Rabbit: October 1971
Title: Rabbit
Chapter Number/Title: October 1971: Inside (56/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1952
Workshop?: Suggestions welcome.
October 13, 1971
Inside
Outside of the Slytherin dormitory, Rabastan paced. He didn’t like to seem idle-someone might ask why he was loitering, or try to give him some task to keep him busy-but it was eight o’clock, and that’s when Sirius said he would come by. Finally, he heard the unmistakable patter from the stairwell and saw his friend sauntering down the hall.
“Sorry!” Sirius was saying. “This berk McClaggan ran into me on the way out and spilled everything.”
“Ugh,” Rabastan groaned. “Sorry. At least you didn’t have to run errands for Wilkes all day.” He walked over to the brick wall, glanced around for eavesdroppers, and said, “Demiguise.”
The wall opened into a dark passage with a glimmering green light at the end, and Rabastan stepped in. Sirius snuck along behind Rabastan before the wall re-formed. “I might take Wilkes over McClaggan and the haughty Muggles,” he said.
Rabastan grimaced at the dark, all too aware that a childish insult had materialized into an actual thing. “I dunno, I’m in Slytherin and I still manage to have a half-blood in my bedroom. And a big-nose no-fun one at that.”
“Snivellus,” Sirius hissed.
Rabastan laughed. “I don’t even care that that big-head Potter coined it - that name’s brilliant. Snivellus… Blugh! Who knows what he picks up from running around with that Mudblood of his.”
“The bossy ginger bint always showing you up in Charms lessons? That’s Evans,” Sirius said helpfully.
Rabastan looked back darkly as they emerged into the greenish glow of the Common Room. “Yeah, thanks, Sirius. I knew her name.” He knew her surname, at least. Her first name eluded him. Lavinia or something.
Sirius held his hands out. “So this is it: the forbidden city!”
Rabastan sighed. “Yeah. I’m glad you finally get to see it! I mean, it’s not much, but… to have a mental picture, you know. I still think it’s a daft rule.”
“Careful, now, or you’ll get covered in flies for questioning The Authority, like Avery did.”
“Ha,” answered Rabastan heartlessly. It was a little too true to be funny. At first, he had thought that the iron rule of the seventh years over the Common Room-and over the lowerclassmen generally-was just a normal part of House life. It turned out to only be part of Slytherin House life. He was glad that The Authority included his brother, but it also made the entire system feel like an elaborate mind-game: was Bellatrix the enemy, because she made the stupid rules, or a friend, because she had created an exemption for Sirius? how sincere could Rodolphus’ sympathy be for Rabastan chafing under the orders of third-years when Rodolphus gave more orders than anyone other than Lucius Malfoy?
“All that talk about no one from outside the Houses ever getting in, though, what a load of rubbish,” Sirius scoffed. “I’ve seen Gideon Prewett bring in girls from other Houses every week. Or was it Fabian?” He scratched his nose, trying to figure out the difference.
Rabastan nodded, eyes wide. “I know. Even when they said no exceptions, they-” he dropped his voice to a whisper. “They said no exceptions ‘yet’. Like there’s some established tradition for earning the right to bring others in.” That was it: established tradition. The seventh-years were just guardians of it. Rabastan liked tradition well enough, but every tradition of Slytherin House seemed to target him. It was getting old. “I think there’s an established tradition for just about everything here,” he muttered.
Sirius laughed. “I bet there’s an established tradition for wiping your arse.” He walked forward, down the steps, and looked up at the lake through the windows. “Wow. I want a whole underwater castle,” he declared. “You can really see the Squid sometimes?”
“Yeah. Well, I’ve only seen it far-off, but it’s… around.”
“Brilliant.” He reached up, as if to touch the window, but it was just out of reach. “Uncle Alphard has the best story about the Squid, but I always thought he might be making it up.”
“So!” He shimmied sideways into Rabastan. “Let’s have the grand tour!”
Rabastan was torn, between wanting to show off the best of his House and not wanting to upset Sirius, but he grinned and nodded. “All right, so… ” He pointed back at a hallway near the entrance. “That way’s our dorms, and over there,” he pointed to the other side of the entrance, “are the the girls. The lower years are further down, and then the upper years, and then seventh-years on the same level as the common room. I hear their room is huge.”
“Can I see?”
“I can show you our room later, for sure. Nothing special, really. The exciting parts are here. We’ll start at the top.” He dragged Sirius toward a massive fireplace, surrounded by high-back leather chairs, but stopped two meters short of them. “That’s the seventh-years’ place,” he said, pointing.
Sirius edged forward.
“No!” Rabastan grabbed his hand. “You-”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “But I want to say hello.”
Rabastan shook his head, but the Voice of Authority spoke. It sounded a lot like Rodolphus.
“You two can come over. We can see you snooping there.”
“We weren’t snooping, I swear,” said Rabastan. He understood this rule, out of all of them. Seventh-years were full-grown adult wizards, with serious conversations that weren’t meant for the ears of just any passerby.
He and Sirius cautiously approached the ring of chairs. Rodolphus sat in one, toward the left, with Lucius next to him. A few spots down the other way were two girls whom Rabastan knew less well: Cecily Tarleton and Araminta Elphick. They had been leaning together, forehead to forehead, sharing some rich news, but stopped and looked Rabastan and his friend over with some disdain.
“These look comfortable,” Sirius observed. It was clear it was taking all of his willpower to not flop into one, and Rabastan was eternally grateful.
“They are,” Lucius said in his lazy drawl. He was stretched languidly across his chair, his long legs reaching to the hearth. “You know, Sirius Black, if you’d like the full Slytherin experience, I have some books from the library that need returning.”
“I’m not an Elf,” Sirius scoffed.
Rabastan scowled. “We’ll do it! On our way out.”
Lucius shrugged. “Sure. I just thought we were being inclusive. If you don’t want favors…”
“He’s very grateful,” said Rabastan. He elbowed Sirius in the side. “Isn’t he?”
Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Whatever Rabbit says.”
“Rab-astan.”
“Whatever Rabastan says. I’d just love the opportunity to return your books, Malfoy.”
Rodolphus flashed a smile of approval. “Are you giving Sirius the tour, Rabastan?”
“Yes. Well, I’m trying.
“Very good. Sorry you aren’t with us, Black.”
Sirius nodded. “Yeah, me too. Thanks, Dolph.” He caught sight of the mantle and his eyes widened. “Whoa,” he said, drawing closer to it and reaching a hand out to an obsidian skull. “May I-”
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Rodolphus warned. “Assuming you like your fingers as they are.”
Sirius’s fingers hovered inches from it, and then he obediently stuffed his hand into his pocket. “All right then. Rabbit, what’s the rest of the tour?”
“This way.” Rabastan led Sirius away, and behind them Lucius whined at Rodolphus for sparing Sirius the much-deserved consequences of putting his fingers where they didn’t belong.
“The big couches in the middle,” Rabastan narrated, “those are for the sixth-years.”
“Like ‘Dromeda,” said Sirius. “Where is she?”
Rabastan shrugged. “I dunno. With Bella, maybe. Or doing Prefect business.”
They continued next in a wide semi-circle: first Rabastan showed off the fifth-years’ huge work tables, which shifted shape and size according to need for OWL preparations; then, they walked past the long, curved bench under lakelight where the four-years were sprawled; on the other side of the room, they came to the third-year carrels where Thaddeus Yaxley and Winthrop Wilkes were half-heartedly working on a divination assignment.
The two third-years noticed the newcomer and gave a curt nod of recognition.
“Lo, Black.”
Sirius grinned. “Hiya, Wilkes.”
“Want Thad to tell your future? He can’t see anything but swirls, but that’s gotta mean something.”
Thaddeus Yaxley punched his friend in the gut. “That’s a swirl for you,” he said.
“Ouch!”
Rabastan balanced on his toes, worried about lingering too long and being recruited for some terrible task. That reminded him. “Oh, Win, I uh, have that list you wanted. It’s in my satchel.”
Winthrop looked up, breaking his dramatic reaction to the punch. “Good-I need that tonight.”
Rabastan met Sirius’s eyes and gave a sharp nod to come away.
“Merlin,” Sirius whispered, “I don’t much miss them.”
Rabastan shrugged. “They’re not all that bad. Not like-”
“Mulciber,” Sirius growled.
Instead of showing Sirius the pile of pillows where the second-years got to sit, Rabastan found himself facing the ugly mug of Torben Mulciber greeted the pair. “Who said you could let in your little Gryffin-friend, baby Lestrange?”
Sirius’ jaw edged out in challenge, and Rabastan felt the courage infectious. “You’re not in charge here, Mulciber,” he dared.
“I’m in charge over ickle firsties who don’t know their place. I don’t care you your brother is, Lestrange. You answer to me.”
Rabastan swallowed. He knew Mulciber was a coward, whatever his words, but he dared not contradict a older student. Rodolphus would protect him from real harm, but not from the usual course of established tradition.
Sirius was not so timid. “I’m not here as his guest. I was given permission.”
“Permission? Ha! You’re his mate, and he let you in. He knows he’s not allowed guests yet. It’s the rule.”
Rabastan watched Sirius wrestle between wanting to put Mulciber in his place and wanting to spare his friend later grief. As they exchanged a look, the second-year laughed.
“Like I said. You should keep your Gryffindor rubbish-”
He fell into silence as the amused cackle of Bellatrix Black met their ears. The seventh-year strode into the room with confidence and loomed over the bully. “Is this really a fight you want to pick, Montague?”
Torben’s arrogant posture fell in concession. “It’s Mulciber,” he muttered.
“It’s Mu-ulciber,” Bellatrix mocked. “Do I look like I care what some Second-Year Scum has to say to me?”
“N-no.”
“Correct. Since you are so sharp in noticing seniority, I take it you notice mine.”
“Yes’m,” Mulciber mumbled.
“All right then. In case you missed the memo, Scum, this ‘Gryffindor rubbish’ is the scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.” She tossed her head so that her long, sleek hair cascaded over her shoulder. “The upper forms all agreed: he’s welcome as he pleases. Just because our mentally deranged Headmaster thinks a Hat’s word is final doesn’t mean we do. Am I clear?”
Torben glared at Sirius, not at all hiding his ire.
“If you’d like to be permanently dumb,” Bellatrix warned, “I can arrange that.”
“That’s clear,” he answered.
“Good. Now scram!” Bellatrix’s face flashed and her voice jolted so that even Rabastan felt his heart jump a beat.
“Th-thanks, Bella,” he said.
“Whatever,” she waved. “Just mind that my cousin wipes his boots. Don’t want him dragging in any mud from that tower,” she ordered, walking back toward the black chairs by the fire.
“Wow,” said Sirius. “She- that was-”
“Amazing.”
“Harsh,” he finished. The boys looked at each other, and laughed. “The look on Mulciber’s face was amazing,” Sirius agreed. “Second-Year Scum?”
“She was a little harsh,” Rabastan admitted in a hushed tone. “But that’s just Bella,” he reasoned with a shrug.
“Yeah,” said Sirius. “Good old Bella.”
Chapter Number/Title: October 1971: Inside (56/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1952
Workshop?: Suggestions welcome.
October 13, 1971
Inside
Outside of the Slytherin dormitory, Rabastan paced. He didn’t like to seem idle-someone might ask why he was loitering, or try to give him some task to keep him busy-but it was eight o’clock, and that’s when Sirius said he would come by. Finally, he heard the unmistakable patter from the stairwell and saw his friend sauntering down the hall.
“Sorry!” Sirius was saying. “This berk McClaggan ran into me on the way out and spilled everything.”
“Ugh,” Rabastan groaned. “Sorry. At least you didn’t have to run errands for Wilkes all day.” He walked over to the brick wall, glanced around for eavesdroppers, and said, “Demiguise.”
The wall opened into a dark passage with a glimmering green light at the end, and Rabastan stepped in. Sirius snuck along behind Rabastan before the wall re-formed. “I might take Wilkes over McClaggan and the haughty Muggles,” he said.
Rabastan grimaced at the dark, all too aware that a childish insult had materialized into an actual thing. “I dunno, I’m in Slytherin and I still manage to have a half-blood in my bedroom. And a big-nose no-fun one at that.”
“Snivellus,” Sirius hissed.
Rabastan laughed. “I don’t even care that that big-head Potter coined it - that name’s brilliant. Snivellus… Blugh! Who knows what he picks up from running around with that Mudblood of his.”
“The bossy ginger bint always showing you up in Charms lessons? That’s Evans,” Sirius said helpfully.
Rabastan looked back darkly as they emerged into the greenish glow of the Common Room. “Yeah, thanks, Sirius. I knew her name.” He knew her surname, at least. Her first name eluded him. Lavinia or something.
Sirius held his hands out. “So this is it: the forbidden city!”
Rabastan sighed. “Yeah. I’m glad you finally get to see it! I mean, it’s not much, but… to have a mental picture, you know. I still think it’s a daft rule.”
“Careful, now, or you’ll get covered in flies for questioning The Authority, like Avery did.”
“Ha,” answered Rabastan heartlessly. It was a little too true to be funny. At first, he had thought that the iron rule of the seventh years over the Common Room-and over the lowerclassmen generally-was just a normal part of House life. It turned out to only be part of Slytherin House life. He was glad that The Authority included his brother, but it also made the entire system feel like an elaborate mind-game: was Bellatrix the enemy, because she made the stupid rules, or a friend, because she had created an exemption for Sirius? how sincere could Rodolphus’ sympathy be for Rabastan chafing under the orders of third-years when Rodolphus gave more orders than anyone other than Lucius Malfoy?
“All that talk about no one from outside the Houses ever getting in, though, what a load of rubbish,” Sirius scoffed. “I’ve seen Gideon Prewett bring in girls from other Houses every week. Or was it Fabian?” He scratched his nose, trying to figure out the difference.
Rabastan nodded, eyes wide. “I know. Even when they said no exceptions, they-” he dropped his voice to a whisper. “They said no exceptions ‘yet’. Like there’s some established tradition for earning the right to bring others in.” That was it: established tradition. The seventh-years were just guardians of it. Rabastan liked tradition well enough, but every tradition of Slytherin House seemed to target him. It was getting old. “I think there’s an established tradition for just about everything here,” he muttered.
Sirius laughed. “I bet there’s an established tradition for wiping your arse.” He walked forward, down the steps, and looked up at the lake through the windows. “Wow. I want a whole underwater castle,” he declared. “You can really see the Squid sometimes?”
“Yeah. Well, I’ve only seen it far-off, but it’s… around.”
“Brilliant.” He reached up, as if to touch the window, but it was just out of reach. “Uncle Alphard has the best story about the Squid, but I always thought he might be making it up.”
“So!” He shimmied sideways into Rabastan. “Let’s have the grand tour!”
Rabastan was torn, between wanting to show off the best of his House and not wanting to upset Sirius, but he grinned and nodded. “All right, so… ” He pointed back at a hallway near the entrance. “That way’s our dorms, and over there,” he pointed to the other side of the entrance, “are the the girls. The lower years are further down, and then the upper years, and then seventh-years on the same level as the common room. I hear their room is huge.”
“Can I see?”
“I can show you our room later, for sure. Nothing special, really. The exciting parts are here. We’ll start at the top.” He dragged Sirius toward a massive fireplace, surrounded by high-back leather chairs, but stopped two meters short of them. “That’s the seventh-years’ place,” he said, pointing.
Sirius edged forward.
“No!” Rabastan grabbed his hand. “You-”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “But I want to say hello.”
Rabastan shook his head, but the Voice of Authority spoke. It sounded a lot like Rodolphus.
“You two can come over. We can see you snooping there.”
“We weren’t snooping, I swear,” said Rabastan. He understood this rule, out of all of them. Seventh-years were full-grown adult wizards, with serious conversations that weren’t meant for the ears of just any passerby.
He and Sirius cautiously approached the ring of chairs. Rodolphus sat in one, toward the left, with Lucius next to him. A few spots down the other way were two girls whom Rabastan knew less well: Cecily Tarleton and Araminta Elphick. They had been leaning together, forehead to forehead, sharing some rich news, but stopped and looked Rabastan and his friend over with some disdain.
“These look comfortable,” Sirius observed. It was clear it was taking all of his willpower to not flop into one, and Rabastan was eternally grateful.
“They are,” Lucius said in his lazy drawl. He was stretched languidly across his chair, his long legs reaching to the hearth. “You know, Sirius Black, if you’d like the full Slytherin experience, I have some books from the library that need returning.”
“I’m not an Elf,” Sirius scoffed.
Rabastan scowled. “We’ll do it! On our way out.”
Lucius shrugged. “Sure. I just thought we were being inclusive. If you don’t want favors…”
“He’s very grateful,” said Rabastan. He elbowed Sirius in the side. “Isn’t he?”
Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Whatever Rabbit says.”
“Rab-astan.”
“Whatever Rabastan says. I’d just love the opportunity to return your books, Malfoy.”
Rodolphus flashed a smile of approval. “Are you giving Sirius the tour, Rabastan?”
“Yes. Well, I’m trying.
“Very good. Sorry you aren’t with us, Black.”
Sirius nodded. “Yeah, me too. Thanks, Dolph.” He caught sight of the mantle and his eyes widened. “Whoa,” he said, drawing closer to it and reaching a hand out to an obsidian skull. “May I-”
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Rodolphus warned. “Assuming you like your fingers as they are.”
Sirius’s fingers hovered inches from it, and then he obediently stuffed his hand into his pocket. “All right then. Rabbit, what’s the rest of the tour?”
“This way.” Rabastan led Sirius away, and behind them Lucius whined at Rodolphus for sparing Sirius the much-deserved consequences of putting his fingers where they didn’t belong.
“The big couches in the middle,” Rabastan narrated, “those are for the sixth-years.”
“Like ‘Dromeda,” said Sirius. “Where is she?”
Rabastan shrugged. “I dunno. With Bella, maybe. Or doing Prefect business.”
They continued next in a wide semi-circle: first Rabastan showed off the fifth-years’ huge work tables, which shifted shape and size according to need for OWL preparations; then, they walked past the long, curved bench under lakelight where the four-years were sprawled; on the other side of the room, they came to the third-year carrels where Thaddeus Yaxley and Winthrop Wilkes were half-heartedly working on a divination assignment.
The two third-years noticed the newcomer and gave a curt nod of recognition.
“Lo, Black.”
Sirius grinned. “Hiya, Wilkes.”
“Want Thad to tell your future? He can’t see anything but swirls, but that’s gotta mean something.”
Thaddeus Yaxley punched his friend in the gut. “That’s a swirl for you,” he said.
“Ouch!”
Rabastan balanced on his toes, worried about lingering too long and being recruited for some terrible task. That reminded him. “Oh, Win, I uh, have that list you wanted. It’s in my satchel.”
Winthrop looked up, breaking his dramatic reaction to the punch. “Good-I need that tonight.”
Rabastan met Sirius’s eyes and gave a sharp nod to come away.
“Merlin,” Sirius whispered, “I don’t much miss them.”
Rabastan shrugged. “They’re not all that bad. Not like-”
“Mulciber,” Sirius growled.
Instead of showing Sirius the pile of pillows where the second-years got to sit, Rabastan found himself facing the ugly mug of Torben Mulciber greeted the pair. “Who said you could let in your little Gryffin-friend, baby Lestrange?”
Sirius’ jaw edged out in challenge, and Rabastan felt the courage infectious. “You’re not in charge here, Mulciber,” he dared.
“I’m in charge over ickle firsties who don’t know their place. I don’t care you your brother is, Lestrange. You answer to me.”
Rabastan swallowed. He knew Mulciber was a coward, whatever his words, but he dared not contradict a older student. Rodolphus would protect him from real harm, but not from the usual course of established tradition.
Sirius was not so timid. “I’m not here as his guest. I was given permission.”
“Permission? Ha! You’re his mate, and he let you in. He knows he’s not allowed guests yet. It’s the rule.”
Rabastan watched Sirius wrestle between wanting to put Mulciber in his place and wanting to spare his friend later grief. As they exchanged a look, the second-year laughed.
“Like I said. You should keep your Gryffindor rubbish-”
He fell into silence as the amused cackle of Bellatrix Black met their ears. The seventh-year strode into the room with confidence and loomed over the bully. “Is this really a fight you want to pick, Montague?”
Torben’s arrogant posture fell in concession. “It’s Mulciber,” he muttered.
“It’s Mu-ulciber,” Bellatrix mocked. “Do I look like I care what some Second-Year Scum has to say to me?”
“N-no.”
“Correct. Since you are so sharp in noticing seniority, I take it you notice mine.”
“Yes’m,” Mulciber mumbled.
“All right then. In case you missed the memo, Scum, this ‘Gryffindor rubbish’ is the scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.” She tossed her head so that her long, sleek hair cascaded over her shoulder. “The upper forms all agreed: he’s welcome as he pleases. Just because our mentally deranged Headmaster thinks a Hat’s word is final doesn’t mean we do. Am I clear?”
Torben glared at Sirius, not at all hiding his ire.
“If you’d like to be permanently dumb,” Bellatrix warned, “I can arrange that.”
“That’s clear,” he answered.
“Good. Now scram!” Bellatrix’s face flashed and her voice jolted so that even Rabastan felt his heart jump a beat.
“Th-thanks, Bella,” he said.
“Whatever,” she waved. “Just mind that my cousin wipes his boots. Don’t want him dragging in any mud from that tower,” she ordered, walking back toward the black chairs by the fire.
“Wow,” said Sirius. “She- that was-”
“Amazing.”
“Harsh,” he finished. The boys looked at each other, and laughed. “The look on Mulciber’s face was amazing,” Sirius agreed. “Second-Year Scum?”
“She was a little harsh,” Rabastan admitted in a hushed tone. “But that’s just Bella,” he reasoned with a shrug.
“Yeah,” said Sirius. “Good old Bella.”