Leigh!fic | The Trouble with Daughters (1/1) | Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour, Victoire Weasley
Title: The Trouble with Daughters (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour, Victoire Weasley
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,094
Summary: There was only one thing for it. He was going to have to build that tower he'd been planning for his daughters.
Author’s Notes: Written as a gift for mollywheezy as part of my Summer 2014 Drabble Meme. She asked for Bill's reaction to catching one of his children snogging. Given the release of Rita Skeeter's recent dispatches from the Quidditch World Cup on Pottermore, I decided to play a bit fast and loose with the prompt. Molly, I hope you like this!
The rustling of newspaper was the only sound coming from the living room as Bill turned the page. It'd been a long trip home from Brazil, and he was tired. It happened more often just before and after the full moon; while there hadn't been very many side effects from Greyback's attack, he did feel the pull of the moon more keenly than most.
The World Cup had been fun, but he was glad to be home again. He still enjoyed the excitement of his profession, but now, he felt the absence of comfort and familiarity much more keenly now than he once had. He wasn't old by any means -- almost forty-five -- but he was in a different phase of his life. Husband to a beautiful, intelligent wife, father to three wonderful children, and perfectly content with his lot in life. Thank you very much.
Ginny had sent him the copy of The Daily Prophet in his hands. It was a week old, but she'd sent the owl with a little note Spello-taped to the front. Page Six, it'd read in his sister's loopy handwriting, a little smiley face next to it. Flipping it open, Bill rolled his eyes at the byline. Rita Skeeter -- of course.
Still, he could use a good laugh. Skeeter's columns were always good for a chuckle or two before he let Fleur use them as kindling. His eyes moved over the print, lips twitching at some of the more entertaining bits -- Rita Skeeter's opining on the source of Harry's scars was amusing. How disappointed she'd be to know he got that trimming the rogue rose bushes in his back garden.
His small smile grew when the column turned to his own life. "So, a love potion. That's how she does it," he murmured to himself, thinking of his wife. A love potion was hardly necessary; he'd been mad for her since the first time he'd seen her, and the years hadn't diminished his feelings. Let Rita Skeeter call his wife empty-headed. Fleur was worth a hundred thousand of that old hag. She'd hex her to pieces without breaking a sweat.
One always hesitates to invade the privacy of young people... "Since when has that ever stopped you, you ridiculous cow?" Rita Skeeter didn't hesitate; she dove right in with unbridled enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Bill Weasley might like to know their beautiful blonde daughter Victoire... His eyes widened.
"VICTOIRE!"
Half a moment later, and the summoned daughter appeared, poking her blonde head into the room. "You bellowed, Papa?"
Bill raised a brow and waved her inside, watching her grin and skip into the room. At fourteen years old, his eldest child was teetering on the edge of womanhood. She was lovely; a perfect mixture of both parents. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, and her white-blonde hair was pulled back in an elaborate style of braids. Her mother's work, no doubt. A very pretty girl who would be a beauty like her mother.
There was only one thing for it. He was going to have to build that tower he'd been planning for his daughters.
Without preamble, he held up the paper. "Care to explain this to me, young lady? Why is Rita bloody Skeeter -- oh don't crinkle your nose at my language; I know you've heard stronger than that -- writing about you and Teddy Lupin sneaking off and snogging at the World Cup?"
She laughed. Laughed. "Oh Papa," she said, perching on the arm of his easy chair, "do you really believe any of that drivel?"
"When it comes to my little girl, there is no such thing as 'drivel.'" He reached up and tapped her nose with the tip of his finger. "You're far too young to be snogging a boy, especially one as old as Teddy."
Victoire grinned and snapped her teeth at his finger playfully. "Papa, Teddy is sixteen. He's only two years older than I am."
"You forget, Vic, I was a sixteen year old boy once. I know how they think."
His daughter raised a blonde brow at him in perfect imitation of her mother. "You do? Want to tell me how they think?"
"I'd rather read a thousand Rita Skeeter columns than help you decipher the inner-workings of an adolescent male." Teenage boys were simple. They liked sports and girls. That was about it. His daughter was beautiful, intelligent, wickedly funny, and far too young to date. "I'm waiting for you to tell me it's all rubbish. That you weren't snogging and have never snogged a boy, and that you're looking forward to joining a convent after school."
Laughing, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his scarred cheek. "It's rubbish, all of it. Especially the part about joining the convent. Don't worry about Teddy and me, Papa." With a cheerful hop, she grabbed the paper from his hands and chucked it in the bin, and then she was skipping back out of the room with a wave.
"Teddy and me?" The empty room mocked him, as did the feminine laughter coming from behind him. Bill's lips thinned, then curled upwards. He didn't have to look behind him to know who had joined him. "She is your daughter, wife."
"Oh? I am glad we 'ave cleaned that up, chérie. I know you 'ave 'ad much confusion, since she acts nothing like a Weasley." Bill glanced up as his wife came around the chair and settled in his lap, wrapping slender arms around his neck. He leaned in and nuzzled her neck fondly, inhaling the light floral scent of her perfume and drawing a hum of pleasure from her lips. "She ees fourteen, Bill, and 'aving 'er first... comment dit-on?... crush on a boy. Give 'er space. She will grow out of eet."
"Do you promise?" His arms banded around her waist as he tipped his head up, pressing a kiss to the soft spot beneath her ear.
Fleur hummed and reached up, running her hand through the red hair -- just starting to go silver at his temples. "Non," she breathed, "but eef you forbid 'er to see 'im, she will just sneak around be'ind your back. Croyez-moi."
Bill sighed. "Fine." He could be the fun dad. The cool dad. He wouldn't lose his cool over his daughter supposedly snogging a teenage boy (who, he had to admit, was a decent bloke -- for a sixteen year-old male full of sixteen year-old male hormones).
And if all else failed, he could still build that tower.
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour, Victoire Weasley
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,094
Summary: There was only one thing for it. He was going to have to build that tower he'd been planning for his daughters.
Author’s Notes: Written as a gift for mollywheezy as part of my Summer 2014 Drabble Meme. She asked for Bill's reaction to catching one of his children snogging. Given the release of Rita Skeeter's recent dispatches from the Quidditch World Cup on Pottermore, I decided to play a bit fast and loose with the prompt. Molly, I hope you like this!
The rustling of newspaper was the only sound coming from the living room as Bill turned the page. It'd been a long trip home from Brazil, and he was tired. It happened more often just before and after the full moon; while there hadn't been very many side effects from Greyback's attack, he did feel the pull of the moon more keenly than most.
The World Cup had been fun, but he was glad to be home again. He still enjoyed the excitement of his profession, but now, he felt the absence of comfort and familiarity much more keenly now than he once had. He wasn't old by any means -- almost forty-five -- but he was in a different phase of his life. Husband to a beautiful, intelligent wife, father to three wonderful children, and perfectly content with his lot in life. Thank you very much.
Ginny had sent him the copy of The Daily Prophet in his hands. It was a week old, but she'd sent the owl with a little note Spello-taped to the front. Page Six, it'd read in his sister's loopy handwriting, a little smiley face next to it. Flipping it open, Bill rolled his eyes at the byline. Rita Skeeter -- of course.
Still, he could use a good laugh. Skeeter's columns were always good for a chuckle or two before he let Fleur use them as kindling. His eyes moved over the print, lips twitching at some of the more entertaining bits -- Rita Skeeter's opining on the source of Harry's scars was amusing. How disappointed she'd be to know he got that trimming the rogue rose bushes in his back garden.
His small smile grew when the column turned to his own life. "So, a love potion. That's how she does it," he murmured to himself, thinking of his wife. A love potion was hardly necessary; he'd been mad for her since the first time he'd seen her, and the years hadn't diminished his feelings. Let Rita Skeeter call his wife empty-headed. Fleur was worth a hundred thousand of that old hag. She'd hex her to pieces without breaking a sweat.
One always hesitates to invade the privacy of young people... "Since when has that ever stopped you, you ridiculous cow?" Rita Skeeter didn't hesitate; she dove right in with unbridled enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Bill Weasley might like to know their beautiful blonde daughter Victoire... His eyes widened.
"VICTOIRE!"
Half a moment later, and the summoned daughter appeared, poking her blonde head into the room. "You bellowed, Papa?"
Bill raised a brow and waved her inside, watching her grin and skip into the room. At fourteen years old, his eldest child was teetering on the edge of womanhood. She was lovely; a perfect mixture of both parents. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, and her white-blonde hair was pulled back in an elaborate style of braids. Her mother's work, no doubt. A very pretty girl who would be a beauty like her mother.
There was only one thing for it. He was going to have to build that tower he'd been planning for his daughters.
Without preamble, he held up the paper. "Care to explain this to me, young lady? Why is Rita bloody Skeeter -- oh don't crinkle your nose at my language; I know you've heard stronger than that -- writing about you and Teddy Lupin sneaking off and snogging at the World Cup?"
She laughed. Laughed. "Oh Papa," she said, perching on the arm of his easy chair, "do you really believe any of that drivel?"
"When it comes to my little girl, there is no such thing as 'drivel.'" He reached up and tapped her nose with the tip of his finger. "You're far too young to be snogging a boy, especially one as old as Teddy."
Victoire grinned and snapped her teeth at his finger playfully. "Papa, Teddy is sixteen. He's only two years older than I am."
"You forget, Vic, I was a sixteen year old boy once. I know how they think."
His daughter raised a blonde brow at him in perfect imitation of her mother. "You do? Want to tell me how they think?"
"I'd rather read a thousand Rita Skeeter columns than help you decipher the inner-workings of an adolescent male." Teenage boys were simple. They liked sports and girls. That was about it. His daughter was beautiful, intelligent, wickedly funny, and far too young to date. "I'm waiting for you to tell me it's all rubbish. That you weren't snogging and have never snogged a boy, and that you're looking forward to joining a convent after school."
Laughing, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his scarred cheek. "It's rubbish, all of it. Especially the part about joining the convent. Don't worry about Teddy and me, Papa." With a cheerful hop, she grabbed the paper from his hands and chucked it in the bin, and then she was skipping back out of the room with a wave.
"Teddy and me?" The empty room mocked him, as did the feminine laughter coming from behind him. Bill's lips thinned, then curled upwards. He didn't have to look behind him to know who had joined him. "She is your daughter, wife."
"Oh? I am glad we 'ave cleaned that up, chérie. I know you 'ave 'ad much confusion, since she acts nothing like a Weasley." Bill glanced up as his wife came around the chair and settled in his lap, wrapping slender arms around his neck. He leaned in and nuzzled her neck fondly, inhaling the light floral scent of her perfume and drawing a hum of pleasure from her lips. "She ees fourteen, Bill, and 'aving 'er first... comment dit-on?... crush on a boy. Give 'er space. She will grow out of eet."
"Do you promise?" His arms banded around her waist as he tipped his head up, pressing a kiss to the soft spot beneath her ear.
Fleur hummed and reached up, running her hand through the red hair -- just starting to go silver at his temples. "Non," she breathed, "but eef you forbid 'er to see 'im, she will just sneak around be'ind your back. Croyez-moi."
Bill sighed. "Fine." He could be the fun dad. The cool dad. He wouldn't lose his cool over his daughter supposedly snogging a teenage boy (who, he had to admit, was a decent bloke -- for a sixteen year-old male full of sixteen year-old male hormones).
And if all else failed, he could still build that tower.