Cat Mischief PV. Rafal Devereux

Another wonton Wednesday, one step closer to the inevitable arrival of the cold cloying hands of winter-time, stretching bony fingers ever so slowly towards unsuspecting victims, unnoticed by most until it is too late and poor wretched children down on their luck get snatched and thrown under the smothering layers of snow and flu and asthma. The few survivors scarred for life.

Oh, does Rafal like winter? Why, of course. The charm and bewitchment of a season so ethereal and singularly coloured is timeless, so icy and lovely, somehow soft and sharp simultaneously. Hot chocolate certainly doesn’t hurt either. You drink it any other month, it’s unhealthy. Drink it while you’re freezing to the point you can barely move, you got an aesthetic.

Plus, the second year muses as he crosses the castle threshold onto shoddy cobbled stone, the lack of sun is always one to look forward to. It is an aspect that has always mystified him, but Rafal is one of those chaps who burn like oranges - its peels surprisingly flammable! - under the slightest bit of light. Damned if he gets it, but it’s not much of a reach to assume he might have inherited some kooky vampire gene from his shirker of a father. And befitting Rafal’s general fortune in life thus far, the bat transformation and hypnotic power seem to have skipped him over, or doubtless yet to manifest themselves.

The air is chilly but not yet biting, the pre-influx of large Hogwarts crowds fresh off the last lessons of the day making for an idyllic setting. The courtyard is usually packed to bursting, and it is staggering the difference this one paltry variation makes. No lie, Rafal finds it immensely refreshing to be able to walk two steps without tripping over some half-witted oaf lying smack in the middle of the path, or getting rammed into by screaming, riotous nutcases. Truly, it is impossible to guess people’s ages nowadays.

He chooses a seat upon one of the benches at each four corners of the space, settles down and makes himself comfortable. While engrossed in the paramount process of extracting a textbook from within the confines of his satchel with perhaps unnecessary fastidiousness, Rafal happenstance glances up for a moment offhandedly, and locks eyes with one of those uncanny stone griffins situated around the circular fountain. The one positioned smack in the middle of all the action. The action that can usually be observed around here, at any rate.

It is not a sentiment Rafal has ever outwardly expressed, but truthfully, that quartet of godforsaken unholy animal mixes rather unsettle him. No creature needs that many species in one body. There is no sensible explanation for anyone, to crudely jumble a lion and eagle together in a mockery of the fine arts, then call it a day. Terrorising stable-minded individuals all around.

He tears his gaze away from the object of his disconcertion and tries to bring his mind back to the academic task at hand. It is no simple feat to shake off the creeping feeling of having such dead unmoving eyes staring into one’s soul, but Rafal tries all the same. All right… Charms, page 214. Wand movements. He really needs to get the hang of this.

Alas, fate is not on his side this day. As opposed to smiling upon, more akin to glowering vehemently. The Slytherin has just been bombarded by one inimical beast, and now - another is both figuratively and literally, delivered to his forcefully bolted front door.

A cat. One of dubious origins and inky colours, materialising out of what is seemingly, nothing and now making the most unwelcome advancements on the poor solitary student. Rafal slowly and haltingly lowers his line of sight so as to face his fresh adversary face-to-face. To the Slytherin’s dismay, the varmint has taken to using his pant leg as its own personal scratching post, rubbing shaggy cheeks all over unblemished material and pawing at his side. The nerve of this fellow!

Rafal is vastly appalled, and he makes no attempt to hide it, neither in countenance nor bearing. His lip involuntarily curls, brows pulled tight and one hand reaching straight for the wand within his satchel without hesitation. In the case it is not yet transparent enough, the second year is not a cat person. Not in the slightest, and it is a source of great torment for Rafal that his is a stance so widely opposed. Shifty, aloof, and prone to large patches of disappearance - if he was yearning for something that refuses to give affection no matter the effort, he could just owl his mom. Now, dogs - that’s where it is at.

Luckily for all involved (though mostly the small meowing abomination), a third party arrives promptly to save the day. Scarce seconds after the beastly critter’s first appearance, another, thankfully human this time, inserts himself into the scene. Chasing desperately behind like a stooge, the fresh-faced Asian lad is no doubt this little abomination’s unfortunate owner. Spewing streams of apologies like a muppet, his quavery laugh does nothing to distract from his crystal-evident abashment.

Rafal certainly has better things to do than begin a fruitless squabble, so he shall be the bigger man, as they say. "You know what, it’s quite all right," he says, offering up a polite smile of reciprocation. "Just… take it away from me. Or just someplace far, far away from here." A tad more blunt than customary for the young Slytherin, but he has strong opinions when it comes to select topics.. And the tiny brute is still there, transferring every single bit of filth and grime it has ever picked up from mud rolls or rat catching onto Rafal’s person. What is taking the Asian fellow so long to remove his vermin?

Interacting with @Leo Noxley