Patience was not something Savaric was good at. It was one trait he never had to learn. His parents, and even his older sister, had always given him whatever he wanted – as soon as he had wanted it.

So, sitting in the drawing room of the Black mansion, waiting for Isla to come downstairs, was getting on his nerves. Therefore, he stood up and started pacing around the room. But moving didn’t help the matter anymore than sitting. On his way back to the armchair, Savaric’s gaze then came to rest on a chess board. He knew how to play, of course, but he thought the game slow and boring. It took enormous patience to sit, sometimes for hours, and wait for the outcome.

No, he preferred Quidditch. He liked the speed as well as the challenge of getting the Quaffle through the small hoops faster than the Keeper could stop it. He enjoyed the look on the Keeper’s face when his shot went right by him. And he enjoyed the feeling of scoring, the feeling of victory, knowing that he was better than others.

Absent-mindedly, as he thought about Quidditch, he began arranging the pieces on the board. Perhaps Isla would like to play a game. He knew she enjoyed the strategy of chess, and that she had learned playing it by her brother, master of Slytherin house. Even after having graduated from Hogwarts, Phineas Nigellus Black was unbeaten. Savaric also knew that Mr Black himself was a fantastic chess strategist, and that Isla must have inherited this trait from him. No wonder she was a genius chess player herself. But Savaric wasn’t bad either. He only had to remember to stay calm because he tended to lose the game if he started to overreact.

Yes, it would please her to sit with him and play a round of chess. As far as he knew, she hadn’t played in quite some time.

Hearing a noise from behind him, he turned to see Isla walking into the room. He stood up straight next to the table on which the chess board was set up and waited for her to come to him. He could tell she was puzzled by the look on her face.

‘Sorry to have kept you waiting,’ she said as she approached him, her gaze wandering curiously between his face and the chess board.

‘No problem.’ Reaching out to take her hand, he pulled her into his embrace. He leaned down, wanting to kiss her. She leaned into his embrace, but turned her head to the side so that he only came to kiss her cheek. Sighing in silent disappointment, Savaric pulled back but didn’t let yet go of her.

‘Fancy a game?’ he asked in a light-hearted manner.

‘A game?’ she asked confused, looking up at him. When he looked down at the table, she took another glance as well, only to quickly look back at him, surprised. ‘I didn’t know you played.’

‘Of course I play,’ he said tersely. ‘All pure-blood wizards know how to play.’

Isla looked at him with a considering gaze. ‘I would love to play,’ she eventually said and sat down.

Savaric took a deep calming breath, and sat down opposite her. He wanted her relaxed. He knew her parents were going to have dinner with his parents tonight. He had convinced both sets of parents it would be a wonderful time for him and Isla to spend some quality time together, alone. And who knew, if his plan worked, he might be able to gain more that day than anyone would have thought.

Isla carefully made her first move, her action bringing Savaric back to the present. He could tell she was careful; her eyes rested on him and his gestures, trying to find out what he might be intending. He smiled mysteriously and made his move. The game began. At first, Isla made small cautious moves only, but as time – and the game – progressed, she took more chances. Within fifteen minutes, Savaric realised Isla was a master player. Though she took some chances, she always had a backup plan if her chance didn’t work out.

Another ten minutes later, Savaric surveyed the board, rubbing his chin deep in thought. He knew he was only one move from losing. That was unacceptable. An Orwell didn’t lose, ever. He could feel his temper rising. He couldn’t be beat by a girl. He wouldn’t be beat by anyone.

Sighing, Savaric reminded himself to calm down again. He wanted Isla in a good mood, not upset over his temper.

After evaluating his miserable situation, he took the knight and carefully made his move. If luck was with him, she would move her rook and open it up for him to possible salvage a win…

But luck wasn’t with him. With a slightly amused smile on her face, Isla lazily took up her queen and put her forward. In a quiet voice she then said, ‘Checkmate.’

The loss hit Savaric’s pride and hurt. He was disappointed, and his dark eyes showed it openly. However, he would have been able to control his temper if he hadn’t seen the smile of triumph on her face. ‘We play again, for real this time,’ he demanded, taking up the figures and setting them up anew. ‘I went easy on you because you are just a girl,’ he added as an afterthought.

Isla looked at him startled, her eyes growing wide. Savaric could see a hint of fear in them but his temper was flowing too strong through his veins for him to acknowledge it. He would not lose again. He countered each of her moves, quickly playing her against her side of the chess board. It was only when they were within a few moves of ending the game, he realised she was not playing as she had before.

In a furious wave of rage, he reached out and flipped the board so it landed in her lap, startling her. ‘I will not be condescended to!’ he shouted and stood. ‘How dare you not play your best?’ He reached for her over the table and gripped her shoulders, shaking her roughly. ‘Don’t ever do that again, do you hear me?’

Sitting very still despite being physically attacked, Isla looked directly into his eyes. ‘It is hard not to hear you when you are shouting,’ she said calmly, her misty grey eyes sparkling with a strong will that stopped him. She took advantage of his momentary shock at her words and put the board back onto the table. As he finally let go of her, she stood and took several steps back.

‘When you can be civilised, I will be at your parents’ house. If you would like to play again, without the attitude, I would love to do so. You are very good and I enjoyed the challenge... of the first game.’ She then turned and walked out of the room. The door closed silently behind her.

Savaric stared after her. How did his perfect plan go wrong? He looked at the mess on the floor. Maybe chess hadn’t been such a good idea. And though he knew how good she was, he had challenged her. But why? What sparked that idea in the first place?

While picking up the black queen, he swore to not make the same mistake again. He would practise. Yes, that was the problem, he was out of practise.

Smiling and hiding the chess figure in his hand, Savaric knew the next time he played chess against Isla, he would have no problem beating her. She was after all, only a girl.

His victorious smirk was shortly illuminated by the setting sun.