If the task were to compile a definitive list of the most aggressively disruptive forces in the British wizarding world, Sebastian Swann would invariably place Rita Skeeter firmly within his top three. She wasn't merely a reporter; she was a catalyst for chaos, a biological agent of public unrest who survived solely on the high-caloried friction of others' misery.
Sebastian had often mused that her true magical skill was not writing, but the perverse ability to find the tiny, insignificant kernel of truth within a story and then encase it in a narrative so aggressively exaggerated, so maliciously fabricated, that the original fact became irrelevant. Her brilliance lay in her accuracy of feeling, even while lying: she knew precisely what people wanted to believe, and she delivered it with dramatic, acid-laced flair.
Previously, Sebastian had dismissed her as a mere irritant, a mosquito buzzing around the truly powerful. He had never been her target, and he wasn't interested in the petty vengeance that consumed her other victims.
But now, she had crossed an unforgivable line: She had compromised his mission.
The school was fractured not by the loss itself, but by the ridiculous, contagious rumor of the "weeping, fragile professor." His students were now divided into two utterly useless camps: the loyal, self-appointed vigilantes (Charlie, Marcus, and the Quidditch team) who were ready to start a faction war in the corridors, and the gullible, whispering pity-mongers who viewed him with soft-eyed sympathy.
Both groups were disruptive, and both undermined the bedrock of his authority—the perception of his cold, unflappable competence.
This is intolerable, Sebastian thought, his jaw clenching. I can tolerate failure; I cannot tolerate manufactured melodrama.
It was time for retaliation. Not merely to vent the students' anger, but to surgically excise the cancer of Skeeter's influence from the body of the school. His reputation had been damaged, and unlike a typical wizard who would demand an apology or attempt a bribe, Sebastian's style was always definitive. If he was going to strike, the strike had to be career-ending.
"If I cannot discipline my students for their stupidity," he muttered, drawing on reliable intelligence that was always meticulously curated and maintained, "then I can certainly discipline the fool who inspired it."
Late that afternoon, Sebastian arrived via a precise, short-range Apparition, materializing in the back garden of a modest, semi-detached house on the outskirts of Birmingham.
Rita Skeeter, adept at evading disgruntled targets, rotated through these anonymous Muggle properties like a traveling salesman, believing her constant movement rendered her invisible to tracking charms and magical surveillance.
Sebastian stood in the overgrown yard, a picture of quiet, expensive elegance against the backdrop of cheap vinyl siding and a neglected rose bush. His magical perception was immediately deployed, sinking deep into the foundations of the house.
He felt the familiar thrum of cheap, defensive charms, but more importantly, he pinpointed the location of a busy, self-involved magical core—a witch working rapidly at a desk.
Found you, you industrious little beetle.
First, he cast a potent, silent Muggle-Repelling Charm, ensuring that no suburbanite would suddenly appear to water their lawn and interrupt his professional demolition job. Then, with a chillingly satisfied smile, he walked to the front door and pressed the modern, plastic doorbell.
Tough! Tough! The cheerful, irritating sound was wildly out of place.
The door was yanked open with an irritable, impatient force. Standing there was a woman whose face was a carefully engineered landscape of heavy foundation and dramatic, angular glasses that perched like predatory birds on her nose. The dissatisfaction on her features—the look of a person interrupted mid-flight of genius—was palpable.
She squinted, her expression shifting from annoyance to suspicion, then to a calculated wariness as she finally recognized the impossibly handsome, impeccably dressed man on her stoop.
"Who—"
"I am Sebastian Swann," Sebastian introduced himself, his voice perfectly modulated—warm, pleasant, utterly devoid of threat. "I apologize for the imposition, Miss Skeeter. However, I have some truly exclusive news to share. I believe you will find it tremendously profitable."
The mention of "exclusive news" was the perfect lure. Rita's famous caution, her paranoia honed by years of making enemies, instantly wrestled with her overriding, career-defining greed.
He's well-dressed. He has a pristine reputation. He's a professor now. He wouldn't risk an overt attack, she rationalized, her brain already calculating the potential payout. He must be here to mitigate the damage—to offer a bribe in the form of a 'real scoop' to distract me.
A sharp, predatory glint entered her eyes. The richest man in the wizarding world, the rising political star, had come crawling to her anonymous hideaway. She felt a familiar, intoxicating surge of power.
"Mr. Swann," she purred, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness as she stepped aside, "I find unannounced visits from newly defamed professors to be quite intriguing. Do come in. I insist."
She led him to a small, brightly lit dining area. She quickly sat opposite him at a simple wooden table, placing a fresh sheet of parchment and her notorious Quick-Quotes Quill between them.
"You won't mind if I take notes?" Rita asked, not really asking. "It helps me keep our conversation accurate and… easy to follow. Now, Mr. Swann, I'm waiting. Let's see if this 'news' is valuable enough to distract me from my next, highly anticipated editorial."
Sebastian sat back on the hard chair, his gaze coolly sweeping the small room. His eyes landed briefly on the table, where Rita had failed to completely conceal the title of the article currently loaded into the Quill:
The Weeping Hypocrite: Sebastian Swann's Pious Facade Crumbles Under Pressure.
Sebastian allowed himself a soft, almost soundless laugh. He looked at Rita—her forced smile, her posture of confident dominance—and felt a wave of profound disappointment.
"That's a rather dramatic title, Miss Skeeter," Sebastian observed, nodding toward the parchment. "I suspect you've been working on that sequel since before you finished the first article."
Rita forced a bright, unnerving smile. "Oh, that's just a working title! You know how it is, the words flow faster than the thoughts. The actual content is, as I said, entirely dependent on our conversation. I'm a journalist, Mr. Swann; I follow the narrative. And at the moment, the narrative suggests a severe lack of competence at Hogwarts. I hope you're here to offer a compelling counter-narrative."
Sebastian tilted his head, his amusement fading, replaced by a devastating seriousness. "A counter-narrative? No, Miss Skeeter. I'm here to ask a very simple, yet defining question."
He reached into his robe, pulled out the crumpled copy of The Daily Prophet—the one Charlie had been clutching—and slapped it flat onto the table, covering the title of her unfinished draft.
"You are, by all accounts, a cunning, if entirely unethical, survivalist," Sebastian stated, his voice losing all traces of its earlier warmth, becoming sharp and metallic.
"You consistently avoid provoking the true heavyweights in this world. You write viciously about the minor political figures, the young socialites, the people who lack the magical or financial resources to retaliate effectively."
He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers with an unnerving, predatory intensity.
"So, tell me, Miss Skeeter: Who gave you the courage to choose me as your target? Did you genuinely believe I was so preoccupied with teaching children how to use a microwave that I had become harmless? Did you truly assess me as someone who would be 'easily bullied' into offering a bribe?"
The accusation wasn't about the article; it was about her professional judgement. He had successfully punctured her carefully maintained composure.
Rita Skeeter's face twisted, the heavy makeup failing to conceal the instantaneous surge of pure, defensive fury. Her professional mask dissolved into a snarl.
"How dare you walk into my home and lecture me on the targets I choose, you arrogant, over-privileged child!" she spat, throwing her chair back as she leaped to her feet.
"You are an inconvenience, Swann! A passing folly! You think your paltry wealth gives you immunity from the truth? Get out! You are not welcome here!"
As she screamed, the Quick-Quotes Quill, activated by the sheer emotional pitch of her rant, sprang into the air. It began to write furiously across the parchment, channeling her vitriol directly into print, its speed blindingly fast.
Sebastian Swann is not merely a hypocrite with the tear-stained face of a pious fraud, but a narrow-minded, spiteful, and profoundly dangerous individual who cannot handle the simple consequences of his own failure! the Quill shrieked across the paper.
This man, who presumes to teach the youth of our world, just barged into the author's private sanctuary and subjected her to a terrifying, violent interrogation, threatening her physical safety and journalistic freedom!
The author warns the entire Ministry and the public: look closely at the true face of this monster! His Alchemy empire is built on dark secrets, and his presence at Hogwarts endangers every child! He must be removed immediately, before his venom contaminates the entire curriculum!
Rita watched the Quill write, her eyes glittering with dark, triumphant pleasure. The instant, rebellious output was intoxicating.
There! she thought savagely. You humiliated me? Fine. I will publish this tonight! Your little Sebastian Swann Media cannot compete with the speed of my venom! I am the uncrowned Queen of Words! I will utterly disgrace you! I want you to crash and burn, to kneel before me and beg for mercy!
Sebastian remained seated, watching the Quill's frantic, poisonous dance with an expression of cold, clinical interest. He let the Quill finish its diatribe, his expression unwavering.
"A fascinating demonstration, Miss Skeeter," Sebastian finally said, his voice calm, flat, and colder than a dungeon floor. "You seem to have provided me with a meticulously documented, self-incriminating record of your immediate, malicious intent to slander a Hogwarts Professor."
He reached out and tapped the parchment with a single finger, right below the final sentence.
"And now, my dear Miss Skeeter, the interview is over. You chose the wrong target, and you just provided me with the evidence I needed to retire you permanently. I believe your next article will be an exclusive on your own unfortunate career transition."
Sebastian stood, his height suddenly imposing, and smiled—a terrifying, humourless smile that chilled Rita to the core. He knew exactly how she gathered her information, and she had just handed him the perfect weapon to dismantle her entire career.