Lachlan did not go to fashion houses to get his clothes, and Miss Binns didn't seem the type to go anywhere near the crowd of stuffy debutantes who did; it made the revelation all the stranger. Surely a woman of her intellect could get a more interesting job than appointment-keeping? But then again she said she also wrote, and although he'd never heard of books written by Juliana Binns he knew it didn't mean anything. It wasn't as though he made a habit out of reading.

His life was far less interesting—not even worth talking about, really. He'd played quidditch, had a very bad and very public end to his career, and had settled into the family occupation which seemed interesting to most people, but was much less exciting to someone who had grown up around it. "I ensure they don't destroy any of the nearby towns" he answered. The statement did not encompass all of his duties, but would probably prevent further questions.

"You said you write," he said suddenly, his hand slipping from its spot under his chin and coming to rest against his cheek. "I guess that would explain how you managed to get published in Witch Weekly," he said off-handedly, "but are you just a hobbyist, or are you a published writer?" He was genuinely interested; she was an unconventional kind of woman, and those were the type he got on best with, even if she was a little annoying.

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