It was about mid-afternoon, and Maggie had somehow been left to man the Daily Prophet booth alone. The others were off collecting more brochures and other supplies, or so they claimed!

Maggie watched the teenagers, shaking her head at the awkward gaits, overconfident struts, tendency to approach in packs, and posturing from the lot of them. About five years ago, she'd been in their shoes, and that was a very unsettling thought. The angst! The moodiness! Maggie had lived up to the stereotype, and being here, in this courtyard, brought back a lot of memories.

She sighed and rested her chin in her hands, merely raising her eyebrows at anyone who looked at her. If they wanted her to smile, the Daily Prophet should pay her more. Apparently, the newspaper had assumed that Maggie's articles about Hogwarts meant she had some sort of connection with the students, that she'd be happy to talk to them. But the only kid Maggie could say she got along with well enough was Mairead. Even her little sister had already been by to mock the banner and beg Maggie for a spare quill all in one breath.

Maggie craned her neck at the banner behind the booth, thinking. It looked like this:

Information Gathering Principles!

Who is it about?
What happened?
Where did it happen?
When did it happen?
Why did it happen?
How did it happen?

Maybe Lexie had a point. Maggie glanced around, and then tapped her wand to the banner, making some edits:

How to get your first big break!

Worm your way into conversations!
Wear dark clothing for skulking about!
Watch out for disasters, so you can run right into them!
Work around pesky rules and laws!
Wait hours for unsuspecting sources/contacts!
When in doubt, sacrifice a finger. You only need nine!

Maggie put her wand back in her coat pocket, turned in her seat to face the crowd again, and smiled.


(OOC Note: I wasn't sure which DP employees would like to be involved, so I figure anyone who's interested can return to the booth and sit with her. And of course, any students, profs, or booth people are welcome to pester Maggie right away).

With the giddiness of a schoolgirl who had just met Three Owl Standard, Rita made her way through the throngs of students and teachers heading for the Daily Prophet Booth. She caught the occasional glance and whispers from others who recognised her – let’s face it, how could anyone not recognise her? – and she played up to the acknowledgment with a marvellous air of superiority.

“Margaret, darling!” Rita air-kissed Maggie’s cheeks, which looked rather ridiculous considering the distance of a couple of feet between them. Rita had never really cared for the younger reporter, but today was all about putting on a good show, and a good show she was going to put on!  “Well, this is rather exciting isn’t it?”

She grabbed the welcome pamphlet off an unsuspecting teenager and held it out, allowing her quick-quotes quill to expertly glide across it, signing her name with a heart after it. Pushing it back into the young boy’s chest without even giving him a second glance, she flicked her hand in his direction as though advising him to move on – which he obligingly did, more than a little confused as to why this strange woman had decided to mark his pamphlet with her signature, in much the same manner as a dog would mark its territory with its urine. “People just can’t get enough of me.” She gave a girlish (despite being on the wrong side of sixty) chuckle as she fluffed up her blonde curls with her hand.

At first, Maggie tried to ignore Skeeter's approach entirely, hoping she'd float away somewhere else. Her plan was foiled when the woman greeted her with air kisses, which Maggie returned with a weirded out look. They'd never been friendly, and Maggie saw no reason to start now, especially not for mandatory work functions.

Maggie's expression morphed from annoyed to disgusted as Skeeter started signing pamphlets. She shook her head, just as stunned as the kid was, and waited for Rita Skeeter to join her at the booth before commenting.

"Seriously?" Maggie grumbled, disdain clear on her face as she stared at the brochures in Skeeter's clutches. "We're supposed to draw students in, not scare them off. Save the shameless self-promotion for the Troll House Publishing panel."

There, Skeeter would at least have to compete with Dolly St. James for attention.

"Oh," Rita started with a superficial look of surprise on her face, holding the small pile of pamphlets up in the air and waving them slightly as though she'd only just noticed she had hold of them, "These little things?" She chuckled and shook her head, her tight ringlets swaying to-and-fro in the gentle breeze of the courtyard. "These are just in case any students don't have their pamphlets that explain about all of the booths."

Her eyes flickered down to the top pamphlet, that had a large photo of herself blowing a kiss out at whoever was lucky enough to have hold of it as Maggie's comment about Troll House Publishing came at her.

"Sweetheart, they wouldn't be able to handle me at Troll House Publishing." Rita passed a wink in Maggie's direction, the rhinestones around her glasses glinting as her head moved this way and that. "My pamphlets" she started, waving them in Maggie's face rather obnoxiously, "Only talk about the Daily Prophet." She smiled her dragonesque smile. "With particular focus on yours truly. Afterall, these students need to be introduced to the best, and what am I if not the best?" She shrugged as though there was no other thought process that was viable.

"Ahem."

Pint-sized Theta Pepper, seventh year Ravenclaw, rabid reader of the Daily Prophet, and instrumental in the school's own student newspaper, cleared her throat politely behind the two women, having entered the tent unnoticed while they debated Rita's suitability for Troll House Publishing.

"So sorry to interrupt Ms Skeeter." Theta smiled and gave a little bob uncomfortable at her polite cough having cut through. But then Theta's eyes slid to Skeeter's fellow reporter and her face changed to surprise.

"Oh my, Ms Groust?" Recognising Maggie's face from the newspaper just as much as Rita's (after all who could miss Rita's?) Theta stepped forward, eyes like saucers. Meeting the DP staff was almost on a scale of meeting her favourite Quidditch players.

"I admire your writing so much. Theta Pepper," she extended her hand tentatively to Maggie, "I write for the school paper - er - nothing like the scale of the Prophet at all, but I try."

Her eyes flickered upwards to the banner and Theta's smile broadened.
"Oh, is the last one by Ms Thursby? Is that what happened?" she asked, at the nine fingers comment in horror.

Maximus slipped into the Daily Prophet booth behind a student and upon catching the tail end of the conversation between Maggie and Rita, he resisted the urge to immediately turn on his heel and hightail it back out of there.

Max tended to steer clear of drama unless it had to do with the sport of Quidditch. Breaking the latest gossip on the Wizarding elite's private lives or reporting on political goings on or even serious newsworthy topics (which he did, on occasion, get tapped to write when the paper was sometimes shorthanded staff-wise) did not interest him much. But, following the drama of the likes of Ian Cuddyer and Dominik Wiedman...now that was exciting!

Maximus would have preferred to spend most of his time in the Magical Games and Sports booth, but he felt obligated to at least stop by the booth for the paper in case there were any students interested in sports writing as a career. There weren't many Maximus Bolides out there, but who was he to deny the rare sports fanatic the pleasure of meeting him?

Hearing the student migrate towards Maggie and Rita and then also mention Niobe, Max assumed that she was not a future sports reporter and thus would have no interest in speaking with him. He quietly found an unoccupied stool in the booth and plopped himself down on it. He briskly reached out to pick up the latest edition of the paper and snapped it open to the sports section, proudly admiring some of his own work, only half listening to the conversation around him.

None of this was any help.  All these booths and professionals and pamphlets just made the whole prospect of deciding one's future path all the more daunting.  Granted, people kept telling him he had time to decide what to do with his life but they all seemed to ignore that the powers that be at Hogwarts were expecting him to decide what classes to drop after sitting his OWLs and which to continue.  He had some hair-brained ideas of what he wanted to do but most would consider it ludicrous and impossible.  And, he was no less certain of which classes he could afford to drop the most.

Weaving through the booths, it was easy to rule out the career paths he was very unlikely to follow.  Troll Housing Publishing was safely out of the running.  Being a Healer required being much more comfortable about people's bodies than he was.  And, Department of Magical Law Enforcement?  Kronos, of course, would disapprove whole-heartedly with that option.  Sasha wasn't entirely sure when that started mattering, but it had. 

Even though his sister, apparently, had become acquainted with several of the witches that worked there, the Daily Prophet was, by principle, out of the question.  Sasha drew up short in front of the booth and stared for several moments at the witch.  Almost the entirety of the school year had passed since the first and last time he'd crossed Skeeter's path.  Since then, his entire life had been laid out to the public and turned upside down.  And, here she stood.  She seemed so casual, so normal, so ... unaffected by everything.  The boy he'd been when they'd first crossed paths was all but unrecognizable.  She was exactly the same.

One of his fellow Ravenclaws was already at the station, regarding the two women with unmistakable giddiness.  "You could do better," Sasha told Theta, bitterly.  "Half of what they write's rubbish.  Total quatsch."

Theta felt a little starstruck, seeing Maximus Bolide slink past and sit down with a copy of the paper. Perhaps her counterparts didn't read the paper from cover to cover in quite the way she did (or write into it in quite the same style or with use of pseudonym) which is why the tent was not overspilling with young faces.

"Mr Bollide too - I thought we'd be too unimportant to see the lead reporters of the Daily Prophet here on the booth. You're all always so busy." Theta chipped in, feeling a bit out of her depth and now rapidly throwing in compliments to try and make up for things.

"You could do better, half of what they write's rubbish.  Total quatsch."

Theta whirled round, mouth agape, not only because someone had spoken out about the Daily Prophet but also because she recognised that voice and hadn't heard it for quite some time!

"Sasha!" Theta almost squeaked. "What are you doing here?"

outfit

Fumbling through the back of the booth, seemingly out of nowhere, Eleanor juggled several bits of camera equipment in her arms. She looked as if she were cradling some sort of ultra-pointy, robotic baby. One who would issue purple smoke when it was excited, and flash stars into the eyes of unsuspecting victims when it was triumphant. It was the only baby the young woman wanted for a very, very long time.

"Hey, Maggie. Where do you want me to... put this stuff so you all don't break your necks?" She tried to jester to the mountain of camera parts, before remembering that her arms were currently engaged in other commitments.

Noting Maximums, she nodded in greeting. They would have to catch up on the rosters when they caught a moment. Add Miss Skeeter... Eleanor couldn't help but wonder why she didn't have her own booth. This one seemed a bit crowded.

"Whoa, whoa," she found herself talking in the direction of a tall blonde boy. His tiny female counterpart looked far more familiar. Eleanor could have sworn they'd crossed paths in school at some point. Maybe not. They all sort of looked the same after a while away from the castle. "Not everyone has trash bin standards. The Prophet still puts out more news than Witch Weekly and The Quibbler combined. And maybe that's not much, but-- why am I even having to defend it. I only take the photos." She looked around at the others, zeroing in on Maggie. She grinned, wondering when Groust would come out in full force. (She hadn't caught the bit about not scaring kids away.) Then, turning back to the boy, "Who are you?"

Plopping down on the balls of her feet for a moment to set the equipment on the ground, Ellie sprang back up and extended a hand somewhere between the boy and the girl. She was usually friendly, but she also has a knack for being... bold and hardheaded when it came to defending her beliefs. Or her paycheck. In a softer voice, she made to shake the taller (younger?) kid's hand. "I'm Ellie," she tried again, changing her tactic to be less threatening. She'd come to her senses. This poor lad was no George Carter. "Your friend seems smitten with the writers. Are you interested in photography by chance? I have this great set in my portfolio-- one of our reporters was saved by a fugitive during the werewolf attacks. If that's not authentic journalism, I'll eat my negatives."

Maggie was well prepared to continue making sour comments at Skeeter, professionalism be damned, when a student actually showed up, introduced herself as Theta Pepper, and paid a compliment to Maggie. Mags looked at the short student in surprise for a moment, forgetting her argument with the other reporter. She'd only been writing for the Prophet for about a year. She hadn't expected any of the students to follow her writing at all.

"Thanks," she shook the student's hand, then sent a pointed glance at Skeeter. This career fair wasn't so bad, Maggie supposed.

Before she could continue the conversation, a second student arrived, claiming what they wrote was rubbish and staring at Skeeter with disgust. She raised her eyebrows at Maximus, who was hiding behind his paper (smart man), and let Ellie handle Sasha with her usual friendly boldness. Since Theta had called him by his name, she recognized him as Jacoba's little brother, and thought the kid had good reason to view the Prophet in such a negative light.

Now if he'd stared at Maggie as if she'd ruined his life, she would have had a few choice words for him, but as it was, Skeeter was perfectly capable of dealing with her own 'fans'!

"So, Theta," she focused on the girl who seemed both starstruck by the reporters and flustered by Sasha's presence. "Good on you for keeping all your limbs and fingers so far," she teased. "It's a bit of an occupational hazard, though some of us have a better knack for getting into trouble than others. What sort of writing have you done for the school paper?"

Maggie Groust, being personable? Well, she was making an attempt, anyway.

"So, Theta," Groust addressed the seventh year. Theta's attention snapped back. "Good on you for keeping all your limbs and fingers so far, it's a bit of an occupational hazard, though some of us have a better knack for getting into trouble than others. What sort of writing have you done for the school paper?"

Theta smiled and chuckled slightly.
"I think the limbs and fingers part is more that I've never studied Care of Magical Creatures, but thank you for the compliment." She blushed a little.
"I tend to help with the letters to the editor and write longer articles on current affairs, Quidditch too when they'll let me. I have trouble keeping to the word limit there!" Theta chuckled. "I muck in where I can, with writing, editing and researching. Its a student paper after all - I don't have the time I'd like to spend on it. NEWTs are really soon." Theta bit her lip gently.

"Did you used to write for the school paper? How did you get your job at the Prophet?" She asked politely, trying to keep focused with everything going on around her.