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lacollectionneuse1967 · 1 year ago

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slip of the tongue part 3 - reckoning

Theseus Scamander x Reader

"Keep your hands to yourself!" You snap, trying to infuse as much venom into your voice as possible. "I can't," he groans.

summary: a second mission with newt and the group reintroduces theseus's former fiancée, leta lestrange, into the mix. old wounds and insecurities flare as you both reckon with your pasts and make decisions that determine your future.

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: romance with plot. some smut. slight angst!! non-canon compliant.

warnings: 18+ smut, semi-public inappropriate touching, dirty talk, hand kink

part one / part two / part three

author's note: it's funny how the title of this fic doesn't really fit anymore HAHA, goes to show that i did not plan this story at all. this part is going to be LONGER & more focused on plot & their character development! hope you enjoy, as always let me know if you'd like me to continue :)

The surreal, electric buzz from the gala dissipates as soon as you enter the elevator at the Hotel de Rome with Theseus.

Theseus's jacket is so large you're practically drowning in it, the sleeves hang well past your hands. You feel like a little girl in a nightgown. The elevator pulleys burr mechanically as it slowly rises, the electric bulb light casting your face in a sickly, ghastly light. The backs of your high heels have begun to dig painfully into your skin, that stinging pain the only thing grounding you to reality, that and Theseus's warm body beside you. You're positive your feet are bleeding.

Your weariness is mirrored in everyone else's faces when you walk into the hotel room at last. It's obvious that they're all overextended. There's no semblance of victoriousness, even after your successful heist.

Newt stands, alert, at the sight of his brother.

"Theseus! Finally, I was beginning to worry-"

"I'm fine, brother," Theseus waves him off. His hair is slightly damp from the snowfall, and his dress shirt as well. "We got caught up, but we're fine."

When Newt turns to speak to you, his lips part but no words come out. He's staring at your mouth. He looks pale and horrified.

"What?" You turn to the others and to Theseus in uncertainty. Tina and Jacob are also looking at you with newfound distress, but Theseus seems as clueless as you, frowning warily at Newt.

Newt makes as if to bring a hand to your face but pulls back at the last moment.

"Oh dear," Newt says. "Y-Your lipstick is smeared... I'm so terribly sorry, Y/N. And your hair—I didn’t think Dietrich would actually-"

Theseus half-raises an arm, cutting his brother short, looking admonished.

“Actually, Newt, that would be my doing...”

Your face warms considerably. Newt chokes on his words.

“Oh…” He turns to the rest of the group, his face nearly flushed as yours. Jacob lets out a strangled noise and Tina does a discreet double-take between you and Theseus.

“Well,” says Newt, mercifully changing the subject. “We all made off fantastically. Good work.”

You want to share in his congratulations, but it feels premature with Grindelwald still at large. It doesn't feel as though you have much to celebrate in this tiny hotel room, the five of you still standing awkwardly in your evening wear.

"What now?" Asks Tina.

Newt sits on one of the two twin-sized beds and hunches over, forearms on his legs. He is your designated leader, but you have to admit he looks so small and frail without his coat. Thin and unsure of himself.

"I have it on good authority that Credence will be at a mausoleum in the French Alps. He could be heading there now, we have no way of knowing, but he is planning on going there soon. Tomorrow, maybe."

"Why?" Tina's face is full of emotion. You don't know who Credence is, or why he is important to the resistance, but you don't feel that now is the time to ask. It stuns you, the subtlety of her expression, how someone can look so crushed and full of love at once.

"He's, erm, searching for his ancestral records I believe," Newt answers. "The Lestrange artifacts and family tree were moved there from the cemetery in Paris, possibly by Grindelwald. This is likely all a trap set for Credence, but this could very well be our last chance to intercept him. To save him."

Tina is speechless, Jacob nods solemnly.

"Y/N," says Newt. It startles you to hear him say your name in all of this deliberation. "I know you probably don't understand half of what we're saying, and we understand if you don't want to come. But we'll likely run into Grindelwald and his followers. They're after Credence. We could use you."

You don't even have to think.

"Of course, Newt. I go where Theseus goes." You wonder if you sound too intense, too devoted, so you add: "And besides, I want to be of any help that I can."

Theseus reaches out and clasps your hand in his. It thrills you, for him to do this in front of his brother, in front of the others. Your heart races, happily so.

Newt smiles at the sight.

"Sleep," he turns to everyone. "We leave first thing in the morning."

----

The next day, by the time you make it to the French Alps in spats of apparition and stretches of traveling by train, it is nearly dusk again.

You and Theseus had slept like the dead in the too-small hotel room bed, with Tina in the other bed and Jacob and Newt, in a turn of events beyond your understanding, in some hidden compartment within Newt's brown leather suitcase. Strange, but you didn't question it. Your bodies ached when you woke, but it felt like heaven to you, being held by him, you wouldn't have traded it for the world.

"I'm too big for this bed," he lamented, stretching his limbs, when the two of you woke in the morning.

"Hmm, yeah. Too big... " When you smiled coyly and narrowed your eyes at him he threw a pillow at your face. You caught it with a laugh.

"Naughty," he chided.

"The resistance," as Theseus had once jokingly called it, turned out to be not so glamorous after all. The resistance was perpetually tired and forever embarking on some haphazard plans only half-understood.

But when you set foot at the base of the mountains in the Alps, you feel bizarrely energized. This is what you imagined the work of an Auror would be like, chasing leads, pursuing justice through crowded cities and rugged terrain. It feels good to be so proactive after a year of being more or less cooped up in an office at the Ministry. And, best of all, Theseus is here with you. And he wants you, if not your heart then your body, at last, at least...

"This can't be it, Newt," you hear Jacob say, his breath pluming in front of him in small huffs. He struggles through the thick snowbed to catch up to Newt, who is a bit ahead of the group. You're in what looks like a forest clearing, the mountains rise in the distance, gargantuan and feeling a bit holy in their emptiness, their silence.

"He's right. There's nothing out here," calls Tina.

It's a winter forest. A killing wood. In truth, you’ve never been so cold in your entire life. The whole world has turned white as death: white blizzard blotting the air, thick blankets of fresh snow carpet the ground, and everywhere outside the clearing are great white pines standing like sentries, their edges blurred and softened by the snow fog.

You can see what’s in front of you, but you can’t see what’s coming.

Newt walks clumsily back through the budding blizzard to rejoin the group.

"The mausoleum should be a bit uphill from here!" He assures. "It's concealed by magic. Credence doesn't know, but we need someone with the blood of a Lestrange to enter."

The blood of a Lestrange.

Before you can even make the connection, Theseus stiffens beside you and drops your hand.

"Newt, you didn't." His voice is grave.

"I'm so sorry."

You wonder in a shrugging, aloof way why Newt looks to you after saying this to Theseus. It still doesn't mean anything to you.

A branch cracks, a high, ear-splitting sound like a broken bone. When you see the figure emerge from the tree line, your hand is already on your wand.

Grindelwald, you think.

But then Theseus's arm snaps out to yours, stilling your hand, almost just as quick.

"Don't." He says.

She approaches you slowly and you make out who it is almost immediately, just by the shape of her silhouette. Theseus and Newt's reactions make sense now, it all clicks into place with resounding dread. You feel the word "oh" in the pit of your stomach like a dropped stone.

Floating from the forest like that, in her wine-colored silk dress and black coat, Leta Lestrange really does look something like a ghost, or an angel...

When she approaches she walks straight to Theseus.

"Newt wrote to me," she says loud enough for everyone to hear, but she is only looking at Theseus. Looking at him like she's searching for some lifeline there. "Credence thinks he's my brother... We both know this cannot be true. I can help you get inside the mausoleum. I want to help you."

You dare to look at Theseus, bracing yourself. He looks genuinely stricken, lips parted, palms open and hanging limp beside him. So little affects him, he's so confident and secure in himself. But there in the clearing, the look on his face...

Before anyone can speak Newt steps forward again.

"I'm so sorry, but we need to get to Credence before Grindelwald. We have to go. Credence is... sensitive. He's afraid. It's best Tina and I go ahead. Leta, Theseus," he turns to the two, who are having some silent conversation with their eyes. It's so private and familiar you have to look away, you want to scream. "You two follow closely behind."

"What about me?" Jacob chimes in with a nervous laugh.

Newt tilts his head and gives Jacob a sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry, my friend. I won't leave you to the wolves. Y/N is a brilliant duelist and a master of all sorts of charms. You two will stay at the very back and wait outside the mausoleum. We can't afford to frighten Credence, and you need to alert us if you see any of Grindelwald's followers coming our way."

You nod numbly. Some roaring white noise fills your ears, anesthetizing the scene in front of you.

"Theseus," you hear Leta say softly. She places a gloved hand on his forearm. "Can I speak with you on the way there?"

"Of course," he responds, graciously, easily. She leads him up ahead.

You keep hoping Theseus will turn to you, even just to look back at you, to reassure, to reconnect now that Leta has been thrust back into the mix between you.

He does not turn back. You stare blankly at the back of his head as it disappears in the blurring snow. He follows Leta into the woods like a man being swept away by magic, following some siren song you can't hear.

'I can't compete with her,' you realize achingly. The truth rings dully in the pit of your stomach, metallically. 'They were engaged. They've been connected since childhood... I'm nothing.'

You try not to wring your hands or shuffle your feet, try not to look like someone left behind, wounded. You blink at the delicate crystals of snow that land on your lashes, hoping that the others don't mistake them for tears.

Newt comes over to you cautiously. He's not one for knowing what to say, but he's perceptive, and kind. Sinking, sinking, you can feel your heart being pulled to your feet and swallowed by the ground.

"Y/N," he begins. "I'm sure... When they were together—but when they separated…" He swallows and starts again. "I’m quite sure my brother’s mind is made up. I know he cares for you too, though I don’t know if he made you any promises-"

“He did not,” your voice sounds acrid, bitter to your ears, petulant, and you hate it. “It’s fine, really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s okay. He doesn’t owe me anything.”

'And I don't owe him anything,' you finish in your mind. When really you love him like breathing, need him like water. You're just trying not to let it show.

You want to be nonchalant and unaffected, want to give only what he’ll take. You don’t want to ask for too much.

You don’t know why loving always takes the form of limitation with you. You withheld your feelings for him for nearly a year. You only ever do what he asks. You turned down jobs and tried your best not to burden him with your feelings, with your past.

Why this mode of loving, why starvation and restraint, when love itself, for you, felt like every door in you burst open at the sight of his face? It was a wild and unwieldy joy, a freeing sort of affection that you felt for him. Now and always.

You swallow thickly, embarrassed at the speed at which he abandoned you for her. Embarrassed by the way Tina and Newt and Jacob, even, are looking at you.

"Let's go," you say, trying to sound encouraging. Newt and Tina run ahead. You and Jacob walk in silence uphill, trudging through the snow.

----

In the end you don't see any action at all. The mausoleum appeared at Leta's beckoning, a wave of her wand and the stunning glass building, hexagonal, glittered into solidity in front of you. You and Jacob waited outside, as instructed, but through the thick, crystalline glass you could make out that the bodies and artifacts were housed in beautiful stone tombs, scattered in the glass room like giant chess pieces, and you could see what unfolded within.

Leta, Newt, and Tina were talking to Credence. They met him down where he was crouched on the floor, explaining something to him in hushed tones. He was sobbing so softly. And then he was gone, and so was Tina, who left with him.

You feel so utterly mute, so adrift, you're glad that Jacob doesn't speak to you.

Newt is the one who jogs out to you and Jacob. Theseus is still inside talking to Leta, who seems sad in a soft, unperturbed way. He's gazing at her so gently as she speaks. It's the way he looks at small animals, and children, and the people he loves.

Looking at them feels like looking at a photograph, or like looking through the windows at Primrose Hill when you were a child, before you'd outgrown the title of "orphan." You would escape the orphanage to peek into the townhouses, the family homes overlooking Regent's Park. Dining tables and grand pianos, all the lights on. Nothing to hide...

"Y/N," Newt says breathlessly. "We better get going. We beat Grindelwald here, but I don't know by how much."

You cross your arms to help with the cold.

"Okay. Where are we going-"

"Oh, it's probably best if you go back to London. Back to the Ministry. Lay low until you hear from me, or Dumbledore."

You don't know why his goodbye is so cutting. You know that he's not abandoning you too, but it's almost too much.

He purses his lips sympathetically.

"Stay safe, Y/N. Grindelwald is planning something big. But if we act any earlier Grindelwald and the Ministry will be onto us and our efforts will have been in vain."

"I know," you say. "I understand."

You apparate away without another word. You try not to think about the two of them, in the forest clearing, in the glass mausoleum, together in all the years before that, but you allow yourself to wonder when Theseus will notice that you're gone.

----

On Monday you call in sick. You've never called in sick once in your entire time at the Ministry, so your request for a sick day is accepted easily and without complaint.

You sleep the whole day and do not answer the door when you hear the knocks. Knowing who they belong to is agonizing enough. He'd never been to your place before, but you can't imagine that it was difficult for him to procure the address.

You wake from your day of fitful, restless sleeping around 2am. Moonlight streams cold and bright through your chiffon curtains, filling your apartment with blue and silver shadows that you find comforting, beautiful maybe.

When you pad out into your living room, barefoot, you see a letter on the hardwood floor. A creamy envelope that had been slipped under the doorframe, waiting there for you like magic.

You bend down to pick it up and open it. There's nothing on the envelope itself, but you'd know him by handwriting alone, by his breathing, his scent.

Dear Y/N,

I know you're not sick. Because you're never sick. You have the most formidable immune system I've ever come across and I think muggle doctors should study you in a lab for it. But, I confess, that's beside the point...

I know you're cross with me. Please, if I have upset you or, worse, if I've broken your heart, I can assure you it was never my intention. Meaning: if I hurt you it is because I am a fool, and not because you are deserving of any hurt.

Forgive me for my behavior yesterday. I needed to resolve some things, and Leta's arrival was a true shock for me. I behaved poorly to you, but even more unforgivably to Leta, who I left mere weeks before our wedding, confessing my love for another woman. The pain I've caused her haunts me, and I was happy to be absolved of it yesterday evening. Happy to answer her questions and to be forgiven. But I should not have left you there alone. I should not have let go of your hand. I damn myself, because as much as I love you, it seems I've never been able to do it well.

I hope this pitiful explanation and guileless apology will suffice. Come, pretty girl. Come to work tomorrow, I beg you. My whole life is on the floor without you, nothing works, my head's a mess.

Yours,

You heart clenches painfully. Your lungs constrict and your hand tightens around the letter. You love him. You want to let it go, what happened between him and Leta, and you and him, in the clearing.

But you can't.

----

Apparently, it's going to be a week of first-times. Because, also for the first time in your career at the Ministry, you are running late.

"Fuck," you hiss to yourself. You hate traveling by Floo Flame, are used to the muggle comforts of walking and the London Underground, but you don't have time.

You dust off the fireplace ash from your shoulders as you walk through the British Ministry.

"Y/N!" you hear. The voice slices through the bustle and noise of the suit-clad workers not with its volume but with its familiarity.

It's him.

'Oh, god. Already?' You'd been hoping to avoid Theseus today. An impossible task, considering he was your boss, but you'd taken on more impossible tasks before. Bigger monsters.

"Y/N, hold on!" Theseus shouts again.

You have to speed up your walking to a near-comical pace to escape his long-legged strides. Hard to do in heels.

You turn your body sideways and push forward through a thicket of office workers with an "Excuse me! So sorry!" to shoulder your way into an empty elevator.

You slump against the back wall, exhaling deeply in relief. No Theseus-encounter after all. You really managed to-

"Aha!" Theseus exclaims, interjecting his overstretched hand just as the elevator doors begin to close. "Perfect. I was just looking for you, Y/N."

You don't respond, but huff in indignation and move aside, making room for him in the small elevator. He presses your floor number, level two, looking far too self-satisfied for someone who just ran across the marble floors of the Ministry of Magic, unrepentantly.

Your heart pounds as the elevator begins to move, you don't know why you can't look at him. Maybe it's because you know, if you did, all would be forgiven. You jolt when he leans forward and pulls the emergency break. The elevator comes to a jerking, screeching halt.

When he looks at you, sidelong, your stomach flips.

"C'mere," he mumbles, and moves to trap your body against the wall.

Your body responds differently than your mouth, arching against the wall, pushing closer to him.

"Ugh, no," you say, mournfully. You want it bad, want him. But you're still angry. It's oddly possessing, the notion that just a kiss from him could save you.

Your words do give him pause, however. He's standing so close to you he basically has you up against the wall, there's no escaping him. His chest heaves, you can feel his breath against your face. You want to press his open mouth to yours, to taste it, open yours to his tongue.

"No?" He echoes dubiously. "Did... did you not get my letter?"

"I got your letter," you retort, feeling flustered. "I found it... insufficient."

He starts forward again, a hand cups your ass. You slap it away.

"Keep your hands to yourself!" You snap, trying to infuse as much venom into your voice as possible.

"I can't," he groans.

"Try harder."

"I am rational and measured about all things in life, except for this, for you."

"Try harder," you say again, more forcefully, ignoring him.

"Hmm," he hums, considering. You don't move this time when his hand traces your thigh through the material of your skirt, you just stare, mesmerized. Your skin breaks out in chills. His fingertips move in lazy, dancing circles.

His hands, his fucking hands. They're so big. Long, elegant fingers with large knuckles. The veins there, the fact that you know what his fingers feel like inside of you...

Theseus follows your gaze with his eyes and scoffs, but not unkindly.

"You want my fingers inside of you, baby?"

He doesn't wait, and when you don't protest he doesn't stop. His hands slide under your skirt, one of his thumbs is pressing firmly against your clit through the lacy material of your underwear. He applies such a steady, unmoving pressure, staring into your eyes relentlessly and leaning his thumb harder and harder into that one spot until you squirm back against the wall with a ragged moan, breaking his burning gaze, not sure if you're more desperate to escape the sensation or to keep feeling it, over and over again.

"Theseus," his name sounds filthy out of your mouth, heady as a moan, though you're actually trying to tell him something. "Really, I just-"

The elevator lurches forward again, shuddering in place for a few moments before resuming its path with a piercing screech. You tumble into Theseus, losing your balance, and he catches you with both his arms.

"What did-"

"I don't know," he says, helping you right yourself, looking over his shoulder at the doors.

The elevator stops at level six, the Department of Magical Transportation. Your face is still flushed red and tingling with heat when the ornamental brass doors slide open and the two of you are greeted by a curious, gawking group of wizards that includes the department head, Mr. Silas Elodius.

"Oh, heavens! Mr. Scamander, it's you," Silas Elodius is a unfailingly happy, plump man. "We were wondering what must've happened! It seemed the two of you got stuck. Well, all sorted now!" He laughs heartily. "Trust our department to get you moving again."

Theseus returns the laugh, a little less enthusiastically. The both of you move against the back wall of the elevator to allow the large group to shuffle in.

"Excuse us, we're headed to level three," Silas smiles wildly, toothily. He tends to talk through his smiling, which makes his next admission all the more horrific. "Terrible accident involving a misplaced potion bottle on the Knight Bus! Boom! Limbs lost. Really nasty business."

"Erm," Theseus seems shaken, at a loss of how to respond, which is uncommon for him. "We'll be level two."

"Right, of course!" Mr. Elodius motions impatiently for one of his several colleagues to press the button. With the combined weight of everyone there, the elevator moves slowly, dragging sluggishly upwards through space. Thankfully, the group does not turn back to you or Theseus, preoccupied with their own small conversations.

Your heart is still thumping pitifully, your pussy still throbbing and aching around nothing, craving his fingers, stuffed inside. You're wet, and there is no relief in sight. But you still want, need, to be mad at him.

"Y/N," Theseus is leaning in, speaking so low that only you can hear him. The sound of your name in his mouth, it's a purr, a plea.

You shudder. "Theseus, please don't."

"If this were my office," he whispers. His hand returns to the front of your skirt, slips beneath the hemline and nudges your underwear aside, slides up, embarrassingly easily, between your slick folds. You lean back against the wall in silent prayer, for him. You're frozen, incapable of moving, incapable of telling him to stop.

"If this were my office," he continues, voice thick and ragged. His finger moves leisurely, pumping in and out, driving you crazy. "I'd have you on my desk with your legs up. And I'd lick you until you cried. I bet you're such a pretty crier. I wanna make you come on my mouth, my tongue."

It takes everything in you to remain quiet, to remain still. Just as you begin to lose yourself in the feeling, your head going pleasantly fuzzy, the elevator dings and he retracts his hand, smoothly, unfussily.

He looks so unaffected, leaning back against the wall. It's you who has to bow your head to avoid Mr. Elodius's eyeline. Your knees tremble.

"Well, this is us! Best of luck, Scamander." Mr. Elodius waits for his people to file out of the elevator before departing.

Theseus salutes him with two fingers, in a charmingly youthful way.

When the doors close again you've recovered more of yourself, your wits.

"Where were we?" He corners you again, kissing the side of your neck.

"I'm mad at you, Theseus." You don't stop him from kissing your neck, but you grip his wrist, haltingly hard, when it starts to reach under your skirt again.

"Mm," he hums against your throat, noting the way you expose more of it, craning it for his access. "No, you're not."

With a nip of his teeth, he extracts a whine and a tremor down your legs. You imagine his hands, his beautiful big hands, coming around your throat, squeezing, applying pressure there until you go light-headed. You want to be choked by him. You want to get down on your knees in this elevator and unbuckle his belt and take him into your mouth until he's the one who is needy and whining, wanting it bad, moaning and praising you, calling you a good girl.

The elevator dings for the final time and you have to physically push him off of you. He falls back without a fight.

"Our floor," you say, trying to make your expression into something like a glare. You're not very good at resenting him.

For a moment you're not sure what he's going to do to you. It's scandalizing and rousing, the idea that he might grab you, touch you anyway. The look in his eyes is black and beyond hungry, sapped of all restraint. He gulps and clenches his jaw. Blinks at last.

Ever the gentleman.

"Of course, after you," Theseus says. He motions for you to walk ahead of him.

You stomp off to your shared office, trying pathetically to fix your skirt and your hair and any other part of you that looks disheveled.

When he comes into his office behind you and closes the door, latching the lock, he looks equally undone. Vulnerable almost. It's not only that he needs you, which he does, but that he wants to make it okay and doesn't know how.

"Y/N," he makes a vague, defenseless gesture, throwing up his arms weakly, and sighs. "I don't.... How can I make it right? How can I make it up to you?"

It's a cheerless, pitiful noise, your responding laugh.

"Don't worry, Theseus. I got your letter. And besides, I manage my hopes quite well on my own."

"I wish you wouldn't. Don't."

You scoff.

"No, it's my fault for hoping for more from you. You're asking me to, what, put my faith in the world?" You know your tone is sharper than intended, and your expression is that of a burned woman, hardened and jaded.

But he doesn't hold it against you. You try not to flinch away when he steps forward and brings a hand up to your face, to your cheek.

"No, I'm asking you to put your faith in me."

You could cry at this tenderness he's affording you.

"I just," you gently place your hand over his and lower it from your face. "I just can't believe that you don't feel anything for her. I can't shake the way I felt watching you leave me, without a second glance."

Your voice breaks on the last word. You're admitting more than you bargained for. Admitting that this is the way you've felt your entire life. The orphanage, your parents, every adult who promised to help you, to save you, and didn't. It was too familiar of a pain for it to hurt as badly as it did, being left behind.

"Leta, she... I don't know what you mean," he says, shaking his head.

“Theseus, I'm not stupid! I saw the way you went after her! The way you left me behind, it was like I ceased to exist. You obviously still have feelings for her—"

“I have feelings for you!" He raises his voice in frustration, and it startles you. "She’s the one I left behind, for you.”

You feel so worked up, so overheated. You don't want to be fighting with him, not now, not ever.

"I-I don't believe you-"

"Y/N, you are essentially calling me a liar right now. I don't know what else I can say to make you believe it, you act as if I took off with her and kissed her-"

"You didn't have to! You already have been for the last two years, Theseus!" Your hands are wavering, your bottom lip too. "I don't believe you because, if it's true what you told me, about you leaving her for me, why didn't you act in the months after?! You proposed to Leta mere months after dating, but for the months you were single you didn't try to-"

"I was your boss, Y/N! I was trying to be a good man, a good friend!" He rakes a hand through his hair roughly.

"So I'm just supposed to believe that you left your fiancée to live a life as my friend? To continue working with me like-"

“I apologize if that’s too difficult for you to believe, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.” His tone is brusque, almost business-like.

It's like a shot to the heart. His lack of understanding, lack of seeing.

“Too difficult for me to believe? Me?!” You’ve never raised your voice at him like this, every word is straining out of you, painfully. Any semblance of control you had is unspooling, rapidly. “Theseus, my second month here I was offered a position as an Auror, my dream job, what I’d worked so hard for at school, and I turned it down to keep being your assistant! I turned it down to keep living a life in your shadow. I thought that if I could make myself smaller for you I could-"

You can’t continue, the tears rise up in a saltwater tide in your lungs. You turn your head away, quick, so he doesn’t see your face break.

"Y/N," he says, gentle, broken. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"Maybe you didn't want to know. I... I know you desire me, Theseus. I'm sorry, at one point I thought I could just sleep with you, and I wouldn't need anything more, but.... Oh, god, I'm sorry."

You rub at your eyes aggressively, even as the tears continue to fall, in a self-conscious and fruitless display.

He looks so lost, looks like he very badly wants to comfort you, to hug you, but no longer knows if he's allowed to.

"Y/N, I can recommend you for promotion, I can-"

"It's fine, Theseus. I made my decision and I've lived with it. There are no open positions right now anyway, the post was filled."

It's silent for long enough that the quiet no longer hangs there like an awful, third body between you. You regain your composure, the tears pass and give way to a hollow feeling.

"Y/N," Theseus speaks at last. He's standing across his office still, but the look in his eyes is so full of longing and yearning, he could've been across a train platform, a crowded room, a continent. "I have not been doing this right. I should've asked you to be my girlfriend a long time ago, I know. For that I am ashamed. But..."

He licks his lips and inhales sharply, trying to find the words.

"Y/N, please don't accuse me of lusting after you. What I feel for you is nothing so shallow as lust. Yes, I want to be inside you all the time, but that's because being close to you, this," he steps forward and places a cold hand against your chest demonstratively, below your neck, skin to skin, "This isn't close enough."

You look up into his seaglass eyes, your heart in tatters. Him, it's always been him.

"I miss you when I'm with you," he says. "I love you, I've told you before and I'll tell you again and again, but it's up to you to believe it, sweetheart."

When you still don't say anything, can't find the words, he looks crestfallen, closes his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asks you, opening them.

And you can't answer. To love him freely? To feel held and chosen by him? To live your dreams and relinquish your past without shame or grief or hesitation? Before you begin to say anything at all, the words building and budding at the back of your throat like a flower about to bloom, a knock sounds at the door.

Theseus closes his eyes and sighs, pained.

"Theseus-"

"I have to go," he says tersely. "I've been gone with my brother for too long. The department heads have called me in for questioning. I don't know when I'll be out."

You nod, swallowing.

He looks at your face, a look of determination settling on his.

"I promise to make it right."

----

It's past closing time and Theseus still has not returned from the depths of whatever secret, dim-lit corner of the Ministry they took him to for questioning. All day you've spent heartlessly filling out paperwork, finishing up your research assignments, stewing in anxiety.

Please, keep him safe. You think to no one in particular. Please.

You reluctantly leave the office, hoping to find him in the Atrium. You sit there glumly at the edge of the fountain, shooting periodic glances towards the elevators and the staircases, hoping to see him emerging from the Department of Mysteries, maybe, or the Courtrooms. Even the paper missives, usually magicked into airplane and bird shapes, have stopped flying overhead in the Atrium. The Ministry is emptying out, there's hardly any foot traffic at all.

You feel as though you handled everything, your insecurities and emotions, so artlessly, so recklessly in your last conversation. You are aching to make it better.

Eventually, you walk back to level two in a daze, pushing through the heavy oak door to the Aurors Offices with all the attention of a sleepwalker, your mind elsewhere.

You nearly trip on the house elf in front of the door when you stumble into Theseus's office. The elf grumbles in discontent.

House elves? Your shared office is hardly recognizable. Half-cleaned out, three Ministry house elves are busy at work, boxing and taping and scrubbing the furniture and shelves clean. Your stomach lurches.

Theseus. Where are all his things? Was he found out? Arrested?

Your voice sounds like a stranger's to your ears, so transformed by sheer panic.

"Hello, excuse me!" You say to one of the house elves. He looks over in open disdain, though you can't blame him, seeing as you almost crushed him just now. "Hi, yes, what is going on? What are you doing with Mr. Scamander's things? I'm his assistant."

"Mr. Scamander," the elf drawls, setting aside his mop bucket with a melodramatic thunk and splash. "No longer works here."

The elf tries to turn back to his work when you lunge forward and grasp him by the shoulder. He looks at your hand on him in abject shock.

"Please!" You beg, falling to your knees to better convince the house elf. "I need to know what's happened to him, it's important."

"Nothing has happened to him, miss. He turned in his letter of resignation an hour or so ago!" The elf shakes you off of him, none too gently.

He gestures rudely to the two, untouched pieces of paper laid out on the desk. Everything else has been cleared.

You snatch up the nearest page with a shaking hand, eyes racing over the words.

It's from the heads of your department, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and it confirms what the elf told you. Theseus gave up his position and designated you as the one he desired to fill the post. The Aurorship is yours.

The letter requested that you complete a trial period of one month, as it was unheard of for a witch with no Auror experience to take up the Head Auror post. But they were amenable if the trial period went well. These were dark days, recruits were scarce and few other Aurors were jumping to fill the position. Your confirmation meeting with the department heads was to be after work, at 7pm.

It's nearly that time now.

You blink at the words on the page, astounded and a bit shell-shocked.

You're hardly thinking at all when you pick up the second letter, hands moving with an automaton, detached fluidity.

Dearest Y/N,

The questioning did not go well. I had to act quickly, darling. I was thinking only of you.

Take the Head Auror position and be safe and happy forever. Blamelessly, and knowing you are loved.

Or, meet me at King's Cross Station tonight, at 7:15pm. If you'll have me, if you love me. I'm joining the fight against Grindelwald, for good. I'm meeting my brother and the others at Hogsmeade.

I am horrified that you ever put me over your dreams, and that I gave you so little in return for it. If I could turn back time, I would've done it all differently. I would've made you mine.

My love, you couldn't answer me when I asked you what you wanted today, so I wanted to give you this choice now.

It did not make much sense for me to stay at the Ministry. They were suspicious of me from the start, war hero or not, because of my relation to Newt. You could do wonderful things, have so much more influence than I could. There were no other open Auror positions for you to take but mine, but I can give you this one part of my life, easily. God knows I'd give you the rest if you asked.

I cannot promise your safety, or your happiness, but I can promise to love you, as I do now, as I always have, no matter what you decide. My heart is yours alone. All you have to do is reach out and take it.

Yours,

Theseus

Reading the words on the page, feeling your own breath suck in and whoosh out of your lungs, hearing it, it's all so surreal.

Your heart flutters meekly, wounded at either prospect. But you want to choose yourself. Who has ever chosen you? You need to be on your own side this time.

You glance at the clock and curse. You shouldn't have spent so much time waiting in the Atrium, floating about the Ministry.

"I can't go, I won't go," you decide. "It's too late anyway."

Who knew if you'd even be able to have a real relationship with him? Even if you believed his love for you, and that he was over Leta, and somehow overcame the horrors and traumas of your life that you hadn't begun to confront... who knew if it would work? That would be its own, new, excruciating pain, having loved and it still not being enough...

"I'm staying," you think to yourself. "I am. He doesn't know what he's asking of me, he doesn't really know me at all. I'm staying. I'm taking the position."

At first you thought the words to convince yourself, reaffirm and reinforce. But they don't sound as improbable as you thought. This happiness doesn't sound too good to be true, it sounds as if it could belong to you after all.

You sigh, trembling, and begin to go through the empty drawers of Theseus's old desk, imagining your life, or trying to.

You reach for the bottommost drawer, pulling it open.

The sight of the worn little clothbound book snags your vision like a thorn. You pull it out in a trancelike state and read the title: Garden Parting by P. M. Kipling. The memory rises without you even having to reach for it, like a face in water.

-----

One Year Ago

It was only your fourth week at the office. This bloody idiot named Henry Ludgate somehow came to the insane conclusion that if he talked to you enough, or talked at you, more fittingly, you would like him back. So every one of your lunch breaks, without fail, he'd come searching for you in the Atrium to talk your ear off about nothing at all.

At the present moment, he was trying to strike up a conversation about women's shoewear, a hard topic for even far better conversationalists.

"I actually do like flat shoes, or 'flats,' are they? But I only like the ones with a bit of heel, all the other types of flats are terribly unattractive I think."

You were dimly aware of your boss, Theseus Scamander, watching this all unfold with a lackadaisical amusement. He was leaning against a newsstand of The Daily Prophet pretending to read it, but really you knew his sly smile at the front page was for you.

"So, not flats?"

"Sorry?" Henry always jumped at the excuse of poor hearing to lean uncomfortably close to you.

You rolled your eyes, not caring if Henry saw or not.

"If the flats you say you like have heels, doesn't that make them not 'flat shoes'?" You asked curtly.

Henry stared at you dumbly. "Oh, right. So it's 'heels' I like then."

You flicked your gaze up to his, irritably.

"So how many pairs do you own, then?"

You thought you saw a rustle of paper in the corner of your vision--undoubtedly Theseus was choking back some fit of laughter.

Henry attempted to clear his throat but only seemed to choke, rubbing a half-fist on his chest touchily.

"What?! Pardon me, not for myself!" He was veritably red in the face, not pink or any subtle, healthy flush, but bright red. "I-I meant I like heels on women, on you."

You could barely tamp down your frustration. This was supposed to be a restful lunch break, a good hour of no-work, and yet you seemed to enjoy your actual work more than this (for many reasons, the first reason beginning with the letter T and the last reason being the way the first reason smiled at you whenever you said something bright, or funny, or kind. He had a smile like light cracking open the sky at dawn, it so completely transformed the rest of his face, always reaching his eyes).

"Henry," you sighed, indulgently, maybe a bit patronizingly. "As much as I am grateful for your... fashion tips, and your riveting conversation, I really do prefer to read on my lunch breaks. I'll have to excuse myself."

You turned on your heel before he could protest, finding another secluded corner of the Atrium by the fountain. You pulled out the book, Garden Parting, as more of a prop, or a shield, or a comfort object, like a teddy bear. You had no intention of reading it right now. Not when...

Just as you suspected. You saw the shadow come over your shoulder, the shape of his figure, his hands in his pockets. Even that, his outline or shadow, stirred up some feeling you couldn't name in your chest, in the cavity there, next to your heart.

"Mr. Scamander," you sighed. "I really don't understand what sort of sadistic pleasure you gain from watching Ludgate torture me with mind-numbingly boring conversation."

You said this without turning, already smiling. Theseus sat down beside you, gingerly, beaming.

"It's entertaining," he said. The deep rumble of his voice was pleasant. "The way you eviscerate him. It's my favorite part."

There was something so attractive about the tilt of his eyes, hooded, and the curl of his hair, a strand falling loose over his forehead. He brought his bottom lip under his teeth, bit down and squinted at you.

"Do you really prefer to read on your breaks, Y/N?"

You scoffed, mock-offended.

"Yes! Do you really read The Daily Prophet on yours?"

"No, not at all," he admitted, shamelessly and with a boyish smile. "What are you reading?"

You suddenly felt self-conscious. You almost didn't want to show him. Your book was soft and worn, the cloth corners frayed, the text on the front half chipped off.

Against your instinct and your nature, you found yourself reluctantly handing him the book. Your mortification increased tenfold when he didn't take it from your extended hand, he only stared at it unreadably.

"What-" you began.

"Wait," Theseus turned to his suitcase, set it down on the tiled floor beside the fountain and clicked open the latches. "Garden Parting by P.M. Kipling, right?"

He was speaking so excitedly, shuffling around in his suitcase.

'No way,' you thought, and then, because you couldn't help it:

"Oh, you're kidding," you gasped. "No, Theseus! You're kidding. I swore I was the only person in London with a copy."

Theseus pulled it out at last, victorious. A sleek hardcover, newer than yours, but creased from frequent reading.

"Oh, Theseus!" You brought your hands up to your mouth. You were always worried your emotions, especially excitement, would make it harder to be taken seriously at work. You endeavored to dampen and mute them, but you could not hide your girlish elation at this inexplicable commonality between the two of you.

He smiled at your reaction, a slow, warm smile.

"Who knew you had a secret affinity for muggle literature?" You tried to make your tone teasing and demeaning but couldn't commit to it, you were too surprised by the force of your own joy.

"My roommate at Hogwarts was muggleborn. He gave it to me."

"You carry it with you too?" You asked, still in disbelief.

"Everywhere!" It was a breathy admission, half a laugh, earnest. "I like to reread certain parts. It doesn't get old." He was smiling so big it was almost heart-wrenching, you did not think he had ever looked at you like that, eyes blazing with naked enthusiasm. Looking at you like you were holding some key, to what you didn't know.

"No one seems to know about it," he continued with a shrug. "I've been waiting for someone to talk with about this book since I was sixteen."

"Oh," you kept saying. You wondered if he thought you sounded stupid for it, or if he thought it was endearing. "There's this one part I think about almost every day. In the purple glass house, with the broken arm used to-"

"-To praise God and 'be done with it'?" He finished for you.

Then miraculously, he flipped his copy open, paper fluttering, to a sole, underlined paragraph. The very same.

"It's like we're speaking the same language," He whispered with an incredulous laugh, but his eyes were reverent.

You flashed him a smile, one that was glowing and real. You were holding his copy of the book between you now, like children with a shared toy, or like lovers reading a roadmap.

"What language? English?" You asked sarcastically, making a funny face.

But you had known what Theseus meant. What wavelength of sense that you two, alone, could access. How the world spoke to you both in the same ways, through the same channels of meaning.

Garden Parting was the only object you had from your deceased parents, the only thing that survived your childhood. It was a children's chapter book that your father used to read to you, quite a grim piece of magical realism about a lot of things, but mostly about a girl condemned to go back to her burning house and stay there, inside, until the flames went out. There's no question that it will be swallowed whole, that she will burn to death in the place she was born.

When Theseus spoke again his eyes were shining, perceptively.

"Is that you then?" His voice was subdued, made gentle, intentionally. His eyes looked strangely dark inside the black stone interior of the Ministry, blue like river slate, dim like rain. "The main character, that's you?"

It was the most you'd ever revealed. It was a single, quiet word.

"Yes," you said.

Theseus placed a hand on your forearm. You didn't dare move, react, for fear he would stop touching you. A bird on your windowsill.

"I'll be the great owl then," he said. "The one that takes her away at the end.... Or Reggie, the one that's her friend. Whatever you want."

You laughed, bleakly. You felt pressured to speak, nonsense, anything to cover up how much his words meant to you.

"Really," you said. "It's my favorite book, but sometimes I can hardly get through it, there's so much pain in her life. I get so anxious..."

"Here," Theseus plucked a ribbon from his suitcase and flipped open your copy of the book. He placed the ribbon strategically towards the back, surgically almost, his long fingers lining it up with the interior spine, right in the scene where the owl takes the girl away and there's happiness set aside for her in life, after all.

"I'll mark it with this," he said. Neither of you were looking at each other anymore, the moment was too intimate to bear. But you were both thinking of each other, talking to each other. "So you can remember how it ends."

-----

The memory of that day by the fountain is so unexpected that it is the first time you're remembering it at all.

'Maybe he does know me after all, does see me.'

The thought is a shattering one.

'Oh, god.'

You check the time. It's 6:50pm. You pull on your coat and snatch your purse off the desk. If you leave now, right now, you can intercept him.

Theseus has to know you're coming. Even if you don't make it onto the train, he has to see your face on the platform, through the window, even. He has to know that you're choosing him.

You apparate as far as you're able and begin to run towards the station the rest of the way.

You're coming for him, each pounding step you're coming, heart soaring, this is that freeing love that grows and grows and stretches out into space like air. And you're going to tell him everything, every wish and every nightmare, you're going to--

A hand shoots out and pulls you backward by the neck. The grip is so hard that you taste blood, everywhere, in your mouth.

You yelp but the sound is lost as you are torn through the air, choking through space. Being forcibly apparated always feels like choking, like being pushed down a flight of stairs repeatedly. You can't catch your breath or your footing, you don't know where you're being taken.

Dark material whooshes and cuts around you. You hardly feel a thing.

Could someone at the Ministry have seen the letters left on your desk? Read them? Were you and Theseus positively identified at the gala in Berlin, or maybe outside the mausoleum? Before you've even arrived at your captor's destination, your mind whirls helplessly, to Grindelwald, to the situation at hand, and then, finally, to Theseus, who is waiting at Platform 9 3/4 for a girl who will never arrive, for a girl he will assume is telling him "no."

It happened so fast you didn't even have the time to turn around, to touch your wand. You were apparated away, stolen into thin air, before you could even set foot inside the station.

---

part four here

authors note: yeah i did watch the last letter from you lover on netflix and YEAH it did inspire this fic and rewire my brain at the same time. SORRY this fic ended on a cliffhanger and was so long!! we just had a LOT of ground to cover, but the subsequent parts should be back to the normal length!!

i like writing a mix of smut and romance plot but let me know if you prefer one to the other (also garden parting isn't a real book if that wasn't obvious) OK BYYEEE love you thanks so much for all the replies and feedback :))

also i have yet to read through this for typos so maybe! come back in a day or so for the final version?

taglist: @karashaw99 @gracieroxzy @mystic-mara

#theseus scamander smut #theseus scamander #theseus #theseus x reader #theseus scamander x reader #fantastic beasts #fbawtft #hp fanfic #hp fic

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werezmastarbucks · 1 year ago

Text

black

part one - Golden

part two - Silver

part four - Green

credence barebone x fem!OC

Then he said to me: "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is to love and be loved in return"

warnings: language

word count: 9056

music: awakening the forest by everrune, fireproof by the national, strange birds by birdy, this will make you love again by iamx, the spirit dragon by mordela morana, ocean rose by tim janis

She mostly spent her days crying and nights, hunting. As she watched the baby run around in vivarium, she realized that the better Qilin felt, the less of Credence there was. Still, this was an exchange on a different plane of reality for her. She couldn't imagine betraying this creature, not even for Credence. This didn't mean he didn't matter. Orlaith needed everything to fall right into place.

Since their last meeting two months have flown by, and Dumbledore's promise of changes within a month might have been just a ploy after all. Grindelwald's acolytes didn't have it easy in the woods. They died in such numbers that it was time for the Lord to get concerned, but apparently, he had other business to attend to, and never showed up. Orlaith was ready to fight him, messy or not; the earth was on her side. As May came, the powers returned to the nature, and it woke up. She was teaching animals to fight back. She was training defense spells on whoever she happened to meet at the Forest in the wrong hour. Speaking of criminals, of course.

Orlaith decided, while she was obediently waiting to Dumbledore's attack! to get the matters in order. Especially she wanted to apologize to Matilda something-porne for her unfriendly demeanor.

She's been to the castle more or less reguralry, with all the baby walks, but rarely in the daylight. As the warm May wind dried everything up, and healed some of her soul, the road to Hogwarts also was made better, without deep pools of water and heaps of dirty leaves. One day, as the baby still slept, Orlaith escaped the house and flew for the castle. On a broom; it was finally warm enough. She flew fast, like she used to; watching the glimmering water below her, rippling with the glimpses of sunlight. The castle stood in front of her an unpenetrable mass. She even flew around it a couple of times, feeling the wind in her hair, trying to stop herself from thinking she could pull quidditch. The field stood, undisturbed, with its flags, bannerols and tabards fluttering in the wind. The world was laughing happily, again for the coming summer. The summer that awaited everyone, no matter where. She had no idea that even at Nurmengard, where the severe weather always held, the ice broke off from the rocks, and the winds ceased just a little, letting the warm air gather. Which made the Lord incredibly concerned at last.

She flew through the hallways of the castle like she was a fifth-year student; gathering surprised looks with her bright hair, and the flowers in it, and with her colorful dress. The poor pupils had still to wear the black uniform, and she looked like a ghost in flesh, unhinged. Children were preoccupied with the exams, drawing near, inevitable. That was one of the things she missed about studying.

She actually encountered the Headmaster himself, as he was pondering at the portrait of a naked hag on a broomstick, flying over a village at night. The moon was yellow in that painting, the witch's hair was obsidian black. She smiled coyly at everyone who looked at her.

"Oh, greetings, Peverell".

Orlaith sometimes couldn't express how proud, refreshed and excited it made her feel, when someone called her that.

"I'm thinking about removing Bella from this corridor".

She gave a look to the witch, who waved in return.

"Are the boys getting too agitated?"

"You have no idea. Always sheer commotion at this exact spot", he turned to her, adjusting his little reading glasses and examining her appearance.

"Isn't this whole summer look too immodest for studies?"

"I have graduated, Headmaster. Under Black".

"Headmaster Black. But didn't he make it known on your graduation certificate, that your results were satisfactory at best, and you ought to still catch up even after?"

"My results were excellent, Headmaster", she forced herself not to laugh, "Black just hated me because I didn't call him Headmaster".

"Headmaster Black".

He shook his head, closing his eyes.

"So, are you still studying, or not?"

"Not anymore, Headmaster".

"But I hear you've been practicing in the woods. Again".

His stern stare made her rise on her tiptoes.

"Uh... yes?"

"Without supervision? A witch of your abilities would act unwisely if she elected to train her duelling skills against the actual criminal, pugnacious enemy".

"Would you like to join me, Headmaster? I think I've located a specific hollow where they think it's absolutely comfortable to plot invisibly. Have you got my owl, by the way? Was Professor Dumbledore made aware of Grindelwald's alliance present so near the school?"

Dippet brushed her off.

"No Grindelwald acolytes have been to Hogwarts yet, thanks to you. Why bother anybody else with it?"

She bid goodbye to him, leaving the wizard next to Bella. If he is so sinile now, she thought, what happens in thirty years' time?

She reached North Tower without other adventure and found the rope ladder hanging suggestively. She shoved her head into the class and looked around.

"Professor?" she didn't want to let her know that she didn't remember her last name.

There was shuffling behind the door, then, Matilda showed up, in a purple trapezoid dress with long, light sleeves.

"Hello?"

"Do you remember me? I'm a Peverell you'd been looking for. We met at Hogsmeade and you gave me a prophecy, and I was rude to you".

Her eyes lit up with recognition.

"Ah, yes! Come in".

She climbed up and found herself in the Divinations class. Of course, with every new teacher the interior always changed, but this time, little to nothing seemed different. There were still crystal balls and books neatly placed on the shelves. The flying candles were now without fire, sleeping. Some empty cages were on the tops, aimless. Maybe it was more purple, understandably.

Matilda offered her a coffee, and they sat at the round table in the middle of the room.

"Were you any good at this subject while you studied?" Professor asked curiously as they made it half through their drinks.

"Complicated. I happen to be a kind of a prophet", she confessed, "but in all the wrong places. Very often, when I needed to glance into the crystal ball, I saw instead what I already knew would happen".

Matilda looked at her knowingly.

"Where have you travelled from?"

"Far away", she nodded. She suddenly felt warm, she realized, she'd underestimated this woman. Matilda didn't ask too many questions, but was politely inquisitive.

"Was it in the form of dreams, or visions?"

"Books", she replied. Matilda was impressed, although, Orlaith always felt sad when she needed to talk about it. The sight of an empty house on the autumn street flooded her head every time. The house she'd left, without saying goodbye.

"So, Professor", she decided to lead the conversation away while it was comfortable, "you told me not to prevent the tree from growing. Have you, maybe, got any more insight into that?"

The soothsayer clicked her bracelets on both hands.

"I'm sorry, but no. The initial message, too, was very foggy, uneven. It looked like something that could be changed, or, on the opposite, set in stone".

"Future can't be set in stone", she argued, "I've already changed it".

"Well. Do you want to try for yourself? If we ask the right questions, maybe you'll understand more".

She nodded. They put away the cups: luckily, Matilda didn't suggest reading the future on coffee grains. She draped the windows quickly and moved one of the crystal balls towards them.

"This is the one where I saw it first. I'm sorry, only I can use it".

"That's fine", Orlaith consented. Matilda touched the ball tenderly, like it was a baby calf. Orlaith thought of her own, sleeping at home. She might have already awaken. But she never got scared when she was alone; she just waited for her in the kitchen, where it smelt the best.

"What do you want to ask?" Matilda offered, looking inside. To Orlaith, the ball looked absolutely transparent.

"Don't prevent the tree from growing. What did it mean?"

There was silence as Matilda peered inside.

"A boy. Dark-haired, thin, very pale, he looks lost. He's alone... do you know him?"

"Credence. What about him?"

Matilda shrugged.

"It's just him. I'm sorry. You know the spirits won't just explain everything to you in detail. The veil is heavy, and it's not easy to hear through".

"I understand", she mused. Matilda looked at her with compassion.

"You look like a person who's had a lot of fights to carry these flowers in your hair".

"I'm about to have more".

Something caught Professor's eye as she moved back to the ball.

"Oh. Oh!" she gave Orlaith a look of amazement, "why are you keeping a Qilin at home?"

Ice-cold fear touched the back of her neck.

"What about it?"

"Someone wants to take it".

She all but stumbled down from the rope-ladder. Damn forbidden zone of the castle, she needed to run so much to even get to the territory where she could fly, to say nothing about apparating! Her breath in her throat, Orlaith told herself that prophecies weren't immediate; and that, in fact, of course anybody would want to take Qilin away. If they knew it existed. Newt made sure nobody, but them four, knew about it. Stairs after stairs she flew, knocking off students and rubbing against the corners; finally, she was in the yard.

"Accio broom!" she screamed, and soon, her broomstick was racing to her with pleasant whooshing through the air. Jumping up, she only made it as far as the field outside, and she disapparated immediately. Then, another course of running through Hogsmeade. Nobody could know where it was, no one, if only Aberfort hasn't lost the match. As she reached the house, her chest was stabbing with pain, knees giving in. She turned the key in the lock and threw the door open.

Qilin was lying on the sofa at the back of the kitchen. Upon seeing her, the baby got down and trotted towards her, happy.

She fell on the floor, hugging the creature. She was trembling.

"I love you. I love you so much, baby, you know I love you".

Just to be sure, she checked the second floor and the wardrobe, and used revealing charms. Nothing came of it which was good. The feeling of unease wouldn't let go though. She felt paranoid. She didn't know what, something still hovered above her. She tried to think what Matilda told her, and made no more of it.

The rest of the day she was just cleaning, letting the birds in, to play with the baby, and feeding cats outside. It was a good day, and she dreamed to take the Qilin to the field, but it was impossible. Evening came, and she decided to go at least to vivarium, the one where she had the ocean, to let the baby play in the water. She put on her evening cloak and made it upstairs to pick up the Invisibility Cloak. Qilin looked a bit tired, so, she was in two minds.

Then someone knocked on the door.

That was not normal. Even understanding it was Aberfort, she felt unhappy. What might have happened that he came himself instead of sending an owl?

Orlaith came downstairs with her wand in her hand, just in case. Waited for another knock, but it didn't come.

She walked up to the door and listened. One time. They knocked just once, scaring her.

She said to herself, you. You, Orlaith, are the Cutter, the Witch. Are you going to be afraid of a guest at your door?

She opened it and stepped back to have better swinging ability.

It was Credence.

Something felt heavy and tragic. Against the homely fire and the light of the house, he looked like a ghost. Still the same face, but white, with blacker eyes than ever. Without a smile, it was mocking her. Orlaith thought he really was a ghost, sent by Grindelwald to break her, and it meant that Credence was dead. He looked like he was resurrected with the Stone.

He stepped into the house quietly, closing the door behind him.

"Hello Orlaith", he said gently.

"What are you doing here?"

It was really him, but very, very barely.

She noticed he had his wand out, too. She instinctively stood her back against the set of stairs where, above, in the bedroom, the baby was already lying in her little bed.

He looked up through the ceiling.

"How did you find my house?"

"Just like I penetrated the dome at the pond", he replied, "I seem to sniff you out easily, even when you try to stay hidden".

She swallowed a scream.

"Credence..."

"I know what you have here. I need it".

She put out her hand and stopped him from coming closer.

"You can't have her".

"When Grindelwald found that another Qilin survived, he was very unhappy with me".

There was something very off with the way Credence spoke; maybe it was already difficult for him. Orlaith felt her ugly helplessness in her throat.

"He told me if I don't get this baby, he'll kill me".

She had to bend her arm because he was now standing closer already. She clutched his shoulder.

"I can't", she whispered, "I'm so sorry. I can't let you have her".

Credence lowered his head to meet her eyes.

"You said you wouldn't give up on me".

And nothing more. If he shouted, blamed her, that would be easier. Credence took the first step of the stairs, moving her with his body. Orlaith clutched on the banister, trying to push on his shoulder, but he was surprisingly strong. There was feverish glint in his eyes. He only looked whithered; in reality, although the obscurial already shone through him, in temples, cheekbones and knuckles, Credence stood is ground very firmly.

"You'll need to kill me, my love", she said. Her head was bowed, his breath on her forehead. She tried to push him as hard as she could, but there was no strength in her limbs.

"I will".

She felt his arm going down with his wand, and their fists touched.

"Look at me".

She raised her eyes.

"Trust my rage".

In a moment something struck her. His eyes expressed nothing, could not. She realised, if Credence has discovered her location, Grindelwald must know it, too. His wand crisscrossed with hers, giving it a light shove. Then he jumped back to the door, and they pointed at each other.

A couple of non-verbal spells met in the air, exploding in fiery flashes. She stepped up to have a better aim and shot, trying to get him; but every spell, Credence broke mid-air, sending one in return. Orlaith ducked, allowing an orange curse bash a hole in the wall behind her. Credence stepped closer, and she forced him to retreive, showering him with superficial blinding curses. He ran deeper into the kitchen, and she followed. Wondering what she is supposed to do next. One, two, three, five, ten curses, bouncing off of each other. They fought symmetrically, guessing each other's movements as they went.

"You'll need to kill me", Credence said, standing in the destroyed kitchen, among the shreds of wood.

"No!"

Credence tilted his head like he was annoyed. She recognized the mist appearing around him, and jumped back as he started to turn into a black cloud of shadow and fire.

"No!"

She ran upstairs. Qilin was trembling in her bed, looking up at her for help as she stumbled next to it.

"You'll be alright, baby, you'll be fine".

She could feel the floor vibrating under her feet as the cloud grew. The obscurial moved with a howl that sounded like a thousand tortured voices. All of those voices belonged to Credence.

She reached for the Invisibility Cloak lying on the bed, holding the baby with the other hand. She just managed to grab it with the tips of her fingers when the swirl of chaos crashed the floor and sucked her inside.

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Aberfort ran like he has never run in his life. He ran and ran through the valley, forgetting he could apparate closer to the gates of Hogwarts. He has completely forgotten he was a wizard, for the first time in his life. He was just human now, running through the heavily scented fields of lupins, skimmias and rapseeds; towards the castle that shone brilliantly above the dark sleeping lake. In the middle of May, Hogwarts celebrated almost every day to prepare students to the rough season of exams. By the time Aberfort finally made it to the gates, it was almost midnight; many teachers have already gone to bed, to say nothing about students. He thundered into the hall, then made it towards the stairs. He was looking for his brother.

He was lucky and knew it as Albus usually went to sleep extremely late. At ten minutes past midnight, he was still in his office, not a sign of exhaustion on his face, in his white and silver jacket, writing something at his desk. However, as he heard heavy steps from the outer class, he was ready for the visitor.

If Aberfort was a horse, he'd be covered in foam.

"She's gone", he panted with a wheeze. Albus got up to his feet.

"They're gone. Aurelius... he found them".

They apparated right to the bridge leading into Hogsmeade. It was even faster than taking the secret tunnel into the Honeydukes. As they ran through the streets, Albus held his brother by the forearm, not to let him fall. Finally, the eastern side of the village was less lit than the center. That's why they chose this house for her. From the distance, Albus could already see the shambles of the dwelling, in the place where the house used to be.

"No, it's not supposed to look like that..." he uttered. They approached hurriedly and Albus sent several Lumos light balls to hover above. The breath was caught in his throat. Something wasn't adding up. Someone betrayed them. He turned to his brother, grabbing him by the collars.

"Where's the match, Aberfort?" he shook him well to stop his eyes from rolling around in their sockets.

"It's here!" Aberfort roared. As he reached for his pocket to demonstrate it. "Here!"

"Did you tell him? Through the mirror?"

"No! He doesn't speak to me, almost never!"

He was gasping for air, thinking, intensely. Something wasn't adding up.

He used the revealing charm to try to peek into what happened here, but the house had been protected too well. It meant, Credence managed to get inside even while the dome still stood. How? If even a Dumbledore spell did not let him see what was transpiring here in the last moments before the explosion.

"Go, send an owl to Newt, gather everyone immediately", he said. Aberfort was panting like a dog. He wasn't tired anymore, but tearing apart. Albus barely thought about how he must be feeling, knowing that his son is in the middle of this.

He stood there for a couple of minutes, deliberating. Then he turned and walked back, towards the bridge.

In fifteen minutes' time everybody was gathered at his office. Newt was the most panicked, understandably. His old ticks were coming out as he paced around. Albus wished Theseus supported his brother a little, even just to stop him from being a moving target. Eulalie was intently watching something on his desk, as she always did when thinking. Her lips moved a little as ideas rushed through her brain. Bunty was staring at Albus, completely lost. She also looked like she blamed him. Jacob collapsed into the chair with red draping, gazing in front of himself, mouth slightly agape. Albus wondered if the muggle had lost his mind.

"Alright", he clapped his hands, and Bunty jumped with surprise.

"Let us not deviate from hope".

"How?!" Theseus exclaimed. "We've just lost both our magical creature and our most powerful asset".

Newt sighed like all life left him.

"Bunty, will you please, give Newt a chair", Albus asked softly. She hurriedly took the zoologist by the arm and led him to sit him down next to the desk.

"How could he have done that", Jacob murmured. "I thought he was... on our side".

"He had joined Grindelwald last year", Eulalie reminded.

"He only did that to protect Orlaith", Newt replied slowly. His eyes were teary.

"Here's the thing I don't understand", Albus said. "There are no bodies and no blood".

Aberfort shrugged.

"He obviously turned. He might have just dissolved them both completely. And died, too".

Theseus was rocking in place.

"The question is", Eulalie said suddenly, "what we do right now. Election is in a week". She looked at Albus intently. He nodded.

"We do what we planned. Everything stays the same.

"But we don't have the Qilin", Newt squealed. Finally, Theseus approached him, and patted him on the shoulder, his hand stiff. That was an endearing gesture from him.

"Grindelwald might not know it. If he had sent Credence to pick up the second baby, and Credence died on the spot, he never gets it, either. We go with the suitcases anyway and see what happens".

"That's barely a plan, Dumbledore".

"The plan was not to have a plan at all", Albus retorted.

"And when we're up there?" Theseus asked. "And we don't have the second Qilin to show people that Grindelwald had been lying?"

"We fight. We do our best to shower him and his acolytes, and we move on as we can".

There was a collective sigh.

The room was sad, divided. The candlelight was dying slowly below the ceiling. Something didn't add up.

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The morning of election was cloudy, a bit cold for a June. The clouds swarmed the sky, promising a storm that would rock the land. Cold winds stabbed the earth and the village, and people, dressed too lightly for this uncharacteristic weather, were bundling themselves tighter in their colorful cloaks. In the middle of the square, where the stairs were leading up towards the Election Podium, was much hotter, the wind unnoticed. People hurdled, crowded, pushed and pulled, paced and yelled their happy slogans, chanting, organizing in separate, orange, red and green groups. Then, on the stairs, the wind ferociously attacked again, tearing the hats from the heads, flapping skirts around the legs, slapping magicians on the faces. A butterfly was struggling to fly up. In this howling vortex of cold air, it flapped its wings with fading strength, thrown around by the gusts of it; the desperate attempts almost paid off as it managed to fly up and up slowly, gradually, while there, on the top of the stairs, the dramatic revelation has already begun. Someone managed to catch it carefully in unclosed fist, and put the butterfly just behind the layer of their black and white striped blanket serving as a coat against the wind. Inside, finally in the warmth, the butterfly landed on a wet, little nose and looked around. A strange creature looked at it back and cooed soflty.

Up there, on the wide round place, Albus Dumbledore locked his eyes with Gellert Grindelwald. The green fireworks were exploding in the air, shattering the sky, as Gellert's face was being translated into all the magical sanctuaries where people watched. He was now the new leader of the magical world.

Newt was wriggling in Mr Pewdence's hands, trying to liberate his working hand. He looked at Eulalie quickly, asking, now what? She stood not far from him, equally guarded, but she wouldn't let them grab her shoulders. Jacob laid on the ground, his face white like snow, a thin trickle of blood dripping from his nose.

There was a soft snap characteristic for apparition. A couple of gasps later, people divided, and a figure stepped up from the last higher steps, towards Grindelwald. He was frail, dressed in all black, his hair covering his face almost completely.

He locked eyes with Grindelwald whose nostrils flared from how livid he became.

"So", he said quietly, "you're alive".

Aberfort shook in his place, his feet scratching the stone, but Albus garbbed him.

Credence said nothing but looked at the wizard for a couple of seconds. Then he raised his wand, slowly, and gently moved it in the air. From the tip of the wand, streams of red smoke flew up towards the wizard and formed a huge word, visible enough for the translation, above his head.

L I A R

Gellert dismissed it with an impatient twitch on his hand.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"He's lying to you!" Newt screamed. "This Qilin is dead! It's been resurrected through necromancy, it's corrupted!"

Rumble moved through the crowd, people swayed like one liquid body.

"Bring him here!" Grindelwald snapped. Newt was dragged in front of him, Dumbledore aware of every movement.

"Credence", he asked, as gently as he could. Credence turned his face towards his uncle, pale, with eyes full of hatred.

"Where's Orlaith?"

The boy smiled but said nothing.

Before getting to the zoologist, Grindelwald moved his attention to Credence again.

"You haven't only failed me, but also betrayed? You, who had been thrown out like garbage, a circus freak. I took you in. I gave you what you desired the most, your history. I gave you your name, Aurelius. I gave you a home. And now you're dying, and looking at me, for what? You dare to raise your eyes at me".

Credence was smiling. Not a single time either Newt, nor Albus has seen him smile. Gellert's spell was so quick that no one was in time to react; even Albus. He's been too preoccupied with the unrealistic oddness of this appearance. Credence himself fended it, with a wide movement, sending the red flash away, above people's heads. Albus noticed something extremely curious, familiar, about this movement, the hand outstretched recklessly. And the wand - he's seen this wand before. He's seen this wand, dragon core, seven inches, extremely stiff, red wood. A smile of disbelief curved his lips as he raised his own wand to protect.

"Where's the second Qilin?" he yelled, in the high, shrill voice, to raise the wave in the crowd. He stood a little behind Aberfort, who stared at him curiously.

"Show us the second one!"

"Yeah! Show us the second one!" someone picked up. Several voices demanded the same. Grindelwald smiled like a knife.

"There is no second Qilin. You see the only one, the real one, in front of you. All this", he motioned towards Scamander, kneeled before him, "is just a distraction".

Credence sat on the steps, supporting himself with one hand.

"Excuse me! Goddammit! Will you- hey, thank you!" there was another high-pitched voice, as if from someone very small - a child, or a female house elf. Crowd grumbled, preoccupied, and people were finally making a narrow corridor, to let them through. Another person, covered in a striped back and white blanket, was stumbling upwards on the stairs.

"Oh, the-" Orlaith's hand caught herself on the steps, "these stairs, fuck", she mumbled under her breath, her voice unusually high with exhaustion. From the blanket, a butterly flew out and disappeared in the milky sky.

"Are there... two hundred thousand of them, or something?"

"What is this?" thundered Grindelwald. He was losing patience. She threw the blanket off her shoulders. Orlaith held the Qilin baby in her hands, snuggled against her chest. She was wearing a black shirt, not unlike Credence's, and dark trousers. In all black, which Dumbledore hasn't seen her quite often, she looked ever more menacing. Her long ginger hair flew in the furious wind, like golden Celtic song. She stood straight for a second, but then bent forward, putting her free hand to her knees, panting from the running. Credence watched her attentively. She waved her hand, motioning them to wait.

"These fucking stairs!" she yelled in thin voice, but it cracked. She's never cursed that much, in front of people.

"This is precarious", Grindelwald said with finality. "This is a ploy".

Orlaith let the Qilin jump off her arms, and it trotted joyfully around, paying little to no attention to the chosen leader. It ran around in circles, enjoying the weather, as Newt looked at her with tears in her eyes. Albus, without breaking the gaze from Grindelwald, walked up to Orlaith and helped her to get up. She jerked, suddenly, as if she didn't expect his help.

"How are you holding up?" he whispered. Her gaze was stern as she only allowed him to take her by the shoulder and raise to her feet. She immediately stepped away, closer to Credence. He met her halfway.

Qilin, meanwhile, was making her way through the crowd, towards Santos. The noble witch kneeled before the animal, bowing her head low. People started forming a circle around Grindelwald as his face hardened. He saw that the Qilin had chosen, and his own, barely alive, infernally blue, was now wandering aimlessly at the edge of the platform, unused. He opened his mouth to say something poisonous at the wands ponting at him, but was interrupted.

"Ow! Ah!" Credence talked for the first time. His face was bubbling and he grabbed on it, searching support in Orlaith. She, too, was shaking, grimacing. In front of the amazed crowd, the two seemingly changed places, and Orlaith was now holding onto Credence, and Credence stood where she had stood before. He was the one who had saved the butterfly.

"Ha! The most amazing thing I'd seen in a long time!" Albus laughed. He was so relieved. Meanwhile, Gellert finally recognized the girl.

"You. I knew the chains had meant something".

"Oh", she grimaced, "shut up!"

There was a swirl of spells. Green, blue, orange flashes flew towards Gellert, and he fended them all. Orlaith pulled Credence a little at the side, seeing that he was on his last leg. He was very pale, although visibly holding on. She searched for Aberfot with her eyes. He was making his way to them, but with the pushing crowd, it wasn't easy. She noticed Credence was, although he stood on one knee, looking closely at Albus.

There was a pause in the shootout, as Gellert tried to voice towards the wizards. Albus was impatient, clutching his wand, but he could only fight the servants, not the lord. The chain was choking him.

"You know, I wish I had broken your chains", Credence muttered. Orlaith followed his gaze.

"Accio!" he screamed, in the last burst of energy. Everything seemed to slow down. She felt that, together, they were something more. In between the moving bodies, preparing to attack Grindelwald again, she could see the long silver chain with the blood-red-hearted vile sprung in the air. Dumbledore was pulled along with it, barely keeping himself on his feet. She aimed as well as she could, which was relatively new to her; she just usually shot in wide bursts, hoping to shatter as much as possible.

"Reducto".

Golden lightning flashed out of her wand for she was the Golden Witch. Credence felt her shining next to him, keeping him warm, as he let her lean on his shoulder for support. The spell, released by her, wasn't just a breaking curse. It was her ancient magic that made it incredibly strong. It was so strong that it could destroy the heartbreak, the betrayal, the sorrow. It crashed into the vile, and the little glass bottle exploded in the air.

Dumbledore was free.

Aberfort finally grabbed Credence and carried him ten steps away, holding him in his arms. Their fingers unclutched, and Orlaith moved her wand towards the dark wizard. Dumbledore's blue, and her golden curses flew towards him, as he twisted as best as he could to avoid being hit, dancing like a fencer. She saw some familiar faces, the faces that visited Hogwarts, fall, and stepped closer. Credence's shirt was far too big for her, so, she rolled her sleeves very quickly. That second she spent on it cost her a would on her neck, burning like hell. She rubbed the spot and focused again. Let the surge of magic of the earth itself thunder down on him. She put her wand up, and people stepped back, watching. Gellert locked eyes with her. She threw her hand down, and the pillar or purple fire engulfed him.

"Dumbledore!" she screamed, holding the trap. He wasn't easy to keep, actually. She could feel his pushback, and was horrified. Albus shot through the purple, curse after curse, and soon, the others joined. The howling mass of the pillar held Grindelwald as he was forced to his knees inside. He managed to break the curse with Protego Diabolica, from the third try, no less; by this moment Orlaith had redefined all she knew about her skills. She had never, she realized, met a wizard of such power, and her careless, insinctive use of ancient magic was only good with crooks. Otherwise, focus just wasn't enough to defeat someone so masterful. But the ring of fire grew, fighting the blue flames. She was getting exhausted quickly, feeling the supportive curses around, but the magic drained her for energy. Blue dragon was growing, consuming the purple fire, and her anger was the last thing that still held up. She thought of Credence. Credence, the boy she refused to let go of, dying ten steps away from her. Someone who never knew love and yet, sacrificed his little freedom for her, twice. His sculpted pale face with heavy, dark, intelligent eyes. The way he made her feel as his hand touched her neck softly, almost with fright. She screamed and pushed, she didn't even put any words to the blow. She just pushed Grindelwald as hard as she could, like a child would push another child on the playground. He flew up, picked up by the purple flash, and was thrown off the edge.

Suddenly, it was all quiet. People rushed towards the end of the platform to see, but he was gone. Maybe disintegrated in the fire, or maybe, disapparated in the air.

She bent and held onto her knees, like Credence, while he was parodying her. All was quiet for some time. Someone was scratching their head. Orlaith panted, looked up at the stormy skies, felt the June cold on her face.

"Alright, you were right. And Black was right, I need to learn more", she admitted to approaching Albus. He smiled like she knew he would always smile at children he protected.

"That was quite a spectacle".

"Is he gone?"

"Gone, yes, dead - unlikely".

He patted her on the shoulder lightly. His hand was scarred from the chain.

"Thank you for that, by the way. That was the most exquisit job from you two".

She turned around to look for Credence.

"They had disapparated. To Hogsmeade, I presume".

People were slowly gathering around her, dozens of curious eyes, which she didn't like. She realized the translation into sanctuaries and places of viewership was still happening.

"Can I... also go, please?" she asked, huddling closer to Professor. He embraced her by the shoulder, and she clutched on Newt, too, to shield herself. They both held her.

"Yes, let's go. And you'll need to tell me where the hell you have been".

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A week ago, Credence landed himself, and Orlaith, with the Qilin, on top of the Astronomy Tower where she guided him. He swayed and fell on one knee because his head spun for a second. Orlaith collapsed, too, but managed to keep the baby in her outstretched arms. She quickly stood up and unfolded the Cloak.

"Are you alright? Credence?"

He took her hand and pulled himself up.

"Yes".

He was not. All his body was being bitten off by frost from his bones. The monster inside of him was raging, knapping. He couldn't lift his right arm. He let the night air soothe him a little, and then Orlaith threw the mantle over him. She stepped so close that he could see every freckle on her nose.

"What's that?"

"A family heirloom. You remember when Grindelwald - Graves - gave you that necklace? Doesn't matter. It's the Cloak of Invisibility".

He didn't ask where they were going, just looked around. He had to hold her around her waist not to let the Cloak slip off of his head. He found it uncomfortable and inappropriately fantastic. He couldn't even think while she was in his arms. In fact, the pain ceased just a little, and it became easier to breathe. He was staring around curiously as they sneaked down the winding stairs.

"Oh, so good it's the nighttime" she whispered, tickling his face with her hair. "No students".

He obeyed her motions, stopping when she stopped, and whispering to the baby when it made noises. Slowly, because they were both adults, and with a baby dragon deer, while the Cloak was designed for only one person - made their way to the lower level. Suddenly, Credence heard conversation. They stepped to the wall, the Qilin between them, two of their palms covering its mouth carefully and gently.

Two students in green ties were treading down the hallway. They stood still while the two boys passed, and then, after a while, Orlaith grumbled,

"Of course it's Slytherin".

And pulled him further.

Finally, they were standing in front of an empty, flat wall. She took the Cloak off and rolled in under her arm.

"What is it?" he asked.

She couldn't hide how excited she was all of a sudden.

"This, Credence, is the Room of Requirement. One of the most tremendous places in Hogwarts. Take my hand".

He complied happily. A rare bird, ghostly bird of freedom was flapping its wings in his chest. Excitement for magic, something unfamiliar to him before, contageously, travelled to him from her. For a moment, he wasn't aching, or tired, or on the run. He was just a boy, looking impatiently, in wonder, at the wall which was changing, transforming, into a door.

She pushed the door, and they entered a huge, light, spacious room with thick red carpet on the floor, with high, tall windows in the ceiling, through which the impossible daylight was flowing; the walls were covered in portraits of witches and banners of birds, and animals, and statues of incredible beasts were in every corner. It was warm here, safe, quiet. Something bubbled peacefully on the intricatly ornamented purple potion desk at the wall; it was an amazing place. In front of him, across the room, there was what looked like a greenhouse entrance, which glowed with white light. As Orlaith let the Qilin go, the baby immediately raced towards the entrance and, in the soft pearl glow, she disappeared inside.

"We're safe here. Not even Grindelwald can find us here, the Room is hidden deep inside the castle, and no one can acess it, who hadn't been inside before".

There were steps leading up onto a little balcony. On either side of it, on the platform, were doors. The left one had the same ethereal glow, but it was somehow bluer. On the other side, the door was most usual, but with a sign of a fairy on it.

"You can stay here. Hey, I'll go pick up dinner".

He drew a breath, still looking around.

"Is this all yours?"

"Well, the Room provides me with what I need. But I designed some of it", she nodded towards potion tabel and two botanic desks with some sort of yellow flowers growing.

"Can I... can I sit?" Credence motioned towards a big, dark-red armchair standing next to a bookcase.

"Of course. Of course, hey, do what you want here. This is going to be our home for the next week, I suppose. Are you hungry?"

He wasn't hungry, he was awashed with the feeling he couldn't put to words. Most likely it was savage, reckless hope. As Orlaith disappeared under the Cloak and left the room, he changed his mind against the armchair. He wanted to see what the gates were, and followed the Qilin.

When Orlaith returned, she found Credence in the vivarium, watching the baby play. She brought her dinner, too, and the beast started stuffing her face. She was growing, and ate all the time now. Orlaith munched on banana bread and had left some food for him in the room. She pulled on his hand, breaking his sunbathing in the field.

"Leave her be", she panted, with a smile, "I want to show you the ocean".

They left the first vivarium and took the stairs onto the balcony. Credence awed at how many books there were here. They entered the second glowing gate, and at first, he thought, he had another episode for there was noise in his head. Blinking in the white sunlight, he realized that it was the noise of the ocean. Grumbling pleasantly, licking on the sharp grey rocks, it was reaching its waves towards him. Orlaith was already running towards the water while he stood, and watched her. She threw herself in the water in her clothes like she was suffocating without it.

The sun did not recognize his white, paperthin skin. He felt out of place here, a black ink spot on this harmonious beach. But he walked on, he removed his shoes and felt the sand under his feet, and then walked into the water to make sure it felt real. It was amazing how he had been kept in a dark tower in the land of eternal winter, where iron bit him, and only ravens circled above the chasm below his windows, and suddenly he was saved. He was utterly saved, he was happy, his shoulders bending forwards, as his knees caved in. He sat in the sand and was silent, tasting the salt of the ocean. Orlaith joined him soon, water dripping from her.

"It looks and feels absolutely real, doesn't it?"

He asked himself if it has all been a dream.

"Does anybody leave here? Any animals?" he wondered.

"Only fish and very small crustaceans. And there, in the field, tiny beetles". She smiled. Her eyes were concerned, palpating his face. She gathered her hair into a bun. Credence looked at her neck and the sunbeams from her earrings on her skin.

She laid her head onto his shoulder, and they watched the waves until the sun started to roll across the water. The ocean was quietening, stepping back lightly, the shining changing from white to gold.

Several days have passed, and each day he was coming to the beach. There were cracks on his arms that wouldn't heal, the general weakness which he felt every day right in the morning. He knew what it meant, the boneache and the black visible through his skin. His body was only going to hold on long enough to go through with the plan which they now could finally discuss in detail.

In the bedroom, behind the door with the fairy sign, Orlaith slept in the bed to the left, with the baby curled at her side; and Credence slept in the right. In the evenings, days and mornings, they discussed what they would do. He watched Orlaith cutting the yellow and red flowers off the bushes with thin silver scissors; they dined in the next room where the narrow corridor led. In the oval shaped hall, the knight armour was displayed at the wall, and the banners: red, green, yellow, and blue. She explained that those were the four houses of Hogwarts, but Credence had already known about it. Grindelwald had told him a lot about Hogwarts, the place that Dumbledore had chosen over him. Still, he liked to listen to her as she spoke of Gryffindor. Most of the things in her Room were noble wine-red and orange, in the colors of her house. She said he would make the first Dumbledore who's destined for Slytherin. He asked why. She smiled like it was obvious. Your bravery is quiet, she said, and you're dark. You were right about it, you are dark, but your darkness is the darkness of the room where treasures are hidden. And you're smart, since you're reading my thoughts. In your pursuit of your name you almost turned over the mountains, and nothing could stop you. That makes you a Slytherin, the quiet menace, the undiscovered hero.

"And you're so dark-haired, you look like one", she shrugged. Credence found this playful categorisation entertaining.

"And what exactly makes you a Gryffindor?" he asked.

"Well, I'm super powerful".

He snorted right in his tea and apologized. Her smile turned into a laugh.

"You have- do you have any ancient magic by any chance?" he asked. "I don't think you've ever mentioned".

"That's what makes me a Gryffindor", she nodded, still laughing. "Dumbledore constantly tells me I'm too self-reliant and reckless. But it's really hard not to be, whent he earth itself helps you. Also, I'm a Peverell. All Peverells historically are Gryffindors, and they descend from the Gryffindor himself".

"The founder?"

"Uh-huh".

"But did you ever find who you were?" he remembered suddenly. He saw this question ruined her mood in an instance. She gave him an uneasy, doubtful glance. He got frightened.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Instead, she moved closer to him as if she wanted protection.

"I never did, no. I'm occupying the name, the body of an Orlaith Peverell who lived in the sixteenth century. She was, it seems, a lot like me, so I guess, I grew into the persona. But..."

She looked at Credence with trusting eyes.

"I have come into this world after I died. But I was born elsewhere". She put her palms up on the table and observed them. Credence, out of habit, dared to touch them, and she didn't pull away.

"I was born in the world with no magic, no magic at all. Just the planet full of... muggles".

She said the last word almost with disgust.

"I don't remember what it is".

"A no-maj. As a child, I used to read books about magic, but it was so painfully unreal. I grew up with these stories about this magical child who defeated the dark wizard. He was born just like me, thinking he was usual, and then found that he was a powerful warlock. That was the most amazing thing that happened to me. As I was growing up, I got so hung on these stories, that I spent all my time in the countryside, in the woods, looking for the special door leading to the world of magic. And I couldn't find it". She was grim as she spoke, as if she was old. What if she was old?

"Then I became an adult and realized it had all been just a story. Just a product of imagination of a writer. In our world, Credence, we didn't have dragons, and broomsticks, and prophecies, no purple enchantments, no elves, no wizarding schools. Just.... work, buses, taxes, relationships. You get up every day and go to work, and then come back and watch TV... and then go to sleep at night and listen to the traffic".

Credence thought of this world as almost amazing. If he had been born to a place where magic didn't exist, perhaprs he wouldn't have been abandoned. He wouldn't have turned out like he did, he would be normal.

"So... that's how you know the future? You read about... us... in the books?"

"Yes. But everything is differen already. Because I didn't use to be in them".

He thought of the concept.

"The worst thing is that I started a family there".

He was taken aback.

"You... had a husband?"

Something like a thorn stung him in the stomach, phantom. Not the obscurial. Other type of pain.

"Yes. But the thing is, that life almost seems like a dream to me now. I forgot my name, or his, and I barely remember anymore... I think, with time, I'll start thinking that that muggle world was no more than a bad dream. A dream".

She looked at him.

"What if it was?" He mused, "just a long dream?"

She shrugged.

"Maybe. The view of the house doesn't seem to leave me. It was autumn, I died in September. I know I left them behind, and I feel... so awful".

He was shaken to his core. He wasn't sure even Grindelwald heard about things like that. There had to be some meaning to her having ancient magic now. She didn't look like a muggle at all, not even in her previous life. He witnessed her lower her shoulders.

"I'm sorry".

"I would not go back", she said quietly, "even if the hellhounds dragged me by my ankles".

They let the thought soar onto the soft carpet.

"Well", she let her hand snake onto his chest and felt for his watch in the pocket. Credence was still getting used to that. He would stay in place, not a muscle move in his body, in concern that she could be scared off. All the while sweat breaking onto his neck from expecting a blow.

"It's late, and tomorrow's the Day", she clicked the watch closed and gave it back to him, "I'll go wash in the river". He nodded, strange feeling of readiness in him. He knew this could be very well the last evening of his life.

Orlaith was thinking about the next morning. They had already decided how they would apparate, how they could avoid being tracked while travelling. And what they would do. Late evening light in her impeccably realistic vivarium made the air relatively cold for the skin straight out of the river. As she walked out onto the grass and picked up he robe, she saw Credence at the gate. She jumped, putting the robe around herself quicky. She called his name, and he started moving. Something eerie was in the way he walked, without the usual stoop, planting his feet firmly into the ground. Unpleasant paranoic feeling crawled onto her skin as she found the baby with her eyes, grazing hundred steps away. She didn't have her wand, she wouldn't think of it. She trusted Credence completely, she knew him. As they approached each other, she decided there was something different. His face was ready and meaningful. He towered over her.

"I was in the river, Credence", she reproached him. He didn't stoop his eyes like he always did, but on the opposite, made them travel onto her neck and then back to her face.

"You need to be ready for tomorrow".

"I am".

"You need to be ready for my death".

He caught her hands which flew to his head.

"Credence, I told you-"

"I know, I know. You won't accept it, and you need me to fight".

In the silence between them his white hand let go of hers, and she touched the side of his face.

"But no matter how long I'm fighting, the obscurial is eating me. And I'm quite tired of fighting it".

Orlaith didn't know what to say. She was childishly opposed. She wanted to shake her head and stomp her foot. He held her wrist so softly, like she was an artifact.

"I want you to know something", he added. Taking her hand, he opened her palm.

"The elf wouldn't think of bringing you the ointment. I made it myself, for burns, from the slug-dragons we used to have at the circus. I sent it with him because I had been listening to your conversations with Skender".

Her throat was caught in a spasm.

"You took care of me".

He kissed her palm like he did before. He kept it to his face as if he was trying to hide. He used to have nothing, he thought. And now he knew who he was, and he had love. He had felt love, he had felt loved. And he was happy.

As his name left her lips again, he touched her neck, traced the invisible line to her shoulder, and back. They kissed, his darkness dissipating a little, with the warm summer fog. The powerful feeling of hope left him through the pores in his skin, for he didn't need hope anymore.

The light was leaving the sky. The need shoved them close to each other, and they held on, watching each others' eyes in the twilight. Now Orlaith didn't know what to say because she had said it many times. She needed him. She wouldn't let him go. She was stubborn, and selfish, and he just watched as she clung on his cooling hand.

"We go tomorrow", he said finally. "Don't be upset".

"I'm not upset", she argued. "Are you upset?"

"No".

The play of words made him smile a little.

"I was thinking. Do you have a Change-Up potion?"

Orlaith frowned.

"What's a Change-up potion?" there was again a spark of fun in her eyes. Maybe he made her drunk a little.

"It's the potion which makes you look like the other person".

"Aaahh. The Polyjuice potion".

"The Poly... juice", he chuckled, kissing her face.

"I don't. You know it takes a month to preapre it, right?"

She thought.

"But I can steal it from Sharp. He must have some in the Potions class".

"Do you need help?"

She looked sheepish but in the end, managed to get it together.

"No, you better stay here. Grindelwald must be looking for you. I'll be quick".

He let her hand slide off his shoulder, and traced her arm with his fingers. What if in a dream, he thought, watching her leave the vivarium, they were both very boring, non-magical? And there would be a lifetime of this, of him being able to hold her like that?

She shoved her head back suddenly.

"Oi! Why do we need Polyjuice potion again?"

"Well, to confuse everybody even further".

"But we'll need to be silent, because voices don't change".

"I know".

"And you'll need to act like me, you know?"

"So, a lot of cursing?"

She nodded energetically,

"A lot!"

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