Poppy couldn’t help the almost unladylike snort that erupted from her at Mr. Lestrange’s response. Instantly her hand fluttered up to cover her face apologetically. He always meant what he said, did he? Why did she find that hard to believe? “You’re terribly funny, aren’t you?” she mocked lightly, knowing full well he knew, she knew, that it was a lie. His reputation preceded him and Poppy was quite in the know about, well, everyone. She made it her business to be. Still, he was being gallant, which was more than she’d expected considering the rumors, and Poppy decided she would make up her own mind tonight about Mr. Kristoffer Lestrange. She smiled at him gratefully and followed at the languid pace in which she was led. Poppy supposed there wasn’t any dire need to dry off if it meant facing the reality of his true aims so soon.
She had to admit, there was something a little bit exciting about being on the handsome, former Slytherin’s arm. Her pulse was erratic and she hoped desperately he couldn’t feel it somehow through their close contact. Sneaking a peek at his chiseled jawline, she felt something tickle like doxys in her stomach. “So,” she started. “What has the infamous Kristoffer Lestrange been up to ‘on the outside’?” she asked, that teasing note still lingering in her voice. Poppy had no idea what Kristoffer had gone off to do after Hogwarts but she wondered, very much curious, if it was something interesting. She certainly hoped so.
One of the brunette’s biggest fears in this life was to live a boring existence and it was disheartening to think, for her gender and station, she was very likely to. Poppy wanted to travel. She wanted to see the great big unknown, doing impulsive things and loving feely, openly, and extravagantly. (Who, she wasn’t sure, but definitely someone or someoneS, plural.) It was certainly a driving factor for why she was so wont to get into trouble all the time. Poppy hated the idea of living a life full of regret. She was always the first one to propose sneaking out after curfew, poking around in places a proper young lady wasn’t expected, and drinking herself silly until Atticus had to escort her home. These were the memories she would remember when she was locked up like a princess in a tower, chained to a wealthy man of her choosing but whom she likely didn’t hold much affection for. Sneaking another glance at Mr. Lestrange, she wondered not for the first time since their chance encounter if he might become one of those memories. Poppy would have liked him to. He seemed a decent fellow enough; at the very least, he seemed unlikely to think twice about ‘propriety’ if she wanted to bend the rules and go on some grand adventure. Even if it did get them into trouble.
© Fox