Chapter 34: Skeet Shooting

Blaise Zabini
Hogwarts, Great Britain

I hummed merrily as I returned to my suite. I’d gotten everything I’d wanted out of Hogsmeade today. I mended relationships with my house, made sure I had a working mastery of cogitum revelio, and most importantly, now had a rhinestone-sized beetle attached to the sleeve of my robe.

People stared at me like I was a strange beast. Slytherins did not hum. They certainly didn’t hum “Livin’ on a Prayer” by Bon Jovi, not that anyone in my house would recognize the tune. Displays of excessive joy usually implied that someone else had just been, or was about to be, fucked over in a major way.

They weren’t wrong to think that, merely wrong to think one of them might be the target. Several of them had been skittish ever since the duel with Terence, as if I’d take offense to any unintentioned slight.

I’d have to do more to raise their opinion of me. Fear was useful, but only when it came with clear expectations. But that would have to wait. Today, my schedule was packed.

I closed the door to my suite. Minerva, seated on her perch, greeted me with an affable “Bwap.” She typically preferred to be in the owlery, where she reigned as queen, but I’d asked her to be here.

“Hey, Minerva,” I cooed as I stroked her back. She leaned into my hand and gave me an affectionate nip. She had a hairbrush I’d mounted to her nest she could use as a backscratcher but she preferred being pampered anyway. “How’ve you been? Any trouble keeping the owls in line?”

“Bwap,” she replied, feathers ruffling indignantly.

“RIght, as if they would dare rebel against the queen of the roost.”

“Bwap. Bwap?”

“Why did I ask you to be here?”

“Bwap.”

“I want to do some scrying, way back to the past. Do you remember what I said about Lord Sirius Black?”

“Bwap.”

“Yeah, his trial’s coming up and I bet I could make a lot of money if I sold the exact details of what happened that night,” I said. I gestured to the crystal ball on its stand. “Someone’s bound to be willing to buy that kind of information from me, especially since I doubt even Lord Black remembers what happened clearly.”

I made my way to my crystal ball. Carefully, methodically, I set aside a roll of parchment and an ever-full quill.

Here I was, getting ready to sell this information, and what a pity it’d be if Rita just swept it out from under me. She could write the article and have it out by tomorrow morning, all while leaving me without a single knut.

She must have felt so damn smug. This was what she lived for. Not just the fame and fortune, but the act of amassing secrets without anyone else the wiser.

“Bwap?” Minerva hooted, head tilted at a neckbreaking angle. “Bwap.”

“What can I say, Minerva? I just wanted some company.” The crystal ball began to fill with mist. I really was looking, just a few seconds into the future, but that was all I needed.

“Bwap.”

“I know. It’s not dusk yet and you should be getting your beauty sleep.” I motioned to shrug off my outer robe. My fingers “coincidentally” closed on the beetle. I felt her freeze in surprise before squirming again when I shrugged carelessly. “Oh, look at this little thing, Minerva. Say, want a treat?”

“Bwap?” She peered at me with a curious glint in her eyes. Her head swiveled about but found none of the premium owl treats she loved.

The beetle’s squirming became more frantic. With a sadistic smirk, I flicked the beetle towards her. “Catch.”

Several things happened in rapid succession.

First, the insect was tossed overhead in a high, sweeping arc. Rita’s shell glinted marvelously, like an emerald button catching the candlelight.

Second, Minerva’s eyes zeroed in on the orb of shimmering green. Her wings unfurled from across the room. She took to the air in a single breath, as silent as any master assassin should be.

Owls weren’t fast flyers, quite the opposite, in fact. The same feathers that enabled their incredible stealth ensured they were among the slowest of raptors. Without their innate magic to assist them in their deliveries, mail owls weren’t much different from their dumber cousins.

I wondered what Rita felt at that moment. What thoughts ran through her mind as she flew through the air? What was it like to have her expectations so thoroughly shattered before promptly getting into a deathmatch with an oversized bird?

She recovered in midair. The shock of her gossip-mongering fantasy falling apart was overridden by the pants-shitting terror of a raptor a hundredfold her weight closing in on her.

To her credit, she put forth a heroic effort. I saw her shell open and gossamer wings emerge as she tried to dodge the oncoming, feathered missile.

It was no use, however. Owls had relatively short, stubby wings, perfect for weaving between branches. They were built for tight turns, and Minerva had a hell of a lot more experience than Rita. She had about as much chance of escape as my many “fathers” had of surviving long enough to give me siblings.

Thus, Rita was faced with two choices:

One, she could trust in her animagus form. She could attempt to outfly my familiar in this enclosed space, perhaps running to a corner or small nook. There, she could continue to pretend to be a beetle, at least until I had a house elf hunt her down for me.

Or two, she could give up the charade. She could transfigure herself back into a human. That would make her “no longer food” to my oversized owl.

Well, that was no choice at all. She wasn’t Harry, “Watch me outfly a dragon,” Potter. She morphed in midair, green carapace turning into a green jacket. Without her wings, gravity was happy to remind her that it played no favorites.

“Oof,” she gasped as she landed hard on my carpet. She rolled onto her stomach and tried to rise.

That was a mistake. Rita may have been human now, but if she thought that alone removed her from the food chain as Minerva knew it, she had another thing coming.

It was a lesson Theo had internalized by now. He made sure to set aside an extra plate of bacon each morning, just in case Minerva decided to pay him a visit. It was easier that way. All Rita had managed to do was turn from “snack” to “snack dispenser.” 

“Bwap!” Minerva squawked as she angled downward.

Claws met scalp. Blond hair flew as my familiar did her level best to maul the “journalist.”

“Ow! Get this bloody bird off me!” she shrieked. She flailed helplessly but Minerva was accustomed to extorting her share from my peers and it was clear Rita had never been in a scrap before.

I let it continue for several seconds to drive home the point before I let out a sharp whistle. “Minerva, to me!”

The eagle owl flew back to land on my shoulder. I reached into my breast pocket and handed her the promised owl treat.

Rita gasped for breath on my floor. When she turned around, hers were the haunted eyes of war orphans. She stared at my familiar with the kind of existential dread typically reserved for dementors and nundus. I supposed, to a beetle, an owl was basically the same thing.

“Hello, Rita,” I greeted calmly. My cane swayed languidly in my grip. “I would have been more than happy to speak with you, you know. You didn’t need to sneak into my room.”

“T-That thing is a menace,” she hissed.

“Maybe, but she’s my menace. Oh, Minerva?”

“Bwap,” my owl replied, nudging her head into me.

“If she turns back, eat her.”

“Bwap.”

Judging by the visible shiver that ran down Rita’s spine, she didn’t need any extra convincing. “W-What do you want?”

“Why, to talk, of course,” I replied as I walked towards her. “After all, we’re kindred spirits, aren’t we?”

“This is hardly how you start a conversation, Mr. Zabini.” She stood. I let her.

“And sneaking into a student’s suite as an unregistered animagus is hardly what I’d call journalism.”

“Yes, well, it’s just business as they–”

Time slowed.

She thought she could catch me by surprise. Her hand rose to her head, reaching for the wand secured behind her left ear. I was sure ol’ Mad-Eye would have had something to say about the poor choice in holster, but she was no auror.

Even without my vision, I would have seen it coming. It was an opening I’d left for her. After all, I’d intentionally not taken her wand. As she reached for her wand, my cane was already in my hand.

I’d slowly been walking forward. I suddenly closed the last of the distance between us with a textbook lunge. The foot of my cane found her throat, sending her stumbling back into the wall.

“Stupe-Ghrk!” she choked, her spell coming out in a gurgled gasp. The light at the tip of her wand faded without the proper spellword to give it direction.

I swept my cane to the side, catching the crook of her elbow. It sent a numbing shock down her hand and her wand clattered to the floor. No real duelist would have let go of their wand with just that, I was sure. She was proving to be an utter disappointment in this regard.

Minerva, the perfect familiar that she was, swept low and snatched the wand away. In the back of my mind, I wondered if this counted as a “duel” for the purposes of wandlore. Was I now the true owner of Rita’s wand?

As amusing as it was, I planned on a catch and release approach here. I waited for her to catch her breath. Hitting her more would only build resentment. “Now, if you’re quite finished?”

“W-Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said. She did her best to stand confidently, but the stammer in her voice betrayed her. 

“I can, and I will.” I took a seat and leaned back comfortably as Minerva landed on the back of my chair. Taking her wand, I twirled it between my fingers with a languid smirk. “I’d offer you a seat, but I don’t typically entertain guests in my suite.”

“You can’t keep me here. All I have to do is wait. You’re a student; you can’t watch me forever.”

“Hilarious, but fine. Let’s follow the hypothetical. If I did want to keep you here, I would slowly torture you until you entered animagus form,” I drawled. I pulled out the jar I’d had enchanted for me. I hadn’t needed to use it, but that could change. “I’d have you enter this jar, unbreakable of course, and keep you as a pet for as long as I pleased. Or really, until I got bored of you. Minerva’s always happy to try new snack options.”

Her face paled as her eyes darted towards my owl. I’d likely induced a new phobia in her. “You can’t do that. Someone would notice.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Luckily for you, I don’t plan on keeping you. I was serious back at the Three Broomsticks, you know. I do feel that we could come to a deal.”

“Hah! The only deal you’ll get from me is me not writing an expose on you and your maniac owl!”

“Is that right?”

“Yes! You kidnapped a daring reporter and stole her wand through underhanded means. As expected of a murderer!”

“A murderer? I’ll have you know, I’ve never been prosecuted,” I hummed with an amused chuckle.

“That won’t be what the people hear,” she replied smugly. She’d built up a head of steam now, so convinced that I wasn’t willing to kill her. She was right. “If you agree to be my pet seer, I might be willing to let you off easy.”

“Your pet seer? Hahahaha!” I cracked up.

I couldn’t help it. She was the most entertaining thing I’d seen all semester. No one else came close. Not Theo, not Terence, not even Violet.

Here she was, completely out of options, and she was trying to intimidate me with pure gumption. She was like a frilled lizard, throat flared out to look bigger than she was, even as she bared that same throat to the viper.

I could see her logic. From her perspective, I was a first year, with the lack of experience that implied. Against anyone else in my year, there was a good chance she could have used her greater experience and connections to intimidate them into submission even from a disadvantageous position.

Regardless, the blonde had no other cards left to play. I had her wand. Minerva would eat her if she transformed. If she somehow managed to run out of my suite without transforming, she’d have to explain to Hogwarts staff what she was doing here.

“As amusing as your attempt to bluff me is,” I began, one hand tapping out a beat on the hood of my cane. “Here is my offer: You are mine now.”

“A-And…?”

“That’s it. That’s the offer. Oh, to be clear, I don’t mean ‘You work for me now,’ or ‘You’re going to sing my praises in your articles.’ I mean that I quite literally own you. Nice and simple, right?”

She puffed up with as much indignance as she could manage. The horned rim of her glasses was trembling from her rage. “Listen here, you–”

“Minerva.”

“Bwap!” Minerva screeched. Her wings unfurled but she didn’t actually leave the back of my chair. It was enough to make her words die in her throat.

“It strikes me that you are an unregistered animagus, Rita.”

“It’s Ms. Skeeter to you!”

“That implies I respect you. I don’t. Now, seeing how you are an unregistered animagus who has been abusing your animagus form to dig up dirt on your subjects–”

“You can’t prove that,” she denied. “It’ll be your word against mine. You think anyone will believe the son of the black widow over a legitimate journalist?”

“Hehehe, you actually said the words ‘legitimate journalist’ with a straight face,” I giggled. “I’m impressed. Really, I am.”

She put on a simpering falsetto. “Oh, no, my dear aurors. I wouldn’t dare to defy the law. Why, the statute on illegal animagi clearly states that new animagi must register within the month. It just so happens that I was on my way to register.”

I nodded agreeably. “That might work. Your acting could use more practice, but just slip a few galleons under the table and most aurors would look the other way. A few more and the registrar might forget to include your name in the files, letting you continue right where you left off.”

“Exactly. I’m glad you understand. So you see, my status as an animagus is irrelevant.”

“Is it? I wonder how many people you’ve annoyed over the years, Rita? How many people would work to make sure that ideal hypothetical never pans out for you? Whether they can prove anything would be immaterial; rumors alone have such power, don’t they?”

“T-Then I’ll just eat the sentence,” she claimed, far less sure of herself. “You think I can’t afford a few hundred galleons? A few months in Azkaban’s minimum security? The heat will die down and I’ll be a free woman.”

“Are you sure about that? You’ve ruined a lot of lives. Official, legal confirmation as to just how you’ve been acquiring your information would be like releasing a bleeding calf into a den of lions.”

“That… I’m willing to take the risk,” she said, but her usual confidence was gone.

“Doubtful, but it doesn’t matter.” I waved her off. “Relax, I said we were discussing hypotheticals, didn’t I? I have no intention of turning you in to the aurors.”

“Y-You don’t?”

“No, why would I do that? I’m a Slytherin; I do things that benefit me. And as amusing as the collapse of your career sounds to me, I don’t gain anything from ratting you out. In fact, I’d stand to lose if I did that. After all, I’d be trading in a slave for an enemy.”

“I’m not your slave!” she squawked. “You have no way to hold me long term and no one would believe you if you told anyone!”

“I’m a seer. Everyone would believe me. More to the point, I already told you I’m not going to call the aurors,” I scoffed. Then, because I knew it’d fuck with her, I said in my most pompous, Draco Malfoy voice, “I’m telling my mother.”

“Y-You… Your big plan is… You’re going to tell your mother?” she asked incredulously.

“Of course. Like you said, she’s the black widow,” I chirped back happily. I leaned forward with a malicious grin. “Do you know what spiders do to beetles, Rita?”

Her face paled. No further explanation was required. Telling the aurors would ruin her life, but it’d also destroy any hold I had over her. Blackmail of a crime, wasn’t useful when said criminal served the sentence or used her connections to squirm her way out.

Truthfully, Hermione shouldn’t have been able to blackmail Rita so easily in canon, either. Threatening Rita with the aurors should have placed them in a stalemate: Knowing the secret wasn’t very helpful because Hermione couldn’t use that secret without it losing its effectiveness in the future. All she’d create was an enemy she no longer had any control over.

That wasn’t the case here. The aurors would follow the law, but no one expected Valencia Zabini to do the same. Hell, given Rita’s age, about the same generation as my mother, and her choice in profession, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that she knew as much about my mother as I did.

No, mother would not let go of such tasty blackmail so easily. She was a far better social climber than I’d ever be and so she’d know how to use someone like Rita to the fullest.

The blonde’s eyes widened in panic. The situation had changed: It wasn’t about trying to bluff me anymore because I was no longer the worst possible scenario. I suspected being at my beck and call was starting to sound rather appealing.

“N-Now, that sounds a bit excessive…” she trailed off nervously, and for good reasons.

“You can escape. Hell, I can let you go right now, but I promise mother will have a letter within the evening and we both know how creative she can get, don’t we?”

She let out a defeated sigh. “W-What do you want?”

“Oh, you don’t have to look so dejected, Rita,” I said with a condescending grin. “You just might find that working with me comes with some perks. For starters, I wouldn’t be opposed to tipping you off every now and again.”

“You would answer my questions?”

“No, I’d give you hints that benefit me. Nonetheless, any lead I give you is bound to be beneficial for you as well.”

“And what would I have to do for your help?”

“Nothing. You’re going to do what I want because I have a knife to your throat, Rita. Let’s not confuse our relationship.”

“F-Fine, and what would I have to do for you mercy?” she asked bitterly.

“Let’s start by answering some questions. First, who told you to write these articles?”

“Can’t you find out on your own?”

“I could, but this would save me some time.”

“I figured it’d be a good article, that’s all,” she tried. I used her own wand to hit her with a stinging hex. She crumpled to the floor with a yelp of pain. “Ah!”

“Try again,” I drawled. As I’d thought; Rita’s wand recognized me as its proper owner now. If she ever turned on me, that was one more insurance. “We can move onto the cutting charm and escalate from there if you’d like.”

“I don’t know! I just received a bag of galleons and a letter. Most of the work was done for me so I just ran with it.”

“And have you worked with Lord Malfoy before?”

“Yes, once or twice. I doubt it was him this time. He typically uses Barnabas, the editor-in-chief of the Prophet, as a go-between. I’ve never been invited to Malfoy Manor if that’s what you’re asking.”

Of course not. Lucius Malfoy wasn’t an idiot; he knew Rita would love blackmail on him so he never allowed her anywhere near him. I suspected that if anyone asked ol’ Barnabas Cuffe, any correspondence would have gone suspiciously missing.

Barnabus was notorious for being a slimeball and many of the people who might have been interested in having Rita write such an article wouldn’t have bothered to contact her directly. That meant that the person who commissioned her latest article was not one of her previous sponsors.

My mind drifted to Dumbledore. He had a reputation to keep, and giving Barnabus Cuffe something to hold over him might have been unacceptable.

Assuming this was Dumbledore’s doing, could I intervene? Or would he grow increasingly heavy-handed to ensure Violet got the magical protection she needed?

Lily’s protection did matter. Even if it didn’t, Voldemort thought it did, or Harry would never have had that climactic flight from the Dursleys with Order members polyjuiced as his doppelgangers. The simple fact that Voldemort was cautious around Petunia’s house was reason enough to maintain it.

On the other hand, I knew how miserable it made her. The fidelius… It was an option, but it had failed before. If I was Voldemort, and I knew that my prophesied opponent was hiding under a fidelius, what would I do?

Stupid question. The location might be locked to the secret keeper, but the secret keeper was as vulnerable as anyone else. I’d kidnap a seer and torture him until he revealed the secret keeper.

Which naturally didn’t bode well for me, said tortured seer. Voldemort would come seek me out eventually, if only because I was too great an asset to leave alone, but I wanted to give him as few reasons to do so as possible. Better that he thinks he has to wait out the clock until Violet’s magical majority rather than go on a scavenger hunt.

As much as leaving Violet with the Dursleys irked me, I didn’t see a way to change that with Dumbledore’s influence weighing against me. Nor, for that matter, did I think I necessarily should.

“Fine, you don’t know. Good enough for now,” I told her.

“C-Can I go now?” she asked, defeated.

“No. You’re going to recuse yourself from any further articles about Lord Black until the trial. Then, you will report that trial as factually as possible.”

“What? People don’t read my columns for the facts! People read my columns for the pizazz! The flair!”

“If you must, you will depict Lord Black in a favorable manner. Paint him as the dashing rogue, the loyal friend who willingly endured Azkaban for over a decade for his sworn brother. Everyone likes a tragic hero.”

“They love a tragic villain more.” A stinging hex whizzed by her throat. “But a tragic hero is good too. Yes, we can’t have too much of a good thing.”

“His trial is on the New Year. Make it out to be magically significant, the redemption of a great man, the return of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. I’m sure you can make it sell.”

“Hmm… Yes, I can work with that. But what do you get out of this? Why do you care how Lord Black is perceived by the public?”

“Don’t pry into my affairs,” I told her. “I thought that was implied.”

“Fine. Any other rules, ‘master?’” she bit out sarcastically.

“Potter is off limits. You do not report on her or anything even tangentially mentioning her name without my express permission. In fact, if anyone starts on such, I want to know about it.”

“That’s impossible! Do you have any idea how famous she is? She’s everywhere!”

“I might even be willing to arrange an interview with you later. Think about it, the only journalist in Magical Britain who can claim to have interviewed the Girl Who Lived,” I said, offering her the carrot.

“You can do that?”

“I can. She is an asset I’ve been cultivating. An interview wouldn’t be too much to ask.”

“That… That is acceptable…”

“Good. Remember, Rita, things can always get worse.”

Author’s Note

Yes, Blaise pulled a Malfoy. Truthfully, I don’t think there is anything wrong with turning to authority. Draco is grating because that’s all he can do.

In this case, Blasie is using Valencia’s reputation to frame the discussion. By convincing Rita that serving him isn’t the worst possible outcome, and throwing in a carrot here and there, he’s turned her into an asset he can manipulate in the future.

Animal Fact: Owls can taste sweet flavors, but it’s a very muted thing. As a rule, birds have a poor sense of taste because they only have ~500 taste buds on their tongues. For comparison, humans have anywhere between 2,000 - 10,000.

Eurasian eagle owls, including Minerva, are not picky eaters. They typically favor small animals like mice and shrews, but will eat other birds, bats, foxes, or even large insects. Anything they can get between their beaks is fair game.

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