Author's Notes: So another one-shot side piece to Birds become Dragons. This one also stands on its own. If you are reading BbD, then this is parallel to chapter 20. I couldn't stop the blasted bunnies.
If you are not reading Birds become Dragons, this is an AU were Delphini is not raised by the Rowles
The Scoop of Her Life
Rita was wandering through Diagon Alley with nothing specific in her mind. She had toned down the green of her clothes in an attempt at discretion. Her prime targets would always develop ingrown mechanisms to dodge green bright shapes, topped by gold blonde stiff curls. Scandalous news had been down for a while now. The Golden Trio had settled down and there was nothing she could explore and mould into something that would sell. Hopefully, today would be the day something noteworthy happened in Diagon Alley. Although since a dragon had flown away from Gringott's with three Hogwarts dropouts on its back, the bar was much higher.
She saw Andromeda Tonks, eyed her carefully, assessing, searching for an angle in which to depict the mourning widow of a battle-fallen hero of the war, grieving the loss of her daughter at the hands of her sister. She wished for the boy to be by her side. A picture of the two of them would go a long way; she could build on their tragedy. But alas, the child has not come. He is probably with his godfather or at the Weasley's. That's no good for her; she will be hexed out of both places.
Another blonde catches her eye. This one is all poise and composure, dressed in white, standing out in the bustling street. Her long white blonde hair is carefully collected on her head. Narcissa Malfoy and Andromeda Tonks in Diagon Alley. Her mind jostles with possibilities. The estranged sisters coming together after decades of separation, mending each other's wounds of war... all she needs is for them to cross paths, so that she can get them on the same frame. The Prophet will sell through the roof!
Her mind halts suddenly, derailing at once. Her foot slips on the cobblestones and she keeps standing only because her photographer is close enough for her to lean on.
Oh my! Oh my! Sweet Merlin's balls! She has a child with her! That hair, oh my, that hair! And her features…
Passers-by have noticed too. They do double takes, their eyes bulge, they talk...
She must be Bellatrix and Rodolphus'! The girl bears such a resemblance to Lord Voldemort's most dangerous subject there is simply no other option. The Prophet's editor is going to jump off his chair when I walk in with this scoop. A Death Eater's secret child being raised by the Malfoys! Moreover, the relentless she-warrior, named after the warrior star itself, had forfeited her love of battle for enough time to bear a pureblood child for the Dark Lord's ranks. What a faithful servant indeed.
Now she needs proof and nothing is better than a photograph of Narcissa Malfoy and her secret niece.
"You, hide in some corner, be discreet about it. I need perfect pictures of Narcissa Malfoy with that girl, do you understand? Ruin this by being noticed and I'll make sure not even the Quibler will hire you!"
I need to get close. I need a name. I need to quote Narcissa talking to her.
She had lost them! So enwrapped in planning her course of action she was that she had lost sight of her targets.
Now, which shop? Where would Mrs. Malfoy take her niece? She's about what? Seven? She's tall enough to be older... What do eight year old girls like?
Her attention was disrupted at that. She felt like someone was watching her. Her eyes pierced every window in her surroundings and then they found her. A girl of black curls had noticed her from Fortescue's. Her head was slightly turned, her chin at an angle, like she was assessing her. When the white shape in front of her caught sight of the girl's actions, she too looked. Rita quickly moved into the shadows.
If they had kept her a secret for this long, it would not do to be seen about to break it all over a front page. This was a job not for her quill but for her Animagus. Walking into Fortescue's would gather too much attention. Narcissa would no doubt recognize her, she would know her game and take her niece away. The Black sisters never liked her in school. Bellatrix had shared a dormitory with her. The truth of it was that Bellatrix tolerated her enough to allow her to stay. The oldest Black had a knack for viciousness even then and did not hesitate to let her know how she was despised for being a filthy half-blood.
Well, revenge is a dish better served cold, dear Bella...
She would have hurt her for that. Bella was a private nickname, allowed to a very strict group of purebloods in Bellatrix's circle at Hogwarts. Rita still remembers the screams of an infatuated Gryffindor boy who had tried a move on the proud Black. And the rod-straight Bellatrix walking to Dumbledore's office, wearing her defiance of school rules like a trophy, smugness at the knowledge that no other boy would even think to pull such a stunt again. They were only in third year by then.
If that girl has half of her Mother's personality she is a menace to society already! How I can see the newspapers flying, still warm off the prints! Well then, let's beetle on!
Taking care not to be noticed approaching the ice cream shop, she walked down a few more doors. Then she changed and caught a ride on people's shoulders and hats until there was a green beetle inside Fortescue's. She flew to the top of the girl's chair.
"...where did you go?"
She takes her time, appreciating the child. Her perfect demeanour, her keen voice, not shrill like one would expect from a girl of about eight. The way the girl evaluates her Aunt's answer, determining what to believe and what not to. Oh my, am I onto something...
This girl is special. She can just tell that something lurks under her skin, behind her incredible emerald like eyes, something that lures others in. She must have her family wrapped around her little fingers already, but she will grow to be a leader on her own. Merlin, she is Bella's! She forces herself to pay attention to the conversation again. Damned little witch is luring me without even knowing.
"What is wrong with us? Why are people looking at us?"
Narcissa's breath becomes shallow; she tells the girl a half-truth.
"You are a very pretty child. And you look like your mother so much. Many people knew her, you just remind them of her. Bella had that effect on people. She was always memorable."
Oh she was memorable indeed. And she will make my scoop all the more memorable.
She decides to move, she wants to be closer to Narcissa, not only to listen to what sort of explanation other than "your mother was a vicious woman capable of gory murder first thing in the morning" she is going to come up with, but also because she will have a better view of the girl.
Except that the girl somehow sees her in her peripheral and manages to hit her with a pale little hand. Her present size is no match and she has absolutely no control of her flight for a moment.
When she regains it, it's too late. She is helplessly headed for a bowl of ice cream, there is no dodging it.
She is putting her beetle-self back together, drenched in sundae as she is when she feels an unbearable amount of pain. She isn't sure about who's screaming, but she is almost certain beetles can't. She completely loses focus and feels adrift in pain. When she gets her bearings back, she has to fight a huge puddle of melted sweetness. Narcissa and the girl are on their way out and she has no way of catching up in her predicament.
She slowly makes it outside, deep into a side street where she can turn back quietly, access all the damage to her hairdo and flashy outfit, and fix it peaceful and efficiently. She dwells on the pain and on the melting, boiling ice cream. The girl! Are they teaching her already?
Then she chastises herself for not having a name. A confirmation. She must head for the Ministry now, and search through the registry for the youngest Lestrange.
The photographer awaits her further down Diagon Alley. He has a self-satisfied grin on, that becomes contagious when he tells her of the photographs he managed to take. He used a family taking pictures across the street as disguise of the flashes of his own camera. That part is done, then. She orders him away, to reveal the photographs, swearing that being hired by the Quibbler will be his wildest dream should he ruin her story now.
She makes for the Ministry.
X
In the registry, after several menaces of digging up dirt that doesn't exist but that the employees fear all the same, Rita is going through the late 90's.
Not having a clue of the girl's name, she has opted for pointing her wand at the parchment files looking for any Lestrange entries.
A single piece of parchment flies to her open hand. Deft fingers stretch out the wrinkles and hungry eyes absorb any and all words.
"Delphini Celaeno Black Lestrange, born on July 28th, 1997 to Bellatrix Lestrange née Black and Rodolphus Lestrange", she mutters as she reads, "the Malfoys signed as witnesses, and were named her legal guardians..." Such pride Bella, naming the girl after a star and keeping your own family name, she muses.
Her eyes trace the remaining words, until they land on something truly interesting. The registry of this hidden child was filled almost a year later. Actually, the day after the Battle of Hogwarts.
Her mind tries to make sense of it and fails. They had the Ministry in their hands for months before the Battle, why would they keep a pureblood baby born to their highest ranks a secret for so long? The girl could have been used as propaganda for an upcoming generation of pureblood fighters for Lord Voldemort…
She quickly dismisses it as a gap left for her to fill in the most dramatic, factitious way she can conjure up with her quill. She will write first, look for another angle later and never again think of the truth. Like every time before.
Dear Bella must be turning in her grave! Except she doesn't have one, she was turned to ashes. For good measure, just in case. Now there's an interesting angle...
Rita Skeeter is the true embodiment of smugness on her leave from the registry, dodging the flying pieces of parchment that signal new wizards and witches. Just before leaving, she thinks of trying her luck with the Aurors. An interview with the imprisoned father of the secret child of darkness, now that would be the best selling title of the last eight years... She decides against it in the end. The Aurors would ask questions and she would have to tell them a bit and a version of her motives. Tsk, tsk, Rita. One first page at a time.
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