The fire flared green, a woman came smoothly sashaying out of the hearth. Wreathed in an overrobe of a vibrant reddish-purple, like a pale plum colour, perched on top of her head a shallow-crowned, wide-brim hat — it looked rather like a bergère, the straw skeleton hidden with a layer of slightly sheer black fabric. In the shade of the hat was a thick bed of blonde curls, spectacles glittering with rhinestones, more false jewels set in ear piercings.

Cassie couldn't quite suppress a bemused scoff — her lipstick matched her robe.

While Rita Skeeter glanced around the room, getting her bearings, Cassie waited. Síomha's eyes were closed, frowning in concentration. There was a faint tingle at the back of her mind, Síomha groping at the wards...there it was, she'd added Skeeter as a guest. They'd been practising with that, since Síomha had pointed out that she didn't know how to get people through the floo — in Cassie's defence, when she'd given Síomha deeper access to the wards, it hadn't occurred to her that she might not know how to use it. Taking a few steps toward the hearth, she said, "Miss Skeeter, welcome."

The writer gave her a bright, toothy grin. Patently fake, of course, Cassie could smell the cold, passionless examination hiding behind it. "Lady Black. If you'll allow me a moment, my photographer should be— Ah, here he is now..."

The photographer, Boyce Tuft, was far less colourful than Skeeter, dressed in a plain, professional suit — in the magical style, naturally — a somewhat overweight man with grey leeching into the brown of his hair and beard. He was bright and enthusiastic, though, cheerfully returning Cassie's greeting with an energetic little bow. When Cassie introduced Síomha as her fiancée, Tuft gave her a double-take, but Skeeter didn't even blink — either the news had begun to spread far enough that Skeeter had already heard, or she had solid control of her expressions (or both). She did get a reaction from Skeeter when she conjured a hat rack with a snap of her fingers — taking Skeeter's overrobe and Tuft's jacket, both of their hats perched on top — but even that was just a brief flicker of her smile, blinking, her bright but guileful mask pulled back on in only a second or two.

Cassie gave the rest of Skeeter's outfit a raised eyebrow. Trousers, heeled shoes, and waistcoat in the same reddish-purple shade as her overrobe, the waistcoat unbuttoned down to her ribs to frame her bust, the collar of the pale, lavender-tinged blouse underneath edged with lace, the sleeves loose and ruffled. (Definitely enchanted to circulate air, keep her cool in that overrobe through the summer months.) The clothes were ordinary enough, if rather plain and in slightly odd colours — also somewhat masculine, especially the trousers and the sleeves — but the shoes were a little peculiar, and the glittering rings and the dangly, rattling bracelets, overlong (false) fingernails in the same colour as her lips and the waistcoat and trousers, the piercings in her ears...

It was a funny mix of magical and muggle style, partially conservative and partially modern, blended with an eccentricity all her own. But then, she guessed that wasn't so much of a surprise. Skeeter was a muggleborn, and had been living in their world for decades now — and from everything Cassie had heard, she was something of a character.

Once they'd gotten through the introductions, Skeeter glanced around the room, her eyes clawing sharp over their surroundings. "And will your daughter be joining us soon, then?"

Points for referring to Violet as their child, and as the correct sex — Narcissa had said Skeeter could be politic when it suited her. "Soon. I thought we'd talk over tea, in the kitchen. Over this way," she said, gesturing with a tilt of her head.

This was a brief exchange of whispers between their guests, before their footsteps started clicking after Cassie and Síomha. "I'll admit," Skeeter said, "your home is rather more modest than I was expecting. Lovely, of course, but it's not the image the mind conjures when one pictures the home of the Lady of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, if you take my meaning."

Cassie shrugged. "I like to control my space. That's rather more difficult to do in such an expansive environment as Ancient House. As to the accommodations, well, I had something of a rebellious phase in my youth, got myself a flat in Edinburgh — I grew accustomed to a certain lack of luxury. Have a seat," waving toward the stools at the counter. They'd been moved over to one side of the island, wrapped around all three sides of the end near the door, allowing them to sit facing each other. "Tea or coffee?"

"Oh, I'll have whichever you're making."

"I'm making both — I prefer coffee, but Violet drinks tea."

"Coffee will be lovely, then. Bozo?"

"I would prefer the tea, my lady, thank you."

Cassie had prepared ahead of time, of course, but there were still a few minor things she had to finish setting up just beforehand. While the water was heating up, there was a small tray of meringues that needed to be (gently) fired in the oven, and she meant for the finger sandwiches to be lightly toasted on the outside. The pan oiled and heated — speeding it along with a quick warming charm, didn't want to stand here forever — the top pieces of bread plucked off and dropped into the pan, sizzling away, even as she did that wandlessly peeling and slicing an apple to add to the fruit tray...

"Excuse me, my lady—"

"Just 'Cassie' is fine."

"Of course," Skeeter nearly purred — not sure what that tone was about. "I wonder, how much of this did you do yourself?"

Distracted gently levitating the thin slices of bread off the hot pan, Síomha answered first. "All of it, Cassie does all the cooking in the house, with a little help from Violet and Nola. Remember to try the meringues, her sweets are amazing."

"I'll have to. And Nola is?"

Síomha hesitated for a moment — perhaps belatedly remembering that people didn't mention house-elves at all, if they could help it. "Nola's my elf. He was assigned to me decades ago now, been trying to look after my reckless arse ever since."

There was a little bit of polite tittering at that, Tuft coughed. "I wonder, Cassie, that seems an unusual skill for a noblewoman."

Cassie shrugged. "I was seeing a muggleborn woman, and she would get embarrassed when I called Nola in for something when we were, ah, less than entirely presentable. Since then, well, I suppose it's something productive to do with my time."

"That it is — and I suppose it's a useful skill to have when living modestly. Would you mind?"

She had no idea what Skeeter was asking, glanced up — Tuft wasn't sitting with Síomha and Skeeter, standing to the side with his camera in hand. Cassie rolled her eyes. "You know, you're not here for me."

"No, but you and young Síomha here are a part of Violet's life." Cassie frowned slightly at Skeeter calling her young Síomha, but her tone was bland enough, hard to say whether she'd meant anything by that. "The article will, naturally, include both of your stories as well. And I think including a few snapshots like this will be, hmm...humanising, shall we say?" Skeeter didn't explicitly spell out that common people would think much better of Cassie for her willingness to work with her own hands, and that that would reflect well on Violet by extension too, but she got the message anyway. "I think our readers will find it quite charming. Unless you object."

"No, you're right — go ahead, then, I suppose..."

Cassie continued preparing tea, ignoring the snapping and cracking of the camera. Tuft must be taking colour photos — the fumes from the camera were surprisingly thick, the smell sharp and sour and alchemical. It was hard to predict which smells were going to bother Violet, but she was almost certain this would be a problem. Síomha apparently had the same thought, though, started occasionally casting some kind of charm to clear the air. That wasn't one Cassie immediately recognised, maybe something Síomha did to keep contaminants out of her workspace.

Before too long, they were all sitting at the counter, Cassie and Síomha on one side and Skeeter and Tuft across from them, the seat on the end left open for Violet. Skeeter was just tasting her coffee, Cassie spoke before she could come out with some bland platitudes. "We'll bring Violet down in a second, I just wanted to reiterate a couple points quick."

"Very well, then," Skeeter said, smiling blandly over her coffee.

"I realise you're certainly going to want to explore the topic, but Violet's previous guardians were horrid bastards. If she doesn't want to answer a question, she's not answering it — try to push her, and I'm kicking you out of my house. Her thinking can be a bit eccentric sometimes, it may not be intuitive to you what she means by something. Especially if you're asking about being a girl, that one's going to be difficult for her to express very clearly. It's perfectly fine to ask her what she means by something, but there may come a point where you'll have to accept the two of you simply don't speak the same language, and lingering over the matter for longer isn't going to help. Depending on how stressful the conversation gets, she might get overwhelmed and need to call it early — if that happens, we can arrange a second meeting. She can also be quite sensitive at times. Is the flash necessary?" she asked Tuft. "We can clear the fumes and block the sound, but the flash is harder to deal with."

Tuft hesitated for a second, before saying, "I can alter the lighting in the space with charms. That can be quite delicate, it may take me longer to collect the images we need, but it is doable."

"Good. You'll need to be patient with her — she has a stammer, and it gets worse when she's nervous. Pressuring her to finish her thought will not get you an answer more quickly, and will likely only lead to the interview being cut off early. If there are any changes between the version of the article I approve and the one I see in print, I'll be having a serious talk with the owners and your bosses, which I imagine will not end well for the magazine. Am I forgetting anything?"

"No touching," Síomha said.

"Right, don't touch her without permission. I think that's everything I had in mind. Is any of that going to be a problem?"

Skeeter just continued smiling through the whole recitation, as Cassie wrapped up gave her a little amused smirk. "I've already agreed to all of those terms in writing."

"I haven't forgotten — I merely wish to make sure there are no misunderstandings before we bring Violet down."

"No great surprise, I suppose," Skeeter drawled, eyebrows cocking. "I've found that the women of the House of Black can be quite...intense."

Cassie scoffed. "I'd like to say she's hardly representative of the family, but I'm not sure how true that would be." At the slight, confused furrow of Skeeter's brow, she added, "You and Bella were in the same Slytherin class, weren't you? Narcissa mentioned it." She'd gone ahead and written Mirabella Zabini about it too, since she remembered Bella and the current Director of Education had been close during their academy years — Zabini's impression of Skeeter was less strictly professional than Narcissa's, having known each other since the age of eleven, but equally informative in its own way.

"Ah, of course. I had meant to suggest Narcissa." Something about the tone of her voice implied, but didn't explicitly state, that she had been thinking of Bella, but simply thought it impolitic to say so. Cassie could see how comparing someone to a family member who also happened to be a widely-despised convicted insurrectionist might be rude, to those who cared about such things. "In any case, I can play nice. I'm certain the owner will love to print the first official interview with the Boy Who– I'm sorry, Girl Who Lived — so used to hearing the phrase, wasn't thinking. If you're worried I might pull the rug out from under you and use the opportunity to sling mud at the poor girl — or at you," she said, pointedly, eyes flicking to Síomha for a second, "—there's no risk of that. I know I have a reputation, but I also know who writes my cheques. Building a relationship with your family, and retaining the one I already have with the Malfoys, is valuable to me; intentionally inviting the nigh-legendary wrath of the House of Black is not." She said nigh-legendary with a dry sort of tone, which Cassie didn't think was quite sarcasm — there were a few incidents in British history that would be worth noting.

"So long as we have an understanding."

"I believe we do."

"Good."

There was a brief silence, Cassie and Skeeter staring across the counter, flatly meeting each other's eyes. Honestly, she was a touch impressed — Skeeter must know that Cassie could absolutely ruin her life if she wanted to (or even outright murder her without consequence), but she didn't seem the slightest bit intimidated. But then, she had put herself face to face with a number of powerful people in their society, hadn't she...

After some seconds, Síomha said, "I'll go get Sailí then, shall I?"

Dear Rita,

It was nice to meet you today. I know Mum was worried that you were going to be mean, because she's too careful about stuff like that sometimes. It's a mum thing, I think.
I hope the pictures turned out okay. If there were other things you wanted to ask, you can write me, but I don't think I like having my picture taken. He kept telling me to smile, and stuff, and I know I wasn't looking at the camera for most of them. It felt so weird!
I drew you something! That's why I'm writing you. I like that magenta colour, it's really pretty! I don't know if it turned out right, Master Walter isn't having me do people yet, and I was drawing your face from memory. It's the colours that are important, that's what I was going for, making it go all wow. And the sparkles! I love the gems on your glasses. Rind stones? Mum says they're called rind stones. With your hair and the lipstick and your glasses with the sparkles, you're so pretty! I wanted to draw you as soon as you left, so I did. I think it turned out nice? Muime made a copy, with special alchemy magic, you can keep this one.
I know it looks like the ink is wet, but it's not, it just looks like that. Muime said it's worth more if I sign it, which is silly, it's just a little thing I did quick and I'm only eleven! I think she was joking? But whatever, I signed it just in case, that's what's on the back.
It's getting late, so I should go to bed now. Thanks for going easy on me today. I guess I'll maybe see you next time we have to do something like this. Like maybe the wedding? Is that something other people are going to want to know about too? I don't know, people are nosey sometimes.

Sincerely,
Violet

P.S. — Rhinestones, Mum said I spelled it wrong. Like the river?

፠

Violet—

Well aren't you the sweetest little thing! I hardly expected to find such a gift in my morning post. I don't have the same eye for the arts as you, but I think it's lovely. I'm flattered, darling, thank you.
I hope you don't mind if I show it off to absolutely everyone — it's not very often an up-and-coming celebrity artist draws a picture of you.
I don't think I will need to ask you anything further for this piece. If at a later date you do have other news you'd like to share with me — either about what may be going on in your life, or something interesting you've seen or heard — feel free to write me about it. For my peace of mind, tell your mother you're writing to me first. I don't think she likes me much, and we wouldn't like to make her angry.
There will certainly be an announcement of the wedding printed somewhere. You will need to ask your parents what their plans are.
We should have the article ready in two or three weeks, and I will directly bring a copy for your mother to go over — I'll be seeing you then, sweetheart.

—Rita

There goes Violet, targeting another person with a cuteness offensive. I'm sure flattering Rita Skeeter with a Girl-Who-Lived original portrait won't have any implications down the road, and is definitely just a random nice thing she did. This is Violet, she couldn't possibly be devious.

I was originally planning this scene to be much longer, but I decided it wasn't necessary, and I could just hit the main points and move on. Which means this is almost definitely the shortest inwardtransience chapter ever, but whatever.

Next is school shopping, wooo...