This fic is based on the theme of confusion. It is HG/RS and slightly HG/RW. I hope you like it. R&R!!
The first thing she remembers? Breath. Great lungfuls of air, completely impossible in a jam jar. Not to mention being a beetle. It's summer, the end of school. And Rita Skeeter has just been released into the London atmosphere. She stumbles slightly but soon regains her footing. She doesn't even look at Hermione, just finds a secluded spot and Apparates home. Once there, she immediately picks up her Quill, ready to write a million vile stories which would make Hermione hated throughout the wizarding community for the next thirty years. Moments later, she sets it down again. She can't, even if she were allowed to write, she wouldn't. How would she manage to pull it off without Hermione spilling the beans on her little secret? A pseudonym perhaps? Don't be ridiculous, she scolds herself. Pseudonyms are for people who are afraid. And Rita Skeeter does not do fear. If you are going to write something you should be proud enough to use your own name.
Throwing back a glass of Firewhiskey, she sits down. Already the glass is refilled and she swills it - looking into the liquid as though it could tell her the answers, if only she could decipher them. No doubt, a time-consuming plan was waiting to be thought out and Rita knows that she will just have to get on with it.
She sets herself away from the Prophet - telling them she is taking a holiday. They don't believe her, of course they don't, they know how she hungers for a story. Let the plotting begin, she thinks, wryly.
Weeks pass in a sort of limbo. Wake up in the afternoon, drink, sometimes wash, drink, sometimes eat, drink and fall back onto her bed. One day, Rita has had enough. She gets up in the morning and showers, washes properly for the first time in months. She gets dressed, pulling on her stockings gently, like an old friend. She puts on her make-up and her nails, clicking them on the desk in front of her while she waits for her hair to curl properly. Each item feeling like a piece of armour that she is building up around herself, like before. Now she's ready. Not that she has anywhere to go. She decides on Diagon Alley. No. Hogsmeade. She could visit the Hog's Head for a drink. Maybe not the best plan but at least she is going somewhere else to get drunk instead of just staying at home.
The Apparation didn't exactly go according to plan, she manages to get to Hogsmeade but she is nowhere near the Hog's Head. Apparently she's out of practice, something she didn't even know was possible. Turning on her heel she heads for the pub, her mind already on the first glass of Firewhiskey when she walks headlong into a flurry of bushy hair.
"Ow! I'm sorry I-" a voice begins before stopping. The voice, of course, is Hermione Granger. Only Rita could have such bad luck. It had to be a Hogsmeade weekend, she thinks to herself. She nods her head stiffly and attempts to move away from her but Hermione is having none of it. She is… polite. It confuses Rita but she decides to play along, it has been so long since she has had human company even she is better than no one. Hermione invites her to the Three Broomsticks for a drink, Rita refuses. Hermione proposes to escort her to her destination, Rita refuses. Hermione offers to buy her a drink at the Hog's Head. Rita accepts.
They walk in silence, neither sure of what to say although Hermione smiles shyly, trying to abate the awkwardness between them. This confuses Rita, of course it does, why is she doing this? Is it some plan to make her feel even worse?
"I haven't seen you in a while," she says, breaking Rita out of her reverie. Rita curls her lip.
"Of course not, we didn't exactly part on good terms," she replies tersely, and continues even though she is unsure why she is still talking to her. "I've been… away."
"Where?" Hermione immediately asks, her voice conversational. She is not being nosey, Rita realises. That only angers her more though. She just glares at Hermione before pushing the door of the Hog's Head open and marching inside. Without asking what she wants, Hermione orders them both Butterbeers and sets them down at a table, obviously expecting Rita to sit with her. Disgruntled, she does so but makes a point of turning her body away from the girl. The girl who has done an excellent job of ruining her life, she thinks to herself. She sips her Butterbeer but immediately wishes she hadn't, Hermione seems to take this a sign of friendliness and launches into a spiel of different stories which hold absolutely no interest to Rita.
Then an idea strikes her, Hermione's tongue seems somewhat loosened, maybe she can use this to her advantage. She begins to listen more intently, which further encourages Hermione to talk. Smiling to herself, Rita begins to formulate some questions. She asks about Ron, Hermione says he is annoying as ever. She asks about Harry, Hermione's eyes flash suspiciously for a moment but she relaxes and tells her that Harry is just fine. She talks about their lessons and even some of their outings around school after curfew. So, Rita thinks, the perfect Hermione isn't quite as rule-abiding as she seems. This interests her. She asks if Hermione is more attracted to Ron or Harry, Hermione blushes and says neither, they're both just friends. Rita asks if she is still in contact with Krum, Hermione is suspicious again but says they occasionally write to one another.
Rita stops asking, she knows that she is treading a very fine line. Hermione relaxes when the questions stop, she orders more Butterbeer and begins to talk again. Rita half-listens. She drinks in mostly silence, an article on her mind. She knows she cannot publish it but… It cannot hurt to write one. Just for herself, of course.
They part ways and Rita Apparates home to write the basis of her story. She needs more information, she decides. Perhaps another meeting with Hermione wouldn't go amiss. She is angry at herself for actually wantingto see her again. She goes to bed early, deciding to get up the next morning.
She is in a dark room. Or rather, it is mostly dark, save for the blue-white light which is coming from the other side of the room. She is wearing a powder blue dress, similar to one a Muggle would wear in the 50s. Her shoes are dainty, with small heels. Her hair is still in curls but they somehow seem softer than usual.
This is how she knows she is dreaming; she would never wear something like this. She steps forward, in the direction of the light and notices a chaise lounge in the centre of the room. Walking towards it she sees another figure, stretched over the lounge in a completely relaxed position. It is Hermione. She has her eyes closed so does not notice Rita. She is wearing a very close-fitted Gryffindor red dress which lowers itself into a 'V' that goes almost to her navel. The dress is floor length and covers her shoes save for a sliver of heel. One arm is hanging of the lounge, almost beckoning to Rita. There is a delicate, silver bracelet about her wrist.
Rita steps toward her and finally she stirs. She opens her eyes slowly - the brown of her irises darker than usual and a sinful expression on her face, summoning Rita closer. She cannot control herself. Something about Hermione just makes her snap. She leans in and suddenly they are kissing. It is terrible and wonderful at the same time. She knows she shouldn't, knows that somehow when she is conscious this is the last thing she wants… Isn't it? But she doesn't stop, her lips are still pressed against Hermione's, their tongues pushing against one another for dominance. Rita lets her win. She lets her win. And then, as dreams do not often follow a sensible order, they are both naked. Rita is pressed into the lounge by Hermione's weight. She moans when two fingers are pushed inside of her, Hermione's thumb roughly pressed against her clit.
Rita's eyes open but the dream hasn't ended, she can still feel the pleasure, still hear the moaning. Oh, wait.
Fuck.
Ripping her hand out of her underwear, Rita dashes to the bathroom, completely ashamed. She was thinking about Hermione. Granger. And… Rita shudders and runs the tap before thrusting her hands into the sink. She washes them for minutes, scrubbing away the betrayal from her fingers. Her fake nails unstick and clatter into the basin but she doesn't, can't stop, not even when the scouring makes her hands red and raw.
Finally, when she can see blood, she stops. She has difficulty turning the taps off - her fingers hurt so. Still not satisfied, she strips off her clothes and steps into the shower letting the water wash away all of her dirt. Only it doesn't work. She still feels tainted. She feels water on her face and it's not from the shower. It's from her treacherous eyes. How happy Hermione must be, she thinks, to have reduced Rita Skeeter to a woman who cries. To have stripped her so completely of everything she knows.
Turning the water off, she gets out of the shower. She decides that she needs to go to Diagon Alley. Her fingers are sore and she needs some sort of cream to make them better. It takes her longer than usual to get ready, she can barely hold her wand without tears stinging in her eyes. And she cannot get ready, not properly. She daren't put her nails back on so she has to make do with her pitifully real ones. She hates this, not being able to complete her look, a chink in the defences. She feels vulnerable.
She Apparates to London, near the Leaky Cauldron and marches in. She's in full Skeeter-mode - ready for battle. She barges past Tom without so much as a second glance and steps straight into Diagon Alley. Heading towards the Apothecary, Rita notices a head of bushy brown hair ahead of her. Not today, she thinks desperately. About to duck into a shop, she sees the girl turn towards her. Her face is split in a broad grin which does not disappear when she spots Rita. Separating herself from her friends, she heads towards the woman, seemingly impervious to the obvious discomfort she is causing.
She follows Rita to the Apothecary and chatters to her, she doesn't realise how much this is hurting her. Yes, hurting. Rita pays for her purchase and that's when Hermione sees her hands. Scabbed and sore and so much smaller without her talon-like nails attached. She reaches for them without thinking, taking Rita's hands carefully in her own. She strokes her fingertips over them with such care Rita hesitates before pulling away, her mask slipping down for a second.
"What exactly do you think you are doing?" Rita hisses at her, walking quickly out of the shop, Hermione follows. Of course she does. Rita almost rolls her eyes.
"What happened to your hands?" Hermione asks, her voice full of concern, her eyes shimmering with worry. It's sort of… sweet. No! Rita stops in her tracks, it most certainly is not sweet. It is vile and cruel and all part of some plan to make her feel things she absolutely cannot feel. And why? So that the bushy-haired bitch can tell her friends and they can all laugh.
Anger bubbles up inside Rita so fast she can feel it burning. Anger at herself for succumbing to something so ridiculous. She feels a deep loathing, so powerful it makes her insides heavy and solid. Loathing the fact that her heart flutters in that sickening way when she sees the Granger girl. It's all too fast. Too much too soon. Panic (yes, panic) shoots through Rita, pushing all thoughts of hatred aside and replacing it with one simple message. Escape. She needs to escape.
Hermione is looking at her with curious eyes, she reaches out a hand tentatively, to touch Rita's arm. But Rita Apparates and her hand is left gripping the air.
Rita slams the door shut behind her - trying to lock all thoughts of Hermione out in the cold. Away from her. But mere seconds later, her mind has conjured up an image of the girl from earlier, of the gentle caress of Hermione's hands on her poor fingers. And Rita knows she is already lost.
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It only takes a day for Rita to revert back to what she was before - unkempt and drunk. She stops going out and doesn't return people's owls. Not that many people care where she is. Since the disaster of going out and seeing Hermione, Rita feels fully justified in her decision to become what she is. A recluse. Not that she uses that word, it's too pathetic. She pretends she still has a life. But what has she got left? Hermione stripped away every layer until all that is left is a sad, middle aged woman who has become numb to the effects of Firewhiskey. She took her livelihood and then she took her heart. Rita is not even master of her own body anymore; lusting after a girl less than half her age.
And then everything becomes a blur.
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It is sometime in September when Rita becomes aware that she can write again. But she doesn't feel the buzz she used to. Doesn't really feel anything. She sometimes imagines that there is a cloud of bad energy circling above her head. But now, maybe, it is time to do something.
She starts slow, waking up a little earlier each day, taking regular showers and drinking less. Then, when she feels strongly rooted in this new way of existing, she picks up a quill. It is a bizarre sensation, not like meeting an old friend again or being united with a long lost lover. It just sort of feels… normal. Like the last year didn't happen. This bothers Rita, she wanted it to feel more. Maybe it will when she uses her Quill, not this ridiculous eagle feathered stick. It holds none of the warmth and magic of her acid green companion.
Her first article is short, simple. Not to be published, just to get used to the feel of ink stains on her fingertips again. Her writing is shaky, scruffy. She will need to keep an eye on that. As the days pass, her writing becomes wittier - some of the bite of her old work coming through once again. But she can see cruelty now. She pushes this thought out of her mind where it belongs, she needs to be Rita again.
It is easy to fall into step with her old life. She feels ready to write properly. To see her name in print in the Daily Prophet. Even if the paper has become rather pathetic during her absence, all it needs is a little Skeeter to turn it around again.
Almost as soon as Rita thinks this, an owl arrives. She opens the letter. It is from Hermione. Rita feels her insides clench, she hardly dares to read it. She scoffs at herself; that is not how Rita Skeeter thinks. She reads the letter with a furious determination, forcing herself to feel bile at the mere audacity of the girl to write to her after all this time. Especially to invite her somewhere and not give her any other information.
She won't go. Why on earth would she do what the girl tells her? It makes no sense. So Rita does not reply and will leave Hermione to herself. She will not answer.
The following day she finds herself at the Three Broomsticks with Hermione, Luna and a Harry who looks as bewildered at the situation as she feels. But she doesn't let it show like he does. She taps her nails on the table, a perfect imitation of boredom. But she is intrigued. She wants to know what is going to happen.
Hermione explains that Rita is going to have an interview with Harry. Rita is confused. Isn't this exactly what Hermione didn't want a year ago?
Hermione explains that Rita is to publish it in the Quibbler. Rita scoffs, no reputable reporter would ever associate themselves with that dishrag.
Hermione explains that Rita is going to work for free. When she asks her eyes flash, her confident demeanour vanishes for a second as she wonders whether Rita will accept. For one moment she has forgotten everyone else in the room and she is begging Rita to do this. Because of that split second, Rita agrees.
She writes the article and it is published. Everyone reads it - she is a name again. But what makes it really great (though she is loathe to admit it) is when Hermione says thank you and her eyes are shining with sincerity.
And Rita breaks, she smiles back and says 'you're welcome' the words tasting strange and foreign to her. But a moment later it is forgotten as Hermione grins and her fingers touch Rita's hand. And then she is gone, chatting to her friends as though Rita was never there.
Rita Apparates home and doesn't see Hermione look back, or how her face falls as she sees that the reporter is gone.
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It's almost Christmas and once again Rita is alone in her flat with a glass of Firewhiskey in her hand. But it's somehow different this time. She knows she will only have one glass. She sees an owl land on the windowsill and opens the window to let it in. It holds out it's leg, proffering what appears to be a short letter to Rita. She unties it and the bird flies away. Opening it she sees an invite from Hermione to meet her at the Three Broomsticks. Again. Rita knows she must decline whatever the girl says. She cannot give in again. That is not how Rita Skeeter operates.
She arrives at the pub purposefully late and makes it obvious. She sees that Hermione is alone.
"Where's Potter?" she asks as she sits down. Hermione frowns.
"He's not coming, I only invited you," she says quietly, as though telling an embarrassing secret, Rita thinks.
"Oh?" Rita asks before ordering a Firewhiskey from the bar. Hermione nods.
"I just wanted to give you this," she says, a blush spreading over her cheeks. She hands Rita a box with a ribbon on it. A Christmas present.
"Oh," Rita says again, unsure what to do with it. They both drink in silence (Hermione having already ordered a Butterbeer) before setting off into the crisp winter air. They walk in awkward companionship, going nowhere in particular. They seem to realise that they are out of town and alone at the same time. They both stop, somehow both knowing and not knowing when is the right moment.
Hermione turns to Rita and she is too close. Rita can feel her breath warm on her cheek. She smiles shyly and she is too cute. She reaches out and touches Rita's face and Rita is too attracted.
"Rita, I-" Hermione begins, all nervous energy and twitching.
"Don't," Rita replies before lips meet lips and all words are lost.
The kiss is short and not sweet. Both women knowing and feeling how wrong their actions are but soon they are touching again, mouths opening and soft sighs escaping lips.
It is perfect. And it is all wrong, wrong, wrong. Rita is deathly ashamed of herself. She stumbles back from the girl and leaves. She walks away and knows without looking that Hermione hasn't moved. She forgets that Hermione's present is still in her hand.
She opens it when she is back at home and sees that the girl has bought her a wonderful parchment and ink set. It is so thoughtful and Rita feels a stab of guilt at leaving the girl out in the cold, the gift showing how much Hermione trusts her now. But what they shared must be exactly what it was. A moment. She knows she mustn't give in.
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After the war, Hermione and Ron get married. Rita writes them a short piece in the Prophet. It is polite, no scathing words or sarcasm. She doesn't attend the wedding. Even though her heart aches, she knows that this is right.
She lets them be.
She has to.