May 3, 1888 - Corridors of Hogwarts, Evening

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero till the end of the night
He's gotta be strong, he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be larger than life, larger than life
-Ella Mae Brown

Evening prefect duties were perhaps the one chore of being a prefect Emmeline despised. Being very much a creature of habit, she was always awake at the crack of dawn and late nights never seemed to stop her from the early wake up. Which, essentially, resulted in a rather cranky and groggy Emmeline in the mornings. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done about it. The worst part about that night, however, was being stuck with Kristoffer Lestrange. If she were being honest, she was afraid of him and she was probably everything he disliked about a person. Working class. Half blood. Good two shoes.

She simply had to grin and bear it as she waited for him in the corridors so they could begin their rounds. He was late though, which caused her to stand there with her hands on her hips and tapping a foot rather impatiently. Normally it wouldn't have been an issue but apparently the haughty stance and tapping of her foot was enough to sound the alarm for Peeves that someone needed pestering with. Before she could even react, a bucket of icy cold water was dumped on her head and a cackling Peeves disappeared down the corridor.

"Peeves!" she exclaimed through chattering teeth just as she saw Mr. Lestrange come around the corner with his usual arrogant swagger. She couldn't help the glare she focused on him despite her freezing and trembling body. "You're late," she ground out once he'd gotten closer.

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#LovelyLadySet

He wasn't that late. Besides, he might argue: the later it was when they set off on prefect rounds, the longer past curfew it'd be, and thus, the fewer students they'd have to chivvy back to their dormitories. This saved effort on everyone's part; Kristoffer was practically doing them a service.

Except, perhaps, Miss Woodcroft here. His mouth fell open in utter mirth when he rounded the corner and spotted her there, disgruntled and sopping wet. Good on Peeves.

"And you're wet," Kris returned, as though she hadn't already noticed. His mouth slipped into a smirk as he looked her up and down, briefly grasping at some of the fabric of her lapel to test quite how wet her uniform was. "Need some help out of your robes?" He offered with a raised eyebrow, oh-so-nobly.

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Emmeline continued to glare and, now, frown at Mr. Lestrange as he came closer and pointed out the obvious. He was an idiot. A rude and complete idiot. And it wasn't like Emmeline to think poorly of people but she certainly didn't have the highest of opinions of him. But despite her thoughts, she couldn't help the blush that flushed her cheeks at his offer to help her disrobe. Surely he hadn't meant it that way but in light of the previous few months should couldn't help but to think of it in that way.

"How you ever became a Prefect I'll never know," she huffed as she shivered again and produced her wand. Perhaps a simply drying spell would suffice but they weren't exactly supposed to be doing magic in the corridors but she wondered if an exception could be made. She hesitated with her wand in her hand, eyeing the Slytherin Prefect warily to see what his response would be.

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#LovelyLadySet

For all her frowns and glaring, her flushed cheeks told him he'd managed to have the effect he wanted, whatever she wanted him to think about her distant disapproval. Some girls were so easily embarrassed.

It was immensely amusing, and now, if anything, Kristoffer was just inclined to do it more.

Her huffed response was one he'd heard before, admittedly. Kris didn't feel the need to answer it to defend himself. People knew precisely why he had been made a prefect, they just didn't like to admit it to themselves. He had all the qualities of leadership: confidence, authority, an esteemed name, was a credit to his house. (Was, in theory, a student Headmaster Black was disinclined to hate, at least as much as the headmaster hated some.)

"I could say the same to you," Kristoffer said, unperturbed, and raising an eyebrow at her wand. Oh, he couldn't take points off her, she was another prefect - and he wouldn't, generally, for something like that, which was a miserably dull and sensible breach of school rules if it was anything - but he did smirk at her raised wand, happy to make life difficult for her. "You're more of a rulebreaker than I thought," he remarked, wondering idly which other rules he could potentially push her into breaking.

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Mr. Lestrange's words caused Emmeline to pause in her ministrations. It was almost as if he were taunting her to break rules. She most definitely was not one to break rules though she had been caught out in the corridors past curfew before she'd become a prefect but that had been a fluke. She'd ran into a damned boggart and it had thoroughly messed her timing up.

That was all besides the point though. She couldn't very well go about her rounds totally drenched to the bone and there simply wasn't time to go and change, especially since he'd already been late. She quickly cast a spell to dry herself then redid her braided hair before turning back to him. "Sometimes things are necessary," she answered will all the confidence she didn't really have, she just hoped it held enough to convince him.

"Shall we begin?" she then asked, hoping they could just get on their merry way and forget about the whole ordeal.

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#LovelyLadySet

She went ahead and cast her drying spell, which put an end to his goading, both about the rulebreaking and getting her out of her clothes. Shame. "I'll keep that in mind," Kristoffer remarked, blasé. He might be able to hold that sneaky spell over her; but, as broken rules went, she had hardly proved herself any less of a goody-two-shoes - only that she was practical, too.

Clearly she wasn't pleased to be loitering around for too long, either. He merely offered Miss Woodcroft another amused leer, and an ever-so-slightly mocking, "After you," that he accompanied with a chivalrous wave of his hand. And followed up by grasping the ends of the newly refashioned braid in her hair and giving them a firm flick upwards, because he had as little sense of personal space as he did maturity.

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Emmeline wrinkled her nose in response to his sudden attempts at chivalry. She knew better than to expect such from him. And.. he quickly proved such by giving her braid a tug as she went to move past him. It took every ounce of self control she had within her petite body not to turn and glare at him. It would only add to his enjoyment, she knew.

"Do you intend on ever growing up, Mr. Lestrange?" she asked a bit mockingly as they began on their way, making a point to not actually look at him.

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#LovelyLadySet

“Sometimes things are necessary,” he parroted back innocently, about the hair-pull that she was solemnly attempting to ignore.

“I don’t know, I expect I have less growing up left to do than you do, Miss Woodcroft,” Kristoffer said. When one factored out maturity, anyway. He supposed that could function well enough as a jab at her height - coming up beside her, it was easy to see she would remain petite-figured - but as well as his own growth spurt and newfound manliness, there had been last summer’s rite of passage which was evidently also on his mind. He lowered his voice, suddenly conspiratorial. “Or has someone already deflowered you?” If they had, she was more of a rulebreaker than he’d thought. But who knew - working class girls were heathens, anyway.

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Emmeline blanched visibly at the mention of deflowering before turning a rather vivid shade of red. Mr. Lestrange really was an awful boy to even be discussing such matters. Not that she had been deflowered but the very mention of it was rather embarrassing. And infuriating. Surely, he knew better than to suspect her of being a wanton even if she was one of those working class girls. But the thought of that rather awkward first kiss thanks to the enchanted mistletoe with Mr. Macfusty was enough to fuel her embarrassment. She'd thoroughly botched that and now her chastity was being called to question.

"Not that it's any of your business," she tried to say in even tones so as to not give away just how flustered he had her, "I'm still very much an innocent." And she was very much proud of that.

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#LovelyLadySet

Well, it was incredibly easy to get to her, wasn't it? This was delightful. Kristoffer should find a way to covertly tweak the prefect patrol roster and get himself stuck strolling about the castle with her every time. "My business or not," Kris declared smugly, "I can tell that from your face."

Even if she hadn't offered verbal confirmation, her face was crimson enough to make it clear. If only to soak in that fact some more, he curled up his hand and pressed it to her cheek, as though testing to see just how much she was burning up. Privately, he was hoping that move would just fluster her further. If it didn't, well: "And I can always make it my business, if you like." (She'd play affronted, he presumed. But most girls would.)

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Emmeline cursed the fact that she flustered so easily and that her face always seemed to blush such a violent shade of red in the process. She'd really have to try and figure out how to get a reign on that. But then the smug ass had to take it a step further and reach out to touch her cheek. He got what he wanted and she seemed to turn even more red as she swatted his hand away.

"Don't touch me," she ground out, choosing to ignore his other comment. The very idea of being in bed with Mr. Lestrange was awful. At least, that's what she wanted to think and believe. "Can we just get on with our patrol?" she asked, averting her gaze from him as if him looking at her would make her think things she really didn't want to think of.

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#LovelyLadySet

It worked like a dream, and while Kristoffer wasn't sure whether harassing her like this would have any benefit to him in the long run, he could at least affirm that he'd opened her mind to the idea. And judging by her red face, it would be harder to put him out of her mind than it had been to push himself in it.

Get on with their patrol, she said? Kristoffer smirked. "I thought we were?" (Because clearly all prefect patrols were for was getting to press girls in empty corridors. If the corridors were as empty as now, then they were, thus far, doing their job just fine. Besides, if they caught anyone, he bet it'd be some idiots snogging in a closet. Miss Woodcroft should get a grip. The way she seemed, she probably wouldn't be able to look them in the face. Really, he was helping her out here.)

"What would you prefer we talk about?" He asked sweetly.

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Emmeline rolled her eyes at him and continued on her way patrolling, as she took it quite literally. They needed to be on their way to actually patrol the halls and see things around them to make sure no one else was out and about. It was just awful she had to do it with him.

"Nothing," she answered simply, not bothering to look at him as she answered, "I'd rather not talk with you at all." And that, when it all came down to it, was the absolute truth.

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Kristoffer bounded forwards a few paces, tossing out one look in vain up and down the length of the corridor for any sign of stragglers out of their common rooms, and then turned around so that he was pacing backwards and facing her again. If she kept trying to ignore him, or avert her eyes - well, good luck to her.

"Well, well, well, is it don't talk or don't touch?" Kristoffer inquired, as though she had no choice but to put up with one or the other. He raised a suggestive eyebrow, circling the conversation right back to where they'd been - not expecting anything to actually come of it - but resolving that the discussion was just too entertaining to give up until the patrol was over. "Because - I assure you - no talking's necessary for the latter."

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Staring wide eyed and rosy cheeked, Emmeline could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth! He was truly awful, perhaps the worst of boys she'd ever encountered in her life! The arrogance simply oozed off of him and he was just.. just awful. There was really no other way to put it.

"Both," she answered as she followed along, trying to avoid actually looking at him but he made it remarkably hard with his insistence. She really hoped she wouldn't have to patrol with him again. "I don't want to talk to you and I definitely don't want you touching me," she added, glaring at him once more as she tried to make the point quite clear.

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#LovelyLadySet

If she’d been anyone who mattered, now might’ve been the moment Kristoffer took offence, and made her pay for her rebuttals. He didn’t need her permission to do either, after all.

As it was, the persistence of her pink cheeks gave him the distinct impression that he was still winning the evening, even without trying much at all. Besides, there would be other occasions, other patrols. “Your loss,” Kristoffer said, drifting into insult again as languidly as he was moving down the corridor. “But then again, I should have known a girl like you wouldn’t have any taste.” (She was friendly with Whitledge, after all, and that said plenty. She ought to count herself lucky Kristoffer was so much as wasting breath on conversation with her, truly.)

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