Date: February 28th, 2005
Characters: Willis Travers, Vincent Crabbe
Location: Streets of Stoatshead Hill
Status: Semi-Public (it being an open street, and all)
Summary: Willis is wandering, runs into a Mr. Crabbe. HRM.
Completion: Complete
(
You remind me of someone, boy. )
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It would be easy enough to turn and walk away, but in a way his curiousity was peaked. He had no recollection of the other man, but he was seemingly convinced he knew Vincent. Of course with this fellow, it could easily have been a case of mistaken identity - he was obviously not quite all there. And unless he had made a trip to Bulgaria, which was doubtful, there would be no cause for him to actually recognize Vincent.
But there was something, at least something the man believed he knew about him after hearing his name, that had made him release Vincent and cease some of his hostility. Unless this man was a closet fan of his book, which seemed more than unlikely, there was no way there should be any recognition.
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Least the kid'd been quick enough to take the wand away. Probably better that it'd gone that way, anyhow. Willis'd told himself to keep from giving the bastards any reason to keep an eye on him. Keep any physical arguments out of town as much as was possible, right. That's what the Muggle places were good for. This was fine, then.
The kid didn't look exactly like Crabbe... Or did he? Willis couldn't rightly recall--didn't take much stock in remembering details like that--but figured he'd have figured it sooner, otherwise. This one seemed like enough of an arse to be a Crabbe, sure, but perhaps in a different fashion.
It really was very funny.
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Shaking his head, he turned to go, not bothering to offer a perfunctory farewell. Half the time the other man seemed to be blathering to himself rather than other people as it was.
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If Willis were a betting man--and he could be, just didn't have anyone to gamble against right there--he'd have said this kid was Crabbe's son. Made sense enough, anyway, and was the only thing that came immediately to mind.
"You know, boy--Mister Crabbe--I think you just might take after your father. You look like him, any rate." Maybe, maybe not. Just one of those damned funny things to say.
Willis took another drink, replacing the flask after.
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