Inked Dragons

The Unfolding of Events

Rita Skeeter straightened her back and looked away, refusing to look at Arum Twarmer directly as he stood in the doorway to her small cell. He was an insult to her eyes.

'Darling, it's been a while, what?' Twarmer said as he shuffled into the room. His trousers were too big and the bottoms had become folded up and worn through from where they constantly scuffed on the dirty floor. She despised him for it.

Rita stuck her nose in the air in defiance.

'It's very easy. I only want you to tell me who sent you those photographs. Who is your source? What?'

Gregory Goyle was stood behind her and he grabbed her chin roughly and forced her head around to look at Twarmer. She snorted indignantly. 'You always were a bully, Arum,' she said haughtily. 'I see, now, you let others get their hands dirty on your behalf.'

'You're looking a bit rough yourself these days, Rita,' Arum said nastily.

'That makes two of us. I see you still have egg down your front from two days ago. Something on your mind to distract you from cleaning it off?'

He looked down in surprise, side-tracked by her words, and she smiled to herself. She thought he played the gormless idiot well.

He looked back at her, unconcerned. And drew his wand. 'You'll look a bit rougher after a few rounds of the Cruciatus, hey?' He pointed the wand at her.

'Save your energy, Arum. I don't know. Everything was sent anonymously. Brown envelope, complex and multiple courier Owl routes that were untraceable. No note. Just enough for me to have a good dig around and find out a lot more about your dealings behind the scenes. Or just to print the photos, they didn't require anything more. You partying with Death-Eaters... can you hear that, Arum?' she paused.

'What?' he looked slightly panicked and Goyle had frozen behind her.

If you were a witch who believed in such things as divination and portents, then it was ominous that some church bells across the fields were striking the hour. Otherwise, it could be classed as just fortuitous.

Rita Skeeter smiled evilly. 'The tolling of the bells ... it must be the sound of your death knell.'

Arum sighed heavily. And cast a Legilimens instead.

It was rough as he pushed his way around her mind until he stumbled into her meeting with Harry Potter in the little café near her work. He watched the memory with intrigue, wondering what Potter's game was. And recoiled in horror at her fervid imagination of him doing naked yoga. And then he backtracked, roughly playing the memory in rewind until he focused on the other man in the café. The one at the neighbouring table with his back virtually touching Potter's.

Arum Twarmer smiled to himself.

'Well, well. What's he doing there? Hardly a coincidence, I think. Draco Malfoy, hey?' he said slowly as he withdrew sharply from Rita's mind. 'Come on Gregory, we've got some Malfoys to go a hunting for. The blood-traitor scum, what? It appears both father and son are playing a part in this game. I'm going to tear them limb from limb, then leave you to toy with them as you see fit. Death is too good for the likes of them but as that's your speciality, I'll leave you to it. But make sure it's painful and that no one can find the bodies afterwards.'

Rita Skeeter wasn't particularly focusing on what Arum Twarmer was saying, though, afterwards, she was to rethink over and over his words many times and tell them to as many people as she could. That was before she even got to having them printed boldly on the front page of the Prophet as soon as she'd escaped from her current ordeal. The Death Knoll indeed...