The Legacy of Salazar

Fake News

"We can't print that!" Barnabas Cuffe exclaimed, shoving the article back toward her. "You've gotta rewrite it."

Rita Skeeter frowned, picking up the parchment and clenching it tightly in her hand. She'd finished the write-up minutes ago—the ink hadn't even dried. "You are kidding me, right?" she said, her tone low and angry. "This isn't even exaggerated!" She shook the article in his face. "Not enough bullshit for you, or something?"

Barnabas snatched the article back, ripping the corner in the process. He straightened it out, and read aloud:

QUIRRELL ADMITS TO WORKING WITH HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED

"Okay, I admit that's a bit long," Rita said rolling her eyes. "But we can change that to THE DARK LORD or something." Barnabas glared at her and continued:

We can all sleep well tonight with Quirinus Quirrell safely behind bars—or can we? —writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Earlier today Quirrell was sentenced to life in Azkaban but in his final testimony, the ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor admitted to working with none other than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

"Even though I was unsuccessful, the Dark Lord will rise again," Quirrell told the silent Wizengamot.

Barnabas paused and looked up at her. "We cannot print this!"

"I'm quoting him, word for word!" Rita snapped back, gesturing toward the article for emphasis. "For once," she added and Barnabas heaved a loud sigh before continuing.

But will the Ministry be able to protect us from this possibility? Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was in attendance and interrupted the proceedings to contest Quirrell's claim.

"This is preposterous!" Fudge said. "This testimony is nothing but lies to cover the depth of his greed."

In a rare display of power, Head of Magical Law Enforcement Madam Amelia Bones informed Fudge that if he couldn't keep his personal bias to himself, she would remove him from the courtroom. Fudge was so terrified by the idea of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returning that he reportedly approached the witness, Merlin Evans, to persuade him that his memory had been the conjuration of his troubled mind—

"—Really Rita," Barnabas said, shaking his head. "Do you wanna get me fired? Do you wanna get fired? The min' Fudge reads this article both of us will ne'er work in journalism again."

Rita clicked her tongue, leaning on his desk. "Clearly we're not working in journalism now if the Ministry can dictate what we do and do not publish!" she hissed.

"Don't lie to yourself!" Barnabas roared back, getting to his feet. As he continued, his cockney accent grew heavier and heavier until she could barely understand him. "The reason you took this story was because of them politics—what was it?—Andy couldn't handle it!" He slammed the article down on the table, breathing heavily. "Now, you're gonna rewrite this, and leave Fudge and him outta it!"

"And what?" Rita said. "Bore my readers? They'll read the first paragraph—go, "oh good, we knew that was going to happen" and toss it. You wanted a hell-of-a story, and I've given you one! It just doesn't mesh with Fudge's political agenda!"

"Rita, I'm not doing this with you again. Focus on that damn kid, make the whole article about him, Hell write that interview from a few weeks ago—I don't care. And if you won't I'll give it to Andy."

"Andy wasn't even there!"

"Then it'll be easy for him to keep that shit outta it, won't it?" Barnabas huffed and sat back down in his chair, pushing the crumpled and slightly ripped piece of paper back towards her. "Look—you're right. It's a hell of a story, but Fudge's worried about causing a panic. Last time you brought him up Fudge stormed in 'ere, trying to get me to pull the story—but o'course we'd already published. This time he's watching us."