"Ms. Skeeter, what a... pleasant surprise." The Headmistress was the first to stand. She walked around the table, and shook hands with the witch who worked with the Daily Prophet. Her lips were held in a tight expression, and McGonagall looked anything but pleased to see her.

"Oh, Minerva, you always have given me the nicest welcomes!" Rita cheered, grinning brightly through her red lipstick. The first years of each House watched the interaction in confusion, and the older students only rolled their eyes. Why was she here?

"May I ask as to what you are doing here?" McGonagall asked, her brow furrowed. It was at this moment that a first year from Gryffindor squealed and the sound of footsteps echoed across the vast hall.

"Mumma Rita, Mumma Rita!" Madeline Morgan cheered, running up and hugging the blonde-haired woman with her entirely green formalwear, and tightly knit hair.

"Maddy, love!" The woman smiled, leaning down to kiss her goddaughter on the cheek.

"You...have a daughter?" McGonagall asked, glancing at the pair in confusion. She clasped her hands together, analyzing the situation to the best of her ability.

"Oh Merlin no! Madeline's my goddaughter. Her mummy is my best friend." Rita explains, running a hand through the girl's ginger hair. Madeline smiled, and stood close to the woman facing the headmistress.

"Ah, I see. But still, I am curious as to why you're here, Rita." The headmistress claimed, turning the conversation around again. Maddy spun around and gave her friends a big thumbs up before facing the women again.

"I asked her to be, Professor. I really needed a word with her and I just couldn't get it all down in a letter. Please don't be angry with me." The Gryffindor explained, swaying back and forth on her small feet. McGonagall stared at Maddy, pursing her lips and then turned to the reporter once more.

"Once you're done here, I request you leave. We can't take any guests at this time." And with that, she turned around and Maddy took the blonde woman's hand, leading her out of the Great Hall to talk in private.

~△⃒⃘~

Following Madeline's talk with Rita, the blonde woman did not leave the school as instructed, and instead wormed her way into a guests' quarters where she began plotting the ultimate way to get out a story about her favorite pupil: Harry Potter, and his possible lover, Draco Malfoy. How scandalous.

Maddy had told Rita all about the Veritaserum, and how the two had started a Dueling Club together, and their bond that McGonagall had placed them in for some time. She told her absolutely everything she knew about the two boys, and Rita's quill wrote everything down that it could on the matter.

She decided she would interview Charles Byerley first, and get his motives on why he put truth serum into the juice at the Christmas dance, and if he didn't give enough information, she'd talk to Bradley Grant and Anthony Pembroke as well.

She'd then find a way into the next Dueling Club meeting, and figure out how the two worked together on such a frustrating topic. If need be, she figured she could Polyjuice herself into an unsuspecting student and use the disguise to her absolute advantage.

Then, she'd find a way into the living quarters the two had been forced to share, and if her searches through there came up empty, she would set up a secret interview with Narcissa Malfoy, and pry as much information out of the woman as she could.

If there was one thing Rita Skeeter was good at, it was prying and pestering. She got what she wanted, no matter what it took to get it. She would get information on Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy as a pair, and nothing could stop her. As usual, she was prepared to do her worst, all for the good of the gossip.

~△⃒⃘~

Two days later, Charles Byerley found himself walking alone back to his dormitories after a particularly grueling lesson in Herbology, as Bradley and Anthony had both run off with a couple of Gryffindor girls to Hogsmeade. He would've joined them, but his homework was piling high, and for once, he could not let himself fall distracted, especially while Professor McGonagall was still seeking every reason why he should be expelled.

As he turned a corner, he found himself stopped short when a quill hovered dangerously between his eyes, daring him to move. He gulped, and glanced around for whoever had control over this very sharp quill.

"Hello?" He called out, and the quill seemed to glare at him as it aimed it's point dangerously towards his right pupil.

Moments later, the sound of heels running down the hallway could be heard, and soon the quill was snatched from the air by an eccentrically dressed blonde woman.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, dear! My quills seem to have a mind of their own most days. I'm Rita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet, and you are?" She asked, extending her manicured hand to him. He glanced at it nervously before shaking it, scared that the quill would rip from her hand and pierce his eyeball.

"I'm Charles Byerley. Weren't you supposed to be gone, under McGonagall's orders?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest as the woman released his hand.

"I was, but then I managed to stay. Charles Byerley, you said? Oh, great! You're just the boy I needed to see. If you'll follow me, we can get this interview over with quickly." Rita chirped, balancing the quill behind her ear as she smiled at the Ravenclaw boy.

"Erm, interview?" He bit his lip, and the woman rolled her eyes before grabbing the sleeve of his robes.

"Yes, an interview. You have peculiar motives, Mr. Byerley, revolving around the night of the Christmas dance, and I, a reporter, must know all the details!" She pulled him along the corridor before pushing him into a broom closet much like she had with Harry Potter in his fourth hear during the Triwizard Tournament.

"How did you know about the dance?" Charles asked uneasily.

"That, my dear, is entirely irrelevant. Now, what exactly encouraged you to brew the Veritaserum the night of the dance?" The witch was standing awfully close to him.

"Originally, I'd made it for a game of truth or dare with my friends." He admitted, deciding he really had no choice but to spill out the information, as the quill had started hovering again, scribbling notes onto a piece of parchment.

"And why did you decide you'd use it on Draco Malfoy instead?" Rita glanced at him, a serious look in her eyes, but a smirk on her lips.

"This isn't going in the Prophet, is it?"

"Answer the question, dearie." The quill fixed itself on him again.

"I wanted to see a fight between them. People were saying that Potter and Malfoy are gay for each other, but when it was last addressed, they fought so I wanted to see if it would happen again. He drank too much of it: an honest mistake, really." Charles claimed, backing himself against the wall as best he could.

"Who's been spreading these rumors?" Rita asked.

"A lot of people, ma'am. Those first year Gryffindors for starters; when they came here, they thought the two were actually married. Then my friends got involved in it, and they wanted to know if there was any romance too, as we used to be schoolmates with them."

"Who are your friends?"

"Please don't get them involved, ma'am."

"Who are your friends, Mr. Byerley?" The quill tipped towards him, and he all-but screamed louder than a screech owl.

"Bradley Grant and Anthony Pembroke! They're Ravenclaws, just like me." He admitted, stepping further away.

"Any other information you'd like to tell me regarding Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy?" Rita asked, a victorious grin on her face.

"Not that I can think of, ma'am."

"Well, if you do think of something, report your information to me pronto. You're dismissed." The door to the closet opened, and Charles stumbled out feeling sickly. He ran down the corridor in the direction of the dormitories, turning every now and then to make sure the reporter wasn't following him, and slammed the passageway shut upon entry.

He didn't want to run into Rita Skeeter again, and so he decided he needed to talk to Professor Potter or Malfoy as soon as possible. They needed to be aware of the reporter's motives so they could stop her, and Charles wouldn't go to bed fearing that when he woke up, his eyes would be destroyed by a sharp-pointed quill.