Rabbit: May 1970
Title: Rabbit
Chapter Number/Title: November 1970: Where? (45/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: G
Word Count: 2047
Workshop?: Sure!
November 23, 1970
Where?
“Thank you again, Mister Black.” A huddle of boys watched Bartemius Crouch, a prim-looking wizard with not a hair or thread out of place, back out from the drawing room of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
From their perch on the second-floor landing, the boys could hear Orion Black’s voice but not see the man at all. “I shall send you an answer by owl,” he was saying. “I’m afraid I am needed urgently on the other side of the country, but my wife will see you out.”
“Have a splendid evening, Sir.”
Walburga walked him down the stairs to the ground floor. “I hope your visit was productive, Mister Crouch,” she said, in her usual terse tone.
“Quite. Oh! My cloak! It was hung here, next to the umbrella stand, I’m sure of it.”
“We’ll find it!” shouted a small voice from above. Sirius Black leaned over the banister and waved. “Rabastan and I will find your cloak in no time, Mister Crouch. We love to solve mysteries.”
They did not wait for an answer. Sirius was bounding up the stairs to his own room at the top floor, and Rabastan followed in tow. Far below them, Rabastan heard Walburga summon Kreacher and demand an explanation. He could not make out the Elf’s answer, but the irritated voices that followed were enough to tell him that the cloak had not been found.
Sirius opened his bedroom door, and pulled out a small scroll of parchment, a quill, and ink. He wrote the names of everyone in the house in a list: Sirius, Rabbit, Reg, Barty, Father, Mother, Crouch. “These are our suspects,” he explained. “We can cross ourselves off, because I know we don’t have it.” He did so, thoroughly blotting out the first two names.
“If Crouch had it, he wouldn’t be fussing,” Rabastan offered. “Same with your mother. Your father couldn’t even have taken it, if he was in the drawing room the whole time.”
“Hm. Barty Junior - he’s the one that moved it.”
“He is?”
“Quite,” confirmed Sirius. “When the Crouches showed up, they arrived at the front door. I was down there, because you and Regulus had only just finished hiding. I had counted to one-hundred when the doorbell rang, and I was standing right there, of course. Mister Crouch was shown upstairs to the drawing room, and I told Barty he could join our game. Well, first, I said, Hello, my name is Sirius, and he said his name was Bartemius Junior but I could call him Barty. And then I said that you and Reg had already hid but he could come seeking with me. And he said, Oh, what if we were great witch-hunters tracking down bad guys in hiding.”
“What’s wrong with just hide-and-seek? Your house is plenty fun.”
Sirius shuffled his feet and looked away. “Well… I might have said I was sorry we were playing such a no-fun game for little children.”
“He is little children. But why the cloak?”
“Oh! Yes, I said witch-hunters sounded like a bally good time, and he grabbed his father’s cloak and ran around in it. I picked up one of Father’s along the way. It was fun,” he noted.
“So that’s what he was wearing when you found me!” Rabastan jumped in.
Rabastan had been hiding in a very clever spot, behind a tapestry in a little-used extra bedroom on the third floor. He had heard Sirius talking to somebody strange, which he had thought odd, as Regulus was the only other player. The bedroom door had creaked open and Sirius had hushed loudly. “Shh, or he’ll run and find a new place,” he had said. Rabastan had not thought much of it at the time, because he had been completely overwhelmed with keeping utterly still and not being found. Two people could search a room twice as fast, and it had not been long before the tapestry was pulled away from Rabastan.
But he had seen, instead of Sirius, a shorter boy, very thin, with the blondest hair. And wearing a huge cloak. “Bartemius Crouch, Junior, but you can call me Barty,” the boy had said, suavely, extending a hand.
Rabastan had taken it in turn: “Rabastan Lestrange. I think we’ve met before. Briefly. Why’re you wearing a cloak?”
Barty laughed. “For fun, of course. Sirius has one too.”
“Come on,” Sirius had jumped in. “Now that we’ve found you, the fun’s over. Let’s get Regulus and find something else to do.” He had run ahead, moving to the next bedroom with Barty and Rabastan following behind.
As they checked all the nooks and crannies in the room - all but the chest with a loud banging coming from inside, as that was sure to hold a boggart and not a hiding boy - Rabastan had found his way over to the newcomer. “Sirius and I are best of friends, you know.”
“I didn’t.”
“Well, now you do.” After that, Rabastan had joined up with Sirius, laughing at inside jokes and bounding their way up to the fourth floor. Regulus had eventually been found, in his own room, of all places. He was huddled behind a chest, reading a book.
“Really, Reggie?” Sirius had said. “How obvious. I expect more of you.”
Regulus had rolled his eyes. “Certainly took you long enough for such an obvious spot. And this way, I was never bored.”
“Well, you’re found.”
“Who’s your new friend?” Regulus had asked as he stood up and set his book down. “And how did you convince him to run around in a huge cloak?”
Rabastan remembered now, how Barty had looked between the Black brothers and laughed. “It would be a long story,” he had said. “Maybe another time. I’m Barty. Barty Crouch Junior. You must be Regulus. What are you reading, then?” And then he had shaken off the cloak and moved to Regulus’ side, where he had stayed throughout the visit.
“I remember now!” Rabastan said. “He dropped it in Regulus’ room. Maybe it’s still there!”
Thankfully, Regulus’ bedroom was not far at all from Sirius’, and the boys were there in no time. They pushed their way in and walked over to the hiding place, but no cloaks were to be found. “What now?” asked Rabastan.
“Hm.” Sirius rubbed his hands together and surveyed the room. “You know, I think I left Father’s cloak in here too. Didn’t Regulus drop them both in the hallway as we left?”
“You’re right! He and Barty started some boring conversation, and as we were leaving, he dragged the cloaks right… here.” Rabastan left the room and stood on the landing, where the cloaks had been left. “But those two were in here the whole time, until we came to get them and go downstairs. And when we came back, there were definitely no cloaks. So it’s not us, it’s not Mister Crouch, or your mother or father. Barty doesn’t have it, and neither does Regulus.”
Sirius leapt back, beaming. “I’ve got it! Come on!”
He flew down the stairs, and Rabastan scurried after, flight after flight, past the younger boys, until they nearly collided with Walburga and Mister Crouch in the long hallway again.
“We’ve found the culprit,” Sirius announced. “Neither of you have the cloak, and neither do we. And Father certainly doesn’t. We thought Barty Junior, since he moved it out of place, and then Regulus, since it was in his room for a time. But all of these parties are innocent.”
“And?” Mister Crouch did not seem to appreciate Sirius’ flair for the dramatic. Neither did Missus Black.
“It was none other than… KREACHER!”
The Elf popped back into the hall.
“Sirius, we already questioned this Elf,” scolded Walburga.
“With all due respect,” Rabastan jumped in, having caught on to Sirius’ epiphany. “The Elf did not take a cloak from the entranceway, which is what you had asked about.”
Sirius pointed a finger. “Kreacher, did you or did you not remove two cloaks from the landing outside Reggie’s room?”
“Yes, Kreacher did, but--”
“Aha! And was one of those cloaks one you had never seen?”
“Yes,” Kreacher said, his head bowed. “Kreacher thought Master had bought a new cloak. Kreacher only meant to iron the cloaks, since young Master has no regard for Master’s fine things and used them like playthings.”
Walburga sighed. “Bring the new cloak here at once. Mister Crouch would like to be on his way.”
The Elf popped away. Sirius looked at Rabastan, and the boys grinned with pride.
Rabastan held the cloak proudly. “Look, Mister Crouch!”
Sirius bobbed on his toes. “I said we would find it, and we did!”
Kreacher popped back, with the cloak, freshly pressed, floating before its owner. Crouch’s eyebrows rose. “I daresay you did.”
“We were detectives!” Sirius beamed.
“We gathered all the clues, and compared all the possibilities, and--”
“And tracked down the Culprit!”
The Ministry man took his cloak, and tossed it around his shoulders. “Very sharp work, boys. Perhaps you should consider being on the Law Enforcement Patrol when you grow up. Or better yet, Aurors.”
Sirius smiled smugly. “Thank you for the compliment,” he said, “but I plan on following in my father’s footsteps. Maybe Rabbit here--”
“Ra-bastan,” he corrected. “But I hardly think I’d be an Auror, of all things. They’re dreadful snoops and--” Rabastan stopped midsentence, remembering that he was not, in fact, responding to Sirius alone. For he was not, at all. Walburga Black was there, looking mildly scandalized. Regulus and Barty Junior were on landing above, but sat listening intently. And then, Bartemius Crouch himself, the head of the Improper Use of Magic Office and the favored candidate for the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who simply blinked a challenge. “I-I mean,” stammed Rabastan. “That’s what I’ve read in the Daily Prophet.”
“Well. Don’t believe everything you read, young man,” warned Crouch.
Rabastan nodded. He was too proud to apologize but too embarrassed to defend his position. His eyes flickered around the room for signs of how much trouble he would be in - there was always something particularly awkward about messing up at someone else’s house. Walburga Black was by no means his mother, but that did not mean she couldn’t tell Maman how he had said the wrong thing, or be terrifying in her own right. Maybe, just maybe, the chance that she agreed with what he had said would offset the impropriety of it.
Mr. Crouch had finished bidding Mrs. Black farewell, and snapped twice. Barty Junior stood and held a hand out to Regulus, who shook it. “Maybe I’ll see you again soon,” said the visitor, as he walked down the grand staircase. Regulus nodded with a slight smile, and said, “Yes, maybe.”
And with that, the Bartemius Crouches stepped out onto the busy London street and left Rabastan with the Black family.
“Lestrange.” Walburga’s voice was icy. “You know your mistake. What foolish things you might say in your own home are your parents’ concern, but I would sooner have you never step foot in this house again than cast any light of any kind upon my husband’s work or my family’s reputation. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly, ma’am.”
“But Mother--” started Sirius.
“No, Sirius.” Rabastan looked at his best friend with saddened eyes and a thankful smile. “Your mother’s right.” The number of times Sirius had said something out of turn and Rabastan had covered for him was higher than a respectable balance at Gringotts. Rabastan was meant to be a good influence, to stop these sort of blunders from happening, not to commit them. “It won’t happen again, Missus Black, I promise it.”
“No, it won’t.” And with that, she swept away. As soon as she had moved out of the hall, the boys looked at each other again.
Sirius, for some reason, was smirking. He leaned slightly, and said in a low voice, “They are dreadful snoops.”
Rabastan smiled. “We’d be much better witch-hunters, anyway. Want to find Reg again to play? His new friend’s up and left.”
“Black, Black, and Lestrange: Private Detectives. I like it.” And off shot Sirius, up the stairs, bopping the elf-heads as he went.
Chapter Number/Title: November 1970: Where? (45/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: G
Word Count: 2047
Workshop?: Sure!
November 23, 1970
Where?
“Thank you again, Mister Black.” A huddle of boys watched Bartemius Crouch, a prim-looking wizard with not a hair or thread out of place, back out from the drawing room of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
From their perch on the second-floor landing, the boys could hear Orion Black’s voice but not see the man at all. “I shall send you an answer by owl,” he was saying. “I’m afraid I am needed urgently on the other side of the country, but my wife will see you out.”
“Have a splendid evening, Sir.”
Walburga walked him down the stairs to the ground floor. “I hope your visit was productive, Mister Crouch,” she said, in her usual terse tone.
“Quite. Oh! My cloak! It was hung here, next to the umbrella stand, I’m sure of it.”
“We’ll find it!” shouted a small voice from above. Sirius Black leaned over the banister and waved. “Rabastan and I will find your cloak in no time, Mister Crouch. We love to solve mysteries.”
They did not wait for an answer. Sirius was bounding up the stairs to his own room at the top floor, and Rabastan followed in tow. Far below them, Rabastan heard Walburga summon Kreacher and demand an explanation. He could not make out the Elf’s answer, but the irritated voices that followed were enough to tell him that the cloak had not been found.
Sirius opened his bedroom door, and pulled out a small scroll of parchment, a quill, and ink. He wrote the names of everyone in the house in a list: Sirius, Rabbit, Reg, Barty, Father, Mother, Crouch. “These are our suspects,” he explained. “We can cross ourselves off, because I know we don’t have it.” He did so, thoroughly blotting out the first two names.
“If Crouch had it, he wouldn’t be fussing,” Rabastan offered. “Same with your mother. Your father couldn’t even have taken it, if he was in the drawing room the whole time.”
“Hm. Barty Junior - he’s the one that moved it.”
“He is?”
“Quite,” confirmed Sirius. “When the Crouches showed up, they arrived at the front door. I was down there, because you and Regulus had only just finished hiding. I had counted to one-hundred when the doorbell rang, and I was standing right there, of course. Mister Crouch was shown upstairs to the drawing room, and I told Barty he could join our game. Well, first, I said, Hello, my name is Sirius, and he said his name was Bartemius Junior but I could call him Barty. And then I said that you and Reg had already hid but he could come seeking with me. And he said, Oh, what if we were great witch-hunters tracking down bad guys in hiding.”
“What’s wrong with just hide-and-seek? Your house is plenty fun.”
Sirius shuffled his feet and looked away. “Well… I might have said I was sorry we were playing such a no-fun game for little children.”
“He is little children. But why the cloak?”
“Oh! Yes, I said witch-hunters sounded like a bally good time, and he grabbed his father’s cloak and ran around in it. I picked up one of Father’s along the way. It was fun,” he noted.
“So that’s what he was wearing when you found me!” Rabastan jumped in.
Rabastan had been hiding in a very clever spot, behind a tapestry in a little-used extra bedroom on the third floor. He had heard Sirius talking to somebody strange, which he had thought odd, as Regulus was the only other player. The bedroom door had creaked open and Sirius had hushed loudly. “Shh, or he’ll run and find a new place,” he had said. Rabastan had not thought much of it at the time, because he had been completely overwhelmed with keeping utterly still and not being found. Two people could search a room twice as fast, and it had not been long before the tapestry was pulled away from Rabastan.
But he had seen, instead of Sirius, a shorter boy, very thin, with the blondest hair. And wearing a huge cloak. “Bartemius Crouch, Junior, but you can call me Barty,” the boy had said, suavely, extending a hand.
Rabastan had taken it in turn: “Rabastan Lestrange. I think we’ve met before. Briefly. Why’re you wearing a cloak?”
Barty laughed. “For fun, of course. Sirius has one too.”
“Come on,” Sirius had jumped in. “Now that we’ve found you, the fun’s over. Let’s get Regulus and find something else to do.” He had run ahead, moving to the next bedroom with Barty and Rabastan following behind.
As they checked all the nooks and crannies in the room - all but the chest with a loud banging coming from inside, as that was sure to hold a boggart and not a hiding boy - Rabastan had found his way over to the newcomer. “Sirius and I are best of friends, you know.”
“I didn’t.”
“Well, now you do.” After that, Rabastan had joined up with Sirius, laughing at inside jokes and bounding their way up to the fourth floor. Regulus had eventually been found, in his own room, of all places. He was huddled behind a chest, reading a book.
“Really, Reggie?” Sirius had said. “How obvious. I expect more of you.”
Regulus had rolled his eyes. “Certainly took you long enough for such an obvious spot. And this way, I was never bored.”
“Well, you’re found.”
“Who’s your new friend?” Regulus had asked as he stood up and set his book down. “And how did you convince him to run around in a huge cloak?”
Rabastan remembered now, how Barty had looked between the Black brothers and laughed. “It would be a long story,” he had said. “Maybe another time. I’m Barty. Barty Crouch Junior. You must be Regulus. What are you reading, then?” And then he had shaken off the cloak and moved to Regulus’ side, where he had stayed throughout the visit.
“I remember now!” Rabastan said. “He dropped it in Regulus’ room. Maybe it’s still there!”
Thankfully, Regulus’ bedroom was not far at all from Sirius’, and the boys were there in no time. They pushed their way in and walked over to the hiding place, but no cloaks were to be found. “What now?” asked Rabastan.
“Hm.” Sirius rubbed his hands together and surveyed the room. “You know, I think I left Father’s cloak in here too. Didn’t Regulus drop them both in the hallway as we left?”
“You’re right! He and Barty started some boring conversation, and as we were leaving, he dragged the cloaks right… here.” Rabastan left the room and stood on the landing, where the cloaks had been left. “But those two were in here the whole time, until we came to get them and go downstairs. And when we came back, there were definitely no cloaks. So it’s not us, it’s not Mister Crouch, or your mother or father. Barty doesn’t have it, and neither does Regulus.”
Sirius leapt back, beaming. “I’ve got it! Come on!”
He flew down the stairs, and Rabastan scurried after, flight after flight, past the younger boys, until they nearly collided with Walburga and Mister Crouch in the long hallway again.
“We’ve found the culprit,” Sirius announced. “Neither of you have the cloak, and neither do we. And Father certainly doesn’t. We thought Barty Junior, since he moved it out of place, and then Regulus, since it was in his room for a time. But all of these parties are innocent.”
“And?” Mister Crouch did not seem to appreciate Sirius’ flair for the dramatic. Neither did Missus Black.
“It was none other than… KREACHER!”
The Elf popped back into the hall.
“Sirius, we already questioned this Elf,” scolded Walburga.
“With all due respect,” Rabastan jumped in, having caught on to Sirius’ epiphany. “The Elf did not take a cloak from the entranceway, which is what you had asked about.”
Sirius pointed a finger. “Kreacher, did you or did you not remove two cloaks from the landing outside Reggie’s room?”
“Yes, Kreacher did, but--”
“Aha! And was one of those cloaks one you had never seen?”
“Yes,” Kreacher said, his head bowed. “Kreacher thought Master had bought a new cloak. Kreacher only meant to iron the cloaks, since young Master has no regard for Master’s fine things and used them like playthings.”
Walburga sighed. “Bring the new cloak here at once. Mister Crouch would like to be on his way.”
The Elf popped away. Sirius looked at Rabastan, and the boys grinned with pride.
Rabastan held the cloak proudly. “Look, Mister Crouch!”
Sirius bobbed on his toes. “I said we would find it, and we did!”
Kreacher popped back, with the cloak, freshly pressed, floating before its owner. Crouch’s eyebrows rose. “I daresay you did.”
“We were detectives!” Sirius beamed.
“We gathered all the clues, and compared all the possibilities, and--”
“And tracked down the Culprit!”
The Ministry man took his cloak, and tossed it around his shoulders. “Very sharp work, boys. Perhaps you should consider being on the Law Enforcement Patrol when you grow up. Or better yet, Aurors.”
Sirius smiled smugly. “Thank you for the compliment,” he said, “but I plan on following in my father’s footsteps. Maybe Rabbit here--”
“Ra-bastan,” he corrected. “But I hardly think I’d be an Auror, of all things. They’re dreadful snoops and--” Rabastan stopped midsentence, remembering that he was not, in fact, responding to Sirius alone. For he was not, at all. Walburga Black was there, looking mildly scandalized. Regulus and Barty Junior were on landing above, but sat listening intently. And then, Bartemius Crouch himself, the head of the Improper Use of Magic Office and the favored candidate for the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who simply blinked a challenge. “I-I mean,” stammed Rabastan. “That’s what I’ve read in the Daily Prophet.”
“Well. Don’t believe everything you read, young man,” warned Crouch.
Rabastan nodded. He was too proud to apologize but too embarrassed to defend his position. His eyes flickered around the room for signs of how much trouble he would be in - there was always something particularly awkward about messing up at someone else’s house. Walburga Black was by no means his mother, but that did not mean she couldn’t tell Maman how he had said the wrong thing, or be terrifying in her own right. Maybe, just maybe, the chance that she agreed with what he had said would offset the impropriety of it.
Mr. Crouch had finished bidding Mrs. Black farewell, and snapped twice. Barty Junior stood and held a hand out to Regulus, who shook it. “Maybe I’ll see you again soon,” said the visitor, as he walked down the grand staircase. Regulus nodded with a slight smile, and said, “Yes, maybe.”
And with that, the Bartemius Crouches stepped out onto the busy London street and left Rabastan with the Black family.
“Lestrange.” Walburga’s voice was icy. “You know your mistake. What foolish things you might say in your own home are your parents’ concern, but I would sooner have you never step foot in this house again than cast any light of any kind upon my husband’s work or my family’s reputation. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly, ma’am.”
“But Mother--” started Sirius.
“No, Sirius.” Rabastan looked at his best friend with saddened eyes and a thankful smile. “Your mother’s right.” The number of times Sirius had said something out of turn and Rabastan had covered for him was higher than a respectable balance at Gringotts. Rabastan was meant to be a good influence, to stop these sort of blunders from happening, not to commit them. “It won’t happen again, Missus Black, I promise it.”
“No, it won’t.” And with that, she swept away. As soon as she had moved out of the hall, the boys looked at each other again.
Sirius, for some reason, was smirking. He leaned slightly, and said in a low voice, “They are dreadful snoops.”
Rabastan smiled. “We’d be much better witch-hunters, anyway. Want to find Reg again to play? His new friend’s up and left.”
“Black, Black, and Lestrange: Private Detectives. I like it.” And off shot Sirius, up the stairs, bopping the elf-heads as he went.