Title: Untouchable Face (Absence of Ambrosia)

Author: Amalin

Contact: Amalin32@aol.com

Rating: R

Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on characters and settings in the books of J. K. Rowling. No profit is being made. However, the Purple Crane and all employees save Gil belong to me. The song "I Woulda Loved You Anyway," from which the lyrics are taken, is Trisha Yearwood's.

Summary: When your memory is something that other people play with and your mind their discarded playground, what else can you believe in besides your own reflection? When no recollection is a pleasant one, is it better just to forget? How many new lives are too many, before the past catches up to you? And what do you do when the face in the mirror is no stranger than the dreams you once cherished? What then?


c h a p t e r f i v e -- a b s e n c e o f a m b r o s i a

"...i woulda loved you anyway,
i'd do it all the same, not a second i would change
not a touch that i would trade
had i known my heart would break
i'd've loved you anyway..."

What is love?

It wasn't, Gil mused, anything truly amazing. Or else, if it was, it was especially rare. No fireworks burst forth and no music played; usually, eyes did not meet across a crowded room. It was more of a shadow, an undermining feeling that beat with your heart through your veins until it had reached every inch of your body. A poison.

The strangest things, he remembered. The blue vein so stark against his pale skin, trailing across his shoulder. Maybe you could see it on everyone, Gil didn't know. But Gil remembered tracing his fingers over such a vein on a certain shoulder, and that, perhaps, was what made it so outstanding. The way he flinched sometimes, eyelids fluttering as he was sleeping, as if he feared a blow. It was so different from his usual calm and commanding demeanor. The way the shadows played over the planes in his face at night, when the moonlight danced between the lines in the curtains: was everyone so beautiful then? Or only Lucius?

The quirks remained, imprinted on Gil's mind as if cast in stone. He would eat his cereal dry, without milk, and he liked his toast plain. Because, as Lucius claimed, he liked simple things. This was so unexpected and uncharacteristic that it was somehow endearing.

He could remember the scar just over his ribs: a horrible gash from falling from a tree as a child. Lucius had told the story with a shrug and a faint laugh, though his gaze had flickered at the brief mention of his father carrying him back to the manor. It was silvery and somehow paler than the rest of Lucius' skin; no matter how long the boy spent outdoors, he seemed to retain that porcelain complexion. They would float together on their backs, drifting on the gentle ripples induced by the breeze. Sometimes their knees would bump and a tussle full of splashing and teasing fingers would swiftly follow. Sometimes Lucius would glance over at him as if seeing him for the first time, though he would turn his head when Gil caught him. Sometimes…

Lucius could do a perfect McGonagall impression. He seemed to delight in making Gil laugh. He acted flippantly towards his mother and seemed, most times, to forget she existed; one day, however, Gil had caught the two in animated conversation about - of all things - the growth of tulips. But there had been genuine feeling, not often seen, in Lucius' eyes.

Gil had crept away before he could ruin the moment.

His hair always stuck up the same way after restless nights; messily parted, the left side sticking up slightly more than the right. He had to drench and re-comb it to get it to stay flat. He scoffed at artwork and complained about music; he did, however, commission a miniature portrait of Gil. It had been terribly embarrassing, but Gil had been secretly touched.

How do you know when you're in love?

When you can't get out.

The girl's voice was too cheerful when she said, "Want another?" His groan of assent clashed with the more coherent "no" that sounded behind him. Gil turned.

"It's Sam," the man said eagerly, proffering a hand. "Co-owner of the Purple Crane, thank you very much. If my opinion's unwelcome, my sincere apologies, but you look far, far too drunk to be asking for more."

"Uh…" Gil slumped on the table.

The man whipped out his wand in no time flat, waved it about with a flourish, and declared proudly, "Ennervate!"

Moments later, Sam was grinning eagerly and pumping Gil's hand up and down. "What's that you said? Gil? I'm pleased, I'm pleased. I may not be an expert-" he twirled his wand- "but I can do some useful things. Good to know when you own the Crane."

"The…Crane?"

"You've never heard of the Purple Crane?" A hush fell over their conversation as Sam gaped. "What kind of clean upbringing did you have, boy? Don't tell me! You still think the world is flat and that the streets are safe, don't you!" He shook his head sadly, grumbling, "Kids these days. Grow up in a closet, why don't you."

"I-"

"Sure; excuses, excuses. Now, m'boy, how about a little education?"

"Wha-"

"The Purple Crane is a rich whore house," the girl who had served his drink interrupted, leaning on the counter with a gleam in her eyes. "You know, nice little aristocratic club for those of the well to do who have...er...varied tastes."

Sam blustered back into the conversation, waving away her description with one bejewelled hand. "Now, now, young lady! You don't know anything about it! The Crane, why, Gil, no words can describe!" He paused, and then smiled - a rather predatorial smile. "Would you like to see it?"

-=-=-=-

The battered sign gave no intimation as to the ornate interior, though nearly every wizard knew about The Purple Crane. For such a seedy establishment, it drew in quite the respectable profit. And it's reputation - among the ill reputed - was amazingly large.

"So this is the Purple Crane." Gil ignored the way his stomach churned and glanced about, overwhelmed by the glittering walls and persistent clouds of perfume that lingered long after their owners had gone.

"Indeed." His companion seemed only too willing to expound. "Established in 1925 as a partner of the Purple Heron Pub, we cater to all tastes." Catching Gil's startled look as a woman blew by with her miniature poodle and interpreting it correctly, he chuckled, "Oh, our clientele runs the gamut from young, aristocratic girls to gray-haired old men. Surprised? Everyone appreciates good beauty, you know. And the Purple Crane is one hundred percent Muggle free. People like that. We have, ahem, standards, unlike the Heron."

"Wh-"

"What's the difference? What's the difference? The Heron is for riffraff from the streets, uncouth ruffians with a couple of coins! We serve only the brightest and the best, my boy, the brightest and the best." To Gil's sudden discomfort, Sam grasped him by the elbow and steered him down the hall. "You're very pretty, you know," he continued, changing directions without pause. "Almost androgynous. Great potential, just great."

"Um." Gil squirmed uncomfortably. The office was tinted glass and he twisted out of Sam's grasp as soon as they stepped through the door, sliding into a chair gratefully.

"Now then." Sam clapped his hands, stepping behind the desk and lifting a few papers. "Let's discuss your contract, shall we?"

"My - what?" Looking startled, Gil focused on the floor. "I don't know where you got the impression that I - there's no reason that I'd want a-"

"Balderdash! Of course you do! Why, Gil, it's a simply wonderful opportunity. And you must admit you need it. You told me yourself you weren't so good at magic-"

"I did?"

"-and the only magic you need here is your mouth." Sam chuckled, winking at his own wit. Gil felt rather ill. "Yes, yes, of course you told me; told me all sorts of things on the way over. Said you didn't know what to do after graduation, that you did! Which is why, indeed, that the Crane is just the place for you."

"I just don't know if I'm - if I feel ready for this."

"If you've come this far," Sam said wisely, "you're ready. Deny it all you want, but we're where you belong. Room and board, you know, plus a percentage every month. Can't find a better deal in the country, I promise you." He spoke quickly and Gil could not bring himself to interrupt and tell the man no. "I've just got to ask you a few simple questions. Background check, you know. Parents?"

He answered without thinking, even without pain. "Roger and Penelope Lockhart."

The names were quickly written on a piece of thick parchment. Sam's scrawling hand was not far from illegible, but the parchment soon glowed green. "Pureblood testing, see?" he explained, checking a box on his paper with a flourish. "Nothing against Muggles, you know, only we're a very selective establishment, and our clientele can sometimes be particular. We must provide for the majority."

"I…see."

"Your education level?"

"I - went to Hogwarts, if that's what you mean. I just graduated three months ago." Gil frowned.

The silence in the office was nearly tangible until it was shattered by Sam's excited tone. "You're a Hogwarts graduate? Here?" The expression on his face could only be described as glowing. "My, aren't we a gem. Well and good, then!"

"Er, just curious. Why does it matter? Where you went to school, I mean?"

"Like I said," said Sam importantly, "we have certain standards of excellence. Not just any common rogue can find his way in here." He sounded as if reading a memorized script. "Though not all are adept at magic, you must be cultured, conversational, a well-rounded person as a whole. Many of our employees are bilingual. We are, you see, Gil, the best in our class. The Heron holds no comparison."

"All right…" Gil was, if anything, intimidated by this description, but he said nothing more.

The questions spun off quickly from here. "Age?"

"Eighteen last month."

"Any ailments we should know of?"

"No…"

"Any magical disabilities, problems, or otherwise? You know: werewolf, vampire, we don't let that sort in."

"…no…"

"Any previous experience at similar establishments?"

"…no…"

"Any specific talents?"

Gil's stream of no's stopped here, as his imagination took over. "Um. What?"

Sam chuckled. "You know; can you sing, dance, juggle twenty pineapples, the like. Sometimes it comes in handy, you'd be surprised, really."

"Um…no…"

"Well then!" Sam clapped his hands, cheerily tucking the paper into a nearby file cabinet. "All finished, I believe we are. Here's your key, m'boy - third room on the left. No drugs, illegal or otherwise, no excessive drinking, and no pets. Here's the manual; you'll find all the guidelines in there. Give it a read sometime."

"Er, thanks?" Gil took both items, fingering the brass key warily. He was employed practically before he could blink.

"A few more things. Do you prefer being paid in pounds or Galleons?"

"Galleons?"

"Very good, very good. And you need a name."

"What?"

"Everyone has a name," Sam said impatiently. "No one wants to go as themselves, see? It's really all in good fun. You know - writers take pennames, that sort of thing. Like a nickname. Do you know what I'm saying?"

Gil nodded. He said the first thing that came to mind, painful as it was.

"Wonderful! And one more thing…"

-=-=-=-

"My." The voice startled Gil from his reverie and he glanced up to see an unfamiliar figure reclining in his doorway, one crimson-tipped finger trailing over her lips thoughtfully. "You really are, aren't you?"

"Are what?"

"A Ganymede." She smiled. "When I heard somebody took the name, my curiosity got the better of me. I'm Andromeda, by the way, but call me 'Meda. It's shorter. Nobody else likes mythology." Pale gold curls shimmered as she stepped into the room, arms still crossed. "I'm not intruding, am I? We rarely get newbies here, so everyone's very interested."

"In me?" He sighed, absently picking at a tear in the blanket. "Can you call me Gil? Please?"

Meda shook her head. "You really don't get it, do you? This is the Crane, Ganymede. Why do you think we take names? Nobody wants to be themselves. In a few days, you won't want to be, either." She sat down beside him on the bed, gray eyes surprisingly melancholy. "Not just for us, either. No one comes here to remember. They come here to forget."

"Have you, er, been here long?"

"Only a few months." Catching his frown, she shook her head once more. "You're totally new to this, huh? I was at the Heron before. Compared, this - this is heaven."

"It was that bad?"

Meda laughed, throaty and pleasant. "For being hired, you have a rather idealistic view of things. Haven't you met with Sam yet?"

Gil found himself unable to look at her; the memory of only hours before was brought back in startling clarity.

She was still chuckling. "You're cute, Ganymede. Better get used to Sam; disgusting as he may be, there's a lot more of his like out there. What did you expect? 'Just a little demonstration of those skills, can't hire without knowing.' Don't let it bother you. Now c'mon, I'll introduce you to the rest, if you want." Taking his arm, she led him from the room. "You'll get used to the Crane, too - isn't bad, really. At least there's no crude kids from the street and such, you know? Ever been to the Heron?"

"No." He did, however, suddenly recall Crabbe and Goyle joking about it once.

"Keep it that way. Oi! Diamond!"

Gil found himself face to face with possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Meda was more than pretty, but this Diamond was just that - a diamond. Glittering, opulent, dark curls and red lips - she was the sort of voluptuous woman that haunted men's dreams. And then she was beaming at him and talking rapidly, her voice betraying her Hispanic lineage.

Meda looked amused. "She wants to know if you speak Spanish," she translated, correctly interpreting the confusion on Gil's face. "Apparently not. No. Lo siento, él no habla."

Diamond took Gil's hand nevertheless, squeezing it gently. "I am pleased to meet you," she said haltingly, working with her grasp on English. "You are…Ganymede? I am Diamond."

Ganymede returned the gentle handshake, recovering from his shock at her unexpected demure and almost shy nature. "It's, er, a pleasure to meet you too," he said uncertainly.

"And this is Marius," Meda continued, gesturing to the flamboyant Frenchman who was lounging in a chair, practically drooling as he gazed at Diamond. Smirking, she added, "He might slobber like a dog, but he doesn't bite. Hard, anyway." Exchanging a teasing glare with Marius, she finished, "And this, this is Arizona."

"'Lo there," the girl on the couch opposite Marius said, glancing up from her book for a moment before returning to her reading.

"You just can't put down that book, can you?" Marius snorted, shaking his head. "You've read it a thousand times."

"Six," Arizona countered, rolling her eyes as she set the book down. From his vantage, Gil saw that it was Macbeth. "It's a good book, okay?"

"Sure. Just because we're supposed to be 'educated' doesn't mean I indulge every waking moment in dry English verse."

"Where's everyone else?" Meda asked.

"Orchid's still out, July's um, talking to Sam, I think Rai's in his room. That's all I know." Arizona grinned at Marius, raising a sarcastic eyebrow. "What, you think I don't pay attention to anything but my books? No one else keeps tabs on where people are, and everyone always wonders."

Marius, however, had another thought. "We can call you 'Mede!" he suggested to Gil. "Just like little Andromeda here."

"Mede and Meda, huh?" Arizona, returning to her reading, only smiled into the pages under the cover of her hair.

"Whatever you say, Marius," Meda laughed. "Now come on - I have to go eat something, anyway, 'fore tonight. Di, you have to change - you know that, right? We're hosting Pierre again; he's bringing the Russian Minister. Showing him a good England time, supposedly. Pierre has no qualms about - eh, anything."

Diamond blushed. Though Gil was still getting used to how such a beautiful woman could be as politely timid as she was, he found himself liking her. He'd always expected people like those who now surrounded him to be, well, different, but they were normal. More or less.

"Who's Pierre?" he asked, sitting down next to Arizona as Meda led Diamond out of the room.

"Just another rich bastard," Marius shrugged. "We don't wonder too much in this job."

"He's the biggest patron we have," Arizona said, waving away Marius' pitiful explanation. "Extravagantly rich, and he enjoys wasting it on places like - like this. The money he pours in here, it's unbelievable."

"Money isn't all he p-"

"Shut up, Marius," Arizona interrupted smoothly, tossing her book at him. He caught it, flipping through it skeptically. Tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear, appearing almost the studious Hogwarts student resigned to homework on one winter afternoon, Arizona smiled at Gil. "Marius is right, he is a bastard, but he feeds and clothes and shelters us with all those Galleons, so why complain?"

"It's fine for you," Marius grumbled. "Nobody pays attention to you, what with Di and all."

"I'm off for a shower," she told Gil, ignoring Marius. "Nice to meet you, Mede."

She sauntered out of the room. Marius was grinning buoyantly. "It stuck!" he exclaimed, setting Arizona's book on the table. "See that?"

"Um." Gil wasn't sure he wanted to be call Mede, or Ganymede at all, but it was the first name that had sprung to mind. People don't come here to remember. They come here to forget. So why did the name Ganymede, every time it rang in his ears, remind him of…

"I've been here for three years." Marius ran a hand through his pale hair. "You're new, aren't you? Not from the Heron or anything?"

"No, I - Sam saw me and thought -"

"Where'd you go to school?" Frowning, Marius looked puzzled. "I thought Meda - now this is getting confusing - said Hogwarts, but why would you be here? Hogwarts is top notch! Hogwarts graduates become Aurors and workers in the Ministry, not employees at the Crane."

"Not all of them do." Gil shrugged, forcedly nonchalant. "I didn't exactly graduate at the top of my class, see?"

Marius grinned. "Well, it doesn't matter. I bet Sam was overjoyed for a Hogwarts graduate on the team. It'll look good." His grin twisted a bit sourly, and he added, "Pity you, though, he'll probably boast to Pierre about you all night. Wait'll you meet the bastard."

Dryly, "I can't wait."

Marius stood up, grinning, and clapped him heartily on the shoulder. "You'll get used to it, don't worry. I'd better go change." He paused at the doorway, still grinning.

"Welcome to the Crane, Ganymede."

-=-=-=-

'Meda and 'Mede, as fondly nicknamed by Marius, were from that time inseparable. They even resembled each other at times. Arizona only laughed at the jokes, suggesting innocently that perhaps they were long lost siblings. Though all in fun, the supposition made Gil uncomfortable; Andromeda only giggled and said it was a shame because then they were doomed to have an incestuous relationship - It's the way things always turn out, she proclaimed wisely.

"You don't belong here," she said once, lazily Charming her nails scarlet as she leaned against the wall. "Mede, you listening? You don't belong here."

He was busy staring at the enchanting picture painted outside his window; dusky shadows of clouds raced each other across the french vanilla sky. The night had finally ended, the Crane finally closed. "Does anyone?"

"Well - no, not really. But some of us chose it. Diamond was going to be some asshole's ten-years-junior trophy wife, you know, until she ran away. She begged and sold herself to get to England. Is she happy? I don't know. Is she happier than she would have been? Di'll be the first to tell you sí, sí."

Gil frowned. He thought of Portia, indulging her own eccentricities in her husband's absence. Her shining love for all those around her, those that never loved her back. Was it better never to love at all? Was it better to live a fleeting life of one-night ups and downs, lost in the euphoria of cheap wine and misplaced adoration?

"Arizona came from America," Meda persisted. "Dad left, her mom lost everything in legalities and unemployment. She was battling cancer. She came here to die where she was born, buried in her own land instead of the 'promised land' she'd once fled to. What was Arizona to do; die, too?"

Gil had no answer.

"Marius' father was abusive." Meda was no longer focusing on her nails; her usually dancing eyes were solemn. "'Chid was a starving orphan when Sam found her, years ago. Rai grew up in the Heron; he'll tell you for sure that the Crane's a paradise. Everybody's got a story. The thing is, Mede - we're better off, here."

"What's yours?" Gil glanced over at her, frowning slightly, curious. "Your story?"

Meda, for the first time, would not meet his eyes. She gazed staunchly at the opposite wall and its pitted surface. "I don't talk about that."

"But-"

"I shouldn't have even told you about the others," she snapped sharply. "They know not to reveal their secrets. Sam's the one who told me. We aren't big into the show-and-tell emotions, all right? Please, don't ask."

Gil looked down at his hands. "What did you mean when you said I didn't belong here?" he asked, instead of the questions that flooded to his lips. "You said everyone has a story. Well, I'm part of everyone, aren't I?"

"You're just - not Crane material. No, listen! You're too..." She sighed in frustration. "Okay. Look at it this way. There's the Muggle world, right? And there's the wizarding world. Well, the Crane's like a little world of its own. We're all rather united by our desperation, see, just like the magical world is united by magic. And we've learned to get along here, right? But you - you're like a Muggle stumbling into the wizarding world, you don't quite fit in."

"Is that a...compliment?" he asked hesitantly. He was rewarded with her laughter.

"Maybe." She held up a hand before he could speak again. "Here's a hint, all right? Never offer information, I mean, no volunteering. Don't ever, ever tell your story. We might be united, but we aren't one loving family. We need walls to keep us apart."

"Why?"

"You and your questions," she sighed, shaking her head. "No questions, no answers. You learn in life never to become too close, all right? Remember that. The Crane's like a...a rich refugee camp, and we all work for the aristocracy. Are you a refugee, Ganymede?"

He glanced out the window; the sky was gradually lightening, its pale yellows and periwinkle blending into a buttery sunrise. Fleeing...from what? Life? "Yeah," he said eventually, "I guess I am."

-=-=-=-

He always brushed back his hair with his left hand, even though he was right handed. And he scratched his head when he thought - no one actually did that, but Lucius did. He liked Quidditch only casually and he skipped the bottom step every time he went down the stairs. Without fail.

Strange, what you can remember.

"Have you ever been in love?" Gil asked the room in general.

Marius scoffed. "Love? Sorry, 'Mede, but we don't know that word." He glanced to Andromeda, who looked troubled at the seemingly innocent question.

"We don't talk about that here," she said softly.

"You don't talk about anything here!" Gil retorted, anger suddenly flaring. "Don't talk about the job, don't talk about your past, don't talk about love! Why don't you post a list of rules on the sodding wall?"

"Why don't we?" Marius shot back, eyes hard with indignant rage. "It'd keep people like you from asking stupid questions! There are some things you shouldn't speak of, you know! Things nobody wants to remember!"

"Marius-" Arizona put a restraining hand on his arm, but he shook her off.

"What do you know? Why are you here, anyway? 'Meda's right, you don't belong here! You and your bloody questions!"

"Marius, don't." Meda took his other arm, frowning. "Look, Mede. If you're not here to forget, we can't help you. There's no solace from the pain if you keep on remembering." Looking away as she led Marius' tensed figure from the room, she added, "Go ahead. Remember all you like. But do it quietly, and don't drag the rest of us into it."

Gil watched, perplexed and hurt, as the three exited. Arizona sent him a sympathetic glance as she left. Orchid and Rai swiftly followed, refusing to meet Gil's eyes.

"What if you can't forget?" he asked quietly of himself, blinking away the steady film of moisture that misted his eyes. There was a hand placed gently on his arm.

"You aren't ready for here." Diamond smiled hesitantly at him. "You have hope. You have love. These don't exist at the Crane."

Gil only sighed. "You aren't going to get up and leave?"

Diamond giggled. "No, señor. I was as you are once. I…" She looked down. "Meda said about me?"

Frowning, Gil nodded hesitantly. He wasn't sure he was supposed to reveal that Meda had told him, but - "All she told me was that you were fleeing an arranged marriage in Spain. And gave all you had to get here."

"I left mi amor there," she said softly, delicate hand still a comforting weight on Gil's arm. "But I could not stay. Either way, I would lose him." Dark eyes regarded Gil solemnly, bruised sorrows and unshed tears. "I choose freedom, Ganymede." Her tongue still tangled with his name. "We can't choose always the things we most want."

"But-"

"You love someone?" she asked gently. "I see it in your eyes."

"I - yes, I - but we got in an argument." Aware of how petty that sounded, he added lamely, "A big one."

"Love does not come with guarantee," Diamond told him. "You love, and that makes everything perfect? No. We are human."

"It wasn't a little mistake," he sighed, and he looked away. "He - he became a Death Eater."

Diamond's eyes widened. "For You-Know-Who?"

Gil nodded. "And he kept saying, 'I'm still the same person.' But I tried to convince myself that he was different, he was someone else, someone I couldn't…possibly…"

"To forget is not simple," she replied. "They pretend so, sí, but it is not. We all dream of other lives. We all nurture the smallest hopes to stay alive. It is only the outward view of not caring we put on." Squeezing his hand, she noted, "We put on many costumes here, de veras? But we are same underneath. So it is with you. So it is with your love."

"You mean I should have - I should have stayed?" asked Gil. "It was two years ago, I-"

"Dos años?" she exclaimed quietly. "And still it troubles?" Gil nodded, and Diamond sighed. "No, I think you did right. Inside, you think so tambien, sí? But you do not need to forget. To forget holds pain too."

"Worse than remembering?"

"Later, you reminded and it comes back. Then is when it hurts, Ganymede. Then is when the true pain is. We do not talk about it, pero…" She faltered. "I am happy, yes. More than I was happy. You will be happy enough. Life - love - is not easy. Only - hold your memories. They too hold happiness for you."

The clouds Lucius pointed out were never what Gil saw; a roaring sphynx, perhaps, or a Muggle plane. He hated the smell of rain but had a certain fondness for splashing with Gil through the puddles, no qualms about the robes he might be spoiling. He never used an umbrella. They kissed in the middle of the field while the storm raged around them, caught on the way back from the lake in the deluge. They-

The question was not if Gil would always remember the little details, but if those details would disappear without anyone to notice. Lucius was, after all, becoming his father; wasn't he? How far, how far did that go?

"I don't think I want to forget," he realized, looking up at Diamond's sad smile. "Right?"

"Do it quietly," she advised, smiling at him. "You all right now, are you?" Gil nodded and she squeezed his hand once more before rising. He could not help noticing the elegant way she still held herself, the posture, the gentle gestures, the slightly tilted chin. She could have been a fine lady, this porcelain doll, and yet she claimed greater happiness…here?

"Th - thanks, Diamond."

She flashed him one more fleeting smile as she paused at the door. "You call me Gabriela and I call you Gil, sí?"

Before he could answer, she had gone.

-=-=-=-

"Ugh," Meda said tiredly, lifting her hair heavily from her neck. "This is impossible! I should have Marius work with you."

Gil looked stricken. "No, er. You're doing good. I'll get it-"

Meda laughed wholeheartedly, fiddling with the record player. "What?" she demanded, grinning. "He's a great dancer, Marius is." The music filled the room once more, and she frowned. "You have to actually move, Mede, that's the point! No, your ruddy hips...like this...no, not like that! I think the goal is to look appealing, not like a puppet made of sticks. Yeah...yeah...right...stop blushing! Damn it, stop blushing!"

He kept on blushing and stopped moving, looking bashfully apologetic. "I - I can't help it. You don't get it, I hate when people watch me, I-"

She walked over to him, put her hands on his shoulders, and glared. "Look at me. You work at the Crane. There is no such thing as shy."

Gil kept on blushing.

"Try it again, okay?"

"Why are you so determined to teach me how to dance?" he asked. "Er. This kind, I mean."

"'Cause you're my long lost brother," she teased, and put the record back on. He had to admit, she was good at what she did - even Diamond, who was transformed by the presence of patrons into a much different, less timid woman, could scarcely match up. She even had the whole lick-you-lips move down, the right look in her eyes. "Yeah...no, that way...right! Don't think about it and you won't blush, okay? Think about something else."

He thought about Lucius. Consequently, he stumbled. And blushed.

"Mede..." she began, mock threateningly, when the door was flung open.

"Ganymede!" Sam exclaimed cheerfully, nudging his way into the room. "Just the boy I was looking for! Er, hello, Andromeda." She discreetly turned the record off. "It's almost evening, Meda, why don't you go get ready? Now, Ganymede. Have I got a job for you."

"Er..."

Meda gave him a sympathetic wink and sauntered out the door. He was left with Sam's overly cheerful expression. "There's a man here," he said carefully, "called Asher Canning. D'you know who he is?"

"He's a...a Ministry member, isn't he?"

"Assistant to the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation!" Sam exclaimed. "Said he was referred here. See, there's, eh, this masquerade party tonight, it's all hush hush but extremely important; you know, for the well to do. Our usual customers?" He waggled his eyebrows.

"And?" Gil prompted.

"And he needs a...an escort," Sam continued carefully. "You're the lucky devil, well, you or Marius."

"I-"

"The Ministry, boy! Think of the money! Think of the prestige!" He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "I heard that it's a Death Eater ball," he added. "Rumors, of course, and how they fly, but..."

He wasn't exactly sure if he agreed verbally or only nodded, wasn't sure at all how he came to be wearing the too-large costume of some Greek hero - presumably close enough to a Ganymede - and he most certainly was not sure how he came to be - blushing thoroughly all the while - practically jogging to keep up next to the well-on-his-way-to-being-drunk Ministry official as they entered the elaborate hotel that was hosting the party.

But he was.

Mr. Canning was a middle aged man with watery eyes and a habit of lurching while he walked - or perhaps that was the wine. He chuckled, patting Gil on the shoulder much as he would a lowly office assistant or a young student, but he seemed quite pleased at Sam's suggestion of the boy.

He was also dressed impeccably in Muggle clothes, from the shining shoes to the neatly pressed tie. When asked what he was in costume as, he would say the President of the United States.

Most wizards found this hilarious.

It was a torrent of people, young and old, male and female, all costumed and laughing and clutching to their expensive drinks. The surroundings were far more glittering and opulent than the forced riches of the Crane, a genuine mingling place of the high upper class. Gil was soon lost in the flood. The whirlwind of people passed him by, shuddering around him in clouds of perfume and expensive silks, stressed accents and pasted smiles. His head spun, sensory overload, champagne euphoria and drowned sorrows mingling in the melancholy chords of the orchestra.

A gap in the crowds parted for a moment and Gil realized he had lost his "partner," then realized again that it did not much matter. If Asher really wanted to find him, he would.

He was looking at the impassive bone-white of a skeleton; a medieval woman with flowers in her hair soon stood in his place. Another couple glided past, a nymph of sorts and a towering pirate. The colors and fragrances and swirling people all mingled into a kaleidoscopic haze. He felt faint.

The music shifted and the crowd did as well, gallivanting in rainbow blurs and faked laughter. There was a pause - or at least it seemed so to Gil - and a familiar face confronted him, unadorned by any mask, stark gray gaze tinted with surprise.

"Gil?"

He, too, was surprised. But a part of him had expected it, dreaded it, waited for it for so long that he was almost prepared.

He still felt faint.

"Lucius."

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Belated A/N: Wow, long chapter - and the second within 24 hours! But both were already mostly written, so it's not surprising I posted them almost together. After writing this at such a breakneck speed, I'm taking a looong rest...heh. I do tend to write in spurts, though, so I have a lot of little scenes done. I'll be out of town for a few days starting Wednesday, so this is probably the last update for a week or so. For Rhi and Sky and bluchocobo and Quoth the Raven (Discworld? Quoth is the best character! You rock! ^-^), many thanks!

Angst most definitely upcoming.