This is a one-shot about two people in the Harry Potter universe, who, in my opinion, should have been a couple in the first place. To my great astonishment, there are very few fanfics with that pairing, so I took the liberty to offer those two most appealing and charming characters a pleasant evening together.
After all, Rita Skeeter and Lucius Malfoy are not even allowed to meet each other in Rowling's books, let alone develop the fragile, intriguing and enchanting first steps of romantic love.
But beware: this story will not contain slash, but female-male relationship, including extramarital kisses, indecent words, exposed body parts, and practices the author herself only knows from literature. If you can't take it, don't review it. : )
Pride and Procrastination
Chapter 1: A reason to celebrate
Success. Finally, after months of painstaking preparation, he had made the last decisive step in his refined and long-figured out plan. And now it grew obvious that all his effort, his fraud and deceit, always facing the danger that Lord Voldemort would detect his true intentions, would be rewarded.
Hardly able to hide the self-satisfied smile that urged to flush through his face, Lucius Malfoy strode along the main street in Hogsmeade. It had been an exhausting, but very promising day. If his plan worked out, he would finally resume his well-deserved position as the Dark Lord's second. A soft chuckle escaped his lips when he stepped elegantly aside to make way for a witch with two little children, which the woman mistook as a polite smile and thanked him with a soft "Thank you."
"You're welcome." He nodded absent-mindedly, and his mind turned back to the original cause for his amusement. Bellatrix. She had made a fatal mistake by telling the captured Ministry member of the Dark Lord's plan to attack the Ministry, of course assuming he would never have the chance to tell anyone and only to tease him, but, well, he had. And naturally he had warned the Minister for Magic and all of her refined schemes were obsolete. The escape had been miraculous and unexplainable for her or her fellows, except for Malfoy of course. After all, once he had known that Bellatrix had let slip the information, he was bound to use that fact for his own cause, wasn't he? His actions had done no harm to the Dark Lord's cause, but had been only supposed to make Lord Voldemort question Bellatrix' competence and effort. And, no surprise, it had worked. The Dark Lord had been very displeased with his Bella, and although he had not killed her, her chances of ever regaining his full trust and getting her former position were extremely limited.
With an elegant movement and an almost unmalfoyishly good temper, he hopped from the street back on the sidewalk, artistically side-stepping a ruddy cat that was hurrying across his path. He was about to pass the 'Three Broomsticks', when he decided that this was indeed an occasion to celebrate.
There weren't many patrons in the pub, which he welcomed anyway. It was enough that the old fraud of a barkeeper wasn't bothering to hide her unjustified, bold disapproval of him. Every single time he honoured the pub with his presence, shefound an inappropriate opportunity to display her lack of appreciation for him. Even now, she kept distractedly wiping the already highly polished bar instead of attending to him immediately.
Slightly aggravated, he cleared his throat, throwing her a disparaging look and patted the bar impatiently and very audibly with his flat hand. This time, his mood was too delighted to allow himself to get annoyed by that little barmaid.
Finally, after endless more minutes of doing unnecessary work instead of her duty, the shabby-looking woman looked up and slouched towards him. Blatant disrespect was oozing from her expression when she addressed him in a silky, bored voice:
"Evening, Mr Malfoy." she said, obviously not caring for her patron's offended glare. However, Malfoy decided not to complain about her lack of manners, feeling far above that kind of reprimand.
"Evening, waitress." He snarled, inwardly wondering why she would narrow her eyes on him.
"Fire whiskey on ice. If you're awake already, that is." He instructed impatiently.
Rosmerta raised her eyebrows. There was a mild ironic edge in her features when she answered: "Very well." and kept on wiping the shiny wood without hurry before she went for the bottles which were magically fastened on the wall behind her.
Lazily, showing an attitude that shamelessly dishonoured the very name of bar personnel, she fetched a glass and held it below the overlarge whiskey-bottle. When the glass was not even filled with half the usual amount of liquid, she set it down, grabbed her wand and aimed it at the water container dangling from the wall on the very right. Biting on her tongue while concentrating, which was a disgusting thing to watch, she waiting for the first huge drop of water flopping out, and while it was still dangling from the tap, just before falling down, she aimed her wand at it and muttered: "Fridgerate!"
Immediately, the drop stiffened, grew whiter and finally turned into an ice cubicle, which dropped right into the glass below, dismounting several drops of the precious liquid.
By the time the other four cubicles had followed, the personified clumsiness on two thick legs had managed to pour half the whiskey back out, but still dared to serve him the drink.
"There you are, Mr Malfoy." She stated, without any comment on her own mistake, let alone any offer to serve him a substitute.
It was a sign of Malfoy's well-bred manners and ever-present politeness that he didn't take the glass to pour it in her plain, insolent face, but pulled it towards him and only snarled at her: "Too kind of you, waitress. – But tell me, what must I do to get a glass that's a quarter full instead of almost empty? Order a beer?"
"Sorry?" said the waitress, unaware of her incompetence.
With incredible patience, he took up the glass and shook it slightly in front of her face. "I ordered fire-whiskey, if I remember correctly, not flavoured ice cubicles, waitress."
"You asked me to bring you a fire-whiskey on ice. – That's what you've got, isn't it?" Malfoy stared at her in disbelief. Instead of showing the slightest sign of gratefulness for his encouragement to do her work properly, she dared talk back to him.
"You forget who you are, and who you speak to, waitress." He spat.
"Nope, actually I haven't. – I happen to be the owner of the bar, if I remember correctly. You know, the one who can throw you out if you make trouble." Rosmerta's voice was now devoid of any friendliness and servitude, but cold and disparaging.
Praising himself for his patience and coolness, Malfoy managed to pull his lips into something that resembled a smile. "Well, as the owner, you should know how much whiskey to serve, shouldn't you? – I wish a new one. Immediately!"
"Fine." Rosmerta shrugged her shoulders, unabashed. She grabbed behind her and brought up a normal sized bottle, which she set down fairly hard in front of Malfoy. "Help yourself, then."
Malfoy glared after her when she moved to a table with new guests. The owner of a bar, he thought. He was the owner of a magnificent, huge manor, vast grounds, and not to forget, a well-renowned family name. – The owner of a pub, right? – Puh! Well, as far as he was concerned, she wasn't worth to serve him his tea, let alone his fire-whiskey, he thought, pouring himself a properly filled glass.
Sipping at his whiskey, relishing silently in the feeling of being superior, even to Lestrange in fact – he observed the servant absent-mindedly. The sloppy, homely-looking waitress was now lazily strolling through the room, obviously not used to hard work – or any real work for that matter – and reached a table with new guests. Oh, what a nice surprise, Malfoy thought scornfully. The decrepit Muggle-loving fool and the old hag. Of course. They were chatting happily with the girl, even inviting her to sit down with them. It seemed like they had taken a break of their troublesome jobs at Hogwarts to meet people who were stupid enough to tolerate them, for a change. Of course, getting drunk would be their only option to escape their pointless little lives.
Now, the waitress was actually sitting down at their table, neglecting her job as usual, and, of course, assuming an equal level with her guests. Well, in case of those guests, she probably was.
Malfoy shrugged and poured himself another drink, like this was his job rather than the servant's.
When the white-haired disgrace for wizardkind and the ancient woman who looked like his grandma, and was an insult to everyone' s eyes, finally left, Malfoy made a good job of displaying them his most scornful expression when they passed him. If they were impressed, he could not tell, but there was no reason to doubt it.
When he let his glance wander through the room, his attention was turned to a table with a group of four people, all dressed in black, rather elegant business cloaks. They were not talking to each other, but merely staring in front of them, without anything to drink on the table. Obviously, the servant had noticed that, too. She was approaching the table somewhat carefully, and sure enough, once she had opened her mouth, the whole bunch of them jumped into action. One of the men conjured up a little organiser in which he scribbled several lines, while turning away from Rosmerta, so that she couldn't see. Another suddenly held a camera in his hand and started to shoot photos of the startled waitress, who desperately tried to shield her eyes. So she was caught off guard when their colleague grabbed her hand, poured a dark, thick substance on it, before he pressed the trembling hand palm down on a blank piece of parchment, which was gone as quickly as he had retrieved it, exactly like the camera and the other men's little book.
"What..." Rosmerta gasped in shock, "what is that supp... argghh!"
The only woman of the group had flung herself up and stepped behind the waitress, now pushing her upper body roughly onto the table. One of her colleagues was so kind to assist by holding Rosmerta there by her hair, while the other two grabbed her wrists, so that her unreasonably waving arms couldn't hurt anyone.
While Malfoy was gratefully enjoying the splendid entertainment and the other guests were watching the scene somewhat scared, uncertain how to react, the black-dressed woman threw the waitress's cloak over Rosmerta's head and began to search her for any hidden weapons, making a good job of ignoring the terrified sounds under the thick cloak.
The cloak was pulled back from her face by the man who had taken her handprint before, but only to drag her face up, then dive it into a bowl with ink and shortly after that into another bowl with a muddy substance, which served to push the waitress's face in. The man made no hurry in rolling her face from the left to the right and back, but worked very careful and disciplined to do his job properly. When he was done, the bowls vanished with a soft 'swish' and Rosmerta could start to breath again, which was interrupted by some vicious cough attacks.
Finally, the woman behind Rosmerta stood, nodded to her colleagues to let the waitress go, and informed the three men in a professional, business-like manner: "Clean." Her voice was slightly hoarse, as if she wasn't used to speaking that much.
"Oh my God...what...why...?" Rosmerta stuttered, steadying herself, completely bewildered.
"Security measures." One of the men informed her cooly. "You were accosting us." Another added accusingly.
"I...was going to ask you what you'd like to drink..." Rosmerta said slowly, still unbelieving what just had happened.
The violent woman gave her a friendly, yet somewhat arrogant nod. "We'd like four beers, please."
"O...kay." Rosmerta whispered after a short silence and cleared her throat. "Uh...anything else?"
One of the men narrowed his eyes and rose, supporting himself with his hands on the table.
"And why would you want to know that?"
The waitress shook her head forcefully, causing several drops of ink flying through the room. "No, I don't...I ... uh, it's not my business, anyway, really. I was only tr..."
"What is not your business?" The man was standing next to her now, his inquisitive face only some inches away from hers.
"No...nothing."
"What is she playing at?" the woman asked the others suspiciously, throwing Rosmerta a look of pure loathing.
It was enough for Rosmerta. She wriggled herself out of the man's reach and said: "Four beers, then. Thanks." With slow, cautious steps she headed for the bar.
Malfoy grinned knowingly. It was not difficult to say who those people were. Ministry, obviously. But neither aurors nor administrative staff would act that way. But there was one department whose employees weren't used to contact with normal people so much, and where a certain degree of healthy paranoia was an obligatory requirement. The department of Mysteries. – He relished for a moment in the imagination what had happened to the waitress if she had asked for their names.
Another guest stood up and laid a comforting arm over Rosmerta's shoulder, while throwing the unaffected group behind her a fairly poisonous, accusing look. However, the obviously shocked waitress just smiled at her gratefully and approached the bar, wiping a few tears out of her eyes. Her vision was so blurred that she wasn't even aware she was passing Malfoy on the way.
"And a beer for me, too, while you're on it! – Waitress!" He snarled at her harshly, making her flinch in spite of herself. A blurred vision was no excuse for ignoring a Malfoy.
However, when he watched her hurrying behind the bar and rummaging with the glasses and bottles, clearly still in shock, Malfoy felt a sudden twinge of guilt, which felt strangely unfamiliar. But deep inside, he felt extremely generous today, and all of a sudden, the idea came to his mind that he could try to cheer her up. Malfoy chivalry. After all, it wasn't like him to make a woman cry. And it was indeed a challenge to think of a way how to make up for his former remark. It was obvious that the thing that woman needed most was dressing advice. Yes, that he could do.
When she passed him, Malfoy turned around and made a good job of staring up and down at her pointedly, to give her a discreet, useful hint to the state of her clothes, which was much more than she deserved, but Malfoy was in an extremely good mood today, which he loved to share with everyone. After all, it was not only her complete lack of taste, which was displayed in an almost offending way by her choice of colours, but also her blouse was crumpled, her skirt too long, and her apron had spots on it. All in all, the waitress had an incredibly slovenly, unkempt appearance, which was bound to provoke complaints.
He couldn't believe his own selflessness to bring her attention to that. In fact, he wasn't used to that kind of support for inferiors, but on the other side, as a member of one of the most renowned families, he had certain obligations to care for the less worthy.
"Anything wrong?" the girl snarled at him, devoid of any gratitude or appreciation.
"Oh, not much." He answered generously. "It's just that your appearance hurts my eyes, and everyone else's. You look like something that just crawled out of a dustbin." He was too much of a gentleman to elaborate. However, although he didn't mean it as an insult, he considered it appropriate to use such plain words to bring the message home to her. Sometimes, you had to be cruel to be kind.
If she possessed a rest of decency and the slightest ability to answer impartial criticism, she would be abashed and thank him modestly for his good advice.
So, even such a excellent judge of character like Lucius Malfoy was astonished and slightly taken aback by her unreasonable reaction.
Her mouth went open, as if she couldn't believe what he had just told her. His first conclusion that she was touched by his courage to inform her openly of her mistakes, was proved wrong when she uttered her reply, which displayed her disability to bear criticism.
"Oh, do I, Malfoy? – Well, I must admit, I do find that a bit rich of someone who's got a dustbin for a brain."
Very tight-lipped, she flung herself around and slouched away to disserve other customers, leaving a very offended Death Eater behind.
That to him. For ignoring his justified, usual habit of disdaining to speak with people like her, let alone to be of assistance to them. If it hadn't been for the fact that he was in an extremely good mood, for very good reason, he would have been livid by that bold and disrespectful remark.
But anyway, he'd had enough for today. He stood, unusually clumsily, and was about to head for the door, when he received a forceful push in the back and nearly tripled over. But still, he managed to use the bar for support and flung himself around, half furious, half alarmed. Two small hands were gripping his shirt, and finally, her realised that a woman had run right into him and was attempting to steady herself, muttering angry words at him.
"Err, sorry, " he said to the bushy ball of red hair in front of his face, "I didn't see that anyone was cross... – oh, look who it is!" His attitude had changed considerably when the woman had straightened up and looked at him.
"Yes, look who it is, Malfoy!" Rita Skeeter snapped and gave him another, this time deliberate push against his chest. "Don't stand there, in my way, I'm here for very important business. – Over here, Bobo!" The last instruction was aimed at her panting colleague who was balancing an overlarge camera over his arm and shoulder and dragging some heavy-looking further equipment behind him. Fastened around his neck, there was a huge violet bag dangling in front of his chest, sporting in too bright to be stylish colours the writing "Rita Skeeter, special correspondent !" beneath a very, very flattering grinning photo of the woman. But right now, she wasn't in the mood for joking. Rita was very much in a hurry, even too much to take the time for the usual teases, an occasion so rare that Malfoy couldn't but wonder why. She pointed at some people at the end of the bar, sitting around a table near the wall. "Hurry, we're late already. Hope you have everything with you, for a change!" A last scornful, disapproving look at Malfoy, and she was gone, heading for the group.
Malfoy nodded after her, an ironic look on his face, and spoke, more to himself than to Bobo: "What a pleasant person, isn't she?"
It was a sign of how much Bobo was crossed and tired of being ordered around that he started to complain to Malfoy of all people, taking his rhetorical question as an invitation.
"You know what," he muttered absent-mindedly, earning a rather disinterested, but mock polite glance of Malfoy, "I won't take this much longer. Have many offers, I can tell you, I don't need to work for the 'Daily Prophet', you know? Next year this time I'll laugh in her face, when I have my own photo agency or work for some decent paper. – All the time chasing after new secrets of Harry Potter, really pis..."
"Harry Potter?" Malfoy interrupted him sharply. His glance wandered from the frustrated photographer to the group of three men and, including Skeeter, two women, who were chatting very lively. "That's what this interview is about?"
Bobo shrugged, gave a low sigh and started to stroll to the table. "That's what most of her – uhum – research is about. Spends all the Prophet's expenses for pointless interviews and doesn't even hesitate to invite the "Invisibles" around, who'll tell her nothing, but will only make her pay through her nose. And they hate photographers. That woman is a complete lunatic. Who unfortunately considers herself my boss. - And me something like her house-elf, obviously."
The photographer's bitter words conjured a mild grin on Malfoy's face. But apart from the dunghead's depression, he thought, this could indeed be interesting news. Of course he knew about Skeeter's...reliability, and her abysmally poor writing and research skills, but that group didn't look completely incompetent. He reckoned he should use some of his own research abilities.
"Thanks, my young friend," he muttered and gave a short nod over to the bar. "Listen, Bobo, why don't you ask that disaffected barkeeper to hand you a nice tea-towel to wear?" He clapped the man softly on the back and sat back at the bar. "On me." He added, ignoring Bobo's look of offence and indignation.
"Very funny." Bobo hissed behind his back, so that Malfoy could feel his breath against his neck, which he ignored of course, as an argument like this was far beneath his dignity. "Laughing my head off!" Bobo exclaimed sarcastically. "And it's not Bobo! – It's Mr Robbins for you, Malfoy. And if we were on first name terms," Bobo continued, "it would be 'Robert'. Or 'Bob' by all means. But not 'Bobo'! Make a note if you must! – Most people wouldn't even call their house-elf 'Bobo'. I offered her a thousand times to call me 'Bob', but she just doesn't seem to get it!" Bobo sighed with true frustration. "I'm so sick of it." He muttered.
Malfoy would have been amused if he had listened properly, but there was a new thought crossing his mind, that was too promising to be ignored. Skeeter talking with Invisibles, and probably about Potter, too... he was bound to inform the Dark Lord of this meeting. This evening had started very entertaining, and now it turned out that he would spend the rest of it with one of those Ministry members or Skeeter herself in the Dark Lord's dungeons. Not bad either. As long as it wasn't Bobo of course. But that seemed very unlikely.
He threw some galleons on the bar and strolled out of the room in a non-committal manner.
Around ten minutes later, he had Dissapparated to the Dark Lord's lair and had just been allowed to enter.
"Mylord." He muttered and sank to one knee, his head lowered respectfully.
"Lucius, old friend," Lord Voldemort answered in a low, stinging voice. "Stand and let me know the reason why you dare disturb me in my preparations. – It will be something seriously important, I presume, surely, you wouldn't want to experience my displeasure?"
In an elegant movement, Malfoy got to his feet and looked the other man in his eyes, his head still slightly inclined.
"Yes, master. I would have never dared disturb you for anything else."
"Then speak."
Malfoy nodded nervously and cleared his throat. He had been positive that the news were definitely important enough, but now, being stared at by those red merciless eyes, the seed of doubt was fertilising his growing fear..
"Yes, Mylord. On my way home through Hogsmeade, I met Rita Skeeter by mistake, and her unusual secretive attitude made me suspect she was up to something. I followed her to the "Three Broomsticks", where she met four informants, who looked like Ministry employees. By using her photographer's naivety, I made him reveal to me what she was up to at the moment. And he said that it might have something to do with Harry Potter. And just now she is obviously interviewing some members of the department of Mysteries."
Silence. He heard his master breath deeply a few times, but waited in patience. Then...
"Indeed, Lucius, that could be of interest to me. And the fact that her photographer told you rather than herself, implies that this could be the truth. – Anyway, it's worth to do some research."
Malfoy looked up to him, a small smile curling around his lips. "Do you wish me to get hold of her after her meeting and bring her to you, Mylord?"
"Oh no, you won't, Lucius." Lord Voldemort refused in a voice that sounded like a protest. Soon, his voice turned back to normal, and he elaborated.
"I do not wish Rita Skeeter to come to my house. Not as guest, not as a prisoner, not as a journalist. We must find another way, or maybe you'd fancy to take her to Malfoy Manor, Lucius?"
It sounded more like a threat than a suggestion. Skeeter in his dungeons? In spite of himself, Malfoy shook his head. That wouldn't do. The Potter brat hadn't been the only one who had fallen victim to old Rita's wild imagination and libel campaign. It had sufficed to give him the right impression of her. And no matter what he would inflict on her, there was no doubt that he would be the one to suffer more. Besides, people would ask. No-one would miss her, obviously, but people would wonder what had happened. Her editor for a start.
"Mylord," he began, realising that his silent deliberations had taken much too long, "Please accept my apologies. I have been stupid. May I ask you to explain your plan with her?" He seriously hoped that would conclude the affair with Malfoy Manor.
Lord Voldemort smirked at him, knowingly. His voice turned soft and silky when he spoke: "My, Lucius, of course I accept your apologies. Haven't I always? – Well, I would think that Skeeter is not the person that requires those measures you implied. I'm quite sure she would be willing to reveal to you anything you ask her if you just ... appeal to her self-admiration a little. – Make her compliments, assure her in her unjustified self-assessment that she has any journalistic skills, praise her beauty, anything – sleep with her if you must, but make her tell you whom she has met there."
"M...Mylord!" It was a sign of Malfoy's long-trained composure that he was only muttering his question, which was supposed to be an upset outcry of protest, disbelief and indignation.
"Any problem with carrying out my instruction, Lucius? Again?" Lord Voldemort's voice left no room for arguing, but still, his order had been so unusual that Malfoy gave it another try.
"No, Mylord, of course not. – I admit I was merely... surprised that you wished me to ... to go that far?"
"Lucius, Lucius, your duty to me does indeed include those things that might contradict to your normal social behaviour, or the fact that you're married. – If you do not see that, I'm afraid that you might have the wrong priorities. – Maybe I should correct them one of these days."
Malfoy sank to his knee again. "I feel ashamed of myself, master, please forgive me. I beg you to have no doubts in my loyalty. I will do as you wish... Master."
"I thought as much. – Right, Lucius, then Apparate to the "Three Broomsticks" at once and get in touch with her. Now!"
With a last obedient nod, Malfoy stood and muttered "Yes, Mylord", before he did as he was told.
In front of the pub, he gave a low sigh, before he entered. Now, why did he have to inform the Dark Lord right away? If he ever did such a thing as slapping himself inwardly, he would do it now.
'Right, Lucius', he thought, anxious not to make his reprimand too off-putting, 'now you've brought yourself in real trouble. – Brilliant idea.'
But could he have expected that, instead of abducting Skeeter to the Dark Lord' s dungeons, he was supposed to have... to have... to get intimate with her – he couldn't even think the word with Skeeter's image in mind – could he have seriously expected anything like that? No, he decided, and apologised for scolding himself earlier.
Bracing himself for an exhausting night of fake appeal and bodily degradation in the company of Rita Skeeter, he took a last long breath and entered the "Three Broomsticks".
The difference between his expression now and that he had shown two hours earlier couldn't have been bigger. With one short, disaffected glance he spotted the Skeeter-woman. She was still chatting with the people from the Ministry. Fine.
He re-assumed his seat at the bar and waited patiently. After another ten minutes, the Invisibles stood first. The fact that they did it completely simultaneously made the scene even more impressive. And indeed, the whole pub went silent, and the patrons on the tables they passed were looking the other way or in front of themselves on the table. Still, one of the Invisibles was scribbling in his little book while observing the people knowingly.
When they passed the bar, Malfoy saw Rosmerta duck under the wine shelf as if looking for something, which she never seemed to find. Malfoy however showed the group his friendliest grin.
"Evening, Jimmy!" he greeted the one who had faceprinted Rosmerta before.
"Evening, Lucius." Jimmy muttered. "Narcissa and Draco fine?"
"Sure. – And your self-help group, everything under control, mate?"
"Oh, yes, yes." Jimmy assured him, and suddenly caught a glimpse of Rosmerta under the shelf. In the spur of a moment, he flung his upper body over the bar and shouted with the manner of someone who was afraid of being made ridicule of: "WHAT ARE YOU GRINNING AT? – And why are you hiding there? – Maybe I should have a look if you hide someone else in your pub, probably someone of You-Know-Who's followers. You cannot hide anything from us, mind. I recognise a Death Eater when I see one. - Confess, woman!"
"No, no, no" Rosmerta was wailing from under the shelf, rather unnerved. "Just go away. Go away. Just leave!"
"We haven't paid yet." Jimmy added, his tone suddenly civil again. "You didn't bring us the bill."
"It was on the house." Rosmerta wept. "You don't need to pay. Just leave."
"I understand." Jimmy said slowly. "So that you can accuse us of corruption later, right?"
Now the whole group of them was bending their upper bodies over the bar, suspiciously observing the waitress, who had grabbed two large whiskey bottles for defence.
"NO. Go away."
"Strange behaviour," the woman commented, scowling at Rosmerta. The three men nodded in unison.
"Just leave me alone." Rosmerta repeated.
"You will tell me the price, woman!"
"One, one galleon and 10 sickles. Please."
Jimmy nodded. "Not the cheapest place, is it? The last time I ordered a beer in a pub, it only cost me a few knuckles. Anyway. Here you are. Keep the rest." Generously, he counted two galleons on the top of the shelf Rosmerta was hiding under. "But nice pub really." He told the shelf. "I shall recommend it to my friends and colleagues."
"Pl...please don't. – The pub is as good as sold. It won't be here anymore."
"Oh, shame." Jimmy said. "Funny, I hear that quite often by pub owners. Hard business, obviously."
"Hathorne!" his colleague reminded him impatiently to leave with them.
"Oh yes." He said and gave a friendly nod to Malfoy "Lucius."
"Jimmy."
And suddenly the whole group was gone.
Now Skeeter, too, was hurrying towards the exit, too. It was time.
"Excuse me, Miss Skeeter." Immediately, Rita flinched and narrowed her eyes to a small line, her features drenched with suspicion.
She merely inclined her head, ready for a sarcastic remark. But instead...
"Uhm, may I treat you to a drink, Miss Skeeter, to settle our former differences, what do you say?"
If Rita was stunned by that unexpected friendliness, she didn't show it too much. Her broad grin alone would have sufficed as an answer, but she decided to underline it with words: "I tell you what, Malfoy, you can slime up someone else, but not me. I'd rather allow him", she pointed at Bobo, who desperately tried to look the other way and to appear unaffected, "to treat me to a drink than you of all people. – Have a nice day!"
Before she had put too much distance between them, Malfoy went for the real attack, to hit Rita at her weakest point. "You too," he said lightly, turning back to his drink, "I suppose it's better that way anyway, ... honestly, how drunk must I be to treat you like a lady. – Must be careful not to blurt out any business secrets with that lack of control. – Bye, Skeeter, old fraud."
It had worked. Rita's steps stopped abruptly, even before he had said his goodbye. The next thing he saw of her was much more promising. After dismissing her bad-tempered photographer, she gave him a beaming smile and took a seat on the bar stool next to Malfoy.
"Now, there's no reason to get rude, is it? You know what, Malfoy, you're really a show-off, are you not? I consider it more likely that you'd like to ...complain about the Quibbler article, well, in that case, you should send a letter to the editor."
Malfoy snorted mirthlessly. "Well, I should think it's beneath my dignity to react to that rubbish. You know, if only half of that nonsense you wrote was true, do you think that editor would still be walking around ... alive?"
He gave a short laugh and added: "Honestly Skeeter, I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at the lying Potter brat and his little cronies who started the whole affair. But not at you. In fact, if you needed the money so badly, I'm glad if I could be of assistance." A little comic relief couldn't harm, he reckoned.
"Sure." she said slowly. It was obvious that Rita's expression was displaying a good amount of curiosity now, which mingled with doubt and suspicion. Her coldness, however, had somewhat vanished. "What exactly do you want, Malfoy?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing. Nothing, Miss Skeeter. I shouldn't have started this. My, I should be a little more careful with alcohol. Loosens my tongue, that stuff does. Anyway, I merely wondered when I saw you with those strange people if you're just falling for another ridiculous story, again without even listening to the other side. What were you talking about anyway?"
She shook her head importantly. "That was confidential of course. – But, what did you mean... you...you are not trying to suggest that you would have given me an interview, too, if I had asked. I mean, that's not what you're trying to say, is it?"
A glint of excitement flushed in her boring eyes.
Malfoy knew it had been his trump card. And he knew it had worked.
He shrugged again and gave her a playful smile. "Well, not for the Quibbler, of course. – But quite frankly, Miss Skeeter, after the Daily Prophet's reasonable stance during the last few months, I seem to have expected at least to be given the chance to explain my point of view. It was only the Quibbler, sure, but I don't think you had realised the consequences of those rumours, as far-fetched and silly they might have been. – But who would think that a little attention-seeking, probably weak-minded school-boy was able to stir up the whole wizarding community. As one of his victims, you feel like an innocent suspect of medieval inquisition." He sighed very convincingly. "The whole world has gone crazy. Have you any idea what my wife feels like, facing accusations her own husband had affiliations with You-Know-Who and could have...done the thing Potter described? I beg you, Miss Skeeter...you don't tell me you bought this for one minute?"
Her scowl had completely left her features. This sounded really promising. Not in the least inclined to answer his last question, she strolled towards and swung herself on the barstool next to him.
"You know, actually, I think you might have a point there, Mr Malfoy. – Why don't you tell me your story, from your own point of view? What was your first reaction when you read the article? Why didn't you ..."
"Now, now, now," he cut her short, grinning, "my question first."
"I can't tell you," she turned him down, still smiling, "you know, that's incredibly secret, I'm afraid."
Inwardly, she was astonished how attractive that man could be, when he chose neither to complain about her articles or that what he had called inquisitiveness and nor to throw her disparaging and bad-tempered looks.
"Miss Skeeter, you know, the actual reason why I called you back was – err – not really your article, and not your former interview, either. – Are you aware that you look like a forest fairy in the beams of the moonlight? I just felt entranced when I saw you earlier. But that smile even makes you more beautiful, if that's possible."
She nodded politely, clearly flattered, when he offered her his most appealing smile, together with a fresh glass of fire-whiskey. She took the glass and was about to have a small sip, when she thought otherwise and tipped his glass slightly with hers.
"Call me Rita!"
Malfoy took up his glass and shook it slightly, like giving her a toast. He had too much experience in disguising his true feelings and perform a good act than to fail when confronted with a self-righteous journalist without any Legilimency skills.
"Lucius." he said in return. "It's a real pleasure for me, and I mean it... Rita."
She cleared her throat, not really nervous, yet not very comfortable with the situation either. "You know – Lucius – it's a bit strange to be so civil with each other. It's like, ... hmmm, it seems to me very..."
"Unique." Malfoy prompted. "But not too unpleasant, I trust."
"And the fact that you're married..."
"...shouldn't disturb us right now. Don't worry, Rita. We have a liberal relationship, Narcissa and me. And she never heard me complain when she came home late, or only the next morning."
He smiled when he watched Rita frown doubtfully.
"Hey, I'm not the vicious, violent monster that you – err, some incredibly inquisitive, but immensely talented journalist loved to scare their readers with."
He had an astonishing talent to show such a playful, charming, slightly indignant smile, that she couldn't but join in laughing.
She shrugged, observing him closely. "You don't look like it at least." Had she been too quick in falling for Potter's story? It had all seemed so clear and logical. Then. But this man, who was flirting with her and was just now playing thoughtfully with the peanuts in the little bowl, ... to imagine him in a circle of Death Eaters witnessing the scenes Harry had reported. It seemed impossible. And maybe, if it hadn't been for Rita Skeeter's unmistakable ability to sense fraud as well as a good and promising story, she would have almost fallen for his facade.
On the other hand, Malfoy was indeed rather handsome, and she would lie to herself if she denied his charisma and sex-appeal. And their affect on her. Moreover, she was sure she would be able to persuade him to tell her maybe more of his hidden life than he intended now. Oh this was going to be fun, she thought. But here in the pub, he wouldn't tell her anything.
She turned to him and inclined her head slightly. A slender, gentle hand was stroking a lone strand of blond hair out of his face. "No, you don't look like it at all."
The expression in his eyes had changed. The original encouraging, charming look had changed into surprise when she touched him, which had been only visible for the fraction of a second, to be replaced by something earnest and mildly questioning. Challenging, that was the word.
He got hold of her hand, pulled it towards him and placed a soft kiss on it. "You are amazing, Rita. Honestly, you're really fascinating me. However, I'm afraid we shouldn't do that here in public, should we?"
He leaned forwards, as if to kiss her, but stopped an inch next to her cheek and muttered in her ear: "Should we?"
A warm, prickling sensation rushed down her spine when she felt the little hairs on her neck moved by his hardly perceivable breath.
She grabbed his chin and placed a well-aimed kiss on his cheek, causing him to retreat with a soft chuckle, smiling at her playfully, and a little bit surprised.
"No, we shouldn't." she said, nodding to the exit. "There are better places."
Malfoy shrugged in a non-committal manner. "Well, not my place. Narcissa may be tolerant, but that...uh...no."
Rita raised her head and threw him her most capturing, appealing smile. "No, of course not. Well, seems there's only one option, doesn't it?"
She stood and threw a galleon on the table and nodded to Rosmerta, who had leaned against the wall and smirked at them ironically. "On me." She explained, clearly not used to objections.
"Oh, thanks." He said and rose, too. "And what are your plans with me tonight, Miss Skeeter, if I may ask?" He grinned, clearly enjoying himself.
She took him by the arms and shrugged casually. "Well, there's only one option, Mr Malfoy, isn't it? –
Come with me."