2pm-ish
March 6 2009

Figaro was about as high as he could get in the castle without having to climb up into the towers.  He tried to count the stairways he'd taken and it didn't add up - since he'd gone up 7 but had gone down 8... But still looking out over the arcaded balcony, he could count anywhere between 5 rows of windows below him, to 9.  Hogwarts was weird.

But down far below was the large interior courtyard that had the big boar fountain.  He saw students cut across the courtyard every one in awhile, and some had settled on a bench down below.  It was Saturday, so Fig was out of uniform and had covered up from the cold in a knit hat and his Three Owl Standard hoodie.   He didn't have any concrete plans for the day ans he was kind of pumped to spend all day doing nothing.  Nothing scheduled with anyone.  Just dorking around as his heart led him the whole day through. 

"We've got a werewolf, yes we do, and Fauna Blake's her name!
Foley bit her on the face, no matter what they claim!
They snogged a bit, she bit her lip, and that's what sealed her doom.
Oh, watch yourself Hufflepuff common room, at the full moon.
Oh, watch yourself in Hufflepuff common rooooooom!"[1]

Maybe it was mean, but it was absolutely hilarious just the same.  If Fauna Blake really was a werewolf, then it'd just be number two for Hufflepuff, right?  Figaro hadn't really thought that much about it, other than to write a song to shout in the halls.  He wondered if it had got round to Fauna yet.

On the premise that he was going to practice Charms to avoid the school rule of no magic in the halls, Figaro had rolled up a bunch of snowballs from the snow that had gathered on the railings and had them all arranged.  Then, he would toss them out, one by one, into the air over the courtyard and then tried to hit it with a well-aimed Impedementa, hoping to halt its descent.

His aim was rarely good enough, and snowballs were falling down into the courtyard.

But he heard a shout and he leaned over the railing with a grin, looking down to see who might have been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

1.	To the tune of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen link

Thank goodness for Saturdays. Without them Reggie was sure she'd go mad; along with the rest of Hogwarts' population perhaps. Well, except for the ultra studious Ravenclaws. Curse them. Clad in sufficient winterwear she moved down the chilly halls of the castle. While there were lit fireplaces scattered throughout, the heat they emitted theoretically couldn't heat the entire castle it seemed. Pulling her hoodie tighter around her frame she soldiered onward, considering the possibility of conjuring up some good ole' bluebell flames. Yeah, that would likely do the trick...

Soon enough she ended up outside, entirely by accident mind you. She could have sworn that door led to a shortcut to Gryffindor Tower. Or it used to, anyway. Hogwarts liked to change its layout randomly just to make it difficult for its denizens. Thinking back to her first year and how many times she ended up in places she did not intend to she exhaled harshly and rolled her eyes. Now she was in the courtyard, freezing her tail off even more than before. How quaint.

"I hate this damn castle sometimes. I really do." She grumbled to herself as she set off across the area, feet crunching against the fallen snow. A few students were out enjoying the winter wonderland that surrounded them; mostly first and second years playing around with one another. She was surprised her little sister wasn't among them. The girl really enjoyed the outdoors, despite what the weather conditions may be like. Perhaps she was studying? 'Yeah right.' Reggie thought. Studying and Heather Elise did not go very well together. Her mother had made her eldest daughter promise to enforce academics on her young sister; a promise, mind you, that Reggie hadn't exactly kept.

Oops. Her bad.

'Maybe I should go look for her and make sure-' But she didn't get to finish that thought because something suddenly landed on her head, causing her to yell out. Blinking, it took her a moment to release that the "something" turned out to be none other than rogue snowball from above. With a glare she averted her gaze upward, soon seeking out the source.

Figaro. Sellaphix.

Without thinking she whipped out her wand, held it up towards him, and shouted.

"Aguamenti!" No sooner had she spoken did a jet of water arc from her outstretched wand, heading for her attacker. She hoped he got absolutely drenched...

Figaro's grin turned into a big smile and he leaned over the railing more to shout a greeting.  It was Regina!  Too bad about that snowball, but she was tip top enough to be a good sport about it, yea?

"Oiya! Grayson! How you-!?" But before he could even get much out, a jet of water surged up six stories at him as fast as lightning.  Figaro threw himself down and backwards with all intentions to duck and cover, but all he got was wet.

The cold water hit him like an entire bathtub had been emptied on him.  In the span of two seconds, he was soaked to the bone, all his clothes weighed down and stuck to him with all the water in them.  His bangs were plastered down over his eyes.  The next breath he took came out in a shivvering cry of surprise.  It was embarrassingly high-pitched.

"H-h-h-h-hooooooo me bollocks....!"  The icy wind had nearly knocked all air from his lungs and was quickly numbing his extremities.  He got up, but every movement just felt like it made him colder.  But soon he was standing at the rail again, dripping down, gazing with gelid admiration down on Regina Greyson.

"You ch-ch-cheeky m-m-minx!"  Figaro knew when he'd gotten what was coming to him - this was no pre-emptive strike, no unsolicited bullery.  The Wizengamot would rule self-defense, so no reason to get cross. 

He was shivvering all over now, but it didn't seem to dull his mood.

"N-n-no m-magic in the halls," he shouted down.  "You g-g-good today?"

Bullseye. Though she never considered herself to be a master of magic, she still did know a thing or two about using it to get back at certain parties. A smile broke out across her face as she watched Figaro get hit with her well-aimed spell. Hah. Served him right. Who honestly tossed snowballs down onto people from that high up!? Was he trying to give someone a concussion!? Was he absolutely mad?! And- Oh. No. To her ultimate dread she was sounding exactly like her mother right now. Placing her hand on her forehead she took a deep breath, exhaled, and tried her best to shake such horrid thoughts away.

In any case, Fig didn't seem to be too angry about being doused with water in this kind of weather. He likely saw her hitting back at him as good sportsmanship. Boys like him were forever a chore to try and figure out. Clearing her throat she gave him a lazy wave, wand still clutched in her other hand. No harm in being prepared in case he decided to escalate their little light-hearted battle. "As if you care about that rule, Sellaphix. And I'm in a grand mood now that you're standing before me soaked to the bone." She shouted up to him, unable to keep the hint of laughed out of her voice.

"You'll catch your death of cold if you stay up there. I don't want to be indirectly responsible for you falling ill." Not that she'd really blame herself. Well, maybe just a little. He had more fault in this than she did however. Surely no one would see otherwise. She had just been strolling alone minding her own business when she'd been "assaulted" with a stray snowball. Yeah, her story was pretty much airtight. She challenged anyone to try to prove otherwise!

Figaro kept on shivvering in the cold, somewhat amused at the involuntary reflex of the body attempting to warm itself.  It felt funny, and for the moment, he was enjoying attention from Regina, who could be pretty aloof.  Figaro would talk to anyone, but it was kind of hard to get a reaction out of Reg. 

"Yer n-not me mum!"  he shouted back down to her, still leaning over the stone railing.  "And if you're so handy, dry me off, yea?"

Then, as if to make it appear like an accident, he elbowed off one of the snowballs he had lined up.  It went falling to the ground below, on its way to Regina's immediate vicinity.   "Oops! Watch yourself!" 

He pushed off off two more.

Seeing the snowball coming this time gave Reggie enough time to react, stepping out of the way. Why that dirty... Two more came plummeting down, just missing her. Oh that Figaro Sellaphix! Cheeky little git. Two could play at that game. Stooping down she quickly scooped up some snow, forming several snowballs in an extremely short amount of time. One would think she used to be a pro snowball maker or something. Hmmm, strange.

"How about you watch yourself!" She shouted back, whipping out her wand and uttering a spell while flicking it. The snowballs shuddered in place for a split second before then launching themselves upward at Fig. Using magic for something like this was definitely not going to win her any points with any authority figures. But again, she was defending herself! Fig had started it! Honest!

"I hope you can dodge well, Sellaphix."

The first of Reggie's snowballs hit the stone railing with such force that it shattered into an icy spray.  The second hit him in the ear.

"Aw, for f-!" he shouted, clutching at his ear which stung like crazy.  He felt like he'd been hit in the face with a brick.  It was all fun and games until someone fires a snowball into your ear, apparently. 

"Ow!" he shouted down, not so much to express pain, but to accuse her.  He didn't want to play the wimp, but for Merlin's drawers, he thought his ear was bleedling.  And his clothes felt like they were beginning to freeze. 

"I'm g-going inside!" he shouted down.  "M-meet you in the Armor Gallery, or s-something!"

The self-preservation instinct was kicking in, but he didn't want to just leave Regina out in the cold when they were having such a good time.  He'd get dry by the huge-ass fireplase  in the Armor Gallery, just a few floors away and neither of them would have any more snow as ammunition.

He slop, slop, slopped back into the castle, and slop, slop, slopped down the corridors.  Every movement was like he was wearing heavy armor.  His clothes hung off him, heavy, cold and wet.  His feet were wide apart, trying to walk without his trouser legs touching each other - his bits were not happy at the moment. 

Once in the Armor Gallery, which had a giant fire stoked as usual, the orangey light reflected in the shining suits of armor that stood along walls and against pillars like sentries, Figaro slip, slopped over to the rug before the fireplace.

He peeled off his long-sleeved shirt and dropped it on the floor with a loud, wet THWACK.  The warmth of the fire felt awesome.  He peeled off his t-shirt next and dropped it in front of the fire with another satisfying THWACK.