Wings Clipped

Rita Skeeter stormed into the bustling offices of the Daily Prophet, her sharp heels clacking against the polished floors.

The sound blended into the hum of hurried quills scratching on parchment and the occasional snatches of conversation.

Her lips were pursed, her jaw set—the look of a woman with a plan.

Emerald-green robes shimmering under the enchanted lights, Rita wove through the chaos of the newsroom, her hawk-like eyes scanning the faces until they landed on one in particular.

Barnaby Cresswell.

'Now there's a man I can use,' Rita thought, a predatory smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

She could already imagine Potter's and his little girlfriend's reactions when they read the story she was about to unleash.

Barnaby, hunched over his desk, was one of the few people she trusted in this viper's nest.

A seasoned journalist with an uncanny knack for unearthing dirt, he had the instincts of a bloodhound and a loyalty that couldn't be bought—an increasingly rare trait in their cutthroat world.

Rita approached him, her shadow looming over his desk.

Barnaby glanced up, dark eyes narrowing with curiosity.

"Rita," he drawled, leaning back in his chair, the quill in his hand momentarily still. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She smirked, though her eyes remained cold.

"Barnaby, dear, I've stumbled upon something that makes all my past exclusives look like mere gossip." She gestured for him to follow. "Not here. Too many ears."

Barnaby arched an eyebrow but grabbed his notepad and followed her into one of the soundproof meeting rooms reserved for sensitive discussions.

Once inside, Rita flicked her wand, casting a quick Muffliato charm—a trick she'd picked up from her old, diminutive professor.

"What's this about, Skeeter?" Barnaby asked, settling into a chair and tapping his quill impatiently against the edge of his parchment.

Rita leaned forward, her voice low and urgent. "It's about the Delacours and Maxime. Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons champion, and her father, Sebastian… there's more to their little family than meets the eye. And Madame Maxime? She's hiding something—something big."

Barnaby's quill stilled, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. "Go on."

She laid it all out—her clandestine visit to Beauxbatons, the overheard conversations, and the tangled web of promises that had Madame Maxime dancing to Sebastian's tune.

Fleur, it seemed, was nothing more than a political pawn to her father, and the pressure on her to perform in the tournament was laced with threats and manipulation.

When she finished, Barnaby leaned back, a slow grin spreading across his face. "This is gold, Rita. Absolute gold. But why bring it to me? Everyone knows you've never been shy about publishing your own work."

Rita's eyes flashed, her smile brittle. "Let's just say… certain individuals are trying to clip my wings. If this came out under my byline, I might face… complications. But you? You're untouchable. Publish it, Barnaby, and make sure it's front page. The world deserves to know the truth about these people."

Barnaby chuckled, his expression amused. "The world deserves to know the truth? Come on, Rita—you'd sell an exposé on your own mother if it meant a front-page story."

Her smile tightened, a flicker of anger crossing her features. "Just write the article, Barnaby. Trust me, no one will see it coming."

Barnaby opened his mouth as if to say something more, but one look at her expression made him think better of it.

With a curt nod, she swept out of the room, tension easing from her shoulders.

'This was the smart move,' she told herself.

Letting Barnaby take the spotlight while she remained in the shadows, biding her time.

As she stepped into the crisp evening air outside the Daily Prophet building, the satisfaction of her machinations brought a faint smile to her lips.

Soon, the Delacours and Maxime would find themselves under the harsh light of public scrutiny.

'And if it causes some relationship issues,' Rita thought with a touch of sadistic pleasure, 'all the better.'

She returned to her London townhouse, invigorated despite the day's events leaving her drained.

The crocodile-skin handbag was barely on the ornate table by the door when a loud knock echoed through the house.

Frowning, Rita pulled open the door to find three Aurors standing on her doorstep, their expressions grim.

The leader, a tall woman with steely eyes, stepped forward. "Rita Skeeter," she said firmly, "you are under arrest for being an unregistered Animagus."

For a moment, Rita was too stunned to speak.

'What? How do they know? Did that blasted boy go back on his promise?'

Her mind raced, searching for an escape, but the Aurors had come prepared.

With a flick of the woman's wand, Rita found herself wandless.

Panic surged as she considered transforming into her beetle form and fleeing, but a second spell hit her squarely in the chest, immobilising her.

"This is preposterous!" she snapped, her voice rising in indignation. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

The Auror's gaze didn't waver. "We do. And so will the Wizengamot. Dawlish get her, and let's go."

Rita's hands trembled with fear and rage as she glanced back at her beloved home, knowing it might be the last time she saw it for a while.

How had her perfect plan unravelled so quickly?

The irony wasn't lost on her. The very day she had orchestrated someone else's downfall, her own world had come crashing down.

She was grabbed by a tough-looking wizard and in the next moment, she felt the ever-familiar tug on her navel.

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A short and very later chapter!.!.

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Chapter 76: Tri-School Exchange

Chapter 77: Ascendant Serpent of Light

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Chapter 84: Changed magic