Poppy knew better than to be sneaking out alone to explore a city she was unfamiliar with in the wee hours of morning. She did, truly, but since when had that ever stopped her from doing anything? The freedom of it was what she craved. Being outside of her Aunt’s watchful, hawkish gaze was liberating, especially since all Aunt Viola had been doing as of late was trying to not-so-subtly ensure she was having a good time. They weren’t here to hunt for a husband, and as a result her aunt seemed a little unsure of what to do with herself other than dote. Poppy appreciated the effort, dearly, but… the morning respite had become necessary. (Besides, wasn’t liberté exactly one of the three French tenants utterly necessary to uphold? She was only being respectful of the local culture, after all.) She’d made a friend some few weeks ago. His name was Jean and he was the most adorable little Frenchman she’d come across yet. His English was « très mauvais » but Poppy had managed to teach him a few easy phrases. In return, her French was becoming more colloquial and they shared a baguette on the bank of the Seine most mornings. This morning Poppy had a small gift for Jean. It was an old, dilapidated English grammar booklet that she’d dug up in one of the markets. She’d cast some few spells to tidy it up and added her own flair to it, hoping it might help him continue his English studies after she left.
Sneaking out of the townhouse and letting it click shut behind her quietly, Poppy leaned up against the wooden frame and pulled her hood up over her curls. She’d taken to leaving her hair down in the mornings. It was much less stress not to have to worry about rouge strands. She then tucked her little parcel close and pulled her wand, not quite stupid enough to walk around at this time unarmed. (She’d been through a scuffle once at the racetrack and had no desire to repeat the experience with her knight in shining armor a country away.)
Poppy had only managed to go a few feet from the townhouse, tracing her normal route towards the boulangerie, when something - or someone - suddenly grabbed her by the arm. This was it. This was the reason she wasn’t supposed to wander about alone. (She’d been lucky up until now.) A shriek bubbled up through her windpipe, and the diminutive brunette made to wrench away, whirling on her assailant with a decisive “stupefy!” He - because it was, in fact, a man - flew away from her and landed some few feet back in a heap.
In the resulting chaos, Poppy’s hood flew back and her parcel dropped to the ground but she hardly noticed as hazel-blue eyes blew wide. She knew this particular assailant. Tucking her wand away quickly, she ran over and dropped to his side, hands hovering over face and torso unsure of what to do. “Kristoffer!” She exclaimed, half apologetic half in shock. “What are you doing here?!”