Two firm, strong arms caught her in a moment of disaster and Poppy felt herself pressed right up against an unfamiliar, solid, someone. Of course she’d stumbled into a gentleman, what luck. Like wildfire raging through a dry underbrush, heat radiated to her cheeks flaming them red as a familiar, albeit, not too friendly voice registered. Oh no. Poppy looked up to confirm her suspicions and, low and behold, she’d stumbled right into Kristoffer Lestrange in all his handsome, disapproving splendor.

How long had it been since she’d heard that deep baritone bellowing down the castle halls, terrorizing first years (and just about everyone else) she couldn’t imagine. When he’d been a student, Poppy had only had at best a superficial acquaintance with the Slytherin, but she was wholly aware of his reputation as a bit… abrasive. From a distance she’d never minded daydreaming about that chiseled, perfect jawline but she’d mostly kept away from his inner circle. There were too many fish in the sea to be bothered with one handsome fox on shore.

Kristoffer was significantly taller than her (as most people were), and Poppy had to make quite the effort to look up directly into his face, even as it loomed much too close for comfort. She could feel his warm breath ghosting across her cheek as she quickly stepped away, face still warm. Something between a snake bite of a comment and a demure apology waffled on her lips as the Ravenclaw looked down at her soaked bosom.

Perhaps it was best to approach this confrontation as less of a conflict, more of an accident. Despite his withering expression, maybe Kristoffer had reformed in the time since they’d last seen one another. Poppy couldn’t blame him for being upset that she’d spilled all over him; she could only imagine how she might feel herself if someone had jumped out at her and dumped their drink all over her dress. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, she gave her best abashed smile and forced a tinkly little laugh.

“Yes, well, it seems I must have skipped class the day Ms. [etiquette professor] covered how to gracefully trip over one’s own haste.” Giving him an apologetic look, Poppy reached forward awkwardly and did her best to not quite touch him but - well - never mind - her hand dropped to her side awkwardly. “I do apologize for that,” she tried instead. Considering it might be too forward to offer assisting him further, Poppy carefully set her now empty glass aside on a nearby table. The sopping feeling of moving around in a wet garment made her face scrunch and a hand came up self-consciously to dab at her sticky collar bone.

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