AN: For the Quidditch Fanfiction League. Prompt: Write a character who appreciates the small things.
Wordcount: 1,042
It's the small things that make Rolf Scamander happy. Seeing Mauler, his gran's favorite pet Kneazle and hearing how the black tabby Kneazle purred and purred as soon as Rolf stepped foot on the property in Dorset. His gran's smile as she reaches into her faded gray robes— still bearing scorch marks from her Auror days, never mind that is has been twenty years since she hung up the black leather and retired for Britain— as she gives him challah shaped like the Swooping Evil that she says once saved her life. The twinkle in his grandfather's eye as he beckons Rolf to follow him into the rooms below the house, where a preserve of magical creatures awaits.
All small tokens of the people who loved him before he was born, and love him still.
He'd enjoyed every summer holiday here, since his parents were busy with their own careers as magizoologists— it wasn't that they ever meant to leave him with his grandparents all of the time, but the dragons needed saving and despite muggle fantasy novels' claims to the contrary, little boy wizards are not much help with saving them.
The arrangement was preferable to everyone. Little flashes and moments stuck out in Rolf's mind when he daydreamed of returning to the cottage in Dorset while in Potions with Professor Snape, or History of Magic with Binns.
The pink cookbook where his late Great-Aunt Queenie kept all of her secrets, and Jacob's as well, regarding their bakery, their dream. Gran Tina would cry over it as she bustled about in the kitchen, trying to recreate the confections, thinking of their lost creators.
The Hufflepuff banner Grandpa Newt made the second he received the letter that Rolf made the familial House, hanging in his room— his one at his parents' house was long empty, and more of a stranger to him.
The Niffler that he named Einstein for his gray fur that stuck out everywhere. Rolf had imprinted on Einstein ever since the baby Niffler was born, and followed him around like a rather well-trained dog. He would even pine when Rolf returned to Hogwarts, huddling in the sweaters he'd left behind.
These little moments— they all made up the reasons that Rolf was nervous tonight. He adjusted his dress robes. Luna. . . It was getting serious with Luna. After mistletoe at the Christmas Party for the Office of Magizoology, he realized he was most likely hopelessly in love with her. It was best that she meet Newt and Tina sooner rather than later.
Rolf had met Xenophilius a long time ago, when he first started picking Luna up for dates. He was well-liked by Xenophilius— although Rolf couldn't quite forget that the man had sold out others in the Rebellion, including Potter, which made it hard for him to like the old man— and since Pandora Lovegood was dead and her family, the Blacks, were extant, there was no one else to please.
But for Luna, it was the reverse. She had many to please. But Rolf only wanted two people in his family to like her— his grandparents.
He grinned, showing off the dimples against his freckled olive skin. They would. It was Grandpa Newt that taught him to like the little things about all of the magical creatures, to read their little love languages and celebrate their quirks.
Surely, the people who taught them that would love Luna.
For Rolf, it was the little thing that made him love her. The way they drifted into each other's gravity, the little horse-radish earrings the wore, the way she always smiled a little bit more brightly when they spoke.
He glanced outside the window. It was raining. Perfect. Luna and his gran alike loved the rain. He checked the watch that Grandpa Newt claimed belong to his Great-Uncle Theseus, the war hero. It was just about time for dinner.
He closed his eyes, breathed in. There would be plenty to celebrate, lots of little things to come.
It would be the endless rainbow ruffles of her wedding dress, the spirals of her unicorn-horn tiara. It would be the look in her eyes when she would tell him what ancient charm she was making, for they were going to have twins, Rolf. Twin boys.
It would be the nargle-repellent that they sprayed over their own little cottage that belonged to them— just them.
Rolf exhaled as he opened them. It would be alright. His grandparents weren't one to easily disapprove. He'd heard their stories about how they were once misfits, saving the world from the forces of Grindelwald. They were the last people to underestimate the importance and goodness of a witch like Luna in the family.
His fears were completely unnecessary. He would come to treasure the small things. The way Luna's hair got even frizzier and looked near mouse-brown in the rain outside of St. Ottery on the Catchpole. How his grandparents had scrounged up their favorite old dress robes for the occasion— his grandmother wearing her old leather ones that had been a hit at the Auror Office parties, back when she was young and single— his grandfather wearing a rather hideous set of Hufflepuff yellow ones, and how they seemed so proud of themselves.
The sound of Mauler, how he purred and padded up to Luna and began meowing conversationally, Luna meowing right back, trying to speak to the creature in his own language. The way all of the creatures crowded around her, as if she were some sort of fairy creature— just as entranced with her as Rolf was.
The taste of the shepherd's pie that Gran Tina burned, but it was a specialty, a family recipe. The nice dinner napkins, the ones that Tina and Newt bought when they were first married, a struggling couple with one-half being Jewish during World War II, stuck between two wars.
The way they all decided to dance in the rain afterwards, enjoying the feeling of water in fine clothes— and wasn't it grand?
That was what Rolf thought when he laid eyes on Tina and Newt dancing together in the rain, and Luna twirling about with her arms outstretched, trying ot take it all in.
Wasn't it grand?