12th April, 1888 — Slytherin Common Room

After Thursday's classes, Kristoffer had done some bludger and bat-swinging practice down on the quidditch pitch, getting nervous about the match looming on Sunday. He had his usual bluster when anyone asked, of course; the way Kristoffer played it, Slytherin had already won and anything else was inconceivable. But who knew? What if this was the match where he got his face bashed in?

His handsome, handsome face. His broomstick, on the other hand, was looking a little lacklustre; clearly it deserved some tender, loving care before he flew it in front of the whole school on the weekend. So he carried the broom back down with him to the dungeons, stopping by the dorm to pick up his broom polish and maintenance kit and sauntering back into the common room with everything in tow. He glanced around the room, eyes falling on one figure in particular.

"Miss Lynch," Kris said, picking the armchair directly across from her, broom in his lap, pot of polish balanced on its arm, but his attention turned steadily to her. He felt as though he hadn't crossed paths with her in rather a while; he'd used to see her in classes, but since they were in different years, he didn't so much, these days. And girls like her - not excruciatingly irritating - were rare enough to begin with, he considered. "How are you?"

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October Lynch

  

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October had just finished her potions homework when Kristoffer Lestrange decided to speak to her. She was confused. They didn’t have classes together anymore nor were they friends. In fact, his cockiness can got into mostly everyone’s nerves – including her. But that wasn’t enough for her to actually hate him, oddly. Maybe it was because he was a prefect or she was surrounded with a bunch of his cousins that it would be bad if they ganged up on her.

She looked at him, subtle observing him. Had he grown taller and muscular since the last time?  “Hello Mr. Lestrange, I’m alright. It’s been a while since we have talked” She took notice of his broom and polish. Then she remembered that he was a member of the quidditch team,that would explain the muscles. “How was practice?” There was a time where she had a huge interest with quidditch but after August disappearance and return from the dead, it dwindled and most of her interest at the sport had never really returned. At least for now.

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She'd humoured him well enough with a response and a returned greeting, cool but polite. (This was a better reaction than he usually got, to be fair.)

It’s been a while since we have talked. "Too long," Kristoffer said, almost taking himself by surprise as he tried to decide whether that was a genuine sentiment or just an attempt to be smooth. His mouth curled into a smirk at her question, though, because whether he had game or not, he had quidditch to advertise himself with.

"Tremendous," he replied, oh so modest. "We've got the Hufflepuff match in the bag." Before he started working on the broom, he lifted an arm in a stretch out to the side, mostly in an excuse to flex it. "Are you going to come watch it?" Kristoffer asked casually. (Mind you, only losers didn't come to the quidditch matches; if she was among them, he might have to reconsider being so nice to her.)

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October liked Mr Lestrange’s confidence. When he wasn’t rubbing it in an infuriating way, it gave the prefect a manly charm. Too bad he wasn’t always this way.

Despite her reduced interest in the sport stopping her from fully enjoying the games, it won’t stop her from supporting her house. “Of course! I’ve always supported slytherin’s matches” she answered. It was true, she always watched their house games and it would be weird if she suddenly stopped watching them.

“Especially if you’ll make the game interesting.” She didn’t know what would make Quidditch more interesting other than winning it but it would be interesting to know what he’ll do.

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See, Miss Lynch was an exemplary specimen of the fairer sex. The rest of her family might be lacklustre - in person, if not in blood - but she was a Slytherin, and her brother had played professionally, which meant she could appreciate true skill.

(Kristoffer could conveniently forget how little he actually cared about the sport for this.) Showmanship was naturally more of his priority, at any rate, which only became more true when she confirmed she would be watching.

Especially if you’ll make the game interesting. "I can do that," Kristoffer returned immediately, and looked her up and down much more flagrantly as he dipped the cloth in the pot of polish. "Just for you." What she meant by interesting, he wasn't sure; but he could certainly try a new trick or two, or knock out any of the Hufflepuff players she liked with the bludger. Or he could target a member of the crowd, if that was more her speed. "I've got plenty of moves up my sleeve," he continued, and began to polish his broom in his lap, rubbing the cloth up its shaft in long strokes. "Have anything special in mind?"

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Indeed October would appreciate a good show. October somewhat read what he had up his sleeves. She wasn’t a big fan of violence most of the time but the brutality of Quidditch for him to do it and for her to watch it.

She looked around the common room to see if anything there would spark up an idea for her to tell him. No one really striked her as bludger worthy except for maybe Sweetie Whitledge but neither her dormmate nor the brother of said roommate were playing in the next game.  

“Surprise me!” the slytherin smirked. “A lady loves to be surprised.” And she slightly leaned forward to observe him stroke his broom.

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   Kristoffer Lestrange

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Kristoffer's motions with his broomstick slowed down and became considerably more exaggerated when he realised she was watching.

"It'll be my pleasure," he returned, preening again. "You know, I don't loathe surprises, myself. Perhaps you could surprise me, after the match. With something special. When we win, of course." Kris suggested smugly, deciding that this seemed a fair arrangement. If he was going to do such sucking up to her, it was only expected that Miss Lynch did some sucking up to him. She may have just called herself a lady, but... If she partook in any less-than-ladylike activities, they could most certainly keep it between themselves. It could be their secret.

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   Edric Umbridge, October Lynch

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“Of course, it would only be fair but only if you win.”she answered coolly. October had no idea what he even liked aside from terrorizing younger students and most likely Quidditch. Oh well, she could think of something once she had seen results or maybe he could give her suggestions.  

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He didn't know if she had gleaned anything of his expectations from the proposed arrangement, but she did not seem disconcerted in the slightest, which boded well. Besides, even if she didn't know what he meant by something special, he would be more than happy to talk her through it.

When they won. She had standards, he saw that. As she should. "Of course. You understand me perfectly, Miss Lynch," he replied, already jubilant about the quidditch match he'd already fastforwarded through and won in his head. That part of the bargain was hardly in question! "I look forward to it," he said, letting his eyes rove over her again. "Fortunately, my broom's in prime condition," Kris added confidently, lifting it up in front of him to show it off.

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October’s thoughts were perfectly innocent, and she was unaware that Mr. Lestrange would make her do something less virtuous. But Tobby can't exactly back out and she has to . “As am I. I’m quite excited to see the results already.” Her guts were telling her that sucking up to the older slytherin was a bad idea but her mind tells her otherwise (A little boosts of confidence to his over flowing ego wouldn't hurt). Mr. Lestrange had a strange charm that makes her forget how much of a douche bag he really was. “Good luck.”

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"Oh, I don't need anything so common as luck," Kristoffer declared arrogantly, as he got to his feet now, and swung his newly-polished broom up over his shoulder (pointedly flexing a bicep in the process).

But Miss Lynch had been so terribly supportive of him, hadn't she? He ought not leave her without trying to be grateful to her, a fraction. "But thank you," he added more magnanimously, already thinking of what he might be thanking her for later as he sauntered off.

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