The first thing Rita Skeeter did was try to escape. She charged Lucius, who was still dealing with his combination of shock and irritation. With a strength that she didn't appear capable of, she pushed him against the door and attempted to run away. That snapped Lucius out of his astonishment quite thoroughly.

In his worst days, he had been a serious devotee of cat and mouse. He had once derived a sadistic pleasure from the terror of his prey and the knowledge that he was in control even though the other person seemed free. It was something he hadn't felt in a long, long time. But when the blonde form of Rita Skeeter tried to bolt past him, the cruel exhilaration rose in his chest.

His arm shot out almost of its own accord. His fingers closed around her fleshy arm and halted her as effectively as any spell. But Rita was a scrappy woman; she used the momentum to turn and take a swipe at his face. He reacted in time to prevent the loss of an eye or worse, but he felt the hag's nails dig into his cheek.

Of course she would not go quietly. The way she fought him meant that she believed everything she had ever written about him. She thought he was a monster. She tried everything, biting, scratching, kicking, punching, and thrashing against his grasp. He had to admit that for a few minutes, he really had his hands full.

The physical altercation took them across the kitchen, banging into counters and knocking pots, pans, and utensils to the floor. The air was punctuated by the clang of metal and the stream of obscenities issuing from Rita's mouth. She swung at him with a pan and he had to take a step back; in the moment it afforded her, she groped for a butcher knife. She swung the blade like she knew how to use it. He dodged by the barest of inches and lunged forward when she was off balance, twisting her wrist so that she dropped the blade. She managed to dance away but her dive for the knife proved fruitless, as his foot got there first and sent it skidding beneath the oven. Skeeter had run out of weapons; he all but tackled her. She fought like an untamed hippogriff. He knew he was being bruised, scratched, and scraped, but he barely felt it. He had gone white hot with the determination to subdue this heinous specimen of humanity. His wand had been lost but courtesy of his six year stint without it, he felt absolutely no need for the wooden accessory.

She was tiring. Good. He had never been so thankful for his football dalliance, because he wasn't tired at all. That was how Lucius was able to wrestle the spitting, snarling gossipmonger to the cold tile floor. Sweet hell. He was breathing hard, but he felt a perverse sense of conquest. And why shouldn't he?

Rita was on her stomach and he was sitting on top of her, her left arm bent up as if he was arresting her and the right one compressed beneath his knee. That left him free to fist his other hand in her disheveled hair and press her cheek into the floor, perhaps a little harder than was strictly necessary.

He felt the smile on his face. He really shouldn't be enjoying this as much as he was. It had been ages since he got to play…and he fully intended to play.

"Well, here we are…" he said.

"Please don't hurt me!" she begged.

Lucius laughed. "You know, I was never a strong believer in karma…but now…" He leaned forward over her, placing his lips near her ear. He could feel her quivering underneath him. God, he had forgotten what a drug someone else's fear was.

"It all comes back around, Rita," he whispered. He placed his index finger against the base of her skull and ran it slowly down her neck. "Every…last…sin."

They had both had another sip of Nonna's grappa, which could probably double as oven cleaner. Now they sat Indian-style on the floor across from one another, silently brainstorming.

"Have you considered," Giacomo started carefully, "that they might be working with your brother?"

Lorenzo cast him a glare. "What can he offer them that I haven't?"

"I don't know. That is where I keep hitting the wall, too."

"They're not working with him. He's trying to wipe them out. There's no way."

The two men lapsed into silence again.

"Then the real question is, who do we contact first?" Giacomo wondered aloud.

"They'll be watching Desi, hoping that I go to him. Same with Luca." Lorenzo shook his head. Luca was to Desi as Giacomo was to him – as close as a brother, level-headed, and always the one to go to for advice.

Giacomo stretched and then tapped a thoughtful rhythm on the floorboards. "Then perhaps we ought to go where they least expect us to go."

"Where's that?"

"To Rosa."

Lorenzo's neck snapped up. "Rosa? Rita's sister? Are you insane?"

"No. Think about it. She lives in America. They won't have bothered to go all the way there to monitor her. They also won't think we'd talk to her since she's related to Rita."

"You've just done an excellent job of explaining exactly why we shouldn't go to her."

"Enzo, you know there are some siblings who love one another and others who can't stand to be together. Rita and Rosa fall in the the latter category."

Lorenzo blew out a sigh. Giacomo was mostly right. Rosa had moved away nine years ago and hardly looked back. It was well known that the two had not spoken since Rita and Gaetano's exile and that she detested the way her sister made her living.

"Do you think she would help us?"

"To warn her own kin of a coup? Absolutely."

"All right," he relented slowly. "But if she doesn't help, we go to Luca next."

"Agreed."

Lorenzo frowned. "What about Daniela?"

"I have been thinking about that." Giacomo fixed a hard glare on him and said, "I gave you someone I loved to ensure a certain outcome. We didn't get that outcome."

"I know. Giacomo…I…"

"What's done is done."

"Then…?" For the first time in a long time, Lorenzo looked not only ashamed, but also vulnerable.

"If we bring Daniela to Narcissa's son-"

"No."

"Enzo, he is a good young man. He won't harm her. And how else are we supposed to make him understand that we mean his family no harm?"

"We mean his family no harm?" Lorenzo blinked incredulously. "Rita just stole all their money and may have killed his father, and they knew that Narcissa was in danger. We will be hexed or arrested the moment we appear. It's madness."

"That's Rita you're talking about. Rita and Gaetano. We have done nothing to them. It's a show of good faith, Enzo."

"I can't play with my daughter's life like that!"

"I gambled with my fiancee's life for you!" Giacomo shot back. "Was that supposed to be easier? I waited years to find a woman I really loved, years, because I was devoted to helping you. I don't regret that. But I regret not telling you no." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You would not have done it for me."

Lorenzo opened his mouth to refute that. But, once his lips parted, he found that he couldn't. Plain and simple, he would never have risked Jocasta's life for anyone's sake. God, he had even told Narcissa Black that she had his eternal gratitude for protecting his daughters when he'd been shot, and this was how he thanked her. He was a selfish man. But just the same, he was not prepared to risk his daughter's life.

"They won't hurt her. I have met her son. He wouldn't harm a child." Giacomo leaned forward and took him by the arms. "Where else can we go? Who else can we trust? He will keep her safe, if for no reason other than to have insurance that his mother will be returned safely."

"And if she's not?" Lorenzo said quietly, not looking his friend in the eye.

When he spoke, Giacomo's tone was final.

"That isn't even an option."

"I can't believe you went to school here!" Telly marveled for the tenth time. "My school was just a raggedy old building."

"A raggedy old building?" Ryan snorted. "Don't let Greene hear you say that."

"He's not here." Telly shrugged flippantly.

"Our school is Greene's alma mater," Ryan explained. "He gets testy whenever anyone insults it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Draco said distractedly. He felt odd in his old common room. He had never before realized how dark it was, nor how heavy it felt with all of the school sitting upon it. This was the first time Hermione was seeing it; she was currently charming Isamu, blabbering excitedly with him about organ-growing potions. He smirked slightly to himself. He had the feeling that Hermione would go a long way in winning the reserved Japanese man over. They would all probably end up liking his girlfriend more than him.

As if reading his mind, Ernesto said, "Draco, your girlfriend is hot."

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't like women."

"I don't, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate a hot one."

Draco looked at Gabriel for support. The other man just shrugged.

"Ernie is right."

"Do not call me that!" Ernesto grumbled. Gabriel smirked.

"Well, you won't get any argument from me," Draco murmured. "Hermione is fantastic." He'd leave out the fact that they'd hated one another's guts for most of their school years, as it was mostly his fault.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

They all looked up. It was McGonagall, looking grim and uncomfortable in the dark den of Slytherin.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

"Yes. Everything is settled with Professor Greene and your compatriots. Hermione and I will escort them to appropriate quarters. In the meantime, someone is here to see you."

"Who?" he asked, frowning.

"They are waiting in the Headmaster's office. The password is gumdrop buttons."

Draco got no more out of her, and was left to make his way to the rarely-used Headmaster's office alone.

He fought off the memories as he rode the gargoyle up to the dreaded office. McGonagall refused to use it; she convened her Headmistress duties out of the office off her transfiguration classroom. He hadn't been up to this one in ages and wished he could be spared the trip. However, McGonagall's cryptic tone ruled out any hope of ditching this appointment.

He was jarred slightly as the gargoyle stopped. The door loomed a few feet away. With a sigh, he stepped up to it and turned the knob.

It was just as he remembered, save for the addition of two more portraits to the already-crowded walls. Dumbledore was asleep in his frame, or pretending to be. Snape was staring suspiciously at the man who stood in profile next to the desk. Draco couldn't see his face because there was a little girl, pale and sleeping as though half-dead, draped over his shoulder.

"Can I help you?"

The man turned. "I think we can help each other."

Draco's lip twisted into a sneer and his hand went to his pocket. "You!" he snarled, raising his wand and taking a step forward. "How dare you come here like this!"

"Let us be reasonable, Draco. There is an innocent little girl here."

"You're a real prize, Cannavare," he scoffed, "using a kid to shield you."

"If I didn't, you would have hexed me or killed me before I could say what I need to say. It's just a precaution."

"Then say your piece." He was so angry his arm was shaking as he trained the wand on the mobster.

"It was not your mother who killed your father."

"Tell me something I don't already know, and do it fast!"

Cannavare blinked, as if impressed that Draco had already figured that out. "Very well. You've been made to believe that we're in league with Gaetano Scattori. That isn't the case. He has both your mother and Lorenzo's wife and attempted to kill us. We're on the run from him."

"And you want my help?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Not your help, just your cooperation. I have every intention of retrieving your mother safely. Regardless of what you may believe, she means a great deal to me. I regret ever putting her in danger."

"Why should I trust you?"

He shifted the girl in his arms. "Because this is Lorenzo's daughter. Her name is Daniela. We need a safe place to put her while we attempt to cancel out all that Gaetano's done."

"You would hand her over to me?"

"Yes. That way, you have not only our word, but our guarantee that your mother will be returned safely. We are on the same side, Draco, it's just been cleverly obscured up until now."

Draco thought and thought hard. He didn't think Scattori would gamble with his own children, least of all this little one, who couldn't be more than eight. But then, why hadn't he come, instead of Giacomo?

"Why are you doing this? Why not Lorenzo?"

"You wouldn't have recognized him. He's out trying to warn the Mancinis, anyhow."

Draco processed that. It seemed plausible enough.

"And what if you don't succeed? What then?"

"If we don't succeed, we'll be dead, and the best place for her is with you."

Nervously, Draco lowered his wand. "You don't have to do this alone. Can't the Aurors-"

"No. No Aurors. They are as easy to buy as anyone else and we can't be sure of their allegiance. Besides, this is a family affair, not one for the law."

"Then take me with you. This is my family, too."

Giacomo shook his head. "No. You are a target. If you're captured, your mother has no chance. You are the more valuable hostage. They'll kill her so that they can have the money from her family, as well. Your best hope for everyone to make it out of this alive is to stay here and let us do what we must."

Draco stared at him. It wasn't the first time he'd been told to stay behind and he wasn't too proud to do so. However…

"All right. I'll protect the girl. But if I don't get results in three days, I'm coming to Milan."

Cannavare eyed him for a moment. "Fair enough." Then he handed Daniela over to Draco. "There will be an owl when we have her."

"I look forward to it," Draco replied stiffly, not sharing the other man's confidence. Giacomo nodded tersely and then strode from the office. The scrape of stone could be heard as the gargoyle descended.

Draco sighed and shifted the girl in his arms. She was small but heavy enough. His arms were aching already. How the hell was he going to explain the sudden addition of a child?

"Mr. Malfoy, are you in trouble with the Mafia?" Snape asked from his portrait.

"What ever gave you that idea?" he responded.

"I have connections that may be of use to you. The DiNatale family of Venice is trustworthy. If I am not mistaken, they have traditionally been in alliance with the Scattoris of Milan. Several of their boutiques near San Marco are supplied by shipments from Milan that, shall we say…fell off the back of a broom. If you mention the name Dante Severino, they might be sympathetic to your plight."

From the other side of the room, Dumbledore chuckled. "Severus, I would admonish you if I thought it would matter."

"Hmph. I had to get my less legal potions ingredients somewhere, didn't I?"

"I suppose you did."

Draco blinked at his former head of house and savior. "Dante…Severino…?"

He snorted. "It was the best I could come up with on short notice."

For the first time in two days, Draco laughed.

He had to be careful. The blood was running hot beneath his skin. In his mind, he knew that there was no one looking over his shoulder. The temptation to hurt her, really hurt her, was difficult to resist. There was the agreement with Shacklebolt to keep in mind…

But damn, he had really forgotten how power and domination got under his skin. It made his breath come fast and his face pull into a heavy-lidded sneer. If it wasn't for the fact that it was Her Bitchyness Rita Mancini-Skeeter beneath him, he would be unbearably turned on. When he got Narcissa back…good gracious, she was going to get the spanking of a lifetime for ever leaving him, and then he was going to fuck her until they lost consciousness or couldn't physically do it anymore – whichever came first.

The thought placed a grimly determined smile upon his lips. It was dashed a moment later when he remembered the precariousness of the situation. There was no use in making plans until he got her out of harm's way. The sadistic glee in him transformed at that moment into something far more dangerous. He was angry.

Roughly, he pulled Skeeter about so he could see her face. Physical gentleness didn't concern him. A few bruises wouldn't matter; lord knew they'd overlooked more than bruises when he'd been so kindly admitted to Azkaban. Besides, he had a read on the the Minister now. Kingsley Shacklebolt was humane and reasonable, but he did what he needed to do to get the results he wanted. Lucius could manage to walk that line.

But why walk it straight and narrow? He gripped her neck with enough force to convey threat, but not to cut off her air. Fear was naked upon her face now and all the defiance had fled from her eyes. With a cold grin, Lucius poured every ounce of intimidation he possessed onto her. Like this, that was quite a lot; he was astride her, feeling the wild beat of her heart against his thighs, and one quick spell assured that her arms and legs were not going anywhere. She was utterly at his mercy. He was content to toe the very edge of the line, to reel and flail in the danger of losing his balance or his way, because he knew that he could restrain himself.

He leaned down, fingers tightening against the soft flesh of her throat of their own accord. He just stayed there for a long minute, his face inches from hers. She tried to look into his eyes. Like an animal acknowledging its master, she couldn't. Submission - good. Perhaps this wouldn't be too much of a chore.

Lucius let her stew. He had discovered in his time that the most effective tool of terror was a person's imagination. Merlin only knew what scenarios were flooding her head right now. In her mind he had no boundaries, no mercy, and no care for good or evil. In her mind, he was capable of anything.

And truly, he was. But what he was capable of no longer mattered. The walls of conscience had been firmly slammed into place in the last few years. Any man was capable of monstrous deeds, but most chose not to perform them. He was glad to say that he fell into that category now. Yet the fact that he hadn't always was a powerful weapon in his favor.

Ah, the sweet sound of a whimper. It escaped Skeeter's chapped lips. He noticed that red lipstick stains had seeped into the lines on her lips; otherwise, they were pale and trembling. Fucking hell, fear was beautiful.

It was another minute before she broke.

"Don't toy with me!" she shrieked. "Just do what you're going to do!"

"Do you think you're in charge here?" he growled.

Another whimper. She tried ineffectively to struggle. The body-bind and his weight didn't allow her an inch.

"No, Rita," he murmured, touching a finger to her stained lips and knowing that she would loathe the contact. She did. Apparently there was still some fight left in her, because she tried to bite him. He retracted his hand just in time; her teeth clicked together on nothing but air. He itched to slap her for the insolence, God how he itched, and he raised his hand to do so without any intent of actually doing it. She squeezed her eyes shut in terror, awaiting the blow that wouldn't come.

"No," he repeated. "I will do what I want when I want to do it. You have smeared my name, tormented my family, attempted to murder my son and nearly did murder me. And let's not forget the millions of galleons you stole from me while impersonating my wife. I owe you nothing, least of all an expedient punishment."

"You poor deluded man," she shot back. "You're so desperate to believe that your wife wouldn't do that to you that you've convinced yourself it was me!"

"Your argument would work a lot better if you were not wearing my wife's clothing," he snarled. "Perhaps we should remedy that, hm?" He moved his hands, as if to reach for the zipper of the now-wrinkled dress.

"No!" she screamed. She renewed her fruitless struggle.

"Oh, come on, Rita, I know you would have stayed for the main event if Polyjuice didn't have such a short window of effectiveness. Who am I to deprive you?" he said with a malevolent edge of magnanimity to his voice. He abandoned the zipper along her back because he didn't fancy a crushed hand; there were easier ways to remove a dress. He shifted his weight even as she screamed again. Merlin, what a piercing sound! If she kept doing that, he might consider a silencing charm.

She had good reason to scream, at least in her mind; she thought he was going to try to rape her. He had zero interest in that, save for what menace the implication could bring. His hand found the hem of the dress and the skin of her thighs underneath. He didn't need to pull it very high or really even touch her, save for a graze of his fingers along her hip, before she burst into tears.

"Please!" she begged. "Don't! I can help you!"

"Help me how?" he demanded, giving her a rough shake.

"W-we're in the same boat n-now," she stammered. "Gaetano left me here and he wants you out of the picture. If…if you let me go, I will get you all your money back."

"Rita, my dear, I am not interested in money."

"You're bluffing," she dared to say, more comfortable in the illusion of negotiation. That was all it was – an illusion. He had no intention of negotiating anything with her.

"And you're bold, aren't you? What makes you think I want anything other than revenge?" To prove his point, he flicked his wand and his wife's wrinkled dress disappeared. When she realized what he had done, Skeeter screamed again. He put his hand around her neck, hard enough to stifle the earsplitting sound she was emitting. "If you scream one more time, so help me, I will silence you permanently."

She must have believed him. She began to tremble and her cheeks reddened as she strained for breath. He had a good idea how long a person could go without it and still stay conscious. He let her gasp and struggle, feeling her now-bare chest pressing against his forearm. Slowly, just before her eyes rolled back, he eased off. She drew air in great heaving wheezes. He just watched. Her eyelashes, strawberry blonde at the base and platinum at the tips, were bound together into little clumps by her tears.

Merlin, he really was a sick fuck, wasn't he? Lucius's lips curved into a smile. This was why he'd done many of the things he'd done, not because he truly believed in the Dark Lord's ideals. It was just that the Dark Lord gave him an outlet, a license to aggressively seek power and bask in another's fear. He couldn't say why he liked those things, or why little details like the way eyelashes fused together when a person cried were so perilously beautiful to him. He supposed it was just the way he was born.

Nothing could be done for it. It was in his very DNA. At least he knew now that there were safe, legal, and mutual ways in which he could experience this rush – and that he didn't need it all the time. This was the first time in nearly seven years that the darkness inside him fought to the surface and he was firmly in control of it, which was more than could be said for the times before.

He exhaled, watching her catch her breath. Lucius felt no shame for blatantly enjoying her fear. He was in control and would stay that way. He liked control, even if it was control over himself. That was the piece that had been missing before.

"Now, Rita, where were we?"

He brought the poor girl to the infirmary. He figured he ought to make sure she was all right first, because she was sleeping very deeply. Madame Pomfrey gave him a quizzical look. He shook his head and for once, she let it be.

"It's a sleeping spell," the older witch said. "Did you cast it, Mr. Malfoy?"

"No. He brought her like that."

"He…?"

"It's a long story. We're going to be looking after her now. Her name is Daniela."

Madame Pomfrey was now more confused than ever. "You're going to have to give me something to work with, Draco."

He sighed and rubbed his temples. "All right. When she wakes up, you can tell her that her father brought her to Miss Narcissa's son, and that he'll keep her safe until her father gets back."

"And where are you going, Mr. Safekeeper?" the mediwitch demanded, a note of irritation in her voice.

"I have to make a phone call."

His pocket was vibrating. It could only be Draco or Hermione; they were the sole beneficiaries of his new phone number. He stared down into Skeeter's frightened, bloodshot eyes and pondered. They wouldn't call unless it was important, but just the same, if it was important, they'd leave a message. It was better to miss the call than to risk Skeeter screaming her head off when he answered it – though he doubted she'd get any sympathy from Draco or Hermione.

He reached into his pocket once the phone went still. Skeeter didn't know what it was; she eyed it with extreme trepidation. Silly bint thought it was some kind of torture device. He rolled his eyes and dialed the voicemail. A moment later he was greeted with his son's voice.

"Father, it's me. I hope you get this because it's important. Cannavare came to Hogwarts. He said that it's all been a big misunderstanding, that he and Lorenzo Scattori are on the run from Gaetano. He gave me one of Lorenzo's daughters as proof. I know it sounds crazy, but there's no way he would just hand her over if he didn't mean it. He said that he and Lorenzo are trying to get Mum back. I believe him. Your cover is safe; they still think you're dead. But more interestingly, I talked to Snape's portrait and he said that the Scattoris have connections in Venice, with a family called the DiNatales. Snape said that if you mention the name Dante Severino, they might be willing to help you. It's worth looking into, I think. That's all I've got for you now. I have to go and finish writing your bloody eulogy."

Lucius smirked and deleted the message. It didn't surprise him in the least that Snape had Mafia connections. This was a definite lead; either the DiNatales could be summoned to help their northern allies, or Gaetano could have contacted them and sent Narcissa to be held there. Either way, it was worth exploring. But first…he had some unfinished business. He had a chance to hear the story from the horse's mouth and he wasn't about to relinquish that just yet.

He put the phone back into his pocket. Then he leaned down over Rita, close enough to cause her intense discomfort but just far enough away that she couldn't foolishly try to injure him.

"You have two choices, Rita. You can tell me everything I want to know, no deals, no bargains…just answers, or I can torment you in ways that your paltry mind can't even imagine. Which will it be?"

His secretary shrieked as someone suddenly apparated into the office. Kingsley's head snapped up. Bloody hell.

Quickly, he lifted his wand and stunned the secretary. Lucius handily caught the waif-thin woman as she fell. There he stood, a woman on each arm, both of them unconscious – though one had a shirt over her head and was otherwise only in her knickers.

"What on earth?" he demanded, exasperated. He had told Lucius he could apparate in if need be, but didn't think the man would make use of it so quickly or at all.

"I have a gift for you," he smirked. "If you don't mind taking your lovely secretary…"

"I'm not sure this is the kind of gift I need," Kingsley replied sardonically, eyeing the other woman and her nondescript knickers.

"Get your mind out of the gutter," the blond wizard smirked.

"Ah, yes, that's your territory," he grumbled as he laid the evening secretary, Beatrice, out on the couch. "I'm going to have to obliviate her."

"My apologies."

"Mm hm." He straightened up and turned to Lucius. "So what is this about?"

"It's about our first stroke of good luck in this whole miserable mess." He uncovered the woman's head. "Behold."

Kingsley blinked. "Is that…?"

"Rita Skeeter."

He frowned. "Why did you remove her clothes?"

"It's not hers, and it's evidence." He unfurled the shirt that had been secured around the woman's head and Kingsley saw that it wasn't a shirt at all. It was a dress. In fact, it was the dress that Narcissa Black had been wearing in the security images from Gringotts. "She was wearing it when I found her and her breath reeks of Polyjuice." He tossed the garment at Kingsley. "She also confessed to everything." He reached into his pocket for his phone and ejected the tiny, extra memory card from it. "It's recorded on there, so find someone who knows how to use it – I think Stevens in the Muggle Affairs Department helped the last time. That should be sufficient to clear my wife's name, yes?"

Shacklebolt stared at the other man, equally amazed and disconcerted. His eyes flickered to Skeeter's slack face. There wasn't a mark on her that he could see, quite the opposite from Lucius; he had bloody scratches on his left cheek and a wicked set of bruises peppering his visible skin. Yes, Lucius looked worse for the wear, but Rita's eyes were red and there were definite tear tracks down her face.

"What did you do to her?"

"Nothing that you wouldn't." Lucius extracted his wand and touched it to his temple. "And here's your proof." He drew out a strand of memory, thin as a piece of spaghetti and made of shimmering silver. The Death Eater-turned-Auror flippantly deposited the memory in the cup of a trophy on the shelf nearest him. "You saw me do it so there's no way I could have tampered with it. Now, I have work to do." Lucius smiled devilishly. "Ciao."

With a blink and a pop, Lucius Malfoy was gone. In his wake, Kingsley just sighed. He put Skeeter under a body bind just in case and then went to obliviate his secretary.

It only took a minute. Then he woke the poor girl. Beatrice sat up, blinking and dizzy.

"What…what happened?" she asked.

"You fainted. Did you forget your dinner break?" he asked gently. That was what he'd replaced her memories with.

"Oh. I was so busy answering those owls that I forgot. Silly me!" she said, swinging her legs around and standing up. "I'll go eat right now so it doesn't happen again. You'd think I would learn! I used to faint all the time in school…" she babbled.

"It's fine, Beatrice. Take care of yourself, all right?"

"Certainly, sir." Her brow furrowed and she tilted her head to the side to look around him. "Who is that?"

"Oh, one of the Aurors brought her in while you were unconscious. Don't worry about it, I've got everything under control for now."

"Of course you do, you used to be Head Auror after all!" she chirped. "I'll be off."

As she was walking out the door, he spoke up. "Beatrice?"

"Yes, Minister Shacklebolt?"

"When you're done with dinner, I'm going to need a pensieve brought up."

"I'm on it!"

"Thank you."

She disappeared out his door and Kingsley sat on the couch she'd just vacated, staring at the still form of Rita Skeeter. He shook his head and sighed. Then he stood up, walked over to his desk, and started the memo to the Head Auror.

As he was signing his name, she stirred. The first thing out of her mouth was a scream. Kingsley winced.

"Where am I?!" she shouted. "Where have you taken me? Someone help! Help me!"

"Mrs. Skeeter, I would appreciate it if you would lower your volume," Kingsley boomed.

"Who is that? Who's there?"

He walked over to where she lay immobile and peered down at her.

"Minister?" She blinked as if she didn't believe her eyes. "Minister Shacklebolt?"

"The one and only."

"Oh, thank goodness! Lucius Malfoy has-"

"Lucius Malfoy has what?"

"He's…he's held me captive, and abused me and tried to rape me!"

Kingsley stared at her. He knew she could lie with the best of Slytherins and she was putting on a hell of a show right now. She would try to spin this on Lucius, of course. It didn't matter what Lucius had or had not done, for that didn't cancel out the attempted murders, fraud, theft, and the massive trail of slander and libel she'd left behind before any of the other things. She really was a bottom feeder, this one. Kingsley had an urge that he didn't often have. He had the urge to be very, very unkind.

"Mrs. Skeeter, I'm sorry, but I have to inform you that Lucius Malfoy is dead."

"What? No. No, no, no, he isn't! I saw him! He was there!"

Kingsley summoned the day-old newspaper to him. He held it where she could see it.

"He's dead, Mrs. Skeeter. His wife murdered him. His son identified the body."

There was a petrified look in her eyes. He knew he'd fenced her in; she couldn't refute him without confessing that she had been the one to try to kill him. So it was either look crazy or confess to murder. Half-amused and well aware that he shouldn't be, he wondered which she would choose.

"I…but…he…he must have faked his death! I swear to you, Minister, he was there. He did this to me!"

"Rita, the only person there was the undercover Auror we sent in to find you." Oh, Merlin, the irony – he wasn't lying! He should not spend much time around Malfoy; the man brought out the worst in him. Or perhaps he was looking at it the wrong way. Perhaps it was Skeeter who brought out the worst.

"But…but…no!" she exclaimed.

"Regardless, you're in trouble. I was going to send you to Azkaban, but in light of your…delusional state, I guess the better place to hold you until your trial would be Barnaby's."

He watched her eyes go as wide as dinner plates. There were not many places that were more feared than Azkaban, but Barnaby's Asylum was one of them. It was the correctional institution for those deemed insane. It wasn't as high a level of security as Azkaban, which was why some real nutters like Bellatrix Lestrange didn't end up there, but he didn't think he needed to worry about Skeeter. Everyone else thought Lucius was dead, too, so to them her delusion would be quite convincing. And if she tired of hiding the truth and confessed, they would just transfer her to Azkaban. Overall, it was a win-win situation.

"Head Auror Dawlish will be here soon to escort you, Mrs. Skeeter. In the meantime, I hope you're comfortable."

"I most certainly am not comfortable!" she sputtered.

"Forgive me," he said as he folded the note to Dawlish and sent the little paper plane on its way, "I must have made it sound like I cared."