Words
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Or anyone in the wizarding world. Or the wizarding world itself.
Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Assignment #7, Mythology, Write about a headstrong and fierce woman who men fear.
House: Gryffindor
Thanks to my inspiration, the terribly dark, Friana! She gave me an amazing idea for this story!
Enjoy!
It started when they cornered her in the hallway. Until then, she had never known what it felt like to be thrown against a concrete wall. First time for everything, she thought.
She got used to it.
They ripped out her hair, crushed her glasses, and set fire to her clothes.
She got used to that too.
Stand up to them, she said to herself. Fight back. She never did. They continued to say terrible things about her. Terrible words.
Words are dangerous things, Rita.
Choose them carefully and they can get you anything, but let the wrong one slip and your entire world can fall to pieces. Rita learned this the hard way. They cornered her as she came out of Transfiguration, and she bumped into the burly wall of her tormentors.
Funny things, words are. You never know whose side they're on. One moment you're simply copying them onto a piece of parchment, the next they're flying out of someone's mouth like weapons, hurling themselves at you and watching you crumble to pieces.
They laugh as their sharp mouths throw out dagger words and lodge themselves in her pride. They make her eyes sting, they drain her energy. It feels worse than cracking her head against a wall. It hurts more than her hair being yanked out of her head. It destroys her.
She runs back to her dorm, tears flying out of her eyes, Spellotape and broken glasses and blonde hair flying everywhere. She throws herself into her covers, sobs raking her body and pride being crushed.
Sticks and stones, she tells herself. It doesn't work. Sticksandstonessticksandstonessticksandstonessticksandstones—
The tears stop. They've broken her and bruised her, smashed her down when she built herself up again. Words, was it? Words were their biggest weapons. She sees them floating around in front of her.
Ugly.
Fat.
Fake.
She stares at them in wonder, and they begin to morph.
Beautiful.
Skinny.
Attractive.
Wonderful.
A truly horrible grin stretches across her face, a side of herself that she had promised herself would never come out, emerges.
Words.
They were her greatest enemies, but enemies could be manipulated. Enemies could be changed. That was exactly what she intended to do.
She walked to the Great Hall the next day, with a suspicious hint of confidence in her step.
As she had expected, they appeared in front of her, blocking her entrance into the Great Hall with smug faces and cracked knuckles. She calmly looks up at them and stares them down.
One of them chuckles. "Recovered from your tantrum, then?" he says. "Finally accepted yourself as a . . . what was it? Oh, yes," he growls, "a human being?"
She gives no reaction, but instead raises an eyebrow in boredom. "Are you lot done yet? To be honest, your insults are getting a little old. 'You're ugly.' 'You're fat.' 'Nobody likes you.' Rather thought you'd have a more extensive vocabulary, Avery."
They're taken by surprise at her nonchalance, but recover quickly.
"I like to be simple and to the point, Skeeter."
"I think that's just an excuse to cover up the fact that you've got more insecurities about yourself than you show."
Rage flashes across his face and he moves towards her, but stops when she points her wand in his face, a deadly rage flashing in her eyes.
"I'd watch you, Avery," she says quietly. "I know things about you that would make your hair curl. Not that it needs it," she added.
He takes a step closer. "You don't know anything about me."
"Don't I?" She tilts her head to the side. "I know your parents are rotting in Azkaban for being in company of Gellert Grindelwald. That 'summer home' in Godric's Hallow? It's just a cover-up for the secret Death Eater meetings. Oh, and isn't your brother a werewolf? It would be a shame if that were to get . . . out."
Avery's eyes widened with every word. Oh, words, she thought. How good it felt to throw them back at someone else, watch them pierce their confidence.
"H-how did you know that?" he stammered. Rita stowed her wand back in her bag. "I have my sources. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get to breakfast."
She shoved past them, smirking as Avery stared at her in dismay. She knew all his dirty secrets, and now she would use them against him.
Words are dangerous things, indeed. How indeed, she thought. They can change sides at any moment.
The leverage she now had against Avery had its perks. She could now walk into Transfiguration without him harassing her. He once tried to, but she whispered "werewolf" and walked away. He left her alone.
Everyone talked. Words were passed around. Newly painted Rita Skeeter created a chatter throughout the school, and the chatter had words of its own. They were used to her benefit.
She faced another problem another day, however. Emilia Ravenheart approached her in charms and shook her brown curls in Rita's face. Rita looked up into Emilia's scrunched up face, smiling blandly.
"What do you want?"
Emilia stood up, looking close to throwing a fit. "I don't know what you've done to Avery," she hissed, "but it's something. He won't even go near you, and he keeps mumbling 'Skeeter'll get me, Skeeter'll get me' every time I mention yesterday." She narrowed her eyes. "I want you to undo him. Bring him back, or whatever. Else I'll make your life a living hell."
Rita crossed her arms. "And what if I don't?"
"You better watch out, Rita Skeeter."
"Is that a threat?"
"No. It's a warning."
Then she turned and left, but not before flicking her wand behind her back and charming Rita's glass of wine they were supposed to be turning into to water to throw itself at her face.
The next day, the entire school was buzzing about the newsletter pinned on each House's billboard. The newsletter that declared Emilia Ravenheart was in fact taking pills and encouraging a drug addiction that could be fatal. Rita smirked as she finished reading the article, the words twisting and contorting themselves to make Emilia's medication schedule seem a lot worse than it was.
Funny things, words are. If you know how to use them, they can be used for great things. Dreadfully great, in Rita's situation.
She didn't see Emilia again.
Words are like the wind. It starts as a small breeze, and turns into a full-blown tornado the next day. Barely two weeks after Emilia disappeared, everyone knew of Rita Skeeter's ability to twist the smallest breezes into storms. No one dare crossed her path. Girls whispered in the corners, but never a word about Rita was heard from their mouths. The girl who dared utter 'Skeeter' and 'bad' in one sentence was robbed of her entire life in the mere moments it took to scratch a quill against paper. Boys automatically parted and the stench of fear clung to the air as she passed through.
Words can break you down and build you up. Rita had the magic power of using them to her benefit, and her benefit only.
You'd think it was Slytherins or hexes or failing classes that scared most students into insanity. It was none other than the words of Rita Skeeter.
Eh. I'm a bit curious about how Rita Skeeter got into destroying people's lives with a green quill and parchment paper. Guess it fit in with this prompt.
-Parvati