Sobs @funkzpiel I suck so bad at math and didn’t know today is your birthday! I’m so sorry!!! But for your present, lemme pull out my third (but not final) story for you. I give you: the granddads. Happy birthday you amazing, wonderful, lovely person. You’re one of the best people I’ve met since joining Tumblr, and I am so blessed to have met you!
It’s a quiet day when a young man with dark brown hair and freckles dusted across his cheeks walks down the path to a cabin sequestered within the woods. There’s a dusty backpack that has seen better days on his shoulders, and his hands are holding a notebook with various pages sticking out haphazardly sticking out. There’s a spring in his step and a cheery tune escaping his lips as he treads along the familiar path. The path continues on for a little while more, before the trees clear to reveal a quaint little cabin perched near a merrily running river. There’s smoke spiraling gently out of the chimney, and if he squints hard enough, he can see the orange fur of a Kneazle stretching languidly on the green grass, basking under the warm sun. The young man breathes in deeply, the scent of hay and water and delicious cooking filling his senses. Adjusting the straps of his backpack, he approaches the cabin, and with a slight turn of a groaning doorknob, enters the home of his grandparents.
As usual, there are several shoes strewn haphazardly along the doorway, the soles dirtied with mud and grass. There are other shoes neatly lined on the shoe rack, and the young man can easily tell which shoes belong to which grandparent. Someone shuffles into view as he’s hanging up his dusty coat, and an older, but still lanky Newton Scamander, famed Magizoologist, stares in befuddlement at him. The young man, Rolf, grins lopsidedly at his grandfather and holds his hands out for an equally wizened Demiguise who lopes over to him and clutch at his neck, gentle as he ever was since Rolf was but a babe. Crooning a fond hello to Dougal, who chatters something in his ear, Rolf waves at Newt, “Hello Gramps, did you forget I was arriving today?”
Newt, bright red hair now a muted white, blinks and reaches out to embrace his grandson, still confused. “Wait, today’s…today?” Without waiting for a reply, he calls out to the kitchen, “Percy! Did you know today is today? Rolf is here!” Said man rolls his eyes affectionately, holding Grampy Newt in one arm and Dougal in the other. Sounds of clanging pots float from the kitchen, and Rolf’s other grandfather, the Percival Graves, former Director of Magical Security and love of one Newt Scamander’s life, strides out. Rolf notes with some amusement and awe, that despite the delicate apron around Grampy Percy’s waist, and the glasses perched dangerously on his nose, the man has yet to lose an ounce of dignity and authority that made him the much feared and respected Auror in his youth. Percival’s eyes light up and he moves nearer to hug Rolf and sneak a kiss onto his husband’s cheek.
“Rolf! We weren’t expecting you so soon today! I was just making your favourite dishes, so pardon the mess. How did you find Asia?” The younger man chuckles, and gently depositing Dougal onto the floor, ushers his grandparents back into the kitchen, where the mouth-watering scent of Grampy Percy’s cooking is reminding him of his rather empty stomach. “Asia was lovely Gramps, a bit hot, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The rainforests of Borneo were absolutely fantastic; I’ll have to bring you both someday. You’d love it, Grampy Newt.” Percival smiles fondly at their grandson, who’s very nearly an exact replica of Newt and who’s followed in his footsteps as a magizoologist. The boy had decided to visit Asia for an entire year, and while his parents were concerned because as intelligent Rolf is, he takes after Newt in being rather absent-minded. Percival had his own concerns over Rolf’s safety, but seeing his grandson blabber on excitedly about his wonderful experiences and Newt chiming in about any new discoveries, Percival cannot help but smile indulgently at his two boys, responding with appropriate hmms and ahhs whilst stirring at the delicious smelling soup. The smell of spices attract Rolf, who sidles up to him and begs, with wide hazel eyes, for a taste of Percival’s signature turnip soup. He’s joined by Newt, and with two pairs of hazel eyes staring pleadingly at Percival for a sip, the man stands no chance. Rolling his eyes heavenward, Percival ladles out two small bowls for Newt and Rolf, who slurp loudly at the soup and proceed to heap praises of how exquisite Percival’s cooking is, and what a kind, loving man he is. Eventually, the former Auror shoos them both out of the kitchen, knowing that Rolf is itching to visit Newt’s suitcase and his beloved creatures. A low chittering to his right alerts Percival to Dougal’s presence, who perches on the kitchen top and stares at him curiously, no doubt entranced by the smell of his cooking. Having a soft spot for the elderly creature, Percival slips some fruit to Dougal, who nods sagely in appreciation. The two keep each other company, with occasional chittering and grunts from Dougal, and mumblings from Percival as he cooks the various dishes both Newt and Rolf love.
It’s dinner time when Newt and Rolf emerge from the former’s suitcase, with a baby mooncalf cradled in the latter’s arms. The little creature bleats happily as it nestles deeper into Rolf, and while it’s quite really the most adorable thing Rolf has ever seen, it weighs a bloody ton, and it’s not even fully grown. The two men settle at the dining table, the mooncalf still in Rolf’s arms, and when Percival turns from the stove, his lips are pursed. “Rolf, for the love of Merlin, I told you no creatures at the table!” There’s a blast of offended screeching from somewhere near Percival’s feet, and he reaches down to placate the irate Dougal and help him up one of the chairs. “Except for you, of course, Dougal.” He opens his mouth to continue his lecture, one Rolf is very much acquainted with, when Newt shushes him with one long finger across his lips and a tenderly vexed look on his face, and just like that, Percival forgets anything he has to say, and there’s a brief silence where both elderly wizards, with wrinkles at the corner of their eyes and mouth and face, and who have had decades of marriage, partnership and friendship between them, just stand and smile at one another. For a moment, Rolf can see the ghosts of their younger selves standing there, hair unmarred by white and skin untouched by wrinkles, bodies strong and upright and not stooped, and he wonders at the gift of love his grandparents have, and if he should be lucky enough to love someone as strongly as Percival Graves and Newt Scamander love one another.
A slight snuffle from Dougal breaks the spell, and Percival clears his throat as he orders his husband back to the table, levitating the remainder of dishes on the table and Rolf hides a grin behind the glass of water he’s drinking, because Grampy Percy is blushing, and only Grampy Newt can make him blush. Dinner goes by uneventfully, without any creatures escaping the confines of the suitcase, or any owl dropping by with requests asking for Percival or Newt’s advice. One of the reasons they moved out within the forest, Percival tells his grandson with a grimace, is that they were being flooded with owls, many of which were upset that there were other creatures stealing their owl treats. It turns out that owl shit is really difficult to clean out of everything, and Percival moved them to a cabin that belonged to the Graves family which was on an Unplottable piece of land, meaning no owl shit and more peace.
It’s not to say that dinner is boring, far from it. Rolf’s favourite thing about visiting his grandparents is how there is never a shortage of entertaining stories, be it Newt making new discoveries at the ripe age of 90, or Percival griping (in jest, of course) to his grandson about how he has to run after Newt to make sure nothing eats him, or just seeing the two being ever in love. It’s a wonder, he tells the elderly wizards, how they’re still so in love with each other despite being together for so long, and asks the secret to their love. He promptly regrets asking the question when Newt, mischief dancing in his bright eyes, gives him the most serious look ever, and says, “Experiment in the bedroom.” “Your Grampy Newt likes handcuffs.” “Sure, say it like you don’t enjoy it.” “Gramps!” “Sorry Rolf.” “We can recommend some of the toys we use, if you like.” “Stop it Percy, look he’s passed out! You just killed your own grandson!” “Oh shit. Rolf, Rolf sweetheart? Is he breathing? Oh shit. Your son is going to kill me.” “I’m going to kill you.” “You won’t get any head then.” “Percival Graves!” “Right. Rolf. Grandson. Getting right on it.”