Goodbye my Almost Lover

(Inspired by Inspired by A Fine Frenzy's Goodbye My Almost Lover. To watch the music video copy and paste watch?v=EDEEzS7OV2k after / on Youtube.)

I read his note over dinner and smiled to myself as I did. Both parents watched and smiled into their soups as well. James was visiting tonight, as was custom for Sunday dinners, and was oblivious to the fact that I was acting odd. Albus, on the other hand, was keenly aware of the fact and occasionally asked me about the man I was writing. What was his name, what clues had he given me, what his physical build was, how old was he, did he lie to me about anything, anything else that came to mind as it came there. He was more annoying than my parents had ever been. Perhaps he could figure out who it was then tell me. Knowing my masked man before he found me out would be fun.

Albus continued to pester me all night and often made comments about his handwriting or the way he swirled his uppercase letters. According to the many "concrete facts" decoded from my letters and our conversations my admirer was a "high-class yuppie who probably wore only designer clothes, had separate shoes for indoors and outdoors, sipped tea between meals as he read in some huge personal library, and swooped in to break the hearts of young naive women." In other words, Albus didn't like him and, once decided, made my life hell. I had been in my room brushing through my hair when my father came to the rescue and told Albus he wasn't to bring up Cashmere again unless he found out who he was. Before leaving my father dropped his chin down, took my most recent letter which involved rambling about free time now that the holiday rush at work was over and his delicious lunch, and looked menacingly back for a final warning.

"Lily is well on her way to womanhood and, as much as I hate to say it, it's about time she begin dating outside of the usual flings that occur at Hogwarts. You will not be getting in her way."

The next morning as I was spreading Lingonberry jam on toast a knock echoed through the house. My mother answered the door and quickly returned with two dozen flowers, one dozen roses with gypsophila spread throughout and a dozen calla lilies with ivy cascading around it. On the tag, a handmade think of satin in crimson and silver, there was a message in glitter.

I hope I've not been too bold for your taste, I saw these while shopping for my mother's Christmas gift and thought I'd get them for you. I don't feel I know you well enough to get you a meaningful gift but couldn't resist some flowers to brighten your already dazzling smile until the spring comes back. (These are charmed to last for at least three months. Hopefully by then the spring will start blossoming again. I'm not a big fan of winter. Grey is not the most flattering tone for earth.)

~Cashmere

Albus huffed but kept his mouth pursed as my father was in the room. Before work I had situated the flowers in a vase, written a thank you note and gushed about the flowers, finished eating, and made it to work with five minutes to spare. I wanted to send back a gift but didn't want him to feel pressure so I decided to make mine a Christmas gift. I ran into a similar problem; I didn't know him well enough to think of a good one.

C,

I chose the name Pearl because it has ties and similarities with my real name; obviously I'm not going in to more detail than that. A man who likes fabric and follows the art world? How intriguing! I'm glad to hear that people don't change names. I don't want to remember all the names I've gone by if people ask if we've met before. That would be a little hard to keep track of; if others changed their names I would never know if I'd met them before.

I've now found a mask to match! It has pearls and diamonds and is accented with light green. Have you figured out what you are wearing in a few weeks yet? If this ball had been a bit further away I would go crazy before we met again. You've been in my mind since that night.

My dream? I want to live in my own house and run my own book shop in Diagon Alley. I would host music artists every weekend and hang amateur painters work on the walls as a makeshift gallery to help them gain popularity. I would live somewhere quiet where I could think and play and maybe raise kids, or dogs if I can't find the right guy to start a family with, and relax after being with my books and customers and tea. I'm curious to hear your answer on this one too.

There was something I wanted ask you too but you don't have to answer if it gives too much away. I work at a shop in Diagon Alley (I won't say which) and I was curious as to what you do for a profession. Like I said, if it gives too much feel free to say or tell me something similar or related to your line of work. Just curious!

P.

He had replied after what I imagined to be an hour, maybe two, long flight. (Knowing he lived so nearby drove me crazy.) He was an artist of some type, though didn't use paint due to clumsiness. I imagined him in some shop working with metal, wire, stone, and magic. Since he followed the fashion world and had been so detail oriented I couldn't help but guess at the mastery of his craft. That was the moment a perfect gift entered my mind. Within two hours arriving at work the thought of finding something for him took over and I left work "sick" to run to a huge store in London proper.

In the window a few weeks back had been a display showing newer form of art crafting and one in particular had caught my attention. There was a kit teaching artists how to crush rocks and minerals into smaller, intricate pieces then combine them to make shapes. They could be used in collages or reformed into metal frames to be crafting into pendants or rings. It was random enough I doubted it was his chosen canvas of creation. Something new to explore would never be passed up by an artist with some free time. After purchasing it and paying a bit extra to have it wrapped an owl was borrowed from the post office and carried it away. He had been anxious sending me flowers and I would have a similar feeling until I got his note back. I knew he would say he liked it but it would be the rest of the letter that would let me know his honest opinion.

Back home and hours later a large owl swooped in and dropped an envelope traced in gold in my lap. Albus huffed as my lips pulled into the largest smile in months. This card was heavy and ornate. Little did I know my mystery man was a gusher. The entire space inside was filled with facts, new concepts, and intricate details he had already discovered about this new art and he mentioned making something for me to wear to the next dance. At the end was another heartfelt thank you and a simple question: "I couldn't thank you enough if I tried. This is the kind of gift I always hope to receive for holidays and birthdays. (All free time I've had has now been intensely used to create new products for my store. I've already ordered more minerals and crushing materials! People are going to love all the patterns and shapes going up tomorrow. Tonight is going to be sleepless. I can't put down my tools before I get a new idea.) I'm so happy I could kiss you! Would you mind: if I kissed you?"

He had included a p.s. saying he didn't often kiss girls (or boys for that matter) but had never felt so compelled to try. Kissing him hadn't crossed my mind but now that it was suggested nothing seemed more fitting of our second dance. Was it stupid to become so attached to a man whose name I didn't know? Yes. Did I care? No.

Once dinner resumed my eyes found my mothers. Her smirk was more telling than anything words could have said. She knew our relationship was reaching that next level and looked thrilled to see me flushed and giggly. Albus stood abruptly and took his plate with him. When he mumbled something about wanting to eat without the though of some yuppie snogging his sister the remaining eyes went to me. In response the card levitated into waiting hands. After being finished my father returned to his food smiling and said Al was just jealous he had never found the dances as useful or fulfilling. Nodding, and adding that he might have better luck if he wasn't so pretentious or forward might have gone a long way, my mother sent the card back to me.

For tonight I wasn't going to think on it. I had never been one of those girls who focused their lives around the men they were with. I was my own person and my wealth, fame, or personality did not revolve around anyone but me. Something told me he had all those benefits as well but didn't want to show off. Perhaps Albus might have learned a lesson or two from Cashmere. When dawn crept in my window it fell across a letter written in the moonlight hours earlier. My bird had been out hunting and once he returned would hoot and shuffle around to attempt to pick up the letter to deliver. I only wrote to one person and he was often eager to do his job. When sleeplessness had found me nothing seemed better than responding and getting back to sleep. It was the anxiety of answering him that chased away sleep.

Cashmere,

I am not opposed to the idea of a kiss, though it's been almost a year since I had a boyfriend. (I've never kissed someone I wasn't dating before.) At first I was shocked to see your usual proper facade slip in favor of something as small as a kiss. Tonight was going to be my night to think about how to respond in a way that would be kind but not give too much away. Unfortunately now I just fall asleep thinking about it and my dreams are avoiding me until I make a decision. It's funny to want to share a kiss when I'm not even familiar with the sound of your name, yet nothing sounds more perfect! I still have a few questions left and I plan on using them soon. In short, my answer is no, I'd not mind a bit if you kissed me. I may even kiss you back. ;)

Once all this hidden identity stuff is over I want to come to your shop and see all the things you've made! There is no hint as to what kind of work you do and the longer we talk the more curious I grow. There is no doubt in my mind that it will take my breath away to run my fingers along the textures and shapes of your treasures.

P.

Her note came as I ate breakfast with my parents. They smiled and continued to talk as the large owl flew out through the window it came in. How was I to tell her my dream was similar without sounding like a was molding mine to hers? I just wanted a workshop and gallery in Diagon Alley and a house with my wife and kids in the countryside where I could relax at night. I wanted to create fine things for my home and live peacefully. I eventually made it sound alright and sent the letter away shortly after it arrived.

Pearl and I didn't live too far away from each other. Once in a while she wrote back as soon as she got the letter and her letter was in my hand less than three hours after I sent my bird away. Pearl must have known this fact too because I often wrote her immediately as well. I had told her I worked as an artist, that my workshop/warehouse was tucked out of sight near Diagon Alley, and that most of my products were shipped via owl. There was no way I was going to tell her I worked in a shop producing art near Diagon Alley and sold a bit from store front as well. I hadn't lied; most of my orders were owl placed and shipped. There were too few shops in that area and I would be found out. Once she knew how close we worked I often got little notes or letters. The most recent one said she hoped my day was going well and jokingly asking if I wanted to catch lunch somewhere. When we played that one out a bit, deciding where to go that would be nearby for both of us, I had the lunch special delivered via owl to her workplace. She had wrote the sweetest and most thoughtful note back, sending me a dessert from the cafe next to the potions shop. The whole exchange was finished in an hours time, meaning we were really close to each other on a daily basis.

A few more letters and my refusal to tell her about my favorite craft style later found us getting ready for the dance. I planned on kissing her and nothing made my hands sweatier or my nerves jumpier. There had never been a time before when I had anticipated an expression like this, let alone to a girl I only knew under alias. While dressing and fixing my hair my father knocked and entered.

"What are you going to do if this turns out poorly? I know you don't want to think about it but chances are she will know your name and not be too pleased with it. If she needs some time to get used to the idea and to realize that Scorpius and Cashmere are the same man I know you can moap and lounge around here waiting.

I had arrived at the ball before most of the other men and had donned my apparel for the evening. Most men wore tight clothes or ruffled clothes. Tonight mine was tight but had winged sleeves and my torso showed in some places. It looked like something Apollo would have worn in his prime, if Apollo had been god of the moon that is. All the fabric was silver or white to fit the lady I was dressed to match. (I wore a wig of periwinkle blue for the occasion.) All the men walked out to the balcony to share a start-of-ball smoke and fixed up again before returning to the hall. Married men stuck to one side of the balcony and their women were introduced first, some in false names and some wearing their real names just as easily as the masks, and the single ladies filed in afterwards.

Pearl was tenth in line. Her decent was smooth and calculated and her eyes never searched for me. Once she hit the main floor I began to move towards her. A man dressed in blue greeted her and bowed as he asked for her first dance. When she shook her head and floated away he returned to the line dejected. She ran to me and I caught her in waltz stance before we spun and twirled off to dance with the others, our bodies matched and made it heard to tell the two of us apart. After sending so many letters back and forth it no longer felt like we didn't know each other. I knew the way she saw the world and the way she reacted to situations and the things she did in her normal day. She knew the same sort of things about me. We had written ever day with multiple letters on work days since we worked so closely. This dance felt more like holding each other after a long time apart. Like a much anticipated reunion.

After the first song ended we froze and I procured a necklace I had made from the tiny pocket on my chest. I had crushed pearls and reformed them into the shape of a lily. It was the only flower I could think besides a rose that could be so white. She looked at it quietly and quizzically until I told her the petals were made out of pearl and the chain was white gold. A piece from the set she'd given me. She asked if I had made it and when I nodded that brilliant smile burst out of her and she held her hair so I could close the clasp behind her neck. Pearl let her now brown hair swirl behind her as she tilted her head back. We danced, feeling the emotion of our bodies entwined, for an hour before stopping for a drink.

We stood out on the balcony admiring the water below as we sipped our drinks. Pearl had leaned on my arm until I let her between myself and the lights changing below us. Her hand suddenly grew moist in mine and I knew the rose on her cheeks wasn't from makeup. Once I remembered the reason I leaned in closely and whispered in her ear.

"Pearl, may I kiss you?"

"I'd like nothing more at the moment."

Our lips met in a needy but gentle manner befitting a first kiss of our rank. Her lips were softer than humanly possible and the way those eyes lit up as I pulled away made me hesitantly lean in. I let her finish the contact and we shared another moment. A contented sigh escaped me and she chuckled at the sound of peacefulness I exuded. She looked as though a similar feeling had crept up on her too!

It was quiet, with only the faded music getting through the quieting ward as we looked out over the grounds during the next thirty minutes. I stroked her hand and she would brush long hair behind my ears when it escaped. Finally breath hitched, the way it does when you hesitate to say something, She sat on the balcony and looked down into my masked face before asking a question.

"Cashmere, were your parents involved in the war?"

Until I answered I didn't realize it was one of her questions, not just the type we sent back and forth in our letters. This was one of those unmasking questions.

"Yes, they were."

Her smile brightened and suddenly I realized her family had been on the opposite side. Her skin was milk white, she wore a wig every dance to hide her hair color, meaning it would give her away, and her eyes were bright green. Pearl might have liked me but there was no way Lily Potter would share her feelings. This was wrong. My heart broke as I turned away and looked at the floor, realizing why she paused when I gave her the necklace earlier. A lily made of pearls. She probably thought I had guessed at her name then. Now she would realize I knew her as she was. I had kissed her. Just thirty minutes ago I thought I would be able to jump off this balcony and fly away unassisted. I had kissed Lily Potter and now I would hurt her too.

"Cashmere, what's wrong? Your face grew dark."

I had taken a few steps back when I said I had to go. Her, now obviously, emerald green eyes scanned my face before she asked why. No answer came as I backed away then turned and ran to loose myself in the crowd, down the stairs and around the corner then outside beneath the balcony was where my feet refused to carry me further. Lily Potter. Damn. Why did it have to be her? Just when I thought this could finally be the girl for me reality swooped back in.

She knew me and did not find me likable. She mocked my every move as we played Quidditch against each other, sneered at me from across classrooms, watched my every step so she could report me if I put a toe out of line, and often got me detentions for being out of my common room after hours. Lily Potter would sneer again when she found out who her masked man was. It was time to go. Tonight had been a disaster and now my parents would be home waiting to hear all about my wonderful night with the perfect girl.

As different ways of breaking the news to them floated through my mind, only to be rejected after a few moments and tossed out, I turned the corner. My back was instantly pushed against the wall and my throat was being crushed by a mans forearm.

"Mr. Cashmere, would you care to explain why my daughter came to me in tears and asked if we could leave at that moment?"

His pressure loosened just enough to let me breathe and choke before answering.

"Mr. Potter, if your daughter knew who I was she'd hate me. I didn't want to see the giddiness and wonder leave her eyes for that cold emotion."

At his name her perked up and looked me in the face. After a few seconds of dead silence with the exception of the water falling back into the pool nearby he got a look of realization and whispered my first and last name. He backed away and let his arms hang by his side. It seemed like we both watched the grass grow a centimeter or so before he spoke.

"Mr. Malfoy, don't you know it is only proper to let the other know who you are once you know their real name? Pearl is going to be by the fountain in about five minutes. I suggest you appear to her before we leave."

I did as told. Shadows hid me until Lily came, pushed up her dress, took off her shoes, and sat by the fountains edge. I came from her left and stood silently until those puffy green eyes noticed me. Her make up had smeared and her wig had begun to slide, revealing just a sliver of fire red hair beneath the brown.

"Ms. Potter, it was a pleasure to get to know you. I ran because I didn't want to face you as the man I really am. Please, don't think less of me. This mask only hid my identity. I am still the man who wrote you those letters, surprised you with lunch, and kept your spirits high. Perhaps I have shown you that not everyone in my family is evil-spirited."

I took off my wig, just the white blonde of my hair should have given me away, and dropped it to the ground before untying my mask and threw it in the water to float over to her.

"Goodbye Lily Potter, you were my new dream."

She gasped and her eyes did grow cold and angry, then sad, then lost, then filled with tears and she cried into her hands as her parents approached.

"Mr. Potter, Ms. Potter, good evening."

With that I turned and Apparated into the living room where my parents immediately stopped reading and rushed to comfort me after a look at the despair on my face.