Rabbit: November 1967
Title: Rabbit
Chapter Number/Title: November 1967: Breakfast (9/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: G
Word Count: 845
Workshop?: Suggestions always welcome.
November 19, 1967
Breakfast
"Theodore, you are having company today?" Familiar slender fingers with nails of a dark brick red settled around a cup of coffee and brought it to the lips of Angelique Lestrange, who blew on the hot dark liquid before taking a small sip. "The elves do so much better when they have time to prepare, stupid little things."
"Yes, I am," her husband replied. He shook open the Daily Prophet and began to read an article. Angelique kept her eyes on him until he glanced back at the Frenchwoman. "Liam's to stop by around three."
At the name, the small ears of Rabastan Lestrange perked, and he lifted his head up from his food. "Mr. Avery's coming?"
The interruption won Rabastan a stern expression from his father, and raised eyebrows with an admonishing downward glance from his mother. The boy was her charge, and she spoke. "Rabastan, you are old enough to know not to speak unless addressed."
She was right. He was eight, and had learned the lesson long ago. Children were not to speak unless spoken to, as everybody knew, but especially not matters that concerned Father and his friends, not even Uncle Liam-or, as they insisted he be called, Mr. Avery. Rabastan's eyes fell back to the toast, with its caves and mountains of brown edges and overlay of gooey jam, but he did not continue eating. Instead, he slowly lifted his gaze back to his mother, widening them to be impossible to ignore.
Maman's attention was set on her coffee and running her fingers along her necklace of black pearls. As she moved to take another sip, her dark blue eyes met those of her son. They seemed to smile back at him.
"Now, Rabastan, did you have a question for your Father?"
The young Lestrange sighed with relief and nodded eagerly. "Father, if Mr. Avery's coming, does that mean Darren's coming aussi?"
"Excuse me?"
"Too. I'm sorry. Does that mean Darren's coming too?"
Theodore tilted his head and regarded his younger son. "I don't think so," he answered offhand. "We have important work to do, and I cannot have the playtime of young boys to disrupt us." He looked back to the newspaper, leaving his son crestfallen. It was always important work. Rabbit brought his toast back to his mouth and nibbled the corner in small infrequent bites.
He tried not to mull over the dismissal. After all, it was breakfast, and breakfast was a good time of day. Breakfast meant the deep breath before a long day: no tutors, no work, no guests. Normally, it also meant no blending in with the furniture. But then, normally Father wasn't there, and Rabastan was allowed to speak freely, so long as it was a good topic, and in good French. The rules made sense, though, because Maman was normally just planning a party or something or other, and Father had real matters. Really, Rabastan thought, it was lucky that Father was eating breakfast at the same time as him. He resolved to focus more on his toast (but not too much, or he'd surely be told not to stare at his food) and less on how he couldn't see his friend and favourite cousin.
He picked up his orange juice and glanced out the window. The grass on the moors had begun to yellow, copying the leaves that the wind liked to blow against the stones of the manor house at Tor Delorage. Rabastan was happy to see that the recent rain had let up, because if he couldn't have his friend visit he should at least be able to go outside.
After what felt like an eternity (though the toast was still more intact than not), Angelique reached a hand over and rested a finger on serious Father's serious wrist. "Perhaps, cheri?" Her voice was low enough that her son had to strain to hear it, even at the same table. When his mother spoke that low, it was either about something interesting, or she was disagreeing with his father. Either way, Rabastan was interested. "Boys can have such an influence on their friends."
Maman knew her husband better than anyone in the whole world, Rabastan thought, and always knew the right thing to say. Rabbit didn't know how, but he knew it was true. And as hoped, Theodore shifted his brown eyes back to his son. "Well, Rabastan? Can you promise that you would not disrupt us?"
Rabastan nearly dropped his toast. "Yes, sir! Of course we wouldn't. I'll be on my best behavior, sir, and make Darren be so, Father, please, I haven't seen him in ages."
Theodore nodded once. "Very well. If Darren is available, and if you do well with Mr. Greengrass, he may come," he said, and turned the page in the Prophet.
Angelique took her cup again and looked quickly over at her son, hiding her smile as she blew lightly on the surface of the coffee. Little Rabbit wasn't nearly so subtle, but his grin was hidden from the eyes of his father.
Chapter Number/Title: November 1967: Breakfast (9/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: G
Word Count: 845
Workshop?: Suggestions always welcome.
November 19, 1967
Breakfast
"Theodore, you are having company today?" Familiar slender fingers with nails of a dark brick red settled around a cup of coffee and brought it to the lips of Angelique Lestrange, who blew on the hot dark liquid before taking a small sip. "The elves do so much better when they have time to prepare, stupid little things."
"Yes, I am," her husband replied. He shook open the Daily Prophet and began to read an article. Angelique kept her eyes on him until he glanced back at the Frenchwoman. "Liam's to stop by around three."
At the name, the small ears of Rabastan Lestrange perked, and he lifted his head up from his food. "Mr. Avery's coming?"
The interruption won Rabastan a stern expression from his father, and raised eyebrows with an admonishing downward glance from his mother. The boy was her charge, and she spoke. "Rabastan, you are old enough to know not to speak unless addressed."
She was right. He was eight, and had learned the lesson long ago. Children were not to speak unless spoken to, as everybody knew, but especially not matters that concerned Father and his friends, not even Uncle Liam-or, as they insisted he be called, Mr. Avery. Rabastan's eyes fell back to the toast, with its caves and mountains of brown edges and overlay of gooey jam, but he did not continue eating. Instead, he slowly lifted his gaze back to his mother, widening them to be impossible to ignore.
Maman's attention was set on her coffee and running her fingers along her necklace of black pearls. As she moved to take another sip, her dark blue eyes met those of her son. They seemed to smile back at him.
"Now, Rabastan, did you have a question for your Father?"
The young Lestrange sighed with relief and nodded eagerly. "Father, if Mr. Avery's coming, does that mean Darren's coming aussi?"
"Excuse me?"
"Too. I'm sorry. Does that mean Darren's coming too?"
Theodore tilted his head and regarded his younger son. "I don't think so," he answered offhand. "We have important work to do, and I cannot have the playtime of young boys to disrupt us." He looked back to the newspaper, leaving his son crestfallen. It was always important work. Rabbit brought his toast back to his mouth and nibbled the corner in small infrequent bites.
He tried not to mull over the dismissal. After all, it was breakfast, and breakfast was a good time of day. Breakfast meant the deep breath before a long day: no tutors, no work, no guests. Normally, it also meant no blending in with the furniture. But then, normally Father wasn't there, and Rabastan was allowed to speak freely, so long as it was a good topic, and in good French. The rules made sense, though, because Maman was normally just planning a party or something or other, and Father had real matters. Really, Rabastan thought, it was lucky that Father was eating breakfast at the same time as him. He resolved to focus more on his toast (but not too much, or he'd surely be told not to stare at his food) and less on how he couldn't see his friend and favourite cousin.
He picked up his orange juice and glanced out the window. The grass on the moors had begun to yellow, copying the leaves that the wind liked to blow against the stones of the manor house at Tor Delorage. Rabastan was happy to see that the recent rain had let up, because if he couldn't have his friend visit he should at least be able to go outside.
After what felt like an eternity (though the toast was still more intact than not), Angelique reached a hand over and rested a finger on serious Father's serious wrist. "Perhaps, cheri?" Her voice was low enough that her son had to strain to hear it, even at the same table. When his mother spoke that low, it was either about something interesting, or she was disagreeing with his father. Either way, Rabastan was interested. "Boys can have such an influence on their friends."
Maman knew her husband better than anyone in the whole world, Rabastan thought, and always knew the right thing to say. Rabbit didn't know how, but he knew it was true. And as hoped, Theodore shifted his brown eyes back to his son. "Well, Rabastan? Can you promise that you would not disrupt us?"
Rabastan nearly dropped his toast. "Yes, sir! Of course we wouldn't. I'll be on my best behavior, sir, and make Darren be so, Father, please, I haven't seen him in ages."
Theodore nodded once. "Very well. If Darren is available, and if you do well with Mr. Greengrass, he may come," he said, and turned the page in the Prophet.
Angelique took her cup again and looked quickly over at her son, hiding her smile as she blew lightly on the surface of the coffee. Little Rabbit wasn't nearly so subtle, but his grin was hidden from the eyes of his father.