PURE AS THE DRIVEN SNOW
I wrote this as a companion piece to "No Matter What " and " Edge of Darkness" but it does quite well on its own.
Summary: - Rita Skeeter gets more than she bargained for during an interview.
Rating - PG-13. Very light slash, and a tender touch is a tender touch (am I going soft in my old age?)
I didn't invent these; they are the property of the exceptionally talented JK Rowling. You can have them back when I'm done, love.
I walk into the Leaky Cauldron and he's there waiting for me. He stands up and ushers me into the seat opposite.
He looks uncomfortable and I can understand why. I've made a lot of people much more important than him nervous but after the fiasco at Hogwarts , i'm' reduced to doing this kind of thing to keep the wolf from the door.
Prior to this interview the editor called me into his office. He's a rabid Appleby Arrows fan so I was half-expecting him to saw what he did.
"He's almost too good to be true, this one. Find out what you can about him. You're good at that. Find the muck, Rita. "
So I look at the man in front of me. It's no hardship. His soft dark brown hair falls over his forehead, almost into his hazel eyes. He looks different in jeans and a forest-green polo shirt but every bit as tall and broad as he does in his Quidditch robes.
Hell, if I were twenty years younger I'd make such a play for him. Never mind that. Down to business. I suck the end of the acid-green Quick Quotes quill and it hovers expectantly over the parchment as Tom arrives at the table with a quadruple gin and tonic for me.
" Thank you for agreeing to this interview. May I call you Oliver? "
"Yes. I'm doing this because Mike said I should get it over and done with. "
His voice is low and soft with just a trace of an accent and it perks my interest even more.
" Just relax and pretend we're having a normal conversation. "
He raises an eyebrow as he sips appreciatively at his glass of wine. Such long, sensitive fingers for such a big man. I need to concentrate.
" Experts are saying that you are one of the finest players to join Puddlemere United in a long time. Would you agree with them? "
" Hardly, " he says, laughing. " I'm only the Keeper. And for the reserves at that. Mike's the real star. "
Michael Fitzgerald. Captain and Seeker and too bloody glamorous by half and who told me to piss off once.
" Keeper is still an important position. " I say, watching him. " Have you always been good at Quidditch? "
" Well, I was the Gryffindor house team captain until a year ago and then I was lucky enough to b spotted by a Puddlemere United scout. "
Modest. How interesting.
" What do you think of the state of the league at the moment, the? "
And he's off, going on at length about the different teams, their scoring averages, what they're like to play against, and the prospects of each winning the League Cup. His eyes blaze with excitement and he makes expansive gestures with those beautiful hands. When he finally dries up I say,
" Tell me more about you , Oliver. I'm sure our readers would like to know more about United's wonder boy. Especially our female readers."
He's blushing now and I realise how young he is.
" I'm nineteen years old. My parents both work at the Ministry of Magic. Have done for years. Oh yeah, I'm an only child. Er, that's about it. "
" So what are your passions? "
" Quidditch. I live it, breathe it. I love flying and I'm the luckiest man in the world being able to do what I love for a living. "
I grin conspiratorially as Tom appears with more wine and another massive gin and tonic.
" And what about girlfriends? Hmmm? You've generated a lot of interest among female fans, I wouldn't be surprised if the vote you the Handsomest Player in the League this year. "
That's right Rita, lay it on with a trowel.
" You could have your pick. "
He flushes a brilliant scarlet and my journalistic instincts, though corroded, start to prickle.
" They're wasting their time. " he mutters. " I'm heavily involved with someone. "
At last, we're getting to the bones of it.
" You're a bit of a dark horse, Oliver. Who is she? Give me a name at least. "
" My private life is my own business., " he says giving me a very direct look.
" Not when you're in the public eye like you are. " I retort nastily. The gin's kicking in. He's beetroot by this time and I sense there's more to this than meets the eye. We're interrupted by a voice.
" There you are, Oliver. "
A tall, slender young man with flaming red hair and glasses approaches our table. He gives Oliver a warm smile, not having spotted me. Then he does and the smile is gone, replaced by a look of horror and disgust.
" Oliver, what the hell is she doing here? "
I've placed him. One of Arthur Weasley's brood but I'm not sure which one.
" She's interviewing me for the Daily Prophet, Percy, " Oliver replies. " I did tell you. "
The other young man looks sheepish.
" Yeah. I must've forgotten. I'll wait over there for you, okay? "
Oliver has changed. He's smiling up at the other man and he's lit up like someone sparked up a candle inside him. There's a beautiful, warm expression in his eyes and I'm not that old that I can't recognise love when I see it.
His companion gently touches his cheek and Oliver closes his eyes at the sweetness of the caress, capturing the hand in his own and placing a kiss in the palm. The Weasley boy smiles at the gesture and Oliver says,
"Yeah. Wait for me, love. I'm nearly finished. "
Suddenly they're the only two people in the pub, in the world and I feel like an intruder.
Oliver concentrates on me again as his companion heads for the bar.
"Well, Rita? "
" You.... You and him? " I stutter. I'm never at a loss for words. He gives me a very sweet smile.
" Yes. Now you've got your scoop, I think I'll go and join him. That is what you came for, isn't it? Any dirt you could dig up on me? "
Oh, this is priceless. My glee must have shown on my face.
" By the way, anyone who cares anything about me knows already, so publish and be damned. Goodbye, Rita. "
Courteously he stands up as I leave, but his eyes are already on the slim figure at the bar.
I find myself walking down Diagon Alley towards the Daily Prophet offices, deep in thought.
Normally I would be delighted with such a piece of scandal but I can't forget the way those two looked at each other, and can't help but wish that there could have been a moment like that for me sometime, somewhere.
The editor summons me again.
"Well, " he asks tersely. " What did you dig up on Oliver Wood? "
" Nothing " I reply, smiling. " Pure as the driven snow. "
I wrote this as a companion piece to "No Matter What " and " Edge of Darkness" but it does quite well on its own.
Summary: - Rita Skeeter gets more than she bargained for during an interview.
Rating - PG-13. Very light slash, and a tender touch is a tender touch (am I going soft in my old age?)
I didn't invent these; they are the property of the exceptionally talented JK Rowling. You can have them back when I'm done, love.
I walk into the Leaky Cauldron and he's there waiting for me. He stands up and ushers me into the seat opposite.
He looks uncomfortable and I can understand why. I've made a lot of people much more important than him nervous but after the fiasco at Hogwarts , i'm' reduced to doing this kind of thing to keep the wolf from the door.
Prior to this interview the editor called me into his office. He's a rabid Appleby Arrows fan so I was half-expecting him to saw what he did.
"He's almost too good to be true, this one. Find out what you can about him. You're good at that. Find the muck, Rita. "
So I look at the man in front of me. It's no hardship. His soft dark brown hair falls over his forehead, almost into his hazel eyes. He looks different in jeans and a forest-green polo shirt but every bit as tall and broad as he does in his Quidditch robes.
Hell, if I were twenty years younger I'd make such a play for him. Never mind that. Down to business. I suck the end of the acid-green Quick Quotes quill and it hovers expectantly over the parchment as Tom arrives at the table with a quadruple gin and tonic for me.
" Thank you for agreeing to this interview. May I call you Oliver? "
"Yes. I'm doing this because Mike said I should get it over and done with. "
His voice is low and soft with just a trace of an accent and it perks my interest even more.
" Just relax and pretend we're having a normal conversation. "
He raises an eyebrow as he sips appreciatively at his glass of wine. Such long, sensitive fingers for such a big man. I need to concentrate.
" Experts are saying that you are one of the finest players to join Puddlemere United in a long time. Would you agree with them? "
" Hardly, " he says, laughing. " I'm only the Keeper. And for the reserves at that. Mike's the real star. "
Michael Fitzgerald. Captain and Seeker and too bloody glamorous by half and who told me to piss off once.
" Keeper is still an important position. " I say, watching him. " Have you always been good at Quidditch? "
" Well, I was the Gryffindor house team captain until a year ago and then I was lucky enough to b spotted by a Puddlemere United scout. "
Modest. How interesting.
" What do you think of the state of the league at the moment, the? "
And he's off, going on at length about the different teams, their scoring averages, what they're like to play against, and the prospects of each winning the League Cup. His eyes blaze with excitement and he makes expansive gestures with those beautiful hands. When he finally dries up I say,
" Tell me more about you , Oliver. I'm sure our readers would like to know more about United's wonder boy. Especially our female readers."
He's blushing now and I realise how young he is.
" I'm nineteen years old. My parents both work at the Ministry of Magic. Have done for years. Oh yeah, I'm an only child. Er, that's about it. "
" So what are your passions? "
" Quidditch. I live it, breathe it. I love flying and I'm the luckiest man in the world being able to do what I love for a living. "
I grin conspiratorially as Tom appears with more wine and another massive gin and tonic.
" And what about girlfriends? Hmmm? You've generated a lot of interest among female fans, I wouldn't be surprised if the vote you the Handsomest Player in the League this year. "
That's right Rita, lay it on with a trowel.
" You could have your pick. "
He flushes a brilliant scarlet and my journalistic instincts, though corroded, start to prickle.
" They're wasting their time. " he mutters. " I'm heavily involved with someone. "
At last, we're getting to the bones of it.
" You're a bit of a dark horse, Oliver. Who is she? Give me a name at least. "
" My private life is my own business., " he says giving me a very direct look.
" Not when you're in the public eye like you are. " I retort nastily. The gin's kicking in. He's beetroot by this time and I sense there's more to this than meets the eye. We're interrupted by a voice.
" There you are, Oliver. "
A tall, slender young man with flaming red hair and glasses approaches our table. He gives Oliver a warm smile, not having spotted me. Then he does and the smile is gone, replaced by a look of horror and disgust.
" Oliver, what the hell is she doing here? "
I've placed him. One of Arthur Weasley's brood but I'm not sure which one.
" She's interviewing me for the Daily Prophet, Percy, " Oliver replies. " I did tell you. "
The other young man looks sheepish.
" Yeah. I must've forgotten. I'll wait over there for you, okay? "
Oliver has changed. He's smiling up at the other man and he's lit up like someone sparked up a candle inside him. There's a beautiful, warm expression in his eyes and I'm not that old that I can't recognise love when I see it.
His companion gently touches his cheek and Oliver closes his eyes at the sweetness of the caress, capturing the hand in his own and placing a kiss in the palm. The Weasley boy smiles at the gesture and Oliver says,
"Yeah. Wait for me, love. I'm nearly finished. "
Suddenly they're the only two people in the pub, in the world and I feel like an intruder.
Oliver concentrates on me again as his companion heads for the bar.
"Well, Rita? "
" You.... You and him? " I stutter. I'm never at a loss for words. He gives me a very sweet smile.
" Yes. Now you've got your scoop, I think I'll go and join him. That is what you came for, isn't it? Any dirt you could dig up on me? "
Oh, this is priceless. My glee must have shown on my face.
" By the way, anyone who cares anything about me knows already, so publish and be damned. Goodbye, Rita. "
Courteously he stands up as I leave, but his eyes are already on the slim figure at the bar.
I find myself walking down Diagon Alley towards the Daily Prophet offices, deep in thought.
Normally I would be delighted with such a piece of scandal but I can't forget the way those two looked at each other, and can't help but wish that there could have been a moment like that for me sometime, somewhere.
The editor summons me again.
"Well, " he asks tersely. " What did you dig up on Oliver Wood? "
" Nothing " I reply, smiling. " Pure as the driven snow. "