Author's Notes: Hogwarts, Harry Potter etc, all belong to JK Rowling
He leaned against the wall at the back of the room, observing all that was going on around him. His dark green, velvet robe draped elegantly from his lean frame and rippled gently at any movement he made. Underneath, he was wearing a black, tight-fitting, double-breasted shirt, which outlined the contours of his chest as he breathed slowly. The shirt fastened high around his neck. His trousers were also black, but were decorated at the top by the ornate, silver buckle of his belt. If you were to look closely, you would see that it was in the shape of a serpent, wrapped loosely around a small dagger. It occasionally caught the light of the candles surrounding the hall, as he moved, and gleamed briefly. On his feet he wore long black boots over his trousers – on his hands, dark gloves.
In one hand he held a glass of champagne, and the forefinger of his other hand casually circled the rim of the flute.
Given the circumstances of this gathering, it would have been impossible to tell how he was feeling by looking at any facial expressions. However, if anyone had taken the time to study his body language closely, they would have said that he appeared uninterested and dispassionate, as if distanced from the whole affair. Since he had arrived, he had not engaged in any conversation and did not give any indication that he would welcome any approaches from other people in the hall.
Yet, despite appearances, he was actually studying with interest, all the different people as they made their way into the hall. Although the mask he wore reminded him of a darker period in his life, he had to admit that it gave the perfect opportunity to examine other people and their behaviour. They were coming in groups of twos and threes, laughing and smiling, and sense of well being existed around them like an invisible mist. A carefree attitude appeared to prevail around the hall – a remarkable change from an earlier time.
He moved his gaze from the hall entrance, and looked slowly around the room, missing nothing. It was already half full of people and was beginning to fill up quickly. He heard the murmurs of admiration and appreciation as they looked around them, at the decorations of the night. Placed around the walls were hundreds of candles, sitting in elaborate candelabras, the wax falling picture-perfectly down their sides. They were clearly charmed, for burn as long as they might, the flickering flames would not move their way down the wicks. Hanging from the ceiling, was a substantial chandelier, which held even more candles – they sat between many suspended, little glass beads that danced and sparkled in the light. Reaching from the chandelier to the four corners of the room, were four large mantles, coloured cream. They hung loosely and waved gently now and again, reacting to the hustle and bustle below. Underfoot was a floor that seemed to be made of frosted glass and at first glance, it was as if you were walking on ice. Nevertheless, there was no danger of losing your footing, as it seemed to provide the same support as if you were walking on the finest oak. In some places, a slight mist seemed to float a few centimetres above the floor, giving the whole place an enchanted feel – almost like something from a fairytale.
However, he wasn't there to admire the decorations and he certainly wasn't interested in fairytales. His eyes returned to the main doorway and he again resumed his study of the arriving guests. It would seem that everyone had made a huge effort with their appearance, and it really was close to impossible to recognise anyone as they made their way through the arch. No doubt, a certain amount of charms and potions had assisted with the masquerade. There were men and women of all shapes and sizes, dressed in all the colours of the rainbow and covering all their faces were an assortment of masks and headpieces. There were women in elaborate ball gowns and others in close-fitting dresses. Some wore masks that covered their whole face and others wore half masks covering only the area surrounding their eyes. There were headscarves, boas, and hats of different shapes and feathers of all colours that reached high in the air. The men wore cloaks and hoods and elegant eye masks, some with accessories such as silver swords or rustic pistols hanging from their waists. There were many whose faces were completely hidden as part of the camouflage, while others had adopted a more subtle approach with smaller visors, and there was at least one person wearing the mask of the Dottore della Peste with the long, hornbill beak.
As for himself, a long, black bandana covered his own head and hair, and most of his face was enclosed in a plain, dark mask. It was close fitting round his features and curved round his cheekbones to his jaw line, leaving only his mouth and chin uncovered. He was confident of his anonymity.
Yes, it was close to impossible to recognise anyone – but that was not to say that it was actually impossible. And he knew exactly what he was waiting for. Not a certain costume in a specified colour or style. There would be no external distinguishing features that he should be aware of. Not even a particular mask to watch out for. And there would certainly be no acknowledgement in his direction. But he felt deep down inside, with a certainty that was overwhelming, that when his eyes fell upon what he was waiting for, he would know.
Just out with his range of vision, outside the entrance, two other guests prepared to make their arrival. One was a man, tall with broad shoulders. He wore a crimson cloak clasped around his neck, covering a white ruffled shirt and a matching crimson waistcoat. His trousers were black, with dark red boots reaching up to his knees. His face was only visible from below the nose, the upper part being concealed behind what appeared to be a highwayman's mask. A few days worth of stubble covered what remained in the open. On his head, completing the costume, he wore a decorative black and white highwayman's hat. As he stood there waiting, he attracted many approving glances from passing females.
Tenderly holding on to this Highwayman's left arm was a woman. They looked at each other and with a slight nod, made their way through the arch into the hall.
Only a very keen observer of the man in black, at the back of the room would have noticed the slight pause in the circular motion made by his finger round his glass, when she entered the room.
He watched the couple dance, and felt the familiar clench in his stomach as they smiled and talked softly to each other. He fought to keep control of his emotions, knowing that this was neither the time nor the place to be letting his feelings be in command of him. However, it was difficult for not him to feel the old – but not forgotten – sensations rise to the surface as he watched her with her partner. She was wearing a long, flowing satin dress in dark blue, with a matching satin shawl draped around her bare shoulders. Long gloves reached her up to her elbows and her hair was tied back with blue ribbons. Over her eyes and most of her face, shaped almost like a butterfly, was a delicate, velvet mask in a paler shade of blue, bordered with gold thread. Attached to the right hand side of the mask, reaching up above her hair, was a handsome collection of blue and purple feathers. Sitting elegantly in the centre of these was a single peacock feather. Looking as she did, who could blame him for these feelings as he watched the couple waltz?
Not that the pair danced solely with each other – the Highwayman had captured the attention of many different women, who politely asked him to dance whenever the opportunity presented itself. At the same time, it was only natural that other men would seek out his partner. However, after a while, they always returned to each other's arms and settled comfortably together as they made their way around the dance floor.
He, himself, had not found himself wanting for partners either. Realising that he would only draw attention to himself if he remained standing and staring on the outside, he had approached the woman closest to himself and had led her on to the dance floor. If you had asked him – even immediately after – it was unlikely that he would remember what she was wearing or what kind of mask she wore, hiding her face. Although he was dancing with one woman, his concentration remained on the other, watching her weave in and out of the other revellers.
As one dance finished, he nodded briefly at his partner, who curtseyed slightly before leaving him on the dance floor. He turned around, and was surprised when another female approached him and invited him to dance. He accepted politely, and he once more led his partner round the room. He was careful not to allow himself get too close to the couple he was observing, which was not easy at times with so many people dancing. However, as a strong leader, he was able to dance round the outskirts of the room, all the time looking over his partner's shoulder, or to either side - watching without getting too close.
Again, the music faded as the dance finished. He thanked his partner for the dance and stood back for a while, again just observing from the background. The female had just finished dancing with the Dottore della Peste he had sighted earlier, but he noticed grimly that she once again made her way back to the man in the highwayman's costume. It had taken him a little longer than it took him to recognise the woman, but he was now certain that he knew the man behind the highwayman's mask. The knowledge did not please him at all. He briefly felt a flash of anger at her - that she would choose to be his partner at this time. Worse – that she didn't appear willing or able to leave his side for any length of time. In years past, he would not have remained waiting at the side of the room, but would have left immediately, cursing both of them. But things were different now. Deep down, he knew he had no right to make any judgements of anyone, and he once again tried to calm the emotions within him. He would not be making the same mistakes again.
With an air of determination, he turned around and asked a passing lady to dance. It slightly surprised him that he was having no difficulty in finding partners, and put it down to the champagne reducing people's inhibitions. Either that, or the masks were increasing their confidence. He did not realise that he had attracted his own fair share of admiring glances from some guests, and that several women were keen to dance with the mysterious man in black. The fact that he scarcely acknowledged them, appeared to add to the enigma.
And so the evening progressed – him dancing with different strangers around the outside of the room, barely noticing as one partner left and another arrived – while she smiled as she finished a dance with one masked-man to return to the arms of the one she arrived with. He watched as she curtseyed, as she smiled, as her head moved forward when she spoke, and tilted backwards as she laughed. He saw how she engaged in conversation with her partners, apparently listening intently as they chattered on to her, appearing to be interested in all they were saying. He watched as she moved freely, dancing gracefully from partner to partner, the steps seeming to come naturally to her
In fact, her skills on the dance floor had improved somewhat, he noted, allowing himself a slight smile.
Another waltz was coming to an end, and couples smiled at each other as they stepped apart. He had engineered it this time, so that he had finished the dance within a short distance from her.
The time for keeping his distance had passed.
She looked up at him as he indicated with his hand that he was inviting her to join him. Something – as if she was remembering a vague memory – caused her to pause and their eyes met briefly, before she lowered them and smiled in acquiescence, appearing to set aside whatever thought she had. He turned and nodded curtly to the Highwayman, almost as if dismissing him, and then returned his attention to her. He took a small step closer, and slowly took one of her gloved hands in his, and placed his other on the small of her back. She rested her left hand lightly on his shoulder. The music started and they began to dance.
They moved slowly at first, and then picked up the pace slightly as she seemed to become more comfortable in his arms. Leading her swiftly round the floor, this time he did not bother to keep to the outskirts, but made the most of the whole dance space around them. He made no effort to speak to her, and she seemed content to be dancing in silence. He concentrated on nothing but her, as he remembered what it felt like to have her so close, watching her movements, inhaling her scent. Unconsciously, he gripped her hand a little tighter and pulled her body a little closer to his own. She felt so light under his touch, as they manoeuvred their way around the room. He cast his mind back to the last time they had danced, and couldn't help but give a soft chuckle at the memory. It vibrated low in his chest.
As if she had been taken by surprise, she looked up at him again quickly, and he averted his eyes swiftly to somewhere above her head. He could sense her eyes roving over his face, examining him, as if trying to picture what was under the mask. How well he remembered that intent gaze, searching for an answer, missing nothing. Feeling her eyes travel lower, he returned his own gaze back to her and watched her reactions as she studied him. She took in the dark velvet robe and the black, double- breasted shirt, fastened high around his neck. She observed the dark glove on the hand that was clasped around her own. He even felt a little self-conscious as her eyes wandered over his chest, watching it move gently as he breathed.
Her eyes finally fell upon the silver buckle of his belt. Her mouth opened slightly and she raised her face upwards questioningly.
Their eyes met for a third time, but this time neither of them looked away. Instead, she seemed to gaze deep inside him, as if she could see right through to his very soul. Although the music continued and the people danced around them, they began to slow down, still in each other's arms, until they came to a complete stand still. He was breathing deeply, his eyes still locked with hers, waiting for her next move. How long he had waited for this moment!
She leaned closer to him – he could feel her breath on his neck and he almost imagined he could feel her heartbeat. She turned her head slightly and he was now looking over her shoulder at the dancers behind her. How strange that they could continue dancing, as if nothing was changing, unaware of the precipice before him. He wasn't even sure he could hear the music anymore.
At the sound of her voice, he felt his breath catch in his chest and he unconsciously shut his eyes, as she whispered softly, trembling with emotion,
"They told me you were dead".
"Ronald Weasley! If you do not stop that behaviour this instant, I will be sending an owl to your mother the moment we arrive at Hogwarts!" said Hermoine Granger, crossly.
She was hunched up her seat on the Hogwart's Express, knees pulled up to her chest, in order to support an overly large book, which was hiding most of her face. At the moment, she was peeping over the top, eyes flashing.
"Honestly, I would have thought that you would have grown out of such nonsense by now! Especially when this is our final year! Do you know what that means?"
"Yeah," grinned Ron, "it means only one more year that I have to listen to you shout at me for not taking my work seriously".
He lowered his wand, and the water filled balloon that was hanging over a sleeping Neville's head, floated gently on to the chair beside him. He picked it up and winked at Harry, who was sitting opposite him.
"Keep this for later", he mouthed silently, as he delicately placed the balloon in his bag.
"Well Ron", Hermoine continued, "you may think that it's funny, but this could be the most important year of our lives! I can't believe how much we are going to have to know, and how much reading we are going to have to complete! I should never have gone on holiday with my mum and dad. They wouldn't let me take all my books – they didn't think I'd get on the plane with the weight of them! And now I'm behind with my study schedule…. And don't think I didn't see you hide that water balloon!"
"Relax Hermoine," said Ron, "I was only practicing my levitation charm. And I think I've finally got it sussed! It's just taken me six years. See – I was doing my revision too! Wingardium Leviosa and its practical applications."
Harry started to laugh, and looking over at him, Hermoine couldn't help but smile too. There was so little to smile about these days, and it had seemed a long time since she had heard Harry laugh. She sighed and closed her book, resting it on the seat beside her. She may as well try and enjoy the rest of their journey to Hogwarts – it was going to be their last after all.
