Rabbit: February 1968
Title: Rabbit
Chapter Number/Title: February 1968: Heart (12/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: G
Word Count: 853
Workshop?: Suggestions always welcome.
February 13, 1968
Heart
The quill clumsily scratched a red “O” onto the paper, and then a “U”. Rabastan bit his lip and read back through the message, to make sure it was without error. Small white hearts had been spellotaped onto the larger pink heart, and the whole thing was pasted onto a long red paper, so that the whole product had a mismatched layered appearance. He folded the long paper in half, to conceal the message, and reached for a paintbrush and the white paint. After two minutes of struggling with the globs of white, he had a full Valentine.
Across the table, Narcissa was working on her own cards, though her work involved far more ordering around of the elf and far less paste on her hands. Rabastan peeked over his own card to check in on the girl’s operation. She had ten small cards out in a line, and glitter was now being shaken out over each. Rabbit looked to her right and saw the growing stack of cards that she had already made. He admired her organisation but, he decided, preferred his own method. After all, he couldn’t think of twenty people whom he really wanted to give cards anyway. Two for his parents, one for his brother, and this one-that would be enough.
“I like your cards, Cissy,” Rabastan offered, as he stood up and shook his own card dry.
She kept her eyes on her mini-factory, but smiled sweetly as she had been taught. “Thank you.” The young girl looked up after a thought, and the sunlight from the window glinted off her blonde locks. “There’s one for you, of course. And all my friends. I’ll have to make more, I think.”
He nodded with a little impatience. “Thanks. Um. Excuse me.”
With that, he turned around, and headed out the door, his card tight in his hands. He ran down the hall, portraits and landscapes blurring by, and down the stairs. The card dropped from his hand and floated to the other side of the stairs. Rabastan turned to get it but his foot slipped out of place and he found himself rolling down the rest of the bumpy flight.
His eyes brimmed with tears but he wiped them away and choked back the sob that tried to leap out. It wouldn’t do any good to be caught crying like a girl. The Valentine lay far above him now, and he climbed back up to get it-with much more caution this time. Thankful beyond measure that his work of art had escaped his own tumbling fate, he picked it up and walked step by step back down, clutching the rail with his other hand.
The stairs dropped him into the foyer, and after a few twists and turns he was finally in the right parlour, where his mother and Mrs. Black were having tea. He heard his own mother’s voice stop mid-sentence. He stood at the doorway and lifted a fist to knock on the frame when his mother spoke.
“Rabastan, how many times must I tell you not to run down the stairs?”
“How- sorry, Maman.” He still faced her back, and felt his face blush pink when Druella Black’s face, with an eyebrow arched high, appeared peering past the dark waves of Mrs. Lestrange’s hair.
“Well?” Maman turned her head round to catch a glimpse of the boy. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh. Um,” he stammered. Rabastan walked up to the two women. “No. Sorry, I just wanted to give Mrs. Black her card before she left.”
He held out the red card, and Mrs. Black received it with a smile. “Why, a card for me? Should I open it now?”
“Oh, if you like.”
She opened the card to reveal the big pink heart and the white accents, and the message inside. “Mrs. Black,” she read, “You are very pretty. I like your hats. They are also very pretty. Happy Valentine’s Day. I love you!” Her eyes flicked to Mrs. Lestrange first, and then looked down at the boy. “Thank you very much, dear. This is very sweet.”
“You’re welcome!” he beamed.
“I hope you are making one for your mother as well?”
“Shh,” he protested. “It’s a surprise.”
Both women laughed now. Their laughter was like bells: Maman’s rich and deep, and Mrs. Black’s light and cheerful. Rabastan felt himself flushing further.
“And how is my little Cissy doing?”
“Oh. Well. She’s making a lot of cards.”
Maman placed a hand on her son’s shoulder. “And you left her alone? Is that the gentlemanly thing to do?”
Rabastan’s head fell. “No, sorry. I’ll go.”
“Don’t run,” his mother reminded.
He nodded to her, and to their guest, and spun on his heels, ready to rush back upstairs so as to not be thought of as a poor host. He walked as quickly as he could without running, and heard Mrs. Black’s voice behind him as he turned into the hall. “Thank you again, Rabbit.”
Rabbit grinned as he ran. Even if Narcissa were annoyed at his departure, it had been worth it.
Chapter Number/Title: February 1968: Heart (12/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: G
Word Count: 853
Workshop?: Suggestions always welcome.
February 13, 1968
Heart
The quill clumsily scratched a red “O” onto the paper, and then a “U”. Rabastan bit his lip and read back through the message, to make sure it was without error. Small white hearts had been spellotaped onto the larger pink heart, and the whole thing was pasted onto a long red paper, so that the whole product had a mismatched layered appearance. He folded the long paper in half, to conceal the message, and reached for a paintbrush and the white paint. After two minutes of struggling with the globs of white, he had a full Valentine.
Across the table, Narcissa was working on her own cards, though her work involved far more ordering around of the elf and far less paste on her hands. Rabastan peeked over his own card to check in on the girl’s operation. She had ten small cards out in a line, and glitter was now being shaken out over each. Rabbit looked to her right and saw the growing stack of cards that she had already made. He admired her organisation but, he decided, preferred his own method. After all, he couldn’t think of twenty people whom he really wanted to give cards anyway. Two for his parents, one for his brother, and this one-that would be enough.
“I like your cards, Cissy,” Rabastan offered, as he stood up and shook his own card dry.
She kept her eyes on her mini-factory, but smiled sweetly as she had been taught. “Thank you.” The young girl looked up after a thought, and the sunlight from the window glinted off her blonde locks. “There’s one for you, of course. And all my friends. I’ll have to make more, I think.”
He nodded with a little impatience. “Thanks. Um. Excuse me.”
With that, he turned around, and headed out the door, his card tight in his hands. He ran down the hall, portraits and landscapes blurring by, and down the stairs. The card dropped from his hand and floated to the other side of the stairs. Rabastan turned to get it but his foot slipped out of place and he found himself rolling down the rest of the bumpy flight.
His eyes brimmed with tears but he wiped them away and choked back the sob that tried to leap out. It wouldn’t do any good to be caught crying like a girl. The Valentine lay far above him now, and he climbed back up to get it-with much more caution this time. Thankful beyond measure that his work of art had escaped his own tumbling fate, he picked it up and walked step by step back down, clutching the rail with his other hand.
The stairs dropped him into the foyer, and after a few twists and turns he was finally in the right parlour, where his mother and Mrs. Black were having tea. He heard his own mother’s voice stop mid-sentence. He stood at the doorway and lifted a fist to knock on the frame when his mother spoke.
“Rabastan, how many times must I tell you not to run down the stairs?”
“How- sorry, Maman.” He still faced her back, and felt his face blush pink when Druella Black’s face, with an eyebrow arched high, appeared peering past the dark waves of Mrs. Lestrange’s hair.
“Well?” Maman turned her head round to catch a glimpse of the boy. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh. Um,” he stammered. Rabastan walked up to the two women. “No. Sorry, I just wanted to give Mrs. Black her card before she left.”
He held out the red card, and Mrs. Black received it with a smile. “Why, a card for me? Should I open it now?”
“Oh, if you like.”
She opened the card to reveal the big pink heart and the white accents, and the message inside. “Mrs. Black,” she read, “You are very pretty. I like your hats. They are also very pretty. Happy Valentine’s Day. I love you!” Her eyes flicked to Mrs. Lestrange first, and then looked down at the boy. “Thank you very much, dear. This is very sweet.”
“You’re welcome!” he beamed.
“I hope you are making one for your mother as well?”
“Shh,” he protested. “It’s a surprise.”
Both women laughed now. Their laughter was like bells: Maman’s rich and deep, and Mrs. Black’s light and cheerful. Rabastan felt himself flushing further.
“And how is my little Cissy doing?”
“Oh. Well. She’s making a lot of cards.”
Maman placed a hand on her son’s shoulder. “And you left her alone? Is that the gentlemanly thing to do?”
Rabastan’s head fell. “No, sorry. I’ll go.”
“Don’t run,” his mother reminded.
He nodded to her, and to their guest, and spun on his heels, ready to rush back upstairs so as to not be thought of as a poor host. He walked as quickly as he could without running, and heard Mrs. Black’s voice behind him as he turned into the hall. “Thank you again, Rabbit.”
Rabbit grinned as he ran. Even if Narcissa were annoyed at his departure, it had been worth it.