Ficlet: Puff Piece
Fic: Puff Piece
Rating: PG
Pairing: Charlie/Lavender
Word Count: 703
Summary: Charlie has a preconceived notion about reporters. Apparently, Lavender has a preconceived notion about Weasleys, too.
Written from a drabble prompt by grownupron , who wanted Charlie/Lavender and rude.
“There’s no need to be rude, Mr. Weasley,” Lavender said, biting down on her lower lip charmingly.
Charlie was not the least bit affected. He didn’t like manipulative women, and this one looked to be much worse than most. “I don’t like reporters, Miss Brown. You people are second only to politicians as the lowest life form in my book. And I worked with trolls, mind you.”
“That’s a bit harsh,” Lavender said, reaching out to touch his arm, whether in manufactured sympathy, to stop him from saying more, or as some sort of pass, Charlie didn’t know. He pulled his arm away angrily.
“You people humiliated one of my brothers, exploited the memory of another, devastating a third in the process, nearly got my dad fired…shall I go on?” he said turning toward Lavender with a face that might have stopped an angry dragon in its tracks.
“Haven’t even started on what you lot did to my friends, or how you managed to get my reserve’s funding cut when you did your little series on waste in government.”
“That wasn’t me,” Lavender said, holding her chin up. “None of it was. All that was years before I got started working there.”
Charlie frowned, conceding the point but unwilling to let that change his mind. “Still. Same newspaper, and now the bitch is the editor.” He threw his bag over his shoulder, making his way toward the Portkey office. “And anyway, my brother already warned me off of you. Told me not to trust you, that you’ve had it in for him for years.”
“He…I…what?” For an uncomfortable moment, she looked as if she’d been slapped, and Charlie almost found himself feeling sorry for her. “I thought…I thought we were friends. I thought we’d got past…”
Charlie’s face softened, but only slightly. “I don’t understand why you’re so interested in writing about our family, anyway.”
“Why?” she asked, sounding just slightly hysterical. “Your family…I feel as if you’re all part of my family,” she said. “I grew up with most of you, you can’t imagine how much I envied you, having that many people around to care about you. It was just me and Mum at my house, and she was so sick. I wanted…I wanted people to know your family the way I did, I wanted people to see how special you all are.” She reached out to touch his arm again, and this time it just came off as warmth and compassion, and possibly a passionately held viewpoint. “I was furious at Ms. Skeeter’s articles, too, Mr. Weasley. I made up my mind to become a reporter and tell the truth. Not about your family, necessarily, but now that I am, I thought I’d try to…”
Charlie sighed. “Try to what?”
“Set it right.”
He looked directly at her then, wishing he could look into her mind, decipher her motivations.
“Listen, Charlie, I know as much as anyone how much words can hurt. You may not remember, but for several months after the battle, they were calling me a werewolf. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t true, people still crossed the street to avoid me, clutching their children. Even today, people sometimes call me ‘Wolf Girl.’ The way I see it, you’ve got an entire family of unsung heroes: complicated, real people that readers can identify with, and all of you gorgeous to boot. Not people who were born to be heroic, but people who chose it, time and again. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if your family inspired others to the same sort of bravery?”
“We just want to be left alone,” Charlie said with a sigh.
“Your father talked to me, already, as did Ginny. Bill was my first interview. I have an appointment with George, I’ve been corresponding with Percy, and I was saving Ron for last, hoping I could present him with a fait accompli.”
She looked so bloody earnest, Charlie felt himself softening in spite of his misgivings. “All right, Miss Brown. I reckon I can spare you an hour or so.”
She gifted him with a rather dazzling smile, and linked her arm in his. “You won’t regret it, Charlie.”
Charlie smiled warily in return, hoping desperately he wouldn’t regret doing it for an entirely different reason.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Charlie/Lavender
Word Count: 703
Summary: Charlie has a preconceived notion about reporters. Apparently, Lavender has a preconceived notion about Weasleys, too.
Written from a drabble prompt by grownupron , who wanted Charlie/Lavender and rude.
“There’s no need to be rude, Mr. Weasley,” Lavender said, biting down on her lower lip charmingly.
Charlie was not the least bit affected. He didn’t like manipulative women, and this one looked to be much worse than most. “I don’t like reporters, Miss Brown. You people are second only to politicians as the lowest life form in my book. And I worked with trolls, mind you.”
“That’s a bit harsh,” Lavender said, reaching out to touch his arm, whether in manufactured sympathy, to stop him from saying more, or as some sort of pass, Charlie didn’t know. He pulled his arm away angrily.
“You people humiliated one of my brothers, exploited the memory of another, devastating a third in the process, nearly got my dad fired…shall I go on?” he said turning toward Lavender with a face that might have stopped an angry dragon in its tracks.
“Haven’t even started on what you lot did to my friends, or how you managed to get my reserve’s funding cut when you did your little series on waste in government.”
“That wasn’t me,” Lavender said, holding her chin up. “None of it was. All that was years before I got started working there.”
Charlie frowned, conceding the point but unwilling to let that change his mind. “Still. Same newspaper, and now the bitch is the editor.” He threw his bag over his shoulder, making his way toward the Portkey office. “And anyway, my brother already warned me off of you. Told me not to trust you, that you’ve had it in for him for years.”
“He…I…what?” For an uncomfortable moment, she looked as if she’d been slapped, and Charlie almost found himself feeling sorry for her. “I thought…I thought we were friends. I thought we’d got past…”
Charlie’s face softened, but only slightly. “I don’t understand why you’re so interested in writing about our family, anyway.”
“Why?” she asked, sounding just slightly hysterical. “Your family…I feel as if you’re all part of my family,” she said. “I grew up with most of you, you can’t imagine how much I envied you, having that many people around to care about you. It was just me and Mum at my house, and she was so sick. I wanted…I wanted people to know your family the way I did, I wanted people to see how special you all are.” She reached out to touch his arm again, and this time it just came off as warmth and compassion, and possibly a passionately held viewpoint. “I was furious at Ms. Skeeter’s articles, too, Mr. Weasley. I made up my mind to become a reporter and tell the truth. Not about your family, necessarily, but now that I am, I thought I’d try to…”
Charlie sighed. “Try to what?”
“Set it right.”
He looked directly at her then, wishing he could look into her mind, decipher her motivations.
“Listen, Charlie, I know as much as anyone how much words can hurt. You may not remember, but for several months after the battle, they were calling me a werewolf. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t true, people still crossed the street to avoid me, clutching their children. Even today, people sometimes call me ‘Wolf Girl.’ The way I see it, you’ve got an entire family of unsung heroes: complicated, real people that readers can identify with, and all of you gorgeous to boot. Not people who were born to be heroic, but people who chose it, time and again. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if your family inspired others to the same sort of bravery?”
“We just want to be left alone,” Charlie said with a sigh.
“Your father talked to me, already, as did Ginny. Bill was my first interview. I have an appointment with George, I’ve been corresponding with Percy, and I was saving Ron for last, hoping I could present him with a fait accompli.”
She looked so bloody earnest, Charlie felt himself softening in spite of his misgivings. “All right, Miss Brown. I reckon I can spare you an hour or so.”
She gifted him with a rather dazzling smile, and linked her arm in his. “You won’t regret it, Charlie.”
Charlie smiled warily in return, hoping desperately he wouldn’t regret doing it for an entirely different reason.