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.”
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.”
