A New Feeling PV Rafal Devereux

At last leaning leisurely back against one of the many strangely twisting oaks dotting the perimeter of the Hogwarts courtyard, legs crossed slackly in front of himself, Rafal Devereux lets put a soft sigh of pure content. A methodical Tuesday this had been, full of lessons and scurrying and hastily consumed meals, delightfully irascible professors and their incognizant students. Not to mention that particularly incessant toad, who had taken on itself to be waiting, to leap onto the second year’s head each and every single round of a corner, without fail. To sum up; a standard day now ending in the most standard way - the Slytherin taking a short breather in the numerously proclaimed great outdoors, before high-tailing off to heaven on earth - that is, the library. Naturally.

So present time is a short window of relief for the young boy, a much anticipated time where he can truly frolic about and make idle use of his own vitality. And true to infamous inherent disposition, he never does anything to halves. When he must be idle, idle it is, for to this date, Rafal had never sought beyond the sporadic frivolous yaks or distrait wanderings for the aforementioned period, and certainly has no present intention of deviating from this conformity in any possible manner. Perhaps to sum it up, for the more simple-minded of the lot - he shall do his very best, to do nothing at all.

And oh, blimey! That unanticipated heavenly croon which fills the air so serendipitously, coming all of a sudden out of seemingly nowhere and nobody at all; as Rafal straightens forward in a flash, hand bracing against stone and doing his darnest to keep as still as is feasible so that he may focus and track the source of the most divine sound, he can deduce quite indisputably that the private performance must indeed be originating just around the corner from himself - mere feet away, some figure atop one of many stone benches and succeeding in emanating the most curious countenance of melancholy and esotericism, whether the aforementioned aura is by design or inadvertent.

He decides not to make any large movement just yet, instead reclining unhurriedly back to his initial position and listening, in a manner most engrossed. Rafal’s eyes sweep, acute, over the subject of his attentiveness and observes a fact to some level unforeseen. Verily, are pretty girls always coincidentally the ones turning out to be the most unlucky in matters of the heart? Surely, that would be at the least, somewhat contradictory to what he had been led to believe in all his years.

Well. At any rate, the nature of this laddie’s lyrics have indisputably piqued this Slytherin’s more inquisitive side. He thinks he shall further investigate. Heaving himself upright once more, Rafal adjusts himself on worn stone so that he is facing the general bearing of the object of his focus and makes to arrange his expression so that a friendly, genial visage is achieved. "Hello," he calls, grins as cordially as can be expected, "couldn’t help but overhear your song." Gestures vaguely in her direction, then continues, "It’s really quite lovely. Did you write it yourself?"

Interacting with @Astrid Thorneblade

_{Word count: 204}

Reducio