Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of JK Rowling's other characters. They are fun to play with but please don't sue me. There are a few original characters in here but all credit goes to Rowling for creating the world of HP.
This is my first uploaded fanfic so feedback is much appreciated. This story takes place somewhere in the beginning of book six. I always wondered what happened to Rita so this is my take. This is movie Rita (played by the genius Miranda Richardson) and not the book. I do think there is a slight difference between them. Anyway, that's enough blabber. Enjoy!
The Significance of a Bug
Rita Skeeter knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, she was a small an insignificant bug in the world of magic. She was a phony, a fraud, a lair, a bottom-feeder, in a word, a journalist. She was set apart from all the lesser witches, however, because she knew her own insignificance. She could never be anything more or less. She was what she was. Some, like that irritating brat Hermione Granger, hated her for it. In fact, Rita could think of no one who she hadn't alienated at one point or another in her miserable existence.
Since her job at the Daily Prophet had been taken Rita found herself in an awkward situation. It was too late to redefine who she was, and it was impossible to be a real journalist without a paper to write for. The last three stories she had written for that tabloid trash newspaper owned by the Lovegoods had all been about Harry Potter. This was what she was reduced to. An irritating little school girl had been able to blackmail her into writing a story. How pathetic. Rita had been many things before, but never, NEVER pathetic.
Rita removed her brown glass and placed them on the lone table in her tiny apartment. With one hand, fake nails chipped, she rubbed her temple and with the other she reached for the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. The crinkled white pages of the Prophet were spread across her small oak desk on top of numerous other newspapers Rita subscribed to.
Juliana Allured had taken over Rita's once widely read column. The young brunette smiled at her menacingly from the front page. Not only had the disgustingly beautiful reporter taken Rita's place, she stole all of Rita's best ideas. Today there was a story about Azkaban Prison and how everyone had over reacted to the latest breakout. Ha! Rita thought defiantly, Stupid little wench, thinking you know everything…I know the real truth now, something you could never hope to uncover. You're not a real reporter and you never will be. Satisfied with her knowledge at the real danger of the situation Rita turned the paper to the inside pages.
A darkly handsome face, one she hadn't seen for quite some time, jumped out at her from the bottom of the page. His face still managed to start those unwanted feelings stirring around in her stomach. She could feel her face turning red and was grateful it was only the picture blankly staring at her. Not that it mattered if he had been there.
Rita picked up her glasses and focused in on the headline.
Retired Auror to Defend Hogwarts School
She read the article slowly catching her breath and cursing herself for acting so foolish. It was true. The Ministry of Magic had sent Jerimus Brighthall to defend Hogwarts from any possible dark witch or wizard. Rita took in the information most complacently. She felt a little sad for the once famous Auror. Ever since his sight had been taken by Bellatrix Lestrange the Ministry sent him on the most unimportant missions they could find. Rita had interviewed Jerimus both before and after the successful mission to capture Bellatrix after you-know-who had disappeared. His sight was gone but not his instinct. Whether or not the Ministry believed it, Jerimus was still a formidable Auror.
He was still quite young, Rita observed not bothering to hold in a sigh of dismay. She had harbored a deep crush on him for the longest of times. Rita had rarely met someone so open to her in interviews, someone so easy and friendly. He answered most her questions with a beautiful smile and bluntly informed her when he couldn't or didn't wish to. That was the one thing that bugged her about him. He could see right through her phony act, sight or no sight. Jerimus was much younger than she, probably about ten or twelve years, far too much to be looked on as prudent or acceptable. Still, the fact remained and to Rita's surprise after so many years her feelings did to.
In all of her travels, adventures and trouble, Rita had never really fallen in love. She had done questionable things, gone out with the wrong people; put a foot in men's lives but it had all been for her career. She highly doubted if she was in love with young Jerimus Brighthall but he certainly did make her feel different than any other wizard she had ever known. Of course, she had never been in love and she if she ever was to fall in love she doubted if she would recognize the feeling. Besides, he probably didn't even remembered her--correction, he probably didn't remember her fondly.
Rita put down the Daily Prophet and drew her attention away from musing on her difficult feelings for Jerimus. She would probably never see him again anyway, so what did it matter? Besides never falling in love, no one had ever really loved Rita. Her parents were too busy, and making life long friends was not Rita's forte. Like her insignificant role in life, however, Rita contently accepted the fact she was not meant to be loved and hid deeply her attraction to the handsome Auror.
She felt a shiver run down her spine and rose from the dark chair to open the one window in the tiny apartment. Before she lost her job, she had owned a beautiful penthouse apartment overlooking Diagon Alley. Her large collection of antique and rare books had to be sorted and condensed to fit into the small two room apartment. One of the most painful tasks Rita had ever endured was parting with her beloved collection of books. She had saved every book she ever read and then some. From her mother's collection of witch and wizard romance novels to her father's assortment of odd spells and potions instruction manuals to her own set of historical books on various subjects like journalism; all had to be scaled down enough to fit into the two book shelves that covered most of wall of the apartment. The wall opposite the shelves was taken up by the lone window.
With a graceful flick of her wand the maroon curtains opened to reveal a blue sky with clouds looming. In the distance Rita could barely make out the top most Tower of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Being so near the school wasn't in her agenda, but the only apartments she could afford now were very near to the school.
She let the skin warm her pale white skin for a moment before the fear of an unpleasant sun burn entered her mind. She was a little beautiful yet, and she didn't want the sun aging her prematurely. She had always been somewhat vain about her looks and extremely vain about her writing ability. Vanity was part of who she was and she accepted it with stride.
She walked back to the chair and decided to once again look over her latest handiwork appearing in the Quibbler. The title of her own piece surprised her every time she read it.
Harry Potter: Are You On His Side?
To be honest, Rita had never thought it necessary to choose sides. Harry Potter or he-who-must-not-be-named, to her the choice never really seemed important. She, of course, spent her latest article arguing for people to join the fight on Harry Potter's side but only because Hermione still had tight control of her. She put down the paper as the light in her apartment began to diminish. Rita brushed a loose blond curl away from her eyes and glanced out the window. Black clouds swiftly streaked across the sun blocking out the warm rays of yellow light.
Rita shivered again as she approached the window. She drew her experienced eyes upward and saw a green wave of light dancing in the dark clouds. Before her heart could sink in realization of the Death Eaters symbol a knock came to her door. Swiftly she spun around but only in time to see the door burst open.
The hooded figures entered her small apartment. The figure in the center was the tallest; and he stepped forward toward Rita. Despite what many people thought of Rita, she was not, in any sense of the word, a coward. A fraud, a lair, an unhappy old gossip, miserable maybe, but most certainly not a coward. She defiantly faced the tall looming figure as all light outside fled from the darkness.
"My dear Ms. Skeeter," said a man's voice from behind the cloak. He picked up the Quibbler. Rita's throat went dry.
"Printing such stories about Harry Potter, despite the fact no one believes you, does not sit well with our master," the man taunted. Rita desperately tried not to think of who the man meant by saying 'master.' To hide her fear she lifted her chin a bit higher.
"Still proud I see," the man said. "We want to know Ms. Skeeter. Whose side are you on? You see, judging by this article I would say you are the enemy. Now, I would hate to have to make an example out of such a charming and beloved celebrity, but I'm afraid you leave me no choice. Unless, of course…" The man trailed off.
Rita bit her bottom lip and looked to her side. There was a tiny crack in the window were she had opened it earlier. A crack that might allow her to fit through…
"What?" Rita demanded, surprised at the strength of her own voice.
"You swear allegiance to Voldemort and his followers, join the Death Eaters and we will spare you the most unpleasant of tortures."
Rita was beginning to feel that she could no longer stay ambiguous in the fight between good and evil. Certainly Rita knew the good side from the bad; everything had always been black and white to her. The grey came in when she thought of the pain she would endure if she chose poorly. To serve the most powerful wizard in the world, one whom death itself could not defeat, or to serve a spoiled little brat of boy, barely old enough to tie his shoes. The choice was an easy one for Rita, surprisingly easy. It was due to that damn Hermione Granger.
The cloaked man must have seen in Rita's eyes what she was planning. Just as she transformed into the smallest of creatures, a tiny beetle, the cloaked man yelled a curse at her.
"Crucio," he said with wand pointed. The full force of the curse missed, but in her tiny alternate form she felt pain spread from side to side. She flew in a rough pattern, swerving from left to right with every surge of pain. Her mind began to cloud over but one thought persisted. If she could get to Hogwarts. If she could find Harry, or Hermione or Jerimus. They could help. They could, but would they? She began to doubt the closer she got to Hogwarts. Harry and Hermione despised her and Jerimus… who knew what he thought of her.
Ahead she could see the light burning in the Hogwarts Tower. Her wings ached with each repetition up and down. Her insides grew twisted from pain, her breathing became more ragged. She spotted an open window, she flew towards it. She didn't think she had the strength to maintain her beetle form. The cold stone of the window frame scraped against her body. She lost control of her powers. The floor of the Gryffindor dormitory was the last thing Rita saw before she blacked out from pain.