RP: A Confronting Luncheon
Date: 10 April 2005
Characters: Rita Skeeter, [Alistair Skeeter]
Location: Roma
Status: Private
Summary: Alistair buys Rita lunch. He has some serious 'splainin to do.
Completion: Complete
"Why, Dad?"
This was the third time she'd asked the question. The first time, when they'd been walking from her apartment to Roma, he'd replied with a comment about the weather. The second, once they were seated, he'd passed her a menu and asked whether she preferred white wine or red.
Now that they had their meals in front of them and they'd run out of small talk, he looked uneasy - he knew he couldn't avoid it any longer. He laid his utensils down on either side of the plate and lifted his serviette to dab at some mess around his mouth that Rita couldn't see at all.
"I hardly think that's the place to start, do you, Rita? I'm not even sure how much you know, or exactly what I'm being accused of." His eyes came up to meet her gaze.
God. This was the same man who'd caught her with her hand in the cookie jar, the same man whose lap she'd loved to crawl into when it was cold. Staring at her like he was about to become her latest Prophet victim; like he was somehow smaller, but still defiant. He looked afraid. Rita had no idea what to do with that. This wasn't a position she'd ever thought to be in.
She sliced a piece off her chicken breast before replying.
"You want me to start from the beginning? All right. I know that Henrietta Lockhart was a seamstress in Diagon Alley. I know she had an affair with one of her customers - a married man - and fell pregnant. I know a man who called himself 'Ali Slater' sent her money every three months. Far too regular to be a business transaction, and just about enough for a woman and a child to live on for the next three months. I know this man bought clothes for himself, his wife and his two daughters at Henrietta's store, and I know that he stopped doing so in May 1961. I know you're him."
Her father had picked his knife and fork up again, but hadn't lifted them. Instead, his fingers had gradually tightened around the metal until his skin was white with the pressure of his grip. He seemed to force himself to take a bite of his meal, then, but she could see the tension in his jaw as he chewed. Before she'd known who Gilderoy's father was, she'd looked forward to this moment - forcing the man to admit his involvement; breaking the stories out of him, one by one.
But there was no victory in this.
Still, she asked again. "Why, Dad?"
He sighed. "I don't know, Rita."
"You don't know? What the hell does that mean?"
His eyes flashed with anger; Rita sat back. "Do you think it's simple? You think I meant for her to get pregnant?"
"What about Mum?"
He snatched up his wine glass, took a large sip. As he laid it back down, the anger seemed to fall out of him. His shoulders slumped. Somehow, it was even more frightening than seeing him angry. "I love her, Rita. I love your mother. Henrietta knew that; I didn't lie to her. But she was vibrant, alive, passionate, interested. Your mother... I'm sure you remember. She was completely preoccupied with her work. She barely left the laboratory except to see to you and your sister. We hardly spoke, she was so obsessed. It was... difficult to live with. I loved her. I still do. I didn't want to get in the way or hold her back, stop her from doing what she loved. But I couldn't live with it, Rita. Maybe that makes me a horrible man. A failure as a husband, a failure as a father. But I couldn't live with it, and I couldn't leave her. So I found someone warm to make it bearable. Is that so terrible?"
Rita said nothing. She had no idea what to think. She did remember the time her father was referring to. Her mother, an expert on Scrofungulus, had been studying a new strain of the disease, and working via floo with mediwizards at St Mungos, attempting to develop newer, more effective treatments. She had been rather absent at the time, but Rita and Stella had always had each other. But did that make it right for her father to...?
Well, had she never done anything reprehensible herself? Some of her relationships were less than conventional, and some of the things she had done... But no. Rita had never cheated on anyone. She didn't often get herself into relationships that included promises of fidelity, but when she had, she hadn't slept around. There had been no one but Carmilla for all the time they were together. Of course, it was more complicated than that, wasn't it? Her relationship with Kingsley was... well, not Nothing. But not All either. All or Nothing. She couldn't do the everyday with him, she had to diffuse it with others. That was different from what her father was saying. Kingsley understood that.
She wouldn't identify herself with what he'd done.
"She had a baby, Dad. A little boy. He slept in a bed in the cellar. And you didn't even go back and visit!"
"Well what would I have said, Rita? Oh, hello, boy, I'm your father. Let's go and play Quidditch, then I'll go home to my wife and daughters. Do you think that would have been better?"
Rita laid her fork down. The conversation was putting a bad taste in her mouth. "That's so easy, Dad. Too easy. Do you even know who she really was?"
His eyes flashed; the question had caught him by surprise. Rita felt a strange kick of journalistic excitement. She'd found out even more than he knew. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"Henrietta Lockhart wasn't her real name. She started working in Diagon when she ran away from her family. A big, old pureblood family. She had no family left - in fact, I think they could have been dangerous to her if they'd known she'd given birth to a bastard. Gilderoy had no family but her. I'm not keeping this secret for you."
His eyes were wide. He waved off her threat, blinking rapidly. "Wait. Pureblood family? Who?"
Rita eyed him over the top of her glasses for a moment, wondering whether she should give him the information. Could it do Gilderoy any damage? Surely not, now that Henrietta was dead.
"Parkinson. Mathilda Parkinson."
Alistair stared at some point to her left for several moments, unmoving. His lips formed the name, but he didn't elaborate on what he was thinking.
Rita felt herself softening. "I can't keep this a secret, Dad." She said it quietly this time. "Gilderoy has no family, no memories. He's desperate for history, for people to call his own. And he's got two half-sisters, a niece and a nephew. I won't let you lie about it anymore. You have to tell Mum."
He closed his eyes. "Merlin, Rita. It'll destroy her. How can you want that?"
She slapped her glass down onto the table. "Don't you dare say that, Dad. It's got nothing to do with what I want. You should have kept your bloody cock in your pants if you didn't want to hurt her. This is about Gilderoy. It's about your son."
His eyes were defeated, and Rita wanted to get up and run away and not deal with this - this man who'd always been bigger and stronger than her breaking in front of her like one of her subjects. She didn't want to see him crumbling. But he was.
"What do you want me to do?"
She took a breath. "Tell Mum. And meet Gilderoy, if he wants to see you."
Characters: Rita Skeeter, [Alistair Skeeter]
Location: Roma
Status: Private
Summary: Alistair buys Rita lunch. He has some serious 'splainin to do.
Completion: Complete
"Why, Dad?"
This was the third time she'd asked the question. The first time, when they'd been walking from her apartment to Roma, he'd replied with a comment about the weather. The second, once they were seated, he'd passed her a menu and asked whether she preferred white wine or red.
Now that they had their meals in front of them and they'd run out of small talk, he looked uneasy - he knew he couldn't avoid it any longer. He laid his utensils down on either side of the plate and lifted his serviette to dab at some mess around his mouth that Rita couldn't see at all.
"I hardly think that's the place to start, do you, Rita? I'm not even sure how much you know, or exactly what I'm being accused of." His eyes came up to meet her gaze.
God. This was the same man who'd caught her with her hand in the cookie jar, the same man whose lap she'd loved to crawl into when it was cold. Staring at her like he was about to become her latest Prophet victim; like he was somehow smaller, but still defiant. He looked afraid. Rita had no idea what to do with that. This wasn't a position she'd ever thought to be in.
She sliced a piece off her chicken breast before replying.
"You want me to start from the beginning? All right. I know that Henrietta Lockhart was a seamstress in Diagon Alley. I know she had an affair with one of her customers - a married man - and fell pregnant. I know a man who called himself 'Ali Slater' sent her money every three months. Far too regular to be a business transaction, and just about enough for a woman and a child to live on for the next three months. I know this man bought clothes for himself, his wife and his two daughters at Henrietta's store, and I know that he stopped doing so in May 1961. I know you're him."
Her father had picked his knife and fork up again, but hadn't lifted them. Instead, his fingers had gradually tightened around the metal until his skin was white with the pressure of his grip. He seemed to force himself to take a bite of his meal, then, but she could see the tension in his jaw as he chewed. Before she'd known who Gilderoy's father was, she'd looked forward to this moment - forcing the man to admit his involvement; breaking the stories out of him, one by one.
But there was no victory in this.
Still, she asked again. "Why, Dad?"
He sighed. "I don't know, Rita."
"You don't know? What the hell does that mean?"
His eyes flashed with anger; Rita sat back. "Do you think it's simple? You think I meant for her to get pregnant?"
"What about Mum?"
He snatched up his wine glass, took a large sip. As he laid it back down, the anger seemed to fall out of him. His shoulders slumped. Somehow, it was even more frightening than seeing him angry. "I love her, Rita. I love your mother. Henrietta knew that; I didn't lie to her. But she was vibrant, alive, passionate, interested. Your mother... I'm sure you remember. She was completely preoccupied with her work. She barely left the laboratory except to see to you and your sister. We hardly spoke, she was so obsessed. It was... difficult to live with. I loved her. I still do. I didn't want to get in the way or hold her back, stop her from doing what she loved. But I couldn't live with it, Rita. Maybe that makes me a horrible man. A failure as a husband, a failure as a father. But I couldn't live with it, and I couldn't leave her. So I found someone warm to make it bearable. Is that so terrible?"
Rita said nothing. She had no idea what to think. She did remember the time her father was referring to. Her mother, an expert on Scrofungulus, had been studying a new strain of the disease, and working via floo with mediwizards at St Mungos, attempting to develop newer, more effective treatments. She had been rather absent at the time, but Rita and Stella had always had each other. But did that make it right for her father to...?
Well, had she never done anything reprehensible herself? Some of her relationships were less than conventional, and some of the things she had done... But no. Rita had never cheated on anyone. She didn't often get herself into relationships that included promises of fidelity, but when she had, she hadn't slept around. There had been no one but Carmilla for all the time they were together. Of course, it was more complicated than that, wasn't it? Her relationship with Kingsley was... well, not Nothing. But not All either. All or Nothing. She couldn't do the everyday with him, she had to diffuse it with others. That was different from what her father was saying. Kingsley understood that.
She wouldn't identify herself with what he'd done.
"She had a baby, Dad. A little boy. He slept in a bed in the cellar. And you didn't even go back and visit!"
"Well what would I have said, Rita? Oh, hello, boy, I'm your father. Let's go and play Quidditch, then I'll go home to my wife and daughters. Do you think that would have been better?"
Rita laid her fork down. The conversation was putting a bad taste in her mouth. "That's so easy, Dad. Too easy. Do you even know who she really was?"
His eyes flashed; the question had caught him by surprise. Rita felt a strange kick of journalistic excitement. She'd found out even more than he knew. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"Henrietta Lockhart wasn't her real name. She started working in Diagon when she ran away from her family. A big, old pureblood family. She had no family left - in fact, I think they could have been dangerous to her if they'd known she'd given birth to a bastard. Gilderoy had no family but her. I'm not keeping this secret for you."
His eyes were wide. He waved off her threat, blinking rapidly. "Wait. Pureblood family? Who?"
Rita eyed him over the top of her glasses for a moment, wondering whether she should give him the information. Could it do Gilderoy any damage? Surely not, now that Henrietta was dead.
"Parkinson. Mathilda Parkinson."
Alistair stared at some point to her left for several moments, unmoving. His lips formed the name, but he didn't elaborate on what he was thinking.
Rita felt herself softening. "I can't keep this a secret, Dad." She said it quietly this time. "Gilderoy has no family, no memories. He's desperate for history, for people to call his own. And he's got two half-sisters, a niece and a nephew. I won't let you lie about it anymore. You have to tell Mum."
He closed his eyes. "Merlin, Rita. It'll destroy her. How can you want that?"
She slapped her glass down onto the table. "Don't you dare say that, Dad. It's got nothing to do with what I want. You should have kept your bloody cock in your pants if you didn't want to hurt her. This is about Gilderoy. It's about your son."
His eyes were defeated, and Rita wanted to get up and run away and not deal with this - this man who'd always been bigger and stronger than her breaking in front of her like one of her subjects. She didn't want to see him crumbling. But he was.
"What do you want me to do?"
She took a breath. "Tell Mum. And meet Gilderoy, if he wants to see you."