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Chapter 641: Rita Skeeter in Action
Chapter 641: Rita Skeeter in Action
As Christmas approached, both the wizarding and Muggle worlds were brimming with the festive spirit. Joy was practically radiating from people's faces. While the public was gearing up for the holidays, the reporters at The Sun were gathered in a meeting, discussing the new year's topics.
"Rita", a short, stout man asked, "how's your article coming along?"
"It's done", Rita Skeeter announced, pulling out a stack of papers from her crocodile-skin bag. "I've uncovered some explosive information." She glanced at the others, smirking. "There's evidence that the government is deliberately covering up the dangers of mad cow disease to the public!"
"Is that so", the stout editor said dryly, wiping his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief as he took the manuscript. He flipped through it casually, then looked up with a serious expression. "I'm sorry, Rita, but we won't be publishing your article."
"Why not?" Skeeter raised her voice, the pen in her hand coming to an abrupt stop.
"No reason. I admit you're excellent and have had a string of successes lately, but..." The man shifted uncomfortably in his chair, which creaked under his weight.
Rita Skeeter studied him for a moment.
"Oh—" she drawled, "I see. Fine, I quit."
The stout man stared at her, taken aback. In his experience, this woman was like a relentless hound, always on the hunt, tireless and ruthless. It was a compliment.
"I thought—"
"Thought what? That I'd cling to this story?" Rita Skeeter sneered. "I have confidence in my abilities. Even if my efforts on the mad cow disease series are in vain, I'm sure I can find new material. Unlike some others." She glanced at a corner of the room.
At the long table, several reporters glared at her, but Rita Skeeter only gave them a disdainful look. She had figured out the game and was now in her element.
Sure enough, the stout man praised her.
"Great, Rita! I must say, hiring you was one of my best decisions. Let me think... what's the latest hot story..." He seized the opportunity to assign her a new task. "How do you plan to spend Christmas?"
Rita Skeeter thought for a moment. "I'll probably take a few days off." She intended to visit Amelia Bones at the Ministry of Magic to complain about her workload. The past few months had been grueling, juggling assignments for The Sun and the Daily Prophet. She had no intention of giving up either—after all, both were just fabrications.
In the Muggle world, the small window on the second floor of her rented apartment remained open, allowing owls to come and go at night.
The stout man blinked. "Since that's the case—"
"How about the princess's divorce story?" Rita Skeeter volunteered. "I'm sure I can uncover more sensational details." After working together for months, the man knew that when she said 'investigate,' she really meant 'fabricate.'
The man was tempted.
"No!" A well-groomed blonde woman snapped. "I've been handling this, and I can't give up now."
"Oh, Melissa", Skeeter said with a dismissive look. "If you haven't made any progress, maybe you're not cut out for this." Melissa glared at her, grinding her teeth as if she wanted to tear her apart.
The stout editor thought for a moment. While Melissa wasn't as efficient as Rita Skeeter, she was still a valuable asset. He didn't want to favor one over the other, as it could lead to conflicts that would affect their work.
"Here's what I'll do, Rita", he decided. "You take the gun control bill story."
Rita Skeeter's eyes lit up.
However, she didn't jump at the opportunity right away. Instead, she calmly asked, "How far can I go with this?"
"Go wild", the stout man said. "There's little risk now. The new gun control bill is almost a certainty, given the impact of the gun control movement started by the victims' families after the school shooting earlier this year. It's quieted down a bit recently, but I have intel that it might be finalized in the next year or two."
"Wait, we can capitalize on this", Rita Skeeter said, sucking on her pen like a quill, her mind racing. "We can run a series of stories on this topic."
There was a derisive laugh from the office.
"Excuse me?" Skeeter asked coldly.
Melissa gave a mocking smile, smoothing her hair until she felt everyone's attention on her. "Do I need to remind everyone that the school shooting happened nine months ago? Every news outlet has covered it from every angle. It's not worth wasting valuable Christmas space."
The middle-aged editor looked uncertain, turning to Skeeter.
Rita Skeeter slammed her pen on the table, folding her arms. Her strikingly green nails were particularly noticeable. "So some people are only fit for low-level stories like infidelity, and yet they still haven't made any progress. Use your head! This is a golden opportunity! The government is drafting the new bill, and the public is busy with the holidays. Even though I haven't investigated it yet, I can guarantee that the gun control movement won't be a hot topic for the next couple of months..."
"If we can launch a series of exclusive reports during the Christmas period, linking peace with slaughter, New Year with shootings, and sensationalizing it... We can reignite the public's interest and maintain it until the new bill is passed. Then we can claim that the implementation of the new bill is inseparable from our efforts."
She gave Melissa a cold laugh and turned to the man.
"Why choose Christmas? Because only when other newspapers are busy reporting on the festivities of Christmas and New Year can we stand out. This is differentiation. It will make our paper the first thing readers see!" She leaned forward, staring at the short, middle-aged man. "What do you think, Editor-in-Chief?"
The editor swallowed hard and said with a stern face, "We are just an entertainment newspaper. If the topics are too serious—"
"You can rest assured on that point. I will use a completely new narrative style", Rita Skeeter said, leaning back confidently. "And I have my own take on 'entertainment'—"
She said sweetly, "The most important thing for a newspaper is sales. Beyond that, the topic, form, and content don't matter, even the truth—" She raised an eyebrow, giving a knowing smile.
A round of applause came from the doorway. A woman with a serious face walked in, and no one knew how much she had overheard.
"You must be Rita Skeeter. That name is on everyone's lips these days. I'm almost sick of hearing it."
"Who are you?" Rita asked nonchalantly, catching a faint hint of mint smoke. She had only ever smelled it outside a certain office door, which was always closed.
The short, middle-aged manager frantically signaled to her, mouthing words. The woman didn't respond but sized Rita up. "I've been away from the company for a few months, but I haven't missed a single one of your articles. You've made the government look like a laughingstock—though readers do love that."
Rita said in a flattering tone, "So, are you planning to promote me?"
The short manager's eyes widened in shock from behind. This was a shameful betrayal. But Rita was ready to climb the ladder. She stared intently at the woman, who laughed heartily. "Why not?" she said coldly, looking at Rita. "My time is limited, so I have only one interview question. If I want to increase the newspaper's sales by twenty thousand, what do you suggest?"
Rita clenched her fists. "Increase the newspaper's differentiation."
"Differentiation? Be specific."
"In fact, we're already ahead, like the third-page pinup... but it's not enough. We need to distinguish ourselves from other newspapers in every way—mistakes included. We can even deliberately go against the readers' expectations, of course... only a true expert can navigate the subtle differences."
The woman narrowed her eyes, intrigued. "Do you consider yourself that expert?"
"Without a doubt", Rita said boldly.
A moment of silence. The woman nodded at her. "From now on, you're one of the deputy editors."
The newly promoted Rita Skeeter hurried back to her office and instructed her two assistants, "Find all the news articles about the Dunblane School shooting from this year. Now! Include the victims' lists, the gun control movement's ideals and demands, the government's statements on the matter, the list of bill drafters, and all the rumors and speculations—bring it all to me! And—get me a ticket to Scotland."
Two days later, Rita Skeeter arrived in the town where the shooting had occurred and personally persuaded several victims' families to give interviews.
Her offer was generous—The Sun had a significant readership and could stir up a storm. She also promised to publish a series of articles to pressure the government, and the families agreed without much hesitation.
They even used their connections to allow Rita Skeeter to enter the school where the shooting took place.
Rita Skeeter interviewed a few teachers and had already conceived a scathing report of at least ten thousand words in her head, but she was still unsatisfied. She wanted a sharp angle that would be both shocking and not too out of place during the New Year.
As she walked, her scattered gaze focused on the students. She had a good idea.
"Hey, kid", she said, feigning kindness, to a boy. "What's your name?"
"Andy, Andy Murray", the boy said, looking to be about eight or nine years old.
"Oh, Andy, Andy", she repeated, pulling out her press pass and waving it in front of him. "Can I interview you alone?"
"I have to play tennis", Andy Murray said.
"Perfect, that's exactly what I came for", Rita Skeeter lied, quickly glancing at the tennis bag on the boy's shoulder and smiling. "I talked to your teacher, and she told me you have a lot of talent."
"It's 'he,'" the boy corrected.
"What?"
"My physical education teacher, it's 'he,'" the boy emphasized, looking at her suspiciously.
"I must have gotten it wrong", Rita Skeeter apologized, though her face showed no trace of embarrassment. "So—let's talk about badminton, tennis, oh, that's a tongue-twister."
The boy glared at her, unhappy with this woman who had suddenly appeared and disrespected tennis.
"Oh, come on, I just said the wrong word. Do you know how much research I did before coming here?" She pointed to her thick glasses. "When did you start playing tennis?"
“... three years old,” the boy finally said after a long silence.
Rita Skeeter was a bit surprised. "So I've stumbled upon a little prodigy?" She chuckled. "I should put you on my watch list and interview you again in a few years. What title should I use? 'The Birth of a Genius'... or 'The Fall of a Genius'? It's quite exciting."
The boy tried to storm off, but Skeeter held onto his wrist tightly. While they were arguing, a teacher from the school appeared.
"What are you doing! Who are you? Oh, Ms. Skeeter—" The female teacher was visibly shocked.
"It's me", Skeeter released the boy, speaking in a casual tone. "I was just wandering around the campus when I met little Andy, but he was in a hurry to go play tennis... It was a bit of a misunderstanding."
The teacher looked at her, then at the boy who was rubbing his wrist, and her demeanor cooled. "I don't think that's the reason, Andy... Andy wouldn't want to go to the gym."
"Why do you say that?" Skeeter was taken aback. She didn't know what the problem was, but she quickly figured it out. "Because of the school shooting in the gym?" She widened her eyes, looking at Andy in disbelief. "He was a witness?"
"That's right", the teacher said coldly. "Since then, Andy generally only plays on the playground. The school is planning to build a new fitness center."
Rita Skeeter realized she had made a mistake.
"I—" She opened her mouth, trying to salvage the situation.
"Sorry, Ms. Skeeter, please leave. Otherwise, I'll have to call security", the teacher said firmly.
Rita Skeeter's face turned red and then white. She reached into her crocodile leather bag several times but decided not to take out her wand. As an employee of the Ministry of Magic, her wand had been re-enchanted with a tracking thread, and any magic she used in a year would be reported to the woman in the Minister's office.
Damn it.
"Alright, I'm sorry", she shrugged and turned to leave.
As she walked out of the school, Skeeter's mind was filled with various ideas. She had gathered enough information for now, and today's encounter was an unexpected bonus. But something still felt missing. What was it? She glanced back and saw the teacher squatting down to comfort the boy, who looked stubborn.
Tennis, the boy... She figured it out.
"Consider yourselves lucky", she thought coldly. She took another long train ride back to The Sun's headquarters and quickly wrote a news article.
"Nine months later, my new friend Andy still cannot escape the shadow of fear. He sobbed in front of me, admitting his deep sorrow over the loss of his playmates. He revealed that they had planned to play tennis together, becoming lifelong friends and rivals, but all of that turned to dust. His parents couldn't even lie to him, as Andy was a witness to the tragedy, seeing his friends fall before his eyes..."
"Some will mention the Hungerford massacre in 1987, where the government acted swiftly, banning semi-automatic rifles and restricting handgun ownership the following year. But it's not enough!"
"Only nine years later, tragedy struck again, this time even more heinous. Sixteen of the seventeen victims were children. Can we really turn a blind eye? The killer used four handguns, all legally obtained and permitted by the government. This means there are still significant loopholes in our gun control measures. I urge the government officials, who are busy planning holidays or New Year's parades, to focus some of their attention on the victims and their families. They should have been able to celebrate the New Year with you, but their lives were cut short in March 1996."
"We must show greater determination and courage, and a sense of responsibility, to make the right choices... Encouraged by the journalist, little Andy has regained his spirit. He vowed never to give up tennis. Gentlemen and ladies, a great tennis star is rising, with a bright future ahead, full of infinite possibilities. But please remember, if we continue to be indifferent, Andy will face the threat of guns every day and night..."
The office was quiet for a while. A woman's cigarette burned quietly.
"Well?" Rita Skeeter narrowed her eyes and asked.
The stern-faced woman tore off a piece of paper and wrote quickly. Moments later, she pushed the note and the article toward Skeeter. She took a deep puff of the cigarette and exhaled a mint-flavored smoke ring.
"Your new office is ready."
(End of Chapter)
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