Highflying journalist, Rita Skeeter is at the top of her game. The ministry is at a wobbly stage because of a new minister for magic, who is yet to, in his words "Stabilise the magical word to peace and prosperity." So naturally slips are happening left right and centre at the ministry.
Doesn't the Wizarding public have a right to know about all of this? The torrid affairs in the department of magical transportation, and the corner cutting in the department of mysteries.
There is only one way to let the Wizarding community know about these shortcomings. And that is via Rita Skeeter, so naturally she's made a shed load of money from everyone's mistakes. And that means only one thing.
The best lifestyle possible.
A day in the life of Rita Skeeter.
The graceful getting out of bed, (In a silk night robe, of course.)Shower using many organic products, (probably from third world countries, but who cares about the little people? Honestly darling!) The clothes session, (opens wardrobe and decides.) An emerald green tight fitting corset, with matching knee-length skirt and long open cloak, (from the autumn collection at "Gucci Witch".)
The make up, a momentous occasion in itself, one which "Witch Weekly" would pay top money for. First, moisturiser; all over the face, then foundation, ("THE foundation, for the business woman on the go, covers lines of age, blemishes and those nasty creases.") Next red lipstick, containing naturally found red earth dyes, and ground kneazles teeth. Fake inch long eyelashes, ("The beautiful eye is a charm away!") Eyeliner and blush, (sorry, rouge darling) follows this.
Using eagle feather quill plots ways of destroying random people's lives.
Albus Dumbledore- because, damn it NOTHING rattles that obscenely calm man. Must charm close friends with eyelashes.
Hermione Granger- silly little girl thinks I will work for free and take it? Will show her, must contact Lucius's son.
Cornelius Fudge- because, heck that's always fun, after what he did while in office.
Apparates to office in Diagon Alley, (the posh end) and begins methodically ruining peoples lives and destroying their moral.
Floo's to The Prophet's Headquarters in London, smoothes outfit and clears throat while in lift. This is, after all a VERY posh place. But, at the same time, knows the headquarters are like that because of her.
Steps out of lift. Everyone turns to look. Walks down corridor with purposeful stride, glasses on, briefcase in hand as empowering music blares, giving her a sense of not only great smugness, but also patriotism to the Prophet.
An exchange of brisk words with editor, as he, grinning scans the articles. A nod and Rita Skeeter is off to her next appointment; the spa in a far fetched VIP area of Norway with masseuses known only as "Helga," and all over body wraps made from the dropping's of crumple horned snorkaks and, strangely organic Bulgarian tea leaves, (must contact Viktor Krum.)
It is hard work darling all of this, destroying people's lives business!
A/N: This was my first fic I ever wrote, and was written in January. It may not be brilliant but flames aren't nice. I only posted it when I realised it wasn't up.