Author's Notes:

This story was written for the "Superstitious Nonsense" Competition at The Golden Snitch. Maximum word length is 2000 words. If you strip out the title, and these author's notes, this is exactly 2000 words (according to MS word). That's a short story for me.

The competition allowed me to write about Lavender Brown, something she's been nagging me to do for a while*. I didn't actually have to write about a rabbit's foot. All I had to do was write about Lavender. But the idea for this story arrived almost fully formed when I read the prompt.

* Lavender nags me all the time, she likes to be the centre of attention. If you don't believe me, ask Mark**.

** Hopefully this story stands alone, but if anyone wants to tell me that Lavender isn't a werewolf, please don't, not until You've read Hunters and Prey, or Moon, Brown, Moons, Troth, or most of my other MIT (Muggle Interface Team) stories.

PS I know MIT: Strange Place is unfinished, I'm working on it.

M.I.T.: Rabbit's Foot

'That's Lavender Brown, get her picture.'

The young photographer did as his colleague ordered. As he clicked the shutter release, the young woman he was watching through the lens turned and gave him a sorrowful smile.

Curly brown hair tumbled down the back of the ankle-length black coat she wore. The cloak-like coat flapped open, revealing black-stockinged legs, an outrageously short black skirt, and a white blouse open by two buttons more than decorum's dictates. The photographer, however, found his eyes drawn to something else. The white skull-and-crossed-bones symbol on the black bag she carried in her left hand drew attention to itself by flashing, and the words beneath the warning symbol proclaimed: "DANGER: CURSED ITEM".

'Lavender!' the photographer's companion shouted. 'Rupert Smith, Daily Prophet. Is it true that you're a fully qualified Auror?

The photographer was astonished by the inanity of the question. They were in a queue waiting to enter the Ministry, she was wearing the controversial new Muggle-friendly Auror uniform, she was carrying a cursed-item bag, and she was heading for the staff entrance.

'She's not delivering a take-away,' the photographer observed.

Lavender Brown's smile widened, and he snapped an even better image than the first.

'Don't your colleagues worry about working alongside a werewolf,' Smith tried again.

Lavender scowled, turned, and strode through the security arches into the Ministry.

'You missed the photo, you idiot,' Smith said.

'I didn't. I got two good ones.'

'But you didn't get a photo of her snarling! The werewolf Auror, snarling, and carrying a bag saying "DANGER: CURSED ITEM". The headline writes itself.'

'What did she look like?'

'Short black skirt, black tights, decent boobs.'

PC Rodgers took off his helmet and slowly shook his head 'Christ, son! I know that you're only a PCSO, but you should be able to give us more than that! Hear those sirens? When C.I.D. get here they'll want to know more than the size of her bust! Height? Hair colour?'

'Not tall, five-four at the most. Curly brown hair halfway down her back.'

'And she was going through his pockets?'

'Not exactly. I was out on the main road when I heard the scream, and the thud. I saw her when I got through the arch. She was wearing one black glove, and she opened his fist.' The PCSO, unwilling to turn and look at the bottle skip—or at the broken-backed corpse lying atop it—waved over his shoulder at the crime scene behind him. 'I couldn't see what she took from his hand, but she put it into a black bag. I ran towards her, and told her to stop. She looked really sad, close to tears, then stepped behind the bottle skip. I went after her, but she'd vanished.'

'That's a problem, because there's nowhere for her to have vanished to. This is a private car park, there's only one entrance. It's through the arch, the way you came in.'

'I know! But that's what happened.'

'Dodger!' PC Rodgers' colleague, who had been looking at the man's body, pointed at a rucksack on the ground. 'This bag's chock full of jewellery, cash, and cards, and there's a window open on the top floor. I wonder… Bloody hell, I think this might be "Lucky" Larry Lockwood. If it is, the poor sod's luck's finally run out.'

PC Rodgers stared into the face of the shaken PCSO. 'Looks like we've got a cat-burglar, dead from a fall, and his bag of swag. Are you sure you saw a busty bird take something from his hand and vanish into thin air? Because she definitely didn't half-inch his loot.'

Bewildered, the PCSO shrugged.

'First corpse?' Rodgers asked.

He nodded.

'And first on scene,' observed Rodgers compassionately. 'You're shaken up, son. Think carefully before you talk to C.I.D.'

As he tipped the contents of the jewellery box into his rucksack, Larry Lockwood grinned. He'd be able to sell the car, too. Looking around the bedroom, he reached into his pocket and stroked the fur. His eyes were immediately drawn to the drawer unit on the opposite side of the bed.

The top drawer was full of underwear. Scooping it out, he threw everything onto the floor. A small square of paper floated free. He caught it mid-air, saw the list of banks and PIN numbers, and chuckled. He'd taken £500 cash from the purse he'd found in the living room, but now he could take the cards, too. Picking up the heavy rucksack, he walked back into the living room. It was occupied. She was leaning nonchalantly against the front door.

'You again! How'd'yer get 'ere so fast? What'd'yer want?' As he spoke, he thrust his hand into his pocket.

'I want the rabbit's foot. Your luck's running out, Larry. Hand it over, please.'

'What'yer gonna do, taser me? Din't do yer pals any good, did it?'

'No, it didn't,' the young woman in the long black coat admitted. 'But if we're right, Larry, you've been pushing your luck for a long time. There should be a warning on that thing, like Felix Felicis: "Excessive consumption is highly toxic and can cause extreme recklessness!" It looks like you've made a good haul from this place. I'm not police, here's the deal. You give me the rabbit's foot. I step aside. You can walk out of here.'

'Howsabout you come with me, darlin',' Larry suggested, leering.

'You're not going to get that lucky, Larry,' she told him. 'Lucky in love needs a different type of magic. She folded her arms. Two buttons of her shirt popped open, and she looked down at her partially-exposed bra. 'But that'll work.'

As she tried to refasten her shirt, Larry stopped staring, and dashed for the kitchen. The window through which he'd entered the luxurious Kensington apartment remained open. Glancing back, he saw the button she'd refastened pop off completely. She was bending over, and the view was very interesting.

'I'm Lucky Larry Lockwood,' he scoffed. 'I'm not going to use a door.'

Distracted by her cleavage, he leapt onto the bench and stepped in a pool of liquid soap. Feet flailing, he plunged head-first out of the window. She screamed, but his hand was tight on the rabbit's foot in his pocket.

Tumbling through the air, he wondered how it would save him this time.

Constable Bobbie Beadle stepped out of the black Range Rover, adjusted her uniform, and placed her reinforced bowler hat on her head.

'First time back in uniform since I joined your lot,' she told her two companions.

'Are you sure this will work?' Susan Bones asked.

'According to the police gossip, yeah,' Bobbie assured the slender blonde. 'He's a cocky sod, invites coppers in, lets us look around. Because he knows we won't find anything.'

Walking up to the green-painted door, she knocked, and waited.

'Afternoon, constable, to what do I owe the pleasure?' The man who opened the door was gaunt, grubby, grey-haired, and grinning.

'Laurence Lockwood?' Bobbie asked, showing him her warrant card. The man nodded. 'My name's Beadle, I'm from Special Branch,' the lie came easy. 'This is Agent Bones,' she indicated the blonde on her left, 'and Agent Brown, from MI5. Can we come in?'

'This is a joke, innit?' the man asked, stepping aside and ushering them inside. 'They're never MI5! He stared at the blonde, and her smaller, curvier, companion. 'Yer strippers, aren't yer? Jimmy sent yer!'

As he followed them into his living room, Bobbie looked around the place. There was a large, flatscreen television on the wall. Five more, in boxes, rested along the wall.

'Bought 'em for my mates,' said Lockwood unconvincingly. 'So, what can I do fer yer, ladies.' He managed to turn his final word into a mountain of misogyny. Bobbie felt her blood boiling, fortunately, Susan and Lavender remained calm.

'I'll get straight to the point, Mr Lockwood,' Susan spoke precisely. 'Five years ago, you burgled a property in Chelsea. Among the items you stole was a lucky rabbit's foot. You still have it. If you'll just hand it over, we will leave.'

Susan's words were a bucket of cold water on Lockwood's mood. His cocksure attitude was replaced by panic.

'Who tole you that?' he demanded, thrusting his hand into the pocket of the scruffy jeans he was wearing. 'I was never there. I had an alibi, and they lost my dabs!'

'Lucky for you,' observed Lavender pointedly. 'Do you own a rabbit's foot?'

'Yeah,' he admitted, pulling it from his pocket. 'But it aint nicked, it's a family heirloom. Had it fer years.'

Susan drew her wand, and said, 'Accio.'

The large television on the wall behind Lockwood flew off the wall. Somehow, it missed him, and the three young women were forced to duck. In the confusion, Lockwood made for the door.

'Taser armed police,' Bobbie shouted. 'Taser, Taser.' As she fired, Susan staggered to her feet, directly into Bobbie's line of fire. The weapon hit. As Susan collapsed, twitching, Lockwood ran out into the street.

'Check Susan,' Lavender yelled as she followed Lockwood. She was back in an instant. 'He's taken our car!' she said. 'I knew this wouldn't be easy.'

'I locked it,' Bobbie protested, checking her pocket for the car keys. They weren't there.

'He's burning up his luck,' Lavender said. Pulling out her Auror-issue wallet, she opened it, and grabbed her pursuit broom. 'He's lasted five years, but now he knows that we know about the rabbit's foot, he'll push his luck to breaking point. Take care of Susan. I'll follow him.'

'Be careful.' Bobbie watched Lavender tap herself on the head with her wand, and vanish.

'I will,' Lavender's disembodied voice promised.

Arthur Weasley watched the shorter of the two young women carefully. She was chattering inanely; her talk of shoes and handbags was utterly alien to Arthur. He was struck by how unlike Hermione she was. Her hair was rather wild, though not as bushy as Hermione's. That, so far as he could tell, was the only similarity between them.

They were on a Muggle side street, only a few hundred yards from the Ministry. The glass-panelled door he followed the two young women through opened onto a staircase, at the top of which was an identical door. The only person in the room at the top of the stairs, a broad-shouldered woman with short-cropped hair, sat behind a screen tapping at a keyboard.

'That's a comstupor!' said Arthur knowledgeably. 'The Grangers have one.'

'Bobbie, this is Arthur Weasley,' Susan said. 'He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. Mr Weasley, this is…'

'Muggle Police Constable Roberta Beadle,' Arthur stretched out a hand to greet the woman. 'Harry's told me all about you. I'm…'

'Ginny and Ron's dad!' Bobbie smiled. 'Pleased to meet you.'

'Arthur has a case for us.'

'Harry's sent me the information,' Bobbie nodded. 'A lucky rabbit's foot was stolen five years ago. Really?'

'Cursed with luck,' said Arthur worriedly.

'Okay, well, I've checked police files…'

'Wonderful!' Arthur strolled around the desk to take a closer look at the marvellous Muggle machine. 'That's it!' He prodded the image on the screen, but it didn't move. 'It was enchanted by Caractacus Yaxley, and it's killed at least three Muggles. We found it, but before we could organise recovery...'

'The owner you knew about was burgled, and the rabbit's foot stolen.' Bobby said. 'I've checked the police files. The prime suspect for the burglary was Laurence Lockwood, his fingerprints were all over the crime scene, but he had an alibi, and then fingerprint evidence somehow got lost! We can't be certain he took it, and he's never been caught since.'

'We can!' said Arthur excitedly. 'Lost evidence, that's definitely the rabbit's foot. It's like Felix Felicis, safe in small doses.' He sighed. 'Muggles always push their luck, become reckless, then something terrible happens.'

'I have Lockwood's current address,' said Bobbie.

'Let's go,' said Lavender.

'Luck can be tricky,' Arthur warned them.