Rabbit: October 1970
Title: Rabbit
Chapter Number/Title: October 1970: Girls (44/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1920
Workshop?: Suggestions welcome.
October 31, 1970
Girls
“Hallo, Rabbit.” Estelle Yaxley’s voice shook Rabastan from his daydreams. She was hovering over him, shifting her weight awkwardly, and taking small bites from a biscuit, which dribbled little crumbs onto her stiff purple dress robes.
“Oh, Estelle!” Rabastan stood, as taught, in a witch’s presence. “Would you like to sit with me?”
Estelle sighed sadly. “That would be nice, thank you.”
Rabastan put his practice to use and steadied the chair while Estelle sat. It was strange, he thought, but he was sure he felt her energy and happiness fall as she dropped herself into the seat. She took another nibble from her biscuit and stared out into the ballroom with widened eyes.
He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, and caught himself. Do not ask about personal affairs, he reminded himself. “That’s a rather pretty color on you, Estelle,” he said instead.
Little mahogany curls bounced as Estelle snapped her head, jolted out of her own thoughts. “Hm? Oh - thank you. I do like aubergine.” She turned back to the dance, but brought herself back to the conversation once again. “It’s too bad some people think different.”
“Blind people, maybe,” Rabastan offered, with a laugh.
Estelle’s eyes met his again and this time she smiled. “I didn’t know Rosier was blind,” she added, forming her mouth over bitter words.
“Oh. He didn’t like your robes?”
“Guess not.” Her shoulders slumped; the dress shifted. “There have been six dances already. Six. He danced one. Not with me.”
“Well,” Rabastan said, “he’s shy. He had to take the one with Cissy, or it would be a family row. And he’s sat the rest out as best he could.”
“Still.” Estelle uncrossed her ankles and rubbed the sole of her shoe against a chair leg. “You would think… when the rest of you were dancing, and all the other girls were dancing, and I was just left alone to go--” She squeezed her eyes tight and opened them to stare intently at the floor. “-to go get a biscuit. For myself.”
“Come on, Estelle. It’s Evan. He’s not good with… with parties and dances and girls. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t fancy you.”
She raised her head of curls and blinked wide aqua-blue eyes at Rabastan. “D-does he?”
“I don’t know.” It was the truth, but probably not what the girl was hoping to hear. Still, what could he do? Lie and dig his friend into a messy hole of messiness? That would not do. “I can ask, if you like.”
“No,” she spat. “Rabastan Lestrange, don’t you dare, or I’ll make sure you’re turned into a slimy newt and then chopped all up into a potion.” The music came to a coda, and the ballroom bloomed into a rose of polite claps. Estelle took a last bite from her biscuit, swallowed, and then stood, facing Rabastan. “Oh no! Don’t tell anyone I wasn’t dancing.”
Rabastan had scrambled up to stand, as he had been taught, and nodded dutifully, but in no time Estelle had vanished into the crowd, and the boy was alone again, now burdened with the sadness of the Yaxley girl. He looked around for his friends, but it was no use. Mister and Missus Orion Black were still showing off Sirius to old and new acquaintances. Darren was now being led to yet another young girl - Rabastan did not even recognize this one. The younger children were over in a separate room already, and the girls were all in a clump giggling amongst themselves. That only left one person.
“Rabbit,” the cold voice whispered behind him.
“Oh!” Rabastan turned around and grinned. “Where have you been, Evan? With your father as well?”
“No.” Evan crossed his arms and shivered. He spoke quietly, and Rabastan had to strain to hear him over the noise of the music and guests. “Father’s been talking with Mister Avery for a bit. He sent me off, said I needed to sit down. I’ve been standing over there.” He nodded toward a tall No-Wilt Wiltingleaf plant in a half-lit corner. “But now I’m tired of standing. Sit with me.” It was not quite a question, or an invitation or even a demand. Evan Rosier’s tone was flat, as if he had been stating the flavor of the punch.
“Of course,” Rabastan agreed.
“I abhor these.”
“Biscuits?”
“Balls,” corrected Evan, with the faintest trace of a smile. “Don’t you get tired of pretending like you care about silly things?”
“Well.” Rabastan picked at the hem of his sleeve. “It’s not so bad, when everyone’s pretending. It’s like a secret code. But I don’t think balls are silly.” Silly described Narcissa’s prattling, or little children’s games, or that occasional urge to spin around and make nonsense sounds. Balls were very serious. Balls were adult business, and Rabastan knew how much time Maman put into planning this party.
“No, you wouldn’t,” sighed Evan. “They’re all the same, though. Darren’s mother makes him dance every dance, every time, and I’m left on my own.”
Rabastan understood that much. Maman insisted on him making rounds and meeting her most important guests, of course. But one would think Sirius was some newly acquired rare artifact, the way his parents paraded him around. Rabastan’s only consolation protecting him against bitter envy was the knowledge that Sirius was probably not enjoying it much more than Rabastan was.
“You’re with me, now,” he countered. “Maybe you could dance more, though. You’d be with Darren that way.”
“Father says I should never take more than one dance in a row, so I don’t tire too quickly. Besides, I wouldn’t be with Darren. I’d be with some silly girl,” Evan scoffed. “Not that any of them want to dance with me, anyway.”
“Yaxley would.” As soon as the name left his lips, Rabastan remembered his promise. It was too late for that, now. He would just make it up to her some other way.
“Estelle Yaxley? I hardly think so.”
“No, I know so. She’s sad that you haven’t asked her yet.”
Evan’s eyebrows drew together and he squinted, first looking at Rabastan, then at Estelle Yaxley, then at Darren, and then back to Rabastan. “That’s a rather daft thing to be sad about.”
Rabastan shrugged. “She’s a girl. But go on! You should ask her.”
Evan looked doubtful, but stood. “I suppose one dance would be tolerable.”
“That’s the spirit! You should try smiling, though.” Evan forced a dead-eyed grin. “Not like that. Remember last week, when you and Darren trounced me and Sirius at cards?” The grin was replaced by a subtle but genuine smile. “That’s a bit better.”
“What, are you sitting it out?”
Rabastan looked around. He spotted Barbara Nott walking with Estelle away from the dancing. “I guess I could ask Babs.”
Evan nodded, and the two boys made their way over. Evan reached over to tap Estelle’s shoulder - a task made somewhat difficult by her dress robes having tall dramatic shoulder points. She spun on her foot, ready with a glare. “Can you not see I’m talking to - oh. Evan Rosier.”
“Hullo, Miss Yaxley. I was hoping that, em, after you talk to Miss Nott, if I might, em, have the next dance.” The smile of nostalgia for triumph was perhaps not the most appropriate, but it did well enough.
Except that Estelle was not looking at Evan. She was looking at Rabastan. More than looking, she was glaring.
“You!” she exclaimed, as the music dissolved into more polite claps and chatter. “I told you not to say anything. He doesn’t want to dance with me. He’s just doing what you told him!”
Evan opened his mouth to protest, that no, he does not do whatever Rabastan tells him, thank you, but Estelle held a hand up to silence him. Other girls began to join them and watch the unfolding drama, including Narcissa, who apparently decided that social disaster was far more entertaining than a swinging modern up-tempo number.
“How daft are you, Lestrange? I wanted someone to ask me because they actually wanted to dance with me. Does that make a Knut of sense to you? It isn’t only about keeping occupied. You said he fancied me!”
Rabastan’s jaw hung slack. “What, but. No, I said I didn’t know.”
“Oh, like that’s better,” she snapped.
Evan turned on Rabastan now. “What is this, Rabbit? You know I don’t fancy Yaxley!”
Estelle Yaxley wasted no time and slapped Rabastan Lestrange right across the face, before choking into a sob.
“Oh, you poor dear,” simpered Narcissa, resting a hand on the crying girl’s shoulder. Rabastan was not fooled by that act. Neither was Estelle, apparently, because she threw off the hand and ran off to a window, crying in her hands.
“I don’t fancy anyone,” grumbled Evan. “And I don’t even want to dance.”
Think fast, Rabbit. His eyes flitted between Narcissa’s smug smile, Evan’s cold eyes, and Estelle’s shaking figure. How lucky he was that her brother Thaddeus had already started school, and was not here to make Rabastan’s life even more miserable. Think fast.
Rabastan turned and followed the weepy girl over to the window seat where she stood, wistfully gazing out at the fog. “Listen, Estelle--”
She did not even turn around. “I’ve had quite enough from you, Lestrange.”
He wanted to give up and just leave. He had friends to talk to, after all. But no. Think faster, Rabbit. “Give me thirty seconds.”
Estelle spun around, her arms crossed. “I’m counting.”
Rabastan took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for meddling. I was just trying to help, but I know you clearly said not to and threatened to have me Transfigured into a newt. But I… sort of, er, fancied you myself and I wanted to do right by my chum by giving him the chance to get out and ask you first, since you wanted him to.”
Estelle’s usually wide eyes were narrowed now. “Well I don’t give a fig. You embarrassed me, horribly, and in front of Cissy Black so if you think you can just give a thirty second excuse for ruining my social life, then - wait - you fancy me?”
“Ye-es? But I know you’d prefer --”
“No, no,” Estelle dismissed hurriedly. “You do? Really? You don’t like Cissy more?”
Rabastan’s nose wrinkled in earnest. “Grotesque! She’s like an annoying sister. Why would I?”
“Everyone else does,” she sulked. “I mean, that’s why I thought Rosier - nevermind.”
Rabastan squinted, but a first cousin was only mostly out of the lines of reason. “Why not Sirius Black? He doesn’t like Cissy, either.”
“You’re joking, right? He’s frivolous, he doesn’t seem to know that girls exist, and when he does marry, it will probably be his perfect little cousin.” She pursed her lips in a rather convincing impression of an adult witch.
“Whoa, no one said anything about marrying anyone!” Rabastan held up his hands in protest. “I just think you’re pretty! And, um. You have pretty eyes. And I bet you dance very well.”
Estelle grinned and grabbed his hand fiercely, as if the opportunity to dance was only open for a short glimmering second. “And I think you look dashing and the next dance is a foxtrot and that’s my favorite.” She dragged him toward the floor like a smaller child with her teddy bear.
“Really? It’s not mine,” Rabastan mumbled, but his words were lost in the sea of chatter and the swell of the quintet.
Chapter Number/Title: October 1970: Girls (44/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1920
Workshop?: Suggestions welcome.
October 31, 1970
Girls
“Hallo, Rabbit.” Estelle Yaxley’s voice shook Rabastan from his daydreams. She was hovering over him, shifting her weight awkwardly, and taking small bites from a biscuit, which dribbled little crumbs onto her stiff purple dress robes.
“Oh, Estelle!” Rabastan stood, as taught, in a witch’s presence. “Would you like to sit with me?”
Estelle sighed sadly. “That would be nice, thank you.”
Rabastan put his practice to use and steadied the chair while Estelle sat. It was strange, he thought, but he was sure he felt her energy and happiness fall as she dropped herself into the seat. She took another nibble from her biscuit and stared out into the ballroom with widened eyes.
He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, and caught himself. Do not ask about personal affairs, he reminded himself. “That’s a rather pretty color on you, Estelle,” he said instead.
Little mahogany curls bounced as Estelle snapped her head, jolted out of her own thoughts. “Hm? Oh - thank you. I do like aubergine.” She turned back to the dance, but brought herself back to the conversation once again. “It’s too bad some people think different.”
“Blind people, maybe,” Rabastan offered, with a laugh.
Estelle’s eyes met his again and this time she smiled. “I didn’t know Rosier was blind,” she added, forming her mouth over bitter words.
“Oh. He didn’t like your robes?”
“Guess not.” Her shoulders slumped; the dress shifted. “There have been six dances already. Six. He danced one. Not with me.”
“Well,” Rabastan said, “he’s shy. He had to take the one with Cissy, or it would be a family row. And he’s sat the rest out as best he could.”
“Still.” Estelle uncrossed her ankles and rubbed the sole of her shoe against a chair leg. “You would think… when the rest of you were dancing, and all the other girls were dancing, and I was just left alone to go--” She squeezed her eyes tight and opened them to stare intently at the floor. “-to go get a biscuit. For myself.”
“Come on, Estelle. It’s Evan. He’s not good with… with parties and dances and girls. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t fancy you.”
She raised her head of curls and blinked wide aqua-blue eyes at Rabastan. “D-does he?”
“I don’t know.” It was the truth, but probably not what the girl was hoping to hear. Still, what could he do? Lie and dig his friend into a messy hole of messiness? That would not do. “I can ask, if you like.”
“No,” she spat. “Rabastan Lestrange, don’t you dare, or I’ll make sure you’re turned into a slimy newt and then chopped all up into a potion.” The music came to a coda, and the ballroom bloomed into a rose of polite claps. Estelle took a last bite from her biscuit, swallowed, and then stood, facing Rabastan. “Oh no! Don’t tell anyone I wasn’t dancing.”
Rabastan had scrambled up to stand, as he had been taught, and nodded dutifully, but in no time Estelle had vanished into the crowd, and the boy was alone again, now burdened with the sadness of the Yaxley girl. He looked around for his friends, but it was no use. Mister and Missus Orion Black were still showing off Sirius to old and new acquaintances. Darren was now being led to yet another young girl - Rabastan did not even recognize this one. The younger children were over in a separate room already, and the girls were all in a clump giggling amongst themselves. That only left one person.
“Rabbit,” the cold voice whispered behind him.
“Oh!” Rabastan turned around and grinned. “Where have you been, Evan? With your father as well?”
“No.” Evan crossed his arms and shivered. He spoke quietly, and Rabastan had to strain to hear him over the noise of the music and guests. “Father’s been talking with Mister Avery for a bit. He sent me off, said I needed to sit down. I’ve been standing over there.” He nodded toward a tall No-Wilt Wiltingleaf plant in a half-lit corner. “But now I’m tired of standing. Sit with me.” It was not quite a question, or an invitation or even a demand. Evan Rosier’s tone was flat, as if he had been stating the flavor of the punch.
“Of course,” Rabastan agreed.
“I abhor these.”
“Biscuits?”
“Balls,” corrected Evan, with the faintest trace of a smile. “Don’t you get tired of pretending like you care about silly things?”
“Well.” Rabastan picked at the hem of his sleeve. “It’s not so bad, when everyone’s pretending. It’s like a secret code. But I don’t think balls are silly.” Silly described Narcissa’s prattling, or little children’s games, or that occasional urge to spin around and make nonsense sounds. Balls were very serious. Balls were adult business, and Rabastan knew how much time Maman put into planning this party.
“No, you wouldn’t,” sighed Evan. “They’re all the same, though. Darren’s mother makes him dance every dance, every time, and I’m left on my own.”
Rabastan understood that much. Maman insisted on him making rounds and meeting her most important guests, of course. But one would think Sirius was some newly acquired rare artifact, the way his parents paraded him around. Rabastan’s only consolation protecting him against bitter envy was the knowledge that Sirius was probably not enjoying it much more than Rabastan was.
“You’re with me, now,” he countered. “Maybe you could dance more, though. You’d be with Darren that way.”
“Father says I should never take more than one dance in a row, so I don’t tire too quickly. Besides, I wouldn’t be with Darren. I’d be with some silly girl,” Evan scoffed. “Not that any of them want to dance with me, anyway.”
“Yaxley would.” As soon as the name left his lips, Rabastan remembered his promise. It was too late for that, now. He would just make it up to her some other way.
“Estelle Yaxley? I hardly think so.”
“No, I know so. She’s sad that you haven’t asked her yet.”
Evan’s eyebrows drew together and he squinted, first looking at Rabastan, then at Estelle Yaxley, then at Darren, and then back to Rabastan. “That’s a rather daft thing to be sad about.”
Rabastan shrugged. “She’s a girl. But go on! You should ask her.”
Evan looked doubtful, but stood. “I suppose one dance would be tolerable.”
“That’s the spirit! You should try smiling, though.” Evan forced a dead-eyed grin. “Not like that. Remember last week, when you and Darren trounced me and Sirius at cards?” The grin was replaced by a subtle but genuine smile. “That’s a bit better.”
“What, are you sitting it out?”
Rabastan looked around. He spotted Barbara Nott walking with Estelle away from the dancing. “I guess I could ask Babs.”
Evan nodded, and the two boys made their way over. Evan reached over to tap Estelle’s shoulder - a task made somewhat difficult by her dress robes having tall dramatic shoulder points. She spun on her foot, ready with a glare. “Can you not see I’m talking to - oh. Evan Rosier.”
“Hullo, Miss Yaxley. I was hoping that, em, after you talk to Miss Nott, if I might, em, have the next dance.” The smile of nostalgia for triumph was perhaps not the most appropriate, but it did well enough.
Except that Estelle was not looking at Evan. She was looking at Rabastan. More than looking, she was glaring.
“You!” she exclaimed, as the music dissolved into more polite claps and chatter. “I told you not to say anything. He doesn’t want to dance with me. He’s just doing what you told him!”
Evan opened his mouth to protest, that no, he does not do whatever Rabastan tells him, thank you, but Estelle held a hand up to silence him. Other girls began to join them and watch the unfolding drama, including Narcissa, who apparently decided that social disaster was far more entertaining than a swinging modern up-tempo number.
“How daft are you, Lestrange? I wanted someone to ask me because they actually wanted to dance with me. Does that make a Knut of sense to you? It isn’t only about keeping occupied. You said he fancied me!”
Rabastan’s jaw hung slack. “What, but. No, I said I didn’t know.”
“Oh, like that’s better,” she snapped.
Evan turned on Rabastan now. “What is this, Rabbit? You know I don’t fancy Yaxley!”
Estelle Yaxley wasted no time and slapped Rabastan Lestrange right across the face, before choking into a sob.
“Oh, you poor dear,” simpered Narcissa, resting a hand on the crying girl’s shoulder. Rabastan was not fooled by that act. Neither was Estelle, apparently, because she threw off the hand and ran off to a window, crying in her hands.
“I don’t fancy anyone,” grumbled Evan. “And I don’t even want to dance.”
Think fast, Rabbit. His eyes flitted between Narcissa’s smug smile, Evan’s cold eyes, and Estelle’s shaking figure. How lucky he was that her brother Thaddeus had already started school, and was not here to make Rabastan’s life even more miserable. Think fast.
Rabastan turned and followed the weepy girl over to the window seat where she stood, wistfully gazing out at the fog. “Listen, Estelle--”
She did not even turn around. “I’ve had quite enough from you, Lestrange.”
He wanted to give up and just leave. He had friends to talk to, after all. But no. Think faster, Rabbit. “Give me thirty seconds.”
Estelle spun around, her arms crossed. “I’m counting.”
Rabastan took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for meddling. I was just trying to help, but I know you clearly said not to and threatened to have me Transfigured into a newt. But I… sort of, er, fancied you myself and I wanted to do right by my chum by giving him the chance to get out and ask you first, since you wanted him to.”
Estelle’s usually wide eyes were narrowed now. “Well I don’t give a fig. You embarrassed me, horribly, and in front of Cissy Black so if you think you can just give a thirty second excuse for ruining my social life, then - wait - you fancy me?”
“Ye-es? But I know you’d prefer --”
“No, no,” Estelle dismissed hurriedly. “You do? Really? You don’t like Cissy more?”
Rabastan’s nose wrinkled in earnest. “Grotesque! She’s like an annoying sister. Why would I?”
“Everyone else does,” she sulked. “I mean, that’s why I thought Rosier - nevermind.”
Rabastan squinted, but a first cousin was only mostly out of the lines of reason. “Why not Sirius Black? He doesn’t like Cissy, either.”
“You’re joking, right? He’s frivolous, he doesn’t seem to know that girls exist, and when he does marry, it will probably be his perfect little cousin.” She pursed her lips in a rather convincing impression of an adult witch.
“Whoa, no one said anything about marrying anyone!” Rabastan held up his hands in protest. “I just think you’re pretty! And, um. You have pretty eyes. And I bet you dance very well.”
Estelle grinned and grabbed his hand fiercely, as if the opportunity to dance was only open for a short glimmering second. “And I think you look dashing and the next dance is a foxtrot and that’s my favorite.” She dragged him toward the floor like a smaller child with her teddy bear.
“Really? It’s not mine,” Rabastan mumbled, but his words were lost in the sea of chatter and the swell of the quintet.