[edit 241003] I wanted to hang myself by my hair when I re-read the original Chapter 2. God. It was like this grand macabre, written (by me, no less) to torture me later on when I decided to go over it. Ew. And yes, I'm fully aware that there's no such thing as overtures for different chapters - just humour me and pretend it exists. [/edit 241003]
Midsummer Nights
overture i
... she could have been an embodiment of ... Aphrodite herself ...
Ocean blue - a perfect colour for a sultry, autumn night - dappled with luminous diamonds that winked with glee. A waning silver moon was distinct in this pool of black, slivers of moonlight engulfing the adjacent lake to Hogwarts in a ripple of white wine. Zig-zagging pyreflies hovered over the water before buzzing to the open courtyard of the school where a set of spellbound autumn leaves fluttered about Hogwarts students hidden behind elegant masks and costumes.
Draco, mask and all, stood halfway beneath the archway entrance of the school, part of his body illuminated by the glow of silver light. His hair of moongold was brilliant in its rich texture and colour; it almost seemed impossible that someone with such an ugly heart could possess every intangible, physical attribute.
His stormy grey eyes scanned the throng of people chattering enthusiastically with hand gestures, picking at the refreshments table, and pointing at the dancing leaves as if the idea were simply unreasonable. Idiots. They all were. He sighed in frustration as he raked a delicate, pure hand through his silk hair. Blaise could have at least had the decency to warn him that he would not be spending the night with him; otherwise, he would have found something more worthy of his time than a dance held by that stupidly noble Gryffindor-admirer, more commonly known as Headmaster Dumbledore. Hell, he could have been sinking into his bedsheets right about now and dreaming beautiful dreams about death, blood, and homicide. Or better yet - his rise to power as a Death Eater.
As he was ready to take his leave, a decent sight stopped him midway. A student, a seventh-year he assumed and approximately stood at a good five-nine, came into view. Tall and voluptuous, slender and exquisite - she could have been an embodiment of the goddess Aphrodite herself for all he knew. She seemed to be searching for something, or rather someone, before she caught his gaze. He couldn't see her smile but he thought he felt her smile, and, although he could not reciprocate such an open greeting, he relented and offered the mystery woman a nod of appreciation and acknowledgement instead.
Seemingly to accept his subtle gesture, she made her way to him. It was then he shook his head, willing her to stop. She did.
The woman was enticing, she was confident enough, and she exerted an aura that shouted pureblood louder than anything else he had ever known. But he hadn't attended tonight's festivities to mingle with lesser folk (in a Malfoy's standards anyhow). He came because Blaise had finally managed to convince - con - whatever - him to attend because he simply wanted him to. Why he agreed to it in the first place completely boggled his mind. Maybe because he often let secrets slip out for some reason or other. After all, he was a Slytherin.
A one-hundred percent sly, Slytherin git, anyway.
Well, he certainly didn't want to come to this celebration for nothing when he had prepared fully for this event. Might as well fascinate and woo this woman with his mere presence.
So, with gliding grace, he approached her with a hand held out.
And she took it eagerly, her deep blue eyes glittering brightly.
Lavender and Parvati were strolling towards the courtyard with perfect synchorization. It was quite the comparison to Hermione's awkward walk as she tried to refrain from ripping her dress off and throwing it away. Outwardly, the dress looked fine to the touch, like velvet that seemed made for her as it fit her in all the right places ... but the dress, no matter how deviously comfortable on the outside it looked, it was damn near uncomfortable. How was a girl to walk properly in this getup?
She gazed upon Lavender and Parvati and their perfect synchorization.
Well, apparently they weren't part of the statistics.
She thought of enduring such a minor torture just for the night. Besides, if she managed to embarrass herself by somehow carrying out her desire to shed off the dress like skin, no one would know it was her.
Oh, Happy Mask.
So, she stood tall and glided across the fields with grace, soon to meet up with mystery students and chatting with them excitedly, regardless of what House they were in.
It didn't occur to her, at the moment, as she had so confidently told Lavender and Parvati earlier that morning, that masks were to be removed at midnight.
chapter ii
You look very nice tonight, Hermione.
Hermione took a sip of her pumpkin juice, admiring the way Seamus Finnegan continued to entertain his group of devotees with his outlandish stories and wild jokes that kept most of the attendants of the celebration on their toes. Despite the mask, Seamus made sure to keep himself obvious. He had a distinct personality and a free-spirited soul full of mirth. And you just couldn't miss that enjoyable, Irish accent. He had attempted to court her more than once, well-informed that the lady behind the mask was none other than Hermione Granger herself.
Which led to a playful banter of mock surprise of her femininity, which further convinced Hermione to stalk the two talkative lionesses of Hogwarts with a hex ready at the tip of her tongue. Of course, like stated before, it was all in good fun.
Aw, cheer up, milady. Seamus grinned, heartily. Then, he whispered, You look very nice tonight, Hermione.
Well, at least he had enough chivalry to assume she wanted to keep her identity a secret. The assumption, of course, was true by all means.
They parted in different directions, then: Seamus to his adoring group and Hermione to the edge of the courtyard where she continued to drink from her cup, surveying the dancing friends and couples with amusement. Her eyes then strayed over towards the lone Whomping Willow, where it stood proudly with its crooked branches and twisted trunk. Vaguely, she noticed how under direct moonlight it didn't look the least bit threatening, which was a surprisingly entertaining thought all on its own. Whomping Willows, no matter the circumstances, were never considered to be harmless.
Then, she spotted a sitting figure a couple of feet away from the willow, near the bank of the adjacent river. Illuminated by moonlight, this figure - one distinctly masculine - seemed to be an ethereal being dressed in black robes and a simple mask with a black flame dragon delicately engraved on the left cheek.
Definitely Slytherin.
But she really, really wanted company.
So she decided to approach him.
What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
Casting one last glance at Seamus and company, she walked off.
Nice night. She commented as she stood above his figure.
He looked up then to face her, and she thought she felt him grin.
More or less. He raked his eyes over her body. What House do you come from?
I ... uh, Slytherin. You idiot! she, mentally, berated.
He chuckled; it sounded nice.
Slytherins don't stutter and we're a bit more devious than that. We're skilled liars, you know.
Hermione knew her face was an embarrassing shade of red. She now felt like a fool to converse with a Slytherin.
He nodded. Yes. And if you truly were a Slytherin pureblood, he paused, for dramatic effect she supposed, then you would have either blonde or black hair. It comes with the inter-family relationships.
Silence lingered in the air, enveloping her in its suffocating folds. The night was too hot and her dress was beginning to cling to her figure.
You're from Gryffindor. It was a sudden statement - a sudden and overwhelming and shocking statement. Dare she deny?
'Why' what?
She looked into his eyes. Why do you think I'm from Gryffindor?
The mystery Slytherin stood up and brushed the sleeves of his robes. He walked towards her and she, unconsciously, took a step back.
Because you're different.
He reached for her hand and placed a gentle kiss on the palm of her hand. She sucked in a breath.
And differences knows no boundaries tonight.
She looked at him, perplexed.
He was amused. She could tell.
The implications of my statement is I'd like to dance.
Hermione blinked. Oh. Of course.
It didn't occur to her at that moment that three Gryffindors knew who she was. It didn't occur to her that one of those three disapproved of Gryffindor-Slytherin interaction because of the remnants of the past that lingered above him. It didn't occur to her that this night would be an event to remember because several things would happen to her in the span of an hour.
And if these occurrences proved to be for better or worse, she didn't know.
Her head was against his shoulder as they danced slowly. It irked him, to put it simply, because in this crowd of dancers he felt out-of-character, out-of-place. And if anyone paid any close attention, they would have noticed that the bloke dancing to a slow beat was none other than Draco Malfoy himself. He was sure that his hair would give him away. A reputation broken seemed infinitely worse than suffering from an Avada Kedavra curse.
He was about to pull away from the girl who was smitten with him (as was proved when he felt her snuggle closer) when his eyes, as they had been surveying the dancing couples not long ago, fell on a familiar figure with a very familiar mask.
Blaise Zabini.
Dancing.
He thought he would have been more interested in what Blaise would have to say for himself later when he would confront him about his little escapade with a young woman from a different House - not that it really mattered - but when Blaise danced it was something. But no, it wasn't that. In fact, he was curious about the girl he was dancing with. The way she carried herself reminded him of a certain someone, yet he couldn't pinpoint whom exactly.
What was more, it was the way she danced with his Slytherin friend. It was unconsciously intimate, and it seemed that Zabini had no qualms with the way this woman danced. In fact, it was almost like he was enjoying himself.
It was then that Blaise released his partner to take his leave that Draco left the clutches of his own and approached the girl who he was very intrigued with.
They had stopped dancing.
You know, he began, after tonight I'll be treating you and your friends like dirt.
And after tonight, I'll have no choice but to think all you Slytherins as pompous gits. She rebutted with a smirk.
She felt him smile, too.
I'll see you tomorrow, Gryffindor. He said before departing.
And she couldn't help but laugh.
Seamus was conflicted. His relationship with Hermione Granger was purely platonic and yet, he felt some responsibility towards her. In the past six years, he had looked at Hermione as only a friend but that friendship grew to something more. No, it was nothing like romantic affections but he felt a protective streak wash over him. Over the years, Hermione Granger was no longer his friend but a younger sister. In fact, of all the Gryffindor girls, he had come to viewing Hermione as less and less of a friend and more like his kin. He almost knew her as well as Harry and Ron. Sure, it was rare that they would be seen together in the halls as she spent most of her time alongside with the latter two. But during her long hours of studying and his battle with his own insomnia, they spent time together in the Gryffindor common room just talking to each other. Those nights where things seemed out of place, they would just talk to each other. He knew his relationship with Hermione would never amount as much to the relationship she had with Harry and Ron but when it came to family, amount didn't matter.
So, now, he wasn't sure whether to step in and act the big or steer clear and let her decide for herself. What she was doing was a blatant betrayal. He wasn't sure if he should be mad at her or not. After all, the Gryffindors' past with the Slytherins were nothing short of rivalry and hatred. And here she was, consorting - or was - with an enemy.
He needed help ...
To tell Harry or not to tell Harry?
A simple, but still very difficult, question.
Why he decided to approach her was beyond him. He had forgotten to care. He abandoned all judgments. Right now, it was as if the world left him behind, and he watched his scene take place right in front of him. He had taken her hand, a silent question to dance, and she complied with a curious glint in her eye. She had every reason to; she was approached by two Slytherins in one night, two Slytherins that knew naught of dancing until her.
Hermione knew him from the minute he touched her arm in silent regard, bringing her body close to his and pulling her arms around his neck, finally resting his own on her waist. The Malfoys were a distinguishable lot. The colour of their hair was unique, a colour mixed with pieces of the sun and moon and their eyes were a penetrating, soul-burning blue-silver that never lost its beauty. Despite Draco's steel arrogance, she knew that she would give herself up in soft abandon if she stared into his eyes long enough. She cursed them for they were almost hypnotic, and indeed they were; otherwise, she would not have been dancing with him. What was more, it was his posture that intrigued her. He no longer carried himself with emphasized self-assurance and instead carried himself with what was left of him - dignity and grace and an untainted pride.
He surprised her even further in their dance - this mysterious, tantalizing, personal dance. She felt silly but at this very moment, being a Gryffindor didn't matter to her. Draco being a Slytherin was of no importance. Her head was in the clouds as he handled her with the utmost tenderness, treating her as if she was light and fragile. It seemed that with every count of one-two-three's', the more their dance became sacred - a lovers' dance. This was one side of Malfoy she wouldn't mind seeing every day. Unfortunately, reality was cruel and she knew - deep within her insecurities - that this Draco Malfoy would only last for so long. It was malicious the way that life continually teased her.
He spoke first, breaking her from her solemn reverie.
What House are you from?
She smiled underneath her mask. If anyone could see it, they would note that it was dull and dry and bore no genuine traces. She wanted it explained - wanted to know why she was disappointed that he didn't know and yet one of his mates knew without her needing to explain.
He wondered aloud, peering into her eyes for any confirmation.
She almost felt like crying. What was tonight doing to her?
... yes. She looked down.
You're lying. Her head snapped up. And you're certainly not from Slytherin either. That leaves Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.
And I think I'll leave myself in mystery. To be honest with you, I wouldn't be happy if you were in Gryffindor.
And if I were in Hufflepuff?
I wouldn't be happy, either.
This was really disappointing.
he started, I'm willing to take chances, if only for tonight.
As if on cue, the musical chimes of an ancient clock echoed in the air, the music and voices rendered silence. It rang twelve times and in an instant, people began removing their masks. Some laughed, some gasped, some where quite bewildered at finding out who their partners were. The only ones left in hiding were Draco and Hermione. Suddenly, she felt fearful by no explanation.
He removed his mask first and her breath caught. Without the usual sneer on his face, he looked absolutely breathtaking. His face was flawless and aristocratic, like a Greek god of some sort, like Eros. He seemed to epitomize aestheticism - a fine and elegant art.
She had taken no initiative to remove her own, so he lifted hers from her face. His eyes, slowly, gazed at the fair skin that was slowly being revealed, her rosy lips that were slightly parted, her flushed cheeks, and her brown eyes that seemed to break him. It was a wonderful feeling - to be broken, to be an anonymity that needed unraveling. Whether she was from Gryffindor or from Hufflepuff, he still didn't know. And he wasn't disappointed - in fact, it was almost thrilling, a forbidden chase meant for two. With a mind of its own, his hand traced her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. Before he could stop himself, he found himself descending. His lips hovered above hers for a second in a way that could only be described as sensual, as their soft breaths mingled. Then, he planted a soft kiss on her lips. He hadn't really kissed her, merely brushed his lips over her just to feel the texture of her mouth. She suckled in a breath, which then prompted him further, and he really kissed her - fully, deeply.
That one classic moment of which everyone talked about - the one where the world stops turning and everyone and everything but the couple who felt sparks blend into the background - was everything short of true. The kiss was exhilarating but the world didn't stop for her; it continued to spin on its axis. She, however, felt trapped in time with the one boy that was forbidden to her. All because of bloodlines and rivalries. She wondered to herself what prompted her to give in to this kiss. Perhaps because it was exciting the way she knew who he was and he knew nothing of her. She didn't really know and she didn't think she really wanted to.
So, with much reluctance, she removed herself from his gentle embrace and cleared her throat. Everything was moving way too fast for her, and she thought if she didn't catch up she would be left behind.
Thank you. She said, her voice somewhat strangled.
Then, she spun on her heels and walked away with the rest of the students.
He, on the other hand, remained where he stood and stared after her until she was reduced to nothingness. He looked at his hand.
Two masks were clenched in his fists.
One of them belonged to her.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
end chapter ii, 061203
Finished chapter 2 in the span of two months. Apparently, I like to take long intervals between chapters. Anyway, some notes:
1. Added conflicts so I could have something to work with. Originally, this story would have been four or five chapters long but I wanted it extended. So.
2. Can you finally tell why this is [AU] for a reason? For some reason, no matter how much I try to drag it out, it seems to be moving too fast. I'm miffed.
3. Smite me because they are out-of-character. Of all blasphemous things to do - I've sunk low.
4. I like giving characters, who are, usually, depicted as one-dimensional characters, more depth. Despite how minor their presence, they have more to them than what meets the eye. So, I gave this lovely attribute to Pansy Parkinson. I've altogether forgotten whether Pansy really is really or actually pretty. I gave her pity and opted for the latter.
5. This is a drastic change from the original. Ugh. I've also given Seamus his small storyline. Honestly, I enjoy working on characters that aren't much worked on. Hm.