i know what sin is;;

private starter for @skeeteresque​

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rodolphus closed his eyes and internally sighed. The voice of one of his subordinates was like the buzzing of a fly in his ear. He’d long since tuned out the words but the voice had been harder to escape. Reopening his eyes, he let his hand fall into his lap, meeting the subordinate’s gaze with a sharp glare. The man’s voice trembled, quieting and trailing off as he leaned forward in his chair. Resting his elbows on the table, he steepled his fingers together.

“Ministry requests are hardly worth listening to on the best of days,” he said. His own voice was as cold as ice. “The Ministry does not own this network. I do. They can give us briefings if they wish but they do not get dictate our content. The fact you are suggesting we capitulate to their demands is an insult to all of our scriptwriters.” He glanced across the table at Rita as he said this; although the look was brief, his eyes softened slightly. It was a blink and miss it moment. Not even a second later, his attention was back to the subordinate who was turning a nice shade of puce.

“If you bring me a suggestion as bad as this again? You’re fired. Now, does anyone else have something to add?”

...

Rita tsked audibly at the foolish scriptwriter. She’d already warned him against bringing up Ministry requests in their meetings, particularly when Rod was involved. But they’d always undermined her, hadn’t they? Any chance to try and curry favour and puff up in front of the big man. She saw the look Rod flashed her, taking care not to show any response.

The scriptwriters were shame-faced, silent and looking to her for direction. Figured that when one of their own failed, they needed her to clean up. “Clearly we need to do a piece on Wilkes’ death,” Rita said, flicking her hair away from her face. “But we can’t do the Ministry’s job for them.” She scoffed, encircling the only thing she’d written down. “A sob story is perfect. I’m sure the boy had friends, lovers, family. ‘Popular quidditch player, struck down so young by a vendetta---who would have thought?’” 

Isaac almost turned when he saw who was already in the shop. It was no other than Rita Skeeter, someone who made Isaac and his dad’s life a living hell a few years ago. His feet were about to take him outside when he heard just exactly what Rita was telling the staff member.

There should be laws against people like Skeeter. Where Isaac was concerned, she was worse than most Death Eaters. “Typical,” he uttered, perhaps a bit too loudly as he found himself a seat nearby. Not that he cared whether she heard him or not. The world would probably be better if more people stood up against Rita Skeeter.

...

Rita looked over at the staff member questioningly, raising an eyebrow as she waited for her order. She took another deep inhale of the cigarette, exhaling to her left. Not her intention to catch sight of the Buchanan kid, whose teeny tiny face she remembered from the snippet she wrote for the Prophet. What had it been? ‘Muggle couple accepts Buchanan as their third lover?’ It had been easy enough to write the headline. 

Artemis had a fair few friends working around Knockturn Alley. Most of her pack’s jobs were around there or Virtue Alley. She was seen as the posh one, getting her fancy job in Horizont Alley, even if it was soliciting sex. It was not strange, therefore, to see her around these parts. One packmate worked at Wieners and Losers and she knew their break should be soon, if they were lucky enough for it to fall mid-shift, so she stepped into the restaurant in the hope of getting some free food.

She quickly caught sight of her packmate, clearly still working and in conversation with a customer, but Artemis stepped closer, waiting for a moment she could catch their eye and ask when their break was. The comment about the radio, however, made her frown and she couldn’t help interrupting. “I like this music.” It was bouncier and more fun than the sort of music they played at the Lucky Mandrake, at least.

---

Rita was all smiles as she turned to the person who’d intruded upon their conversation. Through her keen peripherals she took in everything about the young woman. Unfamiliar, Rita thought, but she’d never dismissed anyone because of any seeming shoddiness. Rita was very familiar with disguises, after all. “One beautiful lady’s drivel is another beautiful lady’s Sickle, isn’t it?” 

She waved at the staff member to bring over her order, saying no more about the music for now. There were few Rita was unfamiliar with, and she could never say no to more potential sources.

Bilius was busy eating the weiners that he ordered when he heard what the woman across him said to the employee. With his mouth full of meat, he frowned. Wieners and Losers was one of Bilius’ favorite haunts in Diagon Alley. A guilty pleasure, he’d say. He didn’t quite agree with what she said about the place folding soon. There were still people coming in, Bilius and her included. Unless she came to the establishment just to tell that to the employees. Even if Bilius doesn’t know anything about the media, as cross-promotions go, it didn’t seem to be an awful idea. Switching to WWN probably wouldn’t cost the place a knut. Still, Bilius was intrigued and kept an eye on the woman and the staff member to see if they will agree.

...

She had, of course, done her digging. Wieners and Losers would be a fairly profitable joint--if it hadn’t been for the owner’s terrible gambling habits and abominable sourcing. To think they were paying two times the market cost for beef. It was most likely a money laundering scheme, come to think of it. Rita grinned widely, tilting her head at the staff member. Leaving a kiss print on her calling card and handing it over, Rita whispered conspiratorially , “Feel free to give this to the big boss. They’ll see me, sooner or later.”

“Listen, this place is going to fold soon,” Rita told the staff member at wieners and losers, who shrugged wordlessly in reply. “Tell your manager we can feature it once on a Saturday afternoon if you quit playing this drivel and play the WWN all-day, every day.” While the restaurant was a shithole, it was in a prime spot, right where Diagon and Knockturn met. Even with the shitty ambiance the tables were half-occupied.

Rita pulled out a cigarette, taking an opportunity to breathe. They’d been working her to the ground the last few days. Not to mention the whole Wilkes affair, which Rita wanted to do an in-depth on. But they needed a guest, and it was hard to find someone willing to talk. She looked up, watching the windows for someone, anyone, who could give her even a sliver of a story.