Was there anything he could do? Perhaps jumping off this balcony and painting the roses a more genuine and delightful shade of red. Frowning, Beryl graced the man with the slightest turn of her attention and watched as amusement found its way across his face as he seemingly attempted to charm her. Her eyes flicked away in a roll for a moment before finding their way back to his features. As he continued to speak however something did seem to captivate her attention, though despite how it may have appeared it had nothing to do with his words. She remembered this man. But why? Shifting her unimpressed posture so that it was more than a mere side glance she was tossing his way, Beryl’s eyes traced the gentlemans features till it finally dawned on her. He was the man her mother had so venomously spat under her breath at when he’d first entered the ballroom. Beryl hadn’t given it much thought at the time, hell, who didn’t the pickled hag despise? But it did undoubtedly make him the most interesting man that had spoken to her all night up until that point, and now it was her face that had amusement creeping up into her features.

There were many things Beryl had strived to achieve over the years. She was proud with academic prowess, insightful beyond the years of the average girl her age, and even elegantly dipped in the vain wealths of beauty and accessories that come from a family pedigree such as her own. A family that on any public occasion held their heads high with smiles and warm words, but behind the darkness of closed doors were devoid of love and affirmation. Each simultaneously living for their own benefit as greed tainted them, and envy stoked their ambitions. It was from such a place though that an almost childish deviousness raged inside Beryl. One she’d never audibly admit to, but also one that was peaked the second she could hear her mother’s words ringing in her ear from earlier that evening: ‘What is that vile man doing here?’ He’d been the only one to elicit such a reaction from her. Why? His dress appeared as refined as the rest, and he clearly thought himself to be charming. Perhaps a halfblood then? Merlin knew he couldn’t have been a mudblood or the woman would have lost her stomach across the ballroom floor. Whatever the reason, the vexing man now had her full attention.

Beryl let out a single, low, laugh. “You’re wise enough to gather that I’m handily armed but are still willing to strike up a conversation with me alone, and out on a dangerously high terrace at that?” She mused at the man, finding enjoyment out of a conversation for the first time that night. “Unfortunately that begs more questions, don’t you think? Because either you’re a complete and utter imbecile,” pausing, Beryl stepped away from the wisteria tangled railing and gracefully made her way over to the staircase that spiraled down into the gardens. “Or you yourself are dangerous enough to not find such things necessary to concern yourself with.” Glancing down at the empty garden pathways leading out from the bottom of the staircase, Beryl turned back towards the blonde man as she took the first step down the stairs. “So which is it, Mr. … ?” She coyly taunted, her words trailing off into a question of the man's name and intelligence as she invitingly took another step down the stoneway.