Written for the Weekly Elimination Weird Prompt Thing Competition. Prompts used: Rita Skeeter, Rita also writes romance novels under a secret pen name, Rita/Gilderoy Lockhart pairing, Rita wears a color other than green (3 pts), diamond hairpin (5 pts) and someone mentions unicorns but no one pays attention to what that person says (3 pts).
Also written for the All About You Challenge: Where I was given the prompts cursing, blanket and secure.
Set in 1990.
"Darling, did I tell you about the time I fought a Unicorn?" Gilderoy asked, reclining on the chaise longue, his shirt untucked with the buttons half undone.
Rita sat in her pink silk dressing gown at the antique desk, biting the end of her Quill.
"'He sauntered over to where she stood, a playful grin stretched over his tan face. She felt the excitement bubbling up within her as she watched his glorious form'," she read, not hearing her boyfriend's words. "It's just not right," she finished, cursing herself.
"Ah, you're writing about me again," Gilderoy replied, picking up his crystal glass of deep red wine from the mahogany coffee table beside him.
"Not everything is about you, dear," she replied, is a sickly sweet tone.
"Oh, I beg to differ," he replied, throwing her his most winning smile. She rolled her eyes as she put her quill down and began to play with her diamond hairpin. It had been a lavish birthday present from Gilderoy, and she loved it. "Anyway, you ignored me," he admonished her.
"That's because you and I both know whatever you were talking about didn't happen, did it, dear?" She turned to him for the first time, throwing him a smile.
"Ah, but I have to learn to talk about it as though it did," he said.
She laughed as she stood to head over to him, picking up a woolen blanket. She sat next to him, leaning into his side as she arranged it over them both. She picked up her own glass of wine from where it stood beside the empty bottle and began to drink.
"I suppose you do," she replied.
"Why do you waste your time with those smutty novels, anyway?" he asked her, curious.
"Those smutty novels paid for this wine, dear," she told him.
"Then why are they supposedly written by Adelpha D'Amour?" he turned to ask her.
"Because people won't read my articles if they think I'm the same person," she argued. "They'll think I'm sensationalist."
"But you are sensationalist, Rita. And sensational," he replied, kissing her forehead adoringly.
"Oh, I know, but you have to let your readers think it's news. They want tantalizing, nail-biting stories, but they prefer them when they're dressed up as the truth," she argued. "You do the same thing, Gill."
"Shush, don't tell them that," he replied in a mock-tease.
"We both have secrets, darling," she told him, safe in the knowledge that their secrets were safe and secure with each other.
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