Porter Weasley urged his horses through the huge wrought-iron gates, handling them with a gentleness and expertise that I could not help admiring. Once through, he paused to close the gates behind us. His ability with his wand was, I noticed, more clumsy and exaggerated than his ability with his animals—but effective, none-the-less.

The driveway leading to the Manor's imposing entrance swept up through a sea of velvety grass in an elegant curve, but the young man directed the noses of his horses in a different direction. A narrower path veered off to the right and was swallowed in trees, and this we followed in a great ring around the base of the hillock, emerging a couple of minutes later from the enclosing foliage. I gasped at the alarming vista which met my eyes: instead of the gently-sloping and manicured lawn on its front-side, the back way proved to be not much more than a rocky tor with a zigzagging track carved into its sheer incline, over which the back-exterior of the Manor ominously presided.

"There's the staff entrance, miss," the porter announced, pointing at a large iron-braced oak door set into the hewn masonry at the top.

Once again, I struggled to control the wild racing of my pulse at the sight of such an imposing building. If anything, this back aspect of the Manor seemed even more like some grim, medieval fortress, with small windows and no decorative masonry-work save for a pair of ugly gargoyles perched above the door, glaring menacingly down the hillside, as if daring any foe to approach.

"Gee-up, me 'ansomes," the young man urged Ash and Oak, who seemed, understandably, rather unwilling to begin the steep ascent. "You don't wish Miss Granger to think'ee lazy brutes, do you, lads?"

"I begin to share their reluctance," I murmured, earning a chuckle from my companion at my obvious dismay.

"Don't worry, miss," he said cheerfully. "We've only ever overturned twice, and once was owing to foul weather."

I was not able to derive much comfort from this revelation, but indeed, as we began to make progress up the steep, irregular path, the horses proved stable and the driver extremely careful, and at length I was able to relax sufficiently to look out over the surrounding countryside.

It was very fair, though quite flat: a pleasing chequerboard of green fields and yellow pasture, with woodlands in the distance and a stippling of cottages throughout. The spectacular coastline was also discernible, closer than I had expected, but partially obscured by our present location upon the hill. I surmised that the ocean would be fully visible from the east-facing windows of the Manor, and secretly hoped that my room might be situated to overlook it—although I supposed those vantages would be reserved for the 'great folk', as Porter Weasley termed them.

As my gaze wandered over the landscape, I noticed a strange structure, about a mile inland, protruding out from a wider surrounding of dense, leafy trees. It was very tall and narrow, almost like a single turret of a castle, replete with battlements encircling its pinnacle.

"What is that stone tower yonder?" I asked my companion curiously. "Is it a ruin? Or a monument of some kind?"

"Neither one, nor other," Porter Weasley replied. "'Tis a queer kind of house."

"A house! How extraordinary! I should never have guessed that. ...It looks quite peculiar."

"No wonder; it belongs to a long line of peculiar wizards. All of that wooded area and what it contains within is an ancient free-holding. 'Tis the only piece of land as far as the eye sees, which is not owned by the present Milord."

"Indeed?"

"Aye, and a thorn in the side of every Lord Malfoy these past five-hundred years, for it is stocked with such rare plants and creatures as you'll not easily discover anywhere else in Britain. ...But perchance Milord will not have to wait much longer to gain the land..."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you see miss, the family line is nearly extinguished. Only two of them remain: the present Squire Lovegood and his daughter, for Mistress Lovegood died ten years since, and the Squire never took a second wife. Them as never having a son, it falls to young Miss Lovegood to marry and provide an heir; however she is a sickly creature, not likely to see her next birthday."

"How old is Miss Lovegood?"

"I should place her about your own age, miss."

I reddened, wondering at what age he "placed" me, but not venturing to ask. Instead I remarked, "Well, I hope she may recover her health!" For some strange reason, I didn't like to think of the rich and powerful Lord Malfoy finally 'gaining' what he and his ancestors so long had coveted, at the expense of a frail young woman's life. Almost defiantly, I added, "And, perchance, one day she may marry, and continue on the family line."

'Tis doubtful," answered the porter. "The lass has not been seen these past three months, and there's talk she's confined to her bed with a mortal illness."

"Cannot she be healed?"

"Squire Lovegood refuses any assistance in treating her."

"But why?"

The young man shrugged. "To speak truth, there is something rum about every Lovegood, such as was and is. Even the Squire's wife was a singular sort of witch, given to experimenting with magic, which killed her in the end.—Not to speak ill of the dead, but so it happened. All of 'em are a little...'touched in the head', as the saying goes."

I drew a breath, then hesitantly asked, "There is...madness in the family?"

"Some might say, miss," he replied, "but I shouldn't go so far. Miss Lovegood is a pretty, gentle sort of maid, but with a singular manner and a wandering way of talking. As for the Squire, I've heard him called a polymath, but of such things beyond the understanding of ordinary folk. They keep pretty well to themselves, which may be wisdom or folly, depending who you ask."

All of this information was extremely interesting to my unworldly eyes. The quiet house and conservative town in which I had grown up had been utterly devoid of such diverse and intriguing characters as this morning's adventure had already presented to me. Once again, I felt a stir of sympathy for the sickly girl, and a surge of dislike against the cruel-looking Lord in his gleaming black coach who must be looking eagerly to her early demise...

But soon my thoughts were eclipsed by other more-pressing topics, for at last we had surmounted the zigzagging back driveway, and Ash and Oak were bid to "Whoa" outside the massive oak door.

The porter sprang down from his perch with an agility that belied his lanky stature. "Here is your stop, miss!" he exclaimed, loosening the canvas dray-cover and fetching my trunk from amongst the stowed freight. Coming around to my side, he reached up and extended his hand for me to take, it being a fair drop to the ground.

With another blush, I slipped my right hand into his waiting palm, then, gripping my reticule firmly with my left hand, I jumped down onto the grassy verge. I stumbled a little upon landing, and was quickly steadied by the wizard, however he relinquished his hold as soon as my footing was restored, taking no insulting liberties like those taken by the two ruffians at the Inn.

Removing his cap, the sunlight danced off the young man's russet hair, only a little less highly pigmented than his flushing countenance. "It was an honour to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger," he said, executing an inelegant but courteous bow. "I hope we may meet again afore long."

I curtseyed in return. "Thank you for bringing me here, Porter Weasley. If not for your assistance I do not know how I would have found my way."

"'Twas no trouble and much pleasure." He paused, and then, a little bashfully, he said, "If ever you wish to be carried to Tredraconis or elsewhere abouts, make free to send an owl to the Porter's Lodge. It is not a quarter-mile from here, and I should be glad to ride with 'ee again."

I stammered my thanks, unsure if it were more a breach of propriety to accept or decline such an offer.

Observing my confusion, he quickly added, "Intending no disrespect, miss. I only meant in case of emergency, or...or such."

I was grateful for his discretion, if not his delicacy. "You are very kind," I replied.

There was an odd sort of silence, as if the young man were caught been the intention to depart and a desire to linger. Then suddenly he bent toward me and, in a low and furtive tone, he murmured, "I hope as you won't mind if I make bold to offer a final word of warning, 'ere we part, miss."

I stared at him, surprised, recalling the unsought-for 'advice' bestowed on me by Mr Fletcher, the keeper of Tredraconis Inn.

Hurriedly, the porter continued, "'Tis only—'tis only to beware, and keep as much away as possible from Milord and the young Master." As he spoke, I saw something like a shadow cross his usually-sunny countenance. "They're not such as can be trusted, for all their grand ways and fine manners."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, alarmed at yet another hint that my employer was not all that he should be. "I...I shall bear that in mind. At any rate, I can't think of any reason why I would have anything to do with them, or they with me."

At this, the porter's expression relaxed and he nodded. "True enough, miss," he said, a smile returning to his face.

He bowed once more, then strode back to his cart, swinging himself back up into his seat as easily as he had got down. He donned his cap, and, turning to me, he pointed to a long rope which hung down from the open jaws of the left-hand gargoyle, like a long serpent-tongue. "Pull that rope and you'll be let in by one of the servants directly." He flapped his reins and the cart rumbled forwards. "Dyw genes, maid!" he called out jauntily. "Goodbye!"

"Goodbye," I replied rather softly, experiencing an unfamiliar kind of pang in my breast as I watched him drive away. It seemed to me that, in the course of this one short journey, I had made my first ever friend.

I levitated my trunk, then, turning toward the massive door, I slowly approached it.

I felt almost as if the gargoyles were watching me with sneering malintent, and their gloating expressions incited a whirl of tormenting questions in my mind—how ought I address the servants?—would the family be welcoming and kind, or disdainful and supercilious?—would Mrs Marsh be there, or was I to be thrown amongst total strangers?—did they know I was a muggle-born?—&c, &c, until I felt almost maddened with fear and doubt.

For a full several minutes I stood, gazing up at the grotesque figures with a kind of dread-filled awe, unable to bring myself to reach up and pull the rope, my courage quite deserted as I contemplated all the terrible breaches of etiquette, novice mistakes and mortifying blunders I was bound to make, the moment I set my foot inside.

But at length, my Aunt Agna's sensible voice filtered through the mire of my insecurities. "...A mistake only remains a mistake if you do not learn from it..."

I straightened my back. What good was it to tarry on the threshold like a dithering fool? I could not very well turn around and go back home; I had no home. This—this was my new home. There was nothing to do except try my best to fit into it, and learn as quickly as I could as I went along.

With a deep breath, I reached up and tugged the rope, recoiling a little in surprise at the shrill ring it produced. Quickly I smoothed my dress, then stood with my reticule clutched in my trembling hands and my trunk at my feet, trying to appear confident and unperturbed.

Soon enough the door swung inward with a heavy groan, and I found myself face-to-face with a comely, black-eyed kitchen-maid, with a sharp face, impudent expression, and a tightly-fitted ruffled apron that rather emphasized than hid her generous curves.

She did not speak, only fixed her bold dark eyes on me and arched one eyebrow saucily, as much to say, 'And what do you want?'

"Good day," I said hesitantly, my paper-thin bravura wavering in the face of such manifest audacity. "Is the housekeeper—I mean, would it be possible—that is, may I speak with Mrs Marsh?"

"Madam's away today," the lass answered, with such a pert simper as left me doubtful as to her truthfulness.

"I see," I said, my heart sinking along with my courage. But then I felt my hackles rise under the wench's brazen stare, and I decided I was not going to be bullied by a kitchen maid, however quizzical and impertinent. I fixed her eye and, summoning a frosty voice, I said, "Please notify whomever is in charge in Mrs Marsh's stead, that the new governess has arrived."

At this, the maid looked rather taken-aback, and I was glad to see her bite her cherry lip as she hastily bobbed a curtsey. "Come inside, miss," she said in a chastened tone. "I'll show 'ee to Madam's parlour; maybe that she's returned early."

And so I took my first step inside the great and noble Malfoy Manor.

As I crossed the threshold, a shiver ran over me, perhaps from the cooler indoor temperature, or perhaps it was my excited nerves. It was the same tingling sensation that I had experienced when accidentally meeting the icy gaze of him to whom everything within these ancient walls belonged. He, whose vast riches appeared to have secured him neither sanctuary, nor companionship, nor contentment—if all that I had learned today held any truth.

And in my head, Porter Weasley's words echoed ominously..."Keep away from Milord and the young Master...they're not such as can be trusted..."

...

I followed the girl into a dimly-lit corridor. It proved narrow and quite long, with high wood-panelled walls, upon which flickering torches projected from brass sconces at regular intervals, lighting the way along great flags of bare, polished stone.

As we walked, I could hear the bustle of conversation and clattering cutlery, and, soon enough we passed a pair of open double-doors. A furtive glimpse inside revealed to me a large oaken table, around which twelve or thirteen servants were grouped, sitting to their midday luncheon.

"That be the Servant's Hall, miss," the maid volunteered, regaining some of her saucy boldness. She ought not to have noticed my surreptitious glance, let alone made free to comment on it. "We take our meals and do our mending there. But you won't have much to do with us; I dare say you'll take your meals up in your room."

I wasn't sure how to answer, and settled on an indistinct, "Oh?"

With a tone of assumed artlessness, she added, "That be what she did, when she first came here. The last governess as was, I mean. Of course, that changed soon enough. Dined with the family every night, she did. She was quite the favourite of...Well, I dare say I shouldn't say too much about that..." She trailed off and glanced slyly at me, hoping I would take her bait.

"No more you should," I replied primly, refusing to be ensnared by the gossip of a servant, although I secretly burned to know more.

I hoped she might be subdued by my rebuff, but indeed the insolent wench merely tossed her dark hair and smirked. "Well, to be sure it will be quite different for you," she said, pointedly eyeing my unshapely figure. I held my tongue, for it seemed to be the only way to curb hers.

We passed two more open doors, which proved only to be storage rooms; presumably the kitchen and scullery lay behind one of the many doors that remained closed, or else they were situated at an underground level. I wondered what degree of segregation lay between the human staff and the elvish one; I supposed it would be quite a distinct one.

Finally, we reached the end of the corridor, and the serving-maid tapped on a door which stood slightly ajar.

"Enter!" came the crisp voice belonging to Mrs Marsh.

The black-eyed lass made a comic display of extreme surprise. "Why, it seems you be in luck, miss. I cannot think when Madam should have come back." With a very indifferent curtsey, she sashayed away and disappeared into the Servant's Hall.

I set down my trunk and reticule, then swiftly removed my bonnet and placed it on top of the articles of luggage. Patting my closely-braided hair for any loose tendrils, and discovering none, I slowly pushed the door wider and timidly stepped inside.

The "parlour" was really a spacious and well-appointed kind of office, furnished with handsome dark furniture and with a large window overlooking a pleasant and sunny kitchen-garden in an enclosed courtyard.

Mrs Marsh herself was sitting at a tall bureau, poring over a long scroll, a pair of round, gold-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose. I didn't wish to interrupt her concentration, so instead I stood still and waited for her to look up. At length the housekeeper murmured, "What is it?" without looking up from her scroll—I suppose she took me to be a servant on an errand.

Awkwardly, I spoke. "Good...good-day, Mrs Marsh."

Immediately the housekeeper unbent from her work, removing her glasses to look at me. "Ah! Miss Granger, is it you?" She quickly arose from her seat in a rustle of stiff silk, coming forward to greet me. As we shook hands, I could see her gaze sweeping over my improved appearance with evident surprise—and, I hoped, approval. "How do you do?"

"Very well, thank you," I replied. I was relieved to see a familiar face, but none-the-less nervous in the presence of such a poised and confident gentlewitch.

"I'm glad you've safely arrived...I trust you found us easily enough?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, somewhat untruthfully. I did not wish to admit the difficulties I had faced in getting here, for that would mean disclosing my inability to either Apparate or fly—two dreadful inadequacies that I feared could cost me my employment.

Mrs Marsh beckoned me to follow her to a small, round rosewood table. "Will you take some tea and cake?" she asked me. "I was about to have some myself."

I thanked her and accepted, for I hadn't eaten since the night before, my nerves too wrought for breakfast, and the only beverage that had passed my lips was the unpalatably bitter coffee forced on me at Tredraconis Inn.

"First let me take your robe and bonnet," the lady said, helping me out of it. As she hung it on a stand near the door, I saw her inspecting the garment. "I suppose you must have laid out quite a sum for this robe," she said. "For surely you didn't make it yourself."

"I did make it myself!" I blurted out, then flushed scarlet at my ungainly vehemence.

Mrs Marsh turned her eyes on me, taking my new poplin dress into her sharp glance. "And that dress, too?" she said. "That is also your own work?"

"It is, ma'am," I said quietly, managing to gain my self-control. "I also made a second one like it, as well as a Sunday dress, and an evening gown besides."

Her eyes widened in real astonishment. "You created five garments in two days? You must be a very diligent worker and an extremely advanced seamstress."

"I—I hardly know, ma'am," I replied with a stammer, for my Aunt had never praised my work in such superlative terms. "I suppose so."

Mrs Marsh's keen gaze relented as she observed my confusion. "Forgive me; I did not mean to put you out of ease. I simply had not expected such a high calibre of needle-spellwork from someone so young." She regarded me thoughtfully for a few moments, then, collecting herself, she gestured to a seat at the rosewood table. "Please to sit, Miss Granger."

Taking our places, the housekeeper incanted an elegant little spell which caused the tea-things to lay out, the pot to pour and the cake to slice. I had learned a more-basic version from my Aunt, but made a mental note to practice these additional niceties for future use.

"Will you have milk and sugar?" asked the lady.

"Yes, if you please, ma'am," I said, hoping that I was choosing the most genteel option. In truth, I had never taken sugar with my tea, and only the smallest drop of milk—such were my Aunt's preference, and, by default, my own.

The tea was deliciously sweet and aromatic, and the cake as light as a feather. I was used to much humbler tea-time fare: plain black tea, much diluted, with toasted muffins or fairing biscuits; or my Aunt's heavy "keeping-cake" made from caraway seeds and Madeira that would make its inevitable appearance on special occasions. She would never have approved of something so insubstantial as this mere puff of sugar that melted to nothing as soon as it met the tongue.

We commenced to exchange the usual stock of ritualistic pleasantries of the tea-table: talking of the agreeable weather, the varied beauties of the countryside, and the panoramic vistas afforded from the Manor's vantage.

How grand I felt! Sipping sugary tea and partaking of fine sponge-cake in a great mansion, tête-à-tête with an elegant gentlewitch...I could almost forget this morning's traumatic episode at the Inn, and quite willingly pushed to the back of my mind the fears and doubts I harboured about my sinister new Master. Perhaps it would not be so difficult to fit in here, after all...

Almost as soon as this seductive thought flittered through my mind, Mrs Marsh deflated it entirely with her next sentence. "Miss Granger," she suddenly addressed me, straightening her back and assuming a business-like tone, "I hope you will allow me to make some...helpful suggestions, regarding how you may be expected to behave while under this roof."

I nearly gasped with dismay. What was it about me that evidently required repeated cautioning? First Mr Fletcher's 'friendly advice', then Porter Weasley's 'words of warning'—and now Mrs Marsh's 'helpful suggestions'. ...Was I so very gauche? So hopelessly, abominably gauche?

"Thank you, ma'am," I replied, my cheeks aflame, "—but I hope my behaviour will always be beyond reproach, however ignorant I am of the fastidious etiquette of the nobility."

"Indeed, it was the wrong word to employ," Mrs Marsh said apologetically. "Please, don't be offended. Knowing, as I do, how entirely friendless and without connections you are—how little experience you have of Pureblood society and great houses—I feel a certain...responsibility for your welfare. I only wish to offer you some well-meant guidance, if you will allow me?"

"Of course, ma'am," I said, mollified by her words. "That is very kind of you."

After a short pause to pour out some more tea for each of us, she began. "Miss Granger, a governess holds a unique position in a household such as this one. She is ranked above the servants, yet she is not on equal terms with the family she serves. She cannot with real propriety mingle with either her inferiors or superiors, and must stand aloof from all of them, guarding the perimeters of her position with utmost care..."

I took refuge in a gulp of tea. With a sting of self-consciousness, I thought of my friendly conversation with Porter Weasley. Ought I have maintained a cool reticence with that young man during our journey? But surely there was no harm in being cordial to a person who had rescued me from the unpleasant situation I found myself in...

"However," the lady continued, "on occasion, a governess with particularly engaging attributes may find herself distinguished by her employers, and invited to travers these perimeters." Mrs Marsh regarded me gravely. "...Mark me when I tell you, it is far better when the boundaries are properly preserved. An unmarried, unprotected young woman is particularly vulnerable to certain...persuasions and influences. She can never be too careful or suspicious of any man's attentions—but particularly those of her superiors."

I physically started, spilling my tea in my saucer, aghast at the inferences I was forced to make. "But I am only a plain muggle-born!" I exclaimed. "I am sure to be quite safe from anybody's attentions." And I laughed somewhat bitterly at the ludicrous idea of me being targeted for seduction by the lofty Lord, or wayward son.

"That is true, to an extent," the woman answered, causing me inwardly to flinch. "I admit, your blood status and...er, quiet appearance—" (I was sure she had been about to say 'quaint') "—were favourable considerations in making the decision to offer you this position. I do not wish past mistakes to be repeated."

I nodded and sipped my tea with as neutral an expression as I could muster. But inwardly, my heart was cruelly smote. How abominably naïve I was! It was not that Mrs Marsh had discerned in me some undiscovered potential and latent talent—it was the exact reverse! I had been hired, not for what I possessed, but for what I lacked: my lack of beauty, my lack of 'engaging attributes', my lack of purity...

"Again, you must forgive me," the housekeeper said. "I think I have upset you, when I only wish to put you on your guard."

"No, indeed," I managed to reply with an appearance of tranquility, "I appreciate your concern, ma'am."

The lady nodded, evidently pleased by my tractability. "Let me be a little more candid, Miss Granger," she said. "The governess before you was rather a headstrong young lady, and did not see fit to heed such advice. She developed quite an intimacy with the family which (I'm sorry to say it) culminated in something of a scandal, by which she alone was injured." I recalled the porter's strange reticence about his sister, and his warning words about the Lord and his son. What exactly had instigated her sudden desertion from her post? I longed to know more, but Mrs Marsh quickly obviated that possibility by saying, "We will not go into particulars, and I ask that you do not concern yourself with discovering them. Suffice it to say, it will be in your own best interests if you keep your attentions focused as much as possible on your young charge."

At this mention, I quickly seized upon the subject, relieved to divert the conversation to something less mortifying. "Pray tell me, who is my charge?" I asked. "And when shall I meet them?"

"She is Miss Clarastella, a little girl not-quite six years of age." Mrs Marsh replied. "You will meet her tomorrow."

"A...and..." I faltered awkwardly, "...to whom does she belong?"

Mrs Marsh seemed to weigh her words for a moment. "That," she said at length, "is not something I am presently at liberty to answer. It is enough to say, that she is to be treated as if she were Lord Malfoy's own daughter, and—mark this carefully—she has been brought up to understand as much. You, Miss Granger, will see to it that she continues to understand it. You would also be wise to curb any curiosity you may develop around the subject, and certainly not listen to the idle tattling of the servants; in the past there have been dismissals over lapses in discretion."

"Oh! I...I see. Thank you for forewarning me."

"It would be remiss of me not to." She seemed again to regard me thoughtfully, then, in a much-altered tone, she gently added, "Do not worry yourself overly, Miss Granger. If you are as you appear—that is, a humble and sensible person, not given to flights of fancy or immoderate inquisitiveness—you will do very well here."

I nodded demurely. But the truth was, I hardly knew what sort of person I was, for indeed, I had never before been at liberty to discover it.