It was Newt Scamander's habit to wake up at dawn. It had also become his habit to reach out for his wife if he woke up without her in his arms.

But when his hand touched her side of the bed, all he felt was the cold fabric of the comforter.

For a minute, he lay still, his eyes still shut and his jaw clenched, listening to the distant sound of the waves from the nearby Dorset coast. His heart always broke each morning he woke up without her by his side. He understood why this was, of course. She was an auror, on a mission abroad, along with his brother. They had been gone for five months, but it felt like five years.

What made things worse is that they should have returned home two weeks ago. All that Travers (that prick) would tell him was that they were both fine but the mission was taking more time than they'd initially thought. Newt didn't even know what country they were in, just that it was somewhere in Northern Africa. Grindelwald's followers were growing in Egypt, so the Prophet had mentioned, so perhaps they were there…

Cursing under his breath, Newt sat up in bed and ran his hands through his haystack of copper hair. He'd known that Tina leaving would be an occupational hazard when they had come together years ago. Especially now, with the wizarding world at war and the muggle world seconds away from it.

Never would he dream of asking Tina to give up her work; it was part of who she was, and she could never not fight for a better world. But that didn't mean that missing her didn't hurt like hell. For him and for their babies.

Finally, Newt forced himself out of bed and he walked to the desk in the corner. When his wife was home, it was where she would catch up on paperwork. When she was gone, it was where he wrote his daily letter to her. Unfortunately, some missions forbade correspondence because it would give away too much. This was one such mission. But Newt still wrote to her, even though he didn't send the letters. He kept them for her to read when she came home. This had been her idea; she had wanted to know everything that happened while she was gone, with their creatures, children, and him. Newt would keep his promise. It also helped him, to be able to speak her in this limited way. Some days, when he missed her the most, he felt it kept him sane.

So, he pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, dipped his quill into his inkpot, and began to write.

The 24th of February

Newt blinked. Looking at the date, he realized its significance. He then continued writing.

My dearest love,

I had completely forgotten about my birthday. It's no wonder, though, since you are not here to remind me. Perhaps Phoebe will when she wakes up; Philip, of course, is too young to know. I will not make a big deal of the day, though. You know what I would wish for, though.

Oh, Tina, where did you go? When are you coming home? The only rope that Travers will throw is that both you and Theseus are well. I am clinging onto that for dear life. Each night, Philip asks for you to sing him to sleep, and Phoebe tries to comfort me by saying she misses you too. She is truly your daughter: nurturing and loving. I don't know what you told her before you left, but she watches over her little brother like a hawk. It is so heart-warming to see.

A sound from the kitchen – some kind of clattering – made Newt pause, his quill above the parchment. Then, he heard another sound: a whimpering cry. Immediately, he dropped his quill and sprang up from his seat. His feet carried him out of his bedroom. As he walked to the kitchen, his ears caught a new sound joining the whimpering: a familiar, high-bell voice trying to soothe and calm.

When he opened the kitchen door, his heart overflowed. Seven-year-old Phoebe was climbing off a chair that she had pushed to the counter to try and comfort two-year-old Philip, who had just dropped a bowl full of what looked like flour and milk. Both were in their pajamas, and each had a severe case of bed-head.

Biting back a smile, Newt cleared his throat dramatically. When both children looked at him in surprise, his heart overflowed more. Both had inherited Tina's beautiful salamander eyes.

Philip, who had tears in his eyes, let them fall as he guiltily cried, "Papa!"

Newt immediately got down on his knees and opened his arms to his son with a smile. The two-year-old rushed into them, while Phoebe stood clenching her hands nervously.

"Good morning," said Newt cheerfully, wiping the tears and flour from his son's cheeks. After kissing his head in reassurance, he looked at his daughter and asked, "What do we have here?"

"We…we wanted to make you pancakes," mumbled Phoebe, only peeking at him through her lashes (the same way that he did when he was uncomfortable). "For your birthday."

Now his heart was practically bursting. He held out an arm to Phoebe, and she gladly joined her brother in the hug. He kissed her cheek and said, "While I greatly appreciate the thought, I think you two may need some help for all of us to enjoy them. All right?"

One tawny head of curls and one dark head of fluffy locks nodded in earnest, their mother's eyes shining. His body warmed with the knowledge that, at least through their babies, Tina was here with him.

"So, Phoebe, please move the chair back to the table while I clean this up."

Phoebe did as she was told, and Newt pulled out his wand to clean up the mess on the floor.

"That was delicious, Uncle Jacob!" said Phoebe, trying to scrape up the very last bits of icing from her plate with her fork.

"Thank you, m'lady," said Jacob with a little bow, making Phoebe giggle.

He then looked at Philip in his booster seat. He was eating his cake very enthusiastically with his hands, his face covered in chocolate icing. Jacob laughed and ruffled his hair. "Looks like you agree, little man."

Newt smiled watching Jacob interact with his niece and nephew, for that is what they had always been to him. Though they had lost Queenie in Rio some years ago (she had died saving their lives from Grindelwald), Jacob had always been a part of their family, as much a sibling to the Scamanders as Theseus and Queenie were. Their son's name was proof enough of that: Philip Jacob Scamander.

"I've always known my children were intelligent," said Newt. "And I agree with them. With that said, I'm having another piece."

"The right of the birthday boy," said Jacob, laughing.

Suddenly, the room darkened, and everybody went quiet. But before anybody could get scared, the kitchen was filled with a beautiful silver light by the back door. That light soon split in two, and each then became a corporeal form. Standing before the four people at the kitchen table were two patronuses – one a wolf, one a horse.

The wolf spoke: "Happy birthday, little brother."

"Uncle Theseus!" exclaimed Phoebe, her fork dropping to the floor.

The horse spoke: "May we come inside?"

"Mama!" exclaimed Philip.

Soon, everybody was rushing to the door, and the two returning aurors – exhausted but intact – were enveloped in warm hugs and chocolate-frosting kisses.

Newt was the last to greet them, so overwhelmed with surprise and emotion that he could barely move. Only when his brother gave him a tight hug did he believe that this was real, and only when his wife kissed him did he let himself cry with joy.

The remainder of Newt's birthday was a powerful haze of joy for him. After every slice of the birthday cake had been eaten, the Scamander family had spent the rest of the evening with the menagerie of creatures that Newt kept in the basement of their home. Their mother, father, and two uncles put the children to bed, and then Theseus and Jacob had left for their own homes close by. Not a moment had passed after the bedroom door closed behind Mr. and Mrs. Scamander that they were locked in a passionate embrace; they had some lost time to make up for, after all.

Hours later, Newt woke up and he didn't know why. When he reached for his wife and felt the warm comforter, he knew why. Rubbing his eyes, Newt sat up and saw Tina across the room. She was as naked as he was, sitting at the desk where a single candle was burning. She was bent over what looked like the letters that he had been writing her. When he saw her wipe a tear from her cheek, he broke his silence.

"Tina," he said softly, reaching out to her. Tina looked at him, smiled a little smile, and put the letter back on the desk before blowing out the candle.

He laid back down as he listened to Tina get up and walk back to bed. When he felt her slide underneath the blankets and lay down beside him, he immediately reached for her. When he felt her face press against his neck after she was in his arms, he felt the tears still falling from her eyes.

"I've missed you all so much," she breathed. "I'm sorry that we couldn't come home sooner…"

Newt was crying, too. His fingers traced the fresh scar on Tina's upper back, the remnants of a nasty spell she'd been hit with on this last mission. "You're home, Tina," he said firmly. "Both you and Theseus, you came home. That is all that matters."

Tina sniffed, kissed his neck, and held him tighter. "And I don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon. The minister told our team that, because this last mission was a long but successful one, he would make sure we stayed home for the rest of the year at least because we deserved it."

"Thank Merlin," breathed Newt, lifting her chin so that he could kiss her. Soon, the fire between them grew and he had rolled her beneath him. "This is all I could have wished for today, love."

Tina breathed a laugh against his lips. "Happy birthday, Newt."