Rabbit: November 1968
Title: Rabbit
Chapter Number/Title: November 1968: Water (21/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: G
Word Count: 1730
Workshop?: Suggestions always welcome. This feels strange for whatever reason -- probably the lady's language but when she opened her mouth she was from the 17th century so that's just how it goes. It sat better than the other versions of her I tried so IDK.
November 1, 1968
Colourless
“But I’m nine. And you’re only eight.”
“For a day,” whined the noble scion of the House of Black. “And then I’ll be nine too, and taller.”
“You are not taller! I am!”
“No, I am, everyone knows it.”
“No. Regulus is really little and you’re his brother, so that means you’re short too.”
Sirius scrunched his face together in thought. “That makes no sense.”
“Ha!” Rabastan stepped up on a broad stone and towered over his friend. “You never make sense.”
He felt an arm wrap around him, pulling him off the rock and into the mushiness of wet dead grass and peat. He pushed back, and the two rolled over twice until Rabastan was able to push away and stand back up. “Look, if you don’t believe me, stand next to me and we’ll see.”
Sirius propelled himself up and stood facing Rabastan, and the two were almost nose-to-nose. That might have solved it there, but Sirius insisted on finding out for good, and held his palm flat on his friend’s head and slid it off, sloping down, until he hit the middle of his own brow. “See? You only come to here!” he declared.
“Cheater!” Rabastan swatted the hand down.
“Well, you know something about cheaters?”
“What’s that?”
“They always win.” Sirius grinned wide, and barked a short, gruff, laugh, before taking off down the path.
Rabastan sped after him, kicking up clumps of muddy earth. They ran in circles until Sirius veered away and skidded down a little gully leading toward the lake. Rabastan followed close behind, even though his boots were now squish-squish-squish-ing in the boggy wet grass.
Ahead, Sirius had come right up to the shore of the lake, and was gazing out across its still, flat surface. Rabastan slowed and hopped into place at Sirius’s side. Rabastan had been there before, when the sky was blue and the lake was bluer, and everything around was lush and green, but not now. The place had been drained of color, and the mostly-grey sky met the grey-blue water, which flowed up to the browning meadow.
“Did you say something?” Sirius asked.
“What? No.” Rabastan shook his head and looked around, but there was nothing to look at.
“Hm. You know,” Sirius knelt in the mud and reached a hand out to the water, “there’s something different about this place. Don’t you think?”
Rabastan shrugged. “I like it. It feels important.” He shuddered as he spoke, feeling something cold behind him.
“It is magic,” concluded a new voice, a woman’s voice, wispy but calm.
Rabastan jumped, began to slip, and would have fallen into the water’s edge if he had not grabbed Sirius’ shoulders and held on even as the other boy stood and turned to look at the newcomer.
Sitting on the water - no? yes, sitting on the water - was a woman. She was shaped like a woman, but little patches of light shone through, as if she were barely there.
Sirius turned his head to look at Rabastan, and both were sure that they had not dreamt this up. There was a ghost, here, talking to them.
“Have you ever seen one?” whispered Sirius, as quietly as he could manage.
Rabastan shook his head. “I’ve only heard. I mean, the elves say we have one in the cellar but he never leaves it and doesn’t talk and I’m not even sure he’s real.”
“Wow, a ghost right here. Did you know?”
Another shake of the head. Out of the corner of his eye Rabastan spotted the ghost watching their conversation. He shushed Sirius and sloshed a step closer to where the woman sat.
Even so, Sirius was the first to address her. “You’re a witch, then?”
She stood, stretched, and glided toward the boys. “Was.” They could see her face now, and in her smile they could tell that she was remembering something, maybe something sad, or maybe something happy that was long gone. “And praytell, what are two little wizards doing wandering alone?”
Rabastan huffed and began to say, “We’re not little!” but Sirius was louder. “We’re explorers!” he declared.
The woman laughed. “Certes, two great explorers, have verily discovered me on the banks of this lake. Whence have my discoverers come?”
“A far-off land!” boasted Sirius.
Normally, Rabastan would have gone along with such a tale until it endangered them, but he felt there was something wrong about lying to the dead. Maybe they knew more, and could tell Sirius was lying. Maybe the woman would be offended and begin to haunt them.
“That’s not true,” he interrupted. “He’s from London. And I live just nearby.”
The ghost nodded, as if she knew that all along (just as Rabastan thought). Her dark grey eyes flickered between the two boys, intently inspecting their faces and tunics. Sirius took advantage of the pause to flash Rabastan a betrayed look. Finally, she spoke again. “London is a far-off land, from Cornwall. Hast thou not a mother?”
“He does,” Rabastan answered. “He’s visiting me. We’re best friends.”
“Maybe not, traitor,” hissed Sirius. He turned his back to his not-friend and looked up at the spectral woman. “What’s your name?”
“Jane, but I have not been called by name in many years.”
“I’m Sirius. He’s Rabastan.”
The ghost curtsied. “I am honored.”
“Miss Jane?”
“Yes, young explorer from London-town?” Jane smoothed her long skirts and sat. Rabastan felt it only polite to sit as well, and overcame his aversion to the wet and mud and made a place next to her. He wished he could do real magic now, and make a dry place for them, but he and Sirius were too young, and Jane was too - old. Sirius plopped himself down, sending a splatter of mud onto Rabastan, whether purposefully or not.
“How did you die?”
Rabastan watched her for a sign of offense or shock, but she looked out at the lake and sighed, and then turned back to Sirius with that same sad smile. For the first time, Rabastan really looked at her, at the soft slope of her nose, and her high brow, and lowered eyes, and thin lips, and long drenched hair that clung to her neck. You can look at her, he thought, and know the answer.
“By my own doing. Cowardice.” She did not meet their eyes, but looked over them, out at the field beyond.
Sirius scuffed his boots against each other, betraying his embarrassment. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to-”
“No,” she insisted, with a warmer tone. “I am glad to. The good witch from the hill condescended to my company and warned that my name was besmirched, and my neighbors would soon bring me to justice. I could not bear that burden of shame and the trials, and I came hither, at dusk. My pocket and shoes I did fill with lead, and gave myself unto the pool. I knew she would be merciful as none other.”
“Trials?” Sirius wrapped his arms around his knees and looked up at the storyteller.
“Like thou sayest, I was a witch. A truer one than others who died for the selfsame.”
Rabastan felt his stomach turn, and he and Sirius exchanged a glance of understanding. He reached his hand up to the sad woman, but there was nowhere to rest it. “That’s not your fault.”
Jane smiled sadly again, and Rabastan thought it might be the only face she remembered how to make.
“It’s not fair,” grumbled Sirius. “You hadn’t done anything wrong.”
“It’s horrible. Is there anything we can do?” Rabastan asked.
She shook her head. “Many years have passed. At the beginning I sought vengeance, but that time hath passed. It is enough now that none should suffer as I did.”
“And they never will,” assured Rabastan. “We’ll be sure of that, we swear. Won’t we, Sirius?”
Sirius nodded vigorously.
“Thou art noble, Master Rabastan, and certes I know that thou descendest from the good mistress of Tor Delorage that showed such kindness unto me. And thou, Master Sirius, hast a rare boldness that openeth truth like unto the sun doth a flower.”
Rabastan gaped up at the ghost, not hearing her praises. “I am from Tor Delorage. You must be very clever, Miss Jane!”
Her airy laugh was lost in a gust of wind. “And thy friend, is he not of the House of Black?”
“I am!” confirmed Sirius. “How did you know?”
“I did spy the father and son of thy family, once in my time, and thy countenance is more faithful than any glass.”
Sirius puffed himself up and grinned proudly, so that Rabastan could not hold in his laughter.
“The sun falleth low,” Jane observed. “You have a long distance to travel, and even grand explorers must sup and rest and pay respect to thy mother and father.”
Rabastan nodded and used Sirius again to push himself off the ground. The thought of food brought a smile to his eyes. He stood and looked down at the mess he had made of himself. His hands were muddy, his tunic soiled, and his boots soaked through. The sudden awareness of these facts made him all the more eager to get home and clean up.
Sirius reached up and, with Rabastan’s help, pulled himself up as well. “Thank you, Ma’am. I hope we didn’t make you too sad.”
“No, no,” she insisted, rising as well, though with far more grace and far less mud. “The company was welcome.
Sirius nodded, and torn between learning more from the ghost and getting back to food and dessert and new warm robes, the boys slowly turned and marched back up the path toward the Lestrange grounds. Behind them, the ghost hovered by the shore and then slowly glided out onto the surface of the lake once again.
The boys walked silently for the greater part of their trek home. There was a lot to think about, meeting ghosts and sitting by magic lakes and hearing the sad story of Jane… something. Rabastan bit his lip and realized that they had never even asked for a surname.
As the hidden manor at the hill’s peak rose before them, Sirius broke the silence. “How long do we think we were gone?”
“All together?” Rabastan shrugged. “Three hours, probably.”
“You just made that up.”
“You asked!”
“Well then,” Sirius accepted, “I’m three hours closer to being nine, too.”
Chapter Number/Title: November 1968: Water (21/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: G
Word Count: 1730
Workshop?: Suggestions always welcome. This feels strange for whatever reason -- probably the lady's language but when she opened her mouth she was from the 17th century so that's just how it goes. It sat better than the other versions of her I tried so IDK.
November 1, 1968
Colourless
“But I’m nine. And you’re only eight.”
“For a day,” whined the noble scion of the House of Black. “And then I’ll be nine too, and taller.”
“You are not taller! I am!”
“No, I am, everyone knows it.”
“No. Regulus is really little and you’re his brother, so that means you’re short too.”
Sirius scrunched his face together in thought. “That makes no sense.”
“Ha!” Rabastan stepped up on a broad stone and towered over his friend. “You never make sense.”
He felt an arm wrap around him, pulling him off the rock and into the mushiness of wet dead grass and peat. He pushed back, and the two rolled over twice until Rabastan was able to push away and stand back up. “Look, if you don’t believe me, stand next to me and we’ll see.”
Sirius propelled himself up and stood facing Rabastan, and the two were almost nose-to-nose. That might have solved it there, but Sirius insisted on finding out for good, and held his palm flat on his friend’s head and slid it off, sloping down, until he hit the middle of his own brow. “See? You only come to here!” he declared.
“Cheater!” Rabastan swatted the hand down.
“Well, you know something about cheaters?”
“What’s that?”
“They always win.” Sirius grinned wide, and barked a short, gruff, laugh, before taking off down the path.
Rabastan sped after him, kicking up clumps of muddy earth. They ran in circles until Sirius veered away and skidded down a little gully leading toward the lake. Rabastan followed close behind, even though his boots were now squish-squish-squish-ing in the boggy wet grass.
Ahead, Sirius had come right up to the shore of the lake, and was gazing out across its still, flat surface. Rabastan slowed and hopped into place at Sirius’s side. Rabastan had been there before, when the sky was blue and the lake was bluer, and everything around was lush and green, but not now. The place had been drained of color, and the mostly-grey sky met the grey-blue water, which flowed up to the browning meadow.
“Did you say something?” Sirius asked.
“What? No.” Rabastan shook his head and looked around, but there was nothing to look at.
“Hm. You know,” Sirius knelt in the mud and reached a hand out to the water, “there’s something different about this place. Don’t you think?”
Rabastan shrugged. “I like it. It feels important.” He shuddered as he spoke, feeling something cold behind him.
“It is magic,” concluded a new voice, a woman’s voice, wispy but calm.
Rabastan jumped, began to slip, and would have fallen into the water’s edge if he had not grabbed Sirius’ shoulders and held on even as the other boy stood and turned to look at the newcomer.
Sitting on the water - no? yes, sitting on the water - was a woman. She was shaped like a woman, but little patches of light shone through, as if she were barely there.
Sirius turned his head to look at Rabastan, and both were sure that they had not dreamt this up. There was a ghost, here, talking to them.
“Have you ever seen one?” whispered Sirius, as quietly as he could manage.
Rabastan shook his head. “I’ve only heard. I mean, the elves say we have one in the cellar but he never leaves it and doesn’t talk and I’m not even sure he’s real.”
“Wow, a ghost right here. Did you know?”
Another shake of the head. Out of the corner of his eye Rabastan spotted the ghost watching their conversation. He shushed Sirius and sloshed a step closer to where the woman sat.
Even so, Sirius was the first to address her. “You’re a witch, then?”
She stood, stretched, and glided toward the boys. “Was.” They could see her face now, and in her smile they could tell that she was remembering something, maybe something sad, or maybe something happy that was long gone. “And praytell, what are two little wizards doing wandering alone?”
Rabastan huffed and began to say, “We’re not little!” but Sirius was louder. “We’re explorers!” he declared.
The woman laughed. “Certes, two great explorers, have verily discovered me on the banks of this lake. Whence have my discoverers come?”
“A far-off land!” boasted Sirius.
Normally, Rabastan would have gone along with such a tale until it endangered them, but he felt there was something wrong about lying to the dead. Maybe they knew more, and could tell Sirius was lying. Maybe the woman would be offended and begin to haunt them.
“That’s not true,” he interrupted. “He’s from London. And I live just nearby.”
The ghost nodded, as if she knew that all along (just as Rabastan thought). Her dark grey eyes flickered between the two boys, intently inspecting their faces and tunics. Sirius took advantage of the pause to flash Rabastan a betrayed look. Finally, she spoke again. “London is a far-off land, from Cornwall. Hast thou not a mother?”
“He does,” Rabastan answered. “He’s visiting me. We’re best friends.”
“Maybe not, traitor,” hissed Sirius. He turned his back to his not-friend and looked up at the spectral woman. “What’s your name?”
“Jane, but I have not been called by name in many years.”
“I’m Sirius. He’s Rabastan.”
The ghost curtsied. “I am honored.”
“Miss Jane?”
“Yes, young explorer from London-town?” Jane smoothed her long skirts and sat. Rabastan felt it only polite to sit as well, and overcame his aversion to the wet and mud and made a place next to her. He wished he could do real magic now, and make a dry place for them, but he and Sirius were too young, and Jane was too - old. Sirius plopped himself down, sending a splatter of mud onto Rabastan, whether purposefully or not.
“How did you die?”
Rabastan watched her for a sign of offense or shock, but she looked out at the lake and sighed, and then turned back to Sirius with that same sad smile. For the first time, Rabastan really looked at her, at the soft slope of her nose, and her high brow, and lowered eyes, and thin lips, and long drenched hair that clung to her neck. You can look at her, he thought, and know the answer.
“By my own doing. Cowardice.” She did not meet their eyes, but looked over them, out at the field beyond.
Sirius scuffed his boots against each other, betraying his embarrassment. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to-”
“No,” she insisted, with a warmer tone. “I am glad to. The good witch from the hill condescended to my company and warned that my name was besmirched, and my neighbors would soon bring me to justice. I could not bear that burden of shame and the trials, and I came hither, at dusk. My pocket and shoes I did fill with lead, and gave myself unto the pool. I knew she would be merciful as none other.”
“Trials?” Sirius wrapped his arms around his knees and looked up at the storyteller.
“Like thou sayest, I was a witch. A truer one than others who died for the selfsame.”
Rabastan felt his stomach turn, and he and Sirius exchanged a glance of understanding. He reached his hand up to the sad woman, but there was nowhere to rest it. “That’s not your fault.”
Jane smiled sadly again, and Rabastan thought it might be the only face she remembered how to make.
“It’s not fair,” grumbled Sirius. “You hadn’t done anything wrong.”
“It’s horrible. Is there anything we can do?” Rabastan asked.
She shook her head. “Many years have passed. At the beginning I sought vengeance, but that time hath passed. It is enough now that none should suffer as I did.”
“And they never will,” assured Rabastan. “We’ll be sure of that, we swear. Won’t we, Sirius?”
Sirius nodded vigorously.
“Thou art noble, Master Rabastan, and certes I know that thou descendest from the good mistress of Tor Delorage that showed such kindness unto me. And thou, Master Sirius, hast a rare boldness that openeth truth like unto the sun doth a flower.”
Rabastan gaped up at the ghost, not hearing her praises. “I am from Tor Delorage. You must be very clever, Miss Jane!”
Her airy laugh was lost in a gust of wind. “And thy friend, is he not of the House of Black?”
“I am!” confirmed Sirius. “How did you know?”
“I did spy the father and son of thy family, once in my time, and thy countenance is more faithful than any glass.”
Sirius puffed himself up and grinned proudly, so that Rabastan could not hold in his laughter.
“The sun falleth low,” Jane observed. “You have a long distance to travel, and even grand explorers must sup and rest and pay respect to thy mother and father.”
Rabastan nodded and used Sirius again to push himself off the ground. The thought of food brought a smile to his eyes. He stood and looked down at the mess he had made of himself. His hands were muddy, his tunic soiled, and his boots soaked through. The sudden awareness of these facts made him all the more eager to get home and clean up.
Sirius reached up and, with Rabastan’s help, pulled himself up as well. “Thank you, Ma’am. I hope we didn’t make you too sad.”
“No, no,” she insisted, rising as well, though with far more grace and far less mud. “The company was welcome.
Sirius nodded, and torn between learning more from the ghost and getting back to food and dessert and new warm robes, the boys slowly turned and marched back up the path toward the Lestrange grounds. Behind them, the ghost hovered by the shore and then slowly glided out onto the surface of the lake once again.
The boys walked silently for the greater part of their trek home. There was a lot to think about, meeting ghosts and sitting by magic lakes and hearing the sad story of Jane… something. Rabastan bit his lip and realized that they had never even asked for a surname.
As the hidden manor at the hill’s peak rose before them, Sirius broke the silence. “How long do we think we were gone?”
“All together?” Rabastan shrugged. “Three hours, probably.”
“You just made that up.”
“You asked!”
“Well then,” Sirius accepted, “I’m three hours closer to being nine, too.”