Slanderous

Writing is my life. It’s a well-known fact, that’s for damn sure; even I’m not entirely positive how I got through that grueling year. I can assure you that most of it was spent getting drunk at some seedy bar that I can’t even remember the name of and trying to sleep off my hangover. It wasn’t entirely successful. I don’t know how many one-night stands I went through, going through prostitutes both male and female in my attempt to keep my mind off of writing. I dabbled in Muggle drugs, I went through potion after potion. And it didn’t work.

I sound rather deranged, don’t I? Well, I am deranged, all us Slytherins are, don’t you know? I suppose I was the least deranged of them all. Bellatrix was always the less controlled. She had- has- a vicious temper and some of us truly doubted her sanity. Bella and I, we were friends, if you could call us that. I think before I act, she acts before she thinks, and really it was a good combination: she had her little behind-the-scenes bookworm who planned everything: every theft, every classic confrontation between rivals. It went along smoothly until I saw the Dark Mark on her arm, screamed something along the lines of ‘go to hell’ if you count the various curses I was shooting at her, and ran. Bella, to be perfectly frank, was all I had; I had no other friends and I was left with only my favorite green quill for company. See where that got me.

Out of school, I was launched into a world of sex and greed and lies. I watched as my schoolmates paired off like birds during the mating season. I stayed untouchable and I always thought it was something to be proud of. The rise of Voldemort was the beginning of my career: Rita Skeeter with an exclusive report on the Dark Lord, pages two to three. I realized that research and interviews were too little, and I needed to see it for myself. Hence my Animagus training. It was simple enough: if you paid just the right amount the unregistered Animagus who frequented the corner pub would ‘offer’ you lessons. It was grueling. I trained and I trained and I end up an insect, of all creatures, the least conspicuous and most liable to get swatted.

And then there was Aidan. I didn’t love him, Rita Skeeter doesn’t love. If I fell in love… It would bring about the next apocalypse. Aidan was a Death Eater, running from the authorities, and he frequented the same pub I did. It started with shameless flirting, really, it did, and before I even realize it… Use your imagination. He was eventually caught and tried, and guess who was given the honor of writing the article?

I suppose I’ve whined enough. So there you have it; the life of Rita Skeeter, a life spent as an unofficial prostitute and slanderous journalist. A job well done.