Rabbit: June 1971
Title: Rabbit
Chapter Number/Title: June 1971: Shade (52/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2862
Workshop?: Suggestions welcome.
Note: Thanks to Kym and Natacha for help writing Darren and Sirius.
June 19, 1971
Shade
Rabastan and his friends had perfected a few arts over the years: among them, tree-climbing. On sunny summer afternoons, when the usual clouds were too thin for comfortable flying, little was more pleasant than the loftiness of the branches paired with the shade of the higher leaves. And, of course, the strategic advantage of a long view.
“Oh, great,” Sirius grumbled. “Look what’s arrived below.”
Rabastan looked down to see Darren and Evan standing at the base of the tree in the courtyard.
Darren’s pointy chin jutted forward, and he squinted one eye in the dabbled light. “What’s that?”
“Nothing!” Sirius swung, grinning innocently, before landing on a lower bough. The reply was feigned, and not even well-disguised. Rabastan bit back a grimace. He had his own misgivings about Darren and Evan, same as Sirius, but he preferred to not make them public.
Evan scoffed. “Nothing my foot,” he said icily. “It’s not like either of us is thrilled about putting up with you two for an afternoon.”
Rabastan’s calm expression contorted into offense. “What was that?” he asked, standing up on his branch and leaning forward with unusual bravado.
“He’s saying,” Darren clarified, quite unnecessarily, “that we have more fun by ourselves. Honestly, every game we play ends up commandeered by uptight Rabbit and bossy Black.”
Sirius answered by lazily stretching out on the branch and rolling his grey eyes. Rabastan’s own eyes flashed, and he breathed slowly as he gathered his anger. He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came. This was all so wrong. Sure, there had always been a line between the two pairs, and that line had become more of a muddy trench as of late, but to speak aloud about it like this made it feel unpleasantly official.
“Come on,” Evan said. He spoke loud enough to make it clear that the boys in the tree were meant to hear. “Let’s go sit down, and those two can play whatever childish game they made up while you and I finish our plans.”
Sirius and Rabastan simultaneously swallowed back curiosity about what their cousins would be planning. Rabastan felt a rush of jealousy at the thought that they could be planning anything of importance without him. Sirius seemed to notice his discomfort, because he nudged Rabastan’s foot and shouted down, “I hope they aren’t plans for being total swots, because they do that just fine already.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” mocked Evan, before turning toward the courtyard door.
Rabastan felt like the gears of his mind had clogged up, and just been set back in motion. “Wait!” he commanded, jumping down to the ground. To his relief, his voice held some command. Darren and Evan halted, though they remained facing away. “You’re here to visit us, and to do something all together. And now you’re going to walk off and say we’re childish?”
“Don’t bother, Rabbit,” said Sirius smoothly. “They’re just jealous.”
Rabastan wasn’t sure if Sirius had said this out of careless arrogance, or if he was fully aware of the reaction that would ensue. Jealousy, apparently, was not a wise thing to throw down in accusation. Evan and Darren turned back at once. Each had a dangerous look to them: Evan, the narrow eyes and coiled stance of a cat being provoked into attack; Darren, a palpable energy that ran through to his fidgety fingers and twitching eyelids. Rabastan felt himself shut out the panic that would ordinarily rise. He pushed it down and stood tall and still like a statue.
The confrontation only emboldened Sirius. He smirked, leapt down with grace, and leaned an elbow on Rabastan’s shoulder. “At least Rosier’s accepted the fact that he has no concept of fun, but Avery... HA!” The other boys hitched their breath in surprise from the loud sudden laugh. “He really is just jealous. Everyone knows Black and Lestrange, but what’s an Avery from Adam? Useless, really.”
Rabastan knew he shouldn’t laugh, but he did. As soon as the air escaped him, he saw Darren’s flashing eyes shoot away from Sirius and onto him. Before he could respond, he felt a sharp grip on his shoulder and small fist pummel his face. Rabastan held his own, restraining his cousin’s arm, until Sirius grabbed Darren and shoved him away.
Something, though, was left behind. Rabastan felt a cold stickiness on the back of his neck, and reached to touch his fingers to it. When he brought his hand forward again to see it, he found an unpleasant green goo, with little bubbles, almost like--
“Roe. Ghostfish roe,” Darren announced smugly from the floor. He picked himself up and smirked. “Just like cavier, only it’s not edible.”
Rabastan’s breath hitched. As if the disgust factor was not an offense of its own, his neck and his fingers began to feel a sudden sharp stinging, like they had been hit by a nasty jellyfish.
“Oh, right, and it’s hazardous to the touch. How’s that for useless, Lestrange?”
“You Muggle bastard,” gasped Rabastan. His neck seared now, and his fingers felt numb. He used the opportunity to wipe the rest off, to prevent it seeping down the back of his robes. It was possible that some of it was flung in Darren’s direction in the process.
Darren scoffed. “Watch who you’re calling a Muggle, you... you... goblin!”
Rabastan looked up to snap back, but his head was dizzy from pain and all that came out was a whimper and a pleading look at Sirius. Someone had to get him some kind of balm or Elf healing magic or -- anything.
Sirius apparently took the look as a plea for vengeance. Rabastan watched as his best friend rushed toward his cousin and wordlessly, handlessly, wandlessly threw him suspended against the hard courtyard wall. Not against the wall, entirely -- Rabastan could just barely see Darren’s robes caught on an ornate candelabra -- but suspended. And from Rabastan’s experience with explosive uncontrolled Black magical outbursts, he was fairly sure the process had been painful.
“No one calls Rabbit a goblin,” Sirius growled.
Darren rolled his eyes, more concerned with the struggle to untangle his robes from the metal. With some effort, he freed himself and dropped to the ground, scraped up and wincing. Evan reached out a bony hand and lifted him to his feet.
“Forget it, Darren. Let’s leave them to their tree.”
It was a victory, Rabastan told himself, but it felt like defeat. He had a stinging neck and fingers and Sirius had knocked around Darren, and all for what? Going back up the tree and missing out on plans. He opened his mouth to protest, but felt Sirius’s shoulder nudge his own. “The height’s a strategic advantage, you know,” Sirius whispered.
Rabastan nodded, and the two pairs retreated their own ways. Sirius reached a hand up to the lowest branch, kicked off the ground, and -- stopped moving.
“Merlin’s moldy toe!” Sirius pulled back, but his left hand and both feet were held firm to the bark of the tree. With a spare hand, he reached to loosen his feet from his shoes, but they were too far. “Rabbit,” he began, with the faintest touch of panic in his voice, “It’s growing.”
Rabastan looked, and against all sense, it was true: small twigs were growing out of the tree and wrapping around Sirius’ wrist and ankles. “Evan,” he sneered. “He did this, when you were with Darren. Leave us to our tree, that shifty prat.”
Sirius tugged harder, and began looking around for any sign of foul play. “What could he have done?”
Rabastan circled the tree, looking for signs of magic. “No idea,” he said. “Cursing trees hasn’t been on my tutoring schedule.”
“That arsewipe,” swore Sirius. Rabastan was of too like a mind to give the swearing so much as a “tsk”, and instead crouched down at the roots.
“I can’t figure it out. But it was him. I know it.”
“Oh, Morgana’s tit!”
Rabastan popped his head back around the trunk and saw that Sirius now had all four limbs trapped, with a penknife dangling from his newly-stuck right hand.
“Can’t cut it off,” Sirius explained. “Probably some runes or some shite. I’m going to kill him and then get him sent to Azkaban, I swear--”
“Stop,” warned Rabastan. “You’re smoking.”
And so he was -- or at least, the bits of bark that held onto his wrists and ankles were. The twigs smoldered but held firm.
“I’m going to the library,” said Rabastan.
“The bollocks you are,” Sirius growled. “If you think I’m going to wait around while you research a way out of this--”
“I’m not< going to research.” Rabastan heard his voice like it were a stranger’s, hardened and low. “I’m going to take Rosier down, and I’m going to make him talk.”
Sirius’s scowl broke into a grin. “Go, then!”
And so he went, hurrying inside until all he could hear were faint mutterings of his friend swearing at the tree and anything else that would listen. Rabastan knew exactly where to go: in the library, in the tall cupboard with eighteen drawers, where Father kept a smooth black talisman that he had seen Rodolphus and Lucius testing out. Thankfully, the coast was clear, and with little trouble, Rabastan had the talisman, wrapped in a protective silk, and the small black book that would show him how to use it.
Talisman was perhaps not the best word, because it certainly did not bring good fortune: quite the opposite, in fact. Rabastan gripped the talisman with his swollen hand and paged through the book, looking for instructions. There it was: a drawing of the same strange curves, with the title For ye Summoninge of Fears. That would do, quite well. All he would have to do was hold out--
“The talisman,” said a voice over his shoulder. A honeyed, low, accented woman’s voice: his mother’s. Rabastan swallowed and held the artifact up to his shoulder. “Look at me.”
Slowly, he turned away from the book and met his mother’s eyes.
“What were you going to do with this, exactly?” she asked.
“I... needed it... to...” he stumbled, feeling the panic of getting caught mixing with the dizziness from his earlier casualty.
“To get back at whichever boy left this on your neck?” Thin fingers pushed Rabastan’s head to the side for a better view of the damage. “What was this, ghostfish roe?”
Rabastan looked down, letting his silence speak for itself.
“It hurts, no?”
Rabastan nodded with wide eyes. “Can you fix it?” he asked.
“Oui. But after you bring me to the other boys and we talk about this. Are they harmed as well?”
“Darren got knocked around. And Sirius, um,” he mumbled, “might be stuck to a tree.”
“Out,” said Maman, firmly now. “Tout de suite!”
The two went out from the library: she, directing him with a firm hand on his shoulder; he, with his head low and his feet dragging as he walked ahead of her. Outside in the courtyard, Sirius struggled under the tree, just where Rabastan had left him. Darren and Evan were nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, Rabbit!” Sirius’ struggling stopped as he looked over, relieved, and then saw who followed. “Oh.”
“Yes, ‘oh’.” Angelique Lestrange clapped twice, and a trusty Elf appeared at her side. Rabastan did not look back to bother seeing which one it was. “Elf, bring the other boys here at once.”
“Um.” Sirius cleared his throat. “Madame Lestrange,” he said in his most polished voice, “I would be eternally grateful if you were to happen to know how to undo the curse on this tree...”
“And I would be grateful to not have boys burning my garden trees,” she responded, flicking her wand to fizzle out a small flame that was licking around the bark near Sirius’s feet.
“Oh. Heh... sorry about that,” he said lamely.
Rabastan had had enough. What had they done wrong, after all? “Maman,” he said, building up his courage. “I know it’s... unusual, but Sirius and I didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, nothing not normal. It was Darren and Evan, they--”
Crack! The Elf reappeared, with one boy on each arm. Darren wriggled out of the grasp in disgust, limping away from the Elf, and Evan began rubbing his ear.
“All of you, sit,” Angelique ordered, and the three who could did so, under the shade of the cursed tree, Rabastan under Sirius’ shadow and the other two on the other side, far from the trunk. “First, you two,” she said, looking to Darren and Evan, “are extremely lucky I found Rabastan when I did. This… talisman? It is not a toy. Magical artifacts are not toys. Dark artifacts even less so. What would I have done if you had meddled in something I could not fix? Not all curses are reversible.”
Rabastan gathered all his will so as not to roll his eyes. “I wasn’t going to kill him,” he said. A sharp look from Maman quieted his excuses. Clearly, she was not going to start being reasonable now.
But at least she might be fair, because she turned on Evan now, bending her knees and speaking in a low voice. “And Evan Rosier, is this your tree?”
Evan cut his eyes and mumbled a “no’m”.
“And have you treated it as you should treat someone else’s property?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“And are you a wizard of proper age for this kind of magic? Or,” she added, sweeping a glare over all of them, “any kind of magic, according to the law?”
“No, Missus Lestrange.”
“I thought not. I have no say over what your father does or does not teach you, but you are to think twice about what you bring into my home. That goes for you, too, Darren. Ghostfish roe?”
Darren tapped his knee in nervousness. “It’s not all that dangerous,” he said in defense.
“Dangerous enough in the Ministry’s eyes. If a mature wizard has reasons for going around the law, so be it. Your father knows how to use such things and the risks to others and himself. You do not. You are a child, without even a wand yet.”
Rabastan reached his neck out enough to see Darren recoil. Even with everything else, that might have made it worth it.
“And Sirius Black,” the witch said with a sigh. “I hope nothing sinister explains the blood on Darren’s robes?”
Sirius shrugged, as much as he could shrug while suspended like a sloth. “It just happened. Nothing illegal, I promise. I mean, I was angry, and... you know. It just happened.”
Angelique’s eyes narrowed. “You are old enough that you ought to control yourself... but at least you acted as a child who knows he is a child. Though I do wonder, how did this begin?”
Darren and Evan looked directly at Sirius, and while Rabastan told himself to keep his eyes on his mother, he could not help but steal a briefest glance upwards.
“I see. It is one thing to fight, and another to put one another into danger. I am here, the Elves are here, and if anyone is hurt, you are to get one of us immediately. Is that clear?”
The four boys nodded sullenly.
Rabastan rubbed his neck, wondering if he would be left with the welt forever, or how long Sirius would be left in the tree. “Maman,” he said quietly, “I think we’re all hurt now. Except Evan.” He looked up with large eyes, hoping for some pity to follow the berating.
“So you are. Taddy,” she said, “get the boy out of the tree and attend to the others.”
Rabastan scooted out of the way just before a shudder ran through the tree and released his friend onto the grass below.
“Oof,” said Sirius, sitting up and circling his wrists.
“I will be contacting your mothers, immediately-and your father, Evan. And know this,” she added, making eye contact with each boy, “You are children now, but soon you will have wands, and be in school, and learn many things that can help or hurt one another. You are cousins, and you are friends. There will be enough danger in the world without turning on one another. Do you understand that?”
The boys nodded and muttered in affirmation. Rabastan felt a pit of guilt settle in his stomach. Evan and Darren were terrible, but they were family. His mother was right.
“Good,” she continued. Her eyes narrowed once more and her voice dropped. “And if I ever see, hear, or learn, that you have harmed one of your own, I will personally see to it that you will have a swift and one-way trip to Azkaban.” Angelique stood tall again, and ran her fingers through the low leaves of her prized tree. “Or worse,” she added with a final glance down at the boys, before gliding back inside, leaving the healed combatants sulking in the shade.
Chapter Number/Title: June 1971: Shade (52/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2862
Workshop?: Suggestions welcome.
Note: Thanks to Kym and Natacha for help writing Darren and Sirius.
June 19, 1971
Shade
Rabastan and his friends had perfected a few arts over the years: among them, tree-climbing. On sunny summer afternoons, when the usual clouds were too thin for comfortable flying, little was more pleasant than the loftiness of the branches paired with the shade of the higher leaves. And, of course, the strategic advantage of a long view.
“Oh, great,” Sirius grumbled. “Look what’s arrived below.”
Rabastan looked down to see Darren and Evan standing at the base of the tree in the courtyard.
Darren’s pointy chin jutted forward, and he squinted one eye in the dabbled light. “What’s that?”
“Nothing!” Sirius swung, grinning innocently, before landing on a lower bough. The reply was feigned, and not even well-disguised. Rabastan bit back a grimace. He had his own misgivings about Darren and Evan, same as Sirius, but he preferred to not make them public.
Evan scoffed. “Nothing my foot,” he said icily. “It’s not like either of us is thrilled about putting up with you two for an afternoon.”
Rabastan’s calm expression contorted into offense. “What was that?” he asked, standing up on his branch and leaning forward with unusual bravado.
“He’s saying,” Darren clarified, quite unnecessarily, “that we have more fun by ourselves. Honestly, every game we play ends up commandeered by uptight Rabbit and bossy Black.”
Sirius answered by lazily stretching out on the branch and rolling his grey eyes. Rabastan’s own eyes flashed, and he breathed slowly as he gathered his anger. He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came. This was all so wrong. Sure, there had always been a line between the two pairs, and that line had become more of a muddy trench as of late, but to speak aloud about it like this made it feel unpleasantly official.
“Come on,” Evan said. He spoke loud enough to make it clear that the boys in the tree were meant to hear. “Let’s go sit down, and those two can play whatever childish game they made up while you and I finish our plans.”
Sirius and Rabastan simultaneously swallowed back curiosity about what their cousins would be planning. Rabastan felt a rush of jealousy at the thought that they could be planning anything of importance without him. Sirius seemed to notice his discomfort, because he nudged Rabastan’s foot and shouted down, “I hope they aren’t plans for being total swots, because they do that just fine already.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” mocked Evan, before turning toward the courtyard door.
Rabastan felt like the gears of his mind had clogged up, and just been set back in motion. “Wait!” he commanded, jumping down to the ground. To his relief, his voice held some command. Darren and Evan halted, though they remained facing away. “You’re here to visit us, and to do something all together. And now you’re going to walk off and say we’re childish?”
“Don’t bother, Rabbit,” said Sirius smoothly. “They’re just jealous.”
Rabastan wasn’t sure if Sirius had said this out of careless arrogance, or if he was fully aware of the reaction that would ensue. Jealousy, apparently, was not a wise thing to throw down in accusation. Evan and Darren turned back at once. Each had a dangerous look to them: Evan, the narrow eyes and coiled stance of a cat being provoked into attack; Darren, a palpable energy that ran through to his fidgety fingers and twitching eyelids. Rabastan felt himself shut out the panic that would ordinarily rise. He pushed it down and stood tall and still like a statue.
The confrontation only emboldened Sirius. He smirked, leapt down with grace, and leaned an elbow on Rabastan’s shoulder. “At least Rosier’s accepted the fact that he has no concept of fun, but Avery... HA!” The other boys hitched their breath in surprise from the loud sudden laugh. “He really is just jealous. Everyone knows Black and Lestrange, but what’s an Avery from Adam? Useless, really.”
Rabastan knew he shouldn’t laugh, but he did. As soon as the air escaped him, he saw Darren’s flashing eyes shoot away from Sirius and onto him. Before he could respond, he felt a sharp grip on his shoulder and small fist pummel his face. Rabastan held his own, restraining his cousin’s arm, until Sirius grabbed Darren and shoved him away.
Something, though, was left behind. Rabastan felt a cold stickiness on the back of his neck, and reached to touch his fingers to it. When he brought his hand forward again to see it, he found an unpleasant green goo, with little bubbles, almost like--
“Roe. Ghostfish roe,” Darren announced smugly from the floor. He picked himself up and smirked. “Just like cavier, only it’s not edible.”
Rabastan’s breath hitched. As if the disgust factor was not an offense of its own, his neck and his fingers began to feel a sudden sharp stinging, like they had been hit by a nasty jellyfish.
“Oh, right, and it’s hazardous to the touch. How’s that for useless, Lestrange?”
“You Muggle bastard,” gasped Rabastan. His neck seared now, and his fingers felt numb. He used the opportunity to wipe the rest off, to prevent it seeping down the back of his robes. It was possible that some of it was flung in Darren’s direction in the process.
Darren scoffed. “Watch who you’re calling a Muggle, you... you... goblin!”
Rabastan looked up to snap back, but his head was dizzy from pain and all that came out was a whimper and a pleading look at Sirius. Someone had to get him some kind of balm or Elf healing magic or -- anything.
Sirius apparently took the look as a plea for vengeance. Rabastan watched as his best friend rushed toward his cousin and wordlessly, handlessly, wandlessly threw him suspended against the hard courtyard wall. Not against the wall, entirely -- Rabastan could just barely see Darren’s robes caught on an ornate candelabra -- but suspended. And from Rabastan’s experience with explosive uncontrolled Black magical outbursts, he was fairly sure the process had been painful.
“No one calls Rabbit a goblin,” Sirius growled.
Darren rolled his eyes, more concerned with the struggle to untangle his robes from the metal. With some effort, he freed himself and dropped to the ground, scraped up and wincing. Evan reached out a bony hand and lifted him to his feet.
“Forget it, Darren. Let’s leave them to their tree.”
It was a victory, Rabastan told himself, but it felt like defeat. He had a stinging neck and fingers and Sirius had knocked around Darren, and all for what? Going back up the tree and missing out on plans. He opened his mouth to protest, but felt Sirius’s shoulder nudge his own. “The height’s a strategic advantage, you know,” Sirius whispered.
Rabastan nodded, and the two pairs retreated their own ways. Sirius reached a hand up to the lowest branch, kicked off the ground, and -- stopped moving.
“Merlin’s moldy toe!” Sirius pulled back, but his left hand and both feet were held firm to the bark of the tree. With a spare hand, he reached to loosen his feet from his shoes, but they were too far. “Rabbit,” he began, with the faintest touch of panic in his voice, “It’s growing.”
Rabastan looked, and against all sense, it was true: small twigs were growing out of the tree and wrapping around Sirius’ wrist and ankles. “Evan,” he sneered. “He did this, when you were with Darren. Leave us to our tree, that shifty prat.”
Sirius tugged harder, and began looking around for any sign of foul play. “What could he have done?”
Rabastan circled the tree, looking for signs of magic. “No idea,” he said. “Cursing trees hasn’t been on my tutoring schedule.”
“That arsewipe,” swore Sirius. Rabastan was of too like a mind to give the swearing so much as a “tsk”, and instead crouched down at the roots.
“I can’t figure it out. But it was him. I know it.”
“Oh, Morgana’s tit!”
Rabastan popped his head back around the trunk and saw that Sirius now had all four limbs trapped, with a penknife dangling from his newly-stuck right hand.
“Can’t cut it off,” Sirius explained. “Probably some runes or some shite. I’m going to kill him and then get him sent to Azkaban, I swear--”
“Stop,” warned Rabastan. “You’re smoking.”
And so he was -- or at least, the bits of bark that held onto his wrists and ankles were. The twigs smoldered but held firm.
“I’m going to the library,” said Rabastan.
“The bollocks you are,” Sirius growled. “If you think I’m going to wait around while you research a way out of this--”
“I’m not< going to research.” Rabastan heard his voice like it were a stranger’s, hardened and low. “I’m going to take Rosier down, and I’m going to make him talk.”
Sirius’s scowl broke into a grin. “Go, then!”
And so he went, hurrying inside until all he could hear were faint mutterings of his friend swearing at the tree and anything else that would listen. Rabastan knew exactly where to go: in the library, in the tall cupboard with eighteen drawers, where Father kept a smooth black talisman that he had seen Rodolphus and Lucius testing out. Thankfully, the coast was clear, and with little trouble, Rabastan had the talisman, wrapped in a protective silk, and the small black book that would show him how to use it.
Talisman was perhaps not the best word, because it certainly did not bring good fortune: quite the opposite, in fact. Rabastan gripped the talisman with his swollen hand and paged through the book, looking for instructions. There it was: a drawing of the same strange curves, with the title For ye Summoninge of Fears. That would do, quite well. All he would have to do was hold out--
“The talisman,” said a voice over his shoulder. A honeyed, low, accented woman’s voice: his mother’s. Rabastan swallowed and held the artifact up to his shoulder. “Look at me.”
Slowly, he turned away from the book and met his mother’s eyes.
“What were you going to do with this, exactly?” she asked.
“I... needed it... to...” he stumbled, feeling the panic of getting caught mixing with the dizziness from his earlier casualty.
“To get back at whichever boy left this on your neck?” Thin fingers pushed Rabastan’s head to the side for a better view of the damage. “What was this, ghostfish roe?”
Rabastan looked down, letting his silence speak for itself.
“It hurts, no?”
Rabastan nodded with wide eyes. “Can you fix it?” he asked.
“Oui. But after you bring me to the other boys and we talk about this. Are they harmed as well?”
“Darren got knocked around. And Sirius, um,” he mumbled, “might be stuck to a tree.”
“Out,” said Maman, firmly now. “Tout de suite!”
The two went out from the library: she, directing him with a firm hand on his shoulder; he, with his head low and his feet dragging as he walked ahead of her. Outside in the courtyard, Sirius struggled under the tree, just where Rabastan had left him. Darren and Evan were nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, Rabbit!” Sirius’ struggling stopped as he looked over, relieved, and then saw who followed. “Oh.”
“Yes, ‘oh’.” Angelique Lestrange clapped twice, and a trusty Elf appeared at her side. Rabastan did not look back to bother seeing which one it was. “Elf, bring the other boys here at once.”
“Um.” Sirius cleared his throat. “Madame Lestrange,” he said in his most polished voice, “I would be eternally grateful if you were to happen to know how to undo the curse on this tree...”
“And I would be grateful to not have boys burning my garden trees,” she responded, flicking her wand to fizzle out a small flame that was licking around the bark near Sirius’s feet.
“Oh. Heh... sorry about that,” he said lamely.
Rabastan had had enough. What had they done wrong, after all? “Maman,” he said, building up his courage. “I know it’s... unusual, but Sirius and I didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, nothing not normal. It was Darren and Evan, they--”
Crack! The Elf reappeared, with one boy on each arm. Darren wriggled out of the grasp in disgust, limping away from the Elf, and Evan began rubbing his ear.
“All of you, sit,” Angelique ordered, and the three who could did so, under the shade of the cursed tree, Rabastan under Sirius’ shadow and the other two on the other side, far from the trunk. “First, you two,” she said, looking to Darren and Evan, “are extremely lucky I found Rabastan when I did. This… talisman? It is not a toy. Magical artifacts are not toys. Dark artifacts even less so. What would I have done if you had meddled in something I could not fix? Not all curses are reversible.”
Rabastan gathered all his will so as not to roll his eyes. “I wasn’t going to kill him,” he said. A sharp look from Maman quieted his excuses. Clearly, she was not going to start being reasonable now.
But at least she might be fair, because she turned on Evan now, bending her knees and speaking in a low voice. “And Evan Rosier, is this your tree?”
Evan cut his eyes and mumbled a “no’m”.
“And have you treated it as you should treat someone else’s property?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“And are you a wizard of proper age for this kind of magic? Or,” she added, sweeping a glare over all of them, “any kind of magic, according to the law?”
“No, Missus Lestrange.”
“I thought not. I have no say over what your father does or does not teach you, but you are to think twice about what you bring into my home. That goes for you, too, Darren. Ghostfish roe?”
Darren tapped his knee in nervousness. “It’s not all that dangerous,” he said in defense.
“Dangerous enough in the Ministry’s eyes. If a mature wizard has reasons for going around the law, so be it. Your father knows how to use such things and the risks to others and himself. You do not. You are a child, without even a wand yet.”
Rabastan reached his neck out enough to see Darren recoil. Even with everything else, that might have made it worth it.
“And Sirius Black,” the witch said with a sigh. “I hope nothing sinister explains the blood on Darren’s robes?”
Sirius shrugged, as much as he could shrug while suspended like a sloth. “It just happened. Nothing illegal, I promise. I mean, I was angry, and... you know. It just happened.”
Angelique’s eyes narrowed. “You are old enough that you ought to control yourself... but at least you acted as a child who knows he is a child. Though I do wonder, how did this begin?”
Darren and Evan looked directly at Sirius, and while Rabastan told himself to keep his eyes on his mother, he could not help but steal a briefest glance upwards.
“I see. It is one thing to fight, and another to put one another into danger. I am here, the Elves are here, and if anyone is hurt, you are to get one of us immediately. Is that clear?”
The four boys nodded sullenly.
Rabastan rubbed his neck, wondering if he would be left with the welt forever, or how long Sirius would be left in the tree. “Maman,” he said quietly, “I think we’re all hurt now. Except Evan.” He looked up with large eyes, hoping for some pity to follow the berating.
“So you are. Taddy,” she said, “get the boy out of the tree and attend to the others.”
Rabastan scooted out of the way just before a shudder ran through the tree and released his friend onto the grass below.
“Oof,” said Sirius, sitting up and circling his wrists.
“I will be contacting your mothers, immediately-and your father, Evan. And know this,” she added, making eye contact with each boy, “You are children now, but soon you will have wands, and be in school, and learn many things that can help or hurt one another. You are cousins, and you are friends. There will be enough danger in the world without turning on one another. Do you understand that?”
The boys nodded and muttered in affirmation. Rabastan felt a pit of guilt settle in his stomach. Evan and Darren were terrible, but they were family. His mother was right.
“Good,” she continued. Her eyes narrowed once more and her voice dropped. “And if I ever see, hear, or learn, that you have harmed one of your own, I will personally see to it that you will have a swift and one-way trip to Azkaban.” Angelique stood tall again, and ran her fingers through the low leaves of her prized tree. “Or worse,” she added with a final glance down at the boys, before gliding back inside, leaving the healed combatants sulking in the shade.