As usual, Rita Skeeter was a delight to interact with. Evangeline’s favourite quality about her and Rita’s conversations was how quick they seemed to end. The words that flowed between the pair oozed of fake sincerity and tight smiles. Eva considered it easier to deem Rita as a passive aggressive co-worker rather than what Eva actually thought of the woman. A title which saw Rita awarded as the biggest pain in Evangeline’s ass. A title which Eva assumed Rita would place in her by-line with pride. They barely saw eye to eye but Eva couldn’t be too harsh. More often than not, it was Rita’s columns which drew attention to the paper. A sales tactic which kept Evangeline in a line of work.
Leaning her elbow on the bar, Eva shrugged. “Well…it’s been a while since my partying days back in Hogwarts. With the war, coming to a night-club didn’t really seem to be the best option.” She explained, thanking the bartender as her drink arrived in front of her. “Now? I don’t have a care in the world. Work is great. Nightlife? Even better.” Lifting the drink infront of her and taking a tentative sip. “How is the new job? I imagine working for the Ministry is a lot more interesting than The Prophet.“
Interesting wouldn’t be the first Rita picked to describe her career change. What now occupied her time felt unimportant. The high she once possessed chasing down leads and stories – it had ceased to exist. For once, being talented had brought her into an unfortunate set of circumstances and she wished she hadn’t been the best. Perhaps then, she would still be at the paper. However, Rita would rather break her own wrist than admit an ounce of that to Evangeline. She wondered if anyone from the paper thought of her as lucky for moving into the spot. She had attempted to keep her distance from the paper thus far, the longing to return to her old post still strong.
“It’s definitely keeping me busy,” Rita answered, deciding that was a reply on even ground. ““I do enjoy telling others what to do – having others report to you is quite refreshing. I get a taste of how Cuffe feels on a daily basis. Although, I’m not sure it’s as rewarding as that.” Bitterness seeped into her tone at her last sentence, but she brushed it away as though it meant nothing. “Tell me, though – worked on anything interesting as of late? Maybe rather succulent in the near future?” If she was sniffing around for details due to the absence of writing in her life, that was Rita’s business and hers alone.
James had read Rita’s many articles. Well written for sure, but mostly aired out all the dirty laundry. It almost felt as if those people she interviewed didn’t tell her their secrets, she managed to find them out herself. Which in turn wasn’t really one of the worst things that could be done. It was how situations like Peter’s get found out. And a big part of him was glad he never ended up on one of her articles. Not that he had anything to hide, but knowing if he didn’t have anything she could find something. A soft smile painted his lips as she asked for his drink order. "I’m good with just a glass of red wine my love,” if he wasn’t wanting to get yelled at by Lily he would have chosen something stronger. Something to get him through doing something like a trivia night at the Inn.
“My freedom? I don’t really feel like I’ve got that completely either to be honest,” James scoffed shaking his head. “Most nights it’s staying awake thinking someone is going to sneak in, kill the love of your life and your son. Just because of some stupid ideals, or prophecy,” he flung his hand around finding himself talking comfortably around Rita. “I sometimes can tell where some people stand because of the looks I can feel them giving me. The stares and glares,” clearing his throat he leaned back watching Rita closely. “But I guess yeah, you can say I’m enjoying my freedom. Whatever is left of it,” James dropped the eye contact, looking down at the scarred up table they sat at.
Rita ordered the red wine for James, allowing herself to try something new with the drink of the day. She had no idea what it even was. Allowing herself to get comfortable in the seat, she felt sympathy creeping into her veins as James spoke, answering her question. Being a good listener was among Rita’s more endearing qualities as her attentiveness was advanced. At the start of her journey into the world of journalism, she found herself interrupting those she was talking with, hungry for specific details. She learned to let them tell the story, exactly as they wanted to tell it. Although, it had been a difficult habit to drop. Even though many found her articles to be of poor taste, her attention never diverged from the subject and so Rita’s eyes never flickered elsewhere, staying on James.
“Oh, James,” she laughed lightly, noticing his sudden shiftiness. “I’m not a reporter anymore. I’m not going to spill your emotions to the wizarding world, my dear.” Rita’s memory was rather sharp and if she wanted, she could recall the conversation with ease but something about James seemed so innocent. She couldn’t place why, but the sympathy was still present. It wasn’t an emotion she felt often and quite frankly, it bugged her. If she felt sympathy more so than not, half of her stories after the war began wouldn’t have been published. Their drinks arrived to the table and Rita took hers in hand, raising it up slightly in a ‘cheers’ motion before taking a sip. “What I am going to do is let you know that I’m sorry your life is difficult, to say the very least. I mean, you’re only 23, for merlin’s sake. The lot of you are so young, you’re practically children, you know? And you’ve been through so much in such a short time. It’s enough to drive anyone bonkers which is why I think you need to put your all into this trivia night and take a few moments to just be. You have a long life ahead of you to worry, but now is not the time or the place.” Perhaps this is exactly what she’d been trying to tell herself for the last few months, but Rita couldn’t be bothered to listen to herself when it came to the subject.
“That’s always a shame,” Frank sighed. “I was hoping there would be a vacation package or - you know, like a weeklong getaway out of London? Something that wouldn’t require a lot of planning.” It was a rather silly hope come to think of it since he and Alice would likely end up bringing the kids along. “Wishful thinking I suppose.”
He fell silent for a moment the gave a low chuckle. “It’s quieter than I expected.” Then again, the majority of the items hadn’t really appeared to catch the public’s eye. If it weren’t for being afraid of actually winning something, he would have been the type to see how high up he could drive the price up before being called out. “I’m assuming they must be leaving the more popular items toward the end.”
Rita almost snorted at the mention of a vacation package – in her mind, that belonged at a bootleg auction that couldn’t scrounge up anything good. There were a few interesting pieces that she noticed besides the jewelry – a painting that she wouldn’t mind hanging up in her own living room, a dark brown vanity with gorgeous carvings that probably had a few hidden features to go along with it.. “I would assume so,” Rita agreed. “It seems as though it’s the most logical thing to do. The build up is usually quite a fun aspect as well.” Rita glanced over across the room at Alice, dark brown eyes observing the other woman for a moment before looking back over at Frank. “Your wife is looking lovely tonight, isn’t she?” Rita inquired, a playful smile upon her lips. “I might steal Alice for myself if you’re not careful.”
who: Mary Macdonald & Rita Skeeter ( @ritaskeetxr )
where: The Leaky Cauldron, St. Mungo’s Auction night, January 10th 1983.
The Leaky Cauldron had somehow been transformed from a slightly run down, but welcoming pub to something of a certain elegance; freshly pressed table cloths covered even the worst looking of the tables and banners hung around the room. Mary herself was impressed, as she weaved around the tables, looking at certain items in little interest - she’d never been one for glamour or owning expensive items, but some of them were simply alluring. “ People actually owned this at one point in their lives? I’d never give it up, even for a good cause, ” she muttered more to herself than anyone, letting out a slight chuckle. In all honesty, Mary wouldn’t even be at the event if she wasn’t a trainee Healer and she had practically been forced to come, but still, she came, dressed in a black dress with a side part running along the length of her leg that stopped just above her knee, which she had stumbled upon at a thrift shop, wearing no jewellery apart from her ears.
“ If this wasn’t my entire salary at St. Mungo’s, I’d outbid every damn one of these people in here, just for that necklace. I don’t even wear jewellery, but still. Bloody hell. What about you? Anything catch your interest here tonight? ” she asked the person next to her, eyes not moving from the necklace that was currently being showcased.
The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up and she fucking despised the feeling that continued to haunt her. She knew it wasn’t going to go away, just from the notes she was receiving, but Rita couldn’t go a day without it sneaking up on her. The woman was remaining vigilant but quite honestly, she wished whoever it was would just tell her exactly what they wanted from her so she could move on with her life. However, she wasn’t sure that whoever the source was wanted to allow her the courtesy of living a long life.
Rolling her shoulders back and attempting to focus on what was right in front of her and get out of her own head, Rita caught wind of what the person next to her was saying and chimed in. “You could always bid your entire salary for the rush of it – seeing some of the people in attendance, I wouldn’t put it past one of them throwing a huge chunk of change towards a few of these times,” Rita chuckled, sipping on the brandy in her hand and swirling the liquid around in the glass. She enjoyed a good drink and part of her wished she could knock back a few more of these to make her paranoia disappear, but Rita supposed this wasn’t the time or the place. It would be quite unbecoming for a Ministry employee to conduct themselves in such a way. She still gagged some days at that fact. “Just a thought.”
who: @ritaskeetxr
when: january 17th
where: the ministry
molly knew the moment she met rita skeeter at hogwarts that she would only tolerate the woman. while she initially didn’t put much thought into rita, remaining neutral of her, it wasn’t until she started reading the writer’s stories for the daily prophet that her feelings toward the woman turned from neutral to a mere tolerate. molly tried to steer clear of muggle papers because she didn’t like the tabloid-like stories, so it was a hard right turn when she started to read similar stories in the daily prophet.
molly had just walked up the elevators at the ministry, deciding to drop by arthur’s office, when she noticed the other woman, hoping to stay clear of her. she could only imagine the story rita would spin if she found out that the weasley parents were expecting again. while she knew it was her and arthur’s choice have so many kids, there was still a sense of anxiety about having such a big family, what with everything going on in the world. but it was clear that molly wouldn’t be so lucky as to not be noticed by rita when the other woman walked up next to her, seemingly also waiting for the elevator. it seemed at first rita hadn’t noticed her, but she mentally prepared herself, regardless.
A triple shot of espresso in her hand as she headed to the elevator from the cafe, Rita was exhausted from today’s affairs. She’d asked one of the few under her in the media department to design a promotion for the Ministry of Magic’s event aimed towards employees – morale was weakened, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. According to Dumbledore, it was time to reinforce the ministry’s values, mission, and vision while revitalizing and enhancing morale. Despite how strange she continued to feel in this position, Rita never put less than 100% into any project she was handed – she wouldn’t fail.
Glancing down at the planner in her hands, having a once over at her schedule again as she had always kept one most of her life, she sighed outwardly at the meeting she had to attend in an hour and downed a sip of the drink, looking over and recognizing Molly after a moment. Fighting the urge to start with a rather cheeky comment, Rita held her tongue and kept the words in – she couldn’t risk Molly having a chat with her pal who was in charge and could easily transfer her elsewhere. “Come to visit Arthur, Molly?” Rita questioned, unable to think of another reason she would be here and not wanting to act like the pair didn’t know each other at all, opting to speak up. “How’s the little army you’re building? All good?” Rita was indeed referring to the gaggle of children the Weasley’s had.
James hadn’t expected the company, especially from Rita Skeeter. His eyebrows mashed together trying to piece together what she was talking about. He had tuned out the sound of everyone talking – not really wanting to deal with the trivia crowd. Placing down his cup, he swallowed remaining liquid in his mouth to answer Rita. “No I came alone, just needed a bit of time alone,” he gave her a small forced smile. Hoping she took the hint. When Rita indeed didn’t seem too he sighed, moving in his chair so he was sitting up straight. He had come there to get his mind away from thinking about chasing down the five escapees. Knowing it would only worry Lily more. “Sure you know what, I’ve been locked up for two years but I still think I can answer trivia decent enough.”
His smile stopped being forced. It wouldn’t hurt for him to have some sort of fun. Especially when he was sitting here alone, and it normally would have been with friends. Or hell, even with Harry. || @ritaskeetxr
Reading others body language and facial expressions came naturally to her at this point and she could see the unease but well, taking no for an answer had never been Rita's strong suit. She wouldn't have gotten as far at The Daily Prophet if she had. Even at Hogwarts chasing after simple stories on students, she did what she could to compile information that she needed to get every drop of detail and background knowledge to complete that week's masterpiece. Rita smiled, happy with his final answer. "Perfect. You wont regret it. Plus, you seem like you might need a bit of cheering up and when we win, I'm sure it could help." There was still a bit before the event started so Rita ordered another drink, asking James what he wanted as well. "It's the least I can do since you're joining me – I want to ask, though, since you mentioned it, how’s freedom been treating you aside from this recent Azkaban debacle?”
10 January 1983, The Leaky Cauldron
St. Mungo’s Auction: Frank & open
It was nearly impossible to lay low - between work and knowing not showing his face anywhere else besides the ministry could be taken as cowardly. While he was anxious, overly so, it didn’t mean needing to resort back to barely leaving the house. Not when they had been able to go after him and Alice at their own home.
“I don’t think we were planning on bidding for anything,” Frank mused then shrugged his shoulders, eyes lingering on the table of goods that would eventually be up for auction. “But we’d be doing a total disservice to the assistance they gave with the twins if we didn’t at least put our names down for a donation.” He had at least gone in with the intention of doing that much - assuming he could get over not trusting where the funding from the evening would go unless he physically showed up at the hospital with a donation.
“Did anything catch your eye? I’ve always been curious about how these things work since my grandmother was never interested in participating.”
For some reason, Rita had thought – or maybe just hoped – that an auction may be more exciting. She found herself thinking it was more of a bore. It wasn’t action packed yet, unfortunately, and she pitied the poor soul who was covering the event for The Daily Prophet. It wouldn’t have been her assignment if she was still there, known for bigger and better things than a hospital auction for charity.
“Something sure did catch my eye, but I’m afraid it won’t be going home with me this evening,” Rita sighed, playing up the disappointment in her voice. She’d been eyeing a rather flashy piece of jewelry, close to being gaudy – but that hadn’t been what she was talking about. “I find that they can become interesting when a handful of people are set on a certain item; some action to set things into motion, you know.” Rita enjoyed a good conflict, especially when she was the one watching.
In the height of the party, Evangeline had lost her friends. It had become a regular occurrence, heading out to a club with a few of her friends. A celebration that the war seemed to be over. A safety that had granted them their youth had returned. Besides, there was something about putting on a skirt and a jacket and heading out on the lash that reminded Eva of Hogwarts. Where she used to spend far too much time on her social life than academic achievement. Evangeline felt care-free, the only worry that plagued her mind was how she was getting home the next morning.
Waiting at the bar, the surprise was evident on her face as Rita Skeeter landed on the counter beside her. Much different from the typical Rita Skeeter, she associated as being her co-worker in the Daily Prophet. Not to mention the gorgeous ensemble that Rita had on, it was clear from the colours that Rita seemed to be commanding the attention with the bejewelled robes. Nonetheless, it was attention that suited her. Smiling, Eva cast a glance around the club. “It’s good to see, plus it’s always a little bit more fun dancing in a crowd.” Her glance returning to Rita. “Having a good night?”
It was at this moment that it hit Rita who she had decided to make conversation with – Evangeline wasn’t someone that Rita had ever wanted to surround herself with. At the paper, when forcibly paired with Evangeline for an assignment that required photos, Rita could never bring herself to make much conversation with her that was real. It felt as though Evangeline was overexerting herself, pushing her personality beyond its bounds on purpose. She had no idea if this was true, of course. It was just what Rita perceived because how could somebody be that animated all of the time?
Rita tilted her head, throwing a sparkling smile Evangeline’s way. “Of course, love, I’m at a club dressed in the best. How would I not be having a good night?” Rita barked out a laugh, thanking the bartender as her drink arrived. Rita fished a cherry out of the glass, popping the red fruit into her mouth and chewing slowly. “I’m surprised to see you here – always so hyped up to be on an assignment I wasn’t sure you had time for such a social life. Although, things might have changed in my absence.” A bitter taste filled her mouth at her last sentence, but she washed it away quickly with a hefty sip of her cocktail.
Her robes glittered as the mix of colors from the lights pulsed, showing off the outfit she could barely afford, laughter leaving her as she jumped around and danced to the music with a select few she’d invited along to share her birthday night. Rita had walked past Twilfitt and Tatting’s just a week ago, unable to keep herself from going in. The prices were beyond her and this fact wasn’t new to her – she wanted what she wanted. A mix of green and blue hues, adorned with jewels, caught her attention and it was all she could see. She would worry about the consequences later.
Yelling at her friends that she was going back to the bar for a refill, Rita hurried up the spiraling stairwell and pushed past the groups of people crowding the floor, landing at the counter. “Envy cocktail – add a few cherries,” she said, winking at the woman who began mixing her drink. Running a hand through her hair, Rita turned and faced the person next to her, loving the ensemble they had on. She’d never been shy about making conversation with strangers – however, she didn’t quite realize that who she was about to speak to wasn’t a stranger, the alcohol already flowing heavily through her system. “It’s a busy night tonight, isn’t it? Makes it all the more fun for us who enjoy the company.”
If a year ago, someone had told Rita that she would be dedicating her life to the newly directed Ministry of Magic, she simply would have laughed and asked for a gin and tonic to continue the evening. Instead of writing, researching, finding out information on the five escapees who fled Azkaban – she was brainstorming campaigns, creating and managing media budgets, leading each and every project no matter if she was invested. It wasn’t how she envisioned her life in the slightest. The Daily Prophet had been her home. It still was.
Rita had heard from a few coworkers about the trivia night and to brush off the stress of the day, she opted to stop in at the Hog’s Head and knock everyone else on their ass, leave with a trophy to commemorate her victory. After all, she did enjoy coming out on top. Rita was surveying the inhabitants of the pub, swiveling on the stool she sat on at the bar portion of the establishment – she noticed James alone knocking back whatever drink he had and jumped up, waltzing over to where he sat. Without even much of a greeting, Rita plopped herself down into the seat across from him with a serious look upon her face. “We should form an alliance – I’ve got pop culture and history covered so we’re good there. Unless you’re here with some friends which in that case, how unfortunate for you.”
Summary of traits: Growing up in the foster care system, Rita has only ever had herself to rely on. Whilst her foster parents were nice towards her, she knew that any second they could toss her out and onto the next home and so it wasn’t in the cards for her to fully put her trust in another person. This allowed her to become the persevering woman she is today, never failing to follow though on promises to herself and writing prose that not even the American wizarding papers could hope to achieve. Any piece that Rita produced in the Daily Prophet was without error, without mistake – no one in the public could find a flaw in a byline by Rita Skeeter. When working on a piece, Rita would never divulge to anybody, not even her editor, the contents of what she was writing. How could she? She didn’t want to spoil it for anyone, but she also didn’t want anyone questioning the themes or topics nor how she got the information within. Despite her salary never being a considerable amount, Rita tends to spend much more money than she should. She enjoys a good party, dressing in robes well above her means, knocking back a few drinks to let loose, but not enough to where she loses her inhibitions.
Growing up: It was a curse, they thought. It had to be. How else would it be possible that only sons were born generation after generation in the Fawley family? Daughters were absent and it was thought that nothing, that no one could break something that seemed compelled to continue on no matter the circumstances. Melchior Fawley met up and coming halfblood actress Anastasia Goldhorn late one night in the autumn after she performed in her debut, handing her a bouquet of flowers to congratulate her and tell her how much he enjoyed the show – how her future looked bright. the younger woman blushed, insisting that anyone else could have done as good a job on the stage as she, but in reality, anastasia was aware of how much talent she possessed. The whirlwind courtship that ensued thereafter was too quick for the patriarch of the Fawley family, Melchior’s father maintaining that his son take more time before he married Anastasia. Melchior couldn’t be convinced, believing in his heart that she was right for him. The two were married in the heat of the next summer – Anastasia’s fame had significantly risen, starring in two more productions since their meeting. The wedding was a public affair, major publications all having a seat in the audience. Anastasia thrived on the attention that day whilst Melchior found himself wondering later that night if his father had been right. Anastasia Goldhorn-Fawley was so concerned on that attention, hardly noticing how unhappy her husband was becoming – she was swimming in a pool of male gazes, a certain man catching her wandering eye. Although her love for Melchior was unwavering, she couldn’t help but wonder if not taking advantage of the perks that came with her popularity was a mistake. It was around this time that Anastasia got caught up in a love affair with the man, weekends away in France disguised as visiting her sister.
Melchior was none the wiser. The dalliance survived for two months before fizzling out like many of these things do and it was another two months when Anastasia came face-to-face with the realization that she was carrying a child – a child that wasn’t her husband’s. Yasmin Roselyne Fawley was born January 20, shocking Melchior and every other member of the Fawley family. How was this possible, they wondered – Melchior had been expecting to have a boy and instead was met with a little girl with soft black curls. The thought of an affair never even crossed Melchior’s mind. Rita’s middle name came from her real father, of French origin – Anastasia recalled a conversation the two had during an afternoon in bed, how much he adored the name Roselyne. Although guilt swarmed Anastasia’s mind, she forced herself to believe a lie; only herself knowing the truth – or so she thought.
Parties and dinners centered around the arrival of Yasmin, everyone in awe of the baby girl who broke the family ‘curse.’ Lying, for Anastasia, was as simple as taking a drink of water.
Yasmin’s childhood consisted of running around with her cousins in Panama, foreign language lessons (English, French, Italian – Spanish was her native tongue) and dance lessons. The acting gene present in her mother was easily seen in her daughter as Yasmin enjoyed putting on plays for her parents, forcing them to sit in the living room while she performed in front of the fireplace. She was a natural and many thought she would grow up to become an actress, follow in the footsteps of such a talented mother. An only child, Rita only ever felt loved by her parents and flourished – despite the Fawley’s having a fair amount of money, Melchior had a need to make sure that Yasmin was modest and wanted to teach her what it meant to make ones own money. It was important to him that she wasn’t absolutely spoiled growing up. It was expected that Yasmin would attend Castelbruxo School in Brazil for her magical education and training, but an unexpected tragedy hit the Fawley family. An unsettled debt that Melchior’s father possessed was passed onto his son after his death and those who wanted to collect, made sure to send a message. Whilst Yasmin was away on a trip with a friend’s family, Melchior and Anastasia found themselves against a wall versus five sorcerers after blood. Tortured in their home, refusing to divulge the information the sorcerers demanded, Yasmin’s parents ended the hostage situation with their throats slit, red painting the walls – leaving behind a daughter who was now in immediate danger. The scene was attended to rather quickly, the Mexican wizarding government recognizing the danger the young girl was in but believed there was only one solution as they had no idea who the culprits were. They didn’t want to be responsible, have the death of a child on their hands – the put the matter in the hands of their obliviators and aurors. Yasmin was taken by the government and was never told of her parent’s fate, a false memory spell placed upon her, instead of the effect of obliviation, as she was sent to the outskirts of England to live in a foster home. Wiped away were the memories of her parents, her cousins, her entire childhood. In its place were memories of life in an orphanage, never knowing what it felt like to bathe in the love of parents who wanted her. Yasmin Roselyne was reborn into the world as Margarita Estelle Skeeter. The foster parents weren’t informed of the reality of the situation and never would be – six months later, Rita began school at Hogwarts and landed in Ravenclaw house. Her personality was still a part of her and she fit rather well in Ravenclaw.
Rita excelled in transfiguration and potions, adept in all others. Unlike many of her peers, Rita looked forward to the essays when they were assigned – she enjoyed furthering her knowledge and writing about what she had learned, and especially delighted in writing her own opinions about certain subjects. During her sixth year is when Rita and a couple of her friends began a biweekly paper – it wasn’t much at first focusing on mainly sports and human interest. When it came to human interest, Rita stopped at nothing to get the full story on the subject – going from teachers and friends to get a well rounded idea on who they were. Sometimes, it wasn’t pretty as there were students who were absolutely abhorrent yet wanted to still be written about as if they were the Minister’s right hand. Even with something as simple as these stories on mere students, Rita was ruthless and ended up being told to keep her stories appropriate. Instead, she did the exact opposite, being called to the headmaster’s office more times than not. Realizing that most important information and aspects went on in private, Rita spent her free time on one thing and one thing only – becoming an animagus. As much as she didn’t enjoy the idea of becoming a beetle, it was really the one way she could achieve complete honesty in what she wrote. The process was grueling and the effect it had on her studies was evident as she struggled in classes, staying up late most nights in the Room of Requirement (which she had no idea that’s what it even was). Rita didn’t achieve the animagus form until two years after leaving Hogwarts, taking her a total of four years to do so.
During the war: It wasn’t difficult for Rita to land a job at the Daily Prophet as what she and the other students had achieved at Hogwarts with the paper was rather impressive. It ended up growing and Rita often visited Hogwarts to aid the students who now led the paper. For years, her articles were subjects that Rita deemed important. Whether that be a person, an organization, a shop, political figures and their doings. The depths of her stories attracted the public and she earned a name for herself, deserving of every word of praise she received. Although her editor often found himself wondering the process of how she achieved her information, there was only once that he asked. He was her boss. Rita sat in the seat in front of his desk and stared him straight in the eye. She simply said four words. “Mind your own business.” She walked out, unbothered. The demeanor came as a shock to her editor, who knew Rita as a sociable person. Any other boss more than likely would have thrown her out on her ass, but he knew the talent that Rita possessed. He couldn’t afford to let the paper lose her and so he let her be.
When darkness began to cover London, the owners of The Daily Prophet saw it fit to only allow the public in on certain news, whilst keeping other information away from the eyes of the general public. Rita despised this – she believed they deserved to know exactly what was going on in their own neighborhood. However, considering she was just an employee and not the showrunner of the paper, Rita did as she was told. She kept the public at arms length, also being assigned puff pieces about Celestina Warbeck and the like. It was the first time in her life that Rita hated herself and her profession, her life’s work. What she wanted to do was tell them all about the disappearances, the blood that was being shed. Instead, she continued doing what was asked of her but in her free time, no longer did she see friends. Rita followed. She followed those that were suspicious, those that could have possible information. Bags under her eyes and heaping mugs of coffee greeted her mornings whilst she saw much of the world from the viewpoint of a beetle once night covered London. Rita didn’t care much if the credit went to her, handing off the information to peers at other news agencies. She couldn’t afford to keep it all to herself. Rita cared for neither side of the war – she didn’t want to get involved. She wanted to write about what she saw and as a journalist, remaining biased was a crucial part of the job. As the conflict continued to grow and Rita was handed more pieces that weren’t concerning real news, she became somewhat enamored with the response they received. People enjoyed hearing about what certain celebrities were up to, the gossip surrounding their mere existence. If it was possible, Rita’s writing grew more popular and she somewhat began to lose perspective. She wasn’t immune to those who disliked her for what she wrote and the way in which she wrote it, but it didn’t bother her. Her skin was thick. When Albus Dumbledore defeated Lord Voldemort that night, it was Rita who got the news out. A special edition of The Daily Prophet was released quicker than anything had before, handed out to every sorcerer almost faster than they could print. It was the last piece Rita would write for the place she called home.
The present: Rita’s promotion to the Ministry of Magic’s media coordinator came rather suddenly and if she was honest, it was unwanted. She was excellent at the work she created at the Daily Prophet. She had no doubts she would also be exceptional at the Ministry, it just wasn’t what the woman truly yearned for. However, Rita put on a face that could only be seen as happy for the opportunity she’s been given. It was only a week after Dumbledore’s rise to his current position that Rita received the first note. ‘We’re coming for you.’ Rita didn’t pay it any attention, barely giving it a second’s thought. She received fan mail rather often and there was always the weird one in the bunch. However, it was roughly another week later that she received the same message – but at her home. This troubled her. She had no idea what the note meant. Could it be someone she wrote about who wanted revenge for the words that were printed? There were no initials to give her any sort of hint. Since these two notes, she feels someone watching her, even in places that Rita considers private. She hasn’t mentioned the incidents nor the feeling she has to anybody, wondering if it’s even safe to do so. Although she’s found herself rather on edge and frightened as to what could be happening, Rita is angry. Angry at whoever is taunting her about a future – a future in which, it seems, she could meet her untimely end if she isn’t careful.
