Chapter Text
On the next day, when every owl and bird and flying beast in the sky seemed to invade Hogwarts to deliver letters, an inked roll of parchment dropped into Rita’s cereal.
“Ew … “ Elyse Greengrass whispered on the other side of the table, staring at the sodden note with a crinkled nose.
Rita stared at it, scarcely breathing, before fishing it out, clasped between her fingernails. The green ink had smudged slightly in the milk, obscuring letters and words like clouds blooming in the sky. She grimaced before unfolding it, casting a quick charm to reverse the damage.
Her heart beat like hail on the ground, sending a thumping noise to her ears.
Calliope lifted her head from where it had been slumped on Rita’s shoulder to look at the letter as the blonde scanned the words quickly.
“What is that?” Calliope looked closer. “Is that from Mcgonnagal?”
Rita was grinning sharply, all her teeth showing. She stroked the side of the parchment with a finger as she turned bright eyes to her friend.
“Yeah, it’s from her.”
“Good news?” Elyse asked.
“Yeah, I mean – I mean it definitely is good!” Rita paused and read through the note again. “She wants to set up a meeting about the Quidditch position though – commentator, not player – and I’m just realising again how little I know.”
Elyse grinned.
“I thought you’d been imperio-d for a second there. It’s okay, the rules aren’t too complicated. You could definitely learn them soon. When is it?”
“You’re only saying it’s easy because you play it!” Calliope pulled a face at Elyse. Her hair was rumpled and a red mark was wedged on her cheek from resting it on Rita’s shoulder all breakfast. The bags under her eyes stood out.
Elyse rolled her eyes in response.
“Yes, Calliope, typically people understand the rules of the game they play. I’m just saying, I can help Rita and it shouldn’t take too long.” She frowned at the blonde again. “When is it, Rita?”
Rita had sat up straighter, smiling at Elyse.
“Lunch.”
Calliope groaned, sitting back.
“Elyse, no – Rita’s going to spend all morning going over the rules now! She’s going to be useful in Herbology.”
“She’ll have to if she wants to learn them by lunch time.”
“You said it wasn’t complicated!” Calliope frowned, stabbing a knife into her toast and leaning half across the table. “
“It isn’t, it’s just that–”
Rita started to tune out her friend’s bickering as she sat back to think. The whole Quidditch commentator question was pretty much settled now. From here, she just had to actually commentate.
The sun glanced through the glass of water in front of her onto the shiny brown table, lighting it up with a golden rectangle that stretched across her cutlery and bowl. Idly, she watched the dustmotes twirl as she went over the next item of the day.
It was pretty much just all the core subjects without inter-house classes – Charms, Transfiguration, and History of Magic. Rita pulled a strand of her hair around her finger as she considered the situation. She could pretty much only get close to Bellatrix in their electives but she sat next to Calliope in all of them. And Rita wasn’t going to just ditch.
Except … Rita narrowed her eyes at her friend behind her glasses, watching the girl wave her hands around in the air as she talked passionately to an unimpressed Elyse. Maybe she could convince Calliope to partner with someone else. Cal would have an issue, of course, but if Rita explained properly – about how Bellatrix had looked at her, and what Rita had done, and how much she needed this – then she’d surely have to agree. It wasn’t as if Calliope wanted Bellatrix to ruin Rita.
And this was the only way Rita could prevent that.
Outside of classes, Rita didn’t have much in common with the Slytherin girl. They didn’t do the same clubs, weren’t part of the same societies, were in different Houses.
Calliope slammed her forehead to the table in exasperation, moaning in annoyance.
“Why … why Elyse … both you and Sirona … it’s such a waste…”
Rita and Elyse exchanged a glance over Calliope’s muttering head as their friend lamented the Quidditch spirit which seemed to possess so many. Rita was on Calliope’s side more than Elyse’s, to be perfectly honest, but still. Maybe not anymore. She didn’t exactly have such a black and white image of the game as she’d used to.
Mcgonnagall’s letter still rested on the table next to her, half unfolded in a strip of warm light.
Rita had two classes, one sport, and no extracurriculars with Bellatrix. And she would make it be enough.
“By the way,” Calliope raised her head suddenly, “have either of you finished Binns’ work?”
Elyse and Rita froze.
The table burst into a frenzy of motion as they scrambled off the tables and tried to walk as quickly as possible to the Entrance Hall, Elyse semi-hobbling in her attempt to hurry and not seem to be hurrying.
Bellatrix could wait. That homework was due next period.
***
“Well, it doesn’t seem as if there’s any issue.”
Professor Mcgonnagall peered over her glasses at Rita with a disapproving stare.
Rita smiled back.
“I suppose you’ll be our commentator.” The older woman sighed, reluctantly softening her stern demeanour. She sat back and pulled out a box of mints, thoughtfully plucking one out to roll, briefly, around her fingers. Rita sat there, back straight, on the edge of her seat with a carefully eager look.
Mcgonnagall gave off the impression of being a stern, impartial judge that knew not to trust anything students did, but anybody with half a brian could notice her slight prejudice against Slytherins and for Gryffindors. She was the head of that house – it was expected, really, and still something that could be taken advantage of. That was the thing Rita had noticed. Nobody really looked for people who were in between Houses; if you were in Hufflepuff, you were kind, Gryffindor, brash, Slytherin, awful. Ravenclaw? Erratic and single minded. Rita’s curated smile – excited, earnest, hopeful – painted her as the perfectly stereotypical Ravenclaw with a raging hard-on for a single thing.
It would have been easier if Rita had been in Gryffindor, of course, but nothing could be done about that. Besides, it wasn’t as if Rita would change her entire house just for one step on her career plan.
She frowned inwardly.
Well.
She’d campaigned harder for Slytherin under the hat for a reason.
“ – and of course, neutrality is expected,” Rita snapped back into it for the last of Mcgonagall's speech, “although not typically stuck to.”
Rita nodded fervently, eyes wide.
“Professor Mcgonnagall, believe me, one of my core tenets in life is honesty. If you don’t have trust, you don’t have anything. If people don’t believe what you’re writing is true, they won’t read it. And I would never damage that trust. Ever.”
Professor Mcgonnagall paused to look at Rita over her glasses again. She adjusted them slightly.
“That is an … admirable … reason to be honest, Rita. I hope you keep it up.”
Rita relaxed into an open smile, lowering her head modestly.
“Thank you, Professor. I just really want this to go well. I think it would be good to branch out of just journalism, you know? It might open more career paths in the future.”
Professor Mcgonnagall looked at Rita.
“Well, yes, that’s very true. I think I read some of your previous work when it came out…” A frown crossed her forehead briefly, deepening the lines already born from years of dealing with students. “It was very … interesting, Rita.”
Rita beamed.
“So, when’s my first match?” She asked, bouncing her hands under her legs.
A stack of parchment zoomed out of a corner of the office, slightly yellow and wrinkled, covered haphazardly with a half burnt and patchy leather binding. It slammed onto the desk in front of Rita, with half legible gold gilt writing glinting on the top. Rita squinted at it, and adjusted her glasses. The Comp ….. tal, and Unqu … onable Rules o .. ditch, she could make out.
“The 15th of October. Read the rulebook, memorise it, and I expect to see you bright and early on the Saturday.”
Mcgonnagall smiled.
“I’m excited to see what you’ll bring to the position.”
***
The afternoon free’s brought to Rita the waning sun through the dusty library windows, as she took up a table in a twisted corner with Quidditch rule books, analyses, and commentaries. To be able to give a thorough and valid assessment – and to aid valuable researching skills – she needed to understand how the game was played.
Rita frowned and curled a strand of hair around her finger. Mcgonnagall might also replace her if she didn’t know how to do it. Although, again, Rita mused, who else would do it?
Finishing another page of notes on Quidditch techniques and forms, the distant sound of bells ringing and doors slamming drifted up from underneath book cases and through the wavering windows. The din of students rushing from their final lessons to clubs broke even the quiet tranquillity of the library, snatching away the warm silence which usually rested heavy upon the people working there.
Rita sighed.
An entire afternoon spent on this, and really, what had she learnt? The dismal sketch of a Wrontlent Whisk manoeuvre peeked out on one of the many sheets she had spread out in front of her. After hours of studying, could she remember what it meant? She leant back in her chair and tilted on the back two feet, taking off her glasses and rubbing at her eyes.
No.
And there was still homework to do for other classes – things to investigate and people to talk to – her friends –
“Skeeter.”
Friends.
Rita slammed the chair even again, poking her glasses back on and turned a thousand watt smile upon the speaker, straight backed and eager.
“Black. I heard you officially made the team – one of the few Third Years playing across all houses! How do you feel about that?” She flicked a pen to action and tilted her head back up at Bellatrix, tall and dark eyed and buzzing with electric anger. “Intimidated? Excited?”
Bellatrix Black stared down at her, thick brows stuck in stony assessment of the blonde.
Rita didn’t wait for her to respond, leaning in conspiratorially.
“You know,” she winked, “I saw some of your trial.”
Bellatrix’s eye twitched.
“And you were the obvious choice. I made some notes on your performance though. As you can see, I’ve been thinking of some ways you could improve. Want me to share it? Maybe I can talk to your captain – let them know what I think? Or maybe you don’t like that. Do you want a repeat of Arithmancy here?”
She finished with a smug smile, staring up at Bellatrix. Black stayed silent, almost fuming. Her eyes sparked viciously, glittering like the milky way on a clear night. Her face had gone freakishly white, with high red splotches on her cheekbones. Rita sighed internally. Some people get all the luck in life.
Except, of course, when the fact their classmate spied on their team’s practices and try outs and sold the information to a different team with the implication that they were complicit in it is used as blackmail. Not so lucky.
“Skeeter, you look like a cat begging for food, stop it.” Black pulled a chair out and sat down, leaning startlingly close to Rita. Her eyes were huge. “I came to congratulate you.”
Rita blinked. Oh.
“Oh.”
Bellatrix’s face had calmed down, and taken on more of a predatory gaze as Rita grappled with the idea of Black congratulating anyone.
“You’ve gotten the position of commentator, what you wanted, right? I’m sure you’ve heard this from many, but I hope you have better luck than Wiggins.” Bellatrix’s stare became even more intense. “I think everybody wants that. Some Firsties still have nightmares. But I’m sure you’ll do great! With all that academic integrity, and honesty, and never spying, and lack of bias –”
“Obviously–” Rita pushed out, scowling at the implication, “Obviously, I’ll be that and do that be, like, unbiased and everything. Everyone knows that's me.”
“Do they? Not everyone.” Bellatrix spat, suddenly, face heating up again before she visibly wrestled it under control.
Rita stilled.
“Skeeter, I’m not here to yell. I’m just here to say that if I see any repeat of what happened at tryouts, I’ll end you. I don’t know why you think you can ask me these questions, and don’t you dare write anything, but we’re not friends. I don’t like you. I don’t trust you. You know full well the position you’ve put me in with your actions. Don’t make it worse.”
A chill came over Rita that raised the goosebumps on her arms and sent shivers down her neck – the shadows deepened above her, nestling in the junction between bookshelf and wall, ceiling and air, Bellatrix and the world. The light through the dusty air, spiralling through the window in lazy curls, seemed to weaken and darken and the corner of the library where they sat, Bellatrix staring at Rita with eyes that promised pain, turned grey and cold.
It could’ve been an empty threat. Just big words.
Looking at Bellatrix though, and being the gossip she was, Rita could almost hear the cries of others in the same position. The third year rotting, eventually sent to St Mungo’s. That girl in First Year who’d thought to make comments behind Bellatrix’s back.
Rita looked at Bellatrix and knew, in her gut, curled around her knowledge of Bella’s madness and blatant fear, that Bellatrix would tear that same gut open and use her intestines as a scarf if Rita threatened her.
Parchments slowly fluttering in the draught, Rita nodded.
Maybe she needed to rework some ideas.