11 March 2010
Thursday @8pm

The empty classroom on the fourth floor was lit by wooden candle chandeliers and absolutely covered in piles of newspaper! There were stacks and stacks of old Daily Prophets, Hogwarts Howlers and even newspapers from other countries.  Figaro had been scavenging all over the school earlier this week and dumped them here for his first official meeting of the Hogwarts Howler.  A draft from somewhere unknown ruffled the pages and caused some of them to float to the floor. 

Figaro was sitting at the head of it all, at the desk that would be the teachers.  He was 'smoking' a Weasley's Dragonbreath Cigar[1] and tipping back in a creaky old chair with armrests.

Around the commonroom's he'd posted a haphazard looking flier that said..


Then it had the date and time of the meeting.  His plan was to get a few halfway intelligent people together, brainstorm ideas for his first issue and get them out there.  The more insane the story, the better.  But he needed writers and he needed leads.

---

ANY student is welcome to show, and I wouldn't be bothered by staff dropping by to see this mess.  Figaro is anything but exclusive.

1.	The Weasley's Dragonbreath Cigar is a toy cigar that smells like cloves and produces a thick purple smoke from its end.  The cigar itself is wooden and wrapped in paper.

"Professor Sellaphix!" Ambrose exclaimed, lopsided grin across his features as he appeared in the doorway. Both his arms were extended to either side, gripping the doorframe as he leaned inwards.

Writing silly stories about things could be fun, and it would prove to Cyhirae that he wasn't completely useless at everything (not that she said he was, but he was paranoid) and the Hogwarts Howler could be a right laugh. It never failed to cheer him up with funny quips about the Professors, especially the ones that put him in detention lots. Di Luca was at the top of his list to get into the Howler in such a way.

"So, I'm here, do you promise not to break my arms?" He asked, stepping inside, with a heavy footstep only to notice that he was amongst the first to arrive. "Only, I'm sure I'll... break my own... Where is everyone?"

"Young Mr. Pepper!" Figaro greeted back in a posh, professorial accent.

At Ambrose's query to why the room was so empty, Figaro flung a stack of papers dramatically off his desk.  "It's a conspiracy! Someone's clearly put a Vanishing Cabinet in the bathrooms and the poor sods disappear thinking their heading in for a number two.  We'll scoop the story and find those missing kids."

He clasped his hand over his heart.  "Our duty as journalists."  He barely kept a straight face.  He broke character and shrugged.  "Who cares! We'll write the damn paper ourselves if we have to."

Figaro seemed genuinely unbothered by the lack of attendence.  He'd never been in charge of anything before, so he didn't get the sense that it was unusual.  It might be more fun with more people, but eh - if people didn't feel like it, no big deal to him!

"Alright! First thing's first." He was back using his booming editor's voice.  He turned to the black board and pegged it hard with the tip of the chalk.  "Leads! What have you got, Pepper?"

Even as he asked, he began to scrawl his own ideas.

- tourney
- billywig stings are awesome
- Bevans getting kicked out of dueling club
- Di Luca is a dementor probably
- Hufflepuff to make a Quidditch comeback
- Quidditch standings
- FALCONS RULE

If a tree fell in the forest and nobody was there to hear it, did it make a sound?

Likewise, if Poppy Finnigan was in the corridor and nobody was there to see her, what did she look like? In this particular instance she appeared quite serious from head to toe – she wore a no nonsense bun at the base of her neck (with a pink fwooper quill sticking out of it), and her expression was decidedly stoney and focused. As always, she clicked her way down the halls in a pair of heels that launched her up to what could almost be considered eye-level, trying her hardest not to topple to the ground like a human game of pick up sticks. It took far more concentration than one would expect, and she kept her eyes on the prize until she finally reached the classroom. Two steps from the doorway she switched to her 'on' mode, her face lighting up like someone had lit a candle inside of her skull, all bright eyes and toothy grin.

“Hello!” she greeted the two others brightly, her sing-song voice carrying throughout the classroom. She sounded just a touch exasperated, as if she believed they'd all gathered there just to wait for her arrival. Full of focus, the slytherin click, click, clicked her way toward an empty desk, where she set her bag down, claiming an additional desk for herself. She sat daintily, crossing her leg over her knee and smoothing her skirt over her thighs. When she looked up, she took in the sight of her company properly for the first time, and it took all of her well honed acting chops to maintain her sunshiney poker face.  She merely blinked. “Am I early?” she asked, her gaze shifting from one boy to the other... and then over to the doorway... desperately.

Another younger kid showed up - a Slytherin Figaro thought might be named Daisy or something like that - and Figaro whirled around to jab a finger at her. 

"You! Leads! What'chu got?"

He didn't bother to answer her question about being early or late or whatever - that sort of parliamentary such and such didn't matter to him.  He was in the zone and in character as a blustering, bombastic editor of a major international tabloid publication.  And he needed leads! Leads! Leads! Leads!

Poppy blinked, staring at the big mouthed Hufflepuff for a moment as if seriously considering his question, her nostrils flaring just slightly. The very tip of a pink tongue slipped out from between her lips and moistened them before she finally replied with a  clipped, “Well, dear, I haven't got anything. Besides, I've only just sat down. I'll need a moment.” The moment she needed involved smoothing her skirt over her knees a few times, settling down on her chair like a mother duck on her nest, and running a hand over her immaculate hair. She released a long exhale through her nose, folded her hands neatly atop the desk, and then finally turned her attention back to Figaro – reluctantly.

“Now what was your question?” she asked, squinting at him, “Do I have any leads? That's a bit vague,” she informed him, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, which required a repeat of the whole skirt smoothing ritual. She turned her eyes to the blackboard and took a moment to take in what was written there. It all seemed like a lot of nonsense, and not even the intriguing sort. She wrinkled her nose rather delicately, sighing loudly.

“I don't feel qualified to write about quidditch,” she spoke confidently, wanted to get that out in the open as quickly as possible. “I do think I'd make an excellent student-at-large, however. I'd like to talk to the people. I'd like to talk to them about issues.” The question was... what issues? And did it matter? Honestly, she had no idea what she was talking about, but it had felt like a very reporterly thing to say. It would have to be good enough.

"Hufflepuff to make a quidditch comeback?!" Pepper scoffed. He'd tilted his head to read what Figaro was writing on the board, having already listed a couple of obvious ones Ambrose had been about to consider listing.

"That's less believable than Di Luca as a dementor. She's that or the spawn of Voldemort." He pouted and put his hands on his hips just as a bright 'hello' rang out from Poppy Finnigan.

Ambrose recognised his classmate, but his heart was a mixture of being glad another fourth year was there, and disappointed that it had to be a Slytherin. He tolerated so many in that house, and had historically been bullied by quite a number of them.

"Issues?" Ambrose asked Poppy, quite glad she'd elected not to write about quidditch, as that was one topic Ambrose might scrape through about.

"What, like broken nails or breaking up with boyfriends?" He scoffed. Not his best move by a long shot, but Ambrose wasn't known for being the brightest candle in the box.

"Issues..." Figaro echoed in a posh accent and pronouncing the s's like a sibilant hissss.  "Poppy!" he suddenly remembered, waggling a finger at her.  He was pleased he'd figured that one out without asking. Poppy Finnigan. 

It wasn't a horrible idea.  He added it to the board just as Ambrose made a crack about Hufflepuff quidditch.   Fig flung a blackboard eraser his way.  And then another when he gave Poppy a hard time about 'girl stuff'. 

"None of that nonsense, Mr. Pepper.  This is a newspaper of repute, damnit!"  He was back in character.  "And you've yet to come up with something by my count.  Earn your keep, eh Pepper.  Right! Bet we could get to the bottom of that lion caretaker weirdo..."

"Alrigh'," Ambrose persevered, "could write about Professor Strange?" He suggested, misremembering the Herbology professor's name. "At least she's nicer than Di Loopy," he compared to the very strict potions professor.

"But I'd be up for the kitty caretaker too." Ambrose grinned, "I've been reading about stalking animals and been wanting to try it out. And I'll ask Winnie if she's got any gossip from the girls, like."

Figaro turned back to the board and wrote down 'kitty, strange - PEPPER'.  "Right, you're on it, chap."

And then, 'issues - POPPY'  "And Finnigan will do the issues thing.  Maybe find out if SAWS is still a thing.  Or who's been posting those 'free the elves' posters."

He stood back from the board and glanced over his shoulder at his crack team.  It was small.  It was scrappy.  But he had a very good feeling about this.  He was dedicated to making a ruckus.  He turned to them fully now and clasped his hands behind his back.  "So we've got our assignments.  I hereby authorize you to do whatever means necessary to get the scoop.  I don't care what you have to do - nothing is Unforgivable when it comes to journalism?"

"Any questions?"

'Ugh, why did I have to forget that cauldron?' Aoife thought as she walked up the stairs before coming to the fourth floor. She had attempted to have another cooking class today at 4:00, but there was barely enough time to make cake before Aoife and the few that had shown up had to dash off to class or a seminar. Unfortunately, in her rush to clean up, Aoife had forgotten her cauldron in the empty classroom and now had to go all the way back to the classroom to get it before she could relax in the Hufflepuff common room.

Aoife noticed the door to the classroom was half-way open and blinked.
'Did I forget to shut the door too?' She thought to herself before opening the door all the way and looking inside. Her eyes widened slightly as she saw the older students and the piles of newspapers.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't know someone was in here already." Aoife said. "Um, let me just get my cauldron and I'll leave. Have you seen a pewter cauldron in here?"

All eyes turned to the half-pint who'd poked her head in the door, Figaro's included.  He recognized her right away as one of Hufflepuff's own and immediately swooped down to her, draped his arm over her small shoulders and led her right into the room.  They had to step around the stacks of newspapers that were piled everywhere, a few were still fluttering around from some unknown breeze.

"Never seen it," he answered hastily, and his answer happened to be true.  If it was in here or not, he hadn't noticed.  He had other things in mind.

"But you're just in time, Moffett.  We're having a colloquium.  Everyone," he gestured to the two students sitting there as if the room was full, "this is our secret weapon."

He grinned widely.  He'd thought of it the moment he saw her tiny little head, the short stature, the mousy innocence. She'd be perfect.

"Secret weapon?" Aoife asked, mostly to herself as her small bare toes started to curl up. What was going on here? Figaro was Frank's brother, but she had heard that he wasn't the most responsible person around.

'I wonder how he ended up in Hufflepuff...' Her thoughts had begun to trail off before she noticed everyone's eyes on her. Aoife made a small noise as she began to tap her feet one at a time against the hard floor.

"Um, hi?" She said, her usually extroverted nature gone from having the older students staring and being labeled the Hogwarts Howler's "Secret weapon".

Figaro took Aoife gently by the shoulders and led her into the room to stand front and center.  "That's right, Moffett, you've got a certain set of skills that are most useful to us."

He turned away from her to scrawl a word on the board.

ADORABLE

"That's right. She's freaking adorable.  Freckles. Red hair. Little feet.  No one will suspect a first year the likes of Aoife Moffet.  Not even the Headmistress."

He moved around to kneel in front of her.  "Aoife. Do you think you could get into McGonagal's office?"

Aoife's eyes widened slightly as Figaro wrote "Adorable" on the board. Did he really think that about her? Aoife blushed and looked down at her bare feet, having forgotten to put on shoes in her trip to get the cauldron before curfew.

"Um, thanks..." Aoife said, smiling. "You look nice too, Figaro." Though once Figaro asked her the question, Aoife looked confused.

"Huh? Why? Do you need a...what do news people call them...story? From her?" Aoife asked back, a little embarrassed that an older student was so close to her. "I don't really know her that well. I know she's good at Transfiguration, but that's it."