A short, fun interlude! of sorts. Back to our regularly scheduled lies, but from a different perspective!

Anyway my update schedule is in shambles, but that's ok because my house is even worse! Who needs a proper foundation, eh? We'll just add this extension on and let someone else deal with that problem decades later, is how I assume the discussion about our recently-uncovered basement swimming pool went.

This is a little treat that I've split off from the next chapter because it was once again getting too long. Expect the rest after the newly regular 3 weeks, and maybe if I'm lucky half our house will have walls again by that time.

Beta read by Circade.

Rita Skeeter had a job to do. A story to write. Masses to entertain and truth to uncover.

When the Daily Prophet had first interviewed the delegates of Baldur's Gate, they'd sent that absolute moron Andy Smudgley, who hadn't expended even a hint of effort to dig a bit deeper into their story. Lacking in journalistic curiosity, the article he'd published at the end of August had been infuriating to read. The chance of a lifetime, squandered. Rita would be more thorough.

A pop heralded her arrival on Hogwarts' lawn. Last year's unwarranted ban had been lifted, so she marched up the hill, over the school's ward line, across the grand courtyard, and then strolled right through massive oaken doors. They were open and inviting, the castle welcoming her back into its halls with warm torchlight and the low din of whispers and hearsay.

Her heels clicked against stone as she walked. Students rubbernecked, wondering who she was or what she was doing here. If Rita had time, she would've asked them for opinions and quotes. She'd gathered plenty of rumors – her head was practically swimming with possibilities – but the most recent gossip from inside the school itself had yet to disseminate to the greater population.

Alas, she was on a tight schedule. The Minister's office had specifically asked for a report that reflected positively. Something that would shove their ugly conflict with Dumbledore and The Boy Who Lived out of the public's collective psyche and into a forgotten cupboard of the mind, distracting voters with a reminder of 'innovative and dynamic changes to the political landscape'. The Minister's buzzwords, not hers.

Fudge had paid the prophet to drum up another round of good press, so he could feel like he was in control of the situation. As though he could tell Rita what she could and couldn't write.

These instructions were clear, but 'positive' was ambiguous enough to allow for some wiggle room. A sordid secret or two would hardly ruin an otherwise flawless interview. The public wanted details. Craved them. And if the state of the rumor mill was to be taken into account, it wouldn't be long until people started pounding on the wards of Hogwarts, intent on seeking the information out themselves.

Well, perhaps not. That was a quick way to land oneself in a holding cell on charges of trespassing – Hogwarts was the safest place in Wizarding Britain, and Dumbledore wasn't in the habit of letting the ordinary rabble through his doors whenever they pleased.

Anyway, the point stood. Having avoided public appearances with the exception of a short visit to Hogsmeade and a surprise outing to Diagon Alley – and wasn't that a story – the delegates had brought this upon themselves. Rita was only here to help them mitigate the damage.

Making her way to the Grand Staircase, she let its endless rotation bring her to a nondescript landing, where she knew a portrait with an insatiable appetite for gossip to reside. They exchanged a few words. The latest scuttlebutt. Buzz that only the walls of Hogwarts saw, and developments that didn't make it to the ears and mouths of students. Rita filed some of the delegates' more interesting behaviors away with the other rumors she intended to address, and rewarded her informant with a recent scandalous headline – a vaguely incestuous engagement between the Flints and the Burkes. She then stepped back onto temperamental stone and arrived at the third-floor corridor, five staircases later.

An abandoned classroom was her destination, down another few halls and across from the Trophy Room. Rounding the corner, she spotted one of her targets.

Some minutes early, The Emperor – what a pretentious name – stood by the door of their arranged venue, towering higher than expected. While Rita had of course seen him shake the Minister's hand in the Prophet's photograph, such unnatural statures had a tendency to slip the mind until they were witnessed firsthand, and people often held themselves in ways that distorted perceptions.

Rita knew tall men who wore years of bureaucracy and dead-end job prospects like an iron chain, slouching with a defeat that lessened them. In the same room, short women often stood with a defiance that challenged the world, their presence commanding attention and authority, bursting the walls at their seams. She personally considered herself amongst the later.

This man, this creature, held himself with a similar poise. He turned to face her, clearly expecting respect, like deference was owed to him, as sure as the night follows the day. The purple of his gaze regarded her like an insect, insignificant and beneath him.

Rita didn't like that, but she put on a smile as her hand met his, concealing an unpleasant shiver at the moist texture of his skin.

"Rita Skeeter, I presume?" the Emperor asked, his voice invading her mind in a way no rumor had been able to properly prepare her for. Inhuman eyes briefly squinted, almost as though a smile had spread below them.

What she wouldn't give to tear off his veil and expose the truth to the world. Was he hiding unsightly features? A misshapen face, deformed by a life underground? A monstrous visage, horrifying to witness? She found the official excuse difficult to believe, that his cowl protected delicate skin from the sun – she hadn't yet tracked down a single account of him wearing anything to protect the slick surface of his hands.

"In the flesh," Rita confirmed. "And you hardly need an introduction – I daresay some wizards might sooner recognize you than our own Minister."

"I had noticed," he replied dryly.

If Rita wasn't so good at what she did, she might've missed the sliver of annoyance he'd buried behind a veneer of indifference. "And your associate? Your colleague? Your partner in crime?" she said, watching closely to see if she could tease out another reaction. "Where's Lord Teken'rret?"

The Emperor was inscrutable. "In the Trophy Room. We were unaware that Hogwarts had one, until today."

"A fine room. I haven't visited it myself in a long time. You know, the Triwizard cup should be in there somewhere." Taking a step in the room's direction, she tested the waters, watching with glee as his feet followed hers without hesitation. Rita then hastily set up her quick-notes quill so it could begin recording information. "We could conduct our interview there, if you'd prefer. It could be… inspiring." When she looked behind her, his expression still hadn't changed.

Disappointing, but perhaps she'd have more luck with the other one, and Rita wasn't about to let stoic features defeat her. Off to the side, her quill was already hard at work.

'The Emperor,' it had written, 'eyes round like a child's and swayed by the sheer weight of Hogwarts' accomplishments, followed her through centuries of history…' That sounded like a good start to her article, and she let it scribble on as movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention.

"Ah, you must be Miss Skeeter, right?" said a voice to her left, where a man of otherworldly beauty approached. She'd also seen his picture in the Prophet, but witnessing that smile in real life was a different matter altogether. Its shine split his features like a radiantly full moon hung amidst the grey of a twilight sky, and the crinkles it formed around his eyes spoke of an easygoing attitude.

Simply criminal, to keep this face from the masses. He appeared the picture-perfect gentleman, if Rita ignored the strange way he looked into – through – her eyes. His own, an unsettlingly pale lilac, hid an interest that she had trouble identifying. A desire that might only be described as latent hunger. She'd seen similar in vampires, but vampires didn't eat steak and kidney pie at Hogwarts' feasts. Maybe there was something to those outlandish rumors.

"Just Rita, darling. I hope you weren't waiting long." She let her gaze wander, used to the lecherous glances other interviewees often aimed in her direction and hoping that a compliment might allow her to bring the conversation into more familiar territory. It wasn't that she enjoyed being looked at like a piece of meat, but the way he regarded her, like a cut at the butcher's, felt a bit more literal than she was comfortable with.

The man shook his head, disrupting curtains of silver hair and the intensity of his eyes. "You're early. I thought I might explore." He offered a warm hand and echoed her previous words. "Just Kronnis."

"Charmed. I was just telling the Emperor that we might as well walk and talk, so to say. This is more comfortable than that dusty old classroom would've been, right?"

"I'd like that." His chin nodded to where the important awards were kept, the opposite direction that he'd come from. "And I haven't had a chance to look at the eastern wing yet."

Perfect. Rita took another peek at her quill's notes. 'Lord Teken'rret – modestly and humbly going by first name only – joined their tour of the Trophy Room, expressing interest in the many triumphs of students past and present. The Triwizard Cup awaited at the end of the hall, a hard-won victory by Harry Potter, who…' oops – she had it scratch out a few words. The last thing Fudge wanted in this article was a reminder of The Boy Who Lived.

"So tell me," she began, allowing Kronnis to lead their party wherever he wished, an illusion of control that Rita found effective in luring her subjects into complacency, "everyone's been dying to know, when will we be able to visit Baldur's Gate, hm?"

The answer came from her right. "A time frame is currently impossible to provide," the Emperor said, looking down at her in a way that she didn't quite think was altogether a product of their height difference. "At the earliest, perhaps a year. At the latest, perhaps five. The main sources of delay are pressure from the public and the revision of relevant legislation. Our government cannot simply implement any laws they want – it took some time before we were even allowed to depart on this venture."

"Why can't they?" Rita asked, turning to face him. "What's the process? What stage are they at?"

"Hundreds of voices are entitled to have their say before the matter can be passed to the dukes for their decision. Parliament is currently reviewing the legislation that needs to be amended, but rewriting our constitution to allow visitors is an incredibly complicated and lengthy process."

Bureaucracy, ugh. Rita's readers didn't want to hear about this, but she had to scrounge up enough material to keep Fudge happy. "And in the meantime, you're enjoying the wealth of Hogwarts' knowledge?"

"Yes. Primarily, we function as a line of contact between our government and yours. When we are not fulfilling that duty, we act as researchers, bridging the gap of our societal divergence and…"

On and on it went. Perfectly practiced responses that didn't reveal even a hint of anything truly intriguing. She asked about their magic, and Kronnis responded with an evasive answer on how Baldur's Gate doesn't have the same educational structure as Hogwarts. A follow-up question tried to address the rumor that they never participated when a class practiced a new spell, but she only received another vague reply regarding study and investigation, further muddling the matter.

Rita eventually gave up on these, figuring she had enough for the main body of her article. It was time to move on to more engaging topics. Turning her head, she addressed Kronnis, interrupting his inspection of a passing display of polished, silver medals. "I heard that Professor Trelawney recited a prophecy for you. A happy marriage and a scandal, right on the tail end of a prosperous journey. Are you here to represent Baldur's Gate, or perchance looking for something… more?" She winked.

"What, that tea leaf reading she did?" he dismissed with a polite laugh. "Not quite a prophecy, I'd say – and I'm here as a public servant. We've already detailed the litany of responsibilities we have. Our work doesn't allow time for anything else."

Not to be deterred, Rita tried a different angle. "Supposedly, you haven't attended Divination since – some might think the prophecy scared you off. Didn't she also predict your death, or the death of someone close to you? A family member, or," her eyes slid suggestively in the Emperor's direction, "a nearby friend?"

"The symbol she pointed out doesn't exclusively mean death, it could also refer to trouble or delay," Kronnis recited in her ear, while she watched what little she could see of purple skin for a reaction.

Alas, the Emperor's veil concealed all. He appeared completely unbothered by the implication of his impending doom. In any case, she had her quill write down some more notes. 'The creature's poise spoke of a certain emotion – indifference. He discounted the noble art of Divination, not considering it worth his time or attention.' …Eh, that'll do for now. She'd workshop it later, Rita thought as she had it add another tidbit about how the prophecy still weighed heavily on Lord Teken'rret's mind. It was odd that he'd remembered the specifics – earlier, he hadn't seemed to care.

As she thought of her next question, Kronnis suddenly spoke again. "Actually, when we last returned to Baldur's Gate, I heard that a distant cousin had passed away. That's likely what her prediction was about. She did mention it would be soon."

Rita offered condolences, crocodile tears at the corners of her eyes. An entire paragraph on the tragic death of his cousin was scribbled into her notebook. "Do you think the others will come true?"

His mouth twitched downwards. "Who knows."

Drat, no luck. She couldn't just make up a scandal… or could she? Letting the topic simmer as she waited for another opportunity, Rita seized on something else he'd mentioned. "You regularly return to Baldur's Gate then?"

"Yes, we submit biweekly reports to the dukes," Kronnis replied.

"Is it easy to return home? I was under the impression that the Underdark was all the way across Europe."

He didn't respond, and Rita instead felt the Emperor's voice in her head, explaining the answer to her question. "A specialized spell facilitates instantaneous travel to Baldur's Gate and back. It could be considered similar to a portkey, I suppose, being attuned to a specific item."

"And you're absolutely sure you can't slip someone in for a quick visit?" she dared to ask. Now that would have papers selling faster than they could be printed.

He shook his head. "As mentioned earlier, visitors are not allowed at this time."

Always so frustratingly dry with his responses. No matter, it never hurt to ask. She thought back to her list of rumors. "On the subject of classes, I heard that Ancient Runes was another one that you only attended once. Was it not to your liking?"

"Ancient Runes was agreeable," the Emperor said, glancing away from the crystal trophy case they'd stopped to inspect so he could peer down at her, "but you must understand that our time to observe lessons is not infinite. Nor are we officially students, responsible for upholding a strict standard of attendance and possessing the luxury of spreading our education out over the course of seven years." He gestured to a nearby window, from which Hogwarts' greenhouses could be seen in the distance. "In fact, we are currently missing professor Sprout's lecture on the properties of Puffapods."

Rita smiled, unapologetic at the implication. "I would've thought the subject of old languages fascinating." It had actually been one of her favorite classes, back when she'd been a student. "I'm not sure what you speak in Baldur's Gate, but investigating its origins and offshoots must surely be of interest?"

There was a pause, long and awkwardly drawn out. It was uncanny, now that she thought about it. Usually when she interviewed multiple people at the same time there was some level of disconnect – interruptions to correct comments, or awkward fumblings and apologies when a question was answered simultaneously by more than one mouth. Until now, they'd been exceptionally smooth with their responses, but it appeared that neither of them had a ready answer for this line of questioning.

Steps echoed through the room as their slow tour continued. Her heels clacked loudly against stone, sharp and impatient. Kronnis eventually sucked in a breath to offer some sort of answer. "Contemporary events and the historical development of your magic have been deemed a higher priority for our attention."

Rita furrowed her brows at the vague answer. "Oh, are languages not important for your reintegration with the outside world? I can tell that you've put a lot of effort into learning English – your pronunciation is much better than most foreigners – but the majority of people on the surface speak something else."

"You make good points, but neither Kronnis nor I are the linguists that worked on this project," the Emperor replied. "It is only with the help of several experts that we were able to master your language to this extent."

A part of Rita wanted to press further, to uncover what he was trying to deflect her attention away from, but this impulse was brushed away as an errant thought. Her quill only noted that they had a dedicated team of researcher assisting from behind the scenes.

She still had other gossip to address, and time was running out. Admittedly, most of it was total hogwash and based on completely mundane observations, but the public had run wild with what little information they had. And one might've just hit the nail on the head.

"You know, I've heard the most ridiculous story about your food choices," Rita began, turning to lock eyes with Kronnis and watching carefully for his reaction.

"What, me?" he asked incredulously, clearly fighting off amusement as his gaze briefly darted to the other side of her, where the Emperor stood.

"Yes, you. Apparently, you've only ever been seen eating dishes containing meat." She readied her quill. "Are drow carnivorous?"

The easy smile he wore slid off his face as he sputtered. "That's- that's preposterous – I've had toast!"

Rita raised an eyebrow. "Now, I'm not accusing you of anything, but rumor has it that you eat steak and kidney pie at nearly every meal. And, well," she tactfully did not look at the Emperor, "there's a bit of a precedent for citizens of the Underdark having strange diets."

Kronnis pointed an accusing finger past her face. "What he eats has nothing to do with me. Who even came up with this?"

"Oh, darling," she purred, "you two are the most interesting things in the castle, and students love to talk."

"Well they're wrong. Drow aren't…" Grey fingers flexed impotently in the air, presumably searching a suitably convincing explanation. "Meat just has a- a depth that…" he trailed off again as his expression melted into confused, existential dread. A rigid caricature of unease, highlighted by a strange trick of the light that briefly caused his eyes to flash a much more vibrant shade of purple than before, almost the same as the pair on the other side of Rita. His following words were a rather strong protest, and didn't seem to be directed at her. "I do eat my vegetables!"

Her quill fervently wrote all this down as Kronnis stumbled through his response, sounding less and less sure of himself. His words weren't an outright denial, but they also didn't admit to special circumstance, as the Emperor had been forced to explain time and time again, when questioned on his perpetually empty plate and concealed mouth. And how could someone be unsure of what they ate?

She waited a few seconds, expecting more, but furrowed brows spoke of inner contemplation. As far as half-breeds went, that wasn't all too strange – half-vampires still needed to drink blood, after all. This wasn't what Rita had been planning to write her article about, but she was flexible. Maybe a follow-up question-

"Animal protein is an expensive delicacy in Baldur's Gate," the Emperor interjected. "Plants are difficult to grow underground, and the energy requirements of livestock are an enormous drain on what little agriculturally suited soil we have. British foods rich with meat are admittedly a bit of a luxury, one that may have been overindulged in."

Finally, something Rita could work with. She'd been saving this question, but if he was going to bring up the topic himself… "Not one you can indulge in though, hm? You've never eaten in public – yes, yes, I've heard that illithids can't eat the same food humans do," she clarified when he looked about to interrupt. "The assumptions… well, let's just say it's like a wildfire out there. Care to blow away the smoke?" She leaned in. "Clear the air?"

"I prefer my privacy," he said, much better at projecting a lack of concern than his partner had been.

Rita narrowed her eyes. "The public has a right to know. Why hide behind a mask?"

The Emperor stopped walking, bringing their group to a halt. He stood completely still, and when he next spoke, she realized that how unsettlingly inhuman he appeared, lacking the subtle motions of facial muscles and tilts of the head that would normally accompany verbal utterings. "What are you asking?"

Staring up into fragments of an alien face, Rita fought through the absence of these tells. The air felt thicker, and something in its pressure hinted at emotion. An aura of irritation that seemed to emanate from the man before her. Swallowing, she pushed a confident smile forward. "Won't you allow a glance behind the veil?"

"I have no intention of allowing the sun to burn my skin just so you can satisfy your curiosity."

That was a load of rubbish – they weren't anywhere near the few small windows that dotted the room's walls. It was only torchlight that flickered over his hood. "I know a cozy broom closet that-" she trailed off mid-sentence, unsure of why she'd even been about to press further.

What had she been asking? Rita looked over at her quill, but the last thing it had written down was an explanation of the Underdark's agricultural scarcity. Worthless. She needed something better for this article.

Scouring her brain, she collected scattered thoughts and tried to pull them into some semblance of order, picking through her collection of rumors for something. "Ah, there was… I also heard that you went for a walk through Knockturn Alley!"

A hairless brow was raised. The Emperor looked distinctly unimpressed by her sudden exclamation. "Yes?"

"Well, the only things to be found in Knockturn are dark artifacts and businesses that the Ministry should've long since shut down. The question is, why was it of interest to you?" Rita let her words hang in the air for a second before targeting Kronnis, who still looked distracted. "Apparently, you indulged in a mummified bat there? Is that common in the Underdark?"

"That's ridiculous," he scoffed, looking vaguely offended. "Bats are half fur, half bone, and full of diseases. Even the most dim-witted drow knows better than to eat pests – just go to the market and exchange a handful of copper for a slice of centip- ah, rothé roast. And – and why in the world would I eat something that's mummified?"

Oddly specific knowledge like that wasn't going to help him beat the allegations about his diet. He sounded more insulted at the implication that he'd eaten some low-quality food, rather than the idea that bats were eaten at all. Rita certainly didn't know of any humans that did so. It could be a cultural thing, she supposed. And, hang on, hadn't the Emperor said meat was rare and expensive? She had her quill note down the discrepancy before adding a question mark by the mention of copper – she might have to research their denominations.

"Of course," Rita pulled the corners of her mouth into an appeasing smile. "That was probably a misunderstanding. So what were you actually doing in Knockturn?"

Kronnis shrugged. "Exploring your culture. It was our first visit to the area. We wanted to see everything we could."

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"We weren't looking for anything," he insisted. "I think you'd call the concept 'window shopping'?"

Rita didn't like the smugness creeping into the corners of his mouth. If he thought he was going to get one over on her, he was mistaken. She still had plenty more to ask, and it was time to change tracks with a softer question. A peace offering to unruffle feathers and lower guards anew. A break from defending their reputation against accusations. Something they could feel comfortable dictating the answers to. "Well, busy as you are attending classes and going shopping, you must still have some free time. What do citizens of Baldur's Gate do for recreation? Any personal hobbies you might be willing to share?"

She'd still been facing Kronnis while asking, so he answered first, mentioning a generic interest in magical tomes and politics, words that she dutifully wrote down under his watchful gaze. His claims were completely predictable and boring, but Rita hadn't foreseen her inquiry revealing much of interest. This wouldn't be making it into her article.

When she turned expectantly to the Emperor, she was treated to some slightly more intriguing soundbites – a long lecture on the differences between cognitive and clinical psychology that her quill was barely able to keep pace with.

By the time he finished, she'd almost forgotten her reason for bringing this up. Almost. "And do you feel like you have time to pursue those, given that you spend your nights sneaking out of the castle?"

Previously friendly expressions melted into a brief, flattering wariness. The smile that then returned to Kronnis' face lacked kindness, sloping instead into something dangerous. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

Rita wouldn't be fooled. Stuck to the walls, paintings didn't exactly make the best spies, but wizards often completely dismissed the fact that they witnessed and retained information just like humans did. And foreigners unfamiliar with the concept? Easy prey. She trusted her source, and the portrait in the Grand Staircase only ever led her astray when it recited half-heard fifth-hand rumors. This was something it had beheld with its own oil-paint eyes.

Her response started as light as the clouds above a desert, before sinking down to the whisper of a spring drizzle. "Oh, you know. Your after-hours adventures. Your shadowy strolls." Her smile took on a menacing curve of its own, her eyebrow arching knowingly as she suggested their involvement in something… scandalous. "Midnight meetings, perhaps?"

The seconds dragged by. She kept a tight leash on the confidence needed to weather their icy stares, doing her best to ignore a pain growing in the back of her head. "You've been sneaking through the school in the dead of night. First it was just you," she nodded at Kronnis, "dressed in a chain shirt and carrying that elaborate staff of yours. And last week you were both skulking around after dark. I'm not sure if there's an innocent explanation, but I'd love to hear it."

Rita didn't expect them to blurt out any sort of admittance. It was entirely possible that there was an innocent explanation, and she could always save face by claiming her accusation accidental. That she'd simply been following up on one of the baseless rumors they'd indicated an interest in clearing up.

But it looked like that wouldn't be necessary. Judging by their continued silence, Rita had indeed tripped upon an interesting story. Something she might be able to twist into exciting material for her readers, stirring up controversy until the public demanded more and more, secrets and snatches of conversation that Rita would be only too happy to provide.

Weighing success on one side and ambition on the other, the scales were tipped in her favour. At worst, they'd simply deny everything and end this interview at once, and she'd just publish her article as planned – boring politics and hints of controversy all wrapped up in an intriguing package, as usual. At best, they'd be grateful to spin her a fabulous yarn, whatever nonsensical publicity they wanted. Rita would walk out of here sworn to secrecy, but with two political powerhouses wrapped around her finger, held captive in perpetuity by blackmail and threats.

Her glee was only overshadowed by an ache that slowly blurred her vision. Glancing at her notebook, Rita was relieved to see it scribbling away, still describing the events of the room in exaggerated fashion, though the line about her eyes taking on a purple glow was a bit strange. Hopefully it would be a bit clearer when it recorded the response they looked about to give, as her own ability to focus had suddenly been stolen from her, a migraine shattering her mind into a million pieces.

"If you must know," a faraway voice began, "I was simply-"

Another set of words interrupted, rushing through her brain and crashing over crumbling thoughts like the swell of a storm.

"Do not bother, I am-"

Rita found herself standing in Hogwarts' courtyard.

Had she walked here?

She turned around, seeing the castle's doors slam shut behind her.

Well, she must've just left. Good thing too – fresh air was doing wonders for her headache, though she was still having trouble remembering how the interview had ended. All she could recall was… purple? The carpet, maybe. And walking back through stone corridors, alone. Oh, bollocks. Did she even get all the information she needed?

Tilting her head to look up at Hogwarts caused it to throb angrily, so Rita turned around in defeat, unsteadily taking a few steps in the direction of the ward line. If she still didn't recall anything by the time her skull stopped feeling like it was going to split in two, then she might as well just make something up. A nap sounded good, and sorting out her article could wait until she reviewed… her notebook!

Frantic fingers clawed open her crocodile-skin purse, immediately finding the rectangular block of paper on top and skipping to the last few pages. The only thing printed here was a collection of hobbies, at the bottom of the page.

Had she really asked them about their hobbies? No. No there must be something of use here. Rita desperately flipped through previous entries, half-remembered snippets of conversation coming back as her god-awful headache abated.

Fudge would be happy, at least – her trusty quill had scribbled down plenty of information on the delegates' official duties and the growing connection between Baldur's Gate and Wizarding Britain. And- what was this? Oh.

Rita grinned. There was a little tidbit here, buried between politics and transcribed requests for privacy. Maybe not all that scandalous, but with a bit of a tweak, it would be enough to spice up her article. Now, how to spin this without a negative impact on the rest of the story…