A/N: The wizarding world has SO much room for inventive manipulation and law-breaking, it's not even funny! An invisibility cloak can break into the Louvre, a love potion would see any world leader swooning, and there's surely a black market of celebrity hair for polyjuice potion (I'm looking at you, creepy Knockturn Alley fingernail lady). There's an incredible amount of things that a smart and unscrupulous character could take advantage of.
Thus, this interlude. Showing what dear Rita Skeeter was up to during the war. If anyone doubts that felix felicis can be this much of a deus ex machina, let me direct you to Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. This potion is basically begging to be exploited! There will eventually be a follow-up to this chapter, showing more of the background plot. The years skip ahead from scene to scene, so stay with me here, everything gets explained.
THERE'S A SMALL CURSED CHILD SPOILER IN ONE SEGMENT, THOUGH IT'S CLEARLY MARKED!
The room smelled of almonds and molasses. From the scent alone, Rita Skeeter thought it a job well done. Even better, the golden liquid filling her cauldron looked perfectly delectable. She took a large whiff as a smile unfurled. For the life of her, she couldn't understand how she hadn't thought of this before now.
'Desperate times,' she mused to herself, spooning an ample portion into a vial and stoppering it. Before now, she'd had no reason to use her potions skills to gain an edge—her beetle form and the Quick Quotes Quill had accomplished that. But now, with the Granger girl holding blackmail over her?
Rita considered the vial, shaking it gently. The gold liquid bubbled before settling down. In this held all the possibilities in the world. An atrocious amount of stories, yes. The Daily Prophet was a lost cause with Granger's information, she knew that. But this meant alternatives.
"Or vengeance." serenity filled her, even without having tasted the potion. Her hair was matted and she'd had little sleep, yet holding this final product made it all worth it. A laugh bubbled up, mixed with exhaustion and a note of hysteria. "Screw this! Screw the mudblood and screw that blasted editor. 'Been slacking off two months', my arse. You try being held hostage by an insane, impertinent little girl! I'm tired of waiting. Let's roll the damn dice."
With a sense of abandon she unstoppered the vial and gulped down the potion. As the golden liquid travelled down her throat calmness cascaded through her. The hysteria and hate dispersed and the woman found herself blinking through a pleasant fog.
"How, how odd." Rita gazed around, barely aware that she'd set down the empty vial and drawn her wand. A truly happy grin settled as she stood. She wasn't bothered that it was now difficult to trace back her thoughts, where her want for revenge seemed so distant and…unnecessary now. In fact, all she really wanted was a sandwich.
Nodding to herself, she apparated to an empty alleyway by a local deli. The place was crowded with muggles and it was a struggle to get inside. Rita didn't mind, content to swerve her way in person by person. There were many professionals on their lunch breaks, jostling for room while bored and impatient. Most of the couples were struggling to keep their place in line while keeping near each other. All except one couple by the door who—like Rita—seemed fine with waiting. Indeed, they were making the best of their time.
"Minister!" Rita gayly doubled back, calling out to the man. Said wizard pulled away from the kiss and blinked around, turning ashen when he caught sight of the reporter. "Wonderful to see you. Isn't this a pleasant day? I do love these sandwiches."
Cornelius Fudge, clothes askew, stared at her in unmistaken horror. The young witch with him gave an eep! of recognition, trying to hide her face with a bowler hat (which, Rita idly considered, was the Minister's trademark hat).
"Are you picking up lunch for your wife?" Rita continued, not put-off that strangers were struggling around her or that the two she'd cornered were frantically searching for a way out. She blinked, taking proper notice of the furiously blushing girl. "I'm sorry, where are my manners! Rita Skeeter, ex-reporter for the Daily Prophet. Are you the Minister's assistant? Intern?"
"Secretary," she meeped, trying to hide behind the gaping man.
"What a lovely opportunity." Rita beamed at them both. "Cornelius dear, you have a smudge of lipstick on you. Did you know?"
"Ex, ex-reporter?" Fudge asked weakly, hand going for his pocket.
"Quite so," Rita said happily. "Are you going for your wand? Bit tricky to use in here. What a thing, to summon an obliviator squad to muggle London! All sorts of uncomfortable questions would come from that, I imagine."
He stopped reaching for his wand.
Rita, taking the stressed silence as a cue to continue, went on. "As for the reporting? The Prophet and I didn't see eye to eye. I wanted a paycheck and they didn't want me! Ha ha! Isn't that the funniest thing?" she laughed, making the other two increasingly comfortable. "So funny. Of course, it has set me back money wise. I also have so much time on my hands. I do miss investigating; I've been looking for a subject to prod my nose into, just to pass the time—"
"NO!" the other two screeched, creating a sudden lapse in noise in the cafe as everyone turned to stare. After a few moments, people went back to their business and ignored the panicking pair in the corner.
"Now, now Rita," Fudge said beseechingly, putting on his most winning smile. "I'm sure there's no need for that. I can have a word with the Prophet about your job, I'm sure. Old friends with the editor! Yes, yes I am. I'll send an owl right away, there's no need to make a fuss about anything. For me or Alison."
"Oh, would you talk to them?" Rita gave the cringing girl a wink. "That's a keeper you have there. You must give fantastic blows."
'Alison' gave another eep!, hiding herself as best she could in the cramped corner behind the awkwardly shuffling Minister.
"Of course," Rita pointed out, "there's still the money problem. Rent to pay, potions to make—"
"I'm, I'm sure we can work something out," Fudge said quickly. "Keep this to the three of us! Not a problem, no, not at all. Certainly not."
"Lovely." Rita had a small inkling that things had turned back her way. She didn't dwell on this, being perfectly content to let the felix felicis lead the way.
Rita was many things, but she wasn't a foolish woman. Nor was she a pureblood and she was apt at spotting the writing on the wall. She began making alternative plans the moment Fudge proclaimed that, no, Potter wasn't exactly a lying lunatic, and yes, perhaps You Know Who wasn't entirely dead. Weeell, she made some plans. Felix took care of the rest.
A few drops made her decide that she was in need of a new career. Handing over proof of an affair by an unwanted son-in-law made the Prophet Editor-in-Chief amiably agree that news of Rita's resignation was best kept out of the limelight (after all, weren't there far more exciting things to report about?).
Another brew got her to consider that London was rather nasty this time of the year (and prone to explode). The little hamlet of Godric's Hollow was perfect for a trip. Once there, oh, that grocer on the corner looked delightful! Best help the old lady with her bags—why yes, she was a dearie. Rita had never been called that before, but Felix whispered that it fit this bubbly, blonde teenage body. Polyjuice was remarkable, wasn't it?
Past the crumbly graveyard, taking no mind of the fallen apart cottage while she was so busy chatting with her new friend. Friend? Bathilda, that was her name. Lovely woman, very appreciative of the help with her bags. Kept commenting on Rita's youth. Her eyesight was poor, though, and she didn't notice the bit of potion being poured into the pumpkin juice.
Oh yes, Bathilda's house was darling. Did she want to come it? Didn't mind if she did! Shoes off, groceries on the kitchen counter. All set, really must be going. Something to drink? Bathilda was too kind, so much like her own grandmother. Well, if she insisted. Just water, though. Thank you.
Rita twiddled her legs under the table, watching and sipping as Bathilda got her own cup. The old woman sat down with a satisfied sigh, glad to rest her feet and glad for the cold orange drink in her hand.
A sip. Two. Three. Eyes became glassy.
Rita neatly caught the pumpkin juice as it fell, setting it on the table. Bathilda stared straight ahead at nothing, lips lightly parted.
"So," Rita said primly, sitting with steepled fingers. The elderly witch didn't react, "I hear you're old friends with the Dumbledores."
'Yes,' she decided as the truth potion began to work its magic, 'a new career was just what the Healer ordered.' She'd always fancied being an author, after all.
Things were delicate in Britain. Rita hadn't realised exactly how much until her quasi-not-really-legal deal for Veritaserum was interrupted by a nosy Ministry official. She's been surprised, as she'd taken an extra dose of felix felicis in anticipation. The truth potion was grabbed, Mundungus hit with a confunding charm, and Umbridge with a compulsion randomly directly at a locket. That ought to keep them busy.
Rita transformed and quickly vacated before either finished blinking.
[CURSED CHILD SPOILER IN THIS SEGMENT!]
Rita sat in a hot tub as the felix felicis wore off. Wiggling her toes, she eyed the passed out Theodore Nott lying in a hazmat suit by the treeline. She took another truffle, popping it in her mouth.
"Wild ride, that one," she mused to herself, in no hurry to get out of the warm bubbles. Terrified shrieks were heard in the distance. Nott snorted in his sleep. "Illegal time-turner, hmm? Naughty naughty."
A contemplative pause.
"Best stay away from that," Rita decided, discarding Nott and his magical trinket from her mind. "No reason to mess with paradoxes. Such a nasty business."
She ate another truffle, leaning back with a satisfied sigh.
"Potions potions potions," Rita's fingers skimmed over the shelves of vials, felix felicis churning happily within her. She'd had a few flat upgrades since she'd first tried experimenting. She'd had more than a few book deals as well: thank Merlin she'd always kept her blood status close to her chest. The little war had barely touched her! "I think—polyjuice potion seems right. Not a ten, no. I'll be a mousy bookworm today. Yes, that seems perfect. Also Veritaserum I believe. Never hurts!"
Swallowing the polyjuice her features bubbled and she winced at the fishy aftertaste (and more than winced as her muscles contracted and organs smooshed). She became shorter, with sweeping brown hair and pleasant though unassuming features. After recovering her balance and breath, a glance in the mirror showed her to be in her late teens or early twenties. With another feeling of rightness, her clothes were tightened and transformed into muggle jeans and a t-shirt. There was a hint of cleavage and a curvy figure, but the attire was conservative. The unbreakable vial of Veritaserum was stowed in her trouser's pocket.
Rita gave a thought then nodded. "A walk in the park. St. James, with the birds. It's a good day to feed birds, I can tell. Beautifully sunny!"
Then it was so easy to find it, though she couldn't recall the last time she'd been. There were ducks, swans too! She'd forgotten to bring bread to feed them, but it didn't matter. There was a bench free right next to the water's edge and, when she sat down, she realised the place was wonderfully quiet. Hardly anyone was around, except the swans pecking at each other.
Footsteps and prams did pass, but Rita took no notice of them until two feet collapsed on the bench by her. Felix jolted a hint of irritation through her and she glanced around, inspecting the teenage boy who'd interrupted her contemplation. He was slumped, head in lap, hands grappling his brown hair. He looked thin. He looked wasted. He was wearing formal clothes that were far too rich for him.
"OI! Tuxedo boy!" The kid startled and glanced up at her exclamation, staring at her as though he hadn't noticed the bench was already occupied. He seemed sober, though, so there was that. "I'm watching the birds here. Take your groaning elsewhere, hmm?"
The teenager gaped at her for a long moment before glancing around as though surprised to even find himself in the park. Hands lowered back to his sides, face downcast and eyes red. "Sorry, wasn't paying attention. I'll, I'll go—"
"You're all dressed up," Rita said, looking at the swans and not really listening to the startled boy.
"Yeah." The teenager fidgeted with his dark button-down shirt. His eyes weren't only red; they'd been furiously scrubbed. Rita felt a sweep of manufactured compassion fill her and gestured for him to stop getting up.
"Not good?" she sympathised.
"Not good," he agreed, sitting back down and staring at the pond. Shoulders were curved and hunched. "Ducked out of a funeral."
Rita nodded, finding that she and Felix completely understood. There was that compassion again. "Makes sense, those things are rubbish. Worst bit is when there's more than one at a time." The boy lifted his head a touch, curious. She instantly had the correct answer and the perfect morose tone. "My parents got caught in the Newcastle massacre last year. A building fell on them."
He stared at her. "I'm, I'm sorry." His voice was even more croaky and worn than before. Poor dear looked ready to burst into tears.
"My family's a mess so my grams insisted on two different funerals. Mum's was okay. But they wanted to have an open casket with dad. Not a good idea, that." At Rita's words he winced, ducking back down to stare at his lap. "Sorry, insensitive of me. My shrink says it's a defence mechanism, though I think he's full of it. I hope you only had one funeral to escape from?"
He gave a breathy, frantic laugh. "I wish."
"Oh. Sorry." Rita stared at him, stared back at the rustling swans, and Felix made a decision for her. She stood, patting down her jeans. "Seems I've worn out my welcome. Hope things work out, but this is awkward and I need a drink. Ta."
Mind on the nearest pub she twirled neatly around, not noticing the teenager gaping after her. She didn't notice a thing, in fact, except that it really was lovely walking around this part of London. The pub was growing nearer, which was fantastic, as she was suddenly so thirsty—
"Hey, wait! Wait!" The boy caught up, all wide eyes and huffing breath. He'd raced after her. "Sorry I'm, I'm James. Where're you going?"
"To get a drink," Rita said slowly, as though he was mentally deficient. "Tara."
"Can I come along?" James said in a rush.
She puckered her mouth, feeling an odd sort of disgust gush from Felix. "You aren't getting in my pants, funeral boy."
"No, no. I have a girlfriend," he explained. "I just need to get away. Running wasn't working, sitting there wasn't cutting it, and all of a sudden having a pint sounded brilliant."
Rita looked at him. "You even eighteen?"
There was a pause. "Yeah. Yeah, course."
"First lesson Jimmy: you're a horrid liar, don't even try." Rita swirled around, calling out behind her. "I'll order. Drink of choice?"
"I, um…"
"Now a lightweight's following me to the pub. If you're coming, hurry up! What funeral you running from, anyway. Family? Friend? Stranger?"
James jogged, catching up to her past a streetlight and honking cars. Though his answer was hesitant, it did come. "A friend. An acquaintance, I guess."
"Sounds like there's a story there."
"He was closer to my girlfriend. But I knew him," James' voice returned to being ragged. "He looked up to me and thought I was some sort of grand hero."
"A shrimp like you?" Her sympathetic smile softened her words, footsteps pounding the cracked pavement. "Can see why you'd run."
"Yeah."
Then there was the pub, a little wall in a hole but cozy inside. Crowded, too, so she shooed James off to grab a table while she headed to the counter. Two vodkas with lemonade—Rita thought that Tara would normally have gotten a whiskey, but funeral boy surely hadn't drunk a thing in his life. Besides, vodka covered Veritaserum's texture nicely.
Drinks paid for and glass dosed, Rita took the two and whistled off to the table. James was sitting, fidgety, staring out a window. His back was to the main pub. He jerked around when she set down the drinks.
"Right, thanks." He took one shakily, giving her a weak smile. "How much do I owe you?"
"You left a funeral, I'll cover the tab."
James looked at her properly as his grip tightened around the glass. The grin also strengthened though remained morose. "Thanks. But I followed you, I'll pay for it."
"It's a few quid, don't get your knickers in a twist." Rita took a swig of her own drink, smirking. "Jimmy, you haven't asked what's in that."
"It's alcohol?"
"Yep."
"So I really don't care," James sighed, swirling the glass. "Cheers."
He took a gulp and near instantly froze, eyes growing hazy. Almost as soon his body relaxed, muscles loosening. Rita extended her hand at the exact moment to catch the falling glass.
Leaving her own drink, she hopped around the table and took a seat next to the swaying James: leaned him against her shoulder, cupped his chin like a good girlfriend. Laughed and threw back her head, 'playfully' feeding his numb mouth the rest of the drink in case anyone was glancing their way. Though it didn't matter, their backs were to the rest of the pub.
"There you go," she whispered in his ear, making sure he swallowed most of it. His body had completely stilled beside her, eyes glazed and staring straight ahead. "Isn't that a pleasant feeling?"
"Yes," the truth swayed out of his lips.
"Much like cotton filling your head, hmm?"
"Yes."
"Now then, whose funeral did you just duck out of?"
"Colin Creevey's."
Rita adjusted her hold on him, his head close enough that only she could hear his words. "That's rather boring. What's your full name?"
"Harry James Potter."
"Now that, Jimmy boy, is much more exciting." Rita grinned at the teenager, resisting the urge to lick her lips. Oh, Felix was too good to her. "Will you be missed at the funeral?"
"Yes."
"How long until someone searches for you?"
"They surely already are, though not seriously."
"How long until someone grows concerned about your absence?"
The young wizard answered in a monotone. "Everyone expected me to duck out. I'm supposed to be at the Burrow for dinner at six. They would worry if I didn't show."
"But before then, your friends will assume that you're wandering around, sorting out your thoughts?"
"Yes."
"I don't suppose there are any trackers, magical or otherwise, on you?"
"There aren't."
"Delightful." Rita couldn't resist giving the numb boy a hug. "We'll have so much fun! Jimmy dear, I know Imperius rolls off you. But do you have any immunity to memory charms?"
"I don't."
"Lovely. Well, we have a few hours now. We'll get to a nice little spot and take things from there, hmm?"
A/N: Apologies once again for the ridiculous wait on this chapter! If it's any consolation, I also have the NEXT chapter finished and I plan to post it sometime this weekend.
