#gideonp

Rita was mad. She wouldn’t deny it. Even Gilderoy had made himself scarce while she worked, taking the hint from the first slam of her top drawer as she pulled out her quill. A whole attack - injuries, theories, conspiracies - there was a thousand different angles just waiting to be tapped into, and she got stuck with obituaries. She hated the things, having to read them, having to write them, everything. They were small and glanced over, easy to write but boring. Not the sort of pieces she was interested in - Rita wanted front pages, big bylines, her name larger than eight point font. Obituaries were important, sure, but seen only by the people who had lost whoever it was she would be writing about. Who would she be writing about? She had barely glanced over the list when she had been handed it, but she supposed that was where she should start. After all, how would she know where to look if she didn’t know who she was researching? With a sigh, she pulled the paper from between the pages of her notebook, but this time as she looked it over, one name stuck out at her. Fabian Prewett. 

Her mouth fell open. No. No, no, no, no, no. It was wrong - it was a mistake. She shook the paper, as if the magical ink would shift letters and make a different name. But, of course, it didn’t. In an instant she was on her feet, assignment forgotten as she shouted her goodbye without bothering to find wherever it was Gilderoy had actually gotten off to. 

She apparated first to the store to get a pint of ice cream, and then quickly made her way to Gideon’s. The whole trip was a blur - she was barely aware of what she was doing, but she had to see them. She had to check on them. He was her friend. She took a deep, steadying breath before she reached up and knocked three times on his door, biting her lip. Rita wasn’t good at this, being there for people, but she had to try.