Rita Skeeter

When: October 21, 1986

Where: Ophelia’s Diagon Alley Apartment

Who: O.Rowle & R.Skeeter (closed/ @ritawritesitall​ )

Ophelia collapsed onto her couch with a hefty sigh. There was no decorum to be had with it, nothing poetic to lament about– her day fucking sucked. In all honesty, it had been a miracle in itself that she made it through the past nine hours without committing a murder. Okay, that wasn’t necessarily true. She did threaten to throw an uncooperative witness out of a window at work. The only thing that stopped her was her partner warning her that they’d go fetch Shacklebolt if she tried.

The entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement was on edge, given all the confusion and anger surrounding the absolute shit show that was the Nott’s charity event. After all, some bastard did attack a child right under their noses. It wasn’t a good look for any of them, and it didn’t help that they were no step closer to any answer. Every lead was a bust, every witness was nothing more than either hearsay or an attention seeker trying to get on the Notts’ good side. Sometimes it felt like they were running in circles.

Normally, that would have intrigued Ophelia enough to do an investigation of her own. She had friends in high and low places that must have known something. Tragically, dinner with her family had all but splintered her nerves into oblivion and stamped out her curiosity. Her aunt Melinoe, about as much as a nightmare as the mythological figure for whom she was named, blabbered about potential suitors the entire time. The sheer disturbing ease with which the woman could name every eligible pureblood bachelor in Britain left Ophelia with a splitting migraine. Either way, her uncle brought up the Notts and Ophelia resisted the urge to bang her head against the dinning table.

By the time Ophelia finally escaped that wicked harpy’s grasp, she wanted nothing more than to drink until someone looked handsome enough to take home. However, her favorite bar was closed due to an unfortunate doxy infection and the Leaky Cauldron was too crowded. Without a drop of alcohol in her home, Ophelia was now bored and entirely too sober. At least the day couldn’t get any worse, she thought to herself like an idiot.

She must have done something to royally piss off Lady Luck, because an impatient knock on the door came the second she began to relax. Ophelia shot up like a firecracker, marched her way over to the door, and threw it open. It took all of two seconds for her to recognize the woman behind it, and pure fury ignited in her veins. “What?!”

The daily prophet was pretty interesting to work for this week. But really, Rita would’ve loved to be anywhere else. Elizabeth was like family to her, and she hated to just sit their and overhear all the gossip about her. She kind of just wanted to tell them to shut up, but it was her boss, and she did quite like her job. So she just did her job. Luckily, she was tasked with writing an article focusing on the ministry. That was good, and easy really, for she was furious at the ministry. How on earth had the security at that party allowed that to happen? It was a gala celebrating peace for goodness sake. Rita felt a little sorry for the security really, because her article was pretty damning.

Rita was also hoping that the auror office were doing a good job of finding out what had happened. She knew her friend would not settle until the person that attacked Liza. And Rita didn’t blame her. If she ever had children she would be exactly the same. Sure, Liza’s father was a convicted death eater, but since when did the sins of the father become the sins of the child? She just hoped Liza would grow up and forget the incident.

Rita wasn’t sure if Ophelia would even tell her anything, but she had to try. And if not, well they could just enjoy each others presence. She hadn’t seen in her in a few days. She raised an eyebrow at the other woman as she pulled the door open. Well. Someone was in a bad mood.

“Lovely to see you too”

So childish. Poppy didn’t know why she bothered. She very, very narrowly resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but did purse her lips into a very thin line, going back to sourcing ingredients. Poppy plucked small flowers off a thin branch with particular vigor. She may have been a grown adult, but Poppy was still a Ravenclaw. She couldn’t just leave it alone. Poppy put down the small bag she’d shoved the flowers into with a scowl. “You know what?” She glared over at the woman, gathering up her basket, “I get that it’s your job. I do. Trust me, I know all about bending morals for the sake of a job.  But professional advice- woman to woman. Own it. You do something shitty, don’t walk around acting like what you did was above board. You fucking broke me with what you did. How you treated her. Own it.”

Rita just raised an eyebrow at the woman’s sudden outburst. Oh wow. Where had that come from? Rita had wrote that article nearly 5 years ago. That article had earned her her first front cover of the Daily Prophet. It had been the trigger of her career, and she was proud of it. Sure, the editor had changed some points of it, but it had been her writing. It was actually some of what Poppy here was on about. The original of that article had actually talked about Antonia’s sacrifice, but her editor had thought people didn’t want to hear about that. Plenty of people had died in the war apparently. Rita didn’t regret the edits she’d made, and she hadn’t really had much choice. “Mm.... I do own it.” She did. She was proud of that article. She also wasn’t going to speak to Poppy about it. She knew he woman wouldn’t understand. “I’m going to continue shopping now.” She mused with a nod, and spun on her heel, heading to a different area of the shop

Where: Diagon Alley When: 19th October 1986 Who: Remus && @ritawritesitall​

He was still so tired. Normally the twenty-four hours and then some after a Full Moon were taken up with sleep and yet Remus had spent the day before preparing for a gala where he would have to look like he hadn’t just turned into a crazed beast and the evening at said gala, letting his adrenaline get pumped up far too high when the night was disrupted. So, the last person he wanted to see when he was wandering through Diagon Alley because he was tired and yet there was a nervous energy all through his body that made sitting still hard, was a reporter. Rita Skeeter of all people. Her reputation was enough to make Remus want to flee and the thought that she was probably snooping around for gossip about what had happened the night before only reinforced that. Remus turned on his heel, abruptly enough that anyone watching him would know it was because he had seen Rita and didn’t want to talk to her. He might want to investigate what had happened so that he could know but little Liza Nott deserved to be kept out of the papers and off the lips of gossiping wizards. He was determined to stay away from people who might claim to want to know his opinion when all they were really interested in was a story.

Rita actually spent a lot of time in Diagon Alley. The prophet was located here, and so she did spent a lot of time in the alley. She actually quite liked to people watch, which was what she did on most of her lunch breaks. It was amusing, especially when she watched how people reacted to her. Rita knew she had a reputation. But she could hardly care. Her attitude, and how she worked, had allowed her to get privy to some quite interesting information. She’d kept it to herself for now, mostly bidding her time before she decided what to do with it. She hadn’t picked a side in the war last time, and was determined to not pick one this time until she knew which side would win.

It was the day after the gala, and the alley was full of people nattering about the events of the previous night. Rita wasn’t writing any gossip about that evening. She didn’t want to splash her best friend’s daughter all through the prophet. She was though, writing an article bashing the ministry security. Currently though, she was sat having her lunch. She just happened to look up, people watching at it’s finest, to see Remus Lupin abruptly turn around. Whilst she hadn’t caught him staring at her, she could tell by the lack of people too close to them that he was turning to get away from her.

“Charming....” She mused, a little laugh on her lips. 

“Glad to hear,” Emma deadpanned, though the conversation was already exhausting her. Merlin, she’d forgotten how much of an energetic vampire the blonde could be at times. But what struck her even more were the last words, making her flinch as she recognized the same mindset in herself in certain cases. It was odd to think that the two shared the same idea, even if in something as irrelevant as simply going to sleep. “Well, Rita, what can I say? My head hurts bad enough. I think it’s sufficient Rita Skeeter conversation for the whole month. But good luck with the boring people you do want to write about, as opposite to the interesting people you don’t want to write about because they’re your, um, sisters.”

“You might want to take a pain potions for that” Rita mused, a little smirk on her lips. She wasn’t oblivious to the fact that most people didn’t really enjoy her presence. But she really couldn’t care less. She had people that truly cared for her and that was all she needed. Rita had no time for fake friends, though she would admit they came in useful at times. She just raised an eyebrow at Emma. “Don’t get Elizabeth catch you calling the attack on her daughter interesting” Whilst the events of the gala would make for interesting news, it was the last adjective she would have used to describe an attack on a child

Oh, she's sweet but a psycho A little bit psycho At night she's screamin' "I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind

“Is the headline on an attacked child not intriguing enough? Or, remind me, were you writing for the gossip column?” Emma smiled for herself, quite enjoying the irony of it. “Quite fitting.” In a way, if even someone as lowly as Rita Skeeter could find something to do with her life that suited her, even in some twisted way, why couldn’t she find anything on that earth to be good at? But those were personal thoughts she tried to shake off in front of vipers like her former dorm mate. “Don’t worry, Rita, I wasn’t imagining you care what people say about you. Because if you did, I bet you wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. Which I don’t wish for you. Everyone deserves a good sleep from time to time.”

“The gossip column is just my side project” Rita mused with a shrug. Sure the gossip column had been her main thing when she’d graduated hogwarts. But now, she only truly wrote it in because she enjoyed it. What she enjoyed more was the juicy, drama filled big headliners. In terms of Elizabeth and Liza. “I made it very clear to my boss I don’t write about my family. Elizabeth is like my sister. She’s going through enough trauma as it is. I won’t have her name, nor Liza’s slung across the prophet” And that was all she would say on the matter. She didn’t write about Elizabeth full stop. Of course, shed mentioned Stephen once or twice, but only words that her friend approved of. “That’s what sleeping potions are for darling” She teased, a little laugh on her lips. “But I dont have any trouble sleeping..... apart from when there’s more fun to be had by staying awake”

“No, you just think everyone other than you is boring. That’s a complex right there,” Emma simpered with cleverness, recognizing this mechanism in her former Hogwarts friend. She felt immediately odd at Rita’s second remark, not understanding well what she truly meant and, frankly, not wanting to know. “Don’t worry, Rita. I don’t want you to ever write about me. We’re finished business. The poetry would be bad.” Too aware that she was into publicist pieces of writing, she still romanticized it a little. “I just… I wouldn’t complain about everyone else while not being incredibly interesting myself. The last I heard about you… everyone calls you petty and self-absorbed only over a few articles. And they don’t even know you well.”

“Not everyone....” Rita mused, a little smirk on her lips, and not letting any more information out. On the contary she actually has a close few friends that she found very interesting. The thing was, she had vowed to never write anything scandelous about Ophelia nor Elizabeth. So that didn’t make her job any more interesting. She just raised an eyebrow at her former friend. She figured that there was supposed to be some sort of insult within Emma’s words, but Rita honestly didn’t really care. “And?” She mused with a shrug. “I wouldn’t be a journalist if I cared about what people thought of me” Nobody really liked a journalist, and she knew some people she consorted with only did so to keep her from writing from them. She was in a powerful position, and she had worked hard to get there. She wasn’t going to let petty little remarks from people that she didn’t care about bother her. “The people that matter like me, and that’s all I give a damn about”

Ophelia slant her head to the side, eyes narrowed into slits. For someone who disliked snakes, she sure had the tendency to look like one when she was angry. “Darlin’, love is a child’s fairy tale. To marry for love is something only the poor and the less fortunate do,” she seethed, “They have to have something to fill their hearts because they cannot afford to fill their stomachs.”

And for her that was true enough. She looked down at the signet ring on her right hand, to the crest blazed into the goblin-wrought silver. More than just a family memento, it was a reminder of where chasing love could get someone– left for dead on the side of the road. Her mind was made up.

With an air of aristocratic indifference, Ophelia reached the same hand into the pocket of her cloak and pulled out a pouch of gold to pay for their meal.

“Thanks for inviting me, pal.” She stood up, any trace of emotion gone like a wisp of smoke. “Have fun finding someone who won’t bore you tonight.”

She winked, “I know I will.”

Rita really didn’t know why she constantly put up with this dance with Ophelia. It never got her anywhere, and always ended up with her heart being hurt. she knew she should stop, but she couldn’t. She was just too tangled up. She’d tried before. To stop, she just walk away. But it never worked. She always found herself back in Ophelia’s presence. She hated it. 

“Some of aren’t so lucky to be filthy rich purebloods” Rita reminded with a roll of her eyes. She wondered how often people forget that she actually was only a half blood. Her attitude made up for what her blood lacked. It always had, and she’d always made sure that everyone knew it.

She smirked, standing up when her friend did. She moved closer, looking like she was going in for a hug with her friend. But she wasn’t. Or anyway, that was simply the for her next words.

“Don’t worry. We both know you’ll end up in my bed. Like always” 

And then she was off. She spun on her heel and left the cafe, feeling pretty happy with herself for once.

“Oh, don’t give me that, Rita. Marriage is nothing more than a strategic contract between two parties. I mean really, love– what good is love?” Sneered Ophelia, unable to help herself. “If there were such a thing, we wouldn’t constantly be embroiled in a war over who’s superior to whom.”

She didn’t want to marry anyone. She couldn’t see herself as some housewife catering to her spouse’s every whim. She was not the person who would cross the ocean in search of her partner’s happiness. Moreover, she would not allow herself to try. The only love she ever knew was the kind that took all it could and left one hollow. She would not do that to Rita nor anyone else. Consider it the last shred of decency she had.

Ophelia frowned, appearing more genuine than she had been for a long time. “I’m sorry, Rita.”

“I quite like the idea of marriage actually” Rita murmured with a shrug, sipping at her mimosa again. Ophelia already knew how she felt about marriage. They’d chatted about it a couple of times. “Genuine love between two people that genuinely care about each other is powerful” And maybe, just maybe, her love for Ophelia wasn’t enough. It clearly wasn’t for the other woman. So maybe in this instance love wasn’t enough. It clearly wasn’t enough to make Ophelia give up her precious family. Maybe it was time that Rita just walked away, and just found someone that wasn’t afraid to be with her.

The blonde just raised an eyebrow, refusing to let her guard back down. Ophelia would only say or do something else that would hurt her. “Whatever for?” She murmured, her voice low. “We’re just friends remember. Nothing more. Nothing less” The words hurt her heart. But she was only repeating what Ophelia had said mere moments ago.

“Right?” 

“I think I read it somewhere that only boring people get bored,” Emma noted sharply, though her good humor was always in the right place. Normally, she would have scoffed and ignored an invitation for conversation from Rita Skeeter, but she was on her third Cuba Libre that day and couldn’t back down from the challenge that was her former best friend and dorm mate. She smiled at her own response, thinking fondly of how she was never bored and, hopefully, never boring either.

“I didn’t say I was boring or bored” Rita pointed out, a smirk on her lips as she looked at her former friend. It amused her that than they had grown so far apart. Rita didn’t particularly care though. When one had Elizabeth Nott as a best friend they really didn’t need anyone else. “But I can hardly keep filling the Daily Prophet filled with articles about myself, and my exploits” Though she was pretty sure it would make for some good reading. “Nor can I just fill it with your exciting life” Tiny little compliment there, because Emma was kind of interesting. A little bit anyway.

Poppy picked up the next jar, irritated with herself for choosing today, of all days, to restock the Hospital Wing supply. She plucked several small gurdyroots of their deadened vine and shoved them into the jar with almost too much force. “Hmpf.” She never thought she’d see the day that she agreed with Rita Skeeter. Grief did not make good news. Nothing was good news when it came to what had happened. The matron did purse her lips again though, raising her beows and shaking her head. “I doubt that. We both know you’re not particularly known for your journalistic integrity,” She locked the lid on the jar again and looked across at the blonde. “If you’re not going to buy anything, you should leave. I’m trying to concentrate.”

Rita just rolled her eyes. Honestly? She didn’t give a damn about what people said about her. Her years at Hogwarts had helped her to grow a hard skin. And really, she knew she was doing something right. She was a mere 25 years older, and was a senior reported for the Daily Prophet. Clearly her boss liked her writing, even if other members of society didn’t. To be honest, although she enjoyed her gossip column, her main love was the drama filled articles she got to write. The big article post war had been her best one yet. “Right....” She mused, shaking her head. “Hmm. I dont recall you owning this shop. So don’t think you can tell anyone to leave...” She mused, a little smirk on her lips. “As it is I am actually buying things so.” She wasn’t going anywhere

If there was one thing good at all about her upbringing, sitting quietly led to excellent observational skills. They helped Ophelia as an auror; made it easy easy for her to tell when a suspect was lying to her. Such skills also allowed her to see past Rita’s bored facade. Sure, it felt like dipping her heart in a vat of stinging solution. Yes, she knew it was horrible of her. The way she saw it, she was ripping off a band-aid and saving them both from the inevitable. Call it a coup de grace or whatever.

“She’s insistent that I get married.” Ophelia’s words tasted bitter in her mouth, or maybe that was just the aftertaste of regret. “My father agrees. I’m 26, you know. I’m nearly a spinster in our society.”

Normally it was all too easy to put up her mask, and pretend she didn’t have a care in the world. It wasn’t so easy around Ophelia. She didn’t want to have to have that mask up, to pretend that Ophelia was just a friend too her. But she had too, and it was clear from this interaction that was exactly what Ophelia was doing. So Rita could play that game too. She would just drown her sorrows later, with alcohol, and in someone elses bed.

Later Rita would be pretty proud of being able to hold it together at Ophelia’s next words. The mere thought of Ophelia marrying someone that wasn’t her sent daggers into her heart. She didn’t want to imagine a world where Ophelia wasn’t hers. “Oh Lovely” She murmured, with the tiniest of smiles. “I’m sure they’ve got a lovely man all lined up for you.” And yes. She was being spiteful. But she was Rita Skeeter. Spiteful was her middle name.

They looked like friends from afar. They talked like it, too. Unfortunately, the truth was Ophelia didn’t have friends. She had people she used and people she wanted to crush under her patent leather heel. And then there was Rita. Rita with her coy smiles and carefully calculated touches, holding a secret only they knew. A secret that, if it ever were to leak, could very well ruin Ophelia and scandalize her family. She recoiled from Rita, shoulders squared and lips pressed together into a thin line.

“Of course I do, we are just friends after all,” Ophelia said in a business-like tone. She paused, as if she were choosing her next words with care, “My mother owled me yesterday.”

The moment Ophelia recoiled from her, Rita’s mask, and her defences went straight back up. She knew the other woman would be able to tell for Rita very rarely had her mask on around Ophelia. Most people did not know the true Rita, the one hidden behind her mask. It was used to protect herself. She didn’t need to protect herself around Ophelia. Or so she had thought. The way Ophelia so loosely threw around them just being friends hurt. Because to Rita they were far from just friends. 

“Of course” She murmured, her expression painting a picture that she was now bored of the conversation. It wasn’t that she was bored. Ophelia could never bore her. She just didn’t want to get hurt anymore. “And what thrilling tales did she have for you?”