A/N: This was supposed to be the original chapter fourteen but I felt it was too busy, and it made Malcolm into a more important player than he really is. In the end I decided to ignore Rita Skeeter altogether since she gets her comeuppance from Hermione, anyway. I just wanted to show you what might have been.









Chapter Fourteen: The Fourteenth Chapter

"Malcolm," Ron called out, "How are you this morning?"

"Fine," Malcolm said, "Are you and Harry still fighting?"

"Of course not."

"Do you talk to each other?"

"Why should we?"

Malcolm shook his head. "Ron, I appreciate the fact that you're being nice to me, but it is getting annoying. You know Harry didn't do anything wrong. I told you that. Hermione told you that. Even Dennis Creevey told you that."

"Only because you told him to."

"That's beside the point," Malcolm said, "The point is, you're wrong to be jealous of him. You're the lucky one. You don't have reporters writing lies about you, just to sell their papers."

"Like that story about you being born with two heads."

[He would remember that one.]

"Yeah, like that one."

"Well," Ron said, "I'll think about it. What are you planning on doing today?"

"I was going to meet Hagrid for my Care of Magical Creatures class. Do you want to join us?"

*

Malcolm walked down to Hagrid's hut when a lady, who could best be described as slick, stopped him.

"You're Malcolm," the lady said, "I'm Rita Skeeter. I did an article on your family history."

"Yeah, I read it. It's a bunch of lies you know."

"Oh really," Rita Skeeter with absolutely no surprise.

"That's right," Malcolm said, "A friend started the rumor as a joke, and it got out of hand. I only found out all about it, when I read your article."

"And you are an avid reader?"

"Uh, Yeah," Malcolm said, "I love your stuff. But I was thinking about that article. It went well with that followup about my charity work at the hospital, but eventually somebody's going to find out the truth about me."

Rita gave her oiliest smile, "and you would like me to smooth things out for you."

"In a way," Malcolm said, returning the smile, "My guess is you'll break the story first, once you know it's going to become public knowledge. That will leave me as either a scheming little runt, or a poor little boy who was lied to and used. I just wanted a heads up on which way it flows."

Rita frowned, "You want a heads up? I don't understand."

"Sorry," Malcolm said, "I just want to know how you're going to write it. I want to know whether or not to cry when the story breaks."

"I understand," Rita Skeeter said, "You know my style, Malcolm. Unless, I get a good reason, I'll have to tell everyone that you were leading us on. The public won't like that."

"Miss Skeeter, "Malcolm said with a nasty grin, "You know that isn't true. Everyone loves a bad boy. They feel so much better by comparison."

"Malcolm," Rita Skeeter said, "When I'm done with you, you won't even like yourself."

"Okay," Malcolm said, "I tried to be nice about it, so you'd better write your story fast. Wizard Weekly is talking to me after they're done with their photo shoot for the tournament. I'll just have to make a full confession to them. They'll probably ask you to comment."

"That is a pitiful threat, Malcolm," Rita said, "and I've been threatened by experts."

"That wasn't a threat," Malcolm said, "but this is. I have friends, and if you really know about me, you know who I mean. I don't like all of your publicity, and I don't want it. Take potshots at anyone else. I don't care. But leave me out of it."

"I'm frightened," Rita said laughing. "Really, Malcolm, try to come up with a better threat than that."

"Okay," Malcolm said, "How about this for a threat," and he pointed upward.

Rita looked up and saw hundreds of owls perched on the balconies and overhangs of the school, or flying around overhead. "I don't understand?" she said on a confused note.

"I told you," Malcolm said, "I have friends. What good is your paper if you can't get it delivered. If I ask my friends for a favor, they'll do it." He then called out, "Thanks, guys," and the owls flew back to the owlery, except for one white owl. She flew by Malcolm and playfully hit his head with a wing, then landed lightly on his shoulder.

Malcolm smiled as the first beads of perspiration appeared on Rita Skeeter's forehead. "Do we have a deal?"

"It'll only take one article, Malcolm, and. . ."

". . .you're out of a job. Is it a deal?"

"Yes," Rita muttered, and entered the building uttering words that quite a few students had never heard before."

[Yeah, that's right. I got all of the owls to do me a favor. They like me. Of course, they all want a favor from me. It's hard to explain, but. . .they want me to be more of an owl. I have to talk to Dumbledore about that. I guess I should have talked to him first.]

*

It was a near thing, but Albus Dumbledore kept control of himself. Suppressing the urge to laugh, he asked Malcolm to repeat what he had just said.

"It's the owls, Sir. They did me a favor to help with all of that publicity, and they want me to do a favor in return. They want me to, um, take lessons."

"Lessons on being an owl." Albus said, his hands covering his mouth.

"Yeah, they complain I don't fly enough, and I hardly ever deliver any mail," Malcolm said, scraping his feet on the carpet.

[I swear, he's laughing at me.]

"Very well, Malcolm. On free weekends but no more than twice a month, you can train to be a proper owl. You can go now."

Professor McGonagall walked into the office as Malcolm was leaving. As he walked down the steps, he heard the headmaster say, "Minerva, you will not believe what that boy has gotten himself into this time."

"I heard that," Malcolm called back.

"I know," Albus said, smugly.

*

"Are you ready for this weekend?" Draco asked.

"That seminar, I guess," Malcolm said. "Last year it was trying to get nights free, now it's my weekends. I have the seminar this weekend. Next weekend I go to the hospital to either entertain the kids, or talk to that doctor. The kids win out there."

"I'll help you with that," Draco assured him.

"Anyway, the weekend after that I get to spend as an owl."

"I love the way you say that with a straight face. That's the weekend of the Tournament."

Malcolm debated telling Draco and decided, "I owe the owls a favor. I have to be an owl for at least one weekend a month, no more than two."

"It must have been a big favor," Draco said, nodding his head.

"It's a conditional favor," Malcolm said, "If that Skeeter lady writes another article about me, they're going to refuse to deliver the Daily Prophet."

"All of the owls?" Draco asked.

"Most of them, I think," Malcolm said, "You have to understand, they really like me. They really really like me."

[That sounded fake.]

Draco walked away, shaking his head.