Welcome back, guys and gaias! This was a difficult chapter to make happen. Aside from Microsoft word eating everything but the Hermione pov section at the beginning twice, real life tended to take over. However, my Muse returned in full force Saturday night et voilá! Lots of angst, costumes and dancing. If you've ever heard a band called "The Changelings," the music at the Masquerade sounds suspiciously familiar. Look for some "Princess Bride" references, some "Romeo + Juliet" imagery, maybe some "Rent" and "West Side Story" similarities.

As always, hugs and love for my amazing, ficlet producing, angst-encouraging beta-reader of doom, Valkyrja. It's all good.

Disclaimer: Oh, you foolish people, to think I, the lowliest author the South has produced, might own anything at all related to the magnificence that is Harry Potter. I am agog and aghast at such a supposition. JK Rowling, the most amazing one, owns all of them…I just make them angst-ridden.

**********

Chapter III:
Masks

"Masquerade, paper faces on parade...
Masquerade, hide your face
So the world will never find you..."
~Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber, The Phantom of the Opera

So you asked me, and so I said yes, and as if that wasn't bad enough, I hate myself for lying to you like this. For lying to the world like this. And as I stare at that glittering topaz on my left hand, as I contemplate writing the letters home, as I listen to the congratulations echoing through the Tower, I think I'm this much closer to hating you, Ronald Weasley. I don't even fancy topaz, but you didn't bother to consider that. Granted, it's perfectly lovely. And yes, it is similar to the colour of my hair in the sunlight. But it isn't me, Ron. I like sapphires. But like red roses, you put this gem on my hand because you love it, not because I do. Is that what life is going to be from now on? We do what you like because you like it? No matter how many times I told you otherwise, red roses. And now topaz. Ron, didn't you even think to ask Ginny what I like? Or did you simply decide and charge in like a tiger after its prey? Harry could have told you that I love blue, as could Ginny. They could have both told you, because they still listen to me, even if you don't. You hear me, but you don't listen. And that makes all the difference in the world. You never hear what I say anymore, Ron. I'm your ornament, now. Your little wife, bought with propriety, her own cowardice and a damn topaz. My world is shattering around me. And all I can do is whinge about your choice of stone. Is this Fate? Did someone somewhere decide that I was going to go through with this for their own perverse pleasure? Did they decide to cheat you out of a loving wife and me out of a chance at happiness? We're both loosing here, Ron. You think you've gained the world in me. I see this for what it is. It's a death sentence for me. In a movie you've never seen because you've never bothered to learn about the Muggle world, a princess is being forced into a marriage while her true love is being tortured. She says to her pig of a fiancé, "If I must go through with this wedding, know that I shall be dead by morning." Now I understand why she said it. Ginny and Harry were the only ones who weren't loopy with joy for the two of us. Ginny knows better, I think. Once you live with a girl, she knows you fairly well. All she has to do is see the fanatic gleam in your eyes and the emptiness in mine. Ginny knows. And she'll never say anything to you, Ron. She thinks I need to have more pluck. Maybe she's right. And Harry…Harry has his own reasons none of us can fathom. He's always been like that, since we first met him. He's something we can never understand, and because we can never understand him, because we know he needs us, we love him all the more. He's vulnerable beneath all that armour, beneath being "The Boy Who Lived." I used to think he fancied Ginny. Now I'm not so sure at all. He had a hungry look in his eyes as he looked from Ginny to me. He clasped your hand, gave me a hug, and then merely stared at Ginny for a moment. I swear they talk without words. Then, Harry was gone. Now I'm left to plan a wedding. A wedding I wish I never have to endure. How do I tell my folks? They'll know this isn't right. They'll make me explain why I'm getting married to you, and I can't because I don't even know myself anymore. I don't know anything, save that I'm miserable and I don't know how to open my mouth to you except to say "yes" and "no" when conversation calls for it. I'm some kind of puppet, a doll with no spirit anymore. Just dress her up, put her on Ron's arm all in white and send her down the aisle to the altar. But is it marriage or sacrifice? I wish I were dead. I'd rather die than go through with it. Dear God, what have I done...?

Ginny bustled in the room she and Hermione shared in the Gryffindor Tower. She was resplendent in soft, flowing azure robes sparkled with silver, silver ribbon giving the bodice shape, accenting her curves as well as the low cut of the costume. With her tiny azure and silver slippers, as well as the silver swirls across her bare skin, it was fairly obvious she was dressed as a loose interpretation of a naiad. Her red hair was laced with silver glitter, and an azure and silver mask fitted over most of her face, glittering with swirls and waves as she smiled at her reflection. A little bit of perfume, something cool and mysterious, and she was done, ready for the Masquerade. Confident in her appearance, she called out, "Mione? If you don't let me do your hair, we're never going to get there on time!"

Hermione emerged from behind her bed where Ginny had been unable to see her. A fairly simple white dress of satin flowed across her form. It left her shoulders bare, came to an empire waist, and then cascaded to the floor. The neck, little puffed sleeves and the hem were all trimmed in a shimmering gold. But the crowning achievement of the ensemble were the white wings on Hermione's back that seemed to shimmer gold in the light as well. Ginny had to admit that where she was alluring, Hermione was breath taking. "Is everything all right?" Hermione asked tentatively, and Ginny nodded mutely.

"Let me get your hair up, then we'll get the mask on. And once we enter the Great Hall, no-one knows us from Pansy Parkinson until midnight," Ginny told her as Hermione took the bench at the vanity, and Ginny began the laborious task of pulling up Hermione's hair. However, with some charms and a little bit of smoothing potion, the work was accomplished in what Ginny thought was good time for the effort required. Braided and coiled for the most part, with tendrils left to fall about Hermione's face, Ginny helped her settle the mask on her face, a concoction of white feathers and gold that covered her face from her nose up to her forehead. Almost as an afterthought, Ginny selected a small white vial of perfume and dabbed a little at Hermione's throat, wrists and temples. "Beautiful. Just beautiful, Mione. I told you that you would be."

"Do you really think so, Gin?" Hermione asked, her voice a mixture of emotions Ginny couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Of course I do!" Ginny replied with a gentle, ginger hug to avoid mangling the wings. "Now let's go, or we're going to miss all the fun."

The Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle had always been decorated for Halloween in such as fashion as to inspire awe, and every year crowned the year before. However, most agreed that this year's decorations for the masque were beyond expectations. The ceiling glittered with diamond stars set in a midnight blue velvet sky, a full Harvest moon lustrous as it slowly glided towards its apex in the night sky. The walls were hung with tapestries of darker shades of each House's colours, draped around candelabras and covered with silver spider webs. The ghosts were out and about, their silver forms luminous in the shadowed recesses of the hall. In each niche were usually torches lit the Hall, there were found elaborate jack-o-lanterns instead, each beaming with malevolence. Bats fluttered across the hall, and it seemed a great many of the owls had come to join in the festivities. A combination of a chamber orchestra and a contemporary band, clad in the most Gothic fashions the wizarding world as well as the Muggle could provide, filled the hall with music that was ethereal and haunting.

Slowly, sometimes alone, sometimes in clusters, students began to arrive. Though they came to the doors of the Great Hall grouped, they entered alone, and a curtain of magic descended, allowing only the knowledge of one's own costume to shine in one's memory. Dumbledore had decided a night of pure anonymity might prove beneficial in a time when it seemed House tensions were higher than usual. True enough, the competition between the Houses, Slytherin and Gryffindor particularly, was fierce, and there had been more than one injury on the Quidditch field and in the halls. Yet that ceased to matter as the magic of Halloween swept up the students of Hogwarts in her embrace. The decision to include only the upper level students, sixth and seventh years, was a sensible one. After all, they needed the break from studying more than the others, and the seventh years especially clutched at every memory they could take from Hogwarts. Dumbledore, as always, was more than willing to oblige.

Hermione arrived towards the end of the influx of people, as Ginny predicted. With a squeeze of her friend's hand, Hermione slipped in the Great Hall, and into anonymity. Her wings were slightly difficult to navigate, and to her surprise, she garnered more than one admiring glance, sometimes stares. Hermione had forgotten what it was like to be admired, or so it felt to her. She was so used to Ron and his obliging, expected comments. Or, she corrected herself mentally, the lack thereof. She glanced down at her hand, and frowned. She wasn't going to think of that tonight. It was barely nine. She had three hours to be no-one. She had three hours to be herself, not Ron's girlfriend-no, Ron's fiancée. And she was going to take full advantage of that fact, come hell or high water. After all, Hermione reasoned, she might never have the chance again.

The music was intoxicating, dream-like, adding to the haze of the evening, and despite initial inhibitions, couples began to take to the floor. The dances for the most part were slow, almost formless, allowing the costumed revellers to glide across the floor like mist. Hermione was hardly neglected. First, a dance with a Phantom of the Opera character who kept coming back for song after song, leading with startling grace and agility on the floor. A Viking asked for a dance, and despite his shock of red hair, she was reminded of Viktor Krum for a long moment. However, when his poor dancing skills showed their colours, Hermione supposed she was dancing with Ron, though she wasn't really certain. Mask after mask, beast and fiend, domino and dragon, idol and champion, all spinning her around the floor in a miasma of rhythm, laughter and motion.

It was when Hermione was about ready to give up dancing for the evening that her last partner showed himself. Hermione hadn't seen his costume as she danced, and as she sat, gathering herself, he came out of the crowd. No-one seemed to notice particularly much, and neither did Hermione until he spoke.

"Will an angel consent to dance?" he asked her quietly, and Hermione looked up at him at the sound of his voice. A knight in silver was holding out his hand to her. On his shoulders and arms was the traditional plate mail, coming down to his wrists, leaving his hands in black leather gloves. The costume continued in a tunic of silver chain mail, black breeches and black knee boots. A silver mask obscured his face, and a black cloak was swirled over one shoulder, giving him an air of drama.

Hermione could only stare for a long moment at this knight errant, listening to the ethereal waltz beginning in the background. Then she smiled, almost radiantly so, and put her hand in his gloved one. That was all the response that was needed, for he gently pulled Hermione to her feet and out onto the floor. White wings and a black cloak, gold mask reflected in silver, two perfect opposites swirling in perfect waltz time around the Great Hall. Hermione felt as if her heart had to be in time with this mysterious knight as well, so perfectly did they match time. "You dance well," she murmured.

"It's easy when you have an angel for a partner," came his soft reply, and Hermione puzzled over who at Hogwarts would speak to her, or any girl for that matter, like that. She flushed crimson, the colour starting high in her cheeks behind the mask and cascading down her throat. "An angel who blushes, too."

"Too often," she said softly, and he chuckled softly.

"Hardly. From what I can see, it's becoming."

Hermione laughed softly, as did her knight, the sound soft and oddly silver, much like his costume. The rest of the waltz passed in relative silence, Hermione lost in eyes that seemed so oddly familiar. Her hand felt tiny in his cool gloved one, and she could tell beneath the armour he was slight and wiry. He was built like a Seeker, or a dancer. Not like Ron she reflected for a moment. Ron had grown into his position as Beater, his arms getting thicker with muscle and effort every year. Harry was wiry, just like her knight. A thought struck Hermione, and she almost lost the three count of the dance. What if this was Harry, this mysterious knight errant in black who had appeared with sweet words and a gentle grace? Get a grip on yourself, Hermione. This is no time to spout poetry. Yet something in her wanted it to be Harry, wanted it to be someone she could trust. Perhaps he hadn't been so approving of Ron's announcement. Perhaps it wasn't Ginny he fancied so much after all…but these were mad thoughts brought on by a shade of ignorance and the sheer desperation she felt. It couldn't be Harry, no-one knew anyone else. He couldn't have picked her out of the crowd...could he?

The song, like all beautiful things, came to an end, and like the other couples on the floor, the knight bowed to Hermione, and she returned the courtesy with a low curtsey. "Would you care to go for a walk?" he asked softly. "Midnight's going to come soon, but I don't particularly fancy dancing with anyone after dancing with you."

Hermione took up his arm as well as his offer. "In any other circumstances, that would be far from charming."

He smiled as he let her through the doors of the Grand Hall first. "Amazing what anonymity will do."

Once more, Hermione felt colour flush her cheeks and her throat, but as an unspoken answer, she laced her arm into the proffered one of her mysterious knight. As they left the Great Hall, Hermione noted that nothing changed, unlike when she had entered. She was at once both curiously disappointed and glad. Disappointed that this knight would be no sooner revealed to her, and glad that she remained a mystery to him. She didn't want the look in his eyes to change when he saw her not as this angel, but as Ron's Fiancée. Not Hermione Granger, but an extension of one of the Gryffindor Beaters. That thought ate at Hermione as they walked. There were other couples about as they left the castle proper for the cool comfort of the grounds, but each were wrapped up in the words and the embrace of their partner that one more pair of revellers didn't seem to matter. It had been that way, once, reflected Hermione. She and Ron had been inseparable, true friends and devoted companions. She'd listened to every word from his lips, and he had shared her every dream. They'd been as two halves of the same whole, yet things changed. Times changed, and as they grew older, he grew more possessive, more protective. The Dream Team turned into Ron and Harry with Hermione as back up, to make sure she didn't get hurt. She was kept back, safely, as if she was going to break. And now that she was going to break, now that she felt as if she was being ripped apart, she was on the front lines. And ironically, the man who swore he'd protect her was the one doing the most damage. As in all things, there was nothing fair about it, but that was the was the story was going. Hermione knew better than to try and fight, than to upset everyone. Perhaps that was her mistake, she reflected, for being so unwilling to rock the boat. Her parents had even noticed how quieter she'd gotten, how less willing to speak out, to make her presence known. It was only now, with her history written and her future hardening into place that Hermione saw her own downward spiral. Was there anything she could do about it now that it all seemed nearly over?

"You seem so far away," came her knight's voice, and Hermione was startled back to reality.

"Do I?" she asked softly.

"Very." They had reached the edge of the lake. It was one of Hermione's favourite spots to go when she wanted to be alone, and she'd spent many an afternoon in the spring out on the gnarled root of a tree, studying or just enjoying the quiet. Now her knight chose it to be with her, and Hermione sat on the gnarled root as she had a thousand times before, only this time she deftly navigated her wings. He sat next to her, keeping far enough away that Hermione could tell he had some manners and wasn't out with her for more carnal purposes. "You could talk to me, if you wanted to."

Hermione hesitated. She couldn't just spill all her troubles with Ron out to a stranger. But what if this was Harry? The thought came unbidden, and Hermione contemplated it for a long moment. If this was Harry, she could tell him. There was no-one else at Hogwarts with a build like him, who cared for people like he did. This had to be Harry. If it wasn't, Ron would find out about her unhappiness through the rumour mill. At least he would find out, she thought glumly, and that was enough to make her speak. "Have you ever started something wonderful and become so swept up in it, nothing else matters? And when things start to go bad, you don't see it until it's too late? Then you're stuck, you don't know how to get out of it, you don't know what it's like to be happy, and overall you're just...smothered."

Her knight looked at her for a long moment. "I think I can find something similar in my past, angel."

"Can you? I'm terribly sorry if you can."

"I am, too."

His voice sounded oddly empty, almost cold for a moment, and Hermione shivered. She wondered absently if normal people had these many problems, if she would have had so many problems had she always been a Muggle. Issues, it seemed, came part and parcel with the wand.

"Look up at the moon," he said softly, the cold, empty tone gone now. "I often wonder how many people are looking at that same moon all over the world. And for how many people, it's the last moon they'll ever see."

Hermione shivered. "Such dark thoughts."

"When a person wears black, they're rarely all sweetness and light," he quipped.

Hermione shivered again, and looked away. "I suppose not," she finally said lamely, feeling somewhat unsettled.

"Don't stop talking," he finally said. "There's more to this, I know."

Hermione sighed. "It's been going on forever. Everything was delightful at the beginning, or I was simply a fool. A fool who fancied herself in love. But I'm not anymore, and now he's asked for a commitment, and I made it. I don't know why I did! I didn't know how to say no. I didn't know how to say anything other than what he expected of me. I know I'm a coward. And I whinging about it to you instead of doing anything about it. I hate myself for that, and I resent him even more." Hermione felt tears pricking at her eyes. "It's as if I don't exist to him anymore, not properly, not unless it's convenient for him and it looks good. And yet he prattles on. Do you know, he never once used my name all last year and all this year? He didn't even use my name when he proposed!" Tears began to slip from her eyes, running down her cheeks and the inside of her mask, dripping off the gold to drop on the satin of her dress, spotting it darker with sorrow and desperation.

"I didn't mean to make you upset," he said, softening, and he reached out to gently take Hermione's hand. With the other, he retrieved a handkerchief and wiped at the tears delicately, concern in his eyes as he looked into her.

"I have no idea who you are, and I just spilled all of this..."

He silenced her by placing a gentle finger to her lips. "I get the feeling no-one knows who you are. Do you always wear a mask? I'm certain I've never seen you before, not here."

Hermione shook her head. "I've been here for seven years."

"As have I. And I should know you. You've dazzled me. You're every bit of light and goodness I've ever seen, and yet, your eyes are so sad."

"Yours, too," she told him. "Sad. Almost empty sometimes, glittering others, but always sad, always distant." He was staring into her eyes, and she was more than willing to return the gaze.

"I know we know each other. That wasn't a dance, that was..."

"A walk in the clouds," she finished softly.

"A waltz in the clouds," he corrected her.

"It was like a dream. I've never danced with anyone like that."

"You were happy, too. I'm glad you were happy. You need to be happy more often. You need to smile and blush, and be radiant like you were when I asked." He was barely centimetres away now, and Hermione tightened her grip on his hand.

"I'd forgotten how to be happy," she whispered.

"Then let me show you how," came his infinitely soft reply as he bridged the gap between them to press his lips to hers in a tender, gentle kiss. Hermione had never tasted anything as sweet as his kiss. It was like honey touched with cinnamon, a spice at the edge of delight. She slipped her arms about him, clinging to him as if she were a drowning sailor and he her life preserver. She felt him hold her as well, press her to him, sheltering her from the world so filled with troubles. It was achingly warm, and it left Hermione dizzy. When he broke the kiss, she refused to let him full away, bringing her lips to his, clutching tenaciously to the only touch of passion, of tenderness and longing she'd felt in so long.

The clock in the Great Hall struck midnight, the chords ringing out through the castle and across the grounds. The magic of the evening began to shimmer and fade, leaving reality to come into focus. Hermione looked up into the eyes of her knight, and felt her heart jolt in her chest.

"You?" she whispered, her arms still about his neck.

"You?" came his response, and Hermione was surprised at the shock with which it was delivered, not vehemence. "I...I don't know what to say..."

Hermione was simply left speechless as she stared into the silver eyes of Draco Malfoy.

**********

Next chapter: Ever see "West Side Story"? Remember what happened when Nardo caught Maria kissing Tony? Good. Prepare for something similar. Accusations, realisations, complications and misinterpretations occur all over the place. What does a Weasley do when he catches his fiancée in the arms of his arch-nemesis?

Portia: keep the home fires burning for the H/R camp. They will be needed in the chapters to come. A. Spinnet: good deduction! We all wear masks, and Hermione wears more than most people. But what about her knight? Glad you like it so much, and hopefully your Muse will work with you and mine with me. Catherine: of course angst is not a surprise with me! It's me! Griff: the shattering begins. Keep reading and the pieces continue to fall.