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Graves’ jaw flexes. His gaze flicks over her ornate robes, her elaborate headwrap. Begrudgingly, he reaches out to grasp the cane.

‘Damn it, Graves.’

Her hands hold him steady, gentle yet firm.

‘I’m fine, Phina-’ Graves grinds out but he struggles to regain his balance and slumps defeatedly back into the chair. He scowls.

Seraphina summons his sleek black cane wordlessly from where Graves had discarded it against a bookcase. ‘You need to use this. Set aside your pride for a brief moment and let us help you.’ She holds the cane out to him.

Graves rubs a palm over his pale, sunken face. His eyes are wider and wilder than before his European assignment. ‘I’m not going to walk around MACUSA with that. I’m not an old man.’

The President sighs and places her hands on her hips. The cane remains upright, waiting. ‘No but you won’t live to be an old man if you keep this up. Stubbornness is not the answer.’

‘It never did you any harm, Madam President,’ Graves retorts with a sharp grin.

‘I have never been held in captivity and tortured by a dark wizard for months at a time.’ Seraphina’s expression is stony. She watches her Director of Magical Security - her friend - shift in his seat. A wince of discomfort taints his features. ‘The cane, Graves. Take it.’

Still, he refuses. He looks away like a scorned child.

Percival Graves + Seraphina Picquery moodboard