Rabbit: April 1969
Title: Rabbit
Chapter Number/Title: April 1969: Not Enough (26/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: G
Word Count: 997
Workshop?: Suggestions always welcome. It's just a little one!
April 15, 1969
Not Enough
“What you have done with this room is truly astounding, Rhea.”
“You’re too kind, Angelique. I’ve been dreaming of redecorating for years, but with Jack, we just now - well, Jacob’s new position has helped.”
“And I hope he’s finding it to his liking?” Angelique Lestrange, crossed one ankle under the other, and looked back at their hostess with her icy eyes.
Rabastan was standing quietly at his mother’s side and looking at the golden hands of a tall clock, listening to the three-headed bird that sang Easter carols from its golden cage atop the clock, when he realized that the woman was talking to him.
“-so sorry Jack isn’t back yet. He’s at his Nana’s, and she does like to squeeze out every last bit of time with him.”
Rabastan shook his head. “It’s all right. Do you mind if I look at your clock?”
“Oh!” Rhea and Angelique exchanged a glance, and, fears set aside, the lady of the house nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Be careful, Rabastan,” his mother warned.
“Oui, Maman.” He walked over to the grandfather clock. Even he, the littlest Lestrange, could tell that it was oldest, nicest item in the room. Its door was glass, and inside was a complex piece of magic and gears. Everything was whirring in a happy hum, and on the clock’s face, well above Rabastan’s, the sun was setting.
“Rabbit, Rabbit, pudding and pie,” whispered a voice. In the glass door, Rodolphus’s reflection had appeared behind him. Rabastan turned around and smiled up at his brother.
“Rabbit, Rabbit, jump three feet high.”
“Shh!” Rabbit hushed, through a laugh. “Don’t scare me like that! You could have broken their clock!”
“I would not,” Rodolphus dismissed. “I’m sure they’d die seven times if I did. It’s clearly worth more than the rest of all this combined,” he added, in the lowest of voices.
Rabastan sat down on a nearby window-seat. “Maman said they just redecorated.”
“And can you imagine what it was like before?” Rodolphus took a seat next to him.
The young boy looked around, imagining the fresh coat of mustard-yellow paint replaced by a peeling patterned wallpaper from a hundred years ago. The chandelier sparked with newness - it must have been rusty. Maybe the portraits’ thin and unremarkable frames had been nothing before. The hallway just outside the room was a perfect model: like someone had sold everything of value from a hall of Tor Delorage and stopped repairing it for ten years. Rabbit nodded.
“Honestly, I don’t know what we’re doing here. Of course it’s something important or we wouldn’t be. But what we could want from the Traverses is beyond me.”
“Maybe they know a magic secret,” Rabastan offered.
“Ha!” Rodolphus laughed. “Maybe. At any rate, I’m finished with this. Isn’t it time we get back to Cornwall? We could fly in this weather, if we bundled you up in enough furs.”
“It’s not that cold. And even so, shouldn’t you go flying with Lucius?” The young boy felt the name fill his mouth with bitterness, like a potion for dragonpox.
Rodolphus rolled his eyes. “No, he’s being a vain popinjay and can’t handle hearing the truth about it.”
“Are you in a row?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he sighed. He shook the thought off, and ruffled his little brother’s hair out of its perfectly-combed form. “Anyway, I see him all the time. I don’t get to see you.”
Rabastan beamed behind his arms, which worked double to smooth his hair back into place. “I wish I could go to Hogwarts with you!”
“You will,” Rodolphus laughed. “For a year.”
“A year’s not very long.”
“Oh? Do you remember last Easter?”
Rabastan closed his eyes and pictured it. Easter was flowers. And France. “Yes, we were in Provence!”
“Very good! But now think of everything since then.”
They didn’t come in a flood, the memories. They floated to him, in little bunches, like petals in a stream. Walking around the garden, flying around the quiet moors, lessons, Christmas, parties, lessons, a trip to Diagon with the Blacks, sleeping over at Darren’s, his birthday, the summer-and oh, all that came with summer: playing on the beach in France in the hot sun, visiting Paris, learning from Dolph, more lessons. And that was the whole year, mostly.
“Fine. I guess it’s a long time,” he admitted. “But not enough. Plus, you’ll probably spend the whole time with Lucius Malfoy.”
The clock began to shift for the new hour - a spark ran down the center, and then a winged bauble, like a tiny red Snitch, flew in spirals up to the top. The gears clicked again, and the birds atop changed their harmony to a low unison, a partial scale in half-steps, to mark each hour. Both boys paused to watch and listen, and Rabastan swayed as it tolled.
“I shall not spend all my time with him,” Rodolphus continued. “Even when I am with my mates, you’ll have yours. There’s Black, and Avery, and Rosier, and even the Travers boy is close to your age. John? Jemmy?”
“Jack,” Rabastan supplied, under his breath. “And I don’t want to play with him. He’s poor.”
“That’s true.” The young teen-ager spoke in a low voice, and glanced around the room. “But like I said, there must be something worth being here. I know they used to be better-off. They still have something to offer, apparently.”
“Maybe. Not enough.” Rabastan sighed and felt his brother squeeze his shoulder.
“We’ll see.” Something must have caught his eye, because his head snapped up and he looked over at where the two men had been talking. “I’m being summoned,” he whispered. “Don’t break anything, or there’ll be no flying at all, I’m afraid.”
The boy smiled. “I wouldn’t dare.” He looked back to the clock, and watched the sunlight from the window dance on the golden rods and form a pool of warmth around the singing birds.
Chapter Number/Title: April 1969: Not Enough (26/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: G
Word Count: 997
Workshop?: Suggestions always welcome. It's just a little one!
April 15, 1969
Not Enough
“What you have done with this room is truly astounding, Rhea.”
“You’re too kind, Angelique. I’ve been dreaming of redecorating for years, but with Jack, we just now - well, Jacob’s new position has helped.”
“And I hope he’s finding it to his liking?” Angelique Lestrange, crossed one ankle under the other, and looked back at their hostess with her icy eyes.
Rabastan was standing quietly at his mother’s side and looking at the golden hands of a tall clock, listening to the three-headed bird that sang Easter carols from its golden cage atop the clock, when he realized that the woman was talking to him.
“-so sorry Jack isn’t back yet. He’s at his Nana’s, and she does like to squeeze out every last bit of time with him.”
Rabastan shook his head. “It’s all right. Do you mind if I look at your clock?”
“Oh!” Rhea and Angelique exchanged a glance, and, fears set aside, the lady of the house nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Be careful, Rabastan,” his mother warned.
“Oui, Maman.” He walked over to the grandfather clock. Even he, the littlest Lestrange, could tell that it was oldest, nicest item in the room. Its door was glass, and inside was a complex piece of magic and gears. Everything was whirring in a happy hum, and on the clock’s face, well above Rabastan’s, the sun was setting.
“Rabbit, Rabbit, pudding and pie,” whispered a voice. In the glass door, Rodolphus’s reflection had appeared behind him. Rabastan turned around and smiled up at his brother.
“Rabbit, Rabbit, jump three feet high.”
“Shh!” Rabbit hushed, through a laugh. “Don’t scare me like that! You could have broken their clock!”
“I would not,” Rodolphus dismissed. “I’m sure they’d die seven times if I did. It’s clearly worth more than the rest of all this combined,” he added, in the lowest of voices.
Rabastan sat down on a nearby window-seat. “Maman said they just redecorated.”
“And can you imagine what it was like before?” Rodolphus took a seat next to him.
The young boy looked around, imagining the fresh coat of mustard-yellow paint replaced by a peeling patterned wallpaper from a hundred years ago. The chandelier sparked with newness - it must have been rusty. Maybe the portraits’ thin and unremarkable frames had been nothing before. The hallway just outside the room was a perfect model: like someone had sold everything of value from a hall of Tor Delorage and stopped repairing it for ten years. Rabbit nodded.
“Honestly, I don’t know what we’re doing here. Of course it’s something important or we wouldn’t be. But what we could want from the Traverses is beyond me.”
“Maybe they know a magic secret,” Rabastan offered.
“Ha!” Rodolphus laughed. “Maybe. At any rate, I’m finished with this. Isn’t it time we get back to Cornwall? We could fly in this weather, if we bundled you up in enough furs.”
“It’s not that cold. And even so, shouldn’t you go flying with Lucius?” The young boy felt the name fill his mouth with bitterness, like a potion for dragonpox.
Rodolphus rolled his eyes. “No, he’s being a vain popinjay and can’t handle hearing the truth about it.”
“Are you in a row?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he sighed. He shook the thought off, and ruffled his little brother’s hair out of its perfectly-combed form. “Anyway, I see him all the time. I don’t get to see you.”
Rabastan beamed behind his arms, which worked double to smooth his hair back into place. “I wish I could go to Hogwarts with you!”
“You will,” Rodolphus laughed. “For a year.”
“A year’s not very long.”
“Oh? Do you remember last Easter?”
Rabastan closed his eyes and pictured it. Easter was flowers. And France. “Yes, we were in Provence!”
“Very good! But now think of everything since then.”
They didn’t come in a flood, the memories. They floated to him, in little bunches, like petals in a stream. Walking around the garden, flying around the quiet moors, lessons, Christmas, parties, lessons, a trip to Diagon with the Blacks, sleeping over at Darren’s, his birthday, the summer-and oh, all that came with summer: playing on the beach in France in the hot sun, visiting Paris, learning from Dolph, more lessons. And that was the whole year, mostly.
“Fine. I guess it’s a long time,” he admitted. “But not enough. Plus, you’ll probably spend the whole time with Lucius Malfoy.”
The clock began to shift for the new hour - a spark ran down the center, and then a winged bauble, like a tiny red Snitch, flew in spirals up to the top. The gears clicked again, and the birds atop changed their harmony to a low unison, a partial scale in half-steps, to mark each hour. Both boys paused to watch and listen, and Rabastan swayed as it tolled.
“I shall not spend all my time with him,” Rodolphus continued. “Even when I am with my mates, you’ll have yours. There’s Black, and Avery, and Rosier, and even the Travers boy is close to your age. John? Jemmy?”
“Jack,” Rabastan supplied, under his breath. “And I don’t want to play with him. He’s poor.”
“That’s true.” The young teen-ager spoke in a low voice, and glanced around the room. “But like I said, there must be something worth being here. I know they used to be better-off. They still have something to offer, apparently.”
“Maybe. Not enough.” Rabastan sighed and felt his brother squeeze his shoulder.
“We’ll see.” Something must have caught his eye, because his head snapped up and he looked over at where the two men had been talking. “I’m being summoned,” he whispered. “Don’t break anything, or there’ll be no flying at all, I’m afraid.”
The boy smiled. “I wouldn’t dare.” He looked back to the clock, and watched the sunlight from the window dance on the golden rods and form a pool of warmth around the singing birds.