Rita Reveals

Summary: In which one Rita Skeeter, journalist extraordinaire, endeavors to expose truth, justice, and the latest juicy scandal. Slightly crack, post-war.

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize, and most things you don't.

Chapter the First: Fired?!

It's Finally Over!

Yes, folks, it is indeed! After countless months of careful planing, desperate searching, and life-threatening situations, it has finally happened - Harry Potter has at last succeeded in the greatest mission of his young life, and we can all breathe a little easier for it. For it is, after all, a mission which few would be so foolish (or so brave) as to undertake; and one only he himself could have hoped to accomplish.

I am speaking, of course, of his marriage to a Miss Genevra of the Weasley family, a fiery young beauty who -

"Uh, Rita?" a hesitant voice interjected from her doorway. "Mr. Goodnik wants to see you. I'd hurry; he sounded upset."

Idly waving one jewel-bedecked hand as she folded up the newspaper she'd been reading - its front page beautifully displaying the rather (in her opinion) fantastic article she'd submitted just the previous day - Rita Skeeter nodded slightly and sighed. "Of course, of course. I'll be right there."

Rita dropped the paper on her desk and stretched. From somewhere to her left, she head the gentle snick as the man closed her door and the soft padding of footsteps muffled by thick carpet as he walked away. She rolled her eyes. Really, John was a dear, but he had so little taste in clothes, and his timid voice made him sound as though he was permanently thirteen. (Her eyes narrowed. Actually, perhaps he was... should she do a story on that?) Rita kept hoping that some of her taste might rub off on him; as it was, the poor boy kept showing up to work in shirts that didn't match his briefcase and shoes that didn't match his eyeglasses. Really.

Rita herself was dressed impeccably that day. She'd had a flash of inspiration while in her closet that morning, and had quickly seized upon it. She wore bubblegum pink robes open over a paler pink ruffled blouse and magenta slacks. Her over sized hobo bag, cat-eyed spectacles, ribbon belt and three-inch stilettos were all lime green and liberally decorated with twinkling rhinestones. She'd taken care to apply a lime green eyeshadow before her five coats of mascara and heavy - pardon, defined - magenta eyeliner; she'd even curled her shoulder-length 'Golden Sunrise' (that was what the box called it, at any rate) hair until it hung in a dozen or so perfect ringlets about her face, then set it with so much hairspray that a tornado could not have budged even a strand. She looked, all things considered, absolutely gorgeous, and knew everyone surrounding her was jealous.

Suddenly, her eyes lit up - so that was why Mr. Goodnik wanted to see her. He wanted to congratulate her on her fantastic fashion success! Rita grinned. Well, who was she to keep him waiting?

She pranced happily out of her office and down the hallway, her head lifted proudly and her bag swinging jauntily against her side. She loved this job, she really did. She got to spend most of her days tailing celebrities, an hour or two in her office writing about her findings, and got paid a handsome sum to do it. Not only that, but the wizarding public absolutely loved her, their gossip-reporting knight in sparkling armor. She could not imagine a better job for herself.

Although...

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Goodnik?" she asked as she opened the door to his office, "John said you did."

...She could definitely imagine a better boss.

It wasn't that her boss was mean, per say, nor that he was a bad dresser like John. He was just so much more... uptight... than her last employer. He refused, for example, to let her change people's names when they sounded dumb (he had once made her change "Casanova Sexpants" back to "Steve Jones", even though hers was so much better), and he would not allow to stretch the truth when she got bored.

"Ms. Skeeter," he focused his beady blue eyes on her, "I wanted to talk to you about your article yesterday."

She smirked. "Oh, yes, brilliant, wasn't it? I was going for this whole 'death-defying-stunt' angle, because of course Ginevra's a redhead, and you know what they say about redhea-"

"Rita," he cut her off, "Shut up."

She frowned. Really, there was no need to get rude!

"I did not," he continued, "Bring you in here to praise your so-called brilliance. I brought you in here to ask you where you got the evidence to support that article."

Rita blanched. Shit. That was another problem with her boss; he didn't let her make up news, either.

"Oh, well, um, you know... I saw Harry Potter in Diagon Alley... and I saw Genevra Weasely in Hogsmeade... and, well, what was I supposed to think? Clearly, they were married!" Her voice rose and grew more excited as she continued to talk. Ha! Let him try to squirm out of that logic!

"...Rita, that makes no sense..."

Damn. That man squirmed well.

Mr. Goodnik rubbed at his eyes, allowing his slightly pudgy frame to slump back in his chair. He was getting much, much too old for this. Last month, she had claimed that the popular band The Weird Sisters was secretly smuggling troll eggs to a potion-supply store - that trolls did not even lay eggs was, apparently, a fact lost on Rita (and most of her readers) - and now she was proclaiming that the Boy-Who-Lived had gotten married just because... well, in truth, he did not know why. With Rita, it could have been anything.

He sighed and lifted his eyes to her once again. "Look, Rita, I know that you meant well," he began, although he knew no such thing, "But you have to have actual facts to back up the things you write. You can't just make up rumors and try to pass them off as the truth."

The woman sniffed. "I don't see why not. It was a perfectly good story."

He glared at her, choosing to ignore that, "My point, Rita, is that you are no longer supplying what this publication requires. The Daily Prophet is supposed to report actual news, not gossip, and is most definitely not supposed to lie. Now, I know that your last boss was much more lenient - he let you get away with all those ridiculous articles during the Tri-Wizard Tournament - but you should have learned by now that I am not like him."

He paused to take in her reaction thus far. She was glowering at him, and one tackily-shod foot was tapping impatiently against her chair leg. Her fuchsia-painted mouth opened to retort, but he held up a hand and plunged on.

"I've given you plenty of chances, I think, and you haven't taken a one of them. You haven't changed at all. Your articles are the same as they ever were: worthless to this publication." He took a breath, steeling himself, "Rita, I know you've been with The Daily Prophet for years, but you're... well, you're fired."

Rita froze.

"What? Fired?!"

A/N: And there you have it; the first chapter (really, a prologue of sorts) of Rita Reveals. It serves no real purpose other than setting the stage... In the next chapter, though, Rita must struggle to come to terms with her unfair unemployment and hatches a "brilliant" scheme to get her job back... or, not.

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