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Rabastan/Ophelia
She was barely a seventh year, but she walked with the grace of a queen who's ruled for thousands of years. Rabastan watched Ophelia Llewellyn duck out of the dinner her family was hosting in celebration of here brother's engagement with keen eyes, excusing himself from the riveting conversation of tulle and centerpieces. No, he would leave that to his mother to gush about, and to gain ideas for Rodolphus' impending engagement (if his idiot brother ever decided to propose to Bellatrix, though Rabastan could understand his procrastination).

He slipped out of the room, his pace slow and with reason; he wasn't impatient, he wasn't eager. Rabastan passed the door of the library, the corner of his eyes spotting motion. He paused in the doorway and saw Ophelia idly spinning a globe, looking magnificent as usual.

She looked up as he entered, and her brown eyes widened gently as he shut the door behind him. It would be no surprise to her, really, that Rabastan had been watching her for ages. There was no other girl in their social circle that he'd ever bothered to pay attention to for more than a fleeting moment, and with the rumors of an engagement to Wilkes...while Grayson was Rabastan's friend, and had been for a long time, the man could not waste what could be his last chance to have her.

Rabastan wasn't one to explain himself, and Ophelia didn't have the chance to question as he crossed the room and grabbed hold of her, arms going around her thin waist and pressing her into the nearby bookcase before he kissed her hungrily. There was a slight protest, but that ended quickly as her arms swung around his neck, pulling him harder, closer to her.

Yes, he wouldn't get another chance at this, and he had to make it last.