She could not help the feeling of relief that flooded her when he joked and winked, nor could she help the laugh that rang in her throat at his accusation of British barberism. She did not like to feel disquieted or in a position that made her less than confident - power was something Ginevra Blackwood thought was incredibly important.

Pleased at least that she had not mortally offended the man her father had been trying to woo, Vera's lips curled into a teasing smile, 'Well we refined English have to get our barbarism out somewhere' she quipped 'other than perhaps the usual society battles - in that I can assure you we are all barbarians'. She removed one of her black leather gloves and drawing a finger over the raw wound on the foxes side, she approached the Quidditch star, the bright red gore trailing over the pale skin of her hand.

'ready?' she purred, meeting his eyes in what would certainly be interpreted as a teasing challenge

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