Author's Note: Been a while since I've done any one shots, but I was talking with a reviewer about the whole Dumbledore/Grindlewald thing and how J.K. Rowling absolutely could have slipped in cannon proof of their fling if she'd wanted to and how she has a history of coming up with backwards excuses for how white/cis/het the Harry Potter books are. So this was born.
Shout out to TrenchcoatMan. This would not exist without our post-review conversations!
Gonna do a bit of shameless advertising: I am working on a multi-chapter fic. So if you have a weakness for Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter crossover fanfiction and like this one shot, come to my author page and check out The Scientist's Lament.
Disclaimer: WolfishMoon does not own J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter. She makes no claims to the contrary and makes no money from the online publication of this free-to-read fanwork.
Rita Writes a Book
A Harry Potter FanFiction
He loved him, he loved him not. He loved him, he loved him not. He loved him! Rita Skeeter hadn't played this game since she was about seven, and she certainly wasn't playing it for herself now. But there had been a flower, her idle hands, and a question.
Rita knew which headline would sell. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and Gellert Grindlewald: Lovers! But there was absolutely no proof. That old bag Bathilda knew, Rita was certain. But Bagshot had buried the knowledge deep in the secrets she'd handed her and was absolutely reluctant to say anything else.
Not to mention, people start to foam at the mouth after being obliviated too many times. Bathilda Bagshot was very close to her limit. She had been holding to her sanity as limply as the wand in her hand before Rita had even begun.
Well proof or no proof. Rita dealt in truth, not in facts. And in this case especially it wasn't the facts that mattered.
Rita let her Quick Quotes Quill™ scrawl across the page; she came up with plenty of her own florid writing, but the sheer ridiculousness of the phrases the quill came out with were good for at least a laugh when she went over the notes later.
Sharing a passion as destructive as it was sexy….
Witch Weekly would kill for this article. But it wasn't an article for any number of Rita's usual employers. This was a book. A book for a regime that she knew would kill her the moment she said anything they didn't like.
Would revealing a star-crossed love between the greatest wizard of his time and the great adversary of his youth give too much weight to his struggles? The ministry was paying Skeeter good money to paint Dumbledore as ridiculous, manipulating, and utterly unworthy of anyone's sympathy.
Would his inarguably terrible choice in lovers push that agenda?
The ministry, the ministry. Rita knew damn well what that meant these days. A megalomaniac on a power trip was controlling Rita's payout and she knew it. Scrimgeour was there, surely enough, but he was two steps away from being killed and it wasn't him that had the entire upper staff of The Daily Prophet Press deep in his pocket.
No, no. That was jointly controlled by the Malfoys and the Notts. Sometimes the Greengrasses would throw money at an article to either push it to publication or make it disappear, but that was only when the family patriarch was feeling up to mischief.
And who was feeling mischievous at all these days?
So the question still stood. Was Albus Dumbledore more pathetic for loving a man he would have to destroy, or did that make him seem stronger? She could easily belittle a friendship. But love? Love that Albus had to bury and overcome to do what had to be done?
A friend may fake a surrender with a friend, but Rita knew come hell or high water that there was no way she would lie down and play dead to further the career of any of her exes. No way in hell. Dolores would probably have something to say on the matter.
The poor woman was unhinged now more than ever after her one pitiful year as a Hogwarts staff member, but she liked the petty power that came with peddling the Dark Lord's agenda in the ministry. She certainly had enough of a grudge against Potter.
Rita nodded at that thought. She had no doubt Umbridge would bury her at the slightest provocation. Yes. It was much better to let the toad on a power trip feel included in the process. She let the quill unleash some of it's most florid sentences yet upon a small scrap of parchment, and sent it off to her.
Rita shuddered at the thought of deciphering pink ink on pink paper. Well. If the colors really were indistinguishable, there was a spell for that.
Word Count: 661
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