Pest
Control
Chapter
One: Of Wands and Wizards
By
Mina
Rita Skeeter longingly gazed at her witch robes. She looked at her wand
(11 inches, willow, unicorn hair and beetle wings, good for Charms), and sighed.
Turning around, she gave the grinning fourteen-year-old girl a scathing glare.
"Could I please-" Rita started. The girl clicked her
tongue and gave Rita a disapproving look. The ex-reporter shut her mouth, and
continued to give Hermione Granger, the aforementioned teenager, her patented
death glare.
"Rita, stop looking at me like that. A promise is a promise, and
even you wouldn't stoop low enough to break a Conrtactus Mortifius, am I
right?" Hermione said with a self-satisfied grin. She held up a light green
piece of parchment with Rita's fancy, flowery signature on the bottom. Rita made
a quick grab for the paper, but Hermione dodged out of her way, grabbed her
wand, and shouted the Body Bind spell. Rita's hands immediately stiffened at her
sides, and her mouth shut tight. Hermione took Rita's wand and threw it into her
large beach bag unceremoniously, along with Rita's trusty Quick Quotes Quill.
Rita managed to give a small whimper.
"As you already know, this little contract gives me full rights to
disclose a certain piece of information about you, should you ever break your
promise. Automatically, letters will be send to the Ministry, the Daily Prophet,
Witch Weekly, and every single magazine and newspaper you've ever written to.
And, trust me, I'll keep this safe for the year. Just to make sure you won't try
to break your promise... I'll be taking your wand for a short while,"
Hermione patted her bag. "Finite Encantum."
Rita felt a warm sort of tingling flow through her limbs as the curse
ended. "Hermione! Please! How am I ever supposed to survive without
magic?" Rita pleaded. She looked down at her bright magenta business suit,
the one Muggle piece of clothing she owned.
"Muggles do it, so you can too," Hermione said smugly,
smirking. She looked suspiciously like Draco Malfoy at that moment, her brown
eyes mischievous with a cruel glint. "You deserve it, anyway. Maybe this'll
teach you to be honest and tell the truth."
Rita squirmed nervously. "But... I never really paid attention in
Muggle Studies-"
"That's your problem," Hermione said with glee. Rita looked at
her in disbelief. She knew the girl was a nasty little rodent, but she never
expected this. Blackmail, of all things! This was more like something
that Rita herself would do, not some Hogwarts student. And a Gryffindor, at
that! Who'd have thought? Mentally, Rita started writing another smiting
article... No, stop it, she said to herself. Horrible as it is, you can't get
back at that little sadist. Not yet, at least.
"So what am I to do now?" Rita sighed meekly.
"Well, if I were you, I'd start with writing a letter of apology to
the Daily Prophet, to disprove all of your horrid rumors. Then, I'd go get
another job. And then," Hermione grinned, "I'd do some community
service. How does helping Hagrid out with the last of his Blast Ended Skrewts
for the summer sound? I'm sure that you should do something to make up for those
horrid things you've said about him..."
Rita turned a shade of pink that matched perfectly with her skirt and
jacket combo. "Listen, girly, I'm not taking any more bull from YOU! I'm
going now!"
Hermione squinted her eyes. "Oh yeah? Well, where are you off
to?"
"To write my apology letter, where else?" Rita yelled back at
Hermione just as she took a pinch of Floo Powder from a jar next to the
fireplace. "DAILY PROPHET HEADQUARTERS!" Rita disappeared in the
brilliant green flames, leaving behind something of a haughty air. Hermione
shrugged and gathered her things. She grabbed her half finished butterbeer and
headed towards the exit of the rather crowded Wizarding pub.
I wonder if she really did learn a lesson, Hermione asked herself as she
exited the Leaky Cauldron and waved a taxi over to her side of the street. She
had the long ride home to contemplate on whether she really did change Rita
Skeeter's beliefs.
--------------------------------*]
"Nasty little brat..." Rita muttered to herself as she scribbled something on a much ink-blotted piece of parchment. She bit the edge of the quill thoughtfully, and crossed out a whole paragraph in exasperation. So far, her apology letter read something like this:
Dear
Readers, Haters, and Adoring Fans,
This is Rita Skeeter writing. As much as I would like to continue
exposing scams and conspiracies of the wizarding world to the common witch and
wizard, due to circumstances beyond my control, I won't be reporting for at
least a year. I'm writing this last article to comment on some of my recent
editorials on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
It seems as though some of the information that I have received was false
and a few of my articles may have been... slightly off fact. To be precise, a
few people were slightly misquoted, due to my sources' inability to fully
comprehend the information received. If I have offended anybody with my past
writings, I really and truly apologize.
I know that my loyal readers will miss my reports on the daily happenings
of famous witches and wizards, but I cannot do anything about it. I hope to
return to my writing career at one point. But for now, just remember - there is
always a story behind the wizard, no matter what the government bastards tell
you.
Sincerely,
Rita
Skeeter
Rita
Skeeter, ex-reporter
Rita sighed contently and added an extra flourish onto her signature.
There, she thought. At least she didn't sound like she was doing this willingly,
though it would obviously start a barrage of unnecessary questions from her
rivals. She could see the headlines already: "Skeeter Involved in Ministry
Scandal", "Rita the Cheater", and much, much worse. I suppose I'd
do the same, she mused. No, I know I'd do the same. She recalled her
almost life and death conflict with Libby Logwestron, an American reporter. She
had written the most vicious things about her, and even now, Rita knew that she
would do it all again.
Rita waved her owl Rummy over to her desk. Rummy was a relatively young
owl, brown with gray spots. Rita only bought him a few months ago, but she
already had a fondness for the creature. It reminded her of an old pet she had
as a Hogwarts student. Ah, the good old days, Rita thought as she tied the
message to Rummy's outstretched claw.
The owl hooted pompously and Rita gave him a gentle push off her desk.
Rummy got the message, and flew out of her office window. Rita's eyes followed
the bird's flying path to the far corner of the large white building. She had a
wonderful view of Wizard London from her well-furnished high-rise office.
The people in charge of the Daily Prophet's daily publishings knew that
Rita would settle for nothing less than a luxurious suite, for otherwise their
reputations would be forever smeared by the devious woman's gossip columns. Rita
Skeeter had a huge following, and her words were easily believed by many high
status witches and wizards, including the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.
The wizards in charge could afford to have Rita in a nice office; losing their
jobs and reputation was a whole different story. "The pen is mightier than the
sword", Rita liked to quote. Blackmail probably wasn't the quote's hidden
meaning, but it worked just as well, she thought to herself.
"WHAT?" she faintly heard a male voice yell down the hall. Rita
took her glasses off and rubbed her temple. Oh, here we go again...
A red faced man with a small black mustache and a goatee burst into
Rita's office. Rita swirled around in her chair to face the large man. She put
her glasses back on, and gave him a sharp look.
"Well?" the man said and thrust Rita's newly written
announcement onto her black marble desk. Rita shrugged.
"Well, what?" she asked innocently. Well, as innocent as Rita
could get.
"You - you can't stop writing!" the man, who happened to be
Rita's editor and publisher, stuttered. His name was Michael Wimbleton, and he
was said to be one of the best reporters on the field, but his following (and
income, at that) were nowhere near Rita's. She always secretly thought that if
Michael committed himself to reporting on gossip, she would have a worthy rival.
However, Wimbleton had some silly honest streak, and he was never one to step on
a few feet and break a few wands to get what he wanted. He was Hufflepuff to the
core, really. Rita despised that in him.
"I can, and I will," she said smugly. She also knew that
Wimbledon depended on her to get along. Her letting him be his editor really
brought in most of his income. If it wasn't for her, he would have been sent to
the Centaur office long ago. It seemed that Michael knew it, too.
"Rita, we have a contract..." Michael started. Rita wrinkled
her nose and yawned.
"I don't remember signing a contract of any sort. Please publish my
last article in Witch Weekly and Daily Prophet. I want all educated witches and
wizards to know why Rita Skeeter won't be writing anymore, before some
pathetic wannabe ME tries to smut my reputation with lies. Not that I can
prevent it, yet I feel a lot more self assured having that published. That will
be all, Michael," Rita said as she grabbed her purse and moved towards the
exit.
"RITA! Please! No!" Wimbledon moaned. "You... What about
your fans? Readers? Adoring followers?"
Skeeter smirked. "Stop trying to save your own tail, Wimbledon.
You're nothing without ME!" Thus, she walked into a small marble fireplace
next to her desk, threw in a pinch of Floo Powder, and walked in.
NEW YORK CITY!
Michael Wimbledon cursed the day he ever decided to become a reporter.
A/N: Uh... how is it? R/R! Part two is in progress, as is Chapter Four of my epic *cough cough* tale, "Time of Your Life". Uh, yes... G'bye then... ~Mina