The Uncensored

silencio-rita

“How refreshing,” Rita replied dryly, her mouth curving into a sardonic smile. He really was privileged to ‘not believe’ in scandal. As if it couldn’t touch him, words couldn’t bring his world crashing down. “And Muggles don’t believe in magic yet…” she held her arms out wide, “here we are.”

Her smile this time was more genuine as he admitted to his desire to be published properly. They shared that at least. Rita still got a thrill every time she saw her name in ink. “Well publication in one place does not preclude publication in another,” she pointed out, holding her hands out, one on each side for emphasis, as if her hands were the plates of a scale.

“And besides, as interesting as I’m sure these ‘respectable’ publications are, who do you think gets more readers?”

It was not ego for Rita to know the answer was herself and the Daily Prophet. She could write well, and she knew it. If she couldn’t, she wouldn’t have landed her job, nor been able to keep it. Now, Rita Skeeter was well on the way to becoming a household name, and it was thanks to no one but herself.

He was too young to be so cynical, but then, weren’t they all? The world they lived in these days had aged them before their time. And all Rita could do was make the best of it with what she was given.

“And why is that you think my articles so warped, hmm?” she asked, her tone not sharp, but some of the friendliness faded from her eyes. “It’s all in the perspective anyway. In the spin. And no–” she held up a hand, “–spin does not mean lies. You come from the world where image and portrayal are important. So do I. That doesn’t make things less true.”

She inched a little closer. Her voice lowered, softened a touch. “If not your transgressions, then how about your accolades?”

Taron found it rather an insult to his intelligence that Rita would liken his disbelief in scandal to the muggles ignorance of magic. Of course she would sensationalise the thing that put food on her table. Taron wasn’t dim-witted enough to think that scandal wasn’t a real thing, he saw it everywhere. Unlike many of the people who surrounded them however, he elected not to give power to it by fearing it. If all of them simply stopped caring about scandal, it would cease to exist. The same cannot be said for magic. Of course, he didn’t have time to explain the complexities of social constructs versus innate, primordial force to someone such as Rita Skeeter, so he simply shrugged and sighed.

Though, she continued to talk, challenging Taron’s resolve and aiblity to withhold comment with asinine statements. Had she been confunded? Or was she simply not listening to him. “I don’t know what about my previous statement makes you think I care about the number of readers, Skeeter.” He didn’t do what he did for fame, or accolades. He did it for knowledge.

He’d had enough. He was only at the damn function to please his Father anyway and there was only so much he could indulge the willfully ignorant. “Anyway, I’m afraid I must cut this little interview short.” He said, feigning remorse and a=making it more than obvious that he was doing so. “I’m sure it was a pleasure to have finally met you.” He lied, starting his way into the crowd. “I look forward too reading your columns on tonight’s festivities and trust that I won’t see myself mentioned.” He let a warning in there somewhere, hopefully she could at least pick that up. With that, he moved into the crowd, filling his glass with whiskey from his flask as he went.

The huff that left him was humorless. Edgar eyed her warily, appreciatively, muttering, “That’s for sure.” One of a kind. Thank every god and power that be for that. If there were more than one Rita Skeeter he’d be fucked. And not in the way he typically liked to be fucked by her. He blew out a breath, resentment in his exhale. 

Rolling his shoulders, his head on his neck, Edgar forced himself to relax, to breathe in deeply, out slowly, and smother his irritation. Twice now she’d parried his jabs like his words meant nothing to her, had no effect on her at all. That in and of itself was annoying as fuck, but he wasn’t going to keep pressing an attack if she wasn’t going to defend herself in kind. 

If he did it made him the wanker citing a thesaurus every synonym for ‘demon’ while she got away with being the civil one. That was the point of her deflecting and evading. He knew it was. He was playing right into her fucking hands. But what the hell else was he supposed to do? Keep being an asshole while she wasn’t actively giving him a reason to be? She did this shit on purpose.

A guttural ‘hmm’ met her returned complement. He watched her take him in, watched how her crystalline gaze swept over his body, stopping wherever she wanted to drink him in. Edgar gritted his teeth against the roaring in his ears, the upsurge of fire that burned his blood when she looked at him like that. 

Jaw clenched tight enough to send a muscle twitching, he grumbled, “The benefits of having low friends in high places, eh?” His nostrils flared when she leaned in, hairs stood on end when her purring voice caressed down the side of his neck, blood burned hotter as she gestured at her dress, the exposed skin and the rest he knew but couldn’t see. 

Edgar grabbed a hold of Rita’s waist and yanked her closer to him so he could growl in her ear, “Is that what you want, Skeeter? For me to search you?”

At least he appreciated her uniqueness, even though she knew that his agreement was more from a self preservation standpoint than thinking she was anything special. Again, she would take it as a compliment and ignore the sting. The way he responded to her told a story other than the one he spewed at her verbally, anyway. She could see the heat in his eyes and knew that it wasn’t just from anger.

“Well at least I have a relationship with the happy couple,” she replied. “My happy felicitations to them is entirely genuine. It’s a little hypocritical for to be implying other things about them while still partaking of the open bar and free food, don’t you think?” She queried, tilting her head to the side and looking at him questioningly. Eyes wide and guileless. As if she wasn’t making a point. At least he wasn’t only sanctimonious and smug when it came to his superiority over Rita herself.

She stifled a gasp as he grabbed her, as well as a smile when she landed almost against him. Her hand had found its way to his chest to steady herself as she tottered on her heels for a moment. The smile she hid because she knew how it would annoy him and she didn’t want to do that again right this moment.

She liked when he got physical. When he tried to put her as off balance physically as she clearly made him mentally. She was getting to him, and he wanted to return the favour. She didn’t mind in the least.

A shiver went down her spine at the voice in her ear. Memories flashed in her mind of that voice saying other, dirty things. She couldn’t help her reaction, nor did she want to. “Whatever will give you peace of mind, Edgar,” she replied, slightly breathily. The use of his first name was just as deliberate his using her last. As if that would demean her further or create distance.

“Yes, and while it would be pleasure to add you to any family, the pleasure I offered him would be of an entirely different kind,” she replied with a satisfied smirk. Rita knew she was more than capable of making any man–or woman’s–night a memorable one. But he was too young for her, and really, Rita didn’t want to mess with family, just in case Rodolphus was not as kindly inclined towards her as his new wife was.

“Spoken for for tonight, darling,” Rita replied smoothly. “He told me as much when I…interrupted them,” she smirked, knowing how Bella would understand and appreciate the image. “She was a pretty blonde thing.” Though that could be said for many of the women there tonight. “I said I was sorry, but,” she shrugged, not the least bit apologetic. “He was quite put out.”

Rita could understand why. Her photogenic memory helped her replay that moment multiple times, even if her brain had only seen and processed it in the moment. Not that there had been all that much to see before Rita had so rudely made her appearance. She did not mention that he had initially switched his attentions to her. Knowing Evan as she did, Rita was quite sure that had all been a game to him.

“I wonder how she and Rodolphus’ cousin met,” she mused. “I haven’t seen him around, have I? He has a face I would remember,” she grinned, wicked thoughts obvious as they danced across her open face for Bella to see. She supposed it wasn’t all that important. A girl from the Ministry was hardly unusual tonight.

She was not fooled for a minute by Bella’s look of innocence. There was still the twinkle of mischief in her eye that indicated that Bellatrix knew exactly–or had at least suspected–how much Rita annoyed Augustus.

“Oh, well if it’s at your blessing,” she said dryly. As if she wouldn’t–and hadn’t–been pursuing it already. Her hunting of Augustus Rookwood had been going on for some time now. She had started off with wanting to know more about his department, but it had turned into an additional personal challenge for her. “I can throw it in as another wedding present,” she laughed.

“I appreciate your confidence in my…abilities, dearest,” she laughed, patting Bella’s cheek. Rita was not inclined to make a fool of herself in front of Antonin Dolohov, though. Were she ever to actually need him for anything, she didn’t want his memory of her to be sullied by anything less than professional. He was the head of an important Ministry Department after all, and therefore not someone she wanted to piss off–without reason. And as attractive as he was, as fun as Rita was sure he might be, pleasure was not a good enough reason when she could find it elsewhere.

Rita laughed, shaking her head. She was almost disappointed that their private time together was at an end, though obviously she couldn’t be selfish and keep the bride from her own wedding. “As kind of an offer as that is, my love, unless you are indeed offering to arrange it yourself–” here, she paused, to let her eyes roam over her friend’s ivory clad body with a suggestive look, “I think I can manage.”

She didn’t need anyone arranging anything for her. Bella had done enough just by getting Rita’s foot in the door. “I am, of course, open to suggestion, though.”

Lips pursed, she mulled Rita’s words over, thinking of Evan and what she knew of him. Bellatrix confessed a musing, “I’m surprised that he stopped. Though, I suppose my cousin is more of a voyeur than an exhibitionist.” She shrugged. “He’ll live, and I’m sure he and his flavor of the week will find their way back to each other before the night is through.”

She made a mental note to speak with Evan. It sounded as though he was having more fun tonight than she was, and that was simply unacceptable. The moment alone she’d stolen with Rod early on hadn’t been long enough to whet her appetite, and she didn’t think they’d have the opportunity until they were in their honeymoon suite later tonight. She wasn’t opposed to him having his fun, but he didn’t have to be a fucking slag about it. 

Bella blinked and the conversation was on Fenrir and his witch. She shrugged, expression bland, disinterested. “He’s visiting from France, and that’s where she’s from originally, I believe. Perhaps they knew each other prior to tonight. Biblically.” Eyeing Rita’s grin, she arched an eyebrow. Her smirk not quite fully surfacing as she read the blonde’s expression. Bella wondered if that cheshire smile would hold if she knew the monster under that pretty mask. 

Catching Rita by the wrist as she pat her cheek. She turned her face to press a kiss into her palm before knitting their fingers together and lowering their hands between them. Entertaining as it would be to watch Rita fluster Gus or lock horns with Dolly, neither were a good match for her friend. 

Both would likely be interested in getting inside her head, one with a scalpel, the other by either getting under her skin or blasting her skull wide open. Tonight wasn’t the night for any of that, so she dragged Rita from the room instead and joined the other wall flowers to observe the night’s festivities and scout a victim. 

A purr left her at the way Rita eyed her, and Bella gave her lip a nibble, returning her attention with a lingering once over of her own. “Much as I would love that, dearest Rita, I doubt Rod would be very interested in sharing me tonight.” She tore her attention from her companion to observe the reception, sighing when she accidentally locked eyes with her mother, who was waving her over to speak with some Ministry officials. 

Perhaps it was a little strange that she was seducing Rita into being her bridesmaid. But, truly, the two things were unrelated. Bellatrix enjoyed teasing Rita, enjoyed pulling her in close, touching her, sharing sultry looks through heavily hooded eyes. Even if their relationship hadn’t been of that nature in years, she still enjoyed the memory of it, of them, and she enjoyed seeing those same memories flash behind the cornflower blue of Rita’s eyes. 

Her request –which was proposed as such out of politeness and not because Rita had alternative options– landed like a slap. The blonde reeled back, looking shocked, dumbstruck. Utterly speechless, which spread Bella’s smile wider. It was a rare day indeed when Rita Skeeter was at a loss for words. She’d have to mark it down on the calendar. 

“You,” she returned with a vixen’s grin, head tilted as she examined Rita’s expression like a cat would potential prey. Biting down on her bottom lip, she grabbed her by the hip again and stepped in close once more, erasing the small space Rita had put between them. “Cissa will be my Maid of Honor, of course, but there are so few others that I’d care to have beside me. You, Rita, are among those few.”

She pushed a blonde wave away from Rita’s face and tucked it behind her ear, her fingers caressing down the angle of her cheekbone before she dropped her hand again, musing, “What do you say?” Her smile was impish, already knowing the answer, knowing she’d accept nothing other than the answer she wanted. 

They were broken apart again by Gustav’s reappearance, portfolio in hand, along with a tea cart being pulled along by an invisible string. He either flounced over to a table, his accented voice inviting her to come take a look, and Bella shot her blonde counterpart a wink before striding over. After this they’d discuss the rest over drinks. Rita wouldn’t be free from Bella’s company for some time yet. Not until Bella had had her fill.

It was hard to think with Bellatrix so close, and the damn witch knew it. Rita could focus of course, but it was more pleasurable just to feel and let the other woman say what she was going to, and do what she wanted.  Rita didn’t have to worry, not here, and not now. She trusted Bella as much as she was able to trust at all. She was a little touched that the other woman seemed to feel the same. 

“Hmmm,” she mused, breaking the intense eye contact and looking skywards. “Hmmmmm.....” She laughed at Bella’s expression and huffed out a half exasperated breath. “Well as if I’d say anything other than yes,” she replied, almost pouting. Her lips, of course, could not hold the expression, the smile tugging at the edge of them as it was. 

She ignored the irony of the other woman asking her to be her bridesmaid while playing with her physically. Rita was fairly certain Bella was just teasing her anyway, as she was wont to do. She didn’t take it seriously. Just enjoyed the sensations of the delicate hand on her hip that hid such strength, and the soft touches of a woman usually as hard as steel.

When the man came back in, Bella released Rita. She stepped back a few steps, not flustered, not off balance, but still feeling as if she had been released from Bella’s spell. The woman had a hypnotic quality about her. It half angered and half amused her. Rita enjoyed when she and Bella played, and when they used their wiles on other people. But she didn’t like the feeling of being put aside when not in use.

Still at the moment, there was no place she’d rather be, either personally or professionally. She would clarify with Bella later what was allowed to be committed to ink, and what was off the record, but either way, she wanted to see the dress. She was a woman after all, and one who liked clothes at that.

She strolled around the room as Bella and Gustav spoke, half listening. Her keen ear was attuned for anything useful, but otherwise, she was just looking at the different designs and fabrics. She could appreciate talent when she saw it, and this man clearly had it in spades. 

It was hard to get a straight answer from her, apparently. He wondered if she was like this with all her sources, or if he just happened to be the lucky one. His eyes watched her every move, noting how she copied him by leaning against the wall, with the exception of resting her heel against the wall too. Body language would indicate that mirroring actions were meant to put people at ease, but he wasn’t sure if he felt any of that. Not the way that she kept up her insinuations, and definitely not the way she’d looked him over.

His first real answer, sort of. Again, there was nothing concrete in her answer. Her flexibility was already proven by the way she seemed to answer and not answer his questions at the same time. It was a little frustrating. The only thing he could apparently use was her reputation that she’d brought up a couple of times now. It wasn’t exactly the most helpful thing.

When she moved toward him, he was determined not to give her the satisfaction of reacting. She was playing with him, he was sure. Her fingers played with edges of his jacket and her question sounded much less innocent. Frankly, she was becoming distracting, but he didn’t pull away. He was determined to stand toe to toe with her and play at his own pace. 

Information was what he wanted, but he wasn’t ready to show her his cards just yet. If she had enough sources in the right places, her information might be helpful to him. On the other hand, he assumed that any information he gave her could go to another source. He was still working out how he could mitigate that from happening, as he figured that she’d screw over anyone if it meant she got ahead. 

His head tilted downward a little so that he could make eye contact with her. “What do you think I want, Miss Skeeter? What do any of your sources want?”

Rita wondered if she was making him uncomfortable. From the stiff way he was standing, she thought maybe she was getting to him. But Rufus was not the type of man to back down or run away. The fact that he wasn’t just leaving though in the face of her difficult attitude indicated that he wanted something. Curiouser and curiouser.

Her chin lifted as she looked up at him, the coquette still hiding behind her smile. “Everyone wants something different Rufus,” she said, throatily. “Their name in the paper, their name out of it….” She shrugged. “I’m the type of person who can make things happen.”

The blonde traded in information and favours. She had a network of people she could call upon. The right person for the right job. She wasn’t always the one to do whatever it was, but she usually knew a guy or knew a guy who knew a guy. Favours, wheeling and dealing, it made the world go round. It was all in who you knew and, more importantly, what you knew about them.

“Oh, Rita,” he sighed, her name on his mouth like a prayer as she lent towards him. He had finally caught her interest, watched as her blonde brow curled to match the smirk that played on her beautiful features. And it was easy, really. Easy as Evan had said it was. To flirt and to touch and to enjoy the act. It was almost mindless, like breathing. Wasn’t sure what had held him back for so long. Augustus took a moment to admire the bones in her wrists, the soft place where her throat met a pierced ear. Decided that he would quite like to taste as a dull thrill of desire burnt through him.

“I want to know what you’re like when nobody’s looking, Ms Skeeter,” Augustus said, voice richly indulgent. He had always wondered, after all, what she was after the facade fell away and the woman remained. “No Prophet, no bullshit. Just you and an evening stretching out in front of you. What do you do to fill the time? Listen to music? Go out dancing, perhaps?”

In his own existence, Augustus tried his hardest to not have a moment to spare, occupying himself with work. Which was dull, really, unworthy of the witch’s time when the possibility for her to do interesting work was endless. But it was clear why Gus was here, now. Clear that she wanted to be asked the questions, was willing to share. He could see it in the curl of her mouth and the way that she leaned into him. 

It seemed hard to imagine that people had never thought to ask her, but Augustus’ supposed that he hadn’t either. Not until he had. There was someting about her that was overpowering, her cult of personality so intoxicating that Gus had trouble imagining her alone. Not dressed like that, at least. Yet there she was, alone like Augustus was alone but perhaps there was more to that. Perhaps she had a boyfriend or girlfriend that she was keeping hidden from the rest of the community and rightly so. Give someone an inch and watch them take a mile, Augustus understood that. It certainly wouldn’t be the first or last time someone in their wedding party had kept a secret. “Mostly, I just want to know what drives you. How far you’re willing to go to get what you want.” 

Dark eyes surveyed the planes of the woman’s face, ruminating silently on the questions that he had just asked. “Suspect we’ve got similar attitudes to the truth, Ms Skeeter. The sort that requires exchanging it for whatever it takes.” He suggested lightly, fingers itching to push thin golden threads of hair out of her face and succumbing to said impulse with gentle certainty. Her skin felt soft between his fingers, eyes watching her expression closely. 

The sound of her name on his lips, said in that tone, affected Rita in a way she wasn’t expecting. There was a certain thrill she got, just hearing it. Most of the time, Augustus was polite, detached, and sometimes when she had been particularly terrible, exasperated or annoyed with her. But there was almost a fondness in his voice now, mixed with something that might almost be called wistful.

She ducked her head, looking to the side, revealing the elegant lines of her neck, the whorl of her ear, the dangling earring. It was an intimate statement, to want to know what she was like when no one was watching. She was not unsettled by it, but intrigued. It was interesting that he was interested.

Rita was a very public figure. It was ironic considering how jealously she guarded her privacy. But if no one was watching, did she even exist? If the caricature was set aside, who was the woman?

If no one hears the werewolf howling in the forest, does he even make a sound?

Still, she laughed, shaking her head. “Why do you think there is more that you haven’t seen?” she asked teasingly, reaching out to slide a finger along the top of his index one. “Do you imagine me differently than I appear?” Cerulean eyes met his, a coy smile tugging at her lips.

Rita was not prepared to lay herself bare for this man, not yet. For all that Augustus Rookwood appeared harmless, she had to remember that he was an Unspeakable. They accepted only the best and brightest. Only those who were just as invested in inquiry as Rita herself.

The man in front of her, for all that his eyes were glazed over from alcohol and—if she flattered herself—lust, was intelligent. And she had no doubt that whatever she told him, even in this state, would be remembered at least somewhere in the recesses of his above average brain.

Her gaze met his boldly. “I do what it takes,” she replied, her voice low. Tongue darted out to lick her lips. Rita didn’t hesitate to go after what she wanted. If she didn’t look out for herself, no one else would. Either personally or professionally.

Her silence was satisfying enough. There was a power balance between them, gracious as he often was to pretend it was not so. He’d been born to glitter and gold; she’d clawed her way to it. And while he did respect that drive and determination, the simply fact that they were two different breeds of people.

“Yes,” he stretched the word out and chuckled lowly, “Of course I’d only use it at the most formal occasions, I am still and forever a man of the people.” he hadn’t spend decades of his life building that image up so perfectly to cast it aside now when it could be his most powerful weapon.

He nodded and chuckled once again, “Indeed. Growing up around such things you watch and you learn; though I suppose there’s none more expert in that methodology than a reporter of your calibre.” he said with a small gesture. Sadly the cage of expectations sunk lower on them all day by day, but at least he and the Lady had ensured it was gilded a cage as possible.

“Well that is the plan. To be a rather influential pair.” If all went to plan by that point the Dark Lord’s will should rule the country and he could take all the mud-bloods and muggles to play with as he pleased for the good work he’d done in helping that cause along. His loyalty was always to himself first and foremost after all.

“And a French mansion to holiday in every summer isn’t exactly a hardship either.” He’d already snuck there to visit her once; it had the most wonderful beds.

And so the matter was dealt with. Evan often lived in the moment as much as he schemed for the future. He’d been wronged, considered a vicious response but moved past the impulse and all could return to normal. Such processes had been difficult in his younger years but he’d trained himself to them well.

“Wonderful, I’d so hate for us to be at odds on such a wonderful day.” For he supposed it was indeed that, Bella was happy and she was one of the few he genuinely cared for (as best he could) so he could behave and joyous would remain the affair. At least until Bella’s patience snapped and she cursed an irritating guest.

“Oh my sweet, I can promise you, you’ve never seen me truly cross, I wouldn’t recommend it. I tend to show my teeth.”

It was all smiles and winks but also completely true, and his teeth were vicious fangs. “Indeed. My card is full for the evening but perhaps we can find you another suitor for the evening. Lady Dubois brought several friends with her, Monsieur Vette is a handsome man and, I can confirm, a highly attentive partner.” And what time for a quick bedding than a wedding?

“I’ll introduce you both, then attend to My Lady.”

Evan wouldn’t have to use the title himself. Those who loved him or sought his approval would do it without his even having to ask. Anyone who knew the man could guess how he’d thrill to hear such a title trip from their lips. He was a preening peacock, with the cruel streak of a much larger, more vicious bird. “Of course,” she agreed anyway, pursing her lips and nodding.

She inclined her head in thanks of the compliment he threw her way again. If Rita was not an adept observer, she wouldn’t have a career, wouldn’t have a life. She was intelligent and tenacious enough to be a survivor, but she wanted more than just survival; she wanted to thrive.  

“I don’t think any of that sounds like a hardship,” she replied. He had his whole life planned out, every privileged step of it. And Rita had no doubt Evan would follow through on his plans. For all that he gave the appearance of being an easy going dandy, he could be absolutely determined when he set his mind to something.

She was almost envious of the ease with which he accomplished it all. A beautiful woman as his future, more beautiful women in between him and commitment, a title, properties likely all over Europe, and the money to achieve all that and more with barely the wave of a wand or the lifting of a finger.

“I’d hate for us to be at odds at all,” Rita answered sweetly, pressing a hand to his arm. For all that it was a prudent answer, it was also the truth. She had seen the coldness in Evan’s eyes, the cruel edge to his smile that turned his handsome face into something hard and frightening. She had seen how he managed to manipulate and coerce to quietly take down his enemies, feeding her the gossip needed to aid in their downfall.

The blonde had no doubt that she could survive anything Evan threw at her, but they were alike enough that she knew it would be a challenge. It would be more than that. It would be a war.

She gave him a graceful smile, eyebrows arching in mild amusement. “If you insist,” she said graciously. She did not need his charity, but it never did hurt to meet a handsome foreigner.

Steps drawing him nearer to her, like a string was tied around his fucking sternum and she’d given it a hard yank, Edgar’s glare narrowed on Rita’s beautiful face. If she felt it, this high powered magnet between them, nothing in her expression gave it away. Eyelids heavy, expression edged with a sultriness that made his teeth hurt under the pressure in his jaw, she looked pleased with herself and the effect she had on him. 

Edgar’s fingers tightened around his cup and his nostrils flared with his inhale. Rita fucking Skeeter. The spider herself, looking pleased, so Merlin damned pleased. Here they were, again, her web spun and him just hurling himself into it like a fucking git. Edgar knew, he knew, that he should stay away from her. He should turn on his heel and walk away, resist the flame he was flying into, full speed ahead. 

But he never could, could he? Everything about Rita set him off. She was self serving and thoughtless. She only gave a shit about people if they could further her status or career, and fuck all the people she hurt along the way. All of which he could stomach in silence, if she didn’t have a fucking fanbase. For whatever reason, people listened to her, cared what she had to say, accepted it as fact. 

For whatever reason, Edgar huffed a distasted breath as he stopped in front of her and gave her a scowling once over. She was a talented writer and a ruthless reporter, persistent and fearless. If she weren’t such an agent of chaos she could have been a force for good. But no. She’d let the world burn if it meant her article on the front page. 

The article she’d done on Doc’s disappearance had been… unexpected. He might go so far as to call it respectful. It hadn’t changed anything, though. She was still her, and he was still him, cesium and water. A bad mix.

Darling. Her dusky voice was a caress down his spine and Edgar bristled, even as his blood heated to point just shy of boiling. He clenched his jaw harder, hating the memories that came flooding at her tone, at the way she looked him over and the reminder of all his past mistakes, a time lapse of their every encounter in which he was too fucking weak to listen to his better judgement. No, virgins weren’t her cup of tea. Lemon tea was.

He hated that he knew that.

Her champagne flute moved from in front of her, and Edgar’s eyes narrowed. She knew what she was doing, and she knew that he knew, and she didn’t fucking care. Rita was always fucking goading him like this, taunting him, pushing his limits until he had no choice but to act on the… fire she prodded in him. 

“That’s right,” he muttered, shifting his leer from her exposed leg, up the curving lines of her body, to those clever blue eyes. “You do like to play with your food. Is that common among pit fiends, or just special to you?”

Shaking his head at himself, Edgar released a slow breath, downed the rest of his old fashioned, and placed the glass on the next tray that floated past. Pushing his shoulders back, he turned his head until he heard a pop in his neck, then sighed again. He’d been raised with manners. If his mother saw him talking to a woman like this, she’d have boxed his ears. 

On a low, guttural voice, he grumbled, “You look nice. Do you have a press pass hidden in that dress, or did you take the night off?” That was civil adjacent, and the best he could do.

She could claim that the notice she took of his responses, how attuned she was to him, was professional, but it would be a lie. Rita had learned over the years the lines of his face, and expressions he made. She knew that when he was uncomfortable, he played with his ear, and when deep in thought, his fingers unerringly went to the ring on a chain beneath his shirt. 

Rita hadn’t tried to learn these things about him. Frankly, Edgar had been a lark from the beginning. His illegal activities were what initially made him attractive, showing a depth to them that she had not foreseen when she had dismissed him as a goodie two shoes like his sister. But the years had led to familiarity. 

And familiarity breeds contempt.

Well Edgar had loads of that when it came to Rita. Even now, it was on his face, warring with the attraction. She didn’t know why she put up with it, she really didn’t. There were plenty of excellent lovers Rita could have that did not treat her as if she were something particularly distasteful on the sole of their shoe. 

Oh, but she liked a challenge, and she liked to watch Edgar squirm. To prove that she was as desirable as ever. Against his will, he came to her, and ignoring her own good sense, she wanted him to. Time and again.

Although if he squeezed that glass any harder it would shatter. And he would blame that on her too.

The muscles in his jaw worked, and Rita ached to reach out and touch them. Smooth a hand down the side of his face, fingers working into the clenched muscles there. He fought against himself and her so hard, it would be laughable if it wasn’t so damn painful. 

“I wouldn’t know, I am one of a kind, darling,” she smiled, refusing to allow herself to be perturbed by his insults. The gaze locked on her exposed skin told a different story. For some reason, the harsh words made him feel better. As if trying to demean her would make his own weakness to her flesh more acceptable.

The shoring up of his body and defences made it seem like he was going into battle. Rita wasn’t sure whether she should be flattered or offended. When faced with the choice, though, she always went with flattered. It confused people to know end when she accepted their criticisms with a smile, and thanked them, as if she had been granted the greatest compliment. All water off a Hippogriff’s back.

“You clean up quite well yourself,” she replied, allowing her eyes to linger wherever they wished before moving to meet his. “I was allowed in without it, can you imagine?” she asked, pretending to be incredulous. 

“Now now, sarcasm is not a a polite thing for a person to show off,” he told her lightly. One of the first things they were taught in high society, be very careful when and where sarcasm sets in. Even among him it was a risky display to put to use. Rita was always on the backfoot with him, he was the stronger party (politically) and could cause her many problems should he wish.  

“Between us?” he asked lightly, “But of course. You see we met when we weren’t but teenagers. Our parents considered the match too difficult but we had other ideas. It will be very beneficial to us both; she gains power in Britain, and I become a Lord in the eyes of France.” he chuckled, eying her for a moment, “Tell me, what do you think? Lord Rosier. It has a certain… je ne sais quoi to it, yes?” Considering his fluency in French and his family’s French ancestry it would be perfect.  

“So, we made some plans.” he told her, giving her the story now was fine, she’d only be the one printing it anyway. “And of course,” he gestured at his own body, “We needed to ensure that as the years pass we’re still physically… suitable to one another’s needs.” Heaven forbid he marry someone who couldn’t get him off.  

“Now now, I didn’t say that.” he grinned, “Just that she’s more willing to hide her feelings than Bella. People fear my cousin, with good reason, they do not fear Lady Dubois.” And that was what he needed; one who, like him, was a darling in the eyes of the public and would remain that way.

He chuckled at Rita and nodded, “Exactly. Why do you think I am so certain you’ll get along.” he asked, before reaching to take her hand and bringing it to his chest, “Please forgive my boorish behaviour, dear Rita. For all I do to remain in control, I am still a man, in the wake of such romance it is difficult to control the mind. Besides,” he gently raised her hand to his lips, giving her ample time to pull away, and laid a chaste kiss to it, “You are an intelligent, strong woman, it is a disrespect to think you’d ever be a man’s second choice.”

He then smirked, “Of course, the offer still stands, if you’d ever like to try me out, you’ve some time until the Lady and cement our union.” Evan winked.

She held her tongue as he chided her, taking it all in stride. Evan’s moods were mercurial and, where one day, he might find amusement in that sort of humour, another could result in something completely different. She was used to holding her tongue and letting those who thought themselves better than her speak.

“It certainly has a certain ring to it,” Rita nodded. “Lord Rosier.” She rolled the name around in her mouth, savouring the taste because she knew he’d enjoy the sound. The man would take full advantage of that position and opportunity, just as he had all others. “I think that you have it all planned out,” she added, knowing he wasn’t really asking her opinion. 

He had taken his fate and future into his own hands. She wondered whether Lady Dubois had the same level of independence in France from her family. A man could dictate to his parents; a woman didn’t always have the same luxury. But then, there were some things the French were so laissez faire about. She had seen--and felt--evidence of it herself in her travels there.

She laughed, shaking her head. Any excuse for sex, really. Although of course compatibility was important in a marriage that wasn’t made only for convenience. Evan would enjoy many perks from the position, true, but he did so value sex, and frankly rightly so. Anyone who said it didn’t matter hadn’t been having good enough sex.

“The world had better watch out when you two do make it official,” she commented lightly. “If she’s as charming as you say--and as you are--you’ll be a formidable pair.”

His apology was both surprising and expected. As Rita already knew--as he had said many times in this very conversation--Evan was a charmer. A man who preferred adoration to fear. She was glad that he was not harbouring a (visible) grudge, though. For all that Rita had other sources, Evan was one of her best. 

“Of course I accept, darling, think nothing of it,” she reassured him. “I also apologize for my response. It was automatic, and frankly, low of me. I do hope you’ll forgive me,” she lowered her head contritely. When Rita did apologize, she did so magnificently, just like her counterpart before her.

“I would so hate to make you cross.” 

She laughed, low and sultry, and shook her head. “A thought for another time, dear,” she replied. Her tone indicated interest, though she committed herself to nothing. Rita was not entirely sure he was serious to begin with. If he was...well she was not entirely against it.  He was a very handsome man after all. And there would be no feelings between them. Just excellent sex, of that Rita had no doubt. 

Her chortle was equal parts wicked and amused. If Rita only knew the truth of her words. No, hers and Rods friends were certainly not good. Not in terms of morality. But she suspected most, if not all, would be a good lay, at the very least. “Good, no, but handsome. And, really, what more do you need a man to be?” If tonight’s excursions were rooted in pleasure, what was morality compared to stamina and creativity? Bellatrix would prefer a good fuck over a good person. She was fortunate that Rod was not good, but great in his every characteristic.

Simpering, if Bella had a tail it would have been swishing in delight as she watched Rita tap her chin and consider the groomsmen. “Oh, how thoughtful of you, Rita,” she agreed, considering Rabastan and how the two might play. “Rab certainly does deserve a reason to smile tonight beyond having a beautiful new sister in law. And I know you will be more than able to put him through his paces.”

At the topic of Evan, Bella cocked an eyebrow. “I had heard he was enjoying himself. But ‘spoken for’? By whom? What do you know?” She didn’t soften her demand with a grin, but there was sharp mischief in her narrow eyes, a plotting hunger that felt familiar to their traded secrets from years ago. 

Bella hummed when the subject changed to Fenrir and his witch. The polyjuice had done wonders to make him appear more human, like he was just another aristocrat in a sea of notoriety. The truth was that he was still feral under that sheep’s skin, and all that kept his leash taut was his sense of loyalty to Rod. It was a miracle he’d kept from killing anyone, and she suspected that his witch played a large part in that, too.

“I believe so,” said Bella in answer to Rita’s musing about having seen Arielle around. “Though I’ve had rare occasion to speak with her, so I’m afraid I’m not the best resource for information.” 

She didn’t know whether or not Rita would interpret that as encouragement to investigate further and, frankly, she didn’t care. Rodolphus had sworn that he and she would protect the witch from harm, but they couldn’t very well protect her from the world. If she was to be with a man like Fenrir then she would have to learn to protect herself. Rita’s tenacity was sure to be the least of what would threaten her during this war. Call it a trial run, and out of Bella’s hands.

Her thoughts were broken up by a cough of laughter. “He’s what?” She tried for an innocent expression, to pretend as though she actually hadn’t known, but Bella threw her head back and laughed again, positively tickled. 

Gus, would be afraid of Rita. The woman was relentless, and the man had secrets upon secrets upon secrets. Bella, who considered herself to be a close friend of his, knew that even she was only aware of a fraction of his trove. “You must take full advantage of that, Rita. Please, for me, hound him as much as you’d like. With my blessing.” Of course she’d paired them together on purpose. Bella had planned everything about tonight with purpose.

“Oh, you could handle him,” replied Bella a little wryly at the topic of Annie. Was she setting Rita up for failure? Well, she had nothing but confidence in her friend’s ability to face anything and anyone, even Antonin Dolohov. She had her doubts whether Dolly would give into the morsel that was Rita if she presented herself to him but, if he did, she was sure they would both enjoy themselves. So long as Dol Face didn’t break her friend. 

Lips pursed, Bella amended, “Best not to risk it, though, hmm?”

She strolled up to Rita and took her hand, lifted it to her mouth, and kissed her knuckles before guiding the blonde to the door. “Come,” she said, unlocking and opening it so they could start down the hall back toward the festivities. “Let us browse the faces of these handsome men and beautiful women. I insist that you enjoy yourself, even if I have to arrange it myself.”

“Yes, and while it would be pleasure to add you to any family, the pleasure I offered him would be of an entirely different kind,” she replied with a satisfied smirk. Rita knew she was more than capable of making any man--or woman’s--night a memorable one. But he was too young for her, and really, Rita didn’t want to mess with family, just in case Rodolphus was not as kindly inclined towards her as his new wife was.

“Spoken for for tonight, darling,” Rita replied smoothly. “He told me as much when I...interrupted them,” she smirked, knowing how Bella would understand and appreciate the image. “She was a pretty blonde thing.” Though that could be said for many of the women there tonight. “I said I was sorry, but,” she shrugged, not the least bit apologetic. “He was quite put out.” 

Rita could understand why. Her photogenic memory helped her replay that moment multiple times, even if her brain had only seen and processed it in the moment. Not that there had been all that much to see before Rita had so rudely made her appearance. She did not mention that he had initially switched his attentions to her. Knowing Evan as she did, Rita was quite sure that had all been a game to him.

“I wonder how she and Rodolphus’ cousin met,” she mused. “I haven’t seen him around, have I? He has a face I would remember,” she grinned, wicked thoughts obvious as they danced across her open face for Bella to see. She supposed it wasn’t all that important. A girl from the Ministry was hardly unusual tonight.

She was not fooled for a minute by Bella’s look of innocence. There was still the twinkle of mischief in her eye that indicated that Bellatrix knew exactly--or had at least suspected--how much Rita annoyed Augustus.

“Oh, well if it’s at your blessing,” she said dryly. As if she wouldn’t--and hadn’t--been pursuing it already. Her hunting of Augustus Rookwood had been going on for some time now. She had started off with wanting to know more about his department, but it had turned into an additional personal challenge for her. “I can throw it in as another wedding present,” she laughed.

“I appreciate your confidence in my...abilities, dearest,” she laughed, patting Bella’s cheek. Rita was not inclined to make a fool of herself in front of Antonin Dolohov, though. Were she ever to actually need him for anything, she didn’t want his memory of her to be sullied by anything less than professional. He was the head of an important Ministry Department after all, and therefore not someone she wanted to piss off--without reason. And as attractive as he was, as fun as Rita was sure he might be, pleasure was not a good enough reason when she could find it elsewhere.

Rita laughed, shaking her head. She was almost disappointed that their private time together was at an end, though obviously she couldn’t be selfish and keep the bride from her own wedding. “As kind of an offer as that is, my love, unless you are indeed offering to arrange it yourself--” here, she paused, to let her eyes roam over her friend’s ivory clad body with a suggestive look, “I think I can manage.” 

“Do they,” Bella casually wondered, glancing sideways at her beautiful companion, expression interested but impassive. “Have any leads, I mean. From what I’ve heard, the crime scene was savage. Surely the attacker must have left something behind.”

Knowing how persistent Rita was, how relentless and unyielding, if anyone could gather that kind of intel it was Rita. Though the Rebellion had eyes in nearly every department, they’d yet to infiltrate the Aurors. What they knew and wouldn’t share was still protected information. She’d have to speak with Rodolphus and their inner circle about that. There had to be a way for them to spread their roots there. It had to be a priority. 

A shake of her head dismissed her musings and returned her to their conversation, to talk about her upcoming nuptials. Bella laughed lightly at Rita’s dry remark. “What can I say,” Bella rebuked, winking at her friend. “People love a wedding.” And many loved to hate her which meant that the public’s interest would be infinite, and distracting enough that they’ll forget the war for one night. Just the one. Her gift to them all.

Her smirk grew at the way Rita regarded her mouth, how her blue eyes dilated as she watched the way she nibbled her bottom lip and memories of what her lips and teeth could do when she wielded them against her. Oh, Bella had always loved to make Rita beg. She missed the sound of it sometimes. She nearly reached up between them to brush her thumb against Rita’s own bottom lip, but they were already at their destination and she would have to wait a little while longer to tease with her old friend. 

Once inside and ushered upstairs, she squeezed Rita’s hand to stop her tickling finger, the brought her hand to her mouth to gently bite her knuckles in warning, a softer warning than the burning mischief in her eyes. A threat she had to hold off on as Gustav was brought into the room and formally introduced before guiding both her and Rita to the fitting room where they could discuss her ideas for her dress before he got around to sizing. 

As the tailor flitted out of the room in search of his portfolio, Bella turned to Rita and grinned, “Rita, my love, there’s something that I’ve been meaning to ask you. And you mustn’t feel any obligation to say yes to me, understood?” It was a lie. Bellatrix would not accept anything but her compliance, wouldn’t hear anything but her submission to her will. She still reached forward, a hand on Rita’s hip as she stepped into her space and grinned at the blonde. 

Her bottom lip was between her teeth again as she pushed the soft, styled blonde strands of her hair away from her face, tucking it behind and ear. “Will you be my bridesmaid, dearest Rita?”

“I’m working on it,” Rita replied coyly. She tossed her head, blonde curls bouncing as she threw Bella a winning smile. It was certainly more impressive than saying ‘not yet.’ 

The Aurors were being more close lipped than usual about this, and she supposed she could understand why. It had been a horrific scene by all accounts. And it happening so close to Hogwarts, and in the usually safe Hogsmeade had set everyone on edge. It was enough to make Rita roll her eyes. There were bad people everywhere, and anyone who thought they were completely safe was naive or in denial.

Rita’s grip on Bella’s hand tightened as the other’s teeth gently pressed a warning into her skin. She smiled cheekily at the other woman, the move not dissuading her in the least. 

She had seen Bella notice the way Rita eyed her lips. Rita had not been subtle about it, did not try to hide. Not from Bellatrix. They each knew each other too well--in both mind and body-- to bother hiding things, especially when it came to matters of a more sensual nature. 

As the tailor gave them privacy again, Rita eyed Bella warily. She knew better than to promise the other woman anything without first hearing the proposal and the terms. For all that she trusted the eldest Black girl, she also knew her well enough to know that she enjoyed games. It was always best to remain on her toes when Bella was around, though at this point in their friendship, Rita didn’t think Bellatrix would do anything to harm her. 

Rita didn’t back away from Bella as the brunette crowded her. She almost laughed aloud when the vixen voiced her request. There was something ironic about the witch using her wiles on Rita in order to get her to be her bridesmaid. But she was too touched for laughter, except perhaps of an incredulous kind. She did step back then, surprise written over her face. 

“Hmm?” Augustus looked at her, eyes focusing on the coloured stain on Rita’s mouth, the fullness of her lips as his eyebrows rose at the admission. “That’s a relief. I was starting to think that nothing surprised you, Ms Skeeter,” the Unspeakable crooned, reaching forward to let a knuckle brush, feather light, against the elbow she had rested on the table. Noticed the stark and pleasing contrast between the tones of their skin. 

Rita Skeeter was annoying as much as any journalist was annoying to someone who traded in secrets and favours. Had she been anyone else, Augustus suspected he would quite like her. She was abrasive and liked asking him difficult questions, ambitious and cunning. In the diminishing space between their bodies, Augustus noticed the scent of her perfume. Something deep and intoxicating.

“No,” he agreed, letting his touch fall away as he reached for his glass of water, taking a long sip. Creating space if just to add to the tension. “No, I don’t.” He met her gaze, expression frank, his smile easy. There were too many things about him that if spoken aloud, made real in breath and air, would expose him for what he was. A ghost; unfeeling, barely visible. “But I’d like to talk about you.”

That prospect was far more appealing. Dirtying his hands as he picked his way through the mind of the woman who spun words like gold and silver. “You can take a little bit of heat, though, Ms Skeeter.” Augustus said, watching her closely. Journalists were thick-skinned, they had to be, and the way Rita oozed confidence assured Gus of the fact. Wanted to put his hands on her. “That much is very clear. But I’m curious as to who is the inestimable and devious Rita Skeeter. And what makes her tick.” 

Rita was still as he reached towards her. She was afraid to make any sudden movements at all for fear of spooking Augustus, and breaking whatever spell the alcohol had cast on him. It was just as good that it was nearing the end of the night when everyone was getting slower, lazier. Actions more deliberate so that they could be carried out through an alcohol induced fog. 

She wondered what he was thinking as his eyes went from her lips to her own, as his hand reached out to brush her elbow. It was a light touch, barely there, and yet, for him, it was monumental. Hell, inviting her to sit had been big in itself, but this....

She had to keep her head, of course, and consider that he was still playing with her. It would be just like him to draw her in only to throw her in an entirely different direction. It would frankly be just like her as well, if she were being honest. But the glazed eyes and the look in them suggested that just perhaps his wards had dropped enough to allow her to see inside. And she quite liked what she was seeing so far.

The way he said he wanted to talk about her made her shiver inside. His words traced a path down her spine. As she leaned forward, Rita found herself wanting him to go on, while at the same time afraid of what he might ask.

She didn’t put up much of a fight when he suggested they walk away from the crime scene. He followed her, looking back only once to give the other Auror an assertive nod. No reporter was going to snoop around this murder, not on his watch. His head turned back in time to see hers look over her shoulder at him.

He was pretty sure he knew what she was suggesting, and no, it definitely wasn’t hard to believe that people would want those sorts of things from her. A hunch told him that she could be quite convincing, if she wanted to be; her behaviour so far definitely indicated that.

“No, not hard to believe. Quite the opposite in fact,” he answered, taking the lead in directing them where they should go. He found somewhere more or less private for them to talk without being accidentally come across by another Auror. 

Stopping a couple blocks away from the house in a side alley, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his back against the stone wall to face her. “Since you’re not going to tell me what your arrangement is with whoever it was who tipped you off about today’s crime and you’re not going to give me a ballpark either, let’s talk hypotheticals. If I were to offer you something about this case, or future cases of my choosing, how do I know I’m not getting short changed in return? How do you determine what’s equal?”

It was adorable really, the way Rufus thought he was in control. The nod he gave back to his colleague before moving away. As if he had everything in hand. Well, there were some things Rita would allow him to handle, that was for sure. But the control he had--at least when it came to her--was that which she gave him. 

With him behind her, she put an extra sway in her step. Might as well let him enjoy the view of her in heels and a skirt, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Rita was a generous soul after all. 

She stopped when he did, and mirrored his stance, though it was more out of fun than anything else. It was halfway between mocking and teasing, and only time would tell which road Rita decided to traipse down. She adds her own flair of course by propping one leg up, her heel pressing against the wall. 

“Well hypothetically, I can be...flexible,” she smirked, giving him a playful once over just to bother him. Her smile dropped a little though as she became more serious. If his interest was real, Rita was interested in turn. Very interested. 

“It’s not just one thing that gets done,” she replied. “Exchanges vary and they change over time based on needs. And it requires a level of trust, that’s how you know you’re not getting shortchanged. Or you hope,” she shrugged, knowing he would likely be disbelieving. “But I have my reputation, and screwing over my informants doesn’t help it. You tell me what you have and what you want. If I can help...so much the better.” 

The smile that curled the corners of her mouth was twinged with nostalgia. It had been some time since they’d stood like this. They were not the girls they’d been in their adolescence, the curious, daring, teenagers that had learned so much about themselves and each other by playing their wicked little games. Bella found she missed it, sometimes. Her touch, the heat of her breath, the pitched sound of her voice as she became familiar with all the things that set her blood aflame. 

What their relationship had become in the years since Hogwarts was important to her, too. They were different women from the girls they had been, the games they played now were also different, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have their fun. Exhaling through her nose, she turned out from Rita’s arms to face her blonde counterpart. 

The kiss was chaste, incomparable to others they’d shared, and there was a teasing glint in Bella’s eyes when she pulled back. Incisors caught her bottom lip as she considered Rita’s mouth for a moment, the tongue that peaked out to taste where here mouth had just been, before shifting her gaze up to meet shadowed blue. Thumbs traced the pronounced line of the witch’s collarbone, smirking at the eyeroll that followed her words. 

Her hands glided over the round of Rita’s shoulders, down her arms to her hands, which she squeezed affectionately before turning away to face the mirror again. A feline simper immediately took shape as Rita moved in to crowd her. She watched with interest as Rita checked her lipstick, focus moving languidly from Rita’s supple mouth to her hooded eyes, her serpentine smirk coiled with mischief. 

Bella hummed, considering her and Rod’s friends. Still watching Rita with predatory awareness, she mused, “I’m not sure any of our friends are good enough for you, Rita. Though, I suppose any of the groomsmen would prove themselves to be a memorable ride at the very least.” Her eyes sharpened at the laugh that came out of the blonde beauty. “Rita, darling, I’ve never known you to be one to wait to be given what you can take for yourself.” Most men were dull beasts. It wasn’t a matter of their bravery, it was a matter of her being too tempting a creature to balk at the risk. And Bella knew better than most that Rita was exactly that.

Though Bella was barely touching her, Rita was aware of the pads of the other woman’s slim fingers on her skin all the same. The slid along the bones hidden beneath her skin with a soft touch that was unlike the witch herself. 

They created a slight tickle in Rita’s chest, her body, that made her almost want to squirm. And yet when it was gone, Bellatrix’s hands having slid down to Rita’s hands, she felt the loss of just those two fingers most acutely. 

Rita was hardly pining for the beautiful bride. They were just friends with a long and storied history, a chemistry that could not be denied. They understood things about each other that outsiders would not, for all the world sometimes those two Slytherin girls determined to make their mark on Hogwarts. But of course, both of their ambitions had outgrown their old school. Now, they wanted the world.

“I would hardly call any of your or Rod’s friends good to begin with,” she commented, a laugh hinted at in her musical voice. “Who indeed to choose from amongst your groomsmen?” she mused, a finger tapping her cheek in thought. “I suppose I could give the younger Lestrange. a reason to not feel entirely too forgotten in his brother’s shadow,” she teased. “Evan is spoken for, did you know?” she added, raising her brows at the dark haired beauty. 

“And that cousin of Rodolphus’ is clearly enamoured with his witch. Haven’t I seen her at the Ministry before?” Rita shook her head, ignoring any thought of business that would interrupt them. “Augustus is wholly afraid of me, you know?” she added, grinning at Bella. “As I’m sure you were aware beforehand, which is why you paired us up to walk down the aisle, hmm?” Her friend might think herself devious, but Rita had a mind just as conniving. 

“I suppose that leaves the delectable Mr. Dolohov, though even I am not entirely sure I want to risk his eternal wrath for some potential pleasure.” There was something about the man that put Rita on her guard. She had no doubt he would be magnificent in the sack, but she did not want to become just another lay for him. It would completely negate any of her credibility which she would need should she ever do business with him in the future.

Brow furrowed, Edgar checked his watch again. It’d only been two minutes since the last time he had, and he couldn’t decide if that put him two minutes closer to an appropriate time to make his escape. The night had had its moments, but not enough of them to make him want to drag it out any longer than he had to. He wasn’t exactly a glutton for punishment, and there was only so much a man could take in one night. 

The second hand tick, tick, ticked by and it was still early enough to get the odd raised eyebrow if he wasn’t accounted for by the right people. Someone would tattle to Amelia, and he really didn’t need that conversation on top of his abandoning her at the door. 

Dropping his head between his shoulders, he tucked his chin to his chest and shut his eyes. A hand lifted from his glass to scrub his forefingers into his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. Doc was out there, alone, and instead of searching for the man he was here, dodging marriage arrangements and orating his autobiography on fucking loop. He just wanted tonight to end. 

Hand wiping down his face, to rub over his mouth, Edgar looked up from the floor only to freeze on the spot. His gaze had immediately snapped to a set of familiar blue, and a curse cracked like thunder between his ears. He pushed off of his knees to lean back in his seat, biting back his groan as he ironed his expression into something humorless and raised his short glass to answer her mocking acknowledgement. That smirk made his hairs stand on end, and Edgar gritted his teeth as he brought his cup to his mouth and threw back what was left of his scotch. 

Edgar briefly glanced heavenward. Karma, you bitch. If you’re going to keep fucking me tonight at least have the courtesy to use some lube. He was fairly certain that a cosmic obscene hand gesture was shot back at him. 

Of course he knew that she was going to be here. Rita was in the wedding party, obviously she’d be prowling the reception, hunting for prey like a fucking jungle cat. He’d just been lucky enough to have not bumped into her before now. The last time he’d seen her… well, he’d hoped that it would be the last time he saw her. But there she was, smirking, all cat-like. He was pretty sure that was a bright yellow feather sticking out of the corner of her mouth. Next item on the menu? Boeuf a la Edgar.

Fuck. Me. Edgar pushed out of his chair and strode over, all too aware of how those sharp, cerulean eyes tracked his every movement, how that smirk coiled tighter with his every step. What the fuck was he doing? Why the fuck did he keep doing this? Anger burned in his blood and, by the time he was standing in front of Rita he couldn’t tear his glare from her face, those piercing eyes, that full mouth. 

Exhale leaving him like dragon’s breath, he grabbed a drink off of a trey as it passed, not caring what it was, only knowing that he’d need a lot more of it if hers was the company he was going to keep tonight. “Rita,” Edgar grumbled, lifting the glass to his mouth. Old fashioned. Not as bad as it could have been. Licking the citrusy bourbon from his mouth, he said, “I noticed that virgin blood wasn’t on the drink menu tonight. Did you have your fill beforehand, or can you go a night without.” Despite his best efforts Edgar’s glare dropped from her face to take in her dress. His jaw tightened and his nostrils flared before he met her smug gaze again.

It would have been amusing to see the effect she had on him, if he didn’t also have some effect on her as well. Well, no, it was still amusing. Edgar was always just so pleased to see her.

She watched through half lidded eyes as he psyched himself up to come and speak to her. What did it say of the fluttering in her chest when he did--and at the thought that he wouldn’t? And was it her force of will or his that in the end drew him to her? 

Even from across the room, she could see he was angry. At himself. At her.  That was nothing new. There was always that level of anger and frustration surrounding them that made the air crackle all the more in the space between their bodies. He had always resented the invisible rope that stretched taut between them, drawing them into each other’s orbits when they happened to be in the same vicinity.

Her attitude and pose were studiously unaffected as he drew near. For all that he was obviously annoyed, she was determined to appear just as calm. He barely glanced at the waiter darting past, his hand shooting out automatically to collect the drink. Liquid courage to shore himself up against the formidable writer. She managed to keep a bitter smile from her lips at the thought that men needed bravery to approach her. The only thing that made up for it was that all the while, those dark eyes remained on her. 

Her own sharp gaze tracked the path of his tongue across his lips, drawn there as if by some magical force. The liquid disappeared in the wake of his tongue, though his lips kept that slight sheen. “Darling, don’t you know by now that virgins are hardly my cup of tea?” she asked. She raked her eyes up and down his muscled chest boldly, thinking all the while how well he filled out those dress robes.

She enjoyed knowing that he noticed her appearance too. Her body heated like that alcoholic liquid likely burning down his throat. She tilted her body so that one hip rose higher than the other, the slit in her dress revealing her tanned leg as she shifted her stance, that same leg crossed just in front of the other. The hand holding her own glass went wider, as if removing itself as a barrier to his eyes.

The room was swimming in the most splendid way. Dark eyes, indulgent and glassy, flickered from the haze of candlelight to the electric violet of Rita’s dress. Took a deep satisfaction in its hue and moved up, past low v of the dress’ cut that was simultaneously taunting and reckless, to the fine line of her throat. He sighed as he met the icy blue of her gaze. There was something about the place where bone met skin. Cheeks and throats, the soft skin of elbows and knees. It took him a second to notice that she had accepted his invitation, made his smile curl wider. 

The tension that Augustus had been holding in, following months of stress, had been dragged from his shoulders by the night. Punitively regenerative. As if his dance with Bellatrix was a public penance for his sins and now he was cleansed, washed his hands of blood and lies. He felt relief, but more than that, he felt good and forgiving and warm. He was so fucking warm.  

“I think your hair looks wonderful like that.” He said, holding his hands before his face and framing the woman who was poised so elegantly before him. “Like something from John Singer Sargent. Beautiful lines.” 

While Augustus had spent the evening ducking behind columns to avoid the handsomely dressed bridesmaid, he was struggling to remember why. Letting his fingers drag through his hair, he settled then. Took a sip of his water and noticed the way, not for the first time, their legs met beneath the table. 

“It’s nothing personal, you know.” He said after a moment of enjoying how her hair looked like spun gold in the dim light. “The lying. Just business. But I don’t know if I want to talk about myself. Not when we could talk about you. Does anyone ever ask you questions, Ms Skeeter?” And Augustus felt himself leaning in to mirror the witch’s pose, tilting his head as he watched her youthful face.

She caught the soft exhalation, the sigh that passed through lips surprisingly pink against his dark face. The slight smell of the alcohol on his breath as it wafted towards her. She enjoyed the way his smile widened. Rita was not used to seeing Augustus so unguarded, nor indeed, so pleased to see her.

Head tilted to the side, this time as if in query. Rita raised perfectly plucked brows at him and his reference to the Muggle painter. For all that she knew Augustus was a learned man, he was still a Pureblood. Rita would have thought his knowledge of Muggle anything, much less the arts would have been limited at best, and certainly not something he’d reference in conversation. “You surprise me, Mr. Rookwood,” she murmured, half to herself. 

“You never want to talk about yourself,” she reminded him dryly, giving him a pointed look. Still, she wouldn’t push the matter, not yet. She was too intrigued by this languid, rather relaxed other side of him. Normally, he did his best to appear relaxed around her, but she could tell that the whole time he was planning his escape. 

Even earlier in the evening, he had barely been able to stand walking her down the aisle, her hand in the crook of his elbow. His body heat had radiated off him then, making her feel even warmer as she concentrated on walking a stately line down the carpet laid in front of them. And then after, he had avoided her as best he could, which, considering the crowd, was not all that difficult.