Oh. When she had first begged him not to tell, Endymion had only taken it for her presence out in the forest alone – which he supposed some might find suspect activity for a young lady of good society, but which he had merely taken for a free-spirited, nature-loving, roving air (and which had almost lifted her higher in his esteem than lowered her, because he found that rather wild and enigmatic and romantic of her).
But now he understood that the forest-roaming was only part of her secret; the deer transformation was the rest of it. But if she were an animagus – weren’t they all on some sort of legal registry, anyway? So it could hardly be some terrible secret... unless, of course, she wasn’t on the registry? Endymion’s brows knitted, but he hoped the confusion and consternation might merely pass for concentration on the pellet-wounds.
She must have seen something in it, though, because Undine was pleading with him again. He had thought he might resist it, but then she had gone to the effort of clasping his hand and dropping to the ground, and although all reason pointed towards something strange and untoward underneath her plea for secrecy, when Endymion met her eyes – they were not just the brilliant blue he recalled from the masque; in this light he saw a shade of grey to them — somehow he couldn’t fathom her to be anything less than a perfectly honest creature. What could she be hiding, really? She was an animagus – there was nothing inherently bad in that, even if the Ministry didn’t know; indeed, it was rather spectacular magic, to be able to do that – and she was out in the forest alone.
That hardly made her a murderer, or anything so nefarious. Whether by this logic, or sheer desire to believe in her unearthly innocence, Endymion let his concern fall away. Instead he pressed her hand back and offered her an earnest look. “I won’t tell a soul,” he declared quietly, and a corner of his mouth quirked up hopefully. “As long as you promise not to tell anyone I nearly killed you!” he added in airy exaggeration, as if they could make one grand joke of this all. He moved his other hand to her waist, eyeing her hip just beneath to be sure the pellets were all out. “Is that a fair bargain?” he offered, nearly teasing.
But now he understood that the forest-roaming was only part of her secret; the deer transformation was the rest of it. But if she were an animagus – weren’t they all on some sort of legal registry, anyway? So it could hardly be some terrible secret... unless, of course, she wasn’t on the registry? Endymion’s brows knitted, but he hoped the confusion and consternation might merely pass for concentration on the pellet-wounds.
She must have seen something in it, though, because Undine was pleading with him again. He had thought he might resist it, but then she had gone to the effort of clasping his hand and dropping to the ground, and although all reason pointed towards something strange and untoward underneath her plea for secrecy, when Endymion met her eyes – they were not just the brilliant blue he recalled from the masque; in this light he saw a shade of grey to them — somehow he couldn’t fathom her to be anything less than a perfectly honest creature. What could she be hiding, really? She was an animagus – there was nothing inherently bad in that, even if the Ministry didn’t know; indeed, it was rather spectacular magic, to be able to do that – and she was out in the forest alone.
That hardly made her a murderer, or anything so nefarious. Whether by this logic, or sheer desire to believe in her unearthly innocence, Endymion let his concern fall away. Instead he pressed her hand back and offered her an earnest look. “I won’t tell a soul,” he declared quietly, and a corner of his mouth quirked up hopefully. “As long as you promise not to tell anyone I nearly killed you!” he added in airy exaggeration, as if they could make one grand joke of this all. He moved his other hand to her waist, eyeing her hip just beneath to be sure the pellets were all out. “Is that a fair bargain?” he offered, nearly teasing.
