Fic: forget the lies no one ever could sell you (HP gen)
So, I, er, seem to have written a HP ficlet. Spoilers for Deathly Hallows.
Title: forget the lies no one ever could sell you
Rating: PG
Character(s): Lavender Brown, Theodore Nott
Notes: Spoilers for "Deathly Hallows." The title comes from "Hear My Song" from the musical Songs For a New World.
When Theodore shows up on her doorstep, five months after the Second Battle of Hogwarts, Lavender almost hexes him. Her hand twitches towards her wand, which had been absent-mindedly tucked into the sash of her bathrobe.
Theodore doesn't bat an eye. Instead, he smiles, that slightly laconic half-smirk of his that had always annoyed Lavender during school. Oh, Theodore had never done anything to her, really; that'd been half the problem. He'd just sat there, all but hidden in the background, and smirked, as though everyone else was missing the joke.
"Sorry to drop in uninvited," he says, not looking sorry at all.
Lavender squints at him, thoughts still a shade fuzzy. It's only seven in the morning and she's not quite awake yet. Once, what seems like centuries ago, she'd been an early riser, but as the months go by she finds herself sleeping in whenever she can-- especially after the full moon, when her bones ache and her head pounds and her stomach feels like a bottomless pit.
"What do you want?" she asks, and frowns at herself when the question comes out more puzzled than perturbed.
Theodore pulls something from his pocket. It's a card from The Quibbler, with "Theodore Nott, reporter" emblazoned on it, and before Lavender even thinks about it, the wand is back in her hand and aimed at the spot right between Theodore's eyes.
He raises an eyebrow, the half-smirk turning sardonic. "Let me guess, Rita Skeeter's turned you off all reporters."
Lavender is proud when her words come out sharp and concise and don't shake at all, when they are as steady as her wand hand. "I've already made it clear: I am not speaking to reporters."
Theodore just looks steadily at her, pale eyes bright and unreadable. "Last Tuesday, you spoke to Minister Shackelbolt about granting werewolves more rights." It's a statement, not a question.
She twitches a little at his words, surprise making her breath catch in her throat, but her wand doesn't waver. Dumbledore's Army trained her too well for that. "How do you know that?" As far as she knows, only Shackelbolt and Harry knew about the meeting.
Theodore's mouth twists into a rueful look. "While my father has found many of his old friends aren't keen on visiting him at Azkaban, quite a few of his old associates in the Ministry think better of me and are willing to help a fledgling reporter with a story."
After a moment, she lowers her wand, just enough so it's pointing at Theodore's chest, and says coolly, "And that's what you consider my going to Shackelbolt. A story."
He shrugs. "What else you would call it?"
The flippant tone makes Lavender's eyes narrow, and her fingers tighten on the wand. He must notice the gesture, because something flickers across his face-- it is not quite fear, no, but it's the slightest moment of uncertainty, as though he's not quite sure that she won't hex him where he stands.
"I'd call it something that needs to be done," she says, and the words hang in the air for a moment before she continues. "I'd call it something that ought to have been done a long time ago."
Theodore's expression smooths out, the half-smirk returning to his face, though now it's tinged with an emotion that Lavender struggles to identify. It takes a moment for her to realize it's approval. "You're going to need press coverage," he says, and Lavender finally understands that this is Theodore's attempt to step out from under the shadow of his father's crimes.
She finally lowers her wand, raises an eyebrow. "And you want to write the articles about the werewolf rights movement." Each word drips with disbelief, because if Theodore truly wants to be respected in the wizarding world, to be seen as a shining example of what a Slytherin can actually be, supporting werewolves (who are only a step above Death Eaters on the totem pole, when you come right down to it) is not how to go about doing it.
He shrugs once more and tosses her own words back at her. "It's something that needs to be done."
Lavender looks at him for a moment, thinks about the last reporter who'd shown up at her door, almost three months back, with his hungry eyes and bland smile as he asked how well she knew Harry Potter and if she had any school anecdotes she might want to tell, recalls how he refused to come inside or even within a few centimeters of her, as though Lavender would suddenly attack him.
"We're not going to be well liked, you know," she reminds him, and Theodore looks almost amused at her stating the obvious.
"Might as well be the werewolf-lover instead of a Death Eater's son," he says, and she's startled into laughing when he pauses and a pink flush creeps into his face as he realizes how poorly that was phrased.
She tucks her wand back into the sash, tilts her head. "We've set up an office in Padma's flat. Come by later today and I'll show you what we've got right now. Been researching various werewolves over the years to see how 'dangerous' th- we really are."
Theodore holds the card out to her a second time, and this time she accepts it. She can still feel where his fingers had held it, the paper thin and smooth in her grip. "I'll drop in around one," he says, and Apparates with a loud pop when she nods.
Lavender stares at her now empty doorstep, and after a moment shakes her head and steps back into her flat to set the card on her kitchen counter. She wonders if Padma will believe her when she tells her about Theodore's visit, or if Padma will think she's joking until Theodore actually shows up at one.
Title: forget the lies no one ever could sell you
Rating: PG
Character(s): Lavender Brown, Theodore Nott
Notes: Spoilers for "Deathly Hallows." The title comes from "Hear My Song" from the musical Songs For a New World.
When Theodore shows up on her doorstep, five months after the Second Battle of Hogwarts, Lavender almost hexes him. Her hand twitches towards her wand, which had been absent-mindedly tucked into the sash of her bathrobe.
Theodore doesn't bat an eye. Instead, he smiles, that slightly laconic half-smirk of his that had always annoyed Lavender during school. Oh, Theodore had never done anything to her, really; that'd been half the problem. He'd just sat there, all but hidden in the background, and smirked, as though everyone else was missing the joke.
"Sorry to drop in uninvited," he says, not looking sorry at all.
Lavender squints at him, thoughts still a shade fuzzy. It's only seven in the morning and she's not quite awake yet. Once, what seems like centuries ago, she'd been an early riser, but as the months go by she finds herself sleeping in whenever she can-- especially after the full moon, when her bones ache and her head pounds and her stomach feels like a bottomless pit.
"What do you want?" she asks, and frowns at herself when the question comes out more puzzled than perturbed.
Theodore pulls something from his pocket. It's a card from The Quibbler, with "Theodore Nott, reporter" emblazoned on it, and before Lavender even thinks about it, the wand is back in her hand and aimed at the spot right between Theodore's eyes.
He raises an eyebrow, the half-smirk turning sardonic. "Let me guess, Rita Skeeter's turned you off all reporters."
Lavender is proud when her words come out sharp and concise and don't shake at all, when they are as steady as her wand hand. "I've already made it clear: I am not speaking to reporters."
Theodore just looks steadily at her, pale eyes bright and unreadable. "Last Tuesday, you spoke to Minister Shackelbolt about granting werewolves more rights." It's a statement, not a question.
She twitches a little at his words, surprise making her breath catch in her throat, but her wand doesn't waver. Dumbledore's Army trained her too well for that. "How do you know that?" As far as she knows, only Shackelbolt and Harry knew about the meeting.
Theodore's mouth twists into a rueful look. "While my father has found many of his old friends aren't keen on visiting him at Azkaban, quite a few of his old associates in the Ministry think better of me and are willing to help a fledgling reporter with a story."
After a moment, she lowers her wand, just enough so it's pointing at Theodore's chest, and says coolly, "And that's what you consider my going to Shackelbolt. A story."
He shrugs. "What else you would call it?"
The flippant tone makes Lavender's eyes narrow, and her fingers tighten on the wand. He must notice the gesture, because something flickers across his face-- it is not quite fear, no, but it's the slightest moment of uncertainty, as though he's not quite sure that she won't hex him where he stands.
"I'd call it something that needs to be done," she says, and the words hang in the air for a moment before she continues. "I'd call it something that ought to have been done a long time ago."
Theodore's expression smooths out, the half-smirk returning to his face, though now it's tinged with an emotion that Lavender struggles to identify. It takes a moment for her to realize it's approval. "You're going to need press coverage," he says, and Lavender finally understands that this is Theodore's attempt to step out from under the shadow of his father's crimes.
She finally lowers her wand, raises an eyebrow. "And you want to write the articles about the werewolf rights movement." Each word drips with disbelief, because if Theodore truly wants to be respected in the wizarding world, to be seen as a shining example of what a Slytherin can actually be, supporting werewolves (who are only a step above Death Eaters on the totem pole, when you come right down to it) is not how to go about doing it.
He shrugs once more and tosses her own words back at her. "It's something that needs to be done."
Lavender looks at him for a moment, thinks about the last reporter who'd shown up at her door, almost three months back, with his hungry eyes and bland smile as he asked how well she knew Harry Potter and if she had any school anecdotes she might want to tell, recalls how he refused to come inside or even within a few centimeters of her, as though Lavender would suddenly attack him.
"We're not going to be well liked, you know," she reminds him, and Theodore looks almost amused at her stating the obvious.
"Might as well be the werewolf-lover instead of a Death Eater's son," he says, and she's startled into laughing when he pauses and a pink flush creeps into his face as he realizes how poorly that was phrased.
She tucks her wand back into the sash, tilts her head. "We've set up an office in Padma's flat. Come by later today and I'll show you what we've got right now. Been researching various werewolves over the years to see how 'dangerous' th- we really are."
Theodore holds the card out to her a second time, and this time she accepts it. She can still feel where his fingers had held it, the paper thin and smooth in her grip. "I'll drop in around one," he says, and Apparates with a loud pop when she nods.
Lavender stares at her now empty doorstep, and after a moment shakes her head and steps back into her flat to set the card on her kitchen counter. She wonders if Padma will believe her when she tells her about Theodore's visit, or if Padma will think she's joking until Theodore actually shows up at one.