May 5th, 1888 — Gryffindor Table

Pru was typically not an anxious person, but when it came to quidditch superstitions, she was a downright anxiety-riddled mess. That afternoon was the match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. The winning team would go on to the quidditch cup tournament. The entire school year had led up to this game and as the sole seeker for her team, there was a lot resting on her shoulders. She didn't want to let her teammates or housemates down. If she failed at this, surely it meant she wasn't meant to be a Holyhead Harpie post Hogwarts and then where would she be? Someone's wife? A secretary at some miserable, boring office?

She'd sat so long at the Gryffindor table that her friends had already left - having wrapped up breakfast at least a half of an hour ago, if not more. Her plate was left relatively untouched and the food had grown cold and soggy. Still, she was unable to pull herself together enough to do something productive. She nervously gnawed her fingernails into stubs and twiddled her hair into knots. It was when she fiddled with a fraying string at the edge of her quidditch robe sleeve that things began to unravel.

Literally.

It wasn't until she felt a cold draft on her forearm did she realized she'd pulled at the thread so much that she'd unraveled half of her sleeve - her elbow was nearly hanging out!

"Bloody hell!" She exclaimed loudly in horror, "What have I done?!"

The following 1 user Likes Prudence Browne's post:1 user Likes Prudence Browne's post
   Kristoffer Lestrange

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set by Bee

The quidditch game today mostly served, in Kristoffer's mind, to remind him that his team had lost their last match to Hufflepuff, and that Slytherin were thus out of the running for the quidditch cup. That meant he had no real stake in who won today's game (though wanted Ravenclaw to win, naturally), and also that he was in a really bad mood.

That was, until his eyes drifted across the emptying room and fell upon just the thing to make him feel better by making her feel worse. Prudence Browne, an abnormal specimen of a quidditch player and a young lady, with the height - and grace - of a dazed giraffe.

The beauty of Miss Browne was that Kristoffer didn't even need to try. He barely needed to put her off her game; she had clearly done so already.

He had already swung off from his spot at the Slytherin benches and sauntered slowly around the end of the tables, choosing the aisle by which he would pass nearest to her. He arrived just after her exclamation, and made absolutely no effort to quash a loud laugh at the sight of her sleeve. "By all means, don't stop there," Kris said with a smirk, sitting down on the bench directly opposite her as though he'd stopped to give her some well-meaning advice. "Keep going, and just play naked. Can't hurt your chances," he added, his gleeful look implying that was because her chances were already close to none.

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   Ophelia Devine

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Pru scowled at the Slytherin boy. That was all she needed now was to be tormented by a Lestrange. As if she hadn't been thrown off enough already! And to suggest that she play naked! The impropriety of it had her turning a deep shade of crimson. Pru - despite her given name - was not a girl who could be easily scandalized. When a boy sat across from you and told you to get naked however, it wasn't exactly something she could handle with grace.

"Is that what you did? That'd explain your loss to Hufflepuff then," She shot back hotly, "I'm not sure the nurse handles broom slivers in bollocks. You might have to go home to your mother for that." If any of her friends were in earshot, they'd be even more scandalized than before. She'd said bollocks and she had meant the physical kind! Several of her classmates were so uptight that they'd likely have fainted upon hearing it.

  

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set by Bee

His own irritation at her remarks might have competed with his jubilance at how quickly her temper had unravelled too, if Kristoffer had not been determined never to let a girl vex him.

“Language, Miss Browne,” Kris declared loftily, decidedly ignoring anything distasteful he had said only a moment earlier. “Don’t make me dock points for rudeness, now,” he warned her (though he would be only too delighted); “Gryffindor will need all the points it can get after Ravenclaw wins today.”

“And by the way, my mother’s dead,” he added, a little too carelessly for the sentiment it held, but he wasn’t after sympathy, only hoped pointing out the flaws in the insults would chagrin the seeker further. “But I suppose yours will be happy to help you with that, then. I hope she bought you a decent broomstick, or are you just used to splinters by now?”

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The point docking threat was met with a heated glare. She bit her tongue, difficult as it was. She didn't need to lose anymore house points. Gryffindor's chanced at winning the game weren't great — they had first years on the team, for Merlin's sake — but if they didn't win that, they could at least have a chance at the house cup.

A twinge of guilt poked at her. She'd forgotten his mother had died. Oddly and tragically, if she recalled correctly. He'd said it without any emotion that she could detect, which wasn't surprising. He was just as cold-hearted about being motherless as she would expect. It just proved her theory that Kristoffer Lestrange didn't have feelings.

"I'm so light and quick on my broom that slivers aren't a concern for me," She tossed her hair.

  

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set by Bee

She didn't take the bait and offer him another heated chance for a points-docking, but Kristoffer didn't mind too much. There'd be other times, times that weren't in the Great Hall where the professors might come along to intervene.

Besides, Miss Browne wasn't quite as ugly as he usually thought, when she shut her mouth for once. While she was sitting down, he could forgive her ludicrous height as well, and there was nothing to forgive about her family's bloodlines. Her house was pretty unforgivable, and playing quidditch ruled her out as a proper lady, but Kristoffer wasn't appraising her anew to decide whether to be nice to her. No, for what he was considering the quidditch-playing was a good sign. All female players were bound to be harlots. "No, I expect you're very comfortable with a broom between your legs, aren't you?" he intoned in a low voice, his look twisting into something more of a leer.

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   Declan Wood

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His intonation sent a revolting shock through her. Did he really just say that? Her face heated. Her blood boiled. She stood abruptly, causing the bench beneath her to squeak in protest. Pru pulled herself up to her full height — several inches more than he, she noted gleefully.

Matching his tone precisely, she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, "Funny you mention it. I've actually heard the same said about you." Cheekily, she allowed her eyes to drop down the length of his body and then back to his punchable face. "And what you do with that bat of yours? Oof." Her friends would be absolutely appalled to know about her familiarity with such things. Granted, her familiarly was vague and she'd been too embarrassed to read more than a few pages of the naughty novel she'd discovered in a book shop once, but he didn't need to know that. Still, it didn't take too much creativity to make up an inference to other quidditch equipment.

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   Edric Umbridge, Fortuna Bixby, Kristoffer Lestrange

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set by Bee

If he thought he'd one-upped her, the jubilance lasted only for a few seconds, and then it all came crashing down.

First of all, she stood up, which - besides crushing his ego about looking tall and manly and strong in an instant - was a dangerous move, a potential call to attention for the rest of the Great Hall, and now Kristoffer couldn't be nearly so overt, if he didn't want to rack up a detention. Secondly... the impudent bitch had cheaply turned his own insult back on him, which oughtn't even work, but it had made it that much worse, and his face had coloured in humiliation before he could feign otherwise.

How dare she?! Who did she think she was? Kristoffer pushed off, slowly, from the bench of Gryffindor table, with all the control he could muster, as though he could feign they were just friendly acquaintances, peers leaving the hall together. His eyes had narrowed at her, wishing he could bore a hole right through her head; his fists were, fortunately, curled carefully in the folds of his robes.

"Another word," Kristoffer warned, in low tones and menace in his eyes. "Another word, and I guarantee you'll see exactly what I can do with that bat of mine." He wished he had it in his hands now. Merlin, he wished Slytherin were playing Gryffindor today.

When wit failed, resort to threats of violence. A solid plan, as usual.

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   Declan Wood, Handsome Whitledge

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Pru would be lying if she said his slow push from the bench and the murderous look in his eye didn't intimidate her. Despite her height advantage - which was truly her only advantage on him - she knew that he could be cruel and nasty when he wanted to be. She'd seen him play on the field. She'd been in classes with him. She wouldn't put it past him to wait behind a corner of a dark, empty corridor at Hogwarts and bash her over the head as she passed by.

She fixed him with her brightest, cheeriest smile and quirked a brow. Through her teeth, she said sweetly, "Go ahead. I dare you." Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Once she told Leah what happened, she'd call her an idiot for not having backed down. But Pru wasn't about to let herself be pushed around by anyone - especially a no good, haughty shit of an upper class boy. He probably had a small... man thingy. Penis. (That was something boys were concerned about, right?)

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   Flora Mulciber

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set by Bee

What was it about Gryffindors and their inexplicable ability to get under his skin? Oh, wait, he knew. They all had a filthy, brash mouth on them, and none of them had a single bone of sense in their bodies. And Miss Browne? She wouldn’t have a single unbruised bone in hers. Daring him to; what did she think she was asking of him? Did she suppose that sugary challenge would make him quiver in his boots?

Only a moment ago, he’d hardly have expected to ever feel like smiling again - after her damned lies and profanities, said to his face like he couldn’t destroy her, if he wanted - but she’d dared him, and then he did. Kristoffer’s face twisted into another leer, a vengeful echo of his earlier smugness. “Oh, Miss Browne, I assure you,” he said, starting away from the table with all the carelessness he could muster, like fury wasn’t boiling in his veins: “It’ll be my pleasure.”

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His threat was full of dark promises that had her stomach flipping up into her throat. It didn't help that she was already nervous about the upcoming match - now she had to worry about Lestrange sticking a knife in the back of her head when she was least expecting it. She chewed bit the inside of her lip and watched from the corner of her eye as he sauntered off. A sense of foreboding overcame her... she wasn't certain if it was about quidditch or Lestrange.

  

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set by Bee