And even Feared.

That late summer morning in 1914, the grand manor buzzed with life. The birth of a new child had brought joy and celebration to the esteemed Wickford family. Another heir, another member of the dynasty poised to extend their net even more over the continent.

For Grace Wickford, the event meant little. Pure-blood families were expected to multiply; it was simply tradition.

She was far more preoccupied with an entirely different event: packing her bags for London. Grace was eager to go. She wanted to travel. To see everything the world had to offer. She ran across the third floor, nearly knocking over two antique vases, one opinionated portrait of an ancestor, and almost running into one of the family elves: Theo.

From the drawing room, her mother was losing her patience. “Grace, slow down! You’ll break something at this rate.” Penelope Wickford, seven months pregnant with their second miracle child, needed a break, and arranging roses offered little relief. “That child, honestly. Always doing what she pleases.”

Next to her, Liliana Wickford, wife of her husband’s third brother, Harald, smirked as she sipped her third Widow Martini of the hour.  “At least you’re not paying off another MACUSA official,” Liliana quipped. “What was it she did that time?” she mused, dabbing a finger against the rim of her glass.

“Ah, yes,” she chuckled. “The No-Maj window incident, or wait, was it when she ‘got lost’ in the MACUSA clearance zones? Hard to tell. That daughter of yours has all the spirit of the Wickfords.” She took another sip. “By the great spirits, maybe this next one will come out quieter,” she said, eyeing Penelope’s stomach.

Penelope snapped the end of a rose and repositioned it in the vase. “Careful there, Lili. You know how he gets when anyone speaks ill of his precious jewel.”

“I mean no harm, Pen,” she said, placing a hand on her chest. “Only blessings and wishful thoughts for your family. Your new little one is very much awaited, you know. I’m simply saying the arrival will hopefully turn her into a dutiful elder sister.”

Penelope met Liliana’s eyes. “Grace has been an only child for fourteen years, and in those years, we’ve loved her and raised her to embody everything this family values. Today, she’s simply excited. As you know, we leave for London tomorrow. So thank you, Liliana, for your input.”

“Only being the sister you need, Pen. I always enjoy our conversations, as you know.”

Penelope forced a smile. “As do I, Lili. Now, let’s go welcome Charles’s brother Thomas.”

 She gestured toward the next room. “We do enjoy hosting the family portraits. No way we’d miss this one.” Then, peeking out of the doorframe, she called, “Grace! Drawing room, please!”

Grace Wickford walked down the stairs with all of the elegance her name contained. At fourteen, she already knew the halls of diplomacy, the weight of language, and the art of well-constructed sentences. But she also enjoyed the luxuries her name afforded, the finer things, and especially, travel.

She could barely contain her excitement for the trip to London. But as she passed under her mother’s stern, but loving gaze, she took a steadying breath. It wouldn’t do to look too eager with everyone watching.

Grace had mixed feelings about the portrait. Just another grand image of close and distant family, some dearly loved, others barely tolerated. But it was necessary.

To show unity. Strength. Leadership.

That the Wickfords could be counted on; to shape, and perhaps one day, to lead.

She did not care much for these events but found joy in being able to see her favorite cousin Lisbeth.

“Alright, now everyone gather around, please! Edmund, on the right. Lisbeth, get close to your brother,” shouted the cameraman. “And three—two—one!”

The camera flashed.

They’d posed with the newest Wickford addition:  Lisbeth’s baby brother, Arthur.

After the photo, Grace and Lisbeth gathered by the buffet. “I do envy you, going to England. Have fun, dear cousin,” Lisbeth said, her eyes beaming. They were close in age, and their upbringing had been nearly identical. Lisbeth simply lived in Salem, near one of the old ancestral homes.

Grace smiled. “Thank you, Lis. I’m super excited! I’ll see you when I get back?”

“Of course! I’ll have to tell you all about Cyrus.” Lisbeth practically glowed at the mention of her new boyfriend.“He’s from the Aldebrecht family, you know, the ones near New York? His grandparents came over from Austria. He says when he visits again, he’ll bring me back something!” She kept giggling. "Enjoy your time across the ocean. I’m sure it’ll be enlightening.”

After the portrait, the family lingered for another two hours, nibbling hors d’oeuvres and exchanging small talk.

There were updates on family lands and business ventures, Harald boasting about his new rooms in California, Thaddeus detailing his Potion and Herbology empire in New Orleans.

Aurora complaining that her newest silk dress from Paris was identical to a ‘pathetic No-Maj born’ from Detroit.

“The joys of family reunion,” Grace thought bitterly, having to listen to people complain again and again. She later saw her mother reprimand Aurora on her use of vocabulary to describe the No-Maj born.

“Careful, Aurora,” Penelope had said. “Would be a shame if you were outranked again at the beauty pageant. The veelas are judging this year. Perhaps they’ll notice your ‘fine’ personality too.”

By four in the afternoon, the last of the guests had gone, leaving the soon-to-be family of four alone in their large manor with only their house-elves. Grace returned to her room to finish packing. Two weeks in Britain, the very thought filled her with joy.

She loved her father’s stories of his travels, from the misty forests of Scotland to tales of his British colleagues regarding Hogwarts. Midge, the ‘leader’ of the elves, was helping Grace with her trunk.

“Miss, perhaps the green robes?” asked Midge, holding them up. “Midge thinks Miss always looks better in green. Even if Miss like the Master's colors.”

The Master, Grace's father was the famous (or infamous, depending on one’s point of view) Charles Wickford.

A commanding, six-foot-tall wizard with chestnut hair and the same deep green eyes as his daughter, the Wickford eyes, they called them.

Always well-groomed, clean-shaven, and impeccably dressed.

He wore the family rings with pride, a ruby-studded wedding band on his left hand, and a second ring on his right engraved with a small dragon, the one on the family crest. Inside that ring, another engraving, the family motto itself.

Per ignem semper.

Through fire, always.

Charles was known for his charm, his diplomatic finesse, and, most of all, his ability to command a room with little more than a stare. He could be a frightening man, intimidating without even trying. He could follow the rules, or bend them at will. At MACUSA, He held the position of Director of International Magical Relations.

The Wickfords valued prestige and influence, and Charles needed their name to remain relevant. There were whispers that his position had not been earned, but bought, a claim the family strongly denied. Still, the average wizard found it difficult to believe, given the Wickfords’ long history of whispering to high-ranking officials and maneuvering through the corridors of power for generations.

Charles knew the secrets of navigating the complex political landscape and ensuring the Wickford name was always associated with power, respect, and dignity. Despite the whispers and rumors, he carried himself with an air of authority and confidence that was hard to dismiss.

Grace’s mother, Penelope Wickford (née Brown), had inherited a successful cosmetics empire, which she now ran alongside her brother Albert. She was shorter than her husband, with dark brown hair and striking blue eyes. She had worn the same ruby Wickford ring since her wedding day. Though her family’s background was not as prestigious, they were respected in their own right. Over eighty years ago, Penelope’s family had come from Stuttgart, Germany, seeking to build their fortunes in America. Her father had seen great potential in the American market for high-quality, luxurious cosmetics.

Their marriage was one of love, respect, and mutual support. That both happened to be pure-bloods was a ‘fortunate’ bonus Charles’s father, Orpheus, found acceptable. Penelope, after all, fit the main requirements: power, wealth, and, most importantly, not inbred. Especially not inbred.

A knock on the door jolted Grace from her thoughts. Her mother entered, a soft smile playing on her lips.“Grace, your father wants to speak with you in his study,” Penelope said, stepping just inside the room.

Grace nodded, set her things aside, and dashed down the hall to her father’s study.

It was a large room that mirrored the man himself. The walls were filled with shelves of spellbooks, regular books, magical artifacts, cauldrons.... Grace found her father sitting behind his dark mahogany desk, poring over parchments.

He didn’t look up as Grace entered and closed the door. “Grace, come in. Take a seat,” he said, his voice a mix of authority and warmth.

Grace nodded as she walked towards the desk and sat. “Yes, Father? You wanted to see me?”

Charles set his quill aside and folded his parchments. His fingers were now interlocked in front of him as he looked at her with a serious expression. “As you know, this summer, we are taking a trip to London. I know the original plan is mainly for relaxing and enjoying the change of scenery.”

He leaned back in his chair and reached into a lower compartment of his desk, retrieving a crystal glass and a bottle of Piasa Bourbon, an elite and rare label, Grace observed. He reserved it for special occasions. He poured himself a modest amount and took a sip. “To that end, I want you to accompany me to the Ministry of Magic, as you’ve done before at MACUSA. It’s time you began forming connections, learning how the world works, and how you might one day shape it.”

Grace’s eyes widened as he continued, “You’re old enough now to begin networking internationally, and to start learning the full weight of our family’s legacy.”

Charles stood and moved around his desk, gesturing toward the framed family tree displayed on the opposite wall. He drew her attention to their ancestors.

“You see, all these witches and wizards left a mark on history, some infamous, some powerful, all... significant. But many shared one common thread.”

He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Control. Mastery. The disciplined use of Dark Magic. This family has long wielded it, to great effect. It followed us from England, and rooted itself again here. In America.”

He tightened his grip slightly, both hands resting firm on her shoulders. “They used it, alongside many other capabilities. But in more recent generations, starting with my great-grandfather, we’ve worked tirelessly to transition that legacy into influence and power alone.”

Charles released one hand and pulled her gently into a closer embrace. Their matching deep green eyes met. “You see, Grace, you come from this family. There are expectations, as you know. We must continue to whisper… and perhaps lead, when others cannot.”

“I do wish to influence as you have, Father. And to make you proud,” she said, looking up at him.

Charles smiled, the kind of warmth reserved only for her and the close family.

“But I also want to share something with you. Influence is not necessarily—”

“Charles? A word, please.” Penelope, having overheard, couldn’t help but interrupt. Charles nodded, then instructed Grace to return to her room and let Midge help finish the packing.

Penelope waited for their daughter to leave before entering the study and closing the door behind her. “Dear, she’s still so young. Does she need to start this now?”

Charles returned to his desk, removed a fine cigar, and sank into the chair beside it. His tone was firm but kind. “My dear, Grace is already showing great potential. The sooner she understands her place in our world, the better.”

He gestured toward the empty seat across from him. Penelope approached and sat. “Have you shared with her the family past… or the book?” she asked softly.

“Not yet. Not completely,” he said, lighting his cigar with a wave of wandless magic. “That will come in time.” He puffed and released a slow cloud of smoke.

“At that age, they speak to anyone who will listen. Once that has passed, she’ll learn the full extent of what we are. The book will be shared in due course.”

Penelope signaled toward the side table for a glass of cold hibiscus brew. Charles, ever graceful, poured it for her without hesitation.

“And you’re sure she won’t follow that path?” Penelope asked, taking a slow sip. “She spends so much time with Lisbeth, when they’re here, and at Ilvermorny…” She sighed, lowering her voice. “But thank Medusa, they’re two years apart, and sorted into different houses.”

“Sometimes… I fear for her temper. And her emotions.”

Charles extinguished his cigar with another wave of his hand. “We’ve stayed clear of it. You know that.”

He took a breath, cracked his knuckles, and stared into the fireplace. “My dear uncle and brother… less so. Lisbeth is a nice girl. I can’t see her drawn to the Dark Arts. Not while she has brothers...” He stood and eyed the objects on the mantelpiece. “If a threat ever rises, you know where we stand. We’ve fought too hard, for too long, to let our name slide back into full association with the Dark Arts. No government would ever trust us again. And without their trust… There goes our whisper.”

Charles picked up an object, an old cursed mug, courtesy of an ancestor. “Polemos,” he murmured. “Specialist in bewitching the mind, one sip at a time. Drops of Euphoria Elixir mixed with house brew. One might call it the Imperius Curse in potion form… with a dash of Veritaserum.”

He set the mug down and looked at Penelope. “And we know how to counter it, because we studied it. Better to learn the Dark Arts than be defenseless against them. Call it fire against fire. Dragon against dragon. She’ll finish her education at Ilvermorny and, with any luck, spend time at MACUSA, at least for a while. When that happens, I’ll call in some favors.”

Penelope nodded, one hand resting on her stomach. She knew that as long as Charles’s father remained head of the family, the Wickfords’ past would stay where it belonged: in the past. Charles had no desire to reopen it either.

“And the No-Majs?” she asked softly. “What will you teach her about them?”

When it came to non-wizards, Charles had no particular care or interest in them. They simply existed, beings wizards were forced to share a planet with. Wizards, in his view, should focus on their own affairs. As long as No-Majs, or Muggles, as the British called them didn’t interfere in magical affairs or their lives, there was no reason to engage.

“What we’ve always done,” Charles began, “follow the same stance as my father, his father before him, and all those before that. They exist, nothing more. The No-Majs are of zero interest to us. Zero use. Nothing. They have no magic. They are not part of our world, and there is no reason to waste time, energy, or lives on them. No witch or wizard should ever risk their life for a No-Maj.”

The next morning, they used their private Floo network to reach the MACUSA offices in New York, where they entered the International Portkey section bound for England. Penelope was still within the safe timeframe to travel by Portkey while pregnant, which was part of her motivation for taking the trip now.

After a day spent touring wizarding London and dining at the prestigious La Fontaine, they retired for the night, with Grace eagerly awaiting morning.

The following morning, Charles prepared for his presentation. This trip was also part business: a chance to strengthen relations between MACUSA and the British Ministry of Magic, and to subtly reaffirm his authority within his government.

 Though currently MACUSA had a policy of isolationism, Charles had managed to persuade the President of the value in cultivating international ties. That was part of his allure, his charm. He could convince nearly anyone.

It was what made Charles Wickford the powerhouse he was, and why Grace looked up to him as the most powerful wizard she knew.

The Ministry was a bustling hub of activity that morning, with witches and wizards hurrying about on important business. Charles guided Grace through the grand atrium, pointing out notable figures and explaining their roles.

She eyed the portraits, asking questions about each one’s significance. As they moved through the halls, several people turned to stare. Grace, naturally, asked why. Charles replied with a vague smile: the last time he, a British official, and a French diplomat had shared a room... The French official left in tears, the English one muttered his way to tea.

“Perhaps they are still amazed at their own stupidity.”

Grace kept herself occupied while her father attended his meeting. Though she’d been given books to read, she found them dull and instead made it her mission to interrogate as many adults as she could.

Most ignored her, and she hated it. No one ignored her at MACUSA. Why should it be any different here?

She found an empty spot near the office of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She liked watching the Aurors march past, dragging criminals in and out.

Grace eyed the wizard sitting next to her, early thirties, easily. Her father had taught her to estimate people’s ages when forced to wait; it helped keep her mind sharp, her thoughts in check.

“What are you doing here?”

The man turned slowly. “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he said, voice clipped and sharp.

“Are you involved with the No-Maj situation? I heard they might go to war. Will we go to war? You know wizard-kind.”

The man gave her a sideways glance and huffed. “You ask too many questions, and none of them concern you.” He flicked a hand dismissively. “Run along, little girl. The adults are busy.”

“But you never answered mine,” she insisted, crossing her arms.

The man rolled his eyes. “Very simply, none of your concern. You don’t need to know, nor should you. A young lady of your stature needn’t worry herself with the world.”

“I think I do have the right to know,” she pressed.

The man stood and looked down at her. “Little girl, not everything is a Merlin-given right.”

Before Grace could push further, her father exited the office. He was accompanied by another wizard, likely in his forties. Charles shook the man’s hand and thanked him for his time.

“Oh no, Mr. Wickford, sir—thank you. This could prove valuable insight later on. Enjoy the rest of your day. We shall speak again very soon.”

Charles dusted invisible specks from his dragon broach, the one he always wore abroad, with a ruby set in the dragon’s eye.

He then walked over to the man Grace had been ‘trying’ to talk to and extended his hand. “Ah, Mr. Travers, yes? I’ve heard much about you. I understand the methods you’ve proposed to your Department Head regarding the Aurors are…modern, but showing encouraging results. I must say, impressive.”

Torquil Travers smiled politely and shook Charles’s hand. “Mr. Wickford, a pleasure. I thank you for pointing that out.”

Charles returned the polite smile and placed a steady hand on Grace’s shoulder. “This is my daughter, Grace Wickford. I assume you’ve been discussing current events?”

Grace looked at Travers and smirked. He bit his lip.

“Yes, we have,” he replied, his voice clipped. “What spirit she has.”

“We encourage curiosity quite young, as you know,” Charles said, his eyes never leaving Travers.

“Indeed,” Travers muttered.

Grace crossed her arms and stared down Travers, clearly pleased with her father’s retort.

After leaving the Ministry, Charles and Grace stopped for tea at Queen Hyacinth, a charming tea parlor on the Upper Side of Diagon Alley. When their tea and biscuits arrived, Grace wasted no time launching into her assessment of Torquil Travers, namely, how much she disliked him.

“He wouldn’t tell me anything. And people always tell me things. Such a flobberworm.”

She took another bite of her biscuit and twirled her hair with her free hand. “And he just stared down at me, like I didn’t deserve to know. I mean, I wasn’t asking for clearance.”

Charles set his teacup down and took a breath. Grace knew that look well.

“Sometimes,” he muttered, dabbing his mouth with his napkin, “we forget to remind you of the intricacies of demanding answers.”

He set his hands on the table, fingers intertwining. “Grace, perhaps he believed you weren’t qualified to know what you asked.”

“I asked if they were going to war, not the combination to the Gringotts safe,” she replied, sipping her tea.

Charles huffed and smirked. “I know. But there are subtleties, ways of speaking that make people open up without even realizing it. That way, they tell you everything you want to know. And when we return home, I’ll show you how.”

Chapter Text

New York —1921

Case number 19B28 — Object of interest: dark emerald ring.

Location found: Rue de l’Enchanteur, Magic Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana.

Date and reason of recovery: Recovered during the arrest of Frederique Calais in the kidnapping of his cousin, Septimus Bryan-Chapelle, by Senior Auror O.P. Harrods.

Details: engraved inside, likely old French from the seventeenth century.

Details of engraving: La vie commence quand le cœur manque d’absence.

Object nature: cursed ring, to control the emotions of the wearer.

DMDL*: High, to proceed with caution.

Curse removability: High.

Approx. date of artefact: 1713

Grace set her quill down temporarily and observed the ring once more. It was a remnant of New France, crafted by French wizards who had once settled in Louisiana. A cursed ring, designed to twist emotions and bend the wearer’s will to the caster.

It would take Grace roughly an hour to remove the curse, even faster if the original caster is now dead.

After a while, she returned the ring to its box, sealing it with an enchantment so no one else could open it. Her desk was buried under ancient texts and case files, filled with cursed objects Aurors had wisely refused to touch.

This was the Dark Arts Objects and Spells Research, or DAOSR, division of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in MACUSA. A ‘recent’ addition, if twenty years could be called recent in MACUSA terms, its purpose was to aid Aurors in identifying artifacts and to give the wider body a better understanding of the Dark Arts.

Of course, that was the official version. It was one of the few divisions with ties abroad, granted permission to study Dark Objects internationally.

That was what intrigued her most, the chance to study magic both at home and abroad.

After graduating from Ilvermorny, she decided to follow the Wickford tradition of having one toe in MACUSA. Her father supported her decision; he even expected it. With his contacts, he secured her the interview, but insisted she was on her own from there.

“We can’t be seen handing out positions like chocolate phoenixes at a fundraiser,” he said puffing his cigar that night, “A neutral party will conduct it. Show them, my dear, what we can do.”

So, she did. Grace buried herself in dark texts, both at the Vermont manor and the New York penthouse. She went through every tome in the La Fleur section of the MLOUSA, Magical Library of the United States of America. She did the work to secure her position, though deep down she knew the Wickford name had helped more than she cared to admit.

With the position and its travel came her mother’s anxiety. Penelope wanted her home, nearby or at least within apparition or minor portkey reach. All the travel, she argued, meant Grace would spend little time with her baby brother, Edward Alexander, now nearly seven.

It took one of Charles’s talks to reassure her. His silver tongue worked again as he explained to his wife the impact Grace’s expertise in Dark Magic could make on MACUSA, and perhaps even the wider world.

The Wickford influence stretched long; many owed Charles Wickford favors or wanted to be in his good graces. Respected and feared, many believed MACUSA needed their presence.

Of all the Directors (minus her father), Percival Graves took a liking to Grace rather quickly. At first, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement thought having a Wickford on his team would simply benefit his image and perhaps a future presidential bid. But he soon saw the potential.

Grace had a natural fascination for the discipline, offering clever insights that only sharpened with time.

“Miss Wickford. Afternoon,” he said, entering the Dark Arts research division. “Is that the ring Harrods brought in?”

Grace nodded, “Yes, sir, I was just finishing my report on it. Still cursed and old, but it needed attention.”

He hummed and appeared to agree, “I see. How potent was it? Could my Aurors not handle it on their own, as they claim their British counterparts would?” He sat in the chair in front of her, crossing his arms.

“Hmm…well—yes—no, wait.” She faltered, seeing that familiar grin. Graves adored this exercise, this little dance where he tested every answer.

Graves chuckled, “Relax, Miss Wickford. Most Aurors are quite… how should I put it?” He let the suspense drag on, “They lack the proper care for handling evidence.”

Grace bit her tongue; it wasn’t entirely false, though harsh. “Take Dewitt, just made Senior two weeks ago, already had his fingers all over that Rougarou statuette.” Graves’s tone was dry as parchment.

“Did he solve the case, Director?” Grace asked carefully, knowing Dewitt was an…interesting case.

“He gets it done,” Graves smirked, offering nothing more. “Now, my real reason for coming. How does a little trip to Ireland sound? Some artifacts have surfaced, and MACUSA has…an interest.”

Grace blinked. MACUSA’s sudden interest piqued her curiosity. She decided against asking; questioning Graves usually led to headaches. “Of course, sir. I’ll Portkey to Dublin immediately.” She rose, beginning, “Are the—”

“Perfect,” he cut in smoothly. His expression was as suave as it was chilling, and he gestured for her to follow him to his office. “Your travel and accommodations are already arranged.”

Once inside, he pulled an unfinished file from his desk. “When your work is done, notify me. I’ll have this ready by then, more dragon-shit, but government never stops.” He slid it across with a mild smile. “I’ll express-OWL it to you. Deliver it to the Head Auror of the British Ministry; they’ll meet with their Department Head.”

Grace nodded, puzzled by the instructions. At times, she would hand-deliver his reports, mainly sensitive topics, or because Graves always preferred a personal handoff rather than an intercontinental Floo system. She never enjoyed it; it made her feel like a mail service.

Ireland was routine at first. Lockets, mirrors, talismans, medallions, an old stone house in the forest, recently rediscovered by Muggles (and promptly obliviated).

The magic wasn’t fully Dark, but the objects bore old hexes and curses, nothing, she thought, beyond the skill of any properly trained Auror or even an Unspeakable.

During an excavation deeper in the forest, Grace was examining a medallion with an intricate serpent engraving. In seconds, a creature leapt from the bushes and snatched the medallion.

The creature, ferret-like, bolted off with the medallion. Grace followed after it in mild fury.

She shot a few charms and jinxes at it, “Hey! Give me that! You little shi—”

“Language!” the ferret shouted as it slowed down.

Grace froze; the ferret had spoken. Magical Creatures had been an elective at Ilvermorny, one she’d mostly used for napping, so details like this had escaped her.

She raised her wand to levitate the creature so that it would drop the medallion.  “Give it,” she hissed, as the ferret refused to let go, “don’t make me—”

“Hmm, excuse me!” A voice interrupted, “I…I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

A figure emerged from behind the trees, a young wizard, English by the sound of it. His little bowtie was askew, his hair a wild mess, as if he’d ridden a Hippogriff through a storm.

Grace glared at the man, her brows furrowed. With her hand, she signaled to him, ‘by all means, go ahead, smarty robes, she thought.

The wizard crouched down and spoke to it—an actual conversation. Grace could hardly believe her eyes. After a minute, he was able to persuade the creature to drop the medallion and leave. He approached and returned the object to her.

“Thank you,” she muttered, clutching the medallion. Before he could speak, she cut in, “What was that?”

“A Jarvey, they can be temperamental, and don’t take well…to… well insults. Like people you see.”

Grace closed her eyes. Of course, a Jarvey. All those private lessons were money well spent. If her father could see her now, he’d glare with the strength of a thousand wands.

“Well then, thank you, again…for helping me get this back.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, before adding, “And remember, the insults. Magical creatures…they have feelings too.”

Before he could leave, Grace stepped forward. “I’ll make a note. But can I get a name from the savior of the hour, to thank properly?” She extended her hand.

The young man smiled faintly, hesitating as though her hand might burn him. “Newt,” he said at last. “Newt Scamander.”

They exchanged a few polite words. Grace carried most of the conversation, her trip, her favorite spots in Dublin, and a debate on whether emeralds or opals made stronger enchantments. Newt mostly nodded, offering the odd comment. But when they stumbled upon a small Moke family walking in the same direction, he finally began to open up.

Newt Scamander had a passion for creatures. She had never seen such eyes sparkle, Hippogriffs, Bowtruckles, Kneazles, any creature at all. He described their habitats, their quirks, and even why some favored certain wizards over others.

“You know, Newt, I have never met someone who cares the way you do. You understand them in a way most people don’t.”

“Oh, um, thank you. I suppose that’s a good thing? I mean, well, they seem to like me, too. It’s not always easy, you know, being different. But thank you. Really.”

Grace laughed. Newt was awkward, certainly, but his kindness and quiet devotion were striking. He mentioned being asked to write a book, an opportunity of a lifetime, and one he meant to seize. Grace could see it in his eyes: this was no mere project, but a calling.

And truly, there is nothing better than being paid to do what you love.

“Where are you off to next, Newt?”

“I believe back to Scotland, then Wales, then mainland Europe. I hope to travel more to Africa as well. Egypt, especially. There are fascinating species there, amazing, misunderstood. Very much so. I feel…that I need to write them all down. Document them properly, for the world to see them as they truly are. Well—actually, I’ve already begun.”

Grace smiled. Ireland had been rewarding enough, and meeting Newt was an unexpected bonus. He rarely spoke of his own life, but when their talk turned to his work, he bloomed. They didn’t meet often, but whenever Grace had free hours, she found herself wandering until she stumbled upon him. And always, she noticed, he preferred the company of the magical and wordless to the clamour of people.

Before her departure, they met up at a café in the magical neighborhood of Dublin. He showed her his drafts for the book, explaining the various creatures of Ireland to her, some undiscovered until now.

Grace looked at the drafts and sketches, holding one of the papers up. “If my tutor had been like you, I might’ve actually paid attention.”

“You had a tutor?” Newt asked

Grace nodded. “Oh yeah, one for each subject before Ilvermorny, then during the summer.” She sipped her drink. “Not to mention piano and singing lessons. You know, important life skills. They kept me busy. You didn’t have a tutor?”

Newt shook his head, “Not really. It wasn’t…the norm for us. We studied on our own.”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“My brother and I,” Newt said, not developing his sentence any further. Grace sensed he did not talk much about family, so she decided to talk a little about hers.

“I have a brother too, younger, a lot younger. He’s seven, and likes to shove his stuffed dragon in his mouth just to annoy our mother.”

Newt snickered and decided to reply, “Mine is eight years older than me, works at the Ministry. Negotiations never happen with a stuffed creature in the mouth.”

Grace laughed at the thought of an older version of Newt with the same stuffed dragon in his mouth. Her laughter was apparently contagious as Newt joined in, albeit timidly. After tea, he walked her back to her hotel. Grace asked for his information, hoping to stay in touch. Newt looked puzzled. Few ever asked, unless they needed his help with some beast or another.

Grace instead replied with, “Well, Newt, I like having someone different in my circle of friends. And I think honestly, you fit right in.”

Back in London, Grace had some paperwork to drop off at the Ministry from her research, along with the justifications for her travel. In Britain, she was required to document whether any Dark Artifacts had been created to aid Muggle camps during the Great War; if so, they were to be catalogued and returned to the Ministry. She wrote that nothing out of the usual was spotted in Ireland.

She also contacted Graves, who promptly sent by express OWL the documents he had ‘promised.’

In her room, she muttered at her half-finished findings, “Why do I always leave this to the last minute?”, downing her third cup of coffee that hour. Grace then worked through the night to finish it.

By the next afternoon, she proofread the report. “It’s not perfect,’ she sighed, staring at the pages, “but they’ll get the idea.”

She was looking forward to three unplanned days, hoping to fill them with something. With her plan in motion, she packed up her satchel and went to the Ministry.

Grace made her way through the halls, her small “consulting visitor” badge hanging on the side of her skirt. Her satchel full of papers; if her father saw her now, his glare alone could petrify the floor. He loathed ‘organized chaos,’ as he said.

Before her final turn, Grace took a few seconds to reorganize her belongings. First impressions, as she knew well, are only awarded once.

She sat by the office of the Head Auror, waiting for their meeting to be finished. She twirled the file in her hands, only to be bitten twice when she tried to peek.

Enchanted for the Head Auror’s eyes first, no doubt. Graves always thought ahead of such things. Still, she wondered why this went to the Head Auror and not the Head of Department, an exception, perhaps?

As she waited, a wizard sat beside her. Auror, she guessed. Or at least law enforcement had to be. His posture was stiff, every movement impeccable. He was tall, with brown hair, quite handsome, she thought. The wizard was deep in thought, staring at his papers.

She leaned back, smirking when she caught sight of the badge on his belt. ‘And the Horned Serpent strikes the pot.’

After five minutes, boredom won. She studied him again, deciding this stiff gentleman might be her entertainment. “Are you in trouble?” she asked with a playful smile.

He glanced over, a little surprised. “Pardon?”

“You look like you’re heading for or getting ready for a serious meeting. So, trouble or no trouble?”

He stared at her, both confused and faintly amused. “No, not really. Just another day at work with a file to deliver.”

“I see,” she said, gently thumping Graves’s report on her legs, “that sounds incredibly dull.”

He raised a brow. “I promise you, my job is anything but dull.” His tone was serious, edged with playfulness, as he extended a hand, "Theseus Scamander. Senior Auror.”

“Grace Wickford, Dark Magic specialist, or researcher, I suppose. From MACUSA.” She shook his hand before lifting her documents. “I’m here to drop these off.”

There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, “Dropping off documents as well? And you call me dull?”

Grace smiled politely. “Well, mine come with field work and a stamp from MACUSA’s finest.” She lifted the files, the bite marks on her hand from her ‘checks’ still visible.

Theseus gestured to her hands. “Those marks…not from peeking at something you shouldn’t? Or is that just MACUSA standard?”

Grace opened and closed her mouth, unable to comment. “Pardon?” was all she could think of.

Theseus’s lip twitched, “I suspect someone’s been a little nosy. Would be a shame if word got out.”

He leaned back, entirely unbothered. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. Peteres should be finished soon; he rarely talks too long.”

“And how do I know I can trust you?” she pressed at last, amused. “For all I know, you might Portkey me straight into a Snallygaster nest.”

“What even is that?” he asked.  

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Theseus bit his lip, shifting to face her fully, his report forgotten. “Try me, Wickford. I’m curious.”

“Oh, Curiosity stunned the Kneazle Scamander.”

“Stunned?” he echoed, lips curling. “That’s quite the statement.”

Grace tilted her head, “What can I say? I have quite the compendium.”

She gave him her witty look, the one her friend Daniel swore could unnerve even the most stone-faced wizard, before glancing toward the office door. From the corner of her eye, she noticed he still hadn’t looked away.

“How long does he usually take?” she said, using her report to point to the office, “the Head Auror?”

Theseus shifted again. “Depends on the hour, and how much coffee he’s had.” The corners of his mouth twitched, meeting her eyes. “Or if someone’s in for a dressing down.”

Grace arched a brow. “I think I would pay good money for Graves to sit there and debate your boss before his coffee.”

Theseus chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Merlin… I can only imagine the chaos. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Graves, but I hear he’s quite the character.”

She twirled the report once more. “You have no idea.” Lowering her voice, she added with a whisper, “Even my father thinks he could loosen up.”

He arched a brow, crossing his legs, papers still in hand. “Your father… You said Wickford earlier. You seem poised, knowledgeable, with perhaps a hint of—”

“Careful now,” Grace cut in smoothly, her tone laced with warning amusement. “I would choose my next words rather carefully if I were you.”

The grin that followed told her he was enjoying this. He leaned closer, and for a moment she felt he was weighing her the same way her father often did, only Theseus managed it without Legilimency.

“Any relation to Charles Wickford by any chance?” he finally asked.

Grace bit her inner lip, “Father actually. I guess his reputation precedes him?”

Theseus exhaled softly. “Precedes, yes. My department head met him last month with several ambassadors. It was… illuminating. Let’s just say a few reconsidered their positions.”

She tilted her head, “Illuminating? That’s like…one of the top three politically correct terms people use for him. He enjoys a good debate. Says it’s like dueling. Everything has a rhythm and elegance.”

He nodded, though clearly amused. Odd, her father’s name rarely inspired amusement. Perhaps Theseus Scamander was anything but ordinary. Before he could reply, the Head Auror’s door cracked open, and voices came out.

“It seems Peteres is about finished in there,” Theseus observed, straightening up, a reminder that this was, after all, the Head Auror’s office, not the pub next door.

He seemed pensive, Grace thought, as though weighing words he wouldn’t say. She gathered her satchel, and as the door handle turned, Theseus rose.

He tilted towards her, “My shift— I finish in about an hour. Care to continue this conversation somewhere without judgmental portraits?” He finished nudging towards a pair who were clearly forming opinions. “If you’re not otherwise engaged, that is.”

Grace blinked, then smiled, hardly registering her name when the assistant called for her. The thought of a drink after today, and the endless trip, was a welcome relief. Before crossing the doorframe, she turned back.

“Now that,” she started her tone light, “sounds like an excellent idea. Even more so when it’s your treat!” She winked, then slipped into the office before he could reply.

Theseus stood like a statue, the word ‘Pardon’ slipping out in a mix of protest and amusement as the door closed behind her.

“Nice one, Scamander,” mumbled one of the portraits of Arthur Herarld, one of the Head Aurors from last century, “You owe a member of the colonies a pint.”

Theseus ignored the jab and sat back down, placing his documents where Grace Wickford had been.

He was already known in these halls, familiar enough with the secretary and the portraits. An Auror who had paused his training to fight in the Great War, his actions had caught the Ministry’s attention.

Now he was a war hero, though the title meant little. To him, it had only ever been duty; he couldn’t stand by, not with his training and principles.

“Merlin…” he mumbled as he waited, mind shifting between his upcoming meeting and the witch he just met.

Wickford. He had yet to meet the formidable Charles himself. Travers once said his meeting with the man was ‘memorable,’ though he offered no details. Grace didn’t radiate the same aura, but then, he had nothing to compare her to. Rumors were one thing; meeting the person was another.

He took a breath and scribbled the name of a pub in his notebook. A place of good drinks, decent anonymity. He underlined a time. Her meeting was not long, barely ten minutes, when she emerged, Theseus was already on his feet. Without a word, he pressed the folded parchment into her hand before disappearing into the office.

Grace looked at the parchment, the corner of her mouth curled, “Well, this just made London interesting.”

His meeting with the Head Auror was a mix of results, quotas, and protocol. He nodded, added to the discussions, gave his thoughts on the matter, and suggested strategies.

“Solid decisions, Scamander, real solid. Excellent even. You have the instincts, and keep sentiments in check. Keep it up, and we’ll be seeing you lead one day.”

He accepted the praise, noted the criticisms, kept his composure, and left with a reminder: he had what it took to make the hard calls.

When he left the Ministry, he realized he needed that drink too, and the thought of sharing one with a Wickford was intriguing.

The Dancing Hippogriff was a pub popular with Ministry staff. Like most Aurors, Theseus kept a tab here.

“Scamander,” the bartender greeted, polishing a glass. “The usual?”

“Yes, please,” He slid into his usual booth by the window. “I’m meeting someone; whatever she orders, it’s on me.”

“I wonder what she drinks,” he mused, taking a sip of his firewhisky, “Something strong, I bet. Something that bites.”

Grace walked into the pub a few minutes after the time Theseus wrote on the parchment. She had returned to her hotel to change out of her professional look, now opting for the deep burgundy colors Wickfords were known for.

Her heels clicked against the wood as she set her satchel down. One look told the bartender she wasn’t a regular.

“What can I get you?”

“I’m supposed to be meeting someone here, but I—”

“Ah,” they interrupted, “you’re the someone I take it?”

Grace frowned. “The someone?”

The bartender tilted their head, and Grace followed the gesture to the booth where a British Auror was already sitting. He held up his drink in a mock greeting. 

“He said whatever you like, it’s on him.” The bartender continued, “So what can I get you?”

“Thoughtful and practical,” Grace murmured. “Hmmm,” she mused, looking at the menu behind them, “Can you do an Odin martini? Shaken not stirred.”

They smirked, “Coming right up, go sit, we’ll levitate it there.”

Grace thanked them and slid into the booth with ease, setting her belongings aside. “That was mighty nice of you, Scamander. Thoughtful and practical.”

“What can I say, I’m efficient.” He waited as her drink was set down, then raised his glass, “To new meetings.”

“To new meetings,” she echoed, after a sip, “So Scamander—”

“Theseus,” he corrected gently, leaning forward just enough that his voice carried lower. “If we’re drinking in my pub, you ought to use my first name.”

She tilted her head. “Who said I was addressing you? You interrupted me. I was going to ask, any relation to a Newt Scamander?”

“Ah, yes,” he admitted as he took another sip of his drink, “My younger brother. I take it you met him?”

Grace nodded. “Yes, in Ireland. Some talking creature stole a medallion. I chased it, Newt got it back, then gave me a crash course on—” she squinted, “Marveys?”

“Jarvey, I believe,” Theseus corrected, finishing his drink. “Newt would be quite upset if he gave you a lesson and you learned nothing.”

She winced, taking another sip, “Yes, well, forgive me if I was slightly distracted by a thief making off with a cursed medallion.” 

That earned a small laugh from Theseus. Grace went on, “I admit I treated Creature Studies as nap time, but if I’d had a teacher like him, I’d have remembered more. It makes a difference.” She tipped her head. “What about you? Do you share the same fascination?”

“Not really,” he admitted, signaling for another drink. “Our mother bred Hippogriffs. Newt was in love with creatures from the start. But these hands—” He spread them, faint dueling scars visible—“aren’t built for wrangling Nifflers. I enjoy them, but not with the same passion.”

Then what is your great passion?” she smirked. “Those hands built for something…sporty?”

He huffed a laugh, tilting his empty glass. “Very good question for the first ten minutes of a drink. For now, I’m just an Auror.”

“Just an Auror?” she repeated, clicking her tongue at the end, “So married to the job, no hobbies besides drinking? Got it.”

Theseus rolled his eyes as the new round of drinks arrived. “That’s hardly fair. I enjoy reading when I get the chance. Dueling, not only to train, but for the thrill, and I’ve been known to win a round or two of wizard’s chess.”

Grace reached for her second drink, “Hit a nerve, Scamander?”

He closed his eyes. “Theseus, Grace. And what about you? You can’t interrogate me all evening. What of your dueling?”

“Fine then. Theseus.” She emphasized his name. “My dueling? Could use some work. I was decent in school, but my father pushed me to keep training after I graduated.”

“Smart man,” he said, his hands curling on the table, “those skills keep one alert.”

“Yes, well, it also kept me busy, so I wouldn’t do something…stupid.”

Theseus’s mouth twitched, somewhere between amusement and intrigued. “Now, I’m very intrigued.” He didn’t press further, though she half-expected him to. Instead, he raised his glass in a quiet salute.

They talked for hours, the time slipping unnoticed. Grace shared stories of Ilvermorny, its castle, her Thunderbird house, and her favorite classes. Only when Theseus checked his watch did they realize how quickly the evening had passed.”

“Grace,” he began, setting aside his empty glass. His wand rested on the table, fingers interlaced. “Would you care to continue this conversation over dinner? Unless, of course, you’re busy.”

Her interest was sparked, “Drinks, dinner, and decent conversation? I think I can make room in my schedule.” She finished her drink in a swift action, “Lead the way, Theseus Scamander.”

The restaurant he chose was a small, warm-lit place tucked into the quieter streets of London. The conversation flowed as easily as before, Theseus offering just enough glimpses of his life while Grace countered with her own.

She was surprised how much she enjoyed herself, how the evening felt light rather than obligatory.

“How long are you in London?” he asked over the remains of their meal.

“Two more days, then back to New York. Everything’s handled now, so I actually have time to breathe.”

He considered her for a moment. “Well, if you’d like to see more of London while you’re here... I’d be glad to show you.”

Grace raised her wine glass. “I’d like that, Theseus. Thank you.”

He raised his in return. “You’re very welcome.”

The evening ended sooner than expected, and Theseus, ever the gentleman, walked Grace back to her hotel. Scamander was an easy conversationalist, charming without effort. The man could bleed charisma.

At the steps of her hotel near Diagon Alley, she drew a breath. “Well, Theseus,” she said at last, stepping a little closer. “Thank you again. This is the first time my trip to London has felt… fun.”

His eyes softened, warm and genuine. “And, thank you, Grace. Can’t believe all this took was calling me a kneazle.”

She laughed softly and stepped closer. “Goodnight, Theseus Scamander.”

In return, he extended his hand, “Sleep well. Grace Wickford.” His hand curled slightly around hers for a split second before he released it.

She lingered, watching Theseus back away. Just as he turned to leave, Grace reached into her satchel.

“Scamander– wait!”

She hurried down the steps and pressed a small piece of parchment into his hand.

“Write to me?” she said quickly. “Or not. But I thought, why not? You don’t seem ready to interrogate me on American politics.”

“Should I?” His brow arched, his hand curling around the parchment. “Wickfords do hold a wealth of information, after all.” He looked down, then met her gaze. “I will write.”

“Fantastic,” she replied before walking back, “don’t make me regret it!”

Later in bed, she pulled out her diary, jotting a quick entry before drifting into sleep.

April 7th 1921

Who knew being Graves’s personal owl today would lead to my favorite day of the year?”

What she could not know was that after this day, their lives would never be the same again.

Chapter Text

The following year was filled with letters upon letters between Grace and Theseus. Their correspondence became a lifeline, a way to stay connected despite the distance. The letters started slowly, building upon their meeting, but as time passed, the exchanges became more frequent. Nearly every week Grace wrote to him and used MACUSA’s owl system, ensuring her letters arrived not only quicker but directly to Theseus’s office. She knew MACUSA would frown upon using the system for personal letters, so Grace ensured that they were accompanied by some sort of official letter.

Eager to bridge that gap, Grace requested more research work that involved collaboration with the British Ministry. This allowed her to travel to England as often as possible, every two months on average, for about a week at a time.

Every time she arrived, their reunions felt as though no time had passed at all. They would meet at pubs in the evenings, enjoying dinners and lively discussions about the magical world. Grace loved their banter, it was as if no time had passed at all. However recently she was able to stay for an entire month. It was a welcomed change, Grace enjoyed every moment of being in London.

One evening as her trip was nearing the end, they sat in a cozy corner of their favorite pub, Grace looked up from her drink and grinned. "You know, Theseus, your letters are always so…entertaining. How do you keep up with so much paperwork? Does your Ministry pay you extra per report?”.

Theseus chuckled, a glint of sarcasm in his eyes. "Ah. I'm glad my thrilling accounts of bureaucratic drudgery keep you amused."

Grace laughed. “They do. I live vicariously through your bureaucratic adventures." She nudged his arm playfully. "Oh, come on Theseus, don’t give me that serious look. You know someone has to make sure you don’t forget how to have fun."

Theseus leaned back, smirking. "Fun, you say? I thought that was a foreign concept to you Wickfords."

Grace feigned offense. "How dare you! I'll have you know, we Wickfords are experts in the art of fun. We even have it scheduled in our diaries."

"Of course," Theseus said dryly. "Right between lunch with the President and an afternoon of political maneuvering."

Grace rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "You know, if you ever got tired of being an Auror, you'd make an excellent society columnist."

Theseus put down his drink, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "I'll keep that in mind if I ever decide to trade in tracking dark wizards for dissecting high society. Though I doubt I could make it sound as thrilling as you do."

They continued their banter into the night, Grace knew Theseus’s schedule was far from being as ‘relaxed’ as hers. His mornings began with briefings followed by more training throughout the day and any missions they were assigned. Theseus’s work as an Auror earned him increasing distinctions, getting him involved in more and more cases.

She made it a personal mission of her own to drag him away from anything Auror-related for a few hours when she was in London. Grace knew Theseus was ambitious, she recognized ambition, and it ran in the Wickford family after all.

A few weeks after she returned from her latest trip, Grace received a letter from Theseus. She sat by the window in her New York apartment, the city's bustling sounds filtering in as she read it.

Dearest Grace,

I hope this letter finds you well. Apologies for not receiving any news from me recently. The Ministry has been keeping busy. I was tasked with tracking down a group of dark wizards operating in the Midlands a little while ago. It was a challenging assignment, but nothing I could not handle. We apprehended the small group with minimal repercussions. They say it was the most successful arrest in years!

Travers mentioned that I am being considered for a promotion to Head Auror. There is nothing official yet, but it is something to think about. I have been working towards this for so long, that it feels perhaps a little unreal for it to be within reach. I wanted to share this with you because I know you understand the pressures and complexities of our work.

Your visits to London are always a warm welcome into this hectic life. I look forward to them more than you know. Until then, take care and keep out of trouble. Merlin knows you seem to have an affinity for it. Receiving a warning from the Italian Ministry is not something I would enjoy.

Yours,

Theseus

1924

The year 1924 marked a significant milestone in Theseus Scamander’s career. His success in capturing an entire group of dark wizards without any casualties earned him significant recognition from his peers. After years of relentless dedication, countless late nights at the office, the missions and apprehensions, and rigorous training sessions, Theseus had been appointed as Head Auror. His unwavering sense of duty and dedication to justice earned him praise throughout the Ministry.

Theseus sat at his desk, a small smile playing on his lips as he wrote letters to his brother and Grace, sharing the news of his recent promotion. He had always been diligent in keeping them updated on his life, and this was a piece of news he was particularly excited to share.

One of his first major missions came with the full weight of his new responsibility: Gellert Grindelwald. Theseus was given the task of tracking down the rising powerful wizard. It was an honor for him in which he was excited to share the news.

First, he wrote to Newt. He did not know where he was exactly, he figured his brother must be on a quest for the safety of magical beasts for his book. Newt was traveling the world and probably enjoying every minute of it doing what he loved most: studying and the company of magical creatures. Theseus knew his brother enjoyed spending more time with them than people.

Dear Newt,

I am writing with some news. I have been appointed to aid in the search of Grindelwald. I am surprised by this honour as there are many in the Ministry deserving of this role. I understand it may be perilous but I await the challenge. He is becoming much more powerful, influential and his support is growing by the day. Please keep vigilance in your travels.

I wish you well my dear brother wherever you are and whatever beastly quests you are undertaking.

Love Theseus

Theseus’s second letter went to Grace Wickford. Over the last three years, they had become close friends. There were occasions, when she would bring dinner to his office if had to stay late, stay a little while looking over his shoulder as he worked. Grace would tell him to not overwork himself, but as Theseus remarked, he had to make his mark and prove himself to rise through the ranks. At times, he wanted to remind her he did not have the same influence she enjoyed, but Grace could tell. He knew she could.

Overseas, Grace was finishing her bags. She was to portkey to London as usual but dreaded it. It could be bumpy and a nauseous journey. She stopped by MACUSA to check for any last-minute letters from the Ministry, from Theseus.

“Hey Arnie. How are you doing?” she said to the mail clerk.

“Hello Grace, all good, looking forward to tonight. The wife’s making her casserole. Ah, you have about 3 letters for ya. Take care now!” Grace smiled and thanked him. She went through the letters seeing who they were from, not paying attention and almost bumping into a coworker from the Auror department.

“Oh my! So sorry there Daniel!” She said. Her friend Daniel Dewitt was an Auror to be watched, climbing the ladder at a quick pace. The young tall wizard with blue eyes and jet-black hair was popular at MACUSA, not only for his charm and appearance but also for his dueling abilities.

“Oh, Grace no harm! No one bumped into each other but careful ok?”

She nodded as Daniel ran up to the stairs meeting with his fellow Aurors.

As she looked at Daniel, a voice came behind her. “He’s always been dreamy don’t you think?”.

Grace slightly startled turned to find a blond witch behind. “Yes Queenie, but he’s just my friend.”

Queenie Goldstein was a bubbly witch with an infectious good mood. Grace found her always so positive and willing to give anyone a chance to be listened to. Queenie was one of the few Grace genuinely liked at MACUSA, she never commented on her status or name.

“How is your sister doing?” Grace asked.

“She’s loving being an Auror, she has always had the ambition you know. A real career girl. I’m so proud of her.”

Grace nodded wishing Queenie a good rest of her day, promising to meet for cocoa soon. Porpentina or Tina was a year below her at Ilvermorny, they had interacted a few times but kept their circles separate. At MACUSA, they also rarely spoke, Tina finding Grace attention seeking, and Grace finding Tina “painfully by the book”, an irony she recognized as Theseus had become like that.

Deciding to return home to pick up her belongings and to drop off her mail, she entered her apartment and went through her letters.

“Bills, wand permit renewal that is accepted perfect, and oh Theseus.” She tore open his letter and read it.

Dearest Grace,

I am looking forward to your presence in London soon. I do thank Merlin for the rapid “OWL” network here at the Ministry so my letters arrive to you quickly.

I have some rather exciting news. I am to lead a team of Aurors to go to Europe and track down Grindelwald. It is an honour by also I am a little apprehensive about it. I do wish to spend my last evening here with you, as I will have to depart early in the morning and you always give me the energy needed for all my quests.

I do hope this can work for you, I know you have a busy schedule this time.  

Again, looking forward to seeing you,

Love Theseus.

Grace set down the letter, she knew Theseus was a competent Auror, a strong and brave wizard, but she could not help but feel uneasy reading his news “I hope he knows what he is doing.”

Grace looked at the clock, she still had time to write a quick reply.

Arriving back at MACUSA, she dropped off her letter before heading straight to the international portkeys. She took out her ticket to show the officer.

“Identification and permits please.”

Grace rolled her eyes and showed him her id, the wand permits for international travel along with her research permit and Ministry consulting papers.

“Fred, you know me, I travel through here every two months.”

The inspector gave her a stern look “No exceptions. And it is Officer Orion to you.”, he then took from her hands the documents. “Reason for travel?”

Grace let out a sigh “Research and holiday.”

The inspector glanced at her and set his eyes on her documents, thoroughly reviewing them. “It all looks good, safe travels. Next please!”

Grace got into place, standing on the carpet taking a deep breath. She despised portkey travel, but it was the fastest way to cross the ocean. She had considered the No-Maj option, the boat, but her father struck it down fast. Either wizard ship or portkey. A Wickford being seen with No-Majs traveling when there are options to avoid them was not a good look, to put it mildly.

The international portkeys arrivals were not busy that day, and Theseus was glad. That meant he could greet Grace first in line. He looked up as the arrival went from saying Berlin to New York. A few minutes later a handful of people came through, and then more. He scanned them until he found a dark auburn head amongst them. Theseus got closer and saw Grace there, holding her bag and eyes closed.

“I’m not going to be sick, I’m not going to be sick” she kept mumbling.

“I sincerely hope you won’t be” he smiled. “but just in case” he handed her a paper bag. Grace grabbed it, went to the side, and immediately used it.

She cleaned up and looked up to see Theseus. “I owe you one so bad.” She laughed and hugged him.

Theseus guided her to a bench, where she could sit and recover. “Take your time,” he said gently. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Once Grace recovered, they went to her London flat to drop off her belongings. The frequent travels led her to purchase a small apartment near Chelsea. Even though MACUSA and herself could easily afford hotel lodging, she felt London was a second home. And a ‘fixed’ address made it more official.

The pair went to the small pub they had gone to before. They ordered drinks, and as they waited, Theseus couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness at having her there.

“It’s so good to see you, Grace,” he said sincerely. “It gets calm at times here. I have even missed you tormenting me.”

Grace smiled warmly. “I’ve missed you too, Theseus. Congratulations on your promotion again, by the way. Head Auror! That’s incredible.”

“Thank you,” he replied, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. “It’s a big responsibility, but I’m ready for it.”

“You’ll do great,” Grace said confidently. “I do not doubt that. Just be careful out there.”

Theseus agreed and they enjoyed their drinks whilst discussing upcoming missions and events. Theseus had to return to the Ministry to receive all the briefing for his mission, notes, and clear instructions on how to handle Grindelwald. Meanwhile, Grace, went over some dark charms and objects with some of the Aurors, showing them how to identify the cursed artifacts more efficiently, aspects she gathered through her research.

Grace later walked past the Head Auror Office where Theseus was having his meeting, she could not help but stop to overhear the conversation.

“Scamander, you’ll be leading the team,” Travers announced. “Stay vigilant, and remember, our primary objective is to capture Grindelwald and bring him to justice. Gather your Aurors later tonight. Make sure to have a briefing in the main room in an hour as well.”

“Yes sir, thank you. I’m confident we can stop him before he grows any more influential.”

Theseus thanked his superior and as Travers opened the door he found Grace in front. She gave a tentative smile, but Travers kept his demeanor. “Charms and smiles will not get you anywhere here Miss Wickford. I suggest you stick to your field and remember your place.”

She watched as Travers left, years later he still did not like her. Taking a few seconds, Grace knocked at the door and came into Theseus’s office.

The room was neat, it was always neat minus the documents on his desk. He had a few photographs, some of Newt and himself even though their interactions were rare nowadays. Grace also noticed a photo of herself taken at an event a few months back. She wanted to ask about it but decided against it.

“How are you doing? I’m not going to lie I would be a little terrified of going.”

Theseus chuckled “I am a little apprehensive. Anyone normal person would be after all. But I am confident. We must stop him”.

Grace nodded and left him to finish his work “One more walk before you go in the morning?”

The sun started to set over the London landscape when Theseus locked up his office. Grace watched as his emotions started to appear on his face. He was more apprehensive now than before, but it was his duty and everything he had worked hard for in the last few years. Theseus then instructed Grace to meet him by the river as he returned to his flat.

They had decided to move the departure time earlier. Walking out into the street he only had to go a few feet before seeing Grace waiting for him for one last walk in the sunset.

“So, it’s true you leave tonight then?”

“Yes, I got the instructions as I was leaving earlier. He was spotted near Strasbourg, leaving tonight would give me a better start, and the team as well.”

Grace took a deep breath and decided this was a good time for his parting gift.

“Theseus this is for you. I gave me luck in the past so I hope it does the same for you” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a little silver coin with a dragon on it. “It’s the Wickford family crest in case you were wondering.”

Theseus did not know what to say “You are giving me your good luck charm?”

“More like an extended loan, you can return it when you come back from the mission. Deal?”

Theseus took the coin from her hands and observed it. The little black dragon in the middle had two sets of wands on either side. The coin was chipped slightly on the side. A majestic coat of arms for sure. He then tucked it securely in his shirt pocket.

He pulled her in for a hug “I will return it to you in person you have my word.”

“I’m counting on it.”

As Grace walked away, she glanced back at Theseus and noticed a look of determination wash over him. She wondered what he was thinking of at that moment, but she had an idea. Turning her attention forward, she couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and concern for him.

Theseus watched her retreating figure, his thoughts aligning with the challenges that lay ahead. He knew the road ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty. The coin, now resting close to his heart, felt like a talisman, a promise he intended to keep.

Chapter Text

Late 1924.

Grace had returned to America her stomach full of nerves. She knew Theseus was capable, she gave herself constant reminders but she knew the danger that lay ahead of him.

She wondered if this was the reason her father had forbidden her from pursuing a career as an Auror. Grace had once considered it, thinking it would secure the family’s standing within MACUSA. But Charles Wickford had been resolute: politics, absolutely; law enforcement, absolutely not. He didn’t want her out in the field, chasing down dark wizards, fearing that the temptation of power within her veins might be too strong to resist.

Dark magic research then became the closest thing Grace could pursue with his approval. It involved fieldwork and study but nothing too dangerous, allowing her to collaborate with Aurors. The research and prevention efforts demonstrated that the Wickfords were contributing positively to society. It aided dark wizard catchers, helped develop their techniques, and ensured the family could still hold influence.

Grace sat at her desk pouring over the latest research papers. She heard rumors of a possible division merger, with most going over to the Aurors. She felt uneasy at the thought, a merger or worse a scrapping would mean she would be out of a job. When she shared her concerns with her father, he brushed them off. Charles simply said, “Let them try, if they do then you will just go somewhere else in MACUSA”.

The world around her had disappeared as she became lost in thoughts. Grace never heard a figure appear and drop a set of documents on her desk, startling her.

“Merlin!” she gasped before looking up “Daniel! Are you trying to scare me to death?”

Daniel raised an eyebrow and grinned “Never my Lady, I value my career and life too much to risk the wrath of your father.” He pulled out a chair beside her “Interested by any chance in hearing my latest arrest? I promise you it is a jaw-dropper, and I never broke a sweat.”

Grace curled her lips thinking about the offer. “Tempting Dewitt. Very tempting. I have to finish this travel report though from my time in England. How about to tell me all about it at lunch?”

Daniel laid back into his chair “Fine by me. Why do you go so much over there anyway? I thought you said they started cutting back on the travel. Besides, there cannot be that much research in England.”

Grace let out a sigh addressing the first part of his comment. “I guess you heard the rumors”.

Daniel nodded “We all have. Believe me, the Auror office is extremely mixed regarding it. That means more paperwork for us, extra training, and overall longer hours. Merlin knows what will happen. Picquery and Graves will come to a decision soon. I assume you asked your father about it?”

Grace sighed “Yeah, I already spoke to him. He told me not to worry, to let them try. I swear what is the point of having this influence if you cannot save your own daughter’s job.”

Daniel let out a sigh as well and set his hand on Grace’s shoulder “He can only do so much without jeopardizing his position too Grace, and he has done a lot for you, more than you will ever admit. If Picquery doesn’t like the family staying on her good side and doing his job, which even she says he does well, is the best he can do.”

“I get it, but this is so…”

“Unreal for you?” Daniel finished “Welcome to my world Wickford, the real world and it sucks. But you would love it.” He took her hands in his “But seriously, don’t be worried Grace, you have plenty to fall back on, or you could take my advice. The advice I’ve been giving you for the last few years at least. Do what you what.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Bullshit Grace.” Daniel chuckled letting go “You’re just going where everyone expects you to.” Daniel could see the look in Grace’s eyes, and decided to leave the subject alone, heading towards a lighter one. “So anyway, really that much research in England?”

Grace smiled “You would be surprised Daniel. There is extended history there. Besides I enjoy the change of scenery.”

“Yeah, change of scenery.” Daniel snorted getting up from the chair and raising an eyebrow “What’s the scenery’s name?”

Daniel’s comment caused Grace to freeze, something she rarely did. “Come on Grace, you glow every time before your European travels, no one likes research that much.”

“My friend Newt does” she retorted.

“Well” he started raising an eyebrow “your friend sounds like a real odd duck.”

Grace started at him “I don’t know what that means. But take it back Dewitt.”

Daniel raised his arms “Oh yeah that’s right No-Maj vocab, I need to give you a crash course, remind me”. He said with a wink “Hey comment returned Grace.” Daniel then turned to see Tina was looking for him. “Oh shit, Goldstein is looking for me, I swear sometimes…. guess that means we have a meeting with Head Auror Keller.” He started walking to Tina, gesturing he was coming. Before exiting the room, Daniel did manage one final comment to Grace “We have not finished this entire conversation Wickford. I want to know much more about this ‘Scenery’”

Grace smirked at her friend, now standing with her arms crossed against her chest “Have a good day Dewitt!”

She turned her attention back to her paperwork, hoping to finish it by the end of the day. Grace went through half of her reports before hitting her mail.

“This is at least 2 weeks’ worth” she muttered, sorting her letters. A few from her mother, likely asking her to return to Vermont for a few days, one from her brother, probably another drawing for her to hang on the wall. Random letters from other departments, then one from the British Ministry of Magic.

“Theseus” she said, sitting back down, tearing open the envelope reading the contents.

Dearest Grace,

I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to update you on our efforts to capture Grindelwald. Unfortunately, the hunt was not as successful as we had hoped. We did manage to cause some losses to his forces, but he escaped, and our taskforce suffered some casualties.

Witnessing Grindelwald firsthand has been deeply unsettling. He is not only incredibly powerful but also dangerously persuasive. Grace, he is a madman, driven by the lust for power.

Upon my return, I immediately pushed for more Aurors to be assigned to the task. I stressed the urgency of the situation to my superior, advocating for immediate action and international cooperation. I am unable to detail anything further, as it would break the confidential aspect of our work here. I know you understand this.

Thank you for your continued support. Your letters are always a welcome source of knowledge and encouragement. I still have your coin close by, have you enchanted it? It feels at times to be giving strength when I need it most.

Write soon.

Yours,

Theseus

Grace stared at the letter, the threat of Grindelwald was peeking its nose in the US as well. She remembered Daniel mentioning a group of wizards committing crimes inspired by him. They attacked No-Majs, tortured them, and hung them from their feet. It took a group of MACUSA officers to obliviate those affected and alter the memories of the victim’s families. The Aurors tracked them down in New Orleans, and the wizards put up a fight, Daniel had colleagues in the hospital for weeks following the mission.

A few days later, Grace returned home to Vermont, a visit to her family observed the evolving situation with a worried eye. Her family was having their own “thoughts” on the rising Grindelwald. Lisbeth’s husband’s family viewed him as the one who could lead wizards out of hiding. Grace’s father Charles saw him as nothing more than a lunatic who will get everyone killed as he chases for glory. Her grandparents expressed no interest, stating what is happening in Europe “Is quite frankly none of our concern.” Anything happening on the old continent did not warrant the slightest bit of care in the world.

“Grace, in here please” her father motioned with his finger, then highly suggested she sit down.

“I have given your brother a well-rounded speech, but he is still very impressionable. So, I am counting on you to show by example.”

Grace raised an eyebrow “Example?”

Charles nodded “I need you to deepen your ties at MACUSA and make it clear where we stand against dark wizards. This Grindelwald wizard is worrisome to me.” He got up and walked to his window looking outside to the setting sun.

Turning back to his daughter, Charles’s expression was serious. “Edward looks up to you, and those relatives of Cyrus are whispering dangerous thoughts into his head. I refuse to let this family be on the wrong side of history. Grindelwald wants a war, Grace, and you better believe he’ll get it. That friend of yours in England, Scumandedar…”

“Scamander, Father,” Grace corrected, “It’s Theseus Scamander.”

“Yes, well. I’ve heard he’s making some progress, at least that’s what my sources tell me. He’s a decent Head Auror, perhaps a little young, but fierce and determined.” Charles paused, his voice dropping slightly as if he were speaking more to himself. “This is good for us.”

Grace listened, her mind racing. She could sense the weight of her father’s expectations pressing down on her, but there was also an unmistakable undercurrent of worry in his words.

Charles continued. “If you’re going to entangle yourself in this, you need to be ready for the consequences.”

He then instructed his daughter to follow him into his library. He pulled out a dark book. The cover was written in runes, in black leather with a red ruby in the center. He then pulled out a knife to create a puncture to his finger.

“Papa! What are you doing?”

Charles lifted his finger, telling her to keep calm. He then put a small drop over the ruby causing it to glow, then the book appeared looser.

“Blood magic” he started “This Grace is the most prized possession of the Wickford family. This is our book of spells. It contains, charms, curses, potions, everything from the lightest charm to the darkest curse. You know what our greatest secrets are, and you have kept them well.” He handed her the book “Study it, use it, but most of all protect it. Only Wickford blood can open it.” To add humor to his speech, Charles added “If you are feeling too queasy though, you can charm the book open, the spell is on page 4.”

Grace took the book from her father’s hands and browsed the pages. “Father, why? I’m not even an Auror. You made that part extremely clear before.”

“I know you, Grace,” Charles began, his voice steady but laced with concern. “Believe it or not, I understand your disregard for rules. I haven’t forgotten the countless checks I had to write to the MACUSA secretary because of it.”

He paused, turning toward his bookshelf as if searching for the right words. “I truly hope you’ll stay away from this ordeal, but I also know you too well. You tend to ignore my advice.”

Charles turned back to face her, his expression serious. “Grace, if you set one toe into that mess, there will be consequences. Consequences of which I am unable to save you from. It will be you and you alone. You’re close to these Aurors Dewitt and Scamander. If things go wrong, your connections may be all that keeps this family on the right side of history.”

He continued, his tone shifting from concern to sternness. “If you can subtly influence your Auror friends’ methods, it would be a welcome advantage. However, this is mostly for you. You understand the unique legacy we have. We've always carried a label of darkness sometimes merited, especially in the past, but not anymore. I won't stand for that reputation lingering.”

Charles took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. “However, if one side has something of great strength that can be used in battle, it would be foolish not to use it to our advantage. I know you believe this as much as I do.” Grace met his eyes, understanding the weight of his words.

He paused, searching his daughter’s eyes. “Remember, Grace, every choice you make from here on will not just reflect on you but on our entire family. We’ve seen how quickly reputations can be tarnished, how easily a legacy can be destroyed.”

Grace nodded, sensing the gravity of his words. But Charles wasn’t finished.

“Do what you must, but tread carefully,” he added, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. “I’ve always believed you were stronger than you realize, but strength without wisdom can lead to ruin. The world is watching, and so am I.”

Charles turned to leave the room, the heavy door closing behind him.

As the door closed behind him, Grace’s eyes went to the book.

Darkness versus darkness or fire against fire, one thing was certain: the Wickford name and legacy were not ready to relinquish their hold on her.

Chapter Text

“The world is watching.” Grace thought as she drank her tea back in her New York apartment. Her father had a way with words, if he wanted to he could instill fear into a person simply by adjusting his tone.

The thought of getting involved in any aspect of the Grindelwald “issue” had not entirely been ignored in her mind. In some ways, she was helping, the research by giving insight into potentials and challenges. She knew from what Theseus shared that Grindelwald was dangerous, and had to be stopped. Grace also admitted her father was right about her ignoring advice, especially when she was younger.

She remembered the times of her unauthorized magic and wand use one summer. Grace found a wand in her mother’s office and decided to use it, practicing spells in the estate, and even sneaking it out into town. However, she took it too far one day, accidentally shooting the knockback jinx towards a No-Maj country house. Thankfully the family inside was only terrified and MACUSA arrived later to clean up the mess.

Grace remembered the dressing down she received that day. Charles mentioned the money used to keep them quiet and for her record to be intact. That was also her final warning regarding any No-Maj involvement. Stay away unless.

Grace then turned her attention to the spellbook, she had read a few pages already. Some of the enchantments she saw were enough to turn the bravest Aurors into frightened mice. These spells were powerful, dark, and dangerous. She knew her father had something up his sleeve. She would need training. And it was doubtful he would be providing it. Yes, he would enlist help, the help of someone he trusts completely and who would be favorable to the family if they reached a higher rank.

Back at MACUSA, Grace could feel the change in the atmosphere. There were whispers, MACUSA just performed budget cuts and department reforms. Before Grace could speak with Queenie or Daniel she saw her father in the distance, him signaling to come to his office.

“Well, Grace it is official. The Dark Arts division is to be merged to the Aurors.” He said his voice not sharing any emotion.

Grace’s eyes went wide “What?! How can this be?! I…We help!? They need us! This has been around for decades you can’t let them!” she shouted.

Charles gave her a stern look “Behave. This is not a Wickford way to behave.”

“What is then?” she retorted.

“Pulling in allies.” Charles said “I trust you can figure this out. In the meantime, go and see Percival.” He started while returning to his desk and pulling out a letter “and give this to him. He owes me quite a few favors.”

“What is this?” Grace replied grabbing the letter “A position where people will start talking and whispering again?”

Charles did not reply returning to his desk. “What are you waiting for? An invitation? Go see Graves. Now.”

Grace gave up trying to argue, her frustration simmering just below the surface. Walking at a fast pace to Percival Graves’s office, she knocked gently before hearing the permission to enter.

“Miss Wickford. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said.

“Letter sir.” She replied handing him her father’s letter.

Graves set down his quill, taking the letter from her with a slight nod. He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the contents, occasionally glancing up at her with an unreadable expression.

“I also hear your division is… being merged.” He began, to which Grave only nodded. “Apologies for that, but the President and I felt it would benefit the Aurors more to handle these sorts of activities, plus it gives us reason to extend the hiring.”

Graves read further, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he finished the letter. He set it down on his desk, tapping it lightly with his fingers. “It seems your father has an interesting request. Hmm… how did he put it… ‘to hone your dueling skills.’” Graves leaned back in his chair, studying her reaction. “Not exactly what you were expecting, I imagine.”

Grace frowned, frustration bubbling beneath her composed exterior. “I’m not an Auror, sir. I don’t see why dueling would be necessary.”

Leaning back in his chair, Graves studied her for a moment before speaking. “You may not be an Auror, but the world is changing rapidly. The situation in Europe is being observed with a keen eye, and those who think they can remain untouched are sorely mistaken. Your father seems to understand that you may find yourself in situations where words alone won’t suffice.”

Grace’s frustration deepened, but she remained silent.

“Duelling is more than just a skill for Aurors. It’s a tool of survival, a means to protect oneself and those you care about.”

He allows for his words to sink in before leaning forward slightly, his voice softening. “That said, I think there’s an additional use for your talents here at MACUSA." He paused. "I’m offering you a position as my assistant."

"Assistant? I’m not sure I understand, sir” she said, her brow furrowing in confusion. There was a hint of uncertainty in her voice, and she couldn’t help but wonder. Was this offer thanks to her skills, simply because of her name, or could this be one of the many favors Graves owes her father? Her division had been under Graves’s supervision before the merger. Perhaps she thought this was just a convenient reassignment.

Graves leaned back slightly again, offering a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I can see you have questions. Understandable, given the circumstances. You’ve already proven your capability in the work you’ve done so far, and I simply believe you can contribute even more.” He watched her carefully, then continued in a gentler tone. "I sense you have your own ambitions, and I respect that. But sometimes, the path forward requires us to balance our personal goals with the needs of the world around us."

Grace’s thoughts were racing, she felt torn between the desire to assert herself and the understanding that this opportunity could place her at the heart of MACUSA. It wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but it wasn’t without its merits either. She felt the weight of her father’s expectations pressing down on her. She wondered if this was another path she could take.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded slowly. "I… appreciate the offer, sir. I just need some time to think it over."

Graves nodded “Of course. Take the time you need. But remember, opportunities like this don’t come often. Think about it, I can give you under two weeks to do so, until then my door is open.”

Grace thanked him for his time and left the office. She ran through the halls of MACUSA, the decision weighing on her. She felt she was given the recognition she so wanted, but wondered again if it was deserved. She walked by the Dark Arts division, everyone already clearing their desks she entered then conjured a small box and directed her belongings inside. Grace did not want to be seen walking out with the box, so she cast the reducing charm on it, and then slid it in her pocket.

She sat at her desk thinking. She wanted a distraction, so she sought out Daniel first but he was too busy. Grace then decided she needed to be away from New York, temporarily. She wrote to Newt hoping he was to be in London that week, and then she thought about Theseus.

“Should I write to him? After everything Father said, and if he were to find out what if he thinks I’m using him? I’m not using him? Am I?” The thoughts wrestled in her mind. Could everything have been a perfect series of orchestrated events? Or was it all purely coincidental?  

“Lot on your mind my Lady?”

Grace looked at the door finding Daniel leaning against the frame. He sat beside her. “Sorry about the merge. What are you going to do?”

She let out a long sigh, running her fingers through her hair as she explained Percival Graves's offer. Daniel listened quietly, his brow furrowed, as if weighing each word carefully.

When she finished, he leaned back, a thoughtful look crossing his face “Assistant to Graves? That's huge. But you know what that means, no more running off on field assignments?”

“I know, but I stay at MACUSA and close–”

Daniel cut her off “Hey, I will admit that’s a big deal. Few have a direct line to him. And I know Graves. He doesn’t hire because of names.”

Grace raised an eyebrow, not impressed by his statement.

“Hey don’t give me that look. You’re selling yourself short. Graves isn’t the kind of guy who’d hire someone just to keep their father happy. He sees what you’re capable of."

Grace sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "It’s tempting… But it means giving up a lot. No more fieldwork, and it’s... safe. Too safe."

Daniel took her hands in his “My Lady you can do anything, but don’t take the job because it’s the path expected of you.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts “You know that job would mean way less traveling, which I know you loved.”

Grace nodded “I know” she muttered

Sensing the tension, Daniel decided to lighten the mood. “And what about ‘Scenery’? You’d have to wait for vacation just to see him.” He gave her a teasing look before his eyes brightened as if a thought struck him. “Wait… we never finished that conversation! What’s he like? Come on, Grace, spill the tea.”

Grace chuckled “He very dear friend if you insist on this conversation. Friends for the last three or four years. He’s an Auror and a damn good one too. Probably the best. Very tall, quite commanding, and by the book. He’s also very noble and confident. I think you’d like him, after arguing over methods.

Daniel raised an eyebrow, grinning, and leaned in "Ah, so you’re hanging around with ‘Captain Noble’ now, are you? He sounds like the type who’d show up in a crisp uniform, tip his hat, and say, ‘At your service, madam,’ with a bow.” He said as he mimicked tipping an invisible hat, causing Grace to burst into laughter.

"Captain Noble? Really Daniel?”

Daniel set his hand on his friend’s shoulder, his grin even wider. “Grace, he sounds like he popped out of my mother’s No-Maj storybook-like a knight ready for battle. You like this guy, don’t you?  My Lady go to your knight! Let thy Prince sweep you off your feet!”

“I’m not going to give the satisfaction of an answer. Or comment or that last part. But you have confirmed my latest vacation trip.” She said standing up.

“Is that so?” Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow again.

“Yes. I’m going to spend a week and a half in London. I’m out of a job anyway, and I need to think. What better time to go than now?”

Grace arrived in London two days later, it felt odd going through and actually paying for the international Portkey this time. She had decided in the end to write to Theseus, unsure if it was the correct decision. She then walked outside into busy London and Apparated to her London apartment. Her father had sent her a letter before leaving and she saw it waiting for her.

My dear Grace,  

Enjoy your holiday while you can London is an enchanting city, no doubt, but remember that this respite is just that: a brief interlude. This journey could very well be a pivotal moment in your career, and I strongly urge you to consider the opportunities that lie before you. Percival Graves has always been a staunch ally to our family’s interests, and aligning yourself with him could open doors that others only dream of. It could provide you with insights and connections that are crucial for your personal growth and standing.

I trust that your Auror ‘friends’, with all their experience and wisdom, would see the advantages in such an offer. You have spent considerable time at the British in the last few years. This will have given you valuable insights no doubt into how things are shaped there. Insights that could serve you well in influencing decisions at MACUSA, should the need arise.  

My dear, I ask that during this holiday of yours, you make the right decision, and do not let emotions cloud your judgment. There is an event the night you arrive, at Ambassador Franck’s. You should have an invitation waiting for you. I suggest you go.  

With all my love and affection,

Father.

“Sometimes Papa, I don’t understand you” she thought. “One day full of affection, the next honor and duty.”

Grace went to her closet and looked at one of her dresses, they all were similar shades, Wickford colors, burgundy and black.  “I’ll do this one thing papa, but only because I know Franck serves the best mignardises and throws the most lavish events. Then I’ll enjoy my little break.”

The mansion was imposing, but nothing Grace had ever seen. It was a sprawling testament to both old-world magic and new-world luxury, stood tall in the heart of London’s magical district. The chandelier above, made of hundreds of floating candles and enchanted crystals, bathed the room in a warm, golden glow. Grace’s heels clicked softly against the marble floors as she moved through the room, the polished stone reflecting the soft flickers of light from the chandeliers above. She arrived to the foyer and dropped the invitation in the basket. Making her way to the main party room she recognizes a few faces from previous events she attended with her parents years ago: the Blacks, the Malfoy’s (although the blond hair is a giveaway), the Noxs.

“Quite the turnout” she mumbled, staying at the edge of the room holding her glass of champagne.

“It appears my eyes may be deceiving me. Grace Wickford, I presume? A pleasure. Septimus Malfoy. I’ve heard much about your family’s esteemed contributions to our world”

Grace gave a tentative smile “Mr. Malfoy.  A pleasure.”

Septimus Malfoy was imposing at the event with his new wife. “I was not expecting to find one of you here tonight, although where there is power there is interest. Do you not agree?”

Grace stayed cordial. “I suppose so Mr.Malfoy.”

Noticing his wife signaling him, Malfoy reached into his robes handing Grace a piece of parchment. “Should you require any assistance during your stay here, please give me an owl. I would be glad to accompany you.”

Grace took the parchment and gave a polite smile, when Malfoy left she let out a breath she did not realize she was holding. “I much prefer American society.” She said to herself. “I feel like a prized Hippogriff here. Maybe I should loosen up.”

Grace downed four glasses of champagne and was starting to return to her ‘charming Wickford self’ finally enjoying the event. Until she felt a cold touch on her shoulder.

“Miss Wickford, Arcturus Black. I believed it was time we finally met.”

Grace held her glass tight, this was not the evening she was hoping for, much more formal than the previous events by Franck. Or perhaps it was because she was an unaccompanied young woman.

She faced Arcturus Black, he was charming and handsome no doubt. The dark hair and eyes, the definition of the men of the House of Black. The conversation was formal the champagne was helping, but she felt that she needed something stronger. Grace knew the House of Black was not the family her father held close to his heart, too many close marriages and an obsession with blood purity that aligned them as fanatics. The Wickford’s were many things but that extreme was not one of them.

She nodded and smiled through the conversation until one line snapped her back into reality “A connection between the Blacks and the Wickfords could be quite powerful, don’t you think?"

"Our families have different views on certain matters, Mr. Black. My father values alliances, but not at the expense of our principles." Grace replied politely.

"Principles can be flexible, Miss Wickford, especially when the benefits are mutual.” He said.

Arcturus’s tone became more insistent. Grace realized he was laying the groundwork for something more substantial.

Keeping her voice steady but firm "I’m here to enjoy the evening, Mr. Black,” she stated “Not to discuss family politics. Now if you will excuse me, I must thank the Ambassador for such a…delightful celebration.”

Arcturus grabbed her hand slightly before placing a light kiss on her knuckles sending shivers down her spine “In that case, we can resume our discussion another time. Enjoy the evening. Grace.”. The intention although polite had subtle hints of possessiveness.

Grace pulled her hand “Good evening, Mr.Black” then swiftly ran to thank the Ambassador. She then decided to seek out a quieter area of the mansion she hid her hand behind a curtain her back to the guest, trying to at least wipe the mental image of Arcturus’s lips on her hand.

“Gross, gross. So very very gross.”She rubbed her hand against the fabric of the curtain as if trying to erase the memory of Arcturus’s lips on her skin.

"Well, that’s one way to ruin an evening…" she muttered to herself.

A familiar voice removed her from her thoughts “I never thought I’d catch you hiding behind curtains.”

Grace turned to find Theseus Scamander standing there, dressed in formal wizarding attire, his hair neatly combed, hands casually tucked into his pockets.

“Theseus! What are you doing here?” she said.

“One of the few events as Head Auror I attend. What about yourself, why are you in London?”

Grace walked closer to him, relieved to have a familiar friendly face amongst the sea of acquaintances. “Last minute decision really. I wrote to you but it’s possible you haven’t received my letter yet. I needed a change of scenery, and I needed to unwind. I foolishly thought I could do that here. The Ambassador usually has the best parties, but so far I’ve felt more like a prized Hippogriff on display.”

Theseus let out a chuckle, she liked that chuckle and his small smile.

“I’m not sure I would phrase it that way.” He replied.

Grace raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced of the Auror’s reply “Oh, then how would you phrase it, Mr. Scamander?” She approached Theseus, holding her champagne flute, a few sips of the beverage left in her glass.

“Come on now, don’t be shy.”

Theseus met her gaze “Maybe... keeping them on their toes,” he suggested.

Grace could not help but laugh “Such a polite way to put it.”

She twirled the remaining champagne in her glass before finishing it off. The tension from earlier melted away as she leaned into the familiar banter with Theseus.

“You are always so…” she started “proper. Don’t get me wrong I know all about proper. I’ve been coming to these parties since I could walk and ride a broom, but you…" She paused, her eyes locking with his. "You’re in a league of your own."

Theseus smiled. "Duty tends to do that," he said quietly.

Grace kept twirling her flute in her hands staring at Theseus, those blue eyes had her mesmerized, she thought of the nickname Daniel gave him “Captain Noble”. That night he sure did look the part. She started to smirk, her eyes looking at the scenery around her.

“What’s with that smile? It appears you are up to something. Are you Grace Wickford?”

She smirked, feeling the urge to tease him just a little more. "I’m going to get another drink," she said, turning slightly. "And you are going to have one with me."

Theseus raised an eyebrow, his usual composed expression faltering slightly. "I’m not sure that’s a good idea."

Grace waved him off with a playful grin. "Oh, come on. Loosen up, Scamander. Just one drink."

He let out a soft sigh, clearly weighing the decision. But then, his lips curved into a small smile. "Alright," he said, his voice low but amused. "But just one."

The next morning Grace awoke with a painful headache. She realized the eight champagne flutes or more were a bad idea. She looked around the room not recognizing it for the first few minutes. Her dress was neatly folded on the chair, her shoes carefully set by the door. She looked down noticing she was wearing an oversized shirt. A man’s shirt.

“Oh, Merlin…” she muttered. Trying to piece back together the events of the previous night, the party, Black, Malfoy, the champagne, Theseus.

Theseus.

This was Theseus Scamander’s apartment.

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh, Merlin what happened?”

Flashes of the previous night came back to her, the laughter, the teasing, the way Theseus had made her feel at ease despite everything. She remembered talking too much, laughing too loudly, and feeling the weight of the past few days finally catch up with her.

As she sat up, her eyes landed on a glass of water, a small potion vial on the nightstand along with a note in Theseus’s familiar handwriting.

Grace,

Perhaps by now, I should know that one drink is never just one, not when it’s with you. Still, I don’t regret it. Last night turned into the most enjoyable evening I’ve had in a long time.

We spent the better part of the night talking and laughing until around four this morning. I thought it best you didn’t attempt to Apparate, and simply stay and rest here. You found one of my shirts to sleep in, after what I can only describe as an impressive rummage through my wardrobe.  

I left you a potion for the inevitable headache and some tea to help with the morning.

I had a meeting at the Ministry at nine this morning and should be there all day. If you don’t wake up too late, perhaps we can have lunch?

Yours,

Theseus

P.S I’ll be checking my post as well for your letter, still baffled that I could have missed it.

Grace let a small smile carve its way onto her face. Theseus Scamander was always the gentleman. She glanced at the clock. It was already 11:30, and Theseus usually had his lunch around noon thirty. She still had time.

Chapter Text

The Ministry was buzzing with the usual activity of the day. Witches and wizards rushed through the halls, owls flying delivering messages. Amongst the usual chaos, the Auror Office was also in its own mist.  Theseus’s morning was harder this time, he often got little sleep during missions or days that demanded more attention. His desk contained pills upon pills of paperwork from that morning alone.

Cases of dark wizards in Scotland, sightings of Grindelwald supporters, even the smaller cases the junior Aurors handled. As luck would have it Auror Wilkes entered with a follow-up report regarding Grindelwald.

“Hello sir, more sightings and investigations into supporters.” He said setting the parchments on the desk.

Theseus nodded and took the documents, scanning them.

“Sir, I wanted to add that Travers stopped me in the hall a few minutes ago before I got here. He mentioned something about MACUSA being unhappy with the situation.”

It took all the strength he had for Theseus not to roll his eyes. MACUSA enjoyed putting their nose where it didn’t belong. “They are never satisfied unless they handle it themselves.” He said. “At least the current president has an isolationist approach for now.”

“Indeed sir, but Travers thinks it won’t be long before they send someone for ‘cooperation’. And with whispers of change in their departments, and the election soon Merlin knows what will go on.”

Theseus nodded. “We’ll see if Picquery wins reelection first then we will worry.”

“Yes sir.”

Wilkes then exited his office, leaving Theseus to examine the documents. Another supporter was arrested this time outside London. The wizard was planning an attack on a local muggle pub, intending to prove Muggles and Wizards are not meant to share the city much less the same planet. He dove deeper into the report, the motivation was raw, unhinged.

Harold Jameson used the imperius curse on the Muggles to force them to fight one another and use deadly force. When some appeared to break free, the suspect used the cruciartus curse. When authorities arrived, Jameson smirked and placed his wand on the ground without resisting arrest.

The wizard did not care that he was caught, if anything he was glad. It meant the Ministry saw him and even better Grindelwald as a threat, as someone who could change the very meaning of their world. Theseus continued reading the report, a few wizards who were in the area described to the Aurors what they saw.

  Witnesses describe similar tactics to those used in the 1921 Alsace operation and the 1924 Strasbourg Mission.

 

---

Theseus clenched his jaw as he continued reading. Memories of both those missions came back in small episodes. He remembered the strength of the followers, their support and willingness to fight for their leader, the curses in every direction, the smell of iron from the blood…

Most of all he remembered the laugh, Grindelwald’s laugh.

“You fight bravely children. But bravery alone cannot save your life”.

Theseus recalled what followed those words, the duels and curses filled the air. A flash of green light struck again, claiming Auror after Auror. He remembered one: a fresh recruit to his team, Peters. Peters had just completed his training and had a young wife and child at home. He showed him the photos of his family the night before. Theseus could recall his enthusiasm when describing them.

But Peters’s determination to fight was not enough. A hesitation, just a slight second when he spotted someone who looked like a dear old friend. That hesitation was all it took for the flash of green light to hit him square in the chest. Peters fell to the ground. Eyes wide open, his wand still in hand.

Theseus barely had time to react when a curse grazed his arm, blood dripping down his sleeve, but he didn’t stop not even when the blood made his wand hand slick.

The village was unrecognizable by the time it was over. Burnt homes, shattered cobblestones, and silence where once there had been life. Theseus had stood in the wreckage, his wand still drawn, covered in blood and dust feeling the weight of every life lost. 

He had held it together until the end, but when the last curses had stopped flying and the bodies had been counted, he’d found himself gripping a piece of shattered stone, his knuckles white. He hadn’t let himself cry. Not then. Not ever.

He never told his family and friends, least of all Grace the entire story of the mission. How could he? It was his burden to bear.

The rustle of parchment brought him back to the present, the weight of the report before him grounding him like a sudden jolt. Theseus blinked, his jaw still tense, and released a sharp breath through his nose. He rubbed a hand across his face and sat straighter, letting his fingers brush the coin in his pocket. It had been her parting gift before Strasbourg, and somehow it was still here, still with him, as if it too refused to let go. He hadn’t returned it. Perhaps he couldn’t.

“Sir?” A hesitant voice broke the quiet, and he looked up to see another junior Auror standing at the door, holding another stack of reports.

Theseus waved them in, his voice sharp but efficient. “Leave them on the desk.”

The young wizard nodded, placing the papers down carefully before retreating. The door clicked shut, leaving Theseus alone once more with the report still unfinished and his thoughts spiraling dangerously close to places he’d rather avoid.

He glanced up at the Ministry clock, 12:15. "Already?" he muttered to himself, shaking his head.  His morning had been relentless—one meeting after another, each more tedious than the last. There had been no time to think about anything else, no time to pause, and certainly no time to breathe. Even lately with the hunt for Grindelwald and associated dark wizards, his sleep schedule was anything but peaceful.

However, it wasn’t the missions, the meetings, or even the paperwork that caused him to be so tired that morning.

Lack of sleep yes, but not because of his usual reasons. Because he was up late, until four-thirty. Talking. Laughing. And drinking. With Grace.

Grace Wickford.

They had been friends ever since that day three years ago when they met outside that very office he now sits in. She was clever, sharp, and had a way of smiling that disarmed even the most guarded. Theseus replayed from time to time after a mission the first words they spoke to each other.

“Are you in trouble?”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“You look like you’re heading for or getting ready for a serious meeting. So, trouble or no trouble?”

 

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued that day. That was why he invited her to dinner after the pub after all.

The Wickford name was one he knew well even then. Travers had mentioned it in passing, and his colleagues were more than happy to fill in any gaps. The family was a dynasty, no question about it, and with their wealth came whispers of darkness. He knew of the rumors associated with them, the history of apparent influences in the Dark Arts. They were pioneers in spell creation, though not all of their creations were sanctioned, officially.

Their influence in MACUSA and likely beyond was formidable. They played the long game, carefully setting their strategies and weaving their web of allies.

“Be careful around those Wickfords.” Travers had once told him. “They have power, and they know it. They’ll charm you right out of your wits, and you won’t even realize it until it’s too late. They always have a plan, an agenda.”

Theseus knew Travers had crossed paths with Charles Wickford multiple times in the past, and every encounter seemed to end with one of the Ministry’s officials either paling in fear, crying, or begging. Charles was meticulous, precise, and stern—the kind of wizard who could dismantle an opponent with a glance, let alone a word.

Even Seraphina Picquery, for all her steadfast leadership and isolationist policies, wasn’t immune to their sway. Though she was known to dislike the Wickfords’ reputation and their quiet meddling, there were moments, critical votes, appointments, and policies, when even she had been forced to bend, albeit begrudgingly. Still, unlike her predecessors, Picquery had managed to keep their influence in check more often than not, refusing to let them dictate MACUSA’s agenda. The Wickfords’ power wasn’t overt, but it was undeniable, like a shadow that stretched just far enough to remind everyone it was there.

So far, Grace was different from her stern father, but at times Theseus could see the Wickford come out in her, even though she tried to deny it. She wasn’t immune to the privileges that came with her name, and though she rarely flaunted them outright, her upbringing had a way of sneaking into her demeanor.

There had been moments over the years that reminded him of that. Like the time she’d insisted a small pub in London would surely have her favorite American cocktail, despite Theseus warning her otherwise. When the baffled bartender didn’t know the drink, Grace sighed dramatically, muttering about the “limitations” of British hospitality. She’d softened quickly, of course, flashing the bartender a disarming smile and settling for a glass of wine instead. Theseus had muffled a quick apology to the bartender before paying for their drinks.

When she was drunk, she would get overly chatty, charming and shared stories he would prefer not to hear. Once, she’d started explaining the fine details of a particularly nasty hex her family was rumored to have developed, only to stop herself and wag a finger at him. “Forget I said that,” she’d slurred. “Official Wickford secrets, you know.” Theseus had raised a brow at her, muttering something about “appropriate topics for polite conversation,” but Grace had only laughed.

But that was Grace Wickford in all her glory.

She had fallen asleep quickly in his bed that early morning. On top of the blankets. Theseus moved her around so her body was under the covers and warm. He had gone to the kitchen and grabbed a hangover potion for her to use the next morning before making his way to the small spare bedroom for the night.

He wondered if she’d seen it, the note he left behind that morning. He left it after setting a charmed warm cup of tea by the bedside next to the potion. Theseus hoped she had seen the note. If she was even awake yet, and if she'd bother showing up for lunch. "Knowing Grace, she'll either sleep until noon or waltz in late with some excuse," he mused, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

But he was prepared as always.

He took a deep breath and fetched a small sandwich from his bag, kept cool with a simple charm. He started at it then back at the clock.

12:30

Theseus sighed as he took the first bite of his lunch. He did not want to have too much hope.

He took a few more bites, then cast his attention to another Grindelwald sighting report on his desk. Theseus was too deep in thought to notice a figure had just walked into his office.

“My. My. Now that is quite the sad sight.”

Theseus looked up to find Grace standing in front of his desk, her arms crossed and her expression a picture of amusement. She must have gone home to change; her burgundy ensemble was crisp and perfectly tailored, her hair swept neatly into place. It was as if the late night had never happened. No one would guess she’d been up until four in the morning.

He could not help the small smirk forming on his face as he watched her sit down, placing a paper bag in front of him.

“Do you have a comment about my sandwich?” He asked.

Grace rolled her eyes. “Oh Theseus, I would comment, but then you would have to arrest me for crimes against the Head Auror.”

“Crimes against the Head Auror?” Theseus arched an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “I’d like to see how you’d phrase that in a report.”

“Perhaps one day.” She said with a wink. “Until then I come with the lunch you mentioned in your note this morning. Which by the way now sets a precedent my dear Theseus Helios Scamander.”

Theseus could not help the small smile on his face at the mention of the note and his full name. He set his sandwich down as Grace pulled up a paper bag with two little to-go boxes, setting one in front of him.

“I got you a roast beef sandwich with a small salad and pickles on the side because last time you practically arrested me for getting you one with them inside.”

“Pickles do not belong on a sandwich Grace.” He said.

Grace set her small pasta dish aside “Theseus when you say those things, you become the least perfect man in the Ministry.”

He could feel the small color form but quickly repressed it. “I’m Head Auror Grace, not Head Chef.”

“A Head Auror with strong opinions on the presence of pickles in his dish,” Grace said with a grin, twirling her fork through her pasta.

Theseus shook his head, unable to hide his faint smile. “And yet, you’re still sitting here. I’d say that makes you an accessory.”

“Accessory to good taste,” she quipped. “Not to crimes against cuisine.”

Grace set her pasta dish aside, twirling her fork lazily as she studied him. “So, tell me, what did I miss after you found me and my third—or was it fourth—glass of champagne last night? I remember Black and his subtle attempts, an almost fight between LaCroix and Smith and then did you take me outside?”

Theseus smirked, leaning back in his chair. “You were much further than your fourth, I believe. François LaCroix was holding court about the superiority of French wine, and Smith… well, Smith had opinions. You told me, ‘Let them air it out. You may start an international incident.’”

Grace nodded sagely. “Sounds like solid advice.”

Theseus raised an eyebrow. “You also suggested that the Minister could ‘resolve their wine feud with a duel.’”

Grace winced, covering her face with one hand. “Please tell me I didn’t.”

“You did,” Theseus confirmed, his voice laced with amusement. “I decided fresh air was in everyone’s best interest and took you outside. You wanted to look at the stars, though between the city lights and the overcast sky, there weren’t many to see.”

Grace tilted her head thoughtfully. “So, nothing embarrassing then.”

Theseus raised an eyebrow, unable to hide the smirk forming at the corner of his lips. “You don’t call an impromptu critique of my wardrobe embarrassing?”

Grace froze, the smile slipping from her face. “Oh, Merlin. I didn’t.”

“You did,” Theseus said, leaning forward slightly. “We apparated to my flat. And once inside I went to get you some water. I returned to find you in my room. You stood in front of my wardrobe like it had personally offended you and declared—” he raised his hands in exaggerated mimicry, “—‘Theseus, Theseus, Theseus, I should have you arrested for crimes against fashion.’”

That sentence was all it took for the memories to come back.

That previous night….

“Theseus, Theseus, Theseus!” Grace exclaimed, throwing open his wardrobe doors with a flourish. “What is this? Light brown? Classic black? Merlin’s beard, do you even own a navy suit?”

Theseus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he returned to the room with a glass of water, setting it down on the nearest shelf. Grace stood in the middle of his bedroom, holding a deep brown coat as if it were cursed. One of his ties was draped over her arm like a trophy.

“I should have you arrested for crimes against fashion,” she declared, shaking her head solemnly. “No navy, no dark green. You look washed out. Where’s the flair, the vibrance?”

He couldn’t help but smirk. “Grace, the criminals and the Ministry don’t care what I wear.”

Grace shook her head. “Oh, please Theseus enough of that. You use that excuse all the time. So dull, so boring. Navy would be good and bring out your eyes.”

She moved deeper into his wardrobe, pulling out ties and scrutinizing the fabrics. “No silk, Theseus? Merlin’s beard, this is a cry for help!”

Before he could respond, Grace set the ties back inside, pulled out a faded Hufflepuff scarf from the corner of the wardrobe and draped it dramatically around her neck. Turning with a flourish, she held her shoes in one hand and struck a pose.

“How do I look?” she asked, her burgundy dress clashing magnificently with the worn yellow scarf. “Do I make a good Puffhuffle? Or is it Hullypuff?”

Theseus chuckled, shaking his head. “Hufflepuff, Grace. And perhaps, but I think you’d have made an excellent Slytherin.”

Grace let the scarf sit around her neck “Slytherin that’s the snake house, right?”

“The house of cunning and ambition,” Theseus replied smoothly, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Cunning?” she asked, her voice softening slightly. “You think I’m cunning, Mr. Scamander?”

His expression didn’t waver, though his voice carried a faint warmth. “Very."

She bit her lip ever so slightly, a mischievous smile creeping across her face before she turned back to his wardrobe with a flourish. “Well then, let’s see if this Slytherin can find something redeemable in here.”

It didn’t take long. Grace gasped, spinning around triumphantly with a long green shirt in her hands. “Ah-ha! You do have green!” she exclaimed, holding it aloft like a prized discovery.

Theseus’s faint smile deepened as he watched her. “That’s not exactly what I meant by ‘redeemable.’”

“Oh, hush,” she said, pressing the shirt against herself. “You’ve been hiding this gem away all this time? This is the one. Dark green. So much better than all that beige.”

Return to the Present:

Grace blinked, the memory rushing back all at once. Her fork paused mid-air as she stared at Theseus, her cheeks warming faintly. “Oh no,” she said slowly, shaking her head. “I slept in that shirt too.”

“You did,” Theseus replied, his tone maddeningly calm as he finished the last bite of his sandwich. “You slipped it on over your dress and then started—”

“Theseus!” Grace interrupted, her voice rising in mock outrage as she held up a hand to stop him. “No need to detail it. I can guess how it got on and how the dress came off perfectly well on my own.”

She attempted to recover with a dignified sip of her water, but the faint shade of pink creeping up her neck betrayed her embarrassment.

His voice was calm, but there was just enough amusement to make her glare at him over the rim of her glass.

Grace straightened her posture, setting her fork down with exaggerated precision. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Yes,” she shot back, though the grin tugging at her lips dulled the sharpness of her words.

Theseus glanced at the clock, now reading one. His faint amusement faded into practicality. “I have a meeting in ten minutes.”

“Subtle way to push me out Scamander, might as well have called security.”

Theseus sighed, leaning forward as he began gathering the papers scattered across his desk. “Grace, I’m serious. Travers wants the latest intel on Grindelwald sightings, and my input on—” he pulled a folder from her hands “—those very confidential reports that you shouldn’t be reading.”

Grace feigned offense “I wasn’t reading. I glanced at papers that happened to be there.”

“Of course, and the words ‘CONFIDENTIAL – HEAD AUROR ONLY’ written at the top are for decoration then?”

“Clearly.”

Theseus rubbed his temples “Grace this is–.”

“–Grindelwald?” she asked, her tone shifting.

Theseus hesitated before nodding. “Supporters. Sightings. Connections we’re still trying to piece together. It’s… escalating.”

Grace leaned slightly closer, her arms resting on the desk. “He is gaining support, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Theseus admitted, his voice steady but weighted. “His message… it’s dangerous, but people listen. And they act.”

“Hearing about it from Daniel and Graves was one thing,” Grace said, her voice quieter now. “But being this close… I can’t imagine.”

“It’s not whispers anymore,” Theseus said, setting the folder down with a deliberate motion. “They’re attacks. Coordinated, calculated. They’re getting bolder, and we’re just keeping up.”

“And the Ministry?” Grace pressed.

Theseus sighed, his hand brushing over the scattered papers. “We’re holding the line. But for every lead we chase, there’s another two waiting. He’s always ahead.”

She watched him for a moment, her gaze steady. “And you? How far are you pushing yourself to hold that line?”

Theseus straightened slightly. “It’s my job.”

“It’s more than that,” Grace said. “You are not a one-man army Theseus.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “What would you have me do, Grace? Step back? Let my team manage without me?”

“No,” she said firmly. “But, you’re not helping anyone—your team, the Ministry, or yourself—by working yourself into the ground,” she said, her voice softening. “I can see what this is doing to you, Theseus. You need one night. For yourself.”

Theseus exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. “And what do you propose?”

“Start by letting me help,” she said simply, standing and smoothing her skirt. “Tomorrow, we’ll go shopping. A couple of new ties, maybe a proper navy suit or two, and then dinner. My treat.”

Theseus raised an eyebrow, his tone edged with dry amusement. “Shopping. That’s your grand plan?”

Grace smiled slightly, tilting her head, her hand gently on his shoulder. “And dinner. You need a distraction. You need to breathe. Merlin’s beard, Theseus, I can tell you’re running on reserves just from this thirty-minute lunch.”

Theseus stood from his chair looking into her eyes as her hand glided from his shoulder and briefly his hand.

“All I ask is one evening for you to relax. Merlin Theseus even Travers, hell even my father let loose once in a while. Please let me do this.”

Theseus held her gaze for a moment. Then, with a faint sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, the gesture more resigned than annoyed.

“One evening,” he said finally, his voice low but firm. “But don’t expect me to try on every tie you hand me.”

“Deal.”

“And don’t compare me to Travers again,” Theseus added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s where I draw the line.”

Grace let out a soft laugh, the sound lightening the tension in the room. “If that’s all it took, I should’ve started with that.” She grabbed her bag and turned toward the door, pausing in the doorway to glance back at him.

“I’ll see you at six tomorrow. My apartment. And until then, Theseus, please take a few minutes to breath every now and then.”

With that, she disappeared into the corridor, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

Theseus stood for a moment, his gaze lingering on the door before he shook his head, the faintest trace of a smile flickering and fading. He turned back to his desk, the weight of the day settling back on his shoulders as he began organizing the scattered files.

Once the room settled back into its usual quiet, Theseus returned his attention to the files scattered across his desk. He began preparing them, making small notes in the margins as his focus sharpened. As he reached for the folders Wilkes had delivered that morning, a small envelope slipped free from the pile of parchment and fell to the ground. Frowning, Theseus bent to retrieve it, his eyes narrowing slightly as he recognized Grace’s handwriting.

This was the letter she’d mentioned at the party—the one she assumed he hadn’t yet received.

He hesitated for a moment, his thumb brushing over the edge of the paper before slipping it into his pocket. Travers’s meeting demanded his attention, but he resolved to read it as soon as he had a moment to spare. For now, there was work to do.

Chapter Text

“I’ll see you at six tomorrow.”

Grace smirked slightly at the thought.

Taking Theseus shopping would be the perfect distraction. If only for a moment, she could pull him out of his endless cycle of reports and investigations, make him exist outside his head. She had seen it during lunch, that distant, restless look. Even while seated across from her, he was already running toward the next mission, chasing leads that barely existed.

She knew that look. The look of someone keeping emotions buried. She had worn it herself.

Her smirk faded slightly as her thoughts circled back to Graves’s offer.

She should have mentioned it earlier, at the party, before the champagne dulled her better judgment. Or even over lunch, before Theseus’s focus began slipping elsewhere.

But she hadn’t. Instead, she had let the moment pass, let herself pretend there was still time.

But there wasn’t. Not really.

She had written to Theseus about it—the offer, her department, her trip to London. But the letter had been sent late. Much later than the one she had sent to Newt

She hadn’t wanted to add to Theseus’s worries.

It was Theseus, of course, he would be concerned. He would try to think of a solution, to pull strings, to fix things that weren’t meant to be fixed.

And then there was the matter of timing.

A Wickford out of a job? Unheard of. Wickfords were never out of a job; they decided the job.

Offered a position with Graves. And, of course, she just so happened to be close to the British Head Auror.

People would talk.

The stars aligned a little too well, didn’t they?

Grace let out a slow breath, her pace quickening as the cool London air curled around her.

The Wickfords loved power, influence, and connections.

Everyone knew that.

She exhaled, slowing her steps as the memory of her father’s voice crept into her mind.

"If you can subtly influence your Auror friends’ methods, it would be a welcome advantage."

He had meant Dewitt and Theseus.

Dewitt, with his charm, cunning, ambition, and unorthodox methods. And Theseus, but Theseus, was the higher rank.

She could still hear the pause in her father’s voice, the weight behind his words. It wasn’t a direct order, but a suggestion that carried expectation nonetheless.

And yet, surely Theseus would know it was a load of rubbish.

Wouldn’t he?

Grace shook her head.

She needed a distraction. Something. Anything. Just not to think of Graves, the offer, or the loss of her department.

With a sigh, she walked the cool streets of London before turning a corner and disapparated. The familiar pull of magic took her straight to the doorstep of her apartment building. Once inside, she noticed two letters waiting for her.

One from Newt. And one from Daniel.

Grace smirked. "Oh, Daniel, what did you do this time?" she muttered, shaking her head.

Gracie Grace, Red-Haired Beauty of Vermont,

 

How’s the vacation treating you? Drinking overpriced tea? Taking long, pensive walks through the fog? Staring dramatically out of some fancy window, contemplating the mysteries of life?

Look, I know you took this time to clear your head and think over Graves’s offer. I get it. I ain’t gonna tell you what to do, what not to do, and I sure as hell ain’t repeating our entire conversation from last time.

Just, don’t go for it if your only thought is “This is the Wickford way.” Got it?  

That said, Graves made it no secret that he wants you in his little circle. Dropped off a report the other day, and who do I find in his office? Your dear Papa. (And yes, I know you call him that. You can’t fool me, Wickford. I know all your secrets.)  

They clammed up real quick when I walked in. But the moment your father left? Graves looked happier than a Niffler in a jewelry store.

Now, I ain’t a gossip columnist, but I can already see the New York Ghost headlines: GRAVES AND WICKFORD: MACUSA’S POWER ALLIANCE.

Papa Wickford would be so proud. I’m tearing up here. Tears, Gracie! Tears!  

Now, onto why I’m writing.

I’ll be in London soon, like real soon, with Graves. Officially, we’re here to play nice with the British Ministry, talk diplomatic ties, shake hands, and all that nonsense. Unofficially? We need to see for ourselves how bad the Grindelwald situation is. I can’t write details here, but let’s just say certain people in MACUSA and Picquery’s office have been whispering about a future department of the… well, let’s call it the "forward-thinking" variety.

Translation? The rules are changing, and we’re about to be the ones writing them.  

I doubt the Ministry’s gonna be thrilled about us waltzing in. Word is their Head Auror is about as charming as a chizpurfle infestation. Proper, stiff, got his wand stuffed up so far his ass he could shoot stunning spells from his mouth.

That said, credit where it’s due, he’s a big-time war hero and one hell of an Auror. It takes one hell of a person to fight in that No-Maj war and then become the best the Ministry has to offer. One does not lead the Aurors by sitting around picking daisies. I can’t help but respect the guy for his work.

But as a person? I hear he’s the type who polishes his wand twice a day and sleeps with the Ministry rulebook under his pillow.

 

I feel we might cross wands slightly, but all in good fun, of course.

So, in summary? Sounds like a damn delight.  

And now the Greek tragedy of my letter:

I hope I finally get to meet your Captain Noble this time. Because for all the time you’ve been skipping off to England, you have never even told me his name.

Gracie, I am devastated. Me, your friend, the light of your life, the thoughts of your patronus. I should know these things.

But don’t worry, I’ll fix it.

After I meet the Head Auror, you take me to Captain Noble. Got it?

Looking forward to seeing you, gorgeous,

 

Daniel Dewitt (MACUSA’s Auror extraordinaire)

Grace smirked, shaking her head as she folded the letter.

Leave it to Daniel to create a fanfare for his arrival.

She could already picture it.

Daniel Dewitt, striding into the Ministry, coat unbuttoned just enough to look effortless, a devil-may-care grin plastered across his face, charming his way through the halls, winking at secretaries, smirking at officials, acting as if England was lucky to have him.

For all his dramatics, he was good. Efficient. Sharp. One of MACUSA’s best. He dueled like it was an art form, cracked cases others struggled with, and always got the job done. But he was also exactly what the British Ministry of Magic did not care for.

And he had no idea that Theseus Scamander—aka "Captain Noble"—was the very Head Auror he’d just insulted.

Grace had never told Daniel that it was Theseus Scamander. It had never seemed necessary. Daniel knew she traveled to England often, but she had never once thought to specify her mysterious British Auror acquaintance.

But now, reading his letter?

Perhaps she should have given him a heads-up.

Daniel was chaos incarnate. Loud, reckless, magnetic. A man who bent the rules until they barely resembled themselves.

Theseus was order. Stubborn, meticulous, the very definition of law and structure. Where Daniel saw guidelines, Theseus saw absolutes.

Even in the way they dressed, Theseus in his perfectly tailored, classic suits (which, Grace desperately wanted to change), and Daniel in his dark blue and black three-piece suits that looked like they belonged to some rogue gentleman thief, they were night and day.

Grace never underestimated Daniel’s capabilities. He was a rising star, not quite MACUSA’s Golden Boy, too much of a rule-bender for that, but respected, trusted, and dangerous in his own right. He was young, about five years her senior, and despite his occasional recklessness, he had Graves’s trust, the President’s trust… and even her father’s, though the latter had once made a pointed request that Daniel never set foot in Wickford Manor unaccompanied again.

That had been a night.

Grace smiled at the letter, resting her chin against her hands.

Daniel Dewitt, American Senior Auror. Reckless, dangerous, brilliant. People either admired him or wanted to hex the living daylight out of him.

Surely someone would warn Theseus about Dewitt once he received the official notice of MACUSA’s visit.

Travers, maybe?

“Oh, definitely Travers,” she muttered.

She tapped the letter against her desk, grinning. Travers would take great pleasure in delivering that particular news.

After all, Daniel had been part of the MACUSA hosting party the last time Travers visited New York.

And part of the hosting party he was.

Daniel had left an impression.

A very clear, very permanent impression.

Grace could still hear Travers’s grumbling about it.

Something about "American lawlessness," "blatant disregard for protocol," and, most importantly, "a clear bite in my lemon biscuits."

Grace had nearly choked on her tea when Travers mentioned it to Graves.

Daniel had denied everything. Smirked the entire time.

Grace shook her head, laughing under her breath as she tapped the edge of the parchment against her desk, considering. She could warn Daniel. Make sure he didn’t embarrass Graves—or himself—when Theseus gave him the glare of death.

And she could warn Theseus. Give him time to prepare for Daniel’s particular brand of chaos, his signature feet-on-the-desk posture, his complete disregard for stiff British formalities.

Or.

Her grin widened.

“Daniel, you once let me embarrass myself in front of President Wilson before Picquery took office,” she mused aloud, stretching her legs as she leaned back in her chair.

Payback, as they say, is a bitch.

Grace later turned her attention to Newt’s letter. It was short, sweet, to the point.

Dear Grace,

Of course! Please do come anytime. The creatures miss you.

My current location: 12b7 Fleet Street, first floor down the hall on the right.

—Newt

She smirked at the note. She could use the afternoon to relax.

No Ministry. No MACUSA. No father. No thoughts of Daniel and the mess he was bound to bring.

Just Newt and his creatures.

Letting out a breath, she set the note aside and walked to her bedroom, meticulously removing most of her jewelry. Last time, one of Newt’s Nifflers had stolen her necklace, and it had taken three Summoning Charms, a handful of Sickles, and a silver button to retrieve it.

Total time: three hours and forty-two minutes of war.

She wasn’t about to let that happen again.

By the time she was finished, she had removed everything but her ring and small stud earrings. Satisfied, she stepped out onto the street and Disapparated.

Fleet Street was mildly busy when she emerged from the alleyway, looking decidedly out of place in Muggle London. People bustled past, wrapped in thick coats, carrying newspapers and briefcases, heads ducked against the wind.

They moved in their own world. Where they belonged.

A few curious eyes flickered her way, her styled hair, leather heels, and deep charcoal coat making her stand out among the dull, practical fabrics of the Muggle world.

She barely spared them a glance. As her father always said, No-Majs are of no bother. They existed, certainly, but they were nothing more than background noise, like frogs on a summer’s night. Forced to cohabitate on the same planet.

Her pace slowed as she approached a narrow gap between two buildings—a tea shop and an old printmaker’s. To anyone else, it looked like a bricked-up alleyway, no more than a tight, useless space between structures.

But Grace knew better.

She stepped forward, and for a brief second, the air shimmered. And then, as if it had always been there, 12B7 Fleet Street appeared.

The shop smelled of aged parchment, ink, and candlewax. It was smaller than she expected, crammed with books that stacked themselves onto shelves, occasionally shifting and rearranging.

Grace glanced around, searching for the entrance to the apartments. When she didn’t see it, she turned to the shopkeeper, a thin, sharp-featured wizard with ink-stained fingers and a pair of tiny spectacles perched on his nose.

He barely acknowledged her at first. Then he did a double take, eyes flicking up sharply as if wondering what in Merlin’s name she was looking for.

"Can I help you, miss?"

Grace stepped forward. “Umm, yes. I’m looking to get upstairs. To the apartments. I’m here to see a tenant, Newt Scamander.”

The shopkeeper froze. He blinked once. Then twice. Then slowly pushed his spectacles up his nose, as if making sure he had heard correctly.

He squinted at her.  “Scamander?”

“Yes.”

"Scamander? The man with the case and very… unusual houseguests?"

Grace raised a brow. "Is that a problem?" She crossed her arms, unimpressed. “I can come back with a few Ministry officials if that’s the case."

The shopkeeper immediately raised his hands in mock surrender. "No problem, miss. Just… unexpected, is all."

Grace narrowed her eyes slightly. "Unexpected?"

The man hesitated. "You don’t exactly seem the sort to be visiting Scamander, that’s all."

Grace stared at him. What exactly was so unexpected about Newt having her as a visitor?

"Well," she said coolly, "whether or not you find it 'unexpected' is none of your concern, is it? Now, please be so kind as to direct me to the apartments."

The shopkeeper let out a huff and rolled his eyes. “Just by the front door," he muttered. "Tilt your head to the right, you’ll see the entrance."

Grace nodded sharply. “Thank you.”

She turned to leave.

"Pretentious rich girl," the shopkeeper muttered under his breath.

Grace didn’t even blink.

An opinion that mattered as much as a flobberworm’s.

She returned to the front, gaze sweeping the shop once more.

Then, there—hidden behind a row of books on alchemy—was the entrance.

She smirked.

“Well. Unexpected, indeed.”

Grace walked up the stairs and immediately knew that even if Newt had omitted direction, she could tell by sound alone which door was his.

The hallway was quiet, except for one particular door.

"No, Teddy, I didn’t take you out for—no, Teddy, put that down!"

A scrambling sound.

A metallic clang.

Something hit the floor with a thud, rolled, and smacked into the door from the inside.

Grace tilted her head.

Yes. This was Newt’s apartment.

“Now we talked about this you–yes Picket I’ve told him.”

Grace blinked a few times, it sounded like Newt got new creatures, but that was nothing new. Without waiting any longer she knocked on his door.

No answer.

She then knocked again, this time with a bit more force.

"Mister Frederick, I—I have every right to keep the creatures. There’s nothing in the lease about it."

Grace arched a brow.

"Newt—"

“They are perfectly harmless and don’t need unnecessary stress. If anything, this building is lucky to have such biodiversity. The ecological balance alone—"

A loud crash was then heard, before a sight.

Grace pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Scaman—"

"I also apologized to Missus Scott twice for Larry, even though she obviously—"

Then silence, and the door slowly opened. Newt’s eyes met Grace’s as she arched an unimpressed eyebrow.

For a moment, he seemed to be recalibrating.

"Oh. Hello, I assumed it was—"

Grace smirked.

"Mister Frederick? Glad to know my knocking sounds like your landlord, Newt."

Newt exhaled, slightly ruffled. "No, but I—well, I have a few… ah, disagreements, going on."

Grace’s smirk widened. "No surprise there." She gestured toward the inside of his flat. "Are you going to invite me in, or do I have to start knocking like Mister Frederick?"

Newt blinked twice. Then rapidly nodded.

"Yes—yes, of course—please, do come in."

Before she could step inside at her own pace, Newt pulled her in quickly, shutting the door behind her with a decisive click.

Newt’s lodgings were exactly as she expected, small, warm, and completely chaotic. The small kitchen and sitting room were cluttered but organized in their own way. A tiny bathroom and bedroom were off to the side. Books were stacked haphazardly on nearly every available surface, some old and leather-bound, others loosely bundled together with twine.

Judging by the sounds coming from the closet, it left little to the imagination. Likely an extension charm for his continued study of creatures.

"It’s… cozy." She said, settling onto the sofa.

Newt gave a small, distracted nod, glancing around the room as if only now assessing its state.

"Yes, well. It’s temporary. For now. The creatures are… reasonably content here."

From the half-open case, a feathered head peeked out, blinking at her with large, intelligent eyes before vanishing back inside.

A light scuffle came from the direction of his desk. A small, displeased sound.

Newt winced slightly. "Mostly content."

Grace smirked. “I’m sure they are, Newt. You always make sure of that.”

Newt nodded before taking a seat opposite her in a slightly worn-down chair. “Yes, well it helps when you have a practical case. Traveling does teach…you know how to prioritize the comfort of them.”

“I’m sure it does, you’ve been around a lot.”

Newt nodded “Yes well–the book won’t…won’t write itself. I’m planning a year-long trip out of England soon. Proper documentation, studying as many creatures as possible… helping people understand them, protect them, ensure they–“

He paused.

His gaze shifted slightly.

Grace followed his line of sight.

Something small, black-furred, and fast had just darted across the room, moving straight for her hand. Grace barely had time to react. A pair of tiny, greedy paws latched onto her fingers.

She stared down.

A Niffler.

It clung to her hand, desperately scrabbling at her ruby and diamond ring, beady eyes gleaming with sheer determination.

Grace moved fast—grabbing the little creature as Newt had once shown her, ensuring she wasn’t harming it. It chirped sharply, looking her straight in the eyes, as if deeply offended she wouldn’t part with her heirloom.

She held it up, unimpressed.

"Newt."

He looked vaguely apologetic. "Right, so… that’s Teddy."

Grace stared at him. Then, slowly, she raised Teddy a little higher.

The Niffler let out a soft, disappointed chitter, his failed heist weighing heavily on his tiny, thieving heart.

"And I think he likes you."

"Charming." Grace deadpanned. "Though I would prefer he like me without attempting grand larceny."

Newt chuckled, taking Teddy back into his arms. "I mean, Grace, to be fair—you did choose to wear a shiny ring in the vicinity of a Niffler."

Grace narrowed her eyes. "So, this is my doing?" she asked, voice laced with amusement.

Newt winced slightly. "Partially, I’d say."

Grace huffed in amusement, watching as Newt carefully placed Teddy back into the case, securing the latch.

“So…Graves.” he said, sitting back on the sofa.

“Wow you don’t waste time with small talk, don’t you?”

“I find it…unnecessary for right now.” he stated “I mean I read your letter…the offer seems…intriguing.”

Grace stifled a laugh. She knew what Newt thought about government work, the Ministry, MACUSA… any wizarding body that operated from behind a desk rather than in the real world. It wasn’t that he thought all officials were incompetent, after all, Theseus was proof that some were capable, but he had little patience for bureaucracy, for those who drafted policies without truly understanding what they governed.

He had told her once about his time in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He had tried to make a difference there, to change the way the Ministry viewed magical creatures. But rules, restrictions, and red tape had left him feeling like he could do more outside the system than within it.

Grace leaned back into the chair, crossing her arms. "Dewitt says Graves sees potential." she said lightly. "And that I deserve it."

Newt nodded slightly, fingers tapping against his knee.

"I mean, Grace, you did very well with your research. You know more about Dark Magic than most Aurors… the next step seems… logical."

Grace narrowed her eyes, watching him. She was waiting for the ‘but,’ the ‘although’, the little hesitation that would reveal his doubt, the reason he didn’t trust the offer.

"That’s a very politically correct answer, Newt. Been spending time with Theseus at the Ministry, have you?"

Newt turned sharply, giving her a look of pure horror. As if she had just suggested he abandon Magizoology, don a Ministry badge, and spend his days shaking hands with Travers.

"Merlin, no." He muttered, visibly shaken. "I’d rather take my chances with a Manticore."

Grace laughed “The way you talk about it, it sounds like a fate worse than death. I’d even wager your boggart is a desk, judging by that reaction."

Newt exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It’s not far off," he mumbled under his breath, just low enough for her not to hear.

Grace chuckled. “Anyway, Newt, I have to give him my reply at some point.”

Newt shifted slightly, fingers tapping against his knee.

"I don’t know this Graves character, Grace, but I imagine he’s… similar to Travers, or at least from what I’ve heard." He hesitated. "Ambitious. Influential. The kind of person who—" his gaze flickered to her, "—doesn’t extend opportunities without reason."

Grace rolled her eyes. "Newt, you’re making him sound like some mastermind. If there was anything to question, my father would have told me. He trusts Graves. And so does MACUSA."

Newt sighed. "Just my opinion, Grace. But don’t take someone at their word just because everyone else does. And don’t accept the job just because of… family history."

Grace smiled, shaking her head. "That’s very wise, Newt. And I won’t—don’t worry. I’m still examining the offer. That’s why I’m here too. Change of scenery to properly think."

Newt nodded slightly. "Yes, well… London is a little different from New York, I imagine."

She extended her hand, taking his hand in hers. Newt stiffened immediately, uncertain of the gesture.

"You should come and visit," Grace said, completely unfazed. "I think you’d love Dewitt."

Newt blinked. "That’s your Auror friend? Why would you say that?"

Grace grinned. "Because Daniel is a little… how do you say… different."

Newt narrowed his eyes. "As in?"

Grace leaned back, smirking. "He once caught two wizards while on a coffee break with his rookie Auror, the one he was training. Apparently didn’t even break a sweat, and then—while she was cuffing them, and let’s face it doing the work, he went right back to finishing his drink because, and I quote, ‘Gracie, that was a three-dragot coffee. I’m not wasting it.’"

Newt stared at her for a solid ten seconds. "And you think I would like… Dewitt?"

"Oh, absolutely. He’s not your usual Auror."

Newt rolled his eyes, but there was a small, reluctant smile. "Aurors are usually… well, a bit more by the book, aren’t they?"

"Most are. Daniel is—" she considered, "—selectively compliant."

Newt exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Theseus would have an aneurysm dealing with him."

Grace grinned. "Oh, he absolutely would. Daniel is exceptional, no doubt, one of MACUSA’s best. An excellent duelist, a nightmare in interrogations, sharp as hell… just happens to take the rulebook as more of a guideline.”

Newt raised a brow. "Sounds reckless."

"Oh, he is. But controlled recklessness is a skill if you know how to use it."

Newt ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "You are surrounded by the most… unusual people, Grace."

Grace smirked. "I know. Father and Graves here, Dewitt and Theseus there. You here."

Newt huffed, shaking his head slightly.

Grace leaned back against the armrest.

"Speaking of Theseus—" she started. "I decided he needed a new wardrobe, so I’m taking him shopping tomorrow."

Newt raised an eyebrow, looking deeply skeptical. "Theseus? Shopping? Really? He doesn’t leave the Ministry… ever."

“You’d be surprised, Newt. Theseus can be more than just the Head Auror." Grace tilted her head, watching him. "I’m changing his dull-colored suits, and then we’re going to dinner."

She paused, looking up at Newt, who still looked stunned as if she had just suggested Theseus take a year-long sabbatical to become a poet.

"You should join us."

Newt blinked. "Join you? And Theseus? For dinner?"

"That is what my invitation is for, Newt."

Newt stared at her like she’d just suggested he storm the British Ministry and demand Travers’ job on the spot. "I’d rather chase my entire case of creatures through the streets of New York."

Grace grinned “I love you too Newt.”

Chapter Text

At precisely three o’clock the next day, a sharp knock pulled Grace from her book.

She frowned. That was odd. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Her invitation to Newt still stood, he’d decide last minute, that’s how Newt was. But the knock didn’t sound like Newt.

Daniel had written that he and Graves weren’t arriving until tomorrow, and he’d already roped her into giving them a grand tour of London—dinner included. If it were him, he wouldn’t have bothered knocking.

No, Daniel would have waltzed right in and made himself comfortable.

Probably someone at the wrong door, she figured, until a second, firmer knock sounded.

No mistake, then.

Whoever was behind that door was here for her.

"For the love of Merlin," she muttered, setting her book down with a sigh. And I was just getting to the good part.

Grace walked up to the door and opened it, still looking exasperated—only to find Theseus Scamander standing there, hands firmly in his pockets, smirking down at her.

"Caught you at a bad time?" he asked.

"Best part of my book, actually," she mumbled. Then, narrowing her eyes, "Why are you here, Theseus? We weren’t supposed to meet until later—and you’re not the type to rush your execution."

Theseus huffed a small laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Yes, well, Travers forced me out after lunch. Said I needed to ‘mentally prepare’ for the MACUSA envoy’s arrival. Merlin only knows what that entails."

Grace had a feeling why. Likely for Dewitt.

Then, as if making peace with his fate, he tilted his head toward her flat.

"So," Theseus continued, exhaling through his nose, "I thought I might as well get your dreadful little proposal over with early—on one condition."

Grace arched a brow. "That being?"

"Tea. At five. No arguments."

"Any particular place?"

"I don’t care which bloody shop, I just want a proper English cup of tea at five o’clock.”

Grace let out a small laugh. “I don’t recall you calling the shopping trip dreadful.”

He raised a brow. "Implied."

She crossed her arms. "No, you just told me you drew the line at being compared to Travers."

Theseus rubbed the back of his neck and huffed. "Yes, well. Still implied."

Grace rolled her eyes and nodded him inside. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Theseus."

She walked into the kitchen, poured him a glass of firewhisky, and set it down in front of him. "Sit. Give me fifteen minutes, and we’ll be off."

The streets of London carried the crisp bite of late autumn. Grace and Theseus made their way through the cobbled lanes, her steps confident, scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. She tugged her black coat closer, bracing against the breeze.

“Maybe I’ll get something as well,” she muttered. “I could use a new set of gloves.”

She glanced up at Theseus, who looked very much out of his element. Like he was internally bracing for impact. Grace caught the faint twitch of a smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m sure you would still be at the Ministry or holed up with case files if Travers hadn’t forced you out.”

“Well, I am Head Auror, Grace.”

"And even the Head Auror needs to breathe." She reached for the door to Harold’s Witches and Wizards Boutique, motioning him inside. "Travers told you to mentally prepare, so let’s mentally prepare you."

Theseus crossed his arms as he stepped inside, throwing her a skeptical look. "How is buying a suit mentally preparing me?"

Grace winked, nudging him forward. "You’ll see."

The shop had the warmth of a place well-used to high clientele, rows of carefully charmed mannequins, floating tape measures, and robes lined in fine embroidery. A bell chimed softly overhead.

An elderly witch, clearly familiar with Grace, greeted them with practiced delight and gestured for them to follow. She led them to a more private section of the boutique.

"Appears you come here often," Theseus mumbled.

Before she could reply, the witch clapped her hands in greeting. "Miss Wickford! What a delight to see you again. And I see you’ve brought someone."

Grace nodded, placing a hand on Theseus’s shoulder.

"Yes, this is Theseus. And he desperately needs a new everything. But mainly suits—three-piece. Dress robes for high-profile events. Ties—"

"Grace!" Theseus interrupted, eyes narrowing. "You made your point."

The witch chuckled. "My, my. Not used to your fiancée dressing you now, are we? Wait here, I’ll fetch a selection. Feel free to browse."

She bustled away, skirts swishing.

Theseus stared after her, stunned. "She’s not—we’re not—"

Grace tilted her head. "Am I not good enough for you, Theseus?"

He shut his eyes briefly and muttered, "Merlin’s bloody beard." Then, giving her a look that was half-exasperation, half-resignation, he added, "You will be the death of me."

Grace fought back a smirk and turned to the racks of men’s suits, scanning for any color not already in his limited wardrobe. Her fingers flitted through rich fabrics before she plucked six and levitated them to hover in front of him.

Theseus eyed them like they were a pack of rabid Manticores. Grace grinned. He looked like he’d rather face a banshee than this tailor’s boutique.

"So," she began, eyeing the suits like she was deciding the fate of the wizarding world, "we have charcoal, dark charcoal, dark navy blue"—she signaled to that one—"for your eyes, of course."

"Of course," Theseus replied, dry.

"Then black—which is a classic, obviously—deep burgundy, and…" She held up her boldest pick with a flourish. "Dark green."

Theseus exhaled through his nose. "Merlin’s beard."

"Theseus," she said flatly, folding her arms, "don’t bring Merlin into this. Now pick one and get in the changing room."

He stepped forward and plucked the navy blue suit from the rack, holding her gaze as he did.

"This is so you can finally let me live in peace."

Grace tapped his cheek lightly. "That’s mighty bold of you, Theseus."

She dropped the shirts into his arms. "Now go and change so we can see just how appealing the Head Auror of Britain can be."

Grace drummed her fingers idly against a display case, waiting. When he finally stepped out, she glanced up—and then nearly forgot what she’d been about to say.

The navy blue suit fit like it had been made for him. Crisp in all the right places, the dark shirt beneath it sharpened the angles of his frame. The waistcoat buttoned neatly, added a touch of refinement she wasn’t used to seeing on him.

He looked...

Grace blinked. He looked different.

"Well," she said, keeping her tone light, "I’d say you clean up quite nicely."

She reached for a tray of ties, setting it between them. "But it does need a tie to feel complete."

Before she could grab one—dark green or black, something sensible—Theseus beat her to it. His fingers closed around a tie first.

Burgundy.

A color the shopkeeper had chosen. A deep, warm shade, a reminder of autumn. It complimented him well, playing off his skin tone and the cool navy of the suit.

Grace smiled, “Burgundy suits you well Scamander.”

“It goes with the suit, Grace.” He replied as he looped the fabric, tying a clean Windsor knot. “I know some basic color coordination. Give me some credit.”

“Then please, Head Auror Scamander,” she said, gesturing toward the remaining suits and robes, “keep proving me wrong.”

Theseus smirked at her and did just that. He went through the remaining suits with a careful but deliberate hand, rolling the fabric between his fingers like he was handling evidence.

Grace sat down to watch, thoroughly entertained. It was a sight. The Head Auror of Britain, examining suits as if they were going to sprout thorns and curse him until he lost his memory.

She waited at the register, tapping her fingers lightly against the counter as Mrs. Gibson tallied the purchases.

What was meant to be a quick, efficient errand had somehow stretched into three full hours.

Three hours of Theseus Scamander forgetting the weight of duty and instead being utterly baffled by burgundy ties, hippogriff socks, and a cape that, in his words, had ‘tried to fix his hair.’

With an amused sigh, Grace reached into her pouch and handed Mrs. Gibson the payment.

"I’ll cover these, madame. Early birthday gift," she said with a wink, already jotting down instructions for home delivery. "Have your store elf bring them to my address, please."

"Of course, Miss Wickford. And it was a pleasure assisting you both today."

"The pleasure was ours."

She turned back to find Theseus staring at her as if she had just declared her intent to topple the Ministry.

“Did you just buy all that?" He gestured vaguely to the towering stack of finely tailored suits, crisp shirts, polished shoes, and, most damning of all, the hippogriff socks.

Before he could protest, she took his arm and guided him toward the exit.

"Come on. It’s tea time. Like we agreed."

Theseus exhaled, half-annoyed, half-amused, tucking his hands into his pockets as they walked up Diagon Alley. The afternoon air was crisp, the street bustling with witches and wizards finishing their shopping.

"You just spent the equivalent of three months of my salary, Grace."

"Really?" she mused. "I didn’t notice. To me, I just got you some much-needed assistance. And birthday presents."

Theseus let out a quiet, exasperated laugh, but there was something else behind it. A beat passed, then suddenly, his hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her mid-step.

She turned, blinking in mild surprise as he looked her straight in the eyes.

"Grace," he said carefully, his tone quieter now. "Is… is this because of the Dark Arts division?"

The air between them shifted. For a brief second, Grace just stood there, feeling the warmth of his grip, the weight of his gaze.

Then she let out a breath and smiled—small, careful. "Let’s go to tea, Theseus. We can talk more there."

His hand didn’t drop. "Grace. I read your letter. Don’t bury this."

She didn’t flinch. "I’m not burying anything," she said smoothly. "This just isn’t the place to talk about it."

Theseus exhaled sharply through his nose, adjusting his coat. "You always do that," he muttered, voice low.

Grace arched a brow. "Do what?"

"Smile, then change the subject." His tone was calm, but there was an edge to it. "You think I don’t notice, but I do."

She huffed, shaking her head. "I see the Head Auror decided to make an appearance this afternoon."

Theseus rubbed a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. "You’re deflecting again."

“I’m not,” she replied, rubbing the back of her neck. “I promise—over tea.”

Theseus opened his mouth to press the issue further. “Grace, if you—”

"—Oi! You wanna say that again, you ruddy piece of dragon shit!?"

A jet of red light tore through the air, slamming into a nearby merchant’s stall.

Porcelain vases exploded into dust. Parchments and quills scattered in every direction. A stack of books collapsed, sending a startled shopkeeper diving for cover.

Theseus reacted on instinct, flicking his wand up in a sharp motion—

A shield charm snapped into place just before the worst of the debris could reach them.

The pair looked up to see two wizards—several drinks past their limit—wands drawn in what could barely be called a duel. Their equally drunk friends loitered nearby, watching with the excitement of spectators at an illegal back alley brawl.

"Oi! Mate, you heard me!" one of them slurred, his wand waving wildly. "You’re a bloody basilisk arse-licker! You jinxed my broom at the race!"

A clumsy attempt at a Stunning Spell went wide—horribly wide.

Instead of hitting its target, the curse soared straight through the window of a nearby coffee shop. Glass shattered on impact.

A chorus of furious shouts erupted from inside.

"Bloody hell, Peter! Hit him already!" one of the friends yelled.

Theseus exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples. "One bloody day," he muttered. "I can't have one bloody day."

He rolled back his shoulders, preparing to intervene.

When another jinx flew wild and struck him square in the arm.

Grace turned sharply, eyes flashing. "Theseus!"

He rolled his shoulder once, shaking off the residual sting. His expression darkened; all patience vanished. His jaw tightened as he flexed his fingers, preparing to arrest the entire group.

“That’s enough of that.” His tone was clipped now—Head Auror mode fully activated.

But before he could take another step—

From inside the shattered coffee shop window, a particularly sharp Incarcerous spell cracked through the air and coiled around Peter’s chest, binding his arms tight to his sides.

The wizard yelped, collapsing into a mess of limbs and rope.

"Hey, pal!" a voice drawled. "Why don’t you tell your idiot friends to walk away before y’all get an ass-kicking?"

Another drunken friend spun toward the sound, wand raised. "Shut up, you bloody tourist!"

The new wizard was already on the move. A Stunning Spell knocked two of them out cold in one burst as he exited the café. A quick Oscausi silenced another before he could shout.

The group fell quiet.

Then, as casually as if he were taking a stroll, the wizard responsible stepped fully into view. "I was having my coffee, pal," he sighed, adjusting his cuffs. "But fine—let’s dance."

Without missing a beat, he flicked his wand. His coat, pastry, and coffee levitated beside him, hovering in perfect orbit.

Then he finally looked up.

Tall. Jet-black hair. Impeccable suit.

His black fedora had hidden most of his face—until he levitated it off with the same effortless flick. The hat joined the rotation of floating belongings.

Grace immediately smirked.

Theseus turned just in time to catch the look on her face.

“You know this lunatic?”

Grace didn’t answer immediately—she was too busy biting back her amusement.

Because of course, he would do this. Who else but Daniel fucking Dewitt would make his presence known by breaking jurisdiction and knocking out half a street fight before even introducing himself?

Theseus exhaled slowly, expression flattening.

"I’ll take that as a yes," he muttered.

Daniel, meanwhile, grinned, cracked his knuckles, and stretched his neck like a boxer warming up for a fight. Another spell came flying toward him.

A flick of his wrist—shield charm. The curse ricocheted, slamming into a stack of crates. A moment later, enchanted cauldrons spilled onto the cobblestone, rolling like iron Bludgers.

"Nice try," he smirked, eyes flicking between the remaining opponents.

He stepped forward. "Now, who’s next?"

The remaining drunk wizards, either too stupid or too drunk to back down, took this as an invitation.

"You son of a—" one of them lunged, wand raised.

Daniel sidestepped and flicked his wand “Expelliarmus”. The wizard’s wand shot into the air.

"Language, please, my friend." Daniel laughed. Then pivoted—clean right hook to the jaw. The wizard dropped, landing across a knocked-over café table.

Daniel shook out his fist, flexing his fingers. "What’s your jaw made of? Stone?"

From behind, two more wizards surged forward, wands raised.

Daniel turned sharply. A Stunning Spell whipped from his wand, taking one down instantly.

The second wizard was mid-incantation when Daniel’s wand flicked again. Thick ropes snapped into existence, binding him to a lamppost.

Daniel glanced down at his lapel. A speck of dust. He sighed, brushing it off. "Oh, my friend. I’m billing you for my dry cleaning."

Grace watched Theseus, still in Auror mode, assessing everything. Then he spotted the badge on Dewitt’s belt.

"Bloody MACUSA," he muttered.

And then, just like that, his patience broke. "Alright—enough."

He charged into the chaos.

Grace followed, lingering near the coffee shop to both supervise Daniel’s floating belongings and enjoy the front-row view.

Daniel, who had just dodged a hex, grinned. "Ah, assistance at last!" he shouted. "And here I thought you Brits were too proper for a good old-fashioned brawl!"

Theseus rolled his eyes. "Stupefy!" A red bolt dropped a wizard sneaking up behind Dewitt with a chair.

The man collapsed. Daniel stepped over him, unimpressed. "Bad form, my friend."

Another wizard swung a punch at Theseus—who caught his wrist and flipped him clean through a table.

Daniel ducked a hex. "Oh-ho! The Brit can throw down after all!"

Theseus didn’t respond. He redirected a Stunning Spell, sending its caster flying into a barrel stack.

"Fucking guy," he muttered.

Another wizard ran at Daniel from behind.

Theseus flicked his wand “Petrificus Totalus!”

He hit the ground stiff as a board. Dewitt raised an eyebrow. “Really? I was building up for something flashy.”

Grace, still leaning against the ruined doorway, smirked, clearly enjoying the aftermath far too much. Then, from the café’s dim interior, a figure emerged.

Dark cloak. Homburg hat. Steady gaze: Graves.

His sharp eyes found Grace first, then flicked over the wreckage. Glass shards. A flickering streetlamp. Unconscious men strewn across the cobblestones. A café sign hanging by a single, creaking chain.

And in true Percival Graves fashion—he didn’t react. He simply sighed, took a sip of his coffee, and turned back to Grace.

"Miss Wickford. A pleasure to see you again."

Grace accepted his offered hand with a polite, easy smile. “Director Graves. Likewise.”

Together, they surveyed the aftermath. Daniel strolled past them, likely heading back inside for a quick rinse and to avoid speaking to British authority.

One wizard groaned from inside a toppled fruit crate. Another, tied to a lamppost, muttered bitterly about "bloody Americans" and their need to show off.

Then, with a loud crack, British Aurors Apparated onto the scene—robes billowing, wands raised, eyes sharp.

One of Theseus’s junior Aurors blinked at the mess. “Sweet Merlin—what the hell happened here?”

Theseus tilted his head toward the wreckage. “Street disturbance. Standard cleanup.”

The Auror stared at the pile of groaning, unconscious wizards. "...This is standard?"

“Lock them up,” Theseus said, already brushing dust off his coat.

“Yes, boss!” she called, rallying the others and setting to work with swift efficiency.

Daniel re-emerged from the café, sleeves rolled down, hair damp from a wash, face clean of ash and grime. He levitated his coffee and pastry neatly back into his hands, slid into his coat, and adjusted his fedora with practiced flair.

He took a satisfied sip. “Still warm and toasty. I feel like a little Occamy in its nest.”

Graves exhaled. “Charming.”

“Oh, come on, Director. I had to step in.” He grinned mid-bite, crumbs escaping as he looked past Graves and lit up. “Gracie! The beauty of Vermont herself!”

Ignoring Graves entirely, he marched over and planted a dramatic, and crumb-filled, kiss on Grace’s cheek.

"Did you catch the whole thing?" he asked, still grinning. “I was in top form. Though gotta admit—your friend here was a solid assist.”

He gestured lazily toward Theseus. "Is he the Captain Noble?"

“Dewitt, was that necessary?” Graves cut in sharply, voice dry. “You’re lucky your presence in the department is still considered vital.”

"Boss, you have to admit," Daniel said, taking another sip, completely unfazed. "I was on a roll."

Graves looked like he was debating whether Daniel was truly worth the paperwork. A mix of exasperation and something else entirely—something Grace couldn’t quite place. But then again, this was Graves. He always had a million things going on inside his head.

“Dewitt. Come. We’ll catch up later with Miss Wickford. I need you at the Ministry before I have to endure another round of Travers and his Merlin-forsaken commentary.”

“Sure thing, boss. See you, Gracie.” And with a pop, they both Disapparated.

Theseus arrived just as they vanished, finishing his debrief with the Aurors. He glanced around, frowning. "Where did your friend go? I need his statement."

Grace barely looked up. "Oh, you’ll get it. Don’t worry."

Theseus exhaled sharply, leveling her with a pointed look. "Grace."

She arched a brow.

"It’s protocol," he continued, voice edged with irritation. "I need his statement. Now."

Grace adjusted her gloves, tone breezy. "He’s with Graves, on their way to the Ministry as we speak. Likely taking care of it now."

Theseus rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Grace, this is not how we operate.”

Grace sighed. “Well, today will have to be an exception.” She walked past him toward the main street. “Are you coming?”

Theseus looked like he was seriously considering hexing her. "Merlin, Grace! Your friend just fought in the middle of the bloody street!"

Grace barely glanced over her shoulder. "Yes. And?"

He ran a hand down his face, inhaling sharply. "And I need his bloody statement."

“Theseus. You’ll get the fucking statement. Now are you coming?”

Theseus stared after her, unmoving. His jaw tightened. "No. Because this is your idea of avoidance, and I refuse to play into it."

Grace paused, glancing at him with an arched brow. "Avoidance?"

"Yes. Avoidance," he shot back, arms crossed. "You didn’t answer me earlier. And instead of discussing it, you’re dragging me to a bloody tea shop while your friend—who, mind you, just broke jurisdiction—gets off without a proper debriefing."

Grace exhaled, shaking her head. "Dewitt’s with Graves. It’s handled Theseus. They’re heading to Travers right now."

"Handled," he repeated, not sounding convinced. His eyes narrowed slightly.

Grace crossed her arms. "Are you telling me you don’t trust a MACUSA Director?"

"No." His reply was too fast, too sharp.

She let out a slow breath. “So you’d rather stand here and brood instead of coming to tea?”

Theseus blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"You said tea at five. It’s five till."

He inhaled through his nose, eyes flicking away for a moment before landing back on her.

For a brief second, Grace thought she caught something else in his expression. Not just irritation—something else. Something quieter.

She wondered if he’d refuse outright.

But then, just as fast, it vanished. "I despise you sometimes," he muttered.

"I know," Grace smirked. "Now come on. At dinner, I promise to answer your questions."

Theseus glared. "No. You answer them during tea."

"I’ll answer two."

"Five."

"Three."

"Four."

"...Fine."

They stepped into the tea shop and slid into a booth near the window. The scent of bergamot and fresh-brewed Earl Grey filled the air.

Theseus didn’t bother looking at the menu. “Earl Grey. Strong.”

Grace, meanwhile, settled on “Light Afternoon,” a blend of hibiscus and white tea. A few short minutes later, two small teapots hovered toward them, cups floating behind, followed by a tray of delicate sandwiches.

She stirred her tea and grabbed a sandwich. “So, are you going to keep pouting," she said, taking a bite of the cucumber one, “or are you going to actually speak to me?”

Theseus blew on his tea, taking a measured sip. “I am talking to you.”

“You know what I mean,” she replied, blowing on her tea. “Are you going to interrogate me?”

“That depends,” he said evenly. “Are you going to cooperate?”

“Define cooperate.”

Theseus let out a breath. “Three questions first,” he reminded her.

“Fine.” Grace leaned in slightly, smirking. “Interrogate me like one of your suspects.”

Theseus eyed her a moment before setting his cup down with deliberate care. “Why was your division disbanded?”

Grace swirled her tea. “Officially? Because they want to reassign the work to Aurors and hire more. Unofficially—Merlin knows.” Her tone sharpened with bitterness.

He watched her carefully, brow twitching, but didn’t press. “Second question.” He leaned forward. “What’s Graves offering you instead?”

Grace met his gaze. “I wrote that in my letter to you. Surely you know.”

“Humor me.”

She snorted. “It’s a waste of a question, but fine. Assistant to the Director of Magical Security and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

Theseus blinked. Once. Then again. “That’s quite the mouthful.”

“Yes, well—likely shortened to Assistant to Percival Graves.”

Theseus narrowed his eyes. “It’s a powerful position. An important one.”

“So, I hear,” she replied, setting her cup down. “Repeatedly.”

Theseus rubbed his temple. “Third question—why the bloody hell didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Grace put her cup down. “How soon, Theseus? I live in New York. Did you want me to Portkey to London within the hour?”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

She blinked. “Theseus, I wrote to you a few days later. Then I came here.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “And we’ve seen each other. Spoken. Before I found the letter.”

His fingers tapped once against his teacup, then stilled.

“Were you waiting for me to read it? Waiting for me to—” he exhaled sharply, voice edged, “—to pester you about it?”

“No,” she said gently, adjusting her tone. She couldn’t quite understand his reaction. “Theseus, I... why are you this worked up?”

Theseus' fingers tightening slightly around his cup. “I’m not.”

Grace tilted her head, unconvinced. “Theseus.”

“Grace.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You are lying.”

“Am not.”

“You are.”

“Drop it, Grace.”

She leaned in, her voice quieting. “Fine. Be that way.” She picked up her cup and took another sip. “Are you going to interrogate me again at dinner, Head Auror Scamander?”

Theseus rolled his eyes. “All in due time,” he mumbled—though a small smile betrayed him.

Grace lifted her cup in a mock toast.

And just like that, the conversation shifted.

More light-hearted this time. From Newt’s thieving Niffler to the time Grace’s father banned her friends from the estate after an unfortunate color charm incident, to a rare story from Theseus’s Hogwarts days.

“So, you were Mister Popular?” she asked after they’d reordered a second round of tea. “I can believe that. I’m sure all the girls fawned over you.”

Theseus huffed, shaking his head. "I wouldn’t say all the girls—"

"So, most?" Grace smirked over her cup. “Quelle surprise, Monsieur Theseus est un charmeur*.”

Theseus shot her a look over the rim of his teacup. "I was Head Boy, Grace, not some common flirt."

"Remind me again—what is a Head Boy? I went to Ilvermorny. Did you patrol the halls? Ruin people’s fun? Keep students from sneaking out at night?"

“Grace.”

"You were destined to be an Auror before you Aurored," she teased.

Theseus shook his head, but the corners of his mouth twitched. "That is not a verb."

"It is now."

He was itching for a rebuttal. She could see it in the way his fingers curled slightly around his teacup, the way his jaw flexed—like he was weighing whether or not to let her win this round. He opened his mouth—

And then the tea shop door swung open with just enough force to rattle the bell overhead.

"Ahh, freedom!" a familiar voice rang out, loud enough to make heads turn.

Grace closed her eyes briefly, already bracing herself.

Theseus stiffened. He didn’t even need to turn around. "Unfreakinbelievable," he muttered. "He’s back."

Grace’s shoulders dropped, watching the approaching figure with practiced patience. "Theseus Scamander," she said, voice dry, "meet Daniel Dewitt."

Daniel strolled toward them like he owned the place—zero hesitation.

Before Theseus could react, Dewitt slid into the booth beside Grace, casually stealing the sandwich right from her hands.

"Gracie Grace! The beauty of Vermont, the light of my life, keeper of the snacks." He grinned, taking a bite.

Grace arched a brow. "Daniel Dewitt. Stealer of snacks. Ruiner of moments."

"Sweetheart, you wound me." Daniel clutched his chest dramatically before turning his attention to Theseus. "Ah—hello again. You’re the British Auror from earlier, right? Thanks for the assist, by the way."

Theseus folded his arms. "I’m going to need your statement."

She gave a dry look, "Really, Theseus?"

Daniel waved it off like it was nothing more than an afterthought. "Already handled. Saw this lovely chap—Travers, yeah? Signed all the forms. Made it look official, too."

Grace quirked a smile, "I’m sure he was thrilled."

"Over the moon," Daniel deadpanned, taking another bite of her sandwich. "Could see his blood pressure rise in real-time. Glorious."

He took another bite of the stolen sandwich, gesturing vaguely toward the door. "Graves is on his way. Said he had to make a detour and told me to find a place for decent tea. Then I saw your pretty little auburn head in the window and thought—well, this is the bee’s knees."

Grace sighed, glancing at Theseus, who looked like he was debating whether murder might be justified under specific circumstances.

But Daniel wasn’t done. He pointed his sandwich at Theseus. "So, you’re Captain Noble, then?"

Theseus tilted his head slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

Daniel grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Gotta say—impressed. Solid form back there."

Theseus let out a breath through his nose, adjusting his cuffs. "I should have you questioned."

Daniel huffed. "Take a calming draught, pal. No one got hurt. Except maybe Peter."

Theseus’s stare was flat. "I’m sure Peter finds that comforting."

Daniel shrugged, unbothered. "Peter started the fucking fight by nearly stunning some poor guy’s display."

Theseus’s expression didn’t waver. “That doesn’t change the fact that you acted outside your jurisdiction." He reached for his tea again, voice cold. "That isn’t up for debate."

Daniel leaned back in his seat, stretching his arm along the booth. "And what would you have preferred I do, Auror Haughty? Pick daisies while they hexed half the street?"

Theseus glared at him. “Don’t call me that.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "And here’s a thought—you wait. Like every other trained professional. You follow protocol."

Daniel snorted. "Maybe I should call you Captain Protocol, then. Tell me, do you sleep with the rule book under your pillow?"

“Dewitt...” Grace warned.

He grinned. "Buddy, you’d change your tune if you saw my arrest record. Number one at MACUSA four years in a row."

Theseus set his cup down with deliberate care. "Grace, kindly tell your friend that if he doesn’t shut up, I will find a way to have him arrested."

Daniel waved a hand, unconcerned. "You wound me. Tell me, do you tuck Travers in at night with that wand?"

He took another bite of the sandwich, still grinning. "Grace, mind telling your British Auror friend to take his wand out of his ass before it stuns him?"

Grace’s foot shot out under the table, catching Daniel; in the shin. He winced, nearly dropping the sandwich. "Daniel. Shut up." she muttered.

“Circe’s balls, woman,” he hissed, rubbing his shin. “That stings.”

Grace, unimpressed. "Good."

"Dewitt," a voice cut in, smooth, low, unimpressed. "Just once, I’d like to arrive somewhere and not find you already causing problems."

Grace only then noticed the figure standing by their booth.

Percival Graves had arrived, and of course, he’d done it the way he always did: without sound, without spectacle, but with an air that made people instinctively straighten in their seats.

Graves adjusted his cuff, gaze sharp. "Tell me, Dewitt—should I expect another report with your name on it before the day is over?"

Daniel pressed a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. "Boss, you wound me."

Graves raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You love the sound of your own voice, Dewitt. If only your reports were as detailed as your stories." He exhaled slowly. "Still—" he paused, gaze narrowing slightly, "—at least you bring results."

Daniel grinned. "Always a pleasure, boss."

Theseus then stood. Grace suspected he saw this as his cue—best to greet the Director of Magical Security when you’re hoping to have one of his Aurors arrested.

"Director Graves," he said, extending his hand. "Welcome to London."

He shook it—firm and controlled. Just like the men in power Grace had grown up around.

"Head Auror Scamander," Graves replied.

Grace turned just in time to catch Daniel mid-freeze in his seat.

He dropped what remained of the sandwich. The color drained from his face. Gone was the cocky Auror with the fedora and a mouth full of fire. For once, Daniel Dewitt looked like a man wondering if it was too late to swim back to New York.

"Hea—He—Head Aur—" he stammered.

Theseus, still holding Graves’s hand, turned his gaze squarely on Daniel. "Head Auror Theseus Scamander," he said, coolly.

Daniel Dewitt blinked.

Theseus tilted his head. "Still want to compare arrest records?"

Daniel leaned in close enough only for Grace to hear. “Prepare my obituary, please.” He took a slow sip of tea, eyes locked forward. “And make it heroic.”

Chapter Text

Grace had seen Daniel in many states: getting his ass handed to him back when his rookie, Tina Goldstein, was still in training (although he swore it was on purpose, to build character, he said), trying to escape her father’s glare of death after setting fire to the sitting room curtains, and even arresting an entire criminal ring forging wand permits while on their lunch break.

But never had she seen him rendered speechless, and let’s face it, humbled. Though the imminent threat of Death was likely part of it.

Graves sat next to Theseus following their handshake, calm and composed. Completely unaffected by the chaos that was Daniel Dewitt.

Daniel, meanwhile, shifted in his seat beside her. “I could still make a run for it,” he muttered.

Grace gave him a warning glare. Don’t, it said. Try and salvage what you can.

Daniel started to rise. “Well boss, maybe I’ll just go and–”

“Dewitt,” Graves said calmly, “sit your chaotic and migraine-inducing backside down before I allow the Head Auror of this country to detain you, however briefly.”

Daniel sat back down immediately, his hands reaching for Grace’s to squeeze as if that alone might help him retain a semblance of control.

“Well then, Capta–” he corrected quickly, “Head Auror Scamander,” he said, his grin returning slowly. “Wonderful form out there. I should’ve known you weren’t some regular Auror. All those moves, patented, for sure.”

Theseus raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

“I must say that Petrificus Totalus was well aimed, but I still think I could’ve made it more stylish.”

Theseus set his tea down and looked him dead in the eye. “Could you now?”

“Oh, for sure. Gracie, mind telling Captain Noble here the finest Incarcerous you ever saw, back on that smuggling ring from two months ago?”

Grace pinched the bridge of her nose. “Daniel, please don’t drag me down with you,” she mumbled.

“Gracie,” he said solemnly, “we’re ride or die. You drag me, I drag you. That’s how this works.”

“Tragic,” Theseus said flatly. “I’m sure Grace has better things to do.” He paused. “And don’t call me that.”

“What? It’s respectable.”

“It’s demeaning.”

“Respectable. Says you’re noble, powerful... subtly reminds everyone you look like someone’s fantasy in a uniform, with–”

“Dewitt.” Graves interrupted. “Do not start making me reconsider not taking Captain Keller.” He raised a hand for the waiter. “Darjeeling. Steeped for two minutes. One drop of honey, a twist of lime.”

He glanced at Daniel. “Chamomile for Dewitt.”

Daniel made a face, “Chamomile, boss?”

“You don’t need the additional energy.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “And for Miss Wickford, light white pear tea, with rosewater.”

The waiter nodded and walked away. Grace blinked. That tea order was specific. She hadn’t had it in months.

Graves remembered.

But of course, he did. Graves always remembered too much.

“You still drink it on occasion Wickford, yes?” he asked.

“Rarely Director,” she replied, “Haven’t had the chance.”

“Well then,” Graves said, placing his napkin across his knees with a small smirk. “Now you do. I’ll be sure to keep it stocked at MACUSA as well.”

Grace glanced across the table. Theseus’s hand was clenched around his mug.

He looked as though he was analyzing the situation, or perhaps simply analyzing Graves.

Even Daniel kept quiet now as if sensing the shift in temperature.

A few minutes later, the waiter returned with their teas.

Grace took her first sip. It tasted exactly as she remembered. Down to the steeping time. Graves must have charmed it and or done…something.

Of course, he had. Graves was deadly with his mind. He knew everything.

“To your liking, Grace?” he asked, his words wrapped in silk.

Grace let out a small smile and nodded.

Theseus set his cup down. “Impressive recall, Director.”

Graves returned the gesture, lifting his cup.

“I make it my mission to know the preferences and habits of those I am in close relation with.”He gestured toward Daniel. “Dewitt here despises chamomile, but at present, he has enough energy to rival a hungry Acromantula. So, chamomile to calm his mind.”

Daniel grimaced between sips. “That’s… quite sentimental, boss.” He coughed. “This tastes like–”

“Peace and quiet,” Graves interrupted, his voice flat. “With a sprinkle of competence. Don’t make me regret it.”

“Sure boss.”

Graves took another sip before turning his attention to Theseus, “Apologies Mr. Scamander for our early arrival. Some things tend to move quickly in our line of work. As you know.”

Theseus offered a polite, thin-lipped smile. “Naturally, Director. Though next time, the Ministry would appreciate being notified of a change in itinerary before it’s executed.”

He tilted his head slightly, “Regardless of their…rank.”

Graves chuckled softly, adjusting his cuffs. “Of course, Mr. Scamander. And should the situation require, I’ll even owl a copy to your Minister himself.”

“I’m sure the British Ministry will approve.” Added Grace, attempting to defuse the tension.

Graves smirked, “Ever a diplomatic answer Miss Wickford. Your father has done well.”

Grace gave a polite smile but said nothing.

Beside her, Daniel sipped his chamomile in a rare display of restraint, and Theseus’s shoulders remained a touch too stiff.

“Director Wickford,” Graves continued, sipping his tea, “is committed to strengthening our diplomatic ties with Britain. That is, in part, why we’re here today.”

He paused. “Given recent... events, I felt it essential.”

“I’m sure you do,” Theseus mumbled, setting his cup down with deliberate precision. “Though I’m afraid I can’t offer much insight, as I’ve yet to properly meet your esteemed Director of Magical Relations.”

“That will be arranged soon enough. In fact, sooner than you might think.”

Graves took a bite of his sandwich, chewing and swallowing with clinical efficiency. “But for now, we’re here as friends.”

Grace observed.

From what she remembered of Daniel’s letter, everything Graves was saying aligned, a diplomatic visit, handshakes, smiles. But realistically, there was no reason for the Director of Magical Security to be here. Alone. With Daniel.

Her father should have led this delegation.

Then she remembered the rest of the letter: reconnaissance, mentions of gathering intelligence under the guise of diplomacy. Classic Charles Wickford, with just a dash of Percival Graves.

And that made her even more curious.

“Director,” she began, “If I may, why did my father decide not to accompany?”

Graves glanced her way and offered that same smooth, political smile.

“Ah yes. Charles and I discussed it at length. But given the Auror-adjacent matters involved, he thought it prudent to remain behind, for now.”

Grace nodded slowly.

She knew Graves. But she knew her father better. She mentally replayed the letter again, slowly analyzing it from memory. Her father always had an angle. A plan. He was constantly two steps ahead.

Always.

Graves took a sip of his tea, then added, “Charles, as you both know–” his gaze moved deliberately between Grace and Daniel, then shifted to Theseus, “–and that you will likely discover soon, Head Auror, is an extremely skilled wizard who doesn’t trouble himself with trivial trips, long speeches, or the need to be present. He ensures his goals are met without raising a voice or gracing us with a seat at the discussion table.”

She knew her father's reputation.

And though her view of Charles Orpheus Wickford was softened by private warmth and long-standing affection, the public version?

As Daniel once put it: “If a Basilisk and an Acromantula had a human child.”

(A large exaggeration, she’d pointed out at the time. To which he replied: “But am I really?”)

Theseus straightened in his seat. “It is still... odd, Director Graves,” he began. “Regardless of topic, that you are present in his place.”

Graves met the comment head-on. His gaze was cold. Direct. The kind he gave to those he considered beneath him, or foolish enough to question his motives.

Grace knew that look. Everyone in MACUSA did.

Questioning Graves without cause was a dangerous game.

“Do you have an opinion on the internal decisions of MACUSA… Head Auror Scamander?” Graves asked, his tone clipped. “Because if so, I would reconsider. You’re representing a government that let Grindelwald’s group slip through its fingers, barely two weeks ago.”

Theseus’s fingers curled around the mug handle. Grace didn’t need Legilimency to see his jaw tightening with every passing second.

“But, you’re still young,” Graves went on, smooth as ever. “Still getting used to positions of authority. Still discovering the hurdles of government. It comes with experience, as you will find out.”

Theseus exhaled slowly. “That may be true,” he said, lips curling faintly, “but some patterns are easy to recognize, no matter how long one’s held the post.”

“Patterns,” Graves repeated, voice cool. “You really are shaping up to become the Ministry’s golden jewel, Head Auror Scamander.”

“More like Golden Dragon co–”

Grace’s hand moved swiftly, pinching Daniel’s thigh just enough to shut him up.

Theseus and Graves remained locked in their unspoken duel, seemingly unaware.

“Why witch, why?” Daniel mumbled, rubbing his thigh. “I was making a point.”

“Don’t make it crude,” she replied without looking at him.                                                                  

Graves finally turned his attention to her. “Something wrong, Grace? Or is Dewitt simply reliving one of his cautionary tales?”

Daniel perked up immediately. “Cautionary, boss? I prefer educational. You even gave me the Cassandra Medal last month.”

Graves took a slow breath. “Indeed, I did, Dewitt. For high service to MACUSA, the James Kent case.” He moved slightly, retrieving a small pouch from his inner pocket. “I’ll cover the table, Scamander. No need to move.”

He set the galleons down, more than enough to pay the bill, tip the waiter, and perhaps fund a new menu altogether. “Let’s call this… paying it forward.”

Graves stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, the time difference and Portkey travel do take their toll.”

He adjusted his hat with crisp precision. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Head Auror.”

Then he turned to Daniel. “And as for you, Dewitt, don’t cause any international incidents. And be back at The Baron before eleven.”

“Aye aye, boss,” Daniel replied, giving a mock salute. Graves left without another word, disappearing into the quiet street like he’d never been there at all.

“So,” Daniel began, sensing the atmosphere finally lift, “any plans later?”

Grace straightened, glancing toward Theseus, who met her gaze. “Well, we,” she said, motioning between them, “have dinner later.”

“Nice.” Daniel grabbed the last sandwich. “I think I’ll take a stroll, flirt with a lady… or lord or two, then sleepy time. I am super spent. That duel took me out for one hell of a Quopot game.”

Theseus rolled his eyes, finishing the last of his tea. “How wonderful. MACUSA’s finest, indeed.”

“Ah, don’t be jealous, Captain Noble. I’m sure you’re a real catch with…” He paused, then smirked. “Well. Whatever you like.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Grace’s cheek. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart? Don’t forget, we need a tour, dinner, and–”

“–I get it, Daniel!” she interrupted, waving him off. “Now go have fun. Break London.”

“Always the plan!” he called, vanishing through the tea shop doors.

Grace and Theseus sat in silence for a few seconds after Daniel’s dramatic exit.

She watched as he played with his spoon, staring out the window with that signature pensive look.

He was likely already debating how to approach Torquil Travers tomorrow, with the express wish of keeping Daniel Dewitt ten feet away from him at all times.

“So,” she began, releasing a slow breath, “that was…educational.”

Theseus glanced back at her, “Define ‘educational.’”

She smiled faintly. “You got a front-row seat to MACUSA internal drama, a live Daniel Dewitt encounter with Graves as your chaperone, and you only looked like you were contemplating arrest twice.”

“Three times,” Theseus corrected, “but who’s counting?”

“Oh, Theseus,” she said dryly, “you’re so dramatic.”

He sat up straighter, posture stiffening as he began counting on his fingers.

“He broke jurisdiction. Called me Captain Noble, twice. Then Captain Protocol, Auror Haughty. Told me I should stick my wand up my arse. Created a shite mess in Diagon Alley–”

“Okay, Theseus.” She cut him off. “Point made. You hate my friend.”

He rubbed his face, exhaling slowly. “I don’t hate Dewitt, Grace.” He adjusted his tie, then looked at her. “I find him… excruciatingly irritating.”

Grace rolled her eyes. Honestly, that was the politest critique of Daniel Dewitt she’d ever heard. Most went for Horned Serpent Ass, Bastard of New York Wizardry, or her personal favorite: Meddling Bastard of MACUSA.

Daniel was proud of that name, incredibly so. That one had come from a wizard in the holding cell. Daniel caught him smuggling Rougarou teeth into New York and arrested him with minimal damage.

He got it embroidered and framed. Now the ‘souvenir’ is proudly on display on his mantle.

“At least you didn’t hex his eyebrows off then.” She offered, gathering her things.

Theseus smirked slightly, rising. “That would’ve given him ammunition. Another story to share.”

“Ah, very true,” she chuckled. “Now, I know you already agreed to dinner, but this time it’s also to preserve your sanity. And don’t worry, I’m paying.”

“You’re paying?”

“Yes,” she said, shrugging into her coat. “Consider it my way of compensating you for exposure to MACUSA dealings.”

“I want dessert. And wine.”

Grace smiled. “Deal. Let’s just stop at mine first, you can use the Floo to drop off your bags at yours, and I can change.”

They entered Grace’s apartment a few minutes later, after apparating in front of the building. Once inside, she removed her coat and shoes and gestured toward the dining room table, where the boutique bags sat neatly in a row.

“Your suits are all there, plus the extra I picked up,” she said. “Floo powder’s by the chimney.”

Theseus nodded. “Right. I’ll just drop those off and return here if that’s all right with you.”

“Fine by me!” she called, already vanishing into her room.

Grace quickly undressed, paying no attention to the sounds coming from the sitting room.

She laid several dresses on the bed, debating cut, style, and shade. She settled on a classic silhouette, burgundy, of course.

After fixing her hair and makeup, she was about to leave the room when, suddenly, an entire bottle of her hair elixir toppled over, spilling across the dress.

“Mother of Salem’s Sacred Circle,” she hissed, grabbing her wand. “Scourgify!”

The stain didn’t budge. “Perfect.” She tried again. Nothing.

“For Circe’s sake,” she groaned. “Had to splurge on the spell-resistant one.”

From the sitting room, Theseus’s voice called, “Everything all right?”

He must have returned already, she thought. The trip wasn’t a long one, just dropping off the purchases. Hardly a trip around the world.

“All good! Just a spillage disaster. And a trip to the tailor tomorrow.”

Grace quickly undressed again and opened her wardrobe. She stared at the row of robes and gowns, eyes skimming over each one until they landed on something...unusual.

Deep forest green.

“Yes,” she whispered. “This will do just fine.”

She stepped out of her bedroom a few minutes later, smoothing the front of the dress.

It had flair, a clean neckline, tucked at the waist, highlighting her figure.

It was elegant. But more importantly, it wasn’t burgundy. It was different.

She didn’t notice at first that Theseus had changed clothes, only that he’d drifted toward the mantel. “Grace,” he said, glancing at her while letting a small medal catch the light. “What is this?”

She stepped closer. He was already smirking. “I remember you saying–” he tilted the medal, “–‘my dueling could use some work. I was decent in school.’”

Grace blinked. “I didn’t know you were looking through my things,” she said lightly, though it came out drier than intended.

Theseus didn’t flinch. “It was sitting on the mantel. Practically dared me.” He turned the medal over in his hand, reading aloud: “Grace Wickford, National Junior Champion 1917.”

Another glance. “And you had a few others, Ilvermorny Champion, 1916 and 1917.”

“So, I peaked at seventeen,” she said, reaching for a nearby bag. “It’s hardly worth anything now.”

“So, it doesn’t matter?”

“Exactly.”

Theseus tilted his head. “False modesty doesn’t suit you, Wickford.” He set the medal gently back on the mantel. “And your family isn’t known for being fake.”

He walked toward her now, a half-step closer than before. “Terrifying, yes. Powerful, no doubt. But not fake.”

Grace could feel the air shift slightly, but chose to push it aside, for now. Instead, she focused on the Auror in front of her.

“That is not the same tie from earlier,” she said, pointing at the new cravat Theseus was wearing.

“Thought I’d honor my stylist,” he replied, a faint note of amusement in his voice.

Grace smirked. “Wickford colors.”

Theseus raised a brow. “Last I checked, burgundy isn’t the sole property of House Wickford.”

“You don’t know that,” she countered, narrowing her eyes. “Maybe my father patented that shade.”

Theseus barked a laugh. “Then call Graves. And the horror story that is Dewitt–” He mockingly held out his wrists. “Have them arrest me.”

“But on what charges?” she mused, fingers tapping against her lips. “Unauthorized usage of intellectual property? Or–” she gasped, eyes wide with mock horror, “Impersonation of a Wickford. My, my. Head Auror, you are in trouble.”

“You’ve made quite the escalation, Grace,” he said, stepping even closer now, hands in his pockets, voice lower. “Perhaps I should turn the tables. Find something to charge you with.”

“You couldn’t,” she replied, crossing her arms. “Who else would put up with you, Theseus?”

He smirked. “An excellent point.” Then, with deliberate slowness, he brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder. “Still, you’ve spent two months of my salary ensuring I look presentable.”

“I spent that money to save you from crimes against fashion,” she corrected, “remember that intervention? You were begging for a makeover.”

It was now Theseus’s turn to cross his arms and look amused. Grace didn’t need to clarify, he knew exactly what she was referring to.

“All these accusations” he said, now holding up the tie to eye level, “because I decided to make an homage.”

“Such a tragedy, I know.”

With deliberate calm, she moved to the door and opened it, signaling him forward. “Come along, Head Auror of Britain. Wouldn’t want to escalate the threats any further.”

Theseus let out a chuckle, following her out. “Merlin forbid.”

Chapter Text

The Cauldron was one of the nicest restaurants in wizarding London, not too uptight, but discreet enough for old money to enjoy a private meal.

They were seated by a window overlooking the city. A single candle flickered between them, casting a warm glow over polished cutlery and pale wine glasses. In the background, the soft jazz music created a magical and relaxed atmosphere. The soft piano keys blended beautifully with the low voices of witches and wizards’ clever discussions over personal stories or professional enquiries. 

“I hear the duck is fantastic,” Grace said, skimming the menu. “But for Dragon steak, the best is still La Fontaine. My father orders it every time he dines there.”

“Dragon steak?” Theseus looked up, mildly horrified. “Newt would faint just hearing you say that.”

“Oh, for sure,” she giggled, taking a sip of water. “And fair enough. He did work with them during the No-Maj conflict, right?”

“War, Grace,” Theseus corrected gently. “It was more than a conflict. I was there, remember.” He folded his menu, decision finalized. “And yes, Eastern Front. Beast Division.”

“He hasn’t talked much about it.”

“Not much to say,” Theseus murmured, sipping his water. “It’s not something you… advertise. Especially when you’ve seen things. Experienced things.”

Theseus ran his fingers through his hair, “Verdun was a…I have no words. Muggles everywhere with their…” he looked up to her, trying to find the words. “They called them guns, think being hit with a stunning spell, but it also has an object in it. And that enters you. And just causes so much pain. And if it hits you a certain way, you either die on the spot or stay in pain until someone can get to you.”

Grace tilted her head. Theseus rarely spoke about the war, but she knew bits and pieces. He saw death and despair. Wizards and No-Majs alike were being killed, tortured, and civilians were losing everything.

“And then after, there was so much on the Eastern Front. Death. Pain. Blood. Newt was lucky. He walked away with fewer scars than most of us.”

Theseus glanced out the window. “But you still carry it. The things you saw. The people you couldn’t save. Even the creatures.”

“Was that last bit about Newt… or you?”

Theseus paused, setting his glass down. “Maybe both,” he mumbled, looking up at her. “In any case, when you’ve been there, you don’t ever really forget. You just…learn to live.”

Grace met his gaze, her eyes softening, the memory and the light of the candle showed the shadows of the man who wears his honor and duty like a shield. “And you, Theseus, have you learned? With your position as Head Auror.”

A muscle twitched at his jaw, then he huffed softly, “Here I thought I was doing the questioning this evening.”

“You still can.” A hint of a smile returned to her lips. “I believe you have two or three left.”

“Once the appetizer arrives,” he replied.

Their waiter returned minutes later, polite and efficient, barely visible behind the soft flicker of candlelight. Grace ordered the duck with a charmed glaze and roasted potatoes, while Theseus opted for the lamb. They agreed to share the Chef’s special appetizer, enchanted, apparently, and a surprise for each table.

When the waiter left, Grace rested her chin in her hand and smiled across the table. “So. Are you going to ask your next question? Or comment on the fact that I noticed the socks?”

Theseus blinked. “What socks?”

She smirked, glancing down. “The hippogriff ones. Bold choice, Head Auror.”

He followed her gaze, catching the faint shimmer of gold wings peeking beneath the tablecloth. “Of course, you noticed.”

“They’re incredibly…how do you say present. Like a statement,” she added cheerfully. “I considered giving them to Newt at first. But then you needed something less… rigid.”

“Rigid?” he repeated, fainting offense, “How would socks help with that?”

Grace set her chin on her hand and she leaned in, savoring every taunting second, “Proves Dewitt wrong for one, that you clearly don’t have a wand up your ass.”

Theseus rolled his eyes, and Grace simply smirked and raised her glass, “Problem, Head Auror? Did I make a point?”

“A ridiculous one,” he replied smoothly. “Which I’ll be adding to your list of charges. And for the record, I’m making intelligent use of a gift. Newt would not have worn them. He’d have lined an Occamy nest with them.”

She sipped her wine, “He would not, he would have worn them proudly, each sock named Winglet and…something ending in ‘ett. And he would have showed them off to…what’s his name, the Bowtruckle. Figlet? Piglet?”

“Pickett?” Theseus offered, “I believe it was something to do with locks.”

“Yes! Pickett!” she exclaimed, “You’re absolutely right!”

The appetizer arrived in a slow swirl of steam, spelled to shift in aroma and flavor as it cooled. The scent danced between sweet citrus and something spicy and earthy, like fire-roasted nuts.

Grace took a bite, let her eyes widened. “Oh wow. That’s fun. Every bite’s different.”

“I would say clever,” Theseus said, tasting it. “That’s alchemy-level food magic.”

She chewed for another moment, then glanced up. “Speaking of unpredictable things and Newt… I invited him.”

He raised a brow. “Here? Tonight? With me?”

“Here, tonight, with you,” she echoed, completely unfazed, “I invited him after I stopped by his place the other day. He said he’d rather chase creatures all over New York, so unless Marie Laveau herself gets involved, I wouldn’t be too surprised.”

Theseus snorted, “Sounds like him. Anything that involves a tie, sitting down, and myself included, leads to a polite but firm ‘no thanks’ from Newt.”

Grace grinned, “That’s mean Theseus. He likes spending time with you.”

“Tell that to the numerous times I invited him to Ministry banquets as my plus one.”

“That’s different and you know it,” she chuckled.

He didn’t laugh. Not quite. A smile was tugging the outer corners of his mouth. He was watching her now, elbows resting lightly on the table, wine glass in one hand.

“I forget sometimes how good you are at this,” he said calmly.

Grace raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Deviate from the actual subject,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “making me forget my objective. Again. I have questions left to ask you.”

She smirked, then sighed. “Can’t take the Head Auror out of Theseus Scamander.”

“I’m afraid it comes with the package.”

“Alright. No deflection. Interrogate Head Auror.”

Theseus sat back in his chair, the candlelight catching on his glass. He took a few more bites of the tart. Likely thinking of what kind of questions to ask.

“Are you considering the position because you want it? Or does your family expect it?”

Grace stared at him for a second. He looked as if he were reading her, without the attempt of legilimency. It wasn’t an invasive question; if anything, it was an attempt at understanding. He wanted to know, wanted to understand.

Grace set her fork down gently and took a small breath, “A bit of both, perhaps. I haven’t given it much thought yet. It is…an interesting position, one of trust. I’m not against it. But… It’s Graves. And… yeah. People will talk.”

Theseus didn’t respond immediately, instead nodding and taking a small sip of his wine, “Then you should give it a think. A proper one. On neutral ground, preferably.”

“If I take it, I’ll be dealing likely with Daniel professionally every day,” she started to chuckle, “Could be exciting.”

Theseus’s lips started to curl, “Don’t agree to a position because of a lunatic ‘friend’. Only if it’s the right move for you, and only you.”

She smiled into her glass, “I’ll consider that.” Then her expression changed slightly, “But the lack of travel and I guess seeing Newt or you makes–”

“–don’t.” he said, eyes fixed on her, “don’t choose because of Newt or me.”

There was no sharpness in his tone, no harshness. Just conviction. As if telling her, or maybe trying to believe, they’d be fine. But she knew Theseus; he was restraining himself, on what or why she couldn’t tell.

Perhaps the thought of a friendship drifting apart concerned him, like it did for her.

He stood up straight, pushing his finished dinner plate aside, “We can visit as well, Grace, you know that. MACUSA may get a visit from the British Ministry, we do information exchanges all the time...” he paused for a breath, “especially now.”

“Last question?” she asked.

“Last question,” he repeated, taking a few seconds to compose, “If you didn’t have this, what would you be doing? You have all the money in the world, more than the Lestranges and Blacks. You don’t have to take the job, so why bother?”

“Those are two questions, Theseus,” she said, her eyes narrowing, “But fine. I guess I'll be doing extra charity work or something else within MACUSA, hell, maybe travel the world. In my family, you never just sit and twirl your thumbs; everyone does something. MACUSA is…the expected route, every generation has gone through it.”

She didn’t fully answer, not the entire truth. How working for MACUSA keeps the Wickford name from being fully tainted as before, how centuries ago, darkness was their reputation, and now they are known for shaping MACUSA from within. She could have pursued academia, fully explored the intellectual path of the Dark Arts, or even spent her time setting up sanctuaries for creatures and charities for the No-Maj-borns.

But even Grace could feel the attraction. The appeal of power. Of being close enough to Graves to whisper ideas, and maybe see them take root.

However, the truth, the full truth? It was comfort. Comfort of the familiar. Keeping the same ish missions, keeping her Dark Arts knowledge to help Graves and the Aurors (as per the updated letter), it was known territory. It was…safe.

For now, she couldn’t feel like sharing that with Theseus, not yet.

It wasn’t about trust, not exactly. She trusted Theseus Scamander. But she didn’t fully trust herself, and how he would react to her, maybe liking power.

She reached for her glass, allowing the silence to linger between them. Across the table, Theseus was quiet as well, with the candlelight highlighting the curve of his jaw as he signaled to the waiter. He said nothing, but she had the sense he’d felt the shift in her.

He poured her another glass of wine, calm and precise, and placed the dessert order without asking. Familiar. Safe. Like it had always been this way.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I’m not the only one who decided on a fashion change this evening.”

Grace blinked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Is that so?”

Theseus leaned back slightly, eyes scanning her, not in a way that lingered, but in a way that saw.

“The dark green,” he said simply. “Slytherin colors too, the very house I told you that night, you would fit in perfectly.”

“So,” she replied, lifting her wine, “does this reflect my cunning and ambitious self?”

“Reflects your true self,” he added as he adjusted his cufflinks, “More than Wickford Burgundy ever could.”

Grace didn’t know if it was an attempt at a compliment or a fact, but all she could deduce without resorting to legilimency herself was that Theseus preferred her in green.

“I’ll make a note of that,” she murmured, as they both waited for their dessert to arrive.

Splitting a dessert was their best option. Theseus lost interest after two bites of anything overly sweet, and Grace had a habit of eyes too big for her stomach. Something her father and mother reminded her of constantly at their dinner table in her youth.

The chocolate soufflé arrived with a fog of custard and powdered sugar, enchanted to change the chocolate’s intensity from each bite.

“Wow,” she muttered as it was placed in front of her, then looking back at Theseus, “This is much bigger than I remember.”

Theseus chuckled, “Perhaps you’re confusing it with the soufflé from La Fontaine Grace.” She then looked at the dessert again, noticing how the fuller side of the dessert with the fruit decorations was now perfectly aligned in front of her.

She glanced up, but he was already sipping his wine like nothing had happened.

He shifted his seat slightly. Barely noticeable, but a few inches closer to her than before.

Grace didn’t look at him at first. She took her bite, rich, molten, and a little too decadent, and let the silence stretch.

“Wow,” she repeated, “they weren’t kidding about the flavors changing.”

Theseus raised a brow, “Two ‘wows’ in less than five minutes? Never thought Wickfords would be this impressed so fast.”

Grace feigned offense, “You think we’re stuck up?”

“No. I know you are.”

She slapped his arm, “Theseus Helios Scamander! Take that back.” A few patrons turned around and rolled their eyes. But Grace ignored them, too amused by the Head Auror.

He caught her wrist, letting a small chuckle escape as he took her spoon, “Not while you’re armed. Miss Grace Andromeda Selene Wickford.”

She gasped, clenching invisible pearls. “You did not just full name me!”

Theseus let out a low laugh and, with great ease, pulled the spoon from her hand and placed it on the table. “The privileges of being Head Auror.”

“Not playing the friend card?” she asked. Theseus's smile faded just slightly as did hers.

A cough broke their bantering, as standing in front of them, hair tousled, with a case and what appeared to be a Bowtruckle in his left pocket was Newt.

“Newt?” she exclaimed, rising to her feet to hug him, “you came! And you said you preferred to chase creatures in New York.” She laughed as she pulled him closer.

“Yes, well…” Newt mumbled, awkwardly returning the hug before stepping back, rocking slightly on his heels, one hand gripping his case like a lifeline. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced around. “I… thought maybe, perhaps, it was best to be here.”

Pickett let out a chirp from his hiding place, ensuring he was not forgotten. “And Pickett wanted something sweet,” Newt added, settling into the new chair that had appeared beside them.

“Theseus,” he added, giving a tentative wave to his brother.

“Newt,” he replied, “we were just having dessert. Coincidentally, something sweet.”

“Wonderful,” Newt muttered.

Grace returned to her seat, nudging the magically apparated spoon in front of the younger Scamander, “Take a bite Newt,” she said, flipping the dessert in front of him, to an area not yet touched by her or Theseus, “The soufflé is humming now, but you missed the custard fog.”

“Is it?” Newt leaned forward, inspecting the dessert. “Curious charm–Pickett, no.”

Pickett, having decided Newt’s pocket was no longer suitable for him, climbed out. He chirped something that only Newt appeared to understand and began strolling across the table like it was his private suite in Newt’s case.

“Well, look at him go,” Grace murmured as the Bowtruckle marched toward the soufflé. Looking every bit the determined little creature he was. “Aren’t you the little decider of things.”

Pickett waved his little hand at her, as if assuring her, yes. He was the decider. He then continued his small stroll to the side of the plate facing Theseus. Just as the Head Auror rolled his eyes in amusement at the ‘spectacle’ in front of him, he reached in with his spoon for another bite.

But Pickett was faster. He swatted Theseus’s spoon away the second it was near the dessert. Grace stifled a laugh, watching as the Bowtruckle slapped it again when Theseus tried coming in from a different angle.

“More like a dictator,” Theseus muttered, accepting temporary defeat. “Newt, should I arrest your Bowtruckle for obstructing a Head Auror’s dessert time?”

Newt blinked at him, then grinned, “Didn’t think you’d be into making jokes now, Theseus.”

Grace glanced at Theseus, who was holding back a smile, but keeping his Auror demeanor.

Theseus took a slow sip of his water. “Who says I was? Watch me summon shackles small enough for him.”

It was Newt’s turn now to chuckle, as Pickett allowed him a bite of soufflé, “Tense there, Theseus? Didn’t know a Bowtruckle could throw you off.”

“He’s been,” Grace cut in, “a little…high on adrenaline today. There was an event, and Daniel...”

“The Auror you mentioned?” Newt asked, setting down his spoon. “The one you said would give Theseus an aneurysm.” He paused for a second and looked at Theseus, raising an eyebrow, “I guess he succeeded.”

Grace stiffened a laugh, covering with a cough. Theseus, meanwhile, did not appear amused. Not even a little.

“Wait.” he paused, turning his attention towards her, pointing his spoon as if preparing to duel. “You knew about this entire ordeal before Dewitt’s spectacle in the streets?”

“I knew he was coming,” Grace said, correcting him. “Not the exact date and time of the arrival, as far as I knew, it was supposed to be later this week, if not tomorrow.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, rubbing his face.

“What’s his problem?” Newt asked between bites.

Grace glanced at him, rubbing the back of her neck. “Daniel… well, decided slightly that intervention was–”

“Not slightly,” Theseus interrupted, pointing again with his spoon. “Not maybe, nor perhaps because I know you, Grace. He did.” He turned, fixing Newt with a look. “Her friend broke protocol.” He started, before correcting himself, “Actually, jurisdiction. And caused a huge scene whilst intervening in a street fight.”

“Oh,” Newt said, though his tone didn’t suggest he was shocked by the rule-breaking, “did he stop them?”

“That’s not the point,” Theseus snapped back, “We have law enforcement apprehension rules for a reason, Newt.”

Grace could see it, the eye twitching, and the fingers moving. Another ‘Unfuckingbelievable’ hovered in his throat.

“I mean, Theseus,” Newt began, straightening in his seat, “if the assailants were caught, isn’t that what matters?”

Grace looked back at Theseus. Before he could reply, she reached across the table, rested her hand gently on his wrist. “You know, you’ll have plenty of time at the Ministry tomorrow to stun him for something.”

Her hand was there for only a few seconds before she retracted it. “This is Daniel, he’ll do something to likely merit a response.”

“Wonderful,” Theseus muttered, rubbing his face, before attempting another bite of soufflé before Pickett could fight him off. “Have him meet Newt then, perhaps finally he’ll understand my point.”

As promised, Grace paid for dinner, occasionally glancing out the window at Theseus and Newt, who were deep in conversation outside. Theseus looked exasperated, rubbing the back of his neck and his face as he answered, and Newt looked confused. She watched his expression, eyebrows lifting every few seconds, the way they did when he was trying to make a point.

Then the hand gestures, Newt lifting his case slightly, “he’s probably talking about his creatures again,” she muttered.

She returned her attention to the waiter, thanking him and leaving a generously large tip, as her father had always insisted.

Once outside, the mood was slightly different. The air had turned colder, typical for late autumn.

Newt was speaking quietly, so quietly in fact that Grace could barely hear him over the street sound. His hands were half-lifted now, as if trying to articulate something delicate. Theseus stood still, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly toward his brother.

He was…listening, not arguing. For once.

They didn’t notice her at first. Grace lingered just outside the doorframe. She caught her name, nothing else. Theseus’s voice was steady, low.  He looked, well, she wasn’t sure what he looked like. Tired, perhaps. Thoughtful. Or just like someone trying not to admit something out loud.

She clenched her small bag in her hands and took a small breath. “So,” she began, walking up to them, arms behind her back, “Are you both plotting how to sneak in a Demiguise back in the Ministry again?”

Simultaneously, both Scamanders turned to her in horror. Remembering in an instant every single detail of the ‘Demiguise of Terror’, c 1923.

Newt clenched his case, “That was one time!” he exclaimed.

“I had no part in that,” Theseus added, his arms crossed over his chest, looking defensive as ever.

Grace chuckled, “Sure, you didn’t, Theseus, but you did help Newt in the end there. Matthews told me, over tea, when she visited MACUSA.”

Theseus rolled his eyes and huffed, “Matthews is over elaborate and exaggerates in her storytelling, you know that.”

Grace glanced at Newt, who was too busy staring at the small opening of his case. “I take it some of your…friends want a bedtime story, Newt?”

Newt’s eyes went briefly to his pocket watch before meeting Grace’s once more, “I would say yes. Barry…a moonclave gets upset, and Teddy…. well, he likes a silver bracelet to sleep with. If I’m late, he begins searching…elsewhere.”

Grace smiled, “Best to address those issues, Newt, or else you’d be a terrible creature parent.”

Newt looked horrified. She might have just told him, he was an insult to Magizoology, “I’m not!”. He stared between them, especially at Theseus, then back to Grace. “Make sure he doesn’t get too…closed off. Especially when he gets all ‘Head Auror’.”

Theseus frowned. “Newt.”

“Just saying.” He tipped his case in a vague salute. “Good night.”

Grace watched him leave. He put Pickett on his shoulder and was busy chatting with the little creature as he disappeared down the street.

A few minutes later, Grace and Theseus started walking down Diagon Alley. The crisp evening air meant the streets were nearly empty, with a few remnants of the duel from earlier today only slightly visible.

“They cleaned up well,” Grace stated, staring at the intersection. “I wonder if Daniel signed his name on the wall anywhere. He likes to do that.”

“No doubt he would,” Theseus muttered. He stopped in front of an older brick building, its surface worn and lined with runes barely visible in the dim light. “I want to show you something.”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “You’re not about to murder me in a back alley, are you?”

Theseus huffed. “And risk MACUSA hunting me down? I’d rather take my chances with a mother Manticore.”  He held out his hand, “Trust me?”

Grace stared at his hand, “You are Head Auror, if there’s anyone who could get away with it, it’s you.”

“The reputation of Charles Wickford is known even here, Grace. I’d rather sing Grindelwald a lullaby.”

She laughed and slid her hand into his. “Fine. Lead the way, Mr. Scamander.”

He guided her off the main street, down a narrow alley opposite the usual flow of Diagon Alley, before stopping at a brick wall etched with faint, nearly eroded runes.

“Established… 1509,” Grace murmured, reading the worn runes. “Not much ‘established’ anymore, I take it.”

“Prime detective work, Wickford,” he said, the ghost of a smirk appearing. “It’s not too late to join the Aurors.”

Grace snorted. As if. Her father would probably faint on the spot. “Very funny, Scamander.

You do know I’m now reconsidering my trust in you?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he drew his wand and tapped the brick in a rhythmic pattern, three sharp strokes above the runes. The stone shimmered, then parted like liquid, revealing a tall, narrow door.

“Still think I’m leading you to your doom?” he said, casting a glance behind him as they walked.

“Always a possibility, Theseus.”

They stepped inside.

The building was clearly abandoned, cobwebs hung like curtains between exposed beams, and the creak of each stair echoed into the shadows.

“Theseus,” she whispered as they climbed, “this looks dark. And believe me, as a Wickford, I know dark.”

He didn’t reply. Only raised his wand, casting Lumos, and continued upward.

At the top landing, he paused beside a weathered wooden door, waiting for her.

“Alright, Scamander,” Grace said, catching her breath. “What’s behind the door?”

“You’ll see,” he said, and opened it.

The change was immediate. From the cool air of the stairwell, they stepped into something different, something alive. It was a small garden, and it bloomed with magical plants, climbing vines that shimmered faintly, oversized puffball flowers that released trails of colored mist, and moss that glowed softly beneath their feet.

Lanterns drifted in the air like captured stars. The view stretched out over both magical and Muggle London, the boundary between them blurred by the garden’s enchantments. Above, the sky was startlingly clear, the stars vivid and impossibly bright, despite the lights of the city below.

There was a sound too, soft, rhythmic, like wind chimes, and the faint chirring of small magical beetles flitting lazily through the ivy.

“It’s an old Auror outpost,” Theseus said, closing the door behind them. “Still on Ministry records, technically protected. But not in use anymore.”

“But you knew it existed.”

He glanced at her, one brow lifting. “I’m Head Auror, Grace. Give me a little credit. I know a few Ministry secrets.”

Soon enough light little fire beetles started to surround them, “I’ve never seen these creatures before.” She murmured, “These are…fascinating.”

Theseus looked up, “I think… I believe Newt mentioned them once. Dinner at Mum’s, maybe,” Theseus said, glancing up. “Starflies. Can’t recall the Latin name, Newt would, of course.” He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze following one as it spiraled upward. “They only come out in certain conditions, I think.”

Grace nodded, “Well, they are…very magical. So is the location.”

“Yes, well, I came here a lot,” he said as he transfigured an old wooden crate into a bench for him and Grace to sit on and signaled for her to join him. “When I first joined after the war, and then when I became Senior Auror, I would come here to…unwind, and attempt to relax.”

“So, this is perfect after a day of dealing with MACUSA?”

“Exactly.”

Grace stretched as she sat next to Theseus, looking at the beetles in an odd sense of peace. It was calm up there. No Graves was asking about her decision, no Charles Wickford eyes analyzing her every move, and even no Daniel Dewitt's sarcastic comments. There was something about Theseus’s presence that just made everything stand still.

Then his voice, quieter than she’d ever heard it, “Are you going to take the job?”

Grace sighed, staring down, “Probably… maybe…I don’t know.” She put her face in her hands and bent slightly, eyes closed. She took a few deep breaths, then stiffened slightly, feeling Theseus’s arm around her.

“Just… make sure it’s your call,” he murmured, pulling her gently toward him. “But please, in the name of the Founders, make sure I never sit near Dewitt alone. I might start fantasizing about Azkaban.”

“Morgana’s descendants!” she laughed. “If you want to hex him that bad, I’ll send you an invite to MACUSA’s annual Yule celebration. He always drinks too much and flirts with anything that breathes.”

Theseus let out a laugh, a real one this time. She felt it in his chest before she heard it.

“Merlin’s bloody beard,” he said, tightening his arm around her. “I might avoid it now like the Pox.”

“How so?”

“Merlin forbid Dewitt tries to seduce me.”

“Why not? You should be flattered. He’s a very attractive specimen. And you well…”

The look Theseus gave her, Grace could have sworn it was a mixture of shock, amusement, and something else. She could have sworn a hint a pink graced his neck. Before she could say anything else, two Starflies flew down, each settling on Theseus and Grace, one on her shoulder, the other on his hand. The one pulling her close.

“Think they’re trying to convey something?” she asked, eyeing the beetles.

He sighed, “Who knows,” he muttered, “Newt might know more about them, he studies any creature with a pulse.”

She smiled, “Well, maybe they know something we don’t. Like if the weather will suddenly change to rain in five minutes.”

“Well,” he started as he removed his arm and stood, extending his hand, like the gentleman he was, “in that case, let’s get you home.”

When Grace walked through the door, she let out a sigh. The apartment lit up with a flick of her wand, but remained silent; the few portraits she had had gone to sleep, and the faint sound of the clock ticking resonated in the room.

Quietly and quickly, she undressed and prepared for bed. As she passed her small desk, the one where Theseus pointed out her medals, she noticed something. A letter, two of them actually from her father, and Graves moved slightly to the edge.

She approached and picked them up, skimming through the words.

“Miss Wickford, should you accept my offer, you will find yourself in no short supply of necessities. MACUSA values your insight, much more than any other organization or individual ever will. Your work in balancing our understanding of the Dark Arts and your continued study of it knows no parallel. In addition, as promised, I will conduct our dueling practice as per schedule….”

The second had a slightly different tone, but still emulated the aura of its author.

“My dear, as you know, influence is control and control is power. That is why Morgana was as exceptional as she was. Only few leave an imprint. Molding the world starts with those with the vision to do so. Remember that ideas can be whispered, whether through professional or personal means…”

Grace set them back down, Graves and her father both giving their opinions on the matter.

She knew her father, if she refused, he would scoff, comment, roll his eyes, then, given a few weeks, would move on to a different topic, “Will you attend the Thunderbird Charity? Or don’t forget to represent the family at the Felix’s Ball.” But she felt deep down he would be worse than upset, he would be disappointed.

“Oh Father…” she muttered, taking a breath and twirling a strand of hair before tucking it behind her ear. She studied them again, their last location on her desk in mind, “I could have sworn these letters were further up.”  She shook her head and set them back down, using a paperweight to secure them in place.

“Must have been the wind or even a draft,” she mumbled.

Without much of a second thought, she returned to her room, tucking in for the night.

A few minutes later, a green flame flickered in the fireplace. A single envelope spun out from the chimney and drifted gently to the dining table.

It was heavy, delicately adorned. The ink and paper, obviously expensive, exhaled wealth and influence.

On the cover, the distinguished handwriting of one Charles Orpheus Alexander Wickford.