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Rita Skeeter has a private office on the top floor of the headquarters of The Daily Prophet. 

It has a lacquered, cedarwood desk with a sleek, black, leather desk-chair behind it - one of the ones with wheels. 

It has a big window overlooking Central London with a plush, lime green sofa and a little cedarwood coffee table, matching the desk, facing the view. 

It has a little plaque on the door that read ‘Rita Skeeter’ in crisp black lettering, and, more often than not, held the woman herself, sitting behind her desk. 

It was a red-top tabloid - The Daily Prophet - and Rita was the highest-paid gossip columnist there - and for good reason, too. She knows how to write a story that sells and she gleefully does exactly that; embellishing the truth and sprucing up the facts a bit for every article. 

She prided herself in every outraged telephone call she got from various celebrities’ agents or PR teams, every scandalised letter she got from fans or her readers - she lived for drama, few things gave her joy quite like a good bit of defamation. 

Most days, when she wasn’t interviewing people or attending some form of event, she would come into work for around 10am, with a cup of tea (with apparently far too many sugars), and a copy of the day’s issue of The Daily Prophet, to look over her latest creation. 

It was probably just as well that Rita’s office was a private one, because - these days especially - she tended to spend the first ten or fifteen minutes of her work day drinking her tea, reading over her most-recently published column, and cackling maniacally. 

When she had just started working with the newspaper, and had to sit in the shared offices, they had been slightly concerned by her occasional giggles as she wrote about particularly juicy rumours, but she thought they might be outright horrified by how much amusement she garnered from her more recent works. 

And what works they were.

Rita had always had a talent for gossip, for making things up in a way that was just believable enough to do some serious damage.

She’d been doing it her whole life, ever since William Langford tried to bully her in primary school and she had spread such a nasty rumour that in the end, he was the one being bullied (she never claimed to be a particularly moral person, she believed it to be a dog-eat-dog world, every man for himself, and felt no guilt in protecting her own interests even to the detriment of others’). 

At the start of her career, Rita had been held back slightly by her lack of security in her role, her lack of renown, her lack of blackmail material, but now, Rita was certain that The Daily Prophet would be unable to fire her without her dragging them all right down with her and she had made sure they knew that too (not that they wanted to fire her, she was making them a fortune).

This safety net meant that she could basically write about whatever the fuck she wanted, and the things that she wanted to write about were, quite frankly, absolute rubbish, and she was more than aware of that fact. She used to have to at least have some tangible, obvious evidence to be able to write her gossip stories and start spreading rumours but now she could write things based on absolutely nothing at all, just completely made up from some picture or another.

It was like creative writing, really, and it filled Rita with unbridled glee - again, it should be reiterated that she never claimed to be a good person, quite the opposite really, she was aware that what she did was probably morally corrupt, but it was just so fun.

She delighted in watching people’s reputations be wrecked, or celebrity status disappear overnight, or relationships collapse into pieces - it made her feel powerful, so powerful - there was so much power in her words, and power meant safety, security. 

So yes, Rita wrote trashy gossip, but it was powerful trashy gossip, and it was incredibly entertaining. 

This particular morning, in May of 1976, was no different.

In fact, Rita may even be more excited than usual about the column she had just published - she always was when writing about this particular subject matter. 

She sat down, placing her handbag on the side of the desk and shaking out the crisp copy of The Daily Prophet, looking down at the headline that screamed up at her:

‘BELLATRIX BLACK BREAKS BANDMATE’S HEART?’

There was a picture, then, of Bellatrix, outside a club late at night, face entirely blank, alongside a picture of Rodolphus, who was frowning, also outside the same club. 

And the article below read:

‘Lead singer and bassist of world-renowned band, The Daggers, Bellatrix Black was seen, early on Tuesday morning, with rumoured long-term lover and fellow band member, Rodolphus Lestrange, raising questions about the state of their relationship. The two musicians spent their evening at Tramp nightclub in Mayfair with a few of their other friends including the third and final band member Rabastan Lestrange, model and socialite Gabriella Zabini, and Lucius Malfoy, son of MP Lord Abraxas Malfoy. 

Unfortunately it seems that this night out didn’t end well for the couple, who are believed to have been dating since before the band’s rise to stardom over three years ago - although their relationship has always been fraught with complications. 

Black was pictured as she left the club, appearing to be agitated, perhaps even on the verge of tears, and minutes later the guitarist followed after her, also appearing distraught, even considerably more so than Black. Neither of the pair spoke to anyone as they exited, quickly getting into separate cars and leaving, causing speculation about what could’ve caused such upset between the two bandmates who are usually so friendly with each other. 

The most likely cause for their emotional distress is issues in their relationship, perhaps due to the band’s recently heightened fame, with the release of their second album, and the pressure that comes with it, or perhaps due to a more personal issue - is there another man in the picture?

Black has been receiving a lot of attention recently with the release of her front cover issue of Rolling Stone magazine, so it's possible that this rift among two of the three members of The Daggers stems from Black being propositioned one too many times, or maybe even accepting one of said propositions, devastating her lover in the process. Lestrange appeared to be particularly heartbroken as he left the club, so it could be that an incident occurred while the two were inside.

Witnesses inside of the club have said that the pair didn’t seem to speak much all evening, even before any incident could have taken place, despite arriving and gathering in a group together with their mutual friends. This may indicate that these relationship issues have been in development for a while so it’s possible that they have been caused by something other than supposed infidelity. Perhaps, Lestrange is unimpressed with Black’s recent lifestyle choices, as she has recently been spending much more time in various nightclubs throughout London, going out almost nightly and partying hard. This wild lifestyle may be something that the guitarist cannot approve of, as he has frequently been described as the most sensible of the trio. 

Fabian Prewett, comedian and talk-show host, who was also at the club on Monday evening and is close friends with the band, informed the Daily Prophet’s representative that “Bella and Dolphy are going through a bit of a rough patch at the minute. They’ll be at each other’s throats for a week or so but I’m sure they’ll be able to work through their problems.”

He refused to comment on the nature of these problems but his belief in the couple is adorable, almost as adorable as his nickname for Lestrange - or ‘Dolphy’ as we should now refer to him. 

We at the Daily Prophet, as fans of the band and its members, also hope that the pair will be able to fix the issues they are currently facing - even despite the signs pointing to this particular issue being deeper than any previous rough patches they have been through. And we hope, if the relationship proves to be non-salvageable, that the split won’t cause any tension or complications within The Daggers, especially with their upcoming World Tour which is set to go ahead in July.’

Rita thought it was hilarious, truly one of her best works. 

She remembered the night in question, it hadn’t been all that long ago really and she hadn’t been drunk enough for memory to be an issue. 

Her and Trix had showed up at Tramp after a lovely dinner: a takeaway from their favourite Italian restaurant, accompanied by rather a large amount of wine. Rodolphus had popped his head into the dining room to tell them that he wanted to go out to celebrate something, and that Rabastan and Lucius and a bunch of their other friends would be there. 

And really, Rita and Bellatrix hadn’t taken much convincing. 

They always had fun at Tramp because everyone was discreet about most of the things that went on in there, so no one would tell a soul if they got up to things that didn’t appear to correlate with their public personas - particularly for Bellatrix - although they didn’t tend to take too many risks, just in case.

Bellatrix and Rita had been together for around four years now, pretty much since they met, just as both of them were getting properly started with their respective careers. 

Bellatrix and the boys had been performing at an event which Rita had been covering for the tiny little column she used to write in the Prophet before she worked her way up the ladder to her true calling - gossip and lies. 

They met at the bar afterwards, and quickly got to talking.

Rita had been immediately captivated, ensnared by Bellatrix’s bright eyes and sharp humour, and falling in love with her had felt like being struck by lightning - not that Rita actually knew what being struck by lightning felt like, but she assumed this was a good alternative, probably much better actually. 

It was sudden, and probably dangerous, and had been painful until Rita realised that Bellatrix had been struck as well - then it had been, and still was, brilliant, beautiful.

*****

“What are you drinking?”

Rita glanced over to see the gorgeous woman she had just watched performing, the one that played the bass and sang like an angel - or maybe a devil.

“Rum and coke,” she replied, lifting the drink in her hand and swirling it slightly in demonstration. 

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” the woman said, and Rita - who had admittedly been slightly distracted during her set - thought she was called something that started with a B - Barbara? Brenda?

That couldn’t be right, no one who looked like that would have a name like that. 

Beatrix, maybe? That sounded closer to the truth - still not quite right, though.

Rita watched as the musician leaned over the bar and ordered a rum and coke for herself. 

She really was gorgeous; long, black hair - curly and slightly wild, yes, but it still looked soft and Rita wanted to tangle her hands in it; long, dark eyelashes framing her eyes, which were the most entrancing grey colour, like molten silver - hypnotising almost. 

The woman smiled over at Rita, who had been unashamedly staring, while she waited for her drink, and her smile was intense - it had an edge to it, something a bit dangerous, but it was bright - so, so bright - like the sun and Rita was drawn to it.

Drawn into her orbit helplessly, destined to rotate around this bright, burning star for eternity. 

“I’m Bellatrix,” she said - ah, that’s right, Rita thought, and the name was probably fitting for her, Bellatrix was the name of a star (something Rita had learned from the one article she had written on astrology in sixth form) and this woman was probably destined for stardom, destined to have Rita orbiting around her endlessly, her own personal solar system.

“Oh, that fits you,” Rita said in return, deciding to share her thoughts on the matter, and at Bellatrix’s raised eyebrow she continued, “Because you’re going to be a star. I can tell”

“You think so?” Bellatrix’s eyebrows were still raised. 

“I know so, it’s what I’m paid to do at the moment,” Rita said, taking a sip of her drink - because even if she wasn’t particularly interested in the rest of the unknown bands at this event, she had power in the form of her article (the Daily Prophet was always well-read) and she was prepared to wield it for the woman in front of her.

And not just because she was pretty - more than pretty, insanely gorgeous would be a better way to describe it - but the band was brilliant too, their music was brilliant, and the trio worked cohesively together and with such a clear passion for their music. 

“What’s that?” Bellatrix asked. 

“Review the talent at this event,” Rita said simply, “I’m Rita, by the way, and I plan to give you a glowing review”

“I appreciate that, Rita” and oh God, Rita was not prepared for the sound of her name in Bellatrix’s voice - she should’ve expected it really, with the way she sang - like an angel, like a devil - but Rita was hooked on Bellatrix’s voice, every sound her mouth made.

She had gone into a bit of a trance or something when Bellatrix’s band was performing, transfixed by the sight of the her, the sound of her; the way her voice seemed to reverberate in Rita’s bones, the way her fingers - long fingers, delicate, but calloused from years of playing - ran nimbly up and down the strings of the bass, the way they now wrapped around the drink she had just been handed - Rita wanted those hands to wrap around her neck.

“So you’re a journalist?” Bellatrix asked and Rita turned on her barstool to face her, settling into the conversation, hoping it lasted forever.

Luckily, next to her, Bellatrix looked like she was doing a similar thing. 

“Yeah,” Rita smiled, “I work at The Daily Prophet, not in the exciting bits yet but I’m on my way” 

“Oh?” Bellatrix asked, “What are the exciting bits?”

And Rita’s small smile grew at this, becoming a slightly wicked grin, Rita noticed that Bellatrix’s eyes seemed a bit drawn to her mouth - that was a good sign. 

“The gossip columns, of course,” Rita replied, letting mischief simmer in her eyes, “that’s where the power lies”

“Is it now?” Bellatrix mused, smiling back at Rita, “maybe you’ll write about me one day, then - when I’m a star.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will, darling, I think I’d have a lot to say about you”

And to Rita’s delight, Bellatrix’s eyes widened slightly and she took a large gulp of her drink, quickly averting her eyes from Rita.

Then she seemed to gather herself slightly and rested her glass on the bar, turning back to Rita and launching them into a full conversation with her wild smile. 

They sat there for hours at the bar, ordering drinks and just talking, about their lives, about their plans, about their friends, about everything, really. 

It was weird, Rita had learnt early on in life to keep any information about her that could potentially be used against her locked up tightly, to keep herself safe, to never give anyone ammunition - she knew better than anyone what rumours could be built from the tiniest scrap of knowledge (she was always the one starting the rumours).

It was why her circle of friends was small, very small; it consisted of two people, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, who had been there since the start of secondary school, at the age of eleven, and Rita had no interest in expanding it further. Even with the twins, Rita hadn’t revealed anything damning to them until she had enough blackmail to sink them both into the ground if they ever even thought of betraying her to anyone - not that her secrets were all that dramatic, it was just the principle of the thing. 

But Bellatrix had somehow slipped past all of her defences, easily gaining her trust, and they were quickly discussing topics that Rita would have avoided like the plague if it hadn’t been for the woman sat next to her: family, childhood, trauma - three words that make for a nice tragic backstory, three words that Rita never tended to speak about. 

She would’ve been mortified, terrified, if it wasn’t for the fact that Bellatrix was right there with her: family, childhood, trauma - in a slightly different way, but awful nevertheless. 

Not the sort of conversation you tend to have with someone you’ve just met, but there was something about Bellatrix that made her feel like they’d always known each other, a pull to the woman that made Rita let down her carefully constructed walls, pulled into Bellatrix's orbit. 

And it wasn’t all a devastatingly sad conversation, Bellatrix had a humour that matched perfectly with Rita’s - dark, slightly cruel, and just hilarious really; she had to blink away tears of laughter, careful of her sharp eyeliner, on more than one occasion.

And wow, Bellatrix’s laugh was something else, Rita wanted to listen to it everyday for the rest of her life, wanted to drown herself in the sound of it. 

Rita could feel a storm building, clouds gathering between them, the start of something electric, something brilliant, something she hoped would never, ever end. 

So the two of them sat for hours on adjacent bar stools, as the night raced on around them, until they were approached by one of the other band members - Rabastan - saying they were thinking of heading off soon. 

And the storm was brewing as Bellatrix asked if Rita wanted to come to the ‘after party’ - a big name for what was essentially just a small gathering - that The Daggers were having in their Hackney townhouse (everyone in the band came from rich, albeit problematic, families, so, when they’d taken their inheritances and ran - not very far, but running nevertheless - they could afford to immediately buy quite a nice place). 

Rita, of course, said yes - how could she refuse?

And then she’d stayed the night in one of the spare bedrooms, and then she’d stayed for the household brunch in the morning (around three in the afternoon) - meeting the rest of the ‘family’, as Bellatrix described it, which at the time consisted of Rabastan, Rodolphus and Lucius. 

And she could feel the electricity in the air when she’d stayed for the cinema trip that evening, just the two of them, and when she’d stayed for the bar they went to afterwards, again talking for hours, in their own little bubble, their own little world.

And then she’d started going to the townhouse after her work more often than not, instead of back to her ratty little flat, and when they weren’t together or working, they were on the telephone to each other, until Rita could barely remember her life before this whirlwind of a woman was in it. 

And Rita introduced Bellatrix to Gid and Fab, who had been teasing her relentlessly about her new ‘friend’, but she knew there were happy for her, if the looks they had given her were anything to go by, or the way they’d told her ‘we’re so happy for you, Ri’.

And then, when she stayed over, which was, again, more nights than not, she started to sleep in Bellatrix's room, in Bellatrix’s bed, not doing anything, just sleeping, clouds gathering, just lying next to each other - sometimes they’d wake up tangled in each other and Bellatrix would grin and Rita would find herself hoping.

Because after a month of this, Rita thought she could be in love, thought maybe this was going to hurt - to stay so close to this burning heat, but never be able, or allowed, to get properly warm. 

But it didn’t hurt, because Rita had reached a hand out to the fire, leaned into Bellatrix, in the band’s kitchen, attempting to cook something without Rodolphus’ supervision (obviously this ended in disaster and takeaway had to be ordered), and Bellatrix had said,

“I was thinking, baby, do you want to move in here?” 

(And Rita refused to show how much that pet name affected her, Bellatrix had been calling her that for weeks now, like how Rita had been calling her ‘darling’, and she had refused to think too much about it, she was sure it probably didn’t mean anything - now though, she thought maybe it was meant to mean something, with the way Bellatrix was looking at her)

Rita, of course, said yes - how could she refuse?

And Bellatrix had smiled, big and wide and so, so warm, and Rita thought maybe they were both on fire, maybe they could burn together.

And Bellatrix cleared out some space in her room which Rita, and all of her worldly possessions, fit into like puzzle pieces - perfect, and Rita could feel the storm building, about to break, the first drops of rain starting to fall. 

And that night, when they sat down to watch something on the little telly in the living room, Rita reached for Bellatrix’s hand - not for the first time, but she let herself believe in it now, believe in the warmth and the way Bellatrix squeezed her hand slightly - which she held for the rest of the evening, and when they moved into Bellatrix’s - their - room, Rita found herself being pushed up against the door, Bellatrix’s lips on her lips, Bellatrix’s hands in her hair. 

The storm had definitely started now - finally - wind whipping, rain pounding, the skies opening up, but Rita just embraced it, embraced Bellatrix and everything that meant, because she knew now that it wasn’t just her who was standing in the storm, who was being electrified.  

And it was warm and then hot, so hot, and still probably dangerous but Rita threw herself into the flames. 

So it hadn’t hurt at all really (except in the fun ways) - the burning heat of Bellatrix, the wild storm of their relationship - it was something electric, something brilliant, something that felt like it would never, ever end. 

Rita knew she was in love a month later; a month of waking up and falling asleep next to each other; a month of Bellatrix and the boys playing gigs around London, gradually garnering attention, a fan base; a month of Rita writing articles, gradually gaining popularity, a readership; a month of learning practically all there is to know about each other until Rita thought Bellatrix knew her better than anyone else in the entire world and it felt so good to be known so well, Rita never knew that it could feel so good. 

After a month of whirlwinds and storms, the lightning struck and Rita knew she was in love, with a certainty and an inevitability that she didn’t even try to fight, didn’t even want to try to fight.

She knew she was in love when she came home from The Daily Prophet offices, having just been given a promotion a few days earlier, to Bellatrix (and Rodolphus, and Rabastan, and Lucius, and even Gideon and Fabian, but mostly Bellatrix) waiting at the townhouse with a cake and champagne and so much happiness that she knew that she had found her home, and her real family. 

It hadn’t even been a particularly big promotion - she was now getting paid 20p more per hour and working on a sort of 'Agony Aunt' style column, which she enjoyed because she could hear about all sorts of people’s issues and offer some absolutely awful advice in return, although she still had her sights set on the gossip columns - but Bellatrix had insisted because, as she informed her when they returned from the bar they’d ended up at later that night, ‘you deserve to be celebrated at all times, Ri, and you will be, you witch of a woman, for as long as I live’. 

And really, what was Rita meant to do? 

Not tell Bellatrix that she was in love with her?

Come on, now - Rita couldn’t do the impossible, she was only one woman, no matter how much power she held. 

Bellatrix seemed thrilled by the revelation, promptly saying it back, and really, it may have been sudden, and dangerous, but it was so, so beautiful - like being struck by lightning - and Rita thought it would always be worth it, endlessly orbiting around this bright, burning star of a woman. 

*****

Soon after that, The Daggers had been signed to a label, The Slug Club, under their manager, Horace Slughorn - who had read Rita’s article about the band and started going to their little gigs, scouting out their talent and completely agreeing with Rita’s assessment of their potential. 

And they started to gain a following, and record their music professionally - they started working on an album that they released a year later, which really gave them a name in the industry: The Daggers became ‘the band to watch’, and they went on tour and they made millions, and they wrote another album which they had just released several months prior, easily topping charts and breaking records - they were stars, just like Rita knew they would be, especially their lead singer and bassist. 

And Rita started to climb the ranks at The Daily Prophet; it was done through a combination of blackmail, and genuine promotions due to the popularity of her articles, until eventually she was at the place she was today, in May of 1976, the place she wanted to be, the place she had been for around a year and a half, where she could write exactly what she wanted to write from her private office on the top floor of the headquarters of The Daily Prophet.

And behind all of this, the chaos that their day to day lives had become, Rita and Bellatrix were still together, they still lived in the same Hackney townhouse (now with an added housemate in the form of the architect Antonin Dolohov, who Rodolphus was slightly head-over-heels for), their love still burned so incredibly brightly, like a perpetual wildfire maybe, showing no signs of ever burning out - if falling in love with Bellatrix was like being struck by lightning, Rita thought that being in love with her was like an everlasting electric storm, so powerful, and dangerous and wild and lovely, fiercely beautiful. 

They were actually married in all but legal terms - considering the current laws - having exchanged rings and held a small party just for their friends and family (these were mostly synonymous in both women’s minds, having cut ties with the majority of their blood families) during the summer the year before. 

It was a gorgeous little ceremony - complete with a suitably poetic speech from both parties, with Bellatrix accusing Rita of some sort of sorcery, or black magic (an accusation she’d made several times over the years, because she was ‘just so enchanted’ by Rita), and of course, Fab and Gid had made beautiful flower girls (roles they had given themselves, as the group was too small to really assign any proper wedding roles) - and Rita had never really been happier. 

Nobody else knew of course - well, apart from Slughorn - but they had their public image to think about, or Bellatrix’s public image, really.

Two women being in love was not acceptable in the eyes of the general public at that time - gay rights were starting to be discussed and it certainly wasn’t illegal (never actually had been, between two women, but sexual activity between men had been decriminalised near the end of the 60s, which was lucky for the other residents of the Hackney townhouse - and just gay rights in general, of course), but being openly queer still wasn’t something that was widely accepted in society.

Besides, Bellatrix’s label wanted her to be a rockstar. 

Rockstars aren’t happily married, or as good as.

Rockstars need drama, excitement, chaos. 

Rita was more than happy to provide the drama.

She was the one who had made up the rumour about Bellatrix and Rodolphus, the one who started publicly pushing the idea of their tumultuous relationship through her articles - of course, they had all agreed that it would be a good idea, to redirect the public’s speculation slightly.

And Rita tended to keep out of the public eye as much as possible, because her articles wouldn’t be trusted if it was known that she was so close to her sources, or the people she was making up lies about - or perhaps they would be trusted too much, Rita wasn’t sure but she knew it was best if she appeared unbiased, and she did so using a variety of methods, some more moral than others. 

Thus, the three members of The Daggers and their respective gay lovers, committed to keeping their relationships secret - for the meanwhile at least; obviously they weren’t going to keep their loves hidden away forever, they would just maybe wait until they had complete security in their lives, until the band didn’t need the headlines to keep them popular.

Rita, for one, didn’t think they needed them now, but Slughorn was insistent - and maybe what they were really waiting for was a level of fame that would allow them to leave the label. Slughorn wasn’t against their relationships, per se, he was just of the belief that ‘that sort of thing’ should be kept behind closed doors, and didn’t seem likely to change his mind - he had been good to the band, aiding with their rise to stardom, but Rita thought they would eventually move on from him and his Slug Club, if only so they could be more unapologetically themselves. 

For the moment though, the secrecy, and the rumours, were sort of fun, in a bit of a twisted way - Rita delighted in coming up with ridiculous lies based on little to no evidence to create drama, to comment endlessly on the facial expressions of the band members in every photograph they were in, and the house did dramatic readings of Rita’s articles every time they were featured in them, laughing at the absolute nonsense she came up with. 

They all knew they wouldn’t be staying hidden forever, but they didn’t feel constrained, or trapped in any sort of lie at the moment so they were happy to maintain the façade. 

Anyway, Bellatrix and Rita had gone to Tramp after their dinner that Monday evening, with Rodolphus and the rest of their friends, and had their usual fun night out.

It typically involved lots of shots, lots of music, and usually at least one subtle trip to the ladies’ bathroom. 

That particular evening, Rodolphus had been the one to call for the celebrations, and for good reason too. His father had died a couple of days earlier, and, despite not being particularly upset about it - gleeful would probably be a more accurate term -, he had suddenly been laden with the weight of Lestrange family name.

Even though he, and Rabastan too, hadn’t spoken with their father in approximately five years, Rodolphus was still the heir to the entire family legacy. That meant rather a lot when it came to posh families like the ones all the members of The Daggers came from, although Rodolphus, of course, intended to wash said legacy down the drain, leave the long history of abuse, classism, homophobia, racism - basically everything that was wrong in society - exactly where it belonged: in the past. 

The poor man was, to understate it slightly, not happy with the amount of work his father’s death had given him, and all of their little household had been trying to help him with it, with varying degrees of success. Rabastan and Bellatrix, and perhaps most particularly Lucius, who had also been raised as an Heir, rather than just a member of these prestigious families, had been the most useful in this, because they understood the pressure and expectations on a slightly different level, understood the way these Houses functioned through rather painful experience. 

Antonin had been helping too, of course, but he had just received a huge job with his work, which although brilliant for him - it was an incredibly high profile job which would increase his renown as an architect exponentially - had come at a very inconvenient time because it meant he had to be at the office, or generally out and about, more often than not. 

That’s where he had been that night, at the office, whilst Rodolphus had come to Tramp with the others, because he had just finished up the arrangements for his father’s funeral (the bare minimum he could get away with) and wanted to celebrate the occasion - the occasion being never having to look at the man, or his corpse, ever again. 

That was why Rodolphus had been frowning slightly in the photos Rita had put in her article - because Antonin, who hated Rodolphus’ father with an immense fervour, hadn’t been able to come to the celebration to properly rejoice over his death, something which Rodolphus knew his boyfriend had been really looking forward to. 

Bellatrix’s blank face, on the other hand, had been for an entirely different reason.

And it certainly wasn’t because she was devastated over an argument she’d had with her long-time lover Rodolphus Lestrange, as Rita had described in her article. 

It was because Rita had been whispering increasingly suggestive things into Bellatrix’s ear as they were gathering their things to leave (read: collecting Gideon and Gabriella from the dance floor, and Rabastan and Lucius from a dark corner of the club) and she was about three more words away from throwing the ‘secret’ part of their secret relationship completely out of the window and pushing Rita up against a wall and kissing her in front of every single paparazzo that was lying in wait outside of Tramp. 

In times like these, Bellatrix fell back heavily on one of the only things she’d learnt in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black: how to successfully remove any and every emotion from her face. 

That was why instead of the slightly wild desire that had been etched across her face only moments later, Bellatrix was revealing absolutely nothing as she turned around and stepped out of the club’s door. 

Rita, of course, refused to let the lack of emotion in the photographs stop her from writing a completely ridiculous story and had acted accordingly.

She had also acted accordingly in response to Bellatrix’s hands and mouth the second they got back home to the Hackney townhouse, drunk friends in tow, and through the door to their bedroom. 

So yes, Rita thought her newest article was hilarious, one of her most ingenious creations, and spent several long moments cackling to herself about the finer points of it, the parts that would get to the people she had mentioned. 

For example, she knew that Lucius, who was a world-famous model in his own right, would hate being referred to as just the ‘son of MP Lord Abraxas Malfoy’, especially as he, like the band-members, and Rita and Antonin too, actually, hadn’t spoken to his father in many years. 

Or, she knew that Rodolphus absolutely hated it when anyone called him ‘Dolphy’ and would be fuming that Rita’s entire readership would now see this as a viable option for a nickname to call him (and of course the quote from Fabian was completely fabricated, although she knew he wouldn’t actually mind, he would probably be only too happy to accept the blame for the name being spread around).

And she knew everyone would find the idea of there being another man very entertaining - because yes, there was another man, but definitely not in the way the public believed, Antonin was much more interested in Rodolphus in that way than he ever had been in Bellatrix.

Or the idea that Rodolphus was ‘the sensible one’ - he was better at keeping up a front in public, but when he got going that man could be just as, if not more, insane than his fellow band members. 

All in all, she thought the article would do an excellent job at both making her and her friends laugh, and also stirring up some drama that would make people more interested in watching the band at their upcoming tour, if only to try and see the supposed tension between the bandmates.

That would keep Slughorn happy - especially with the mentions of the album and the tour - even if most of the shows were already sold out so they weren’t exactly in dire need of the extra publicity. 

*****

With her obligatory morning cackle complete, Rita moved on to writing one of her next articles.

She didn’t always write about the band, or about her friends; there were times when she wanted her writing to actually destroy people’s lives, something which didn’t happen in those articles.

On this particular day, she was working on an article about an actor who had made some really horrible comments about Gabriella on live radio. 

Gabriella Zabini hadn’t been a part of their group for as long as the others, having come along after making friends with Lucius through their modelling, and Rita frequently wrote about her and her supposed flings, her being a rather well-known serial dater, at least in the public eye - she had been paired up in the press with Lucius, Rabastan, both Prewett twins and many others over the years, but had revealed in private that she actually wasn’t at all interested in dating, full stop, her agent just pushed these things on her for her image - there was a lot of that in the industry. 

But now, Rita considered Gabby a part of her family, and would accordingly defend her in the only way she knew how, by completely decimating anyone who hurt her in the press.

This actor had been bragging about how Gabriella was in bed - in the most disgustingly vulgar way possible, despite never having actually slept with her - and Rita could tell that it had hurt her, even if she was trying not to show it, so now Rita was drawing from her rather vast pool of blackmail to ensure that the man never found a good job again.

Rita was an expert in gathering information about people, learning their weak spots just in case she ever needed to destroy them - she’d been doing it since she was a child and had only gotten better with her access to more resources - so she was ready and able to obliterate the lives of anyone who ever hurt her loved ones. 

She had done it before, she was doing it at the present moment and she was certain she would do it again in the future. 

It was a different sort of article than the ones she wrote about her friends - those were normally more light-hearted, the tone was different, less cutting, less brutal, less dangerous - this article was a poisoned arrow primed and ready to fire straight through the heart of the man who had dared to hurt one of her family. 

This article was going to be the start of the end for the actor - she planned to release a series of articles that would eventually have him six feet under, metaphorically at least, although if he made any other comments she would happily hide the body when Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan inevitably flew off the handle.

She thought she was protective, but those three took it to another, more violent level - a product of their childhoods probably. 

And so the day passed, with the article coming together, and a nice lunch out with Gid and Fab who always came to see her on a Thursday lunchtime to catch up on the week’s events, despite having literally seen each other most of the other days of the week too - it was a tradition they’d had since Rita moved to her ratty little flat and they didn’t see each other with quite the same level of frequency as before.

Eventually, Rita sent the article off to her editor (who never actually made many changes, it was more of a formality at this point because he had learnt not to try and censor Rita’s words) and headed back home to Hackney. 

She entered the townhouse with a “Honey, I’m home!” and, after kicking off her shoes, headed straight for the living room where she thought the other residents of the house might be. 

She got a response of “Hi sweetheart!” from Rabastan, “Hey sugar” from Antonin and “Hi angel” from Lucius as she walked into the room - the ridiculous pet names being said with the appropriate amount of over-the-top, love-struck expressions. 

They thought they were hilarious. 

Rita thought they were quite funny too though, so she grinned at them as she threw herself down on one of the sofas. 

“Where’s my favourite troubled couple?” she questioned, noting the distinct lack of Bellatrix and Rodolphus in the room. 

“Up in the attic” was the easy reply from Antonin, who was leafing through some sort of folder.

“Of course,” Rita said - the attic held a sort of mini studio for the band, and was where they tended to work on their songs, or go if inspiration struck. Rodolphus and Bellatrix (Rabastan too, but not to such an extent - the song-writing side of things wasn't his forte) could spend days up there just playing around, working through different bits of lyrics and generally brainstorming. 

The dynamic between the three band members was really sweet actually, they were like siblings, not that Rita had much idea how sibling relationships worked, but they were like what Rita imagined siblings would be.

Rodolphus and Bellatrix were the same age and Rabastan was just a couple of years younger, and they were all very close, although especially Rodo and Trix - who could work together like one well-oiled machine when they were in the studio, or when they wanted to, but also bicker for hours about the most idiotic things. Their respective partners (Rita, Antonin and Lucius) had formed a sort of Daggers’ lovers’ solidarity club and were all very close with each other too.

Actually, it was probably easier to say that they were all just very close with each other, it came with sharing a house for so long, Rita supposed.

But anyway, this closeness meant that all of them knew to leave Bellatrix and Rodolphus alone when they were up in the attic because it never ended well if they were interrupted. 

Lucius started talking, a continuation of what Rita assumed was the conversation that had been happening before her arrival, telling Rabastan all about his invite to the Cannes film festival at the end of that month, as a plus one for one of their actress friends, Peony Parkinson. Then the conversation turned to Antonin’s architecture job which was apparently going well and Rabastan’s latest attempts at baking, which were a much-feared thing in the house that happened whenever he was bored. 

Rita let the conversation wash over her mostly, only chiming in occasionally, not because she was gathering information like she would be if they were any other people than the ones they were, but just because she appreciated the feeling of it - the feeling of coming back from work to a home, not just a house, full of people that loved her and that she loved back, people that she trusted unconditionally, people that she thought she would both kill and die for, people she had killed for - in the metaphorical sense at least, with her poisonous articles. 

Eventually, the quartet moved from the living room to the kitchen, where they watched, and attempted to help, with a strong emphasis on ‘attempted’, as Antonin cooked them all dinner, making sure to leave leftovers for whenever Bellatrix and Rodolphus deigned to appear, which could be any time, really. They sat and ate and continued their conversations, moving back to the living room when they were done with dinner, still talking, still enjoying each other’s company.

And Rita loved it. As much as she lived for drama and gossip, there was something that she found so brilliant in the simple nights like this, where the house just hung out with each other, speaking about anything and everything - it was easy. 

She never thought she’d been made for domesticity like this - she had never had a good example of it growing up (in a house, not a home) where she had been entirely powerless against the physically violent force of her father, before he died when Rita was eight, and the more psychologically violent force that was her mother, before Rita packed her bags and left, moving in with the Prewetts when she was sixteen. 

That was why Rita - her mother’s daughter, despite how much she hated it, and actually with far more success than her mother had ever had, much to Rita’s petty glee (her mother had also attempted journalism, but hadn’t ever got very far) - collected information like it was some sort of precious treasure, because knowledge was power, and Rita wanted to be powerful, so, so powerful, so she would never have to feel like she had during her childhood ever again.

And here she was, Rita thought, at a place in her life where she held so much power, and she had her very own home, with Bellatrix, and the rest of The Daggers, and their extended ‘family’. It wasn’t conventional, it wasn’t what most people would picture when they thought of the word family but it was everything Rita never thought she’d have, everything she’d convinced herself she would never need. 

And it was wonderful, so Rita let herself bask in it. 

After a while, she focussed on the telly and smiled, because ‘Top of the Pops’ was just starting and she had to ‘pay attention, Skeeter, this is important’.

Rabastan liked to watch the show every week, but especially when he knew that his songs were the ones that were going to be the top of the pops, so to speak. At the moment, the third single from their newest album was number one in the UK and it didn’t look like that fact was going to change anytime soon - in fact, the band had been asked to go on the show and perform the song before they left for their tour and Rab was just buzzing about it. 

It wouldn't be the first time they’d be on the show but the man was always going on about how much of an honour it was - he was obsessed. 

Then, finally, and also slightly shockingly considering how long they tended to hide away up there, Bellatrix and Rodolphus emerged from the attic, coming into the living room - via the kitchen to pick up plates of dinner - with slightly manic grins on their faces. 

“Good session, then?” Antonin asked, a single eyebrow raised, taking in their expressions.

“Oh yes,” Rodolphus said as he settled down next to him, looking slightly like he’d be rubbing his hands together in glee if he wasn’t holding things, “We’ve got a few new songs done”

“We wanna show you guys one of them in a bit, it’s a fun one,” Bellatrix added from her seat practically on top of Rita. 

Rodolphus nodded eagerly, “Yeah, Bells thought of the idea after reading your latest article, Rita”

“Speaking of which,” Rabastan said, sitting upright, “We need to do a reading of it! I thought it some of your best work”

“Thanks, Rab,” Rita grinned, as she received glares from both Lucius and Rodolphus, as she’d predicted, “So did I”

And so, Lucius, who always had a flair for the dramatic (they all did really) and because it was his turn to do so, gave the group his best reading of the morning’s Prophet article, whilst the much-discussed couple finished their dinners. Rita gave them all a reprise of her daily cackles, much to Bellatrix’s delight, who loved it when Rita got ‘maniacal’, as she liked to call it. 

Then, the two songwriters went to get their instruments, just a bass and a guitar, because they apparently hadn’t written in the drum part yet. 

“It’s just a silly little idea I thought of, we’re not sure if we wanna release it but it fits with the theme of Ri’s articles, I guess,” Bellatrix started to explain as she set up her bass with practised ease. 

“Yeah, I think Rab would have to do the vocals if we ever did release it - unless we wanted to get a bit gay in public,” Rodolphus continued, with a wink at Antonin, who laughed.

(Rabastan generally sang the backing vocals for the band but he also occasionally stepped in to sing lead vocals when changing the pronouns in the love songs Bella wrote would ruin the flow of the song.)

Rita laughed too, sitting up on the sofa to watch Bellatrix as she played, “Let’s hear it then”

And hear it they did. 

It was, as Bellatrix said, a silly song, particularly in the context of Rita’s articles of lies and gossip, but Rita thought it was great, like she thought all of their songs were great. 

“But she's a black magic woman

And she's trying to make a devil out of me”

Bellatrix sang the song with a massive grin on her face, staring directly at Rita, watching as she heard the words - heard the references to Bellatrix’s long standing complaints about Rita’s witchery, her 'black magic', and the way Rita dramatised and just completely lied about Bellatrix in the press - making her a rockstar, a devil.  

“You're messing around with your tricks

Don't turn your back on me baby”

Rita grinned right back at her, thinking about the times Bellatrix would look Rita in the eyes, dead serious, and make her promise to never write any serious slander about her, for fear of her career - these were normally after Rita ruined the reputation of one or another random celebrity and Rita always replied with a laughing ‘Better stay on my good side then, darling’, to which Bellatrix would reply ‘Oh I absolutely intend to’. 

“ You got your spell on me baby”

Rita loved watching Bellatrix perform, especially casually like this - like an angel, or a devil, Rita still hadn’t decided, even after all of these years - her voice still seemed to reverberate in Rita’s bones, her fingers - long and delicate, which Rita now had a much more intimate knowledge of - still running over the strings nimbly. Rita still orbited her helplessly, her own personal solar system.

“I need you so bad, magic woman

I can't leave you alone”

The song was marvellous, just the right amount of fun and Rita hoped they did release it one day. She thought about the fact that it would probably be Rabastan singing this if they ever did actually record or perform it. She understood the words the way Bellatrix intended them - referring to Rita - but she allowed them to take on a new meaning in her mind with the context of Rabastan singing them - specifically ‘Black magic woman’ - an idea starting to brew in her mind. 

When the two band members finished up she burst into applause with the other three members of the little audience, still mulling over the thoughts. 

“That was brilliant, darling,” she said, leaning over to press a kiss to Bellatrix’s lips. 

The woman grinned back at her, that sharp, intense smile, which only widened when she fully took in the expression on Rita’s face. 

“Go on then, baby,” she said, “you’ve got that ‘I’m about to start a wicked rumour’ look in your eye”

And Rita matched Bellatrix’s manic grin, looking around at the others who all wanted to hear this too. 

“I was just thinking about how Rab would probably be the one singing the song” she began, and Bellatrix nodded, not understanding yet, urging her to go on. 

Rita looked Bellatrix in the eye, still grinning, “how does ‘DAGGERS TO THE HEART: Bellatrix Black Affair with Fellow Bandmate and Lover’s Brother’ sound?”

*****

Several months later, Rita would release an article with that exact title, after The Daggers gave a performance of ‘Black Magic Woman’ as a surprise song one night on their world tour, Rita in the audience - complete with Rabastan making over-dramatic glances towards Bellatrix, and Rodolphus putting on a scowl. 

Years after that, Bellatrix would sing the song herself, the way it was originally intended, on a stage in front of millions, Rita in the audience, at the band’s first concert since all of them had publicly come out as both gay and in love - complete with an over-the-top reveal article by Rita, and an excessive amount of PDA between all three of the couples, with an emphasis on the P now that they could. 

And Rita and Bellatrix’s love was like an everlasting electrical storm, a perpetual wildfire - Rita constantly, endlessly in orbit around the bright, burning star that was Bellatrix, something dangerous, beautiful, eternal, wild, lovely, brilliant, something that would never, ever end.