All Of Your Tomorrows Shine




"She was in... Gryffindor?" Tina fiddles with her husband's bowtie one last time, although it's mostly an excuse to get close enough to pat his pockets down for any bowtruckles or other magical creatures he's stuffed into unsewn crevices.

"Ravenclaw, I recall. Perhaps Thunderbird, if she'd been American." Newt smiles, and familiar warmth seeps into Tina's toes, despite it being a colder-than-usual autumn, with the wind chilling their extremities as they slowly clamber to the door. "I heard that she reminds him of you."

"I certainly hope not," laughs Tina. "Imagine another pair like us at the altar."

"It was wonderful," says Newt, giving her a peck as he unfurls the portkey.

She pats a wayward curl down. "It still is."



Everyone in the hall breathes in a gasp, in unison. A few known Aurors and other trained professionals recover first.

"Mercy Lewis," whispers Tina.

Newt expresses his shock silently, then he grins, the boy-ishness in his face mirroring the groom's.

"That dress is exactly what I imagine yours could have been, if those fairies had gotten their way."

"They were content to light the reception hall when Jacob threatened to bake them into his cake. Thank goodness."

Newt's eyes sparkle. "I imagine you would have looked lovely regardless. You look lovely no matter what you wear. Every single day I've seen you."

Her hand fits into the familiar nook of his elbow.

They hush, as they listen to the vows. The bride sighs, the groom turns a furious red, and the whole hall cheers. Its echoes are familiar, harkening another day, and Newt drifts a bit.

Tina, ever the Auror, notices a bespectacled female journalist in the back whose pen is scribbling notes furiously.



The ceremony is mercifully short. Several casually famous faces surface at the reception, and quite a few carry young babies or toddlers. Tina and Newt are seated with the rest of the Scamander family, and watch as all the figures come by, laughing, clinking champagne, and offering congratulations.

"Blimey," a red-haired man whispers as he passes by a dozing Newt. "That's the bloke that Hagrid's been eyeing all night!"

"It's rude to point." His wife elbows him playfully. "He wrote one of our first-year textbooks! Don't you remember?"

Tina sighs, feels a bit awkward, and has to remind herself that Newt is casually famous, too.

It's easy to forget, when Newt is the way he is.



They don't end up dancing, even though her husband would have liked to, and Tina would have obliged him, once upon a time. It's the end of a long day, however, and they're both tired.

They do eventually get up, though, to greet the newlyweds.

After all, there's a special bond between the groom and Newt, and Tina's long heard infatuated tales of the magizoolist who had saved the Scamander heir in the middle of a rain forest deluge. Her love for creatures, her natural bent toward adventures, her bravery and fierce dueling skill—all this and more had been the subject of Newt's happy Sunday debriefings with their grandson, wedged between advice on consulting the Daily Prophet.

"Gramps, Gram, this is Luna."

"We've met her once before, six months ago," Tina chides, and Rolf goes reliably (familiarly) red again. "You can't expect us to forget everything."

"So this is the face to the voice in the fire." Newt side-steps as he shares a secret smile with his grandson, who from the time he was first bounced on Newt's knee, was openly enamored with everything his gramps said and did. He turns to the bride. "And you—"

Tina looks sideways. Her husband's eyes are soft. Tina knows that he's seeing the girl all over again, as he always sees people that are now family. Not judging, just observing, with love and affection.

"—Well, you and Tina will get along just fine."

"Mom gets along with everyone. Your great-aunt's the prickly one," their son sniffs, and the entire Scamander clan laughs.

Later, when the crowds have trickled out, and Luna's been cajoled into a less rainbow-colored, more mobile dress, Tina lays a soft, wrinkled hand against her new granddaughter's shoulder.

She's noticed the mix of emotions among the young bride and her (mostly Gryffindor) school friends.

"Fighting dark wizards creates a special need in a person, and that fear will revisit you the rest of your life. Just know that you've picked a good person to be with, during those times."

Against the now inky sky, Luna lights up like the moon.

The girl (really a grown woman, Tina thinks) nods vigorously. "Oh yes," she enthuses. "Rolf's always been good to me, from the first time he rescued me from a Wrackspurt. He says he's learnt from the best, about how to deal with restless women."

Tina can't help it. She laughs until her sides hurt.



"Where do you think they'll be off to, tomorrow? Thailand's rainy this time of year."

Newt hums. "Oh, I don't think we left the house for a good three days after."

She frowns. "How you exaggerate."

His hand fits like a soft glove over hers, his skin more papery and crepe-like than she'd remembered, but their tomorrows still shine, and there's a wide world out there, to accommodate their unfurling family tree.

"Sometimes, I ask myself how this all happened," Newt admits wonderingly. "How we grew into all this. Tina, I—"

She reads the rest in his twinkling eyes. Because even if Newt's freckles fade and his back droops, his soul is a familiar harbor.

"I'm glad it was you," Tina whispers, as they help each other creak back up the steps of their house, and a purring, meowing brood signal their welcome.



Suzu: a small, short story of how I imagine Luna/Rolf and Tina/Newt have lots in common, in a way.

References to Luna's wedding dress and other snippets can be found on Pottermore or HP wikia.

As always, thanks for reading!