Rita Skeeter leads a scandalous love life. (ex_busybody681) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-06-10 19:31:00 |
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Well here goes nothing, Rita thought after apparating to Hogsmeade, looking around herself to see if she recognised anyone in the throngs before heading towards the end of the small town towards Hogwarts. For her special mission today, Rita had chosen what she felt to be a stealthy ensemble of head-to-toe black, minus one crocodile purse due to today’s activities. In all black she felt powerful, secretive, and professional; she was ready for the mission at hand. She had done her research, figured out exactly how to get into Dumbledore’s office, and obviously she had a way to get past most set of eyes, this mission was going to go smoothly. Checking once…twice…three time to ensure that no one could see her from any direction whatsoever, Rita closed her eyes, focused hard, thought the incantation, and when she opened her eyes again, she was looking at the world from a completely different view. It had been a while since she had transformed into a beetle, and she wasn’t entirely sure as to the reason why. It probably had to do with the fact that she’d had little need to do much spying lately, what with the lack of freedom of the press at The Prophet and the following demise of the building, but regardless time had passed and she had not taken advantage of her secret in quite some time. It would never cease to amaze her just how much more difficult it was to travel as a beetle than as a human. Although she was not especially tall, she, and everyone else in this world, took their long legs for granted. Thankfully, she had trained herself to transform into an animal with wings, so after the initial tiring from running with legs, that reminder kicked in, and she took off. Rita’s preference had always been to fly closer to the ground for many reasons, mainly because she was less likely to be seen then, but it came with its dangers. She always ran the risk of not hearing someone coming and then being stepped on, and in her first few days of her new gift, she had come close to that dreadful fate more than once, but thankfully, the path to Hogwarts was empty, and so she had no trouble. There would be days where Rita would lollygag, enjoy the wind beneath her wings, take pleasure in the details of the grass and flowers, but those days were rare, and today was most certainly not one of them. She had a mission to complete, she had put herself on a deadline. If she wanted to access more of that advance for this book, which she needed to now that her only paycheck was coming from Witch Weekly, she had to get some chapters, notes even, to prove to her publisher that she was serious. Her first novel was not something to be taken likely, and she had already wasted a week in research. The view of the castle came closer and closer with each second, and Rita felt a rush of excitement and adrenaline. It was wrong, breaking and entering, but it was certainly thrilling. To think that she, Rita Skeeter, would soon be entering the office of Albus Dumbledore by completely illegal means, sent chills down her beetle spine, causing her wings to flap even faster until finally, she reached her entrance point. In her research, and memories of Hogwarts, Rita had found that owls were able to enter his office. Thanks to blueprints, she found that they did so through a tiny entrance way in the east corner of the office, and that was all Rita needed. Even if it was blocked off, closed off, there was bound to be a hole, a tiny place missed; there always was. And much to her surprise, the entryway had not been closed off at all, she flew into the office, circling once or twice to judge her surroundings and then landed. The shutting of her eyes, a deep breath, and once again she was herself; elegantly dressed in all black, her hair back in a bun, not a piece out of place, her black bejeweled glasses still on her nose. It was time to get to work. Dumbledore’s office was not the largest she had ever come across, but it was certainly the most filled. It seemed like every wall was covered with books or… Fuck. Portraits. Of the five picture frames of previous headmasters, only one was filled. The man had a stately air about him, and the bronze plate under his face read Phineas Nigellus Black. “Who are you, girl? And what in Merlin’s name are you doing here?” Rita raised an eyebrow at the portrait, unsure of whether to answer, but something about his pointed stare scared her and so she replied, “I am Rita Skeeter, esteemed reporter for the Daily Prophet, well before it got burnt down anyway.” “Ah yes, heard Walburga mention something about that, but you can never really trust her anyway; crazy old bat.” Rita gave the man a half-smile and figured their conversation was done before picking up some books and rummaging through them. “What are you doing, girl?” He watched her angrily. “It’s Rita, and I’m looking for something.” “What, exactly?” “I don’t know. Something.” “What are you doing?” Why was she having a conversation with this man? She should get what she need and be done with it. “I’m writing a book.” “On what?” Looking at him as though he had asked an idiotic question, Rita raised an eyebrow, “On Dumbledore.” The portrait snorted, “Who would want to read that?” “Enough people if I can just find what I need.” “And what is that?” “Something, anything that will prove he was not this saint people made him out to be.” Why was she telling him all this? Could she trust a portrait. “Ah…” Phineas stroked his chin. “What house were you?” “Slytherin.” An eerie smile crept upon Phineas’s face, “Explore the bookshelves.” Rita furrowed her brow and looked around, going to a shelf in spite of herself. “Where are the other paintings?” “Visiting their other selves. Things have been quiet since Hogwarts shut down. We get bored.” “I bet.” Some pieces of parchment on top of a set of books caught Rita’s eye, and she picked them up, skimming carefully. Dark magic. “What was he doing with all this dark magic research?” Phineas chuckled but said nothing. Rita looked at the man unappreciatively, before looking back down to the notes: unforgivable curses, dark magic in items…what had Dumbledore been doing? Quickly, Rita duplicated the parchment, folding her copy up and stuffing it into her bra (receiving a snort of disgust from Phineas at the act). That was good, but she needed something more…she needed a way to delve deeper into the man’s past. All of her research had told very little of Dumbledore’s childhood, of his family, and if dark secrets were hidden, Rita knew that was where she would find them. “Might I suggest the Transfiguration section?” Phineas said somewhat eerily, pointing to his left. “Thank you?” Rita kept one eyebrow quirked, not sure what she was looking for, but knowing there was something there. Past the textbooks, she found a collection of magazines, one in particular caught her interest, Transfiguration Today. It was an old copy, certainly from before she was born, but what was interesting was the cover. Stuck to it was a note: Albus- I found this in my rummaging through the house and thought you might like a copy. I was so proud when this was published. Much love, Bathilda Bathilda? “Who the bloody hell is Bathilda?” “Language, girl!” “Sorry.” Rita shot him a look, “Do you know who Bathilda is?” “Unfortunately not.” Returning to the magazine, Rita opened to the dog-eared page, and a large smile grew over her face, not from Dumbledore’s article, but from the pictures inside. The first of three children, waving happily, the back read: Albus, Aberforth, and Ariana, 1890, and the second of two boys, the back reading: Albus and Gellert, Gellert’s first summer at Godric’s Hollow. History of Magic had not escaped her. There was only one Gellert Rita had ever studied, one Gellert she had ever heard of period (and she had heard of/met quite a few people); Grindlewald. Suddenly pieces of her story were coming together, despite that this was all based on speculation. Rita had the startings of her book. “Godric’s Hollow, here I come.” Phineas chuckled, “You’re quick, Rita Skeeter.” “Don’t tell anyone I was here.” “Or what?” He snorted. “Just don’t.” “Good luck.” He half-sang, disappearing to what Rita could only assume was his other portrait. She wasn’t sure at all that she could trust the man, but that only gave her more incentive to get to work. What would it matter if her surprise was ruined if the book was already published? And as to breaking and entering…well it was a good thing the purebloods liked her, she supposed. With a wicked smile, Rita closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and flew out the window, a novel coming together in her mind. |