So I haven't written anything on here for what feels like a very long time (it feels a little weird actually going through all of the uploading documents again :P ). The other day, though, I was talking to a friend of mine and we were reminiscing about our fanfiction days... and well, one thing led to another and we each wrote a story prompted by the other. My prompt was the pairing Rita/Slughorn and it kind of went from there. I've never written something quite like this before, but I had a lot of fun doing it. So, dedicated to Ninniach Randir (god, I hope I spelled your pen-name right) and to memories :).

Disclaimer: Obviously none of this is mine... JKR wouldn't be writing on fanfiction I would think :P.

November 1975

Professor Slughorn,

Please find enclosed the final draft of my most recent article for the daily prophet - due for publication this weekend.

Regards,

Rita skeeter

HORACE SLUGHORN - PROUD PROFESSOR OR SELECTIVE SNOB?

Recent rumours have been circulating that not all is as it seems when it comes to esteemed Professor Horace Slughorn, Potions master and Head of Slytherin House at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Professor Slughorn has enjoyed a long and popular career at Hogwarts, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. He has been teaching at Hogwarts since the early 1900s, and his lengthy career has seen him teach many hundreds of students. Cited as a favourite teacher amongst many of Hogwarts' more talented alumni, the Professor is often seen socialising with the aforementioned alumni even after they have finished their time as his students. He maintains a reputation amongst the wizarding community as being an affable and affectionate man, and there are many who have put his long-reaching network of famous and notable alumni as being down to his excellent teaching methods and kind heart.

However, a source has recently come forward with somewhat more damning reasons. "Professor Slughorn is very kind and helpful to his students - but only if they prove useful to him through their talents," the source explains. "If you aren't skilled or well-connected, he will want nothing to do with you."

Another individual, who has been close to the Professor for many years, confirms the disturbing claims. "He collects students like others collect stamps; we're not people to him, we're steps towards further power. Each year he chooses his favourites, often talented Muggle-borns without knowledge of his ways, and meets regularly with them. He grooms them for his own benefit; it's not coincidence that Slughorn regularly appears at sold-out Quidditch matches and special events, to name just a few ways he uses his 'collection'. It's abhorrent."

There has been even been murmurings that perhaps something more could be going on behind closed doors. Could it be that Professor Slughorn is more than just a mentor to some of his chosen students ?. A source claims -

Slughorn folded the letter, not bothering to finish the article. He didn't need to finish it to understand what he was supposed to do.

September 1962

"Skeeter, Rita!"

Rita winced at the sound of her name being called out. A few other first-years giggled at her expense. She hated her name; it was as unbecoming as her tight blond curls and her square jaw. The thought flickered through her mind that she might have liked a more elegant name - perhaps Penelope or Daisy… a softer name, one that didn't make others laugh when they heard it.

She stumbled up to the three-legged stool, feeling the bored eyes of the older students on her. Her heart was thumping against her ribcage and she felt her breath stutter as the room became silent, waiting. The Sorting Hat slid over her head.

Well, well, well. Look what we have here.

The voice startled the girl, and she left out a nervous squeak. Immediately a few titters broke out amongst the tables. Rita was torn between being mortified at being heard and relieved that nobody could see her face as a blush turned her pale skin an alarming red hue.

You're ambitious… that's for sure. You want to achieve things, many things. You want to make something of yourself. You're smart, though. Ravenclaw could work for you. You would thrive there, with all the knowledge that you need and the key to understanding it.

"No, not Ravenclaw," Rita whispered, determined not to speak too loudly lest the room laugh at her again. But she desperately wanted the Hat to listen to her. The idea of being in Ravenclaw made her nervous; she didn't think she fit in with the smart ones, the know-it-alls. She certainly didn't want to be one. She wanted friends, wanted people to like her. Memories of her past floated in her mind's eye. Nobody likes a know-it-all, Rita! You're so boring, all you do is look at books! Bo-ring, boooo-rrriinnggg… she could hear the words ringing around in her head, taunting her eleven-year-old mind.

No? Well, Gryffindor seems too reckless for you, and Hufflepuff won't do at all. I guess that leaves us with…

"SLYTHERIN!"

February 1967

She hated him. She hated him and his precious Slug Club members and his Potions class. She hated it all.

Rita remembered the first time she'd heard about it, heard Marjorie Greengrass giggling delightedly over the breakfast table in their first-year. The other girl had been invited to join the exclusive club, and they were having a dinner that weekend to introduce all the new members to the current ones.

She'd desperately wanted to be part of it. Rita wanted to know how people could get into it; what qualified Marjorie and not her? How could it be that she couldn't be a part of it? She worked just as hard as the other students, didn't break nearly as many rules as that idiot Roman Baker - and he was a part of Slughorn's precious ones.

It took her several years before she realised that some things were never going to happen. The sun would never rise in the west. Her mother would never stop worrying about her clothes. And Rita would never be a part of Professor Slughorn's 'chosen' ones.

For a girl whose ambitious and stubborn streak had given her everything she'd striven for, it was almost an insult that she couldn't change that one small detail. She'd been determined to go to Hogwarts instead of being home-schooled, even though her parents could barely afford it - and she had succeeded. She'd been terrible at Potions, but through long hours of studying and summer tutoring had risen to the top of her class. She'd been chosen as Prefect even when Marjorie Greengrass had been the obvious option. All because Rita Skeeter knew what she wanted, and she wanted to be the best. The best in the class, the best daughter, the most popular girl. She wanted to fit in and stand out, and she could never decide which she wanted more so she tried to go for both.

Inevitably, she failed sometimes. When her seemingly harmless (to Rita) gossiping had led to her losing her best friend, she'd been distraught. When her attempt to try out for the Quidditch team had resulted in her falling off the broom and breaking her nose, she'd been humiliated. Yet none of these things seemed to sting quite so much as the exclusion from the Slug Club.

To Rita, it was the way up in the world. Everybody knew that the people in it went on to become famous or talented or well-connected. It was a leg up in the world, and she hungered for it more than anything else. It was a way to fit in, to be part of a glitzy and glamorous world that she could only dream of in her current position. It didn't matter that the rest of the Hogwarts student body seemed to be coping just fine without being in it or that the people who were actually in it often complained of how boring it was. No. She wanted to be a part of it, and Professor Slughorn steadfastly refused to notice her.

She'd even asked once, and his blank expression said more than any words could have. He hadn't even considered her; noticed her.

Well. She would change that.

April 1970

"And why do you think you would be good for this job?"

The man eyed her keenly. She could feel him taking in her square jaw and her tight blonde curls. Her bright red lipstick and pencil skirt. She felt as though he could see straight through her. See that she was doing this because she had no other choice. Because of Slughorn, she thought. It was always because of him. If he had even thought about helping her - a student who had gotten 'O's in all her N.E. , a student who had narrowly missed being appointed Head Girl, a student who was ambitious and smart… well then maybe she wouldn't be here in this small room being interviewed as an errand runner. The coffee girl. Sure, that wasn't the official job title, but Rita knew what her duties entailed, and they weren't anything like the glamorous ones she had once envisioned for herself.

"Because I work hard, and I learn quickly. I'm the best at what I do," Rita's eyes fixed on the man's steadily. Her voice was crisp, sharp. One day, she would learn how to lilt her voice just ever so slightly. To phrase words in a way that was more poetic than prosaic. At the moment, however, she was just a girl who had no other choice left.

"And what is it that you do?" the man seemed amused, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk in front of him. The sound was loud in the small room, and she felt her heart thumping nervously in her chest as he looked at her, expectant.

"Whatever it is you want me to do," her words were strong, but it sounded feeble in her head. Weak. She should have had a better answer than that. She should have been more prepared. Wasn't she meant to be the best at everything?

Luckily, he laughed. "Well, then. I see you have a lot of 'Outstandings' in your N.E. … why is that a smart witch like you is applying for a job like this?"

She swallowed even harder. There was a lump in her throat, burning with embarrassment. She didn't even know why she was embarrassed; he didn't seem to be judgmental. He didn't know her. Didn't know how much she hated that she was here when she could have been a high-flying Ministry worker.

"I… well… my family is… not well-off and my mother fell ill. I left for about a year to look after her, and since then I've applied to other places but it's hard to get an interview even," so she stretched the truth a little. Rita was good at that; exaggerating, stretching truths. It was true that her family wasn't well-off, that her mother was ill - but she hadn't left to look after her. She'd left to find work, but she hadn't been able to get a permanent job. She'd floated from job to job, and luck had never been with her.

He nodded thoughtfully, running a hand through thinning hair. "Well that's very good of you… look, Miss Skeeter… I have to be honest with you. This job does give you the opportunity to advance somewhat… but if you really want to go anywhere in this industry, you'll have to work hard. Everybody starts at the bottom, but not many make it to the top. There are a lot of people trying to make it there, but it takes quite something… quite someone… to succeed."

Rita twisted a curl around her finger, pulling it even tighter than before. She felt sweat breaking out on the palms of her hands. She needed this job, she really did. She didn't think she could manage another year of struggling to make ends meet, of wondering where all her glowing plans had taken her.

More than anything, she needed to prove everybody wrong. She needed to show them that she, Rita Skeeter, was a somebody. She needed to show Horace Slughorn that she didn't need his stupid club to make it in this world. She wanted to get back at him, for wasting so many hours trying to be a part of something that he would never let her be a part of.

"I am someone," Rita's voice was steely. She didn't know where it had come from, didn't know that she could sound like that. But she liked what she heard. Confident, persuasive. Somebody who knew what they wanted and could go for it.

"Well, then… welcome to the Daily Prophet, Miss Skeeter."

August 1974

"I need a good story, a new one," Rita complained, poking at her latest article with a well-manicured fingernail.

Her colleague and fellow Daily Prophet correspondent, Mimi Olivers, looked up from where she had been doodling on a notepad. They were lounging around in their small living room, yawning in the early morning sunlight.

"Well… Williams said that he'd like to have somebody cover that story about that new Ancient Runes teacher… what was her name… Professor Bath something… something funny…," Mimi ventured, sipping on her tea speculatively. The steam from the mug swirled into the air, misting up the younger girl's glasses.

"Bathsheda Babbling," Rita corrected. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I could always see if I can get some inside information. Didn't they say that there was a reason for Professor Royal leaving so suddenly? Some scandal…"

"I thought it was because he was caught having an affair with a student. But it's all been very hush-hush. Nobody's been able to get so much as peep out of anybody there. Not even the students, which is odd," Mimi mused. Her toe-nails scraped against the floor as she swung her foot off the armchair.

"That's what I heard too. Somebody said it was Millie Baker," Rita's eyes narrowed.

"What? Roman's little sister? But she was always so sweet!" Mimi protested in disbelief. "Anyway, if it was her, surely we would have heard about it. Her friends are such gossips; they're always the ones who are giving us information about what's going on in Hogwarts."

Rita delicately plucked her teabag out of its mug and put it on a saucer next to the mug. "Well… Millie was always one of Slughorn's favourites. Part of that stupid Slug Club."

The bitterness in her voice was apparent, even after all these years. Mimi raised her eyebrows at Rita. "Well, isn't somebody jealous?"

"It's stupid, that's what it is," Rita muttered, aware that her voice was still somewhat resentful-sounding. "He protects his favourites; he has all these sources that stop them from being ridiculed or being part of scandals. If I'd been in that Club of his, I'd never have had to deal with the whole Green and Mitchell thing."

Mimi was silent for a moment. "It wasn't so bad. They only accused you of plagiarism."

"Not too bad!" Rita's voice rose indignantly. "Mimi, I'll have you know that they would have taken me to court if I hadn't agreed to pay a ridiculous sum to them straight off. People believed them, too. Slughorn backed them - just because Mitchell is like the apple of his eye. And because Slughorn did, so did about half of England."

Mimi huffed. "Don't exaggerate. Slughorn doesn't have that much power. And anyway, it was half-true. You totally took their conclusion on that article about the Quidditch World Cup."

"Anybody could have done it; it's Quidditch! There are only so many things you can say about it!" Rita fumed, the memory smarting.

"Okay, okay," the other girl raised her hands. "Peace. What I was saying was that you could do something about Hogwarts and that new Professor. Get some information."

"From which source?" Rita snapped. She pushed her newly acquired spectacles back up her nose. She still wasn't used to wearing them, and they irritated her somewhat.

"I don't know… Slughorn probably knows something. Try him; he's always a good one for bribes," Mimi shrugged.

"Easy for you to say; he likes you."

"He doesn't not like you. You just don't like him," Mimi pointed out reasonably. "Just promise him something he can't resist. Like… I don't know… free tickets to something. A chance to meet somebody famous. There's got to be something he wants."

"Fine. I'll try. But I'm not happy about this idea," she hated the idea, actually. Asking Slughorn for anything was… abhorrent to her. He'd never helped her with anything and she'd managed just fine. No. She wanted him to ask her for help. That would be the sweetest victory.

"La la la," Mimi mimicked, sticking her tongue out at Rita.

She barely dodged the cushion that was aimed at her face.

September 1974

"He said no. To everything."

Mimi looked up as Rita flopped down onto the sofa despondently. "Everything?"

"Everything," Rita confirmed, taking her glasses off and closing her eyes. "And we need information. If I can get this piece done, if I can uncover something this… scandalous… I know that I'll get that raise. I know I will."

"I dunno about a raise, but you'll get noticed, certainly. Things like this get remembered," Mimi agreed. She was waving her wand in the air, leaving coloured trails behind it as she created patterns.

"But how to do it? How to do it…," Rita's voice trailed off as she lost herself in thought. There must be some way to get information - before anybody else got there first. She couldn't possibly let that tosser Davidson from The Quibbler get there before she did.

"Blackmail him," Mimi suggested after a pause. "Tell him it's him or Professor Royal."

Rita's eyes flickered to her friend. "What do you mean?"

"Simple," Mimi's eyes sparkled with delight. "Write something about him. It doesn't have to be true. Make it up. Stretch it. You're good at that. Tell him either he'll be the centre of a scandal - or Royal will. And it's his choice. He'll hate it. It's perfect."

Rita frowned at the other girl for a small moment. "It seems almost too mean…"

Mimi laughed sharply. "Rita Skeeter! That's rich, coming from you! Look, you don't like Slughorn, do you? You practically despise the man. This is a way of making sure that you'll always know what goes on at Hogwarts; with the Professors and Headmasters and everything. He knows it all. He's got the connections. All you're doing is just letting yourself in on that. He values himself far too much to let you write anything about him that's even slightly negative. He cares about his reputation."

An idea dawned on her, and Rita could almost feel her face lighting up. "I bet people wouldn't even be surprised if I said that his close relationships with some students were even a little too close…"

The younger girl clapped her hands, a wicked glint in her eyes. "That's it. Turn the tables. Make it him who is having the affair, and Professor Royal left because he found out about it or something… we'll figure it out…"

December 1975

Slughorn stirred the sugar into his tea thoughtfully, eyes on the newspaper in front of him. He could hear the birds chirping outside his window. They sounded far too bright and cheery. Horace wasn't sure he'd ever felt less bright and cheery. He had a bad headache and one of the students staying over the Christmas break had tried to blow up the Potions classroom. It meant that he would be supervising a detention in the holidays, of all things. Utterly ridiculous.

Still. There were some silver linings. His fingers reach out to pull the newspaper closer to him. The headlines read something about the appointment of a new Minister of Magic. He flicked through the pages, searching. There it was. On page three, taking up half of the page.

THEODORE ROYAL - THOUGHTFUL TEACHER OR SCANDALOUS SEDUCER?

Slughorn chuckled. His podgy finger tapped the smiling photograph of Professor Royal as his eyes scanned the rest of the article.

"Better you than me, old friend. Better you than me."