Molly Weasley stared at the carved wooden unicorn she held in her arm. Fabian was always such a silly boy, she thought to herself. He had this incredible compassion for all creatures great and small and sometimes caused all sorts of problems for that reason.
Ron and Hermione were over at the Burrow for the usual Sunday roast, and they were trying to pry information out of Molly on the sly, without revealing to her the reasons for this investigation. They had been digging though the archives in the Auror department and found some old investigative papers hinting at suspicious activity on Fabian Prewett's part, and Ron Weasley was beginning to feel that this particular uncle of his was not at all what he had thought him to be. If it came to light that Fabian did indeed have unsavory connections to the Death Eaters it could spell the end of his heroic reputation alongside his brother Gideon Prewett.
"What kind of problems did he cause?" Hermione prodded.
"Oh, I don't want to blame him at all, because he had such a pure heart, but he really could have been a pain if he wanted! I remember that time he decided to become vegetarian..."
"What happened there?"
"It was Christmas lunch and ma and da had prepared a feast for us, and considering what we usually had it was a wonderful feast. Alas, one of the main ingredients was this pig your Uncle Fabian had grown extremely fond of, and after finding out that his Christmas lunch was consisted of this pig, who was like a best friend to him, he went on a hunger strike for days and oh, the trouble! Every one of us tried countless ways to get him to eat again, and it was only after we convinced him that vegetables could not feel pain and were not murdered in cooking.
Now that you mention it," Molly continued. "It was the only other time I remember da getting as angry as he did with the unicorn incident."
Ron mentioned that his grandfather sounded like a scary man, not the kind one would hope to cross at all.
Molly shook her head in reply. He was not like this often, she claimed, and he was a genuinely good father when he could be. He told the best stories and tried his best to take care of all his children.
"Stories?" Ron said, unable to reconcile the stern, stentorian image with that of a fanciful storyteller. "What kind of stories?"