Summary: "Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations..." She's back, and she's not what you'd expect. This is the other side of Rita Skeeter, something she'd never want published. Rita works to whip up a story about recent Azkaban escapee, Sirius Black, but something stands in her way...
Categories: General Fics Characters: None
Warnings: Mild Profanity
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 3
Completed: Yes
Word count: 4903
Read: 5266
Published: 08/12/12
Updated: 11/10/13
Story Notes:
Thank you to my awesome beta, Ellie/iMusic17 !
1. Chapter 1 by expelliarmus17
2. Chapter 2 by expelliarmus17
3. Chapter 3 by expelliarmus17
Chapter 1 by expelliarmus17
Rita paused, breathing in the smell of ink and parchment. She smirked and set her quill into her almost-empty ink bottle. The ink smudged due to her hastiness, but at last, she was done.
–Fix up the ink on the last paragraph for me,†she told her assistant as she dropped the scroll on his desk. Rita’s assistant unravelled the scroll, looking up at Rita apprehensively. Rita looked at him over her jewelled glasses and a smirk. Her assistant read the first few lines, mumbling the words under his breath. He rolled his eyes and let the scroll snap closed and fall on his other papers.
–You can’t be serious, Rita!†he cried. –Another piece about the corruption of Ministry workers?†He put his feet on desk and leaned back in his chair, both hands behind his head. He let out a loud laugh before continuing. –I mean with Black having just escaped from Azkaban, people want to believe that they’re being protected…frankly, this is fit for a gossip magazine!†He flicked the scroll and it flopped across his desk in a half-hearted way.
Rita’s smirk twisted into a grimace. –I didn’t ask your opinion, Gary.†Her curls bounced as she reached over and pushed the scroll into his lap. –I’ve been working for the Daily Prophet since I left Hogwarts over twenty years ago. I hardly think you were born yet!â€
Gary put his feet down and offered her a soft smile. –Rita, my job here is to be taught, mentored, even nurtured by a journalism role model.†He smile grew wide. –I hardly think that is going to happen.â€
–I don’t pay you to learn, I pay you to publish my work,†she hissed and left the room.
–You don’t pay me at all!†He shouted after her.
In the main room, the printing presses were churning rhythmically. Each machine had a bin of scrolls and photographs on one end and a neat stack of Evening Prophets at the other. Some made ominous squeaking noises and a few were spraying ink everywhere.
–’Ello, Ms Skeeter! Can you believe this one’s broken again?â€said one of the workers. He was wrestling with a machine that was dumping shredded newspapers on the printer next to it.
–Doesn’t surprise me, Hank,†she replied, flashing her gold teeth insincerely at him and stepping out into Diagon Alley. She walked determinedly toward the Leaky Cauldron, checking her watch before warming her hands in her pockets. It was a quarter past five. She quickened her step and pulled open the pub’s ancient door.
A plump frame and familiar whine grabbed Rita’s attention right away. Bertha was standing at the bar, badgering Tom, the owner, for a free drink.
–Bertha, how lovely to see you again!†Rita crooned. She flashed her gold teeth once again. –I’ll get the drinks, dear. You just snag us a table.â€
Bertha’s round face lit up when Rita said she’d get the drinks. –Rita, you’re late,†she said, dragging out each word teasingly. She wagged her finger at Rita, smiling.
Rita turned to the bar as Bertha weaved between the crowded tables. –Two pints,†she said curtly.
–Bertha sure is excited to speak with you, told me she was waiting for you,†chuckled Tom.
–Oh, did she?†said Rita, shifting her weight uncomfortably. Tom laughed and handed her the pints. Did Bertha really need to advertise that Rita associated with her?
Rita sat down and pulled out her trusty, green quill. Before Rita said a word, Bertha began.
–Well, I’ve heard some juicy news from three reliable sources,†said Bertha. She watched Rita’s face, waiting for this to soak in. –The head of the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee swears up and down that Black was behind the spell backfire in Cambridge last week. A crowd of Muggles, that’s just what Black likes! Three Muggles injured middle of the day, couldn’t find a wizard on the scene--definitely the work of Black. Especially the spell backfire. He must’ve stolen a wand, and Merlin knows he’s a madman now. Wouldn’t be able to cast a proper spell if he wanted to! Maybe you should ask at Wand Registry whether any wands have been reported stolen around Cambridge…â€
–That won’t be necessary,†said Rita, smiling over her quill.
–Black is mad as ever,†Bertha continued. –The Ministry is not doing nearly enough to stop him. He’s going to start killing again, I can just feel it. It’ll be a sad, sad day when the Ministry is all a-flurry when Black kills another dozen Muggles.†The false pout she wore didn’t fool Rita, but Rita said nothing.
–Well, as I’ve said, he’s planning another mass killing.†Bertha said, leaning in closer. –They say he muttered about the Potter boy, am I right? I say he plans to kill Potter’s family--you know, the Muggles--and then finish him off as well, to get revenge for his old master. Is anyone protecting Potter’s Muggle family? Certainly not. The Ministry is growing lazy, let me tell you. I mean, the committee they’ve formed to find Black? What a joke. You’ve got to interview them, Rita, you simply must.â€
–Oh, I plan on it,†said Rita, wiping a splatter of green ink off her nose.
–All right, so my third source…what was it? Oh! Black is Potter’s godfather. His godfather! I’m sure you know Cuthbert Mockridge—works with goblins. Well, his assistant tells me that Potter is all set to inherit Black’s entire fortune when he dies. Not entirely sure he wasn’t making it up though, maybe I should’ve just asked Cuthbert…†she muttered.
–No, no, that’s fine. No need to ask Mockridge.†Rita didn’t want to recall her last conversation with him. He didn’t exactly appreciate her exposé on goblin culture she had written last year. –So is that all the information you have on Black?†she asked, changing the subject.
–That’s all I know for now, Rita. You know I’ll update you!†She let out a sharp laugh. Rita flinched and instinctively glanced around the bar. Bertha was her best source for gossip, but it was an embarrassment to meet up with her in public.
–Absolutely.†Rita stowed her quill and notepad in her crocodile handbag as she watched Bertha slurp down the last of her drink. –I must be off, Bertha. Lots of writing to do!†She cringed inwardly as she let her voice imitate Bertha’s habit of expressing herself in sing-song.
–Oh, so soon?â€
–I’m sorry to say I really must be getting home.†She patted Bertha’s hand—which was already reaching for Rita’s untouched drink—and strode out of the pub.
Rita took a few steps down Diagon Alley. She took a deep breath of the freezing air and Apparated into the falling snow. Her feet landed in front of her cosy cottage, which was hidden by a large willow tree.
She screamed. A sharp beak dove at her head repeatedly, and Rita let out a shrill yelp each time it struck. –Get the bloody hell off of me!†she squealed. She danced around on the spot until she felt a small envelope slap her on the nose, and the owl that dropped it let out a hoot and flew off.
Rita spat out a few feathers and looked around her. Did the neighbours see? Maybe some uninvited guests waiting in her sitting room, watching her humiliate herself? She straightened her glasses and smoothed her robes. She quickly flicked her wand at the door and stepped inside. She peeked into the sitting room before she breathed easily.
Rita tossed her handbag on the nearest end table and opened the envelope.
Rita,
Your review of Wilhelm Wigworthy’s new book is ready to appear in tomorrow’s Prophet, next to a photograph of him with his Muggle mistress at a coffee shop in London. Said I’d let you know when it was confirmed.
-Your lovely assistant, Gary
P.S. That owl was the one you hexed when you were eavesdropping on Dumbledore in the Hog’s Head and made me come along. He was not easy to find, but I think you now understand what I was saying about how owls have feelings and excellent memories.
Rita snorted. A few weeks ago she was hoping to write an exposé on the Wizengamot, starting with Dumbledore, but she remembered bitterly that she didn’t hear a word Dumbledore said that evening. She had thought Gary would be an asset to eavesdropping, but transforming was so much better. Beetles can hide anywhere they’d like; they don’t have to settle for the space between the owl’s cage and the storage shed.
She tossed a few pots on the stove, absentmindedly waving her wand in each of them, and settled into her favourite chair, reading over the day’s findings.
End Notes:
Thank you for reading! Please review my story and I'll return the favor :)
Chapter 2 by expelliarmus17
Chapter Two
Rita woke up the next morning in eager anticipation of her complimentary copy of the Daily Prophet. She was enjoying her coffee and gazing out of the window when she saw a tawny owl approaching, zigzagging its way towards her house. It tumbled through her open window and fell to the floor.
She frowned. Before she could get up to see what was wrong with it, the owl swooped up and pecked her hair curlers wildly, the bag on its foot swinging and jangling with money. –Get off, get off, get off!†she yelped.
Her first thought was that Gary had played another prank on her, but then it struck her. This was a regular delivery owl, not her usual owl that only delivered to writers and Ministry higher-ups, free of charge. She hurriedly paid the scruffy owl and struggled with the twine on the newspaper. The owl flew off as she scanned the front page.
She knew not to expect her article on the front page; she hadn’t written a front-pager for many months. But she always checked anyway. It wasn’t on page two, either, or pages three or four. She was losing hope as she flipped through, skimming the headlines faster and faster. Finally, she saw her article on the last page, squeezed into a corner beside the obituaries. The photograph hadn’t been printed large enough; you couldn’t even see that the Muggle mistress was wearing a watch with the Wigworthy family crest on it.
Rita crumpled up the newspaper and stomped to her bedroom to get dressed.
That story was just what my readers want! she thought. Secrets about admired citizens! Nasty remarks about magical and social skills! Photographic evidence!
But my articles have been gaining distance from the front page…maybe people have already heard about this…maybe they only published it out of pity!
Rita stumbled down her front steps as that thought came to her and she hastily reached the end of her walk so she could Apparate, feeling very much out of her usual routine.
-----
Rita picked up her pace as the crowded Atrium drifted towards the golden gates. It was unnerving to see just how many Ministry workers were reading the Daily Prophet on their way to work. None of them was reading the last page, Rita noticed. She was craning her neck to see what the man beside her was reading until she stumbled on his foot and backed away in response to his dirty look.
The security desk was finally in sight, and Rita broke from the crowd to approach it.
–Hi, Eric.†She smiled sweetly, leaning against the marble desktop.
–Rita,†he grunted. –I don’t want any trouble, now…â€
–Oh, Eric, I’m off the banned list today, check your papers!†she said as cheerily as possible. She knew Eric well—out of the five actual security –incidents†that he has ever dealt with, four of them involved Rita.
Eric gestured for Rita to stop leaning on the desk. She obliged as he pulled out a lavender scroll with the heading –Not Welcome at the Ministry of Magic.†There were three columns: Name, Wand Data, Dates of Ban.
Leaning on the desk once again, Rita jabbed a long, red fingernail at yesterday’s date listed next to –Rita Paige Skeeter; 10 inches, Mahogany, Dragon Heartstring.†Eric let go of the scroll’s edges, letting it curl up and bounce back into the drawer. Rita eagerly pulled her wand out of her purse. Eric verified her wand and sent her away without another word.
-----
Rita got off of the lift at level two and entered the Auror Headquarters. She tried to ignore the whispers that suddenly replaced talk and laughter and held her head high so that the only things she could see were the flying Ministry memos.
Inevitably, she bumped into an Auror.
–Excuse—†she began.
–Ms Skeeter, you are trespassing,†said a slow, deep voice.
–Not at all, Shacklebolt. My ban is lifted as of today.†She tried to grin at him, but her heart was racing and her smile felt lopsided. The whispers grew louder.
Shacklebolt eyed her. –What can I help you with, Ms Skeeter?†he finally said.
–I just—–She took out her quill. –—have—†She pulled out some parchment. –—a few questions.†Her Quick Quotes Quill was in her mouth, and she was struggling to fasten her purse. She finally got the clasp closed and looked up to see that Shacklebolt had hurried away.
–Wait!†she cried, dropping her quill from her mouth. She stooped to grab it and followed him to his corner cubicle. –I understand that you are in charge of the hunt for Sirius Black. As a member of the press, I believe I have precedence for knowing the latest lead on his whereabouts and—â€
–Ms Skeeter, I refuse to do an interview. I have told you before that—â€
–Do you confirm that Black is likely to be gathering followers, similarly to—â€
–Ms Skeeter,†he continued calmly, –I will not give you a quote.â€
–Exactly how many Aurors are assigned to Black? Do you feel that it is enough to—â€
–Ms. Skeeter, leave this office at once,†said Shacklebolt politely.
–Not a problem.†Rita revealed her gold teeth and swiftly walked away from Shacklebolt.
She approached a cubicle whose occupant was fast asleep, each snore making a black and white photograph of Sirius Black flutter back and forth.
–Excuse me, sir!†she said, leaning close to him.
–What? Huh?†The Auror jumped and looked around. He grimaced when he spotted Rita’s face close to his left ear.
–Seems like you have a minute to spare! What is your exact role in the search for Black? Is there any sign that Black is hiding nearby? How long have you been an Auror? How much funding does Black’s case receive? What is your name and title?†Rita spoke quickly, leaving the sleepy Auror to blink at her and stutter.
–Black’s c-case is f-funded by Azkaban … and er, I’m an Auror … and er, all magical p-public places in Britain have appropriate security in case Black is nearby and—â€
–That’s all I need, thank you!†Rita had spotted Shacklebolt coming towards them and she trotted in the direction of the door, wiping green ink off of the front of her robes. She entered the corridor, relieved that Shacklebolt hadn’t followed her out.
She strode down the long corridor to join the other witches and wizards waiting for the lift. Rita held her breath as she passed the Improper Use of Magic office. The Animagi registry within knew nothing about her, and she wanted to keep it that way.
–Mrs Skeeter!†She heard a voice say. At first she jumped and gave the office door a second glance. She stopped herself. Mrs Skeeter?
Rita surveyed the crowd by the lift and saw her. Her mother.
The voice belonged to a very tall witch, who was now greeting Rita’s mother and shaking her hand. –Lola Skeeter, how good it is to see you!†said the woman.
–How long has it been, Wilma?†crooned Lola. Lola Skeeter was the kind of witch who was always at the Ministry, but wasn’t an employee. Her hair was artistically piled on top of her head, ornamented, and likely held together by magic. Many rings adorned her fingers and she carried no briefcase—clearly, she was a guest at the meeting that just let out, not a worker.
Rita scooted away from them, deeper into the crowd, hoping that they were too absorbed in their chatter to notice her. She wished she could transform. Her mother wouldn’t go within ten feet of a beetle.
–Rita!†cried Lola. She grabbed her from the crowd and pulled her to her side in one fluid movement. A few jostled Ministry workers muttered to each other, but Rita tried not to notice.
–Wilma, this is my daughter, Rita. You have, of course, met her cousins, but this is the Ravenclaw of the family.†She said –Ravenclaw†in a loud whisper. Lola and Wilma shared a chuckle as Rita shook Wilma’s hand reluctantly.
–Yes, yes,†continued Lola. –Five generations of Slytherins, but not Rita. She’s a writer, so you know how that goes.†Wilma nodded knowingly.
Bullshit, Rita thought. Her maternal grandmother was a Hufflepuff, but of course, that wasn’t discussed. Neither was her mother nearly getting kicked out of Hogwarts for vandalism of the Gryffindor Quidditch team’s locker room. That was all covered up by a –family contribution†to the school board.
–But I haven’t seen much of your stuff in the Prophet lately. I thought you had quite the following.†Lola raised an eyebrow at Rita, expectantly.
Ding! The lift arrived, and Rita scooted between two bickering Aurors to the very back of the lift. She caught a glimpse of her mother’s hair ornament near the doors, and let out a sigh of relief as the lift ascended.
–Rita! Oh, how I’ve missed you!†chirped Gary. Rita had just arrived back at the Daily Prophet headquarters, already ignoring her assistant. –I’ve been editing in such a quiet, lonely office, without any ruined reputations to slow me down!â€
Rita could still hear him as she entered her office and dropped her purse onto the pile of post, including several already-burnt Howlers.
–Whatever would I do if you wrote an honest piece? I’d be lost,†he continued, poking his head in her doorway. She rolled her eyes again.
–I’m not in the mood, Gary.†She turned away from him, grabbed a quill and a roll of parchment off her desk, and pretended to be jotting down important notes.
–There’s no ink in that quill,†Gary pointed out, smirking.
Rita turned around, fumbling with the quill and parchment and smoothing her robes. –Do you need something, Gary?â€
–No, just in the mood for a chat.†He sat in her chair, putting his feet up on the desk, and picked up an envelope from the pile. –Ahem. ‘Dear Rita, You are ugly and just jealous of Mr Wigworthy’s lover.’ Wow, she’s included a diagram of you. I didn’t know you grew horns, is that back in fashion now?â€
He was waving the crude sketch in front of her, but Rita wouldn’t look. She sat on the edge of her desk, picking at her fingernails.
–Come on, now, Rita.†He put the letter down and placed a hand on her shoulder. –What’s wrong? Did something happen at the Ministry?â€
–They’ve taken me off the complimentary list,†she whispered.
–What’s that?â€
–They’ve taken me off the complimentary list,†she repeated, her voice barely louder.
–Who’s taken you where?â€
–My Prophets are not free anymore!†she shouted –I gave my money to a dirty bird in order to read my own writing in the butt end of the Prophet! My readers have dwindled, my career is slowing, and my mother is still on my arse about everything!â€
Rita stood up from the desk, chest heaving. –And I never read those bloody letters, you know that.†She waved her wand at them. They vanished.
Al’s eyes were wide and he appeared to have been rendered speechless. Then a smile crept onto his lips. –Wait … that owl I sent delivered the Daily Prophet to you? Nice.â€
Rita took two strides out of her office and aimed a wand at Gary’s desk. His papers flew in tight, tornado-like spirals, knocking ink bottles off his desk.
–Hey! Rita! I was only kidding!â€
Rita shut the door of the editor’s department as she entered the main room. A huddle of printer mechanics was talking in serious tones by the door.
–That’s what I heard; he owled me this morning.â€
–But I thought that they had security against Sirius Black getting in!â€
–Yeah, that’s why he and the other students were so shocked. I’m glad my son’s in Hufflepuff; Black headed straight for the Gryffindor dormitory.â€
Rita stopped, pretending to have difficulties with the clasp on her purse.
–Apparently, there’s going to be an inquiry by the Ministry. Those dementors were supposed to take care of this sort of—Rita! Do you know anything about this?â€
Rita’s head snapped up. A short man with a large moustache was waiting for her reply, while the others looked on. She recognized him, but hoped that he wouldn’t expect her to remember his name.
–I plan to find out,†she said, smiling, as she hurried out the door.
End Notes:
Thank you for reading! Please review :)
Chapter 3 by expelliarmus17
–Couldn’t believe it when I heard it. Inside of Hogwarts! We thought it wasn’t possible!â€
–Yes, Rosmerta, the Ministry was shocked to hear it, too,†said a male voice. –We’ve been sent here to represent the Ministry at a meeting with the school board.â€
–Oh, yes, it’ll be quite a meeting, too,†said the other Ministry official. –Dumbledore didn’t even want dementors there, but we’re going to have to do something.â€
–Shit,†she muttered. She was in the back of the Three Broomsticks. She had snooped around the back hallway after watching the Ministry officials enter the front door, hoping to find a good place to transform before they met in the back room. Their footsteps and voices were getting louder. With no time to transform, she slid into the nearest room and hastily shut the door behind her.
When she turned around, she saw Sirius Black.
He had a loaf of bread in his hand and stood frozen, staring right back at Rita. Evidently they were in a pantry, because Sirius dropped a sack of potatoes back onto its stack. They stared in unmoving silence.
Finally, Rita tried to say something, a little more intelligent than, –Uh…uh… Sirius Black!†but that’s the only thing that came out of her mouth. An even bigger shock came when the door swung open and Madame Rosmerta’s backside appeared in the doorway; she was shouting to the others about teacups.
Rita transformed on instinct and immediately looked over to see what Sirius Black would do. Would he hide? Kill them both?
As she looked away from Madame Rosmerta, she was surprised to see a great black dog, rather like a grim, hiding behind a sack of flour. Her fear disappeared momentarily as realization came over her. He isn’t getting caught because he’s an animagus!
Rita felt as though she might soil herself. She just uncovered the juiciest and most dangerous secret in all of Britain. This explains everything about Black… how he escaped Azkaban, how he’s hiding now, how he helped the Order during the last war…
He’s an Animagus! An Animagus! He’s lethal! He’s clever! He’s capable of anything!
Madame Rosmerta shifted several boxes around, digging deeper in the messy shelves.
But, if he’s so powerful, why has he been lying low? Why did his face look scared when Rita saw him? Didn’t she expect him to destroy her on the spot?
–Here we go!†said Madame Rosmerta to nobody in particular. She disappeared from the room.
Without a backward glance to Black, Rita transformed, yanked on the door handle, and ran. She knocked over a barstool and a pair of goblins on the way out, but didn’t stop running until she was in front of Madam Puddifoot’s. After a minute of recovery in which she leaned against the café window, much to the dismay of the couple nearest it, Rita Apparated back to Diagon Alley.
-----
Rita’s legs shook as she lowered herself into her desk chair. Her thoughts raced: No one has ever seen me as a beetle before…no one knows Black is an Animagus…what would happen if the world knew?
She leaned down to tap her bottom desk drawer with her wand. It squeaked and jiggled, but did not open. She tapped it again, softer this time, and a small silver key appeared in the drawer’s lock. Rita removed the key and examined it. With a jab of her wand toward the door, the blinds shut and an acid-green deadbolt lock materialized on the door frame.
Her attention back on the key, she whirled her wand around it and it grew larger and darker until the heavy iron key made Rita’s arm sag down to her lap. The key fit easily into the drawer’s lock and Rita began spreading the contents of the drawer on her desk.
A yellowing folder labelled –OFFICIAL MINISTRY REGISTRY: APPLICATION FOR ANIMAGI†sat beside torn pages of a textbook with complex diagrams of human-to-animal transformations. Next she pulled out a pile of clipped articles with headlines like –Illegal Animagus Man Discovered in London, Now on the Run†and –Confession From Illegal Animagus Woman, Ten Years in Azkaban.â€
Her secret and Black’s secret were one in the same. She became a beetle to uncover juicy stories and he became a dog to… steal bread, apparently. Now that she was back in the safety of the Daily Prophet headquarters, she could remember the fear in Black’s eyes. His expression revealed no hatred, no madness. He could have squished her or eaten her when they were both transformed, yet he did not.
Rita rested her elbows on the desk and stared at the old papers. It would be easy to whip up a sensational piece with the rumours from Bertha. Black had hardly seemed a real person to her—he was simply a story. After seeing him face to face and sharing a dangerous secret…she wasn’t so sure anymore.
Her career needed a piece on Black. Her reputation would be renewed, her readers would beg for more—
Then Rita imagined the whispers, the looks, the disgust from her readers if the Daily Prophet featured an article titled –NO QUILLS IN AZKABAN: RITA SKEETER SENTENCED FOR ILLEGAL ANIMAGI STATUS.â€
She did not like her options. An article about a secret Animagus was much too dangerous. It would cause a ministry crackdown, an investigation about other suspected Animagi. Forget saving her career, she would have to make a run for it to escape an inquiry.
Rita put away the contents of her drawer with two quick flicks of her wand. As she watched the tiny silver key vanish in the lock, she bit her lip and thought. Several prominent Ministry officials floated through her head—her usual targets for a last-minute story. Then she thought of Dumbledore. Dumbledore, the man who refuses to become Minister. Dumbledore, who fights Azkaban officials over the Dementors at Hogwarts.
A smile crept over Rita’s face, and soon her quill was out and furiously scribbling. The piece got nastier as she wrote, and the end result was a full-scale attack on Dumbledore. She went back over it with her wand and took out some of the worst name-calling, but decided to leave –obsolete dingbat†in the final paragraph. She framed the story as a report on the International Confederation of Wizards’ Conference, and threw in brief mentions of other prominent wizards in attendance.
Satisfied, she grabbed the scroll off of her desk, threw open her door, and dropped the scroll on Gary’s desk. She was in such a good mood that she ignored Gary as he yelled at her back, –Oh, you’ll be wanting me to fact-check this? Shall I break out my encyclopaedia?â€
-----
The next morning, a small and well-groomed owl rapped smartly at her window. Rita welcomed it into her bedroom, and it deposited today’s Prophet neatly onto her nightstand. There it was. Second page. Full-color photograph of Dumbledore, tipping a striped purple hat and winking at the camera.
Rita hummed a little tune and filled the owl’s pouch with knuts. She leaned against the windowsill as it flew away, and suddenly a black dog chased the owl across the yard, barking playfully and wagging its tail. It looked directly at Rita, gave a final bark, and bounded away, the receding owl forgotten.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.