The Words That Maketh Murder [rita]

A light, girlish voice reached his ears and Rod turned, smiling. Ah, someone to pull him out of the depths of his loneliness. Or perhaps boredom was the more appropriate word. Either way, he was glad he wasn't alone anymore, and he was all the more glad that the voice in question belonged to a cute little blonde girl. Glancing at her robes, he noted the Hufflepuff emblem, but chose to disregard it. He wouldn't be picky today, not with a girl as attractive as her. "Anything you like, love," he replied cooly, his signature smirk appearing on his lips.

As he looked her over, he couldn't help but recognize her. Suddenly, it struck him. Ah, her. He didn't know her name, as he couldn't be bothered to know the names of most girls, but she was always scribbling things down, taking note. She was a journalist of sorts, wasn't she? An aspiring one, at least. It was then that he remembered her as the editor-in-chief of the school's student-run newspaper. Interesting...

Her voice held a tone of ambition: to-the-point, earnest, and business-like. When she waved her notebook, he realized she was looking to ask him a few questions. About what, he was dying to know. An idea was slowly turning over in his mind, and he decided he could use this little Goldilocks to his advantage. Thinking back to his father's obnoxious howler, Rod grinned at the idea of having a profile of himself in the school newspaper, and sending a copy to his father. Then his father wouldn't have anything to complain about, would he? It would have to be a pretty flattering article, however. Being in black-and-white print wasn't exactly something new Rodolphus. As a Lestrange, his family had been in the Daily Prophet numerous times. Just last month he'd been announced as the latest recipient of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award. Needless to say, the media and tabloids simply gushed over the attractive pure-blood. However, he'd never had a profile done on him before. He'd never been interviews in the most formal sense. He decided that was exactly what he needed to appease his stupid father. Not to mention, impress the rest of his peers. Silently, he thanked Lady Fortune for smiling down on him today.

Running a hand through his fabulously disheveled hair, Rod flashed her a toothy smile. "The name's Rodolphus Lestrange. But... I'm guessing you already knew that. Call me Rod," The girl's back was to a wall. Outstretching his arm to the wall at her back, he rested his hand there and leaned forward. They were so close, he could smell the scent of perfume: cherry blossom. "Tell me, what can I do for you, sweetheart?" Yes, this girl would be putty in the palm of his hand.

Disappointed didn't quite cover it when Rita drew away and asked him to have a seat. The whole exchange was professional. Cordial. Too cordial for Rodolphus' liking. People, or more specifically, girls, just didn't do that to Rodolphus Lestrange. He was the sort of guy that received countless letters and love potion-spiked chocolates on Valentines' Day, the sort of guy that practically had a throng of girls trailing after his every step when he walked through the corridors. It was an unfailing popularity that he had embraced and even encouraged throughout his years at this school. Rod had always longed for attention and adoration, even when he was just a boy. So it was not a surprise in the least that he still craved those things as he got older. He feared the day that he would get wrinkles and grey hair, the day that the gaggle of adoring girls would begin to thin until it was nothing but a memory.

This girl was a bit more resistant than he had initially anticipated, treating him as if he were just another bloke off the street. Sodding Hufflepuffs. He knew she was his key to getting a public and flattering profile written on him for the school newspaper, though. Without the status of a Wizard's Cup Champion and certainly without a flattering article, Rod feared he would slip into anonymity. A few sugar-coated compliments, a lie here or there, and a flash of his winning smile, and her adulation would be all his. So what if it was just an amateur publication? Castle Courier, was it? Publicity was publicity and Rod practically needed an applause to live.

Following the motion of her hand, Rod seated himself on the concrete slab by the windowsill. It was autumn, but the sun was shining right through the glass then, enfolding the two of them in its warmth. He waited impatiently, wanting to get this interview started soon. As could be expected, Rod could talk about himself for hours. She opened her mouth to speak, but Rod immediately held up his finger to her lips, shushing her. "Ah, ah, ah, not so fast, Goldilocks. You didn't tell me your last name. Not very professional of you, is it?" There was nothing serious in his tone of voice. Everything was a joke. Rod smiled a playful smile, pulling away from her and resting his back against the windowpane.

When she did ask her first question, Rodolphus narrowed his eyes. Folding his arms across his chest, he shook his head. "That's not a very interesting question, Tina." In all honestly, Rod didn't give a flying dung-beetle about the Wizard's Cup. It was just a bunch of suicide-happy witches and wizards wanting to take the spotlight off of him. While he could have taken this opportunity to bad-mouth his loathsome fiance Bellatrix Black and his unofficial rival Marlene McKinnon, both of whom were applying for the honor of competing, Rod decided not to. The Slytherin had other plans in mind. The whole point of this would be to turn the conversation onto him. And that was far more interesting than some silly cup, right?

"I'm sure we can think of something else far more entertaining," he began. Rod gave his chin an exaggerated, thoughtful stroke, as if he were thinking deeply about something. He already knew what he was going to say, however. Bringing his hands together with a loud clap, Rod leaned closer to her. "I know. Why don't you ask me about my position as Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team? People love sports. Or we could talk about my plans for after graduation, how that Gryffindor chaser Marlene McKinnon is not-so-secretly in love with me, my favorite color... use your imagination."

What exactly makes you believe that she’s . . . in love with you, did you say? Does she know your favorite color? For the first time in their conversation, a genuine smile appeared on his face, rather than the pre-meditated smirks he was accustomed to giving. "Well, I was actually kidding about 'the favorite color' bit. Witch Weekly already scooped up that earth-shattering news, anyway. But I'm happy to see that you actually have a sense of humor." Rodolphus held back a laugh when she bumped her head against the concrete wall behind her. Was she always this matter-of-fact? Rod, on the other hand, wasn't one for seriousness. Everyone was a punchline in his opinion. "Red, by the way." he said. "My favorite color is red."

Though he wouldn't show it, he was beginning to grow perturbed by her overly professional attitude. He just wanted to shake her by the shoulders and remind her that she wasn't a real journalist. Just a student with a notepad. Hardly a force to be reckoned with. Up until a week ago, Rod hadn't realized there even was a school newspaper. Clearly it couldn't be all that reputable. Regardless, he had to play nice, or at least as nice as the Lestrange boy could. Bowing his head slightly, he replied in a surprisingly civil tongue, "Pleasure to meet you Rita Skeeter." Folding his arms, he began to contemplate the question she'd given him.

This was all unfolding quite nicely actually. He'd given Rita Skeeter the mildest time of day for his own benefit. And sure, he wouldn't mind having the opportunity to take her to bed with him. Mostly though, this was all for the sake of school-wide glory. To see his name in print and get some notoriety out of it. Now it appeared he could bring that indignant bitch Marlene McKinnon down with him. Two birds with one stone. How he'd love to see the fury on her face when word of this got out.

Tensions ran high between him and Marlene for obvious reasons. He was a blood-purist. She wasn't. He was a Slytherin. She was a Gryffindor. But the real icing on the cake was that they played on opposing Quidditch teams. In his fourth year though, in a match against Gryffindor, he had taken a bludger to the knee and was sent flying off his broom to the ground. He had the subsequent two days in the hospital wing, and the only perk of this whole horror story had been the scores of get-well cards and confections he'd received by girls who'd been worrying their pretty little heads over him. The beater who had delivered the cataclysmic bludger was none other than Marlene McKinnon. You'd think the story would end there, but ever since that fateful day, the brainless brat had taken to taunting him and reminding him of that public humiliation every chance she got. He'd been plotting his revenge for quite some time now, and while he did have other devious things in mind, he didn't see the harm in a little collateral damage.

"Well, it can all come down to a simple playground philosophy," he began. He rested his chin on his balled fist, eyes fixed on Rita as she scribbled away. "When a girl likes a guy, or vice versa, they hit each other. They call each other names. Shove one another. Try to act like they don't want to shag all night. Marlene is a textbook example of this. All you have to do is see the way she acts when she sees me in the hall. She's all over me. Just practically begging me to take her into a broom closet." Now that he'd lain the foundation, it was time to lie a bit. "Of course, over the years, she's matured ever so slightly. Less childishness. More romance. Let's see... oh, right. Last Valentine's Day, she left me some chocolates that were spiked with a love potion. Attached, she'd written me a love letter. I still have it, if you'd like to see. From that point on, it's been nothing but constant declarations of love. Just last month she stood outside one my classes, waiting for me to come out, and then implored me to call off my engagement to Bellatrix Black. Of course, I said no. She said the reason she applied for the Wizard's Cup was, verbatim, because she wanted to prove her love to me. I just hope my rejection won't affect her chances at the Cup." He gave a slow shake of his head. I wonder just how far her intestines will fly when she explodes... he thought to himself.