Author's Note:
This is a continuation/soft reboot of the time travel tale "Hair of the Grim" by Nightmare Sired Muse, with a bunch of changes. It also contains many concepts, lines and situations from the grab-bag that is "Odd Ideas" by Rorschach's Blot. Both are used with the permission of their original authors. The Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I do not own Harry Potter or anything else.
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Rated M for some violence, language, drug use and sexual references. Nothing explicit.
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Canon-compliant. HP&DH compliant (except the Epilogue). HP&CC compliant (except the conclusion). FB&WTFT compliant. Pottermore compliant (mostly).
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Recommended Fanfiction of the Week: "Harry Potter - Three to Backstep" by Sinyk.
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Question of the Week: Can anyone even name a famous print journalist whose name isn't Woodward or Berstein?
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Chapter 19 – A Cunning Plan
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Don't tell me about the Press. I know exactly who reads the papers. The Daily Mirror is read by the people who think they run the country. The Guardian is read by people who think they ought to run the country. The Times is read by the people who actually do run the country. The Daily Mail is read by the wives of the people who run the country. The Financial Times is read by people who own the country. The Morning Star is read by people who think the country ought to be run by another country. The Daily Telegraph is read by the people who think it is. The Sun readers don't care who runs the country, as long as she's got big tits.
– Yes, Prime Minister
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"My friends, it is time to move to Stage Four of our plans," Harry announced pompously to his fellow HA members.
"We are? What were Stages One, Two and Three?" asked Mary in puzzlement.
"The previous stages aren't important right now," he replied impatiently. "What's important is that we now have the printing press up and running in the Shrieking Shack's basement; we now have funds; we now have a mountain of parchment and black ink; we now have a Chief Editor; and we now have a staff of investigative journalists." He gestured towards Dobby, who was bouncing up and down in extreme excitement at such a responsibility. The little elf wore a cave-diver's helmet, complete with torch, and a black ninja outfit with a giant notepad shoved halfway down his trousers. Anyone could see that he was immensely proud of his finery. "Dobby here is a former elf of House Malfoy, now free. He has kindly agreed to work for me in this venture to improve British society. Basically, Dobby is going to spy on everyone and anyone of importance in the wizarding world and report it to the Chief Editor, who'll turn it into copy. Like an honest Rita Skeeter. He's also going to try and find unbonded and unattached elves that may be interested in joining the team."
"I don't think it's possible for us to have completed Stage One," Pandora said slowly, "We don't even have a watermelon, giant rubber chicken or emergency mop and bucket."
"Aye, an' we never saw the lads doin' the can-can in magenta kilts for Stage Two," grinned Mary, jumping on the bandwagon. "But ye can make it up to us in the Great Hall at dinner tonight!" Leaning over to Lily she whispered loudly, "Ye can thank me later, Lily-flower." Lily rolled her eyes and elbowed her friend in the ribs.
"Was Stage Three Apolline and Lily fighting a magical war of attrition for the entire Christmas Break?" Marlene added her input. "Was almost chopping Apolline's father in half part of the plan too? I missed the memo."
"Can we stay on topic for one meeting? Just one meeting?" Harry pleaded. The Marauders, Ron, Frank and Alice simply smirked and enjoyed the show. Apolline and Amélie were inscrutable as ever. Lily was perusing a scroll. Xeno was meditating on the shape of the footstool. They'd be no help.
"But if this isn't Stage Four then we shouldn't be calling it Stage Four; that would be false advertising, and simply consternate everyone," Pandora said innocently.
Harry rubbed his face. "We sure wouldn't want to cause consternation," he muttered sarcastically.
"Certainly not; then everyone'd be talking at cross-purposes and it's a slippery slope from there and the next thing you know, instead of fighting Voldemort and his lackeys we'd all be dressing up like human peacocks, or performing an ice skating re-enactment of Merlin and Morgana's torrid romance, complete with dance numbers and pink mankinis. Hmmm those actually sound quite appealing: let's do those things when the lake freezes over!"
"Sure why not," he said absently. "And now I have the great pleasure to present our Chief Editor and the HA's Minister for Propaganda, who I'm sure has some stirring words for us." Harry hastily took his seat.
A long silence followed.
Finally Harry hissed, "Odd, that's you! Get up there!"
"Hmm?" Odd's eyes swam into focus again. With a dazed smile he stood and addressed the group. "Thank you, Blubber. My glutinous colleague has announced the main points but one: please give a big round of applause for my partner in this endeavour, Miss Dolores Umbridge of the DCRMC."
Hermione cancelled her disillusionment jinx and appeared alongside Odd. The response was about what she'd expected: indifference from most, cringing, fear and not-so-veiled hatred from those who recognised her face and family name. Hermione sighed sadly, she'd already become used to her non-Purist colleagues at the Ministry treating her like a Blast-Ended Skrewt transfigured into female form. Ron gave her a thumbs up.
"Have you lost even more marbles?" Alice demanded of Harry and Xeno, all trace of good humour vanished in an instant. Her wand in hand, pointed threateningly at the woman in pink. "This creature is the worst kind of Purist scum! She and her House have been aligning themselves with dark lords for centuries. She'll sell us out in a second, and we'll all be cooling our heels in Azkaban, if we don't end up in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's dungeons!" The Marlene and Frank were in full agreement. The Marauders, Lily and Mary looked confused. Apolline and Amélie looked calculating. Pandora and Odd looked vacant.
"Please everyone, calm down!" Harry stepped in front of Umbridge, hands raised for peace. Ron quickly stepped up beside him, shielding Umbridge from their line of sight. "Dolores is alright, I promise. She won't sell us out."
"How do you know that?!"
"I can't say, but I assure you that Umbridge has my complete trust," Harry asserted confidently. He was painfully aware of the irony. Mordred, I hate it when I start to sound like the old man.
"She's on our side?" Mary asked dubiously.
"Were you not ze one who spear'eaded ze new creature laws on Veela and werewolves?" Amélie piped up suddenly. The mood darkened further.
"Appearances do have to be maintained," Hermione responded primly.
"Miss Umbridge is our mole on the inside of the Ministry. Being a raging blood purist is her cover. She's been feeding me information for ages. Pandora and I are also appointing her our proxy in the Wizengamot for House Malfoy. Who better to help us than someone so deeply entrenched in the system?"
"I don't care how much you say you trust her, or how many bloody proxies she has." Alice was implacable. "Either she gives the same magical oath the rest of us gave to join this little group, or else I start obliviating!" There was a muttering of asset.
"Of course," said Hermione, unruffled. "I'd be worried if you didn't insist on that." She made the oath, and the others relaxed a bit and lowered their wands. The wands didn't disappear, but at least they were no longer aimed at her throat.
"As I was saying, Miss Umbridge has kindly volunteered to help Odd take down the Daily Prophet and replace it with our own gossip rag." Harry tried to get the meeting back on agenda.
"Don't call it a gossip rag Peter, it's an important tool to combat the disinformation that the Ministry is spreading, and the lies that the pureblood supremacists propagate," corrected Hermione, seating herself elegantly on the nearest sofa, looking for all the world as if being held at wandpoint were perfectly normal. "Now, for those wondering what sort of articles such a paper will carry, we envisage stories detailing the war effort, the real news not the sanitised drivel that people get usually spoon-fed. Tips for members of the public to prepare themselves for Death Eater attacks: warding, spare wands, exit strategies, emergency portkeys, safehouses, handy spells and jinxes for driving off attackers. That sort of thing. What's really going on in the muggle world and what that means for us wizarding folk. And if there's space, any other interesting pieces that will make people want to read it."
She nodded to the magiscientist. "Pandora has already given us some good pointers as to how to begin driving a wedge between our favourite halfblood Dark Thingy and his Traditionalist supporters." Odd raised his hand. "You don't have to raise your hand, Xenophilius, we're not in class. And you're going to be the editor, for Merlin's sakes, I'm sure we'd all like to hear your thoughts."
"I shall be composing a weekly column on magizoology, exotic travel, and the terrible secret truth that lies behind the illusory veneer of our world. Human interest stuff."
"What truth is that?" asked James curiously.
"It's far too terrible and secret to explain," Odd explained, "Suffice to say that knowing it would shatter your fragile mortal mind and turn you into a gibbering wreck, fruitlessly beating your fists against the horrifying eldritch labyrinth that is your new reality."
"Um, right … thank you Xenophilius," said Hermione. "Pandora, Peter tells me that your great-uncle Chaoticus works on the typesetting at the Prophet …?"
"He also doubles as the night watchman," Pandora chirped.
"Perfect. We're going to need his help to get us into the building. Could you please ask him if tomorrow night is doable?"
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Chaoticus Shalimar Lovegood, aka 'Bob', was more than happy to let his grand-niece and her two minions visit him at the Prophet's building at 3am to change the type for the morning edition.
"Thanks for your help," Hermione said gratefully to the burly bearded man. "Those are some impressive wards, I could feel their power from 100 feet away. I wouldn't want to try to brute-force our way through."
"Anything for my Perfect Princess Pandora," he gushed, mussing the girl's hair affectionately. "Witches and wizards are long past due for a wakeup call, in my book. Glad to see somebody's doing something about it! Just don't tell my girlfriend I was involved, I like sleeping in a bed. As to the wards, pure necessity. Plenty of witches and wizards out there with grudges and long memories, we have to be careful. The Prophet's offended just about every person in magical Britain at one time or another."
Pandora giggled and squirmed out of his grip. "But they never had to tangle with the mighty tide of SCIENCE!" she bellowed, fist raised in triumph. "Come minions, there is much Science to be done!" And with that, she spun away and raced down the stairwell to the basement. Amused, Hermione and Odd raced off to carry out their designated tasks.
It was the work of several minutes to re-set the type for the front page, then Bob started the presses for the morning run. The machines even had a feature that would collate and bind Xeno's first-edition run with the Prophet's as a lift-out. The two Lovegoods looked on in satisfaction at their handiwork.
Hermione joined them in the basement a short time later. "Done," she laughed. "This place is now more bugged than my cousin's centipede farm. And Rita's offer is on her desk."
Odd turned up at that moment. "According to the Prophet's staff policies, the master list of mailing addresses is to be locked in the safe in the Chief Editor's office at all times. I did a thorough diagnostic: the safe is made of solid iron with a mechanical lock, both heavily magic-resistant. Plus there's an additional layer of wards surrounding the safe, and on the inner compartment. There's no way I could Bruce force it. Even if we were to blow up the entire building, the safe would survive intact."
Hermione's shoulders slumped. "Oh well," she said in disappointment.
"Which is why it's a good thing that the Chief Editor left the mailing list on his desk under a pile of Playwizards." Her jaw dropped as Odd produced it. "He was even nice enough to have kept a few lists of customers who've cancelled their subscriptions over the last few years."
"Excellent," whispered Pandora, tenting her fingers in a sinister manner.
"Yes," cheered Hermione, "the more names and addresses we have the better. Good work, Xeno!" Examining the parchment, she noted, "This subscription list is tied with a Protean charm to another document."
"It's linked to a scroll in the cubicle of the unfortunate drone who's job it is to administrate the subscriptions. It's also linked to another one at the Post, so the owls know who to deliver to," Bob explained.
Odd cast the Gemini charms to replicate the list, then casually threw the original into a corner. "Our copy is now self-updating with the master list."
The printing presses emitted a sharp ding, then fell silent. "And we're done," said Chaoticus. All around them the newspapers were magically stacked in neat piles. "Just in time. Look!"
Through the open skylight the first glimmers of dawn seeped through, lighting the enormous parliament of Post owls that silently swarmed into the vast room. Each swept down in graceful dive, grabbed a paper and flew out of a long gap in the wall – a continuous, silent stream flowed passed them. Hermione, Pandora and Odd looked on in wonder. The entrance of Post owls at Hogwarts' breakfast table was a poor reflection of these rolling cavalcades. It was over surprisingly fast, less than 10 minutes from their arrival the owls had departed and the basement was now empty of newspapers.
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There were more owls than usual at breakfast. Instead of the half dozen per table, including the teachers' table, the Daily Prophet was delivered to every single person in the Great Hall. Harry, who had opted to join his snoring wife at the Ravenclaw table this morning, raised his eyebrows at Xeno.
"I took the liberty of adding every current resident of Hogwarts to the mailing list," Odd grinned. His bleary, dark-ringed eyes lent his smile an alarming edge. "It's only fair they keep abreast of current events, right?" He leaned forward to whisper, "Miss Umbridge blackmailed someone in the Floo Registration Office to give us a list of all addresses on record. They've all been given 'free' subscriptions as well."
"And I took ze liberty of adding ze address of ze editor of every major French newspapier. And ze editor of every international newspapier zat has a bureau in France or on zis barbaric isle," Apolline whispered on his other side.
Harry laughed and clapped them on the shoulders. "Mighty generous of you and Selwyn."
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Young up-and-comer Rita Skeeter, star reporter of The Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly (in syndication) read through the odd looking missive that graced her desk this morning. The wording was archaic, the script near indecipherable, and the parchment bordered by strange strings of runes, but the import was clear enough: an offer of employment as a freelancer for a new paper. "The Quibbler?" That name'll never work in the market, love. Scrunching the paper into a ball, she lobbed it into the nearest trashcan and picked up her copy of the Prophet to peruse what illiterate swill her rivals had written this time. And promptly slipped off her desk in shock at the front page header:
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THE HALF-BLOOD DARK LORD!
We Reveal He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's Shocking Secrets! Dark Lord's Birth Name Thomas Marvolo Riddle, After His Muggle Father!
By Rita Skeeter and N. Igma
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The article described the Dark Lord's supposed backstory as the love-potion sired child of a Squib and Muggle, a backstory that he'd worked for decades to cover up. It detailed his childhood in a muggle orphanage, his exploits as a gang leader, his framing of Rubeus Hagrid while at Hogwarts, and most importantly, it listed the many purebloods whom he had personally murdered, including the Gaunt family, Hephzibah Smith, and a variety of Progressives who'd opposed him.
For further information, the reader was directed to the latest British magical newspaper, the bi-weekly The Quibbler, the first edition of which was available as an exclusive lift-out in today's Prophet. As a reward to the Prophet's many loyal readers, every subscriber would receive The Quibbler for free for a whole year.
Skeeter could feel the blood draining out of her. It was a barely passable imitation of her writing style, but she doubted her readers would notice or care. Someone had just painted a giant target on her back for every blood purist in the country. Her career and life were in clear and present danger.
"SKEETER! Get in here!"
She flinched at her Chief Editor's tone. Danger or not, her first priority was to try to avoid being bumped down to reporting on the mating habits of the tentacle monsters infesting the lower levels of the DMLE holding cells.
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"You called, Boss?" Bob asked cheerily as he sauntered into the Chief Editor's Office.
"Yes Bob," the Chief said through clenched teeth. "Have a seat."
Completely oblivious to the tense atmosphere, Bob reclined on the spare chair, extracted a pineapple from an expandable pocket and began to nibble at it joyfully, not bothering to peel the skin off first.
"Yes. Right. Bob, please explain to us how the lead story for today's edition changed from "Wizengamot Outlaws Vigilantism" to … to this!" He tossed a copy onto the table.
Bob was nonchalant. "I was about to start the print run this morning when Miss Skeeter rushed in and demanded I change the header immediately. Said it was breaking news. A hot scoop that couldn't wait. Said she'd already cleared it with you." He continued to eat the pineapple leaves, tuning out Rita's furious spluttering denials. After a while, he realised that someone was talking to him again. "What was that, Boss?"
"I said, are you absolutely sure that it was Rita? And not say, someone else and you just weren't paying attention?"
Bob chewed thoughtfully. "Coulda been someone under a glamour or using polyjuice, I s'pose. Though I don't know how that person coulda gotten past the wards, or known the time I did the printing, or your name, or our staff publishing policies ..." His attention was distracted by a bright blue butterfly fluttering outside the office window. He was vaguely aware that the Editor had begun shouting at Rita.
"… going off half-cocked ... reckless chasing of scoops … tunnel-vision … next time tell, me, wake me up if you have to … that Merlin-damned 'scoop' of yours … booted me and the whole staff right to the top of the enemy list … every supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named out for our blood … we're marked wizards … suggest you go home and take some time off … fully consider the consequences of your enthusiasm … I'm off to the Ministry to try and do some damage control ... maybe can save our hides from your idiocy …"
With a start, Bob realised that he must've fallen asleep at some point. Seeing the office was now empty, he threw the remains of his pineapple into the trash and stretched out on the Chief Editor's desk to grab a few winks. No sense letting a perfectly good piece of furniture go unused.
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Fuming, Rita stormed back to her desk. Digging through her trashcan, she had to fight off several paper-eating pookas to recover her prize. It was always good to have a backup source of employment. And Rita was certain that whoever had written the article was working hand-in-glove with the owners of the new publication. She intended to sniff these bastards out and wreak a horrific (literary) revenge on them!
She owled her acceptance to the return address. A few hours later, an owl returned with a message from Gringotts on behalf of their anonymous client. The instructions were simple: to continue her muckraking. From time to time, they would contact her with tips or topics of interest that would benefit from further investigation. To send any articles to a Gringotts-owned Post box. To identify a vault number to receive payment. A pay scale: 50 to 250 galleons per scoop was nothing to sneeze at. Hmm, so far they were covering their tracks. But nobody could hide from Rita Skeeter for long! Cracking her long, spiderlike fingers, Rita dove into her work with a vengeance.
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The next day was worse. The Prophet had agreed with the Ministry to print a front-page retraction of the 'fake news story'. The piece also decried the unlicenced and irresponsible rag The Quibbler, advising readers to shun it and to report any information about the scurrilous scallywags responsible for this prank to the proper authorities. The following morning, however, the front page had again changed from its original:
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RITA SKEETER FORCED TO FLEE DAILY PROPHET DUE TO THREATS FROM MINISTRY AND DARK FAMILIES!
Heroic Reporter Persecuted for Daring to Speak the Truth the Powers-That-Be Don't Want You to Know!
By Rita Skeeter and Sue Doe Nym
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Rita skimmed the purple prose with mounting horror: "This intrepid seeker of truth is under siege from parties that wish to keep you ignorant … rest assured this fearless reporter will not rest on her laurels ... my firing from this paper due to political interference is becoming increasingly likely … fear not, gentle reader, I shall never be silenced … the public has a right to know the machinations of the powerful … to ensure my voice of truth continues to be heard, I have accepted a generous offer to contribute to The Quibbler on a permanent basis, in addition to the other fine publications in which you can find my investigative pieces ... watch for my regular columns there, many more explosive secrets will be revealed!" The article went on to describe certain levers that the Ministry used to secretly influence stories in the Prophet. Certain bribes and political concessions to the owners and editors of the Prophet.
She groaned in despair. Even if she could convince the Chief Editor that someone had framed her, there was no way he could publicly support her after such a public decrying of the Ministry and the editorial staff. Grabbing the few personal belongings she kept at the office, she glanced around furtively. It was too early for her colleagues to be in yet. She transformed into her beetle body and flew out the window. With any luck, she could get her belongings packed and moved before anyone else read the article. Her great-aunt Agnes Mapleflodder had an isolated cottage in Wales that would do for a bolt-hole until she could salvage this situation.
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The third day, the Prophet's basement disappeared.
The Chief Editor had hired a squad of six mercenaries to guard the printing presses after the second false header (the Ministry issued the Prophet a temporary exception licence to the official ban on mercenaries, hitwizards and other vigilantes). All six, and Chaoticus Lovegood, were found stunned and trussed up in the Chief Editor's Office when his secretary arrived at 9am, wands, potions and body armour missing.
The Editor was forced to contract cursebreakers to lift the Fidelius from his basement. In the end, it had taken a dozen of Gringotts' finest a solid week to break the wards. Something about multiple networked wardstones, ley line reinforcements, specialised family magic, unknown rune clusters, etc, whatever, the staff didn't care as long as it was gone and they could get back to work. A week had passed, a week in which Witch Weekly, Teen Witch Weekly and The Quibbler were the only papers available to the public.
The second blow was the discovery that the entire contents of the basement were missing. The DMLE investigators opined that the Fidelius was merely to delay discovery that the printing presses, stockpiles of paper, ink and spare parts, had been purloined. The Prophet was forced to sub-contract the printing to Witch Weekly to maintain a regular run. This meant working around WW's print schedule.
The third blow was more literal. As in, their entire office wing blew up one night. Upon observing the strange scorch marks, several Aurors who had spent time training on the Continent on Auror exchanges, commented that the pattern was remarkably similar to Veela-fire.
Due to the publication timing difficulties and the heavy costs involved in re-acquiring new presses, refurbishing their offices and re-warding the building, the Prophet had to reduce their publication schedule down to five days a week instead of seven, and take on hefty extra debt. Bob announced that even a Lovegood couldn't be expected to work under these conditions, quit and joined the type-setters at TWW. He noted that teen witches were likely a more discerning, sophisticated and appreciative audience than the average Prophet reader anyway.
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"What happens if Rita finds out who we are and what we've done? What if she blows our cover? I mean, there's no way she's going to take this sort of thing lying down." Ron asked at the next HA meeting. He read the latest lead of The Quibbler out loud:
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WHICH OF THE SACRED 28 ARE MUGGLE-LOVERS?
Profiles of The Elite Pureblood Families who Grovel at The Feet of The Muggle-Raised Half-Blood Dark Lord (MRHBDL)!
By Rita Skeeter and Sir Loin of Beefe
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"Who's she going to blow it to?" Hermione responded sensibly. "The Daily Prophet's still out for her blood, and I doubt Witch Weekly or Teen Witch Weekly will be particularly interested in our machinations." She gave a salute to Odd. "Great rune puzzle this week, Xeophilius – really had me stumped for ages."
Odd beamed in pride. Which gave him more than a passing resemblance to Bob in one of his manic moods.
"You're right though, if she can prove that we're responsible, it is conceivable that she'd be able to do a deal with the Prophet and Ministry to get herself reinstated – then all the hounds would be released against us," Hermione lectured. "That's why Xeno, Dobby and I've taken the liberty of writing up even-more-career-destroying articles that we'll drip-feed to the public over the next few weeks. Everybody in power will be baying for her blood, she'd be lynched before she could even open her mouth." She nodded at Odd who pulled a stack of parchment out of one of his socks and presented them to the group.
Remus skimmed over the titles.
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BUGGING THE WIZARDING WORLD: RITA SKEETER'S MOST PERSONAL INTERVIEW YET!
Acclaimed investigative journalist Ms Skeeter sits down with our reporter Mr Hugh Jass for an intimate tête-á-tête to discuss her role as a Ministry spy. Illegal beetle animagus form used to uncover secrets on behalf of the Daily Prophet and various Ministry Departments!
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HOW TO FIGHT BACK!
Tips and Strategies for Average Citizens to Make Death Eaters' Lives hell! Defend Yourself From Attack, and Make Them Wish They'd Chosen Real Careers!
By Rita Skeeter and Ollie Tabooger
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CORRUPTION IN THE MINISTRY!
Bagnold's Bribes!
By Rita Skeeter and Yuri Nator
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DMLE DIRECTOR CROUCH: SENDING UPSTANDING PUREBLOODS TO AZKABAN WITHOUT TRIAL?
Shocking Lack of Due Process Exposed!
By Rita Skeeter and Oliver Klozoff
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BARTEMIUS CROUCH JR: BETRAYS WIZARDING WORLD, JOINS MRHBDL!
Adolescent Rebellion, or Following his Father's Example?
By Rita Skeeter and Amanda Hugginkiss
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WANNABE DARK LORDS!
A History of Halfblood and Muggleborn Dark Lords, and Where The MRHBDL Falls Short!
By Rita Skeeter and Seymour Butz
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MORE SECRETS OF THE MRHBDL!
Tom Riddle's Feverish Attempts to Erase His Muggle Past – Exposed!
By Rita Skeeter and Dixie Normus
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"Yo, Peter, there's one about you!" Remus tossed him the sheet.
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THE MYSTERIOUS MASSACRE OF THE MALFOY CLAN!
By Rita Skeeter and Ivana Humpallotte
New information indicates that the recent spate of accidental deaths of numerous members of prominent pureblood family the Malfoys may be the result of an ancient curse! Experts state that the Malfoy Family Rules explicitly prohibit marrying or serving any muggleborn or halfblood, a rule clearly broken by those who shamed themselves and their lineage by bowing and scraping to a MRHBDL. Evidence indicates that a series of dark curses are magically linked to the Rules and automatically punish violators, according to legend cast by the legendary founder of the Malfoy line, Sir Hildegaard Mal-Foi. The new Head of House Malfoy, Lord Peter Pettigrew-Potter-Black-Malfoy vows to never repeat the tragic mistakes of his forebears…
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"Sounds like the most rational and down-to-earth reasoning I've ever heard," Harry rumbled gravely.
"Morgana's icy tits, there'll be a frenzy! She'll have to flee the country!" exclaimed James. "Where'd you get all this information?"
"Some of it from here," she tapped Harry on the forehead, as he tried to swat her hand away. "The rest of it scraped together from snippets gathered by our house elf investigative team. Dobby managed to find eight other elves who've agreed to muckrake for The Quibbler. As for the Malfoy story, we just made that one up, of course."
"You made it up?!"
"Hey," she objected defensively, "if every other wizarding news outlet can make things up on a regular basis with total impunity, we at least should be able to have some artistic licence for a good cause!"
"But are we really justified making her a scapegoat like this?" asked Marlene uncomfortably. She and Lily had refused to take any part in destroying Skeeter's or the Prophet's reputations.
"Normally I'd baulk at something like that," Hermione admitted. "But Skeeter's done a lot of horrible things to people to build her career. I couldn't even count the number of lives and reputations she's destroyed with that poison pen of hers. But the part I find the worst is all the harping on Voldie being a halfblood," she sighed. "Pandora and Xeno assure me it's the most devastating stick we have to hit him with. And if you say something often enough, people will eventually internalise it." Her forefinger tapped in agitation. "I hate all this muggle-bashing! As if having any connection to the muggle world is something to be ashamed about!"
"To the Purists and Traditionalists it is," Pandora replied. "Think of it as using their own bigotry against them."
"Dye think outing the Dark Tosser as a 'MRHBDL' and all that rot will cause his followers to desert him?" Mary pondered.
"Extremely unlikely," replied Pandora.
"They're a bunch of fanatics," Hermione explained. Those with Dark Marks have bound their very souls to Voldie; even if they had second thoughts, walking away is a death sentence. No, come hell or high water, they're committed to the very bitter end. Most of his unmarked followers will probably stick it out too. At the end of the day, power is still power, and they'll probably calculate that it's better to stick with a supposedly all-powerful halfblood if he's going to win anyway. Besides, given how 'reliable' the wizarding press generally is, all the true believers would most likely simply dismiss it out of hand as lies and propaganda."
"But with some luck we can peel away a bunch of his Traditionalist backers and erode his financial support. Every bit helps," said Pandora.
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