To claim surprise when a spell went zipping by her head and the hand on her arm disappeared was a bit of an understatement. Poppy was absolutely stunned that something, anything really, had managed to come to her aid in that precise moment, and she didn’t hesitate to take advantage. Jabbing the vile man with her elbow and turning to face him as he doubled over, Poppy finally raised her wand defensively. Too late it would seem, as another imposing figure took a stance between her and the ruffian. The brunette blinked in surprise as a familiar voice touted its strength and threatened the cretin that had snatched at her. Kristoffer!Of all the white knights to come by… Never in her wildest dreams had Poppy imagined Kristoffer Lestrange would ever need to come to her rescue. (Well, perhaps in her dreams, but certainly never like this.) He was so handsome, even from behind, his broad shoulders shielding her from the villain. Fodder for the daydreams, surely! Momentarily distracted in her surprise, Poppy let out a shaky laugh as his familiar voice hummed just next to her ear. “A lady has to find her thrills somewhere,” she murmured back, teasing. Still, she couldn’t help the unconscious need to reach out.
Poppy grasped onto to the back Mr. Lestrange’s sleeve from behind, fingers still wrapped too-tightly around her wand as the somewhat parted crowd turned to eye them. Now that her savior had appeared, almost as if from nowhere, the brunette felt a wave of relief come with him. Her arms and legs were still trembling from the fright, but she wasn’t alone anymore. If there was one thing to be said for making friends of unlikely gentlemen, at least Mr. Lestrange’s penchant for roaming had managed to bring him to her in this time of need!
After a silent standoff, the ruffian seemed to realize he was too drunk to fight off an able bodied gentleman - and ministry official! Poppy thought to herself smugly - and turned to stumble off in another direction. Letting out another shaky breath, the brunette forced herself to relax the too-tight grip on her wand. (Any more of that and it risked snapping!) “Thank you,” she breathed quietly, still holding onto Mr. Lestrange. She wanted so badly to get out of there but breeding drove her to polite thanks, much due, before she could think to run back to her tent. Hopefully Mr. Lestrange would join them; maybe then Poppy’s heart would stop hammering so tumultuously in her rib cage! (Or, perhaps, not.)
© Fox