Sophie's life had descended into chaos, well more chaos that it usually was anyway. On top of things like Storm trying to kill them during lessons and Professor Bombay wanting to feed them to plants; Sophie had taken on a rather large chunk of the responsibility for what this dance-concert-memorial-love day was becoming about. The Photobooth at the dance had been her idea, which mean Fauna let her be in complete control of that. For the most part Meredith had been very help with suggestions; not only for what type of props and backgrounds they needed for the booth but also with the music portion of the night.

3 Owl Standard was going to be the big show stopper, but Sophie was just as happy that her dad and Johnny's new band were going to play. Then she still had to get Chance to agree to perform and Meredith had given her a list of other bands to contact to see if they'd be interested. She really was being amazing about the whole thing. The argument could be made it was because she was being paid - but in Sophie's opinion she had gone above and beyond. In turn this made Sophie want to go above and beyond too. She'd taken to working through meals, answering and reading letters, making lists, scribbling notes and ideas. It was becoming an all consuming project for her - in part because she felt it was the only way she could honor Ava's memory.

This dinner was no different than the last week had been, she had her favorite self inking quill with her and a three or four lengths of parchment surrounding her and spilling onto the chairs beside her. Most housemates were giving her a wide birth, knowing that she tended to throw herself into plans and then get burned out. She was nearly impossible to talk to when she got like this. Little did she know that someone was very intent to talk to her that evening. Actually she was so lost in letters that she didn't even notice the noise of the Hall or the twittering of people seated at her table until something tapped her shoulder.

Momentum was important.  After speaking with Mysti in the quidditch locker rooms, he'd gone back to Hufflepuff to get psyched out.  And preen, or whatever.  He'd stood at the mirror and stared at himself, at first squeezing at a stray zit, and then resorting to seeing how far back into his throat he could see if he opened his mouth widely enough.  He'd wet his dark blond hair and then shoot it dry.  Scooped it up into a weak faux-hawk, then patted it back down again.   It was the most care he'd taken in his appearance since his Halloween costume, and it was clear he lacked experience and focus.  He put on two extra swipes of deoderant, and rolled up the sleeves of his school shirt.

He backed away a few steps, giving himself a Dennis Creevey sexy look, and then nodded.

"Gonna kill it..."

---

"Sophie."

He tapped at her, looking over his shoulder.  God, why were people looking?  He made a 'whatcha lookin' at' kind of face before turning back to the sassy brunnette he planned to ask on a date.  He felt like the Hogwarts Express - he couldn't stop now!

When she turned around, the adreneline was pumping.  "Hi! Your shirt looks good!"

Sophie was in the middle of scribbling out a line in her letter requesting her father not sing any of the songs about potty training that had been a large part of her childhood. She realized by asking him not to that would be his opening number and she would never live it down when Figaro said her name. She jumped a little and turned, her mouth drawn into a small line. She wasn't cross but she might have looked that way for a moment before her features melted into confusion.

Her shirt looked nice? Glancing down she tried to decide if he was being sarcastic since it was the same battered Gryffindor hoodie she always wore. There wasn't anything new or different about it - unless of course someone had tacked a kick me sign to her back. Subconsciously her hand went to feel just over her shoulder to be sure that wasn't the case. No, no parchment, so then... her brain was working far slower this evening than usual. It took time for her to notice his cocky stance and the nearly laughably adorable faux hawk he was trying to rock.

"Um...thanks? I, uh, like... your face?" there was a tiny note of laughter to the phrase as she finished lamely. If Sophie had been her normal self she would have fluttered and giggled (like the day in the girls' loo). In reality it might be going better that she wasn't. Tucking her bangs behind one ear she made a sort of confused duck face waiting for him to say something else, "Can I help you with something, or were you just overcome by the awesomeness of the jumper I've had since third year?"

In that first second she turned around, Figaro had a flashback to their several shouting matches.  Figaro wouldn't call them fights so much as tiffs or something equally diminuitive.  But the spats, rows, or disagreements certainly didn't have the proper ambiance to ask out a girl, so he was relieved when whatever sour expression he thought he'd detected disappeared and gave way to her dimpled smile.

The giddiness was still there, but this was turning out a whole lot like how things had gone when he'd asked out Mystique Ketteridge earlier in the day.  Then, Mysti hadn't seen it coming at all, and he'd resorted to definitely non-classy bluntness.   He'd have to do better this time.  Practice makes perfect.

"My face? Lovely!" he said, trying to keep it cool.  He quite nearly slunk onto the bench next to her, back against the table.  His elbows a-tabletop were crumpling a bit of her parchments.

"Not so much the shirt as what's..." he cupped his hands at his own chest level with a cheeky grin, "underneath it.  You look real pretty - always do, yea?"

Classy.  Just keep smiling, brov!  Was complimenting her boobs a good or a bad thing? A flutterly little butterfly was having a panic near his pancreas, telling him not to talk about a witch's boobs to her face.  No, confidence, Sellaphix.  It's just Sophie, right? She was ... normal, wasn't she?

Sophie just stared at him, her face both amused and puzzled. What the Devil was he getting at. Then he sat and sort of nonchalantly shoved her work out of the way. So, obviously, he wanted something. Setting her quill aside she turned to face him, hair falling in her eyes again. And then she lost it as he decided that telling her liked her chest wasn't enough he needed to mime it. The laughter bubbled up and one hand flew to her lips as the giggles spilled forth, the other wrapping around her middle. His tone implied he wasn't being insulting, but Sophie was well aware that her...endowments were not on par with most of the girls in their year. To be perfectly honest, Ayla had bigger tits and she was only 13.

Reaching out the hand that had been hiding her giggle it might have looked as though she were about to backhand the boy for the second time in about a month, however her slender fingers instead pressed themselves against his forehead, "No, no fever, so I suppose I will take that as a, um, compliment?" She couldn't stop the smile that twitched on her lips. Figaro was such a dork sometimes, but when he was like this she liked him. He was funny, and she could relate (not that she would ever admit it) to having a broken internal filter. Clearing her throat she tried to stop the laughter she really did, but it was almost impossible, "Next time start with 'you always look pretty' yea? Most girls' would try to give you another black eye for that crack".

Figaro was dead embarassed when he fliched at Sophie's hand.   With a giddy shiver, he realized she was touching him nicely, and not a smack upside his ear or a pop on the nose.  She was warm and her arm smelled good.  And she'd laughed a real laugh! Maybe Mysti hadn't been wrong - maybe Sophie really did like him.  Maybe she'd actually go along with this madness.

Soph and Fig were friends, or so Fig fancied.  But then, he fancied himself friends with nearly everyone.  So it wasn't so crazy to have a friendly chat with her.  Being two of the loudest people in their year, they'd known each other these five years.  They didn't like, spill their hearts and secrets, but they didn't gag when assigned to be partners in Charms or something.

Would asking her to date ruin all that? Bloody well hope not. Cause he was going for it.  She had good hair, a very nice hoodie and he liked talking to her even when it was at an unreasonable volume. 

"Yea, well, other girls aren't as cool as you.  And with me also being very cool..."  he leaned over closer and settled into very deliberate eye contact.

"...I think we make a good couple.  Your lovely boobs?  My lovely face?  Perfect, right?"  He smiled.  And tummy butterfly was going mad. 

Sophie rolled her eyes a little when he pointed out no one was quite as cool as she was. Ok, he definitely wanted something. She didn't mind though, it as nice for a fraction of a second to not be worrying about what needed doing or who needed owling. He was kind of charming in that way-too-loud-for-his-own-good kind of way. For the first time, when his eyes settled onto hers so intently she felt the butterflies in her stomach. He wanted something serious,

It wasn't how she thought it would be, with a romantic gesture and flowers. When she dreamed about the first time a boy asked her out she thought it would be more sparks and poetry. Of course, right then, the way he asked with that brash and blunt humor - it was fitting for who they were and she couldn't help the smile that twitched on her lips as she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "Does this mean you want to carry my books and all the other shit that goes along with being a boyfriend?"

She didn't wait for him to answer, her nerves making her feel jumpy and twitchy excited. She leaned forward without much thought and gave a cursory glance to the Professor's table before closing the distance between them with a fleeting kiss. She didn't jam her tongue down his throat or any of that nonsense. It was just a sweet momentary thing to hopefully signal she was pretty cool with the idea of being his girlfriend. When she pull back she grinned at him, tapping the end of his nose before giggling, "I still won't let you touch my boobs though".

She wasn't mad.  She wasn't yelling.  She didn't look offended or bothered at all.  It was confusing as hell, but the two of them were breaking very new ground with this whole business.  Figaro being splendidly nice, Sophie being splendidly nice - and five minutes into the relationship things were going very, very well.

Figaro didn't flinch this time when Sophie moved in for a kiss.  He just sat stock still, a sort of permanently surprised, content look on his face, his mouth slightly open.  His eyes were a little glassy as he did his very best to remain in the short moment when her lips were on his.  He wasn't looking at her so much as merely in her directly.  She was a blurry brown-headed figure in his line of sight.  He was not aware of a couple of "ooooOOOoohs" that erupted from nearby.  He just existed for just a moment.  It had been a very long time since he'd had a kiss, and he would never admit that the last one had been his mum. 

After a long moment, his eyes regained focus, but he still had that doofy expression on his face.

"Okay..." he agreed.  She'd said something about boobs.  With a hard blink, he came fully back and smiled.  He wanted another kiss, and promptly.

"I'll carry anything you want," he said eagerly, already in motion.  "Here: grab your stuff - we can go to the library."  He started pawing at her homework or whatever she was working on, putting pages into stacks.  If they could get up to the library, they could find some nook back by the French magical fiction and get down to more of that kissing.