Author: Svelte Rose
Rating: MA
Title: Marmoream Relinquo, Quam Latericiam Accepi
Part: Prologue
Characters: Hermione Granger plus various other characters
Warnings: Beware of a slight paraphrasing of historical events.
Date: March 13th, 2008
Note: For the great Hermione cliché challenge over at Granger Enchanted! Only the beginning for now…can you guess who the 'watcher' at the end of this is?
Lady Rolsbury felt her knees weakening as the golden-eyed man flashed another charming smile, the deepening clefts showing off a pair of perfectly symmetrical dimples. Upon snatching two champagne flutes from a passing attendant, an immediate offer was made to her.
One hand upon her breast and slightly winded though she had not physically moved from her position for the past half hour, she nodded in acknowledgement, feeling rather foolish in her schoolgirl fantasies before taking the proffered drink.
"Your servant," he murmured, bowing as long dark lashes hooded his unsettling gaze.
She took a quick gulp from the flute, the blood rushing straight to her head leaving her even more breathless as she hurriedly summoned to a nearby girl in a purple dress.
By the time he lifted his head, the young girl had caught sight of her red-faced aunt and was already weaving her way through the crowded ballroom, mindful of her steps in the crush.
It was a glorious affair. Dressed in their best and most opulent of fineries, the high pitched titters of the ladies could be heard in concert with the deep rumbles of the smartly dressed men as champagne glasses clinked and the orchestra reared up to play another piece.
A decidedly Muggleaffair.
He could care less. Interest finally replaced the bored look in his eyes as the young girl reached the side of the elderly woman and placed a hand upon her elbow. Her dress might have very well been sin and the glorious bosom that seemed to strain at its confinement only exacerbated that perception.
She didn't even cast a glance at him as she lifted a slender hand to Lady Rolsbury's shoulder and patted comfortingly. He wondered if he should even be slightly offended at her utter lack of acknowledgement but all such thoughts flew out the window when he offered a delicious view of her back as she moved to stand in front of him, fretting over the old woman.
Sin indeed. His hand itched to brush the almost indecent amount of skin which the dress revealed, wishing that instead of being attached to the champagne flute, it was instead the luxurious coffee colored curls that teased edge of the dress where it rested on the beginning curve of her bottom.
A rather devious smirk crossed his lips as Lady Rolsbury gave very unhelpful answers to her niece. He knew his effect on women and the smirk only grew wider upon further realization as to why the young girl seemed to suffer none of the same consequences.
"Let's get you into the sitting room," he caught her saying to her aunt as she started towards the large oak doors at the end of the ball room, hand pressed upon the back of the befuddled old woman.
The good Lady Rolsbury nodded mutely, eyes flickering to stare at him.
Brown eyes caught her stare and with a confused gaze, Hermione Granger turned around to look behind her.
Save for the conversing groups of people who didn't seem to know of anyone's existence but their own and bustling staff offering drinks here and there, she could not see anyone of significance. Turning back around, she shook off the slight shiver that ran down her back and continued to maneuver the heavily breathing Lady Rolsbury through the crowded ballroom.
It was strange. For the rest of the night, she could not shake off the feeling of eyes burying its presence into her very soul.
So he watched her from afar, the white tunic doing nothing to cover the hardening pink crests as her lover ran a hand down her soft skin. She had a seductive allure, completely irresistible and everything exotic. Yet there was a slight air of innocence which did not elude her even when her lover entered her with one deep thrust, his groan muffled in her thick hair. The man whom he called 'uncle' kissed her hard and swiftly moved in her, lust darkening his green eyes.
"My queen," the man murmured lovingly against her lips.
Her response was a gasp, her breath cut short by another sharp thrust.
The watcher averted his eyes, unable to look upon their entwined forms anymore. His hands reached up to cover his ears pinching hard so as to block out any sounds.
It did nothing to stop the multitude of images swimming before his golden eyes.
He quickly made his escape back into his own bedchamber and took a strong swig of the wine made readily available by the palace servants. One drink right after the other, he only stopped when the bowl was empty and the front of his toga damp with the crimson color of the drink that had dribbled from the corners of his lips during the rapid consumption.. He tripped indecorously onto the bed and closed his eyes.
The images would not – could not – stop.
Except instead of the great Julius Caesar lying with the Queen of Egypt…
It was himself.
"He learned that Alexander, having completed nearly all his conquests by the time he was thirty-two years old, was at an utter loss to know what he should do during the rest of his life, whereas Augustus expressed his surprise that Alexander did not regard it as a greater task to set in order the empire which he hand won than to win it."-Plutarch