Tragodía - Epilogue ; NC-17
Title: Tragodía
Chapter: Epilogue - Now That My Blue Days Have Passed
Fandom: Fantastic Beasts ; Theseus/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Summary: For the first time, she truly believed that what was written in The Hippolytus of Euripides, was not something already written in the stars from a time before she was even written for this world.
A/N: This chapter is best read with The Ceremony from the Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore soundtrack by James Newton Howard playing in the background on repeat.
Now That My Blue Days Have Passed [193]
After much speculation on Theseus Scamander’s career progress over the last few years, he was eventually offered the promotion for Co-Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; which was mildly awkward for him, sitting opposite Torquil Travers in his Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement office, seeing that just moments ago, he had tendered his resignation as the Head of the British Auror Office.
Whether Travers had offered him the promotion so the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France could not snap him up as Head of the Bureau des Aurors, in their recent efforts to overhaul the Bureau de la Justice Magique, in anticipation for the worst that was to come, following Gellert Grindelwald’s premonition in Paris years ago, as well as the current state of the Muggle German Reich that was primed for another Muggle War; or the Head of Department genuinely felt Theseus was ready to work alongside him, instead of under him - frankly, Theseus could not have cared less.
It was a first in his lifetime as an ambitious Auror, who had worked up the ranks steadily and successfully since he was an Auror-in-training at the British Ministry of Magic, what felt like another lifetime ago; when in those initial years, he had taken particular effort to dress up for work, being the only Auror-in-training then to clock in wearing the three-piece suits he had tailored specifically at Norton & Sons along Savile Row.
Theseus must have sat across the desk from Travers, staring back at his superior for what felt like forever, before he answered, quite definitively: “No.”
The situation then was reminiscent of the time his younger brother, Newt Scamander, sat across the table from him and Travers, alongside Rudolph Spielman and Arnold Guzman, respectively, the Head of Incarceration and the American Emissary for the International Confederation of Wizards; during the commission in the interrogation room to obtain his travel documentation again. Quite equivocally, his brother had declined the offer to join the Ministry, specifically his brother’s department.
Theseus might have felt a keen sting then, when it was rather dashed immediately his hopes for a Scamander Brothers duo working side by side as Aurors. But, right then, in Travers’ office, while he didn’t react straight away as his brother did, having run through a few things in his head prior, he could finally relate to Newt’s sentiments all those years ago.
However, Travers was not quick to accept his rejection, as he once did the other Scamander brother’s, and settled for the dark wizard bounty hunter Gunnar Grimmson; they all knew how that turned out the first time, but not that the Head Auror position was opened to Grimmson for the taking, if ever Theseus left.
Instead, very much to Theseus’ surprise, the superior leaned forward on his desk, and said to him: “I hope you’d reconsider, Theseus.”
“I know you’ve suffered great losses, the last 20 years or so you’ve worked with me,” the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement continued. “I understand as well, due to recent events that unfolded, you’d rather be with your wife, than run around chasing after Grindelwald and his followers.”
“Your talents as the British Head Auror, and the achievements you’ve made for the Auror Office - albeit the times you were professionally unavailable, I can assure you, they didn’t go unnoticed, even to Fawley,” Travers said. “You’re the best he’s got - we’ve got - I’ve got.”
“I appreciate that, sir,” Theseus smiled weakly.
“So, I hope you’d reconsider the Co-Head of the Department position,” his superior resumed, pushing the Head Auror’s resignation letter back to him. “Take a sabbatical, instead of resigning. Speak to Phaedra about this, by all means - but don’t throw away your career just like that.”
“You’ve done a lot, Theseus, and you’re good at what you do,” Travers got up from his chair, as did Theseus; an indication that the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would like to conclude the conversation.
When the superior extended his hand towards him, Theseus accepted the handshake, and replied: “Thank you, sir, for understanding. I’ll think about it.”
/
Theseus spent the rest of the week making sure his Auror subordinates were informed about his sabbatical, and each of them given a thorough handover briefing for matters regarding raids and arrests, and Ministerial escorts to conferences and meetings, in and out of the country.
He had to make sure they stepped up of their own accord and calibre in assisting Travers in the coming months, especially with all that came to light recently. They would not have a “second best” to fall back on this time around, unless the neighbouring countries were as generous as the Ministère in sparing their Head Auror whenever the British Head Auror was not available.
Come five o’clock that Friday evening, Theseus put on his overcoat, and shoved his left hand into the pocket, rummaging around until he felt the neatly wrapped square box in his grasp. He picked up the wedding portrait he had on display on his desk, smiled at the bride in the picture as she looked over at him in the photograph when the flash went off. He pocketed the frame into his coat, and reached forward to switch off the desk lamp for the last time; in what would be a long while before he would turn it on again, if ever.
Then, he stepped out of his office, made sure it was locked up behind him, while never even considered glancing at the marquee upon the door:
Theseus Scamander
Head of Auror Office
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Theseus walked across the black tiled floor of the Ministry of Magic Atrium, towards the gilded fireplaces. He smiled to himself, when he remembered the distinctive taps of her footsteps, distinguishable only to him, amid the symphony of click-clacking Mary Janes, and thud-thudding oxfords.
Since the start of their training at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement - maybe even before that at the Auror Academy, he had ruled her out from the other pretty girls the male Auror-in-training colleagues would stare after, as they passed through the Atrium.
It did not matter how out-of-the-way she tried to be among the wizards and witches coming and going across the Atrium; or how undistinguished she tried to be the more she cowered her body into the files she had huddled against her chest, or how much she stared at her feet darting through the black tiled floor - he remembered thinking it was adorable she even tried, as he watched her from the sideline every morning coming into work, and every evening leaving to go home.
Because, frankly, Phaedra Phileas had always been the only pretty girl he could not keep his eyes off.
Memories of when they started dating: him waiting for her by the gilded fireplaces with an extra cup of coffee in his hand, and the bright smile upon her face when she caught sight of him - they filled his heart to the brim, as he stepped into one of the fireplaces, and uttered his destination clearly, chucking a hand full of Floo Powder onto his feet: “Home - Dorset.”
/
That night, Theseus noticed that Phaedra had the same bright smile she had on her face from all those years ago, while they sat down to a well-mannered dinner with Newt and Tina Goldstein, celebrating Christmas together. The rest chattered away merrily, but him being quieter than usual, and only chiming in his agreement or disagreement towards the ever-changing topics during dinner; as he watched her, observed her, with a perpetual smile hidden behind his hand, upon the elbow propped on the table.
Constantly, throughout dinner, he would reach out to hold her hand, whereupon the ring finger sat the Christmas present he collected just that morning in a neatly wrapped square box he kept safe in the pocket of his overcoat: what was once the ring with the three Alice Pearls nestled in a bed of diamonds, remade into a simple silver band embedded with shards and fragments of the broken Alice Pearls and diamonds he, Newt and Teddy managed to retrieve from Griebnitzstraße in Klein Glienicke.
From that night onwards, Theseus would always have the memory of the look on Phaedra’s face, when he placed the ring back onto her finger, where it belonged - through the Vena Amoris, an unbroken circle that would always lead him back to her wherever they would go, a signal fire that would always guide him home to her.
“Travers suggested I take a sabbatical instead,” he recounted what went down in the Head of the Department office, when he walked in with every intention to resign, only to leave with the contemplation for the Co-Head of the Department job offer.
The others either raised their eyebrows at him, or pursed their lips from bursting out laughing, each of them having come across the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement some time in the last 20 years at the Ministry of Magic.
“I know - I was just as surprised as you are now!” he added with a laugh that prompted the others to join in as well.
“Well, I, for once, agree with Travers,” Phaedra looked over at him, and gave their joined hands a squeeze.
Theseus merely brought their hands to his lips, and placed a kiss on the back of her hand.
For the Scamander quartet, it wasn’t just a Christmas dinner that night at the Scamander family home in Dorset. It was also a farewell dinner, for Theseus and Phaedra had decided months ago that they would finally travel to Montpellier in the South of France, where once they thought they would not be able to go away anymore, after what happened in Potsdam.
While the summer months had passed, it did not seem to deter the couple; Montpellier in any other season of the year was better than here right now. Moreover, Phaedra remembered one of her former Aurors from the Ministère, who had a Muggle relation with rooms to let in Montpellier, and she had written to her immediately to secure a room for them, with an undetermined check-out date.
While Phaedra and Tina exchanged hearty goodbyes at the end of the night that seemed to go on forever, the American Head Auror kneeling in front of the former French Head Auror, as she made gibberish noises to the latter’s protruding baby bump; waiting for them by the front door, where Theseus last saw Dr Richards out, he told Newt: “You know where to find us, if anything… you know. Of course, we’d rather you not.”
Newt just smiled his lopsided smile, and nodded. He understood, always did.
“You can, uh - look in on the house, while we’re gone,” Theseus added, running a hand up and down the frame with the pastel blue door. “I’ll be setting up some Muggle-Repelling Charms before we leave tomorrow, but you’re welcome to stay if you want. It is every bit your home too, as it is mine - always has been, since mum and dad.”
“Thank you, Theseus,” the younger Scamander brother replied. “Although I’ll need to put up an Extension Charm in my old bedroom. You know, for the creatures.”
The older Scamander brother chuckled, and shook his bowed head: “Well - just make sure Teddy stays out of my bedroom. Maybe mum and dad’s too - I haven’t gone through all their things in earnest, so Merlin knows what he might find and keep for himself.”
Newt mirrored his brother’s laugh.
Then, Theseus opened up his arms, and pulled Newt into a brotherly hug. The younger Scamander brother’s stiff arms did not lie awkwardly on his sides, like they once did along the hallway outside the commissioned room at the Ministry of Magic. They tightened around Theseus’ bulkier form, as the elder Scamander brother blinked back the tears welling up in his eyes.
“Thank you,” he whispered next to Newt’s ear. “For helping me find Phaedra’s ring.”
“I said I’d help you make things right with her, Theseus,” Newt said, as they pulled apart. “It was the least I could do.”
/
Theseus was drifting off to sleep that night, when in his arms, he felt Phaedra stirred, pulling herself closer up against him.
“You know that year, when Newt destroyed half of New York?” She said in a low whisper, as she rubbed her face against his chest; her right hand ever palming her stomach, just below her belly button, some kind of a motherly instinct to her.
Eyes still closed, he chuckled: “Don’t let him hear you say that, or he’d argue that it was actually factually incorrect on two counts.”
Phaedra let out a short laugh, and continued: “That potion - the Swooping Evil venom that he used to obliviate the entire city of its bad memories…”
His eyes fluttered open, as he waited for her to go on: “I’ve often wondered - if I’d known about it, or if he’d found out about it sooner… My head wouldn’t be in the mess it’s in right now. I could ask for it, instead of - you know. Maybe, so many things could’ve - gone the right way, instead of…”
She turned to her side, so they were face-to-face; their darling baby in her womb nestled snugly between their bodies.
“I’ve often wondered if I should’ve done things differently - everything differently,” she shrugged. “Maybe I could’ve saved myself - saved ourselves, from all the trouble we’ve been through. Maybe we would’ve gotten to where we are now, sooner.”
Theseus heaved a sigh, tucking a strand of her dishevelled hair behind her ear.
“I don’t think you should see it that way, darling,” he said, watching his finger traced down her refined jawline. “We’ve gotten to where we are now in the end - in spite of everything.”
“Yes, maybe the Swooping Evil venom might have saved us a lot of heartaches along the way,” Theseus said, a corner of his lips curved upwards. “But it’s those heartaches - all that we’ve been through, and coming out on the other side that made me love you more - made me love you more because of those heartaches.”
He cradled her face in his hands, and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.
“Phaedra, my darling,” he whispered, assuredly, nudging the tip of his nose against hers; that little thing they do. “I love us for who we are now - for who we have become - for all we’ve been through that has made us the people we are today.”
“In spite of everything, here we are,” his smile widened too, as he watched the smile grow upon her face; his hand upon hers, feeling their baby move within her under their touch. “Scars and all - here we are.”
*
Phaedra Phileas curled herself into her winter coat, gripped the collar tighter over her scarf-covered neck, as she stood by the rickety wooden fence outside the Scamander family home, two suitcases laid side by side next to her feet.
She watched Theseus Scamander lock up the pastel blue front door of the cottage home, might have even had his little moment saying goodbye to the forget-me-nots, enchanted to prosper across the façade during the hotter seasons, drooping then, and hiding away their sky blue petals and sunkissed centres in the wintry December cold.
When he came to stand beside her, he flourished his wand with the tortoise-shelled handle in the air; with proper care, he muttered the meticulous incantations: “Repello Muggletum - Salvio hexia - Protego totalum - Repello Inimicum - Fianto Duri…”
In the months when the Scamanders were away, the Muggle neighbours, when they were not careful, would catch themselves wondering where that lovely cottage at the end of the dirt path had gone. You know, the one with the forget-me-nots all over its walls, when its floral kind should just be growing on organically enriched and moist soil, under partial shade or out under the sun. Then, they would snap out of their wandering thoughts as if from a daydream, remembering that they had something urgent to tend to, and leaving what they remembered of the Scamander family home and its peculiar, wall-climbing flowers at the back of their minds.
Poor Mr MacQuoid especially was put in quite a befuddling spot during those months, for he was the only person in Dorset, who knew the Scamanders for generations. Even back when the brothers were just boys before their schooling days at Hogwarts, and the old Scottish grocer would welcome them to his store with a happy howl, as if they were his own children he had not seen in months; sending them off home with popsicles free of charge that got them suckling on the strawberry-flavoured treat until their lips turned bright red.
When Theseus did not drop by his store during those months, when he usually would two or three times a week, Mr MacQuoid decided to pay him a visit; only to remember quite suddenly, he had a shipment of fresh greens coming in within minutes that needed him present for inventory. He had to turn around and leave, when he was on one end of the dirt path leading to the Scamander home on the other.
The poor old grocer began to wonder if his ageing, deteriorating mind was playing tricks on him, as he was not quite sure anymore if the elder, grown-up Scamander brother had moved back to their family home recently at all, and if he had been visiting Mr MacQuoid’s store regularly to collect provisions, so he could whip up wondrous feasts for him and the missus.
That one afternoon, while doing his inventory, the Scottish grocer pondered if those chitchats with the young man and his wife did actually happen, or if he’d made them all up in his head.
“That should do it,” Theseus exhaled aloud, as he pocketed his wand into his overcoat.
He wrapped an arm around Phaedra for warmth, as he took a long, final look at the place that had served him well as a distraction; the little “Muggle” project he started, the little spot of bother for him, when the riots and raids, the meetings and paperwork became too much to bear.
“Come now, darling,” he said, bending down to pick up their suitcases. “The Portkey will be leaving in a few minutes.”
The Portkey tout that stood waiting for Theseus and Phaedra at the edge of the Southwest England cliffs, was the same man whom Newt engaged with all those years ago, to get him and the No-Maj Jacob Kowalski into Paris unnoticed, after the younger Scamander brother was denied his travel documentation.
While it was not against the law, what they were doing, Theseus paid the Portkey tout 50 Galleons regardless, the same amount his brother paid: 30 to get to France, and 20 not to tell anyone he’d seen Newt Scamander leaving the country illegally. Theseus would prefer that nobody knew as well they were headed to France, so the same extra cost applied in keeping the Portkey tout’s mouth shut.
Even though the man didn’t ask for the additional charges, he pocketed the extra earnings brazenly, without seeming the least bit embarrassed, and started counting down as the battered bucket jangled about on the ground.
His arrogance must have ticked Theseus off, because he said to the man: “You’re lucky I’m not at the moment working at the Ministry of Magic.”
The Portkey tout’s eyes widened, and Phaedra noticed the colour on his face paled under his Sou'wester. Theseus’ grip tightened on her hand, as they stepped into the bucket when the seconds reached down to one.
“You’re awful!” She exclaimed, laughing, when they appeared in Montmartre in the 18th arrondissement.
“He’s awful,” Theseus rolled his eyes feignedly, looking about the Parisian city to get his bearings, before leading them in the direction towards Saint-Germain-des-Prés in the 6th arrondissement.
/
They spent the night in Paris, just like how they would every New Year’s Eve. They enjoyed the enthusiasm emitting from every passerby on the street, fitting in quite effortlessly with the laughing crowd as if they were Muggles themselves; pretending that the Wizarding world did not exist, and that they did not suffer all that they had suffered “for the greater good” in the last few years.
Just - normal Muggles with normal Muggle jobs: a hardworking banker and a humble secretary, perhaps, out to take in what the world had to offer in the mid-1930s, albeit somewhat dulled in comparison to the late ’20s, what with the political disputes with the neighbouring country at that moment.
In Theseus and Phaedra’s eyes, however, Paris was still just as enchanting, just as magical.
They went between Café de Flore and Les Deux Magots, just across the street from each other, and they watched the Non-Magiques dance in whichever establishment playing the most sanguine music, and quenched their thirst in between Foxtrots and Jitterbugs with French 75’s and Gin Rickeys; quite content just sipping on glasses of water the Muggle maître d'hôtel brought over for them, while they watched the Muggles had their fun, as if the world was not about to end again in the coming years.
Then, they retraced their steps up Rue Saint-Benoît, back to their room at Hotel d’Angleterre, as the fireworks went out outside the balcony that overlooked the courtyard - intoxicated with music and giggles, hearts full with love and euphoria.
On New Year’s Day 1935, Phaedra woke up snuggled in Theseus’ arms, at her happiest like she once was, and was assured that there would probably be more of the same happier moments to come in her life with him - and her, after that. She got up, and got dressed; placed a kiss on his forehead, decided to let him sleep in this brand new day of a brand new year, as she left their hotel room, quieter than a church mouse.
The same receptionist that brought Theseus his note from Yusuf Kama all those years ago, stood outside in the cold smoking a cigarette, when Phaedra emerged; probably at the exact spot her husband once slid into her finger, the previous incarnation of the ring she was wearing then: a simple silver band embedded with shards and fragments of the broken Alice Pearls and diamonds he managed to retrieve from Griebnitzstraße in Klein Glienicke.
When the receptionist greeted her, Phaedra told him: “Quand mon mari descendra pour le petit-déjeuner, dites-lui que je reviens bientôt.”[lxxxv]
Then, she turned down Rue Jacob, and Disapparated in an alleyway - to Cimetière du Père-Lachaise, where it was still early for the bustle of locals and tourists strolling through the graveyard as if it were another Parisian park in the city; where the dead could rest in peace in their eternal sleep, before the visitors would come later in the day.
She did not remember the last time she came here, but she never forgot where her maman and her papa were buried - together at last, after spending half their married life separated from each other; the buffering English Channel between them long before Pasiphaë Phileas jumped on the cruise ship back to Paris, and Minos Phileas could never go with her because his old heart couldn't take being back in the city when he was alive.
“Oh, maman…” Phaedra let out a visible breath in the cold January morning, as she sat down in front of their joint gravestone; her right hand palming her stomach, just below her belly button - a kind of motherly instinct. “You once told me that some things don’t seem like the right choice until the very end.”
“I’m here now - at the very end,” she resumed. “He’s always been the right choice. I just didn’t see it sooner, paying attention to everything else but him.”
“You would’ve loved him, maman,” Phaedra chuckled to herself, when made-up images of Theseus meeting her maman flickered through her mind, including the one actual time she set up a dinner for him and papa to meet officially in The Leaky Cauldron. “Which I’m sure you did too, papa - even though you’re having too much fun letting him on that you didn’t.”
“He had the smarts to come after me - he did,” she sighed. “I just didn’t have the smarts to make him stay.”
“But, those are all in the past now,” she looked down at her hand stroking her tummy lovingly, and felt her move again under her touch. She imagined she was saying hello to her grand-mère and grand-père, and it made Phaedra smile. “Because, in spite of everything, scars and all - here we are.”
/
There was a shiny silver automobile[194][195] parked outside the entrance of Hotel d’Angleterre, when Phaedra Apparated a few blocks down the street. Theseus had just tipped the bellboy, who helped him load their suitcases into the back, when he saw her approaching him.
“Hello,” he greeted her with a peck on the cheek. “We can set out to Montpellier whenever you’re ready.”
“What is this?” Phaedra raised an eyebrow at him, as he opened the passenger door for her.
“Our means of transportation,” he narrowed his eyes playfully at her. “How else do you think we’re going to get to Montpellier?”
“I don’t know - Apparition?” She huffed, as he slid into the driver’s seat, and shut the door; careful that the bellboy and receptionist standing at the hotel entrance did not hear them.
“Now, where would be the fun in that?” He smirked in return, turning the key in the ignition to start the engine.
Theseus bade the hotel staff goodbye with a wave of his hand, and he’d just let his foot off the clutch pedal, when the car lurched forward - and jerked to a halt.
He glanced over with a sheepish smile at the bellboy and receptionist, who were slightly confused if the automobile was faulty; because, why else would a grown man hire a car to drive down to the South of France, when he did not know how to drive in the first place?
Phaedra had to turn her face away from Theseus, and look out the passenger window; pursed her lips real tight, and covered her mouth with a hand, lest she burst out laughing. She heard him try the ignition again, perhaps sacrificing some awful creature based on the sound he was making with the gear stick, before he eased the car down Rue Jacob in a perpetual jerking movement. Only then did she look back at him, as both of them were hurtled forward as quickly as they were flung backwards into their seats.
“Do you even know how to drive?” She sighed, amused; her arms wrapped around her stomach, just in case.
“Can’t be that difficult - all the Muggles are doing it,” but, as soon as those words left his mouth, he’d muttered under his breath: “Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” - and pulled his wand out from his jacket pocket, giving the steering wheel a stern tap.
The bouncing automobile neutralised, just as they slowed to turn into Rue des Saints-Pères on the left.
“See?” He quipped, looking rather chuffed that he’d gotten their “means of transportation” sorted. “Not difficult at all!”
Phaedra just shook her head, flipped open the map of France in front of her, and sighed: “Just - keep your hands on the steering wheel. We’d have a lot to answer for if the Muggles catch us driving hands-free.”
He placed his hands on the 3 and 9 o’clock positions on the wheel compliantly, if only to pretend he was in command of the car.
“And I hope that us disappearing doesn’t involve an accident, Mr Scamander,” she added with a smile.
“Now, that would be most unfortunate indeed, Mrs Scamander,” he grinned back at her.
After spending the last 24 hours or so rewinding her life back to the beginning, visiting her parents’ grave in Cimetière du Père-Lachaise; and re-reading one last time her favourite parts of her story in Hotel d’Angleterre, Café de Flore and Les Deux Magots, always with Theseus by her side - they finally started in earnest their journey down to Montpellier; setting off into an unknown future, where the next chapters of their story were yet to be written.
/
While packing for the trip in Dorset, Phaedra happened upon that old, worn out copy of The Hippolytus of Euripides by the Muggle Greek tragedian, who was born of a time before the Muggle authors, like Doyle and Defoe, whose varying renditions of the adventurous; and Wells, Carroll and Stoker, whose differing interpretations of the fantastical never thrilled her, even back then when she was just 13 years old, kneeling on the dirty ground in front of the tattered secondhand books lying in disarray at a book sale in Caledonian Market.
Her very first book from the Muggle world that she bought with the Muggle money her maman gave her as an allowance, which she saved up vigilantly in a little trinket box she kept at the back of her wardrobe. The very book a young Phaedra was properly engrossed in through teatime that afternoon, and after dinner, retreated to her bedroom to spend the remainder of the night finishing it, before keeping herself awake still for some hours later that night, thinking things through.
A book about the Goddess of Love Aphrodite, and the Goddess of Chastity Artemis. A book about Phaedra, the virtuous queen and wife to Theseus, the King of Athens. A book that became somewhat of a prediction, for a young 13-year-old girl that felt stranger than she already did in a foreign land; something already written in the stars from a time before she was even written for this world.
A book that finally, and rather unfortunately, manifested into the bane of her existence for the better part of her life growing up, only because she had bent it to be so, spun from her adolescent mind, at a time when she would believe in anything if it made sense to her.
Seeing her copy of The Hippolytus of Euripides again, with its yellowed and stained pages barely hanging on to the withered spine, Phaedra honestly thought she’d lost it, when she moved to Dorset. But, after not re-reading it for many, many years, she had placed the book in her suitcase, and had been re-reading it once more - one last time, perhaps; since they arrived in Paris, and were on their “Muggle” way to Montpellier.
She pored over Euripides’ Greek tragedy once again, reacquainting herself with Hippolytus, Theseus’ son from his first marriage to Hippolyta, and Phaedra’s suppressed feelings towards the young man. She relived her namesake’s fear of the consequences of her immoral desires, before hanging herself over the marriage bed she shared with her husband; and the further grievance his namesake plummeted into, when he learned that they were all mere playthings caught up in a Goddess’ wrath.
Despite Theseus’ terrible driving, they arrived safely at Rue des Soldats in Montpellier right around teatime. While the landlord, the Muggle relation of Phaedra’s former Auror colleague, helped him unload their suitcases, and checked them into their charming room[196] on the second floor, she sat in the room that overlooked the garden in the backyard, and finished the book.
She was - surprised, to say the least, how - distanced she felt to her namesake character this time around. That for the first time, she truly believed that what was written in The Hippolytus of Euripides, was not something already written in the stars from a time before she was even written for this world.
“That’s all it is, Phae - it’s just a book, just a story that happens to have our names in it. They are not us - Theseus and Phaedra,” she remembered his words as if they were uttered to her just last night.
Words of relief, a weight off her chest - better.
Phaedra inhaled audibly, when she felt Theseus’ hand on her shoulder, as she gazed out at the backyard garden bathed in hues of the golden sunset, lost in her thoughts. He took from her grasp her copy of The Hippolytus of Euripides, the one he’d noticed from the corner of his eye she’d been reading incessantly throughout the eight-hour drive down to Montpellier.
“We did alright - right?” She asked. “Despite what happened to them in the book?”
Theseus smiled, curved brackets lining his cheeks, and pulled her into his arms, wrapped around her tightly, never wanting to let her go - ever.
“We did better. We wrote our own story - like how we’re supposed to,” he whispered next to her ear. “We may have our tragedies along the way, but they’re no one else’s - they’re ours.”
/
The next morning, Phaedra had woken up before Theseus did, and had lied next to him in bed [197]; the sheets wrapped loosely around her and the baby, her head propped upon the pillow, she watched him sleep his soundless sleep.
His chest under the sheets with the natural paced inhales and exhales; his facial complexion relaxed, composed eyes shut and his symmetrical lips taking in and letting out breaths of mere sighs; his dishevelled hair, unkempt from last night.
Phaedra would stick a handwritten note on him if she could, like how she had the few important things that mattered to her in her life: her parents’ wedding portrait in sepia tone, the engagement ring from Lee Cheval… and his would read: “Theseus Scamander. Husband since May 1933. Love of your life since the beginning of the century.”
She smiled, and her fingers, feather lightly, brushed off the untidy flop upon his forehead.
“Mmm,” Theseus stirred, and she felt his arm snake around her waist under the sheets, pulling her to him until she felt his morning bulge pressing up against her large stomach.
“Good morning, husband,” she whispered, peppering butterfly kisses along his protruding collarbones, and the bob of his Adam’s apple on his slender neck.
“Good morning, wife,” he muttered back with a lazy smile upon his lips.
“You slept through the night…” she said, watching him press the heel of his hand into his eyes, as he let out a hearty yawn.
“I did,” their gaze met, and his smile widened ever so slightly. “No nightmares - imagine that.”
Phaedra dove deeper into his arms, as he tightened the embrace, both taking in a nourishing breath of the crisp morning air in Montpellier, feeling the baby moved between their bodies when the same rejuvenating inhale reached her in the womb.
Come to think of it, she hadn’t had an episode either, since they left Dorset. But, she wondered constantly if it would all change at any given moment, right when she had let her guard down and was not paying attention. Every morning, a part of her felt like she was on the edge of her seat, just - waiting; waiting for something bad to happen.
“I still wake up scared, you know,” she professed, tracing a finger haphazardly on his chest. “Scared that I’ll wake up one day, look into your eyes, and forget who you are…”
Theseus only looked over his shoulder at the mantelpiece at the foot of the bed. When Phaedra followed his gaze, she too noticed the vase of fresh forget-me-nots in place of the bouquet that greeted them when they arrived yesterday. They were not in season, much less in an inland city that was 10 kilometres from the Mediterranean coastline. Yet, somehow, he managed to pull some strings, and made sure the flowers came in every morning, so she would have something nice to wake up to; something to help her remember.
“Sylvie [198],” he said, turning back to look at her; his hand came to rest upon hers on the stomach. “Sylvie Scamander - Sylvie Inessa Scamander.”
She blinked, a smile breaking upon her face: "Like the flower?"
He nodded, smiling himself, as he whispered: “Like the flower [199].”
“So that if you ever forget anything, just remember,” he said, his hand came to caress the back of her head, and his lips the side of it. “Vois-tu chaque jour on t'aime davantage, aujourd’hui plus qu’hier et bien moins que demain.”
Phaedra could not help grinning from ear to ear, had to bury her face in his chest to stop from gushing like some teenage girl in the utter contentment of her first love. She felt the butterflies soared at the pit of her stomach, as if she too was delighted with the name her father gave her.
“Mmm - your French is getting better,” she looked up at him again, cheeks still flushed with the happy embarrassment. “And we love you too, Mr Scamander - every day, much more than yesterday, much less than tomorrow.”
/
Theseus and Phaedra, they put away their wands for as long as they were in Montpellier. Hers with the unusual and highly attractive wand wood of silver lime, and his with the tortoise-shelled handle, both stored away in a box, hidden in one of the many drawers in the room. Both with the highest hopes that they would eventually lose track of where they hid them, and even higher expectations that they would not have to see them or use them any time sooner than they would like to.
They began living those days in Montpellier as mere Muggles. They walked the cobblestoned streets until their feet hurt. They spoke with the Non-Magiques about non-magical affairs in their world. They laughed with them on things that made them happy, and danced with them to songs that got them on their feet.
Those days, it was not just the occasional weekends that were free; everyday was - free. Free to have uninterrupted breakfasts, lunches, teas and dinners together. Free to wake up at midday, and spend the rest of the day doing whatever they liked.
They dressed up in their best casuals, and visited the local flea market around the block, picking up rare Muggle finds that would send their colleagues from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office reeling with excitement, and green-eyed with envy. Theseus would stop to strike up conversations with the gentleman who sold music records every time they returned, while Phaedra hung around the lady with her display of secondhand books, not far from where the gentleman set up shop, stealing glances at Theseus every once in a while to find him watching her with an endearing smile.
At night, they danced to the new records he procured, and fell asleep to the books she read; none of the nightmares and none of the episodes that would dislodge them from reality, spinning them out of control.
Just - sheer serenity, until the morning light fell through the billowing curtains, lighting up the fresh bouquets of forget-me-nots, so they could do everything all over again, like how they had always liked their things - books and records, love and life.
“Promise me you’ll go back,” was what Phaedra told Theseus, the only time she brought up matters of the Wizarding world, when they danced in their room one evening [200], the three of them; the parents cradling the bump between them, feeling the baby moving to their every step - this little ball of celestial fire, little light of miraculous hope.
“Promise me you’ll take up the Co-Head of Department position - some day, when you’re ready,” she had looked up at him with a pursed smile. “Don’t throw it all away because of me.”
Theseus had merely smiled back at her, and kissed her on the lips. He said nothing, as they swayed along to the French singer’s waltzing music, and she did not bring it up again for the rest of their days in Montpellier.
In the end, they disappeared - from the Wizarding world; and perhaps even from the Muggle world they were so used to in London and in Paris.
This renewed one in Montpellier, it was a cohabitant life with Theseus Scamander that Phaedra Phileas could very much get used to, all over again.
A life one should get used to, if one were blessed with such a life.
And Phaedra was, through and through - blessed.
Translations:
[lxxxv] “When my husband comes down for breakfast, tell him I'll be back soon"; French.
[ END ]
Chapter: Epilogue - Now That My Blue Days Have Passed
Fandom: Fantastic Beasts ; Theseus/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Summary: For the first time, she truly believed that what was written in The Hippolytus of Euripides, was not something already written in the stars from a time before she was even written for this world.
A/N: This chapter is best read with The Ceremony from the Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore soundtrack by James Newton Howard playing in the background on repeat.
Now That My Blue Days Have Passed [193]
After much speculation on Theseus Scamander’s career progress over the last few years, he was eventually offered the promotion for Co-Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; which was mildly awkward for him, sitting opposite Torquil Travers in his Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement office, seeing that just moments ago, he had tendered his resignation as the Head of the British Auror Office.
Whether Travers had offered him the promotion so the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France could not snap him up as Head of the Bureau des Aurors, in their recent efforts to overhaul the Bureau de la Justice Magique, in anticipation for the worst that was to come, following Gellert Grindelwald’s premonition in Paris years ago, as well as the current state of the Muggle German Reich that was primed for another Muggle War; or the Head of Department genuinely felt Theseus was ready to work alongside him, instead of under him - frankly, Theseus could not have cared less.
It was a first in his lifetime as an ambitious Auror, who had worked up the ranks steadily and successfully since he was an Auror-in-training at the British Ministry of Magic, what felt like another lifetime ago; when in those initial years, he had taken particular effort to dress up for work, being the only Auror-in-training then to clock in wearing the three-piece suits he had tailored specifically at Norton & Sons along Savile Row.
Theseus must have sat across the desk from Travers, staring back at his superior for what felt like forever, before he answered, quite definitively: “No.”
The situation then was reminiscent of the time his younger brother, Newt Scamander, sat across the table from him and Travers, alongside Rudolph Spielman and Arnold Guzman, respectively, the Head of Incarceration and the American Emissary for the International Confederation of Wizards; during the commission in the interrogation room to obtain his travel documentation again. Quite equivocally, his brother had declined the offer to join the Ministry, specifically his brother’s department.
Theseus might have felt a keen sting then, when it was rather dashed immediately his hopes for a Scamander Brothers duo working side by side as Aurors. But, right then, in Travers’ office, while he didn’t react straight away as his brother did, having run through a few things in his head prior, he could finally relate to Newt’s sentiments all those years ago.
However, Travers was not quick to accept his rejection, as he once did the other Scamander brother’s, and settled for the dark wizard bounty hunter Gunnar Grimmson; they all knew how that turned out the first time, but not that the Head Auror position was opened to Grimmson for the taking, if ever Theseus left.
Instead, very much to Theseus’ surprise, the superior leaned forward on his desk, and said to him: “I hope you’d reconsider, Theseus.”
“I know you’ve suffered great losses, the last 20 years or so you’ve worked with me,” the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement continued. “I understand as well, due to recent events that unfolded, you’d rather be with your wife, than run around chasing after Grindelwald and his followers.”
“Your talents as the British Head Auror, and the achievements you’ve made for the Auror Office - albeit the times you were professionally unavailable, I can assure you, they didn’t go unnoticed, even to Fawley,” Travers said. “You’re the best he’s got - we’ve got - I’ve got.”
“I appreciate that, sir,” Theseus smiled weakly.
“So, I hope you’d reconsider the Co-Head of the Department position,” his superior resumed, pushing the Head Auror’s resignation letter back to him. “Take a sabbatical, instead of resigning. Speak to Phaedra about this, by all means - but don’t throw away your career just like that.”
“You’ve done a lot, Theseus, and you’re good at what you do,” Travers got up from his chair, as did Theseus; an indication that the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would like to conclude the conversation.
When the superior extended his hand towards him, Theseus accepted the handshake, and replied: “Thank you, sir, for understanding. I’ll think about it.”
/
Theseus spent the rest of the week making sure his Auror subordinates were informed about his sabbatical, and each of them given a thorough handover briefing for matters regarding raids and arrests, and Ministerial escorts to conferences and meetings, in and out of the country.
He had to make sure they stepped up of their own accord and calibre in assisting Travers in the coming months, especially with all that came to light recently. They would not have a “second best” to fall back on this time around, unless the neighbouring countries were as generous as the Ministère in sparing their Head Auror whenever the British Head Auror was not available.
Come five o’clock that Friday evening, Theseus put on his overcoat, and shoved his left hand into the pocket, rummaging around until he felt the neatly wrapped square box in his grasp. He picked up the wedding portrait he had on display on his desk, smiled at the bride in the picture as she looked over at him in the photograph when the flash went off. He pocketed the frame into his coat, and reached forward to switch off the desk lamp for the last time; in what would be a long while before he would turn it on again, if ever.
Then, he stepped out of his office, made sure it was locked up behind him, while never even considered glancing at the marquee upon the door:
Theseus Scamander
Head of Auror Office
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Theseus walked across the black tiled floor of the Ministry of Magic Atrium, towards the gilded fireplaces. He smiled to himself, when he remembered the distinctive taps of her footsteps, distinguishable only to him, amid the symphony of click-clacking Mary Janes, and thud-thudding oxfords.
Since the start of their training at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement - maybe even before that at the Auror Academy, he had ruled her out from the other pretty girls the male Auror-in-training colleagues would stare after, as they passed through the Atrium.
It did not matter how out-of-the-way she tried to be among the wizards and witches coming and going across the Atrium; or how undistinguished she tried to be the more she cowered her body into the files she had huddled against her chest, or how much she stared at her feet darting through the black tiled floor - he remembered thinking it was adorable she even tried, as he watched her from the sideline every morning coming into work, and every evening leaving to go home.
Because, frankly, Phaedra Phileas had always been the only pretty girl he could not keep his eyes off.
Memories of when they started dating: him waiting for her by the gilded fireplaces with an extra cup of coffee in his hand, and the bright smile upon her face when she caught sight of him - they filled his heart to the brim, as he stepped into one of the fireplaces, and uttered his destination clearly, chucking a hand full of Floo Powder onto his feet: “Home - Dorset.”
/
That night, Theseus noticed that Phaedra had the same bright smile she had on her face from all those years ago, while they sat down to a well-mannered dinner with Newt and Tina Goldstein, celebrating Christmas together. The rest chattered away merrily, but him being quieter than usual, and only chiming in his agreement or disagreement towards the ever-changing topics during dinner; as he watched her, observed her, with a perpetual smile hidden behind his hand, upon the elbow propped on the table.
Constantly, throughout dinner, he would reach out to hold her hand, whereupon the ring finger sat the Christmas present he collected just that morning in a neatly wrapped square box he kept safe in the pocket of his overcoat: what was once the ring with the three Alice Pearls nestled in a bed of diamonds, remade into a simple silver band embedded with shards and fragments of the broken Alice Pearls and diamonds he, Newt and Teddy managed to retrieve from Griebnitzstraße in Klein Glienicke.
From that night onwards, Theseus would always have the memory of the look on Phaedra’s face, when he placed the ring back onto her finger, where it belonged - through the Vena Amoris, an unbroken circle that would always lead him back to her wherever they would go, a signal fire that would always guide him home to her.
“Travers suggested I take a sabbatical instead,” he recounted what went down in the Head of the Department office, when he walked in with every intention to resign, only to leave with the contemplation for the Co-Head of the Department job offer.
The others either raised their eyebrows at him, or pursed their lips from bursting out laughing, each of them having come across the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement some time in the last 20 years at the Ministry of Magic.
“I know - I was just as surprised as you are now!” he added with a laugh that prompted the others to join in as well.
“Well, I, for once, agree with Travers,” Phaedra looked over at him, and gave their joined hands a squeeze.
Theseus merely brought their hands to his lips, and placed a kiss on the back of her hand.
For the Scamander quartet, it wasn’t just a Christmas dinner that night at the Scamander family home in Dorset. It was also a farewell dinner, for Theseus and Phaedra had decided months ago that they would finally travel to Montpellier in the South of France, where once they thought they would not be able to go away anymore, after what happened in Potsdam.
While the summer months had passed, it did not seem to deter the couple; Montpellier in any other season of the year was better than here right now. Moreover, Phaedra remembered one of her former Aurors from the Ministère, who had a Muggle relation with rooms to let in Montpellier, and she had written to her immediately to secure a room for them, with an undetermined check-out date.
While Phaedra and Tina exchanged hearty goodbyes at the end of the night that seemed to go on forever, the American Head Auror kneeling in front of the former French Head Auror, as she made gibberish noises to the latter’s protruding baby bump; waiting for them by the front door, where Theseus last saw Dr Richards out, he told Newt: “You know where to find us, if anything… you know. Of course, we’d rather you not.”
Newt just smiled his lopsided smile, and nodded. He understood, always did.
“You can, uh - look in on the house, while we’re gone,” Theseus added, running a hand up and down the frame with the pastel blue door. “I’ll be setting up some Muggle-Repelling Charms before we leave tomorrow, but you’re welcome to stay if you want. It is every bit your home too, as it is mine - always has been, since mum and dad.”
“Thank you, Theseus,” the younger Scamander brother replied. “Although I’ll need to put up an Extension Charm in my old bedroom. You know, for the creatures.”
The older Scamander brother chuckled, and shook his bowed head: “Well - just make sure Teddy stays out of my bedroom. Maybe mum and dad’s too - I haven’t gone through all their things in earnest, so Merlin knows what he might find and keep for himself.”
Newt mirrored his brother’s laugh.
Then, Theseus opened up his arms, and pulled Newt into a brotherly hug. The younger Scamander brother’s stiff arms did not lie awkwardly on his sides, like they once did along the hallway outside the commissioned room at the Ministry of Magic. They tightened around Theseus’ bulkier form, as the elder Scamander brother blinked back the tears welling up in his eyes.
“Thank you,” he whispered next to Newt’s ear. “For helping me find Phaedra’s ring.”
“I said I’d help you make things right with her, Theseus,” Newt said, as they pulled apart. “It was the least I could do.”
/
Theseus was drifting off to sleep that night, when in his arms, he felt Phaedra stirred, pulling herself closer up against him.
“You know that year, when Newt destroyed half of New York?” She said in a low whisper, as she rubbed her face against his chest; her right hand ever palming her stomach, just below her belly button, some kind of a motherly instinct to her.
Eyes still closed, he chuckled: “Don’t let him hear you say that, or he’d argue that it was actually factually incorrect on two counts.”
Phaedra let out a short laugh, and continued: “That potion - the Swooping Evil venom that he used to obliviate the entire city of its bad memories…”
His eyes fluttered open, as he waited for her to go on: “I’ve often wondered - if I’d known about it, or if he’d found out about it sooner… My head wouldn’t be in the mess it’s in right now. I could ask for it, instead of - you know. Maybe, so many things could’ve - gone the right way, instead of…”
She turned to her side, so they were face-to-face; their darling baby in her womb nestled snugly between their bodies.
“I’ve often wondered if I should’ve done things differently - everything differently,” she shrugged. “Maybe I could’ve saved myself - saved ourselves, from all the trouble we’ve been through. Maybe we would’ve gotten to where we are now, sooner.”
Theseus heaved a sigh, tucking a strand of her dishevelled hair behind her ear.
“I don’t think you should see it that way, darling,” he said, watching his finger traced down her refined jawline. “We’ve gotten to where we are now in the end - in spite of everything.”
“Yes, maybe the Swooping Evil venom might have saved us a lot of heartaches along the way,” Theseus said, a corner of his lips curved upwards. “But it’s those heartaches - all that we’ve been through, and coming out on the other side that made me love you more - made me love you more because of those heartaches.”
He cradled her face in his hands, and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.
“Phaedra, my darling,” he whispered, assuredly, nudging the tip of his nose against hers; that little thing they do. “I love us for who we are now - for who we have become - for all we’ve been through that has made us the people we are today.”
“In spite of everything, here we are,” his smile widened too, as he watched the smile grow upon her face; his hand upon hers, feeling their baby move within her under their touch. “Scars and all - here we are.”
*
Phaedra Phileas curled herself into her winter coat, gripped the collar tighter over her scarf-covered neck, as she stood by the rickety wooden fence outside the Scamander family home, two suitcases laid side by side next to her feet.
She watched Theseus Scamander lock up the pastel blue front door of the cottage home, might have even had his little moment saying goodbye to the forget-me-nots, enchanted to prosper across the façade during the hotter seasons, drooping then, and hiding away their sky blue petals and sunkissed centres in the wintry December cold.
When he came to stand beside her, he flourished his wand with the tortoise-shelled handle in the air; with proper care, he muttered the meticulous incantations: “Repello Muggletum - Salvio hexia - Protego totalum - Repello Inimicum - Fianto Duri…”
In the months when the Scamanders were away, the Muggle neighbours, when they were not careful, would catch themselves wondering where that lovely cottage at the end of the dirt path had gone. You know, the one with the forget-me-nots all over its walls, when its floral kind should just be growing on organically enriched and moist soil, under partial shade or out under the sun. Then, they would snap out of their wandering thoughts as if from a daydream, remembering that they had something urgent to tend to, and leaving what they remembered of the Scamander family home and its peculiar, wall-climbing flowers at the back of their minds.
Poor Mr MacQuoid especially was put in quite a befuddling spot during those months, for he was the only person in Dorset, who knew the Scamanders for generations. Even back when the brothers were just boys before their schooling days at Hogwarts, and the old Scottish grocer would welcome them to his store with a happy howl, as if they were his own children he had not seen in months; sending them off home with popsicles free of charge that got them suckling on the strawberry-flavoured treat until their lips turned bright red.
When Theseus did not drop by his store during those months, when he usually would two or three times a week, Mr MacQuoid decided to pay him a visit; only to remember quite suddenly, he had a shipment of fresh greens coming in within minutes that needed him present for inventory. He had to turn around and leave, when he was on one end of the dirt path leading to the Scamander home on the other.
The poor old grocer began to wonder if his ageing, deteriorating mind was playing tricks on him, as he was not quite sure anymore if the elder, grown-up Scamander brother had moved back to their family home recently at all, and if he had been visiting Mr MacQuoid’s store regularly to collect provisions, so he could whip up wondrous feasts for him and the missus.
That one afternoon, while doing his inventory, the Scottish grocer pondered if those chitchats with the young man and his wife did actually happen, or if he’d made them all up in his head.
“That should do it,” Theseus exhaled aloud, as he pocketed his wand into his overcoat.
He wrapped an arm around Phaedra for warmth, as he took a long, final look at the place that had served him well as a distraction; the little “Muggle” project he started, the little spot of bother for him, when the riots and raids, the meetings and paperwork became too much to bear.
“Come now, darling,” he said, bending down to pick up their suitcases. “The Portkey will be leaving in a few minutes.”
The Portkey tout that stood waiting for Theseus and Phaedra at the edge of the Southwest England cliffs, was the same man whom Newt engaged with all those years ago, to get him and the No-Maj Jacob Kowalski into Paris unnoticed, after the younger Scamander brother was denied his travel documentation.
While it was not against the law, what they were doing, Theseus paid the Portkey tout 50 Galleons regardless, the same amount his brother paid: 30 to get to France, and 20 not to tell anyone he’d seen Newt Scamander leaving the country illegally. Theseus would prefer that nobody knew as well they were headed to France, so the same extra cost applied in keeping the Portkey tout’s mouth shut.
Even though the man didn’t ask for the additional charges, he pocketed the extra earnings brazenly, without seeming the least bit embarrassed, and started counting down as the battered bucket jangled about on the ground.
His arrogance must have ticked Theseus off, because he said to the man: “You’re lucky I’m not at the moment working at the Ministry of Magic.”
The Portkey tout’s eyes widened, and Phaedra noticed the colour on his face paled under his Sou'wester. Theseus’ grip tightened on her hand, as they stepped into the bucket when the seconds reached down to one.
“You’re awful!” She exclaimed, laughing, when they appeared in Montmartre in the 18th arrondissement.
“He’s awful,” Theseus rolled his eyes feignedly, looking about the Parisian city to get his bearings, before leading them in the direction towards Saint-Germain-des-Prés in the 6th arrondissement.
/
They spent the night in Paris, just like how they would every New Year’s Eve. They enjoyed the enthusiasm emitting from every passerby on the street, fitting in quite effortlessly with the laughing crowd as if they were Muggles themselves; pretending that the Wizarding world did not exist, and that they did not suffer all that they had suffered “for the greater good” in the last few years.
Just - normal Muggles with normal Muggle jobs: a hardworking banker and a humble secretary, perhaps, out to take in what the world had to offer in the mid-1930s, albeit somewhat dulled in comparison to the late ’20s, what with the political disputes with the neighbouring country at that moment.
In Theseus and Phaedra’s eyes, however, Paris was still just as enchanting, just as magical.
They went between Café de Flore and Les Deux Magots, just across the street from each other, and they watched the Non-Magiques dance in whichever establishment playing the most sanguine music, and quenched their thirst in between Foxtrots and Jitterbugs with French 75’s and Gin Rickeys; quite content just sipping on glasses of water the Muggle maître d'hôtel brought over for them, while they watched the Muggles had their fun, as if the world was not about to end again in the coming years.
Then, they retraced their steps up Rue Saint-Benoît, back to their room at Hotel d’Angleterre, as the fireworks went out outside the balcony that overlooked the courtyard - intoxicated with music and giggles, hearts full with love and euphoria.
On New Year’s Day 1935, Phaedra woke up snuggled in Theseus’ arms, at her happiest like she once was, and was assured that there would probably be more of the same happier moments to come in her life with him - and her, after that. She got up, and got dressed; placed a kiss on his forehead, decided to let him sleep in this brand new day of a brand new year, as she left their hotel room, quieter than a church mouse.
The same receptionist that brought Theseus his note from Yusuf Kama all those years ago, stood outside in the cold smoking a cigarette, when Phaedra emerged; probably at the exact spot her husband once slid into her finger, the previous incarnation of the ring she was wearing then: a simple silver band embedded with shards and fragments of the broken Alice Pearls and diamonds he managed to retrieve from Griebnitzstraße in Klein Glienicke.
When the receptionist greeted her, Phaedra told him: “Quand mon mari descendra pour le petit-déjeuner, dites-lui que je reviens bientôt.”[lxxxv]
Then, she turned down Rue Jacob, and Disapparated in an alleyway - to Cimetière du Père-Lachaise, where it was still early for the bustle of locals and tourists strolling through the graveyard as if it were another Parisian park in the city; where the dead could rest in peace in their eternal sleep, before the visitors would come later in the day.
She did not remember the last time she came here, but she never forgot where her maman and her papa were buried - together at last, after spending half their married life separated from each other; the buffering English Channel between them long before Pasiphaë Phileas jumped on the cruise ship back to Paris, and Minos Phileas could never go with her because his old heart couldn't take being back in the city when he was alive.
“Oh, maman…” Phaedra let out a visible breath in the cold January morning, as she sat down in front of their joint gravestone; her right hand palming her stomach, just below her belly button - a kind of motherly instinct. “You once told me that some things don’t seem like the right choice until the very end.”
“I’m here now - at the very end,” she resumed. “He’s always been the right choice. I just didn’t see it sooner, paying attention to everything else but him.”
“You would’ve loved him, maman,” Phaedra chuckled to herself, when made-up images of Theseus meeting her maman flickered through her mind, including the one actual time she set up a dinner for him and papa to meet officially in The Leaky Cauldron. “Which I’m sure you did too, papa - even though you’re having too much fun letting him on that you didn’t.”
“He had the smarts to come after me - he did,” she sighed. “I just didn’t have the smarts to make him stay.”
“But, those are all in the past now,” she looked down at her hand stroking her tummy lovingly, and felt her move again under her touch. She imagined she was saying hello to her grand-mère and grand-père, and it made Phaedra smile. “Because, in spite of everything, scars and all - here we are.”
/
There was a shiny silver automobile[194][195] parked outside the entrance of Hotel d’Angleterre, when Phaedra Apparated a few blocks down the street. Theseus had just tipped the bellboy, who helped him load their suitcases into the back, when he saw her approaching him.
“Hello,” he greeted her with a peck on the cheek. “We can set out to Montpellier whenever you’re ready.”
“What is this?” Phaedra raised an eyebrow at him, as he opened the passenger door for her.
“Our means of transportation,” he narrowed his eyes playfully at her. “How else do you think we’re going to get to Montpellier?”
“I don’t know - Apparition?” She huffed, as he slid into the driver’s seat, and shut the door; careful that the bellboy and receptionist standing at the hotel entrance did not hear them.
“Now, where would be the fun in that?” He smirked in return, turning the key in the ignition to start the engine.
Theseus bade the hotel staff goodbye with a wave of his hand, and he’d just let his foot off the clutch pedal, when the car lurched forward - and jerked to a halt.
He glanced over with a sheepish smile at the bellboy and receptionist, who were slightly confused if the automobile was faulty; because, why else would a grown man hire a car to drive down to the South of France, when he did not know how to drive in the first place?
Phaedra had to turn her face away from Theseus, and look out the passenger window; pursed her lips real tight, and covered her mouth with a hand, lest she burst out laughing. She heard him try the ignition again, perhaps sacrificing some awful creature based on the sound he was making with the gear stick, before he eased the car down Rue Jacob in a perpetual jerking movement. Only then did she look back at him, as both of them were hurtled forward as quickly as they were flung backwards into their seats.
“Do you even know how to drive?” She sighed, amused; her arms wrapped around her stomach, just in case.
“Can’t be that difficult - all the Muggles are doing it,” but, as soon as those words left his mouth, he’d muttered under his breath: “Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” - and pulled his wand out from his jacket pocket, giving the steering wheel a stern tap.
The bouncing automobile neutralised, just as they slowed to turn into Rue des Saints-Pères on the left.
“See?” He quipped, looking rather chuffed that he’d gotten their “means of transportation” sorted. “Not difficult at all!”
Phaedra just shook her head, flipped open the map of France in front of her, and sighed: “Just - keep your hands on the steering wheel. We’d have a lot to answer for if the Muggles catch us driving hands-free.”
He placed his hands on the 3 and 9 o’clock positions on the wheel compliantly, if only to pretend he was in command of the car.
“And I hope that us disappearing doesn’t involve an accident, Mr Scamander,” she added with a smile.
“Now, that would be most unfortunate indeed, Mrs Scamander,” he grinned back at her.
After spending the last 24 hours or so rewinding her life back to the beginning, visiting her parents’ grave in Cimetière du Père-Lachaise; and re-reading one last time her favourite parts of her story in Hotel d’Angleterre, Café de Flore and Les Deux Magots, always with Theseus by her side - they finally started in earnest their journey down to Montpellier; setting off into an unknown future, where the next chapters of their story were yet to be written.
/
While packing for the trip in Dorset, Phaedra happened upon that old, worn out copy of The Hippolytus of Euripides by the Muggle Greek tragedian, who was born of a time before the Muggle authors, like Doyle and Defoe, whose varying renditions of the adventurous; and Wells, Carroll and Stoker, whose differing interpretations of the fantastical never thrilled her, even back then when she was just 13 years old, kneeling on the dirty ground in front of the tattered secondhand books lying in disarray at a book sale in Caledonian Market.
Her very first book from the Muggle world that she bought with the Muggle money her maman gave her as an allowance, which she saved up vigilantly in a little trinket box she kept at the back of her wardrobe. The very book a young Phaedra was properly engrossed in through teatime that afternoon, and after dinner, retreated to her bedroom to spend the remainder of the night finishing it, before keeping herself awake still for some hours later that night, thinking things through.
A book about the Goddess of Love Aphrodite, and the Goddess of Chastity Artemis. A book about Phaedra, the virtuous queen and wife to Theseus, the King of Athens. A book that became somewhat of a prediction, for a young 13-year-old girl that felt stranger than she already did in a foreign land; something already written in the stars from a time before she was even written for this world.
A book that finally, and rather unfortunately, manifested into the bane of her existence for the better part of her life growing up, only because she had bent it to be so, spun from her adolescent mind, at a time when she would believe in anything if it made sense to her.
Seeing her copy of The Hippolytus of Euripides again, with its yellowed and stained pages barely hanging on to the withered spine, Phaedra honestly thought she’d lost it, when she moved to Dorset. But, after not re-reading it for many, many years, she had placed the book in her suitcase, and had been re-reading it once more - one last time, perhaps; since they arrived in Paris, and were on their “Muggle” way to Montpellier.
She pored over Euripides’ Greek tragedy once again, reacquainting herself with Hippolytus, Theseus’ son from his first marriage to Hippolyta, and Phaedra’s suppressed feelings towards the young man. She relived her namesake’s fear of the consequences of her immoral desires, before hanging herself over the marriage bed she shared with her husband; and the further grievance his namesake plummeted into, when he learned that they were all mere playthings caught up in a Goddess’ wrath.
Despite Theseus’ terrible driving, they arrived safely at Rue des Soldats in Montpellier right around teatime. While the landlord, the Muggle relation of Phaedra’s former Auror colleague, helped him unload their suitcases, and checked them into their charming room[196] on the second floor, she sat in the room that overlooked the garden in the backyard, and finished the book.
She was - surprised, to say the least, how - distanced she felt to her namesake character this time around. That for the first time, she truly believed that what was written in The Hippolytus of Euripides, was not something already written in the stars from a time before she was even written for this world.
“That’s all it is, Phae - it’s just a book, just a story that happens to have our names in it. They are not us - Theseus and Phaedra,” she remembered his words as if they were uttered to her just last night.
Words of relief, a weight off her chest - better.
Phaedra inhaled audibly, when she felt Theseus’ hand on her shoulder, as she gazed out at the backyard garden bathed in hues of the golden sunset, lost in her thoughts. He took from her grasp her copy of The Hippolytus of Euripides, the one he’d noticed from the corner of his eye she’d been reading incessantly throughout the eight-hour drive down to Montpellier.
“We did alright - right?” She asked. “Despite what happened to them in the book?”
Theseus smiled, curved brackets lining his cheeks, and pulled her into his arms, wrapped around her tightly, never wanting to let her go - ever.
“We did better. We wrote our own story - like how we’re supposed to,” he whispered next to her ear. “We may have our tragedies along the way, but they’re no one else’s - they’re ours.”
/
The next morning, Phaedra had woken up before Theseus did, and had lied next to him in bed [197]; the sheets wrapped loosely around her and the baby, her head propped upon the pillow, she watched him sleep his soundless sleep.
His chest under the sheets with the natural paced inhales and exhales; his facial complexion relaxed, composed eyes shut and his symmetrical lips taking in and letting out breaths of mere sighs; his dishevelled hair, unkempt from last night.
Phaedra would stick a handwritten note on him if she could, like how she had the few important things that mattered to her in her life: her parents’ wedding portrait in sepia tone, the engagement ring from Lee Cheval… and his would read: “Theseus Scamander. Husband since May 1933. Love of your life since the beginning of the century.”
She smiled, and her fingers, feather lightly, brushed off the untidy flop upon his forehead.
“Mmm,” Theseus stirred, and she felt his arm snake around her waist under the sheets, pulling her to him until she felt his morning bulge pressing up against her large stomach.
“Good morning, husband,” she whispered, peppering butterfly kisses along his protruding collarbones, and the bob of his Adam’s apple on his slender neck.
“Good morning, wife,” he muttered back with a lazy smile upon his lips.
“You slept through the night…” she said, watching him press the heel of his hand into his eyes, as he let out a hearty yawn.
“I did,” their gaze met, and his smile widened ever so slightly. “No nightmares - imagine that.”
Phaedra dove deeper into his arms, as he tightened the embrace, both taking in a nourishing breath of the crisp morning air in Montpellier, feeling the baby moved between their bodies when the same rejuvenating inhale reached her in the womb.
Come to think of it, she hadn’t had an episode either, since they left Dorset. But, she wondered constantly if it would all change at any given moment, right when she had let her guard down and was not paying attention. Every morning, a part of her felt like she was on the edge of her seat, just - waiting; waiting for something bad to happen.
“I still wake up scared, you know,” she professed, tracing a finger haphazardly on his chest. “Scared that I’ll wake up one day, look into your eyes, and forget who you are…”
Theseus only looked over his shoulder at the mantelpiece at the foot of the bed. When Phaedra followed his gaze, she too noticed the vase of fresh forget-me-nots in place of the bouquet that greeted them when they arrived yesterday. They were not in season, much less in an inland city that was 10 kilometres from the Mediterranean coastline. Yet, somehow, he managed to pull some strings, and made sure the flowers came in every morning, so she would have something nice to wake up to; something to help her remember.
“Sylvie [198],” he said, turning back to look at her; his hand came to rest upon hers on the stomach. “Sylvie Scamander - Sylvie Inessa Scamander.”
She blinked, a smile breaking upon her face: "Like the flower?"
He nodded, smiling himself, as he whispered: “Like the flower [199].”
“So that if you ever forget anything, just remember,” he said, his hand came to caress the back of her head, and his lips the side of it. “Vois-tu chaque jour on t'aime davantage, aujourd’hui plus qu’hier et bien moins que demain.”
Phaedra could not help grinning from ear to ear, had to bury her face in his chest to stop from gushing like some teenage girl in the utter contentment of her first love. She felt the butterflies soared at the pit of her stomach, as if she too was delighted with the name her father gave her.
“Mmm - your French is getting better,” she looked up at him again, cheeks still flushed with the happy embarrassment. “And we love you too, Mr Scamander - every day, much more than yesterday, much less than tomorrow.”
/
Theseus and Phaedra, they put away their wands for as long as they were in Montpellier. Hers with the unusual and highly attractive wand wood of silver lime, and his with the tortoise-shelled handle, both stored away in a box, hidden in one of the many drawers in the room. Both with the highest hopes that they would eventually lose track of where they hid them, and even higher expectations that they would not have to see them or use them any time sooner than they would like to.
They began living those days in Montpellier as mere Muggles. They walked the cobblestoned streets until their feet hurt. They spoke with the Non-Magiques about non-magical affairs in their world. They laughed with them on things that made them happy, and danced with them to songs that got them on their feet.
Those days, it was not just the occasional weekends that were free; everyday was - free. Free to have uninterrupted breakfasts, lunches, teas and dinners together. Free to wake up at midday, and spend the rest of the day doing whatever they liked.
They dressed up in their best casuals, and visited the local flea market around the block, picking up rare Muggle finds that would send their colleagues from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office reeling with excitement, and green-eyed with envy. Theseus would stop to strike up conversations with the gentleman who sold music records every time they returned, while Phaedra hung around the lady with her display of secondhand books, not far from where the gentleman set up shop, stealing glances at Theseus every once in a while to find him watching her with an endearing smile.
At night, they danced to the new records he procured, and fell asleep to the books she read; none of the nightmares and none of the episodes that would dislodge them from reality, spinning them out of control.
Just - sheer serenity, until the morning light fell through the billowing curtains, lighting up the fresh bouquets of forget-me-nots, so they could do everything all over again, like how they had always liked their things - books and records, love and life.
“Promise me you’ll go back,” was what Phaedra told Theseus, the only time she brought up matters of the Wizarding world, when they danced in their room one evening [200], the three of them; the parents cradling the bump between them, feeling the baby moving to their every step - this little ball of celestial fire, little light of miraculous hope.
“Promise me you’ll take up the Co-Head of Department position - some day, when you’re ready,” she had looked up at him with a pursed smile. “Don’t throw it all away because of me.”
Theseus had merely smiled back at her, and kissed her on the lips. He said nothing, as they swayed along to the French singer’s waltzing music, and she did not bring it up again for the rest of their days in Montpellier.
In the end, they disappeared - from the Wizarding world; and perhaps even from the Muggle world they were so used to in London and in Paris.
This renewed one in Montpellier, it was a cohabitant life with Theseus Scamander that Phaedra Phileas could very much get used to, all over again.
A life one should get used to, if one were blessed with such a life.
And Phaedra was, through and through - blessed.
Translations:
[lxxxv] “When my husband comes down for breakfast, tell him I'll be back soon"; French.
[ END ]