OWL: Dear Daddy...
Date: 8 April 2005
Characters: Rita Skeeter, [Alistair Skeeter]
Location: Rita's home
Status: Private
Summary: Rita writes to her father.
Completion: Complete
Rita couldn't put it off any longer. Didn't want to, really. She'd gone through the motions of disbelief and helpless fury, and she'd let it all out after her night at the pub, and now all she felt was a sort of resignation. It was personal, yes, but it had happened, and she'd found out. It had been done a long time ago. And she couldn't leave the story there. Despite the shock, the curious feeling of betrayal, she still wanted to know. What had made him do it? Had he loved her? What had those moments been like, when he first met her, when she told him she was pregnant? Did he regret it?
He must have been living with the thought for a lot of years. She wondered if it pained him. She wondered if she cared. She didn't know. He was still her father, after all, and she'd always loved him. Always would. But this had to come out, now. Gilderoy had to know, and she wouldn't keep something like this hidden for her father. Doing so would be betraying her mother all over again.
And he deserved the chance to speak. She lifted her quill, let out a dark chuckle when she glanced at her calendar and realised what day it was. Talk about resurrection.
Dear Dad,
Happy Easter. I hope you and Mum are well. I'm keeping busy - I trust you've been seeing the Prophets as they come out. Big things in the works, there.
Since I arrived here in Stoatshead Hill, I've been doing some research for a friend. Gilderoy Lockhart. You probably know the name. Mum loves his novels. He lost his memory in an accident a few years ago, and he hired me to do some research for him about his family. His mother died recently, and he never knew his father.
Henrietta Lockhart was a seamstress in Diagon Alley. I found one of her old ledgers on a trip there a few months ago. It seems, on close inspection, that you were one of her clients.
I'd like you to tell me about it.
Love,
Rita
Characters: Rita Skeeter, [Alistair Skeeter]
Location: Rita's home
Status: Private
Summary: Rita writes to her father.
Completion: Complete
Rita couldn't put it off any longer. Didn't want to, really. She'd gone through the motions of disbelief and helpless fury, and she'd let it all out after her night at the pub, and now all she felt was a sort of resignation. It was personal, yes, but it had happened, and she'd found out. It had been done a long time ago. And she couldn't leave the story there. Despite the shock, the curious feeling of betrayal, she still wanted to know. What had made him do it? Had he loved her? What had those moments been like, when he first met her, when she told him she was pregnant? Did he regret it?
He must have been living with the thought for a lot of years. She wondered if it pained him. She wondered if she cared. She didn't know. He was still her father, after all, and she'd always loved him. Always would. But this had to come out, now. Gilderoy had to know, and she wouldn't keep something like this hidden for her father. Doing so would be betraying her mother all over again.
And he deserved the chance to speak. She lifted her quill, let out a dark chuckle when she glanced at her calendar and realised what day it was. Talk about resurrection.
Dear Dad,
Happy Easter. I hope you and Mum are well. I'm keeping busy - I trust you've been seeing the Prophets as they come out. Big things in the works, there.
Since I arrived here in Stoatshead Hill, I've been doing some research for a friend. Gilderoy Lockhart. You probably know the name. Mum loves his novels. He lost his memory in an accident a few years ago, and he hired me to do some research for him about his family. His mother died recently, and he never knew his father.
Henrietta Lockhart was a seamstress in Diagon Alley. I found one of her old ledgers on a trip there a few months ago. It seems, on close inspection, that you were one of her clients.
I'd like you to tell me about it.
Love,
Rita