5th January, 1888 — The Library

Frida. Kristoffer had stumbled upon his sister and snorted, not even surprised to find her here. Back in the library before term had even started.

(He had come to finish start some holiday homework himself, but besides sauntering around the shelves and snickering, he... hadn't gotten very far.)

Frida had her head down at a table in the corner, a pile of her textbooks beside her. It didn't look like she was getting a great deal of work done, either, because she had something else in her lap. Another book, maybe - but whatever it was, it couldn't be part of her schoolwork, the way she kept glancing down at it, so furtively she wasn't even being subtle.

She never had been good at rulebreaking. Maybe she'd stolen something good from the restricted section.

Already amused at the thought, Kris dropped into the chair opposite at her at the table. "Well hello, Frida," he said in a patronising drawl, smirking at her in the hope she was startled to see him, and maybe caught off guard enough to panic. "What's that you've got there?"

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Frida had expected the second term of her fifth year to be more eventful than her first. She had OWLs, of course, on top of the prefect duties she'd accepted the previous summer, and that was before she'd given herself a scare by purchasing one of those "mock exam" books over the winter holidays to test her knowledge. She'd fallen short on a number of subjects; Defence Against the Dark Arts and Divination had not surprised her, but when she'd entirely blanked out on basic Potions and Astronomy knowledge, Frida began to panic. She was torn between being happy she'd gone home, only because that decision had led her to discover her academic shortcomings, and staying here and further preparing for the examinations that were merely four and a half months away.

But then, while settling down in the library, all thought of studying and classwork had left her mind the moment she caught sight of an unfamiliar book among her things. Jemima's book. She first thought it might be one she took notes in, but only a few short pages in had revealed that this was a diary - and it held secrets about her that even Frida hadn't known.

She'd tried her best to keep it out of mind, especially the third entry that addressed Miss Beatrix Borgin as Beastly Borgin (as she'd only gotten that far before realizing she ought not to read further), but she found eyes frequently glancing back towards it as she shifted through her other textbooks. Her erratic movements were only one symptom of the guilt and embarrassment she felt, though; her cheeks were flushed pink, and she periodically messed with her hair, in the process tugging a few stray curls from her tight updo.

And then there was him. Her brother. Kristoffer.

He came out of nowhere, and he wasn't one to be fooled - nor, as Frida knew very well, one to be lied to. She instinctively covered Jemima's diary with another, larger textbook, and stared up at him with startled brown eyes.

"It's nothing," she said, much too decisively for the girl who was - well, not that decisive at all. She fell into panicked ramblings, hoping he might just go away. "I was just studying. OWL examinations are only a few months away, and, you know. You ought to pick up a book while you're here; you have NEWTs coming up as well..."

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Oh, this was delightful. Whatever he'd caught her doing, Frida's cheeks were already hot with humiliation, and with every movement she made or word she spoke, she made things worse for herself. She was hiding something, no question.

(It was probably something pornographic.)

Nothing, she said, as though there was an ounce of innocence in that. "'Course you were," Kris agreed, still in that friendly tone that he had never before spoken to his sister in unless he wanted something. "You're right, you know, I should," he said, leaning forwards slightly across the table towards her, poised and ready. "Maybe I'll just - take one of yours -" Kristoffer launched forwards to snatch off the top book she'd so purposely placed over whatever it was she was trying to hide. She'd have no time to hide it now.

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The following 1 user Likes Kristoffer Lestrange's post:1 user Likes Kristoffer Lestrange's post
   Acacia Darlington

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Her attempts to fool him had fallen flat, but it wasn't all that surprising, seeing as Kristoffer wasn't one to be easily fooled - and certainly not by her. Still, she thought she'd been slick by hiding the diary with another textbook, but her brother quickly foiled that plan by snatching it right back away.

"No -" she said, trying to grasp at the book at he lifted it away. Her other hand went to awkwardly try and cover the diary. Why couldn't Jemima have chosen a smaller, more discreet book to fill with her heart's deepest desires and worst fears? She could hardly shield it now; all she could do was pretend it was nothing important. "- that was the one I was going to check out," she tried, letting the skirt of her robe fold partially over the book in her lap.

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He'd had plenty of practice snatching things, see, had grown up doing it and didn't plan to stop now.

Nor did he plan to stop tormenting his sisters. Especially not Frida. Frida was so easy to torment. As easy as breathing.

The book now in his hands wasn't what he had wanted, but he pretended to offer it a cursory glance, head tilted towards it, although his eyes ducked back down to where he had uncovered the other book. Frida was still trying to hide it, but Kristoffer had already seen enough to note that the cover was patterned, golden yellow and flowery - he was already disappointed in it. Probably not from the restricted section, with a cover like that. It had to be something dull and girly and stupid.

Still, if Frida was clinging onto it for dear life and making lame excuses, it was probably for a reason.

"Oh, this?" Kris said, waving the book in his hands back and forth at her as though a bone to a dog. "I have an idea, then. We'll swap. I'll give you this back and leave you be, and you'll give me that." He inclined his head only slightly and spoke only casually, but Frida could have no doubt that he meant the book in her lap.

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This was not good. Not good at all. Of course, she could just tell Kris "no", but what were the odds that he would listen? Kris was not one to be refused when he wanted something, and for much of her life, Frida had given him whatever he'd asked for, if only to avoid conflict...

But this wasn't her secrets that were at risk. These were Jemima's, and Jemima was her friend. She'd been sorted into Hufflepuff for her loyalty, she thought, and to betray her friend by giving up a diary full of embarrassing secrets - even if she had the excuse of a scary older brother - would make her a very poor excuse for a Hufflepuff indeed.

(And being a Hufflepuff, she'd learned, was one of the only things she was good at. She was not clever like a Ravenclaw, nor brave like a Gryffindor. She certainly didn't have the manipulative tact of a Slytherin, either, or she would have found a way out of this situation before Kristoffer even noticed the diary.)

"It's not a library book," she said truthfully, "nor will it help you on any of your NEWTs." Holding the book in hand, she rose from her seated position to stand beside him, feeling much more secure - and marginally more confident - by not being in a position to have her head kicked in.

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   Kristoffer Lestrange

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— set by mj  —

Oh, so she was going to put up a fight, was she?

That would get everyone's attention in the middle of the library. Great. That way Frida could be even more of an embarrassment to her own family than she already was. But if she thought standing up made her any more intimidating, she was in for a real shock.

In one fluid movement, Kristoffer got up too, rather wishing he'd had time to kick her under the table but not about to give up, never mind her arguments. He raised a pointed eyebrow at her, making sure she wasn't going to bound out of reach like a frightened rabbit.

"You think arguing with me is going to help you?" Kristoffer countered, in a dangerously low tone. What was she so afraid of? What was it, her diary? (Girls did get weirdly worked up about their diaries. He'd learned that from Seneca a long time ago.) "Give it to me, Frida," he muttered through gritted teeth, digging his heel of his foot onto her toes in an added threat. He may not be able to take points from her now that she was a prefect, but that didn't mean he couldn't make her life miserable in plenty of other ways. If he wanted the damn book, he would get it.

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Frida's chest tightened, but rather than her flight response kicking in - which, she realized moments later, wasn't really an option - she felt her free hand ball up into a fist. She wasn't the violent type, but being overwhelmed like this, with her brother in her face, threatening her, made her actively fight the instinct to pop him one.

"I'm not arguing. I'm telling you," she said , shrinking back into herself, the book pressed between her hand and her hip. "It's not yours. You can't have it." A grave mistake if she'd ever made one, but she'd definitely put it in her "Top Five Bravest Moments" if she was foolish enough to start a diary after this.

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He was surprised by her dogged response. So she had some guts after all.

But that also meant that little stupid book must be more interesting or more valuable than it seemed, so Frida's defiance only made Kristoffer more determined to get his hands on it. He almost snorted at her again. What did she think, he'd shrug his shoulders in meek surrender? It's not yours had never stopped him once in his life before.

"And I wasn't asking," Kristoffer snarled under his breath, reaching in to prise it from her grasp by force. She was probably expecting it, but he was older and taller and stronger than her, and she ought to be relieved he hadn't dug out his wand and decided to hex her in the process. He curled his hand around the spine and pulled, as furtively as he could. He'd use two hands if he had to.

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Frida struggled to hold onto the book as Kristoffer tugged at it, but it was true: he was older and taller and stronger, and moments into the struggle, she lost her grip on it entirely. She let out a pathetic whine, reaching with open hands to try and grab it - not that it was any use.

"I never thought my own brother would be such a bully to me," she complained with a resigned huff, arms crossed over her chest as she tried to hold back the forming tears. Kristoffer had never been nice, but he was her brother. To have no family loyalty - what a Lestrange he was!

"Why don't you go pick on someone else? It's just a book!" It wasn't, of course, but she couldn't see what use Kristoffer would have with it! He had to have it, though, because no one ever refused him.

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He felt a surge of pleasure from having the book in hand, and stepped away backwards with it, impervious to her huffy complaints. Every girl complained about their brothers; it didn't mean a thing. Frida was just sensitive, that was all. He'd been trying to help her, after all, to grow a backbone - and this proved that it was working, hadn't it? Not quite in leaps and bounds, but still.

Just a book, she said, and Kristoffer cracked it open now as if to test that declaration. Not that it would be anything else, but - as his eyes fell upon the pages, it soon became clear they were all handwritten.

And not, more interestingly, by Frida.  

"And since it's not yours either, I suppose I'll just have to confiscate it," Kristoffer told her, with a self-satisfied tone and a smug expression, as if he had every right to do so - as if he hadn't already taken it, Frida presumed guilty before she had been proven it.

But oh, it always was fun to turn her words back against her, whatever they were. Kristoffer did so again, with a merry expression, making a motion to shoo her off back to the rest of her books. "Go study for your OWLs, Frida."

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He was right, it wasn't hers, but the smugness in his tone - and the insinuation that he had anymore right to it than her, like he was the head boy - made her nostrils flare in anger. "I have more of a right to it than you," she said, taking a step forward, making a grab for it once more. "My friend put it with my things by accident. I'm the Hufflepuff prefect. I'll return it." And she would, as well as suggest half a dozen charms to put on it to prevent her brother from coming reading it - or even coming across it!

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Frida still hadn't backed down, still yapping like a little dog at his heels, but he held the book in close, both handed, hardly about to let down his guard enough to give it back before he'd had a real chance to revel in this victory.

He made a disparaging pfft noise at her, deciding he'd heard enough of her protestations. "Don't worry," he said snidely, turning on his heel and sauntering away from her - back to the common room or a boy's bathroom, perhaps, somewhere she couldn't follow him - "your friend will get it back." He smiled at her over his shoulder, delightfully carefree. "I'll make sure of it."

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