Masquerade Act One: Hidden Figures

The Third Dance: Imprisoned by Her Own Thoughts

The closing years of life are like the end of a masquerade party, when all the masks drop- Cesare Pavese

Hermione tried to steady her breathing, her heart pounding violently in her chest. What was this? What was going on in this room? She peered out from behind the box where she was crouching to take another look-to make sure she hadn't been mistaken in what she saw. But no, she had been right the first time. The room was vast, full of brown boxes pushed up against the walls, and white tables with bodies of people on them. They were pale and unmoving, some still clothed, some still dripping blood onto the floor silently as they lay there. Some were older, some younger, but all were undeniably dead.

What were they doing here? Was this what the hotel did to people who challenged them? Killed them and dumped their body on a cold slab of stone waiting to be what-dissected? Cremated? There were too many questions.

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand as she felt a wave of nausea and revulsion go through her. Was this what awaited her if she continued to seek out the truth? Had the mysterious figure led her here because they were working with the hotel and wanted to warn her of this? Still too many questions.

Hermione's head span. She needed to get out of here. Being in such close proximity to dead bodies was unsettling her. She made to get up when the loud slam of a door opening and closing forced her back into her spot. She couldn't risk getting spotted now. She had no desire to join the undead on the slabs of cold stone. A pair of doors at the other end of the room had been used to let two men, clothed in white sterile clothing with blue masks on their faces and matching blue gloves, to come in.

"I swear there's more and more of them everyday. I don't know how we're expected to keep up with labeling and counting all of them with just the two of us here. They need to hire more staff," one of them complained. He was the taller of the two. He pulled out a clipboard and stopped to look over at the body of a young woman. He scribbled something down and then moved onto the next. His friend did the same but in the next row over.

"I know how you feel. The Body Retrieval Staff just keeps dumping them on our hands without consideration for us. We can only handle so much. I don't see what problem they have with keeping the bodies a few extra days to give us time to count and label these up," he replied, his voice tired and angry.

"If only those stupid witches and wizards weren't having their war then there wouldn't be as much work," the taller man commented as he checked off a few more things on his clipboard before peering in closer to stare at the body of a man that was different from the others. His skin was pale to the point of translucence, he was missing a nose and had no head hair. Hermione wondered if that man was even human.

The worker picked up the man's hand, and a long thin piece of wood that had been gripped in his hand rolled out, clattering to the floor. The man sniffed disdainfully at this. "This one probably died before he could even utter out a complete spell." He dropped the arm roughly back down and bent to pick up the fallen stick.

Hermione's mind was reeling with what she had just heard. A war caused by witches and wizards...but those weren't real...such magical beings didn't exist. Yet even as Hermione said this she knew it was wrong. Something deep inside her shouted out a resolute no to the idea of witches and wizard not existing. And that piece of wood that the man, who been labeled as a wizard, had dropped pushed a thought to the front of Hermione's head. It was so close, yet when she tried to grasp it to find out what it was her head throbbed in pain and the memory fled, just out of reach of her mind's fingers. Cursing her inability to recall or retain memories she turned back to focus on the two men still in the room. They had moved further down the rows, closer to Hermione.

"At least the humans aren't throwing a war. We all know we'd be swamped like we were in the 1940s." The shorter of the two chuckled darkly. Again they moved closer to Hermione. She didn't like this. She needed to leave, having heard enough for today. But could she sneak out without them noticing? Perhaps when their backs were turned...

But whatever her plans for escape had been were cut short when through the door that she had entered, a burly security guard came in.

"There you are you little rascal," he grunted, spotting Hermione immediately. How he had known she was here was beyond her but she didn't stop to consider this.

She let out a little squeak of fear and bolted out from her spot, right past the rows of dead bodies. The two men who had been checking the bodies merely looked in disinterest at her as she ran.

"Hey, don't think you can run!" Called the guard out after her but Hermione wasn't going to stop. She ran in the direction of the doors the men had come from before and instantly regretted it when she saw the doors lead to a blank room. Concrete walls stared back at her and Hermione began to pat the walls in panic looking for something, a secret handle or a door she wasn't seeing. It couldn't be that the room was empty. Where had the two men come from then?

"I told you you couldn't run," the guard said as he strode calmly into the room knowing he had her where he wanted her. Hermione turned to face him, wondering if she could slip past his arms and back out the door she came in through. She eyed him, waiting until he got closer to her. She could use his cockiness in believing she was trapped to her advantage. When he lazily outstretched an arm to grasp her shoulder she ducked under it and twirled around his body, running to the doors. She pushed them open expecting to see the room she had just been in, but instead empty space greeted her. Hermione let out a shriek as she backpedaled, trying to stop her body from propelling forwards. Her arms flapped behind her and she balanced on the tips of her toes, her mouth open in fear as the dark empty chute stared back at her, daring and inviting her to fall in. With what seemed like forever, Hermione was able to regain her balance, finally settling onto the flats of her feet with a big sigh of relief. She had almost not made it. Where had the room from before gone?

"Oh, so now you don't want to run?" Hermione had forgotten the guard was still in the room with her during her bid to regain her balance. "Looks like you need a little start. Allow me." Before she could turn to face him she felt a massive hand on her back and was shoved roughly off of her feet.

"AHHHH!" the cries ripped from her throat, echoing around the dark chute. The guard stood at the top watching her descent, the light of the room he was in growing darker and smaller as Hermione fell deeper and deeper until she was at last only in the dark.

She was going to die for her curiosity! She knew she should have never gone to see the show! But as she continued to fall, eventually Hermione stopped screaming. Her throat had tired out. Where was the end of this tunnel? Would she just continue falling for all eternity? For how long had she even fallen anyways?

She could feel her momentum slowing down and eventually she floated down gently to the ground. She was pretty sure this wasn't how gravity worked on falling objects but she wasn't about to be caught complaining. Where even was she? She was still in a dark place and she placed her hands up, trying to feel her surroundings, hoping to brush her fingers on a wall or something. She wandered like a blind person but couldn't feel anything. A bright light interrupted her search. She turned to where it was behind her. It was coming from a door that had opened up wide. She walked towards the light eager to be out of the dark. Her eyes took a moment to adjust and when she could finally see she saw she was in a hallway. This one wasn't as cheery as the one that connected to her room. This one was gray and drab with plain doors lining the sides. Was this a part of the hotel?

Hermione ventured out into the hallway cautiously, absolute quiet greeting her ears. "Hello?" she asked. "Am I supposed to go somewhere?" What was going to happen now?

Silence greeted her.

I suppose I go forwards from here, Hermione mussed to herself. Now that she wasn't going to face her imminent death she felt a bit more secure, secure enough to go and explore. She walked down the hallway, observing for details or clues of some sort. When she reached the end of the hallway right before turning a corridor, she spotted a note on the floor. She tore it open, reading eagerly for what it said.

You have a date, don't be late

Hermione arched a brow. A date? A date with who? She pocketed the note and continued down, following the natural path of the curves of the hallway. Soon she began to notice a pattern. Every time the hallways made a turn she would find a note on the floor. She picked them up and read them.

Ask you may, a date today?

Then the third one read:

With whom? Why, step into this room

As soon as she finished reading the last word, a door to her right creaked open, beckoning her indoors. She peered in, finding nothing out of the ordinary inside. It was a simple room with a bed, toilet and desk, all in white, a small window letting in light into it. Hermione stepped in, standing in the middle of the room. Now what? There was a singular note on her desk. She ripped it open, wondering if this note would give her some clues to what was going on. Was the mysterious figure leaving them? Were they the ones responsible behind this?

I think you need to think on your actions

You are prone to overreactions

Some time here in this room

will clear your mind

If not, quickly you will find

it will be your tomb

"No!" Hermione cried out in blind panic, hand outstretched as if she could prevent the words written on the paper from coming true. She rushed to the door but it slammed shut before she could reach it. There was no handle to pull on it, to open it up and no amount of pushing, punching, screaming and kicking would get the door to open again. Hermione kept beating at the door for what felt like ages, frustrated sobs escaping her lips. They had trapped her!

At last she gave up when no one came to open the door. She let herself drop to her knees, her hands raw and red as they slide across the unforgiving metal in a prayer to the door to unlock. Hermione sat with a huff on the floor in front of the door, flinging her note angrily away from her. Her throat was hoarse from how much she had screamed for someone to let her out, to open the door. But of course no one would, no matter how much she begged.

What the hell was she to do now?

Tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked them angrily away, willing herself to be strong. There was no use in crying. She had been lured into a trap, she knew that much now. And she was certain this was as punishment for acting out the way she had in the hotel. But it wasn't her fault if she wanted answers. She wasn't going to sit around like some mindless idiot and repeat the same actions over and over.

She let herself lay flat on her back on her floor. Staring up at the white of the ceiling she pondered what her next course of action would be. Surely someone had to come and check up on her. Maybe she could slip past them when they came to open her door? But what if no one came? The note had said this room would become her tomb if she failed to think, to think about her actions. But how would whoever sent her here know if she had repented on her actions? For all they knew she could be faking it. Could she even fake it? Get out on good behavior and then continue to snoop around for the truth?

She let out a long sigh. Her earlier panic at being locked up in this room was fading away when she knew that there was no way of her getting free for now and that she should save her strength for later. Instead she let her mind drift back to the dead bodies in the room. Someone had wanted her to see them and she had but why? What help did that offer in solving the mystery of this hotel, if she could even call it that at this point. What hotel had a morgue?

And there was the clue of the twig the wizard had been holding. It had dredged up something in her, but a block had kept the information from coming to the forefront of her mind. Was the hotel purposefully erasing people's memories? It would make sense. It would explain why Hermione had no clue why she was here and why other people acted so compliantly to the orders given to them. The hotel was trying to lull them into a sense of false security. And it had something to do with waiting. But waiting for what? For the war? The two men had mentioned there was a war going on between the witches and wizards, could this be what the hotel guests were here for? They were herded and gathered like sheep until they could be sent out to the war to take their fallen comrades places? Was the hotel in fact a factory for death?

Hermione bit her lip as her mind slowly analyzed, picked apart and put back together the gathered information in her head. This conclusion didn't seem as solid as she liked. She felt she was still missing something very important. She thought back to the show she had seen, Dante's Inferno. It had heavy themes of heaven and hell. Had the people here been shown that everyday so that when they fought they would be prepared for the afterlife after they were destroyed in the war? Yet again, no. The conclusion felt wrong. If the people here were meant for war then there would have been war propaganda, they would have been training to fight not sitting on their arses and drinking tea as they talked about the weather. The hotel was too calm for that. And the workers in the morgue had mentioned witches, wizards and humans. From the looks of it, a magical being needed a twig to operate their magic and no one that Hermione had seen here had one of those.

Hermione's hand twitched, imagining the twig in her hand...no, not twig but w...wane? Was that the word she was looking for? Shaking her head for it didn't fit the image in her mind she went back to brooding. Certainly there had to be a word for what she was looking for. Maybe she'd find it one day.

Hermione drifted of to sleep when the light outside her window darkened. When she awoke she was still where she had fallen asleep by the door. Her note had been cleaned up, replaced by a tray with juice, bread and another note on it there. She reached for the note first, needing to know what it said. Would she be freed shortly?

Your mind does not waver

Freedom will not be yours to savor

Hermione flung the note aside. Who were they to judge her mindset! If they were trying to break her resolve then they were going about it the wrong way. She'd show them, she'd show them exactly what a Gryffindor was made of!

Gryffindor? What was that? Why had she used that word? Flashes of red and gold danced before her eyes, the symbol of a half lion, half eagle, but what did it all mean? Delving further only gave her pain between the eyes and she dropped the topic. It seemed that whoever had erased her memories hadn't done a good enough job if words like these snuck into her mind. Perhaps with enough time she might even remember more to her past.

And so, determined not to give in to the higher forces controlling her fate, Hermione got ready to wait out her imprisonment.

That was her ten, twenty days, a year ago maybe even but now... now it was different. She couldn't keep track of the days she had been in here any longer. How long were they planning on leaving her here? Her mind was breaking under the lack of stimuli. She was going to lose her mind if she hadn't already! It was all she could do to keep sane under the heavy monotony of this room.

She had taken to scratching out patterns on the walls with a tack she had found under her bed. She had moved her meager furniture around several times and she had tried unsuccessfully to open the door. She had screamed, called for help, beat at it until her hands and feet were bloody and red, but nothing. Nothing except these mysterious trays of food that appeared and disappeared when she wasn't looking. As if by magic. And those blasted notes, with always the same two lines on them: Your mind does not waver/freedom will not be yours to savor.

Even her clothes had changed mysteriously. She no longer wore a dress but a simple white night gown with no mask. Why they had removed her clothes she wasn't sure, but most likely it was to humiliate her. Saying that she didn't deserve the luxury of such nice cloth.

There had been moments when Hermione had been tempted to just give up and adhere to the higher ups demands, but she knew if she did then they would win and she would lose and she couldn't do that. Her pride wouldn't allow her to. Yet she really wanted to leave this room so badly she could taste it. All she wanted was to just go outside and be able to see something new, do something else than sit here and think about how boring her life had gotten. She'd even go to the stupid shows and watch them repeatedly if she could just do anything, something! She craved intellectual stimulus!

She let out a frustrated sob and kicked at her desk, leaving another dent in the side. She had lost her temper a couple times out of frustration and the other times she had willingly raged just for the heck of having something to do. Her mattress had taken the brunt of her ire, spring boxes sticking out and stuffing ripped out. She was about to kick her desk another time when the door to her room swung wide open with a loud creak. She paused in her motions, her mouth gaping in shock as this unexpected turn of events. She craned her neck carefully to see what awaited her and was only confused by the sight that greeted her.

The mysterious figure from before was on the other side. They outstretched a hand towards her, their gold mask reflecting Hermione's cautious face in it. Then they spoke the words Hermione had wished and hoped for, for so, so, so, long.

"I'm here to free you."