Professor Bombay was quickly being elevated to the level of favorite teacher.  For Sasha, at least.  The man's crabby and sour temper played a significant role in the man's recent status increase.  All year, it felt like Sasha's potential refuges had become progressively fewer and further between.  Even as of the end of the previous year, Sasha could find comfort in the back of the library or a back corner table in the common room.  But, now, neither were really options.  The Greenhouses were, quickly, becoming the last stronghold - mostly due to other students' attempts to avoid the Herbology Professor's scorn.

Luckily, Sasha had been Professor Bombay's 'nice list' for quite some time.  So, while many people steered clear of the Greenhouses - especially Greenhouse five - it was there that Sasha found himself whenever he wasn't in class. 

Sasha had returned to classes on Monday after having skipped his full schedule the Friday before.  But, as soon as classes let out, he usually found his way back to the refuge of the Greenhouses before any of his classmates had the opportunity to stop him.  He still had no clue what kind of reaction was trickling through the student body - whether most believed Rita Skeeter's allegations that Sasha had been maliciously lying to wizards everywhere, or if they pitied him.  Or thought him pathetic.  Or, maybe, they just didn't care.  The hot, humid interior of the greenhouses offered Sasha the perfect opportunity to avoid finding out. 

The irony of his current situation should have been amusing.  But, it felt like so much of the tight network of lies had been so thoroughly and hopelessly unwound that it was hard to figure out what he was supposed to do next.  But, here he was, ballpoint pen to looseleaf paper, forcing some positive, optimistic drivel onto his obligatory letter home.  Nothing had really changed on the home front - other than Jacoba - and, yet, it all felt heavier, more burdensome.  He just hoped his stepfather couldn't read into any of the newfound bitterness in the fabricated: things are going great.  I expect to pass my pre-calculus midterm without any problem.

The breadth of cool, dry air announced the opening of the Greenhouse door.  Hidden by his pre-calculus and  History of Magic textbooks and a French-English dictionary, Sasha was counting on the visitor being a random student letting himself in the wrong greenhouse, he plowed deeper into the letter. 

It was the third greenhouse he'd tried, a sort of roulette.  Each door pop could mean a change at crossing the hateful Professor Graham Bombay.  The scowling Herbologist and Figaro did not see eye to eye on the appropriateness of playing tag with clods of dirt and so there was a schism between them.  His door popping was not merely a game of risk, however.  He was looking for his mate Sasha Schlagenweit.

It had been an awkward few days.  As much as the school was buzzing with the Skeeter article, there had been quite a stir among the fifth years when Sasha didn't show up for classes at all on Friday.  Sasha skipping school was some sort of disturbing omen, like rocks singing, grims appearing or chunks of cloud falling on tourists and causing concussions in Trafalgar Square.  Sasha's reappearance on Monday did confirm that he hadn't, in fact, been kicked out of school as Skeeter predicted, but did become nearly impossible to find.  So when Figaro popped in on him (or rather a tell-tale stack of books) it was the first time he'd seen him since Halloween.

Figaro shut the door after him and walked through the tables of plants, ducking some friendly ivy and shucking his coat and scarf.   He sat down in the chair next to Sasha and greeted him with a chipper, "Alright, Sasha."

He was writing a letter.  Something Hogwarts kids did.  But Fig knew better about Sasha's letters now.

"Was good to see you in classes Monday," he said, "everyone figured Snark had told your folks and that you'd have to go back for good.  I dunno, though.  How'd you manage it all this time?"   

Fig's was a genuine curiosity.  He didn't feel fooled or lied to. He didn't feel like Sasha was a pathetic creature, either.  In Figaro's mind, what mattered was what you did.  And Sasha did good in school, was a bit smug about it, and passed the butter over from Ravenclaw when you asked because Hufflepuff's had been stolen by Slytherin.

When the footsteps approached rather than retreated, Sasha chanced a peak over the top of the stack of textbooks.  He was surprise - but relieved - to find a familiar and friendly face approaching.  Even back in their first year, Figaro had always been generally nice towards Sasha, even though it had taken a few years for Sasha to warm up to the Hufflepuff. 

Figaro was carefree, impulsive at times, not the most dedicated student and rarely seemed that disturbed by a stray smudge on his cheek.  These were traits Gerhard would have been quick to criticize - often loudly and in public.  There was no question Sasha's stepfather would have had some choice words about anyone 'of Sasha's caliber choosing to fraternize' with the young man.  Gerhard would have taken recent articles about the Sellaphix' merely as proof that his perceptions were accurate.  Despite his friendliness, it had taken Sasha some time away from home to separate himself enough from that inner voice to give the other young man a fair chance.  Even still, sometimes, those thoughts still crept up on him though he now tried harder not to give them much creedence. 

But, given all the possibilities (ranging from Neely to Callum to Erin to Madam Snark), it was definitely good to look up and see Figaro.  Sasha nodded in greeting to the young Hufflepuff.

Habitually, as the young man sat in the seat next to him, Sasha moved to tuck the letter between the pages of a textbook before he caught himself.  There was no need for that, now.  Especially since the letters were normally written in German as an additional safety measure. 

"Not yet," he offered with a half-grin, glancing down at the letter.  "I don't know if she's going to tell them," he admitted.  Madam Snark and Gerhard - that wasn't a match up he relished seeing.  "I'm hoping this means she won't."

"Professor Greyfriar helped a lot," Sasha admitted with a sigh, shrugging his shoulders.  "Especially, you know, initially, when they used the memory charm on my parents and - you know - did all the report cards on letter head and stuff.  Then it just kind of sustained itself.  Now, it's just a lot of work - you know?  Since they think I go to a muggle school and ... well, take those classes."  He nodded towards the stack of books. 

"But - I never meant to lie to everyone else," he added quietly for good measure.  Did he need to apologize?  If he did, was it really Figaro he needed to apologize to?  "It just seemed easier that way, you know?  Home was home and here was here." 

Figaro shrugged right along with Sasha. He didn't really get all the fuss.  Wasn't the whole Wizarding World lying all the time as well?  Keeping their whole world a secret from muggles for hundreds of years? Having an entire ministry dedicated to lying to muggles and wiping their memories? Why all this uproar over one family? All the talk going on recently about Sasha seemed to reveal that most muggleborn situations didn't work like his, though.  Hogwarts was usually able to get the parents on board right off, and they more or less were in on the secret.  Figaro didn't really get why Sasha had to be different on that account, but it didn't seem like as big a deal as Skeeter and everyone were making it.

"Your folks must be mad," he said.  "They should be proud of you being a wizard.  You do really good at school as well; not as if you're bringing down the family reputation or anything.  'Spose things'll be better once we're seventeen and can tell our dads what tossers they are and get on with it.  I heard Devlin Matthews was moving out this summer.  And I think Nicola Hames did as well."

It was a fairly common conversation among the older kids as they came of age.  Most of them were itching to fly the coop, even if it was just talk.  And in the end, some of them did.  But it wasn't the ones you expected.  All the charismatic, suave and smart ones tended to stay home.  It was the ones with rotten home lives and who stuck out as strange at school who were on their own that early.  Figaro had been imagining it as well.  Now that his dad had been under arrest for two weeks and how the shop was closed, and how he kept getting letters from his mum telling him not to worry about anything.  He felt like one of those kids with crap homelives who had to move out.  He didn't feel ready for that.  But then, he hadn't been ready to read that his dad had been arrested, or to hear people say he'd end up in Azkaban for it.

"You mean to tell your parents about Hogwarts on your own? Before they find out from someone else? Or are you going to keep up on the, um, pre-craculous?"

Figaro grinned and squinted at Sasha's strange muggle school book, but sat back in his chair.  He hadn't been looking at Sasha, but just sitting next to him, talking out into the green house and the stack of books. 

"It's not that simple."  It wasn't as simple as his parents being crazy or, as Figaro put it, 'mad.'  Perhaps, this was the part of the picture that was harder for non-muggleborns to understand.  To understand what it was like to suddenly discover your child wasn't the person you expected (and perhaps hoped) they'd be.  While halfbloods had at least one muggle parent, to some degree they were already initiated into the club.  And, presumably, they'd already come to accept some aspect of the wizarding world in their spouse long before that letter arrived at the house. 

"I mean, most muggles believe in magic in some form, even if they don't really know about all this."  One just had to take a stroll down the fantasy aisles at a muggle bookstore or browse through video games to realize that.  "And ... some just still think that it's wrong for a mortal to believe and claim to practice magic.  'Do not allow a sorceress to live...Let no one be found among you who sacrifices his son or daughter in the fire, who practices divination or sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or who is a medium or spiritist or who consults the dead'."  Yes, witches and sorcerers were right there alongside those that sacrificed children. 

Sasha looked towards Figaro seated next to him.  He hesitated a moment, not sure if it was his place to ask about Figaro's father.  But, the young man had come looking for him, right?  "Is Devlin not-"  He caught himself before committing fully to the question.  So, Devlin wasn't planning on staying with Professor Greyfriar over the summer?  "Is that what you're going to do?" He asked, redirecting the topic.  "I mean, you still have your mother, right?  Or is she -"  Just as bad as his father? 

"Pre-calculus," Sasha corrected.  Figaro glanced at the precalc text - another thing that, until Friday, Sasha was usually careful to keep hidden unless he was alone.  Now, there seemed to be little point in doing so.  Interpreting (perhaps, incorrectly) the glance as curiosity, Sasha tugged the text free from the stack and handed it to Figaro. 

He actually hadn't considered Figaro's question but, now that he broached it, it seemed a viable one.  Now that the whole wizarding world knew, would someone go to his parents?  Either because they thought it was in his best interest or out of spite?  But, the idea of telling them - of what might happen then was terrifying.  It could, very easily, be ten times worse than Rita's article.  "I don't think I can," he admitted, quietly.  His mind ran quickly through the 'what ifs' and the possible ramifications until he shook his head.  "I'd be lucky if I was just kicked out."

Sasha started talking about a topic they hadn't really covered in Muggle Studies to any great detail.  It had been touched on in History of Magic certainly.  But the  modern perception of magic that muggles held, with religious texts and leaders calling them hateful demons and the rest: it made the Muggle world sound like a frightening place to live in.  Made Sasha's family life seem like a frightening place to live too.  Sasha was right - him coming out magical to his folks was far from easy, far from simple.

Then, when Sasha mentioned his mum and made an implication about his dad, Figaro felt his hackles bristle.  And the crap he'd been getting since the ides of October caused him to snap.

"There's nothing wrong with my parents!" he bit back smartly.  It's what he kept hearing the more he learned about what his dad was charged with.  The runespoor venom was so dangerous and only used in evil potions.  It was so dangerous that you couldn't even use magic near it or it would explode.  His dad had always talked about safety - always always harping on safety.

"I don't care what they say he did.  He wasn't bad to us, ever."

His mum said he wouldn't be able to visit until Christmas holiday, but his dad had sent him an owl. It had come from a white Ministry owl and sent the whole Great Hall to staring.  In it, his dad had told him to keep up with his school work and to stay out of his mum's hair. 

He sighed and muttered an apology.  He hadn't meant to bite Sasha's head off. 

"Can't leave home until I'm seventeen anyway - just hope it'll all be over by then.  Heh, if you get kicked out, we could get a flat.  Be roomates."

Figaro smiled at the idea.  Although he knew if Sasha ever saw his rats' nest of a bunk down in Hufflepuff, Sasha'd never agree to it.

The sudden shift in Figaro's demeanor took Sasha completely by surprise.  In the face of the young man's sudden welling of anger, color flooded Sasha's face and he quickly retracted the ignored textbook.  He shook his head, trying to relay that that hadn't been his intention but he wasn't even sure if his mumbled apology registered with the other fifth year. 

"I ... I didn't mean to imply,... I thought you'd ... nevermind."  Sasha tried to explain, clearly still baffled.  But, hadn't it been Figaro who, a moment ago, had said he was going to leave home and called his father a tosser?  Had Sasha wrongly assumed Figaro had included his own father in that mix? 

But, almost as quickly, the young man's ire seemed to pass.  Sasha cast Figaro a quick glance before offering a slight grin. 

"Muggles don't come of age until they're eighteen.  Though, I don't suppose that matters as much."   If they found out, they found out.  Whatever would come of that would come - whether he was of age in the wizarding or muggle or both worlds was, in reality, irrelevant.  "Why wouldn't you want to stay with your mother, then?"  He asked.  That, perhaps, had been his original question.  If everything had been going well, aside from the current hiccup, Sasha wasn't seeing what was compelling Figaro to leave home. 

Being roommates with Figaro.  Sasha knew better than to voice the thoughts and images that concept brought to mind.  Sure, Figaro was nice but ... somehow ... the image of them trying to share a living space (he hated to think what that living space would be) seemed to exemplify all the challenges of, suddenly, finding himself on his own.  "I'd probably find a way to move in with my sister," Sasha pointed out - hoping that would be a polite way of saying he might find other plans.  Despite the fact that Jacoba really didn't have any place right now.  "I actually told her a couple weeks ago." 

"My sister's hoping my grandparents will pass away before I get kicked out.  My inheritance would make things much easier."  He didn't talk about home much and, not being pureblood he wasn't immediately pegged as one of the wealthier kids - whether most students were aware of the significance of such an inheritance, Sasha didn't know. 

Figaro didn't have a good answer for Sasha.  Maybe there wasn't a good reason to leave home, leave his mum and brother.  He mostly just wanted the whole mess to be over with.  Maybe not wanting to go home had to do with ignoring how screwed up things were going to be at home.  No one was going to come to the shop anymore, so money would be tight.  His mum would have to work, and Frank would have to spend more time with a sitter or the neighbors.  And here Fig was, at Hogwarts, taking the classes and trying for the marks he'd need to be an apothecary and take over for his dad.  Who'd taken over for his dad, who'd inhereted the shop from his grandmum and so forth.

So with no good answer, Fig just shrugged.  "Would just be wierd, I guess.  Different."

Fig listened on as Sasha talked about his own options.  Man, it must have been tough having to know two sets of rules for everything.  Potions here, Pro-craculus there. Seventeen and Apparition here, eighteen and what? voting? driving cars? Whatever.

And then, sort of all of a sudden, Sasha said a few things that just baffled Fig.  He turned in his seat to face him fully and asked,

"Wait, what now? You told your muggle sister? And she says to keep everything under wraps to secure and inheretance? Well, shite man.  You've got to go covert undercover ops here!"

He looked as Sasha incredulously.  "Had no idea your family had gold. Well, paper. Pounds. Or whatever."

Apparently, Figaro thought it was a common middle class thing to own a bunch of horses and play polo and have... ascots.

Figaro might not have a good answer, but Sasha didn't, exactly, buy the one he offered.  It was normal for kids to move out when they got old enough but it seemed to him that Figaro had broached the topic with a certain urgency.  One which didn't fit with an 'it'd be different' explanation.  Sasha, again, looked sideways at the young man sitting next to him but regarded him a few extra minutes. 

There comes a point in everyone's life when they realize their family isn't perfect - that it's a miracle it functions as well as it does.  Jacoba had pointed that out, years ago, during one of her more cynical conversations.  Sasha had learned that pretty early on - when he was eight.  Was Figaro just now learning that for the first time?  And, in the form of an incarcerated father?  Was Sasha the best source of words of wisdom? 

Probably not.  But, here he was. 

"You can't run from it," Sasha said, quietly.  "It's always there.  All family's have their skeletons.  Some are just better at hiding them."  His stepfather worked very hard to do just that.  And, he now only acknowledged two children to achieve that goal.  One of their skeletons had been excised when Jacoba had been sent away to school.  "Either you leave the family or you learn to accept them."

Sasha nodded, confirming the Hufflepuff's words.  "Ja, my older sister Jacoba.  I ... sent an owl last month.  She's back in London.  She and our parents don't talk anymore so they aren't going to learn anything from her."  In fact, Jacoba could probably walk up to Gerhard, declare 'Sasha's a wizard' and simply be accused of trying to defame the family further. 

Covert undercover ops?  Sasha chuckled slightly and shook his head.  "I guess my sister does.  I'm sure she knows its her only hope of getting anything." 

"Euros," Sasha provided Figaro as he stumbled over various currencies.  "And - I suppose, pounds here.  My grandparents - my mother's parents - are descended from Counts back when nobility mattered in Germany.  They still own about thirty-five thousand acres in the Alps and it's passed down to males in the family.  There are no boys in my mother's generation so ..." he shrugged.  "I inherit it when my grandfather dies.  And, he's almost 90." 

Figaro was still half gaping at Sasha.  This kid had been around Hogwarts for the last five years and had managed to keep a royal family inheritance a secret.  Fig was impressed.  And appalled. If Sasha slipped up in anything - grades, discipline, anything - he wasn't just neck deep in quicksand, he was out a hefty inheritance.

"Pressure's got to be killing," Figaro said, shoving away from the table.  He walked around to the other side of the table to poke in the dirt in a seemingly empty pot.  This did make Sasha make more sense.  He was so uptight for a teenage boy.  But with that kind of pressure, who wouldn't be.

"I would've blown it day one. I can't keep my mouth shut no matter what I do.  Sh-" Figaro tugged his hand away.  A little yellow-green tendril had snuck out from under the dirt to poke back.  It slithered back out of sight.

Figaro looked over at Sasha again.  "I have an inheritance, sort of.  My parents' apothecary's been in the family for generations.  Even before it was located in Knockturn.  That's why I have to keep on with Runes - important for apothecaries. Sometimes I'm not even sure that's what I want to do.  I guess I just can't think of anything better."  He shrugged. 

Unlike Slytherin or Ravenclaws, who both tended to have either the motive of the means to have their own careers, Figaro in Hufflepuff was focused on the day in front of him.  It was so hard to think of what might happen when he was 18.  And now with his father, the vehicle for his ambition, in prison it was all frozen solid.

Perhaps there were some who enjoyed intense attention but Sasha had never been one of them.  He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the Hufflepuff's gaping disbelief, his fingers flipping awkwardly through the pages of the book in front of him.  In a world where royalty and purebloodedness came hand in hand, it had never occurred to Sasha to publicize his muggle history. 

It was a relief, then, when Figaro finally pushed himself to his feet and circled around the table.  "I wouldn't-" Sasha stared as the other boy prodded at the dirt in a pot.  As expected, however, the pot was perfectly capable of looking out for itself. 

With a shrug of his shoulders, Sasha slid the pot around, unnecessarily brushing the top layer of soil smooth, again, where it had been prodded.  There was, in fact, hardly a mark but it was an opportunity to give his hands something to do.  "I guess," Sasha responded, non-committally.  "I mean, you get used to it.  The pressure.  My stepfather's pretty demanding, so I grew up with it.  I guess I kind of annoyed my first few years - that I had to study twice as much as everyone else-" he nodded towards the stack of books.  "But, now I'm kind of glad I kept up with the muggle stuff, you know?  Though, I don't know about next year." 

Next year.  When NEWTs started and, like all of the fifth - well, then sixth year students, Sasha would have to decide what to focus on.  He'd have to drop some classes and he knew, full well, that that decision would open some doors while closing others.  He knew he certainly couldn't continue at the rate he was going once the work load increased in the NEWT classes. 

"No you wouldn't have," Sasha offered, quietly.  Of course, it wasn't that simple.  "If you'd grown up in my house, you'd know by now how to keep your mouth shut at the right times."  Even his older sister knew - though she frequently just refused to listen to reason.

"Apothe- you're going to work in Knockturn?  Is it ... safe?"  Yes, the Prophet article had mentioned the location of the Sellaphix Apothecary.  And, yes, Sasha was aware that meant Figaro's father worked there.  But - his mind hadn't really made the connection between them those two facts and where Figaro would be working. 

"There's lots of options - if there's stuff you like doing," Sasha said, not sure if he would have been as quick to point out alternatives prior to learning of the other fifth year's questionable future work place.  "I mean, I don't really know, either.  Professor Bombay wants me to go into something in Herbology.  My ..."  What was Dreogan?  "Professor Frasier's been giving me extra stuff for Muggle Studies.  Since, ... well, you know, I've got a solid start.  My parents think I'm applying to the Spanish riding school in Austria - it's a muggle thing, I guess.  I don't know.  Guess we have to decide by our Head of House meetings, don't we?" 

Figaro rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated noice.  "Those meetings are laaame.  You go in and they're all 'aptitude this' and 'O.W.L.s that' and brochures and papers and apprenticeships and pardon me whilst I vomit.  How's a fifteen-year-old sposed to know what he wants to do for the rest of his life?" 

After that, he meandered around the greenhouse a bit more. However, he'd seemed to learn his lesson about poking about in Bombay's pots, at least temporarily.

"Knockturn's well, it's not exactly safe, but our shop's more near Gringotts, so we're practically in Diagon," he explained.  "It's not a Dark Arts kind of apothecary or anything.  Just regular stuff.  Honestly, though, my folks say that the location makes most of their business delivery.  But people do come down in to visit - regular people.  Never been allowed to go into Knockturn, although I snuck down a few times with Xav Tawse."

Figaro knew that Sasha didn't really approve of his friendship with Xavier, and that Xavier didn't approve of his friendship with Sasha.  But it didn't seem to fluff Figaro much. 

"What're you going to go for, anyway? I mean, career-wise.  You're not actually going to riding school, are you?" Figaro asked.  It was nearly unheard of for students, even muggle-borns, to leave Hogwarts early for muggle school.  If at all, some students waited until after Hogwarts to attend muggle university.  Leaving to go ride horses at a stuffy school in bloody Austria would be frothy daft.

"You'd be bored anyway," Figaro said by way of trying to convince him.  "No magic? No castle? No me!"

He grinned.  "Who'd get you into trouble? Who'd do my homework?"

Sasha arched an eyebrow in the Hufflepuff's direction but, after a moment, an amused grin settled on his face.  "It's not lame," he countered, though not with enough determination to be taken entirely seriously.  "I don't think being sick will help you decide what classes to take."  Though, Figaro did actually make a good point.  "You're right, though.  How are we supposed to know?  What if I decide to drop Divination and then decide I want to do something with it?"

Not that that was very likely  Divination and Sasha did not get along.  Learning Dreogan was an advocate of the subject had helped Sasha's determination with the subject but that had yet to produce results.  Sasha still wasn't seeing much in his star charts. 

"So, you've been down Knockturn?" Sasha asked, a mixture of curiosity and surprise in his voice.  He would, of course, never purposefully head down that dark alley.  The stench from the alley's gutter, alone, was enough to deter him.  Especially since he didn't think it'd be wise to venture down that way in his grunge-worthy mucking boots.  But, there was no doubt that place held a certain dangerous intrigue.  Very much like the cobra at the London Zoo.  "What's it like?  What's the strangest thing you've seen down there?" 

Sasha opted against remarking to Figaro's choice of company during these adventures.  They were both well aware of Sasha's perception of Tawse and Figaro could probably guess that Sasha would figure it was only because of Tawse Figaro had ventured into that questionable place. 

"I don't want to get in trouble," Sasha answered, reflexively, after listening to Figaro's reasoning for not following the riding school path.  "When do I do your homework?"  He shook his head and shrugged.  "I like riding, though.  And, I'm good at it.  I mean, I don't like spending all my holidays at shows but it helps teach discipline."  At least, that was one of his father's reasoning. 

"I'm not sure - but I think I want to go into muggle and mage comparative studies.  If I end up in Vienna, I could ride and take science classes at the University."  As far as Sasha could reason, that plan seemed to have the potential to impress both his parents and Dreogan.  It could only be a win - win plan.  "I don't know if I could do the comparative stuff, there, but I'm sure they have something.  Right?"

When Sasha talked about school and Vienna and comparative studies and horse shows and discipline, Figaro couldn't help but feel like he was talking to an old man under a Guise of Youth.  Did he really say discipline was a perk of riding school? A perk?! 
"You are such a dork, Sasha," was all he could say to that. He nodded to assure Sasha's that just what he called him.  He grinned. "Yeah. Dork."

But admittedly, Figaro wasn't some big shot either.  He got in trouble for stupid things, wasn't that much into sport, and didn't have a girl friend.  He was about as dorky as Sasha.  The only cool points he had over his best mate was that Figaro had been down Knockturn maybe two times ever.

"It was mostly just cramped and smelled bad.  You've seen how narrow it is.  There are always people half in half out of doorways.  The signs are all smugdged over and the windows are darked out - so you can't actually see anything cool.  Plus, we ran like hell, so I couldn't like window shop or gawk about anyway."  He sighed and settled near the sunny side of the green house near the windows.

"Not really that exciting.  We sort of ran down and ran back.  Poked our head into the Black Chimarea one time, but I chickened out and ran back up.  My dad said he'd take my ears and sell them for soup if I ever went near Xavier's uncle."

Figaro scratched at his ears without noticing it, a little more subdued to be talking about his dad again. 

Blue eyes darted towards Figaro and Sasha eyed him a moment before a bright grin settled across his face.  "I suppose I am, kind of.  I guess I've been called worse."  There was definitely worse than dork.  And, really, when one voluntarily played polo it was bound to happen. 

Sasha nodded but just barely.  Knockturn aside, "I haven't really spent much time in Diagon, you know?" he pointed out with a shrug.  They couldn't go during the school year - getting away to visit when he was home was tricky.  Most years, his pre-school shopping consisted of a mad dash through the wizarding street to get his supplies.  He'd simply gotten in the habit of telling his parents his train for Zurich left at 9:00.  That gave him two hours to get to the alley, buy his supplies and get back to the train station before the Hogwarts Express left at eleven. 

"But, that's what I gathered.  It seems so ... dank.  And smelled."  His nose wrinkled as he remembered the smell.   It had really been enough to deter him from ever venturing down that direction. 

He glanced up, curiously, shaking his head slightly.  "What's the Black Chimaera?"  He asked, shrugging his shoulders.  Obviously it was something not pleasant if Figaro's father was so adamantly against it. "You know Tawse's uncle?"  Or knew of him.  Or whatever?  It was very likely these bits of information were those obvious-to-everyone-but-muggleborns details.  He couldn't remember hearing of them, though.