June 9th, 1888 - Padmore Park

Emmeline could still hardly believe she'd been drunk enough to not realize her wand had been missing. It had been a rough night, that was for sure, but who didn't realize their wand was missing? She did apparently. And then she'd spent all morning frantically looking for the damned thing. When she'd all but given up home and planned to head to the Three Broomsticks to see if she'd left it there, an unfamiliar owl had shown up at her window. The poor thing was old and looking a bit rough for the wear and she found herself quickly coaxing it inside with some treats to help it. She hadn't even read the letter yet and had been rather surprised to see any mention of being careful about the owl.

A brow had been raised when she looked at the old bird sleeping peacefully on her desk after having let her soothe and pet it just prior. Then she'd continued reading and her mouth had dropped in shock. The man that had helped her home the prior evening had her wand. She sighed, grateful to know it wasn't missing entirely but also felt a bit of anxiety over having to see him again. Surely, she'd made an utter fool of herself and now she was going to have to see him again. She had to though. She had to get her wand back. So a meeting was set to take place prior to the dinner hour at the park. And he'd told her to bring a chaperone.

She didn't bring a chaperone. She was tired of boys, men, telling her what she had to do. But, she did at least take some of her mother's work that needed to be delivered along with her so she could have a working sort of excuse if someone thought to question her. Not that they probably would. She was a working class girl, after all.

She settled in at a bench, a warm shawl pulled tightly around her frame while she waited. Hopefully he'd be there soon so she could get her wand back and be done with it. No need to prolong her embarrassment any further than she already had.

---

The night prior hadn’t gone as Charles had expected in the slightest and though he didn’t mind taking a detour on his way to The Three Broomsticks. It had been a nice albeit interesting experience. Young people and their alcohol – it was amusing to him. This girl - this Miss Emmeline Woodcroft – she seemed far too sweet to be on the receiving end of alcohol-induced mistakes and mishaps and so Charles had felt somewhat bad for her. It could be said then that this was a blessing in disguise; having her wand. He could make sure she was okay and give her wand back.

He hadn’t intended on having her wand. Apparently, after he’d given her his jacket, the Hit Wizard had put her wand in his pocket and not back in hers. Which was kind of awkward though alas, everything happened for a reason. Even if that reason remained to be seen and may not have been good. Charles couldn’t tell.

He was kind of irritated how his evening had turned out as he’d gone home after leaving the girl and did not have a drop of alcohol at the pub. At his house, he shared a few glasses of rum with his father and mused over his little adventure. His father found it highly amusing and remarked on how he should have made a move; alcohol in a woman makes for other things inside of them too, he’d said. His mother gave him a quick slap on the back of the head and Charles laughed, retorting that he isn’t that kind of person. He’d only been to a whorehouse thrice once and didn’t fancy going again more than a few times.

Truth be told, he hadn’t actually been to any sort of unsavoury establishment since he’d quit drinking as much as he did. He was too focused on ensuring his promotion came to fruition.

Walking to one of Irvingly’s safe zones, Charles nodded at one of the Ministry employees and apparated to Padmore Park without stopping. Stumbling forward as he disapparated, Charles looked behind himself and straightened his Ministry suit as he stepped forward. That wasn’t the smoothest of apparitions he’d done. Oh well. He had some work in Hogsmeade and being elegant wasn't exactly a hallmark of his job.

It didn’t take long for him to find the girl sat in a shawl – without a chaperone – waiting for him. Smirking lightly at the sight of her, Charles moved to sit next to her.

“I wouldn’t have taken you as one to ignore direct advice from a Hit Wizard,” Charles said playfully as he pulled out her wand and held it out for her, “But here’s your wand, Miss Woodcroft. I must have put it in my pocket instead of yours. I would have gone back to yours last night though I thought it better if I didn’t.”

---

Luckily for him, he'd been far enough away so she hadn't actually seen his stumble of an appearance. Not that she'd have cared. He'd found her on the ground the night before after all. Surely nothing was more embarrassing than that. She'd also told him all about what had happened to lead her to be in such a position. Clearly he thought her the worst and most annoying kind of schoolgirl.

But...now he was returning her wand and he'd never have to see her again. Lucky for him.

She did, however, raise a brow at his initial remark despite this playful tone. "I think I've had enough doing as I'm told by members of the opposite sex," she answered simply as a retort. She really was a bit done with boys. Or even men. Clearly she already had awful luck and the worst of track records with them. There was little point in worrying about what happened with them anymore. She'd simply become a career woman and live a spinster's life. It would be easier.

"But thank you," she said as she took her wand from his hand, "Again. Whether you think you deserve it or not. I appreciate all you've done."

---

Charles nodded with a half-shrug. He could sort of understand that and the need for her to rebel against society but he also knew that it was so easy for her to lose sight of who she was and spiral into a path he’d rather not see anyone go into. There was that girl, one of the Scrimgeours, who had gone down a spiral like that – though that case was much worse than a drunken teenage argument. Charles almost wished Mr. Scrimgeour had been marked as a violent wizard who needed despatching. After all, dealing with trouble was what Charles was good at. Alas, the rich purebloods always got off easy.

“Which I understand, just don’t rebel too much. I’d hate to see you get yourself into a bad… erm,” Charles stopped briefly, “… an unsavoury situation. You’re better than that.”

Looking forward after she’d taken his wand, Charles spoke, “I’ve already told you there’s no need for thanks,” He then turned to her with a raised eyebrow, “I know I deserve the thanks. I didn’t mean to insinuate I didn’t,” He shrugged with a soft smile, “but that doesn’t mean I want them, Miss Woodcroft. You needn’t thank me for anything.”

---

Emmeline sighed. They were going to do this, were they? Tell her all about how she had such a bright future ahead of her and to not squander it. She knew that, she did. Which was exactly why she didn't feel the need to be told what to do. Especially by men who didn't know her. Or boys. Whatever they were, it didn't matter. She didn't need them in her life if all they were going to do was ruin it for her.

"I have no plans to rebel," she said as she pocketed her wand so that it didn't end up leaving with him again, "I have another year of school still. Then I'll have my NEWTs and I can go one with my life." Without the hindrance of boys tempting her. At least, that's what she'd like to think.

She ended up just shrugging at his protestation of her thanks again. "I'll make sure to not thank you again then," she said as she stood up from the bench and scooped up the items needing delivered. "I hope you have a good day then," she added with a smile, "Try not to help anymore silly schoolgirls that can't handle themselves. Nasty drama to get involved with."

---

“I’m glad you have a plan,” Charles said plainly in remark to her attitude or, at least, how he was perceiving as attitude. He wasn’t really surprised, or even remotely annoyed by it. At least she wasn’t a boring ‘yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir’ type. He just wanted to make sure she didn’t squander any opportunities she had. She seemed smart enough at least to know that.

“Now that’s not what I said,” Charles stood up and went to continue though she interrupted and told him about silly schoolgirls and nasty drama. Oh, not this again. She’d tried this last night and he really didn’t have the patience to deal with this.

“I don’t recall helping any silly schoolgirls who can’t handle themselves. I do, however, distinctly remember helping a drunk someone who clearly was not having the best night,” Charles shrugged, “But I suppose if that means you can’t handle yourself and you need a mans help, then so be it.”

And with that, Charles took a step back. His tone was playful though he knew exactly how she was going to respond. She couldn’t – no, he wouldn’t allow her to – play the independent woman card and in the same breath say she was helpless. She could have it one way or another; not both.

---

He was clearly a smart man. His step back likely saved him from being hit with the bag of items Emmeline had when she spun around just as quickly as she had gotten up to turn on him. Her eyes were narrowed in a glare, obviously having hit a nerve with her.

"A man," she started before pausing, "No a boy as you so perfectly put it, got me in that situation. But I allowed it. And I'll not allow it to happen again." She was pissed, there was no denying that.

"I don't need your help or anyone's for that matter," she spat, still glaring him down even though he had at least a half a foot on her, "My own family hasn't even managed to keep their own shit together so I suppose I should at least be the one to do so." Though, Hudson likely was doing well enough. She didn't quite know since she couldn't remember the last time she'd actually spoken to her older brother.

---

His lips upturned into a grin as her venom spat toward him. As much as he knew it was best to not anger a woman, he also couldn’t help himself when they were being hypocritical of who they were. Plus, he felt some sort of invisible force pulling him to tease her.

“Good job I’m not a boy, Miss Woodcroft.” He retorted, hands in his pockets. He listened to her words shoot at him. My, such language – from a lady – Charles thought. Oh, he kind of really wanted to push her buttons right now. He wanted to test her.

Keeping his hands in his pockets, a grin on his face, nodding ever-so-slightly (and extremely sarcastically), Charles finally responded, “How can you keep your… shit together if you can’t handle yourself, Miss Woodcroft?” As he said this, he raised his eyebrows as if challenging her.

He liked this girl. She was feisty.

---

Emmeline continued to glare at him, even dared to take a step toward him. She jabbed him in the chest with her finger once she was close enough.

"By not drinking with boys," she said, as if it were the only logical thing to say, "And finishing school so I can make something of myself unlike those around me." She hadn't really realized until that moment how angry she was with her father for the mess he'd dragged the family into. All because he was an idiot gambler that didn't know his own limits. She knew hers. At least she did now.

---

Charles didn’t flinch as she stepped up to him, prodding him with her dainty finger. He simply arched his eyebrows once again, hands still in his pockets, and nodded, “Strange. That talk sounds like it’s coming from someone who can take care of themselves,” Charles looked up briefly. How strange.

“But I very well rem-,” Charles paused, “But I distinctly remember someone telling me recently they couldn’t handle themselves,” Charles raised his right hand to scratch his face and look to the sky with some sort of playfully confused expression, “Who could that have been?”

---

Emmeline through her hands up in the air, likely hitting him with the bag she carried unless he moved away. .She didn't really care if she did hit him though.

"I hate you," she said with a shake of her head, "I hate you and I don't even know you." What was this nonsense? And why was he so keen on infuriating her further.

---

Arching backward slightly, Charles narrowly avoided the bag as it swang toward him. He raised his left hand and caught her arm mid-air; holding her firmly by the wrist.

Lowering her hand as she screamed at him, Charles’ grin melded into more of a soft smile, “Lots do, Miss Woodcroft. Comes with the job. To both things. At least you know my name and you’ve met my owl.”

He didn’t intend on angering her so much – and he knew when to stop. And this was the time to. He didn’t want to hurt her. Just tease a little, “Plus, I know you can handle yourself. You just did.” He shrugged, “Where do you need to deliver those to?” He gestured with his eyes toward the bag.

---

And just like that, the anger dissipated and Emmeline found herself simply staring at him with her mouth slightly agape. She couldn't remember what she'd planned to say and instead closed her lips as he wrapped his hand around her wrist.

"At least your owl likes me," she said softly, a slight bite still to her tone though nothing like it'd been before, "I see why he bites you now." Poor owl.

Back to reality, she looked at the bag before looking back to him. "Down High Street," she said, "You're not coming. I can handle it myself."

---

“Not the only thing that’s bitten me,” Charles mused as he let go of her wrist. Still, why his owl liked her – this feisty brunette who got drunk on firewhiskey – he would never know.

“I know you can handle it yourself and I never asked to come. Quick with the assumptions though, Miss Woodcroft. Would you always assume the worst of me every time we met?” He joked as if they were planning on meeting in the future. Of course, they hadn’t.

He had things to do anyway and keeping an eye on a school child wasn’t his idea of prime Ministry work.

---

"You're lucky I didn't bite you," Emmeline said quickly though it was a stupid thing to say and she instantly blushed. She pulled her hand back and shook her head. He was infuriating.

"Probably," she said with a shrug, "Clearly I need to assume the worst of everyone I meet anymore." A sad realization but one she'd come to nonetheless at the ripe old age of seventeen. Yep. She was going to end up a spinster, she decided. Men weren't worth the trouble.

---

Oh, see now she was asking for it. Against his better judgement, Charles opened his mouth and instantly moved back a step, “Did you want to bite me then, Miss Woodcroft?”

Her next words shifted the tone in a way he wasn’t expecting mostly but he elected to dismiss most of what she said and focus on one word, “So we will meet again, then?”

---