dramaturgy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dramaturgy) wrote2006-11-16 11:16 pm
dramaturgy) wrote2006-11-16 11:16 pm
Fic - HP (Sort of!) - Five Times That Roger Knew He Wanted to Marry Lavender
Title: Five Times That Roger Knew He Wanted to Marry Lavender
Word Count: 1,916
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Tag Team. Chinese Food. Amorous. Late Night. Sick.
Author's Notes: I really don't expect anyone but![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
heathersy to enjoy this, so do it girl. This is part of my Five Times prompts.
Disclaimer: Blah blah blah they're not mine, Rowling'scakes, blah blah.
i. tag team
“British delegation,” the Assemblyman’s secretary addressed the five waiting in the hallway, “Assemblyman Cortland will see you now.”
“Finally,” Lavender murmured, and Roger had to smile a little. He neatly folded up the international edition of The Daily Prophet and stuffed it into the front pocket of his bag. “We’ve been waiting an hour.”
“We’re lucky it didn’t take another hour,” Roger answered, letting the other three delegation members go ahead of them. “You should wait out here, anyway, stop secret state business and all.”
She looked at him, giving the clear indication that she would rather rot than wait. “I told you that it would be a lot of waiting,” he said with an apologetic note in his tone.
Lavender bit back a sigh, and took her seat again, crossing her legs (lovely legs, Roger couldn’t help but think). “If they don’t give you a fair shake of it or try to give you some crap about not being able to do anything at this time, you let me in and I’ll set them straight.”
Roger laughed and leaned over to kiss her forehead lightly. “If they have me on the ropes, I’ll tag you in,” he promised, and went into the Assemblyman’s office, shutting the door behind him.
II. chinese food
New York hadn’t earned the title The City That Never Sleeps for nothing, it seemed. Of course, ‘The City That Never Sleeps Against Its Will’ seemed more and more appropriate as the days wore on. This was the fourth day in a row that Roger had worked beyond midnight, and the latest yet. And he had to do it again tomorrow, probably, although it was a Saturday and so he could sleep in, a little bit. Not much, but enough.
It took him three tries to find the key that they used to let themselves into the flat (it looked weird if they Apparated everywhere they went, coming in but never going, and the point was to draw as little attention to themselves as possible). When he pushed the door open, the lamp was on in the living room, and the entire place smelled like continually reheated Chinese food. He closed and locked the door behind him and dropped his bag before moving to investigate.
On the low table in their living room, indeed, was an assortment of Chinese food. Roger had nearly forgotten how hungry he was, and that basic thought process was interrupted by a rather indelicate snore from Lavender, asleep on the couch. He suppressed a laugh and stroked her cheek gently with one finger. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
Her eyes opened slowly and she blinked heavily at him for a second. “I was waiting up for you,” she stated.
“Not very well, you weren’t,” he teased lightly. “You snore worse than my grandfather did while he was alive.”
“I do not!” she protested immediately, sitting up.
“You did,” he laughed. “I heard you.”
“You’re a liar,” she whacked him on the shoulder and sat up, running a hand through her hair. “I kept some of the Chinese for you.”
“Me and a whole army,” he said. They would be eating Chinese food for days.
“Well when you’re not with me, how am I supposed to know what you want?” she asked indignantly.
“You have Sight,” he teased some more, and then kissed her. “Thank you, love. You should go sleep, it’s late.”
“You’re the one who’s working this late,” she grumbled good-naturedly, stretching out on one end of the couch and letting her eyes slide closed while Roger picked up a fork and a carton of rice.
iii. amorously
“You shouldn’t have drunk that much,” Roger admonished Lavender, although not so severely.
“It’s New Year’s Eve,” she excused it, leaning heavily on him as they walked back down the street.
“Technically, it’s now New Year’s Day,” he pointed out, catching her weight when she tripped over her shoes. “Careful, now.”
“I should take these off,” she regarded her shoes curiously, as if she weren’t the one who had put them on only hours earlier. “They’re hurting my feet.”
“Normally, I would agree with you, but it’s twenty degrees out here, your feet will freeze on the pavement,” Roger said pragmatically.
“You think of everything,” she grinned up at him with a grin that could only be alcohol induced. He had to laugh, and the grin turned into an exaggerated pout. “Are you laughing at me, Mr. Davies.”
“I think I certainly am, Miss Brown,” he said, and jumped when she pressed a kiss on the only place she could reach without any sort of effort: the skin on his neck where the collar of his jumper ended. “I didn’t know you were an amorous drunk.”
“Me neither, d’you like it?” she asked off-handedly.
“Well I don’t suppose I should complain – “ Agh. Again. It felt really nice. “It’s – spectacular, really, but I think copulating on a public street is still illegal in this country.”
“That’s not nice,” Lavender said.
“Terrible, really,” he said. At this rate, they’d be lucky to get into the lift before she was in his trousers. “Come on, we have one more block.”
“We should run.”
“We are not running. No running.”
“Walking faster?”
“That’ll do.”
iv. late night
Roger awkwardly pressed the numbered buttons of the phone number for the flat. Muggles in America lived much closer with Muggles than ones in Britain did, even the so-called purer ones – Americans had a pretty clear idea of what they came from, Roger had to say that much about them. But he wasn’t sure that he would ever get the hang of this ‘telephone’ thing.
Apparently, neither would Lavender. Roger winced as the dreadful tones matched with pressing buttons reached his ears. “Lavender, sweetheart, you don’t have to press buttons, you only have to if you’re calling.”
“I knew that,” she said immediately, so quickly that it put a smile on Roger’s face. “So, how are you?”
“Busy, and if I have to hear about their bloody constitution one more time I’m going to throw something,” he said.
“Oh, don’t do that,” she said concernedly.
“I won’t,” he promised. “How are you?”
Pause. “Okay.”
The worst part about the phone was that he could see her. Couldn’t take her facial expression into account on how to interpret that single word that was so ambiguous. “Just okay?” he prompted gently.
“Just okay,” she echoed. “I mean… you know. I’d be better if you were here.”
Now he was going to feel guilty. “Well, then I’ve got a little bad news,” he said. “Meetings got shifted around – “
“Late night again,” she finished for him.
“We shouldn’t have figured the luck of actually getting to come home at night would have lasted more than a couple days at a time,” he joked, unsure of whether he was trying to make himself or her feel better about this. “I’m sorry, I really wish they didn’t require me to be here so much. The Americans will be up to their necks in lawyers, but we only bring one barrister,” he added seriously.
“You’re fine,” she said firmly, although Roger thought that there was the slightest hint of disappointment in her voice. “I’ll just… do something.”
“If you get the urge to bake, I think peanut butter biscuits sound wonderful,” he hinted.
“Just for that, you get muffins,” she retorted.
“So mean to me.” He should have very much liked to stick out his tongue at her teasingly, but there was no point to it since she would not have been able to see it. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she answered. “Very much.”
You do me so much good, he wanted to say, but they stuck in his throat. Those were words better left for home, or whispered in her ear in a corner of their favorite Chinese restaurant, not a telephone booth at the Department of Magic with someone waiting in line behind you. “I’ll move it along as much as I can. I’ll see you when I come home.”
“Goodbye, love,” she said.
“Goodbye,” he answered, and didn’t hang up until he heard her end of the line go dead.
v. sick
Roger wondered if there is something about Britain that triggered her to a headache, or a trance, or whatever she called this state where whatever force it was out there that put these images in her head and made her virtually incomprehensible; a modern day Cassandra in shoes most unbefitting a priestess of Apollo.
He didn’t say much to her in reply to whatever it is that she’s said in her fevered (she must have a fever, she’s burning up but nothing seems to be helping it) half-sleep. He felt bad about staying home only to read propositions that the team sent him to correct the language or add a clause or move a paragraph for clarity’s sake (none of these people could write a treaty if their lives depended on it, which it does in a roundabout way), for more than one reason. He knew that this work cannot go undone because a way of life was under threat, it always had been, and back here it had become more apparent how much, and he also knew that Lavender would throw a fit if he was there to… well, just to be.
This was more for his benefit than hers, he’d managed to admit to himself. He knows there’s nothing that he can do for her, but he would be worried all the same if he were not there. He settled in the living room with his materials for barristering – law books that had been stored at his sister’s house in Paris until recently, as well as parchment, ink, all the necessaries for forging a document that could save his life, Lavender’s, their children’s, everyone’s.
Maybe that was a little overdramatic, but not by a whole lot. Right now he was on the couch and reading Quidditch Weekly. So involved was he in the interview of the Arrows’ defeat of the Falcons, he didn’t notice he wasn’t alone in the room until Lavender curled up next to him on the couch. “How are you feeling?” he asked, abandoning the magazine and letting her lay her head in his lap.
“My head,” she croaked in response. Her eyes were closed and she was very pale, white as a sheet. “Why are you here?”
“Working from home,” he admitted sheepishly. He combed his fingers through her hair. If she weren’t in such a state as this, she would be complaining don’t touch it, I haven’t washed it properly, so on, so forth. Now, she merely sighed and seemed to settle. “Are you all right now?” he asked, wondering if she’d fallen back asleep.
“I don’t know,” she murmured sleepily, and pressed her forehead to his leg as if to relieve some sort of pressure from the inside. “It wasn’t… I can’t remember it, but… it was awful, Roger.”
He couldn’t say that none of it was real, it was just a dream, because really, was it? For how long? There was no guarantee. There were no guarantees in this lifetime. Well, except maybe one. “You’re all right now, I’ve got you.”
“You’re crazy to put up with this,” she told him, a nearly embarrassed concession that was mumbled into his trouser leg.
“Crazy as you,” he teased gently, dropping a light kiss on the top of her head and continuing to comb through her hair.
Word Count: 1,916
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Tag Team. Chinese Food. Amorous. Late Night. Sick.
Author's Notes: I really don't expect anyone but
heathersy to enjoy this, so do it girl. This is part of my Five Times prompts.Disclaimer: Blah blah blah they're not mine, Rowling'scakes, blah blah.
i. tag team
“British delegation,” the Assemblyman’s secretary addressed the five waiting in the hallway, “Assemblyman Cortland will see you now.”
“Finally,” Lavender murmured, and Roger had to smile a little. He neatly folded up the international edition of The Daily Prophet and stuffed it into the front pocket of his bag. “We’ve been waiting an hour.”
“We’re lucky it didn’t take another hour,” Roger answered, letting the other three delegation members go ahead of them. “You should wait out here, anyway, stop secret state business and all.”
She looked at him, giving the clear indication that she would rather rot than wait. “I told you that it would be a lot of waiting,” he said with an apologetic note in his tone.
Lavender bit back a sigh, and took her seat again, crossing her legs (lovely legs, Roger couldn’t help but think). “If they don’t give you a fair shake of it or try to give you some crap about not being able to do anything at this time, you let me in and I’ll set them straight.”
Roger laughed and leaned over to kiss her forehead lightly. “If they have me on the ropes, I’ll tag you in,” he promised, and went into the Assemblyman’s office, shutting the door behind him.
II. chinese food
New York hadn’t earned the title The City That Never Sleeps for nothing, it seemed. Of course, ‘The City That Never Sleeps Against Its Will’ seemed more and more appropriate as the days wore on. This was the fourth day in a row that Roger had worked beyond midnight, and the latest yet. And he had to do it again tomorrow, probably, although it was a Saturday and so he could sleep in, a little bit. Not much, but enough.
It took him three tries to find the key that they used to let themselves into the flat (it looked weird if they Apparated everywhere they went, coming in but never going, and the point was to draw as little attention to themselves as possible). When he pushed the door open, the lamp was on in the living room, and the entire place smelled like continually reheated Chinese food. He closed and locked the door behind him and dropped his bag before moving to investigate.
On the low table in their living room, indeed, was an assortment of Chinese food. Roger had nearly forgotten how hungry he was, and that basic thought process was interrupted by a rather indelicate snore from Lavender, asleep on the couch. He suppressed a laugh and stroked her cheek gently with one finger. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
Her eyes opened slowly and she blinked heavily at him for a second. “I was waiting up for you,” she stated.
“Not very well, you weren’t,” he teased lightly. “You snore worse than my grandfather did while he was alive.”
“I do not!” she protested immediately, sitting up.
“You did,” he laughed. “I heard you.”
“You’re a liar,” she whacked him on the shoulder and sat up, running a hand through her hair. “I kept some of the Chinese for you.”
“Me and a whole army,” he said. They would be eating Chinese food for days.
“Well when you’re not with me, how am I supposed to know what you want?” she asked indignantly.
“You have Sight,” he teased some more, and then kissed her. “Thank you, love. You should go sleep, it’s late.”
“You’re the one who’s working this late,” she grumbled good-naturedly, stretching out on one end of the couch and letting her eyes slide closed while Roger picked up a fork and a carton of rice.
iii. amorously
“You shouldn’t have drunk that much,” Roger admonished Lavender, although not so severely.
“It’s New Year’s Eve,” she excused it, leaning heavily on him as they walked back down the street.
“Technically, it’s now New Year’s Day,” he pointed out, catching her weight when she tripped over her shoes. “Careful, now.”
“I should take these off,” she regarded her shoes curiously, as if she weren’t the one who had put them on only hours earlier. “They’re hurting my feet.”
“Normally, I would agree with you, but it’s twenty degrees out here, your feet will freeze on the pavement,” Roger said pragmatically.
“You think of everything,” she grinned up at him with a grin that could only be alcohol induced. He had to laugh, and the grin turned into an exaggerated pout. “Are you laughing at me, Mr. Davies.”
“I think I certainly am, Miss Brown,” he said, and jumped when she pressed a kiss on the only place she could reach without any sort of effort: the skin on his neck where the collar of his jumper ended. “I didn’t know you were an amorous drunk.”
“Me neither, d’you like it?” she asked off-handedly.
“Well I don’t suppose I should complain – “ Agh. Again. It felt really nice. “It’s – spectacular, really, but I think copulating on a public street is still illegal in this country.”
“That’s not nice,” Lavender said.
“Terrible, really,” he said. At this rate, they’d be lucky to get into the lift before she was in his trousers. “Come on, we have one more block.”
“We should run.”
“We are not running. No running.”
“Walking faster?”
“That’ll do.”
iv. late night
Roger awkwardly pressed the numbered buttons of the phone number for the flat. Muggles in America lived much closer with Muggles than ones in Britain did, even the so-called purer ones – Americans had a pretty clear idea of what they came from, Roger had to say that much about them. But he wasn’t sure that he would ever get the hang of this ‘telephone’ thing.
Apparently, neither would Lavender. Roger winced as the dreadful tones matched with pressing buttons reached his ears. “Lavender, sweetheart, you don’t have to press buttons, you only have to if you’re calling.”
“I knew that,” she said immediately, so quickly that it put a smile on Roger’s face. “So, how are you?”
“Busy, and if I have to hear about their bloody constitution one more time I’m going to throw something,” he said.
“Oh, don’t do that,” she said concernedly.
“I won’t,” he promised. “How are you?”
Pause. “Okay.”
The worst part about the phone was that he could see her. Couldn’t take her facial expression into account on how to interpret that single word that was so ambiguous. “Just okay?” he prompted gently.
“Just okay,” she echoed. “I mean… you know. I’d be better if you were here.”
Now he was going to feel guilty. “Well, then I’ve got a little bad news,” he said. “Meetings got shifted around – “
“Late night again,” she finished for him.
“We shouldn’t have figured the luck of actually getting to come home at night would have lasted more than a couple days at a time,” he joked, unsure of whether he was trying to make himself or her feel better about this. “I’m sorry, I really wish they didn’t require me to be here so much. The Americans will be up to their necks in lawyers, but we only bring one barrister,” he added seriously.
“You’re fine,” she said firmly, although Roger thought that there was the slightest hint of disappointment in her voice. “I’ll just… do something.”
“If you get the urge to bake, I think peanut butter biscuits sound wonderful,” he hinted.
“Just for that, you get muffins,” she retorted.
“So mean to me.” He should have very much liked to stick out his tongue at her teasingly, but there was no point to it since she would not have been able to see it. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she answered. “Very much.”
You do me so much good, he wanted to say, but they stuck in his throat. Those were words better left for home, or whispered in her ear in a corner of their favorite Chinese restaurant, not a telephone booth at the Department of Magic with someone waiting in line behind you. “I’ll move it along as much as I can. I’ll see you when I come home.”
“Goodbye, love,” she said.
“Goodbye,” he answered, and didn’t hang up until he heard her end of the line go dead.
v. sick
Roger wondered if there is something about Britain that triggered her to a headache, or a trance, or whatever she called this state where whatever force it was out there that put these images in her head and made her virtually incomprehensible; a modern day Cassandra in shoes most unbefitting a priestess of Apollo.
He didn’t say much to her in reply to whatever it is that she’s said in her fevered (she must have a fever, she’s burning up but nothing seems to be helping it) half-sleep. He felt bad about staying home only to read propositions that the team sent him to correct the language or add a clause or move a paragraph for clarity’s sake (none of these people could write a treaty if their lives depended on it, which it does in a roundabout way), for more than one reason. He knew that this work cannot go undone because a way of life was under threat, it always had been, and back here it had become more apparent how much, and he also knew that Lavender would throw a fit if he was there to… well, just to be.
This was more for his benefit than hers, he’d managed to admit to himself. He knows there’s nothing that he can do for her, but he would be worried all the same if he were not there. He settled in the living room with his materials for barristering – law books that had been stored at his sister’s house in Paris until recently, as well as parchment, ink, all the necessaries for forging a document that could save his life, Lavender’s, their children’s, everyone’s.
Maybe that was a little overdramatic, but not by a whole lot. Right now he was on the couch and reading Quidditch Weekly. So involved was he in the interview of the Arrows’ defeat of the Falcons, he didn’t notice he wasn’t alone in the room until Lavender curled up next to him on the couch. “How are you feeling?” he asked, abandoning the magazine and letting her lay her head in his lap.
“My head,” she croaked in response. Her eyes were closed and she was very pale, white as a sheet. “Why are you here?”
“Working from home,” he admitted sheepishly. He combed his fingers through her hair. If she weren’t in such a state as this, she would be complaining don’t touch it, I haven’t washed it properly, so on, so forth. Now, she merely sighed and seemed to settle. “Are you all right now?” he asked, wondering if she’d fallen back asleep.
“I don’t know,” she murmured sleepily, and pressed her forehead to his leg as if to relieve some sort of pressure from the inside. “It wasn’t… I can’t remember it, but… it was awful, Roger.”
He couldn’t say that none of it was real, it was just a dream, because really, was it? For how long? There was no guarantee. There were no guarantees in this lifetime. Well, except maybe one. “You’re all right now, I’ve got you.”
“You’re crazy to put up with this,” she told him, a nearly embarrassed concession that was mumbled into his trouser leg.
“Crazy as you,” he teased gently, dropping a light kiss on the top of her head and continuing to comb through her hair.