Rita Skeeter drummed her half-inch long, deep purple finger nails on her desk, and chewed at her scarlet lower lip. Something was going on. Something was going on, and Rita was not there, delving, prying, burrowing in and finding out the juicy truth. Something was going on, and Rita was excluded. But worst of all, something was going on in the Office and Rita didnt know what it was.

You didnt have to be the worlds best reporter (which she undoubtedly was) to know that some teensy-weensy secret was being planned. The conversations that stopped dead when she entered a room, the pieces of parchment hastily swept off of desk tops before she could read them, the total absence of any other staff in the Daily Prophet offices all gave the game away. Naturally enough there would be no more than a skeleton staff on a Sunday afternoon, but she, Rita, had come in, ever ready to seek out those delicious tit-bits of wizard life that were the life-blood of journalism.

Alright, so she had come in to go through Joshs dustbin, and desk, and closet, and teapot to see what he had been hiding. (He had been the sweeper-in-chief of all interesting looking parchment.) Nothing. The little cranny where the trashy little intern had been put, under the said sweeper-in-chiefs watchful eye. Nothing. (Note to self: Was it literary talent alone that got Miss Modesty Duncan her internship? Its not as though Josh Cloud has a squeaky-clean record where the fairer sex is concerned. Ex-Quidditch Star in Cradle Robbing Scandal Has a nice ring. Well see.) Every office she went into seemed to have been scourgified.

Can it be that every reporter in this august institution of reportage has been called out on newsworthy assignments? Not bloody likely. And if everybody is missing at the same time, then the chances are better than Rita would be willing to bet against, they were all together. Hm. July, nice weather, weekend. Everybody in one location. Doing what? What people do, when they are enjoying warm weather, friendly company, eating too much, drinking too much, and shooting their mouths off. They are having a party. And Rita isnt invited. Well, well, well. It must have been a teeny-tiny oversight on somebodys part, thats all. For what is a party without Rita Skeeter? A party where nothing wickedly newsworthy happens, thats what it is. And who would want that? Not Rita, thats for sure.

And who would hold a Summer London Luau? Josh Cloud, of course, and his hunky friend from the DMLE, dear, yummy Leathan.

I havent seen Dear Leathan since I left Lowell Flats, Rita murmured to herself, picking up her trusty Quick Quotes and an extra roll of parchment and cramming them into her bag. I really must just pop in on the boys.

Scant moments later she stood in the shadowy alley to the side of Lowell flats, her favorite spot for apparating home when she lived there. Clicking up to the door in her stilettos, Rita checked her reflection in the window beside the entrance. Every hair was in place. Taking out the key that she had neglected to return when she moved out, she let herself in to the foyer. So very familiar. Ah, well, on to bigger and better things. A few quick strides took her to the door opening out into the courtyard, from which drifted the babble of cheerful voices and the smell of grilling sausages. How charming, a picnic.

Rita stepped through the door and into the pool of afternoon sun flooding the little courtyard, and surveyed the groups standing by the barbeque or sitting at tables. Yes, there was Josh, Master of Ceremonies running things by the food, with some tart on his lap. There was Leathan with him, chatting with Morela, Joshs pet photographer, and Whats this? Why, its young Modesty Duncan, the very picture of immodesty boozing it up with some gruesome young man who looks as if he has been scraped up out of the gutters and dragged in here. Its all too, too delicious!

Smiling with all the charm and innocence of a cobra, Rita walked over to the barbeque and with a saucy toss of her head said to the group standing there, Well, is anybody going to offer a lady a drink?