I gazed at the note for some moments, an odd, tight sensation developing in my stomach. My pulse flurried with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. I, to see him, so soon? So ill-prepared?

I sprang to my feet and hastily removed my robe, then, espying in one corner a white, mirrored dressing table, I advanced toward it a little apprehensively. Above all, I wished to appear before my employer neat and composed, but I was afraid that this morning's adventures must certainly have disordered me.

With a pang of dissatisfaction I viewed my reflection: my hair-plaits were frayed and my dress crumpled from the journey in the Porter's cart.

Did I have time to change? What was meant by, "at my earliest convenience"? Ought I drop everything and hasten to Lord Malfoy's office? Or might I take a little time to make myself more presentable?

Supposing tardiness to be a lesser evil than unkemptness, I hastily took my wand from my dress pocket and cast a light steaming spell over my skirts. The poplin fabric—a muted shade of caerulean blue—relaxed, and the worst creases smoothed out.

"Accio reticule," I murmured, catching the draw-string bag and emptying it upon the gleaming surface of the dressing table, then selecting from amongst its scattered contents a little ivory comb. Loosening my braids, I tamed my curls as best I could, then carefully re-plaited and secured them.

I was about to turn away, when my eye caught upon my charm-extended box of potions and essences. Quickly snapping open the lid, I took out a small vial of Rose Essence, and dabbed a little on my wrists and at my temples, as a kind of makeshift Eau de Toilette. I had never worn any scent before, for my Aunt had deemed it both frivolous and immoral. ...I wondered what had got into me. Why should I care so much for what impression I made at this first meeting with my new employer? What was it, that caused me to sigh at my "drab little dormouse" appearance (as Master Draco had so kindly put it), and to wish I were a little—just a very little—prettier?

I shook my head at my foolishness and turned away from my reflection. In truth, it mattered not how I outwardly appeared, for nothing could mitigate the inherent taint of my blood. Although perhaps it was for this very reason that I did care so much.

Crossing the room, I opened the door then slipped out into the hallway and began to retrace my steps back towards the central part of the house.

Without Mrs Marsh to accompany me, the Manor seemed to take on a more forbidding aspect, despite its modern fittings and furnishings. The corridor joining the Nursery wing to the Main Hall appeared longer and darker, and its stone walls and great flagstones revealed something of the original gothic gloom of the house.

As I emerged upon the wooden balcony and beheld that imposing mahogany door at the end of the landing, I experienced a thrill of dread, such as I never had before. Something about those eyes, connecting with mine through the coach window, had deeply perturbed me, and with each step taking me to meet the man to whom they belonged, my heart thudded all the louder within me.

I paused outside the door and attempted to calm my excited nerves with a deep, steadying breath. Then I raised my hand and timidly knocked, rather wishing than hoping that there would be no answer from within.

"Enter."

The response was immediate, and again I was beset with wild palpitations. With trembling fingers, I turned the silver handle and pressed open the heavy door.

At first I did not see the room, nor its contents. I did not even notice the deportment or dress of the figure awaiting within—my eyes were drawn as if by magnetic force to his eyes alone...those strangely captivating silver irises, glittering like ice, rendering all else an indistinct blur...

I knew not if I curtseyed, although I suppose I must have.

"Good day, Miss...Granger, I presume?"

At the unexpected silken softness of his voice I blinked, drew a breath, and everything came into focus at once: the sumptuous room and imposing furnishings, the enormous windows looking directly over the sweeping front lawn...and the man himself, as equally grand and imposing, standing in an elegant aspect near a great unlit fireplace, with one arm leant upon its marble mantelpiece and one booted foot resting on the lowest rung of its brass grate.

Lord Malfoy was dressed in a suit of black Jacquard-woven silk, comprising a double-breasted frock coat and trousers, and a silver waistcoat elaborately embroidered with a pattern of delicate green vine-leaves and lilac speedwell. From his shoulders flowed a cape of supple dark velvet, trimmed in black fur, which contrasted vividly with the sheet of blond hair that spilled over it. My inner seamstress immediately discerned and admired the exquisite tailoring and expensive cloth, even while my muggle-born inferiority shrank from such an overt example of masculine beauty, wealth and resplendence.

There was a pause, and of a sudden I realised that I had not yet made a reply, and that those piercing eyes were bent on me still, with something of an expectant expression upon his haughty features.

"Y-yes, Sir—I—I mean, My Lord," I stammered, the flush on my cheeks deepening at the unfamiliar shape and sound of this noble title on my lips. "...Good day." I dropped my eyes to fix upon the hem of my dress, wondering how I could face the son's impudence with tolerable equanimity, yet quailed within mere moments of encountering the father's cool courtesy.

"Won't you please sit down?" he said, gesturing gracefully to a seat on one side of a huge walnut desk that dominated the middle of the room.

I moved over to the chair and sank down upon it, glad to be supported by something more stable than my trembling legs. The wizard likewise approached the desk and stationed himself oppositely, in a high wing-backed chair of green tufted leather.

For some moments he impassively regarded me, his jewelled fingers lightly drumming upon the surface of the desk. Then at length he spoke. "Perhaps you are wondering why I have requested to speak with you, so soon after your arrival in my house."

"I had no time to wonder that," I blurted, then felt my stomach lurch with panic at how pertinacious such a reply might seem. But a hasty glance at the wizard only showed a polite smile on his sharp, aristocratic face.

"Just so," he replied urbanely. "I make no apologies, but I will give an explanation hereafter. However, I should first like you to answer some questions. ...You don't mind my asking you questions, do you, Miss Granger?"

"No...no, of course not," I replied, trying to sound unconcerned, but in truth somewhat alarmed. "Please, go ahead."

Lord Malfoy looked rather amused at this, and once again I realised I had blundered. Of course he would 'go ahead', whenever he pleased.

"Miss Granger, what do you know of myself and my family?"

The question surprised and confused me. I had expected he would ask questions about me, not about himself. "V-very little," I said, seeking refuge from my confusion in the simple truth. "That is, I know the Malfoys are an ancient family of pure blood and high rank...and that you are one of the Noble Lords of the Magic Realm. ...I know that you have a son and a d-daughter" (I stammered a little, recalling that I did not exactly know this for a certainty) "and that your wife passed away many years ago."

I could not tell his expression, for my eyes were fixed firmly on my fingers, laced tightly upon my lap.

"Is that all you know?" he murmured.

"I...I believe so," I replied. "...All else is but idle gossip."

"Ah, do you make a habit of listening to idle gossip, Miss Granger?"

"No," I said, looking up from my hands to encounter his level, gleaming gaze. "But one cannot always help hearing it."

There was a sardonic quality to his smile as he murmured, "I'm afraid you are right." I supposed he himself must know of his reputation as a cruel and dangerous man, and a practitioner of the forbidden arts...but only he knew how much was truth, and how much wicked slander.

"My housekeeper mentioned that you had already met my son... Pray, what did you make of him?"

I felt my spine stiffen reflexively with dislike. "I did not presume to form an opinion," I said.

At the sound of his chuckle, I stared up at the noble-wizard. "Very diplomatic, indeed!" he rejoined. "Most tactful—if not most truthful. Never mind; I do not always prize truth above rhetoric."

My cheeks burned at this sting, but I swallowed the angry retort bubbling inside me.

"But you look chagrined, Miss Granger. Do you think me unfair? Please, speak freely."

"Yes," I said, rather hotly. "I do. Perhaps I should have said, 'I dared not presume to form an opinion'."

He nodded, the smile lingering on his lips. "I understand you. You mean, you believe you are not at liberty to admit to having any opinion at all. However, allow me to assure you that it is not my intention to lead you deliberately into difficulty. You may answer my questions honestly, and 'dare' to form as many opinions as you please, without fear of repercussion from giving them voice. I give you my word of honour."

"Very well, My Lord," I murmured, privately thinking that, just because he gave me his word of honour, did not necessarily mean I could trust it.

"Then let me resubmit my question. I am genuinely interested to know your first impressions of my son. ...Did you not think him exceedingly handsome?"

"Yes; I suppose so," I replied.

"Only 'suppose so'?"

"I meant, certainly. He is very handsome indeed."

"He looks very like his mother," he said, without evident emotion. "She was a famous beauty."

'He looks very like you,' I thought, but of course I did not say so aloud.

"And yet, I sense you do not like him. Was he insolent to you?"

"...I am led to believe that he...he behaved in a way entirely customary to his nature."

"Another stroke for diplomacy! Well done, Miss Granger; although you might as well have answered, 'yes'."

"'Yes', then," I said, then bit my lip at the challenging note in my voice.

"And what of my house? Do not you think it grand?"

"I have never seen anything grander."

"No, I don't suppose you have...I'm told you hale from Turningstone village. A very quiet and proper little place. Did you have a very quiet and proper upbringing?"

I was almost certain he was mocking me, though his voice and countenance remained scrupulously courteous. I supposed I looked the very epitome of a 'quiet and proper' young female, the very opposite of the dashing and fascinating witches with whom he would be used to associating. With as much dignity as I could muster, I replied, "Yes, I did—for which I shall be always thankful."

"As you ought to be," said the wizard loftily. "It is rare that a muggle-born is given such."

I flushed at this first mention of my blood-status, and my eyes dropped once again to my hands.

"May I see your wand?"

I was startled by the request, but could see no way to refuse it. With some reluctance, I fetched it from my skirt pocket and handed it across the desk. The wizard took it from me and leisurely inspected it. It was very strange, to see my stubby little wand held by those long, bejewelled, aristocratic hands. "Hmm, red oak..." he said, balancing it on his fingers, then testing the flexibility of the point. "Rigid and fairly blunt. And the core?"

"Unicorn hair."

"Did this wand choose you?" he asked me.

"No," I replied. "It is second-hand. My Aunt gave it to me when I turned eleven. I think it belonged to a deceased sister."

"If I may?—" Without explaining what he may, or awaiting my permission, he held it up and murmured, "Prior Incantato." My wand emitted a faint trace of light in the shape of the last spell I had used—the summoning charm I had cast on my reticule. His lips pursed slightly, then he placed the wand on the desk. I wondered why he did not give it back to me.

"Tell me," he said, levelling his enigmatic gaze on me once more, "do you remember your muggle parents?"

"N-no..."

"You do not sound quite certain of that."

"I remember my mother's voice, singing to me," I admitted. "But I cannot remember anything else."

"Do you know how they died?"

"I am told it was a muggle disease called Cholera."

"And as for yourself, Miss Granger, you need say nothing. I can guess your history. ...You manifested symptoms of magic from a young age, and were accordingly taken out of a muggle orphanage and put into one for magical muggle-borns; after which you were adopted by a respectable gentle-witch who undertook your private education. ...Is not that your life, as they say, 'in a nutshell'?"

"I believe so, My Lord."

"Ah, quite the classic 'histoire pathetique', as it were. Most plausible and pitiful."

I was silent.

"You make me no answer, young lady. Why?"

"Because I think you mock me, My Lord."

"Do you?—But you're quite wrong." He pushed his chair suddenly back and stood up, reaching into his frock-coat to produce a slender wand of pale elm, twice the length of mine, with some kind of silver mounting at its hilt. "I do not mock you..." he said, "...I suspect you."

I had not time to process these strange words, before the wizard made a concise swipe with his wand and muttered, "Incarcerous." A coil of thick ropes shot out from the tip of the baton to lash about my body, tightly binding my arms and legs to my chair.

"What are you doing?" I cried, struggling against my bonds in utter confusion and rising panic.

The wizard smiled, but it was a wintery and cruel expression, bereft of its urbane charm. His eyes were as glittering and as hard as diamonds.

"I shall cry out!" I warned, as he moved around the desk and advanced toward me.

"There is no need, if you co-operate," he replied coldly as he approached, his wand brandished before him.

"What have I done?" I gasped, wondering if perhaps his son had told some despicable fib, in order to preclude my revealing the scene I had witnessed between himself and his paramour.

"That," replied Lord Malfoy, coming to a standstill before me, "is exactly what I wish to establish."

"You—you g-gave me your word of honour—"

"I gave you my word," he overrode me, "that you needn't fear repercussions for answering me honestly. To that, I hold. Indeed, it is all that I require from you."

He stood, towering over me as ominously as his Manor towered over the countryside. He seemed to be inspecting me as if I were some oddity, some puzzling object that he had yet to decipher. "...You do not much look like a fearful adversary in clever masquerade..." he muttered softly, "...but looks can be deceiving. Perhaps the most deceptive disguise is the appearance of innocence and sincerity."

This all seemed as unintelligible to me as if he spoke in some foreign tongue. I felt my eyes prickle with tears of shock and fear. Had he gone suddenly mad? Had I?

"Miss Granger, for whom do you work?"

I stared up at him with confusion. "...For y-you, My Lord," I stammered. "I am to be Clarastella's governess—Mrs Marsh employed me—I have the Indenture Retainer in my room!—I will fetch it for you if you unbind me."

The wizard gazed with icy impassivity into my eyes. "What do you know of this morning's attack?"

I shook my head. "Attack? Do you mean, in Tredraconis?—the-those men who attacked me in the Inn?"

Lord Malfoy frowned. "No," he said sharply. "Do not trifle with me, girl. You know to which incident I refer."

"There has been some mistake!" I exclaimed, almost beside myself. "I do not understand you!"

He pocketed his wand, then suddenly bent over me, placing his hands on each side of my temple. I shivered, my heart thudding wildly, and my throat so constricted with clawing fear that I couldn't have screamed for help if I tried. I could not tear my eyes away from his, the glinting silver seemed to freeze and lock my pupils in place, while the light touch of his fingers scorched my skin. A subtle scent of expensive cologne coiled around me, and I began to feel rather faint, overwhelmed and stifled by terror and by the proximity of the wizard standing so closely over me.

"Please..." I whispered. "I'm only the governess."

"We shall see..." he murmured.

And then the dark pin-points of his pupils expanded, and I think I cried out, for it seemed as if his gaze was somehow pouring down through my eyes and into my mind, sifting through my thoughts, my feelings, my memories, latching onto certain moments, lingering over more recent events...my grief, fear and loneliness at my Aunt's passing...my desperate search for a new position...my subsequent relief at Mrs Marsh's offer...

"Stop, I beg you!" I pleaded, but the wizard ignored my feeble struggle to break away from his uninvited intrusion, and calmly continued to peruse and inspect...this morning's humiliating altercation with the two wizards...my warm gratitude to the young porter...my encounter with young Master Draco...

Then I felt him probe at the periphery of my nervous excitement upon being summoned to meet him, and my foolish application of the Rose Essence as a makeshift perfume—and my mortification became so acute and overwhelming, that I could bear it no longer.

"STOP!"

It was a tormented shriek; nearly a scream, and something within me seemed to burst in an agony of fury; there was a flash of blinding brightness, and the wizard was thrown backwards against the desk, while my bonds dropped away and disappeared.

I staggered to my feet and ran, my eyes blinded with scalding tears. But before I could gain the door, Lord Malfoy seized hold of my wrist and stopped my flight. "Wait—wait—"

"Let me go!" I cried tempestuously, ready to do violence to him or to myself if he subjected me to a moment more of unbearable intrusion. "I will not stay a minute, not a second, longer—I will not endure such insult, ever again!"

"Please, Miss Granger—"

"—Let me go, I say!"

The wizard caught my other wrist, and trapped both hands together, but his grasp, though strong, was devoid of brutality. "I implore you to calm down," he urged, "or you will do yourself some injury."

His voice was sincere and his words beseeching, and at length I became less wildly distraught. "Let me go," I repeated, my voice choked with tears.

"I will, once you are calm."

Realising that my only means of escape would be through compliance, I desisted my futile struggles and swallowed down my sobs, though my breast still heaved with anguish. After some moments Lord Malfoy must have deemed me mistress enough of my emotions, and released my wrists. Taking a step back from me, he held out his hands, open-palmed, to show me that he intended no further harm.

"Will you take some water or wine?" he asked me, with an appearance of genuine concern. "You are very distressed, I'm afraid you may faint."

"No," I said, forcibly containing the fresh spring of tears that threatened to burst from me. "I am...quite well. Only, I wish to leave this house, and never return."

"That is understandable," the noble-wizard replied softly. "But will you permit me to at least explain, if not excuse, my behaviour, first? I implore you to hear me, then you shall be free to stay or go, as you please. If you choose to leave, I will see you are paid your full first quarter. ...Will you allow me this one concession, Miss Granger, before you positively decide to flee?"

I regarded Lord Malfoy warily, considering his words. He sounded sincere, he seemed sincere, but in truth I knew not what to make of his extreme changefulness. My instincts warned me to leave with all possible haste, but my curiosity was piqued to hear his excuses.

"I do not want any pay I have not earned," I said, lifting my chin with a display of cold dignity that was not much in congruence with my violently-trembling body. "But I will hear you."