A/N Oh my gosh, you guys, 300 reviews already! Thank you so much, it means a lot to me that this story has been given so much appreciation, I treasure every single review. Usual apologies for the slow update; real life and mental health issues have been cramping my style *hisssss boooo* But I got there in the end, so thanks for your patience, and also to those of you who PM'd with words of encouragement. The next chapter after this one is already 3/4 done, so the next update should not take nearly so long.
Hope you like this instalment! It's pretty much just one long indulgent scene of Lucius X Hermione repartee, because who needs a plot anyway?
xox artful
...
After bidding Clarastella goodnight, I returned to my boudoir, where my dinner awaited me. But I could not find my appetite, nor my leisure, for I was now beset with worry that I had displeased my master with my behaviour to him on the stairs. How rude I must have appeared, refusing to be detained by his conversation, and practically running away! I had not even thanked him for the books he had lent me!
Might I have greatly offended him? ...That formal bow, was it mockingly made? And those quietly murmured words: "I am sorry to have waylaid you from so noble an errand,"—was there a sarcastic ring to them? Had I dreadfully erred, by placing a higher importance upon my duty to his daughter, than to him?
A fearsome image arose in my mind, of being summoned to Milord's office to answer for myself; of him, gazing haughtily down his aquiline nose at me, his silver eyes glittering icily as he sternly chastised me for my insubordination. Or—worse!—advised me that my services would be "no longer required".
I picked at my food, unable to taste a bit of it, as my mind conjured every dreadful kind of scenario, all of which culminated in me being packed off back to Turningstone in disgrace.
My heart clenched at the thought of losing everything, all because I would insist on keeping my word to a little girl, at the expense of angering her great and powerful father. ...And yet, I had the most inconvenient suspicion that I would do the same thing over again, for there seemed to be something within me that compelled me to follow my heart before my head, in matters of conscience.
Oh, what a fool I was proving to be!
And a fool I continued for the remainder of the evening, starting at every creaking or rustling sound, expecting the dreaded summoning-note to appear. Even when I at last retired to bed, sleep eluded me for hours together as I anxiously supposed that Lord Malfoy would "take care of the business" in the morning.
It wasn't until I was fully dressed and on my way to the Nursery for the next morning's lessons, that I finally acknowledged to myself the possibility that he had not been offended, and my heart was so lightened that I almost skipped down the corridor.
Saturday was a half-day for me; Clarastella would spend the afternoon with her Dancing Master (accompanied by her nursemaid Fleur) and I might spend it however I wished. The weather being cool and given to showers, I returned to my boudoir and attended to some chores using various housekeeping spells: sprucing my room, darning my stockings, polishing my boots, and mending a small tear in the skirt of my dress. These tasks completed, I once again devoted myself to poring over my hoard of books.
A comfortable afternoon and pleasant evening ensued, and I thought myself a great simpleton for fearing to lose my place over such a minor transgression.—Until those fears all came flooding back at the chime of seven, when a scuffing sound at my door alerted me to what I had so dreaded yesterday: a note!
The small envelope flitted over to land on my lap, and I hurriedly took it up, extracting the card tucked within. Heart thudding, fingers trembling, I read the elegantly-written words.
'Lord Malfoy requests Miss Granger's attendance in the Drawing-Room at eight o'clock, if she be not occupied by any prior engagement.'
For a moment I feared I might burst into tears. But I fought the impulse, taking some deep breaths and forcing myself to consider it in a logical light. It was quite likely that Lord Malfoy simply wished for a report on the progress I had made with his daughter in my first week. In that case, I could truthfully give a good account for the both of us. I would remain composed and calm, answer his questions with a quiet dignity, and give him no reason to think me wanting in due respect or decorum.
This last reminded me that I ought to change my attire for an evening appearance. I hurried to my wardrobe and pulled out my dark-grey bombazine gown. Although a day-dress with a high neckline, it was quite elegant, with its ruched bodice and prettily-ruffled cuffs. Out of my very few dresses, I thought it would be the most suitable, for my poplins were much too casual for evening-wear, and my silk ball-gown too formal for a tête-à-tête. I had no brooch or necklace, so instead tied a small bow of black velvet at the collar. I hoped it would do.
But as I washed and changed, my fears continued to whisper to me, defying logic.
...What if His Lordship really was angry at my behaviour to him yester'eve? Those words: "if she be not occupied by any prior engagement"—was there not something scathing in their very formality? As much to say, "If the little mudblood will stoop to grace us with her presence"? ...And was there not an implied accusation of impropriety, in supposing I might be already engaged at so late an hour?...
As the minutes crept closer to the appointed hour, I became more and more oppressed by these doubts. Even the novelty of donning a fine new garment could not lift my spirits, for I was already half-convinced that it would be the only time I should ever have occasion to wear it.
Peering in the mirror, I thought my face looked pale and strained against the dark bombazine, and my eyes were as apprehensive as if I had been summoned to stand trial before the Wizengamot itself. ...Perhaps the butler Mr Snape had been right about my pallor denoting a "mental feebleness"; perhaps I simply did not have a constitution suited to being a governess... No! That was not true! I might not have proved to be a submissive employee, but I knew I had the makings of a perfectly competent governess. After all, Clarastella liked and trusted me, and continued to make good progress with her lessons. As for that irascible Mr Snape: he was nothing more than a splenetic woman-hater who, I believed, took a secret joy in undermining my confidence. And it had very nearly worked! Well, not tonight!
A burning defiance surged through me, bringing the colour back to my cheeks and enkindling my eyes with a strange kind of glowing resentment. Lord Malfoy had no reason—no right to dismiss me. If he tried to give me my notice...why, I—I would simply refuse!
Exasperation thus piquing my courage and propelling me to action, I left my boudoir in search of my master.
...
I knew the Drawing Room to be somewhere on the ground floor, but not wishing to repeat another such awkward encounter as my experience with Lord Nott, I waited in the Main Hall until a passing footman was able to direct me the way.
I was led through to the Vestibule, off which a door opened upon a rectangular room with large, front-facing windows. This contained a long central table laid with silver and china, and (as I was informed by the footman) was the family's Breakfast Parlour. Traversing the length of the room and exiting through a door at the far end, I found myself in the same corridor in which I had lost my way, three days prior, but at its opposite end.
"This be the Drawing Room, Miss," said the footman, gesturing to an adjacent door. "Shall I announce you to Milord?"
"No thank you," I said quickly, disliking the thought of any such ceremony performed on my behalf. "That will not be necessary."
"Very good, Miss. Was there anything else?"
"No, that will be all. Thank you for showing me my way, and I'm sorry to have waylaid you."
"Not at all, Miss." With a departing bow, he left me alone in the long corridor, gazing at the large oaken door before me.
I thought I was still a little early, and wondered if I ought to wait a few minutes, but fearing that my courage might begin to waver the longer I delayed, I stepped forwards and knocked thrice.
Expecting a voice to bid me enter, I placed my hand on the door-knob in preparation of doing so. But almost in the same instant, the door swung abruptly inward, pulling me forward and causing me to lose my balance. With a cry of dismay I found myself staggering straight into the broad chest of Lord Malfoy himself.
Through an agony of mortification, I was conscious of strong fingers encircling my arms, pulling me upright (for my legs had buckled in the impact) and a silken voice murmuring words which I could not distinguish through my own torrent of profuse apology. Everything seemed to happen in a kind of delayed motion, as if time itself had slowed, and each moment a thousand-times magnified, causing my senses to be utterly overwhelmed: by the suffusing scent of my master's cologne, the softness of his silk shirt, the solid warmth of the skin beneath it, and the deep throb of his strong heartbeat against my burning cheek.
I thought I should die for shame.
Such was my confusion, I was only half-aware of being restored to my feet and guided inside to a chair near the low-burning fireplace. At length I came somewhat back to myself, but remained so aghast that I could not lift my eyes to meet those of my master, who stood so close by that I could see the black points of his shoes mere inches from my own.
"Miss Granger," I heard him say, "I seem to be forming a most ungentlemanly habit of causing you unwarranted distress. I hope I did you no injury."
"No, mm-My Lord," I stammered into my lap (so much for all my fine courage!), "I was only...only surprised."
"As was I." Perhaps sensing that his proximity was rather heightening than lessening my perplexity, he moved away. I heard the soft clink of a crystal decanter being unstoppered. "I am taking some Madeira; will you have a glass? It will calm your nerves."
"Nn-no thank you. I shall be better d-directly."
"But I insist." He poured out a glass from the decanter, then, advancing again, proffered it to me. I accepted the slender-stemmed goblet with an unsteady hand, hoping I would not further disgrace myself by spilling or dropping it.
I took a sip, all-the-while avoiding His Lordship's gaze, which I was uncomfortably aware was bent upon me. The wine was rich and complex, and a far cry from my Aunt's sickly-sweet cooking-Madeira, and indeed I soon felt a little better. I made a conscious effort to compose myself, although my rapidly-pattering heartbeat would not be controlled.
Risking an upward glimpse, I saw that Milord was smiling in that manner particular to him, which seemed somehow to gently mock, yet not to cruelly deride. He was imposingly attired in an evening dress-coat of black worsted wool with silk-faced lapels, and slimly-cut trousers of the same fine material. His waistcoat was of deep maroon velvet, embroidered in an intricate design of silver thread, into which a black silk cravat, worn long and set with a silver fox-head pin, was elegantly tucked.
For just the briefest flicker of a moment my eyes connected with his, before I ducked my head and sought refuge in another sip of wine, unable to bear the too-direct scrutiny of those glittering silver orbs.
"I was just on my way to retrieve a book from the Library, when you knocked," he said. "You are rather early, you know." Just at that moment a clock on the wall began to chime the hour, as if in scolding corroboration of the fact.
"I did not wish to be late, Sir," I mumbled.
"Ah, yes, 'running behind-hand' is something you try to avoid at all cost, I believe."
I would have blushed at this reference to yesterday's encounter, were I not already as scarlet-faced as it was possible to be. Flustered all over again, I stuttered out, "I—I am very sorry about—I should not have—I did not—I intended no disrespect—"
"Miss Granger," he softly interrupted this incoherent nonsense, "I hope you didn't imagine my requesting your company was in the nature of a reprimand?"
This being exactly what I had been imagining, I did not answer.
"I see that you did," he said wryly. "Allow me to put your fears to rest: my motives are quite benign, I assure you. Merely, I had thought to...execute my duty as your employer, shall we say? by ascertaining to my satisfaction that you are settling in well among us."
A great wave of relief flooded through me. He had not been offended my behaviour! I was not to be dismissed! But I was still so mortified by our recent collision, and ashamed of my last sorry muddle of a sentence, that I would not presently hazard a reply.
Perhaps he thought my continued silence a sign of doubtfulness, for he added, "You do not seem convinced. Very well; let us suppose instead that I wish to ascertain that my daughter is settling in well with her new governess. Would that be a more plausible pretext for conducting this interview?" He looked at me with an expectant curve of one eyebrow. "Well, Miss Granger? You cannot avoid speaking for the entirety of this interview."
"I...I think she is settling in well, My Lord," I said, finding my tongue at last.
"And you? (Since we are on the subject, I may as well ask). Are you settling in well?"
"I believe so, My Lord."
"You mean, you believe you are disposed to favour us, perhaps against your better judgement?"
Even abashed as I was, I objected to his penchant (for a penchant it seemed to be) for deliberately misinterpreting my words. Solemnly, I said, "With respect, Sir, I only mean: I believe I am settling in well."
He made a politely mocking half-bow, as if to say, "My mistake", then took the chair opposite mine, crossing his long legs and assuming a leisurely posture that made me all-the-more conscious of my own awkward rigidness.
For the first time I noticed my surroundings. The chamber had a rather masculine atmosphere: more stately than graceful, with mahogany furniture upholstered in shades of deep burgundy and hunter's green, heavy velvet curtains drawn closed, and enormous tapestries lining the walls. Gold appointments gleamed in the radiance of a many-branched Girandole,* standing upon a central table. The only other sources of light came from the dim glow of the fire, and twin flames flickering atop a pair of golden candlesticks, placed on each end of the red Verona-marble mantelpiece.
Surrounded by all this somber opulence, and in the presence of such elegantly-attired company, I was glad I had decided to change into my bombazine gown, for my poplin dress would have looked ridiculously out of place.
"So..." Lord Malfoy resumed, "we have established that you are settling in satisfactorily, but that you are not disposed to favour us against your better judgement."
"I did not say so, Sir," I protested.
"You did not deny it, Miss Granger," he returned, with a sardonic flicker of a smile. "And how do you find the staff? I hope they have made you feel welcome?"
Immediately I thought of the various "welcomes" I had received thus far: the impudence of the saucy kitchen-maid, the cool reception from Miss Malfoy's nursemaid, and most recently, the disparaging incivility of the Butler, Mr Snape. But I merely said, "Yes, My Lord; Mrs Marsh has been particularly kind to me in that regard."
"Ah, yes, my house-keeper is an admirable woman. We should all be quite at-sea without her." I could not tell if he were sincere or otherwise.
After some moments of silence (for I would not yet volunteer to comment) Lord Malfoy spoke up again. "You must excuse me, if I seem uncertain of the correct procedure of executing my duty to a governess. It is not something I have ever troubled myself with before."
"If it is a trouble, I wonder that Your Lordship begins now."
He made an elegantly blasé shrug. "Call it a whim, Miss Granger."
I inclined my head, but was secretly dismayed. I did not want to be regarded as a trouble, nor be subject to anyone's 'whim', as if I were a puzzling kind of muggle curio, to be occasionally turned about, perhaps sniggered at, then shelved again. I murmured, "I suppose I have as little, or rather less, idea of the correct procedure, as does Your Lordship. You have greater experience of employing governesses than I have of being one."
Lord Malfoy's eyes narrowed a little, and I feared I might be treading dangerous ground in tacitly referencing the previous holders of my position. However, his voice remained suave as he replied, "Then we shall simply have to navigate our conversation in the same way the proverbial blind lead each other." He took an unhurried sip of his wine. "What next do you think it behoves me to ask you?"
He waited, as if he really expected me to answer this. After some hesitation, I said, "Perhaps...perhaps Your Lordship would like to know how Miss Malfoy gets on in her curriculum?"
"Just the thing, Miss Granger," he declared in that half-charming, half-taunting way. "I should very much like to know how Clarastella gets on in her curriculum. A four-year-old girl's scholastic endeavours must be an endlessly fascinating subject."
His sarcasm, though urbanely delivered, nettled me (as perhaps it was intended to). "Maybe not endlessly fascinating, My Lord," I said, not quite so coolly as I might have wished, "but one supposes a parent ought to find their child's academic progress quite interesting, at least."
He looked amused by this implied rebuke. "I am willing to be convinced by you," he said. He took another sip of his Madeira, then settled further into his chair, levelling his gaze directly to my face. "Pray; begin."
I suddenly realised that I had condemned myself to speaking in more than brief rejoinders: that indeed I now "held the floor", as it were. Panic immediately seized hold of me, squeezing my throat and cleaving my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Twice or thrice I attempted to speak—stammered—stuttered—stopped.
Lord Malfoy watched me faltering without offering the slightest attempt to ease my difficulty, and I wondered if he had summoned me, not to acquaint himself with my concerns, but to divert himself with my blunders. How readily, how eagerly, I seemed to supply them!
But then I recalled how wistfully and frequently Clarastella spoke of her father, and how dismissive he appeared to be of her feelings—how even now he did not take her seriously, nor, it was plain to see, me. I thought, 'Let him be diverted; in any case I shall do my best for Clarastella's sake, and he may choose to be interested or amused, whichever way his 'whim' directs him.'
Once more, that strange defiance flared up inside me, igniting my courage, loosening my tongue—and my words flowed at last.
One subject at a time, I made my observations on Clarastella's "scholastic endeavours" (as her father derisively put it), summarising the whole week's worth of first impressions, mentioning where I thought she excelled or lagged, and especially noting her remarkable diligence and attentiveness. I tried to be as concise, yet as thorough, as possible, as if I were speaking to the most inquiring and involved of parents, and not a great Lord who did not even care whether or not his little child was bid a goodnight's sleep. And all the while, Lord Malfoy sat silently, taking occasional draughts of his wine, his expression neither particularly attentive, nor indifferent, but merely...watchful.
When at last I had done, the ensuing silence sounded very awful to my ears. As was always the case, as soon as my defiance had run its course, I was left even more embarrassed than before, wondering just how much of a tedious "blue-stocking" Milord thought me to be. I pressed my lips together and stared at my tightly-laced fingers, steeling myself for the sardonic remark that inevitably awaited me.
But when he did at last speak, Lord Malfoy's voice sounded unexpectedly thoughtful. "Miss Granger," he said, "it occurs to me that you have learned more about my daughter after only one week, than I have, in the nearly five years since she came to us."
I looked up, surprised. "Surely, her previous governesses—"
"Her previous governesses," he smoothly interrupted, "were never very loquacious on the subject of their employment. Nor, indeed, was I inclined to encourage it."
'No,' I thought, 'I suppose it would not be a fashionable topic of conversation for the dining table. The brilliant Miss Weasley would certainly not have wished to remind her noble companions of her position as a paid subordinate...'
His Lordship continued, "I fear you will think me quite monstrous, but I must admit that I do not find myself overly interested in her education, since concluding that she lacks any magical propensity." He looked at me quizzically. "Well? Do you not think me a most unnatural fiend of a father?"
"No, Sir," I replied, "only, I think your conclusion premature, and I feel sorry that Miss Malfoy must suffer for it."
"Suffer? Does she suffer? A little girl, who wears the finest clothes and eats the choicest food—who is sheltered, educated, cared for, and brought up to every advantage—does she suffer?"
"She suffers a deficit of her father's esteem."
Lord Malfoy waved his hand dismissively. "I am fond enough of the girl; she is an obedient child, if somewhat spiritless."
"She is not spiritless, My Lord, although she is rather serious."
His eyebrow arched, perhaps at the challenging tone in my voice, which I could not quite subdue. "Indeed?" he said. "I have never noticed any great display of vivacity in her."
Before I could stop myself, I retorted: "Perhaps Your Lordship is not the kind of person to inspire it."
There was a short pause, during which Lord Malfoy regarded me with quite a piercing stare. "What exactly am I supposed to infer from that, Miss Granger?" he asked in that haughty, drawling way, which I was quickly learning to be a sure sign of his displeasure.
I felt myself quailing beneath this wintry superciliousness. "O-only that Your Lordship is...can be...er, might appear...rather—rather—formidable," I stammered out. "To such a little girl, I mean," I quickly added.
"Do you mean to imply that my daughter is frightened of me?"
"N-not frightened, Milord. But it is possible that she is a little...daunted, in your presence."
"I see," he murmured. A gradual, thorny smile curved his mouth. "Do you find my presence daunting, Miss Granger?"
Once again, a deep flush crept over my face. Of course I was daunted by him—undoubtedly, he could see that I was. Dropping my eyes, I quietly asked, "Does Your Lordship intend that I should?"
There was another pause, but this time it was ended by Lord Malfoy's low chuckle. "Ahh, I have been waiting for one of your deft parries." Looking up again, I was extremely relieved to see the ice thawing from my master's expression. "And to answer your question (though you do not answer mine) I have only to say: no, I do not intend for you, or my daughter for that matter, to find me daunting. I hope I am not the kind of man who derives pleasure from intimidating young women and little girls."
"I am sure you are not, My Lord," I said, rather too earnestly. "Indeed, I—I—have wished to thank you for your generosity, in lending me your books. It is a kindness I could never have hoped for. I am only sorry it has taken me so long to convey my gratitude."
His expression changed yet again, his silver eyes gaining that lynxish inscrutability I had observed before. "I'm afraid I must decline your thanks," he murmured, "since there was neither generosity nor kindness in the matter. I am not so magnanimous. My intentions were only that the care-taker of my daughter be better prepared against mishap or knavery than she currently is."
"Oh!—yes, of course." I cringed at my own stupidity. How ridiculous, to think such a gesture would be anything other than a simple investment in his staff's competence! As if a noble Lord would have any cause to show especial benevolence to a muggle-born governess! Lamely, I added, "I am grateful, nevertheless."
I was afraid another silence might ensue, but at that moment the clock began to chime the hour. I was amazed that the time had flown by so quickly, and for the briefest moment, I thought I saw a mirroring surprise on Lord Malfoy's features. He took out his silver fob-watch and glanced at it, as if to confirm that it really was nine o'clock.
"Miss Granger," he said, back to his usual, suave manner, "I fear I have detained you too long." He got up from his chair, and quickly I did the same.
Thus suddenly towered over by Lord Malfoy's imposing figure, I was acutely reminded of how I had begun the interview flung against that solid chest and supported by those strong arms...and it was all I could do to manage a tolerably stable curtsey. "Thank you for your time, My Lord."
He made a graceful nod of acknowledgement. "And I am obliged to you, Miss Granger, for wiling away this hour at my behest. It has been most...enlightening."
Presuming he was mocking me, I said, "At least, I hope it was worth your trouble, Sir."
He looked amused at my deliberate use of his earlier choice of word. "Just so," he replied, a smile hinting at the corners of his mouth. "One worthy of repetition, I'm sure."
I curtseyed again, and somehow (indeed, I hardly know how) I made my way to the door without tripping over.
I must have been holding my breath, for when I gained the corridor, I exhaled sharply, and was obliged to take several gulping breaths. I stood still for a moment, my hand pressed to my heart, seeking to subdue its hectic hammering.
"But Miss Granger, are you quite well?"
I nearly cried out in fright as Mrs Marsh emerged from the shadows beside me. I had not seen her approach, and had thought the corridor empty. She was holding a piece of stiffened parchment and quill, as if in readiness to take notes or messages, presumably for Milord.
"Mrs Marsh—I—I hadn't seen you—er, good evening, Ma'am. That is, yes, I am quite well, thank you."
She looked at me somewhat queerly; although her features were drawn into an expression of kindly concern, her dark eyes were alert and inquiring as a jackdaw's, swiftly surveying my bombazine gown from skirt hem to neckline, lingeringly briefly on the black velvet ribbon around my throat, before raising up to inspect my flushed face. "Have you lost your way, my dear?"
I thought she must surely have seen me exit the Drawing Room, and wondered why she asked me. "No, Ma'am," I replied truthfully, feeling unaccountably as if I had been caught in some illicit act, "I have just come from an interview with Lord Malfoy. He...he wished to speak to me about Miss Malfoy."
"Indeed?" She came a little closer, and, in a lowered voice, murmured, "I hope nothing is amiss?"
"No, Ma'am; it was a general conversation."
She nodded, her lips forming a pleasant smile, but her eyes still regarding me intently. I wondered how long she had been waiting in the corridor. "Would you like me to send you up a blood-calming draught? You seem rather feverish. I hope you are not ailing."
"I think not, Ma'am. My nerves are just a little...over-strained, perhaps."
I must have really looked so, for her gaze softened sympathetically at last. "Yes, well, it really isn't any wonder," she said. "It must have been quite an eventful week for you. I shan't keep you. You had better have an early night, Miss Granger, and a restful day tomorrow."
"I will be sure to, Ma'am."
We made our parting curtseys, and went our separate ways.
I barely noticed my surroundings as I retraced my steps through the darkened Breakfast Parlour and Vestibule, across the Main Hall and up the great staircase. My mind was filled with a perfect kaleidoscope of whirling emotions. Gladness and relief that I was still employed, excruciating shame at my mortifying clumsiness, chagrin at Lord Malfoy's mocking manner...yet also a kind of mysterious exhilaration, which I could not rightly understand. Nor did I think it wise to examine too closely.
...
Text Notes:
*Girandole: an ornamental branched candlestick or light fixture, often resembling a small chandelier.
A/N Hope it was worth the wait, folks! Love to hear your thoughts. xox artful
