Fleur quietly stepped into the back of the lecture hall, slipping into a seat in the back row, trying not to disrupt the class. Professor Granger was pacing the front of the room, half of the students paying rapt attention while the other half kept watching the clock.
“It’s important to remember that every time you pick up a pen or bring your fingers to the keyboard, the words you use are more than just facts. The words that you put to paper have life and can lift or destroy those around you. The stories that you tell will touch lives beyond what you could ever comprehend.” Professor Granger turned abruptly, calling on a young man whose head was drooping, “Mr. Elliot.”
His head jerked upright, “Yes, Professor?”
“What did Manly P. Hall tell us about words?”
“I don’t know, Professor.”
“Very well then. What does Carolyn Hart have to tell us about words, Mr. Elliot?” The class was very awake now. Those who had been paying attention smirked at his discomfort, and those who had been daydreaming were sitting at attention.
He paused for a moment, “I don't know, Professor.”
“Well then, perhaps, Mr. Elliot, your time would be spent more wisely reading the basics of our syllabus rather than nodding off in class.”
“Yes, Professor. Sorry, Professor, it won’t happen again.”
Professor Granger held his gaze sternly, “Yes, see that it doesn’t. Alright, class. Can anyone tell me what Manly Hall tells us about words?” A number of hands shot up throughout the lecture hall. “Yes, Miss Adams?”
A young woman in the front row began speaking, “Words are potent weapons for all causes, good or bad.”
“Very good, now, can anyone tell me what Carolyn Hart had to say on the matter?” Professor Granger surveyed the room for a moment before calling on a young man a couple of rows in front of Fleur. “Mr. Finnigan?”
“She said that Words were weapons. How a person, an act, or thought looked depended on how and who it was described by.”
“That’s correct. Your words and the stories that you write may all be factual. However, how you write those facts down determines whether or not they become weapons.” She paused to let the sentiment sink in briefly. “As journalists, you will have the power to sway public opinion, to tell people's stories, to let the people in your stories go down in history as heroes or as villains. What you say and how you say it matters.” She glanced at the clock on the wall, “Next class, we will be discussing why you have an ethical obligation to write the truth without embellishment and why using your words as weapons is or is not acceptable, depending on the situation. Since it is clear that a number of you have not even bothered to completely read your syllabus for this semester, I want a full three pages outlining the philosophers, journalists, and authors that are covered, their thoughts on words as weapons, and ending with your opinion on the matter.” A couple of groans were heard before Professor Granger held up her hand, “That’s enough of that. I know it's the first day of the semester. You all should have come prepared. Additionally, this class is for you to learn the ins and outs of being a war correspondent. You will be writing. You will be writing a lot. Get used to it.”
She turned and walked back towards her desk, leaning on it while crossing her arms, “Now, before we end class, are there any questions?”
Every hand in the lecture hall shot towards the ceiling.
She let out a sigh, “Yes, Miss…” she looked down and checked the seating arrangement on her desk, “Bell?”
“Is it true that you went undercover during the gang wars between the Deatheaters and the DA?
“Yes. Mr. Brown?
“You wrote a lot of stories, bringing the atrocities the gangs committed on both sides to light. Were you really there for all of them?”
“Yes. Miss Davies?”
“I heard that you were captured and injured while trying to locate Voldemort, the leader of the Deatheaters. Is that true or an exaggeration?”
The Professor looked down at the floor for a moment while strumming her fingers against the desk. “ Yes. So to make this a little easier. Yes, I was captured. Yes, I have scars. No, I will not tell you about them. Yes, I have seen people bleed and die for the stories I wrote. No, I will not tell you about that either. Yes, I received an award for what the ministry deemed as my service to the country. No, I will not talk about that either. Now, are there any questions about this class and not my personal history?”
Hands slowly lowered throughout the room.
“Very good, class dismissed.” Professor Granger turned to the desk and began organizing the papers on it while students packed their bags and filed out of the room. She focused on her work while the room gradually grew quieter as students began filing out. Once it was quiet, she pinched the bridge of her nose and blew a long slow breath out of her mouth. That is until she heard the slow click of a set of heels walking down the aisle. She dropped her hand and stood up straight before turning.
“Salut, Professor. I enjoyed your lecture. It’s intriguing how words can be fact and yet also be weapons. However, I never did get my question answered.” Fleur stepped closer, pinning the Professor against the desk, forcing the shorter woman to lean backward slightly.
“Oh, and what would that be, Mrs. Delacour-Granger?”
Fleur smiled as she leaned forward, running her lips across the brunette's jawline before resting near her ear, “Well, Professor, If I love you, is that a fact or a weapon?”