Summary- The evening of Mabon was spent in the castle of lies, rose-tinted reflections of two wizards soothing wounded hearts. They walked confidently upon with brittle composure and upon the frayed edges did their flesh catch often lending crimson blood colour to their path. In their souls they would weep, but never did thoughts stray from the other.

A/N-Blanket disclaimer. Sorry for the delay everyone! Please see the end notes for my apology. :D

Chapter 12-See the truth and finally know

The Old Nobles honoured their magic with traditions and rituals as they must, but perhaps they were not as evenly biased as they should have been.

Perhaps for the folks who lived off-land, who preferred the sway of ocean over rigidity of dry land, praying for gentle wind upon their sails on Litha was more prudent. Perhaps Beltane brought much more joy to the youth drunk on the wine of spring. Nonetheless it remained true that the Autumn Equinox was sacred to all wizards and witches; this moment when the world tottered on the cusp of transition and contemplated on the balance, mere moments before it must fall to the darkness. Wizards and witches around the world would bow in thankfulness for the bounty of summer they were generously offered, thankful for the last blessing before their lands would relapse to sere fields.

The House of Malfoy never reneged from its responsibilities, not so vain to take the recognition of all their fortunes and stayed proper where they must be. Virtuously they recognised the Gods and Goddesses of old, the bounties that they had been blessed with, for the successes in harvests of fields or life and never turned away from the Magic's claim, lest their heirs suffer from the foolishness of one arrogant Lord.

The traditionalist house honoured the day as was appropriate of course, but they didn't squander the opportunity, this convenient prospect , to display as only the entitled would either. Faithfully did they follow the celebration, but also with the sly intention to show the world just how blessed they were.

Hence, every year their communal, unrestricted revelry remained a word of delight, a hint of envy on the bittersweet mouth of the participants. Every year, the house flared brighter than before with smug satisfaction and never failed to invite all equal and less for the opportunity to glow under their charm.

The Lady of Wiltshire had never shirked in her duty as a wife, a mother or as a Malfoy. With pride and confidence, she orchestrated each and every detail of the festivities they hosted. She prepared for the expected and the unexpected. The Malfoy house had been sent to an organized tizzy during the last few months, but the Lady of the House never faltered in her duty.

Hence was why she was a touch miffed when her Lord took such interest in the Masquerade ball, as if her hands were incapable of this task. It had simply been never his obligation and hadn't his wife borne her burdens well for all these years? Her husband knew it very well and yet...

Her lips pursed as she watched the threadbare anxiety in her Lord's countenance.

"Abraxas. Pray tell, what do you find so lacking?" She frowned when her caustic tone didn't affect her husband a bit.

Her hands caught the wrist that was shuffling through a sheaf of parchment franticaly. He looked up and her voice eased at the desperation trembling through her grasp, "If you have a reason to worry, I will not be caught wandless."

The Lord Malfoy didn't want to. But his vanity may very well lead to his fall and Abraxas couldn't afford a failure this time.

"Yes, I suppose I must."

Her duty had been to protect and understand nothing more and nothing less. Thus, hours later of a whispered conversation, she went to fortify her preparation in such a manner that there would be no blood split at the end of the night.

-Evernevernever-evernevernever -

Apathy brought sluggishness to the hands that were supposed to tame wilderness of a Potter inheritance. Instead, the wizard gazed out the windows forbidding him the freedom beyond. The brush for a while now had been merely resting on his robe-clad thigh, but Harry Potter didn't quite pay it any mind.

It was an intentional knock on the doorway of the study that roused his attention and perhaps he should have expected it; after all the Dark Lord enjoyed the privilege of owning an ancient, magical land and he might very well savour the benefits by ignoring a cottage ward anytime he pleased. Frustration didn't darken the voice of once Gryffindor despite this intrusion, for lethargy prejudiced the glazed green and he greeted his discourteous visitor with a sigh, "Here".

Only when there was no reply to be had for quite some time, that thin curiosity turned his eyes to the doorway. There stood the greatest of Dark Lord to reign upon the Magical Lands, the one who held tattered remains of all that he had thought as his own. There he stood, the man who took and took, and paid no heed to the sanctity of any soul it ruined.

The man who commanded his heart so, oblivious and cruel, already the winter that had safeguarded him since that fateful day past seemed to give away in the wrathful disposition of Dark Magic. How could he have hoped to shield himself for this final time, however desperately, to fortify himself within walls of icy indifference, not the least voluntary? Nay, the winter had nipped his heels ever since he had willingly torn himself away from the Dark Lord.

(Now, the shields tore with the efficacy of silk against claws.)

The Dark Lord, who was so still, and oddly enough, remained leaning against the entrance of the room. Crimson eyes held fast to his inquisitive gaze and Harry frowned at the naked emotion underneath.

"Marvolo? I am not late, am I?"

The Dark Wizard shook himself from whichever stupor he had fallen into and glided softly into the sudy room converted in a manner of his comfort, eyes at once taking in everything before devotedly returning to the figure before the fall windows.

"We are not late, no," Marvolo murmured softly and he did hesitate a moment before dropping to his knees before him. His breath stilted and Harry could barely claim any reign upon his heart before his left hand the other had taken so courteously. The back of his hand seared with soft fire but it was the worshipful posture that harshly ruled his emotions. "I wished to give you something before we leave, hence the rude visit. Forgive me."

Harry huffed a little, emotions gliding past the icy cage he had forced upon them "It does not matter though, does it now?"

The wizard remained kneeling in apology or supplication, he cared not, "Your permission does matter, Hadrian, even if I were to be a surprise."

Harry turned away only for a moment from the softly spoken words and contrite gestures. When his attention returned to the man, a bejewelled box lied upon his dresser. The Dark Lord rose to his feet, rose to dominion as he was meant to and Harry didn't linger upon the unbelievable image of a Dark Lord who bowed before him anymore.

Familiar annoyance returned when he touched the artfully painted, and rather obviously exotic box that lied before him. It was of slight height, moderate size and no matter how beautiful he might have been declared before, (many a time and not just by this wizard, yet only his words remained in memory) Harry felt the need to defend his masculinity, "It belongs in the powder room of a Lady, Marvolo. It seems a very good gift for the Lady Malfoy, perhaps on an occasion other than today?"

Marvolo laughed. Unconstrained and in slight disbelief of this unexpected flippancy, and Harry had to keep a hard and fast hold on his irritation. Before he could make another sharp comment, the dark wizard fought for control and subsided with a chuckle or two.

"Yes, the appearance is a little deceiving, isn't it? Go on, open the box."

With a dubious glance to his bewildering companion, Harry relieved the latch.

It was... Harry tilted his head as if the shift in angle would change what he must see before him, but they helped him nary a bit. It was long, collapsing to a sharp point. The other end was, however, quite beautifully twisted so. In the end, it looked like…

"Is it a kind of an ornamental weapon?" Harry never could understand the rationality between making a weapon pretty as opposed to simply efficient.

Although it couldn't be. It hardly resembled a dagger, and the end might gleam in sunlight but it was only sharp enough to defend him from perhaps garden gnomes.

Marvolo chuckled again but thankfully devolved no further. "Well, it is ornamental. May I?" Thoroughly mystified, Harry nodded only to freeze at the cold fingers delving deep into the insanity his hair boasted of.

So often, so very often, the Dark wizard had taken him into his arms. So very often he had trembled under the cold touch placed irreverent upon his reluctant body. So very often he had been a mannequin under the perverse intention of a Dark Wizard.

And yet, somehow this minimal touch breached another unconscious wall of intimacy. Conquering another defense with intrepid hands.

The hands upon which blood must have pooled so gleefully, the same hand that had wrenched peace from a non-offending village. And curse his imagination, but the gentleness of those hands brought the illusion of blood soothing his dark hair.

He remained frozen in eternal recoil and surely the brilliant Lord did realize, for the hands stuttered but a moment before turning swift and mechanical. Harry allowed himself a breath when he could no longer feel the foreign touch and revelled for several more before he had had to turn.

Marvolo...the Dark Lord was placid in contemplation, but the magic roiling at his feet betrayed his agitation, betrayed the yearning when each dark trails ventured to feel and yet dared not, fearful of the aversion it might feel.

Or worse, the apathy that it might endure.

"Forgive me, but I must ask," Harry found himself surprised that the wizard might dare break the unspoken pact of polite distance they carried and steeled himself so." I have known few wizards who wear their hair as long as you do, at your age and power especially. It looks lovely on you, of course, but is it a custom in your land?"

Distractions.

It was not the first time someone had asked this; the long hair that was hardly suitable for a Lord, for a prestigious house Head. Some had been curious and disdainful. More had gleefully called the arrogant saviour whimsical of his heritage. Few had deserved the truth and Harry had been quite stringent with the ones he truly trusted.

Strange how the concept of confidentiality warped when met with this particular wizard.

Habit guided an absent hand to his hair, only to be reminded of the foreign knot they carried. Harry forced them back to their laps and didn't look at his companion, content to let nostalgia carry him far.

"This..is in the memory of a person very dear to me. He used to have such long hair, openly breaking the tradition of how a Lord must be. I was his heir, irrespective of blood or magical ties. Gave me his house, everything he had inherited and accumulated. Everything material, but nothing truly that reminded of him. So, I chose to keep a piece of his memory with me all the time."

No. 12 Grimmauld place had only forced resentful memories on Sirius, a despicable childhood he couldn't escape even after years in Azkaban. The room of the young marauder had been not as cherished either and in his grief perhaps Harry had not noticed. He had only realized that in the end, Sirius had had nothing to remember him by, or at least nothing that wouldn't bring blood and pain upon touching it. (Grimmauld place was a wretched place filled with cursed items and biting doorknobs)

The tentative touch that placed a rebellious curl behind his ear aroused him from the descent into nostalgia and Harry startled.

He had not meant to divulge so much. Perhaps a line or two. Certainly, he had not meant to saturate each word with the love he still felt for his Godfather.

A rustle of cloak and Marvolo moved from his periphery to take up all his attention. And Harry lamented at the quiet corner of his mind that after everything, he still never hesitated in offering the truth of his soul in front of this person.

"How very fortunate he was." The quiet murmur should remind him of how Sirius was never fortunate, but Marvolo could not know anyway. "To have your faithful regards."

For the bitterest moment, the once lonely boy was reminded that the regards were hardly reciprocated. But then was it perhaps fated of Hadrian to care for such trouble wizards who saw a different facade when looking at him?

Lips grimaced and parted, but the wizards bit back a surly retort. He wouldn't. The day would be intolerable were the to stay honest with his frantic thoughts, cumbered even more by the heart of his.

They would be the perfect gentle wizards, contrary to the history they shared; a history of barbed words and hidden intentions. The Stranger to the land would stay quiet to the sub-vocal protests, would say nary a word referring to the fateful day. The Master of the Valley would say naught of the secrets the other had but shown a glimpse of and would query not, even if it was his secrets the other seemed to own so carelessly.

So Harry thought, this decisive clarity unfolding before him with every step they took beyond the Peverell cottage.

It would be an uneasy truce, for one night alone. One night alone, because it wouldn't matter past midnight. The illusion would unravel and the participants must exit the stage gracefully. It wouldn't matter anymore, for the end was closer than Marvolo would ever know.

So, Hadrian no more deserved to demand the apology for that unforgivable offense, as was his right. Harry had no more time left to be obstinate and shake this fool of a Lord from his illusions of narcissism. He had no more right to demand anything of his faithful companion, who would be the one left behind in the end.

The festering fury left his throat burning while indelible melancholy kept his steps heavy. But the Gryffindor showed nary of the despair that was leaving him eroded and instead walked steadily beside his Dark Wizard.

He would hold true to this unspoken truce, he swore. There would be none of the bitterness to taint this night.

(None to spoil this memory of last.)

In the loathsome silence, Hadrian Peverell thus reminded himself, again and again, fists clenched against his mutinous heart.

The Mabon tradition decreed for the offering to be from their orchards, as none of them had a harvest of their own. Nonetheless, there was sage and grapes from the vines that had crept high upon the cottage and Marvolo had brought with him an amber basket with Pomegranates already inside. The rest of the bounties they would have from the flora around the Ridge.

But now as the offerings were plucked fresh and sweet for the Mabon's spread, the disquieted wizard rejected another one, pettily captious despite himself.

The restless thoughts stuttered at the cold touch to his wrist. And the fractious wizard turned ignorant, not at all prepared for taller wizard shading him from the world beyond.

Not at all prepared for the quiet determination when they had so willingly accepted the silent if unresolved reconciliation. (Well, at least that was he had thought)

"I cannot take your forgiveness when I have taken so many things from you already. I can only ask for it, and it is yours to give. I dare not list the many ways I have slighted you, I have hurt you. But, Hadrian..." Contrary to his belief, Marvolo did not touch him again even as he moved forward with that intensity.

He could not when Hadrian flinched away from the moon pale hands. Hardly the first time that his touch had been rejected thus, Marvolo having been rebuffed from the very beginning. Yet, perhaps the discomfort had by now devolved to real repugnance and the arrogance of a wizard was left in the wake of the disaster as sympathetic ashes. Hands curled inward, clenching tight so vulnerable.

The young wizard had so far corralled his emotions with ruthless apathy. The rigid barrage shattered with the quiet words, at the distressed visage (false, nothing but lies) and the fury could not be quietened.

"What for? You needed a monster to be your equal. I cannot fault you if that was what you saw in me. You found what you wanted. Wasn't it fascinating though, the way you never said a lie?" The vindictive wizard did not speak thorough gritted teeth, a false wonder ending his words. Yet, winter crept through the foliage, in the pursuit of numbing an ache when no other antidote could be found.

Contrary to the rage that had once marked a tempestuous youth, his ire held frost in its breath eyeing the stupefied dark wizard. Unwilling to ever be swayed.

Marvolo knelt upon the chaotic wilderness in determination and green eyes widened. Frost thawed in response to absolute confusion and denial, "What..."

The Dark Wizard looked up at him with nary consternation, "What use is vanity if it costs me you? That is what it has done so far, hasn't it?"

But the proud saviour held rigid to his detached façade, he must, lest there be devastation only left when the dark magic of the = supplicant(insincere it must be) found itself none to anchor.

Trees groaned as the wind rose in disgruntlement, the highland creatures tittered and screeched in bewilderment. In the chaos, two wizards stood uncaring even as the world begged for their compassion.

Harry watched it all, the Dark Lord caught in the strange agony of helplessness and the magic that tore viciously at everything and nothing because that was all it had ever known and he gave voice none to the strange delight that might bring about ill-begotten hope to his eternally cursed soul. Ruthlessly did he repress it, this possibility that perhaps …

No.

The Dark Lord recognized novelty in exotic people and the amusement that they bought. He would allow some leeway for satisfying said amusement. Would he give more than that? Would he allow Harry any more than blood-stained hands and apology in the aftermath of fire and ashes?

No.

Harry was perhaps stunned at the reckless taunts flung at him, but he was hardly the connoisseur of calm temperament and the words were not as guilty as Marvolo believed.

"How can you ask me? How can you ever ask me to condone your actions?" He whispered. (Yet they were guilty, spoken by Marvolo as they were.)

Mentally the wizard collected the pieces of his wretched self. It didn't matter! It didn't matter at all, the ifs and pleases, because it was time for him to go home.

(He had no more right).

So he thought no more of the dwindling wishes, no more of the trails of hope that reached out towards Marvolo in frantic desperation.

Thought no more of the fact that the apology mattered! It mattered because this was the Dark wizard who had a few months ago hardly looked at the life crushed under his stride; who had never known, never cared for the emotions that would twist his purpose further out of reach.

(Thought no more of the wrecks in his heart as he tore out each hope twitching with the last gasp)

In contrast to his desolate magic, Marvolo was utterly still, "No. No, I am not asking you to condone my actions. I just need to…" His voice trailed off and a hand unclenched slightly to reach out only for despair to leave it wilted. With a self-deprecating laugh he continued, "I suppose there is no counter-curse to words once spoken."

And the fool of a besotted wizard longed to sooth this writhing creature, longed to draw away the pain, despite everything. The fool of a heart still reeling from the sting of betrayal lunged at the offender.

A soft exhale hid the sound of something breaking inside him and the indomitable facade loosened some. Harry took a small step forward, ever so hopeless against this wizard, and asked, "Will you help me prepare the spread?"

He could not stay, but this he would grant.

Dark scarlet contracted in surprise, but Harry had the gratification of seeing the tense shoulders relax minutely.

It was customary to bring something to your host's porch, it was not however so proper to share the gift when not of the same family. Harry could hardly care for propriety, not when he was so tired. (Tired of fighting against himself and what was he even fighting against?)

The world fell again to still silence when contentment lightened the hearts upon these wizards. And when finally their basket overflowed so with berries and twining honeysuckles, heavy with apples and pumpkins, asters and ferns leaving the offering finally wholesome; the burden carefully arranged by a fretting and another amused wizard, it had been time.

-Evernevernever-evernevernever -

Malfoy Manor had shimmered in the pale light of dusk, powerful and so very grand; the frontispiece of Malfoy Pride. Wards would keep the sounds of celebration from trailing beyond the manor, would keep envious curiosity of meddlesome villages from being aroused, but even spells and charm could not quite pale the heaviness of the air on Mabon night.

Each inhale had the clinging smell of fresh hay burning and dripping onto the earth in quiet surrender.

Two wizards stopped in front of the sprawling gates of Wiltshire Manor. One shifted and turned away from acrid memories; the other hesitated for reasons entirely different.

The recollection of a dreadful time had perhaps blanched as better time had come to plead dominance and yet, even after all this time they stayed starkly in contrast. With an aggrieved sigh, the young wizard murmured and a no-descript mask coalesced onto his hand.

"Hadrian."

The Dark Lord Voldemort would one day ascend to the pinnacle of all that was glorious and magnificent, his stride on the crushed dignity and flayed fleshes, might it be the apex of infamy and as well, and the immortal Lord will have his kingdom,

Certainly, he would not skulk into a celebration, anonymously and no less mundane than another wizard. Certainly, he would not tolerate the stilted conversations with insipid beings he cared not a whit for, each and all sovereign in the pedestrian mentality.

And yet, he shall and Lord Voldemort found himself not at all caring at the indignity that might have piqued him previously.

Especially not now, not when the dark wizard watched his frowning companion. Sweltered in starlight and the slender neck laid bare as all the dark trails ambitiously tied in one knot; he clenched his hand against caressing such a lovely yield.

His thoughts were darkly yearning and his jaws remained rigid to his passion, for his own carelessness had now tainted the purity of his desire and the Dark Wizard had felt never so helpless and repentant.

"Marvolo?"

Sparkles of beauty in all of the crude creation and how he longed to be sheathed in all of the bright loveliness, to worship this stunning creation. And yet, his breath now shuttered at the fresh stigma to the sweet ones, brought upon by his own doing, and his cold hands trembled as they wept inky stains of the guilt.

None of the muddled thoughts cracked the composed countenance and Marvolo (Yes, he was Marvolo now, was he not, not just to his lovely one either) smiled hopelessly at the bewitching picture.

Hesitate did he some, glancing down at the mask, docile and beautiful in his hands, slivers of blue on an otherwise non-descript ash-grey base. Simple it might have been, but immaculately and thoughtfully crafted. Perfectly understated in a manner for someone who would rather prefer anonymity.

Hadrian waited for him.

"None shall see you in there. They will not know you. Perfect strangers, until you choose not to be. Of course, I am not speaking for those who have been friends and acquaintances. But everyone will respect the traditions. No one shall ask you unmasked, figuratively or literally.

His Hadrian was of endless patience, as he had never been and did no more than giving a nod of understanding.

"Perfect strangers to everyone," Marvolo repeated hollowly. "Except, I had not thought to bear in mind, that it would include me as well."

And the dear one tilted his head, not quite understanding, "We will know each other, Marvolo."

"Yes, but I will not see you. You will not see me. Forgive me, but I will not have you a stranger in any shape or form." Breathing anticipation, he held up the compromise." Conjured by my magic, you will still be masked to all except for me."

An offer when before it would have been insistent fingers shushing any protest from pretty, questioning lips and taking the right as his own already.

A compromise, for no longer could he assert the claim so very vehemently on his creature, complacent in his feigned superiority as he was.

Still, he waited, with an uncertainty that was so foreign to his thoughts, for his chosen one to disapprove and discard it.

The acute knot that had shackled his breath left in sudden stupefaction and Marvolo found himself jarred for entirely another reason, because there bloomed the delicate shade of titillated blood upon the pale beauty of his Hadrian, the loveliest of wonder that could be granted to the dark wizard. His companion had turned away as if to contemplate, but even the caustic give of starlight couldn't hide the truth.

In his hubris, Marvolo had not thought of what he could lose, had not thought until there had been a very real possibility of loathsome indifference and apathy.

Yet the astounded monster watched as, even after all this, Hadrian bloomed so alluringly under his attention, regardless of the bruises he had left again upon his cherished, the malicious hurt he had knowingly provoked.

It had been terrible, the despair of this dark being, the mourning howls of this monster when it had knelt wretched upon the ashes of the ruin that it had brought upon itself. Devastating in its implication when the dark magic writhed to heal and couldn't, for the cruel hands had only ever known the texture of obliteration.

Now that the hope sprouted fresh and clinging, a delicate thing in the moors of desperation, the monster still knew not to be gentle with it. But the veneer of careful civility did and the innocent creature would never see the ravenous devotion, the horrifying obsession never sated but stoked to new heights evermore.

There had never been a great tectonic shift, a dynamic change of great improbability. They were instead a culmination of fractures that twisted that which had once been his reality and throughout it all Lord Voldemort walked upon the path with resolute if faltering steps.

Hadrian had finished conjuring a burnt umber mask and mutely raised it in a question.

None of the naked desire contorted hi s face and with a smile, he asked, "May I?"

Thankfully Marvolo was perfunctory while fastening the mask around him, otherwise his mortification would add another decoration to the Malfoy entrance, Harry thought.

Upon their arrival, the young wizard was thankful, very much so, that his entrance to the Wizarding world of this era long gone would remain silent and uncelebrated, shielded by the mask of anonymity. As it was the months of self-inflicted isolation in the Rowena's ridge and away from the crowd had left him with much reluctance and it was this that left a defensive aura around the two of them, Harry unable to settle despite the reassurance of his powerful companion and even wrapped as they were in the cloaking magic of their Masquerade masks.

The sharp contours of Bellatrix Lestrange and the Malfoys, of torture and blood, of Dobby were of a murky nightmare. The jubilance of a festive manor remained utterly alien and Harry was thankful that the familiarity of a distorted time didn't guide his steps, he was thankful that Marvolo never saw the flinches when they passed the hallway.

The celebration was already past the tentative beginning when they entered the ballroom under the sway of soft music. Marvolo had made no overtures to meet their hosts and Harry had made no suggestion to keep oblige to propriety and decorum. The Mabon gifts of the guests were left to the elves.

The decoration was subtle to the purebloods and garish to the less fortunate, ornately designed to cater to the guests' entertainments. The ballroom was massive enough to accommodate comfortably, letting sparing them all the comfort of their own space even with the orchestra that kept on playing and the grandiose elaborate displays.

The guests mingled with each other, hesitation hardly there and conversations occasional a loud bout no matter that some remained strangers to one another all along. They passed these strange new invitees who skirted the crowd, who leaned away from any advances and entered together even if it was frowned upon.

Yet the two wizards had no care for the much distinguished celebration to which the invitation was much envied. They cared not to welcome any other into their company either and Harry remained sheltered in the crimson glare comfortably, wrapped in a casual discussion of a wizard with the mask adorned by the feathers of a possibly illegal creature, brazenly taking the advantage which on any other day would have been an invitation to Azkaban, the British Wizarding Prison.

They shared their amusement, noted the architecture behind the overlapping embellishments, entirely absorbed with each other; miles away from the throbbing cacophony even while standing in the middle of it.

There were no refreshments yet, not until the Lord had given the offering to the Magic and the guests lounged upon settees or moved languidly on the ballroom to the soft music.

-Evernevernever-evernevernever -

"What?"

The query was admittedly redundant, as the answer was clearly written in the upturned hand that remained expectant in the air, an invitation to be taken in his discretion. But even notwithstanding the gazes that bore into them from Lords and Ladies alike, the voices muted as exhales were almost suppressed violently; but even ignoring such things embarrassment left flaming streaks his face.

Marvolo was patient as he waited for a dizzy wizard, but he couldn't. Harry couldn't. Even excluding the fact that dancing was an art best left to those who had an aptitude for it, who wouldn't likely ruin the entire night by creating a farce, he couldn't.

"Marvolo…"

It was a plea. Plea for what? To retreat perhaps, to take that step back that he himself couldn't.

"I won't let you fall."

One time another, those words had been spoken to him: one moonless night when Harry had dithered so vulnerable in front of a Dark Wizard who could have taken gleeful advantage. But the scarlet stains had not shown any maliciousness then, had been unendingly patient, breathtakingly tender.

And Harry wordlessly cursed Marvolo, this twisted sample of a Dark Lord, who would tear his heart to shreds. Especially now that the course of future had been set and Harry felt the ache digging sharp because he would not be by the side of his unexpected companion anymore.

The agony by and by transcended fury, until the faded sample of the later was left. The ache by and by consumed this wizard until the green grace was glazed only want.

Marvolo would remain unaware until he wouldn't anymore, until time settled to coherency once again.

Perhaps it was nostalgic sorrow, perhaps a longing that could not be suppressed but foolishly did he accept that hand.

His heart was being torn asunder, so near to his desire and yet not at all, and Harry thought it to be an apt punishment, this terrible bruise that he could feel with each breath, for loving as he did this terrible wizard.

Surely... surely he could be forgiven a single night's lapse?

His heart rejoiced as it did weep, cradled in the dark magic of its beloved and Harry let himself be drawn closer to Marvolo. He closed his eyes, savouring the precious few moments that he was afforded. Closed his eyes in submission and did not think of the ramifications that must be borne by his soul.

For one night only, he shall indulge.

This time when he opened his eyes, intense crimson met him equally, as it always had. This time the recalcitrant wizard did not shy away from the quivers of his pulse, did not deny that which always had been his want. This time he did not draw blood in the inside of his mouth so that he might suppress all emotions from the cavorting gaze of Marvolo.

Hadrian looked at him, saw Marvolo not Voldemort. Hadrian let the present charm cloud his judgement not the fear of future nor the darkness of a past. It was not Harry Potter Marvolo had known for the last months.

And Hadrian Peverell smiled, albeit bashfully as he admitted, "I am not at all a good dancer, Marvolo. I can't guarantee that your feet will stay unscathed tonight."

A pause was all the dark wizard granted himself for this pleasant surprise and the cruel eyes shone receptivelyand Harry didn't know why he felt grief at the contentedness in Marvolo.

Marvolo was careful as he approached him, as a gentle hand smoothed down a wayward curl and when found no protest, long fingers caressed his face.

Murmuring softly with a faint trace of wonder, he held his companion in an embrace that was admittedly not necessary in any dance, "We will start out slow. Don't fret, Hadrian."

Tad irritated, the impertinent wizard opened his mouth to convey he was not fretting when Marvolo manipulated his waist to take that first step.

They did start out slow. Their steps did not match the soft notes of a waltz. Quite often they confounded other dancers who found themselves stepping out of rhythm whenever they cared to watch them. Marvolo found his shoes smudged from when Harry had trod on them once. Or twice. The contrite wizard found quite a few reasons that he had to apologize for but Marvolo only smiled at him.

Harry didn't realize it when the dark wizard was slowly taking him through the basic moves and then higher. At least not until he found himself at the end of a twirl and found a surprised laugh burst out of him as Marvolo pulled him close once again. Flushed quite assuredly, Harry looked up eagerly for the next lesson but found his partner frozen instead.

Before he could frown even, long fingers cradled him so reverently in its hold and Harry almost gasped at the ill-hinted desperation behind the grip on his waist, "Are you happy, Hadrian?"

Was he? Was this happiness when every breath seemed to suffocate him, when every glance of this wizard caught his pulse irreverently? Was he happy, when he felt as if he was dying and if he might not live to see the sun tomorrow, he would dance away his last breaths in this embrace of cold and darkness? Let his eyes see the crimson one more time before it must close forever?

He was exactly where he wanted to be and nowhere else.

He wanted to say it all. He wanted to cling to the man and unveil his fraught words that clogged his throat. He looked at the man who was unaware still and only could dare confess, "Yes."

Marvolo moved again and Harry turned slightly to hide the growing wetness in his eyes.

-Evernevernever-evernevernever -

No matter how much he appreciated his newly found tolerance for dancing, perhaps one that could be accredited to his partner alone, his feet smothered in polite shoes soon grumbled their displeasure. Marvolo gave no more room for his exhaustion to grow; the first grimace had him ushering his companion promptly to a nearby sofa and hailing a house-elf for some water.

Green eyes turned closed briefly from deep mortification even if the lone witness to the ridiculous scene was a house-elf wringing its hands and wondering how it might help.

"Don't make an unnecessary fuss, Marvolo." Harry hissed at the other wizard, mindful of the eyes occasionally straying to them.

The wizard was briefly startled at the whispered rebuke before being amused, "Be thankful that I am not putting a salve personally on your feet."

Fire licking indignantly, barely could he stop himself from pinching the vexing man. "Really now. Won't that prickle your darling ego?"

"It is not my ego I hold so dear to me."

Hadrian would have taken it for the competent repartee it was meant to be if not for the softness that the Dark wizard laid bare for him alone and he had been unable to breathe past a throat clogged with emotions.

"Marvolo…"

At this moment there was naught a thought of a twisted creature in his dilemma. No nightmare of a past lost distorted this picture. The reflection of light didn't bring back painful nostalgia. Harry Potter looked at the wizard sitting beside him on the sofa and saw no other. His happiness remained untouched by the agony of twining memories, memories that seemed so coherent, not clouded with a barely clear line to separate the discrepancy.

His present had the resolute glint stained crimson that attended his every need so. His present gifted him with a companion that he should...could never have co-existed with bar mutual destruction. After all, hadn't had the fates once decreed once.. Neither could live when the other survives..?

Yet nothing mattered now. The longing didn't abate, these trails arcing away from him and reaching towards the other, hardly ever rational.

Neither of them was a fool but in presence of the other, they acted no better.

For a moment did he suppress his need, but...

He had allowed himself this, had he not? That for just tonight he would let his eyes speak the truth, but his lips will not raise hope when there was none to be had.

And trembling fingers, hesitant and so fragile in vulnerable yearning, rose to trace the inhuman features that seemed as if it was sculpted from porcelain, pale and cold; he didn't retreat when the touch encountered the lifeless mask shielding the other instead.

Hadrian was not thinking about the unnatural of them. Tearing at the soft insides of his mouth in anxiety, at the terrible craving this person must ignite inside him, he gently rebuked the other wizard, "Must you always have the last word?" Don't say such things.

You will be the death of my heart.

But Marvolo was not really cognizant of the light teasing of his words, his voice of rationality apparently lost. There was no vindication at seeing Marvolo pale and frozen, as one might have hoped of the wizard who had found himself stupefied in this way many a times, and Harry started to move away.

He was not permitted, however.

Swift and despondent a cold hand held him a prisoner, kept his hand pressed to the cold illusion and the dark wizard turned as if to inhale the headiness of a sweet pulse.

His cheeks were burning, he already knew, scarlet blossoms of embarrassment at his own boldness and timid at this escalation, the Gryffindor ever so reticent from emotions and its ilk. Marvolo didn't let his mortification mutate, didn't nurture it with the sadistic delight as Hadrian expected and let him draw away with a final touch. Reluctance was lucid on the clenched jaws and Harry didn't doubt the stress of that unwillingness, for the penchant of his Dark Wizard to possess and keep he was very well aware of.

Yet, Marvolo let him go at the simple sign of his discomfort.

Not a moment too soon either, when both the wizards turned simultaneously towards the magical aura that was steadily approaching them.

Dark eyes glittered behind the simple mask and the wizard gestured forward the trembling elf; the wretched creature anxiously brought forward the tray with a glass and potion vial.

Polite and pleasant were the words of the intruder, "The potion has young petals of arnica. A gathering of this kind requires one to be refreshed once in a while; it might take a while for the host to break his fast properly."

Hadrian gave a cursory glance to his companion, but Marvolo didn't offer false permission to this unknown. The Dark Lord was instead carved from cold stone, long knuckles clenched bloodless that the minute perusal allowed him to see.

Seeing that Marvolo cared for no contribution, whatsoever, Hadrian accepted the kind offering to be placed on a spindly table, "I thank you for the kindness, but I would have been fine with just water."

The wizards acquiesced but bowed low to Marvolo instead, "Forgive me then for taking liberties, My Lord."

Ah.

Wished he could say that this was entirely unexpected, but the cynical Gryffindor could not be so naïve. He did not turn to the still wizard beside him but instead was amused at the Slytherin uninvited. Wondered at the veiled intention of this Death Eater, "Your Lord?"

Dark eyes shifted to him and for once Harry was so curious to unveil the mask from these wolves and snakes, "Pardon me, I should have said our Lord."

Harry leaned back, no longer tolerant or unaware of the insinuations, and abruptly enraged but for the harsh magic that had suddenly coiled beside him in companionable fury.

"You are being presumptuous, my dear fellow." An unknown voice interjected and Harry felt the acute discomfort at being seated when the interlopers towered above him so. "He could have been one of the Gryffindors for all you know."

The stomach-churning feeling shifted to confusion and before Harry could do more than make a small sound, this wizard bowed shallowly and introduced himself, "Abraxas Malfoy." The host, the only person the entirely of the Masquerade Ball must know, as was his right this night. "Forgive my fellow mate; Slytherins are generally more in attendance than any other house. He perhaps could not help the assumption, especially when you are seated with Lord Slytherin himself."

The words were deliberately misleading and convincing. Perhaps anyone else might accept the honey bitter words of pardon, but not the one who wouldn't be led astray like a child.

Yet Harry let the patronizing words flow, curious as to their purpose, and let his sweet smile saturate his wondering tone, "Thank you for clearing that up, Lord Malfoy. It is good that you are chaperoning your friend here. After all, without lessons on proper courtesy the young Heir might have carried on making offenses the whole night long. "The ivory smile upon the mask was fixed and Harry tilted his head in mock admission, "I had heard of your benevolence, but it is quite nice to see it in person."

The Host could do no better than incline his head in humble acceptance of the praise, even as the unknown others' magic boiled with ill-humour. Green blaze did not flinch away from the spitting magic, for his quiet rage still snarled, but before he could speak the predator beside him uncoiled.

"Offenses indeed. My mask has been reduced to worth naught before the first hour is gone." The words were barely audible in their sibilant imitation but both of the wizards flinched violently. It was the most appalling blunder in the Masquerade, to bandy about another's identity without their permission and graver still when committed with the host's participation.

Harry eyed his companion in his peripheral vision, wondering at the reason that the indignation almost compared to his but corralling it for later, before looking back at the petrified wizards. His tone held sweet innocence and his lips remained cruel, ". It is remarkable though that the both of you could know your Lord even under the Masking Magic. Lord Slytherin, did you say?"

The once Ambassador watched the recoils of two Slytherins as they understood the faux pas they had committed while covering up another mistake, watched the cringe of a Dark Lord but couldn't fathom the reason among the many, but reacted none and sat back to watch the muddled response to the disaster.

It was but the glimpse of white that reminded him of the callous monster beside him, that beneath the facade remained one who would care for naught before letting the entirety of this room be sacrificed to the Magic on Mabon.

It was not conscious per say or hesitant, his touch, when he let it fall upon dark robes and let the warm weight anchor Marvolo.

It was Lord Malfoy who recovered first, surprisingly or not, and bowed fully in apology and spoke with a tremulous tone, "My behaviour was entirely unbecoming as a host and a Lord, especially when I was under the same fault of being presumptuous." The man cleared his throat before continuing slowly, "In Hogwarts, we had been in the House of Slytherin you see. It was not only a moniker, but our house was also our family. So you might understand the deference we would show the descendant of our House Patron, Lord Slytherin." Malfoy nodded to indicate his companion.

Hadrian acquiesced with understanding, false and humouring (were any of the cunning Slytherins fooled?), "I see. So this Slytherin magic is more powerful than Mabon?" He mused softly, innocent eyes curling at the minute stiffness in all the three wizards. Green beyond the non-expressive mask carrying all the mischief of a Slytherin, but the two wizards saw nothing save naive curiosity unexpectedly stumbling upon truth.

The wizard watched, bit of true humour returning; not at all guilty that he was the only one in possession of each and every of the truth and beyond.

"His Magic is rather unforgettable. But I am afraid we have occupied you for too long now." Malfoy indicated the potion, "For a night as long as this, it will keep you less wear if you wish to." Skilfully the Lord gave a nary chance for the other wizard to interject, "We will leave you to your peace now."

Harry watched, with stunned delight as the conniving Slytherin made a hasty and not so subtle retreat.

Satisfaction a soft breath leaving his lips, the wizard didn't think about how he had so carelessly comported, flippant of the strong impressions he might leave behind when anonymity was what he had cradled close.

After all, it didn't matter. Soon his name, his person would not leave behind even a footprint on edges of history.

-Evernevernever-evernevernever

A/N-

Their little world together is coming to an end, and the world won't care that Tom would rather no one lays their eyes upon his precious. Aaanywayy..

What happened, you ask? Well..

Me- Now that's over and done with I think.

Fic- *Writes a few pages more.*

Me-Dang it. I have to edit this again. Alright done and over with. Yay!

Fic- Wait. *Writes a few thousand words

Me-Ugh. Okay fine..

Fic-It seems incomplete somehow..

Me-It does?

Fic-*Write a whole another thing*

Me-The heck? Where did this come from even?!

Fic-*MADLY OBSSESSING OVER PERFECTION*

Me-Hold up now. Calm down. Nice and easy.

Fic-*Blows up*

Me-*Give up*

Et voila! We have two new chapters instead of one! The next chapter will be out in a day or two, even less maybe. Yay! So, am I forgiven yet? Please leave your honest reviews, I love them! They are the perfect rewards of all I ever do. I add a lot of silly little things, mostly to make the fic a bit more wholesome and sometimes I don't know if I have given enough explanations. Any queries, ask in the comment lines.