Masquerade.
You hear the word, a shiver goes down your spine, and you think: masks, strangers, forbidden love, kisses at midnight…
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Except for the masks, of course. Those are a necessity; Like you can have a masquerade without masks. Right.
Anyway, there are no strangers in a masquerade. If a guy ends up kissing the wrong girl, well, then it's his fault he forgot to put on his contacts. Or maybe he's just that unobservant (blind, perhaps)kid who doodles in class. In fact, most people (who don't doodle in class) know everyone else there. Unless they don't know you're there, then, of course, no one knows it's you behind the mask. Until you open your mouth.
Sounds like fun, huh? For years upon years, in stories upon stories, masquerades are the object of the most cliché tales in the world. Boy who hates girl meets girl who hates boy, they dance (which is completely ridiculous, right?), then kiss underneath the disco ball (kiss?!), or the moon, or whatever the shining luminous object is (a mosquito killer would be a brilliant one for a change), but kissing? Really?
They've been looking into each other's eyes for the past however minutes dancing, and they really don't recognize the person that they've hated for whatever amount of given years that their flaming, reputation gaining, 'I'd rather punch you than walk in the same hallways as you do' animosity had been taking place?
Mhmm. Totally believable. And, oh! I haven't even gotten to the very best part. It's my absolute favorite. Note the extreme sarcasm. And by extreme, I mean radical, intense, ect. You get the point. Anyway, back to my point. After they dance (preposterous), then kiss (skeptical), the clock strikes twelve, (Let's all copy Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, shall we my darling plagiarists who couldn't use one in the morning…), they take off their masks and act surprised.
Surprised, of all things. Rage would be great! The guy would smirk, and the girl would get a vase and smash it over his head. Or something. One of them had to know it was the other one. Someone was jerking around the other person. Because we all know that two people who hate each other don't just dance, kiss, talk and do only Merlin knows what else… and they have the gall to act surprised when the masks come off. Someone's faking. Really, honestly, it never happens.
Unless….
Unless said boy who girl hates is deliciously devious. Then, boy oh boy, is girl who hates boy in trouble. Boy looks nothing like he normally does tonight. He's wearing a disguise. Hence, unrecognizable. She won't feel the need to hate him. Even his eyes will be different. She'll be charmed, and maybe there will be dancing, maybe there will be kissing, but rest assured, heknows exactly who she is. The whole entire time he toys with her.
Perhaps later, there will be vase breaking as well….but I won't make any promises.
I'd tell you to sit back, relax, and enjoy the chapter, but I'd much rather have you sitting on the edge of your seat, tense to know what happens next, and screaming your bloody head off at my amazing cliffy at the end…..I'm collecting nickels for comments about those, by the way. But back to the occasion at hand:
Please, put on your mask, get dressed, put on your rouge, and your … whatever it is that guys put on, and watch me sweep you a low bow with a flourish Take in my mischievous smile of things past and things yet to come.
Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, pirates and nobles, young and old, girl and boy, to my twisted masquerade.
Harry looked on at the glittering crowd of people, waiting for the orchestra to string up a waltz, or something equally scandalous. Too bad the tango hadn't been invented by now. Then things would have really gotten fun.
The room was beautiful, the marble on the floor refused to scuff under the feet of the hundreds of people moving around on it. Drinks were flowing freely, the costumes otherworldly. It was a moving, yet utterly chaotic sight.
His eyes took in the room from behind his tacky, gold mask. Of course, the Wigs thought that he should have the best of the best: He looked like the jolly star on the top of a Christmas tree from the 70's. Dashing, he knew.
His entire outfit was of a golden hue. He positively shone. If anyone mistook him for anyone else other than the king, well… Well.
Ron ran up to Harry, his flouncy red hair unmistakable. His navy blue ensemble only made it appear redder. He flashed a grin to his friend. "Why, your highness! Don't you look…" Ron paused for a moment, running his eyes over Harry, "Cute."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, cute. Very manly, Ron." He looked over his best friend. "And don't you look beautiful?"
Ron laughed. "Touché."
Harry's eyes scanned over the crowd. Ron nudged him with elbow, pointing at a girl in a light blue dress. "Your bride to be is looking dashing, buddy."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You'd think she'd want to be a queen."
Ron looked at him, eyes puzzled. "What are you talking about?"
Harry looked at the boy she was dancing with. "I'll give you one guess as to who's knocking his shoes and twirling in a scandalous fashion in the air with her."
Ron snorted. "The only person who knocks his shoes and twirls is Neville."
Harry gave him a pointed look. Ron looked at him, puzzled. Harry raised his eyebrows. Ron's mouth fell open. "You're… you're kidding, right? Cho… Cho and Neville?" Ron's eyebrows flew into his hairline. "That's absolutely bonkers!"
Harry gave him a small grin. "That it is. You know, I'm almost jealous. "
Ron's face fell to pieces. "Of Neville?" He looked at his green eyed friend, whose face was completely serious.
Harry shrugged, face serious. "Maybe he's a better kisser than me."
"No, he isn't." Then, Ron stopped, thinking about what he had said. "Not that I would know that you're a good kisser, or that he's a good kisser," he faltered, then glared at his friend. "Bloody hell, Harry. I'm not a homosexual!"
Harry ignored him "And he's a better dancer."
Ron's face went puzzled. What was he on about...
"Not to mention his entrancing, beautiful doe eyes-"
Ron saw the twinkle in Harry's eyes. "Oh, shove of, Harry!"
Harry gave Ron a wide grin. "April Fools?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "It's not even April…. Wait. What month is it?" Ron asked, a perplexed look on his face.
Harry's face went puzzled. "You know… I don't really know either. Maybe we should ask a wig of something-"
Ron gave him a death glare. "We are not asking the Wigs for anything. They. Are. Psychotic," he whispered. "Like penguins. The hair only looks cuddly. It's sodding fake. Or did you not get that already?"
Harry laughed out loud, causing many heads in the room to turn his way. The ball had started perhaps an hour ago, and many people had begun to arrive. Harry recognized some of them. "Say, Harry, isn't that Luna?"
Harry's eyes went to the shock of blonde dancing alone in the room. There was a goofy smile located under the pale pink mask, long fair hair falling in a single braid down a slim back. Harry found the urge in his lips to grin like a goof. He indulged himself, and let his lips twirl into a grin, as Luna leaped into the air like a feather. His eyes went from her and scanned the room, recognizing the way that Seamus stood, and then, his eyes landed on a head of red hair.
A very red, very familiar head of female hair. Harry felt his heart stop.
Ginny.
Without knowing it, his feet moved beneath him, carrying him to her. He couldn't believe it. He felt a bright smile brighten up his face as he moved through the crowd. He was moving so quickly, that he plowed right into someone causing his feet, and the unfortunate person that hed ran into's feet to fly into the air, knocking them both off balance. His hands reached out quickly and grasped the person's waist, Female, he instantly decided; he twisted so that his back fell to the floor: she ended up on top of him.
His eyes shut at the impact. For a moment, he kept them closed. Whoever she was, she was curvy. In fact, she felt perfect on top of him, as they fell to the floor. Her dress felt like sin beneath his hands. She was breathing into his neck. "Sorry," she muttered into his neck.
Harry felt a rush of heat run through his body. "It's alright," he murmured into the hair.
Time to find out who this little klutz is, he thought. His eyes opened to a head of hair. Of very familiar tousled, yet tamed brown hair.
She rolled off of him, and then, his green eyes crashed with hers.
His stomach plummeted to the floor.
"Hermione?"
Hermione stood in the shadows that were just off the stage she was setting. It was as if she was on the precipice and she was about to jump off the cliff. To go, or not to go? Her body thrummed with nervousness. This moment mattered. She was tired of this game. She had to be successful. She wasn't entertaining any other options. Everything, everyone here depended on it. She was tired of people changing, people preying on other people. She was going to bring an end to it.
...
In a dress that was fit for a prostitute on the corner of first street. A smile tugged on her lips with the irony. What an original hero outfit. She even had a cape to match.
She clutched her cloak to her, her fingers refusing to unpinch the front of the cloak. She knew what she had to do, she just didn't want to do it. She did, but… Would it compromise her?
Hermione bit her lip. She had never cared about what people thought about her before now. But, on the same note, she had never been dressed like this before. Not in private, and thank Merlin, never in public. Until now.
She looked at her fingers and forced them to open; they let the cloak loose. Her white corset top shone in the shadows, a beacon of light. Hermione drew in a deep breath.
Her feet stepped out into the light. This was it, this was the moment-
Suddenly, someone crashed into her. Before she could make a sound, someone's hands grabbed her waist and twisted her so that she fell on top of them.
Dommanic. Her first thought made her woozy. Then she felt the heat of his body beneath hers. She almost sighed contentedly. "Sorry," she said, suddenly embarrassed. Here she was, on a dance floor, laying on top of someone. Well, if that wasn't publicly compromising, she didn't know what was.
"It's alright."
Hermione went still. She knew that voice. She knew that voice…. Suddenly, she got up, slowly, as not to alarm him. She needed a second to hide the flush on her cheeks. It wouldn't go away. She rolled off of him, and got onto her knees. Her eyes met his green ones; they were shocked. "Hermione?"
His eyes were surprised. His eyes traveled slowly down her dress: her cape had fallen off her shoulders. He looked back up, trying not to look beneath her neck, and gulped. This was Hermione. Hermione Granger, know-it-all, extraordinaire, hisbest friend. For a moment, none of these reasons would register.
"Harry," she said, voice parched. This was bad. This wasvery bad. Her eyes tore from his and she looked around; her heart stopped. There was a circle of gaping people around them. So much for being inconspicuous and having the element of surprise…
Then, it hit her.
Oh Merlin. He was the king. How had she forgotten? Everyone knew what he looked like. He was impossible to miss in his strapping gold outfit that could be seen from Mars. "I mean, your highness," Hermione said, scrambling up and dropping into a curtsy.
Harry just gaped at her from the floor for a second, his eyes catching a glimpse of thigh. Oh, my, this was not good. He stood up, slowly, looking anywhere but at Hermione. He gave a brave smile that he didn't feel, and smiled at the crowd that had gathered, and held his hands up. "Just an accident. Nothing to see here," He gave them another smile and gave Hermione a meaningful look that clearly said, "We'll talk later."
Hermione gave him a nod. With that he disappeared into the crowd to go and play king again. Hermione dusted off her dress, and leaned down to get her cloak, the only shred of modesty that she had started with, that was now sullied on the floor.
Just as her fingers almost reached it, a pair of long, pale, piano playing fingers flashed out and grabbed it for her. "Let me."
A shock of electricity and warmth ran through her body . She turned around slowly, meeting those thrilling blue eyes. "Dommanic."
Draco arrived fashionably late. It was never the rage to come early, as most people had. He smirked, the foreign lips twisting into a familiar expression. They must have not learned their manners when they were younger. After all, not everyone could be a Malfoy, and he was the best. He went up the stairs, nodding his head at the footmen.
His eyes shone from beneath his plain black mask. There were no embellishes, no sequins, glitters. He was murder in and in of itself. Murder doesn't have to be complicated; It needs to be simple. One shot, is all it takes.
He tugged the ties on the back, wincing slightly when the ties cut above his ear. Merlin, but these things are bloody uncomfortable.
He shifted it slightly, almost sagging in relief when the little pinprick went away. He looked at his hands; they were the only things of his own that he had kept. He felt slightly uncomfortable. He knew how people would react to Draco Malfoy, but what about Dommanic Lafroy? It was a whole new ball game.
He hadn't even introduced himself to Harry. Which was going to be a major problem, because knowing Mudblood Granger, she had already told her best buddy about him. And until today, Dommanic Lafroy didn't even exist. Just another thing to add to my list. Draco frowned. There were too many things on that list. He should have planned it out better, he realized. But, oh well.
While in his head he was concocting a plan, he nodded and gave smiles to people out from under his mask. It was almost like a carnival, the myriad of colors blinking up at him from everywhere. Glittering, sparkling, shining, pulling you in. It was almost enchanting… If he hadn't been on a mission, perhaps even he would have enjoyed himself.
It truly was a masquerade worthy of a king. Then he saw her.
What is she doing here? His eyes narrowed at the slim Slytherin in the green dress worthy of Salazar Slytherin. Pansy was dancing with an extra, or that's all he could make out from this distance. Her black hair shone from the complicated twist it was pulled in. Her dress was lower than his liking, showing almost all of what she was worth. Draco smirked. How typical of Pansy. All the young green gills were gaping at her as if she was the first female that they had ever seen.
His eyebrows furrowed. He knew it was her, yet it simply couldn't be her. Last time he had checked, she was dead. To the game, that is. But, it didn't matter. She was here, and he couldn't deny that fact. He stored the information for later as his eyes flickered over to the Kings Court, which was really just a little platform where the king was supposed to sit. And of course, Harry blooming Potter and his little sidekick can do what they want. They were standing, of course. He watched Ron push Harry and laugh.
Something twisted in his stomach, but he pushed it away with a sneer. His sneer faded as he saw Ron's expression, even beneath the mask, turn from happiness to something… Lust?
Weasley can lust? Is that even allowed? Draco angled himself, and looked where Ron was looking.
Oh, this was just too good. Ron and Pansy? He hoped he knew who he was looking at, because if Weasley even knew the half of that which is Parkinson, he wouldn't be looking her way like that.
Draco felt puzzled, but then pushed it away. It wasn't that unusual. Ron was just like any other guy. At least… Draco thought Ron was. Actually, Draco personally thought Ron was a flaming homosexual, but that's all fine and dandy. It was completely normal for someone to lust after Pansy. She had her own appeal. Of course, everyone knew that Harry thought that she was pug-faced, but that's just the way it was. Harry wasn't ever much into Slytherins.
Draco smirked at the thought. Perhaps Potter was gay, as he'd always suspected. If nothing, Harry's gold ornament costume made him a dashing little fruit. He watched Harry's expression turn to surprise. Draco's eyes zeroed onto where Harry was looking, and he felt his alias' eyebrows raising in surprise.
He hadn't known that Weaslette was here either. Well, tonight was just full of surprises. Before he knew it, his nemesis was walking towards the red-head with fierce intent in his step. Draco decided, impromptu, to follow.
The crowd movedfor him. It was as if he had his own bubble, and no one could touch it, lest they die by touching the filmy surface. He smirked with this thought. Suddenly, a gasp flew through the room as the king fell down.
Draco walked quicker, to get in before the crowd surrounded him. When a few seconds passed, he immediately assumed the best. Potter's dead?
When a flash of blue light failed to appear, Draco felt his heart sink, just a little. He frowned and pushed someone aside. No one questioned his appearance.
His mouth fell open.
Who wasthat, on top of Potter, in that provocative dress? He could see all the way up to her lovely fair-skinned thigh. He swallowed hard, and clenched his fists.
"I'm sorry," he heard a voice say in the silence. A woman's voice. Afamiliar voice. He tried to place it. It was right in the back of his mind…
"It's alright," he heard Potter say. Draco almost snorted. What a great pickup line. Then, he almost regretted thinking it. He might not have been able to say anything at all if a creature like that was on top of his body. In fact, he knew he'd be doing something far more productive and pleasurable with a creature like that on top of him. Like not talking, for example. He'd make sure they wouldn't be able to talk, breath even.
Suddenly, the air in the room busted with tension. It had been almost thirty seconds since the king was down. Surely someone should be getting up. Surely this wasn't protocol! Where were the guards-?
Suddenly, the girl rolled off of Harry. And then he knew. He knew before Harry even said her name. He had seen that body roll and twist and evade him constantly. Granger.
She was falling on people, yet again, which wasn't anything knew. However, the fact that it was Potter… Well, he didn't like that one bit. He didn't know why, he just didn't.
His eyes were glued to the back of her dress for a moment. His fists clenched more. He took another look as Harry's face went white as possible. He knew the feeling. In fact, he was sure that he looked the same. It was odd, being able to be on the same page as 'The one who lived.'
His eyes flickered to the other people standing around. Their faces were shocked, surprised. He could have sworn someone with a wig looked murderous. At the Granger or at the king, he wondered.
He watched as Hermione got up, her moves a lot rougher than any lady's. She wasn't graceful, that was for sure. But something about her presence, and the way that she got up spoke confidence. Today, it seemed to have a dent.
Then he noticed the black cloak on the floor, and smirked. All he saw was her back: the front of her dress eluded him, but from the expression on the people's faces who did, well, it must be quite a front to see. Perhaps she looked completelyugly. In fact, Draco hoped that she did. Hopefully, it was horrific.
Well, while he was in disguise, he could find out. Still charm her, of course, from intense sympathy, and when he was himself, he could rub it in her face and perhaps, even make the little Mudblood cry. It would be an interesting sight to see.
He watched her drop a rough curtsy, it wasn't as low as it should be, it was so rustic, she seemed to be a beginner. Either that or she hadn't been practicing. His lip quirked up at that. Finally, something that the know-it-all couldn't do. It gave him a little bit of relief. He saw Harry gave her a nod, reassured his people with confidence that Draco was sure that the hero didn't have at the moment, due to the horrifying front of her dress. What luck to have been here.
Then, all of the people went back to their dances as another reel was spun into the air by the fine orchestra. Hermione still stood there, back to him. Time to shake things up a little bit. He really wanted to see what had intimidated the Boy who killed the most evil wizard alive. Surely, it had to be terrible.
She started to bend over, but he beat her to it as he nimbly leaned down and snatched her cloak from the ground. "Let me."
She turned around, slowly. Her movements informed him that she knew exactly who he was. The thought almost gave him a feeling of elation. She had been expecting him.
Then, she faced him full on. He forgot how to breathe. His heart shuddered to a stop. He almost wasn't able to stop his mouth from falling open. I can't gape at her like an idiot! He scolded himself. But he knew… Oh hereally could. It wouldn't be at all that difficult.
He kept his expression guarded as his eyes traced her features. She was wearing makeup, for the first time he had seen her. Her usual honey eyes were cat eyes tonight, the black smudging around them giving her a secretive look. Her eye brows were filled and shaped, plucked, it seemed. They arched over her plain white mask leisurely. Her lips were full, a deep shade of a color that he couldn't name. His eyes traveled further.
Oh Merlin. He was in trouble. He clenched his fists.
Big trouble.
He didn't smile at her. Didn't say her name, even. Hermione refused the urge to bite her lip. She looked at his face, trying to decipher his expression. Something wasn't right. His eyes seemed to be taking her in. As his face traveled down from her face to her dress, she held her breath, and kept looking at his face.
Nothing. She got nothing. She looked back up, over his features, half covered by the mask. His eyes were as beautiful as she remembered, the blue still shocking her. His lips were the lightest pink. Something about him though… His presence, his voice, just…. His mannerisms triggered something in her brain, as if she knew him. Her ring burned lightly. It happened fairly often since she had gotten here.
She had puzzled over it for a while, and realized logically, that it was just reminding her of the bet. For that, she was thankful. Sadly, though, she had no idea where to start. She had no idea where he was, and how the heck she was supposed to make him want to kiss her. A Mudblood.
He had tried intimidating her into kissing him but surely, that didn't mean anything. He was Draco Malfoy, for Merlin's sake.
She pushed the thought of Draco from her mind, and pursued her examination of the very fine specimen of man before her. He was beautiful. His skin was-
"You're supposed to be wearing black."
His sinful voice nearly shocked her out of her skin. It was sulky, almost amusedly so. Hermione's lips curved into a smile, making him frown even more. "I had one, but it wasn't quite daring enough."
This brought a smile to his face. "Daring enough? You don't seem to sure of yourself in this one," he answered, those blue eyes traveling down her dress slowly, lingering in some spots that made her hot all over. She didn't know that it was possible to feel undressed in a room full of people. She took a deep breath.
"The knife strapped to your upper thigh is a nice touch."
Her eyes flew up to his, surprised. He had seen the knife? When?
He gave her a merciless smile that gave her no answers and took her elbow forcefully. "We're going dancing."
Hermione suddenly felt her skin burn hotly where his hand held her. She tried to tug away, but failed. "Are we now?" She hissed at him.
He turned to her, eyes serious, but his mouth was curved into a wicked smile. "I want to know what it's like to dance with a Pirate."
She tried to jerk her hand away again. He was surprising her at every turn. "How do you know about that?" she gasped.
"The walls talk, darling. The scar on your face tells it's own story," he said, reaching up and tracing the 'X' on her face, an unascertainable expression in his eyes. "How'd you get that by the way?"
Hermione was rendered speechless. It took her a moment to gain her "I've killed people in this game before."
She was deflecting, he knew it. He laughed, the sound almost knowing. Several heads in the room turned to see who had been laughing. He didn't seem to care. "I imagine you did. But you won't kill me."
Hermione stilled as he pulled her into his body for a waltz. It seemed almost practiced, as if he knew just where to put his hands. His fingers were flush against her back. Those long, piano playing fingers…
"You seem confident in that," Hermione answered, as she followed his lead. She hated dancing.
"Oh, that's because I am," He answered, smile wicked.
"Why?"
It was a simple question. The answer he gave her was the last thing she expected.
"Because I'm not the one you're after."
Hermione stopped breathing. She tried to step away from him during the dance, but that seemed to be a bad idea. "You don't want to do that."
Hermione breathed hard, as his feet spun her out of control. She would fall if he let her go. "Why not?" She breathed, eyes narrowed. She was angry. With herself. She wasn't here for him, and here he was distracting her, Malfoy could be here, watching her from two feet away with a pistol in his hand, and she would be able to do nothing.
But he wouldn't kill her. She knew that. He needed her, as funny as that was. She focused back on Dommanic. "Because, you'll fall. And I won't catch you. You'll have to get up yourself."
Hermione's brows furrowed. What did that mean? "You won't drop me."
"How do you know that?" he asked, smirking at her.
Merlin, something was so familiar about that.
Then, her eyes glittered with smugness. Her lips twisted into a smirk of their own. Oh, he didn't like that expression. "Because you didn't drop me before."
"Before?"
"The first time we met."
"Oh."
And Draco Malfoy was rendered speechless.
Because, as always, the know-it-all was right.
How suprising. Then, he realized that he was, in fact, suprised.
He twirled her around quickly, as if that would shake up her logical thoughts and make them illogical. He only had one weapon left in his arsenal. He was going to have to charm her, because, apparently. that was the only thing that shook her.
For a moment, he didn't know if he could do it. He would be pouring his valuable charm on a Mudblood who wouldn't even be able to appreciate it. He clenched his jaw.
Sometimes one has to do what they have to do.
And sometimes, they would like it...
Harry found her. She was not more than ten feet away, but suddenly, he felt unworthy of her presence. He had just ogled his friend, his best friend, for goodness sake.
His best friend that he was going to have a really serious talk with. Didn't she know that what she was wearing was dangerous? She had to know. She knew it all. Yet somehow, he knew that she didn't know the full effect her dress was having on people. Harry clenched his fists. It made him almost angry.
Almost.
Which was precisely the problem. He looked at the Ginny, who was laughing lightly, her light mask highlighting her Weasely eyes. She was so beautiful that it hurt. He wasn't really worthy of her. He was a downright legitimate bastard.
He felt like going to wash his eyes out with soapy water. Yet some perverse part wanted to abandon Ginny in search of his best friend.
His bloody best friend.
He groaned inwardly and turned away from Ginny. He couldn't deal with this right now. Manhood was a royal pain in the rear. Literally royal, and a real blood pain. He was engaged to marry Cho, was in love with a girl not even twenty feet away from him, and had just, moments earlier, lusted over his best friend.
This is so messed up, Harry conceded as he ran his hand through his hair, his eyes glancing around involuntarily for Hermione.
Her image was printed into his mind. Her wide, doe eyes that were too large for her face were hidden behind her simple white mask, her mouth dropped open in surprise. When she got up, he saw clear up to the garter on her thigh. The laced corset in the back, the feel of her on top of him…
Bloody hell. Harry clenched his fists and took a deep breath.
This was going to be a long night.
And with that thought, he went off to search for Hermione. It was time to figure out what in Merlin's name was going on. Ginny could wait five minutes. He needed to get this cleared out first. He had to know what Hermione was up to. He was curious.
And then, there was that teensy-weensy part of him that wanted to see her in that dress again.
Harry tried his best not to slap himself.
Ron tapped the shoulder of the sod that was dancing with Pansy. Who was, coincidentally, also staring down her dress. Which made him an even bigger sod. The guy turned around, and Ron stumbled back.
It was a wig. What was Pansy doing with a WIG?
"Can I have the next dance?" Ron asked, not taking the time to hide his anger. She was hiding things from him, and he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. He didn't even look at her dress that was getting a million glances from the room. He might be a lusty teen, but he knew how vain she was. He couldn't indulge her. Then again, if he looked at her dress, he knew he'd be lost. So, his eyes zeroed in on her face instead as he put his hands around her waist. Don't look down, don't look down…
"Can you dance, Ronald? I was under the impression that you were a great hulking brute."
Her voice was sharp, edged as it usually was; her mean words sharpened like knives. He ignored them. "If you won't give me this dance, I'll take it."
Pansy arched a brow as the music started; her hand was still by her waist. She leaned closer, trying to get him to look down her dress. "You'll have to steal it," she whispered throatily.
Ron refused the urge. Don't look down, don't look down… "Fine then," he answered smoothly as he grabbed her waist with his hand and forced her hand onto his shoulder. He took the first step; she almost stumbled.
He saw her lips part to retort or say something nasty, but then, she closed it. Perhaps thinking it better not to cause more of a scandal than her dress already had.
They danced for a few moments, her green eyes that matched her Merlin's-most-kinky-fantasy dress glancing over his shoulders several times. Then, as if she knew he noticed, she brought her green eyes, framed by her mask, to his. She arched a brow, "So, are you going to compliment me on my looks or are we going to talk about the weather?"
Ron's expression lightened a little bit. "Ah, the weather, what would we socialites do without it? Simply die, I'm sure." Just keep talking, Parkinson, and everything will be just fine. His eyes hurt from looking straight at her for so long.
She felt like a willow in his arms. A willow with curves, anyway. She moved lightly, while his feet were slow to move with the music. He was tall, and, as his Quidditch proved time and again, he wasn't very coordinated. Which was why he loved his job so much. He didn't really have to fight to be the general.
He just had to tell other people to fight. Convenient, that was.
The girl in his arms looked at him, an odd look in her eyes. "It's possible."
They danced for a few more moments, and the song came to a close. She looked at him, and curtsied; he looked over her head. She stood back, her spine straight, breasts thrust out, begging for him to look.
He didn't. For some reason, he almost wished she wouldn't act so materialistic and sexual. He knew there was something more there, something smarter than the vain, look obsessed girl she showed everyone else.
She saw someone come up to ask for her hand, but she declined, and looked at Ron. "Would you like to steal another dance?"
He raised one red brow at her. "You're the Pirate, remember?"
She stepped into his arms, eyes searching his for a moment. She didn't say anything. Unless he was completely wrong, he could swear that she was frowning. They danced for a few seconds. "Do you like my dress, Ronald?"
Ron fought a grin and a sigh of defeat. At the same time. His mouth remained straight, lost between the two. He looked her in the eyes, still not looking down. "It's lovely."
Her frown deepened. "You didn't even look," she whined.
Ron grinned at her now. "You don't know that."
"Oh, but I do," she answered.
Ron thanked the chorus when the music stopped playing. "Would you like some punch?" He asked.
Pansy put her arm in his. "Of course, I would. Punch. Howthrilling."
Ron rolled his eyes. "I'm sure it doesn't even begin to compare with the Pirate life, but punch… Punch is safe." Unlike your dress, he wanted to add.
Pansy snorted. "Unless it's spiked."
Ron shrugged. "It might be. Thereare Pirates in the room., after all."
He had meant only her. Then, at that moment, his eyes went over her shoulder. And he saw them…
Blaise's dark skin was unmistakable, he was the only one here with it. Beside him was that silly dirty blonde Slytherin who was chummy with Pansy all the time, and then…
Oh, no.
Theodore Nott was gazing out into the crowd, hawk eyes narrowed, searching for something..
"They're all here," Ron said in horror. "Every single one of them."
His startled eyes came to Pansy's, over his punch. "What's going on?"
Pansy shrugged, "I don't know. Something big, presumably."
Ron put his punch on the table. "I have to tell Harry. Right now," he said, turning his back on her and made to walk over to Harry.
Her hand gripped his bicep and pulled him back around. "Or you could run away with me for an hour."
Ron, already anxious, felt the hot breath on his ear, the sultry whisper. Oh, it had been too long… "But Harry-"
"Harry can wait."
Ron, suddenly, got angry. He turned around to face her. "Harry is my friend. I owe you, not them. I need to let him know so he can kill them."
"Walk with me for a minute so I can tell you about how bad of an idea that is," Pansy suggested, her green eyes twinkling at him, tempting him. Don't look down…
"Pansy-"
"Ronald."
Her tone left no room for discussion. "Unless you want me to tell everyone about your being indebted to me, I think you should come with me."
She could almost hear his teeth grinding together. He knew he was a fool sometimes, but he didn't like being made the fool.
She took his arm and they walked down several hallways. She walked past several rooms, and they entered the library. She let go of his arm and walked over to the books, running her hands down the ancient dusty volumes.
Ron crossed his arms. Harry had to know now, and she was… alone. With him. In a room. With that dress. Oh, no. This could only end in tragedy. "Talk."
"About what, Ron?" She purred his name, and walked up to him. "I thought you just wanted to be alone with me."
Ron cursed and turned around. "You're playing me for a fool, Pansy. I don't like it. "
She turned him around, and gazed up at him from under her mask, a smile curling on her lips. "We aren't talking about the weather anymore, Ronald, are we?"
It was almost as if she was asking permission for something.
Ron's brow furrowed in puzzlement. What's the crazy bint on about now.. "No, we aren't."
Pansy sighed a dramatic sigh of relief. "Good, because now, I can do this."
She shimmied up to him and pushed her body against his. She titled up her head, "Ravish me, Ronald."
Ron gulped and then did what any boy would do by instinct. He looked down. His world went topsy-turvy. He leaned forward to kiss her, yet before he knew what was going on, she had grabbed a long dagger from inside her bosom and stabbed him in the heart. The last thing that he saw was her sad face, brows creased. "Draco made me."
Then, he disappeared in a flash of blue.
The door burst open. Pansy stepped back, her hand at her throat. Then, she lowered it as she realized her good fortune. Her incredible fortune. As was her right, of course.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Longbottom and my, oh my. The queen to be. Don't you look simply ravished?" Pansy taunted, as she stared into the shocked eyes of Neville and Cho. Cho looked completely in disarray, her dress rumpled and her hair unfastened.
Pansy felt a wicked delight run through her body. What delicious information to have. And to think, it fell right into her lap. Or… walked right into her path, as it were. She smirked triumphantly, though she had done nothing to be triumphant. Thus was the life of a Slytherin. Triumph isn't something they worked for, it was a privilege.
It was given to them.
The only thing that they had to sort out what do with these triumphs.
Pansy looked at the couple. She could think of a few things, every single one of which benefited her. Which, of course, is the only way that triumphs like these are used. She looked out for number one, and no one else was more important.
Then, Neville just had to speak. "You just killed Ron Weasley." His voice was shocked, rightouess anger seeped from it.
Her smirk froze on her face.
Now what the hell was she supposed to do with that?
Hermione tried to keep up with the steps of the dance. He moved so fluidly, as if he was born dancing. However, she didn't dare tell him that. It'd be the equivalent of calling him a fruit. She had this odd feeling that he wouldn't really appreciate that. "Have you done this before?" she asked.
He smirked lightly. "I took lessons when I was younger."
"Really, now? But guys don't generally-"
"Take dancing lessons?" He finished for her, brow raised, blue eyes amused, charming. "Are you calling me a fruit?"
Hermione's brows went up as she tried to cover for herself. "No! Of course not… Absolutely... How could you think…" She gave up. "No, I don't."
"Well," he said, expertly turning her, putting up with her rough smoothness, "If I was a fruit, would you convert me?"
He pulled her up against his body and looked down at her, lips crooked in a devastating smile. Hermione's knees went weak. "If you were fruit, that'd be a shame."
"Oh?" he asked, smiling down at her.
Hermione bit her lip and not so accidentally stepped on his foot. "I'm sorry," she said, slightly flustered, not knowing how to deal with him, other than to distract him from talking to her. She couldn't think of anything smart to say back. It was the most foreign feeling. She wanted to impress him, but didn't know how. So she stepped on his foot. Two steps forward, one step back? On his foot…
He smirked at her, lips twisting sinfully, eyes looking down for a moment, and then back to her face. She flushed at his clear appraisal. "You look impressive."
"The dress-" Hermione started-
"Is fitting for someone of your caliber to wear."
Hermione's brows furrowed quickly. Someone of her caliber? "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," his eyes cold for a second, and then he gave her a wide hot, dazzling smile, reeling her senses. "You don't dance too terribly."
"Did you expect me too?" Hermione asked, completely thrown off. She didn't understand. He spoke as if he knew her before, as if he had known her for a long time… As if he could make those conclusions from the past memories that he had.
He didn't answer for a moment, eyes unreadable. Hermione was lost in his enigma. She didn't understand a thing that was going on. For some reason, she suspected it was a lot more complicated than it looked: two people who had just met dancing. Something about him triggered something in her memory, but what?
"No," he answered, in a voice that seemed to faintly surprise him as well. He twirled her around, and when he brought her back, his body wasn't touching hers anymore. He kept her at a safe distance. Something had just happened, and she didn't know what.
Suddenly, the music stopped all too soon, and he let her go, his hands dropping to his sides. Her eyes dropped to his hands, that bittersweet ringing of familiarity zinging through her veins. "Have I met you before?" Hermione asked him. She was referring to before the game.
His unascertainable eyes went warm again. "If we had, you'd have known it, love."
Suddenly, her eyes went wide. 'Love,' he had called her. Who else had called her that? She tried to rake her memory, but she couldn't bring up the particular moment. The way that he said it was so familiar. She looked up into his eyes, and then, felt the odd, irrational impulse to kiss him. His eyes were so close, he lips looked so soft… If she just leaned in a little further.
For a moment, he was a simple breath above her lips, she could feel him breath in and out. She looked into his eyes. The heat that raced from their icy blue contours flashed heat through her body. She leaned into him, hands on his chest. His hands remained chaste on her hips. However, when he squeezed his fingers ever so much, it was anything but chaste. Hermione's knees began to buckle; her eyes shuttered closed, as her body melted into his, the fight leaving her. "You see?" He whispered, right above her nose. "You would have remembered feeling like this."
But she had. She had felt like this... Somewhere in her memories. Hermione whimpered lightly. "But to ravish a lady in public is grounds for exile, and I should like to see your face again, Lady Granger."
He stepped away from her, hand steadying her elbow as she wobbled lightly. Her eyes opened. "I'm not a lady," she rasped.
He looked her up and down, eyes lazily meeting hers again, letting her know that he knew just that. "I could only be so lucky."
He gave her a bow and kissed her hand. With a wink and no words, he left her in favor of the shadows. The heat left with him, leaving only a tingling remembrance in her core that he had been there. Her face was still hot.
Her ring burned insistently again, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. The reminder. He was here somewhere; she could feel it. Something told her that he was. She looked around, scanning for a shock of blonde hair; she couldn't see anything. The ring burned angrily again. Hermione tried to twist it loose, to relieve the pain, but it wouldn't come off.
She was bound to her promise.
Suddenly, humiliation at Hogwarts seemed a big price to pay for something that she didn't care about anymore. Winning against Malfoy would be pleasurable, yes, but it no longer consumed her. It didn't matter anymore, not now that she felt this way.
Nothing mattered, now that Dommanic was here.
This conclusion baffled her. If was totally illogical, irrational, ect. Which was the reason that she liked it. Perhaps Piracy was a bad influence, and sodding sewing was to blame because she wanted something exciting for once in her life.
Dommanic Aymes Lafroy.
His very name was like sugar on her tongue, and Hermione liked sugar. She liked it a lot.
So she decided to be impulsive. She set out to find him and snog him senseless. Not that she knew how, of course, but she'd cross that bridge when she got there.
Maybe someone spiked the punch, she thought giddily. Then she realized, she didn't care, and she stepped into the shadows, looking for trouble.
And when trouble's last name is wearing a seductive mask to make it even more tempting than it already was…
Anything can happen.
After all, this isn't just your average masquerade.