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[ Surprising, considering how welcome to the idea of lunch Credence seemed. Percival shakes his head at the offer though. ]

Would a change of topic improve your appetite?

[he smiles, and his heart flutters a little that mr. graves cares so much about such a little thing as whether or not he's enjoying his sandwich.]

What do you want to talk about?

[he takes a sip of coffee.]

You could tell me your favorite foods for dinner and lunch.

What I want to talk about are probably not conversations for lighthearted chitchat over... [ He gestures at their plates with one hand, picking up the coffee with the other.

Yet they're barely eating. Fancy that. Still. He takes another bite of the eggs, and then decides he'll just ignore them in favor of..this conversation. And his coffee.

He wonders if Credence plans on doing something with this information or if he just wants to know. It would put him more on edge, this idea of just wanting to know for knowing's sake, if his entire department and Serafina and the medical staff (and perhaps his sister, if she didn't presume he belonged to the first or last of that list) had not deemed Credence fit for the task of interacting with him.

He had found him, after all, and Percival is sure that he was going to die there. He's still not sure what living as a result of that is supposed to look like, and the fact that this entire interaction is almost a reflection of that should worry him.

Percival quirks his eyebrows again after a pause. It's more of a mental shrug to himself, than anything else. ]

The things I like the most for dinner are usually more difficult to find, on my schedule. Lamb cawl - a Welsh stew, comes to mind. Definitely a dinner dish. Baked potatoes. Sausages. German noodle dishes I never learned the proper names for.

Lunch...I think I've had a year of sandwiches or things left over from some other dinner.

Edited 2017-07-02 03:39 (UTC)

[credence smiles into his coffee.]

I'm not very good at lighthearted chit-chat.

[he takes a sip.]

Why can't you use magic to make the things you like?

[his tone is light and curious. he wants to know as much as possible, about magic and about mr. graves, and feels almost greedy for asking, but he also doesn't know else to keep the conversation flowing. he hasn't had a lot of opportunities to practice.]

Alright.

[ Percival will take that as permission to ask his own questions, then. ]

Not every magic user is the same. Cooking still requires the raw ingredients to put things together, magically and otherwise, and I am not...particularly skilled with domestic charms.

I could manage, with the proper spellbook and time, I'm sure. [ Because why couldn't he? Actually he can think of a half dozen cooking charms that would probably turn out mediocre but they're not being mentioned. ] Or interest.

Why did you want to find me? [ It would make sense if Credence chose instead to just...disappear. Why track down a man he'd never really met? ]

[credence nods along with interest until the end. he keeps his head down and hunches over his coffee.]

I thought we could be friends.

[ Friends.

Percival blinks before hastily taking another sip. He hadn't expected such a simple answer, nor the way he feels like something particularly large has decided to perch on his chest as a result. ]

I haven't had many opportunities to make friends in recent years.

[ Now it is his turn to look down. ]

I'm not sure how good I am at it.

[ He almost leaves it at that. ]

But I see no reason why we can't be friends.

You're welcome to ask me something else, if you'd like.

[credence huffs out a laugh that is partly relief and some of the tension drains from his shoulders.]

Me neither.

[is a charitable way to put it. his eyes flick from mr. graves' face back to his coffee.]

I don't know where to start. [he'd ask to hold his wand, except he already said he didn't have it. instead he pauses, pursing his lips.] How do you do spells? And--why do you need to make potions if you have them?

We're on even footing.

[ In this together, he thinks wryly, smiling at how Credence lets some of his tension go.

It might be a bad idea - he doesn't have all the details, here - but. Well. Left to his own devices he would probably have stared at the ceiling for a while before picking a fight with some poor nurse in the hopes of strongarming his way out.

Instead he's laughed and had coffee. It's not as bad as it could be.

Credence's question is not one neatly answered, but Percival opts to cut it down to what little is known to be true, without doubt. ]

A wizard or witch is able to 'do spells' primarily through access to magic, which is inherited, and with added training so one knows just what the hell one is doing and what one is aiming for. My training mostly involved wands, but a great deal of magic and potion making can be managed without.

You're proof of that.

Potions and magic... potions have much stricter rules on how one goes about creating them, and you can't make a potion without magical aptitude. The things one can do with magic are astounding, and potions are just. A very specialized sort of magic. There's various specializations really.

[ Textbooks would be better, Percival thinks, but hopefully he hasn't made things unusably confusing. ]

How long do you have to remain in the hospital for?

[credences flushes, ducking his head to hide a somewhat skeptical smile. he's flattered mr. graves might compare him to himself, and consider what he's done to be real magic, but both of these things seem kind of impossible.]

I don't know--I wouldn't say I can manage magic. Until I can, I guess. Could you--make a wand out of anything?

[modesty's toy wand had looked suspiciously real--and the way she had defended it was itself suspicious. how had she known the difference between a real wand and a toy? could a proper young witch, whose magic hadn't yet been distorted, just tell?]

Edited 2017-07-02 18:46 (UTC)

I won't pretend to be any sort of expert on the subject but no. Wood is the start, with some sort of core, usually from a magical beast. There aren't many wandmakers in the country, only four. You have to have a permit. A No-Maj won't be able to do anything with a wand.

[ Coffee almost emptied and poached eggs ignored, Percival leans his elbows onto the table and does his best to ignore the small part of him that now wants to tilt Creedence's chin up, just a fraction. Encourage him to.stop looking away.

Instead he clasps his hands in front of him. He hasn't lost all good sense and the table is in the way besides. ]

I can't think of anything else to ask. [ He can, but he wants to speak to Serafina and Goldstein first. Get some more details. ]

Ah. Do you want to see the garden?

[credence shivers a little when mr. graves leans closer, and his eyes light up at the mention of the garden.]

Yes. Oh, [he glances down at his sandwich.] I don't want to waste it...

[he picks it up awkwardly and takes another bite.]

Edited 2017-07-03 14:26 (UTC)

I think... [ Percival reaches out and touches the back of Credence's hand. ] You don't have to force yourself to eat.

[ He's not going to sit there and watch him do it either. ]

[credence shivers at the touch and slowly puts the sandwich down.]

Ok, Mr. Graves. Let's go to the garden.

[he sort of begins the process of unfolding himself and standing up, glancing up to make sure mr. graves is doing the same.]

[ He should probably stop touching the boy, it seems to affect so Credence so much; he withdraws his hand and stands, keeping one hand gripped on the back of the chair.

He probably should still be resting, he realizes, based on how tired he is. But for now, there's the beckon of the garden, and Percival squares his shoulders.

The garden itself is fairly expensive, with a large domed ceiling in various moving colors of glass. Each plant has a placard with it's name, origin, and description of use and behaviors.

Nothing dangerous like mandrake, fortunately. Percival takes short, measured steps, keeping his hands in his pockets. ]

[credence notices the way he grips the chair, how standing seems to be an effort.]

Are you--did he--are your legs bothering you?

[he lurches closer, not sure if he should offer his arm or how--he knows, intellectually, that he's tall enough to be of use, even if he doesn't feel that way. he just doesn't know how to initiate such a thing. but mr. graves seems to be all right walking--so credence follows closely, keeping an eye on the way he's moving, ready to provide support if he can.

and then they get to the garden.]

Oh.

[it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. he doesn't know where to look first. even the ceiling seems to be magic. he wanders off despite himself, kneeling down to examine anything unfamiliar, (which is most things).]

Are these for potions?

[he glances back at mr. graves, for once curious (and distracted) enough to forget his nerves.]

[ Percival makes a non committal noise, waving a hand at Credence's question. He doesn't want him to fuss, or worry, and he can manage through the garden at least.

Still. He keeps himself within reach. ]

Many of them are, yes. There are countless potions in the world.

[he looks around, amazed, absently stroking a small flower.]

What do they all do...?

[he seems to be wondering aloud, because even mr. graves isn't enough to keep his attention for more than a few seconds.]

[ Which is fine, honestly, because if Credence isn't watching him like a hawk's child then Percival can let himself relax, a little, and watch the other for a moment while staunchly attempting to ignore the exhaustion that has set into the very marrow of his bones.

Idly he wonders if his doctor's orders included several days of bedrest. Ah, well.

Credence doesn't get too far into the garden before they are interrupted by a very put-upon doctor and rather stone-faced President. Percival opens his mouth to protest the wheeled chair that is summoned up for him, but that stone gaze is set in his direction and he pulls a face as he reconsiders that idea. ]

I will see you this even, Credence. Thank you. [ Percival inclines his head and shoulders in Credence's direction, noting the quiet flare of Serafina's nostrils, before he does sit again. The chair, enchanted to know where it's going without any pushing on Percival's part, begins off back towards the dining hall (now completely cleaned of any sign that they'd eaten there), with the President right behind it. ]

[credence wistfully watches mr. graves leave. there doesn't seem to be anything he can do to prevent this, and more importantly mr. graves doesn't seem to want him to prevent this. he drops his hand to the grass.]

Goodbye, Mr. Graves.

[he's not sure why he's being thanked, but it wrenches his heart, now in his throat at this confirmation of their dinner plans. he sits in the garden for a long time before quietly making his way back to his room.]

Edited 2017-07-11 06:24 (UTC)

[ The next several hours are quite a trying time, in Percival's opinion.

Learning that it has been six months since Grindelwald began impersonating him, and that other than Porpentina Goldstein, Credence and Theseus Scamander's younger brother, no one knew. No one, it seems, even suspected, and he doesn't envy Serafina Piquery the position of trying to root out just what Grindelwald was doing for all those months, other than apparently attempting to 'unleash' Credence upon the entirety of New York to force the wizarding community out of hiding and wearing Percival's clothing with scorpion stickpins.

There's more to it than that, obviously, and Percival has his own questions - namely about the Barebones and about Credence's treatment by MACUSA, what they've done and what they plan on doing. Other than that, there's reports to read (Goldstein's goes to the top of list; Grindelwald tried to have her killed, so Percival is more interested in what she has to say than anyone else in his department right now), and his own initial statement to make for the record. Not to mention several weeks of time ahead of him during which he is told, on no uncertain terms, that he is not to return to work.

He doesn't roll his eyes at the directions but it's a near thing. He can work without being at work, obviously.

By the time the president leaves, Percival wants a stiff drink and a hot bath, something for the discomfort that seems to have taken residence in no less than half his joints, and to make an attempt at sleeping. But it's past the dinner hour he's fairly certain, so most of that can wait.

Instead he manages to instruct the chair to take him to Credence's room, and he knocks on the door. ]

[credence bolts upright at the knock at the door and almost runs over to answer it. though he was expecting mr. graves still his face lights up at the sight of him.]

Mr. Graves. Please come in.

[he pulls the door to one side to allow mr. graves to maneuver the chair inside. his room is full of stacks of newspapers, magazines, and cheap wizarding paperbacks of the sort people might leave in a waiting room and forget about. it occurs to him that mr. graves might not actually want to come into his room, as their plans are in fact scheduled for the dining hall, and he looks down, embarrassed.]

Are you--all right?

[it concerns him that mr. graves is still using the chair. did credence tire him out?]

We don't have to go to the dining hall if you're tired.

Tired, mostly, and I would appreciate eating in here, if you're amicable. [ Percival raises a shoulder in a shrug and guides the chair on through the doorway and into the room before spinning around to face Credence. ] I have never enjoyed spending any time awake in a hospital. I am told I have a tendency for pushing myself to hard, so I suppose that is part of it as well.

They'll likely discharge me tomorrow.

[ The paperbacks catch his eye, specifically one he remembers Isabella having on hand during her third year. He quirks an eyebrow in amusement at the cover. ]

We should see about getting you some reading that is a little less dated, perhaps.

Do you have any desire to leave the hospital? [ A pause, and then: ] It has been suggested to me that I take on some assistance for my recovery.

[ It was also suggested that he not be an ass and actually recover in the hospital but he's not about to follow that part. ]

[credence doesn't like towering over mr. graves like this. he clenches his fists and looks at the ground. is mr. graves asking him for help? why?]

I don't think I'd make a very good assistant. I'm sorry. You're very kind, but I'm not well. I need help--to be a wizard. I wish I could help you.

[he wishes for a lot of things, but distantly, because dwelling on the sheer injustices of his life only makes him angry, and when he's angry he's not himself. he resists the temptation to explain his condition to mr. graves, who surely knows already. ma hated for him to lecture. he sighs and darts mr. graves a quick wistful glance.]

It's a nice hospital. I'd like some more reading, though.

Edited 2017-07-19 04:27 (UTC)

[ Percival looks at him, takes in the body language and the words and tries to suss out what is being said and what isn't, raising his eyebrows at the mention of more books. ]

More books, then. That's easily done.

[ He set his chin in his hand, two fingers resting against the side of his jaw as he looked up at Credence. The boy needed to stand taller, for one thing, put his shoulders back and stop hunching over. Still...he can take a guess at why Credence's posture is wound so tight. Percival gestures at the other seat in the room, waits for the other to sit. ]

I'll admit I have...reservations about the idea of you being cooped up in here until Albus Dumbledore arrives. From my understanding you have been deprived of what most No-Majs would consider a healthy life of your own, much less one by any wizarding standard. That is part of the reason I have offered this suggestion. [ Putting it lightly, he supposes. ] But I will also admit - to you, mind, I would rather not have to discuss this with anyone else - that a good part of my hesitation is that I do not feel safe here.

It is, perhaps, not a feeling borne of rational thought.

[ To put a fine point on it, Percival isn't sure he is going to feel safe anywhere anytime soon, but he sees no reason to put that particular burden on Credence's shoulders. ]

The other part is that I'm concerned you're being...railroaded, in a way, and not being given proper options to live your life as you see fit. However, since you seem firm on the matter of remaining here until you are treated, I will not push.

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