(A/N: Heh, I'd like to add that I have read the Odyssey by Homer, and in
case you were wondering, that's where I got Circe from. I believe in the
Odyssey she was portrayed as light haired, but in my story, she's dark
haired. Live with it. Notice the connection of the class turning into
animals? I felt like doing that, lol. Well, here's what you want!
Another chapter! A rather long one, too! Think of it as a good thing.)
Chapter Seven
The warm September days rolled on into chilly October as the daylight hours slowly decreased, with the trees shedding their beautiful orange and gold foliage. I had started Quidditch practice again, and had given the whole school something to marvel upon. Finally, the glory of owning something so wanted was mine!
I looked up to the sky (or rather, ceiling) as the owls brought the morning post to us. I caught sight of my bundle of homemade sweets, and a wave of relief rushed over me; mother was well enough to make them. But there was something else dropping onto my plate of sausages and pancakes that was shaped very conspicuously.
I knew immediately what it was. It was long and thin, wrapped in silver and green paper to make a show of this package. Also realizing what I had gotten, the whole of the Slytherin table at breakfast crowded around me. Unable to suppress a grin, as I took my time to irk the bystanders, I pulled the paper off lowly and neatly.
It was a Nimbus Millennium.
Even Celeste looked stunned at this new arrival to the breakfast table. I tried to look unsurprised, though I was quite amazed that father had bought it for me after my embarrassing brush with Potter, as I stood up and excused myself, to take my latest valuable to a safe place.
"Malfoy's got a Millennium!" I heard students whispering as I walked by at a slow strut to show off my broomstick, with my head held high and my nose in the air. I was careful to throw a glance at Potter, Granger, and Weasley, who were watching me with grate looks of distaste.
"I do hope those with brooms like a Firebolt will be able to keep up!" I said loudly to Goyle, who guffawed stupidly as Potter rolled his eyes. I heard Weasley make a comment, but couldn't quite hear what he said. Weasley happened to be full of surprises; with the loss of Oliver Wood, the old Gryffindor keeper, he managed to worm his way into a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. No doubt Potter had worked his magic; he was also the Quidditch captain.
After carefully locking my Millennium in my mahogany trunk, I found my way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Circe was becoming nothing short of entertaining lately. She had told us all about memory charms, the Imperius curse, and had also noted that after reading my essay, I was very unfamiliar with the self I should know very well.
"We have been spending the year with your minds," Circe said, tapping her fingers against her side as the class watched her move gracefully across the room. "And I see no reason to change course. You have not proven to me that you show an interest in defense against the Dark Arts, and until you learn about the terror you are truly getting yourself into, we shall not continue."
I groaned in my head. Hadn't she understood yet that we were Slytherins, those who commonly favored the Dark Arts? It must have been a strange thing in her mind, trying to teach those unwilling to learn. It was a job that I never would bargain for, even if it paid higher than father's job, which was a very high salary.
"Your inner self is proportioned into two basic parts," Circe said, looking e straight in the eyes, so she caught my attention. She wanted me to listen. "Your good and bad consciences are two separate minds, in their own sense, yet they live in one body. Your body. In certain people, the good and bad halves can be separated, yet your mind will always connect both sides, in a connection.
"When the good is taken away from the bad in the host mind or body, the evil side is the prominent side. When taken away, the good will form a body of its own, much like a human. But this new person, if you call the new being that, becomes very close to the other half, but will only be capable of good. However, if perchance this purely good life form perishes, a cursed life will ensue on the killer and the person to whom the good conscience belonged will be haunted with dark thoughts, and thoughts of guilt their entire lives."
I was taking notes, as Circe liked us all to do. As the bell was about to ring, Circe settled at her desk, and gave the final comment, "Mister Malfoy, I would like to see you after class." I groaned, and nodded to her, as she shook back a sheet of black hair. Crabbe and Goyle were watching me, which was a signal of their feeble minds; they didn't know if they should wait for me or not.
"Follow Celeste," I said to them, chucking my quill inside my bag, not bothering to look up at them. When the bell rang moments later, I could tell by the heavy thumping of their dragging feet they were wandering aimlessly out of the classroom, to face the world by themselves.
"Mister Malfoy." Circe said once the classroom was empty. She beckoned me over to her desk, and as if against my will, I stood up, leaving my school supplies behind to stand in front of her. "I believe there are some questions you would like to ask me." Her green eyes were burning into my cold blue-gray ones, threatening me to answer her.
"Well." I started. "How do you know so much about me? And how do you know my father?" It all just came pouring out of me. I didn't mean to ask so many questions at once, and I actually didn't mean to ask any at all, but something inside me had seemed to make me.
"One at a time, please," Circe said in return, leaning back in her chair. I nodded. "I know so much about you because I take the time to research something on nearly everyone in the wizarding world, that has once lived. You wonder, then, why I was not a teacher for History of Magic? There is no open post, Mister Malfoy. Why do I do it? Because, to succeed in the world you must know as much as you can about everyone-your friends and enemies alike.
"I have, as you noticed, had a personal experience with your family, your father in particular. I know more about you than you do, Draco." She paused for a moment, to allow my brain to digest what I had just heard. There were a variety of things I did not understand; why did Circe feel she needed to know about everyone? And now she said she had an experience with my family.
"It isn't quite what you would think," she said with a smile. "As I said, I know nearly all there is to know about your family, after an incident with your father. I have no motive to turn your family in, but I know perfectly well that your father is a Death Eater."
She expected me to comment, judging by the look on her face, but I kept silent; the best defense in the books. After keeping her eyes steadily burning into mine, she continued, with a look of bemused delight on her face. The only teacher I had ever seen look so delighted was the Mad Eye Moody imposter, who had gotten such a look in his eyes (both of them) when I was a white ferret, bouncing off the floor.
"I'm not a very social person," Circe said softly. By her looks, I never would have guessed it. "I do not delight in large crowds, and as you may have noticed, I do not dine with the rest of the school, but alone in my chambers. For all my life, I have had an isle where I made my home, with wild animals, and the beautiful, unblemished surroundings.
"Yet I kept up with all news that came. I was determined to stay out of the toil Lord Voldemort had started. It was not my business. But yet, there are those determined to break the silence, for their own benefits."
Circe shook her head, and looked me up and down. I was starting to fear her, though I would never admit fear to anyone living. "Hungry for more power, who should come to my peaceful residence, but Lucius Malfoy? Yes, your father. He was willing to betray Voldemort on account that I sided with him, and started my own branch of evil."
I stared at Circe for a moment, trying to get my brain to absorb everything again. Father betray the Dark Lord? Ask for Circe's hand in ruling? It all seemed so unbelievable! Yet Circe left me no more time to collect my thoughts.
"Though it was such an enticing offer, I turned your father down." Circe said, leaning forward again and folding her hands over. "This was years before you were born, Draco. He was a young man then, eager for power beyond that of Lord Voldemort. Though clever he was to think of me, I turned him down, for peace and tranquility that I so treasured in my world."
"You're mad!" I said, before I could stop myself. "Stark staring mad! Father would never go as far as betraying the Dark Lord! He is faithful, and knows where his loyalties lie!"
Circe showed no expression. "I just thought you ought to know." She said simply, paying no attention to my semi-sudden outburst. "And," she smiled. "I believe there is something you would enjoy seeing." Circe smiled, and reached into on of the drawers in her large oak desk and produced what appeared to be a crystal ball.
Inside the small orb that was the crystal ball, I saw the classroom that now contained Circe and I. Students were pouring in slowly, students that were Gryffindors. I saw the figure of Circe emerge and gesture to them. The reactions of the Gryffindor class were much like the reaction of my class. Several sat down in the inviting chairs, while others stood idly.
I was watching Potter, who had slumped into a chair after a few moments, and as he picked up his fork, raising his food to his mouth, he looked up at Circe, probably questioning her. But Potter did something I did not do; he took a bite of the cursed food. Moments later, all of the Gryffindor class, save Granger, who was still standing in front of the class (she had never sat down), had burst into a wild assortment of animals.
Potter, I saw, was a small pink piglet.
Circe smiled at me, and took the little crystal ball and shoved it carefully back into her desk. "Does that answer most of your questions?" She asked. I nodded. In the light of seeing Potter pop into a pink pig, I had temporarily forgotten all troubles with my father. She couldn't be telling the truth, anyway.
"Oh, Mister Malfoy," she said, standing up as I turned to leave. "I was telling you the truth." I shook my head and pretended not to hear her. What made my father see her as so high and mighty, if she was telling the truth? She was just a beautiful woman with her mind mixed up. I'll bet she was a Gryffindor when she was at Hogwarts!
At that moment I decided to take into account the first lesson she gave: trust no one.
* * * *
Quidditch practice had been nagging at me all day; I was itching to try out the Millennium. The new inspiration it provided was greater than the display Potter had put on against the Hungarian Horntail in the Triwizard Tournament; our whole team was flying better, I noticed, and it felt so good to be back in the air where all my troubles vanished in the moment, leaving my mind empty and almost hopelessly devoted to the sport.
Sitting on the common room couch after a hard day, my mind was still empty, and I felt so enlightened, I could have fallen asleep at that very moment had Snape not barged in with an announcement to make. With a groan, I righted myself, and listened to what the Head of Slytherin House had to say.
"Hogwarts is pleased to present," Snape read from a piece of parchment. I noticed the rather annoyed look on his face; he did not seem happy at all. "The Masquerade ball, to held on October the Thirty-first, at eight o'clock p.m." He paused to cast a greasy look to the room, which had started to buzz excitedly. "The attendee with the most creative costume will win the prize of one hundred Galleons."
With a sigh, he folded up the parchment, and tucked it into his pocket leisurely. "I take it into account that you are all perfectly aware what a masquerade is," Snape mused aloud, raising his eyebrows at us. Of course we knew the meaning of masquerade; most of our parents ran around with masked faces murdering Muggles. "And I expect you all to keep your identities secretive so that you will not embarrass the Slytherin house."
Celeste looked excited. I could tell she was wondering how many people she could fool the night of the masquerade ball. Snape looked less than enthralled, as he gave us all a foreboding look before he left in a swish of his long black robes. Were we expected to dress up for this Halloween masquerade ball?
The common room had instantly filled with a buzz, with people talking about what they might go as, people that would not tell, and people that were merely listening to find out who people were going as so hey could play tricks and plot their schemes. At the moment, I felt nothing like plotting my own deceitful plots of espionage against fellow Slytherins, so I let myself meander up the spiraling stairs to my bed, where I dropped like a log.
Sleep seemed so irresistible and warm, that I could not hold myself back. Within minutes, I was lost in dreams of winning the costume contest (however silly it sounded, it was still winning), and tricking other students into doing things that they would normally ever do if they knew I was Draco Malfoy.
* * * *
I spent the next few days silently stalking Potter and his cronies. Though Granger never let her costume idea slip, I discovered that Potter was going as Godric Gryffindor, and Weasley had talk of going as a goblin with a realistic goblin voice (oh, how clever of him to think of that! Taking in gibberish and making threatening gestures, that was the language of the goblins). I would need to find a way to lure them into a plot that could bestow loads of trouble upon them.
My biggest concern, however, was my own costume. I needed something that no one would ever guess I would wear; something strange, "good," or so plain no one would notice my existence. I wanted to go as Salazar Slytherin to contradict Potter, but that would have been way too obvious.
I got the idea from Circe, really, when she mentioned something about Muggle literature, and the connection that Shakespeare had made with the Magical World. His writings were almost always based on a true magical event, such as Romeo and Juliet, who were real people in the Wizarding World, whose fates would not allow subsisting together.
Though it was internally humiliating to me, I decided to go as Romeo Montague. With all the spare time I had after Quidditch practice, I sneaked up to the dormitory to finish my costume, which was all together, a mortifying ensemble.
The worst part was the tights that were visible up to my knees, where I had compiled a pair of gray bloomers (yes, take this opportunity to have a hearty laugh at me), which were trimmed with a scarlet piece of silk. The tunic was also scarlet (which was a color I hated; no one would guess I was wearing the Gryffindor color!), and fell over the top of a gold shirt. At my hips, I sheathed a sword, and pulled the mask over my face.
The mask was wildly detailed, which took the longest to make, as I was not an obscenely artistic person, depicting the sad face of a lover who had been separated from his true love. My silvery blonde hair, which could have been a giveaway, was changed to a rich shade of chestnut brown, and to add final touches, I deepened my voice, and changed my steely blue-gray eyes into a dazzling emerald blue color.
Not wanting to be seen in the Slytherin common room, I made an easy climb out the window, down the old crumbling rain gutters of stone, and slipped into a window on the third floor of the towering castle, glad that the halls were deserted. After I strutted down the stairs by myself, practicing a swagger that would look unlike my usual, I could hear clearly the buzz coming from the Great Hall.
I entered the Hall with the masses, to discover that the house tables had disappeared. Alone in a rather dark corner, I took a table that was empty, and sat down, watching the other students through my disguise.
I picked out Celeste straight away. She was (I won't deny it) very beautiful indeed, and hadn't bothered too much with a disguise; I knew who she was, but there was no way she would find out who I was. Her costume was a long, tightly fitting dress, with a very low neckline, and a mask that was covering her face, yet leaving her long blonde hair flowing down her back. There was no doubt that the girl in green (who was also blonde) happened to be Kayta, who was always flanking Celeste as Crabbe and Goyle did me.
The decorations all around the hall were amazing, and the candles floated in the air, leaving it slightly dim, yet bright enough to see what you wanted, making the light becoming to nearly everyone. A slight golden mist was hanging in the air, and the table, I noticed, was set with drinks, and when I picked up my fork, food filled my plate. It was perfect; no speech from the Muggle-loving headmaster to ruin the evening.
But food was soon forgotten, when the softest voice broke into my thoughts of sabotaging Potter, and I set my fork down to look up at a girl. "May I sit here?" She asked. I could do nothing more than nod. I could not tell if she was smiling at me for real or not, but her mask was smiling. A long flowing gown of light blue graced the girl's voluptuous figure in all the right places, and straight hair of light brown fell past her shoulders, with a crown of flowers weaved into a braid around her head.
She reached out a hand to pick up a fork, and the brown eyes behind the mask caught my artificially blue ones, and she asked me a second question, followed by a statement. "Who are you?" She asked lightly, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork and bringing it to her mouth as if this were an everyday feast. "I really like your costume!"
I came to my senses, as my heart leaped back into its rightful spot in my chest. "Romeo Montague." I said, enjoying the new voice to full extent. It was low and deep, and I could tell by the way her mask depicted the girl's emotions, that she was trying to piece together who I was. "Perhaps you are familiar with the story?"
She smiled. "Of course." She said, scooting her chair closer to me, pretending to admire my costume, while what she was really trying to do was get a closer look at me. "Which witch or wizard is not familiar with the tragic story of lovers from two different sides falling for each other when there was little hope for a prosperous relationship?"
I could name a few people, just to start.
"I cannot think of a single soul." I lied, pretending to think hard under my mask, which thankfully, did not depict my emotions. If it had, perchance, the girl would have seen a look of sheer delight on my face. It would have been completely embarrassing. I was not supposed to have emotions, but they had suddenly returned to me, from wherever they were boxed up.
"The Weird Sisters are booked for tonight, like they were for the Yule ball." She said, attempting to keep conversation going. "I enjoyed that, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did," I said, which was a lie. I had a rather miserable time, sweating in my velvet robes, with Pansy Parkinson clinging to my arm. I had thus revealed to the girl that I was above fourth year, as the youngest attendant at the Yule ball had been Ginny Weasley, who Longbottom snagged for his date. "And I do wish Britain would have hosted the World Cup this year, it was excellent fun when we did."
"Oh!" The girl exclaimed. "I wish so too, but Bulgaria finally captured the cup from Ireland! It was quite the match; pity you weren't able to attend it. Krum had an amazing catch, and they got a new Chaser, who was enough to glue the other two together to at least stay close to Ireland's, who are still, hands down, best in the league."
She was a girl that went to the Quidditch Cup. I was starting to like her more and more. She couldn't be a mudblood if she was at the World Cup; Muggle born fools are usually in Muddle-land with their families during the summer. She knew about sports, and did not appear to be a Mudblood. That meant I could cross Granger off the list of potential girls.
But what I did know, as conversation carried on throughout the evening, is that I felt something new inside my heart, and allowed it to carry on, wiping out my brain. As long as I had a disguise, I might as well just act on my good feelings for once; no one would ever know.
It was by far the best dinner I had ever experienced, for the soul fact that I had someone to share my feelings with. I could speak my mind, but I kept all thoughts on the Dark Side to myself, so I would not give my identity away, but it didn't matter, conversation was cheerful.
"May I have this dance?" I asked my dinner mate, when the soft music of the Weird Sisters started to play a beautiful slow ballad. Through her mask that gave off her emotions, she smiled at me. I stood up and extended a hand, as though I had done this many times before.
"Certainly," she said softly, taking my hand and standing up with me. It was a strange feeling to truly like the girl I was dancing with. I could almost feel myself shaking as I took her right hand in my right hand, and out my other hand around her waist, while she let her free hand rest on my shoulder.
There was a noticeable distance between the two of us, so that a rather thin person could have stood comfortably between us while we were dancing. The song seemed to go on forever that first tense dance we shared, as we revolved on the spot, the lowest from of dancing.
Couples around us were close together, probably because they knew exactly whom they were dancing with. They were watching the girl and I dance awkwardly with each other, and the crammed dance floor was packed with people such as Fred and George Weasley (who were obvious because of their flaming red hair behind their masks; they probably couldn't afford proper materials for good costumes such as mine), who were getting down with their bad selves to slow songs, causing people to back away.
I didn't want to let go when the first song ended, so I kept my hand firmly in the hand of the mystery girl, and kept a strong grip around her trim waist. The beat was still dawdling, and the girl's brown eyes again met my (artificially) blue ones, and her mask smiled at me again. My heart jumped to my throat. This was silly! Did I, Draco Malfoy, have a crush on this girl?
"Here," she said, letting her hand fall from my shoulder to pull me closer to her. "That better?" I nodded, not being able o say anything else. This was so unlike me. What happened to all my morals (or, I should say, what was left of them)? Falling for some strange girl was not high on my list of things to do.
But it certainly was nice to feel her body pressed against mine. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I wondered if she could feel it beating, because I certainly could feel hers. It was a feeling of ecstasy that I had never experienced before, and it was starting to take over my brain and body.
"I'm not a very good dancer," I finally said, after letting her steer us to a less crowded part of the dance floor. At least I had not stepped on her feet, which were clad in sky blue slippers with small roses weaved into the silk fabric. For the first time, I noticed how wet my hands seemed. Was I sweating? Was she sweating? Were we both perspiring?
My ten minutes in the heaven of slow dancing came to a close more quickly than I expected, when the Weird Sisters struck up a lively tune involving a fast beat. My hands dropped back to my side, and so did my partner's.
"Um, shall we?" She asked, gesturing to the empty tables.
"Drinks?" I asked, letting her weave her arm into mine as we walked to the table. She nodded, as if her heart had jumped into her throat as mine had did earlier. "I'll get them. Butterbeer?"
"Of course." She said, still clinging to my arm. "I'll come with," she added. I had the feeling she did not want to be asked by anyone else for a dance; actually, it was not a feeling, it was a hope.
We sat sipping our drinks, deep in conversation, only getting up for the slow paced songs, so we could press our bodies close together and feel our hearts beating madly. It was more exhilarating that winning a Quidditch match; my heart had never raced this fast before.
Finally (though it seemed as if it had only been three minutes), chimes that I had never paid attention to struck midnight, and a man in a costume depicting a lively Quidditch player, in bright orange robes, clambered to the head of the staff table. I couldn't believe my eyes when he pulled off his mask and a sheet of long white hair fell down.
Dumbledore had dressed as the Quidditch player, and I saw several girls nearby looking mortified. They must have asked him for a dance! McGonagall stepped up next to him, holding her mask in her hand. She had dressed as some sort of heathen vixen; it was quite terrifying.
"I do believe everyone has had a wonderful time tonight, and as the evening has come to a close, you may unmask yourselves, and reveal your identities." He said, waving his arms in the air jovially. "On your way back to your common rooms!"
There was a creaking sound, as the doors opened, and students started to pour out. I didn't want to leave! For the first time, I had enjoyed being in a larger crowd, though I had not been myself. Someone had listened to my ideas and gave hers back in return, making me feel as if I were really loved, which I had never experienced before in my life, save the love mother gave, which was totally different.
That special someone was tugging on my arm, beckoning for me to follow her into the rose gardens. We slipped out silently to say our farewells, and a new fear crossed my mind. What if she asked me to take off my mask?
Things were certainly heading that way, as we sat down on a marble bench in a cluster of rose bushes. We both looked at our feet. Reaching into the bushes, I ignored the thorns that all beautiful roses have, using my pricked fingers to pull a red rose for my companion.
"It's beautiful," she said softly, looking away. There was an awkward silence, where we both shuffled around in our seats. The moon was full, and all the stars had come out, casting a dim light on the two of us, sitting there, without words.
"Well," I said. "I had a wonderful time."
The girl nodded, then asking the question that was burning into both of our minds. "Are we taking off our masks?" I bet my lip, under my mask (which I was now eternally thankful for, as it did not show emotions), and sighed.
"I don't think I can," I said softly, and I was sure my voice was barely audible.
"I won't, if you won't." She said firmly. There was another silence, which she broke again. "Then will you lift your mask enough to kiss me goodnight?"
My heart dropped to my feet, or it might have leaped back into my throat, but wherever it was, it was now beating furiously, as I lifted the chin of my mask, closing my eyes as my date followed suit.
It was then as if a chorus of violins had struck up the most beautiful harmony, right then and there. Her lips were soft, and the soft tough of her lips against mine, setting off my carpal senses, letting a new feeling flow freely through my veins. Her arms slid around my neck as she pulled away for a quick breath of air. It was now I who leaned in, pressing our lips together as if hers were a kind of sweets I was yearning for when I was a child, foolishly letting my self indulge, making my mind weaker and weaker by the moment.
We pulled away from each other at long last, and put our masks back over our jaw areas, standing up to say our farewells. The slight breeze was blowing the girl's long flowing dress as the moonlight bounced off her skin, and the stars were reflected in her eyes.
"It was nice meeting you," she said, letting her mask smile at me. "Even if we have met before." With a turn that sent her dress flowing again in the billowing breeze, she waved at me, and turned to leave.
"Wait!" I cried suddenly, glad that my new voice was low, and did not sound desperate. "You never told me who you're dressed as!"
She turned back and smiled at me. "Juliet Capulet," she said.
After she was gone, I lingered in the rose patch, trying to make sense of my feelings. I didn't feel quite like sneaking back up to the Dormitory, so I lay myself down on the marble bench and stared up at the stars.
For the first real time, my senses had all been aroused, and I had gotten my first taste of what it might feel like to be in love, even though I knew this more than likely was a total infatuation. But, whatever it was, it felt good.
(A/N: That was LONG! Sorry about that, got a little carried away. I honestly didn't mean to, but I promise the other chapters won't be as long; they get a little hard to read when things get too long.
Anyway, now you have a few mysteries to wonder about! I'm out of school (as of yesterday, May 21st!) and now have time to freely type, so there's a chance that updates could get frequent, or they could get less frequent. So have fun wondering about who this girl is [Hint: not an original character, but one of J.K. Rowling's own!], and try and make sense of what Circe says!
I know I keep saying this, but this time I really mean it when I say something will return the angst to the next chapter! :D
--Clayr)
Chapter Seven
The warm September days rolled on into chilly October as the daylight hours slowly decreased, with the trees shedding their beautiful orange and gold foliage. I had started Quidditch practice again, and had given the whole school something to marvel upon. Finally, the glory of owning something so wanted was mine!
I looked up to the sky (or rather, ceiling) as the owls brought the morning post to us. I caught sight of my bundle of homemade sweets, and a wave of relief rushed over me; mother was well enough to make them. But there was something else dropping onto my plate of sausages and pancakes that was shaped very conspicuously.
I knew immediately what it was. It was long and thin, wrapped in silver and green paper to make a show of this package. Also realizing what I had gotten, the whole of the Slytherin table at breakfast crowded around me. Unable to suppress a grin, as I took my time to irk the bystanders, I pulled the paper off lowly and neatly.
It was a Nimbus Millennium.
Even Celeste looked stunned at this new arrival to the breakfast table. I tried to look unsurprised, though I was quite amazed that father had bought it for me after my embarrassing brush with Potter, as I stood up and excused myself, to take my latest valuable to a safe place.
"Malfoy's got a Millennium!" I heard students whispering as I walked by at a slow strut to show off my broomstick, with my head held high and my nose in the air. I was careful to throw a glance at Potter, Granger, and Weasley, who were watching me with grate looks of distaste.
"I do hope those with brooms like a Firebolt will be able to keep up!" I said loudly to Goyle, who guffawed stupidly as Potter rolled his eyes. I heard Weasley make a comment, but couldn't quite hear what he said. Weasley happened to be full of surprises; with the loss of Oliver Wood, the old Gryffindor keeper, he managed to worm his way into a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. No doubt Potter had worked his magic; he was also the Quidditch captain.
After carefully locking my Millennium in my mahogany trunk, I found my way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Circe was becoming nothing short of entertaining lately. She had told us all about memory charms, the Imperius curse, and had also noted that after reading my essay, I was very unfamiliar with the self I should know very well.
"We have been spending the year with your minds," Circe said, tapping her fingers against her side as the class watched her move gracefully across the room. "And I see no reason to change course. You have not proven to me that you show an interest in defense against the Dark Arts, and until you learn about the terror you are truly getting yourself into, we shall not continue."
I groaned in my head. Hadn't she understood yet that we were Slytherins, those who commonly favored the Dark Arts? It must have been a strange thing in her mind, trying to teach those unwilling to learn. It was a job that I never would bargain for, even if it paid higher than father's job, which was a very high salary.
"Your inner self is proportioned into two basic parts," Circe said, looking e straight in the eyes, so she caught my attention. She wanted me to listen. "Your good and bad consciences are two separate minds, in their own sense, yet they live in one body. Your body. In certain people, the good and bad halves can be separated, yet your mind will always connect both sides, in a connection.
"When the good is taken away from the bad in the host mind or body, the evil side is the prominent side. When taken away, the good will form a body of its own, much like a human. But this new person, if you call the new being that, becomes very close to the other half, but will only be capable of good. However, if perchance this purely good life form perishes, a cursed life will ensue on the killer and the person to whom the good conscience belonged will be haunted with dark thoughts, and thoughts of guilt their entire lives."
I was taking notes, as Circe liked us all to do. As the bell was about to ring, Circe settled at her desk, and gave the final comment, "Mister Malfoy, I would like to see you after class." I groaned, and nodded to her, as she shook back a sheet of black hair. Crabbe and Goyle were watching me, which was a signal of their feeble minds; they didn't know if they should wait for me or not.
"Follow Celeste," I said to them, chucking my quill inside my bag, not bothering to look up at them. When the bell rang moments later, I could tell by the heavy thumping of their dragging feet they were wandering aimlessly out of the classroom, to face the world by themselves.
"Mister Malfoy." Circe said once the classroom was empty. She beckoned me over to her desk, and as if against my will, I stood up, leaving my school supplies behind to stand in front of her. "I believe there are some questions you would like to ask me." Her green eyes were burning into my cold blue-gray ones, threatening me to answer her.
"Well." I started. "How do you know so much about me? And how do you know my father?" It all just came pouring out of me. I didn't mean to ask so many questions at once, and I actually didn't mean to ask any at all, but something inside me had seemed to make me.
"One at a time, please," Circe said in return, leaning back in her chair. I nodded. "I know so much about you because I take the time to research something on nearly everyone in the wizarding world, that has once lived. You wonder, then, why I was not a teacher for History of Magic? There is no open post, Mister Malfoy. Why do I do it? Because, to succeed in the world you must know as much as you can about everyone-your friends and enemies alike.
"I have, as you noticed, had a personal experience with your family, your father in particular. I know more about you than you do, Draco." She paused for a moment, to allow my brain to digest what I had just heard. There were a variety of things I did not understand; why did Circe feel she needed to know about everyone? And now she said she had an experience with my family.
"It isn't quite what you would think," she said with a smile. "As I said, I know nearly all there is to know about your family, after an incident with your father. I have no motive to turn your family in, but I know perfectly well that your father is a Death Eater."
She expected me to comment, judging by the look on her face, but I kept silent; the best defense in the books. After keeping her eyes steadily burning into mine, she continued, with a look of bemused delight on her face. The only teacher I had ever seen look so delighted was the Mad Eye Moody imposter, who had gotten such a look in his eyes (both of them) when I was a white ferret, bouncing off the floor.
"I'm not a very social person," Circe said softly. By her looks, I never would have guessed it. "I do not delight in large crowds, and as you may have noticed, I do not dine with the rest of the school, but alone in my chambers. For all my life, I have had an isle where I made my home, with wild animals, and the beautiful, unblemished surroundings.
"Yet I kept up with all news that came. I was determined to stay out of the toil Lord Voldemort had started. It was not my business. But yet, there are those determined to break the silence, for their own benefits."
Circe shook her head, and looked me up and down. I was starting to fear her, though I would never admit fear to anyone living. "Hungry for more power, who should come to my peaceful residence, but Lucius Malfoy? Yes, your father. He was willing to betray Voldemort on account that I sided with him, and started my own branch of evil."
I stared at Circe for a moment, trying to get my brain to absorb everything again. Father betray the Dark Lord? Ask for Circe's hand in ruling? It all seemed so unbelievable! Yet Circe left me no more time to collect my thoughts.
"Though it was such an enticing offer, I turned your father down." Circe said, leaning forward again and folding her hands over. "This was years before you were born, Draco. He was a young man then, eager for power beyond that of Lord Voldemort. Though clever he was to think of me, I turned him down, for peace and tranquility that I so treasured in my world."
"You're mad!" I said, before I could stop myself. "Stark staring mad! Father would never go as far as betraying the Dark Lord! He is faithful, and knows where his loyalties lie!"
Circe showed no expression. "I just thought you ought to know." She said simply, paying no attention to my semi-sudden outburst. "And," she smiled. "I believe there is something you would enjoy seeing." Circe smiled, and reached into on of the drawers in her large oak desk and produced what appeared to be a crystal ball.
Inside the small orb that was the crystal ball, I saw the classroom that now contained Circe and I. Students were pouring in slowly, students that were Gryffindors. I saw the figure of Circe emerge and gesture to them. The reactions of the Gryffindor class were much like the reaction of my class. Several sat down in the inviting chairs, while others stood idly.
I was watching Potter, who had slumped into a chair after a few moments, and as he picked up his fork, raising his food to his mouth, he looked up at Circe, probably questioning her. But Potter did something I did not do; he took a bite of the cursed food. Moments later, all of the Gryffindor class, save Granger, who was still standing in front of the class (she had never sat down), had burst into a wild assortment of animals.
Potter, I saw, was a small pink piglet.
Circe smiled at me, and took the little crystal ball and shoved it carefully back into her desk. "Does that answer most of your questions?" She asked. I nodded. In the light of seeing Potter pop into a pink pig, I had temporarily forgotten all troubles with my father. She couldn't be telling the truth, anyway.
"Oh, Mister Malfoy," she said, standing up as I turned to leave. "I was telling you the truth." I shook my head and pretended not to hear her. What made my father see her as so high and mighty, if she was telling the truth? She was just a beautiful woman with her mind mixed up. I'll bet she was a Gryffindor when she was at Hogwarts!
At that moment I decided to take into account the first lesson she gave: trust no one.
* * * *
Quidditch practice had been nagging at me all day; I was itching to try out the Millennium. The new inspiration it provided was greater than the display Potter had put on against the Hungarian Horntail in the Triwizard Tournament; our whole team was flying better, I noticed, and it felt so good to be back in the air where all my troubles vanished in the moment, leaving my mind empty and almost hopelessly devoted to the sport.
Sitting on the common room couch after a hard day, my mind was still empty, and I felt so enlightened, I could have fallen asleep at that very moment had Snape not barged in with an announcement to make. With a groan, I righted myself, and listened to what the Head of Slytherin House had to say.
"Hogwarts is pleased to present," Snape read from a piece of parchment. I noticed the rather annoyed look on his face; he did not seem happy at all. "The Masquerade ball, to held on October the Thirty-first, at eight o'clock p.m." He paused to cast a greasy look to the room, which had started to buzz excitedly. "The attendee with the most creative costume will win the prize of one hundred Galleons."
With a sigh, he folded up the parchment, and tucked it into his pocket leisurely. "I take it into account that you are all perfectly aware what a masquerade is," Snape mused aloud, raising his eyebrows at us. Of course we knew the meaning of masquerade; most of our parents ran around with masked faces murdering Muggles. "And I expect you all to keep your identities secretive so that you will not embarrass the Slytherin house."
Celeste looked excited. I could tell she was wondering how many people she could fool the night of the masquerade ball. Snape looked less than enthralled, as he gave us all a foreboding look before he left in a swish of his long black robes. Were we expected to dress up for this Halloween masquerade ball?
The common room had instantly filled with a buzz, with people talking about what they might go as, people that would not tell, and people that were merely listening to find out who people were going as so hey could play tricks and plot their schemes. At the moment, I felt nothing like plotting my own deceitful plots of espionage against fellow Slytherins, so I let myself meander up the spiraling stairs to my bed, where I dropped like a log.
Sleep seemed so irresistible and warm, that I could not hold myself back. Within minutes, I was lost in dreams of winning the costume contest (however silly it sounded, it was still winning), and tricking other students into doing things that they would normally ever do if they knew I was Draco Malfoy.
* * * *
I spent the next few days silently stalking Potter and his cronies. Though Granger never let her costume idea slip, I discovered that Potter was going as Godric Gryffindor, and Weasley had talk of going as a goblin with a realistic goblin voice (oh, how clever of him to think of that! Taking in gibberish and making threatening gestures, that was the language of the goblins). I would need to find a way to lure them into a plot that could bestow loads of trouble upon them.
My biggest concern, however, was my own costume. I needed something that no one would ever guess I would wear; something strange, "good," or so plain no one would notice my existence. I wanted to go as Salazar Slytherin to contradict Potter, but that would have been way too obvious.
I got the idea from Circe, really, when she mentioned something about Muggle literature, and the connection that Shakespeare had made with the Magical World. His writings were almost always based on a true magical event, such as Romeo and Juliet, who were real people in the Wizarding World, whose fates would not allow subsisting together.
Though it was internally humiliating to me, I decided to go as Romeo Montague. With all the spare time I had after Quidditch practice, I sneaked up to the dormitory to finish my costume, which was all together, a mortifying ensemble.
The worst part was the tights that were visible up to my knees, where I had compiled a pair of gray bloomers (yes, take this opportunity to have a hearty laugh at me), which were trimmed with a scarlet piece of silk. The tunic was also scarlet (which was a color I hated; no one would guess I was wearing the Gryffindor color!), and fell over the top of a gold shirt. At my hips, I sheathed a sword, and pulled the mask over my face.
The mask was wildly detailed, which took the longest to make, as I was not an obscenely artistic person, depicting the sad face of a lover who had been separated from his true love. My silvery blonde hair, which could have been a giveaway, was changed to a rich shade of chestnut brown, and to add final touches, I deepened my voice, and changed my steely blue-gray eyes into a dazzling emerald blue color.
Not wanting to be seen in the Slytherin common room, I made an easy climb out the window, down the old crumbling rain gutters of stone, and slipped into a window on the third floor of the towering castle, glad that the halls were deserted. After I strutted down the stairs by myself, practicing a swagger that would look unlike my usual, I could hear clearly the buzz coming from the Great Hall.
I entered the Hall with the masses, to discover that the house tables had disappeared. Alone in a rather dark corner, I took a table that was empty, and sat down, watching the other students through my disguise.
I picked out Celeste straight away. She was (I won't deny it) very beautiful indeed, and hadn't bothered too much with a disguise; I knew who she was, but there was no way she would find out who I was. Her costume was a long, tightly fitting dress, with a very low neckline, and a mask that was covering her face, yet leaving her long blonde hair flowing down her back. There was no doubt that the girl in green (who was also blonde) happened to be Kayta, who was always flanking Celeste as Crabbe and Goyle did me.
The decorations all around the hall were amazing, and the candles floated in the air, leaving it slightly dim, yet bright enough to see what you wanted, making the light becoming to nearly everyone. A slight golden mist was hanging in the air, and the table, I noticed, was set with drinks, and when I picked up my fork, food filled my plate. It was perfect; no speech from the Muggle-loving headmaster to ruin the evening.
But food was soon forgotten, when the softest voice broke into my thoughts of sabotaging Potter, and I set my fork down to look up at a girl. "May I sit here?" She asked. I could do nothing more than nod. I could not tell if she was smiling at me for real or not, but her mask was smiling. A long flowing gown of light blue graced the girl's voluptuous figure in all the right places, and straight hair of light brown fell past her shoulders, with a crown of flowers weaved into a braid around her head.
She reached out a hand to pick up a fork, and the brown eyes behind the mask caught my artificially blue ones, and she asked me a second question, followed by a statement. "Who are you?" She asked lightly, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork and bringing it to her mouth as if this were an everyday feast. "I really like your costume!"
I came to my senses, as my heart leaped back into its rightful spot in my chest. "Romeo Montague." I said, enjoying the new voice to full extent. It was low and deep, and I could tell by the way her mask depicted the girl's emotions, that she was trying to piece together who I was. "Perhaps you are familiar with the story?"
She smiled. "Of course." She said, scooting her chair closer to me, pretending to admire my costume, while what she was really trying to do was get a closer look at me. "Which witch or wizard is not familiar with the tragic story of lovers from two different sides falling for each other when there was little hope for a prosperous relationship?"
I could name a few people, just to start.
"I cannot think of a single soul." I lied, pretending to think hard under my mask, which thankfully, did not depict my emotions. If it had, perchance, the girl would have seen a look of sheer delight on my face. It would have been completely embarrassing. I was not supposed to have emotions, but they had suddenly returned to me, from wherever they were boxed up.
"The Weird Sisters are booked for tonight, like they were for the Yule ball." She said, attempting to keep conversation going. "I enjoyed that, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did," I said, which was a lie. I had a rather miserable time, sweating in my velvet robes, with Pansy Parkinson clinging to my arm. I had thus revealed to the girl that I was above fourth year, as the youngest attendant at the Yule ball had been Ginny Weasley, who Longbottom snagged for his date. "And I do wish Britain would have hosted the World Cup this year, it was excellent fun when we did."
"Oh!" The girl exclaimed. "I wish so too, but Bulgaria finally captured the cup from Ireland! It was quite the match; pity you weren't able to attend it. Krum had an amazing catch, and they got a new Chaser, who was enough to glue the other two together to at least stay close to Ireland's, who are still, hands down, best in the league."
She was a girl that went to the Quidditch Cup. I was starting to like her more and more. She couldn't be a mudblood if she was at the World Cup; Muggle born fools are usually in Muddle-land with their families during the summer. She knew about sports, and did not appear to be a Mudblood. That meant I could cross Granger off the list of potential girls.
But what I did know, as conversation carried on throughout the evening, is that I felt something new inside my heart, and allowed it to carry on, wiping out my brain. As long as I had a disguise, I might as well just act on my good feelings for once; no one would ever know.
It was by far the best dinner I had ever experienced, for the soul fact that I had someone to share my feelings with. I could speak my mind, but I kept all thoughts on the Dark Side to myself, so I would not give my identity away, but it didn't matter, conversation was cheerful.
"May I have this dance?" I asked my dinner mate, when the soft music of the Weird Sisters started to play a beautiful slow ballad. Through her mask that gave off her emotions, she smiled at me. I stood up and extended a hand, as though I had done this many times before.
"Certainly," she said softly, taking my hand and standing up with me. It was a strange feeling to truly like the girl I was dancing with. I could almost feel myself shaking as I took her right hand in my right hand, and out my other hand around her waist, while she let her free hand rest on my shoulder.
There was a noticeable distance between the two of us, so that a rather thin person could have stood comfortably between us while we were dancing. The song seemed to go on forever that first tense dance we shared, as we revolved on the spot, the lowest from of dancing.
Couples around us were close together, probably because they knew exactly whom they were dancing with. They were watching the girl and I dance awkwardly with each other, and the crammed dance floor was packed with people such as Fred and George Weasley (who were obvious because of their flaming red hair behind their masks; they probably couldn't afford proper materials for good costumes such as mine), who were getting down with their bad selves to slow songs, causing people to back away.
I didn't want to let go when the first song ended, so I kept my hand firmly in the hand of the mystery girl, and kept a strong grip around her trim waist. The beat was still dawdling, and the girl's brown eyes again met my (artificially) blue ones, and her mask smiled at me again. My heart jumped to my throat. This was silly! Did I, Draco Malfoy, have a crush on this girl?
"Here," she said, letting her hand fall from my shoulder to pull me closer to her. "That better?" I nodded, not being able o say anything else. This was so unlike me. What happened to all my morals (or, I should say, what was left of them)? Falling for some strange girl was not high on my list of things to do.
But it certainly was nice to feel her body pressed against mine. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I wondered if she could feel it beating, because I certainly could feel hers. It was a feeling of ecstasy that I had never experienced before, and it was starting to take over my brain and body.
"I'm not a very good dancer," I finally said, after letting her steer us to a less crowded part of the dance floor. At least I had not stepped on her feet, which were clad in sky blue slippers with small roses weaved into the silk fabric. For the first time, I noticed how wet my hands seemed. Was I sweating? Was she sweating? Were we both perspiring?
My ten minutes in the heaven of slow dancing came to a close more quickly than I expected, when the Weird Sisters struck up a lively tune involving a fast beat. My hands dropped back to my side, and so did my partner's.
"Um, shall we?" She asked, gesturing to the empty tables.
"Drinks?" I asked, letting her weave her arm into mine as we walked to the table. She nodded, as if her heart had jumped into her throat as mine had did earlier. "I'll get them. Butterbeer?"
"Of course." She said, still clinging to my arm. "I'll come with," she added. I had the feeling she did not want to be asked by anyone else for a dance; actually, it was not a feeling, it was a hope.
We sat sipping our drinks, deep in conversation, only getting up for the slow paced songs, so we could press our bodies close together and feel our hearts beating madly. It was more exhilarating that winning a Quidditch match; my heart had never raced this fast before.
Finally (though it seemed as if it had only been three minutes), chimes that I had never paid attention to struck midnight, and a man in a costume depicting a lively Quidditch player, in bright orange robes, clambered to the head of the staff table. I couldn't believe my eyes when he pulled off his mask and a sheet of long white hair fell down.
Dumbledore had dressed as the Quidditch player, and I saw several girls nearby looking mortified. They must have asked him for a dance! McGonagall stepped up next to him, holding her mask in her hand. She had dressed as some sort of heathen vixen; it was quite terrifying.
"I do believe everyone has had a wonderful time tonight, and as the evening has come to a close, you may unmask yourselves, and reveal your identities." He said, waving his arms in the air jovially. "On your way back to your common rooms!"
There was a creaking sound, as the doors opened, and students started to pour out. I didn't want to leave! For the first time, I had enjoyed being in a larger crowd, though I had not been myself. Someone had listened to my ideas and gave hers back in return, making me feel as if I were really loved, which I had never experienced before in my life, save the love mother gave, which was totally different.
That special someone was tugging on my arm, beckoning for me to follow her into the rose gardens. We slipped out silently to say our farewells, and a new fear crossed my mind. What if she asked me to take off my mask?
Things were certainly heading that way, as we sat down on a marble bench in a cluster of rose bushes. We both looked at our feet. Reaching into the bushes, I ignored the thorns that all beautiful roses have, using my pricked fingers to pull a red rose for my companion.
"It's beautiful," she said softly, looking away. There was an awkward silence, where we both shuffled around in our seats. The moon was full, and all the stars had come out, casting a dim light on the two of us, sitting there, without words.
"Well," I said. "I had a wonderful time."
The girl nodded, then asking the question that was burning into both of our minds. "Are we taking off our masks?" I bet my lip, under my mask (which I was now eternally thankful for, as it did not show emotions), and sighed.
"I don't think I can," I said softly, and I was sure my voice was barely audible.
"I won't, if you won't." She said firmly. There was another silence, which she broke again. "Then will you lift your mask enough to kiss me goodnight?"
My heart dropped to my feet, or it might have leaped back into my throat, but wherever it was, it was now beating furiously, as I lifted the chin of my mask, closing my eyes as my date followed suit.
It was then as if a chorus of violins had struck up the most beautiful harmony, right then and there. Her lips were soft, and the soft tough of her lips against mine, setting off my carpal senses, letting a new feeling flow freely through my veins. Her arms slid around my neck as she pulled away for a quick breath of air. It was now I who leaned in, pressing our lips together as if hers were a kind of sweets I was yearning for when I was a child, foolishly letting my self indulge, making my mind weaker and weaker by the moment.
We pulled away from each other at long last, and put our masks back over our jaw areas, standing up to say our farewells. The slight breeze was blowing the girl's long flowing dress as the moonlight bounced off her skin, and the stars were reflected in her eyes.
"It was nice meeting you," she said, letting her mask smile at me. "Even if we have met before." With a turn that sent her dress flowing again in the billowing breeze, she waved at me, and turned to leave.
"Wait!" I cried suddenly, glad that my new voice was low, and did not sound desperate. "You never told me who you're dressed as!"
She turned back and smiled at me. "Juliet Capulet," she said.
After she was gone, I lingered in the rose patch, trying to make sense of my feelings. I didn't feel quite like sneaking back up to the Dormitory, so I lay myself down on the marble bench and stared up at the stars.
For the first real time, my senses had all been aroused, and I had gotten my first taste of what it might feel like to be in love, even though I knew this more than likely was a total infatuation. But, whatever it was, it felt good.
(A/N: That was LONG! Sorry about that, got a little carried away. I honestly didn't mean to, but I promise the other chapters won't be as long; they get a little hard to read when things get too long.
Anyway, now you have a few mysteries to wonder about! I'm out of school (as of yesterday, May 21st!) and now have time to freely type, so there's a chance that updates could get frequent, or they could get less frequent. So have fun wondering about who this girl is [Hint: not an original character, but one of J.K. Rowling's own!], and try and make sense of what Circe says!
I know I keep saying this, but this time I really mean it when I say something will return the angst to the next chapter! :D
--Clayr)