#maxine valois | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maxinevaloisbourbon · 4 years ago

Text

𝓅𝑜𝓋! 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐖

TW! crises de ansiedade, automutilação, violência sexual, gore, sangue, suicídio e abuso verbal

Maxine tinha tido certa sorte em encontrar o seu pai partido para viagem quando retornou para o Chateau da família, o homem iria para Rússia cumprir seus deveres como Ministro da França e também como Duque. Para surpresa do patriarca o filho do qual ele sempre precisava arrastar para viagens como aquela agora jazia a sua frente pedindo de bom grado que o levasse junto a si, ele sabia que uma oportunidade como aquela poderia não surgir tão cedo e talvez isso fizesse com que seu primogênito tomasse de vez o gosto pela causa. E foi dessa maneira que o capitão da Truffaut terminou em um jatinho particular voando para Moscou, o voo tinha a duração total de seis horas e apenas duas delas já tinham se passado.

Nada ali era interessante para Maxine mas ainda sim era melhor do que estar em Cannes. As nuvens lá fora lhe traziam uma grande sensação de paz momentânea fazendo-o ignorar a conversa que seu pai tinha no telefone com quem ele pensava ser seu tio. Seu pensamento correu para longe e sua mente o forçou a revisitar uma memória da primavera daquele ano.

FLASHBACK!

Dezessete de Abril, Março. Chateau Fontainebleau.

Era usual em todos os outros anos que o dia do aniversario de Maxine fosse um grande evento na pequena Ilha de Fointainebleau, os catorze mil seiscentos e trinta e sete mil habitantes eram contemplados com uma grande festa no Chateau da família Valois-Bourbon fazendo-os sentir como entes queridos ao comemorar o grande dia do primogênito da família.

Apesar da pequena fortuna gasta com o Sr. Bourbon sempre deixou claro que aquilo era necessário afinal eles eram tratados como realeza francesa, a ilha tinha se tornado o pequeno reino dos Bourbon’s.

Mas ao contrário do esperado naquele ano as coisas seriam diferentes, Maxine tinha sido avisado por seu pai que as comemorações iriam ser mais singelas naquele ano e portanto um jantar iria ser o suficiente.

Chateau Fontainebleau, 11 AM.

As janelas de seu quarto eram grandes e faziam com que os rais solares entrassem por entre as frestas das cortinas facilmente assim, o acordando. Max se apoiou nos cotovelos bocejando lentamente ainda inerte pela manhã, aquele era seu grande dia. Seu aniversário!

Subitamente a porta de madeira e ouro foi aberta, uma figura conhecida adentrou em seu quarto.

‘‘Master Maxine, o seu desejum.’’ A voz já rouca pela idade pertencia ao seu mordomo, Francis. O homem prestava serviços a família mesmo antes de Maxie nascer e com isso, tinha conhecimentos sobre tudo.

Levantando-se animadamente o loiro observou com animação a grande bandeja cheia de seus pratos favoritos. Mordeu um das duzias de croissant’s amanteigados e se sentou na cama novamente, enquanto mastigava sua atenção se voltou para o jardim leste.

‘‘Ela vem, Francis?’’ Sua pergunta podia parecer estupidamente vaga mas o serviçal sabia de quem se referia o questionamento. Desde o começo daquele ano sua mãe Marie, tinha deixado completamente de fazer contato com o seu único filho.

Ainda podia se lembrar da noite da qual contou um de seus segredos mais profundos para a mulher e de como ela tinha reagido drasticamente perante a situação lhe dizendo que não o reconhecia e que naquela noite tinha perdido seu filho. Seu pai é claro, tinha lhe assegurado que aquilo era resultado de um temperamento raivoso da matriarca e que logo as coisas voltariam ao normal. Bom, nada estava normal.

‘‘Não me foi informado, Vossa Alteza.’’ Respondeu o criado, sua voz carregava um grande pesar. [...]

Chateau Fontainebleau, 3:45 PM.

Por ser uma sexta feira o capitão do time da Truffaut deveria estar na escola treinando, o pensamento lhe passava tranquilidade de alguma forma. Aquele era o melhor maneira de lidar com os problemas; não pensando neles!

‘‘O que foi, Francis?’’ Mesmo com os olhos fechados o loiro ainda era capaz de notar a presença do mais velho o observando.

‘‘Sua alteza, planejei todas as atividades do seu dia assim como o Duque instruiu e o Sr. ainda não começou nenhuma delas.’’

Max abriu os olhos azuis, notava o esforço do homem para o entreter mas nada ali o interessava. ‘‘Não vou jogar polo com nenhum cretino, Francis.’’ Sua voz deixava claro o escarnio em sua voz, tinha ligado para seu pai algumas vezes mas nenhum sucesso. Se sentia tão sozinho que desejou voltar a escola para conseguir passar o dia sem pensar em sua família, talvez Benjamin lhe ajudasse com isso. ‘

‘Não acho que ficar jogado no meio dos jardins causa uma boa impressão aos empregados, ao menos se o Sr. comparecer nos jogos as pessoas possam aumentar seu humor.’’ Soltando um suspiro alto, o loiro se levantou do gramado. Parando por alguns segundos para enfrentar um cara a cara com o homem. ‘‘Depois de tantos anos aqui Francis, você se esqueceu que não é pago para ter achismos e sim servir. Assim como os outros..’’ Deixando-o sozinho, ele se dirigiu a ala norte da propriedade buscando privacidade.

[...]

Dentro dos mil e quitenhos quartos ativos Maxine escolheu o favorito de sua mãe. Ele se lembrava perfeitamente das noites de verão das quais os dois passavam correndo pelo castelo, contando historias e rindo.

Era dificil aceitar a separação que ocorria entre eles, o amor que parecia ter se perdido junto com qualquer ato de ternura. Mesmo com as mentiras tóxicas vindas de seu pai e as afirmações momentâneas que a matriarca compareceria ao pequeno jantar de aniversário no fundo Maxie sabia que seria deixado sozinho. Talvez fosse para o melhor afinal, odiaria precisar fingir que não notava o desprezo vindo de sua adorada mãe. Quase que instantaneamente uma lagrima caiu de seu olho, percorrendo toda a sua face e abrindo caminho para algo muito maior. Um choro alto, dolorido e lastimoso.

Chateau Fontainebleau, 11:00 PM.

Seus olhos azuis agora jaziam inchados e vermelhos.

Sentado na varanda desde a tarde não viu nenhuma nova movimentação, nem mesmo de seu pai.

Um breve toque na madeira o fez mudar sua atenção de lugar, um pequeno grupo de empregados da propriedade seguravam um grande bolo escrito ‘feliz aniversario!’ junto a eles Francis que logo se pós a cantar a tradicional canção e que logo foi seguido pelos outros. Maxine mais uma vez não conseguiu segurar as lágrimas só que dessa vez elas surgiam em razão de sua momentânea felicidade, pois por alguns minutos entre aquela canção e a comilança do bolo nada mais importava pois sua verdadeira família estava ali, como sempre estiveram.

FLASHBACK OFF!

Rússia, Moscou.

Desde o pouso em Moscou sua vida tinha se tornado subitamente o que ele sempre odiou, uma agenda! Tudo parecia ter horário, até mesmo o banho.

Ele não tinha a minima ideia de como o seu pai conseguia aturar aquela situação e o fez pensar por alguns momentos que ser politico era literalmente um inferno. Depois de muitas noites e eventos ao lado do patriarca Maxie finalmente conseguiu o despistar com uma desculpa fajuta sobre uma febre e ficar no quarto de hotel contudo, depois de algumas horas tudo que conseguia sentir era arrependimento por sua decisão.

Tudo que ele tinha fugido estava voltando a sua mente, as mentiras ditas, as vidas das quais ele tinha brincado de maneira tão leviana agora surgiam para lhe atormentar; Viv, Blair e agora Isabelle.

Não entendia como sempre terminava daquela maneira quando tudo que ele queria era na verdade ser amparado pelas pessoas das quais amava e desejava ter por perto, odiava se sentir sozinho mas a sensação só tinha aumentado nos últimos meses.

Tinha perdido absolutamente tudo de mais precioso e ainda sim conseguia fingir melhor do que ninguém de que seu mundo era perfeito e que nada nem ninguém lhe abalava.

Sentiu seus olhos marejarem e uma dor profunda foi sentida em seu peito. ‘‘Rassemblez-vous, votre putain d'idiot’’ Murmurou para si mesmo, as costas da mão passando por seu rosto na tentativa de ignorar aquilo.

Ele ligou para um número conhecido. Um modelo russa da qual teve um breve affair a um ano atrás, o loiro sabia que ela não recusaria seu convite para seu quarto de hotel.

(IMAGEM DA MODELO)

E não demorou muito até que a moça chegasse até ali.

Maxine se sentia como uma perfeita ruína e esperava que ao abrir a porta e encontrasse aquela bela mulher tudo se dissiparia em sua mente mas suas expectativas novamente foram quebradas.

‘‘I have missed you’’ O sotaque russo não atrapalhou seu entendimento do inglês alheio, ele logo foi envolvido nos braços femininos e um beijo foi iniciado. Fuck! Porque ele não conseguia aproveitar o momento? Afinal, o sexo sempre tinha tapado o grande buraco dentro de seu peito e agora não seria diferente. Tudo que ele precisava era se esforçar, certo? O

loiro afastou a garota quebrando o beijo sem muita delicadeza ele se sentou na beira da cama e em silencio permaneceu. A modelo da qual ele já tinha esquecido o nome agora lhe observavam com olhos piedosos e confusos.

‘‘What’s wrong?’’

Droga! Como um simples pergunta tinha sido capaz de lhe fazer desmoronar tão rapidamente? Outra vez seus olhos lagrimejaram mas o Bourbon não foi capaz de segurar as lágrimas e um choro dolorido foi finalmente solto. ‘’What happened?’’ Sentiu as mãos femininas envolverem seu rosto e automaticamente limparem as lagrimas que percorriam sua bochecha. ‘‘Why don’t you tell me everything?’’ Ele tentou se concentrar, não devia se expor assim daquela maneira mas era quase impossível parar de chorar. ‘‘Maybe you should talk about it.’’ Ele se levantou abruptamente, se recostando contra a janela na tentativa de se afastar.

Respirou fortemente repetidas vezes até finalmente se sentir seguro para falar. ‘‘I’m ugly.’’ Explicou. ‘’I’m a ugly person.’’ Sua voz era tremula mas confiante em sua afirmação.

‘‘What? Maxine?’’ O rosto da moça foi inundado de confusão e incredulidade, se aproximando novamente ela começou a afagar o rosto dele até começar a deixar beijos em seu pescoço. ‘‘I have a ugliness that is impossible to love’’ A garota pausou, sussurrando em seu ouvido. ‘‘How could you think that? You’re beautiful.’’ Imediatamente os dois começaram a se beijar os beijos eram desleixados, ásperos e confusos mas ainda sim intensos. Foi quase de imediato que o Bourbon moveu o corpo feminino contra um dos espelhos nas paredes, as mãos dela apoiadas contra o vidro frio e as pernas abertas o suficiente para que Maxie puxasse sua calcinha para baixo e colocasse o seu pau dentro da garota. ‘‘Fuck me!’’ Ela gemeu. Ah, sim ele vai te foder. Era melhor que ela estivesse pronta para ter seu corpo usado até não conseguir sentir nada afinal, naquele momento Maxine não podia se importar menos com o prazer além do seu próprio.

Embora ele duvidasse que sua parceira não estivesse sentindo nada já que seus murmúrios de prazer enchiam o quarto antes silencioso. O movimentos de seus quadris fodiam com força mas o seu reflexo faziam o prazer se tornar dor, uma dor que nem mesmo agora conseguia não sentir. Segurou com força os quadris da garota empurrando ainda mais rápido e com força em um ritmo frenético que aos poucos foram se tornando lentos até forçar o seu pau ainda mais para dentro antes de finalmente parar e gozar levando alguns longos segundos até finalmente se esvaziar.

O loiro se afastou caminhando para o banheiro ele trancou a porta atrás de si ele se apoiou contra a pia algo logo chamou sua atenção,uma lamina de barbear. Um pensamento sombrio passou por sua cabeça e sem pensar duas vez tomou o objeto entre as mãos e cortou o seu peitoral, um corte de profundidade mediana mas que percorria toda a extensão de pele.

A sensação era sofrimento e agonia. O sangue que já começava a percorrer por seu corpo o fez ficar zonzo por meros segundos, lhe obrigando a sentar-se no chão.

Não estava pensando direito e isso era claro, precisava de ajuda alguém do qual poderia confiar. Tirou o celular do bolso, ligando para um conhecido; Valentin.

Enquanto o toque de chamada perpetuava sua ansiedade aumentava drasticamente. Até finalmente ouvir uma voz conhecida do outro lado da linha, um riso de escarnio saiu por entre seus lábios. ‘‘Hey, V.’’ Chamou, sua voz estava embargada. ‘‘Things aren’t really good right now, you know? I’m fucked. I can’t think straight. I kissed her. I fucked her harder and harder, hoping the images would dissipate from my memory. But fuck, all I could see were me being a stupid fucker.’’ As costas das suas mãos passaram por seus olhos misturando o sangue e as lágrimas de maneira suja e bagunçada. ‘‘ Ever since I was a child, I felt like greatness was in store for me. A Great life, I felt. Like God himself had spat me forth to land on this Earth and in some way transform it. That I was here for a reason, a purpose. But I don’t have none I will fucking die here.’’

[.....]

#𝓅𝑜𝓋! 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐖 #1 - get it together your fucking idiot #G&G:PONTOS #extras!

4 notes · View notes

hunterartemis · 6 years ago

Text

The Assistant: Chapter 7: A Fine Line

Word limit: 5835

Summery: At the eve of the Ministry Yule party, drama ensues between lover and beloved.

Chapter theme: Nero by Two Steps from Hell: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7LtnLVRvypw

It is quite strange how a night’s sleep can change things, it makes bad incidents into some distant nightmare, and good ones into some fleeting dream, from which one never wants to wake.

The December chill was quietly setting in London, Thames looked glassy and the banks looked a mixture of gray and sepia, the cold wind swept the trees bare and now they stood with their bare branches like open arms towards the sky, waiting to welcome the season’s first snow. A stray wind slowly breathed its icy breath into Newt’s tiny apartment. A nice enjoyable shiver invaded underneath the soft warmth of Newt’s futon and he snuggled with it even more. In his slumber his face softly played with a content smile that can only take place when someone is fulfilled in their lives. But alas, not all happiness lasts and sadly not nightly sleeps.

The rusty alarm ringed with a tremendous cacophony which made Newt jump awake in his bed. He looked at the nightstand with his half awakened eyes and it was already forty minutes to nine. This was the tragedy of a bachelor’s life: his life is meant to digress now and then and in the most inconvenient of times. Shuddering at the thought that Maxine might walk into him very soon Newt started to dress as swiftly as he could while freshening up and making breakfast. In the midst of haste he looked at the calendar; it was 23rd of December, which meant that his invitation was tomorrow. He would not have been so excited to go to the Ministry ball, but whenever his eyes fell on the little blue packet, his mind filled with a small joy. He even unconsciously smiled at it for a couple of times. When it was nearly nine, he managed himself to sit in his table, and spread himself some papers to inspect and correct the ideas he jotted down in Romania.

When a man prepares for something, it never happens, it happens when he least expects it. The clock went round and round but there was no one. Newt waited patiently, then tapped his fingers on the table, bit his thumb for a moment, stood up from his chair to go a roundabout the room, then finally sitting into a twitchy discomfort. He waited for the familiar knocking at the door, or coming inside adjusting the leather gloves and straight coats. His impatience grew to a worry without he realizing it. Where was she? Were there any problems with her? Was she sick should he call? Then something struck in his mind, he cannot do any of those because he is her boss and she will think he is being arbitrary and overbearing. No… maybe she is just late. She will come soon. After all there was a day long trip yesterday, she must be exhausted. Even he woke up a little late than usual.

It’s going to be fine.

Knock knock

Newt stood up abruptly, perhaps now Maxine has come. He hastily went to the door and opened it, in the expectation to see the familiar silk clad pale figure of Maxine, but instead it was someone else. His face must have changed expression because as the person turned to him and attempted to smile, their smile faded a little bit into a grimace.

“Tina…” Newt mouthed and opened the door pane a little so that she could enter, “what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Tina repeated with a little bit of heat and sarcasm, “I send you a letter two days ago that I am coming… didn’t you see that?” Tina shut the door behind her, stripped off her black duster coat into the hanger and sat down. Newt trying to rummage into his head where he had seen the letter, and then as the incident came across his mind he screwed his eyes for his mistake.“Oh I am sorry…” Newt sincerely apologized, “I had to leave for Romania urgently with my assistant so I must have missed the letter…” he added with a guilty smile which was replied with a kind smirk, “I didn’t know you had an assistant” Tina asked with half amazement and half amusement, “oh… is that the… double bunned red-headed woman with you from the Daily Prophet?” Tina was now helping herself with Newt’s Spode and poured herself a cup of tea, glancing at his way every so often.

“Oh you mean Bunty?” Newt answered, sitting on his table, scribbling on some papers, correcting his notes, “no... She um… left a month ago. The one that works with me is relatively new one… Never mind, you didn’t tell me why you’ve come here?” Newt said in a single train. Tina took a break from her tea and dusting her hand from the biscuit crumbs she looked eagerly at Newt, “I have been invited by the British Ministry in their Yule Party” there was a felicitous spark in her voice, “so I was thinking if--”

“Merlin’s beard… I am so late--” with a familiar voice, stormed in another familiar face. Newt and Tina’s eyes veered to that person.

“Max… finally…” Newt smiled softly, “Tina, meet my assistant Maxine Valois…” Tina stood up and smiled, “—and Maxine, she is…”

“Porpentina Goldstein…” Maxine came up to her and shook her hand with her unfaltering professional courteousness “I have heard many things about you when I visited New York… weren’t you the one who tied up Theseus Scamander?” Tina at first looked at her with strangeness and then she broke into a small laugh “By Isolde’s hair, I hope Mr. Scamander is not angry with me… ” she said with humor, “it is best to keep some men on the toes, that way they would know how to treat you” Tina stopped smiling at looked at Maxine in a strange way which although didn’t escape her notice, but she ignored it. Maxine turned towards Newt, “so the same drill then? I should be getting downstairs; Elsie and Molly need a special post-natal care.” Maxine went towards the hallway and Newt, putting his coat hastily started to follow her.

“Newt…” Tina stopped Newt by grabbing his elbow from behind. Newt stopped and looked at her way eagerly. His eyes slantiy veered in her petit face and warm black eyes; there were some unusual turbulence under the liquid noir in her otherwise kind eyes. His smile tensed a little, “what is it Tina, you look uneasy…”. Tina tried to adjust herself her best, “is there a way we could talk… in private?”

“We are in private Tina, Maxine is downstairs… you can tell me what you want, she will wait.” Newt suggested. Tina shook her head apprehensively, “no no… I--” she grabbed her temple irritably, and Newt being Newt patiently waited for her answer. Tina however quickly shook off her unease and beamed at Newt “it’s okay… I will see you later” she affectionately placed her left hand on Newt’s freckled cheek and gave him a kindly slap “now hurry up and go to Elsie and Molly.” She gave him a playful push and walked out of the door with a smile.

Newt descended the stair with a bit of a daze, and Maxine, who was getting into her gear, noticed it. With a bit of a smile she said to Newt, “so this is the woman who makes you selfless, am I right?” Newt stopped at his tracks and looked at her, “I never—you are indeed a clever woman Miss Valois, I’ll give you that.” He descended the stairs with audible thumps.

“How strange… I was Maxine all along, and Max for a couple of days… why suddenly so formal Mr. Scamander…?” Maxine added with her usual crooked smile, “or maybe…” she turned away to her station creating a mystery with her unsaid words.

“Maxine…” Newt called fondly; “you are not to jest with me, now--” he stayed in silence for a while, perhaps to compare her sharp elegance and wittiness with Tina’s awkward and endearing femininity. The two present women in his life were so similar and yet so different, one struggles not to smile in his presence while the other shrouds something inexplicable in her smile. Perhaps he wouldn’t have realized the difference if Tina didn’t show up.

There was certain coldness about Maxine, and she so desperately tried to hide it.

“—why were you so late this morning?” he finally broke the silence, and Maxine who was standing still until now startled a little and looked at his way, “had a long sleep?” Newt asked with his usual kindness.

“Um…yeah. I got tossed off so bad that…” he voice rose a little despite herself, “that I almost forgot to wake up…”

But that’s not what happened; she knew she was lying through her teeth. That’s didn’t bothered her; the fact that bothered her was the lie she was telling was such a child’s lie, so easy to do, and yet she was failing at it miserably. This particular falsification felt particularly wrong, as if…

It was nearly four in the morning when she finally felt dozing off, because in the next room a drunken man was lying down. She may be French and assumedly liberal, but her upbringing was anything but; she was in many ways, traditional. She had two much older brothers who further instilled the examples of a good moral character into her. Thus she could not admit to herself the ways she felt about the man, lying unconscious next room.

It particularly irritated her because she consciously carved him and his constant influence of her out of her life. He was a dense man who knew nothing about women and what was considered good. She always felt that the bastard has a hero syndrome, he thinks women require saving from the misery, from the world, and Leta fell as a perfect candidate. And she wasn’t, because she never required saving.

Quell batard…*

Despite her eyes opened at the eight-fifty in the morning, she wasn’t particularly interested in getting out of the bed or walking into the parlor because she feared that she might come across him. She waited for half an hour in her bed, wide awake, listening to his footsteps. When she heard none till nine-thirty-five, she stepped out from her bed.

The frost on the window made it impossible to look outside. But it filled the room with a strange silvery light that almost felt like everything was right in life. But it was not.

Theseus was waiting at the parlor with two breakfasts in front of him. With the sound of her feet, he lifted his head and smiled at her lightly. Maxine stopped at her tracks, and looked at him reproachfully.

“I woke up two hours ago…” he stood up to acknowledge her presence and spoke with an optimistic tone, “the elf insisted that I lay down, but I was feeling great already… I made some breakfast for us…” Theseus pushed the second plate filled with toast, bacon, Toulouse sausage, omelets and mushrooms.*

“This is not I usually eat in the morning…” Maxine answered emotionlessly, which encouraged Theseus to take an imploring approach, “please I insist…”

Maxine stared at him for a moment, and then cut into a sausage and poured it into her mouth. “Lampito… je veux mon café. La normal.” (I want my coffee, the normal way)

“I wanted to thank you…” Theseus said quietly, “for taking care of me last night. It’s been quite hard a couple of months, and I didn’t know where to go--”

“That’s fine…” Maxine said nonchalantly, “besides, I didn’t do anything, Lampito did the most things.” She purposefully avoided looking at Theseus, who looked a little cast down. They spent the rest of the breakfast quietly, one avoiding glances of the other. Suddenly Maxine stood up, with haste, as if to avoid Theseus furthermore. Wiping her face in the napkin and fixing her eyed straight down, she said “listen, the matter of today or yesterday should never come up neither between us nor elsewhere…” she turned onto her heel to leave the parlour, but one voice stopped her.

“Why…?”

“Because I don’t want to be associated with you anymore” Maxine turned towards Theseus and asserted severely. Theseus stood up, his face oscillated between a mixture of frown and dejection and his eyes desperately inspecting every inch of Maxine’s face, trying to find a hint that whatever she spoke wasn’t true.

“You have put me into a difficult position… and this is not the time I can go around with a stigma that drunken men come to my place for a kip.”

“Do you understand what you are terming me…? Maxine, I didn’t even--” Theseus answered helplessly, “yes… as a matter of fact I perfectly do” Maxine answered with equal severity.

“Then why didn’t you dump me on the streets?” Theseus’ voice shook, “why didn’t you just abandoned me and kicked me on the curb like a common drunk?”

“Because I AM NOT LIKE YOU THESEUS… ” Maxine retreated within herself after the sudden outburst, “I don’t save people out of vanity; I save them because it’s the right thing to do… I don’t cast out the toy I have played with because I am bored… I cast them out because they are damaged and broken and I will cut my fingers and bleed all over.” Maxine walked out of the dining parlour and shut herself into her bedroom.

“Maxine… Max… can you hear me?” Newt softly tapped on her shoulders, and she turned towards him to respond. Newt noticed there was a certain change in her look since the morning when she came.

“Yes… yes…” she mentally arranged herself to come back into her usual professionalism, and tried to look focused at her best.

“Did you hear what I said…” Newt asked, and observing her blanked out face, he sighed and grabbed her shoulders. It was not something that he usually does to anyone, and certainly not with a woman. But he was not the same Newt he was a week ago, “Maxine… tell me the truth, are you alright?”

“Yes… yes I am fine. Just spacing out than usual… we have our days, you know” that seemed to avert his attention for the good. Today Maxine just could take Newt’s gaze upon her at all. The blue-green eyes that glowed with an innocent sparkle seemed like some harsh crude beam that physically hurt Maxine’s eyes. She mentally sighed for relief when she saw Newt smiling with a reassured manner; how simple it was to deceive him, just a word of comfort and he takes it. How can he not see her lies.

“Yes… we do indeed” Newt replied cordially, “prepare the Sophophorus beans for the Mooncalves okay…” Maxine nodded to him, and busied herself with the knife.

She never realized until now that her heart was weighing with the time. The subterranean space, the various sounds of the beasts, the squishes the beans made with the contact with the knife didn’t seem like the old familiar joy or comfort. She placed the knife down and looked around; there was no human in the basement except her. Across her stood the live replica of the River Beauly, upon whose bank Newt almost kissed her when she was disguised as Audrey. She lost her job; she was basically aimless and attempted to return to Marseilles where she could feed off her family silver. Of course till her father is alive, after which the estate would pass to her elder brother and his statue of a wife. She never wanted any of this… the career, the life, the blood. What she craved, she never found. She thought she craved knowledge and it was a term her teachers understood very well and gave her all the hell they could. But those were easy, too easy, too predictable. Then she ventured in the other countries, seeking the meaning of knowledge, but again and again it was the same. The earthly demands forced her to get a job, and what job? Changing other people’s lives. The thought of being an auror delighted her; maybe the life pain and suffering of people will make her close to the knowledge she sought. But it was another stupendous office job of paper pushing and hiding incompetency of the departments. Then suddenly things fell in places… when she made friends with her coworker, Theseus Scamander; her boss, her superior, who had nothing to do with anything she thought was important. And that didn’t bother her at all—funny, how things can seem with a different perspective.

All he wanted was to have a good job that pays, to provide for his family, be a good example and maybe, if fate allows him, to have a lovely family of his own. He so openly admitted to Maxine how he would love to fall in love. He always had to toughen up because of his position in both in his family and office, but he didn’t like to be the leader all the time, he wanted to be governed, to be taken care of, to be cherished. Maxine was not angry with Leta because she was with Theseus. She was angry with Theseus because he failed on his words and fell for someone who was absolutely needy. She saw day after day how Theseus had to be on the leading side, on the governing side to an exhaustive degree. Leta was draining him…

And it became even more unbearable when she died.

Maxine hated when someone didn’t act up to their words.

People said Newt wasn’t like a ‘proper’ man, but to Maxine he was. He was a man of his words… she remembered every words he said under the setting sun in the Arc de Triomph, and he was a man of conviction. Even though she didn’t stay for long, but there was an uncanny symmetry between him and Tina, it was their will to submit into their heart’s way. She knew a little about Tina Goldstein, after all she was to join with her in the Pere Lachaise. She wasn’t a high profile auror, but there was something about her exuded a comforting friendliness; she wasn’t very bright but she was proud of who she was and so is Newt.

But that didn’t made Maxine content that they should be together, because there was something about Newt that made her desperate. She was willing to change, to be what she wasn’t, just to keep him to her side. The strange stubbornness and steadfast faithfulness always felt like a great stoic support to her wavering heart.

After a long day, when she looked at her watch, it was six in the evening. She could hear Newt ascending up the stairs, and it felt particularly strange because this was still very early for him. There was a hint of suspicion in her mind. In order to check, she ascended the stairs and entered the living room, where Newt was wearing his good jacket and a frail scent of musk permeated through the living room.

“Where to Mr. Scamander…” Maxine asked, “let me guess, to meet Tina?”

“Yes, you guessed it right…” Newt answered with a smile and a fluster, “she is too invited in the Yule party, can you believe? I am going to meet with her in a nearby café and ask her if she wants to go with me…” Newt quickly walked to the door and Maxine followed him.

They walked into the street under a cold grayness of the December. The sun was already in the west and whatever bits of warm tints were left by the eye of the day, vanished behind the gray cityscape of London. It was no place for softness and color.

“… I have never done this before Maxine, to be honest.” Newt was unusually talkative today, and the other one, unusually quiet, “the last time I met her caused me a huge misunderstanding, she thought I was engaged to Leta—you know, Leta Lestrange, --and then I confessed that I wasn’t… ”

“You’ll be fine Newt, I know it” Maxine replied, and swiftly after then her face darkened “but will it be proper to have Tina as your plus one?”

Newt stopped in his tracks and turned towards Maxine. There was a wild uncertainty in those wide innocent eyes, “why did you say that?”

“I really like Tina, please don’t misunderstand…” Maxine placed her right hand on Newt’s shoulder, “she is a very good woman and a capable auror, but look at the circumstances--” Newt’s eyes squinted a little with her hushed alarmed voice, “it’s not been months when her sister Queenie Goldstein has joined Grindlewald’s side… I know that she cannot be held responsible for her sister’s misdeeds, but people talk--” Maxine pushed Newt to her side, away from the streets.

“I don’t want to hear anything about this ever again--” Newt said with a tremendous heat in his gentle voice which frightened Maxine a little bit, “I do not care that people will talk, can talk… let them. I was never for the societal rules, and I never will be.”

“Newt… you are misunderstanding me again.” Maxine implored, sensing danger in his voice. She kept her eyes on Newt’s slowly reddening face, “it’s not about Tina or you… it is about you two…” Maxine steadied her grip on his shoulder, “if Tina is invited then it is assumed that many important government officials from other country will also be present—both Pro and Anti Grindlewald groups. There is high chance that Tina is being watched because her sister betrayed for the other side. I am asking you simply not to make your relationship public. Germany and Japan are up on Britain’s throat and it is a matter of time they make you the bad guy—at least think about your creatures? What if they are confiscated? It will take a second to make you look like you are fraternizing with Grindlewald… all I am asking that you avoid going public with Tina for some time now, at least in the official parties… I am sure she will understand.” Maxine added sympathetically, “she is a sensible woman, I know, and she is hurting because of her sister. Comfort her; be with her… but in secret”

Both of them stood in silence for some times. The light was slowly dissolving into a murky winter evening. Newt stood at the pavement with his face looking down. It was hard to know what he was thinking especially when his face was obscured by his bangs and the dusk, but it was not hard to guess that he was contemplating on the fact. After some moments, he slowly mumbled.

“Whom should I go with then?” he asked softly, without making an eye contact. There was a broken undertone in his voice that struck a chord in Maxine’s heart. It was going smoothly upto this point but his response seemed to put a cold bucket of water in Maxine’s confidence. It didn’t feel right, but what has been done cannot be undone. Maxine was the one who started this game and now she had to finish it.

“It’s up to you whether you choose to go with someone or not at all. I mean, It’s not big of a deal” Maxine hesitated a little unconsciously, “it is not a party where pairing is compulsory, I mean it is 1927, not some Regency Ball where pairs are mandatory… ”

“Then come with me then… as my plus one” Newt asked with a cold firmness, “you and I are colleagues and will not draw much of an attention…” he slantly looked upwards to look at his assistant’s face as the streetlights flickered into life after the nightfall. The gas lamps made Maxine’s sharp chin stand out with a ghastly skeletal pallor. She wanted to go with him, the reason she bought him the suit at the first place, but this is not how she wanted to be asked. Her objective was done, but not the way she wanted.

“Fair enough” Maxine said with her professional joviality but joylessly within. She gave a reassuring smile to Newt, “I’ll wait for you…”

…

In the Christmas Eve, Newt was awaiting Maxine at his porch. He was dressed in his Lanvin couture suit and wore his favourite and only cologne. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeve where he wore the cufflinks he got as a graduation present from his father, and the patent leather shoes, dolled up for tonight. His hufflepuff scarf protecting his neck from cold. His inner anticipation came out as the vapour from his mouth and dissolved outside in a mist. At ten minutes to seven, with a crack he heard someone walking towards him from the other side of the road with small clacks of heeled shoes. Maxine was approaching him, with the usual mischievous smile on her face. It was hard to tell what she wore because from the outside only the massive silhouette of the sleek black fur of her straight coat was noticeable. Under the streetlight, she looked her usual self.

“Ready?” she asked with an optimistic note. With a positive nod from Newt they apparated to the age of telephone booth and took the lift straight to the Level 5 of the ministry.

The usual dark corridors were accentuated even more with the gleaming of the gold rails. Floating orbs of lights simulating the galaxy were arranged at the ceiling of the halls that reminded Maxine oddly of the Hogwarts High ceiling. To match the rails and contrast the walls golden ornaments, garlands and trees were arranged around the place, with specks of snowy white and ruby red here and there, signifying the English colours. Hanging orbs of white-blue ushered the oncomers to places, and they were eventually escorted to the coat-rooms where they were to leave every item of their extreme outer clothing.

It was fairly easy for Newt to deposit his coat and scarf. He was waiting outside the gents coatroom for Maxine, who was apparently having a little more time. But when finally she came out, Newt swore that she looked like a sight to behold.

Her willowy and pale shape was clad with a long black velvet dress that was connected only to her neck, like a halter of a noose. the dress had no sleeves and from her neck to her mid-chest she was clad with most exquisite diamonds and pearls Newt has ever seen. A thick cuff, encrusted with pearls and a large ruby graced her left hand, and a train of silk and some cloudy black material lay by her feet. Her lips glowed in a shiny wine-red colour and her eyed displayed some alien sparkle that Newt never saw her before. She walked towards him with a slow, flowing motion and offered him her arm.

“Mr. Scamander, if you please…” she asked in a low tone, and turned towards the stair to walk side by side with Newt. His hand, out of common courtesy veered towards the waistline of Maxine, but as soon as his finger touched her waist, he was made aware that he was touching Maxine’s bare skin. Under his quivering palm, the whole of back stood erect and bare and the naked ivory skin gave a pearly gleam under the lights. He could not help but to linger a little bit on her waist.

He felt a certain, uncomfortable warmth under his collar to think that this was the first time he saw so much of Maxine’s skin. And it took all of his willpower not to enjoy the whole sight of it with unabashed eyes.

“Mr. Newton Artemis Fido Scamander accompanying Lady Maxine Adrienne Odessa Valois, Duchess of Croy” the valet announced the pair as they entered the room.

It would have been less of a surprise if a thunderbolt struck right at the middle of Atrium. With the announcement, not only the entire hall looked at the most unsual pairing, but it also made Newt look at Maxine’s way, and there was nothing but a proud and confident smile gracing upon her wine coloured lips.

“You never told me you were a duchess…” Newt asked with an offended manner, which was returned with a most mischievous smile, “Well, you never asked me now did you?”

“This is not fair…” Newt said most uncomfortably as he took a glass of champagne from the counter, “well, I thought I needn’t tell you since you were fine with Audrey.” Maxine pouted as she also took a sip from a coupe, “besides, what’s the fun telling people I am a duchess, when you can have so much more with not being at all.”

With the sudden shock of information, Newt had started to retreat within himself. The brightness, the noise and the people all suddenly became something alienating. He anxiously took another sip of champagne and waited till the drink took its toll. Something inexplicable was bothering him since yesterday and he couldn’t put a finger what it was and the crowd of the ministry seemed only to add to this anxiety. He was extremely glad that he had the glass of champagne in his hand; otherwise it would have become unbearable.

Soon the music started to play. It was a slow but a cheerful waltz. Maxine looked at Newt with hopeful eyes and gestured him towards the dance floor.

(Swan lake waltz, by Pyotr Ilich Tchaikovsky: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CShopT9QUzw )

“Well, aren’t you going to ask me for a dance?” Maxine added with a bit of humour while leaning in front a little, keeping her hips attached to the counter. Newt looked at her with an aghast expression then softened a little after lowering his eyes, “I am very clumsy and not a very good at these things…”

But Maxine wasn’t paying attention to any of Newt’s words, because she was occupied elsewhere. Her ken just picked up Tina Goldstein accompanied by an unknown man at the other side of the room, ready to be announced. Maxine saw red in this situation; she had to do a lot of work to bring Newt here, and now if he sees Tina here then her chance will be over. She grabbed Newt’s hand and almost dragged him into the dance floor.

“c’mon… it will be fun” she giggled and placed one hand of hers on Newt’s shoulder and waited for him to place his hand on her waist but nothing happened. She took his hand and gently guided him at her mid-back with a smile on her face. As their hand joined and the music picked up its speed they were soon dancing and swirling in perfect unison, as if they were meant to dance like this. Newt’s hand which was shaking n nervousness to touch the naked back of an unmarried woman was now steadied and firm. There was a certain feeling about being on synchronised movement; it not only blurred everything around, but also created a fragile fear. It rekindled the feeling that we were essentially alone in this constantly revolving world, and the person in front of us is the only real object before our eyes—the fragile fear of parting with the only real image of a person made each other hold tightly. The sensuality of the fleeting touch which was bothering Newt like a pricking needle felt like the only connection between the world of dream and reality.

“They are staring at you” Newt whispered softly.

“No…” Maxine took her lips to his ears, “they are looking at us…”

There was something sinister about that waltz; in its haunting tune they both felt that it was only them in the whole room—only alive persons in the midst of the land of dead, gliding amongst manikins playing roles: roles which suited them poorly. And then there were Newt and Maxine, a magizoologist and a duchess, most unlikely of couples, two nakedly real human beings dancing amongst actors of people: with coloured faces, borrowed clothes and hired jobs.

In the midst of the whirl, a blurred shape was concentrating itself into clarity with each spin Maxine and Newt took. It slowly concentrated itself into a shape of a tall dark-haired woman clad in silvery-gray gown with a hung face and moist eyes.

“Tina…” as the mumbling gasp escaped Maxine’s lips, their momentum broke and the result was disastrous. Newt and Maxine fell on the floor while crashing with some other dancers. She took the window to escape when Newt started to apologise to other dances and helped them up, and went to the corner of the room, where Tina Goldstein was standing.

“So this was the reason Newt refused to come with me?” Tina said with spite and tears, “you?”

“Yes…” Maxine said coldly, “and I daresay it won’t be the first time he will…” she added with a cruel smirk that send a chill down Tina’s spine, “couldn’t you give us one night to spend alone? I mean I thought I had my path cleared then the ministry thought that they could invite just about anyone--”

“I don’t know who you are or what you think of yourself but I shall not be talked like this…” Tina said threateningly but her voice broke a little when she peered over Maxine’s shoulder. This only added to Maxine. She straightened her neck to look down at Tina who was almost her own height; again with her previous cruel smirk Maxine said, “I give you some credit for showing up here. I mean you have some nerve showing up here after your sister betrayed your own government… so if you have any ounce of shame, you’ll leave tonight and never come back.” Maxine was turning upon her heels and then she saw Newt coming towards their way. Maxine saw red again and turned towards Tina, this time with a much softened and saddened expression.

“Tina I am sorry for what I said… but I beg of you…” she said urgently, “one night… give me just one night with Newt and he will be all yours again” there was a hint of despair in her voice that made Tina stand back. She looked at Maxine with an aghast face and with abhorrence she looked at the face that mercurially changed from bullying to begging. And before she could say anything Maxine walked towards Newt to join him for another dance.

As soon as they left, another hand was placed in front of Tina in an inviting gesture. Without recovering from her aghast state she looked at her side and saw Theseus Scamander looking at her way. She felt a sense of comfort because she felt like she was looking at a mirror when she looked at Theseus’ eyes.

“May I have this dance Miss Goldstein?”

tags: @my-current-fandom-is

First of all, I do not condone any of Maxine’s actions here. She gets steadily conniving and I don’t pretend that I like her; honestly it is not a thing to like. I think she is being mean and jealous. I wanted to make her real and full of flaws, and the party scene was greatly inspired from the Ball from Anna Karenina. If anyone has read it, you would understand

Batard: French for ‘bastard’ (the legal term of illegitimate son)

toast, bacon, Toulouse sausage, omelets and mushrooms: These consist of a typical English breakfast, which obviously Maxine isn’t accustomed eating

Maxine’s dress was inspired from the Prada black halter dress worn by Elizabeth Debicki in the film The Great Gatsby. As the movie too is about power, love and money in the twenties I thought I should incorporate her style into Maxine’s.

Coupe: a saucer for champagne.

Swan Lake Waltz: if you follow the situation here, the song is very befitting; the dark swan seduces the prince from the white swan. I think it highlights the Tina-Maxine dichotomy quite well. And it is a tradition in Europe to see either Swan Lake or Nutcracker ballet in the Christmas.

#the assistant fanfiction #newt scamander x oc #newt x oc #newt x reader #newt scamander x reader #theseus x oc #theseus x reader #theseus scamander x oc #girlfriend rivalry #1920's party #christmas ball #diamonds #seducing #literary referances

59 notes · View notes

hunterartemis · 5 years ago

Text

The Assistant: Chapter 14 (finale): Ainsi Tu Seras

Words: 9952 (my longest)

No summary for this one. Because of Spoilers!! (Doctor Who fans will get it)

Chapter Theme: (not one but 2): Together or Not at All, by Murray Gold: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Gam8ogWBLk

(the picture: Amanda Abbington as Mary Morstan in Sherlock. I do imagine her as Audrey Page, and she has all the qualities of her)

“Mum...” Maxine whimpered in the tears of joy, “is that you?”

Audrey didn’t reply her right away. She kept standing in front of her, still and serene. Her wide blue eyes all upon her daughter, her wand in her right hand and the tip on the left palm, like a small hunter crop; there was no joy of meeting her long lost daughter, neither the look of victory after killing of her daughter’s enemy. There was a coldness, the same coldness Newt used to see on Maxine’s face—as if what she has done was done out of a sense of duty, or obligation as if there was no passion behind it. Her crow’s feet moved a little as she smiled obligatorily.

“Hello, Maxine... it’s nice to finally see you.” Her eyes quickly veered towards the Paterfamilias of the Valois, Hrothgar, who looked like there was a ghost standing in front of him.

“I really like that look on your face, it’s just like I imagined” Audrey now looked at Maxine, “you know, I always knew you will turn out like me the moment you were born” she came closer to Maxine and stroked her face with her thumb, “in beauty, in intellect... and you know, mother’s instincts are never wrong—thank you for keeping me close for all those years.”

A stray tear that gathered in Maxine’s eye stooped to fall on her pearly cheeks, her eyes looked bewildered to an extent, almost maddening. Those words seemed to have an estranged effect on her, she felt that it was not the same mother, she knew who wrote all those letters, all those years ago “What are you talking about?” she exclaimed with a desperate whisper, “you’re my mother, the only relation that mattered to me in the world. All those years—after all those torturously lonely days filled with humiliation...” her voice strengthened with deep gratitude, “only you were the one who understood me... there is no word in the world with which I could say how much I love you.”

Everyone in the room stood in their places like marble sculptures to witness the events unfolding. Maxine wondered why anyone in the room hadn’t tried anything to stop that woman who killed the son-in-law of the French diplomat; how could they—it was a strange day in December, a strange gathering of wizards under roof of the Catholic church at the heart of Paris, a strange day that unfolded perhaps the most scandalous truths about one of the most reputed family in all of Europe. It is the nature of all man—noble, royal or common—to see an old power fall and shatter into pieces. There was a forbidden joy in that, like seeing a nun or a queen naked. There was an odd rush in that which stopped all senses to respond, keeping the eyes and ears extraordinarily acute for witnessing and for the recording that will surely be embedded into every living memory. And there was a common truth: a noble stays mute when noble is disrobed.

“So tell me, mum...” Maxine went a little closer to her mother, “so tell me you knew everything and killed Anatole to save me from him... tell me. Tell me that, or they will put you into Azkaban” her voice shook when she saw no change in Audrey’s face. Her distant vacant eyes were unreadable and suddenly smirk graced her thin lips.

“Don’t worry dear, that’s the least of my worries.” Audrey waved her words quite serenely and turned away towards the wedding guests, and now Maxine could really understand what was happening and why the ministers stood still. They had a mist about them, even the vapour of their breath froze still like they were in a photograph. Maxine turned to Newt and there he was: his sea-green eyes fixated into a glassy image of shock, looking up like some subject in a divine painting, just like Maxine saw him in Notre Dame. She looked at Audrey with bafflement.

“Why is that?”

“Perpetuity spell darling...” Audrey spoke coolly, “everyone except you and I is locked in their previous time-stream. A high-level of magic, not even Dumbledore shall dare to try it.” She laughed on her own with a satisfactory vanity, “but then again not everyone is Dumbledore and delusional like him. Working as an Unspeakable has its perks.” She turned towards Maxine and found her daughter looking at her with disbelief.

“Oh c’ mon now, don’t pretend you aren’t used to all—breaking rules!” Audrey shook her hand in a casual manner, adding a bit of smile, a peculiar kind. A smile only smiled by an adult in front of a child, a smile to be faked to that child and repeated with ‘everything is going to be fine’. “I know how they raised you, I know how they pushed you aside and locked you up like the Dragon in the Tower. Oh, I know... I knew all the time when I had you. Because it was the same with me. Darling, muggles , and wizards are not very different—they detest anything that is out of the norm. I used to be locked up too... and one day, I had it enough, and next thing I remembered—I was standing beside my dead muggle parents.”

“So what do you want to say? I am like you?” Maxine threw the question with a challenge, “please... I am not an idiot. Yes, my step-family had been horrible to me, every day is a cold war. My so-called family refused to come to my failed wedding--” Maxine added sardonically after looking at Anatole’s dead-cold body with a mild disregard, “but it doesn’t mean I am like you. I am not going to kill my father just because he is a little bit too harsh on me—he is a diplomat and he being alive saved me a lot of shit--” Maxine pointed upwards, at the way where she displayed the memory tapestry, “in case if you missed—and he was actually there for me, now I have realised when you loitered around the shadows...” Maxine took a deep breath as if to gain some energy for something she was about to do “WHERE WERE YOU ALL THOSE YEARS I NEEDED YOU AT MY SIDE? WHERE. THE. HELL. HAVE. YOU. BEEN. WHEN EVERYTHING AROUND ME WERE FALLING INTO PIECES”

Audrey couldn’t speak for several moments, then when she gained her voice, her wide blue-eyed lowered, in guilt or in possible shame, “oh darling... if you only knew I had been through--”

“I understand you’ve been through a lot, but you are my freaking mother, and I need an explanation. My model family won’t tell me a thing, so I suggest you talk now.” Maxine venomously snapped as her rage spilled into her previous tears.

Audrey veered her eyes towards the stained glass window. Her face glowed in pink, blue and purple, softening her wrinkles and the tears that she was about to spill. She didn’t look at Maxine straightaway but at Hrothgar. Her wide blue eyes streamed with tears that seemed to be held back behind the dam of years of pain and resentment, “he was everything to me, the perfect person—so kind, so...compassionate. I alone and sad when I was sent to the French Ministry and he saw right through me. The amazing insight he had, he knew where and how to pluck a person to dismantle him which he rarely did—I knew I couldn’t be with him, he was a married man with a son, but he never abandoned me. He never hid anything from me, sometimes even ignored the calls from his wife and family because they NEVER CAME CLOSE TO UNDERSTAND WHAT HE WAS--” Audrey’s face reddened with anger, “I would have endured everything... being his secret, his mistress, but—he decided to take from me when I was promised that I would be married to him—he told me he was going to separate from Marguerite, but that coward...” Audrey’s emotions hardened into contempt, “backed out in the last moment... I stood here; right where you stood as English bride, alone on French soil, a heart full of love, and all I ever received was an arrest warrant and a walk of shame from Chateaux d’If, stripped off my love, my life, and my daughter...THAT MAN, THE LOVE OF MY LIFE... DID THAT TO ME” Audrey’s eyes were reddened with the ghosts of her past. But she did nothing, but to smile a crooked smile, like she had everything right all of a sudden, “so tell me I am wrong, an abysmal mother, a dutiless parent—but think of that wretched woman who was stripped bare, to her last dignity. I waited all those years, selected every possible scenario to arrange the situations to pave myself today in this abysmal church in Paris”

Maxine listened to her full story. Drops of tears rolled off Maxine’s cheeks as millions of possibilities seemed to fire in her brain: the sudden letters of Anatole a year ago, him finding his way back to her, the blue sealed letter in Romania, this perfect situation that compelled Hrothgar to marry her off with him—nothing was committed on Anatole’s whim. He was a megalomaniac, a sexual predator but he was never this grand. Moreover the codification of the Prison transcript, locked away safely but obscurely under the very nose of the British ministry, everything made sense: an Unspeakable operating right under the nose of everyone, incognito and completely silent, pushing people like pawns—the perfect candidate. And who else, who else would know in such details that if Hrothgar commanded his daughter to do something, she will be compelled to do so? The Mark happened after Anatole was convicted.

“You did all this... all of this... just to get to papa?” despair vaporised from Maxine’s lungs, “you used your own child... to get to the Father? What KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU?”

“You make a mistake darling...” Audrey spoke in a cold and distant tone, “I was never your mother... I had no right over you.” Maxine felt it was like she was trying to gag whatever that was pressing to come out. If she knew her lesser, she would have suggested that it was bitter regret, but as she knew her better, she knew it wasn’t anything like that, “all because of a man that I love. But he forgot one thing, to kill me. There is a proverb in France; there is none deadlier than a woman wronged.”

The next scene happened too quickly to register into Maxine’s mind. Audrey rushed towards the statued figure of Hrothgar and took his face to embrace with her lips. Like a miracle, Hrothgar’s body sprung into the old life, tightly wrapped in Audrey’s embrace suddenly became wide-eyed and whimpered. It was the moment when Audrey stepped away from Hrothgar and her cornflower blue suit smeared with fresh blood. Maxine looked at her wide eyes and saw victory as well as unspeakable grief. The crowd behind her sprung into their instinctive panic, alertness and bustle, and before a flash of green light hit her behind, she managed to speak to Maxine for one last time.

“Forgive me, ma chere... and goodbye”

The surge of life that the nullification of the Perpetuity Spell brought was felt first as severe contracting pain in Newt’s chest; it was the first thing that he felt—a rib crushing pain, trying to squeeze the air out of his lungs. Unable to contain the feel, when he looked at Maxine’s way, clutching his heart, he saw a sweep of glittering white before his eyes. As his body registered to his current circumstances, he realised that Maxine lunged forward over the body of her dying mother. But that was not what it surprised him; even Maxine knew that Audrey was no more when the Green Light hit her—it was the action of his brother.

Theseus pushed three people out of the way, almost toppling Tina over, and Newt saw how he secured Maxine in his arms before she fell on the still body of her mother. Even though Newt was standing at the back, with his legs leaden on the floor, stupefied, he could clearly see Theseus’ right arm secured under her diaphragm and left on her décolletage. His shoulders were vibrating not prominent enough for other people to see but Newt knew that, and it was almost for her. Like a process of osmosis, Theseus’ whole body was absorbing her physical grief, and there will be no words in the world to describe the animal howls of violent sobbing of Maxine’s Valois. She was falling apart, piece by piece, and Theseus with all his being was keeping it together.

Although he felt somewhat relieved he felt very agitated towards the scene, because it was not what it was supposed to be. It was a cruel act, even for Theseus to do things to Maxine—she was deeply hurt, and he knew how it felt. Because he felt it every time when Leta walked alongside Theseus; Newt knew Maxine was no different than him in this matter, so why now—why this publish display? However as he attempted to step forward, breaking from his stupor, he felt Tina’s hand firmly grasping him.

“Let him...” Tina said looking towards Theseus and coming a bit closer to Newt. Her liquid black eyes glistened with slight moisture that had a bit of sadness. A surge of guilt washed over Newt’s entire being as Tina touched Newt’s lip with her quivering thumb and it reddened with the Mark of Maxine’s lipstick, “he has suffered long enough for that wretched woman...”

“What do you mean?” Newt looked puzzled, and Tina suddenly turned his head towards Theseus, “does your brother look like he is faking it? He had been love with her all along...” she filled the silence and inquisition of Newt with a strained smile, “a lot can happen during a dance”

“HROTHGAR...” another whimper of cry ensued from the left side of the altar. Anyone who wasn’t under that influence of the perpetuity spell did not know what happened to Maxine’s father. As they heard an old woman crying mentioning that name, Newt and Tina went to that place and saw a gleaming opal the dagger pierced the chest of the old French Diplomat and the congealed blood weaved a deep red velvet shroud on his black brocade suit worn for the occasion. He lied alongside Anatole, like sinners of the same crime, but his wide shocked eyes reflected the mistake of his past and regret. Newt knelt beside his body and gently closed his wide eyes. He turned towards Anatole and looked at his with a sense of conflict—there he lied in his final rest like a mangled insect, put into an arbitrary death, but again he remembered where he had been a few hours ago—Death remembers all and in Death, all people are the same.

Newt cradled Anatole’s head straight and closed his eyes.

...

It is strange how quickly things can change over a few hours. A few hours ago Newt, Theseus, and Tina assumed that they were going to be buried alive, a few hours ago Maxine walked the doors of Saint Chappell and the choir sang for her conjugation with Anatole Malfoy, a few hours ago even in the worst of nightmares, Hrothgar didn’t think that it would be the last time he will see the love of his life, a few hours ago not even Maxine would have thought that within half an hour she would lose everything, a few hours ago not even Newt would think he would recalibrate his entire life based on the appearance of his assistant who had been working for only a month.

Three coffins and two widows came out of Saint Chappell at that night. Marguerite and Maxine, walking side by side as their husbands made the march. The flashing of reporter’s camera permeated even through their long black face veil. Newt, Tina, and Theseus were walking at the very back of the crowd, and a conspicuous feeling was bothering Newt for some time. As Audrey’s casket was walked he felt something that he would not express to anyone. He felt one of dead was being walked with glory, one for treason and one as the stain on a noble. As for the living, one bereaved widow walked with other trapped in perpetual shame. He was wondering what would happen to Maxine now; she may have no chance of surviving this: she lost her birth mother, someone whom Maxine felt had the only living relative who loved her; and her father, for whom she stood with straightened back despite her birth. What will happen to her now—she was not the easiest of the woman to get along with, and Merlin knew not every one of her ministries was a fan of her. After her Confession, they will only need a tiny excuse to do anything with her. And this very thought made his skin crawl with disgust and fear.

“I know what you’re thinking...” Theseus said in a low raspy tone, dampened with tears he had been crying with Maxine, “as soon as old Valois is buried for good, the Embassies will come for her. Given the fact that her family didn’t even attend her wedding--,” he looked at the four newly arrived figures, two women and two men, dressed in black and busied with a spectacle of tears, “I don’t think she stands much chance. If she had her job by now, there could have been a hope for protecting her, but damn that stubborn woman. She had to leave just to prove a point that she can--”

“She isn’t half as egotistic as you think ‘Seus. She left because she was protecting you.” Newt answered grimly. He knew this was the time to come clean and there was no moment to lose.

“What do you mean she was protecting me? oh—so she is so egotistic now that she thinks that I am so vulnerable that I need protection from the person who is this close of being subjugated herself.” Theseus said with a significant amount of heat, and Newt confronted him like he never did anyone before.

“Perhaps that is why she chose to leave you, she knew it was better to leave quietly than to explain it to you what dangers you were in. She feared Anatole, all this time... she showed that in front of half the European ministry, and when he started writing she feared that her attachment to you might get yourself killed. So she left you Theseus, and watched you day after day getting closer and closer to Leta when she was breaking her heart--”

“What? Breaking her heart...?” Theseus tried to laugh it off as if Newt was spewing his ‘usual’ nonsense, and quiet with an aggravated motion pointed towards the Funeral march “do you think even for a second that Maxine Valois lets herself do that. She is no subject of affection, she never was... she was always that smart, arrogant and near-perfect woman who had every man in existence swooned for her. I saw you waltzing with her in the Yule party, and I saw nothing but a cold calculated game being played--”

“Is that a declaration to me or a consolation to yourself?” Newt abruptly interrupted the statement of his brother. The Funeral March has advanced a considerable length and the lights from the camera and the mourning candle faded into a dark and obscure Churchyard, where only a grim and dull obligatory entrance light lit the snow-laden path to bare-minimum visibility. Theseus’ lean face looked shadowy and his confusion created crooked lines of darkness on his well-natured features. He licked his lips once and avoided looking towards Newt. After a long silence, Newt opened his mouth.

“I was heartbroken when I saw Leta move on, and of all with you.” Newt said quietly, “but it was okay because she needed you more than me. She needed a leaning board, a pillar, but it fills me with anger to see how you are running away from your feelings.” Newt paused to see Theseus’ puzzlement “you see Tina told me everything about that night—and all those times—poor dear had been suffering that you never liked her back—all that time I thought you’ve been leading her, and she thought it was one-sided you bastard!” Newt gave a doleful smile.

Theseus looked at Newt with disbelief. He walked a little closer to Newt, scooting his vision under his brother’s unkempt bangs to look at him into the eye, and the twitch and pout told Theseus that Newt was genuinely annoyed with him. He felt a little surge of happiness because Newt rarely speaks to him or to anyone of that matter and if he decides to do so, it must be damn near important. He lowered his head for a moment and covered his face, as if he was soaking his face into fragrant cool water after a long tiring day, and suddenly from his complete stillness he shook himself forcefully back into life. When he straightened his face he looked like he was about to faint, but his pale face coloured with a bit of a smile; a smile smiled by a patient after long-suffering of illness. He started to pace back and forth, and Newt knew what was coming.

“Theseus, I don’t think it would be a good time—Theseus, listen she is in--”

Crack

“—mourning...” Newt plopped on the snowy steps of the church after Theseus recklessly disapparated.

It was nearly 10 o’clock in the New Years Eve. The entire Paris lit up to welcome the year of 1928, under the streets, near every secret door, illegal alcohols shoot up into fountains in the mood of celebration. Flappers dressed in gold, silver, and pearls lost their inhibitions for the sake of a livelier party and accompanying their eligible bachelors, married millionaires or extra-marital lovers trying to get laid after a long spell of dry marriage. The taste of cocktails and spiked lemonades and Harvey wall bangers livened with the sound of jazz, and at the much-neglected corner of Paris, near the Valois vault at Pere Lachaise, a woman in black stood still. When Theseus apparated there and saw Maxine standing completely still at the very centre of the garden of tombs. Her black silhouette stiff and her head lightly bowed as the long mourning veil covered up to her stomach. She was standing exactly under the Fleur De Lis crest, so ornate and detailed with Baroque carve work that it could still be seen under the faint faraway light of the city that created a dark silvery glow around the snowy graveyard. The first slosh of his feet gave away his existence to Maxine. She turned her veiled figure towards him.

“Where is everyone?” Theseus’ throat suddenly seemed very dry. His voice did little to hide that anxiety.

“Gone... ” Maxine replied shortly, and her head was turned towards the mausoleum. Theseus approached her gently and as carefully as possible. His feet weren’t giving in to his head and he fought all the impulses to bombard Maxine with all the questions Newt evoked in his mind.

“I’m so sorry about what happened--”

“She had to do it on my wedding day... it was my damn wedding day--” Maxine abruptly said with a distinct amount of anger. The statement threw Theseus into such off-hand position that he almost asked her “sorry what are you saying?”

“I mean... who does that to someone at their wedding day? Although I admit that I hated my groom and always wanted to kill him but not like this...” Maxine huffed and started to laugh hysterically. The sound of her coarse and husky laugh that sent sparks of fire into every man’s veins and chills into the enemy’s spine made Theseus skin crawl. He stood there, holding his breath, allowing her to shed her tears what she had been trying to mask under her laugh. Hell of a strong woman, she never allowed anyone to see her weak side—she never surrendered to an emotional outburst, and even when she was jealous and angry she tried to put those emotions on whoever stood on the opposite side. She was mean, cruel and egotistical and there was no excuse for her antics or her blatant disregard of authority or her mocking obedience to them. She smiled when she was sad, and that laughter was just not radar of how sad she was—it was that sort of laughter reserved for those select few who have now nothing to live for.

“I must have set the record for the shortest span of marriage. I must have been the only one in the history of the world who walked in white and walked out in black. I mean how mad is that...and the worst part is, I have nothing to do with this--”

“—Maxine you have to--”

“Let it go?” Maxine approached towards Theseus with such ferocity that Theseus, in the process of backing up, tripped on a stray snow-laden twig and fell on the ground. A stray flashing car passed near the cemetery and a little light fell on Maxine’s black veil and through its obscure layer, her grief-ridden face. Theseus looked at her, the flash on her face with awestruck amazement. It inspired the fear of madness in him; he couldn’t recognize her at all. That black-veiled figure was standing in front of him, hunching towards him with the hem of the veil slightly brushing on his chest.

“Maxine... I didn’t mean that—I have no words to comfort you. I have come--” Theseus slowly reached for the hem of Maxine’s veil while getting up, “I’ve just come to say...I have just come to say--” Theseus’ hands shook as he attempted to lift up the veil, but Maxine’s cold hands stopped him in midway

“Newt sent you now, did he?” Maxine said in a hushed but severe tone. A chill wind flew through the gravestones, moaning in the chill, “Of course he did... of course he did.” The last bit shook a little, or it distinctly did to Theseus’ ears. He didn’t speak another word because he felt that there was something on Maxine’s heart that was in dire need to get out. The distant rushing cars flashed stray lights on her black silhouette and she appeared and disappeared like a ghost or a bad dream, condemned to repeat oneself.

“Have you heard about Oedipus, Theseus?”

“No... I am not sure I have.”

“I have buried three of the closest people in my life today—” Maxine mused, “And all I could think of, all the time was Oedipus—why is that?” Maxine asked rhetorically and with an unnatural enthusiasm, “I should have been crying like a madman, but all I could think of Oedipus. And suddenly, as you appeared here... I understood everything.”

“What did you understand?” Theseus tried his best not to break down into tears; this state of Maxine made him so helpless that he wanted to hold Maxine tight into his arms again and tell her that everything would be fine.

“—Think about it, it makes so much sense--He was a king’s son who was abandoned because of a prophecy; a prophecy that said he would kill his father and fuck his mother to get the throne.” Maxine mused again with a peculiar tone, “his parents thought that now Oedipus is safe because he will never come back. But he did—only he didn’t know who were his birth parents—and he did kill his father and married his mother to sit on the throne—and when he did know what he had done he--”

“Stop Maxine... why are you saying stuff like this--” Theseus rushed towards Maxine and hastily lifted off her mourning veil. His hands firmly grabbing Maxine’s shoulder and his eyes adjusted themselves in the dark to know exactly where Maxine’s despair-laden eyes were. They almost obscured under the bloody eyelids, and like endless dark tunnels, they seemed vacuumed and empty.

“Why can’t I? Why don’t I? My father did this me—all of these. He practically stabbed himself—if you think about it—I mean, if your actions lead you to death, it’s your fault.“ Maxine paused a little, as if she was recalling something, something more horrific “you know what she said? She said that I was exactly like her—Theseus, what if I end up like her?” the last bit came out like a hysteric cry for help, “what if end up killing Newt?”

“Maxine...” Theseus spoke patiently, “there is nothing—it is nothing about you killing Newt, why would you do that? I saw you--” Theseus halted abruptly as his voice shook a little, “I saw you—why would you do that to him--don’t you—love him...?”

“I do love him Theseus” Maxine screamed with sheer helplessness, “But it means nothing. I know...I know no matter how much I love him, he can never love me—he already has Tina. Theseus, if I do that I won’t be able to forgive myself...I won’t be able to—forgive myself.”

Theseus could hear Maxine’s whimpers echoing through the labyrinth of tombstones like a haunted soul.

...

He walked on the streets of Paris alone, loitering like a man with no home to return. The Eiffel tower could be seen lit up for the New Years Eve from the side of the city he walked. There were lights all around him, but it felt like harsh burns on his skin as if he walked naked under a midday desert sun. A couple of drunk people in festive mood bumped right into him, but Theseus’ mind was still in the heart of the Pere Lachaise where Maxine stood in despair a few hours ago—too preoccupied to react to their angry French swears. He needed a drink, a strong one, but there was an alcohol ban all over the muggle world—a nice bottle of firewhiskey to burn the sorrow away. He could afford to be a drunk right now, he needed to be drunk. But then again it was not for him, it was for her.

He had a completely different notion about her when she worked with him. People don’t handle women like her very well—too arrogant, too independent, too much of a lip and oh that temper! So much temper—someday she would be angry enough to burn the building down, and someday she would have been so mischievous that someone could lose a life with her pranks, someone always did. People couldn’t handle her, but that never stopped the office gossip or lecherous fantasies about her around the male colleagues. Lucian Carr almost got killed once just to retort

“Why, are you in love with her or something?”

No one could ever know. It would have been a huge dent in the reputation—avoid her at all cost, but why? She never advanced him or anything—she was cordial and professional and her display of ‘emotions’ came out as a characteristic trait, it was never to connect with anyone. She was the best of his employees, then why he always tried to restrain himself? Because deep down, he knew his thoughts about her were no different than other men in the office. She intimidated the hell out of him, and he fucking loved it. He distanced himself out of his freaking principles. Thankfully Leta was in the way—a beautiful distraction and his salvation from his own censored thoughts.

And then she had an outburst and left the job.

He hated the nerve of her, his ego had he convinced that she left to torment him. His thoughts about her then turned like a coward misogynist, and he would have had enough comfort with that until his drunken tumble upon her doorsteps—he wanted her! He wanted her so bad, and thought she might take—but she didn’t, she took care of him and send him away from any harm. Unpredictable little wench! She wasn’t supposed to be the caring type, women like her aren’t, and he was almost confirmed by his hypothesis of her in the Yule party but what would he do with the information he had today? The woman whom he just met today wasn’t the woman he knew before—she was a completely different creature—tender, vulnerable and so very human.

And that scared the hell out of him.

“Veux venir avec moi, monsieur?” suddenly a silky female voice called Theseus from the footpath, a gentle arm snaked on his arm as well, and that is when Theseus looked at the whore’s face. And by Merlin’s blessed head he was washed all over with shame. Maxine was right all along, he had a hero complex—he wanted his women vulnerable, so that he could save them, and now when she is in grief, his heart, and his brain opened at the same time and fought over the age-old impulse—to be or not to be. He wondered if it was his complex that spoke in him tonight, or was it his heart.

He was being led into a hotel, he could tell. The door opened and the whore’s mouth slobbered all over his neck, and despite everything he felt nothing at all—the passive eyes didn’t even found the whore stepping outside her underwear and flaunting her well-defined breasts.

“This is embarrassing…” the woman said in English, “when a woman is willingly taking her clothes off at least be nice and look at the view--” she said eloquently, and with it managed to get Theseus’ attention. As soon as he looked at her, the look in her eyes changed completely.

“What’s that eh? Can’t forget her?” she sat down on a nearby stool, her breasts drooping with her posture. Theseus smiled audibly, “how did you know?”

“Honey, I’ve been fucking gentlemen like you since I was 15. A few titties and they all stand upright like its Bastille Day—married or divorced?”

“Neither… fiancée died after a month of engagement--”

The whore stayed quiet for a while and then a cracked a smile, “but the one you’ve been hung on about is very alive one isn’t it--” she paused to look at Theseus’ inquisitive expression, “otherwise you’d let me blow the skin out of your dick and fuck the hell out of you to get it out of the system. And something else tells me, she doesn’t know about your feelings--”

“No… she does—I mean, in a way. She used to like me, I was too proud to see it—now I am not sure… by the way, why am I telling you all these?”

“Honey, we just don’t fuck people. People come to us when they have nothing else—we allow them to do whatever they want and listen to their shit—a city without prostitutes is like a house without a toilet” she smiled for the first time, a genuine humane smile which put Theseus’ heart in ease. He lowered his head out of courtesy as the whore dressed. A brief click of lock suggested that she had already opened the door.

“—oh yes, one more word—” the woman said, holding the door partially open behind her, “be honest with her and yourself about what you feel. If she comes around then fine, if not at least you’ll sleep better for the rest of your life.”

…

A loud thudding and a heavy hit on the back woke Theseus up. He must have rolled on the floor from the bed and directly on the soggy cold carpet of the hotel which he lodged at last time. He has been in the same clothes for nearly a week, his corded pajama which he wore before he was arrested—suddenly it occurred to him now. He felt really stupid and nearly tripped on the suspended bedsheet that dragged along with him before he could answer the door. A very annoyed waiter was waiting for him at the door.

“Vous Monsieur Anglais avec une putain?” the description of him by the waiter didn’t sit well with Theseus—‘the Englishman with a whore’, however being really confused, half-asleep and really demented, Theseus replied, “oui, c’est lui est moi.”

“j’ai votre paquet…” he thrust the thick parcel in his hand and left instantly.

The packet was a little larger than a magazine and thinner than a standard book. When it was opened, came out of the Newspaper. Theseus was surprised enough already as his sleepy brain tried to awaken, he reached for his pocket to take out the wand. He pointed it at the freshly unfolded Newspaper to translate it because he wasn’t clear in his mood to read French—he didn’t think until the very first words of the headlines appeared before him. His very hair stood up in attention at the back of his head. As he shook the paper in an attempt to straighten it another smaller paper fell out from it. It was a simple open note and in perfect English it said,

Save it while you can.

Theseus didn’t stand in the hotel room for a moment. He threw the newspaper aside and run out of his room like a lunatic screaming at the gone waiter, trying to figure the whereabouts of the person who delivered that parcel. In the meanwhile The Warlock Times lay abject on the soggy hotel carpet with its words slowly returning to French.

THE DUCHESS DISGRACED

Maxine Malfoy nee Valois, formerly Duchess of Croy had freshly came out of a short wedding and a triple funeral of her late husband Anatole Malfoy, her father Monsignor Hrothgar Valois and an unknown woman of a close relationship from the revered Saint Chappell last night. As shocking as this scandal gets she had accused her late husband Anatole Malfoy, the British Junior Undersecretary as a Grindlewald supporter and a serial rapist who apparently acquired the Ministry Office with considerable French influence, by fraud. The late Junior Undersecretary, as Madame Malfoy claims had a close past relationship with her to quite an exploitative range, and she, as sources report, killed him spouse right after the vows based upon such notions. Madame Malfoy is accused by the British Minister himself and today she will be held for trial at 12 pm by the French High Council of Warlock. The mysterious death of her father, the Late Diplomat Monsignor Hrothgar Valois will be looked into shortly…

Theseus couldn’t remember when he ran so fast in his life, and perhaps he never looked so bizarre; a man in his corded pyjama running through the street of Paris with his battered, very English dressing gown flowing behind him like some bizarre parachute. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt such rush, maybe the time when he almost missed Hogwarts Express, maybe it was the last day of submitting that potions assignment to Professor Slughorn or perhaps to save Leta. He pushed the crowd away from him as he felt the icy January wind swiftly passing by his ears, making them ache. He wished that the hidden elevator would go faster now because he realised it was nearly five minutes to twelve.

“Where is the trial?” Theseus asked the receptionist of the French Ministry of Magic with such ferocity and urgency that she was a little thrown back before she could direct him to the way. A victorious rush crept through Theseus’ blood; Theseus Scamander the war hero of British Ministry of Magic is running the French Courtroom in his pyjamas to declare that the woman who was accused falsely is far above than the jury—now that’s the headlines he could pursue to read. Being an Auror taught him to measure the steps he is going to take, and for the first time in a very long time, Theseus wasn’t concerned with the outcome. He didn’t care if he is persecuted for disturbing a criminal trial, he didn’t care if she rejects him, and he didn’t care about anything at all. He just wanted her to know that he is what he is.

“Monsieur, you cannot be here... the Warlock Council is already on session--”

“Stupify--”

“Bombarda...”

Theseus had a reputation with his auror business and certainly was revered for it but today he actually felt proud for his headstrong action. With him barging in with a bang, the Warlock juries came to a standstill and all of the council looked at him with dismay and contempt, but there was one person who didn’t look at him. The person who was sitting on the trial chair, poised, upright and calm; the person who was clad in black and her face veiled.

“Impeccable timing Mr. Scamander, but in case you haven’t noticed, a session is going on.” The French Minister said sonorously with a heavy accent. Theseus could feel his ears heating with the patronised humiliation from the Warlock Council, but he chose to stay on his ground, firmly and surely. He took a sharp breath and lifted his face a little high.

“You’re wrong...”

“I’m sorry--”

“You are wrong about her. And forgive my French, but you’re all bloody coward...” Theseus said with a straightened face, “You saw and know what happened in Saint Chappell and refuse to acknowledge it. So I have come here, as the British Representative--”

“To do what, pray tell us?” the French Minister asked.

“To testify for my employee--”

Newt and Tina were standing outside. They had been there since yesterday when they couldn’t find Theseus. Their anxiety redoubled when they saw Maxine in black robes brought in the ministry at dead of the night with high-security aurors—but Theseus was nowhere to be seen. They became even more petrified when they heard why she was brought in—apparently, she confessed that she devised the murder of Anatole and her father with an unknown Englishwoman, and she had ardently confessed that she used her particularly for her status as an Unspeakable, who as soon as her vow is broken would be killed by a self-automated killing cursed, placed at the lower spine of hers, like any Unspeakable in the British Ministry. Only Newt knew that it wasn’t true—he knew the identity of the woman and with it, relied everything. But nothing matters with his knowing—hell, even his employment was illegal, if someone could do anything legitimately, it was Theseus. But the problem was Newt didn’t know how much his brother knew, or knew anything at all. He and Tina were stuck in a strange dichotomy whether they should look for Theseus outside, or wait for him, and they decided to stick around—just to see Maxine for the last time before the inevitable happens. He was afraid of the time Theseus will find out all about this.

However, an uproar ensued near the wing of the Warlock Council. Tina stepped forward quickly and scrambled whatever French she knew to ask what was happening. Tina’s agitated return made Newt anxious.

“What is it?” Newt asked.

“Someone broke in during the trial. The guard identified him as a tall brunet Englishman in corded pyjama and dressing gown--” Tina huffed in excitement, “sounds familiar--?”

“Theseus...” Newt mouthed the name of his elder brother and rushed towards the council door and halted stop when he saw Theseus coming out of the door. His well-sculpted face unreadable.

“What happened, what happened to her?” Tina asked hastily.

“I don’t know...” Theseus said quietly, “all I did was speaking the truth about her and what happened. She has always been so tight-lipped about everything. They asked me to prove it, and when I did—anyway, she was held in the trial because the French minister doesn’t trust her narrative—I don’t know what will happen next”

The courtroom door reopened, but this time the Trio was pushed aside by the plethora of journalists from all across Europe. Cameras flashed and the entire hullabaloo doubled as the Chief Justice the French Minister followed by Maxine herself came out. Tina closely looked at the minister’s face: there is no way he willingly did what he was to state. In this matter of national threat and the post-mortem scenario of a diplomat made him decide something very unwilling and obligatory. Moreover, Theseus willingly testified for Maxine. What could possibly happen?

As the minister walked forward, Maxine’s black figure glided like a dark silhouette of shadow. Her head and face were covered with a black birdcage veil that differed slightly from the long training mourning face cover that she had to wear. As the minister made to the podium where he shall give a statement to the Wizarding Press, Maxine’s head briefly turned towards the trio’s way.

None of them were hearing what the French Minister had to say. Tina noticed Theseus’ nose getting redder and redder as the time passed, she compassionately grabbed his shoulder.

“I saw her kissing Newt in the church--” he rapidly whispered and Newt’s indirect eyes flashed towards him with a pang of swift guilt, “Seus, I tried to stop her but--”

“it’s okay Newt... it’s okay, I deserve that. Twice now... I took away Leta from you, and she was taken away from me, and I neglected her—I deserve that.” Theseus lowered his eyes and squeezed his temple, “I deserve that...”

“No, you don’t...” Newt said quietly but firmly, “you don’t deserve any of that...” Tina interjected quickly “yes Theseus, you don’t need to blame yourself. All of these that are happening right now is some kind of bad timing—we are going through a bad phase that’s all. It’s not always--” Tina’s focused became hazy and Newt knew what she was thinking, “good things that happen with good people. Look at my sister—she just got persuaded away--” Tina said. Her eyes veered towards Maxine’s way, her eyes glistening “so was she... By Isolde’s hair, I used to be so angry with her—the I understood--” suddenly her tone became more determined and firm, “but it’s not the time to think stuff like that... you showed up when she needed you the most, even though she never mouthed it herself. You are patient with her, you understand her, you remember stuff about her, little stuff that is too minute—Theseus, admit it to yourself—you deserve her”

The last sentence sends a tremor in Newt’s veins and it almost scared him. Wasn’t that the fact that made fall for Tina once again, right here in the French ministry—eyes like salamander—but then again he, somewhere and someplace felt similar feelings for her too, the moments spent, the little incidents that put up a smile on his face—his train of thought came to a halt when he saw Maxine’s dark figure emerging towards the podium to make her statement—one of her hand was at her side, abjectly lulled into a peculiar position. Newt’s eyes focused on her hand, they were two meters apart from each other, and there she was—her hand, lulling to one side peculiarly. A slight spasm passed through her fingers. But it was not the strangest thing he saw. Theseus suddenly stepped forward boldly and grasped her hand. The podium wasn’t high enough to conceal Theseus’ existence, but the hands snaked together surely under the wooden shadow. Tina noticed the whole thing with a slight smile on her face and then she lead Newt from the back to a front, to see the face of Maxine.

Maxine’s face was still covered with birdcage veil, he faces slightly lowered. She didn’t speak right away. Newt was very uncomfortable looking at her under the bright flashlights of the Press Cameras. But when she straightened up to speak, she stunned people around her.

“As you are aware of,” Maxine said quietly but firmly enough “I was accused of murdering my husband on the altar and father with an unknown woman as an accomplice. I assure you it was a false narrative created by the French Ministry to interrogate me. I guess my father, despite his reputation all across Europe, pissed off a couple of people. The real narrative was brought again in the High Warlock Council this morning, by none other than this man--” Maxine turned her head towards Theseus, “who had put his reputation and job on the leverage to clear my name. The truth, ladies and gentlemen is more tragic than ever. The woman that died alongside my father and my late husband was my mother. My birth mother who happened to be the mistress of my father, her crime was she was a muggle-born and she gave birth to me. I was taken away from her and raised in Valois household with shame and contempt as my constant companion. That woman returned to my wedding for the sole purpose of killing my father, who hadn’t the courage to honour her, and for whom she spent her years in shame. Despite my father’s generous nature and keen insight, I say he brought it upon himself. A tragic loss France suffers now for one mistake he made and the lack of courage to admit it. Reputation is a scary thing; it makes one do things that are bad or harmful to others like my father did when he tried to marry me off with a criminal and a Grindlewald supporter who happened to know my secret. And to continue that lie, he was forced to imprison three innocent people into the Tower of Silence. Ainsi tu Seras—‘Thus shall you be’—a proverb we all learned in younger years that our deeds carve our final destiny. Let not remember my father’s death with a scandal, a mistake that he committed, but a lesson—a lesson that perhaps be with us in the darker times.”

The press sheepishly stood before her, and then one after another cleared off. They did expect a scoop, another scandal—but her solemn and brutally honest confession put them off of their game. They didn’t even stay to ask a further question, there was nothing much to ask—with every stroke of her words, she shed every identity she had before: the duchess, the daughter of a diplomat, the widow of the British Junior undersecretary, the former employee of British ministry... the assistant.

Theseus slowly let go of her hand as she stepped down from the podium. She crossed the side of the wooden structure and slowly let go of her train that she was holding to walk. The black fabric glided on the pristine glassy floor as she slowly clacked her way forward. The trio watched her curiously, with bated breath, as she stood still for several moments. After a while, she slowly turned head around and her eyes were fixed on them.

[Second Theme: Aeon by Nick Murray: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Paqvq7XZGs ]

“Take me outside... I want to see the sky”

They were thrown off at her bizarre request but complied nonetheless. She slowly walked forward, rejecting both Newt and Theseus’ attempt to support her. As the spiraled lift opened outside, she sauntered towards the snow-laden main road. The powdery flakes brushed on everyone’s face, breathing their last icy breath as they disappeared. Maxine’s shoulder was slowly being studded with the white specks of snow as she slowly ripped off her black gloves and threw them on the street. She finally took off her pillbox hat and the mourning veil that was attached to it and tossed them into the air to vanish into nothingness. Theseus, Newt, and Tina looked at her mesmerized as she slowly looked up towards the sky, her pinned curls came undone behind her, her pale naked hands ascending as if to grasp a piece of heaven. The fresh snow of the New Year fell and dissolved on her warm face, tricking down like tears of joy. Like the last escaping breath from a dying person, a word came out from her mouth--

“Je suis libérée... ” (I am free)

...

The sun was the same as Newt remembered it at the Arc of Triumph as if never set and stood in the same manner as it did last year. The sun, in its brilliant golden, red, pink and purple mantle reminded him of Maxine as she stood at the bottom of the Arc and recited some strange French poetry. The sun was oddly similar to the winter Parisian sun, as he stood with his brother and Tina at the edge of the port of Saint-Malo. The noises of the ferry, the sailors felt like they, like the sun had been waiting to see this moment happen, the moment of which they all knew beforehand, except the three of them. With heavy heart, they waited for Maxine, as she prepared for her exile—stripping off her previous sparkling mantle of power and the outspoken statement has its price. Women like her are not tolerated in the polite, patriarchal society.

Light footsteps turned their heads towards the back. Maxine was standing right behind them, dressed in travel cloak and bowler hat, all in mourning black. Her face was made up, primed and proper with neat red lipstick and eyes winged with kohl. Her solemn face changed into her usual playful one when she smiled her usual crooked smile.

“Ready?”

“Together...” Theseus said fondly.

They walked Maxine at the stairs of the ship. However, she didn’t step right away, she turned again to the people, her accidental friends, and allies that came together because of a decision she made a few months ago, sitting in a restaurant. She gave them an amused look.

“Why the long faces? Shouldn’t you be happy that I will be finally away from your hair?” Maxine commented sarcastically, “of all people, Tina, you should be happy--”

“Do you like to get under people’s skin on a regular basis” Tina sniffed a little, “or is it the occasion of New Years?”

“Oh, Tina...” Maxine came near and wrapped an arm around her, “I am going to miss you...” she looked at her with an affectionate expression, “you should consider yourself lucky, because I am finally withdrawing myself from the competition.”

The three of them looked at her dumbfounded, Maxine’s mischievous smile softened into sombreness “you think I must be playing with you but no” Maxine turned her attention to Newt, looking straight towards him, smiling lightly as he attempted to hide beneath his unkempt hair, “I have been thinking about our the relationship we had in past three or four weeks, about you—all could think about how I have taken a space between you two. I had been impulsive and adamant even to admit that you have Tina, but now when I have buried my mum and my dad together, all I could do is to blame myself--”

“Maxine...” Newt spoke softly, “whatever you thought about us, or your parents were wrong. I may be a little dense in many places, but I am not blind—I saw how you behaved around me and I could ignore your advances, but somehow I couldn’t say no to you... do you know why?”

Maxine looked at him with vacant eyes

“Because I love you Maxine Valois—I cannot explain that feeling because I never had it before. It is not the way I felt for Leta, or I feel for Tina. So Max, if you think of anything, remember that—no matter what happens, I will still, have a place for you in my heart--” Newt reached out for Tina’s hand and groping his way through her fingers nervously he grasped it surely, “yes, I cannot love you the same way I love Tina, but I don’t love you the same.”

The Stuart of the ship announced to the board within five minutes. But Maxine stood teary-eyed before Newt, looking at him with an unknown expression.

“I suppose that’s the best consolation I can get... Newt Scamander, you gave this girl more than she deserved... I will never forget you as long as I live.”

A drop trickled from her eye as she spoke. The sun was nearly behind the shadowy cityscape, the east darkened with the inky night’s prelude, and Maxine’s dark eyes fell on Theseus, standing a little further than the rest, his blue eyes glittering and fixated on the gray water, sparking bleakly with the leftover daylight.

“Theseus... aren’t you going to say anything? I will not see you for six months--”

“It’s not fair...it’s just not fair...”

“I know... but I am used to the unfair—it makes great tabloid headlines”

Theseus broke into a burst of unwilling laughter and the welled up tears splashed from his eyes unceremoniously. Maxine watched the change of his expressions fondly; there was a certain endearment in that innocent smile that hasn’t faded away after so many harshnesses of his life.

“There were so many things I wanted to say, so many things--”

“I will wait for you--”

“You--”

“Yes...” Maxine smiled forcefully; there was a constant swelling pain in her heart that arose by looking at him, “I’ll have to don’t I...?” She reached for her pocket and pulled out her wand, “I am supposed to leave this with the ministry, but I guess ministry employee would do... ” her pale finger caressed the length of the wand one last time, “aspen and phoenix feather, 11 inches--”

“Well that explains a lot...a lot of that lip--” Theseus’ unexpected sass earned him a well-intended slap on his forearm, as they both broke out in laughter. They stood, on the twilight at Saint-Malo, blue eyes locked with black ones with glistening tears of parting sorrow and with a hope of future reunion. The bugle of the ship bellowed in the sea, ready to take Maxine to an unknown horizon away from magic and away from everything she knew. At the threshold to another life, she was simply looking back to the man with whom she started a new life, who looked at her the same way he looked four years ago.

“Take care of it would you?”

As the resonance of her words faded from Theseus’ ears, the ship started to sail across the horizon, chasing the setting sun at the bustling port of Saint-Malo. Maxine’s waving hand vanished into the sky as she parted. She left all behind, everything she was and everything she knew, and it takes great strength to be her. like a Zhou-ou that is made to run away, or like the Phoenix that is made to burn and rise from its ashes, Maxine Valois burned through every obstacle in her life. In the dark times, when Grindlewald advanced and wrecked nation after nation, Maxine Valois burned like a flash of lightning that illuminated everything in an instance and faded into the dark. After a long period of suffering, she was finally free; freedom earned by herself, freedom from being trapped within the terrible memories, the freedom that came from confessing her suffering, something which she wasn’t allowed. As she sailed away, she smiled, looking at the setting sun. The sounds of seagulls flying towards their home reminded her of the life she left behind. There were no gloves in her hands...she would not need them anymore.

--The End--

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

The title “Ainsi Tu Seras” was inspired by the story of “ Marguerite de Bressieux (15th-century legend/pseudohistory)The Black Knight Who Hunted Rapists. ” When I stumbled across it on this particular website (https://www.rejectedprincesses.com/princesses/marguerite-de-bressieux ) I thought I should incorporate with Maxine’s story. However, the end result became something else: I found an oblique parallel between the Newt-Maxine-Tina and Marguerite-Hrothgar-Audrey chain. Following up with the Oedipus myth, I finally depicted Maxine’s character development: a process where she dissociates with her mother and Audrey’s myth of vengeful lover. She takes a decision that she will pursue Newt no more, a path that may lead her to the same end as her mother.

Gloves play a significant part in Maxine’s story: it is an instrument to hide her Mark of honor, a symbol of her bondage. Missing gloves (in Maxine’s case) means freedom or the instances when she tries to be free.

I will write an epilogue, where I will finally close the story for good. It may take some time, so I ask your patience. Also, I will publish my masterlist with the poster of the story

Thank you for accompanying me on this journey.

#newt x reader #newt scamander x reader #newt x oc #newt scamander x oc #newt x oc x theseus #newt x reader x theseus #newt x reader x tina #newt x oc x tina #love triangle #parting #cog #fbawtft #final chapter #death #loss #paris #pere lachaise

13 notes · View notes

hunterartemis · 5 years ago

Text

Epilogue (Part 1): Unchartered

Summary: A very travel-phobic Theseus sets towards a journey towards a destination that will change his destiny. With his chest filled with fond memory, things will get different.

This is part 1 of Epilogue because I thought it would be less cumbersome to read if I separate it into two. Plus, I am going on a vacation so more days will be gone without writing. This will keep up with the atmosphere.

Words: 3923

Flashbacks/dreams: in Italics

Chapter Theme: More Than Friends by Two Steps From Hell : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PjGvBpgrwb8

“A coffee for you sir...”

The porcelain chinked on the wooden table as the waitress left with her light steps. The man, for whom the coffee was brought, did not take it immediately, because he was very preoccupied with something else. He was inside his mind, firing a thousand possibilities how things could go wrong. With a swift huff, he leaned at the back of his chair. The grayish dull morning light of the early spring fell on his handsome face. Theseus Scamander, the man who fought wars with Grindlewald was now so nervous with the prospect of—he was even scared to think about it himself. A blank piece of paper that lay abjectly open at his front; he looked at his fountain pen, which was actually a disguised quill in muggle premises and again he veered at the paper, looking at it for the thousandth time, reviewing if he should have a scribble or not.

The sun feebly shined through the pale veil of gray cloud and shined like a halo on the frosted window. The waitress opened the windows for the customers to soak in the bit of sun they got in that small musty place. As soon as the glasses were lifted, a gust of cold wild wind from the River Mersey came in with a roar. To many people’s dismay, it disturbed the cozy warmth, but Theseus found it refreshing—Britain never changes, the air is always capricious.

The bugle blew sonorously in the chill air, echoing throughout the port of Liverpool. It was nearly time. Theseus hastily folded the letter and put it in his breast-pocket and put some changes near the untouched coffee. He was especially tensed about boarding today. If he misses the ship, the next is two weeks later and by then it would be too late.

Too late to get to her.

He was never much of a traveller, not really. He liked routine, continuity and stability, something that distinctively differentiated him from his younger brother. Like any other British, wizards or otherwise, he knew two spots to travel, Brighton and France; only Paris and Montmartre. He remembered all those times he had argued with Maxine about that.

“But why aren’t we going?” Maxine whined as she slammed the door shut behind her. Theseus slowly took his seat and leaned back on the chair like he had nothing to do.

“Miss Valois, it’s already been assigned... we are not going near the Viennese raid.” Theseus said with a self-satisfied smile, “and besides, let the new shoes break in—why bother leaving England. In fact, I say England is in dire need of us than Vienna.” Theseus tried to sweep that matter away and focused on some papers that have been piling up for a week, “—now let me focus on this, or else Travers will have my head--”

Maxine sat down with a defeated look on her face. From the corner of the eye, Theseus could see how the nib of her eagle feather quill rested on the thin curve of her lips. It’s very rare to see her cast down—her dark eyes looking everywhere yet nowhere, restless and agitated. It’s been only a year and she is working as a deputy's head in his department, side by side with him. Theseus found it rather funny, the way she pouted. It was hard to point things at her to describe: reserved, no... She wasn’t reserved, she was Peeves-like, and yet there was unwavering professionalism in her manner. But as soon as the office door closed, she became different, as if more ‘relaxed’ if one could say.

Soon he would shake those feelings and concentrate on his work, despite himself. He would try to keep the inflated bubble of feelings in check and in control; because no mode of flirtation would work on her—because she would out-flirt him and embarrass the hell out of him. That’s how she was, a strange creature.

Sometimes when the feelings got the best of him, his only way to save his dignity was a quick trip to the office canteen. The aroma of freshly ground coffee, warm tea, and oven-fresh pumpkin cakes reminded him of his own common room for some reason and it was like a salve of comfort in his anxious days. But today, it was not really an escapade. Today he had another mission.

“Good afternoon Mr. Scamander, you seem to be in a good mood--” the red-headed waitress said cheerily, “must be a promotion on the way huh?”

Theseus would wipe that unconscious smile off his face for the sake of avoiding uncomfortable the question, and clear his throat forcibly to get into his usual upright character, “two coffees please, one black with no sugar and other with cream and two sugars”

That will cheer her up.

Theseus walked along the curved railings of the long corridor with the coffee cups levitated in the air, smiling on his own. She will be surprised when she sips the coffee because she never orders in front of him, but he somehow overheard her ordering ‘Cafe a la Françoise’. Theseus tried to imagine how would she look when she takes the first sip, will she be shocked or surprised or delighted? He didn’t know, and he couldn’t wait any longer to know.

‘Here...’ He thumped the coffee cup on her table, ‘have it and clear that frown off your face.’ Theseus said, standing over Maxine’s table, towering over her hunched figure upon the table, immersed in paperwork. The light sound of the cup made her look up towards Theseus. Her face looking at him with a penetrating look, the abyss of her black eyes stared at his blue eyes with a twinkling sparkle in a half-lit dusty office room. Her pointed chin supported her extended neck and the pale line cleaved into a dark shadow at the middle of her shirt and the center of her bosom—

Theseus blinked uncomfortably, any longer or he would—

“Leave the coffee, will you... ” Maxine stood up from her chair abruptly. If Theseus didn’t back out, Maxine would have rammed him under his jaw. She glided from the back of the table to the side and suddenly her twinkling eyes turned into a crooked smile, “I have more exciting things here...” with a sweeping motion she pulled out a black file and tossed it to Theseus’ chest.

“What is that Miss Valois?” he asked curiously and at the same time walked towards his window to take a clear look at the file. Maxine stood at the other side of the glass window with her back at the glass, smiling crookedly at him.

“I convinced Travers that Wharton is not fit for the job... after all, you need a good health if you are going to such short notice, but it seemed he didn’t feel too well, so Travers gave the Vienna mission to us.” Maxine said coyly, “and it was also very important not to leave such mission in the hands of wishy-washy people, so I nominated us--” she giggled in a small manner.

Theseus huffed exasperatedly, but he couldn’t hide the smile that lingered on his face, apparently, he could never, “—what have you done now..?”

“Nothing you can prove...” Maxine smiled mysteriously and sauntered forward. The light from the window fell on her face and under the pale light her flushed cheeks and lacquered red lips glowed “—so now, go ahead and take your coffee back” with a giggle she started to walk towards the door, humming something under her breath. Theseus saw how her shapely hips swayed under the snugly draped silk skirt.

Theseus smiled at the memory of his own. The sun had set and the outside of the portholes looked inky dark. The Stuart just put the meal in front of him, and without any delay, he just dug into the potatoes. He never really eats alone, even though he is a bachelor—he always eats in a public space where there is a lot of humdrum around. He liked the sound of the eating, jingling cutlery and hustling in a busy restaurant. Here in the ship, there was no one to accompany him to his dinner except the roaring current of the sea—the thought itself was enough to unnerve him, there he was having a solo dinner in the midst of the Atlantic as his homeland faded long ago in the dark. He started to think how he would manage this one week along in the ship, sailing in the midst of wide Open Ocean.

He really wished he brought someone on this trip.

After his meal was finished, he slid the plate at the collecting slot and turned off all the lights and left bedside reading light on. He reached for his suitcase under his bed, and after gently opening it, he took out a small square velvet case in green color. He slowly popped the case open and brought out a small ring. He held the ring against the dullish reading light and all its sparkle came out like a fierce river over a broken dam. Theseus’ blue eyes fondly looked at the top as he cherished it gently. He remembered he had paid three months of his wage for this.

“Is that what you picked for me…?” Maxine said playfully, as she sat on the writing-table, dangling her pale feet like she was in a playground swing. There was a halo-like aura about her as she sat gracefully on Theseus’ table with her pale pink watersilk gown falling off her shoulder.

“Yes…” Theseus said, without looking at her, “got a problem with that?”

“No… not a problem, but dear Merlin, roses, and filigree?” Maxine answered sarcastically, pressing her bottom lip lightly under her teeth. Her light giggles faded into the roaring current of the sea. Theseus slantly looked at her way, and swiftly flipped on his bed and lied on his chest. His face supported on the floor of his palm, “yes… I asked for the skulls and bones, but they said they ran out of it--” Theseus smiled at his own comment.

“ooh… Nasty” Maxine leaned lightly a little bit and the dim light fell on the high point of her bared shoulder “I wonder the rest of you would be as interesting as your mouth…” Maxine jumped down from the writing table and frolicked across the other wall. Theseus’ eyes wistfully roamed around the back of her calf, and the reddened toes. The ship tilted slightly as the current raged outside. Inevitably with a soft whimper, she was tumbled against the wall, “stop laughing you--” she threw a sharp glance across the room, laughing herself, her seductive façade melted with a childish playfulness.

“Why…?” Theseus said, propping his head on his arms as he reclined against the head of the bed, “it’s not every day I get to see you embarrassed.” A subtle change of expression occurred in his amused look, something he dared not to express yet. He licked his dry bottom lip and subconsciously touched the moist trail, fixated on the eyes of Maxine. An indomitable desire pounded against his heart—the proximity of their distance sent sparks in his veins; a fleeting memory of the disastrous encounter in Newt’s basement crossed his mind.

“Newt...” Theseus answered, ignoring Maxine completely, “Maxine is fired from the ministry and it has been two weeks since she received the letter of termination.” Theseus looked at Maxine’s way, who fortunately did not disapparate and grabbed her arm harshly, “and you, little madam cannot even breathe without signing and returning the termination letter.” Theseus looked proud with his accomplishment and was climbing up the stairs (the spell being worn off) but suddenly, the arm he grabbed felt very light.

“Are you looking for me?” Maxine was waving at him from the other end, and Theseus looked down and found he was grabbing a branch. Feeling idiotic and enraged, he threw the branch and looked at his brother. Theseus, mused after a frustrated sigh “I didn’t want to do it... but desperate times—”

“No...”

“non...”

“Yes...” Theseus snatched his brother’s wand and bellowed “Accio Femme”

With a swooping motion Maxine floated towards Theseus and thudded with him chest-to-chest. Theseus grabbed her tight and triumphantly screamed, “got you, you little minx!”

His chest throbbed as her bosom touched against his, his hand grabbed hold of her at the small of her back, near the line where the curve of her hips started. In the midst of that strange place, in the most unceremonial manner, Theseus was holding Maxine in his arms—oh Merlin, how long he had waited for this to happen, and how he loved as her dark eyes ate him up with those sarcastic eyes.

“What are you thinking?” Maxine asked him from somewhere very near. Theseus’ was pushed back from the fantasy into reality and saw Maxine sitting at stool near the foot of the bed. He didn’t answer immediately, his mind trailed in someplace else...

“I have, for Madame, this grace; that I may rest long where I heard a lover sigh.”

The whispering trail of that mischievous voice made Theseus sweat even in this cold night. He was too preoccupied and annoyed at that time to understand the meaning of the words. As his leisure allowed him to recall his memories and remember, he felt his face heating up. He dared not to look at Maxine’s way or the ring he had brought for her—

“What are you thinking...?” Maxine mused as she sat on the stool crossing her legs. She looked at Theseus in a way as if she knew that he tried to hide his torment by indulging into the sounds of the currents, “its naughty isn’t it?”

Theseus straightened up on his bed as if he was electrocuted. He looked at Maxine’s face—the dim light illuminated the contours of her face and his shadow between her and the light eclipsed most of her existence. she laughed, this time it seemed oddly patronizing.

“You schmuck, do you think I won’t know what is happening inside your little head? I am you, remember?” she acclaimed as she leaned her head to the wooden orb near the footboard of the bed, “right now Maxine Valois is thousands of miles away in some farm in Japan, toiling like a common muggle in the field—and boy you haven’t changed a bit...” she paused, looking at Theseus straight across, “you, a grown man of thirty-nine is still fantasizing like a schoolboy--”

“What do I do...?” Theseus leaned towards the footboard, his hand almost raised to grab the chin of Maxine “you are kind of obsessive--”

“And now... ” Maxine gently reached for Theseus chest, and her long finger traced the line of the cotton shirt, her long lacquered finger entwined at his elastic suspender “you are flirting with yourself...”

Snap...

“Ow that bloody hurt!”

That snapping pain near his nipple made Theseus wake from his sleep. Merlin, what a dream!

Theseus cocked his torso to reach for the reading light above his head. He really fell asleep while inspecting the small emerald box in his hand, which rolled at the floor from the slumber-sleuth of his hand. Half asleep, he picked it up and put in his trouser pocket. After turning off the light around his headboard, he felt a pale gray light entering through the portholes. The dawn was upon the sea.

...

Mr. Ohara, Theseus’ cart driver was a quiet man. As the vehicle started to move at a glacial speed through the countryside of Sapporo, Theseus had time to ponder. There was a chill in the air, but it didn’t make one immobile as it does in Britain—it was really refreshing. The scenery around contoured with shades of sepia and dull gray, like it does in the early autumn, some grasses here and there lifted their heads as if eagerly anticipating the upcoming vernal warmth. People stared at him as he passed, clothed strangely, and women giggled. Some strange trees crossed his path and a stray wind carried a strange tune in the air.

Theseus was dropped near an ancient gate, and Mr. Ohara informed in broken English that the place he is looking for is five kilometers ahead, where he will have to walk. After the cart faded away down the mountain, Theseus looked again in the gray infinity.

Urgh... stupid, stupid. Should have brought someone with him—where is Newt when you need him.

There were no signs of locality around, amidst the vista of near-barren mountains and trees, not even a single hut was in show—Theseus stood there like an idiot, oscillated between quitting and going forward. The emerald box in his breast pocket felt hard against his chest. When he was about to implode in a perpetually deserted mountain valley, he saw a young peasant woman walking towards him. Thank Merlin, he will be able to ask direction from her.

“Sumi-masaeng...” (excuse me) Theseus stuttered a little. As a British, knowing French and German was enough of linguistic prowess already. Whatever he learned from the English-to-Japanese handbook during his weeklong naval journey was jumbling up near his tongue with nervousness. However, to his greatest surprise, the peasant woman opening her mouth before Theseus could ask for direction.

“Kimi wa Sca-man-da san, desu yo ne?” (You are Mr. Scamander, aren’t you?) The woman said with a frown in her face. Theseus felt conscious knowing that she had a hard time looking at his face—he may not be perfect, but he wasn’t that ugly.

“What are you saying?” he realized that his vernacular unconsciously came out.

Her reaction was beyond Theseus’ imagination. She dropped her basket of crops and ran through the old gate, screaming something in her own language. Theseus, alarmed and surprised, followed her, running through the muddy slopes of the mountain. However, he had no idea what was awaiting him.

He was standing up on a bare cliff as it seemed. A steep and nearly impossible slope leads to a small valley which looked like it was a painting from an Oriental artwork. He could not see that peasant girl anymore but could tell from the agitated flesh colored dots around that picturesque village that the news of his arrival reached the placed. A number of middle-aged women were climbing on the steep path with relative ease and stood around Theseus to take a look at the strange-looking man. They were all dressed like the peasant girl. To Theseus’ relief, a woman swept them all from his way and scooped him up like a maternal figure to a child.

“Oite oite Theseus-kun... yokoso, uchi-no mura ye.” (Come come, Theseus, welcome to our village) She has a melodious voice that meandered like a song. She didn’t look like a peasant; her complexion was cleaner and fairer, her hair neater and she was dressed in a more sophisticated way. She might have been someone important because all the other women scattered to their previous station with her imperative look. She also walked in a swaying motion as she descended the hill, holding the back hem of her dress very gracefully. A thousand questions fired in Theseus’ brain as he followed her and as if by magic the woman knew what was going on.

“You must be wondering who am I and what is this place?” she mused in a peculiar accent but in perfect English. Her pleasant voice sent an uncomfortable shiver in Theseus’ skin. She briefly glanced back at his face and smiled, “Gomen ne, I should have introduced myself to you. I am Nishimori Ume; I live in this village and in-charge of this sanctuary.”

“Sanctuary?” Theseus asked with bafflement as he almost tripped on a stray rock, slippery with residual snow.

“Yes... a sanctuary where we take care of the creatures that are often used in Wandmaking.” Ume spoke slowly and clearly, “in all Japan, there are one four of these places, the one you are standing on is in Futen, established in the 12th century after the Westerners introduced us with Wand and Quidditch. Along with wand creatures, we also grow wand trees here, wand trees from this place are of Supreme quality and all the Eastern wand woods available all around the world, are exported from here. ” She went on “when a French document of exile reached the Japanese Wizarding Congress, an uproar ensued throughout all the high commission—after all Japan is enemy soil right now” She looked meaningfully at Theseus, “but, when they heard about her, everyone was agitated to keep an eye on her. But suddenly the World Magic Council instructed us to take her in—next thing would have been Siberia, and I wouldn’t want to do that with Matsu-chan.”

“Who?” Theseus asked.

“Matsu—oh, you wouldn’t know--” She snapped unmindfully, “Maxine... we call her Matsu. Western pronunciation isn’t Japanese virtue, nor is it very honorable to mutate our language to suit the foreigners, so out of politeness, we call her Matsu—it is better than Makkushin ”

She waited near a moon-bridge for Theseus to catch up. The steep circular bridge was joining two separate part of the place: the mountainous valley with houses with something Theseus couldn’t see yet.

“You speak of her as if you’ve known her for a long time...” Theseus said very appreciatively, “I am glad she hadn’t had a hard time—after all that she’s been through.”

“Yes, I do...” Ume said musingly as she glided across the moon-bridge, “she was my student, one of my best.”

Suddenly an image appeared in Theseus’ mind.

“You misunderstand me sir...” Maxine continued with her serene voice “British ministry is getting weaker and weaker every moment, you see, this little Island is not only detached from Europe but also the rest of the world where the recruitments are better, stricter and more efficient. You see, your inefficient policy with wizards and non-wizards have made you vulnerable against the extremists and right now most powerful wizards in the country are rallying against you. If I walk out of this and send a word, most powerful anti-British ministries will jump on the bandwagon of recruiting me, and I would rather be on this side than on the other side of massacre and extremism... if you think I am lying or bluffing, the fourth page of my Curriculum Vitae can testify to that.”

Theseus and Travers, out of curiosity peered to the page Maxine mentioned and a shining golden badge on a piece of silk paper was encrusted. Maxine, understanding that they cannot read the language, pointed her wand towards them and softly uttered in an unfamiliar language.

“This Award of Golden Robe and of Five Seals goes to Miss Maxine Valois, By Japanese Wizarding Congress. She is hereby awarded an honorary member of Society of Eurasian Magical Corporation and is hereby granted full permission to take citizenship and work on Japanese soil”

“But there is something I don’t understand...” Theseus said with a tremendous amount of surprise, “how can she stay in such a magical atmosphere?...she has no wand.”

The matronly lady turned her graceful neck towards Theseus, a patronizing smile lingered on her lips.

“Wand is not a requisition to Magic, Mr. Scamander—it is the mind where all the magic happens--”

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

Fun Fact: The chapter theme I used in here was actually for the chapter “An Evening In Paris”. But I decided not using it, turns out it was the perfect theme for this chapter.

“I have, for Madame, this grace; that I may rest long where I heard a lover sigh.” : a carving found on an 18th-century busk (a wooden ruler like stuff that goes under the corset and between the breasts of a woman to keep the posture straight). As Theseus understood that his wand was kept between Maxine’s breasts, he became very hot. In Wizarding world, wand is also an extension of the wizard’s manhood.

Futen: A mountain place in Sapporo, Hokkaido.

#fantastic beasts #fbawtft #cog #sea voyage #fantasizing about crush #theseus x oc #theseus scamander x oc #travel in japan #mahoutokoro #hokkaido #trip to hokkaido #mountain #sea #long reads #romance #drama #anticipation

8 notes · View notes

hunterartemis · 5 years ago

Text

The Assistant : Chapter 11 : Midnight in Paris

Chapter Summary: (not much of Maxine X Newt sorry), but what happens when you put two ex-aurors and a magizoologist into the most dangerous prison in all of Europe? There will always be consequences when something involves a Scamander--or two.

Please enjoy these guys, I have put a lot of thoughts in composing the details

Word limits: 6173 (woo my highest)

Chapter Theme : Scotland by The Lumineers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m1fGkB9B0eQ

Newt’s eye opened with a start to the usual cacophony of alarm and he sat up to see that it is nearly nine. Surprisingly he found himself at the bottom of his sitting room sofa with his Lanvin couture still on. There was the half eaten bowl of stone cold soup and some vomit and blood on the floor, but nothing else—what a weird dream, he thought he had been arrested for bringing Maxine in his house.

Hurrying to freshen up and dress, he made himself tea and some toast and decided to jot down some ideas that he got from Romania, Dragons—what a wonderful creation he thought. Between the bites and scribbling his eyes fell on the opposite wall next to him—there was a big damp on the wallpaper that needed fixing, he wondered about how he didn’t noticed it earlier.

Maxine walked inside in all punctuality, like always and after her usual crooked smile and a polite greeting of good morning descended downstairs to change into the tunic. Newt was relieved to see her absolutely cherry—but there was something forcefulness about it, and then he remember how strong and optimistic Maxine is, she trying to cope with such a difficult situation with a forceful smile, although it broke his heart, but he was certainly happy that she was trying her best.

“Good morning, glad to see you decided to join me—I thought what happened yesterday,” Newt halted to euphemise the uncomfortable and unpleasant details “you and I won’t be in same terms anymore--” Newt asked her out of the blue.

“What, what happened yesterday? Do you want me out of the job?” Maxine answered with a snap, which obviously disarmed Newt, “No, no... Nothing happened, just—I saw you at the end of the party—you seemed pretty drunk and nearly fainting--”.

“Are you saying that we did something we shouldn’t have--? Merlin, I would have loved to see your face--”Nope, She was definitely his assistant. Without further ado, Newt resumed his days work and for some reason, the whole day he couldn’t concentrate a single bit—in that flawless familiarity of his underground basement, something was off; he couldn’t point it out whether it was the smell of the animal’s excrement or the flowing sound of the River Beauly where the Kelpie splashed and dived once in a while. When it became too unbearable, Newt took a breather upstairs to sit himself down and have a cup of tea.

Suddenly his eyes fell on a rectangular object sitting on his table. Last night he didn’t get to open Dumbledore’s letter so he decided to open the letter now.

My dear friend Newt,

I received the letter the night you posted it from the Leaky Cauldron, the aroma of their pea soup still lingered on the envelope, but I was astonished to see your request. The thing is Newt, the woman working for you is no ordinary one, I have to admit I have seen many complicated student, but Maxine Valois still intrigues me. Really advance for her age, came at Hogwarts at 14, and her intellect compelled us to admit her in the sixth year. I doubt that anyone will exceed her level of excellence, both mental and academic, but her past is completely shrouded by mystery. She took almost half an hour to be sorted, and when she was sorted in Ravenclaw, I was frequently getting other sixth years complaints that something sinister was about her which scared even the older students; but all their complaints were cast aside because I refused to believe them and there were no proof against her. They claimed that they didn’t felt safe around her. As it was a troubled time, I often set up her interviews with ministry officials, highly trained in Legillimency, but no one could penetrate her mind. They claimed she was hiding something but couldn’t say what. It got to a point whenever her interviews came she would lie outrageously to the Legillimens and immediately after that either a student or a teacher would get hurt. Three students failed their OWLs despite being best of their years; although they claimed that they aced the exam, but the papers were found blank. They immediately committed suicide. Of course Miss Valois denied them, but the patterns were conspicuous and no one could prove anything.

When things got out of control, I took matters in my own hands and I am not proud of what I learned. I don’t know either it was my skills or her own willingness but I was able to look into her past. I recognised her mother Audrey Page immediately, as she shared some facial and cerebral features with. Before Maxine came into Hogwarts she was admitted in Durmstrang at the age of seven, and she was already in seventh year of the school when she was thirteen—ready to awarded as the youngest graduate of all times. But the regime of Durmstang was not suitable for a tender aged girl like her, and soon she made a habit out of the Dark Arts and with a prodigious mind such as hers, she slid into completely dark path—and soon it consumed the whole of her mind. An unloving family, a matchless brain, constant evil influences and surrounded by peers who are far older than her forced her easy maturity into a perverted distortion—however no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get the specific details. But in the midst of all the negative, a single positive thing happened in her life, she made a powerful bond with one of her classmate (who was, in actuality four years older than her), someone named Anatole Malfoy—

“Anatole—that makes sense—he sounded like someone who knew Maxine beforehand--” but then Newt continued to read

--who apparently attempted to understand her and supported her uniqueness, but then something awful happened between them, something brutal or shameful, which despite of tireless coaxing I couldn’t get it out of her system, and it caused her expulsion from the school. Apparently the incident was so shameful that it was far more choicely for Hrothgar to out her blood secret which was placed as the excuse for which she was expelled from Durmstrang, instead of the incident that took place as the real reason.

Another conspicuous thing about her was that the younger students were awfully fond of her, and she for them. In fact many younger students spoke that if it wasn’t for her, they would have felt lonely .Most of the teachers maintained a distance from her. However the moment I got to see a glimpse of her true nature I couldn’t help but to feel a little sad about her; she smiled relentlessly when she wanted to but I couldn’t help but to feel that it was her greatest lie. I never saw a better liar than her whose sadness rocked my core. So Newt my friend, whenever you see her smile, just look into her eyes to check if it is real—I hope for your and her sake that it is, because I know someone that reminds me of her.

Albus Dumbledore.

Newt came downstairs with a heavy heart and tried to recall every time she smiled; her smile that felt cold now had a reason. It was made of stainless steel that armoured her heart from the world. Between all those lip and attitude, resided a deeply lonely woman—she was indeed very similar to Leta, but Maxine knew how to mock grief and despair with her crooked sarcastic smile, Leta didn’t.

At the end of the shift, he saw Maxine packing—strange how the time flies; in fact time just vanished in a few moments. He hid himself behind the shed and watched how Maxine stripped off her outer tunic and was wearing her leather gauntlet gloves. Newt came out of the shed and walked towards his assistant.

“Leaving early today--” he commented casually, “makes sense—if I was you, I would have taken a day off, quite a drink you had last night--”

“—what early, it’s nearly 7:30—I think you should check your watch” Maxine tied her buckles of her gloves, and as Newt went to check his watch it looked that it was stopped at 4Pm. He again looked at Maxine, who was humming along as she dressed herself, and that send Newt’s nerves in fire with a frustration of knowing something was wrong but not finding it. He took a deep breath and as gently as possible he asked,

“How’s Anatole?”

“Why did you ask that?” Maxine answered almost promptly, and when she looked at Newt’s face, Newt stomped towards her and grabbed her wrist so harshly that was unlike himself. He could feel the heat slowly building up in his face as a result of the outburst of frustration. He looked at Maxine’s face again and this time, for the first time in his life—Maxine looked at him with alarm.

“What’s the matter with you today—you are behaving oddly...!” Maxine got herself off with a jerk and started to massage her wrist and eyed Newt suspiciously, “you are behaving like a bloody moron you are—why, why are you laughing at me—Newt, you are scaring me, stop doing that--” Maxine took out her wand and pointed at him with her shaking hands

“Give it up now you imposter and tell me who you are--” Newt spoke in a low threatening voice and took out his wand out of his pocket, he was constantly pacing forward, leading his assistant to pace steadily backwards, who tentatively answered, “don’t be absurd, I am Maxine, your assistant--”

“Lie--” Newt spoke steadily, because he now could understand what was wrong with this place, ‘I was sure that something was wrong with this place the moment you entered the building—it was not you who was wrong, but something about that rhythm of yours that was off, turns out, I was so hyperaware that I had been hearing the sound of the watch ticking—not mine, since it is stopped, but yours—it’s not going tick-tock, but tock-tick—like a time turner, very subtle, but why would you disguise a time turner under my roof, the only answer is, I am currently stuck in a limbo, like a ghost condemned to repeat myself over and over again.’ Newt said almost breathlessly, ‘and I also have a theory about the death of my watch—you see, the moment I surprised you, if you were real Maxine, you would have exclaimed in French or spoke a bit in French, since it is only natural that alarm effects the basic instinct, to scream and to exclaim—but everything around me including you are a poorly constructed shadow of my memory—since I don’t know or understand French, a replicator of my memory cannot recreate it--’

Maxine, who was standing in front of Newt lowered her wand and with an almost-Maxine-like smirk she looked at Newt’s way, “well done--” he voice sent a chill to Newt’s spine because whatever spoke underneath Maxine’s mask, if it were remotely humanlike, Newt would not like to meet it. The ice-cold indifference and glassy shrill resembled Banshee’s screech, but there was a melody that reminded Newt of the church organ that plays ominous and awe inspiring tone to the unbelieving public to portray there was something wrathful that could destroy them.

“What are you?” Newt asked, but the creature that had Maxine’s shape laughed sardonically, completely ignoring the question. When its laugh stopped, it looked at Newt with its angular black eyes and said “took you 1789451254422269 times to go through the same day to understand—but remember human, you only made it worse. I could have kept you happy until the job was done, but you had to poke your nose into this business--”

Suddenly everything darkened around Newt, like it does after a play or an opera just ended in a theatre, and he felt that the room shrunk itself around him and all the six walls barricaded him into a small, cemented coffin. The condensed darkness sucked all the air out of Newt’s lungs and within it; he struggled like a fish freshly out of water. However his endless screams and struggles were not in vain—something collapsed near his foot, and a speck of the less dark intruded through it. Newt, with all his energy crawled on his back towards his leg and the space slid him into open.

His eyes were adjusting into the darkness and he found himself a circular shaped hollow, and except the space he just slid from, as he went around, feeling the wall around him blindly, there was no single hole or crack there—the wall felt exceptionally smooth, like solidified butter or rosin, but there was no stickiness of it—Newt’s memory that had been altered in the hallucination was coming back now, he was deported into French soil with Tina and Theseus to be imprisoned in the Geolier Tower of Silence, and right now he must be inside of it—but how is it possible that he was ‘buried’ inside a solid wall which didn’t seem any harder than damp wood, then again—the hallucinations must have been in operation until he was dead. The mere comprehension made his skin crawl—if he was buried inside the wall, so are Tina and Theseus.

So with his bare hands he went thudding and knocking about all around the wall, and when he was about to give up, he heard low and muffled thumps, like that on a damp wood and then with two thuds and groaning, he was sure that his female ‘friend’ and his brother was retrieved.

“Good bloody blooming, this place is dark--” a grumpy male voice spoke out of annoyance, and Newt silently laughed at his brother, “I am glad you are alright Theseus--”

“That was horrible--” Tina squirmed, “I was dining with my dead mother and father, they were about to approve Jacob and Queenie’s marriage--”

“You must be one mean son of a nutter then--” Theseus spoke with a bit of humour.

“Don’t try and sound so smart—it was horrible when I realised my parents are dead and Queenie and--”

“Question is--” Newt interrupted the flow of conversation to know what was going on, “how are we going to get out of here—we don’t have wands--”

“First rule of the book Newt, if you want to get outta here, you first need a good strategy, cannot fight them dementors like naked wee balmies, right?”

“Did you hit your head or something—you sound all weird--” Tina commented out of the blue, but there was one person was not really responding, Newt. He was pondering all by himself, sitting in the dark and suddenly he had a realisation.

“I don’t think there is any dementor Theseus--” he said quietly, “first of all, the presence of the dementor keeps the environment very, very cold, which acts as an immobilizing agent to the prisoners who are lightly dressed—but here” Newt stopped as if to quizzically examine the musty darkness, “this place is warm—and—moist. Anyway—whatever is this place, it is not a prison for the ordinary—all our hallucinations, they weren’t a hostile thing—they were immobilising us, like anasthesizing, until we are done.”

“What do you mean... what do you mean by done? We were sent here to die?” Tina asked Newt, “but we are political prisoners, not murderers--”

“—I think it is apt to say that corruption is not really uncommon in any government in the world. They went on this far on a simple false allegation—the nerve of Maxine, cruel, cruel woman—what I didn’t do for her--”

“—I don’t think it was Maxine, Theseus. She might have been a Duchess and all but this kind of political power!—anyway, it is a matter for later, now we have to think how we are going to escape from here. Whatever was keeping here never had any escapee so I assume that we should think fast and faster because we haven’t our wands--”

‘Lumos’

A sudden burst of silvery wispy light illuminated Tina’s small pale face, and this little incident, no matter how mundane it may seem to the wizarding eye sent sparks of joy in the minds of Theseus and Newt. When they started to laudate Tina, she explained with full self satisfaction that she cleverly replicated their wands when they were being handed in the ministry, and hid the originals in the pockets of her knickers.

“But how did you do that? Moreover, you cannot just replicate wands... the cores and the wood are made in very different manner than the mundane objects--” Newt asked Tina.

“I had some inside help—remember the editor I spoke about? He bribed the prison guard that he would obtain the wands as soon as their cores and woods are checked for authenticity, and after applying some transfiguration charms on normal woods, the prison guard slipped me the wands and I got them in my pockets—oh and Newt, check yours also, I have a Christmas present for you--”

With surprise and humour Newt put his hands on his pocket of his suit, and he felt that the usual depth of his pocket extended far deeper than he expects, and after getting his hands quite down, something firm and leathery was felt under his palm, with immense difficulty when he tried to pull it out, the old familiar battered suitcase bounced from his pocket and landed on the floor of the prison tower.

“Porpentina Goldstein, you are a star--” Newt literally started to jump in his place in joy, and Theseus in all excitement grabbed the two of them hard and tight and gave them an embrace so tightly that they were in danger of dying with asphyxia. After a lot of struggle when he let them go, he sloppily kissed their foreheads and ruffled their unwashed and perpetually dirty hair with such undiluted affection that Newt and Tina both felt that they were, once again, kids—a joy, seldom felt in adulthood.

“I figured that there were no place better to hide Newt’s case in his suit pocket--” Tina elaborated, “I first thought that it will be kept safe in ministry when we are sent to azkaban, but when I turned on lumos, I saw that we were wearing the same clothes—guess they didn’t expect us to even scratch our noses. Makes me think what kind of danger we averted” Tina digressed from enlightenment to a bitter sombreness. Suddenly her eyes fell on Newt, and his blue-green eyes looked drenched in despair in the silvery light of the lumos. When she and Theseus followed Newt’s eyes and looked around to see that there were no single empty space or windows except the three narrow holes they have escaped, their smiles turned into grimaces. Newt rose from his place and started to look at the freshly broken holes in the circular chamber. Suddenly Tina’s scream made him turn towards her.

“What’s that on your shoes?” she pointed and screamed at Newt and both her and Theseus started to look at them. Parts of their clothes and shoes were decayed and something of dirty golden-brown coloured started to form on them like some mould, which broke down into white soft flakes when touched.

“Haven’t you realised?” Newt said sombrely, “they didn’t need any precautions because the moment we were put in here, we were designated to be buried alive. These substances on your body are wax--”

“Wax... how a human can form wax around them, unless--” Theseus started to argue and stopped midway, “wait... wait—wax. I know exactly what is happening. We were being embalmed when we dreamt, so that we couldn’t struggle—and when we will be truly dead, the embalming will be complete and our bodies will be a part of this place--” Theseus said ponderously, “I remember now, someone told me to run away inside my head when the lights went out—but I cannot remember who--”

“So this entire place is made out of human wax of dreaming dead people?” Tina asked with a sense of surprise, hatred, fear and disgust, “and I thought the Death Potion execution was bad--”

“Whoever made this place must have been either the kindest or the cruellest person in the universe—the best prison where you don’t even feel you are being imprisoned” Newt mused with a veil of unknown fear covering his eyes, “now c’mon—off we go”

Newt opened his case and drew out his nasty little buggers, the nifflers. He could have used a hippogriff or an erumpant, as Tina suggested him to use, since both were able to either bust out the prison or melt it down but Newt chose this overtly discreet method. Somewhere in his mind he didn’t wanted to burn the place down, because he felt that within the waxen walls someone was still dreaming—out of his body and out of his own mind—in dreams they were alive. A prisoner, no matter how hideous or cruel he may be in the government’s eyes, deserves at least one chance as a human being. Those unknown creatures that were ‘embalming’ them were not cruel, they were kind—they wanted the deaths of their victims as painless as possible, so they locked them in their happiest, most peaceful state. The prisoners were forsaken by the world, but those creatures didn’t forsake them—that is the reason this prison was so feared by everyone in the ministry, more than Axkaban. It was the place, from where no one ever returned.

They followed the trails of the niffler, in stealthy and gentle steps, through the endless halls of waxen grave, through countless memories, pains, suffering, happiness and victories, leaving behind the peaceful ones whose lives ended unknowingly, and their restless souls, trapped inside the waxen fort like some horcruxed soul in a cursed object. The ghostly paleness of wax hit a dead end from which they were able to burst free into a place that was as musty and wet as the bottom of a pond. After scourging through it, they were faced with a hard cold substance.

“That’s it. I think we are locked in, it’s the dead end--” Theseus inspected from the very front, and Newt looked at his niffler. “No, it isn’t—Theseus, listen” he gestured his brother to use the wand as an amplifier. One end of the wand was placed upon the wall above Theseus’s head while the other end was inside the ear canal. “You’re right...” Theseus said, “I can hear—water, splashing on the surface”

“Is it a roaring current like a river?” Newt asked curiously, because if it were then blasting out won’t be a good option and there was a chance of drowning and letting water in the prison, who knows if that happens the authority might surge into the place and shove them back where they were. However, Theseus shook his head and with an optimistic look replied, “No—it rather sounds like still with mild sounds of pop and crack—if that makes any sense--I don’t think it’s very alarming.”

“So what are we waiting for?” Tina exclaimed, “bombarda maxima”

The hard surface succumbed to the spell and with vigorous quake whatever was holding them and the outside world out collapsed at the bottom. With the effect they had to fall back, but then it gave them the opportunity to inspect what fell upon them.

“Blimey, 18th century marbles—and chunks of ice.” Theseus said disgustedly as he was drenched in ice water was shivering like a naked man in arctic, “of course—fountain! Water never freezes all the way through, when we exploded the bottom, the water collapsed and with the decreasing pressure from the bottom the ice on the surface came down as well--” Newt and Tina looked at Theseus with a stupefied expression, “I had an ‘Outstanding’ in Muggle Studies, professor Merryweather said I was gifted with Physics.” Theseus recalled proudly, and with that, all the three were able to climb up through the said fountain after sealing away the rift they caused in the rendezvous.

“We were under Paris all this time--” Newt exclaimed as he came out of the fountain with his niffler on his shoulder, and case on one hand. Theseus came out after pulling Tina and they looked around confusingly. “Where are we?” Tina mused in an annoyed manner, and in a rather unceremonious manner Newt mused, “it looked different in the daylight—oh yes Tina, I have been here before. Remember I told you I had to visit Romania with my assistant—yes, as a gratitude for this completely unauthorised trip, she showed me the city, her city, and right now we are standing at the Fountain of Innocents, which was formerly a massive gravesite called--”

“Cemetery of the Innocents--” Tina added, “I know this place—all no-maj papers in the US raved about this place because apparently, all European soap companies were scraping off corpse wax from this grave so the French authority had to shut it down, but they weren’t just from the corpses—the wax from the gaoler was leaking and they had to take charges—

“Okay, so a massive body dump in the center of the city, disguised as fountain with the most dangerous prison underneath it will place us in where in the city?” Theseus inquired.

“Why don’t you ask your tourist brother that?” Tina replied annoyedly, apparently she wasn’t pleased that Newt took a trip in Paris with a stranger more beautiful woman “... but what we are going to do right now? We have no money, and right now if we go into the wizarding community, they will hunt us down” she analysed, “if we make the papers again that we escaped the inescapable prison, no corner in the world will hold us”

They all sat down under the frozen fountain. As Newt tried to protect himself from the cold and tried to wrap the coat around him more securely, something rigid felt near his breast pocket. Out of curiosity he took it out. That was the virtue of a big city in the midnight, even with the scant population on, nobody paid attention to anybody. When Newt opened the rectangular piece of paper, it astonished him. It was the same letter by Dumbledore, every word, every punctuation, right from the cover to the back.

“But how is it possible? It was the same letter I read in my dreams--” Newt showed the letter to Tina, and in turns even Theseus had a glimpse of its content. “Perhaps they didn’t want you to go with unfinished business--” Tina replied softly while reading the letter alongside Newt, “they really sound like the Death in the Beedle—peaceful.”

“This fellow, Anatole Malfoy, I knew he was crook from the beginning.” Theseus spoke with disgust in his voice which was enough to attract the attention of the two, “I met him in the party and he didn’t sound like he was for British Ministry or anything of that sort.” Under the dim streetlights of downtown Paris, Tina’s black eyes glimmered with focus, “and something was off when he was announced the Junior Undersecretary—of course it was a position too advantageous to be rejected, and I didn’t know it was his dowry from the French Diplomat.”

“What do you mean by Dowry, he asked Maxine to marry him, didn’t he” Tina countered.

“Yes... and it’s not uncommon amongst British Purebloods, but inside my mind something was really off. So after the party, I went to the Archives Department to find his records, and it was too clean—too conspicuously clean. So I searched differently, and looked for him in the prison records, again, I found no one” Theseus’ face glowed with excitement.

“What do you want to say that he is innocent and you were a little drunk after the party?” Tina replied snappily.

“No, of course not--” Theseus interjected, “I was going in the right direction but didn’t know where to start, so I looked them all.” Theseus said in an accomplished manner “every prison record registered under European Magical Cooperation in the last thirty years, and I found someone registered under Vasily Malakov. The name found awfully familiar—I looked into it, and the papers were written in Russian, obviously. But when I finally decoded it” suddenly it dimmed into a grimace “It turned out to be him. There was no Vasily Malakov in reality; the truth was Anatole Malfoy was convicted under a pseudonym to ensure that he isn’t defamed. I looked into his records and Merlin’s beard it was dark. He has an extensive record of underage murders and rapes during his days in Durmstang, and guess whose name he was being operated by--”

“Who?” Newt asked out of the blue.

“Grindlewald you plum—he and his classmates were the earliest followers of him, the ‘cleansers’ arrested during their final year. Apparently there were five who were involved, but only four were found out—and who did Dumbledore said were in Anatole’s class that time who was expelled?”

“Maxine...” Newt huffed in desperation.

“Yes, she was thirteen or fourteen when she was involved in the incident. It’s wizarding law that a minor cannot be sentenced into Prison, instead their wands get snapped.” Theseus theorised, “but given the fact that she was the daughter of the Diplomat, she was somehow spared.” He paused for a second “but the question is, if Anatole is closely affiliated with Hrothgar, given the fact he must have known what he is since he was his daughter’s classmate—why he is letting Anatole marry his daughter?”

“’Seus, listen to me I have to tell you something--” Newt said urgently “I followed Maxine after the dinner—remember Tina, I disappeared for some seconds—she was afraid all evening, in fact, she had been acting weird since the party was announced—anyway, it seems that Anatole is operating on revenge and apparently he convinced Hrothgar that he is in love with Maxine--”

“__but why him, Maxine could--” Theseus gulped as if to swallow the words he was about to say, “—she could marry anyone she wants, she is a duchess and she is from the most prominent Pureblood family of all times.”

“She can’t--” Tina mused absent mindedly, “here—look, it is said in the letter... her mother’s name is Audrey Page--look” Tina pointed at her letter, “that means she cannot take the Pureblood title because she is an illegitimate—if her mother was married to Monsieur Hrothgar, then she would have been called Audrey Valois” Tina analysed, “even in Wizarding world, getting an illegitimate child married to a good family isn’t an easy task, and if she marries otherwise, it would put a dent on our dear diplomat.” Tina concluded and suddenly she wondered something and turned to Theseus “Theseus, you said Anatole was marrying Maxine for dowry, do you happen to know what he is getting?”

“Of course, the Junior Undersecretary post... why you ask?” Theseus stood up because the frozen marble was getting too cold for him. Tina pondered for a moment and then started to shake his head, “no, no—I think that is just eyewash, a bifurcation—there must be other things he is getting—URGH! This woman is making my life a living hell.”

“Just forget about it—what we are going to do? We don’t even know what day on earth is this, or how long we have been under there—if Maxine gets married to that man, British ministry will come under Grindlewald’s control overnight--” Theseus suggested, “no matter what we have to stop the wedding from happening and the worst this in this world that THERE IS NO ONE IN THIS ENTIRE WORLD WHO CAN TELL US WHAT TO DO!”

Newt was sitting ponderously till now, with Tina eyeing him frequently with an annoyed expression. Suddenly a spark flashed in his drowsy eyes and he started to walk towards the main street. When his brother and his other friend started to chase after him, there was one thing that he said before grabbing their hands and apparating into thin air.

“It is the universal rule of nature, when man does something two people in the world are aware of it—his accomplice and his brother.”

...

‘Where on earth are we?’

Tina, Theseus and Newt apparated in front of a five star muggle hotel, at the dead of the night; the sign told them they were still in Paris, which astonished Newt a bit. He knew there was portkey regulations and everything, and despite that he made a leap—he had no idea of location or proper idea, but there were few emergency exceptions of apparation that he remembered from his sixth year class, that was the specific name and identity of a person. He didn’t know that it would work, and he still wasn’t sure. Apparently this seemingly muggle hotel had some wizards’ suite and anti-apparation charm on effect that was holding them outside. So they stomped head-on and tracing remaining bits of magic with tracking spell, they reached the penthouse, where they knocked the doors down to find a puzzled platinum-blond middle aged man in his silk pyjamas.

“What the hell are you and what are you doing in my room?” he almost screamed at the three people pointing wand at him.

“It’s been a very long day... so start speaking, is you Anatole Malfoy’s brother?” Theseus asked, and with a flicker the lights in the room lit up, which caused the man a close call of cardiac arrest.

“But you’re supposed to be in the Tower of Silence, and dead! How did you--”

“Answer the question you bub!” Tina jabbed her wand into his throat while Newt bifurcated the wand under the pillow the man was discreetly reaching for, “are you Anatole’s brother?”

“Yes, yes... I am. I am his older brother Abraxas Malfoy.”

“Is he married?”

“Sorry?”

“Is your brother married?” Newt repeated his question with a threatening quietness.

“No... I mean not yet. He is getting married--” Abraxas checked his watch in a very nervous way, “—in about five hours--”

“Oh thank Merlin...” Theseus huffed, and gestured the others to turn, but Tina remained and asked the final question, “where?”

“Saint Chappell... I am sorry, but why I am telling you all these? You should be locked up for kidnapping the Duchess--” Abraxas said in an agitated tone, “you tried to sabotage my brother’s reputation--” before he could finish his sentence Theseus grabbed his collar and thudded him against the headboard of the bed, “let me tell you something... it was your responsibility to look after your brother in which you failed miserably. If you or your godforsaken parents had the leash tight on him he wouldn’t have become the son of bitch he is today. He is a fraud and a Grindelwald supporter and I am not letting a sick rapist near my friend or my country, and the best thing you can pray for that we kill him before the ministry does. As you know we are wanted criminals and we have nothing to lose, so stay put when we obliviate you--”

“Stop--” Abraxas put his hands up in a defensive manner, “please, listen to me... I am not proud of what he is today, but please I beg you, whatever you do—don’t kill him, he is my brother--”

“Thanks for the information... Obliviate” Newt whipped his wand swiftly and stomped out of the room. Abraxas remained sleepy and confounded, like they first found him. Theseus and Tina followed him as swiftly as they could. The curtain of the night was slowly lifting from the sky and the frost and snow started to turn brighter under the cold gray of the dawn. The clock was swiftly ticking towards the fall of the Western Magical Civilization and the fate of the Modern Wizarding Europe lied in the hands of three escapee convicts: two ex-aurors and a magizoologist, whose mind and wand was now pointing at the Isle of the City in the middle of Seine, where the tower of Saint Chappell was fearfully awaiting for the historic moment that was going to take place in about four hours and fifty minutes.

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

I had to research extensively to make the Wizarding prison of France more terrible and different from Azkaban at the same time. I don’t know whether I had been successful or not, but here’s the history behind our fictional “Le Tour de Silence”

The Holy Innocents' Cemetery (French: Cimetière des Saints-Innocents or Cimetière des Innocents) is a defunct cemetery in Paris that was used from the Middle Ages until the late 18th century. Under the reign of Philip II (1180-1223) the cemetery was enlarged and surrounded by a three-meter-high wall. Les Innocents had begun as a cemetery with individual sepulchers, but by then had become a site for mass graves. People were buried together in the same pit (a pit could hold about 1,500 dead at a time); only when it was full would another be opened.

This practice continued upto five centuries when the mass graves (because they were buried so close and the body couldn’t rot properly) started to produce a thing called Adipocere or Corpse wax (basically human fat transforming itself into an wax like encasing preventing the rot forever). These corpse wax were scraped off and sold out to soap and candlemakers during the pre revolution era, and you can guess what happened. So it gave me a brilliant idea to construct the French prison out of it-- a place made out of Adipocere, and people who are sentenced to death are brought in here so that their life would be slowly extracted from the body, and when it’s done their body and soul will be trapped in the waxy architecture. How to prevent resistance? simple, trap them into their happiest state.

The fountain of Innocent, from which the three broke through was built over the real Holy Cemetery of Innocent by Louis XVI as a memorial, when he closed the unsanitary gravesite (good man he was!), I gave it a little bit symbolism. In Roman myths, when injustice reaches it’s peak, the Goddess of Truth, Veritas comes out of the well, naked to scream at people. So I used the same method with the three.

#newt x oc #newt x tina #newt x reader #newt scamander x oc #newt scamander X reader #theseus x tina #theseus x reader #france in midnight #paris in midnight #prison break #character rants #suspence #danger #les halles #fountain of innocent #midnight #cliffhanger

22 notes · View notes

hunterartemis · 6 years ago

Text

The Assistant: Filler Chapter : Nostalgia and Unresolved Issues

Word count: 4340 (initial) 5745 (after edit)

Chapter Theme: Beth’s Theme by Ólafur Arnalds : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pmKkaCKWreM

Warning: Intoxicated state, mention of alcohol and smoking (I do not drink, do drugs or smoke or advice to do either one of these to anyone.)

This chapter is also very prose based, and has lesser dialogues and actions (I thought, I should take it easy in this chapter)

Summery: As the title suggests, there will be some nostalgia and unresolved issues.

The golden memory of the sunset stayed picturesque in their mind while they whirled in the edge of Dover cliff. All that happened in the golden winter afternoon seemed like a distant happy past in comparison to the ashy lilac sky against the stark white and still Dover cliff. They parted ways like two playmates after a long day in the playground, forcibly separated from each other by their mothers, however good memories need to be embalmed with a quiet solitary pondering.

Newt didn’t go straight home. He was tired and out of his senses with exhaustion. He went to the Leaky Cauldron to have himself a dinner; smiling and recalling his memories at Le Procope just to take off his mind from this perpetually subordinate meal, under a musty and dark roof. At the time of his return, while he was paying his bills, he felt the rigid folded paper in his inner breast-pocket, dormantly tucked in for a chance of safe posting.

He called upon the Hotel Owl and posted the letter, and with a crack, he was standing in front of his apartment. With a click of lock, a soft plop of his coat on his side-couch and clacks of kicking shoes of and a sweep of disrobing, Newt thudded in his bed, fast asleep. The last image in his eyes was the light blue Lanvin paper bag on his bedside study table, bulging with his unexpected ‘Christmas gift’.

On the other side of Thames, Maxine entered her apartment. Despite the day, there was a lingering futility in her exhaustion. It was that kind of exhaustion that comes after labouring intensely and getting no positive result out of it. She disrobed and donned on her favourite pink watersilk dressing gown, plopped herself on the chaise and called for her dinner. Lampito, her elf brought her dinner at the baroque coffee table at the lounge. She downed her food without any enthusiasm, as if she was being tube-fed while being anesthetised. She was constantly reminded of Newt’s molten gold eyes and dazzling smile when he replied “yes... I do.”

There was a sense of disassociation in those three words.

While uncoiling her finger-curled bob, she leaned at the door panel of her bedroom, looking around her room with displeasement. It was the usual, a normal bedroom with a single bed and a small study table, monochromatically dull and claustrophobic. Two of the four walls were stacked upto ceilings with some read and mostly unread books. It was literally done prim and proper by her elf and instead of a welcoming comfort it generated a sternness and rigidity. She lolled towards her bed, kicked off her slippers and tossed her robe at an indefinite direction and sunk into the bed, only to summon her slender pipe and light a cigarette. But coincidentally, not once her lips touched the pipe. As the bluish gray smoke rolled upwards her mind whirled in her past.

The journey hadn’t been easy

The night oddly reminded her of her first night at Hogwarts. It was a rain-drenched September night, cold as the ninth pit of hell and awfully quiet. She smiled sourly at the affectionate bed arrangement for her on the floor by her roommates, where she slept all night, just to return the favour for the next few weeks. And she couldn’t blame them. After all, not every day a beautiful French girl comes to claim one of the spare beds amongst the people she never seen in her life. She wished she was this confident when she was actually there. The execution of the revenges and wiping the OWL papers blank of that bully Montague just after submission would have been way more fun.

His face was priceless when he had to repeat fifth year.

Although she would never admit it to herself, she clearly remembered the first time she walked the grounds of Hogwarts, accompanied by her father Hrothgar Valois*, grabbing her by the wrist. Her unsteady feet and mass of black waves interfered with her vision and caused irritation her otherwise generous father. She remembers how he sat her down in front of Headmaster Armando Dippet and Albus Dumbledore, the assistant headmaster and head of Gryffindor house, with utter disappointment, and she remembered the flabbergasted look on their faces, as at the time of admission she was 14.

“Zere ‘ad been some circumstances for which I have come ‘ere--” Monsieur Valois spoke with a low melodious tone with a heavy French accent, and did not sound very pleased with himself.

“That we can conclude... however” Professor Dippet answered with a wheezy voice “may we know what is the reason she is insisted to be admitted here so late...? The window of admission at Hogwarts comes only once, and it is the rule and the Law of the British ministry.” Professor Dippet looked at Monsieur Valois with displeasement.

“You misunderstand me, Professeur , she is, in fact educated. She is ze third child of mine and an heiress to the noble house of Valois, surely you’ve ‘eard?” Hrothgar waved his left hand perhaps to give them a glimpse of his baroque Alexandrite signet ring, glinting on his small finger.

“Blood purity cannot buy your daughter a place in Hogwarts, I am sure you know that.” Dumbledore answered sternly and Dippet agreed with him.

“What is the proof that she wasn’t neglected her education... a couple of purebloods we know take pride in their illiteracy and claim that Hogwarts have nothing to teach... they are the Gaunts, descendants of Salazar Slytherin, surely you’ve heard?” Professor Dippet commented with taunt. Hrothgar did not faze at all, in fact e softened instantly, in fact, he became almost glib.

“Of course, of course Professeur , ‘ow impudent of me. I should ‘ave brought it earlier” Monsieur Valois gave the headmaster a series of papers, “Zis is ‘er proof of previous education, a certificate from ‘er previeus school, ‘owever, in ze matter of delicate circumstances, ze name of ze school must be confidential.” Valois looked grimly at headmaster Dippet.

“And you are still insisting that I let her in my school?” Professor Dippet spoke quite loudly, but was pacified when Dumbledore spoke something in his ears. Dippet took the papers and read through all of them, and then he looked at the girl, who was, until this point, invisible. Both Dippet and Dumbledore fixed their gaze upon the fourteen year old.

“Do you know how to perform standard spells?” Dumbledore asked her, and her dark eyes fearfully looked at her father’s face then at the professor’s face, in shaking voice she replied

“Pardon, mais je ne comprend pas…” (I am sorry but I do not understand anything) and she was more scared when professor Dippet looked displeased, “Professeur, je suis désolé pour mon incapacité a parler Anglais, je promets…” (Sir, I am sorry for my incapacity of speaking English, I promise...)* she sounded positively panicked, “d’essayer plus fort--”* (I will try my best)

“It’s okay Maxine... Ca va... Est-que ce tu savais a effectuer les sorts standard?” (do you know how to perform standard spells?) Dumbledore asked kindly, and her fearful eyes glowed with hope. She went up and attempted to perform a spell, but she could not do anything except sparks and smoke.

“It’s no good…” she heard Dippet utter, “she is just another--”

“No Professeur… j’essayer encore… une chance… sil vous plait” (No sir, I will try again, one chance... please) she waved her wand desperately again and again but nothing happened.

“Miss Valois... relax...” Dumbledore called out “respirez...” (breathe)

She breathed and closed her eyes, letting her surroundings vanish. Slowly she raised her wand and conjured a paper out of the thin air. She manoeuvred the paper to fold on itself into a bird which increased its size each time it flapped its wing and gave a final dive into the teacher’s table where it vaporised with a small ‘poof’. Dippet was judging the child by her father, and now he looked impressed for her talent.

“Very good…” came Dippet’s verdict while Maxine huffed a little sigh of relief.

“Peux-tu me montre… un sort pour transfiguration avancé?” (can you show me an advance transfiguration spell ?) Dumbledore asked her and within a moment Maxine transformed the jade paperweight on the table into a black iguana which jumped from the table and slithered across the room, startling all three men in the room.

“Bah… j’essayair un dragon” (I was aiming for a Dragon), Maxine mused but she knew with their expression that she is as good as in. Her years in L’estate Valois made her good in reading men.

Maxine smiled at her little memory of entrance exam. She remembered when professor Dippet finally agreed to bring out the sorting hat and place it on Maxine’s head. Dumbledore kindly informed her about all the formalities of the school. But that’s not the most kindest or memorable about the first day; the strangest thing started when that frayed battered hat was placed upon her head.

“Ah… how very interesting” the hat whispered in her mind, “courageous and timid, loyal and detached and an inquisitive mind… what to do with you?” the hat as if whispered into her inner psyche, like some cumbersome thought bugging one in the dead of the night.

“C’est étrange… Vous parlez ?” (How strange… you talk?) Maxine’s mind relayed this at an instant. In the reply of the child, a faint coarse laugh echoed in the hollow of her brain, “Oui, petit fille, et je peux regarder dans votre espirit” (yes little girl, and I can see into your mind)

“Tu crois que tu peux me comprendre?” (you think you can understand me?) Maxine thought, “un petit chapeau comme toi?” (a little hat like you?)

“Défiance, c’est vrai?” (Defiance, is it?) The hat whispered “mais ma petit fille, est-que ce vous savez quand j’ai possède un abélite extraordinaire ce qui rend vous petit esprit claire comme du verre pour moi ?” (But do you know little girl that I possess an extraordinary ability that renders your little mind as clear as glass to me?) the hat haughtily answered her back and paused, and in a assuring and firm tone spoke “laissez moi démêler ton âme Maxine Valois… laissez moi te guider a la sublime.” (let me uncover your mind Maxine Valois... let me guide you to the sublime.)

“Comme ca?” (how so?)

“Even in the least confident child lies innate capability that, if harnessed correctly, it transforms them into someone extraordinary.” The sorting hat sermonised “and I am here, at the threshold to the doorway to greatness, only to make that choice easier.”

“Je comprend tout… mais c’est Anglais!” (I understand everything... but it’s English) Maxine thought.

“Yes… now let’s look at you again. Ah, such curious mind you have… what a complex concept you have on good and evil, respect and retaliation, rage and calm. An old fear that have caged you long since, but what is that that lurks inside? A bird or a monster...?”

“So you are nothing but a rusty old hat, who cannot even decide where to put me...” Maxine thought sarcastically, and then within her head the voice echoed “You possess contempt for the world because it fails to understand you, but do you understand yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“And that is the reason you crave greatness to conquer them all and knowledge to conquer yourself” the hat asserted, “and both sides weigh equally. So if you have to choose one of them, which one would it be?”

“Knowledge” Maxine answered in her mind “you can achieve greatness without knowledge, but it will not be for long, someone will eventually defeat you. However, if one has knowledge, greatness is a matter of time.”

“A heart fit for a Slytherin…” the sorting hat said aloud. However in that finality of note, lingered another statement, in which’s anticipation made Maxine lose her patience for every passing fractions of seconds. She knows what she was getting into, another place where status and family meant all. At the same time seeing her father’s eyes glinted with pride; she didn’t had the heart to disappoint him. She saw Dumbledore and Dippet watching her closely, and instantly she knew none of the conversation was heard by them. It must have been quite long because they looked at her way as if they were waiting for long anticipated news.

“But the spirit soars with Eagle wings…” the sorting hat concluded, and announced the verdict “I place her in Ravenclaw.”

Her life in Hogwarts wasn’t normal at all. She struggled a lot with the languages, got a lot of detentions and eventually she became more reckless and desperate with the faculty and the students. She hadn’t any friends, even within her houses. People would either whisper “go back to your country” or openly call her ‘Quin’ or some other adorable slurs. The faculty couldn’t do anything to her because of her grades, but she could tell that they didn’t like that she was the topper, there was some disapproval in their eyes... for which she caused it, she didn’t know.

Another thing which made her more of a target for bullying and censor. She was frequently visited by ministry officials, for what she didn’t know. They always asked the same questions: who was she? how was her family? where she came from? and the answers were always the same exasperated replies. She didn’t even remembered their face at this point, but they looked at her in a way that made her feel like she was being pitied. And she didn’t like that-- after all, why should she, she was from the Noble Family of Valois, one of the oldest and richest French Purebloods. She should not be pitied, she should be a subject of jealousy.

Hogwarts, as she remembered, was a prison to her. The hardest part of this experience was the inability to express her opinion. After all, who would believe her? Hogwarts was the best Wizarding school in the whole world.

Therefore she sought her escape in the Dark Forest, away from the maddening crowd, far from the scorns and judgement, into the musty scent and under the shades of the green canopy, with the dryads and wood-fairies, bowtruckles and the nightingales... flying all across the vast forest, harmonising with the Merpeople into a green horizon of peace. The silent ones don’t judge and discriminate, they love unconditionally, give unconditionally and that was the only thing that pacified her in the whole world. That same peace, she found with Newt Scamander. Only with Newt she found a place where she can belong--without and family name or money, or grades. Just as herself.

The cigarette ash suspended on its dying ember. Maxine tipped it off and blew out the candle.

Many miles underground, inside a dark office, scratching of quills over papers could still be heard. Theseus Scamander was still working on the leads of Grindlewald. His well combed waves were astray, and he was on his fifth coffee in the past three hours. The towers of documents, immigration papers, and status profile and employment details were taking a physical toll on him as well as mental. All his employees left after sunset, as per standard rules, but not him. He could not bear to go home and eat, and sleep and let the memory of Pere Lachaise haunt him. He had to find a way to avenge Leta—

Thud.

“For Merlin’s sake Max, stop generating more work and just go home...” Theseus screamed while scribbling and when he looked up to see the scattered piles of paper, he saw no one there. Feeling stupid on his antics and thanking that he was alone, he tried to refocus. However, he couldn’t. He put down his quill and tried to reach for his coffee. It spilled all over his papers.

“This evening could not get any worse... tergeo” with another wave of wand he put away all his papers, took his bag, opened the door and locked it, determined to go home and take some rest. Now he regretted his frequency of consuming coffee which will make him stay wide awake.

At the same time, he was made terribly aware of himself and the silence and utter solitude around him. Each step he took magnified and came to his ears like some demented dying heartbeat. As if he was alone in the world, the only human cursed to walk in his wretched world that had stripped away everything from him. The slopey rails took him further and further down to the landing, now gleaming darkly as the dying lights slowly tossed themselves against the black marbles. The golden bars of the lift glowed dimly with the pallor of dead bones, which in fact surprised him. He always thought them beautiful, but now they did not.

He walked towards the right hand side corridor, towards the Department of Mysteries. It looks like it was one floor down from the Auror Office, but it was not. The illusive architecture always amazed him and always amused Maxine; she called the illusion of the floor ‘like a screw’, winding upwards and winding downwards at the same time.

He smiled on his own, as he trotted through the dark corridor, doors after doors passing like some avoided and neglected people on a depraved street. Then at one point he stopped, he stopped at the Door of Archives, where from the inception of the Ministry, every person is documented and kept behind the locked doors. On the opposite was the interrogation room; where convicts are brought for questioning, and curiously enough, interviews took place. The first time Theseus entered those doors after entering the ministry, was as one of the directors in the Interview board. After a boring set of interviews, entered a willowy and pale woman, whose sharp black eyes and slit smile announced that she was no ordinary woman

“Tell us about yourself...” Travers asked her and Theseus was noting everything down on his clipboard, mainly about her body language.

‘Tall, attractive, very French... ’

‘I am Maxine Valois, I graduated Hogwarts in the summer of 1912, and I grant myself proficient in all the qualities you require for an Auror.’

‘Late-comer, desperate, trying to conceal insecurities with confident voice’

“Excellent... now, if your testimony is correct and so is your records, you’ve been graduated about eleven years ago.” Travers asked, “May I ask why you delayed yourself from reaching out?”

“With all respect sir, I said I graduated Hogwarts at the summer of 1912, that doesn’t conclude that I have pulled a curtain upon my studies, now does it?” said she with amusement “I was out and about around the world, studying and researching, and when my inheritance of some few thousand galleons were at exhaustion I decided that it was an end for my academic pursuits.”

Theseus scratched out the last sentence and scribbled ‘Possibly formidable candidate, intelligent, little on the over-confident side, has a way with words, less likely to follow authorities,’

“What kind of studies were you pursuing...?” Travers asked with curiosity and a sense of annoyance that sounded to Theseus’ ears as a mockery.

“I am not really obliged to disclose that here because I have sworn secrecy with the institutions about the lessons I received...” said Maxine.

Theseus scribbled ‘Emphasis on arrogant, likely to fail for angering Travers.’

“Why is that?”

“I have paid visits most of the Wizarding schools in the world, you can ask them individually if you want. Nothing shall escape my lips”

‘Bordering on insufferable,’

“Thank you Miss Valois you shall be called--”

“You cannot cast me out like this.” Maxine said calmly and Theseus looked up from his paper to look at her face. The level of audacity was just too unimaginable for him and later he understood that he was on the same page with everyone about this interviewee. There was no sign of fear, arrogance or sneer on her face. The calm demeanour signified that she knew what she was talking about and it made Theseus look straight across her face, but only for so long. There was a dazzling sharpness in those angled black eyes that made the beholder lower their sight after a few moments.

“Why do you think that we do not have that kind of power” said Travers, laughing “because we at this side of the table have every power to cast you out as you like.”

“This Award of Golden Robe and of Five Seals goes to Miss Maxine Valois, By Japanese Wizarding Congress. She is hereby awarded an honorary member of Society of Eurasian Magical Corporation and is hereby granted a full permission to take citizenship and work on Japanese soil”*

The men could not speak for some times, and then suddenly Travers looked at her “that is indeed an impressive feat. To be able to acquire such a position in an ultra-homogeneous community” Said he and started to counsel amongst his fellow board members. After some painful minutes and questioning stares the verdict was passed.

“And we will be glad to have you here on the British Ministry.”

“Thank you sir... I am most delighted” Maxine stood up and shook his hands.

After all the interviews, when the selections were being done, there was a time when Maxine’s names was announced. Theseus was astound at the frivolity of the minds of men in power; those openly displayed disapproval were now fighting over that single girl who had outwitted them. He remembered how the interview board turned into the fights of Juries in Wizengamot. He quietly observed how the Head Aurors practically jumped on each other. Not even Theseus knew what was going to happen in the next moment.

“Sirs...“ boomed Theseus, standing up, “with all due respect, I think your fight is nothing more than redundant.“

“What is the meaning of this Mr. Scamander?“ Damon Yaxley roared, “just because you have won the war, doesn’t make you decider of our fates...“

“Why would I try to decide your fates Sirs, I am an Auror... I destroy my enemies, like you all.“ and with him all the interview board started to laugh with him “all I am asking that I should have that Franco-English girl as my intern and subordinate.“

“Sorry m’boy, but I think you are a little too young to decide to that“ answered Archturius Black, and Theseus replied, suppressing the heated insult “and you Mr. Black, is too old for that.“ and the board laughed again

“Sirs... not only my department is short stuffed and suffering, but also compromised most aurors in the field than yours. I am only asking a fair recruit. Besides, don’t I deserve that for winning the war?“ Theseus smiled and sat down, because he knew the game was his when no one spoke against him anymore. He too was surprised of himself... he never thought he would be this desperate.

Theseus smiled at that memory and for a good reason. It was the pivotal step of their relationship, he as the boss and she as the intern. And soon from fetching papers and carrying out notices, that belated intern became an inseparable member of Theseus’ team. Soon Travers started ordering Theseus to take her into important missions, carrying out espionages and surveillance jobs, and her promotion rate was going upwards so steeply that she was soon the Assistant General on Theseus’ team, working alongside him in the same office. Of course he never told her what he did to the entire Law Enforcement team to get her. The Scamander-Valois team was unbeatable, until that time...

It was almost six months ago...

He was preparing for departing to Paris with Leta and his team, Travers had a big row with Maxine as she thought the operation will be a great failure. Terrified more than excited, Theseus was coming out of the archive room after inspecting some papers. After closing the door, he saw Leta in front of him, equally terrified as him and sad.

“Leta... we will be fine” Theseus tried to console her, but she didn’t budge; the thought of dead Corvus Lestrange always plagued her. Theseus took her into his arms, lifted her face and embraced her lips into his. Leta understood that, Theseus always tries to console her at both physical and psychological planes, but sometimes when he finds himself at loss of words, he lets his affections physically manifest and radiates on to others. Each time he connected himself physically with Leta he felt an unknown fulfilment, and Leta allowed him that.

In his moment of satisfaction, his ken picked up another face, gleaming at the dark at the side. He broke his kiss with Leta and looked at the person.

“Max...” he unconsciously wiped his lips and spoke hoarsely and unsteadily. Maxine on the other hand, looked like her usual self; Theseus cleared his voice and said “what you’re doing here?”

“I am sorry to interrupt your meeting but Travers is calling for you...” Maxine informed; and was attempting to leave the place, but Leta stopped her. Her hand reached her high shoulder gently and she waited for Maxine to turn, “Maxine I am sorry that you could not join us.”

“It’s okay...” Maxine asserted before even Leta could finish, “Besides, dictators, social climbers and brainless whiners seems to be the order of day. Someone needs to keep their heads in the right place” Maxine added with her usual twisted smirk, “and um... that dress seems to be a little on the drinking party side than ‘I am visiting my brother’s tomb’ side--”

“Maxine...” Theseus’ voice concealed an alarm in that hushed tone.

“However, who am I to judge, I am not the only French here right?” a cruel smile graced on her lips.

Theseus could take no more, he took a few stepped forwards, “Stop it” he hissed at Maxine, whose expression looked unaffected and almost bored. She turned her face towards Leta, “so bon chance on your failed mission and do let me know how many of you gets compromised--” after a sneer and a wink, she clacked away.

Leta prevented Theseus from chasing her back and shook her head in the indication that Theseus should not speak about this fiasco and cause a ruckus. As Leta left to join Travers, Theseus chased right after Maxine. He could feel the skin under his collar heating up with every step he took. Blood pounded in his ears. As he slammed his office door open, he saw Maxine there, organising papers. She turned towards him as if it was another day in the office, but it only did so to infuriate Theseus even more. He forcefully turned her towards himself and his face, by this time looked like he had murdered someone.

“Why are you like this Maxine, Why?” Theseus bellowed, “Your attitude was beneath you. I can overlook your petty pranks here and there but that... that was unforgivable. You behaved like a mean schoolgirl with her and I am disappointed in you.”

“Beneath me?” Maxine asked unemotionally, “you claim to understand what is beneath or above me? Stop sounding so noble Theseus, you sound like those imbecile chevals.”* She tried to walk off from the conversation by brushing the topic lightly but Theseus wasn’t having any. He again turned out towards her “yes I do.” He said with heat “You behaved improperly today, and not to mention you have hurt Leta beyond the limit. All the ministry employees know that Corvus Lestrange is a forbidden topic--”

“By your orders it is then? Merlin when I came to this place I had to work so much harder despite my academic qualification and she, didn’t even had six months is getting treated like a queen. I wonder how far she went in your--”

“SHE IS MY FIANCEE MISS VALOIS AND YOU WILL DO WELL TO SPEAK WITH HER WITH DECENCY.” Theseus took a few steps back and turned on his heel and walked away. For a brief moment he saw the dazzling black eyes moistened, but he was too proud to stand there.

The memory hit him hard. He stopped at his tracks and leaned on the wall; the same wall where it all started. That incident that never really got resolved even though things got back to normal after the days. Whenever he tried to apologise, Maxine would ignore it or veer the conversation otherwise. Sometimes he thought she leaving Ministry and joining as Newt’s assistant was a big prank on its own; why argue through your job and literally throw it away for animal scutwork?—he will never understand that, and sometimes just thinking about all those mismatching things gave him a headache.

Nothing makes sense anymore these days.

...

‘‘Maîtresse... maîtresse...’ a wheezy voice woke Maxine up in the middle of the night. Rubbing her eyes, she breathed sharply and sat up on her bed. There was still some streetlight left in the street that could permeate through the still and transparent linen curtain.

“What?” Maxine exclaimed angrily and the elf turned on the bedside lamp, “it’s two thirty in the morning, I told you unless someone is dying on my doorsteps do not disturb--”

“It is a man maitresse… ” Lampito answered fearfully, “he introduced himself as Scamander… he is asking for you maitresse, and he is not well.”

Maxine’s face hardened and a trace of worry in her sleepy eyes appeared like a thin curtain “Barbe de Mer…” she almost jumped out of the bed, throwing herself only her blush colored dressing-gown. The time she entered her sitting room, she saw a tall brunet man in tweed suit lolling on her chaise with his face down towards the floor. His hand lolled at one side and it seemed like all the blood in his body was drained. Maxine rushed towards her chaise and straightened him to see his face.

“Theseus--” she whispered, but it was unlike anything she ever known that barely resembled ‘Theseus Scamander’. His face was red and lulled to a drunken stupor. Traces of vomit crusted around his lips and jaw, and some even soiled his shoulder. Maxine covered her nose and pointed the wand to siphon the dirt of his body and face, and indignantly looked at her chaise, if something has been dirtied or not.

“This chaise cost me six hundred galleons… direct from Provence too…” Maxine exasperated, “I wonder what gotten into him to do this. Lampito…” she turned to the elf “go make Monsieur Scamander some tall espresso and fetch all the sausages and eggs we have. For now, get me a glass of milk. Levicorpus…” Maxine lifted Theseus up on air and kicked off the door of her study, to prop him on the fainting couch; no way will she let a drunken man into her bedroom.

She laid him on his side first, loosened his shoes, necktie and got rid of the blazer and the waistcoat. She gave them all to the elf and ordered them to wash it. With all the changes of position and possible rise of discomfort, Theseus started to groan as a response of being moved.

“Okay you schmuck…” Maxine propped his head as gently as possible. It was a strenuous job to lay him comfortably on the cushion because not only he was a foot taller and weighed at least 40 pounds more than Maxine, but he was also an exceptionally difficult person in his intoxicated self. Maxine tried hard to hold the head close but not too close to her chest, the fluttering of her neckline due to Theseus’ groaning and breathing was unnerving already. After an agonizing struggle when she finally managed to lay his head on the pillow, he jolted up and another wave of projectile vomit ensued, spewing everywhere.

As much as Maxine wanted to scream at Theseus and bash his skull in the walls for ruining her Victorian couch and Chinese watersilk, she felt an uncommon pity towards him that she never knew before. Siphoning every speck of sick, she knelt beside him as he groaned feverishly. His dry, puce lips mumbled something so low that Maxine had to bring her ears to his lips to listen.

“Forgive me…. Leta… I couldn’t save you… I am sorry… so sorry”

“Oh you fool…” Maxine whispered to herself, “stop blaming yourself for her death… it wasn’t your fault” her small voice shook, “you cannot carry the whole burden of the world… stop being such an imbecile Cheval… ” Maxine put her hand on his forehead reluctantly after contemplating against doing it, and stroked him gently and surely. She felt terrible seeing someone who had always been superior to her broken into pieces like this. Not even in her worst nightmare she would have imagined that Theseus would do something like this. Even the day when she quit, he seemed fine and alright. Personally she blamed herself a little for this state of Theseus; after all she was the Vice Head of his team, working alongside him day and night. She could have understood it—but she failed.

People say it’s the woman who are difficult to get a read on, but what about men like him, who suppress their emotions to such a point that it breaks them from within?

“please don’t leave me… pleas--”

“Maitresse…” Maxine startled into life and looked at the back, Lampito was standing with a glass of milk, “you wanted it for Monsieur Scamander”

Maxine stood up hastily, rearranging her robe a little, “feed him, and check on him every hour…” she walked towards the door.

“Maitresse, are you alright?” Lampito asked in a puzzled voice.“Yes…” she turned towards the elf and smiled with a small manner, “I am just tired.”

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

In this chapter I wanted to explore a bit with the dynamics of Maxine and Theseus. They were former colleagues and I have hinted that things weren’t entirely platonic. From whose side it was more, I will leave it to you. At this point you can see, Maxine has totally different dynamics with Newt and Theseus.

The French subtitles were getting cumbersome, so I added the translation right there. But some words here and there are added in the footnote.

Baroque: I have mentioned that quite often. Baroque is a style of architecture, music, and fashion that is emotional, overtly religious and ornamental. It was famous form late 17th to late 18th century. This is also the period when French Aristocracy died (French Revolution : 1789), so I thought that an old French Pureblood family, such as the Valois will try to hold onto that ‘good old days’. Here is an example how ‘Baroque’ looks like:

Signet Ring: a family jewel worn as a ring on the little finger by European aristocratic males (the eldest son, the Paterfamilias). It usually bears the Family crest, and passed down generation after generation. Here is the sample Baroque signet ring worn by the Last French Monarch, Louis XVI, crested with Fleur de Lis

Valois: French for “From the Valley”, it was a very famous Aristocratic house in France, and for several centuries, they assumed the French Throne.

Quin: a Slang for Vagina

Maitresse: French for “Mistress”

Barbe de Mer: French for “Merlin’s beard”, however, Maxine shortens Merlin into “Mer”, French for the sea, also signifying “Beard of the Sea” or tumultuous waves.

Fainting couch : a couch in the Victorian household where women who were sick, fainting or both used to lay down.

Cheval: french for “horse”, metaphorically signifying Cheveliers (knights).

#fbawtft #crimes of grindelwald #theseus x oc #theseus x reader #theseus scamander x oc #theseus scamander x reader #newt x oc #newt scamander x oc #newt x reader #newt scamander x reader #drunk!Theseus #drunken confession #flashbacks #angst #the one that got away #ex girlfriend

45 notes · View notes