Not yet wishing to return indoors, I strolled around the periphery of the Manor's lawn, musing upon last-night's strange interview with Lord Malfoy.

What a singular man he was proving to be! Or rather, that he continued to prove to be. I could not understand why he troubled himself to speak with me at all, when three-quarters of his conversation seemed designed deliberately to pique me. Was it simply his 'way' with young women? Did he behave so with all the ladies of his acquaintance? For instance, the captivating Miss Weasley? I very much doubted it.

...Miss Weasley... "Ginevra", the porter had called her. Ah, but what a lovely name! So queenly!

I imagined her, seated at the dinner-table between the imposing Lord and his handsome son, amusing them with witty anecdotes, her dazzling beauty at full advantage, as perfectly at ease among her superiors as if she had been born of the same lofty station... Oh, no, surely she was never confounded by Milord's subtle raillery, or exposed to Master Draco's arrogant insults. And I was quite sure that she had never begun an interview by clumsily colliding with her employer!

A prickling heat rose to my face as I recalled my mortifying ungainliness. It seemed that the more I strived to be composed and sedate in Milord's company, the more skittish and awkward I became.

I broke into a faster walk, as if by doing so I might out-pace my embarrassed thoughts. But indeed, I was now besieged by a tormenting vision of that elegant trio, dressed in full ballroom resplendence, watching me trip over my own feet and tumble down before them. ...How Master Draco guffawed! How Miss Weasley simpered behind her fan! And with what smiling disdain did My Lord look down upon me and murmur something about muggleborn maladroitness!

A huffing sigh escaped my lips. Why must my mind plague me thus? I was half out of patience with myself!

I was so distracted that I knew not wither I wandered, until I suddenly found myself in a part of the grounds I had never visited before. It appeared to be a charming little 'giardino all'italiana'*, situated part-way down the eastern slope of the grounds, and sheltered from the sea-wind by the Manor itself.

An inviting stone archway beckoned me inside a fragrant border of citrus trees and cedars, and I was delighted to behold therein a symmetrical maze formed by laurel, myrtle and box hedges, its paths leading to central marble statue. I spent several minutes admiring this sculpture: a graceful representation of Aradia di Toscano*, holding in one hand her wand, in the other a book, presumably, her fabled 'Vangelo'.

I wandered further downhill, through a small bosco* until I came at last to a lily-pond, bracketed on one side by an ornamental grotto, next which was nestled a marble bench.

Suddenly, I remembered Clarastella's words about her former governess: "Mostly she liked to go to the lily-pond..." So this was Miss Weasley's favourite place to tarry! I could certainly see why. So tranquil the pond, with its pristine lilies and glassy surface; so enchanting the grotto, stippled whimsically with mosaics of pebbles and shells...

Moving over to the bench, I sat down upon the smooth, cool marble. It was positioned to face the Manor, and one could see the top part of the building's east wing towering above the tops of the cedars. I supposed the row of handsome balconies and windows must belong to the guest suites and family bedrooms Mrs Marsh had hinted at, but rather pointedly not acquainted me with.

So pleasant and secluded was the spot, I decided to spend a leisurely hour reading my book, "Jinxes for the Jinxed."

I took up the heavy tome, admiring its handsome purple-leather binding, then opened a page at random and studied the featured spell.

"FLIPENDO"

"More vulgarly known as 'The Knock-Back Jinx', FLIPENDO is unquestionably one of the most effective and versatile of all known Jinxes. Performed correctly, this dark charm will forcefully repel its target, often causing him to be thrown off his feet, thus yielding the advantage in combat, or providing opportunity to escape from an assailant. It is equally useful in fending off hostile beasts.

The spell may also be employed to budge cumbersome objects, although a care must be taken to avoid accidental damage to property, or injury to persons.

The efficacy and force of the magic is greatly impacted by the precision, decisiveness and intonation of the caster.

Being a volatile and dark-affiliate variety of magic, it is recommended that FEMALE practitioners utilise FLIPENDO only in case of acute personal danger. Should she require to move a large object, it is recommended she utilise the Levitation, Locomotion or Summoning Charm; alternatively, she may seek the aid of a suitably experienced MALE practitioner to perform the jinx.

The decorously-minded Gentlewitch will never use this jinx in the settling of quarrels.

The honourable Gentlewizard will never use this jinx against the weaker sex.

FLIPENDO is classified as a 'Classic Manoeuvre' in the Art of Duelling. According to the 'Code Duello', a Gentlewizard must take care to aim the Jinx at the torso of his opponent..."

As I read on, the words began to blur upon the page as another, very different scene arose in my mind...I imagined myself, in the smoky depths of the Tredraconis Inn, repulsing the two offending ruffians with a confident flick of my wand and a curt enunciation, sending them careening backwards into the tablefuls of onlookers, wiping the leers from their odious faces. Turning a scornful eye upon them and declaring, "Vile wretches! Dare you accost an employee of Lord Malfoy? Don't you know I am under his personal protection?" Then stalking regally through the now-silenced, now-humbled throng, making a dignified exit...

I blinked, the words solidifying before my eyes once more. I realised I was smiling.

Perhaps...perhaps there would be no harm to try out one—just this one—here-to-fore unattainable incantation? Just to see if I, with my "naturally-inferior" powers, had the ability to cast something unrelated to domestic service or home œconomy? After all, Lord Malfoy had not specifically forbidden it, had he? And of course, I would be extremely careful: I would barely even whisper the incantation.

I placed the book beside me, open, upon the bench, then took from my reticule the teacup I had used on my breakfast picnic. Looking guiltily about me, as if expecting the very trees to somehow proclaim their disapproval, I positioned the cup on a large boulder next to the pond. I drew my wand from my dress pocket, then, with a last glance at the illustrated wand-work, I trained it upon the cup and made a careful "V" shape, ending with a small, flicking crook. In a hesitant sotto voce, I murmured, "Flipendo".

My wand-tip emitted a faint blue glow which quickly sputtered and died; the teacup vibrated but did not move. Clearing my throat, I repeated the word and action a little more firmly: this time, the china cup moved back a few inches and cracked.

Then, quite suddenly—I knew not exactly how it happened—a surge of blood seemed to course through me, there was a tingling and throbbing in my arm, the incantation bubbled irresistibly to my lips, and—

"FLIPENDO!"

There was a loud bang, the cup disintegrated and the boulder flew through the air, landing in the middle of the pond with a mighty splash that soaked me entirely.

I panted with loud gasps, as much from thrilling jubilation, as from the cold drenching I received.

I had done it! I had successfully cast my first jinx!

However, my jubilance was soon curtailed by a second sharp cracking sound. I flinched, thinking I must have accidentally duplicated the jinx or cast it wrongly, dreading some terrible repercussion involving the destruction of the lovely garden in which I now stood.

"Oh dear!" I cried aloud, then hastily added: "Finite Incantatem!"

"Miss Granger."

I cried out, startled by a voice so close behind me. Whirling on the spot, I found myself face-to-face, or rather face-to-chest, with the very same man and very same chest I had so inelegantly stumbled against last night.

"Oh dear!" I repeated stupidly, attempting to digest the colossal implication of having been caught red-handed by Milord himself, casting a jinx without either his supervision or his permission. It was no use to think up an excuse; I could see his eyes sweeping over the scene of my crime: the book, lying open upon the marble bench, the page visibly entitled "FLIPENDO"; the large boulder dislodged from its proper place, now standing in the middle of the pond, and my guilty wand even now clutched in my culpable hand.

"Oh dear, indeed," murmured His Lordship with, I thought, sinister softness.

He, too, had his wand in hand; at present he was lowering it, until the slender tip gently tapped against his leg.

I stared up at him in speechless dismay, fearfully wondering if I was now to sample a specimen of his anger or infamous cruel-streak. He looked so very different from his previous evening's appearance: then, he had been all at-ease, the content gentleman inclined to be sociable and expansive, surrounded and softened by opulence and candlelight... But here, in the clear light of a fair, cool morning, the angularities of his features were harshly defined, further accentuated by his hair being drawn back and tied at the nape; his tall, lean figure seemed primed with an energy vital as it was vigourous. If last night he had been something of the relaxed and lordly Lion Couchant, today he was the poised and vigilant Eagle Rousant.*

As yet, his eyes betrayed nothing beyond their usual haughty inscrutability.

"Miss Granger," the noble-wizard said at length, "there are far more convenient places for you to bathe in, than a fish pond."

I saw amusement lurking about his mouth as his eyes travelled the sodden length of me.

Like a swift-changing tide, my fear subsided and my embarrassment surged forth to usurp its place. What a figure I must be making, with my waterlogged clothes and hair, the latter of which I could feel clinging to my face and neck in wet draggles!

I realised I had not made my required obeisance to him, and I felt all the more foolish and undignified, dipping a curtsey in my saturated state.

"I was not bathing, My Lord, I...I..."

"Allow me to guess," he smoothly interrupted. "You are part-Selkie, seeking to connect with your ancestors among the water-lilies."

I could not help but feel a little wounded by this sardonic remark, for though I had never seen a real Selkie, I knew from various pictures that they were extremely ugly creatures, unlike their Grecian counterparts, the fatally-beautiful Seirínes*. Had he deliberately distinguished between species?

"No," I replied, self-consciously removing what proved to be a stray leaf from my cheek. "I was only—only practising, My Lord."

"Ah, 'practising'..." He turned to survey the misplaced boulder. "Practising the art of aquatic garden rearrangement?"

It suddenly occurred to me that this persiflage was his method of chiding me for my insubordination. I submitted to it with a second curtsey, replying, "It would seem so, Sir." I lowered my eyes and awaited his next rebuking taunt.

For several long moments, silence prevailed. I sensed Lord Malfoy's gaze lingering upon me, no doubt bent upon my ridiculous appearance. I was acutely aware that the boning of my corset was visible through my drenched bodice, yet as much as I wished to cross my arms before me, I was loth to draw attention to the very fact by doing so. How I longed to be able to Apparate far, far away from that penetrating stare!

"Miss Granger," at last he spoke, "do you recall my promise of protection to you, on our first interview?"

"Yes, Sir," I replied dejectedly, for I supposed he now intended to formally renounce it.

"I'm afraid you oblige me to invoke it against you."

I looked up, surprised, unsure of his meaning. "Against me, My Lord?"

"Yes, you, Miss Granger. Evidently, you are a hazard to your own safety." The levity had dissipated from his expression and he regarded me with an unusually-stern mien. "Magic, any magic, should not be wielded without prior instruction, especially by a young woman such as yourself. This is an hundred times truer of dark magic, even something so elementary as..." (he glanced pointedly at the open book) "...a Flipendo jinx."

I nodded contritely. I felt like a chidden girl, never mind the 'young woman such as myself'—meaning, I supposed, one of my muggle-born heritage.

"I believe my instructions regarding the use of the books I leant you, were both reasonable and intelligible, Miss Granger?"

"They were, My Lord."

"Yet barely a week has passed and you have already seen fit to disregard them."

"Not—not deliberately, My—" His eyes narrowed, glinting icily, and my protestations faltered upon my lips. "I...I suppose so, Sir," I conceded quietly.

"Perhaps you thought them unworthy of your observance."

"No, indeed, I d-did not think at all," I stammered, afraid that I was rather entangling than extracting myself from difficulty. "It all happened so suddenly; I would say almost—"

"Yes?"

"Almost spontaneously, My Lord."

"I see." He stepped a little closer, peering down at me quite ominously, and I was reminded of his last night's assertion: 'I hope I am not the kind of man who derives pleasure from intimidating young women'... I wondered if that were altogether true. "Then perhaps, Miss Granger, the fault lies with me, for misjudging to whom I entrust the custody of such hazardous objects."

I saw where this was all inevitably leading: to the forfeiture of my precious books. Miserably I said, "No, My Lord, of course it was my fault alone. I...I...I am very sorry."

I should have stopped there, and meekly allowed His Lordship to accept or decline my apology, or continue his admonition however he saw fit. But, true to the bad-habit I had only lately discovered in myself, I suddenly burst forth: "—But you see, I only meant to try one spell, Sir, just to try if it were possible for me—just to see if—indeed, I only meant to discover if I could, I did not think I actually would—but oh! Please, My Lord, please don't confiscate my books! I promise I shan't so much as whisper another spell: you may dock my pay if you see fit to punish me; only do let me keep my books!"

I gulped, dismayed. Of course, I would be immediately dismissed, and rightly so.

But Lord Malfoy only raised a quizzical eyebrow at me. "And how much would you propose I 'dock your pay' for this transgression?"

"I don't know, Sir," I said. "...You may take it all, if you like."

"Am I to understand that you would willingly forfeit your entire quarter's pay?"

"Yes, if I may keep my books."

"Your books, Miss Granger?"

I winced. Another glaring faux pas! "I mean, if I may continue to borrow your books, My Lord."

"Remind me; how much is your quarterly wage?"

"Fifteen sickles, Sir."

"Almost an whole Galleon! And how much money are you presently in command of, if it be not impolite to enquire?"

I thought it was impolite, but yet I murmured, "Four sickles and eight, Sir."

"In all the world?"

"Yes, Sir."

He seemed to consider this for a moment. When he spoke again his voice sounded strangely caressing to my ears, though his words resumed their mocking essence. "I had not figured you for a wastrel and briber, young lady. Seeking to purchase innocence, with riches you have yet to receive from my hand."

"I'm sure I don't want to purchase innocence, My Lord, if that is indeed possible. I only wish to retain the books you leant me."

"And I suppose you are operating under the principle that forgiveness is more easily attained than permission?"

"That does not sound like a principle, Sir," I said. "—Though it may, perhaps, be true."

He smiled in such a way that I could not understand the meaning of it. "Perhaps." He again tapped his wand against his leg, and appeared to be deliberating. "...Let us consider this a verbal warning, Miss Granger. I will not confiscate your books, as you so anxiously apprehend, nor dock your pay, as you so recklessly propose. But I do expect you to refrain from experimenting with any new spells without my permission—or you will discover that my forgiveness is not so easily attained a second time."

I could have wept for relief. Breathlessly, I exclaimed, "I shall swear an Oath, if it please Your Lordship!"

"That will not be necessary. I believe I may depend upon your word of honour."

My cheeks flooded with tingling warmth. "Thank you, Sir," I said. "I gladly give you my word of honour."

"Then let us shake upon it." So saying, he pocketed his wand and extended his right hand.

Momentarily, I was confounded. His large hand was ungloved and three rings glinted upon his strong pale fingers: a large emerald set in graven silver on his index, a plain gold wedding band upon his ring-finger, and a silver signet ring bearing his raised initials, encircling his fifth-finger. I knew his palm would be pleasantly dry and warm, just as I knew mine would be unpleasantly damp and cold, no doubt exactly like the Selkie he lately compared me to.

"I—I had r-rather not, Sir," I stammered, putting both hands behind me and taking a backward step.

I feared he would take offence, but indeed he only looked the-more amused and withdrew his hand as if he cared not a whit, resting it on his hip in an elegant attitude. And yet, when he spoke again, his voice lost that pleasant thrumming quality and sounded sharper, more clipped—or was that my imagination? "Miss Granger," he said, "I am, this morning, called away to London on business, and expect to be away above a se'nnight*, perhaps as long as a fortnight. Do you think that in the meantime, you will be able to observe my instructions and keep yourself out of further mischief?"

Away for two weeks! How very odd, that I should feel as equally relieved as disappointed by this news. "Yes, My Lord," I said, "I shall certainly endeavour to do so."

"I trust you will, if you value your position here. And now, I must bid you adieu. I have lost quite enough time as it is. I was, in fact, in the midst of preparing my departure, when the resonance of your jinx brought me hither."

Only then did I notice that he was apparelled for travelling—and with a shock of mortification, I realised he had not quite finished dressing, having neither tie nor cravat at his collar; nor cufflinks fastening his sleeves. I had called him away from his dressing chamber! Surely I was the most perfect fool ever to have existed!

I uttered yet another word of apology, then wished him a safe journey.

A sudden breeze swept through the garden, stirring the leaves and causing my wet skin to prickle over and my body to tremble. Though a fine day, there was no heat in the early-spring atmosphere, and I was obliged to clench my teeth to prevent them from chattering.

Noticing me shiver, Lord Malfoy murmured, "You will catch your death if you stand there much longer. I suppose you know the Hot-Air Charm?"

"Yes, Sir."

"See that you use it." In a careless, even callous tone he added, "I have enough to do, without the inconvenience of replacing sickening servants."

I curtseyed, but did not trust to reply. With a curt nod, the noble-wizard Disapparated as abruptly as he had appeared, with another loud bang that caused me to flinch. Or perhaps that was caused by his 'Parthian shot', leaving me no doubt as to my proper place: as a menial for whom his care extended only so far as his convenience remained undisturbed.

There...there at last, had the cruel-streak shown through the suave exterior. There was the sting at the end of the elegantly-coiled tail.

...

A/N Well, what do you think of My Lord's ungallant behaviour? Was he playing havoc with our little heroine's feelings for his selfish amusement, or do you think he was a little piqued by her rejection of his handshake? ...Or is he just a pompous ass with great hair? Leave me a comment with your thoughts!

xox artful

Text Notes:

*giardino all'italiana—a garden in the "Italian" style, stylistically based on symmetry, axial geometry and the principle of imposing order over nature.
*Aradia di Toscano—a pagan witch of Italian folklore, thought to have lived in 14th-century Tuscany
*Vangelo—the "gospel" used by Aradia and her followers
*bosco—small woodland
*Lion Couchant; Eagle Rousant—heraldric terms for "Sitting Lion" and "Rising Eagle"
*Seirínes—(σειρήνες) the Greek word for 'Sirens'
*Se'nnight—an archaic word literally meaning "seven-nights", or one week
*Parthian shot—now commonly used as "parting shot". The Parthians were an ancient race of Persians known for their battle tactic of firing arrows backwards at their enemy whilst pretending to retreat on horseback.