Masquerade Act One: Hidden Figures

The First Dance: The Place of no Faces

A/N: There are a lot of great Bellamione stories out there, but not enough sadly, and I wanted to try writing one of my own, thus this piece of work. It's not my first idea for a story with those two involved but it's one that I figured would be a bit easier to write as I plan on making the other ones super long. I would think of this as my practice for writing out the two characters and their interactions before I head into a longer work with them. That being said, I think of the relationship that the two will have in this story will be a bit unusual compared to those in other stories. I don't know how to describe it without giving away the plot. Just know that there will be eventual Bellamione.

That's enough of my rambling for now. I rated the story M cause come on, it's Bella we're talking about. She's prone to doing anything, although I don't think there should be anything too crazy in this story and oh look I'm rambling again. I'm gonna leave now and let you read and don't be afraid to leave me reviews telling me what you think will happen in the story, what I'm doing good/bad, etc. It'll help in the long run for my other HP stories.

Cheers!

And After All What is a Lie?

Tis The Truth but in a Masquerade -Alexander Pope

When Hermione first awoke she was aware that something was different. She was in a darkly lit room, the torches hung on the wall blowing in the breeze of an open window. Her back was on the silky purple satin sheets of her four poster bed and as she sat up, a confused look on her face, her clothes crinkled around her. She was wearing a beautiful white lace gown, with a high neck and long sleeves and blue delicate gems woven carefully into the fabric. Her toes peeped out of open toe pumps, and were painted a clear color that matched the color of her nails.

Hermione got up from her bed, glancing and admiring the strange clothes on her body as well as her strange surroundings. The room she was in was pretty, with fancy wallpaper with even fancier designs scrawling across it, and furniture that looked very old and expensive. The antique looking full length mirror in her room looked about to be the most expensive of all the items. What Hermione could only guess as rubies, emeralds and white diamond, were inlaid in the ornate baroque frame. She walked over to the mirror, her shoes muffled on the thick carpet and limbs a bit unsteady, her fingers coming up to trail closely to the walls in case she needed to lean on them for support. Her body felt like it had just emerged from long slumber, a stranger to itself and she wondered why as a huge yawn seized her, making her eyes water as she let it out. With it a lot of her grogginess left and she was able to move more steadily and confidently. And with it, her mind awakened and began to hungrily question her current position in this room. Whose room was it? Was it hers? It really looked so pretty. She was sure everything had to be made from top quality material.

Throwing away her wonder at being in such an expensive room, she tried to quell feelings of anxiety that suddenly surfaced in her the more she thought about her current predicament. Something felt very wrong about this whole situation. It felt like her body didn't belong to her, like she didn't belong here in this place, and she needed to look in the mirror to determine if the same girl stared back at her. Sucking in a deep breath she peered into the shiny glass. A fairly attractive girl in her older teens stared back at her, her childish and young face baffled under a pair of brown eyebrows and a head of brown bushy hair. She let her hands travel to her cheeks and she pulled on them experimentally, hazel eyes wide in wonder as her skin snapped back when she let go. So it was her, but it didn't feel like her...Hermione backed away from the mirror, having grown unconsciously closer as she had pinched and prodded the skin of her face in search of answers that she wouldn't receive.

What was going on? Hermione had a vague recollection that she shouldn't be wearing such a dress, that such clothes did not benefit her. Yet, here she was wearing a white dress that was so elegant and regal she felt as if a queen might wear it. Except it was on Hermione's body, and she was pretty sure she wasn't a queen. And this room...Hermione was pretty sure she shouldn't be in it, but yet she was and from the looks of it she had fallen asleep here. What was going on? Her skin crawled with unease that she just couldn't place a finger on.

There was a loud knock on the door that startled her out of her thoughts and she raced over to the heavy mahogany door. Maybe someone outside could offer her some reassurance in explaining why she felt such a way. But when she pulled the door open all she saw was an empty hallway. She peered her head out cautiously and looked up and down the hall but no one was there. All she saw was royal purple carpet, torches burning brightly, and walls with doors stretching down as far as the eye could see in either direction. Was she in a hotel of some sort? Was that why she felt like she had woken up in a room that wasn't hers?

She was about to close the door again when something white on the floor caught her attention. She picked it up and gave the hallway another glance. Had this been here before or had it recently been left? It was a white mask, light weight and beautifully made with white plume and blue dots of periwinkle that glimmered near the eyes. It matched her dress perfectly. She turned it over, wondering if she was meant to wear it and noticed the note on the inside of the mask. She pulled it open, cursive handwriting greeting her.

Wear me

Okay...Hermione shrugged and put it on, not knowing why she was instructed to do so. The mask fit snugly on her face like it had been made specifically for her. Immediately she felt a sort of ease fall over her, like a drug. Under this mask she was safe, no one could see who she was and harm her. She was invincible, she could do as she pleased. Hermione liked the new sense of strength that came from the mask but worried about it at the same time. How would the act of wearing such a mask make her feel this way? Was it-?

Music drifted into her ear drums, throwing her thoughts to a stop. The melody was soft and mystical, beckoning for Hermione to follow it with seductive fingers. Hermione gave one glance behind her to double check her room for something, her hand twitching reflexively for an object she didn't have but that she felt had made her safer when she had it (was it a twig? She felt like the object was long and wooden but how would a twig make her safer?). Seeing that this object was not anywhere in her sight of the room she closed the door behind her and memorized the number on her door. It read 9 ¾. What a odd number for a room.

She walked down the hall, resisting the urge to run towards the source of the melody, her long dress trailing after her. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever and when she had just about decided to perhaps give up and turn back to her room she saw it slanted towards the left, an end finally. The music gradually got louder as she rounded a corner and suddenly found herself looking into an elevator. The doors were open, lights on as if waiting in greeting for her. She stepped in and the gates shut around her, bringing her lower into the underbelly of whatever building she was in and closer to the music.

When the gates opened again she stepped out, this floor decidedly darker. A man stood in front of her, a velvet rope separating her and the door from which she knew the music came from. The melody had only become more intoxicating and intriguing and Hermione had to know and see the place it was coming from.

The man glanced impassively at her as she stared apprehensively back at him. The elevator dinged as it went back up, leaving the little area they were in almost completely dark without its light. There was a long moment of silence as Hermione battled with what she should say to the man for him to let her in, and before she could open her mouth he moved out of the way, pulling the rope aside with him. This was all Hermione needed to know she had been let in and with a deep breath of excitement and anticipation she pushed open the door to the place.

She found herself in a night club of sorts, complete with neon red lights on the brick walls and a stage on which a jazz band played, ignorant of the patrons in the club, and caught up in their own world. There were small tables set up everywhere with small candles on them, red chairs containing people who were either chatting or drinking with one another. Some people were standing up and talking and a few were swaying from side to side on a small wooden platform designated for dance.

Each person was dressed to the nines, the men in tuxedos, the women in dresses that rivaled Hermione's own in beauty. But all of the clothes were either all black, all white or some strange gray color, with mild touches of another color. And each person wore a mask. Hermione touched her own mask, wondering why all the patrons of this night club had to wear masks and a specific scheme color. Was it a special occasion of some sort and if so, why couldn't she remember any details about how she got here? Hermione's head throbbed as a sudden sharp pain ran through it. She grabbed it, hissing as the pain subsided as quickly as it came. What was that?

"Would the young miss like a drink?" a voice called out to her invitingly across the din of the club and Hermione saw the bartender was looking at her, a wide grin only visible on his face, the rest covered by a red mask that matched his vest.

"I suppose," Hermione answered. Did she like to drink? She didn't know, but suddenly it seemed very important she get a drink. She strode over to the man, taking a seat on the bar stool in front of him. She was the only one at the bar right now, all the man's attention on her.

"What can I get you?" the man asked, wiping down a beer glass.

"A butterbeer," Hermione answered without hesitation and the man smiled even wider if possible. "Sure thing." As he set to work, Hermione drummed her fingers on the counter, watching as he smoothly filled her glass to the brim. Once he set it in front of her, her throat begged for her to drink but she ignored it when she realized something with a small start.

"I don't have any money. I can't play for this." She placed her hands against the counter edge, ready to push away when the man chuckled. "It's alright. You don't have to pay for this. It's on the house."

"Really?" Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Yes."

"And whose-how am I-?" Hermione fumbled with the question she meant to ask but the man reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "You must be new here, but don't worry. It's fine. You don't have to stress about a thing. Just relax. Eat, drink, and play to your hearts content."

The bartenders words were honeyed and sweet and Hermione felt urged to follow them, to just down the beer in one gulp and forget her troubles, but she shook away the compliance that fell over her like a blanket. Something wasn't right. Why would she be in a place like this? Did such a place even exist? Not in her world.

Her world. The words echoed in her mind, chilled her body and made her mouth sour. What did she mean by her world? Was this place not her world? Another stab of pain hit her head and she grunted out, this one stronger than the last.

The bartender, whose hand was still on her shoulder, squeezed. "Don't think too much about it or it will make your head hurt. Just go with the flow."

Hermione shook her head, willing away the pain and discarding the man's suggestions. She wanted answers to the multitude of questions that ate up at her.

"Why does everyone wear a mask here? Is this a special organization or something?"

The man was quiet for a bit before he released her shoulder and went back to wiping glasses clean. "You're quite the curious one aren't you?"

"I need to know," Hermione insisted as she leaned forwards in her seat. "I need to know why I'm here."

"Don't we all want to know what we're here for," the man chuckled, a sound without glee. "I'm telling you, do not think too harshly about this. Just relax and wait your turn."

"My turn?" Hermione asked, feeling unease crawl up and down her spine.

"Yes, your turn."

"My turn with what?" This man was beginning to piss her off. She needed answers, damn it!

He looked up at her, his eyes hard and all humor gone from his face. He paused in wiping his glass and set it down extra hard on the counter in front of her. "You'll find out when you wait your turn." His tone of voice brokered no more talk and Hermione bit her lip with outward anxiety. Seeing she was quiet now, he turned his back on her and went to searching for something on the shelves of liquor there. With a sniff of disdain at his rude dismissal of her, she took her drink and moved to one of the tables to be by herself as she thought. She sat down with a plop on the comfy red chair and nursed her butterbeer, angrily contemplating what it was that was going on. Maybe one of the people here would know?

Setting her nearly finished glass down she stood up and approached one of the men there, who was sitting at a table by himself, nodding his head in time to the music. The song had changed but Hermione had no desire to give into the alluring melody like she had before. She had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Excuse me sir, may I speak a moment with you?" she asked, her voice a bit nervous. The man glanced up at her and smiled after a moment of hesitation. "Of course. What is it you wish to speak of?"

"I only wish to know more about this fine establishment," Hermione said when the man gestured for her to sit down. His silver mask glowed in the candle light, and Hermione was drawn to a ring on his finger when he raised a glass of whiskey up to his lips to finish it before he answered her. Another question ran through her head.

"Where did you get that ring?" she asked, perplexed that there was a nagging sensation at the back of her mind at the sight of a snake engraved on the silver jewelry. It symbolized something to her, but what?

The man looked down at it. "I don't know," he frowned, genuinely upset. "It's just always been there." He looked to be deep in thought but suddenly gave up on it, figuring it was best to ignore it. "Was that what you wanted to ask me?"

"No, just about this place." She spread out her hands to indicate what she was talking about.

"Oh, yes, well it's a night club," he said off handily, like this should be obvious.

"And?" Hermione had already gathered as much, but she needed more. She was certain there was more than met the eye here and the conversation with the bar tender had only agitated in her the uneasy feelings she had had when she first woke up in this place.

"And everyone comes here to drink, eat and dance the night away in fair company." He smirked at her at this, repeating pretty much what the bar tender had instructed Hermione to do. "Are you in need of company?" Hermione shivered as his eyes roamed her body hungrily. Thank goodness she was wearing an outfit that covered nearly all her skin so she didn't have to feel as exposed.

"No. I do not need company of men only of words. What more can you tell me about this place? What do people do once they are not in the night club? Where do they go? Do they go back and sleep in the hotel rooms? Do they live here? Can they leave?" The brunette genuinely wanted to know, as now that she thought about it she had no recollection of ever going to sleep in a room here, or leaving the building, or even arriving here in the first place.

"Stop! Stop!" the man screamed out in sudden panic as Hermione rattled off her questions. The outburst cut her short and she watched as the man bolted out of his seat, grabbing his head. "Stop! Make her stop it!" All music in the club had stopped as did the chatter. People turned to look at the man, who was backing away from Hermione as if she was fire, bumping into other tables and people in his attempt to leave.

What was going on?

What was going on with this mans reaction? Hermione had merely asked a series of practical questions, things that he ought to have been able to answer yet he had freaked out this badly.

Two women, workers of this night club, as they were clad in t-shirts with the clubs name on the back- The In-Between- grabbed the man by one arm each and dragged him out, still screaming. Once he disappeared past a set of double doors that Hermione had no idea where they lead to, another club worked appeared in front of her. He didn't look as kind as the two woman had been. He folded his muscular arms in front of his chest and glared down at her. "You're coming with me," he insisted and Hermione hastily got up. She knew there was no point in arguing against him.

As she left she felt all the patrons disapproving eyes on her, but specifically one pair of eyes in particular whose gaze felt different; curious and brimming of some unspoken emotion. Hermione turned her head to try to pinpoint the direction of where those eyes came from; they burned into her back like a branding iron did to skin and she needed to know who it was. There, she spotted them from the darkest corner of the club. The figure was clad in darkness, impossible to make heads or tails of except for the gold mask rimming their face under the heavy hood of the dark cloak they wore. She knew it was them and even though she couldn't see their eyes from this far, the tilt of the head indicated the figures attention was all on her. But why?

"Hurry up," the security guard grunted and Hermione's head snapped up to glare at him. He had grabbed her wrist painfully and was tugging her forwards because she had slowed down in her walk. She pulled her wrist free of his massive hand and rubbed it where it was sore. "I can walk just fine by myself."

He shot her a look but didn't say anything. Hermione turned her attention back to the figure to get one more glance but found they were gone, as quickly disappearing as they had arrived.

She felt disappointment well up inside her but didn't know why.

They took the elevator back up, the guard escorting her back to her room. "Make sure you don't start trouble like that again, you hear? It's best to forget. You'll need it where you're going." With those cryptic words he left her and Hermione stomped her foot in frustration. What was going on in this place? His words did not dissuade her, instead it only made her want to find out what was going on in this place more and by Merlin she would find out. No one was going to stop her, her craving for information to fill in the gaps in her head hot inside her. She opened the door to her room and as soon as she stepped past the threshold, her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell to the floor unconscious.

A/N: I already have most of the chapters planned out for this. I'm foreseeing it spanning twenty chapters at most unless my imagination wrests control of my fingers away from me and I end up writing more. The story might have a bit of a slow feel to it but the goal is eventual Bellamione. And of course in solving the mystery of what is happening.