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“Nonsense, mon petit!” Nell said gaily. “To play the chess, it is most improving for all of the magics of the mind!”
“I didn’t say it wouldn’t help,” Evan shrugged. “I just said you’ll regret it.”
Severus opened by jumping a knight over his own pawn.
“Ah! You are thinking perhaps of Petrov, or of Philidor, but—” Nell stopped. To tell was impossible, even when she met the very dark eyes, whether the young Severus was guarding his thoughts well already, or in truth had not the least idea in the world what she meant.
“I’m afraid I haven’t studied chess, Madam Nell,” he apologized, always so formal. “It’s more popular in our school’s rival house. Ours mostly plays Go.”
Two hours later, Nell returned from a quick powder break in the firm expectation of reaching checkmate in ten moves at the most only to stare at the board. “But, mon cher appareil de fumée , you cannot checkmate me with any of these pieces, for they have all been taken!”
She stopped staring at the board, for the white pieces, which had played both for her and against her for nearly three hundred years, had now pulled down their carven hose to expose their bottom parts to her eyes and it was of all things the most provoking.
“I know,” Severus said, blinking at her with a confused frown, which was very much more pleasant to look at despite being very certainly a lie. “But you didn’t lock them up, you know. You didn’t even ask for parole. I suppose you assumed they were dead, but you never checked their pulse.”
All smudgy with his pastels on the chaise longue, Evan didn’t say a word, but whistled two notes that sounded very much like Told you.