A/N Thank you everyone, for your ongoing support! I'm so excited and grateful for every comment, follow and fave. Sincere apologies to those of you who are hanging out for an update of Belonging To The Fog - I'm just having to follow my muse at the moment, and she is not in the right head-space for all that angst and violence. She is, however, enjoying her foray into historical romance! So let's indulge her some more, shall we?

Hope you enjoy the next chapter. I would love to hear from you all :)
xox artful

...

If the first two days since my arrival at Tredraconis had been somewhat tumultuous, the following two proved far more serene.

I saw neither Lord Malfoy, nor Master Draco, nor indeed any personage not counted among the staff. Considering the dimensions of the vast Manor and its extensive grounds, and my own comparatively limited share of it, this was not to be greatly wonder at. The men could have removed to town, for aught I knew, and I would have been no wiser for it, for the servants volunteered no information, and I did not venture to inquire.

But, truth to tell, I was glad to find myself left to my own devices; my nerves should have been far more agitated were I obliged to regularly receive the company of my master, or to actively avoid that of his son.

Clarastella continued to demonstrate a tractable and teachable nature, and I had to do this justice to her previous governess: she had established a firm foundation of rudimental knowledge, upon which I might easily continue to build. I believed Miss Weasley must have been a good tutor, but I had yet to discover any signs that my little pupil grieved her sudden departure.

On one of our morning outings (this time to the coach stables) I gently sounded her upon the subject.

"Did Miss Weasley often bring you this way, Miss Malfoy?" I asked, as we walked hand-in-hand along the pebbled driveway.

"Sometimes," said she. "But mostly she liked to go to the lily-pond."

I wondered where the pond might be situated, for I had not yet seen it myself. "And are you sad that she has gone away?"

"Oh, yes," Clarastella replied. "She was so pretty, like Miriam," (one of her dolls) "and I liked her hair. It was red as my cape!"

I did not discern any sign of real distress in her voice or expression, and this gave me courage to continue questioning. "Were you very good friends with her, Miss Malfoy? Did you love each other very much?"

"I...think so," she said slowly. "At least, a little bit I did. ...But, I don't think she loved me."

"Why do you say so? I hope she wasn't unkind to you?"

"No; only, she didn't talk to me much, except to teach my lessons." She looked thoughtful. "I don't think she likes little girls."

"I'm sure she liked you very much," I said firmly.

"Not very much," Clarastella insisted. "She liked my brother more. He made her laugh."

I was a little alarmed by this sudden turn of direction in our conversation. I could not but wonder how Clarastella came to know that her brother made Miss Weasley laugh. Had he accompanied their walks, or paid regular visits to the nursery? ...But recalling Miss Marsh's warning not to pry too much into the particulars of Miss Weasley's departure, I did not indulge my curiosity, and quickly steered the conversation away from Master Draco.

"I don't think you laugh very often, do you, Miss Malfoy?"

"Not ter-er-ibly often."

"Nor I," I admitted. "However, it doesn't do to be too serious. A child should be merry, at least some of the time."

"I shall try to be more merry," she said, with the utmost gravity.

Smiling, I lifted her up to pat the noses of Lord Malfoy's elegant Yorkshire Coach Horses. "We shall both try," I said.

...

My appointment with Mrs Marsh took place in her parlour on Friday, after I had finished my duties for the day.

"I am sorry to have delayed our meeting, Miss Granger," she said, as we sat down to tea at a little past five o'clock. "I had hoped to see you after your first day. But as is often the case in the operations of a large house, my intentions were superseded by circumstances beyond my control."

"I can very well imagine, ma'am" I replied. "I hope the maid has recovered from her injuries."

"Yes, yes, she is quite recuperated now. It appears she slipped on some stairs and struck her head in the fall. Thankfully, her folly afforded her nothing more injurious than a loss of memory of the incident. Clumsy girl."

We exchanged some general pleasantries as Mrs Marsh poured out the tea, then, once we were each provided for, she asked me, "But how are you, Miss Granger? I hope your first week among us was not unduly taxing?"

"No, I thank you," I replied. "It has gone quite well, I believe."

"I am glad. Lord Malfoy tells me that his daughter has taken an immediate liking to you."

I felt a flush of pleasure overspread my cheeks. "Oh—but—Miss Malfoy is such a sweet-natured girl," I said, flustered by this intimation. "I—I'm sure it would be difficult for anyone to disoblige her."

Mrs Marsh smiled in such a way that seemed to say, 'I would not be so sure of that.' However, she merely murmured, "Very true," and took a sip of her tea. "And how do you find her curriculum? Do you intend to make any changes?"

"Not at present," I said. "It is extensive, but not beyond her capabilities. She is very diligent for her age."

The housekeeper nodded. "She is certainly not a frivolous child."

"I...I wonder, Mrs Marsh," I said tentatively, "does not Miss Malfoy have any play-fellows her own age?"

"Rarely, I'm afraid," she replied. "Of the respectable families in the area, most of the children are already of magical age, and stay at school."

"Oh, I see. It seems a pity for a youngster to be so solitary." Then, venturing hesitantly, "Perhaps...perhaps a local girl might be found, selected from a decent, honest family of tenants—"

"Cotters' daughters are not fit company for a daughter of a Lord of the Realm, Miss Granger," Mrs Marsh replied with a sharpness not to be disputed. I bit my tongue, chiding myself for having provoked her indignation, although I could not agree with its cause.

"Yes, ma'am," I said humbly, "I take your meaning."

"Your concern for your charge does you credit, I'm sure," said the witch more gently. "However, allow me to assure you (as one who has known her since infancy) that Miss Malfoy has always been something of an "old-soul", as they say. She has never been one to gambol or frolic, the way other children do. She is somewhat...peculiar."

I nodded in deference, but made no reply. Privately, I thought, 'What child would not be peculiar, brought up in such cloistered and solitary privilege? Friendless, motherless, her father an intimidating Lord, her daily companions indifferent adults and servants?'

Mrs Marsh evidently deemed the subject closed, for she turned directly to a new one. "Now, Miss Granger," she said, rising to stand, "There is someone I should like to acquaint you with, if you have the time to spare."

"Certainly, ma'am" I said, rising also, and following her out of the parlour and into the service corridor.

"The wizard I am taking you to meet is the head of the staff," she explained as we walked, "but his duties extend beyond those usually consigned to a Butler. The most significant of these is his role as Potion Maker, an art at which he is unrivalled. He keeps the spence stocked with a supply of ordinary potions, which all the household may use as needed. But if you require something more complex, or an ingredient that is rare or expensive, you will need to apply to him in person. His office is just ahead." She gestured to a closed door at the very end of the corridor.

As we neared, Miss Marsh murmured in a lowered-voice, "Perhaps I ought to caution you, Miss Granger, that he is not a courtly-mannered man, although he is a thoroughly respectable one. Indeed, he is a powerful wizard in his own right. Though not himself high-born, there is nobility in his ancestry, and he is highly esteemed by His Lordship. However, his disposition may seem somewhat...abrasive, to those who are not used to it. But it is only his bachelor's way."

I nodded, and murmured my thanks for her warning. Truly, I was beginning to wonder if I would meet any person within these walls, who did not have some strange defect of temperament which needed excusing or forewarning.

Mrs Marsh tapped upon the door, and folded her hands in an aspect of patience, as if used to being obliged to wait. A full minute we thus stood, until I was rather inclined to think the Butler gone from his haunt. But at length a low drawl—a growl, I would even call it—emitted from therein.

"Enter...if you must." In a mere four words the voice managed to somehow scathe and disdain, as if the speaker could in no way conceive any reason to endure an interruption.

I was certainly inclined to leave the man to his peace, however, Mrs Marsh opened the door and beckoned me to follow.

It was, I felt, like entering a dark cavern. The office was front-facing, and should have enjoyed a bright aspect through its large windows. But a pair of heavy, black velvet curtains were drawn to exclude any daylight, and the only source of illumination came from a dimly glowing lamp in one corner. Strange, ill-shaped shadows cast across the ceiling and floor, and there was an overwhelming odour of herbs and chemicals that made my stomach roil unpleasantly.

The wizard in question stood in the middle of the room, looking very much like an embodiment of one of the ill-shaped shadows, and certainly unlike any Butler I had ever seen or imagined before.

He was a tall, gaunt man, thin of face and sallow of complexion, with gleaming black beads for eyes, whose expression reminded me somehow of the malignant stare of a crow. This impression was not lessened by a high-bridged, beak-like nose, made even more prominent by the contrasting deep hollows of his cheeks. His hair, raven black and rather oily, was scraped severely back from his face to fall in stringy tendrils behind his shoulders. He wore a Butler's evening uniform comprising a black dress-coat and trousers with white waistcoat and tie, over which was thrown a set of open wizard's robes, further carrying the crow-like impression by resembling a pair of great, black wings.

At first glance I thought his face quite hideous, but presently I realised it was not due to any deformity of his features, but to his twisted arrangement of them—lips bitterly thinned and curled, eyes suspiciously squinting, brow puckered and glowering—which made him appear so unprepossessing.

"How do you do, Mr Snape?" asked the house-keeper briskly, returning his perfunctory nod of greeting. "I hope you don't mind my intrusion."

The man said nothing, but his expression perfectly conveyed the fact that he not only minded it, but utterly resented it.

Mrs Marsh continued, undaunted. "This is Miss Malfoy's new governess, Miss Granger," she said. "Miss Granger, allow me to introduce you to our Butler, Mr Snape."

I curtseyed. "I am very glad to make your acquaintance, sir," I said, rather untruthfully, I fear.

The man bowed, but with such graceless rigidity of posture, and such a scowling countenance, that I could no more take it as a mark of respect than I could Master Draco's insolently mocking obeisance.

"Mr Snape," the housekeeper said, "I wondered if you would be so good as to register Miss Granger for the potion spence? And instruct her on the relevant rules and protocols of its use."

The black-eyed wizard gritted his teeth and looked like he would rather hang. But eventually he ground out some muttered word of reluctant assent.

"I'm much obliged to you, sir. Good day." The gentle-witch turned back to the door, and I was dismayed to discover that she was intending to take her leave.

"Are you going, ma'am?" I blurted in consternation, wishing fervently not to be left in such obviously hostile company.

"I'm afraid I must, Miss Granger," said she, "I have other duties to attend to at present. You know where you might find me, should you need anything."

She curtseyed, and I was forced to do likewise, regretfully watching her disappear into the service corridor. Turning back to Mr Snape, I discovered that his expression had not improved with the departure of the housekeeper. Indeed, the man looked positively fiendish.

I suppose I appeared rather foolishly fearful, for at length a grim smile overspread his harsh features. "You look pale, young lady," said he, in a voice which, despite its sibilant softness, seemed to drip with acridness. "I trust you are not given to fainting fits, and other symptoms of excessive female hysteria?"

"No, sir," I answered, thinking it rich of him to disparage my complexion, when his was as pallid as wax. "Not that I am aware of."

"I certainly hope not," he said, as if inclined to doubt me. "For I have little patience for such absurd displays of mental feebleness."

As my dislike of the man increased, my trepidation abated, and I found myself provoked into retorting. "And you, sir?"

The wizard's eyes narrowed almost to black slits. "'And I'—what?"

"Forgive me, sir," I said, with a concerned appearance, "but I notice you are not very florid, yourself. You aren't sickening, I hope?"

Perhaps he had never been spoken to thus, for he stared down at me with a kind of incredulous amazement. Then, with an unutterably baleful scowl, he strode past me to the door, bidding me to either follow him, or go to the d—, as I pleased.

I was forced to hurry after him to keep up with his long strides, and consequently nearly collided with his back as he came to an abrupt stop outside a door, half-way along the corridor.

Half turning to me, Mr Snape growled, "Open this door, Miss Granger."

There was no handle to turn, so I extracted my wand from my pocket and cast an Alohomora—to no avail. "It appears to be magically locked, sir," I said.

"An astonishingly accurate observation," he muttered snidely. He then extended his left hand out to me, unfurling his long, skeletal fingers. "Your wand, if you please," he snapped.

I did not much relish the thought of surrendering my wand into the clutches of that clammy bone-white hand. I hesitated for just a moment, but it was enough for the irascible man to exhale impatiently, and snatch the wooden baton from my grip. I gasped with anger, but before I could so much as exclaim upon his rudeness, the wizard began to draw a complex symbol upon the door, which momentarily glowed, then disappeared.

He thrust the wand back at me, with full as much incivility as he had taken it. "Now, Miss Granger," he said, "you may open this door."

I cast the Alohomora again, and this time the door swung silently open, to reveal a narrow store-room. The room was fitted on all sides with shelves, and was stocked to the brim with vials and bottles of ready-brewed potions, and jars of prepared ingredients. Most of these I recognised as commonly-used in medicinal remedies, and for promoting all aspects of healthfulness in the humors and tempers of mind and body. I could not help admiring the handiwork I beheld: representing hundreds, perhaps even thousand of hours of harvesting, preparing and brewing; all labelled and arranged on the shelves in meticulous order.

"Miss Granger," I was snarlingly addressed as I perused the contents, "as a member of this household you have the right to use the contents of this chamber as and when you require them. However, I warn you now, that any abuse of that right, or infraction of the rules, will lead to immediate dismissal."

"What are those rules, sir?" I asked.

"If you would hold your tongue for but a moment, I will tell you."

I flushed at this piece of exceptional rudeness, but deigned not to reply. I felt sure the less I verbally engaged with such a splenetic man, the quicker this appointment would come to a welcome conclusion. I fixed my eyes to the hem of my dress and waited for him to proceed.

The Butler paused for some long moments (as if to test whether I really would hold my tongue), then at last began a kind of droning harangue: "You may take only what is required to meet a single and specific need. You will not alter a potion without first gaining my permission. You will not deplete from this collection to furnish your own. And you will certainly not barter, sell, lend, or otherwise bestow to any other party, any item from within these four walls." He scowled down his long nose at me. "Depend upon it, Miss Granger, if I so much as suspect a transgressions of these rules, I shall undertake to investigate the matter personally." One dark eyebrow lifted menacingly. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." He indicated a particular row of shelving. "I imagine this section may afford you some benefit." I stepped closer, peering at the silver plaque fixed to the wooden ledge. 'Female Distempers & Defects', it read. The bottles bore such labels as, "To Dis-Courage A Brazen Spirit", "To Encalm A Fretful Disposition", "To Fortify A Vapourish Mind" and, "To Curb A Shrewish Tongue".

Spiteful man! It was, I thought, a great pity that he did not concoct himself a potion, "To Correct A Curdled Temperament". However, I kept my composure, the better to disappoint his designs to ruffle it. With a great pretence of earnestness, I examined each vial individually, now determined to prolong our conference, certain that the misanthrope would be as thin on patience as he was on politeness. (I ought to have been beneath such petty retaliation, but it seemed his rancour was contagious.)

At last I withdrew from the spence, politely thanking Mr Snape for such an ungrudging forfeiture of his time.

Grinding his teeth and obviously grudging me every moment, the butler waved a wand-less spell at the door, causing it to slam shut. "I have only to add," snapped he, "that should you require something not included in these supplies, you will petition me directly. Approval or denial will be at my discretion. But be sure not to bother me with idle requests, Miss Granger. I warn you, I do not take kindly to such."

"Idle requests, sir?"

His lip curled disdainfully. "Love potions, allurement philtres, beautifying tinctures...the usual fripperies and artifices so popular among the weaker sex."

"I shall avoid trespassing upon your generosity, sir," I murmured, my eyes surely expressing my doubt that he had any generosity to trespass upon.

The ill-favoured wizard bestowed upon me a parting glower of dislike, before abruptly turning his back (without so much as a nod of courtesy) and striding away, his black cloak billowing behind him.

Only when he had disappeared into his lair, did I let out a huff of resentment. What a black-biled wretch! A woman-hater too, going by his litany of disparaging commentary. I would certainly add him alongside Master Draco to my list of persons to actively avoid.

...I wondered just how much longer that list might grow, the longer I stayed.

...

The grandfather clock in the Main Hall showed nearly a quarter to six as I hurried past it, on my way back upstairs.

I was so exasperated by the irascible behaviour of Mr Snape, and so determined not to be late in bidding Clarastella goodnight, that I ascended the enormous staircase with rather more haste than decorum, my wand still clutched in my hand.

As I gained the mezzanine, I was dismayed to see Master Draco emerging at the top of the left branch of stairs. He seemed in very good-humour, dressed in high style for an evening outing, and humming a lively tune. His usually-pale face was a little flushed and his eyes sparkled with unnatural brightness; it was apparent he had taken some stimulating concoction.

The young man had not seen me, for his eyes were bent upon the silk top-hat he held with one gloved hand and brushed the rim with the other. I just had time to duck behind a tall plant and quickly cast an Unobtrusive charm upon myself (for I had not yet learned the Disillusionment spell) in the hopes I might not be subjected to the ill-manners of two wizards within the same hour.

However, as Master Draco traversed the mezzanine, his eyes suddenly lifted from his hat and connected with mine, and a malicious smile overspread his pointed features.

"Why, if it isn't Miss Mousie, hiding in the corner," said he, pausing to thoroughly quiz my appearance, as was his wont.

So dismayed was I that my spell had failed, I could only stammer out some poor excuse about inspecting the plant I was huddled behind.

At this, Master Draco tauntingly smiled. "Aye, madam, it is a fascinating specimen," he replied. "If you stay there until midnight who knows but it may turn into a suitor." With a self-delighted chuckle he mockingly bowed and turned to descend the main flight of stairs, resuming his tuneful hum, but this time in the distinct notes of the "Witches' Wedding March."

Chagrined and mortified, I frowningly inspected my wand, wondering if Mr Snape had caused it some impairment when he had used it to register me to the potion spence. I attempted the spell again, this time noticing that the magic which ought to emit in a clear, white spark, instead fizzled and dissipated as it left my wand.

"I'm afraid it won't work, Miss Granger."

I started at the voice, carrying down from somewhere above me. Looking up, I was further confused to behold Lord Malfoy, gazing upon me from behind the bannister of the first floor landing, his arms elegantly crossed at the wrists. Though it had been only a little over two days since last I had seen him, I was struck anew by his imposing stature and noble mien, so becoming of such gracious surroundings, and perhaps as forcefully reminded of my own discordant obscurity.

"Any form of concealment magic is prevented by the wards, both inside and out." He shrugged in his urbane manner. "As you might imagine in a house such as this, such a precaution has obviated much mischief and skulduggery over the preceding centuries. Only the incumbent master is exempt."

"Oh, I see," I mumbled, awkwardly leaving my nook. I pocketed my wand in a fumbling fashion and began to ascend from the mezzanine to the first floor, wretchedly musing that I must appear quite a ludicrous little fool before the sophisticated master of the house.

I kept my eyes firmly fixed ahead of me as I climbed the stairs. Truly, I hoped His Lordship would suffer me to simply go my way, for I was sorely vexed by my previous two interviews, and not much inclined for another. But as I gained the landing, the noble-wizard had already moved to meet me there.

"I own, I did not recognise that particular spell, Miss Granger," he said. "What was it, pray?"

My face, already unnaturally warm, burned hotly to my hairline. "It was only—only a—a servant's spell, My Lord," I stammeringly admitted.

"A servant's spell? To make one invisible?"

"No, Sir, only t-to make one less noticeable. It is called the 'Unobtrusive' charm. Your Lordship would have no reason to know it."

"Ah. I suppose not." He smiled wryly. "The nobility, as a rule, prefer to be as obtrusive as possible. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I have met so few, I could not presume to generalise, Sir."

"Another of your admirable deflections, Miss Granger... But I notice you look somewhat harassed; has my son's impudence disturbed you?"

"No, My Lord; I am only a little tired, and running behind-hand."

"Behind-hand for what, if one may enquire?"

Not wishing to give my excuse, lest he dismiss it as trivial and prevent me from going, I merely said, "For an appointment, Sir." Then I made a hasty curtsey and tried to move past him. This, it seemed, would not do; his silver gaze fixed rather sharply on my face and he extended his arm to rest upon the topmost baluster, preventing my escape. "Sir—I am late—would you be so kind as to excuse me—"

"I must suppose, Miss Granger," said he, haughtily cutting in, "that you have some reason to avoid conversing with me. Or perhaps your dinner cannot wait?"

After so recently enduring Mr Snape's hostility and Master Draco's insolence, I greatly resented His Lordship's supercilious tone. "I am going to bid Miss Malfoy goodnight, My Lord," I said indignantly.

At this, the noble-wizard's posture relaxed and a flicker of his smile returned. "Oh, but if that is all—"

"—Yes, My Lord, that is all," I said, quite vehemently, for I was determined not to be detained. "It may have escaped your notice, as apparently it has everyone else's, but the poor little girl has no-one to wish her a peaceful sleep." My voice and composure cracked at the same time, and a hot prickling started behind my eyes. "Please, My Lord," I entreated, "let me go to her now, or I shall be breaking my promise to her—do, do let me go."

For a few lingering moments, Lord Malfoy's gaze rested thoughtfully upon my face. Then he removed his arm from the baluster, and made a formal bow. "I am sorry to have waylaid you from so noble an errand," he said, gesturing for me to go.

"Thank you, My Lord," I said, feeling instantly abashed by my fervency. I curtseyed, keeping my gaze bent downwards, not wishing to discover whether his expression was mocking or sincere.

As I turned and hastened along the balcony, I had the strangest sensation of tingling heat upon my neck, as if Lord Malfoy's molten-silver gaze were following me along the way.

...

A/N Hehe, well, how do you like our new Butler? Hm? Hmm? Isn't he such an adorable fluffy little puppy? Soz for this chapter taking ages. I hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know your thoughts :D xox artful