Tragodía - Chapter 34 ; NC-17 / R
Title: Tragodía
Chapter: 34 - And The Dreams That You Dare to Dream Really Do Come True
Fandom: Fantastic Beasts ; Theseus/OFC
Rating: NC-17 / R
Summary: She cupped the side of his face, feeling him lean into the gentle touch, and told him, quite certainly: “And here is where I’m meant to be - where we’re meant to be…”
And The Dreams That You Dare to Dream Really Do Come True [190]
Theseus Scamander was, quite literally, hitting the ground running, when he Apparated along the dirt path leading to the Scamander family home at the end of the road. He could already see Phaedra Phileas waiting for him at the front door, a knitted scarf wrapped around her petite form, keeping her toasty during the autumn months; smiles bursting upon their faces, when they caught sight of each other.
He closed the distance between them, practically running towards her; until he reached the doorstep, and scooped her into his arms, lifting her off the ground, for the tightest embrace he could muster.
“Oh my darling - oh my darling Phaedra,” Theseus exclaimed, still breathless from the run.
He cupped her brightened face in his palms, and smothered her with long, passionate kisses; as he said: “They overturned the verdict - Merlin’s beard, they overturned the verdict!”
Phaedra giggled, as he trailed the kisses down her neck; and buried his face against her flustered skin.
“You don’t have to leave me anymore - oh my darling…” he managed, fresh tears already stinging his eyes once again.
“No… no, I don’t,” she sighed, heartily, wrapping her arms around his neck.
However, as soon as the elation settled, Theseus could see in his mind’s eyes once again, echoes of Anton Vogel’s confessions reflected in the pool of “light made liquid, wind made solid” within the Pensieve, when he unleashed the phials from the wooden box with the sliding lid, and went through them, one by one, in his office.
Then, the same perturbed ruminations clouded his head: the ones that ate away time while he sat in the Head Auror office, and made him late going home, after all had been examined and evaluated minutely and meticulously; all stones unturned, all doors unlocked, all so utterly and so completely revealed. The same heaviness that weighed down on him, as he descended the thousand flights of stairs of the Magisterial Chamber of Ancient Wizardry, after Grindelwald escaped their clutches.
Back then, in Bhutan, while he knew the crisis at hand was diverted, he also knew something bigger was bound to happen in the unforeseeable future. Right then, where he stood with Phaedra in his arms, while he knew it was a close shave for them, with the overturned life sentence verdict, while he felt like they had escaped death, they were instead left to suffer the consequences of living the remaining days; like jumping off a building, only to survive with a lifelong paralysis.
Something big had happened, and time had shifted for Grindelwald, from the “unforeseeable” to the “foreseeable”, while the Wizarding world was left in the dark, lacking the ability and the intel to - “see”.
The dread sitting upon his heart then, as he drew in his arms around Phaedra, a hand raked into the back of her hair, caressing haphazardly; because what could he say to her to put her mind at ease, when his mind was just as troubled with what was to come, knowing all that he knew from Vogel’s confessions, and his deceits over the entire Wizarding world?
It was enough to make him regret going through the confessions in the first place. If he didn’t know, then maybe they could live in the afterglow of the overturned life verdict a little longer, leave whatever it was to come, until the day it came.
Ignorance is bliss, as the Muggles would say; and frankly, Theseus quite like the thought of not knowing for once.
“He’s just arrived,” she spoke up, drawing him out of his deep thoughts; he’d forgotten what he was running home to in the first place. “I’ve offered him a cup of tea while we… What is he doing here?”
Theseus untangled himself from the embrace, and looked at Phaedra, brows knitted, before he followed her gaze already fixed at the person walking down the dirt path towards them. His mannerism, his every move - discerning and recognisable, even from afar, even when his face was hidden under the low-ridden hat, his physique shrouded in the overcoat with the collar up.
Theseus’ face fell, as he let out a steady breath.
Just what we need right now… he thought scornfully.
“Phae, you go ahead now, alright?” He said to her, eyes never leaving the approaching guest. “I’ll come in when I - when I’m done.”
“Theseus…” From the corner of his eye, he saw her cast an anxious look at him; dubious not of the unexpected visit that evening, but more of how Theseus was going to behave towards the surprise guest.
He turned towards her, and pressed a smile to a whisper: “Go on now, darling.”
Phaedra did not protest; just touched his face gently, watched him kiss her docile fingers, before turning to leave, rather reluctantly.
/
Theseus crossed the front yard, back to the rickety fence he just jumped over to get to Phaedra mere minutes ago - and stopped there; a kind of attestation that he would see the guest at that very spot, and no further into the compound of the Scamander family home.
“You’ve got some nerve showing up here, only now - Albus,” he greeted his former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, when the latter was within earshot distance, close enough to notice the disdainful tone in his voice.
“Hello, Theseus,” Albus Dumbledore said, seemingly unaffected regardless. “Newt told me I’d find you here.”
“And that must be the missus - Phaedra,” he added, waving towards someone a little left from and behind Theseus, who turned around to see her standing by the living room window, with a timid wave and hesitant smile on her face. “Finally, a face to the name. You know, Newt told me it was her - the Patronus in Bhutan…”
The former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher must have droned on about all that Newt told him in Bhutan, regarding Theseus’ so-called “secret” love. How the Scamander family met her when Newt was just a wee boy, and how he’d warmed up to him quite instantly, when she chose to speak to him about salamanders. How Theseus and Phaedra fell out in the beginning of their Auror careers, but much to the younger brother’s approval, they had gotten back together, and eventually, married in a private ceremony - or “ceremonial ritual”, more like a couple of years ago.
Theseus was just wondering if he should tell Newt to stop disclosing so much to Dumbledore, when the professor, in return, barely shared anything about his own life to them; wasn’t it just recently they’d found out about his sister, Arianna, and his nephew, Aurelius - the Obscurial formerly known as Credence Barebone?
Then, everything that came to pass till that point pertaining to his former Hogwarts professor crowded in on him: the trip to Hogsmeade with Newt to see Dumbledore, when he finally spoke to Theseus about the Blood Troth; his bright idea of a mission to confuse and distract Grindelwald that fell flat on everyone's faces, when he was almost killed in the Erkstag and the No-Maj Jacob Kowalski almost arrested for, but ultimately, suffered the Cruciatus Curse for attempting to assassinate the dark wizard; Grindelwald’s narrow escape in Bhutan; Vogel’s recent confessions that revealed what he’d been up to with the dark wizard in Muggle Germany, while everyone was busy putting out fire all over the world, and Dumbledore remained in hiding at Hogwarts…
Everything that came to pass made Theseus dizzy - angry.
“What do you want, Albus?” He asked abruptly, as he turned back to face his former Hogwarts professor.
Albus let out a nervous chuckle, and stuck his waving hand into his pants pocket.
“I heard about the trial - and the overturned verdict,” he began. “I’ve gone to see Madam Santos, when I heard about Vogel’s arrest, and she told me about - what Grindelwald has been up to; what he’s done - and how it’s affected Phaedra.”
“I just - thought I’d drop by, and see how she’s doing - how you’re both doing,” the professor added. “If there’s anything you need - anything I can do -”
“As a matter of fact, there is,” Theseus let out a sigh that stopped Albus mid-sentence, as the former student looked down at his right shoe digging into the dirt on the ground. “There’s always been that same thing you could’ve done, Albus.”
The professor swallowed: “Theseus, I know you’re upset -”
“Good,” his former Hufflepuff student cut in, looking up sharply at Albus. “Because it seems to me as if you don’t, or that you just - don’t care, how anybody else feels, or what they have to go through in the years since Grindelwald…”
Theseus shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and shrugged rancorously: “You promised you'd find him and stop him, Albus. You promised me that day in Bhutan - more than two years ago now. What have you done since? More to the point - look at what he’s done since.”
“He infiltrated the bloody German Reich - helped steered the Muggle Nazi’s cause to align with his,” he stressed through gritted teeth, a hand withdrawing from the pocket to point a stern finger at Albus. “But, what have you done - hmm?”
Albus bowed his head, and for once, lost for words.
“I can understand when Travers asked you to fight him, and you said you - can’t; because of the Blood Pact you made, we know this now,” Theseus continued. “But, it was also destroyed in Bhutan, wasn’t it - how else will you fulfil your destinies, you said.”
“Well, Albus, he’s been - out there, fulfilling his destiny,” he hissed. “But, what have you done in the meantime?”
Theseus let out a resentful laugh, and shook his head; rubbed his chin roughly, until the skin of his jaw began turning pinkish red. That strange new thing the elder Scamander brother started with, this time, not so much brokenhearted or anxious, but more so, frustrated.
“You know, she once asked me if what we did was necessary,” he shrugged again, toeing his shoe into the dirt, feeling the professor’s eyes on him. “Couldn’t you have found someone else instead - why did it have to be - us?”
“I told her, it was necessary - all that we’d done,” he sighed, recalling the conversation he had with Phaedra such a long time ago, which almost caused quite the dent on their relationship; the cohabitant life they’d gotten used to, “uneventful” as far as both of them were concerned. “She did not understand, furthermore, she did not agree with it - but she supported us anyway.”
“But this - what happened to her, because of Grindelwald - this was not necessary,” Theseus met Albus’ gaze once more. “Not when you don’t have the balls to face him sooner.”
“I don’t know how you won the loyalties and trusts you did, from the people in the Wizarding world - my brother included,” he started pacing in front of his former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. “But, to me, you are just a selfish, old man - who uses us lesser wizards and witches as pawns to correct your mistakes, not caring how it’d affect us, when you’re too scared to do the job yourself.”
“Phaedra would not be where she is today - Leta would not have died,” he added, pain searing through his heart once again; the kind he had endured throughout the last 10 years. “If you’ve just - done, what you’re supposed to do, all those years ago when Travers asked you to: fight him.”
Theseus heaved a great, big sigh, and ran a hand down his face in an attempt to regain his composure. Albus only looked on, a puzzling kind of desolation written across his face, like he would usually wear the expression. But, whether it was from feeling empathetic towards what Theseus just shared with him - so honestly, and so blatantly; or from feeling hurt or misunderstood, getting such a forthright and brutal dressing down from his former Hufflepuff student - frankly, Theseus could not give a damn anymore.
“I’d invite you in for tea, but we already have a, uh - guest that we’re entertaining, whom I should really get to…” he said, not quite meaning what he said, for he never planned to invite Albus in for tea.
He watched his former professor closely, as if waiting for him to say something, yet at the same time, not really expecting him to say anything at all. He just needed Albus to hear what he had to say. He didn’t care what he had to say in response.
“I’m sorry - I am, that you fell in love with the wrong man, that he turned out to be - so wrong. But, I do hope you find the courage you need to face him one day, Albus,” Theseus said. “In the end, you’ll have to face him yourself, this you know - no matter how many wizards and witches you make lay down their lives between the both of you.”
“In the meantime - please leave,” he added. “Leave us alone, leave - Newt alone. You know that man will go to the ends of the world for you; that’s why you go to him, use him.”
“I didn’t - use him…” Albus attempted to argue, seemingly for the first time since he arrived.
“Did you know Credence was your nephew?” Theseus posed immediately, as if the words had been sitting at the tip of his tongue for the longest time. “Or were you having too much fun leading Newt on, letting him think Credence was Leta’s brother, so it’d motivate him to go after the Obscurial?”
“Theseus…” Albus sighed, with some incredulity in his tone.
“You know what - I don’t care,” Theseus shook his head.
Then, lightly, rather discreetly, he tapped on the cufflink on the sleeve of his wand hand; the ones Phaedra gifted him a few years ago for Christmas, the square-shaped ones with a cabochon citrine jewel inset nestled in a yellow gold Art Deco adaptation of a Greek key with a tinge of rosy hues - and released his wand with the tortoise shell handle into his grasp.
He raised the wand at Albus, and with a kind of unsettling anger weaved into his monotonous, calm tone, Theseus enunciated: “If you come near any of us, ever again - I will kill you.”
*
On the night that followed Albus Dumbledore’s visit to Dorset, and his heated conversation with Theseus Scamander in the front yard of the Scamander family home, an implicit uneasiness permeated the space between the Scamander mister and missus, as they soldiered through dinner of individual pot pies, with scarce conversations of his hours in the Head Auror office, while Phaedra Phileas considered between awkward silences to bring up the unanticipated visit earlier that day.
It was obvious he did not want to talk about it; he would have mentioned to her about it as they sat down for dinner, instead of skirting around the subject, speaking about everything under the stars, rather than the familiar face that showed up, after years of not seeing him, following the events in Bhutan. He’d even sunk into pensive reticence, whether he was aware of it or not, than utter Dumbledore’s name and the reason he dropped by.
After the dishes were rinsed and stored away, the after-dinner tea served, and he had dragged her up from the sofa for a slow dance[191] across the living room, in an attempt to relieve the troubles that was clearly bothering him to no end; Phaedra finally breached the subject: “What was that about earlier - with Dumbledore?”
She felt Theseus’ muscles tensed slightly under her touch, yet not missing a beat, swaying to Bing Crosby’s rendition of their favourite song of old. When he did not say anything, she sighed, and rested the side of her face against his chest, listening to his heartbeat hammering anxiously.
“I thought I heard shouting,” she mumbled.
Theseus let out a sigh too, looking down at her staring back up. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, and said with a rather strained smile: “Nothing - nothing you need to worry about.”
He tightened his embrace around her, and pressed a kiss atop her head, mumbling: “He won’t be bothering us anymore.”
“You weren’t - mean to him, were you?” She ventured just a smidge further.
“Only as much as his credit’s due,” he answered, matter-of-factly.
Phaedra looked up at him sternly: “Theseus…”
“You’re ruining the song, you know,” he said with a smile, switching the subject; an indication that he would not like to talk about Dumbledore anymore.
She just shook her head, and lied back against his chest, his heart rate already normalising.
“I much prefer Henry Burr’s version, anyway,” she said, letting the matter rest.
Theseus chuckled lightly; the topic diverted.
For a little while, they revelled in the quiet, the non-speech, dancing to the familiar cadences of their first dance together, during Madam Venusia Crickerly’s Christmas soiree - ages ago. While the tempo of this new rendition differed from the one they knew, they still recalled as if it was just yesterday, Phaedra’s blue evening dress [192]; its puffed sleeves and black-laced wide collar, its chains of roses that seemed to grow from the hem of the dress up to the waist, fluttering around them, as if coming to life, as he guided her on a few twirls across the makeshift dance floor at the Ministry of Magic Atrium.
“Is it wrong - to feel like a weight lifted off my chest?” Phaedra said, as the happy memory of old settled like dust in the back of her mind.
She felt Theseus’ hand caressing her back, and she continued: “Sitting in the Auror Office every day - I feel like an imposter, holding onto something that’s lost for a while now, something that is not mine to keep anymore…”
His hand came to cradle the back of her head, letting her know that he was still listening, as she resumed: “Is it wrong to feel like I’m doing the right thing - while at the same time, feel that everything has gone to waste - the ambitions for my career, ultimately, became a letdown in the end…”
“Well - I don’t think it’s a letdown at all,” Theseus finally chimed in, looking into her eyes. “You’re one of the best, and most skilful Auror I know - and I’m not just saying that because I’m your husband. I’m saying that as an Auror that was pitted against you since the very beginning, and worked alongside you for the last 25 years.”
“What you’ve achieved throughout your career as Head Auror for the Ministère, and this - ending to end all endings,” he shook his head in amazement, a smile breaking upon his face. “If you hadn’t survived, the Wizarding world wouldn’t have exposed Vogel, and find out what Grindelwald has been up to all this while.”
“You were the key to unlocking all of this,” he concluded. “No other Head Auror would’ve achieved what you’ve done - not now, and probably not ever.”
“All by accident though,” Phaedra shrugged. “I’m no hero, Theseus - I didn’t do all that on purpose.”
“No - no, you did not,” he sighed, and dropped his arms around her; stopped dancing, a pained look washed across his face.
She watched him walk towards the living room sofa to sit down, his hand rubbing his chin gingerly - that strange new thing the elder Scamander brother started with, whenever he felt frustrated or anxious; brokenhearted, more like.
She remained standing in the middle of the living room, her gaze never leaving the man she loved. She watched him wring his hands, lacing and unlacing his fingers on his knees bobbing restlessly to his troubled thoughts knocking about in his head.
“I’m just - sorry, it has to be all at your expense,” Theseus let out a sighing shrug. “Your wellbeing, your mental health, your career… all that you’ve worked so hard for - for the greater good.”
“I fucking hate those words, you know - I really do,” he tittered with sarcasm.
Phaedra came to straddle his lap on the sofa, took hold of his trembling hands, hoping it would somehow in turn still the storm in his mind.
“I am sorry that things didn’t pan out the way you wanted it to,” he said, his eyes glistening sadly, amidst the nervous chuckling. “I’m sorry that after all you’ve fought for - worked so hard for, you ended up here in an old cottage house with me - with nothing better to do, but wait for me to come home from work every night, like some - bored old housewife.”
She tilted her head, and pursed a smile at him. She cupped the side of his face, feeling him lean into the gentle touch, and told him, quite certainly: “And here is where I’m meant to be - where we’re meant to be…”
Phaedra guided their joined hands to rest upon the four-month-old baby bump, nestled perfectly in the space between their bodies, and said: “And I’m glad - more than happy, to be waiting for you, to be with you.”
Theseus shut his eyes, and she leaned in to kiss him on the lips, feeling him kiss her back with such ardence, as she whispered: “Let me wait for you - to come home to me, to us, every night.”
*
The night before Phaedra Phileas was to return to Paris, where she was to spend a week on standby in the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France, and await further instructions from the Deutsches Ministerium für Magie; before eventually, she was to be away from Theseus Scamander for a month, without any exchange of written correspondences, nor Patronuses to let each other know they were safe, and the other did not have to worry - some five months ago now; she had led him by the hand into their bedroom in the Scamander family home in Dorset, sat him down on the edge of the bed, and proceeded to lavish him with deep, passionate kisses, while straddling his lap.
Her hands had held onto his face eagerly, as his snaked underneath her blouse, and roamed across her smooth back. Their languid hips had gyrated to the rhythm of their tongues, dancing in his mouth to a choreography they knew all too well, having practised it over and over again all through the years; each exhale they took huffed at the right time, each groan emitted at the right place.
When they both felt him hardened between her thighs, she had broken the kiss to lean back and watched him, eyes shut and brows furrowed to the ceiling, as her hands slid along his robust length; certain hand strokes that made him more submissive to her, moaned sensually, and that weak spot behind the ear that tightened his grip upon her waist, squeezing her skin to stop himself from losing control all too soon.
“Fuck…” Theseus had grunted in a huff, spots exploding behind his eyelids, as Phaedra slithered down to kneel between his thighs - and engulfed him so utterly, so completely, she thought she felt his tip moistened with pre-cum hitting the back of her throat, quivering with her singsong moans. His fingers had clutched onto the bed sheets, and his toes curled upon the wooden floor next to where she was kneeling, his whole body rocking along to the sexual tempo of her luscious mouth around him.
He had looked down to see her looking back up at him, eyes darkened with a kind of starvation. She knew all too well that he’d felt that slight squeeze at the pit of his stomach, watching her, watching him, while she attempted to suckle him till kingdom come. She also knew all too well that it’d taken more than all the willpower he had within him to grab onto her shoulders, and pull her back onto his lap, as he whispered: “Come here.” - before he actually came.
Phaedra had tasted Theseus in their mouths, salty and urgent, as she clambered atop him, positioned herself just right at the tip - and lowered onto him, wet walls closed in and embraced his wet length. Her hand had raked into the tousled curls at the back of his head, pushing his face up against her dampened neck, as they sang in harmony; a unison rasping that she breathed with a resonance in alto, while he matched her pitch with a bass line that coursed through their bodies coming together as one.
Buried snugly within her, he had guided her legs to wrap securely around his torso, before he heaved the both of them onto the bed, she letting out a provocative gasp into his mouth, as his weight came to rest on top of her. He had ravished her, every part of him in movement singing songs of praise to her Greek-like form - a mythology that was her and her alone.
His lips had grazed her skin with wordless adorations, his hands caressed her breasts, her nub, with a rhythmic cadence, and his hips rolled with hers to an orchestral love anthem they had mastered by heart after all this time - until they peaked, bodies arched into each other’s, balmy skin upon skin, shuddering into the afterglow of lingering kisses and heavy breathing, as the final chorus echoed around them.
Little did they know that the lovely love making song their bodies sang some five months ago now, was one that breathed their child to life, plucked from the astral plane of the inanimate and the not-quite-existent, the imaginary and the desirous, the wishful and the hopeful.
A soul that was not yet corporeal, but with a consciousness that was already awakened, when it heard out in the ether their every amorous note that was filled with so much love, yet with so much pain at the same time.
A newborn star among the prevalent constellations of old, one that challenged the conventional, defied the predestined comets and shooting stars, and had written itself for this world - for their world.
The song, practised over and over again all through the years; it had guided their child by the inmaterial hand, until it found its way home to Phaedra’s womb. There, it had stayed; this little ball of celestial fire, little light of miraculous hope. It had grown in their love, even though it was without their knowledge, occupied as they were with everything that happened within the month since it was conceived.
Until it was three months later, on the morning of the court-martial trial, when the mother had woken up with the most uncomfortable queasiness in the pit of her stomach, and thrown up the breakfast the father had prepared for her; both of them certain that it was just nerves - not her.
/
It was only some two weeks after the court-martial trial, and Phaedra’s throwing up had persisted, that Theseus had brought her into town to see the local Muggle doctor, worried beyond worries that it was finally the food poisoning he’d been keeping alert of every time he cooked for her.
He’d even made a solemn pledge to her while they were waiting for their turn at the town clinic that he’d stop cooking once and for all, if it was indeed food poisoning. He would not forgive himself for putting her through such inconvenience, after what she’d been through the last month; even though she’d never blamed him.
“It’s not food poisoning, Mr Scamander,” the local doctor, Dr Richards had said, somewhat amused. “Mrs Scamander here is quite simply, and rather undoubtedly - pregnant.”
“Wh-What?” - “That’s not - possible,” the Scamander mister and missus had exclaimed breathlessly at the same time.
Dr Richards had smiled a rather equivocal smile, and explained: “While it is true that the fertility rate is lower for women in their 40s, especially from their mid-40s onwards - like you, Mrs Scamander; and it does have its health risks, for you and the child, going forward, but no, Mrs Scamander - it doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”
“But, I was told - when I was younger, I-I couldn’t have children anymore…” Phaedra had struggled to understand. “I had a - I had a miscarriage, when I was in my 30s…”
Dr Richards furrowed his brows, and said: “Unless your body suffered extreme physical scarring, which you don’t - that shouldn’t be the only reason you can’t have children anymore, Mrs Scamander. I’ve treated many mothers who had countless miscarriages before. They’ve had healthy pregnancies the whole nine months, and they’ve all grown up to be healthy children.”
Phaedra had remained speechless for a long while, before Theseus chimed in, cautiously: “Should we be - wary, that it will not… that something might…”
“Like I said, there are - risks, a pregnancy this late,” the good doctor had smiled kindly. “But, it doesn’t mean you should walk on eggshells every day; the stress would actually make things worse. From what I can see from the examination today, you’re both in perfectly good health so far - mother and child.”
Dr Richards was still rather perplexed that he didn’t manage to turn the couple’s frowns upside down, clueless as he was the trauma they had both been through previously that had set them on such precarious behaviour. Usually, the newly aware parents he had come across would be shouting from the rooftops of their latest addition to the family, when he told them of the good news.
So, he tried again: “Mr and Mrs Scamander, it doesn’t matter what happened before. The miscarriage, the misinformation that you can’t have children anymore - here, and now, you are indeed with child - some eight weeks in already, might I add; in spite of everything, whatever they may be.”
“My advice?” He had clasped Phaedra’s cold hands in his older, wrinkled ones, and she’d met his eyes that exuded kindness and gentleness. “Be happy - be glad that the child is here.”
It was then it finally registered in her head, her entire being; and she could not help but sighed - relieved, as she looked up at Theseus, tears welling up in both their eyes.
/
The month and a half that passed weren’t without its trepidations for Phaedra; the same kind that asphyxiated her every morning leading up to the day Theseus was to go away on Dumbledore’s mission some years ago.
From the moment she opened her eyes in the morning, till the time she closed them at night, she worried constantly: Would today be the day she loses - it, again? Would it have left her already while she was asleep, when she did not have her right hand palmed over her stomach, just below her belly button? Would it have gone without her knowing, until she felt the damp sheets between her legs, soaked with blood; or the trickle of what it once was in her, running down her inner thighs, drenched her feet with what-could’ve-been, what-would’ve-been, what-should’ve-been?
It went without saying that the stress level for the Scamander mister and missus in the Dorset family home was inevitable, during that month and a half, when paired with the anticipation for the life sentence verdict that was happening concurrently.
They walked on eggshells every day, regardless.
It was such an unsettling time, those days, and if Phaedra were to admit to herself when asked, she would not be at all surprised if it were to leave the home it found in her womb.
Yet, somehow, it persevered. It didn’t suffer under the pressure Phaedra was in then. It grew stronger, as any foetus would as the months passed. So much so that it was supporting the mother instead, helping her through that month and a half, keeping her occupied, keeping her distracted; her little spot to bother.
As if it was where it was supposed to be, and it was not going anywhere; until Dr Richards came by the Scamander family home for her pre-appointed four-months check-up, and until he left after that.
In fact, it made sure Phaedra knew that, when she felt it moved inside of her for the first time. She gasped; she’d never made it this far before. It happened, right about the same time Theseus appeared by the bedroom door, after tending to the unexpected guest in the front yard; as if it knew the father had returned.
“How are we then, doctor?” Theseus asked, as he shrugged off his jacket suit, making sure his wand was still hidden in the sleeve as he draped the garment over the foot of the bed, before rolling up his shirt sleeves above the elbows.
Phaedra noticed that his face was still flushed from the encounter earlier that delayed his presence by her side during the check-up, as he finally settled next to her in bed.
“It moved…” she whispered to him, as if speaking any louder would frighten the baby into stagnation in her womb.
“Did it?” He breathed, placing a careful palm on her now-obvious baby bump, and smiled when he felt the movement too.
“Did - she…” Dr Richards chimed in to correct both of them, an equally pleasant smile upon his face.
The couple turned towards the doctor at the foot of the bed, who nodded at the gender reveal, while he packed up his medical bag.
“She…” Phaedra heaved, breathless; her face foreign to the feeling of utter elation spreading across her lips, blissful tears dampening her eyes.
“A girl?” Theseus managed, astounded.
“Growing - and healthy, like her mother,” Dr Richards added, snapping his bag shut. “Due in February, next year.”
Phaedra felt as if her heart was about to burst; overjoyed.
She was left to rest in the bedroom all by her not-so-lonesome, as Theseus saw the good doctor to the door. While her heart was burdened with such - happiness she never thought possible in her lifetime, as the gentlemen spoke in whispers at the front door, she could hear them still, clips of the conversation.
“I rarely look in on pregnant mothers in their late-30s, let alone well into their 40s,” Dr Richards said. “But, I have to say, Mr Scamander - I’ve also never looked in on mothers with a baby that’s as healthy as yours.”
“Against all odds, here you are,” the doctor added, probably giving Theseus an encouraging pat on the shoulder as well. “It’s all good and well, Mr Scamander - don’t worry.”
Phaedra had sighed, and looked over at the bedside table next to her, where unfolded, was the letter Theseus had sent earlier that day by owl, informing her he’d received word that the Deutsches Ministerium für Magie had overturned her life sentence; and attached along with it was the official letter from the Ministerium as well, declaring that the verdict of her life sentence was indeed overturned.
“You alright, Mrs Scamander?” She looked towards the bedroom doorway, and saw him leaning against the frame, smiling at her the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen on his face.
She smiled, and gazed down at her right hand palming her stomach, just below her belly button; a little habit cultivated in the last four months that had become some kind of an instinct to her - a motherly instinct.
“It’s just - funny, how things fell into place in the end…” Phaedra said, a rather bittersweet symphony. “How - everything else, everything that’s been my life - my whole life, just - fell away - and then, there’s her.”
Theseus could only heave a large breath, as he returned to her side on the bed; empathetic of where she stood then between all that was lost, and the one that returned.
On the one hand, such poignant defeat in one’s life, but on the other - such rosy futurity, for another life that was to come.
Chapter: 34 - And The Dreams That You Dare to Dream Really Do Come True
Fandom: Fantastic Beasts ; Theseus/OFC
Rating: NC-17 / R
Summary: She cupped the side of his face, feeling him lean into the gentle touch, and told him, quite certainly: “And here is where I’m meant to be - where we’re meant to be…”
And The Dreams That You Dare to Dream Really Do Come True [190]
Theseus Scamander was, quite literally, hitting the ground running, when he Apparated along the dirt path leading to the Scamander family home at the end of the road. He could already see Phaedra Phileas waiting for him at the front door, a knitted scarf wrapped around her petite form, keeping her toasty during the autumn months; smiles bursting upon their faces, when they caught sight of each other.
He closed the distance between them, practically running towards her; until he reached the doorstep, and scooped her into his arms, lifting her off the ground, for the tightest embrace he could muster.
“Oh my darling - oh my darling Phaedra,” Theseus exclaimed, still breathless from the run.
He cupped her brightened face in his palms, and smothered her with long, passionate kisses; as he said: “They overturned the verdict - Merlin’s beard, they overturned the verdict!”
Phaedra giggled, as he trailed the kisses down her neck; and buried his face against her flustered skin.
“You don’t have to leave me anymore - oh my darling…” he managed, fresh tears already stinging his eyes once again.
“No… no, I don’t,” she sighed, heartily, wrapping her arms around his neck.
However, as soon as the elation settled, Theseus could see in his mind’s eyes once again, echoes of Anton Vogel’s confessions reflected in the pool of “light made liquid, wind made solid” within the Pensieve, when he unleashed the phials from the wooden box with the sliding lid, and went through them, one by one, in his office.
Then, the same perturbed ruminations clouded his head: the ones that ate away time while he sat in the Head Auror office, and made him late going home, after all had been examined and evaluated minutely and meticulously; all stones unturned, all doors unlocked, all so utterly and so completely revealed. The same heaviness that weighed down on him, as he descended the thousand flights of stairs of the Magisterial Chamber of Ancient Wizardry, after Grindelwald escaped their clutches.
Back then, in Bhutan, while he knew the crisis at hand was diverted, he also knew something bigger was bound to happen in the unforeseeable future. Right then, where he stood with Phaedra in his arms, while he knew it was a close shave for them, with the overturned life sentence verdict, while he felt like they had escaped death, they were instead left to suffer the consequences of living the remaining days; like jumping off a building, only to survive with a lifelong paralysis.
Something big had happened, and time had shifted for Grindelwald, from the “unforeseeable” to the “foreseeable”, while the Wizarding world was left in the dark, lacking the ability and the intel to - “see”.
The dread sitting upon his heart then, as he drew in his arms around Phaedra, a hand raked into the back of her hair, caressing haphazardly; because what could he say to her to put her mind at ease, when his mind was just as troubled with what was to come, knowing all that he knew from Vogel’s confessions, and his deceits over the entire Wizarding world?
It was enough to make him regret going through the confessions in the first place. If he didn’t know, then maybe they could live in the afterglow of the overturned life verdict a little longer, leave whatever it was to come, until the day it came.
Ignorance is bliss, as the Muggles would say; and frankly, Theseus quite like the thought of not knowing for once.
“He’s just arrived,” she spoke up, drawing him out of his deep thoughts; he’d forgotten what he was running home to in the first place. “I’ve offered him a cup of tea while we… What is he doing here?”
Theseus untangled himself from the embrace, and looked at Phaedra, brows knitted, before he followed her gaze already fixed at the person walking down the dirt path towards them. His mannerism, his every move - discerning and recognisable, even from afar, even when his face was hidden under the low-ridden hat, his physique shrouded in the overcoat with the collar up.
Theseus’ face fell, as he let out a steady breath.
Just what we need right now… he thought scornfully.
“Phae, you go ahead now, alright?” He said to her, eyes never leaving the approaching guest. “I’ll come in when I - when I’m done.”
“Theseus…” From the corner of his eye, he saw her cast an anxious look at him; dubious not of the unexpected visit that evening, but more of how Theseus was going to behave towards the surprise guest.
He turned towards her, and pressed a smile to a whisper: “Go on now, darling.”
Phaedra did not protest; just touched his face gently, watched him kiss her docile fingers, before turning to leave, rather reluctantly.
/
Theseus crossed the front yard, back to the rickety fence he just jumped over to get to Phaedra mere minutes ago - and stopped there; a kind of attestation that he would see the guest at that very spot, and no further into the compound of the Scamander family home.
“You’ve got some nerve showing up here, only now - Albus,” he greeted his former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, when the latter was within earshot distance, close enough to notice the disdainful tone in his voice.
“Hello, Theseus,” Albus Dumbledore said, seemingly unaffected regardless. “Newt told me I’d find you here.”
“And that must be the missus - Phaedra,” he added, waving towards someone a little left from and behind Theseus, who turned around to see her standing by the living room window, with a timid wave and hesitant smile on her face. “Finally, a face to the name. You know, Newt told me it was her - the Patronus in Bhutan…”
The former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher must have droned on about all that Newt told him in Bhutan, regarding Theseus’ so-called “secret” love. How the Scamander family met her when Newt was just a wee boy, and how he’d warmed up to him quite instantly, when she chose to speak to him about salamanders. How Theseus and Phaedra fell out in the beginning of their Auror careers, but much to the younger brother’s approval, they had gotten back together, and eventually, married in a private ceremony - or “ceremonial ritual”, more like a couple of years ago.
Theseus was just wondering if he should tell Newt to stop disclosing so much to Dumbledore, when the professor, in return, barely shared anything about his own life to them; wasn’t it just recently they’d found out about his sister, Arianna, and his nephew, Aurelius - the Obscurial formerly known as Credence Barebone?
Then, everything that came to pass till that point pertaining to his former Hogwarts professor crowded in on him: the trip to Hogsmeade with Newt to see Dumbledore, when he finally spoke to Theseus about the Blood Troth; his bright idea of a mission to confuse and distract Grindelwald that fell flat on everyone's faces, when he was almost killed in the Erkstag and the No-Maj Jacob Kowalski almost arrested for, but ultimately, suffered the Cruciatus Curse for attempting to assassinate the dark wizard; Grindelwald’s narrow escape in Bhutan; Vogel’s recent confessions that revealed what he’d been up to with the dark wizard in Muggle Germany, while everyone was busy putting out fire all over the world, and Dumbledore remained in hiding at Hogwarts…
Everything that came to pass made Theseus dizzy - angry.
“What do you want, Albus?” He asked abruptly, as he turned back to face his former Hogwarts professor.
Albus let out a nervous chuckle, and stuck his waving hand into his pants pocket.
“I heard about the trial - and the overturned verdict,” he began. “I’ve gone to see Madam Santos, when I heard about Vogel’s arrest, and she told me about - what Grindelwald has been up to; what he’s done - and how it’s affected Phaedra.”
“I just - thought I’d drop by, and see how she’s doing - how you’re both doing,” the professor added. “If there’s anything you need - anything I can do -”
“As a matter of fact, there is,” Theseus let out a sigh that stopped Albus mid-sentence, as the former student looked down at his right shoe digging into the dirt on the ground. “There’s always been that same thing you could’ve done, Albus.”
The professor swallowed: “Theseus, I know you’re upset -”
“Good,” his former Hufflepuff student cut in, looking up sharply at Albus. “Because it seems to me as if you don’t, or that you just - don’t care, how anybody else feels, or what they have to go through in the years since Grindelwald…”
Theseus shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and shrugged rancorously: “You promised you'd find him and stop him, Albus. You promised me that day in Bhutan - more than two years ago now. What have you done since? More to the point - look at what he’s done since.”
“He infiltrated the bloody German Reich - helped steered the Muggle Nazi’s cause to align with his,” he stressed through gritted teeth, a hand withdrawing from the pocket to point a stern finger at Albus. “But, what have you done - hmm?”
Albus bowed his head, and for once, lost for words.
“I can understand when Travers asked you to fight him, and you said you - can’t; because of the Blood Pact you made, we know this now,” Theseus continued. “But, it was also destroyed in Bhutan, wasn’t it - how else will you fulfil your destinies, you said.”
“Well, Albus, he’s been - out there, fulfilling his destiny,” he hissed. “But, what have you done in the meantime?”
Theseus let out a resentful laugh, and shook his head; rubbed his chin roughly, until the skin of his jaw began turning pinkish red. That strange new thing the elder Scamander brother started with, this time, not so much brokenhearted or anxious, but more so, frustrated.
“You know, she once asked me if what we did was necessary,” he shrugged again, toeing his shoe into the dirt, feeling the professor’s eyes on him. “Couldn’t you have found someone else instead - why did it have to be - us?”
“I told her, it was necessary - all that we’d done,” he sighed, recalling the conversation he had with Phaedra such a long time ago, which almost caused quite the dent on their relationship; the cohabitant life they’d gotten used to, “uneventful” as far as both of them were concerned. “She did not understand, furthermore, she did not agree with it - but she supported us anyway.”
“But this - what happened to her, because of Grindelwald - this was not necessary,” Theseus met Albus’ gaze once more. “Not when you don’t have the balls to face him sooner.”
“I don’t know how you won the loyalties and trusts you did, from the people in the Wizarding world - my brother included,” he started pacing in front of his former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. “But, to me, you are just a selfish, old man - who uses us lesser wizards and witches as pawns to correct your mistakes, not caring how it’d affect us, when you’re too scared to do the job yourself.”
“Phaedra would not be where she is today - Leta would not have died,” he added, pain searing through his heart once again; the kind he had endured throughout the last 10 years. “If you’ve just - done, what you’re supposed to do, all those years ago when Travers asked you to: fight him.”
Theseus heaved a great, big sigh, and ran a hand down his face in an attempt to regain his composure. Albus only looked on, a puzzling kind of desolation written across his face, like he would usually wear the expression. But, whether it was from feeling empathetic towards what Theseus just shared with him - so honestly, and so blatantly; or from feeling hurt or misunderstood, getting such a forthright and brutal dressing down from his former Hufflepuff student - frankly, Theseus could not give a damn anymore.
“I’d invite you in for tea, but we already have a, uh - guest that we’re entertaining, whom I should really get to…” he said, not quite meaning what he said, for he never planned to invite Albus in for tea.
He watched his former professor closely, as if waiting for him to say something, yet at the same time, not really expecting him to say anything at all. He just needed Albus to hear what he had to say. He didn’t care what he had to say in response.
“I’m sorry - I am, that you fell in love with the wrong man, that he turned out to be - so wrong. But, I do hope you find the courage you need to face him one day, Albus,” Theseus said. “In the end, you’ll have to face him yourself, this you know - no matter how many wizards and witches you make lay down their lives between the both of you.”
“In the meantime - please leave,” he added. “Leave us alone, leave - Newt alone. You know that man will go to the ends of the world for you; that’s why you go to him, use him.”
“I didn’t - use him…” Albus attempted to argue, seemingly for the first time since he arrived.
“Did you know Credence was your nephew?” Theseus posed immediately, as if the words had been sitting at the tip of his tongue for the longest time. “Or were you having too much fun leading Newt on, letting him think Credence was Leta’s brother, so it’d motivate him to go after the Obscurial?”
“Theseus…” Albus sighed, with some incredulity in his tone.
“You know what - I don’t care,” Theseus shook his head.
Then, lightly, rather discreetly, he tapped on the cufflink on the sleeve of his wand hand; the ones Phaedra gifted him a few years ago for Christmas, the square-shaped ones with a cabochon citrine jewel inset nestled in a yellow gold Art Deco adaptation of a Greek key with a tinge of rosy hues - and released his wand with the tortoise shell handle into his grasp.
He raised the wand at Albus, and with a kind of unsettling anger weaved into his monotonous, calm tone, Theseus enunciated: “If you come near any of us, ever again - I will kill you.”
*
On the night that followed Albus Dumbledore’s visit to Dorset, and his heated conversation with Theseus Scamander in the front yard of the Scamander family home, an implicit uneasiness permeated the space between the Scamander mister and missus, as they soldiered through dinner of individual pot pies, with scarce conversations of his hours in the Head Auror office, while Phaedra Phileas considered between awkward silences to bring up the unanticipated visit earlier that day.
It was obvious he did not want to talk about it; he would have mentioned to her about it as they sat down for dinner, instead of skirting around the subject, speaking about everything under the stars, rather than the familiar face that showed up, after years of not seeing him, following the events in Bhutan. He’d even sunk into pensive reticence, whether he was aware of it or not, than utter Dumbledore’s name and the reason he dropped by.
After the dishes were rinsed and stored away, the after-dinner tea served, and he had dragged her up from the sofa for a slow dance[191] across the living room, in an attempt to relieve the troubles that was clearly bothering him to no end; Phaedra finally breached the subject: “What was that about earlier - with Dumbledore?”
She felt Theseus’ muscles tensed slightly under her touch, yet not missing a beat, swaying to Bing Crosby’s rendition of their favourite song of old. When he did not say anything, she sighed, and rested the side of her face against his chest, listening to his heartbeat hammering anxiously.
“I thought I heard shouting,” she mumbled.
Theseus let out a sigh too, looking down at her staring back up. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, and said with a rather strained smile: “Nothing - nothing you need to worry about.”
He tightened his embrace around her, and pressed a kiss atop her head, mumbling: “He won’t be bothering us anymore.”
“You weren’t - mean to him, were you?” She ventured just a smidge further.
“Only as much as his credit’s due,” he answered, matter-of-factly.
Phaedra looked up at him sternly: “Theseus…”
“You’re ruining the song, you know,” he said with a smile, switching the subject; an indication that he would not like to talk about Dumbledore anymore.
She just shook her head, and lied back against his chest, his heart rate already normalising.
“I much prefer Henry Burr’s version, anyway,” she said, letting the matter rest.
Theseus chuckled lightly; the topic diverted.
For a little while, they revelled in the quiet, the non-speech, dancing to the familiar cadences of their first dance together, during Madam Venusia Crickerly’s Christmas soiree - ages ago. While the tempo of this new rendition differed from the one they knew, they still recalled as if it was just yesterday, Phaedra’s blue evening dress [192]; its puffed sleeves and black-laced wide collar, its chains of roses that seemed to grow from the hem of the dress up to the waist, fluttering around them, as if coming to life, as he guided her on a few twirls across the makeshift dance floor at the Ministry of Magic Atrium.
“Is it wrong - to feel like a weight lifted off my chest?” Phaedra said, as the happy memory of old settled like dust in the back of her mind.
She felt Theseus’ hand caressing her back, and she continued: “Sitting in the Auror Office every day - I feel like an imposter, holding onto something that’s lost for a while now, something that is not mine to keep anymore…”
His hand came to cradle the back of her head, letting her know that he was still listening, as she resumed: “Is it wrong to feel like I’m doing the right thing - while at the same time, feel that everything has gone to waste - the ambitions for my career, ultimately, became a letdown in the end…”
“Well - I don’t think it’s a letdown at all,” Theseus finally chimed in, looking into her eyes. “You’re one of the best, and most skilful Auror I know - and I’m not just saying that because I’m your husband. I’m saying that as an Auror that was pitted against you since the very beginning, and worked alongside you for the last 25 years.”
“What you’ve achieved throughout your career as Head Auror for the Ministère, and this - ending to end all endings,” he shook his head in amazement, a smile breaking upon his face. “If you hadn’t survived, the Wizarding world wouldn’t have exposed Vogel, and find out what Grindelwald has been up to all this while.”
“You were the key to unlocking all of this,” he concluded. “No other Head Auror would’ve achieved what you’ve done - not now, and probably not ever.”
“All by accident though,” Phaedra shrugged. “I’m no hero, Theseus - I didn’t do all that on purpose.”
“No - no, you did not,” he sighed, and dropped his arms around her; stopped dancing, a pained look washed across his face.
She watched him walk towards the living room sofa to sit down, his hand rubbing his chin gingerly - that strange new thing the elder Scamander brother started with, whenever he felt frustrated or anxious; brokenhearted, more like.
She remained standing in the middle of the living room, her gaze never leaving the man she loved. She watched him wring his hands, lacing and unlacing his fingers on his knees bobbing restlessly to his troubled thoughts knocking about in his head.
“I’m just - sorry, it has to be all at your expense,” Theseus let out a sighing shrug. “Your wellbeing, your mental health, your career… all that you’ve worked so hard for - for the greater good.”
“I fucking hate those words, you know - I really do,” he tittered with sarcasm.
Phaedra came to straddle his lap on the sofa, took hold of his trembling hands, hoping it would somehow in turn still the storm in his mind.
“I am sorry that things didn’t pan out the way you wanted it to,” he said, his eyes glistening sadly, amidst the nervous chuckling. “I’m sorry that after all you’ve fought for - worked so hard for, you ended up here in an old cottage house with me - with nothing better to do, but wait for me to come home from work every night, like some - bored old housewife.”
She tilted her head, and pursed a smile at him. She cupped the side of his face, feeling him lean into the gentle touch, and told him, quite certainly: “And here is where I’m meant to be - where we’re meant to be…”
Phaedra guided their joined hands to rest upon the four-month-old baby bump, nestled perfectly in the space between their bodies, and said: “And I’m glad - more than happy, to be waiting for you, to be with you.”
Theseus shut his eyes, and she leaned in to kiss him on the lips, feeling him kiss her back with such ardence, as she whispered: “Let me wait for you - to come home to me, to us, every night.”
*
The night before Phaedra Phileas was to return to Paris, where she was to spend a week on standby in the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France, and await further instructions from the Deutsches Ministerium für Magie; before eventually, she was to be away from Theseus Scamander for a month, without any exchange of written correspondences, nor Patronuses to let each other know they were safe, and the other did not have to worry - some five months ago now; she had led him by the hand into their bedroom in the Scamander family home in Dorset, sat him down on the edge of the bed, and proceeded to lavish him with deep, passionate kisses, while straddling his lap.
Her hands had held onto his face eagerly, as his snaked underneath her blouse, and roamed across her smooth back. Their languid hips had gyrated to the rhythm of their tongues, dancing in his mouth to a choreography they knew all too well, having practised it over and over again all through the years; each exhale they took huffed at the right time, each groan emitted at the right place.
When they both felt him hardened between her thighs, she had broken the kiss to lean back and watched him, eyes shut and brows furrowed to the ceiling, as her hands slid along his robust length; certain hand strokes that made him more submissive to her, moaned sensually, and that weak spot behind the ear that tightened his grip upon her waist, squeezing her skin to stop himself from losing control all too soon.
“Fuck…” Theseus had grunted in a huff, spots exploding behind his eyelids, as Phaedra slithered down to kneel between his thighs - and engulfed him so utterly, so completely, she thought she felt his tip moistened with pre-cum hitting the back of her throat, quivering with her singsong moans. His fingers had clutched onto the bed sheets, and his toes curled upon the wooden floor next to where she was kneeling, his whole body rocking along to the sexual tempo of her luscious mouth around him.
He had looked down to see her looking back up at him, eyes darkened with a kind of starvation. She knew all too well that he’d felt that slight squeeze at the pit of his stomach, watching her, watching him, while she attempted to suckle him till kingdom come. She also knew all too well that it’d taken more than all the willpower he had within him to grab onto her shoulders, and pull her back onto his lap, as he whispered: “Come here.” - before he actually came.
Phaedra had tasted Theseus in their mouths, salty and urgent, as she clambered atop him, positioned herself just right at the tip - and lowered onto him, wet walls closed in and embraced his wet length. Her hand had raked into the tousled curls at the back of his head, pushing his face up against her dampened neck, as they sang in harmony; a unison rasping that she breathed with a resonance in alto, while he matched her pitch with a bass line that coursed through their bodies coming together as one.
Buried snugly within her, he had guided her legs to wrap securely around his torso, before he heaved the both of them onto the bed, she letting out a provocative gasp into his mouth, as his weight came to rest on top of her. He had ravished her, every part of him in movement singing songs of praise to her Greek-like form - a mythology that was her and her alone.
His lips had grazed her skin with wordless adorations, his hands caressed her breasts, her nub, with a rhythmic cadence, and his hips rolled with hers to an orchestral love anthem they had mastered by heart after all this time - until they peaked, bodies arched into each other’s, balmy skin upon skin, shuddering into the afterglow of lingering kisses and heavy breathing, as the final chorus echoed around them.
Little did they know that the lovely love making song their bodies sang some five months ago now, was one that breathed their child to life, plucked from the astral plane of the inanimate and the not-quite-existent, the imaginary and the desirous, the wishful and the hopeful.
A soul that was not yet corporeal, but with a consciousness that was already awakened, when it heard out in the ether their every amorous note that was filled with so much love, yet with so much pain at the same time.
A newborn star among the prevalent constellations of old, one that challenged the conventional, defied the predestined comets and shooting stars, and had written itself for this world - for their world.
The song, practised over and over again all through the years; it had guided their child by the inmaterial hand, until it found its way home to Phaedra’s womb. There, it had stayed; this little ball of celestial fire, little light of miraculous hope. It had grown in their love, even though it was without their knowledge, occupied as they were with everything that happened within the month since it was conceived.
Until it was three months later, on the morning of the court-martial trial, when the mother had woken up with the most uncomfortable queasiness in the pit of her stomach, and thrown up the breakfast the father had prepared for her; both of them certain that it was just nerves - not her.
/
It was only some two weeks after the court-martial trial, and Phaedra’s throwing up had persisted, that Theseus had brought her into town to see the local Muggle doctor, worried beyond worries that it was finally the food poisoning he’d been keeping alert of every time he cooked for her.
He’d even made a solemn pledge to her while they were waiting for their turn at the town clinic that he’d stop cooking once and for all, if it was indeed food poisoning. He would not forgive himself for putting her through such inconvenience, after what she’d been through the last month; even though she’d never blamed him.
“It’s not food poisoning, Mr Scamander,” the local doctor, Dr Richards had said, somewhat amused. “Mrs Scamander here is quite simply, and rather undoubtedly - pregnant.”
“Wh-What?” - “That’s not - possible,” the Scamander mister and missus had exclaimed breathlessly at the same time.
Dr Richards had smiled a rather equivocal smile, and explained: “While it is true that the fertility rate is lower for women in their 40s, especially from their mid-40s onwards - like you, Mrs Scamander; and it does have its health risks, for you and the child, going forward, but no, Mrs Scamander - it doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”
“But, I was told - when I was younger, I-I couldn’t have children anymore…” Phaedra had struggled to understand. “I had a - I had a miscarriage, when I was in my 30s…”
Dr Richards furrowed his brows, and said: “Unless your body suffered extreme physical scarring, which you don’t - that shouldn’t be the only reason you can’t have children anymore, Mrs Scamander. I’ve treated many mothers who had countless miscarriages before. They’ve had healthy pregnancies the whole nine months, and they’ve all grown up to be healthy children.”
Phaedra had remained speechless for a long while, before Theseus chimed in, cautiously: “Should we be - wary, that it will not… that something might…”
“Like I said, there are - risks, a pregnancy this late,” the good doctor had smiled kindly. “But, it doesn’t mean you should walk on eggshells every day; the stress would actually make things worse. From what I can see from the examination today, you’re both in perfectly good health so far - mother and child.”
Dr Richards was still rather perplexed that he didn’t manage to turn the couple’s frowns upside down, clueless as he was the trauma they had both been through previously that had set them on such precarious behaviour. Usually, the newly aware parents he had come across would be shouting from the rooftops of their latest addition to the family, when he told them of the good news.
So, he tried again: “Mr and Mrs Scamander, it doesn’t matter what happened before. The miscarriage, the misinformation that you can’t have children anymore - here, and now, you are indeed with child - some eight weeks in already, might I add; in spite of everything, whatever they may be.”
“My advice?” He had clasped Phaedra’s cold hands in his older, wrinkled ones, and she’d met his eyes that exuded kindness and gentleness. “Be happy - be glad that the child is here.”
It was then it finally registered in her head, her entire being; and she could not help but sighed - relieved, as she looked up at Theseus, tears welling up in both their eyes.
/
The month and a half that passed weren’t without its trepidations for Phaedra; the same kind that asphyxiated her every morning leading up to the day Theseus was to go away on Dumbledore’s mission some years ago.
From the moment she opened her eyes in the morning, till the time she closed them at night, she worried constantly: Would today be the day she loses - it, again? Would it have left her already while she was asleep, when she did not have her right hand palmed over her stomach, just below her belly button? Would it have gone without her knowing, until she felt the damp sheets between her legs, soaked with blood; or the trickle of what it once was in her, running down her inner thighs, drenched her feet with what-could’ve-been, what-would’ve-been, what-should’ve-been?
It went without saying that the stress level for the Scamander mister and missus in the Dorset family home was inevitable, during that month and a half, when paired with the anticipation for the life sentence verdict that was happening concurrently.
They walked on eggshells every day, regardless.
It was such an unsettling time, those days, and if Phaedra were to admit to herself when asked, she would not be at all surprised if it were to leave the home it found in her womb.
Yet, somehow, it persevered. It didn’t suffer under the pressure Phaedra was in then. It grew stronger, as any foetus would as the months passed. So much so that it was supporting the mother instead, helping her through that month and a half, keeping her occupied, keeping her distracted; her little spot to bother.
As if it was where it was supposed to be, and it was not going anywhere; until Dr Richards came by the Scamander family home for her pre-appointed four-months check-up, and until he left after that.
In fact, it made sure Phaedra knew that, when she felt it moved inside of her for the first time. She gasped; she’d never made it this far before. It happened, right about the same time Theseus appeared by the bedroom door, after tending to the unexpected guest in the front yard; as if it knew the father had returned.
“How are we then, doctor?” Theseus asked, as he shrugged off his jacket suit, making sure his wand was still hidden in the sleeve as he draped the garment over the foot of the bed, before rolling up his shirt sleeves above the elbows.
Phaedra noticed that his face was still flushed from the encounter earlier that delayed his presence by her side during the check-up, as he finally settled next to her in bed.
“It moved…” she whispered to him, as if speaking any louder would frighten the baby into stagnation in her womb.
“Did it?” He breathed, placing a careful palm on her now-obvious baby bump, and smiled when he felt the movement too.
“Did - she…” Dr Richards chimed in to correct both of them, an equally pleasant smile upon his face.
The couple turned towards the doctor at the foot of the bed, who nodded at the gender reveal, while he packed up his medical bag.
“She…” Phaedra heaved, breathless; her face foreign to the feeling of utter elation spreading across her lips, blissful tears dampening her eyes.
“A girl?” Theseus managed, astounded.
“Growing - and healthy, like her mother,” Dr Richards added, snapping his bag shut. “Due in February, next year.”
Phaedra felt as if her heart was about to burst; overjoyed.
She was left to rest in the bedroom all by her not-so-lonesome, as Theseus saw the good doctor to the door. While her heart was burdened with such - happiness she never thought possible in her lifetime, as the gentlemen spoke in whispers at the front door, she could hear them still, clips of the conversation.
“I rarely look in on pregnant mothers in their late-30s, let alone well into their 40s,” Dr Richards said. “But, I have to say, Mr Scamander - I’ve also never looked in on mothers with a baby that’s as healthy as yours.”
“Against all odds, here you are,” the doctor added, probably giving Theseus an encouraging pat on the shoulder as well. “It’s all good and well, Mr Scamander - don’t worry.”
Phaedra had sighed, and looked over at the bedside table next to her, where unfolded, was the letter Theseus had sent earlier that day by owl, informing her he’d received word that the Deutsches Ministerium für Magie had overturned her life sentence; and attached along with it was the official letter from the Ministerium as well, declaring that the verdict of her life sentence was indeed overturned.
“You alright, Mrs Scamander?” She looked towards the bedroom doorway, and saw him leaning against the frame, smiling at her the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen on his face.
She smiled, and gazed down at her right hand palming her stomach, just below her belly button; a little habit cultivated in the last four months that had become some kind of an instinct to her - a motherly instinct.
“It’s just - funny, how things fell into place in the end…” Phaedra said, a rather bittersweet symphony. “How - everything else, everything that’s been my life - my whole life, just - fell away - and then, there’s her.”
Theseus could only heave a large breath, as he returned to her side on the bed; empathetic of where she stood then between all that was lost, and the one that returned.
On the one hand, such poignant defeat in one’s life, but on the other - such rosy futurity, for another life that was to come.