31st December, 1889 — Knockturn Alley

In the smoke-strewn alley the shopkeepers guarded their doors from looters and there wasn't a single customer to be seen. As far as Trix could tell they had scarpered as soon as the first explosion had gone off and she couldn't blame them - with nothing to protect but their reputations they were better off running. It wasn't as though the aurors would catch the culprit: no one in Knockturn Alley was ever caught.

From the stooped steps of her own shop she could see the aurors running through the chaos and when the smoke cleared she saw a figure in the smog that made her heart sink.

Claude wasn't dead. It was going to be a terrible New Year.

Distracted by disappointment Trixie didn't hear the hurried footsteps coming towards her until their owner barrelled into her, shoving both of them inside the shop.

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   Gervaise Ollivander

He didn’t know what the fuck was happening on Knockturn, but it was too early for fireworks and the explosions had been a little too close for comfort, judging by the state of the street and a stray shard of glass that had sliced nastily across his cheek. Obviously what he got for straying from the nice side of London.

Still, he’d had a destination in mind and now had double the purpose for getting there. And there she was, her figure coming into view through the smoke, loitering on the front step but seemingly unaffected. There were shouts of aurors along the street, but what she was looking for he didn’t know; in any case, Kris had no intention of hanging about outdoors to find out. Skirting close to the walls, he dashed forwards and, catching her in his arms, bundled her inside with him.

He released her and instead scanned the interior of the shop, searching for Burke. Not in sight. Huh. Lucky for him.

Deciding that they were probably alone, Kristoffer swung the door firmly shut behind him and leaned back against it, catching his breath. “Didn’t realise I’d be risking my life to see you round here,” he remarked coolly.

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Gasping in surprise Trixie’s entire body went on alert as panic set in for a brief second – it was Knockturn Alley after all, and though she was a feature of the cobbles and people daren’t antagonise her father it didn’t stop the odd chancer. Usually she was more on her guard but with a pack of aurors she had let it slip: naturally they wouldn’t notice if someone like her was attacked, bloody idiots could barely see what was right in front of them.

Fortunately what was right in front of her was far from unwelcome. Panic quickly gave was to a thrill of expectation and Trixie regarded his ruffled appearance for a moment, taking in the fact that he was still far better looking than the man she was expected to share a bed with – she didn’t, but that wasn’t the point – even with blood dripping onto his collar.

"I'm worth the trouble," She replied assuredly, running a finger along the cut on his cheek. If it scarred then it would only add to his good looks and that was another desperately unfair thing about her marriage – her husband would only look better if his entire head came off. “Does it sting?”

  

He could feign disgruntlement if he liked, but the truth was he did not disagree with her in that. She was worth the trouble. A bit of danger - the working-class-ness, the husband, a few explosions on the street - made the whole thing a touch more exciting. Gave it all a little allure. Stopped things being boring. “Maybe so,” Kris admitted as he eyed her, never one to gush, not one to broadcast his feelings unless the feelings were some kind of anger. “And just a little,” he added in answer, catching her hand after she touched the cut on his face and suppressing his wince of discomfort.

He didn’t know how bad it looked - a little gruesome, hopefully, but in the badass way and not the ‘got my ass kicked’ fashion - but either way, he was not above fishing for a little sympathy. Not when Beatrix had already proven herself so adept at consoling him. The shop seemed empty, too, so it looked like her attentions might be all his, as long as the Aurors didn’t come knocking. Discreetly, he felt behind him for the door sign that he might flip over to its reverse. No one would blame Borgin and Burke’s for being closed amongst the chaos outside.

That said - “Is he here?” He asked, scanning the dim corners of the shop again in case Burke was lurking in the shadows.

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   Elladora Black

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Nose wrinkling in distaste at the thought of her husband Trixie clocked that he had flipped the sign and reaching around his waist coyly she turned the lock too. She didn’t know for sure what was going to happen – part of the thrill of being around Kris was that one never quite did – but she would be prepared for any eventuality. She had skilfully avoided Claude touching her, though she probably would have done that either way, and their fumbling hadn’t exactly been earth-moving but something about the illicitness of it, the salty smell of skin against skin and his general disinterest in coddling her made her want to try it again.

She had also some late night conversations with the local whores who occasionally knocked on the back door of the shop after the official closing time, keen to avail themselves of the potions her mother brewed up to stop them finding themselves in trouble. Trixie was prepared with newfound information and had been eager to test it for ages.

“He’s out there. Sadly I don’t think he’s gotten his head blown…” She lingered, as she had been told to do by a girl the same age as her whose knowledge of the world suggested she was far beyond the combination of both their years. If it made an impact she didn’t see it but nevertheless she persevered. “Off. But I expect he’ll be in the pub for a while. And there’s no one else here to protect me from ruffians,” she cocked an eyebrow.

  

He tensed a fraction as she leant in only to handle the lock, and drew a heavy breath. This place was no palace - it was more than a little grim, though Kristoffer did harbour some idle interest in the eclectic assortment of products on their shelves - but he would do his best to forget that. (He might have said she wasn’t making it hard for him, given the suggestion in her words, but that would be somewhat misleading.)

Because there was plenty of insinuation in the space between her words, the kind that set every nerve ending alight and she hadn’t even touched him. No one was in, then; he was at perfect liberty to stay.

“Protect you? You’re a dirty little minx and you know it,” Kris murmured, his tone goading but a smirk curling on his face, because he was so very pleased about it. Beatrix was not a whit like the rest of the girls he knew; she was bolder and cleverer and altogether more willing. If anyone needed protecting here, it was probably him.

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If Claude ever spoke to her like that – if he ever dared - she would have died of shock. Or punched him in the nose. Trixie doubted she would find herself feeling weak at the knees, but then Claude would never approach her with such intoxicating arrogance and a smug smirk.

He wasn’t a Lestrange. For anyone who valued the purity of blood in their world that name was sacrosanct and the power the family wielded was practically unparalleled. Kris probably wasn’t the most notable of them admittedly, but she would rather fuck him than Frida.

“Am I now?” She asked coyly, hand resting somewhat less coyly on his crotch. “I don’t see you complaining.”

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