Fanfiction//Harry Potter: Karma; fic
Title: Karma
Pairing: Fenrir Greyback/Rita Skeeter
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,155
Summary: The fun ended as soon as the Dark Lord suggested she get up close and personal with Fenrir Greyback
Author's Notes: written for rarepair_short's Number Game Ficathon where you pick random numbers and get crazy rare pairs like this one! And then write fics, obviously. Rita was fun to write. And I think,on some level, this counts as crack. Then again I think anything I've ever written for this community could count as crack. *stares at last year's Number ficathon results* Ahem. Right. Also, not beta'ed. Feel free to point out any weird mistakes I may have made.
Right so it wasn’t something she’d ever say out loud. In fact, admitting it in her head was difficult enough. The words (which, if she did say so herself, and she did, usually came oh so very easily) weren’t there, but she was going to find them. Her blonde hair was a mess around her head. It was weighted down with dirt and blood that had dried after she had hit her head. Her glasses were missing, and her clothes were in quite a state being half missing and extremely torn and dirty besides. She had no Quick Quotes quill to hide behind, and no one was coming for her. If there were any time for confessions, it was now.
She had never been the best reporter.
There. She had admitted it. She had never been good. She had been mediocre at best, in all honesty (and boy was that new to her). She had twisted words, manipulated, cheated, schemed, lied, and straight up invented the truth through her entire career. So really, it was downright hilarious that she should meet her end actually printing the truth for once.
It had all started when that damn Potter boy had the audacity to up and die before defeating the Dark Lord and thereby dooming everyone to eternal suffering under the hands of a deranged lunatic of a half-man intent on living forever and killing off anyone who looked at him funny (which, considering his appearance was pretty much everyone). And yeah, she had said it all started that way. Things only got worse from there.
Now given that she had written up so many lies about Albus Dumbledore after his death and then had propagated even worse lies about Harry Potter after his death as well, that the Dark Lord did not have any intention of killing her right away. She had thanked her lucky stars for that, at least for a while. Her skill for, oh let’s see, making shit up (yeah, that sounded like an accurate descriptor for her, ah, talents) came in handy for the Dark Lord, and pretty soon her Quick Quotes quill had turned the majority of the public against the so-called Light and into the arms of the Dark Lord, their protector. Never let it be said that she didn’t do someone a favour out of the terror goodness of her heart.
So things were pretty good, at least for her. She got to continue her illustrious career, and as long as she printed what the Dark Lord wanted, she was safe. She didn’t worry about death, and she was only afraid sometimes.
And then someone (whose name she didn’t know which was probably a good thing for them because she wanted to rip out their throat, whoever they were) had the brilliant idea of telling the Dark Lord about public relations and how it was important to keep up a good image if the public was going to stay loyal and sympathetic to his cause. And so she was brought in to do exposés on all of the top Death Eaters. Her first few went fine. Lucius Malfoy was easy to lie about; after all, half the time the man really was a saint and well bred to boot. His wife and child were splendid to work with. She had no problem detailing their happy family life and good deeds and hiding their less than charitable acts for the Dark Lord. Peter Pettigrew was difficult, the slimy little worm, but she managed to spin a story about a poor unfortunate shunned by the world that went over well. Bellatrix Lestrange was crazy as they come, but even she knew how to lie through her teeth, and she got a lovely article on the undying love for a man who the whole Wizarding World had hated. Everyone loved a story about a woman who stuck by her man.
So, yeah, at first it was a good idea. She even had fun. Of course nothing good ever lasts, and the fun ended as soon as the Dark Lord suggested she get up close and personal with Fenrir Greyback. Not that she had anything against werewolves, of course. She had always possessed a tolerance for dark creatures (uh huh, she was lying). It was this particular werewolf that bothered her. She had heard the stories and from people who weren’t expert liars like herself. Some of it was probably exaggerated, it was true. But even lies come from some sort of fact, don’t they? So she requested a cage. The Dark Lord had laughed at her, but granted her request. After all, he didn’t want his number one reporter to have to deal with monthly issues anymore than she normally did.
She had arrived to her interview with the beast, and the interview room was completely dark. She had whispered a quick spell to bring light into the room, and...
---
“Hello sweetheart.” The growling voice could have only belonged to one person. Rita yelped in surprise, holding her wand out. He chuckled at her, baring his teeth. “You know, we could get to know each other a lot better if there wasn’t a cage between us.”
He tapped the metal bars that Rita knew were enchanted to prevent him from escaping. She sat down as far away from the beast as she could. No use in being under-cautious.
“Aw, you scared of little old me?” He grinned at her. “No need to worry, I don’t bite.”
---
And she had never been more disgusted in her life at the end of the interview. There had been nothing redeeming about Greyback. Not a single thing. He’d mocked her, made overly sexual advances, made her ill at the recounts of his favourite kills, and proved to her that evil really did exist.
So her article...it told the truth. She printed every last ugly detail she had gleaned about Greyback. Every single one in full descriptive prose. The outrage from her article had been overwhelming, and she wasn’t surprised when she arrived home one night shortly after publication to find three Death Eaters waiting for her.
And now here she was. In a cell, awaiting her doom and lamenting that she had never been a good reporter up until her last. She hurt all over, wanted desperately to have a drink of water or a bite of food, and she could smell the reek of sitting in her own filth for several days. Karma was a funny thing.
Her cell door squeaked open, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe they would just kill her. She didn’t bother looking up; she didn’t want to move.
A deep chuckle met her ears, and she closed her eyes. No. They had sent him.
“Hello sweetheart. How’s about you sit in the cage with me this time, huh?” And her cell door banged shut behind him.
Pairing: Fenrir Greyback/Rita Skeeter
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,155
Summary: The fun ended as soon as the Dark Lord suggested she get up close and personal with Fenrir Greyback
Author's Notes: written for rarepair_short's Number Game Ficathon where you pick random numbers and get crazy rare pairs like this one! And then write fics, obviously. Rita was fun to write. And I think,on some level, this counts as crack. Then again I think anything I've ever written for this community could count as crack. *stares at last year's Number ficathon results* Ahem. Right. Also, not beta'ed. Feel free to point out any weird mistakes I may have made.
Right so it wasn’t something she’d ever say out loud. In fact, admitting it in her head was difficult enough. The words (which, if she did say so herself, and she did, usually came oh so very easily) weren’t there, but she was going to find them. Her blonde hair was a mess around her head. It was weighted down with dirt and blood that had dried after she had hit her head. Her glasses were missing, and her clothes were in quite a state being half missing and extremely torn and dirty besides. She had no Quick Quotes quill to hide behind, and no one was coming for her. If there were any time for confessions, it was now.
She had never been the best reporter.
There. She had admitted it. She had never been good. She had been mediocre at best, in all honesty (and boy was that new to her). She had twisted words, manipulated, cheated, schemed, lied, and straight up invented the truth through her entire career. So really, it was downright hilarious that she should meet her end actually printing the truth for once.
It had all started when that damn Potter boy had the audacity to up and die before defeating the Dark Lord and thereby dooming everyone to eternal suffering under the hands of a deranged lunatic of a half-man intent on living forever and killing off anyone who looked at him funny (which, considering his appearance was pretty much everyone). And yeah, she had said it all started that way. Things only got worse from there.
Now given that she had written up so many lies about Albus Dumbledore after his death and then had propagated even worse lies about Harry Potter after his death as well, that the Dark Lord did not have any intention of killing her right away. She had thanked her lucky stars for that, at least for a while. Her skill for, oh let’s see, making shit up (yeah, that sounded like an accurate descriptor for her, ah, talents) came in handy for the Dark Lord, and pretty soon her Quick Quotes quill had turned the majority of the public against the so-called Light and into the arms of the Dark Lord, their protector. Never let it be said that she didn’t do someone a favour out of the terror goodness of her heart.
So things were pretty good, at least for her. She got to continue her illustrious career, and as long as she printed what the Dark Lord wanted, she was safe. She didn’t worry about death, and she was only afraid sometimes.
And then someone (whose name she didn’t know which was probably a good thing for them because she wanted to rip out their throat, whoever they were) had the brilliant idea of telling the Dark Lord about public relations and how it was important to keep up a good image if the public was going to stay loyal and sympathetic to his cause. And so she was brought in to do exposés on all of the top Death Eaters. Her first few went fine. Lucius Malfoy was easy to lie about; after all, half the time the man really was a saint and well bred to boot. His wife and child were splendid to work with. She had no problem detailing their happy family life and good deeds and hiding their less than charitable acts for the Dark Lord. Peter Pettigrew was difficult, the slimy little worm, but she managed to spin a story about a poor unfortunate shunned by the world that went over well. Bellatrix Lestrange was crazy as they come, but even she knew how to lie through her teeth, and she got a lovely article on the undying love for a man who the whole Wizarding World had hated. Everyone loved a story about a woman who stuck by her man.
So, yeah, at first it was a good idea. She even had fun. Of course nothing good ever lasts, and the fun ended as soon as the Dark Lord suggested she get up close and personal with Fenrir Greyback. Not that she had anything against werewolves, of course. She had always possessed a tolerance for dark creatures (uh huh, she was lying). It was this particular werewolf that bothered her. She had heard the stories and from people who weren’t expert liars like herself. Some of it was probably exaggerated, it was true. But even lies come from some sort of fact, don’t they? So she requested a cage. The Dark Lord had laughed at her, but granted her request. After all, he didn’t want his number one reporter to have to deal with monthly issues anymore than she normally did.
She had arrived to her interview with the beast, and the interview room was completely dark. She had whispered a quick spell to bring light into the room, and...
---
“Hello sweetheart.” The growling voice could have only belonged to one person. Rita yelped in surprise, holding her wand out. He chuckled at her, baring his teeth. “You know, we could get to know each other a lot better if there wasn’t a cage between us.”
He tapped the metal bars that Rita knew were enchanted to prevent him from escaping. She sat down as far away from the beast as she could. No use in being under-cautious.
“Aw, you scared of little old me?” He grinned at her. “No need to worry, I don’t bite.”
---
And she had never been more disgusted in her life at the end of the interview. There had been nothing redeeming about Greyback. Not a single thing. He’d mocked her, made overly sexual advances, made her ill at the recounts of his favourite kills, and proved to her that evil really did exist.
So her article...it told the truth. She printed every last ugly detail she had gleaned about Greyback. Every single one in full descriptive prose. The outrage from her article had been overwhelming, and she wasn’t surprised when she arrived home one night shortly after publication to find three Death Eaters waiting for her.
And now here she was. In a cell, awaiting her doom and lamenting that she had never been a good reporter up until her last. She hurt all over, wanted desperately to have a drink of water or a bite of food, and she could smell the reek of sitting in her own filth for several days. Karma was a funny thing.
Her cell door squeaked open, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe they would just kill her. She didn’t bother looking up; she didn’t want to move.
A deep chuckle met her ears, and she closed her eyes. No. They had sent him.
“Hello sweetheart. How’s about you sit in the cage with me this time, huh?” And her cell door banged shut behind him.