The Fourth Unforgivable

Chapter 6:

Shrinkage

Dr. Rita Skeeter was feeling fairly dejected.

All the plucky psychology diplomas on her wall couldn't coax her to smile.

The beautiful sunlight glancing through the window couldn't get her hopes up.

The room looked like an Azkaban cell. The desk looked like a torture device. The sign on the door that read "Give us a nice sane-wizard smile!" looked dismal and mopey.

Because it was that time again. Unfortunately. The bane of her existence. The proof she had that the world was officially going to hell in a Pixy's whingy little hand-basket. The reminder of why Mummy was right when she said journalism was the way to go. The rationale that the locked shutters on her fifth floor window were a terrible idea. The reason she took Muggle Prozac. The incentive for the Obliviation charm. Why some people should just be shut up in strait-jackets and made to perform feats of good will for people who wished they had never been born.

And now it was that time again.

* * *

The first day it had happened, Rita had still been young, carefree, naïve, and in a bloody good mood.

"Welcome to my office! Please have a seat, Mr..." Rita Skeeter checked the clipboard in front of her. "Mr. Mort."

The man looked up. "Voldemort is fine. Or Dark Lord. You can call me Dark Lord," he said hopefully.

"Oo-kay..." Identifies self with evil, went her Quick Quotes Quill. She later looked up multiple name issues and discovered that it had something to do with hating one's folks.

Or whatever.

Rita Skeeter began wit her standard first question. She'd come across it during her younger days, in her Therapist's Guidebook. It is important for a therapist to appear to be somewhat interested in her client. Asking rhetorical questions is an excellent method of getting the ball rolling. For example: 'Have you ever considered why house elves have so many damn socks?'

"Mr. Mort, have you ever considered why house elves have so many damn socks?"

Mr. Mort blinked. "Huh?"

"Interesting." The quill wrote: Ignores questions concerning house elves and socks. Obviously a problem with sibling rivalry. Rita knew about that. Had to be a dratted older sister. She hated her own older sister Quintessa Skeeter, Wizarding Invisible-Bikini Model Extraordinaire. "Mr. Mort, did you and your older sister get along?"

"I only have younger brothers."

Denies existence of older sister.

That first day alone, Rita had identified at least thirty-nine separate mental problems and four brain syndromes. She'd been ecstatic, and had contracted Mr. Mort for infinite counseling sessions. But now he was just a boring annoying whining complaining--

"Good afternoon, Mr. Mort," Rita said dully. Oh, he was fuming today. She heaved a great sigh and took out her Quick Quotes Quill. "Care to talk abou--"

Mr. Mort threw himself down on the couch with a sigh that blew the loose papers off of Rita's desk and out the window. Rita stared wistfully after them.

"Mr. Mort, are you, by any chance, suicidal?"

Mr. Mort looked at her both quizzically and dolefully at the same time. "Not that I know of."

Shucks, wrote the Quick Quotes Quill. Rita patted it reassuringly.

"Have you ever considered it as a possibility?"

Mr. Mort shrugged. "Nope. Too much fun to be had in life."

Bugger, wrote the Quick Quotes Quill. Rita abandoned that tactic. She'd try it again later this month.

"So," she said briskly, crossing her legs and settling back in what was surely a professional manner. "Anything on your mind today?"

"Ohhhhh, yes, Dr. Skeeter. I thought we could talk about my plan to take over the world."

Rita paled. "Um, didn't we cover this last session?"

"If you'll remember, you suddenly had to attend a company meeting to discuss the pitfalls of the incorrect use of office equipment."

"Oh, yes. Lovely discussion." Rita sighed.

The quill scribbled. That was certainly one of your more lame excuses.

"Oh please," Rita muttered. "Not my fault I was thinking about chucking the stapler at him at the time."

"I'm sorry?" Mr. Mort piped up.

"Oh, just going over some meditative techniques."

Cheap, cheap...

Mr. Mort bounced excitedly on the couch, scaring the daylights out of Rita. "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I would love to learn some of the ways you therapists calm yourselves. I could teach them to my minions and we could throw therapy keggers at my house once a week!"

Rita coughed. "Your minions?"

"I think everyone should have at least one minion at some point in his or her life." Mr. Mort smiled and nodded to himself. "I have lots of minions."

Rita Skeeter stifled a yawn. "Have you ever considered being someone else's minion?"

Mr. Mort gawked at her. "Moi? I think not, madam!"

Thinks he can speak other languages and attempts to sound important enough to be paid attention to. She'd seen that somewhere before. Had something to do with shagging your mum and killing your dad.

Or whatever.

"Anyway, my favorite minion is being something of an ass lately." Mr. Mort heaved a sigh. "I mean, it takes a lot of work to be an evil overlord. Is it too much to ask for my minions to be sufficiently evil on their own without my personal supervision?"

Rita picked dirt from under her fingernail. "Not being evil enough?"

"No, he really isn't!" Mr. Mort grinned what was obviously his best evil grin. Rita wondered why an evil overlord wanted to resemble a confused house elf. "But I got him good. Ordered him to read an obscene amount of Harry/Draco smut. That should fix him!"

"Have you ever considered reading Harry/Draco smut yourself?"

Mr. Mort looked at her primly. "Dark Lords do not read that stuff. Only minions do."

Thinks Rita is a minion.

"But really," Mr. Mort continued, "I can't stand the way he goes about his evil work. He's got a very nice son who would make a lovely Dark Successor. Except I think he's been hanging around with the wrong crowd lately. I would hate for him to be corrupted by that blasted Boy Who Lived. I mean, Potter doesn't even know how to mud-wrestle, for god's sake."

"Mr. Mort, have you ever thought that perhaps being an evil overlord is not the right line of work for you?"

"Excuse me?" Mr. Mort said, blinking.

"Well, it is terribly cliché and all. I wouldn't want you to turn out like all the other Dark Lords of history. You know the story. Embarrassing urn of events when Dark Lord is vanquished by impossibly powerful tiny baby with no wand or magic as defined by the laws of wizardry... I know we've discussed that event and put it behind us, but I was just going to suggest that you might like to try out a different line of work at some point."

Mr. Mort looked thoughtful. "Well, yesterday I did have this unexplainable urge to open up a candy shop-puh in Hogsmeade. I figured it was indigestion."

Rita sighed and shook her head. "Probably."

The Quick Quotes Quill scribbled. Has lost touch with inner child. Rita thought back. That had something to do with repressed memories that had not yet surfaced. It was the counselor's job to help the patient come to terms with everything he had been repressing.

Yeah. In his next life, maybe.

"So... any other urges?" she asked.

Mr. Mort looked at her like she was crazy. "Dr. Skeeter, I hardly think this is the appropriate place for that."

Mind so deep in the gutter it needs gills.

Now, wait a minute, Rita had only just come across this situation. What was it again? Envy. About something. She wracked her brains. Ah yes! He was worried about the size of his--

"Is this abnormally large wand yours?"

Rita Skeeter looked up and nearly dropped her clipboard. "Kindly put that down, Mr. Mort!"

Mr. Mort looked chagrined.

"So sorry. I was just admiring it. My wand has a phoenix feather inside it," he added proudly.

Rita grimaced and muttered, "I'm amazed you've got a wand at all."

"Sorry? Didn't catch that."

"I said, oh what a lovely phoenix feather."

Selective hearing when it comes to insults, went the quill. If there was one thing Rita hated, it was people with superiority complexes. Especially those who constantly twisted other peoples' words around.

"Well, then, Mr. Mort, shall we try one or two meditative techniques?"

"What did you have in mind?"

The one where you sneak him a Quaalude, scribbled the quill. Rita frowned at it.

"I was thinking of one I learned in yoga. It involves standing on your head for a lengthy amount of time. The pressure of keeping one's balance focuses the mind and allows one to think more clearly."

"Sounds jolly."

* * *

"Dr. Skeeter?"

"Ye-es..."

"My head is beginning to hurt."

"That's a good sign, Mr. Mort."

* * *

"Dr. Skeeter?"

"Ye-es..."

"I think my fingers are turning purple. I recognize it because my cousin Lucy used to tie me up upside down and hang me in the hallway until Mum came home."

"Mr. Mort, kindly relax. This is the time to be clearing our minds. Not dredging up traumatic childhood experiences."

"But... my fingers are turning purple."

"That's a good sign, Mr. Mort."

* * *

"Dr. Skeeter?"

"Ye-es..."

"I think my eye just popped a blood vessel."

"Now, now, there's no need to be morbid."

"Everything looks a bit red."

"That's a good sign, Mr. Mort."

* * *

"Dr. Skeeter?"

"Ye-es..."

"I don't think I want to do this anymore."

"That's a bad sign, Mr. Mort."

"Haven't you got any other relaxation techniques? Ones that don't require me to die?"

Rita huffed and came down from her yoga headstand. "Alright already. Fine. We'll try something else."

She sat back down at her desk while Mr. Mort walked unsteadily over to the couch. His eyes looked a bit crossed. Rita screwed up her own eyes and took a look at what the quill had been writing.

Once upon a time, there was a great ninny.

He went through his life without getting any.

He was bashful and baleful and really quite slick

But it didn't much matter since he was just a big--

Rita crumpled up the paper and smacked the quill disapprovingly on the top of its feather. It moped about for a bit before jumping back onto a fresh sheet.

"Alright, we can try something else I read about. It's called ranting. All you do is begin with an event that made you angry, and just say whatever you want about it. Spill your guts."

Mr. Mort grinned evilly enough this time to make Rita shudder. "Anything I want?"

"Well... yes, I suppose."

"Alrighty then!"

* * *

Rita listened as Mr. Mort ranted and raved, storming up and down the sitting room waving his hands about. Rita wanted to chuck herself out the window. Every so often the Quick Quotes Quill jotted down something profound and then stood, quivering.

"So then I find out that Durmstrang is completely filled up. Can you imagine how that feels to an eleven-year-old? All of my friends were going to Durmstrang. Igor, Humbert, Saruman, Raistlin, Jonathan the Nasty ... I didn't know anyone at Hogwarts! Just because my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-and-might-I-add-DEAD-grandfather helped create the school. Now is that any reason to separate a boy from all of his best friends? No! They didn't want to play with me after that year. 'Oh, Tommy's going to the goody-goody school, let's all throw the Unforgivables we learned at him and see if he dies!' Well, they aren't laughing now, are they? Are they?? No! I don't think so! Hard to laugh when you're a minion!"

Is an abominably huge twat, went the quill.

"--muck, muck, muck! Muck this, muck that... She never listens to me. I'm sick of hearing about how long it took her to extract Wormtail from that blasted Hippogriff this week. If she would just quit throwing them in the bloody ring together, then she wouldn't have to worry about it. Plus, the Death Eaters could save a ton of money on lawsuits. Reckless endangerment, corruptive influence on children... Who the hell ever heard of Family Night anyway? Hex 'em all, I say..."

Is quite proud of being an abominably huge twat.

"--and then he says there aren't any cups big enough! Can you believe that? You'd think it would just stop growing already! I spend a bloody fortune on finding well-made cups manufactured from sturdy materials, and the very next minute I have to chuck the whole lot and go buy some more..."

Is getting on my nerves.

"--sometimes wish he would just take a holiday and come visit me for a change. I'm beginning to think I'm the only one putting any effort into this relationship. I'm always traveling. I'm always risking getting arrested. I'm always taking time out of my busy evil workday to talk when he has something on his mind. But when I want to talk? Nooooooooo. 'Go pick out a new Quidditch cup, Voldemort! Go turn into something lewd, Voldemort! Go sit in the Trophy Room, Voldemort!' He bloody well sent me up two of his little playboys to distract me while he futzed with his school! I'm beginning to think Mum was right. She said a man from the good side of the tracks would only end up hurting me but did I listen? Did I?"

Belongs in a dead Doxy's pensieve.

"--and as if kumquats weren't bad enough, now I have to put up with that stupid tattoo! I swear, the Dementors are bloody nincompoops. Nobody asked for their vote anyway. I wanted a nice beheaded Godric Gryffindor, but noooo, being the Dark Lord doesn't get you anything anymore. Just a dumb snake tangled up with a skull. Do you see the idiots I'm working with here? This is why I'm not ruling the world yet!"

Rita thought about how nice it would be to visit with Gilderoy Lockhart again.

"Mr. Mort? I think it's time we moved on to something else. I'd like to try you out on a new test I found. It's called Rorschach. You look at the ink blots on these cards and tell me the first thing that pops into your head."

Mr. Mort nodded and Rita held up the first card.

"What does this remind you of?"

"Damn hippogriff! I'd like to rip him to shreds! He wouldn't last two minutes in a ring with me! I tell you--"

The quill scratched away. Animal fetish syndrome. Rita picked up the next card.

"And this one?"

"Transfiguration classroom with Dumbledore."

Well, la dee DA, wrote the quill.

"How about this one?"

"Hmmm... looks like Malfoy senior with a huge cup shoved right up his--"

"Okay! And this one?"

"My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-and-might-I-add-DEAD--"

"Yes, yes," Rita said impatiently, looking down at the quill. Misses his gwampa, it wrote. "Alright, how about this one?"

"Definitely a wand."

"What? That's not a wand."

"Yes, it is."

Lives a sheltered life, wrote the quill. "And... this one?"

Mr. Mort let out a snicker and sighed nostalgically.

"One of Lily and James Potter's favorite party games."

Rita glanced at the Quick Quotes Quill. It was joyfully writing out the words Kill me now. She hurriedly put down the card. "Moving on."

Mr. Mort peered at the new card and gasped. "Lordy, that's me!"

Rita smirked. "Is that right? Hm. Now that's what I call a wand."

"You'd better believe it."

I really like Mr. Mort, offered the quill.

Rita put down the cards and looked at the clock. She smiled brightly. The day was looking up. "Well, Mr. Mort, I'm sure that you're feeling fairly tired from all of this analysis. Let's make another appointment for, shall we say, this time next week?"

"Ooh, sorry, can't. I'm visiting Hogwarts that day."

"Alrighty. Two weeks?"

Mr. Mort smiled and got to his feet. "Smashing plan, Dr. Skeeter."

Rita stood and shook hands with him. "Just talk to Winky out at reception and she'll set you up with an appointment time. Have a good time at the school, Mr. Mort. Don't let Dumbledore push you around."

The door shut behind him and Rita relaxed back in her chair. "Well. That certainly was... excruciating, wasn't it, m'dear?"

The Quick Quotes Quill scribbled for a moment. Rorschach is fun, Rita.

"If you say so."