The first week of classes had come and gone and the homework was, already, piling up.  With OWLs looming large in the near future, all the professors were approaching the year with even more vigor than usual.  Sasha had come into the year pretty well-prepared but even he was starting to feel the stress building.  And, just to top it all off, they were expected to have some idea of what they'd do with the rest of their lives by the end of the year.  How did they expect the students to figure that out with all their time spent studying?

Though it had surprised and amused his dormmates the first few years, the other fifth year Ravenclaw boys had come to accept that Sasha was rarely a late riser - even on the weekends.  Too many years spent waking up for early morning feeds had left it difficult for Sasha to sleep in in the mornings.  Most mornings found him up studying early or - more usually - exercising.  Weekend mornings were an ideal time to jug or even swim - the grounds were usually peacefully quiet and there were few others to interfere or distract him. 

With fall and winter just around the corner, Sasha was taking advantage of every opportunity to swim before the lake, really, got too cold for such things.  At this time of the morning, the water still had a breath-stealing crispness to it but the shock of it only helped chase away any lingering sleepiness.  Swimming in the lake was discouraged but, if one kept to the shallows near the edge, the denizens of the deep kept their distance. 

A few strokes from the water's edge, Sasha spotted a figure near the lake as he turned his head for a breath.  Unable to see much detail through the curtain of water rolling over his eyes, he'd assumed the individual had been one of usual denizens of the school and would continue on their way to and from school.  Otherwise, nothing for him to worry himself with.  However, when after several strokes, the person seemed to have remained where they were, Sasha let himself slow in the water and stood up, brushing the water from his face with his hands.

He recognized the woman almost immediately - he regularly took the Daily Prophet while at school.  What she was doing here at the school, watching him swim, though, Sasha didn't know.  His immediate assumption was that she was here about the changes of staff.  Or something.  Now that he was standing still, waist deep in the water, the chill of the water was setting in fast.  Brushing the excess water from his hair, he looked in the direction of the school. 

"Professor Snark is probably still in her office," Sasha said.  "But ... I don't think ... it is rather early." 

Rita had been hanging around the grounds in beetle form for an hour or so now. The interview with 'Headmistress' Snark had been an interesting one, in which she had learned to control her loathing for Niobe Thursby, but also came to dislike her more. It was obvious that neither women had the same interests. Thursby was all politics politics politics, where Rita at least had a sense of superiority, fashion and glamour. Her feelers reached up to her emerald beetle head and smoothed themselves along the armour of her body, as though smoothing out her hair.

It was still extremely early in the morning and the sun had barely risen over the mountains, but Rita knew that if she was to go unnoticed, she had to be here early. What Analiza Snark had said in the interview tallied up well with what Rita saw through her own bug-eyes at the end-of-year feast itself. She had been there [uninvited, of course], but knew that something was bubbling. And there she was; Analiza Snark, the new headmistress of Hogwarts. Click-clacking her way up the silent hall inbetween tables of gobsmacked students, and towards an awkward looking staff table.

In that whole scene, however, there was one little thing that had caught Rita's particular interest. A young man who had shouted out against Analiza Snark in front of everybody. He had shown great courage - had this beetle eyebrows, she would have most certainly raised them in surprise. In fact, her feelers touched each other as though she was applauding the boy - much as though she was in awe of Snark, she didn't actually like her.

So when Snark had mentioned this boy as being Sasha Schlagenweit in the interview at Snark Manor, Rita had been most excited to find out some more about this boy, and about why he - and not one of the other number of students - had decided to speak out in justice. This led to a most interesting story and had Rita hooked from the word go. A juicy secret was being kept hush hush amongst the staff and governors of the school regarding this boy, and Rita was determined to find out more about it.

One of her feelers stiffened as she heard a noise coming from behind her. She shuffled a little on the branch and saw in her peripheral a young blonde boy making his way towards the lake. She gave an irritated buzz - her beetle-vision was clearly impared, as not having perfect spherical eyes did have its disadvantages. Instead, her eyes were pentacontagon shaped - a polygon with fifty sides, resulting in frustrating duodecuple visions [or, in simpler terms, seeing one object up to twelve times in one peripheral].

But this boy was strangely familiar, and she hummed excitedly as she realised that out of all the students in the school who could have possible been here this early in the morning, it was looking very likely that this was the one she was after. She launched herself from the branch as he waded into the water for a swim, and let her little wings vibrate as she made her way winding down the trunk of the tree. She landed on a patch of grass behind the tree, out of view of the boy, and making sure nobody was around she transfigured back into her human form. A very smug smile played on her lips, even as she pulled a leaf from her blonde curls. She smoothed out her jacket and peered around the tree.

The boy stopped in the water and watched her. She didn't move. He didn't either. Then the boy spoke to her, and she rejoiced in the fact that this was most certainly the same boy. He was going on about the headmistress, but Rita was here for an entirely different purpose altogether. She stepped out from around the tree, a curious smile taking over her mouth. "Oh?" She asked, as though that was what she was here for. "Then I'd rather not disturb Professor Snark, since it is so early." She spoke in almost a sing-song way. "If it is so early, why are you up and about? It's barely even light." She let her eyes flicker to where the sun had just peeped inbetween two mountains, and was sending its shimmering rays onto the far end of the lake.

Sasha shivered as the cool, early morning air brushed against his damp skin.  As he felt the prickling of goosebumps develop up and down his arm, he suddenly became painfully aware and self-conscious of his current wet, partially clothed state.  Especially, in the presence of present company.  Sasha was well aware of the woman's reputation and, while he recognized no reason to be nervous about the woman's presence, he certainly knew enough to be glad that this woman was heading off to talk to the Headmistress. 

Luckily, whatever color spread across Sasha's cheeks was, somewhat, masked by the cold-flushed redness to his skin.  Fully expecting Rita Skeeter to start on her way towards the castle - or away since they'd both established that it was probably earlier than appropriate to visit Analiza Snark - Sasha walked over to where his robes sat carefully folded on a rock and, after casting a quick warming charm on them with the wand in his pocket, Sasha slipped the warm cloth over his shoulders. 

To his surprise, he was not alone when he turned back.  Rita Skeeter was still standing there, her gaze shifting from him to the distant mountain peaks.  Sasha followed her gaze, squinting at the bright rays of early morning sun.  "I ... I don't know," Sasha said quietly, suspiciously as he looked back at the reporter.  "I guess I'm just used to getting up early.  And, it's nice in the morning.  It's quiet and you can work out ... in peace." 

He watched the woman curiously, wondering whether he could, politely, take his leave of this woman.  Running his fingers through his wet hair, he took a deep, awkward breath.  "Well ... um ... unless there's something I can help you with.  I should get - should get some studying done before breakfast."  Hoping he'd satisfied any necessary etiquette requirements, he turned to make his way back to the castle.

Rita nodded as the boy spoke. "Indeed, it is nice and quiet." She agreed, taking in a deep breath of fresh air and looking around at the still lake, save for the slight ripples that were left from where the student had emerged from the waters.

"Well ... um ... unless there's something I can help you with.  I should get - should get some studying done before breakfast."

"Oh." Rita stated as he turned away to head back to the castle. The exclamation was as though a brilliant idea had just occurred to her, as though a lightbulb had just flashed in her head, as though this hadn't been her whole purpose for being here so early in the morning. As though it was simply coincidence. "There is one thing you could perhaps help me with? I line of enquiries I'm stuggling with."

She pulled her trusty quick-quotes quill and parchment from her bag and sucked on the end of the quill. Immediately the quill stood to attention, poised to write whatever its mistress bade. "I was just wondering whether you had any idea who Sasha Schlagenweit is?" She blinked at the boy, giving no inkling as to whether or not she knew it was this particular student.

She'd agreed - so, obviously she had gathered the implications.  However, despite her agreement, Rita Skeeter didn't seem to have picked up on the fact that the very reason Sasha was out here this early was for the peace and quiet.  And solitude.  A state that the reporter's presence interfered with.

Resigned that the quiet solitude wasn't coming back, Sasha had started towards the castle but stopped when the woman spoke again.  "I - inquiries?"  Sasha asked, his eyebrows arched in confusion and uncertainty.  "Umm ... I'm sorry.  I'm not really sure ...  what can I do?"  What possibly could  he do - he, Sasha - do to help Ms Skeeter?  "I'm not sure ... I - what?" 

Sasha's eyes flew open and he looked from the reporter to the eagerly trembling quill.  Taken aback by the news that it was he Rita was looking for, it didn't even occur to Sasha to withhold his identity.  "I'm - you - what do you - you're looking for Sash- me?"  Self-consciously, Sasha straightened his school robes and quickly ran his fingers through his damp hair.  What on earth could Rita Skeeter want with him?  "I'm - I'm not famous.  I'm just ..."  He wasn't sure, what.  But, surely, he wasn't anything that could be of interest to the woman that stalked the wealthy and famous.

The corners of her lips turned into a smile as the boy stumbled and faltered over his words. She could have quite easily sat down, had a gourmet meal and a pamper session including massage and pedicure, and he still wouldn't have strung together a coherent sentence.

His exclamation that he wasn't famous caused her to throw her head back and let out a barky laugh. "Oh sweetheart," She said shaking her head in a patronising manner. "One doesn't have to be famous to be wanted." She winked at him. "And I want you." She jabbed a finger gently in his direction.

The quill whizzed in an excited frenzy and began scratching furiously against the parchment with every word that was spoken, every breath that escaped every mouth, every uncomfortable expression. "A little birdy told me," she started, admiring her long red fingernails nonchalontly, "That you stood up to the new headmistress at the end of last term." She let her eyes creep up to meet his slowly.

"I ... um ... alright," Sasha said, as politely as he could manage, flinching slightly as she jabbed a finger in his direction.  "I really don't ... I'm not your ..."  Quickly, he glanced at the lakeside and up towards the castle, half-expecting (and largely hoping) to find someone trudging across the grounds to his rescue.  In fact, he'd even accept getting knocked in the lake if it meant the unexpected arrival of marauding nifflers. 

But, it was still far too early on a Saturday morning - the grounds were still quite deserted.  The unexpected drawback to the solitude of early morning runs.  Looking back, he shook his head slightly, still completely baffled by her apparent interest in him. 

Sasha glanced towards the scribbling self-animated quill and took a small sidestep, trying to see what the quill was writing.  But, his attention shifted back to the reporter as she spoke again and he tugged the robes more tightly around him. 

She knew about the end of year feast?  Sasha's eyes widened and he forced himself to swallow.  Shaking his head, he quickly explained.  "I didn't ... it wasn't exactly.  I'm sorry!"  He offered, quietly, at first.  As he continued to try to explain himself, his words came faster and more desperately.   But, Sasha hadn't just stood up to Headmistress Snark - he'd walked out on her arrival as well.  "I didn't know she was our new Headmistress.  No one did!  Even Professor Knox didn't know!  She'd been so ... so - I had just asked her to show a little respect - Professor Knox had still been our Headmaster at the time." 

Assuming that, if Skeeter had heard about the end of year feast, she'd also heard about the sorting feast, Sasha flew immediately into another explanation.  "And, at the sorting ceremony - it wasn't even my fault!  As prefect, I was supposed to watch the first years!  I didn't know I'd get in trouble for ... for jumping in after the first year!  I couldn't just let her drown, right?"

His stuttering began to grate on her a little bit. Her lips twitched in annoyance. How amusing, that what could once have been described as 'endearing' was now becoming highly irritating.

"I didn't ... it wasn't exactly.  I'm sorry!"

She chuckled a little as the quill vibrated with excitement. "Oh, don't apologise, pumpkin. Between you and me," she moved closer to the student and lowered her voice. "She had it coming." Rita winked at Sasha.

Then something happened that shocked her to the core. He spoke. He didn't say just anything, he spoke a full sentence. And not just one. Rita's eyes widened and she peered at him over her rhinestone spectacles as he came down with a case of word vomit. Apparently once the boy got talking he didn't shut up. She smiled slightly. This was a turn-up for the books. Here she was, thinking it was going to be like drawing blood from a stone - and yet she was clearly going to have problems getting the boy to shut his trap. Even the poor quill whizzed animatedly as it tried to keep up with him.

She nodded sympathetically as he relayed his heroic attempts to save a poor girl from drowning and blah blah blah. Rita waved her hand impatiently.

"Here," she cooed at him, and waved her wand at a large boulder near the tree and forced it to resemble two chairs as much as she could, what with it being a rock. A woman was only as good as her tools - and in this case, her tools weren't that fantastic.

Still, it would do. Comfort was not what was important here. What was important was getting a story that could be published to ruffle a few feathers - a few of Analiza Snark's feathers, to be precise. To the trained eye, it would perhaps be clear that Rita Skeeter envied Analiza Snark - idolised her, even. So any way to annoy the woman to hell was a great feat in the reporter's twinkling eyes.

"Don't you worry about a thing." She patted the top of his arm affectionately, and began to lead him towards the makeshift seats. "You just tell Aunty Rita everything. From the beginning."

Pumpkin?  He avoided stepping away from the reporter as she stepped towards him but he couldn't quite resist leaning away slight.  "She did?" he asked, slightly puzzled.  Then, a more important question dawned on him.  "Why - why do you care?"  Was this about Headmistress Snark?  Or was this about him? 

If Skeeter was using him to go after Headmistress Snark - he could only imagine how that would only further tarnish his standing with the new Headmistress.  She was already, clearly, out to get him but if this go out, it'd only get worse. 

"Look," Sasha said, as the boulder was forced into the shape of two stairs.  Surely, this woman could understand, right?  He glanced down, slightly alarmed, at the hand on his shoulder.  "I can't ... I really can't afford to get in more trouble with her.  I'm ... she - I need her help.  I can't afford to get in hot water with her." Despite his protest, though, he allowed himself to be guided over to the chairs. 

Sasha shrugged as he sat down.  What, exactly, did she mean by beginning?  From the beginning of the end of year feast?  He had to assume so - he couldn't see any reason why this woman would find the life stories of random students newsworthy.   And, as much as she craved public attention, Sasha couldn't imagine Neely would have divulged his secret. 

"We were in the midst of the end of year feast and some random woman can in.  We didn't know - well, I didn't know who she was and she was being rude to Professor Greyfriar.  I just ... I just asked her to be more respectful to Professor Greyfriar and that he was still our Headmaster.  She hexed me and I ... I walked out." Really, in retrospect, it seemed rather anti- climatic.

Once again Sasha began babbling about how he didn't want to get in any more trouble. Rita chuckled. "Nonsense," she cooed at him as he sat himself down on one of the stone chairs. "Headmistress Snark and I," she held her hand up to him and crossed her first two fingers. "We're like this." She winked at the poor boy and perched herself on the edge of the free chair. She didn't think it appropriate to share his...much as though she liked them young, she didn't like them that young. She cocked her head to the side slightly as she surveyed him through her rhinestone glasses. A few more years and a little more meat on his bones, and maybe he'd be worth her while.

Sasha began to explain what happened, and Rita crooked one of her long red fingernails at her quill and parchment, indicating for them to follow to her side. They did as she bade, but her eyes never once left Sasha's face. She nodded sympathetically as he spoke about Snark being rude to Greyfriar. Much as though the beast of a man commanded respect in every way, it didn't surprise Rita one bit that Analiza would have crackd her whip from the off, given half the chance.

Sasha stopped talking. "Now that we've got a clear picture of the incident in question," she purred softly, "My readers like to get the full image of what their silent hero is like as a person." She smiled at him, showing a couple of sparkling gold teeth. "They don't like to be biased, you see?" She sat up a little straighter as though anticipating a very interesting story - if only to coax something out of him. "So, what's your story, sweetpea?"

Wait.  "But..."  Sasha started to protest in confusion.  Hadn't this woman just told him that Analiza Snark had had it coming?  So, clearly, this woman wasn't being entirely honest about something - no surprise, given what Sasha had heard about her over the years.  However, it was now impossible to tell which direction the woman leaned. 

Really, under normal circumstances, who this woman was friends with was hardly any of Sasha's business.  But ... if she was asking him questions ... "So.  Excuse me for my ... um ... intrusion.  But, are you ... are you friends with her or are did you think she had it coming?  You have me a little confused."  And, slightly nervous.  And, still not entirely sure what she wanted with him. 

"My ... my story?"  Sasha couldn't prevent have kept the obvious sound of alarm out of his voice.  What did she mean ... did she - did she know?  Or did she know there was something to know?  It probably would have helped if he'd been able to say so confidently, it would have been more convincing.  But, he hadn't been able to.  Instead, his voice was a little shaky as he shook his head and said, "I ... there's not much to tell.  I don't really have a story.  I'm a Ravenclaw.  I get fairly - I'm a decent student.  I don't - I'm not really sure what you're ... you know ... looking for."

Ha! She had confused him. Success. The best way to get information out of a subject, in Rita's opinion, was to confuse the subject into spilling everything, and allowing one to pick out the important pieces. "Oh, what I mean is, you won't get in trouble with her, as Ms. Snark and I know each other well, and I have a hand in her opinions on people." Total lie, but it would suffice for now - afterall, Schlagenweit wasn't exactly about to run to his headmistress and ask her, was he? He wasn't her favourite student by any stretch of the imagination.

"But," she continued shifting herself slightly on the seat to make herself more comfortable. "I can appreciate when even my closest of friends need to be put back in their place. And Analiza Snark certainly needed putting in her place, talking to Knox Greyfriar like that." She winked at him. Snark needed putting in her place a lot of the time. That much was decipherable from even the shortest of conversations with the woman. An ego as big as that should not be allowed to run a school.

"And as far as 'your story' goes," she carried on after he questioned what she wanted. "I want to know your background. How did such a good boy as yourself, come to have the ability to speak out when wrong was being done, by such a figure of authority? Was it a trait of your father's? Or perhaps your mother has a streak of her personality which means she stands up for what is right?" She paused and waited for his answer, a smile on her lips and wide, expecting eyes.

Sasha still was wary of the woman but it was clear they'd reached the extent of her explanation.  And, really, not getting in more trouble with Snark was what he cared about most.  He seemed to have an easy enough time getting in trouble with the new Headmistress on his own - he really didn't need any help. 

But, apparently, the reporter wasn't satisfied with the brief description of 'his story'.  She wanted to know more about his background?  Again, Sasha was taken with the suspicion that she knew more than she was letting on.  How she would have found out, he couldn't guess.  But - was that why she was here?  Was that why she'd come looking for him.  But ... what she was saying made no sense.

"I ... I wasn't speaking - I'm not," he snorted a slight laugh and shook his head.  Who did she think she was talking to?  "I'm not - I'm no authority figure.  I ... I don't know," he admitted.  "I mean, my mother's more of a follower.  She pretty much follows my stepfather.  But, I don't - I'm not sure about my father.  I don't know who he is."  He shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm not - I'm no authority figure.  I ... I don't know,"

Rita laughed her bubbly, beautiful laugh. Well, it was better described as a cackle. She laughed and shook her head, lifting her finger up to her right eye as though to wipe away a tear, though no tear was visible. "Of course you are not an authority figure, dear boy." She chuckled again as though the idea was absurd. "I meant you were standing up to a figure of authority." She clicked her fingers in front of his face as though trying to catch his attention. "Analiza Snark?"

She shook her head. "Nevermind, a minor detail." She listened as he carried on speaking about his parents. Her eyes widened as he explained he didn't know who his father was. Her hand extended slowly and cautiously, before her right forefinger hesitated against the boy's top - her way of comforting him in the best way she possible could.

"Get that down!" She hissed at the quill before plastering another smile on her face and nodding her head at the boy.

A tear stings Mr. Schlagenweit's eye as he speaks about the father he never knew. He asks for a tissue, and the beautiful, intelligent Ms. Skeeter obliges, pulling out a handkerchief spattered with green...flowers. The student compliments her on her choice of accessories, and it is truly a heart-warming sight to see a figure of such respect in Rita Skeeter making such a young man feel better about his life. Ms. Skeeter is a pillar of society, exacerbated by her eagerness to put her arm around the boy's shoulders and comfort him in a way he clearly has never been comforted before...

"And how does your mother and step-father feel about your education? Are they wizards too? Or if not, are they fully supportive of the life you ahve chosen to lead?"

"Oh..." Sasha said, feeling slightly relieved but also slightly embarrassed.  Slowly, Sasha looked down at his hands, still unsure what this woman was trying to get from him.  She was confusing and made Sasha nervous. 

He jumped, slightly, as the woman hissed towards the quill, startled by her sudden change of demeanor.  Immediately, the quill jumped to life and started scratching across the paper.  Sasha leaned forward to try to peer over the top of the page but wasn't able to see what it was writing.  However, he could tell easily enough that the amount that the quill was scribbling was, greatly, exceeding what he'd said. 

"What is it writing?" he asked, with a little more force than was customary for him.  And, where was what she was writing going to go?  Of course, given who she was, the answer seemed like it should be obvious but Sasha still wasn't sure what of what he was saying would be of interest to this woman. 

And, then, came the question.  Sasha's eyes flew open with surprise and a touch of fear and he stared, blankly at Rita.  What would he say?  What could he say?  Did she know? Or was it just a random question?  Did she ... Rita Skeeter ... know?  He could feel an uncomfortable tinge of panic rising in him.  Quickly, he shook his head and pushed himself to his feet.  "I ... I can't be talking about this," he said, the panic building.  "I'm sorry.  I ... I've got studying to do."  He turned.  Whether she'd let him get away that easily, he didn't know.