Chapter Text
Being friends with Luna Lovegood meant being part of the small circle of people who spent summer afternoons at the Burrow. Rolf shied away from them at first, often saying that he spent his summers with his grandfather in Dorset, caring for their hippogriffs. Harry and the others never forced him, though, and Rolf just continued to turn down their invitations.
Three summers later, Luna looked at him and smiled wistfully, demanding that he come with them. Rolf's standard excuse was already at the tip of his tongue when Luna patted his nose, her eyes dancing in mischief.
"I already talked to your grandfather," she smiled lazily. "He'd be glad to have your out of his hair for one summer."
Ten days later, Rolf found himself carrying his grandfather's old extendable suitcase amongst the swampy plains of the Burrow's nearest apparition point.
Ginny greeted him with a firm hug while Harry shook his hand. Hermione smiled and gave him a wave and Ron placed his heavy hands on his shoulders, his face red from drinking Firewhiskey so early in the morning.
"About bloody time, mate!"
Rolf chuckled and let them lead him and Luna towards the Weasley house. Neville waved his dirtied hands as they approached. He was helping Mrs. Weasley degnome the garden, he mentioned. Rolf went with him and found the Weasley twins doing a game of who kicks a gnome the farthest. Mrs. Weasley was red-faced in fury as she scolds her boys, asking them to just get the bloody work done and stop being such rascals.
"They do that every year," a low voice chuckled beside him and Rolf turned. Red hair and a light smile, with faint scars on his left jaw. "Drives mum mad."
Bill Weasley, Rolf thought to himself. He was a prominent figure during the war, noted for his heroic deeds despite being turned by one Fenrir Greyback. The Daily Prophet mentioned the dissolution of his marriage to Fleur Delacour, as well, a few years back. People had whispered then, citing how handling a werewolf proved too much of a strain into their relationship.
Rolf could only think of how bloody stupid Fleur must have been, to let go of such a man.
"H-Hello," he greeted rather shyly, extending his hand and offering a small smile. "Rolf Scamander."
Bill turned his bright eyes to him and smiled--so lighthearted and so charming that Rolf found himself staring.
"Bill Weasley," he replied. Bill grabbed his hand and shook it firmly, chuckling after. His grip was strong and Rolf could feel the roughness of his palms against his own. He was rather pale, a strange contrast to Rolf's sun-baked skin. "Come on, Scamander. Lunch is waiting."
Bill hooked his arm around his shoulders as if he were a brother and not some new stranger. They were all like this, the Weasleys. As if they're a family born to be friendly to others. Bill toured him around the house, saying that the others are too busy with other chores. Rolf found himself dragged towards the topmost floor, nearly getting mauled by the ghoul at the attic. He shrieked so loudly that Bill had tears in his eyes from laughing, the sound echoing and piercing straight into Rolf's entire being. It was a lovely sound.
Lunch came and Rolf found himself in pleasant company. The Weasleys (and their friends) were a rowdy bunch. He observed as they passed food along and chatted amongst different groups, the conversations never ending. He ate his potatoes as Percy rambled on about the new position he got at the Ministry, drank his pumpkin juice as Ginny, Fred, George and Harry taunted Ron and his fanaticism of the Chudley Cannons, and had a slice of bread as he caught the conversation between brothers Bill and Charlie.
"--didn't get the job."
"What?" It was Charlie. "But your curse-breaking is unparalleled in Britain! They're fools to not hire you!"
Bill put some chicken into his mouth and shrugged, talking with his mouth full.
"I'm a werewolf," he said as if it were an obvious reason.
"That bloody Werewolf Register," Charlie cursed and Rolf winced. "It's nothing but a leash. As if werewolves aren't struggling enough. It's been decades since that bloody menace had been drafted, I just don't understand why they'd not do something that would actually help rather than harm."
Hermione eyed Rolf knowingly. Not all wizards knew that the person behind the Werewolf Register was his very own grandfather, Newton Scamander. The Werewolf Register, drafted and enacted in 1947 created a regulation wherein all werewolves are forced to register themselves--a form of tagging. It was initially meant to protect wizardkind from such unstable beings; however, it became a tool of discrimination. Oftentimes, registered werewolves are perceived too dangerous and are rarely provided opportunities in education, work, and in starting a family.
If there was one thing he was ashamed his grandfather did, it was this.
Rolf excused himself and no one really bothered to stop him as he walked out to breathe some air. He hardly noticed a pair of green eyes watching him as he went outside.
--
Rolf Scamander adores his grandfather.
Newt is kind, compassionate, and adorably shy. He never initiates conversations and just lightly greets hello to his visitors and guests. Magical beasts often roamed around his home, a small cottage at the foot of a mountain, charmed with the ever-useful Extendable Charms his grandfather was so keen on using.
Spending summers with his grandfather endeared Rolf to all manners of creatures. He learned about them, understood that they are more than their magical properties, and fought for the proper care and handling of said creatures side by side his grandfather. He often found himself nestled between mooncalves as he slept, fed by a Demiguise, and, most of the time, looking for his family ring only to find it within the Niffler's hoard. Creatures had always been a part of his grandfather's life and, in turn, they have become part of Rolf's.
So it doesn't make sense how someone as reverent of beasts such as his grandfather would come up with something as harsh and discriminating as the Werewolf Register.
"You look troubled," Newt mentioned as they sat together by the fire, a small Hippogriff settled on his lap.
Rolf watched his grandfather--his gentle grandfather--and thought that it could've been all a mistake. But then, Bill Weasley--
"Why did you make the Werewolf Register?"
Calm hands that petted the hippogriff stopped and Newt stared at his grandchild. Dread filled Rolf as he watched his grandfather's gentle eyes grow cold, his face stiff and unfeeling. It was as if he was a different person entirely.
"To protect Muggles and wizards from them, of course," Rolf shook his head at his grandfather's answer, not believing him. It was shop talk
"But they never chose lycanthropy," Rolf argued and Newt's jaw tightened. "They shouldn't be punished just because people fear them. They're hardly harmless and Wolfsbane has come a long way in establishing contro--"
"Do not speak as if you know everything there is to know about werewolves."
Newt was angry, Rolf realized. Not at him, but at something else. Something that belonged to the past. Something that his grandfather had no wish to share.
"I, once, had the same blinded notions of lycanthropy as you once did," Newt brushed the hippogriff aside and stood up. "I realized I was wrong to believe that all creatures are inherently good."
Rolf glared at the fire as his grandfather left him, unyielding in his stand about werewolves. It was obvious now, Rolf thought, obvious that there was one thing that fueled his grandfather to decide on making something cruel.
Anger.
--
Rolf found himself talking to Bill Weasley, of all people.
Bill listened as Rolf complained about how his grandfather dismissed the topic altogether as if it wasn't even something worth debating about. He rambled on about the unfair treatment of werewolves just because of their nature, how people eye them with wariness and fear, and the lack of facilities that cater to werewolves' needs whenever the full moon rises.
"You sound like an advocate," Bill teased and bumped his shoulder against Rolf's.
Maybe he was, Rolf thought. Maybe he should be.
--
The first thing Rolf did was to officially declare werewolves as Beings.
As Beings, werewolves were given opportunities and rights to create decisions and integrate themselves into society. For too long have they been tossed between Beast and Being and Rolf, using his influence as a Scamander, decided that this is a great first step in making them less marginalized.
Everything else seemed to follow after that.
Rolf rose to prominence after that, getting feedback from known werewolves and having them speak out more often in public. Threats had come and gone; however, no one dared to enact on it. Rolf received pledges from the majority of the Wizarding community and has been actively backed by the Golden Trio, as well as various heroes during the Second Wizarding War. He was well-protected and his campaigns well-received. People began asking him to do public appearances, to write columns on known magical publications like The Quibbler and The Daily Prophet. He was often invited to talk on the Wireless, with Lee Jordan often advocating for him.
Legislations were drafted for the integration of werewolf rights and the once marginalized and ostracized lycanthropy community started voicing out their opinions and demanding fair treatment. Potion Masters started publicly announcing their discoveries on advanced reiterations of the Wolfsbane Potion, and the establishment of the Werewolf Coalition--headed by Lavender Brown--spearheaded community integration programs that were vital in dispelling fear from common wizarding folk.
As progress on werewolf rights continued, people started gossiping. It became public knowledge, that the younger Scamander is doing everything to go against what his grandfather started. Rita Skeeter, the ever-conniving journalist, wrote an article about them, citing bad blood as the main cause as to why the younger Scamander decided to go against what his grandfather had started. Her article, entitled Slimey Scamander, cited how Newt Scamander abhorred werewolves and linking it to absurd details of his career and life. All the while, it labeled Rolf as an advocate who merely wants to shine above his grandfather's shadow--a Magizoologist with no accomplishments and would always be haunted by the fame his grandfather had for himself.
"Wretched, that woman," Hermione remarked upon reading the article. "I would gladly hex her permanently into that beetle form of hers."
Rolf shrugged and watched as the Weasley brothers came bursting out the doors, sweaty from a good round of Quidditch. He couldn't care less, Rolf thought, as he watched the eldest Weasley smiling from a distance. Because Rita Skeeter could not be farther from the truth.
And as Bill Weasley talked so passionately about his new curse-breaking work in Romania over dinner, Rolf knew the one true reason for all his campaigns and, as it seems, accomplishments.
Love.
--
Rolf visited his grandfather five summers after, his hand clasped tight against Bill's. Hoppy, Newt's eldest kneazle, opened the door for them with a frown, as if reprimanding Rolf for not visiting.
"Ah, there you are," Newt smiled warmly at them both from his study table. A burning cage sat in the middle, suspended in midair as his grandfather studied its contents.
"Brazilian fire slugs," he remarked. "They burnt through every cage I put them in. Even metal. Remarkable creatures, really."
The older Scamander stood up and gave Rolf a long hug. His familiar scent--a mixture of freshly mown grass and demiguise fur--calmed Rolf. Any hesitation he had for visiting his grandfather had evaporated.
"Grandfather, this is Bill Weasley," Rolf motioned for Bill to come forward, his usual charming self suddenly shy in front of the older Scamander. "My intended."
Understanding flashed in Newt's eyes as he gave them both an awkward smile. He shook Bill's hand and motioned for them to sit down.
"We would like to invite you to our wedding," Rolf tried to swallow the lump in his throat. It was one thing to introduce his lover to the one man he revered and adored apart from Bill. The man he decided to shun because of his beliefs that caused his lover pain. "I-It'll be late into the year, in the middle of December, seeing as it couldn't be a full moon--"
"You are a werewolf, Mr. Weasley?" Newt asked as if sensing his grandson's agitation. Three cups of tea appeared in front of them, followed by a pair of blue eyes. "Oh thank you, Dougal."
Bill nodded, his hand stiff against Rolf's and Rolf craned his head to see. He expected his grandfather to stare coldly, the same unfeeling expression he had that very first moment Rolf asked about the Werewolf Register.
And yet.
Newt stared at them with open affection, his eyes warm and melancholic. A soft smile played on his lips and his gaze was distant. Rolf could see his grandfather staring at their clasped hands, their shoulders and knees bumping at their close proximity. He was staring at them yet he wasn't, his eyes so wistful that Rolf could feel him thinking of something similar yet different entirely.
"Wolves are very tactile creatures," Newt commented, his smile soft yet sad. "Mr. Weasley has hardly let go of your hand since you entered my house."
Newt chucked as Rolf blushed. He tried to remove his hand after being caught, yet his lover held on. Bill's gaze was still directed at Newt, his nostrils flared as if scenting, his eyes wide.
Rolf watched as Bill eyed his grandfather in fascination as if he could sense something else entirely.
"You are mated," Bill said after a few minutes, unable to keep things to himself. "I-I don't understand..."
Rolf turned to his grandfather questioningly. Newt's eyes are downcast, filled with a sadness Rolf couldn't place. It wasn't like the sadness Newt had on his person when her grandmother died. Nor was it the heaviness his person held when his prized hippogriff, Fido, passed on. This felt heavy, a cloak of dark cloth, draped onto his person. He looked small and frail, his pallor different and his coloring pale.
"Not anymore," Newt whispered before setting down his tea, standing up and going towards the bedrooms. Bill followed without question and Rolf scampered towards them, confused.
"B-But the Werewolf Register--" Bill started, stopping when he saw the Pensieve.
It was a small room. Bottles of memories lined the walls, the milky liquid languidly swimming within the glass vials. A large pensieve sat in the middle of the room, its waters calm and dark. Newt Accio-ed three bottles, bottles distinctly different from the rest. The cloud of memories was gray, slow-moving, and the bottles were a bit larger than the rest.
Rolf felt like he wanted to leave.
Bill clutched his hand tightly, both of them waiting for Newt to say or do something.
"You once asked me why I made the Register," Newt uncorked a vial and poured the contents onto the Pensieve, the mirror coming to life. Images float together as the liquid swirled and Newt looked at his grandson. "I made it to protect the people I love."
Rolf clenched his jaw as Bill tensed. The silence stretched but Rolf held his tongue. He knew his grandfather has more to say.
"You have to realize, my dear boy, that my circumstances were different," Newt watched the water and smiled as something resurfaced, his gaze fond yet melancholic. "Werewolves were used, made into weapons that kill. They were instruments of war. I had to put a stop to it, to such reckless carnage."
Bill gasped and Rolf turned, confused.
"E-Even if it meant persecution?"
Newt looked straight into Bill's eyes and nodded.
"He knew that it had to be done."
Newt stepped down from the platform and beckoned to Rolf, inviting him to look.
"These are memories I chose to banish from my own mind, my lad. Memories that are far too heavy for me to bear," Newt hugged himself as if shielding himself from pain. "Do view these memories at your own discretion."
Newt moved towards the door, his back turned to them before he turned one last time.
"I will be in the study once you're finished. Supper should be ready by then."
Rolf and Bill nodded, finally looking at the Pensieve as his grandfather left them alone. With a fierce nod, Rolf tried to calm his racing heart, eager to know why his grandfather--his gentle, kindhearted grandfather--did what he did all those years ago.
Rolf put his face close to the mirror...and looked.
--