Burbage worked astonishingly fast. Before Christmas even arrived, she had already produced a full article. But she'd also been smart enough not to push things too far. Compared to her usual style, she was downright restrained. All she did was give a broad overview of the development of Muggle technology—in truth, little more than her reflections from recent reading.
This left both her supporters and critics equally confused. The content was fresher than before, yet Burbage hadn't slipped in a single bit of her usual equality agenda. It was completely unlike her.
For a while, all discussion on the topic in the Daily Prophet went strangely quiet, as if everyone really was busy with Christmas… or as if it was the calm before a storm.
But no one was more bewildered than Rita Skeeter.
Lately, neither Tver, Marvolio, nor Cynthia had given her any particularly important assignments. Aside from her routine jabs at the Ministry, she actually found herself with nothing to do—something she wasn't used to at all.
Thankfully, Tver had recently sent word: she was to help defend Professor Burbage. She'd been gearing up to show off a little, to please that Fawley young master—she could see perfectly well who held authority between Tver and Marvolio. Yet now, all her hard-earned venom had nowhere to go.
Rita ended up pacing laps around the house, trying to burn off her restless energy.
In truth, her mood was… conflicted. She didn't even know what she thought anymore.
Tver had coerced her, after all, and had cast such a dreadful spell on her. The memory made her reach up and touch her face with a shiver. The magic might be gone, but for a long time afterward, every accidental brush of her fingers had forced her to relive that terrifying distortion of her features. Each time, cold sweat.
Which was why she'd had no choice during that period but to obey Tver and Marvolio. Even at the risk of covert Auror arrests, she'd kept hammering the Ministry of Magic. She'd attacked them before, of course, but always with careful control—embarrassing them, never cornering them. Especially when it came to officials with real power, she relied on artful, subtle writing to glide around the edges.
Only when she sensed someone was already on the decline would she tear into them, building her reputation as someone who feared no authority.
Thinking of the adoration from some readers, Rita shook her head at herself. Honestly, as if she were Dumbledore—when had she ever not feared official power?
And now there was Tver Fawley, the Fawley heir she still couldn't quite decipher. Handsome, elegant, seemingly careless, yet with a quiet confidence that suggested he held every thread in his hands. And those sharp, striking eyes.
She had met him only once, but Tver had made a deep impression. And throughout the past year, every one of his predictions about major events in the wizarding world had come true.
Which was exactly why her feelings were so tangled. A man she should despise had a charisma and foresight that were impossible to ignore.
If he hadn't pushed me so hard, or threatened me so directly… I might have gone along with him anyway.
Amused by her own thoughts, Rita looked out the window. The winter snow shone brilliantly in the sun. In a few days, it would be the anniversary of their first meeting. Would they cross paths again?
"Knock, knock, knock."
She froze.
This was the safe house Cynthia had arranged for her, hidden cleverly within a Muggle neighborhood—under normal circumstances, no wizard could find it.
Could it really be Tver?
She didn't dare rely on any clumsy magic this time and hurried straight to the door.
"Um, who are you two?" Rita frowned at the strange pair in front of her.
One was a young man as handsome as Tver, yet his face alone gave off an unmistakably wicked charm. Beside him stood an old man, slightly hunched, his smile as greasy as the long hair hanging around his face.
An angel and a devil? No—she felt like they were both devils.
"My apologies, I came in such a rush I forgot to change my face." Marvolio offered an apology entirely devoid of sincerity.
As he finished speaking, his face shifted into Dawlish's earnest, straightforward features.
"D–Dawlish?!"
Rita's eyes nearly bulged out of her skull. Dawlish's face was attractive enough, but compared to the devilishly wild one from moments earlier, it fell far short.
Marvolio impatiently pushed her aside, dragged Burke into the house, and shut the door with practiced ease.
"Didn't I tell you? Don't linger at the door. It makes you easier to spot."
Hearing the familiar voice and the words only they would recognize, Rita finally snapped out of her shock and hurried after them into the living room.
"Are you Dawlish, or that man from earlier?"
"What do you think?"
Marvolio shifted back into his real appearance in an instant. With a slight, upturned smile, he suddenly glanced back at her, devastatingly handsome. His face filled her vision so abruptly she felt her breath catch.
"You don't need to know how it works. When the time comes, Tver will explain it to you himself."
"For now, all you need to remember is that, at the moment, I am Dawlish."
"Of course, in private, you may call me… Marvolio."
Marvolio sat down with practiced familiarity on the sofa he'd used the previous year—the one Rita had reluctantly brought with her when she moved. Only now, the person beside him was his former, and only, boss.
Burke stole a nervous glance at him, barely daring to sit on the edge of the seat. Not because of Rita, but because Marvolio was right next to him.
He had thought this job would be simple, but the moment he saw Marvolio appear, his heart had been pounding nonstop. Master Fawley, please let me get through this without accidentally offending this Dark Lord… He prayed silently to himself.
Rita didn't notice his panic. A sudden thought struck her, and she pointed at Marvolio in shock.
"That Cynthia woman last time was a Ministry official. Now you've infiltrated the Auror Office."
"And… there might even be more of your people inside the Ministry."
"What exactly are you planning to do to the Ministry?!"
Her voice sharpened with disbelief, and her face went pale with fear.
"I don't like people pointing at me…"
Marvolio's expression went cold in an instant, turning completely blank.
But instead of anger, the emptiness terrified Rita even more. She yanked her hand back, clutching the other one over her chest as if he had already severed her finger.
"I—I'm sorry." Her voice trembled uncontrollably.
Beside her, Burke covered his mouth, trying not to laugh. He had been just as scared when he first met Marvolio—thinking back now, it was embarrassing, ha…
[・_・?]
His smile slowly disappeared.
...