Well here you go…a sequel. This is more or less just a taster…it's not nearly done enough to start putting up in earnest, but I thought I'd put this little bit up so that you guys all know that there is a sequel in the works, even if its not ready. I want it to be really good, because I was proud of Light in the Dark and I don't want to let it down by writing a rubbish sequel. Thank you very much for all the reviews, I was so pleased that people liked the story, I hope I don't let you down with this one. Istalindar
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Constantine DeVere was irritated. It wasn't hugely obvious to the others at the party, but to those who brushed against that irritation, it glittered like steel around her, resulting in a fiercely intelligent, verbally destructive comment that left its victim shivering inside. Her irritation tonight was directed at the bumbling social nightmare that was Ron Weasley, who seemed entirely incapable of behaving in a suitable manner for the social event he was attending.
However, far from being considered rude, uncivilised and unacceptable, Miss DeVere's acid tongue was accepted as a part of who she was, just like the icy intelligence and icier reception was also accepted. It was simply a part of her. In fact, the hosts of whichever party she attended counted themselves lucky that she deigned to attend, rather than wishing she would simply relax.
Miss DeVere was one of those people who had simply appeared on the social scene. She had her debut, of course, at Draco Malfoy's party as his fiancee. However, since the questionable business between him and Hermione Granger, which resulted in both their disappearances, Constantine DeVere had been making her own name. She was always dressed impeccably, and her haughty attitude was received well among the older families such as the Zabinis and the Parkinsons. However, her real sign of class was that the media received nothing from her on the subject of her ex-fiance Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. She had been approached for interviews and had turned them down cooly, any direct questions receiving the vague hated 'No Comment' that all reporters dreaded.
It was, however, rumoured that Miss DeVere had simply moved on from Draco, turning her attentions to his older cousin, Amadeo Malfoy. Their regular joint appearances at parties, premieres and opening certainly did nothing to quell the rumours, though as with everything in Constantine's life, there was nothing definite the media could get hold of, no secret letters or clandestine meetings to photograph, and so they remained rumours, and while a constant source of gossip, it never came to anything.
"Constantine, darling." The redheaded woman brought her thoughts back to the party and the petite Italian woman standing beside her. Mia and Blaise Zabini were hosting this party, and it would never do to be rude.
"Mia." Constantine smiled. "Your party is going wonderfully. And the décor is exquisite." Mia smiled back, basking in the compliments. That was another thing about Constantine: while she stuck to the 'If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all' rule, if she gave a compliment, she meant it. There was none of the false thick flattery a'la Pansy Parkinson.
"Thank you." Mia dimpled prettily. "I'm pleased you like it…my designer backed out at the last minute so this was somewhat haphazardly thrown together."
"Well, if you did this yourself, then you certainly don't need a designer." Constantine said, gesturing to the ballroom. Mia looked proudly at the room. It was decorated in a Greco-Roman style, with pillars and statues, and blue velvet drapes hanging from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Ice-lights, spiky ice-flowers that glowed white, silver and blue were scattered around the tables and hovered in the air across the entire room. When Mia returned her attention to her guest, she couldn't help but sigh in admiration.
As always, Constantine looked stunning, dressed in a strapless glittering gold dress with a gold-embroidered bodice and a floor-length skirt of silk and fine net, sprinkled with gold sequins. Her long red hair fell over her shoulders and throat in a blazing curtain, and while she wore mascara, apricot blush and a smudge of lipstick, she was otherwise unadorned save for a gold bracelet on her wrist. She looked completely natural, a fire spirit in the icy room. Mia envied her effortless beauty.
"Constantine." Mia looked up to see Amadeo approaching, immaculate and untouchable in head-to-toe black, his white-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail in the style of the late Lucius Malfoy.
"Amadeo." Constantine smiled, accepting the glass of champagne from the man. "I was just telling Mia what a fabulous party she has thrown. Did you know she did the decorations herself?" Amadeo looked round, then back to Mia, who feared she was blushing under the flattery.
"They are marvellous, my dear." Amadeo said, leaning in to kiss Mia on the cheek in greeting. "They are among the best I've seen." Mia swallowed.
"You're very kind, Lord Malfoy." She said, dipping her head. Amadeo smiled.
"Please, call me Amadeo." She smiled at the liberty he was offering her.
"Of course, Amadeo. Though you must call me Mia." He nodded and bowed slightly to her before turning back to Constantine.
"Constantine, dear, Cornelius Fudge was looking for you. He said he wished to congratulate you on the aid grant and sponsorship you received for your Third World Projects." Constantine nodded, smiling at Mia with a few last words on the success of the party before allowing Amadeo to guide her away towards the clutch of politians standing by the buffet. They were all dressed richly with varying degrees of taste, and all smiled (or leered) widely at her approach. Constantine smiled back and braced herself.
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"So what did you think?" Amadeo asked, settling himself on the black leather couch in the living room of Constantine's flat. There was a pause, and then the bedroom door opened and Constantine appeared, dressed in stretch pants and a tank top, twisting the gold bracelet off her wrist.
"The party was excellent. I genuinely like Mia very much." Halfway through the sentence Constantine's voice changed as she wrested the bracelet of her wrist. The red hair darkened to brown and she shrank slightly, her skin darkening a shade and her green eyes changing to brown until Hermione Granger crossed the room and sat in the twin black leather couch across from Amadeo's. She set the gold bracelet on the end table at her elbow and relaxed into the couch cushions. "Though I do find politicking exhausting." She added.
"The Zabinis have a reputation for their excellent parties." Amadeo agreed. "And Mia is a very suitable addition to such a family." Hermione snorted at Amadeo's words, and while he glared, he didn't question her. They'd already had several conversations on his supremist, holier-than-thou views on pureblood families and how they married. He held families such as the Weasleys, those that married for love often below their station, in contempt.
Hermione yawned. She really was tired: talking with politicians gave her colossal headaches, but as Constantine DeVere, it was a part of life. If absolutely nothing else, Hermione's position as one of the premiere socialites of the wizarding world in Britain lent her a sense of responsibility, a feeling that she should do something with her influence, which was what had inspired the Third World Projects. These were a series of schemes based in Africa and Asia with the aim of finding and teaching wizarding children, many of which came from poor families who couldn't spare the children for them to go to school, wizarding or otherwise. This meant the children had no education nor understanding of their abilities and were often stigmatized and even punished or killed because of their magic.
Such projects required significant funding, of course, and so Hermione, or rather her alter ego Constantine, had campaigned for both Ministerial and private funding. She had done very well, in part because of her enthusiasm and persuasiveness, but also due to the fact that her social standing was becoming such that if she said that the done thing to do was to help Third World children learn magic, then it would be social suicide to do anything but jump on the boat with her. This meant that her projects were doing very well indeed, which not only served to increase her social standing in high circles, but made her popularity with the mainstream public soar as well, as she was seen as one of those few socialites who actually used their position to help the world. However, such socio-political projects involving foreign aid meant that she regularly had to liaise with politicians, people she rarely had time for.
"You did very well tonight." Amadeo commented, his grey-green eyes focused on her. "No slip ups at all."
"I've been doing this for over a year, Amadeo." Hermione said around another yawn. "Excuse me. No, I'd think after a year I'd have it down." Amadeo tilted his head in acknowledgement.
"True, however if that is the case how do you explain Miss Parkinson's atrocious display tonight?" Amadeo asked. Hermione winced. Pansy had drank too much, climbed onto a table and had started a strip tease. It was only Constantine's sharp-tongued orders that had brought her down from the surface. It hadn't caused a great stir at the party: the guests were used to someone drinking too much and making a display of themselves, but it was well known that neither Amadeo nor Constantine would ever make such a exhibition of themselves. And Constantine's rescue of the situation would only make Pansy look worse.
"Pansy has always felt the need to draw attention to herself." Hermione said carefully. "Alcohol simply makes the compulsion worse." Amadeo chuckled, setting his empty coffee mug onto the coaster and rising. Hermione followed suit.
"Tactful as always, my dear." He said, kissing her on the cheek. "What are you wearing to Miss Parkinson's ball next week?" Hermione shrugged.
"I don't know. I'll find something."
"My suggestion would be demure." Amadeo said, stepping back and looking her over.
"Is your aim to constantly show Pansy up?" Hermione asked wryly. "We wear demure while she flashes too much skin in the wrong place?" Amadeo gave a wide narrow smile.
"Hermione, if she will wear clothes that make her look dreadful, it can hardly be expected that we follow suit."
"She doesn't look dreadful." Hermione defended. "She has a lovely figure and all her clothes suit her very well."
"Until she starts taking them off." Amadeo pointed out. Hermione winced but couldn't find an honest reply. Amadeo smiled again. "Goodnight, Hermione."
"Goodnight Amadeo." She said, following him to her door and showing him out. When he was gone she locked it and started shutting off the lights, rinsing out his coffee mug and leaving it in the sink for the morning before heading to bed.
It was this time of night that was hardest, though. In the dark silence there was nothing to distract Hermione from her thoughts, nothing to pull her attention away from Draco's absence, the cold space in her bed where he should be.
It had been fourteen months since he had disappeared, left her alone tangled in his blue silk sheets, the white letter on the pillow where he had been lying. It was thirteen months since she had pulled herself out of her grief and straightened her back, returning to the world with eyes blazing and chin up, Constantine DeVere's miraculous change from associate of a criminal to premiere socialite. In that time Hermione had built, with Amadeo's help, guidance and initial funding, a life in the highest social circles, complete with charity work, the odd fashion contribution and occasional foray into the world of fashion design, all three of which succeeding at the highest level. She was becoming exceedingly wealthy in her own right, and lacked nothing.
Except perhaps a strong sense of who she actually was. Being half Constantine and half Hermione, when the two personalities were, while not directly constrasting, certainly very different, it made it difficult to ascertain what part of her was natural and what part had she adopted as part of Constantine's character. All the same, such a quandry was not evident to the world or anyone but Hermione herself, so it didn't really count.
The only flaw in both her life and Constantine's was Draco Malfoy. Certainly for Constantine association with such a man was a flaw, and it was known that Amadeo never spoke of his errant cousin. Hermione, however, couldn't help but miss him wholeheartedly, thinking she saw him across crowded rooms and hearing his voice at loud gatherings. He wasn't there, of course, he wasn't so foolish as to show his face, but all the same, Hermione ached for him, both physically and emotionally.
She loved him, which was the most dangerous trap of all.
Part of Hermione's motivation for playing Constantine as the eternal and charming socialite was that in such a position she could keep her ear to the ground in a constant search for him. He had to have gone somewhere, and if Hermione was going to learn of it anywhere, it was probably in her work as Constantine. Constantine's social work alone meant that she mingled with people from all walks of life, giving her an increased chance of finding Draco.
Although so far it had turned up nothing.
Similarly, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were still searching for both Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. It had been made public that Hermione had committed some treason to the government, and that Draco had been shielding her, which gave Harry and Ron more leeway to search for the pair. However, they had become caught up in the high society, and rarely ventured down to the bottom of the ladder, where Constantine, in jeans and a jumper with her hair tied back and no makeup helped serve soup in a magical homeless shelter and visited Azkaban, now Dementor-free, bringing books and company to the inmates.
It was amazing what you heard in such places.
As Hermione drifted into sleep, an image of a tall dark-haired man floated across her mind, a stranger from the Zabini's party. His name had been given to her though it escaped her in her half-cognitive state, but his brown eyes blazed in her memory, and stayed with her until she fell asleep.
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