#lunarolf

Luna/Rolf: Meeting Neville, for anon.

Luna and Rolf Scamander both carried two hefty pots of mistletoe. Two pairs of eyes, one blue and the other silver grey, peaked through the thick leafy brush. Both of their visions were impaired by the subjects of their investigations.

The newlyweds had spent the past few weeks in many European woods, and together, Luna and Rolf searched for creatures listed and unlisted in his ancestor’s book.

“Excuse me,” mumbled Luna distractedly when she had bumped into someone on the street. She was more frustrated by the bits of dirt that fell from the load that she carried.

“Luna?”

“Neville!”

It been years since the new bride had seen her school friend, but Luna could easily recognize Neville in a crowd.

Neville looked rather dapper in his dress robes, and he seemed to be in Diagon Alley to gather school things. Only the father of many dozen children could have the use for this many herbology textbooks.

“You’re a professor?”

“How did you-”

“Lucky guess.” Luna grinned, having balanced the pot on her hip.

“You’ve been-”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Luna, Love.” Rolf came out from the shops with dome odd looking binoculars covering his eyes. “Have you seen…”

“Oh, Rolf.” Luna said, with large curious eyes. “This is my friend, Neville. Neville Longbottom.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Rolf put out his hand, and though he resembled a mad scientist with his gardening gloves and eye gear. Neville was gracious in his response.

(Lorcan and Lysander being disowned for not believing, for anon.)

"There's no such thing as nargles, mum."

Lysander muttered it thoughtlessly, cutting into a dinnertime story Luna was telling enthusiastically, his words pausing one of his mother's excessive hand gestures in the middle of a wrist flourish.

The silence that followed was interminable. 

Lorcan, was had been slumped, chin propped boredly in his hand, sat up, glancing between his brother, who was still shoveling potatoes into his mouth as if he did not know the severity of his comment, and his mother, who looked like someone had posed her, one arm in the air, the other sweeping in a broad, horizontal sweeping gesture, her clear blue eyes fixed onto her son.

"Get out."

She whispered it, and it was Lysander's turn to freeze, but he remained still for only a few moments before his head snapped up and he looked at her incredulously. "What?"

"Disbelief breeds Maderces, and Maderces eat at your thoughts." Luna's face was blank and her eyes were distant. "Get out."

Lysander stood up abruptly, his teeth baring, the first defiant, argumentative syllables of his retort sliding out in a hiss before Lorcan got to his feet as well and grabbed his brother's arm. "Sander, stop."

"You, too," Luna said softly, and Lorcan's eyes widened, meeting his mother's gaze in horror before he realized that the lie behind every generous smile he offered in response to Luna's ravings was more apparent than he thought. 

"Dad," Lysander snapped, but Rolf was not looking at either son. "Dad, you can't just let her--"

"Sander." Lorcan's face was drawn together tightly, and when his twin's panicked, fiery eyes met his at last, he continued, quietly with a tone of strangled calm, "We need to go."

"You can't--"