Chapter 27: That Skeeter Woman
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Tom walked into the Leaky Cauldron around eight that evening. He had spent the rest of the day looking for things he needed to support his image as a new and up-and-coming politician. Expensive things like pocket watches, jewelry, waistcoats, and other clothes that he normally didn't wear. He really didn't like all the trappings, but if he was going to pull this off, he needed to look the part. He wandered to the table that held that Skeeter woman.
He could tell it was her right away. She was distinctive with her tight red curls and cat's eyes glasses. She was wearing a purple skirt suit that was decades out of date, and it was blinding in its color. There were other shades of purple embroidered on it, making it look hideous. The embroidery didn't seem to have any rhyme or reason, just twists and turns.
She was sitting with a quill and parchment in front of her, like she was poised to start recording what was said the minute he sat down. He noted the quill was acid green, and he frowned.
He came up from behind her, having passed her by and moved back. He grabbed the quill and tutted. "Now, now then, young lady, there will be none of that," he scolded, crushing the quill until it was a crumbled mess. "You will not twist my words, little bug," he said in a soft voice near her ear.
"Who are you?" she asked, twisting her head around to look at the handsome older man.
"I am Lord Marvolo Slytherin," Tom said, moving around the table and taking a seat. He waved to the bartender Tom to order a drink. Tom, the bartender, nodded to the waitress and she came to the table. "I'll take whatever you have for a special tonight, and a firewhiskey. Oh, and I'll pay for whatever she's having," he said, waving to Skeeter.
"I'll just have a butterbeer," Rita said, not wanting to lose her wits. This man knew her secrets and she wanted his. Perhaps if he drank enough, she'd get them.
"Right, one shepherd's pie with a firewhiskey, and a butterbeer," the waitress said, then moved off to place the order.
Rita dug in her purse, which was just as hideous as her matching purple outfit, and came up with a normal quill. "I have never heard of you, Marvolo Slytherin," she said, jotting that down and then setting the quill to take dictation.
"That's Lord Marvolo Slytherin. I only found out about my heritage a few weeks ago. Until then I was abroad," Tom said, mostly true. He had been abroad. "When I did find out I decided that I was going to run for office," he added, putting his hat into the ring, so to speak.
"Elections are not for another a year yet," she pointed out, looking at what her quill was writing. It was merely taking down what was said, much to her disappointment. She would much rather have it twisted beyond recognition.
"Oh, I have a feeling they will be holding them much sooner than that," Tom said, with a grin. He then took out the four ledgers, and the folder of things on Dumbledore. "What I have here, will keep you on the front page for a year. If you play your cards correctly," he purred, keeping his hand on the books. "If you only use these documents a bit at a time, then you can drag this out forever," he said, looking her in the eye so that she would see that he was very serious.
Her eyes lit up like a five-year-old getting their first baby crup. "What do I have to do to get them?" she asked, knowing that information like that didn't come free.
"I am so glad you asked," Tom said, tucking the books back in his robe, and taking out a contract he had had the goblins write up while he had been shopping earlier. "I have here a contract that you will do as I say, and leave Harry Potter alone," he said, steel in his voice.
"Why would I do that?" she said, slamming her hand on the quill to make it stop writing. She didn't want to have it record what was coming next.
"Two reasons," the Dark Lord said, glaring at her with his reddish eyes. "First, both he and I know your secret, and we will have no qualms in telling our dear friend Amelia Bones. Second, I would have no regrets in killing you where you sit," he said as if discussing what was for dinner.
She looked at those reddish eyes, and she knew what he was saying was true. He would and could kill her without a single tear shed. Or she could sign the contract and have her name on the front page for over a year. It wasn't that hard of a decision. She was greedy and petty. That and she liked to breathe free air.
She took up the quill and signed the contract without reading it.
"That was not a smart move. There was room for negotiation," Tom said, surprised the woman would do something so foolish. He thought she was smarter than that. He didn't know his eyes turned red when angry. He was only slightly angry right now, so they were only reddish.
"Oh," was all she said, then she took up the contract and started reading it. It was pretty straight forward. All she had to do was write the subject he told her to, though she could put any twist she wanted on it, as long as it did the damage he was expecting. And she was to leave Harry Potter alone. Nothing derogatory was to be written by her or her paper. "I don't control the paper," she pointed out.
"I will be speaking to the editor," Tom said, nodding to the waitress who put his food on the table in front of him. She placed the drinks in the proper places. Then she smiled prettily and left. "I am sure I will not have a problem persuading him to see it my way," he added, with his normal brown eyes.
Rita blinked, weren't his eyes red a minute ago. "So, what do you want me to write about first? And when do you want it written?" she asked, looking at his pocket where he had stashed the books.
"I will be giving you three bribe ledgers, one current ministry ledger, and one binder of things that will put Dumbledore in a bad light. The things on Dumbledore will have to be investigated, but they are all true. The bribe and ministry ledgers are also true, and I want you to do a story on Fudge right away. I want him out of office by the end of the week," Riddle said, digging into his meal.
"Who will be endorsing you?" she asked, setting her quill to write again now that the threats and blackmail was out of the way. She had only stopped it because she didn't want it written anywhere what her secret was. She had gotten away with it for this long because she never let it be recorded anywhere. Not even in her own notes.
"Sirius Black," Tom said when his mouth was clear. "He is the new guardian of Harry Potter. Let's leave him out of the news as well," he said, his meaning clear.
"Of course," she stated in a prim voice. Though she was loath to do such. Black was good news to sink her teeth into. He could keep her in the papers for weeks, it was such a sob story and she heard he was going to sue the ministry. "Can I do the story of his suing the ministry?" she asked, not wanting to lose that scoop.
"As long as you show him in a good light," Tom said with a waving of his fork. He took another bite of his meal and chewed thoughtfully.
"I can do that," she said, grabbing the quill and making a note on the side. She then set it back up and started it to dictate again. "What is your platform?" she asked as if he was already running for office.
"I will see us come into the twentieth century," he said, tapping his fork on his plate as if thinking on how to word what he was about to say. "We stand out. If we don't want to be found out, we need to change. Even the manner in which we dress is so outdated, that we stand out among the muggles," he elaborated, motioning to his clothes and her dress suit. "Your clothes are closer than mine, however they are still decades out of date. If you went into the muggle world, they would think you are a crazy old lady that should not be taken seriously. Me, if I were to go there, they would not even give me the courtesy of listening to me at all. Or they would think me an actor on my way to a play."
"Are we really that close to being found out?" she asked, looking down at what she thought was the height of fashion in the muggle world.
"It is not just our clothes. It is the manner in which we talk. We don't understand what any muggle is saying to us. They don't talk the way we do, we come off as foreigners, for all we speak the same language," he explained, knowing that saying they didn't know any pop culture would be lost on her. It would prove his point though.
"I don't understand, we speak the same language," she said, confusion laced her tone.
"Yes, but if I were to tell you to go three blocks and down to the tube, and take the g, would you understand what I just said?" he asked, tilting his head just a bit.
"Some of it," she confessed, knowing what three blocks were. She hoped.
"And if I were to tell you that I would meet you at the mall after tea, would you know where and when?" he asked, this time taking a sip of his firewhiskey.
"I admit, I would be lost on that one," she said, knowing when tea was but not what a mall was.
"We need to know these things if we are to fit in to the muggle world," he said, pushing his empty plate away and holding up his glass for a refill.
"How do you know these things?" she asked, looking at him like he was an alien. He was dressed like a wizard and talked like a wizard, but he spoke of things that wizards did not.
"I studied muggles for a few days," Tom said, which was the truth. When he went to the restaurant that he had met Bones in, he spent some time in the muggle world and felt like he was visiting from another country. He picked up a few books on muggle culture and a few mystery books. They had some pop culture references in them. He knew some of it from his time in the orphanage, but the world had changed since the war.
"That is all it takes? A few days?" she asked, poised to jump on that.
"I was raised in a muggle orphanage, so the concepts were easier for me," he said, not caring that others knew of his childhood. When he got rid of his Death Eaters his blood status could be known too.
"That is horrible," she exclaimed, in her melodramatic way. Her hand when to her heart, and she looked faint. It was all an act of course.
"You don't know the half of it," he grumbled, remembering his childhood during the hard times.
"What year did you attend Hogwarts?" she asked, getting back on track.
"You will find that Marvolo Slytherin did not attend Hogwarts," he said, telling the truth in that sentence.
"Where did you attend?" she asked, leaning forward like he was about to impart some deep secret.
"Nowhere," he said, nodding to the waitress for his renewed glass of firewhiskey.
"Homeschooled?" was the next question.
"Next question," Tom said, done with this line of questioning.
"Who are your parents?" she inquired, sipping her until then untouched butterbeer. It was warm now, but she didn't care.
"My ancestors are the Gaunts," he said, once again telling the truth.
"I thought they bred themselves out," Rita said, scrunching up her forehead as if trying to remember the last time the Gaunts were in the news. Last she remembered the father died and the son was in prison. Or vice versa.
"They tried," he agreed. He hated that his family had been so inbred that they were batshit crazy. It was only the fact that he was a half-blood that made him mostly sane.
"What else do you want people to know?" she asked, looking around the room as if to see how long she had been there. There were different diners there than had been when she first sat down, so she had been there for some time.
"That I will do my best to serve them well. That the corruption that plagues the ministry now, will stop when I take office," he said, meaning every word. "The correct offices and departments will be getting the money that had been bled from them to line the pockets of the politicians that hold the offices now."
Rita stopped the quill again. "I need those ledgers and the binder," she said, putting the parchment in her purse. She held out her hand for the books and when he handed them to her, she tucked them in the purse too. It must hold more than it looked like it could.
"Know that these are only copies," Tom said, making sure she knew he had the originals. There was no way he was letting those go.
"I understand," Rita said, putting her purse in her lap. "Now tell me of your relationship with Potter," she said, almost demanding it.
"That is none of your business, little bug," Tom said, his eyes flashing red again. He stood and downed the last of his firewhiskey. "Just know that he is off limits to you and your paper," he said, strolling away.
Rita watched him leave and didn't even breathe until he had left the building. He was just that scary. She took up the contract that she had signed like an idiot. She needed to get to Barnabas Cuffe, he was the editor and he needed to know what she signed. He'd help her.
She hurried out of the Leaky and rushed to the Prophet's building. Cuffe would still be putting the paper to bed, so she knew he was in his office. She went there, breezing by the secretary.
"Barnabas," she said as she rushed to his desk. She put the contract on the desk in front of the overweight man. "I'm in trouble," she said, slumping in a chair.
Cuffe picked up the contract and read it. "You sure are," he said, looking at her like she had lost her senses. "This was drawn up by the goblins," he added, showing her the mark on the righthand corner. It was a capital G made out of coins. "There's no breaking it. Tell me that you at least got some good stories from this," he said, not wanting to lose his best reporter.
She took out the five books and thumbed through Fudges ministry ledger. She noted how much he was paying himself and his staff. "Oh, I'd say we got some good stuff here," she said, turning the book around for her boss to see.
They both spent the next hour going over both of Fudge's books. That man was going down, and he was going to take many people with him. When they finished it was getting late, but Cuffe had a few questions of his own.
"Who is the man who gave you all this?" he asked, pushing the books toward her so she could put them in her purse. She took them and put them away.
"He calls himself Marvolo Slytherin," she said, pulling out the notes she took earlier. "He's a nobody, who came from nowhere, who wants to be Minister."
"How did he get you to sign the contract?" Barnabas wanted to know. Usually, Skeeter was smarter than that. He had seen her stand up to the likes of Malfoy.
"He's scary," she said, looking around like the man would pop out of the woodwork. She wouldn't put it past him. "He knows my secret," she said in a whisper. Only her boss knew it here in the office.
"How did he know that?" Barnabas asked, leaning forward to keep their voices low.
"Potter told him," she said, a sneer in her voice. She hated the fact that she couldn't get the boy back for that. "He threatened to kill me," she said in an even quieter whisper.
Cuffe barely heard her that time, but he got the gist. "So? Many people have threatened that," he said, not sure why this time was different.
"Yeah, but they didn't have death in their eyes," she said, remembering those red eyes. "I've never been so scared," she said, still looking around the room completely spooked.
Just then there was a knock on the door. Rita jumped a few feet in the air from her seat. She landed on her arse and scrambled up and put her back to the wall. Even she didn't realize just how effected she had been by the man.
The secretary popped her head in, "Mr. Cuffe, I'm headed home," she said, looking at Rita with a queer look. "There's a gentleman out here to see you," she added, looking back at her boss. "I told him it was after business hours, but he's being pretty persistent," she said, with a gesture that said, 'what can I do'.
"Did he give a name?" Cuffe asked, looking at Rita's freaked out face.
"Slytherin," the woman said, rolling her eyes. "I told him that he'd have to use his real name, but he said, you'd know who he was," she said with a shrug.
"Show him in, then go home, Shirly," Cuffe said, moving to Rita's side and guiding her to the chair he usually sat in, putting the desk between her and Slytherin.
"Thanks, Mr. Cuffe," Shirly said, then she left, and Tom came through the door.
"Ah, Ms. Skeeter, still here I see. Good, that will make my explanation much simpler," he said, taking the chair that Rita had sat in.
"Who do you think you are, threatening one of my star reporters?" Cuffe asked, standing tall as if he wasn't afraid of anything. Rita was frantically tugging his sleeve to make him stop. He just brushed her off. "You can't just go around threatening people."
"I did offer her a nice contract instead," Tom said, pointing to the contract that was still on the desk. "It has some good terms, and her name will be in the front-page bylines for a year at the very least," he added, folding his hands, and placing them on the desk in a gentlemanly fashion.
"You pressured her into a contract that bends her to your will," Cuffe rebutted. Rita was still trying to shut him up, but he was ignoring her.
"I can buy this paper, and have you replaced," Tom said, looking around the room like it was beneath him. It was a plain office, with a desk, filing cabinets, and chairs. There were no decorations, or portraits. "I found out that I am quite wealthy," he said, looking at Cuffe, and then he smiled. "In fact, I already have controlling shares," he said, making the other man pale.
"That's impossible," Barnabas said, knowing that those were owned by Malfoy, who was dead.
"I am the heir of all that Malfoy owned," Tom said, sitting up straighter, and playing at fixing the crease in his trousers. "And a few others," he added. He got up and moved to the far wall and took a paper from the filing cabinet and read it. He put it back as unimportant. "Now that all the posturing is done, let's get to why I'm here. I want you to leave Harry Potter's name out of your paper. Unless I, or he, directly tells you it is okay, his name is not to be in print anywhere in this paper," he said, his voice soft and sinister. His aura leaked out and filled the room.
It was then that Barnabas Cuffe knew why Rita had signed that contract. He would sign anything to keep this man from killing him too. "Of course, my lord," the man said, wondering why he was addressing him in such a manner.
"Glad we understand one another. Good night," Tom said, leaving the room without another word. His aura vanished with him.
"Do what he says," Cuffe said to Skeeter. His eyes were blown wide, and there was fear in them.
"No shite," she said, getting back up and going to her desk to write her next story. It was too late to get it in tomorrow's paper, even if she wrote fast, but she could get it in the next day's. It will be the scoop of the century. Since she had the time, she would write two stories. One about Fudge, and one about Dumbledore. They would both be on the front page. It will be sensational.