Outfit

The interviewing room was clinical. Cold. Decorated in a way that should've been considered neutral, but ultimately resulting in the word 'uninviting'. Large, and silent, a dark table was fixed to the floor alongside two chairs facing each other. A blue China teapot had been arranged alongside two cups and saucers; a formality that Daphne liked to include in every interview. It gave that false lull of security, as if this was something mildly pleasant, when in reality, she would analyse every single movement and interaction that occurred.

She'd received orders from Tamis Raynor - her new superior - and everything would go according to plan. Watching him from an enchanted one-way mirrored wall, she narrowed her eyes. A school pupil, a child essentially, involved in so much commotion. So much death. There was something darker at the heart of this tale: a secret. Daphne's biggest weakness in life. No stone would remain unturned. Turning to the Ministry enforcement staff seated behind her, she gave them a nod.
"Proceed with the dialogue recordings," Daphne ordered, picking up her handbag and glancing once more at the miserably looking Ravenclaw. "I'm going to start the interrogation."

The bang of the sole interview room door echoed into the room, brutally disrupting the intolerably silence. Glancing at the young Mr Schlagenweit, Daphne boldly strode over to her chair, smoothing out her black dress before taking a seat. Placing her bag at her heeled feet, and brushing a loose wisp of blonde hair out of her eyes, Daphne finally took his presence into acknowledgement; as if for those moments when she entered, he had not even existed.
"Good afternoon, Sasha Schlagenweit," she spoke, in that harsh non-descriptive English accent that belonged to everywhere and nowhere at the same time. "My name is Daphne Depardieu, and I am the Auror allocated to your case. I shall be investigating your current situation until its closure, and I shall be in regular contact with your legal guardian and chosen chaperones." Everything was so disconnected and matter-of-fact. Yes, the woman was striking, but there was a certain loftiness that created detachment. She was just like everybody else, but at the same time, you could almost sense that feeling of ungrateful privilege.

"A cup of tea, Sasha?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, her mouth unmoving. Pouring herself a cup, she refrained from sugar: the icy Auror was apparently 'sweet enough'. Taking a delicate sip before placing the cup back on its saucer, a slight sigh escaped her scarlet lips. It was a habit of Daphne's: she was finalising thoughts.
"Now, I understand that you and your family were attacked on the Christmas Eve of 2008, and I apologise profusely for this tragedy." She caught his eye, and there was a genuine glint of concern brewing in her own: he had experienced far too much. "On the 31st of January, 2009, you were found alongside the dead body of Ava Grosvenor, a fellow student. To confirm, where both of these acts involving self-defence? And if so, what would you classify as self-defence?"

“With memory set smarting like a reopened wound, a man's past is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the present: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavours and the tinglings of a merited shame.”
- George Eliot

There were no windows in the room.  Nothing to provide a distraction from the monotonous, bare expanse of the room.  There was nothing but flat white walls, eight slightly shaded corners, a square table and two square, nondescript chairs.  Sasha remembered, once upon a time, Jacoba making some comment about despising places and structures that had nothing but right angles.  There'd been some symbolism behind them but, right now, Sasha couldn't remember. 

The young Ravenclaw sat perfectly still in the chair the stranger had directed him to.  His back was perfectly straight; his shoes were spaced evenly apart and flat on the floor with his knees at right angles to match the square room.  Both arms rested on the table top, his palms flat on the surface and his gaze fell on a spot some two inches in front of his fingers.  His posture and his expression were as rigid and flat as the room in which he sat.  The apparent apathy and detachment in the boy's demeanor were well-schooled; his years growing up in his stepfather's shadow had prepared him well.  The familiarity and the sense of emotional control were the only sources of comfort in the otherwise sterile and vacant room.

And the impassive poise was an extremely fragile facade.  To the close observer, the short, deep breaths and the beads of sweat on the boy's palms betrayed the emotional turmoil that lay underneath the outer calm. 

The boy flinched as the door banged open.  There was no need to look up; the woman- the Auror immediately crossed the room to the chair opposite him and lowered herself into it.  Sasha took in the woman's dress and mannerisms through the periphery of his vision though his eyes never moved from the spot just in front of his fingers.  "Ma'am," he offered, with a slight dip of his head. 

His current situation?  It's closure?  Who were his chosen chaperones?  There was Dreogan.  There wasn't anyone else.  But, all those comments had an air of formality to them.  They were said to be said.  To make sure both parties were aware of the terms of engagement.  "No thank you," he replied, flatly, with the slightest shake of his head.  "I don't really like tea."  The Healer had been making him drink far too much of it, lately. Besides, he didn't quite trust his hands to hold the cup securely. 

In cold, blunt words, she explained why they were there.  Not that it was a surprise.  But, to hear it laid out like that.  She could have been a Professor explaining why she'd had to give him a "T" on an essay.  Or a doctor explaining there was no way to cure his current ills.  His eyes scrunched shut as the facade faltered some while he quickly shook his head.  "I ... yes.  They were-"  attacked.  Sasha swallowed past the lump in his throat but his voice continued to falter.  "But I ... I never hurt- I didn't kill Ava.  She was- she was-  It was over by the time I got there." 

"Not a problem," she replied to his rejection of tea; although the phrase was polite, reassuring even, there was nothing in her voice that would connote such a notion. She was frosty to say the least, and even another sip of her tea wouldn't give the Auror any warmth. "It's also worth noting that an anti-magic field has been applied to all of our interviewing rooms: wands and such won't work here, Schlagenweit." Daphne knew it was a compulsory formality to notify the interviewee of the interrogation environment; an Auror rule straight from the handbook. Despite this, Daphne also kept her wand in a nearby handbag; it was her security blanket. Yes, it was useless in this situation, but having it to hand was immediately comforting.

Listening to him stammer, almost immediately break down, she subtly glanced at the enchanted wall; she'd been advised that the boy was at least emotionally stable. Her first few days had been filled with pranks and red herrings to throw Daphne off the trail, distractions laid by her 'colleagues'. She was the new girl, with a handbag full of confidence and protocol. And nobody liked the know-it-all.

"Please, Sasha, take your time," Daphne almost suggested, dipping her head to meet his gaze. She knew that whatever the situation, Sasha couldn't have been the main perpetrator. Was this shadow of a school pupil really capable of dealing death? She just couldn't see it. "I just need to know how you defended yourself against the attack on your family, and during the Forbidden Forest incident. It's really important that we establish this, for both of our sakes." The Auror gave the Ravenclaw another honest glance, one of concern. She wasn't the warmest woman in the world, but Daphne was always deeply attached to her work. Nobody really knew how Sasha had killed the Death Eater at his home, or how Ava had ended up dead. Daphne was determined to get to the bottom of this.

"It may feel hideous now," she explained, a hand delicately holding the cup and saucer of piping hot tea. "But it's better that we cover the details whilst its still fresh in your memory, before we have any time to forget or gloss over facts. Nobody's saying you're to blame, Sasha: remembering that is an imperative." Daphne leaned back in her chair, gazing at the sullen figure opposite her. He reminded her of a case she had in her training days; five Beauxbatons pupils had stupidly ran off into the nearby forests in a teenage flurry of alcohol and mischief, only for two of them to be killed by partisan purists hiding out nearby. The attacks on the wizarding world were becoming more frequent, and affecting the younger generations. Hogwarts had been undoubtedly shaken by the Grosvenor murder, and Daphne needed to extract the facts from its crumbling foundations.

More formalities.  Sasha shrugged his shoulders apathetically as he shook his head.  It mattered little that there was an anti-magic field on the room and he assumed they both knew that.  Tulojow insisted the initial investigation hadn't turned up anything incriminating against him - that they had found nothing that marked Sasha as guilty.  But, even if they were becoming convinced Sasha hadn't cast the curse that had killed Ava, it still had been Sasha's wand.  He didn't know if he'd ever get that wand back or even if he wanted it back.  It had been his first wand but it had never actually chosen him.  "I don't have my wand," he responded.  Again, it seemed to be just a formality. 

Take his time?  Did she really think he wanted to linger in this room for longer than he had to?  Under what pretense could this woman really think he wanted to be here?  Talking to her - or talking to anyone about all of this?  How would taking his time make any of this better?  He withdrew his hands from the table and stuck them in the pockets of his blazer, tugging the coat tighter around him.  The Auror tried to meet his eyes again but, this time, Sasha evaded the glance and looked towards the far wall instead. 

He doubted he'd ever forget all that had happened.  The memories of both those nights had been seared into his mind.  With time, they might lessen.  At least, that's what everyone was telling him and what he hoped.  He continued to stay quiet for several minutes even after the woman had stopped speaking.  He didn't trust his voice nor his ability to maintain what minimal sense of emotional control he had.  But, this wasn't like a dinner party; extended silence didn't make her go away.

"I don't know," he said vaguely at first.  "Baldur - he's my dog - he was in my room.  I didn't have my wand - my parents..they'd destroyed it.  With all my other wizard stuff so I didn't ... I didn't ..."  He didn't have any way of defending his family.  He'd been useless and helpless.  And, that look on his sister's face as she'd yelled at him...  Sasha freed a hand from his pocket and quickly brushed it across his cheeks.  "I'd shut myself in my room.  Everyone else was already dead.  He got through my bedroom door and he, well, had his wand raised.  Baldur jumped on him and bit his arm and he dropped the wand.  I grabbed it.  I ... I just cast the first thing that came to mind.  I was just trying to make him stop - I didn't know ... I didn't know what that spell would do."  The tears were coming faster than he could wipe them away, now. 

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.  "But, I didn't ... I didn't defend myself in the Forest.  I didn't have a wand there, either.  Ava had taken my wand and she'd cursed me with the cruciatus curse.  Twice.  So she had a head start when she left the school.  I tried to call for help but no one was around the hear me.  By the time I'd caught up, someone had cursed her.  I tried to bring her back to school for help but I didn't have a wand.  And, when I tried to lift her, it just made her bleed faster." 

Daphne listened intently, tilting her head to one side, taking in every word Sasha said. It was harrowing. Daphne didn't want to be the catalyst of tears, but this needed to be said, and it needed to be asked, and most importantly - it needed to be answered. Glancing at the enchanted wall again to alert her colleagues, Daphne wasn't sure if she should cut the interview short, continuing on a later date. The boy was still in pieces - and rightly so. She never realised that her first case in Britain would be so dark. Tamis Raynor obviously threw her Aurors head-first into the midst of the fray; it was exactly what Daphne had wanted.

"Can you remember what spell you used, Sasha?" she asked, refusing to break her gaze upon him. He needed to know that Daphne was on his side, that she wasn't going to arrest him and put him away for a lifetime in Azkaban. Something was amiss in this whole story. "Can you remember how your family's attacker reacted to your spell?" Daphne crossed one leg over the other, hoping that he hadn't been so heated to have used an Unforgivable Curse. The powers that be wouldn't take too kindly to that age old crime rearing its ugly head. But what else could one do? To avoid the dealer of death, you had to deal that very commodity.

"Tell me more about, Ava," she replied, leaning back in her chair again, two brown eyes on Sasha as if they were searching his face for clues. "Tell me about your relationship with her." Unfortunately, Daphne didn't have the background knowledge that some of her native British colleagues possessed; Schlagenweit and Grosvenor were names that she had never encountered. Daphne was unaware of the names splashed on the pages of the Daily Prophet. The British press always had left a bad taste on Depardieu's tongue.

The normally astute and observant Ravenclaw was in no position to be attentive to details so he continued to remain oblivious to the covert glances the woman cast at the wall.  He was starting to regret the decision to pass on the tea, however.  As much as he disliked the stuff, he was starting to regret not having anything to occupy his hands with. 

Sasha nodded almost imperceptibly; he remembered quite vividly the spell he used.  If he had even the faintest hope that that literal answer would suffice he would have left it at that.  But, it was unlikely luck would choose now to fall in his favor; a request for an elaboration would be inevitable.  "I don't remember what it was called," he admitted with a shake of his head.  He wasn't even sure he had ever been told it.  "I just- I just remember the incantation.  Karath kol" 

"How he reacted?"  Sasha looked up across the table at the auror, the confusion evident on his face.  "I- he- He didn't react much.  He didn't seem to react at all.  I don't know if ..."  Had there not been time?  Had he died immediately?  "It just- he collapsed.  And there was blood-" he lifted both hands and stared down at his fingers as they splayed out, pantomiming the image in his head of the blood spreading across the floor.  "I ... I panicked.  I shoved the door closed so I wouldn't have to look at it. Him.  I don't know ..." when he'd actually died. 

Explaining Ava was so much more difficult than explaining the Intruder's death.  It was all just so very confusing.  "I don't know.  It's complicated," he offered vaguely, looking up at the ceiling.  "I don't- what do you want to know?" 

"Sasha, please, just calm down," she replied soothingly, her eyes sympathetic to the poor boy's plight. Daphne's cold heart almost melted for the Ravenclaw; how on earth had he ended up in this position? "We have all the time in the world, and if at any point you need a break then let me know. It can be arranged immediately." The Auror had very little experience in dealing with youth-orientated crimes, and one could tell by her very tone. Of course, her words were genuinely those of concern, but there was something unwavering about Daphne's voice that lacked an element of comfort. There was nothing relaxing about Depardieu - her straight-backed posture and narrowed eyes emitted a strong sense of regimentation and protocol. Counsellor she was not.

"Karath kol..." she murmured, repeating his statement as Daphne took down details via quill. It was a spell that had some vague familiarity, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't an Unforgivable, and for that, young Mr Schlagenweit could rest easy. The last thing she wanted to do in this whole sorry story was to arrest him and appeal for a life sentence in Azkaban. "I'll have to confer with my colleagues, but I'd say that you can relax on the self-defence front - nobody is going to penalise you for that, Sasha." She looked back up for the note-taking, giving her interviewee a few nods of confirmation.

"Were you friends, Sasha?" she asked, remembering the photograph of Ava Grosevenor she'd been handed a few hours earlier. A pretty girl; a normal girl. Daphne would never have believed that she was involved in such a scenario, but then again, appearances were always decieving. "What do you think other people thought of Ava at school?"

"I -"  Sasha tilted his head back and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs completely before exhaling slowly.  He hated this.  Hated the emotional vulnerability and lack of control.  His stepfather had reminded him time and time again: showing emotions demonstrates a lack of control and discipline.  Showing it to others, especially strangers, exposes your vulnerability and weakness.  He closed his eyes against the image of the stoic woman across from him and pinched the inside of his cheek between his teeth until the surge of grief and uncertainty was tempered. 

"No," he said, shaking his head, his voice only faltering slightly.  Taking a break would only draw this out.  The thought of this taking 'all the time in the world' wasn't a welcome one.  "I'm fine.  I just ... I'm sorry." 

"Ava and I?"  Obviously, that was who she was talking about.  The verbal verification, though, helped his mind to focus.  "Sort of.  I mean, just this year.  And, sort of."  If he was attempting at all to sound sure of himself, this was not the way to do it.  He rubbed his forehead slightly before shaking his head and trying to clarify.  "Up until last year, I'm not sure she even knew I existed.  You know.  I -"  He hesitated a moment, a pinch of color filling in the spaces on his already splotchy cheeks.  "I was the muggleborn that, you know, showed up on the train platform in a muggle school uniform.  And, she was a popular pureblood Slytherin." 

The color deepened on his cheeks and he dropped his gaze to the surface of the desk in front of him.  The fingers of his right hand lightly drummed out a random beat pattern.  "During the house cup game last year - we were both chasers - she, you know, kissed me," he tossed in in a whisper.  "-Blatant cheating was all it was.  This year, sometimes she was nice and we were close.  Sometimes, she was ... cruel, even.  But, I-"  A slightly strangled whimper cut him off.  He'd kissed her.  And, then they were apparently siblings.  And, then, she'd hated him. 

"I don't know," he shrugged, shaking his head.  "I"m not, you know, very popular.  Most Slytherins really liked her, I think.  Outside of Slytherin ... she was a rich pureblood." 

"You've no reason to apologise, Sasha," she replied, although her voice seemed a little accusatory. It was in Daphne's nature to analyse every potential clue in a conversation (be it a social exchange, or a full-blown interrogation); why was Sasha apologising? Daphne was 99% sure that he was the considerate type, perhaps overly so, and that he was merely excusing his own vulnerability - but that small part of Daphne wanted to raise an eyebrow and take a note. She refrained from doing so, of course. That would be highly unprofessional.

"What did your classmates think of Ava?" Daphne asked, leaning back in her chair, her eyes never leaving the poor, clearly traumatised boy in front of her. "You say popular - but for all the right reasons?" The Auror knew exactly what school was like; popular girls weren't always liked, but well-known. She herself had been a firm but reserved member of her friendship group, often passing up social events for the library and reading a book in bed. Yes, Daphne Depardieu was quite the looker, but she lacked that specific schoolgirl charm that got the boys on tenterhooks. The unbreakable look in her eye that existed at that very moment with Sasha Schlagenweit was a reminder of her stony years at Beauxbatons, and how the ice queen persona had tinged Daphne's adulthood.

"Was there anything specifically romantic between you two?" Daphne asked once more, taking a mental note of his observation. So, they were schoolyard crushes. Another thing to throw in the puddle of this whole sorry mess. "Please, don't feel embarrassed about telling me any of this, Sasha. I'm confined by law to keep all of this completely confidential; only my superiors will see this report." Daphne lowered her head a little, as if attempting to reach Sasha's eyeline. "You can trust me." She may not have been the warmest person in the world, but her words were bluntly honest.

The Ravenclaw didn't miss the accusation in the woman's tone and he glanced up, cautiously, at the woman.  Sasha wasn't the greatest at casual interactions; he was awkward and uncertain when discussing simple things like the weather or the latest book he'd read.  This whole ... game, this aural cat and mouse routine was unnerving at best.  He didn't feel confident about anything he said, certain he was either misdescribing something or simply coming across as weak or pathetic. And, the double innuendos weren't helping. 

She was right, though.  He had apologized out of habit and etiquette.  But, he didn't quite agree that he had nothing to apologize for.  Whether or not it was self-defense, he'd still taken a life.  And, he could have tried harder - could have done more earlier to help Ava.  He didn't necessarily believe himself guilty but that didn't alleviate him of all responsibility.  But, he wasn't about to say that to this woman.   

"I don't really ... I'm not sure," Sasha admitted, shaking his head.  "I don't think ... most of my classmates barely knew her.  She was a seventh year.  She was a pureblood and a Slytherin.  Our social circles didn't really ... you know ... cross.  Before this year, she was just ... she was the chaser on the other quidditch team.  She wasn't really the nicest to the rest of us.  I didn't really know her.  I don't really know why.  She was just ... Grosvenor was one of those pureblood names everyone knew in school."  There was a definite social divide - The purebloods (especially Slytherins) and the rest of them (especially the muggleborns). 

His face scrunched and Sasha shook his head, color flooding his face, though he wasn't entirely sure if his denial was truthful.  Now, in hindsight, the notion of anything romantic was impossible to consider.  It was far too complicated for that.  Right now, it was definitely all far too complicated.  She assured him there was nothing to be embarrassed about but that statement held about as much weight for the Ravenclaw as the previous one claiming he had nothing to apologize for. 

"N-no," he insisted with another shake of his head as he wiped his face with a sleeve.  "It wasn't, you know, like- like that.  I mean- I ..."  Was it even really relevant that he'd kissed her?  Did he really need to share that?  "Does it matter?" he asked with a dismissive, awkward shrug.  "And, it's not like I knew then about the whole- that we were, you know, related.  I still don't even know if it's true.  I just...  I cared about her, okay?  She was my sister.  But, she'd hated me since she found out.  She was so angry she wouldn't talk to me."

Daphne flicked through her notes once more: this web of events became more tangled and convoluted with every word Sasha uttered. It was typical that her first case in Britain would be one extreme complexity; Daphne loved a challenge, but this was a nightmare. And it involved schoolchildren. Children. She had to retain a certain sense of her ice-cold persona, and everything had to be delicately worded. Perhaps the Ministry of Magic wasn't as dull as she'd initially thought; everything seemed far more treacherous than the wizarding world of France.

"Your sister?" Daphne asked, raising an eyebrow and duly noting it down. Incest as well. She couldn't help but sigh. Apparently the school political system of Hogwarts did nothing for her investigation - Sasha was too traumatised still, and she couldn't help but feel this questioning was going nowhere.
"I know it might be difficult, Sasha, but could you take me through the events of the night she died," her voice became more hushed, glancing up to meet his gaze. "What you did, and what you say. Slowly."

It was time to get to the nitty-gritty, and Daphne pursed her lips somewhat, examining Sasha's pale and weary face. Daphne was one to follow logical reasoning rather than gut instinct, but something told her that Schlagenweit was completely innocent. The poor boy couldn't hold a conversation never mind formulating two murders. For some reason, the deaths of Ava Grosvenor and the Schlagenweit family were linked, and Depardieu would go to the ends of the earth to establish that connection: whatever it was.

Sasha's breath hitched in his throat and he closed his eyes as he nodded his head, confirming his relation to Ava.  But, after a moment, he shrugged and shook his head.  "Well, half.  Half sister.  I mean- that's what Skeeter claims.  That her father's my, you know, biological father," he added with another shake of his head.  "I don't ... I don't really know, you know, where she found that out.  I don't even think my mother knew who my father was."  If she did, she'd never offered any indication to that end. 

Step by step.  Reliving that night.  Again.  Reviving memories Sasha would much rather leave behind to be forgotten.  If such a thing would ever really, truly possible.  But, he'd been through this routine before - with the Aurors that had arrived that night; with school staff.  If you just didn't think too much about the words, they didn't cut quite so deep. 

"I'd been, you know, studying late.  I was going by Great Hall when I saw Ava.  She looked ... miserable.  I'd been worried about her since September, you know?  She-" He hesitated, shaking his head.  It had ... this had been the part he'd remember with the most regret for years.  Knowing she'd told him she'd been in trouble.  "She'd been having these ... you know ... mood swings?  And she was loosing time - like she wouldn't remember weeks at a time.  I tried to get her to talk to someone and get help but ..."  He hadn't tried hard enough. 

He scratched at his temple before shaking his head.  "I saw her and, yeah, she looked ... horrible.  I tried to get her to go talk to someone but she wouldn't.  I took her arm so I could take her to get help and ... and she crucioed me.  I tried to disarm her and she took my wand and crucioed me again.  By the time I got up again, she was gone.  I followed but there was this flash and she was down...bleeding like that ..."  Like the intruder Sasha had killed on Christmas.  Depardieu had to know that.  Sasha shrugged as she took a deep breath and dropped his gaze to his hands. 

Daphne gave another sigh of disappointment, another dead end in her foetal investigation. It was ridiculously convoluted already, and she'd yet to visit the scene of the crime, interview anybody else and do a little 'around the subject' research. Daphne had her suspicions that her new colleagues would adore the allocation to a case shrouded in mystery - already, Depardieu was no office hero. They thought she was stuck-up, icy and a ridiculous disciple of bureaucracy, she thought them immature, unprofessional and completely out-of-sync. And even in such an intimate environment, with a witness that was traumatised beyond repair, it was impossible for such an ice queen to thaw.

"You must remember," she insisted, lowering her head slowly. "That the Daily Prophet is by no means a source of factual evidence. If you have any interest into uncovering your geneology however, I can assure you that my Ministry colleagues will help you in any area, Sasha." Despite her coldness, Daphne was sincere; she was no stranger herself to distant relatives and complicated familial situations. Admittedly, her own background was nowhere near as tragic or dire as Sasha Schlagenweit's, but Daphne clutched at any points of familiarity between the two, who seemed worlds opposite as soon as he'd stepped into the room.

She took a few more notes, listening to every word with dedication and intent. Daphne wanted to solve this case (single-handedly in an ideal world), but not only for herself. Sasha was one of the few victims who Daphne found it impossible to detach herself - he needed help, and Daphne was more than willing to provide it.

"Is there anybody you can stay with for the time being?" Daphne asked, leaning back once more in her chair. Of course, the Ministry would ensure that a high-risk victim like Sasha would be placed in some sort of protection, but Daphne just wanted to be sure. "Somewhere safe? And if you'd like, I can talk to them whenever necessary. The same applies to you of course, Sasha. If there's any time you need to contact me, feel free. The Ministry is on your side."

Sasha's shoulders hitched up in a dismissive shrug as he shook his head.  Whether or not the Daily Prophet was a source of factual evidence was, quite frankly, irrelevant.  For the most part.  After all, there was a difference between fact and truth, wasn't there?  Facts were ... well, they were pieces of information, thoughts and bits of knowledge.  A few people cared about facts: historians and scientists, namely.  They used facts to ascertain a truth.  Interestingly enough, both fields were quite familiar with the malleability of truth, especially when new facts were uncovered. 

Outside those fields, though, truth came first.  It was solid, rigid and, like a scavenger hunt, the facts that best fit the truth were found.  Religion thrived on that process - Sasha had seen that all the time.  More recently, he'd also seen it in Purist ideologies.  Overall, there seemed to be more people out there who were truth-driven than fact-driven.  The average reader of the Daily Prophet took it as truth, whether or not the facts were there.  He'd never met the man, but he suspect Nate Grosvenor was a truth-driven man, as well. 

Sasha shivered and looked up from his hands and towards some random spot on the wall behind Depardieu. He himself, though, was very much fact-driven.  Chances were, anyone would be in his situation.  "I want to know," he admitted with an awkward shrug.  "I mean, it probably doesn't matter since, you know, Mr. Grosvenor doesn't want to see me.  But, ... I don't know."  Part of him wanted to know.  Part of him really wasn't sure.

"I ... I think so.  I'm staying at school, aren't I?"  Sasha looked up, startled by the last bit of questioning.  "They say that's one of the safest places to be.  I've been, you know, staying with the Healer during, you know, all of this.  She's an auror - or was one, you know.  But, they're not- I'm not getting expelled, am I?"  They weren't going to expel him for this, were they?  But, then, Headmistress Snark had been trying to get him out of school since she started.  His shoulders sank and he slumped in his chair. 

"Solche quatsch." he said under his breath before shaking his head and looking at Depardieu.  "No they're not," he elaborated.  "They haven't been on my side with any of this."