Chapter Text
“You’re wanted in Cuffe’s office.”
Rita Skeeter looked up from her towering pile of documents. Her fellow reporter, Louisa Pettigrew, was eying her jealously- certainly wishing it was she who was called in by the Editor in Chief.
Smirking at her, Rita stood up. She smoothed down her hair, wishing she could afford Sleekeazy’s hair oil like Louisa. No matter. If everything went to plan, Rita would be able to buy Sleekeazy before the month was up.
She took a deep breath on the elevator up to the top floor. She was not being fired. It was not possible she had been found out. No, Cuffe probably had a case for her, maybe even a promotion. He didn’t, couldn’t, know.
Don’t be paranoid.
The door to Cuffe’s office was infamous for its Hungarian Horntail hatchling scales. The most valuable in the country, of course. Xenophilius Lovegood wrote a scathing article when he got wind of it, labelling Cuffe an ‘avaricious, bloodthirsty stain on wizarding society’. It had taken weeks of late nights for her to bury the story. Rita trailed one claw-like nail down the door before knocking sharply.
“Come in.”
Barnabas Cuffe looked up at her from his plush leather seat. He had gained weight since the last time they spoke, and more grey hairs too. When he spoke, his voice came out raspy.
“I have an assignment for you.”
Rita’s pinned-up smile melted into one a touch more genuine. If this was coming from the Editor in Chief himself, it was guaranteed to be good. She would fit it around her extracurriculars. A chance like this was not to be turned down- not today of all days.
Cuffe slid a paper across the desk. It was an article, emblazoned with the title ‘Black Family Heir Disgraced’. Two boys were sat on a flying motorbike, both flipping off the camera and clearly drunk. One’s glasses were skewed, and his messy black hair stood up as if struck by lightning. The other had his head thrown back in laughter. He was clad in a leather jacket and a Black Sabbath band shirt.
“That’s a muggle band.” Rita pointed out. She knew who those boys were, every wizard in Britain did. The Potters were the second richest family in Britian, second only to the Blacks. Though it seemed almost sacrilegious to put it like that. The Blacks were in a league of their own, wealthier than any other House on the planet. They were the closest most mortals would ever get to God.
Cuffe nodded, his eyes still on the page.
“There’s a story here,” he said. “My sources have heard whispers of the Black house crumbling. Just rumours, nothing solid. But I'm certain this boy is only the symptom of a rotting family.”
“You want to expose them?”
Cuffe exhaled. He leaned forward, “Not in so many words. Power is currency, Rita.”
Rita clenched her jaw at that. Every male in the building was automatically referred to by their surname. Cuffe hadn’t awarded her that particular dignity yet.
“That is what I want,” Cuffe continued. “Anything you can uncover that I can use for bargaining.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Within reason- whatever you desire.”
Rita felt an aching in her chest that she quickly trampled. This was no place for that.
“This is a supremely difficult task. The Blacks notoriously loathe the press. If you feel as if you are not up to-“
Rita looked up, making eye contact with Cuffe. This assignment was the chance she’d been looking for. With calculation and a bit of luck, she could catalyse the Blacks downfall before her personal deadline was up. She could turn this into the opportunity of a lifetime.
“When can I start?”