MAUGRIM (maugrim) wrote in raveled, @ 2017-05-14 17:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! decade: 1970s, ! log, fabian prewett, rodolphus lestrange |
WHO: Rodolphus & Fabian
WHAT: Chattin
WHEN: 1978
WHERE: Lestrange Library
WARNINGS: Pretense
The Diagon Library had some distasteful texts in it (their Muggle relations section was awful) but they couldn't be beat for the kind of research Fabian was doing today, and they were quite convenient to his office. He'd signed in just after lunch and settled in a study carrel with the books he was interested in and set to work. Losing track of the time was a peril of intensive library work; he came to a stopping point and realised the daylight from the transom windows was fading and that he ought to put his things away before someone showed up to shoo him out. He spelled his ink dry, rolled up his parchments, and started to put them in his bag, listening carefully for the footsteps of the librarian behind him. This time of year, sunlight leaked out of London like someone had pulled a stopper, and Rodolphus was keen to go home after hours. Candlelight followed the librarian through the darkening library—and an aged wolfhound that snuffed heavily when its master walked too quickly. He knew every nook in the building like he knew his own knuckles and lanced a path through the shelves with purpose to a lingering patron. "Fabian." He recognized him with a familial quickness, but all twins are easy to tell apart when practiced. Rodolphus would say Fabian had more gravitas; he would mean that he found Fabian's politics a touch more palatable. "A productive evening I hope." "Indeed, thanks to your good offices, Rodolphus." He held up the book he'd been taking notes on. "Got a complicated estate matter and I needed some detailed work on Muggle-repelling enchantments. Going to have to work out not just how the one in the case was completed but estimate costs and wandpower to get it duplicated on other properties." That there was nowhere to go but the Diagon Library if you wanted the depth and breadth of information Fabian needed on that topic was hardly necessary to say. "My clients will be grateful; I know I am." He flashed a smile at Rodolphus as he offered the book, supporting it with the proper care and reverence due it. It was just possible Rodolphus could work out who it was, since they ran in the same circles, at least in theory, but likely he wouldn't care. Or he already knew, and it didn't matter. Fabian was unconcerned about Rodolphus' likelihood of working out his client. Those were not the secrets he felt it necessary to keep behind his pretence of openness. Fabian knew how to pluck the librarian's strings; Rodolphus felt a twinge of pride thrum through his placid core and the instinctive impulse followed to repay it in kind. But pleasantries and flattery often felt hollow in his mouth; unlike the Prewetts, his smiles and praise did not come with such a buoyant ease. Rather, his barter system was usually one of service. "You found all that you need or—?" The question lingered on his glance up to the restricted floors. Fabian caught the direction of Rodolphus' gaze; of such subtleties were communications among their kind made. "I have what I need for today," he confessed, honestly, if a touch wistfully, because, "--and I feel as though I must have delayed you enough already." In deference to Rodolphus' habit of plain speaking, Fabian omitted the self-deprecating remark on the tip of his tongue about how a dinner with one's wife would be far more likely to drag most men out of the library than the prospect of the bachelor supper Fabian would be making at home. Allowing Rodolphus to go home was the honourable thing to do, for all that Fabian desperately wanted a look at the sections of the library he wasn't normally permitted to inspect. "But I should love to see more of the collection sometime when you're not occupied." "Mm." It was neither an affirmation or a rejection. Rodolphus appreciated being left to his schedule and nodded that appreciation after a quick glance at his watch. A quick snap of his wand sent Fabian's book soaring into the shadowy recesses of the library, presumably to a correctly positioned sorting shelf. The dog snuffled. Rodolphus pocketed his wand. Then they fell into an easy stride. "The firm seems to suit you. Plenty to do." It was peculiar praise, but most small talk was peculiar in Rodolphus's company. "Thoughtful work." At the stairs he paused to heft the rickety old wolfhound into his arms. "It's good work. The research is a pleasure, even on days when I'm not here. It's turned out to suit admirably. And the clients and opposing counsel are generally--" Fabian looked for a word that would be polite and mutually comprehensible and settled on "--civilised." He took official note of Rodolphus' companion, who was clearly no burden. A small part of his brain filed if I ever break in here on my own, mask my scent away for future reference. A slight inclination of the head toward the hound was accompanied by one of those bright smiles. "Should I ask for an introduction?" Never one to turn down a dog-related request, Rodolphus paused on the stair. "Certainly. He's docile enough." There was no use indulging in any pretense of Jack's guard duties. Once upon a time the enormous hound might have convinced someone to think twice about misbehaving by his looks alone. But these days he was half blind, slow and gentle—and certainly the least dangerous of the library's many security systems. In any other company, the sight of the seven foot tall beast curled up in a grown man's arms may have been comical; here, with Rodolphus, it was a bit sad. As Fabian reached out a hand in greeting, Dolph wondered aloud: "I don't suppose you're taking any consulting clients at the moment." Fabian offered his hand slowly, careful not to stare into Jack's eyes or behave in any way the dog might take as aggressive. His answer to Rodolphus was equally well-measured, if less obviously so. "I can always find the time to take on a small matter or two." It was what he would have said to anyone, because after all, he was a solicitor, always hustling for work, for billable hours and client patronage. And the Lestranges would be a coup as clients for the firm, never mind the opportunities for his extracurricular pastimes. The dog just drooled on him after a thorough snuffle, and Rodolphus continued down the steps, eyes cast around for any symptom of lingering patrons. "We have received some small written protest to the library's restricted section," he said blandly. A cascade of candle light began to dim in their wake, and curtains in the upper sections fell closed. Soon a heavy, oppressive shadow was nipping at their heels, but Rodolphus didn't hurry. "I suppose the mudbloods think I should remove historic curses from our ancient texts rather than keep their hands to themselves." Fabian's flare of annoyance as he listened to Rodolphus was unfeigned. Historical books were valuable things, not to be destroyed lightly, and for all that he had no interest in trying out most of what was in Rodolphus' restricted section--or having it tried on him--the idea that someone completely ignorant of what it was judged it on prejudice displeased him. After all, it wasn't like every offensive duelling spell they all learned didn't have a touch of Dark to it. Where you drew the line--and who drew it--was the key: a key he had his own opinions about. He schooled his expression back toward professionalism, ignoring the encroaching darkness and nodding thoughtfully. "I'd be happy to have a look at it and advise on the best response. Is it a known agitator, or a new troublemaker? Or--no, you meant to go home, and if I start, I'll ask you a million questions. Send it over to the office tomorrow and we can discuss it at length when I've seen what we're dealing with." "An agitator known, but not ordinarily to us." Rodolphus spoke with a sense of fraternity that came from the easy and comfortable assumption that, unlike some of his less tasteful relatives, Fabian was with them not only in blood but also in spirit. It came simply, born of the notion that anyone of their blood ought to be, and it was easier to believe him with Rodolphus than his two siblings. "Pinkstone, you know her? Usually lobbying the Wizengamot to break with the statute." He finally set the dog down as they reached the ground floor, pausing to have a cigarette and offer one to Fabian. "Seems her organization is taking on other causes." Then, grimly: "Perhaps you can also get to the bottom of who's really asking." "Ahhh," Fabian said, understanding dawning in the low drawn-out expression as he took the cigarette and let Rodolphus light him up. Carlotta Pinkstone was a thorn in the side of the public purist establishment, and honestly, not high on Fabian's list of favourite people either. But as a member of the Order, he could say with a fair amount of confidence, if not to Rodolphus, that Pinkstone was neither an Order member nor an Order project. (Was Sirius funding her? It wouldn't surprise Fabian. Nor would it if she had some connection with Dumbledore that Fabian didn't know about. The old man was all twinkling eyes and 'Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!' but Fabian was pretty sure he was shrewder and less senile than he liked to let on, even to the Order.) "I'll see what I can find out. It'll have to be indirect since apart from my name being on the letterhead, my name stands me in bad stead there. No such thing as a good pureblood, you know." Fabian reflexively elongated his drawl on the last two words. It was something he'd heard more than once, even inside the Order, and for all that he knew he wasn't (usually) meant to be hurt by it, it still stung. And was as idiotic in its own way as the reverse prejudice, even if the correlation between attitude and bloodline was so much stronger one way than another. "But I can put my ear to the ground in the right places and see what I can find out who's pulling the strings there." Because someone had to be, didn't they? Fabian would think about that and not what Rodolphus would do with any information he passed that way. Dolph made a soft noise in return, a laugh if you knew him, breathless and inconsequential, like the swell of humour couldn't quite take root. His feeling was less one of hypocrisy than disdain. "No," he supposed, "Pinkstone isn't likely to take any more kindly to Prewett than Lestrange. But maybe your sister's husband knows her. You speak to them?" Rodolphus broached this uncomfortable subject no more tenderly than if he were asking to be passed a book. He considered subtlety a crutch—convenient, as he was so quantifiably dreadful at it. With a certain reluctance, Fabian nodded. "They've got five boys now. Molly had twins in April. If Gideon and I don't keep a hand in, who knows what will happen to them? They need to know who they are and for all that I love my sister, she and Arthur aren't going to tell them. "Of course, politics usually isn't on the table for discussion when we visit, but, ah, I suppose I can be induced to listen in the hopes of something interesting falling out. I can tell you if there's a Weasley funding them, it's not Arthur. Hasn't got two sickles to rub together." A moment of hesitation, then, since Rodolphus seemed to prefer bluntness, "My connections are obviously slighter in this department, but I would also consider my, ah, former cousin Sirius as a possible source of--trouble of that sort." Sirius was Fabian's cousin by courtesy only, because his Aunt Lucretia had been a Black and was Sirius' aunt on the other side of things. But, of course, better to refer to him as Fabian's own cousin than to mention that he was, by blood, cousin to Rodolphus' wife. Rodolphus turned away, ostensibly to tap the ash free of his cigarette. But that it was also a physical response to this conversational direction there was little doubt. He watched the char fall to a few inches above the charmed floor and then twist into a spark of magic. Sirius. Yes, he could be causing trouble. To what end Rodolphus didn't know. Casual mayhem and petty chaos were not tools in his own arsenal so naturally he assumed there must be an ulterior motive. (In truth, he knew too little of Sirius's personality to ascribe any trait to him beyond traitor. He may as well have been winked out of existence as soon as he'd been burned from the tapestry for all that Bella spoke of him personally. She preferred to think of what she might do to him…) "Ah." He said. Or perhaps he was clearing his throat. "That is entirely possible, Fabian. But you will look into it?" They had no need to discuss the delicate nature of that situation. Fabian had already been kind enough to imply it—in such a way that even Rodolphus could understand. "Of course. What else are one's dodgy connections for?" Fabian's smile left it open whether Arthur was the dodgy connection or he was. |