QLFC — Round 5 — Captain: write about someone who uses their words to hurt people

Chudley Cannons Team Challenge: write about a character you've never written from the POV of before (Rita Skeeter)

Tumblr dialogue prompt: "I brought you a muffin. Your favourite..."

Summary: Inside the Janus Thickey Ward at St Mungo's, suffering from memory loss, Rita has one last wish — to write her very last article before her memory fails her completely.

Warning: vague descriptions of Alzheimer's, follows aspects of CC canon (I know, sorry, I hate myself)

WC. 2784

One Last Word

All was quiet in the Janus Thickey Ward, the fourth floor residence for the permanently damaged at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Candles flickered endlessly along the walls, illuminating the shadows of sleeping figures in their beds. It was nearing midnight, and the gentle snores of four people echoed down the otherwise silent corridors.

In the far corner, slept Alice and Frank Longbottom, the longest-time residents of the ward — always silent, always wearing smiles on their faces despite not even knowing who they were. Next to them was Gilderoy Lockhart, a victim of his own memory charm from a broken wand. Then, in the other corner was the oldest by age, Agnes, who had to be well over one hundred by now.

There was a fifth person in the ward, but unlike her companions, she had not suffered an irreversible magical mishap, nor was she sleeping. This resident was the victim of a natural ailment, one that — over the years — had made her forget things, including who she was. Her fading memory had become so bad in her two years here, that she could not even place the name of the Healer who came in carrying a tray in the middle of the night.

"Good evening, Rita," the Healer said gently, setting down the tray on Rita's bedside table. "I brought you a muffin. Your favourite — apple and cinnamon."

The witch, Rita, looked at the Healer blankly. Her eyes then fell on the tray with the muffin and steaming mug of tea. "Thank you," was all she said.

"Can't sleep again, Rita?" the Healer asked with a warm smile.

"Again?" Rita asked, frowning. "I slept just fine last night, thank you."

The Healer's smiled widened as she nodded at the muffin. "Eat up, dear. It's laced with a sleeping draught. You have it every night to help you sleep. Have a good night."

She exited the room, leaving Rita alone once more.

Unlike every other night, where Rita picked up her favourite muffin and ate it, drifting almost immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep, she chose instead to get out of her bed. She could not tell anyone what had made her do such a thing, but what little of herself remained in her mind guided her out of her bed and over to a stool. She vaguely recalled a visitor earlier that day — a young man, talking to the couple in the corner. He had left something, a newspaper.

Rita picked it up, her eyes scanning the front page, where a big, flashing picture stared back at her. It was the face of someone she thought she was supposed to know, though she couldn't quite put a name to the face. The woman was dressed in fancy-looking black robes, her bushy hair tied back neatly, wearing a large, professional smile for the photographer.

Also in the photo was a tall man standing next to the woman. He looked down at her — her husband, perhaps? — proudly. Standing in front of the couple were two children — a boy and a girl, also grinning.

The headline read: Meet Your New Minister for Magic: Hermione Granger-Weasley.

Seeing the name felt like a switch had been flicked inside of Rita. She gasped, the newspaper falling from her grasp.

Hermione Granger. She knew who that was… she knew all too well…

"Rita!" The Healer was back, staring at Rita in shock. "What are you doing out of bed?" Her eyes fell to the newspaper now on the floor, her expression softening. "Would you like to read before going to sleep?" she asked gently.

Rita stared at the Healer, recognition slowly dawning on her face. "Helena," she whispered. "Your name is Helena."

Stunned, the Healer bent down to pick up the newspaper. "Yes, that is my name, dear. You're having a moment of lucidity, which I am, of course, pleased about. However, I must insist you get back into bed before you wake the others." She looped her arm through Rita's, guiding her back to her bed. Once Rita was back in, the Healer smiled. "You don't want your muffin tonight, my dear?"

Rita's eyes once again fell over the muffin and tea. She shook her head.

"Very well." Helena picked up the tray.

"There is one thing you can bring me," Rita whispered.

"Yes?" Helena asked curiously.

"Bring me a quill and some parchment. I wish to write."

…

Memories gradually came back to Rita over the next few days, and while they were in her head, she did not dare put her quill down. She sat on her bed, knees drawn up with the parchment resting against them.

'... Hermione Granger is known for her involvement in the Second Wizarding War. She is not only respected for playing her part in the downfall of You-Know-Who, but for also revolutionising the Ministry of Magic, along with her friend Harry Potter and, now-husband, Ronald Weasley…'

Rita flicked through the pages of the Daily Prophet to aid her memory, asking Helena to bring her the new additions if she could. The more she read, the more that came back to her. There was Harry Potter, too. The Boy-Who-Lived.

Information about herself was also flooding back. She was a journalist. She had once written for the very newspaper that sat beside her. She had churned out article after article, spreading the good word to the general wizarding population. She had written a book, she had interviewed, she had gathered her information in the most unorthodox way. She was a —

Rita gasped, dropping the quill. How could she have forgotten how she got her information; how she could get people to spill their deepest darkest secrets to her without even realising it?

She flicked through the pages of the day's edition of the Daily Prophet, landing on what she was after. It was the name, it was Hermione Granger, that triggered the memories. She picked up her quill once more and continued.

'... a hero in this world, already, Ms Granger has ascended the ranks to the highest possible position in the wizarding world — Minister for Magic. She doesn't blush when asked if she's deserving of the position, nor does she become flustered at the tough questions ('How do you feel to be the first Muggle-born witch to gain such a position?)...'

Rita didn't put the quill down until the early hours of the morning, three days later. Her memory — which had failed her for the past years — was as clear as anything as she scanned the Daily Prophet (which was still reporting on Hermione Granger's ascension to Minister for Magic). Her eyes flicked between the latest report and her own writing.

Rita could now remember it as if it were yesterday. The details were so fine she even remembered what Ms Granger was wearing on the day… well, on the day she'd really gotten to know the woman that stared back at her in black and white print.

'... there was absolutely no one better for the job than Ms Granger. I've known her for years, even as a young girl, and knowing that she is here, leading our society, gives me the confidence I think we all need. Some might say Harry Potter would be a better option, but doesn't Mr Potter have many other things to worry about? No, Ms Granger is my pick — absolutely…'

"What are you writing there, Rita?"

Rita looked up, stuffing the newspaper and her parchment under her pillow. She put on the best fake smile she could manage and said, "Nothing of importance…" It bothered her how Helena, the Healer, still spoke to her as if she was some mindless fool who didn't know who she was. But she tolerated it. It meant that she'd been mostly left in peace for the past few days, Helena believing she was writing nonsense or copying whatever it was she read in the newspaper. She'd even heard her muttering to another Healer...

"Poor Rita, she still thinks she's a journalist. She remembered me the other night, you know… for a brief moment…"

"Just writing some words from this… newspaper," Rita answered. "Just responding."

Helena smiled. "Of course, of course. Will you be going to sleep soon?"

Rita smiled again. "Yes, soon."

"Wonderful." Helena set down a tray with a muffin on the table beside Rita. "Make sure you eat that. It will help you sleep."

Rita smiled after the Healer, promising she would eat the muffin. Once Helena was out of sight, Rita took out everything from under her pillow. She had just one final word to say. And then she would be finished.

…

Rita sealed the envelope just as Helena entered the next morning. She offered her a pleasant smile again, eyeing the letter in Rita's hand with amused curiosity. "What have you there, Rita?" she asked.

"My final word," Rita said.

"Oh? Really? And, do tell, what is your final word about? What can Rita Skeeter possibly have to say before she officially retires?"

Rita did her best to hide her annoyance at the way the Healer spoke to her, and put on her most charming smile. "Oh, I suppose if you get Witch Weekly next week, your question will be answered."

Helena laughed, clearly not taking Rita seriously. "Would you like me to owl it to them, then?"

Rita snatched the envelope away from Helena's outstretched hand, the Healer's fingers only grazing the envelope, but a thought suddenly occurred to her. Rita, herself, would have difficulty getting out of bed to post the article she had written. Helena, however, was perfectly able. She smiled. "Thank you."

Helena accepted the letter. "Consider it sent tonight," she said. "I'll even use my personal owl to do so."

Rita nodded, knowing that the Healer would be true to her word — she likely did not believe what Rita had written would be published anyway; but Rita knew she'd send it for her own amusement.

"Enjoy your breakfast," Helena said, carrying the envelope from the room.

…

Rita stopped reading the Daily Prophet after she finished her article, and over the next few days, she slipped back into brief moments of forgetfulness. Those moments turned into longer periods of time, and after a week, she was unable to even tell the Healers her own name.

Life in the Janus Thickey Ward returned to normal. Each night, Helena brought Rita her favourite muffin with a steaming mug of tea, and Rita ate it without any fuss. It sent her to sleep, and the next morning, she would barely even register anyone around her. It was how it had been before she had discovered the newspaper, and it was how it would continue until the disease finally claimed her two and a half years later.

She never remembered, let alone knew, the impact her final article had on everyone, published in Witch Weekly a week after Helena had sent it in (a deep regret the poor Healer carried with her for years after). No one told her that the uproar her revelations had caused, even after her death, a division within the Ministry — within the Minister for Magic's office itself. And she certainly never learnt of the personal impact her words had on those involved — of the tears Hermione Granger shed after being alerted to the article, of her raging husband and Harry Potter who had to be denied entry into the ward, and of the cruel words spoken to Rose Weasley, her daughter, by her fellow classmates at school.

And she never would. Just as Rita had wanted it.

…

ONE LAST WORD: MY THOUGHTS ON THE REAL MINISTER FOR MAGIC by Rita Skeeter

There has been a celebration over the last few days as we welcome the new Minister for Magic into office. Beloved Hermione Granger, one of the three 'saviours' of the wizarding world, is our new leader.

Many of you say what a wonderful addition this is to the Ministry of Magic, but I must confess: as I sit here in the ward, with a frazzled memory, her picture is clear in my mind. I can see our every interaction as if it had happened just yesterday, everything she did, every little thing that I will tell you about here. Then, after you read this, will you agree that Hermione Granger is, in fact, suitable for such a role? Or will you be running to the Ministry demanding a new Minister? We shall see.

Hermione Granger is a cruel, mean and sorry excuse of a witch. She may be good with spellwork and organisation, but I can tell you firsthand that Ms Granger has extremely poor social skills. Not only does she flit around between boy to boy (or I suppose man to man now — her poor husband is probably clueless), she is capable of some very Dark Magic.

I have not only seen but also experienced firsthand the brutality that your new Minister is capable of. I say this knowing that soon I will not even remember who I am, and therefore the consequences will not impact me: Ms Granger trapped me in a jar for weeks as I was stuck in my Animagus form — a beetle. She discovered me on a window sill in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, and for weeks she left me to wither in there, feeding off leaves and small amounts of food. She opened the jar every so often to allow fresh air, but that was it. I was her prisoner, entirely at her mercy.

And that is not all. Oh, no. Following my release from that prison of hers, she blackmailed me. I could not write the truth for all of my dedicated readers, because if I did, she would spill the beans on my Animagus form (illegal, might I add). I was forced into early retirement, coming to her beck and call when she required it. I couldn't write the truth, but only what she wanted — and that was painting herself and her friends in a positive light.

Is that who you wish to be your Minister for Magic? Someone who holds her equals as prisoners? Someone who resorts to blackmail to get what she wants? Tell me, is that the person you all so desperately wish to be your new leader?

I have seen the Daily Prophet reports, and I have read the praise she has been given. And even in my state, I could not sit back and allow for it to continue.

'... a hero in this world, already, Ms Granger has ascended the ranks to the highest possible position in the wizarding world — Minister for Magic.' A very quote from the Prophet. A hero? She may have assisted in the demise of You-Know-Who, but she certainly was not the reason. If you knew Ms Granger as I do, you would even be questioning as to whether or not she played a part in assisting You-Know-Who in his rise to power. Merlin knows they share some qualities.

As I stared down at the picture the day after Ms Granger was appointed Minister, taking note of her beaming husband, her two grinning children, a wave of pity hit me (after the shock of seeing her, that is). Her poor, poor children. Do they know? Do they have any idea they have a mother who is capable of the most appalling things? How, I ask you, my readers, is it that this woman became a mother to begin with? How could anyone allow such a monster of a woman to rear children?

It is a mystery, but one I am determined to solve. I simply could not sit back and allow this woman to rise to such power without you all knowing the truth. I could not keep reading those articles in the Potter-happy newspaper and see all the lies spilling out.

So, as I lie in my bed, knowing that this will truly be my final word, I will tell you this: Hermione Granger is not a hero of the wizarding world. She is not the Minister for Magic we have all been waiting for. And, most importantly, she is not a good person. At all. I assure you, the changes she has made during her time at the Ministry have been for no one's benefit but her own.

And, if you're reading this, Hermione Granger (I hope you are), know this: I hope I am alive and able to remember your fall from grace. What a sight that would be, you horrible excuse for a witch.

Thank you to my team for their (as usual) fantastic beta-ing. I couldn't do it without you guys. And, I usually despise the idea of Hermione ascending to Minister (because she's worshipped too much already I just really don't think she needs this) but I felt it suited this story. I hope you all enjoyed it!