A new DMHG story of mine. Yes, this is long overdue I know, but here it is anyway.
I was totally inspired by Phantom of the Opera when it came to Singapore. The songs were so amazingly sad, while everything was so beautifully choreographed. So this came out of the whole mask thing the phantom has going... trying to hide himself.
The title is part of a line one of the musical's song, "Masquerade". Andrew Lloyd Webber is so a genius.
Paper Faces
He wore a mask on in front of everyone else.
Draco pretended. Every single day of his life he pretended. He tried to treat it as a game, a game in which he had to lie.
He tried to.
What difference did it make, though, whether he had to lie? He thought bitterly. Every single day of his bloody existence was an untruth by itself. His life was a lie. He was a lie. That's the way it always had been—a lie.
He didn't want to do it anymore. He was just so sick and tired of his miserable pathetic existence. It repulsed him. Yet, deep inside him something so superficial stopped him… the truth. Funny really, how ironic it was. The truth made his life a lie. It was the truth, the truth that this game would never end, and that he would have to be a pawn in this chess.
A mask he could hide behind. A mask would shield him from everyone else. A mask so the world could never find him.
A mask… The face he wore that didn't belong to him.
Some people acted kind. Some people put forward a caring front. Some pretended that they were good. But he, only he, had to slip on his paper face and be the hideous, mean monster the world made him out to be.
He was here now, hiding, while the rest of the wizarding world came out to celebrate. The war was over, and the whole nation was in frenzy of joy… He should be out there celebrating like everybody else, drinking butterbeer, toasting to the boy who lived, just like the rest of the world was doing.
He was there, in the crowd, but he wasn't there. He was down here with everyone, yet he was apart. He could never be one of them, no matter how hard he tried.
The whole of the wizarding world was out here in Diagon Alley, celebrating. Drinks were passed around freely, and fireworks were set off randomly. No one seemed to care about anything; no one seemed to be bothered by his presence. In truth, they were all too busy celebrating the victory of Harry Potter to pay attention to anything else. It was a long-awaited celebration, and they deserved to enjoy every minute of it.
He was in the alleyway, observing the crowd silently. He had contemplated on coming down and participating in the festivities. No one invited him; no one even bothered to owl him to tell him the war had ended. He was forgotten, despised, with no one to show him concern. No one would welcome him to their party.
He could have stayed at his cold, solitary home, but on a night like this, it would make him feel even more and more lonely. So he came, and it was a question of whether he dared to venture and join the crowd.
He silently put on his mask. He put it on everyday, both literally and figuratively. He needed to put on his usual fake front, and also to hide his face. To disguise himself, so no one would recognise him. To hide his face from the world so they would never find him. And hence, as quietly as he had appeared, he slipped onto the bustling streets, lost in the midst of the crowd.
He was lucky that everybody was in some sort of garish get up, a theme they wore to celebrate this very happy day. Everyone was beside themselves, wearing glittery masks, elaborate costumes and beautiful cloaks. No one would recognize him, thank god, for he would never have another chance to walk out in public again.
This was his last chance.
He was Voldemort's right hand man through and through, or so the world thought. He would never be anything else except the lowest of scum, the filthiest of vermin, and the worst of cowards. True, he'd been the one secretly helping Harry these last few months, but no one else knew, he'd made sure of that. No one would regard him as a hero, but as a monster, and that was all he would ever be deemed as.
They were right to call him that anyway, with all the sins that he'd committed.
The celebration was in full blast. Music was blasting in the air, swift feet dancing to the rhythm. Food were handed out as if there was no tomorrow, and drinks were flowing freely. From his view Draco saw people chattering happily, and girls in fuss and feathers were giggling away. There was much laughter, something that had been missing for the past few years.
This was what he wanted to see. People laughing. People smiling. People happy. It was really the reason why he'd switched sides.
Some random wizard passed him a drink, and he muttered a word of thanks. He was quietly observing the crowd, taking in their joyful faces underneath their sequined masks. They were truly happy now, weren't they? Then why wasn't he satisfied? Why did he feel so… sad?
He walked down the street, from one end to the other, never pausing, but walking slowly enough to take in all the sights. He had seen a group of young wizards toasting each other with firewhisky, lovers dancing together, a familiar red-headed family jabbering away…
No one greeted him, no one knew who he was. He felt a twinge of hurt in his heart, one that told him nobody cared, and nobody remembered him. He was going to fade away, like a forgotten photograph, to live a life of terrible solitude. The worst thing was, Draco knew it was better that way. He deserved every bit of it, to be condemned. And he would accept his fate on his own.
Draco was truly sorry for all he had done. He truly was.
Out of the corner of his eye, he finally saw her. Hermione Granger. He could recognize her anywhere. She was beaming brightly, laughter ringing out of her voice. She stood there, looking lovely in dark violet robes, wearing a bejeweled mask of rhinestones. It was a lovely mask, probably expensive, cast in a feminine shape that became her, but Draco wished she wouldn't wear it. He wanted to see the true happiness on her face.
But that was probably the whole point of the mask and masquerade anyway... To hide the loss and scars of the war. No one was truly happy deep inside.
He loved her. He loved that very brown-haired girl very much, and she would never know. Never would he dare to tell her, and he'd done her too much wrong to gain her forgiveness. He had struck her during one of the battles by mistake, and the thin little scar that snaked around her wrist was proof to that. He was sorry for everything he had done to her, and more than anything he would've like to tell her that. Sorry.
Even now he could see that she was pale, and unnaturally thin. She had lost a lot of weight and spirit throughout the battle. Though the war was over, the effects of it still remained evidentlyon her. Her face was still haunted by the ghost of the war, and it was something that would always shadow her.
Tears were quickly forming in his eyes, and hastily he used one of his rough sleeves to quickly brush it away. He would not cry here, he told himself. He would not.
This was enough anyway. He had seen what he wanted to see, and spent far too much time in here than he'd ought to. He should have been gone by now, and he hurried towards the end of the street, hoping to leave as fast as possible.
"Draco."
He finally stopped. Had he heard his name, someone calling him? He must be mistaken, but that voice was so clearly hers…
"Draco."
Slowly he turned around. There was no mistake now.
Hermione was now in front of him, barely two feet away. He hadn't noticed her coming towards him, and he certainly hadn't expect her to. He felt his heart skip and flutter unnaturally, a phenomenon he'd never understand.
She didn't make any motion do say anything except to stare at him, and he could do nothing but to stare back. They stood like this in silence for a couple of minutes, gazing at each other, until Draco finally caved, and looked away. He couldn't. He just couldn't hold her gaze any longer; he had to break eye contact… Those steady brown eyes hurt too much to look at.
Any minute now... And she would send him to Azkaban. He waited, but she didn't.
"How did you recognize me?" He asked bluntly, not knowing what else to say.
"It was obvious," she replied with equal lack of eloquence. Both of them seemed to have lost the use of words. "With your hair, I mean."
"Oh," That was all he said, silently cursing his platinum head as he shook it, which shone brightly under the moonlight. That seemed to have broken the spell in Hermione, for she cleared her throat at once.
"You are leaving." It was a statement more than a question, but Draco took it as the latter anyway.
"The celebration, or this place?" He asked. It was a meaningless question.
"Both."
"Yes I am."
"Why?" She asked, staring at him.
His eyes widened, looking surprised. It was what she wanted, what she hoped for, wasn't it?
"I thought it was only appropriate." He finally said, refusing to meet her eye. He had let the whole wizarding world down, especially her.
"I don't think so."
"Why not? After all, I am Voldemort's right hand man. You should be throwing me in Azkaban now. People hate me, Hermione, people don't want me here. You don't want me here either."
"I know what you did, Draco."
"Did what? Helped the Death Eaters? Tried to harm innocent people? Yes."
"You saved us." Was her unexpected answer.
He breathed in sharply
"Who told you?" He asked harshly.
"Harry." She replied, her gaze not tearing away from him.
"He can't keep his mouth shut can he?" He said, shaking his head sadly. She smiled a little.
"How could he help but tell us the truth? You helped us after all, and we are all eternally grateful to you!" She said warmly to the blonde man.
"It was nothing." He said, brushing it away. He didn't mean it modestly, it was the truth.
"Nothing!" Hermione cried, grabbing his hand. "Nothing? Look at us now! The war is finally over, thanks to you, and you say its nothing."
"It was my entire fault this happened, don't you get it!" He boomed agitatedly, unable to withhold his emotions anymore. "All I did was to save myself! People were dying because of him! People lose their loved ones because I helped him! I couldn't sit back and let them die! They were dying! IT WAS MY ENTIRE FAULT! I AM GUILTY!"
She appeared to be calmer than he expected after his outburst, for she had a hint of smile in her face.
"Yet you never lifted a finger to kill anyone the whole time." She observed.
"I gave you that scar." He said, sounding strangled as he traced the deep lines on her wrist.
"It doesn't matter. You risked your life, to save us all. You betrayed the person you were brought up to work for just to help our side. You did more than you think you did, Draco. No one else could have been willing to do as much as you did."
He was silent.
Hermione finally removed her lavender sequined mask off her face, and Draco saw that she was more beautiful than ever, the radiance shining off her lovely face as she continued to speak.
"You are like this mask, Draco. A paper face. It's all just a façade, and you know it. You pretend to be something you aren't; you hide your true self away from the rest of the world. You put on this rough exterior, but I can see through it. I can see through your mask, and I know that you are not like that. You wear that mask so that no one can ever find you, but I can. You will never fool me Draco." She said.
He only laughed bitterly, almost insanely.
"I'm not as innocent as you think I am, Hermione. I'm nowhere near innocent." He told her.
"No one ever is."
"But I more so."
"We are all ready to welcome you back, Draco. Don't hide yourself behind this façade anymore."
"Are you prepared to welcome this back?"
His mask that he had been wearing fell off. It was a beautiful, terribly beautiful half-mask, and now it lay sadly on the ground, where its owner had cast it off. It was a simple black mask, nothing elaborate, with gold tracings decorating it. The dark mask was not bejeweled, not flashy, with no rhinestones nor sequins to show it off, but the black-and-gold-mask was stunning.
Hermione looked up at the owner, shocked that its owner would desert it in such a manner. What she saw surprised her even more. Draco, her Draco, was marred. He was no longer the handsome man he once was, as now he had a large scar running on one of his cheeks. He looked oddly disfigured, with such a long gash across his perfect features. his beauty was gone.
"I look hideous, Hermione, hideous. Can you accept a man who is sinned, brutally sinned, or a man this ugly? Can you learn to love a man like this?" He said, gesturing wildly.
He picked up his black-and-gold mask, and took her own lavender bejeweled one, where he held them side by side, comparing the masculine and feminine shape of it.
Masks… Nothing more than paper faces. The difference was only with its owner.
"This is my true self, Hermione. I'm no longer hiding myself behind that fragile paper face. You told me to remove my mask, and now I have. This is me, the real me, but I am flawed. You will never accept the fact that someone so ugly and monstrous could ever love you." He said bitterly, and she just stood there, stunned.
With that he turned away, and walked off. But no sooner had he taken his first step did he feel a pair of small smooth hands encircling him, and a lovely head resting on his strong back.
"Don't leave."
She was there, hugging him from the back, clinging onto him. Draco felt oddly comforted by her presence and touch, and he could feel the sincerity of her request. He turned around to face her.
"Don't leave," She repeated, and this time he noted that there was a desperate plea in her voice. She looked up at him, their gaze finally meeting.
"You ask if I can learn to love someone like you, and the truth is, I cannot. I already love you, and love is also something that cannot be learned. I don't care if you are ugly, or if you have a scar, it is all but a mask of your soul. I love you, and that is all that matters." Hermione said earnestly.
" And that you love me too," she added as an afterthought.
"I can't even forgive myself," he said, his voice cracking.
"There is nothing to forgive." She replied, caressing his face.
Draco looked down at the pleading girl, not believing his ears. Could she really…
"Can you really--"
"Yes I can. The question now is whether we can help you forget. Learn to forget, Draco, learn to forget." She paused. "Can you?"
She said "we".
"I can try."
"Good." With that she kissed him, and finally the barricade of tears weakened.
As the clock tower struck ten in the middle of Diagon Alley, two lovers kissed, a young woman and a blonde man. It was impossible to tell who was crying, as the tears mingled and streamed on both of their faces and their lips touched, and both could taste the bitter tears that were shed. The woman had a scar on her wrist, and the man had a long one cutting his face. Neither wore a mask anymore-- they were truly happy. Right then, two beautiful masks fell to the ground, where they and the rest of the world lay forgotten.
Yes it is the school holidays now, and I know I promised to write more stories. But my com totally sucks and it is now under repair. So sorry about that.
Oh, and thanks to justacontradiction for the wonderful beta she did.
For those who are waiting, Over Coffee and Tea Leaves will be updated soon. Heh eh... a little reviews could help though. You can read it if light works are more your speed.
PLEASE REVIEW!!!!