imagine: Credence had never had the pleasure of reading anything but his mother’s printed sermons, the Bible and occasional hymns at Christmas.
so when he moves into Mr. Graves’ home (for as long as he should wish, he’s told) he’s quite overwhelmed at first. for many reasons of course, but especially because it seems Mr. Graves is an avid reader, has books in languages Credence has never heard or, topics he’d never imagined. he limits himself to asking to borrow just one book at a time, despite Graves’ insistence that anything in the house is his. and he reads, and reads, and reads.
he reads basic books on magic during the terrible rains of september and october, finds time for the occasional classical novel in the month of november, and lighthearted or deeply serious and thought provoking volumes in december.
Graves is very aware of his little bookworm, has started to add to his collection more than ever before, tries to recall books that he loved during his childhood, brings Credence books that helped him when his mother died in his teenage years. firmly clenches Credence’s shoulder when he sees a tear running down his soft cheek at that particular book, maybe not the best idea…
and on one particular evening, for whatever reason Graves isn’t quite sure, he sits next to Credence in his favourite place on the couch, plucks the book from his fingers, and begins to read aloud to him.
he’s quite shocked at his own gumption, and at the same time he wonders why he’s never done it before. Credence is obviously a little embarrassed but the marvellous boy rallies round quickly, avidly listening to Graves’ deep voice read Charles Dickens to him, Graves tells him they should finish it before Christmas, together.
imagine: Credence being encouraged to do the things he enjoys by Graves, Graves tenderly reminding Credence of human compassion and gentleness 💗