A/N: I know I told everyone in the "Important Notice" chapter update that I would not be posting until the end of the month. Yeah, well, I guess I didn't stick to that, did I? I've been working on this chapter for a few weeks-but most particularly for the past few days. I've been really excited to write this chapter and the ideas flowed naturally and easily-no writer's block! Therefore, I took full advantage of it. I hope you all enjoy it just as much as I liked writing it. The next chapter I will put up as soon as I can, however, this one you can expect a bit of a longer delay (mid-month to near the end of April) due to school work as I mentioned previously. I am going to leave the "Important Notice" chapter up for a while just to debrief any other newcomers to avoid confusion. A few things I would like to elaborate on with the story will be placed at the end of this chapter in another author's note, so if you are interested, be on the look out! Hope you guys enjoy!
And P.S.
Thanks to all my lovely readers (you!) for understanding my educational situation and the fact that I am human being that slips up every once in a while! Thanks to all who support me, enjoy my story, have favorite, followed, reviewed, etc. It means more to me than you'll ever know.
He took her hand and placed a kiss against it chastely.
"Hello, Hermione, I will be your date for the evening, and might I say that you look lovely," he grinned from beneath the serpent mask which shrouded the area around both of his eyes and curved to cover part of his face. The mask had two slanted eye holes out of which he could see, the upper part of the mask flared out like a cobra's hood. On the side of the mask that curved downward was a small, sharpened point, painted to create the illusion of a fang. The emerald color of the snake's scales caught the light, reflecting it off the metallic surface with a silvery glow. He watched as Hermione studied him. Something about him was familiar to her, but it was evident she couldn't decipher what.
Riddle smirked. Although she couldn't place his identity to the mysterious man standing before her, it should have been quite obvious that the only person audacious—and deserving—enough to bear the mark of Slytherin was him. However, he could say the same of her: the mask Hermione wore, that of a bronze eagle, was the mascot of the Ravenclaw house. In truth, he couldn't picture anyone else worthy of wearing it than her. She embodied the house's ideals quite well.
The glamour charm he had cast over himself was working at peak efficiency. With the charm, he would be the enigmatic stranger of the night and no more to her—as long as he didn't remove the mask in her presence.
She continued to study him; her eyes squinted behind her bronze mask in thought, her head tilted slightly to one side.
"Something wrong?" He asked innocently.
"No, no! You just seemed familiar. I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name," Hermione said to him as he watched her shake away the notion of familiarity she had from meeting his glamorized form.
"There's no need for names, Hermione. Let's live for today, for it could be our last." He grinned down upon her. His words, far from innocent, felt sweet upon his lips. He had planned this night for a long time and he would soon see his and Salazar's ambitions realized.
Hermione seemed uneasy at his words, but to chase away her doubts he placed his hand upon her lower back, leading her from the foyer and toward the Great Hall. Her midnight blue dress felt cool and silky to his fingertips. He frowned at the way his hand settled perfectly into the curve of her back, but he particularly felt unsettled at how he found that he didn't mind the contact too much either.
Upon entering the grand room, Hermione and Riddle were greeted with students adorned in animal masks and sparkling evening wear. Some milled about the room, others sat at tables chatting, and even more were beginning to make use of the dance floor. Riddle cringed inwardly, he couldn't stand foolish occasions that required niceties to be made. He knew these scenarios all too well: it was his everyday life. Attending events and celebrations were part of the upkeep of the façade he had crafted. Rarely had he ever looked forward to parties and banquets, unless it was a means to an end. Though the formalities of the night would drag on, he looked forward to its end.
As they made their way across the floor, Riddle observed the ballroom. It was quite remarkable. The moon hung high, full and bright, in the night sky of the enchanted ceiling. Ever so often a cloud would stroll across the starless sky or a lit candle would float by, assisting to cover the bright orb. Fog endlessly rolled across the floor of the dimmed room and swept up wistfully with the movements of legs and arms, slipping in between limbs like liquid. The charmed instruments had already begun playing a series of classical tunes in an eerie tone. A few couples had already taken to the dance floor, gliding about in their animal masks.
Riddle took note of the eyes drifting toward them as they entered. The students that had been idly talking with one another lowered their voices to whispers and eyed them with intrigue. He knew that the others were enthralled by their boldness of sporting the mascots of two of the Hogwarts houses. They continued to stun the students as they walked past gracefully, leaving them curious as to who hid beneath the masks.
The corner of his mouth turned upward. Riddle had never been one to seek attention; however, when it found him, he never failed to use it to his advantage—or revel in it. He and Hermione approached the dance floor and the dancers ceased their swaying slowly. Riddle guided Hermione across the floor; the students parted like waters of the Red Sea, acting as though they stood on hallowed ground before two ethereal beings.
Riddle paid their curiosities no mind and led Hermione, his hand still resting firmly on the curve of her back. Had she known it was him, she would have already withdrawn her wand by now, however he doubted she would be daring enough to hex him. Hermione Sivad was clear in her intentions of disliking him, but he always called her bluff when she threatened him.
She was a mystery. One moment she seemed as though she were about to attack him, another she seemed to make the most of his company, and then-on rare occasions-she appeared to fear him. As she should.
He watched her smile politely to those around her, uttering an "excuse me" as she walked ahead of Riddle. Although he thoroughly enjoyed getting a rise out of her, he found that having her cooperate with him could possibly be just as interesting. He chuckled at the notion.
"What's so funny?" Hermione asked him casually, no hint of malice in her voice. Very interesting, indeed.
"It seems we have captured the attentions of our audience," he commented. The Ravenclaw looked around at his words, taking note of the students before looking down at herself.
"I don't have anything on my dress, do I?" She asked, suddenly very concerned.
"Aside from my hand? I say not," Riddle said lowly. She seemed to flush slightly. "Nothing is wrong, they are only intrigued by us." He saw Hermione take a breath and laugh before she ducked her head, acting as though she wore no mask at all and was attempting to hide the embarrassment on her face.
"I highly doubt that." She shook her head back and forth. Riddle knew her to be very forward about her intelligence and magical prowess, however she was more reserved in every other aspect. Unlike many of the girls he saw, she did not prance around, trying to get away with wearing a shorter skirt, intricately styled hair, or a face heavy with makeup. In fact, she was quite modest—save for tonight. The dress she wore wasn't so much revealing as it was fitted; it only displayed part of her shoulders and back. It moreover showed off her thin, curved form, amplifying her features. The bronze tinted material that matched her mask hung down in the back, seeming to float behind her effortlessly. It was a stark difference from what she usually wore. She seemed to know it too.
Her milky skin glowed like ivory and her berry-tinted lips shined in the light. Riddle found himself almost wishing to remove the bronze eagle mask she wore only to observe her without being hidden. She was graceful, poised, and fitting enough to be seen with him tonight. In fact, he found that she was putting the other girls' attempts of looking attractive to shame. Attractive? He shook his head, grimacing at the words his mind had formed together, and frowned heavily.
Hermione seemed at ease, despite being paired up with a stranger for the evening. Under the guise of someone else, Riddle was sure that she would be willing to reveal a different side of her identity. It was a theory he planned to test, and he could thank Abraxas for the opportunity later. It was Malfoy, after all, who told the annoying Goldstein girl that he could find her a date easily—and easily he had. Riddle hadn't planned to attend the masquerade until much later, but Abraxas had insisted upon using the occasion to the utmost advantage. However, he had seen through Malfoy's intentions: he feared for her safety upon learning of his plans for the night.
Abraxas had taken an unusual liking to the Sivad girl, and he was quite amused by it. He had agreed to go with her for the evening at Malfoy's behest due to him finding a different date after his initial plans fell through at the rocks in Hogsmeade. Riddle had also promised him he would try to deter her from attending the soiree once he took his leave to deal with other matters at hand. He had even agreed to Abraxas' "last resort" plan if she didn't willingly oblige to his wishes. Nevertheless, if she got in the way, he would not be at fault—that he made clear to Abraxas.
His hand ceased guiding her when they seated themselves side by side at one of the round, clothed tables. They observed the masquerade. The occasion had yet to get into full swing, but the night was young, and Riddle was sure the main event that he had planned for them all would be most entertaining.
He watched Hermione as she sat straight-backed in her seat, seeming nervous as she scanned the crowd.
"Looking for someone?" Riddle asked politely.
"No—I mean yes. A friend of mine, I was hoping she would arrive on time. I fear I may have troubled her with all the help she has given me for the evening."
Riddle fought the urge to raise an eyebrows at her formalities. She had never been as formal with the real him.
"Fear not, I am sure she will show soon. The night has just begun," Riddle reassured her. "If it wouldn't trouble you, I ask that you tell me a little about yourself. I have only seen you in passing, therefore I have never had the pleasure of meeting the true Hermione Sivad." Riddle spoke his bittersweet lies and allowed the glamor charm to do the rest.
Hermione recounted the same story that everyone had heard of her, though Riddle knew it not to be as infallible as she hoped. Just as a story memorized and recited numerous times was, she said it in the same order as though she were reading it off of a page.
"Fascinating. So sorry to hear about your parents. Tell me, what was it like attending Beauxbatons? I am sure it is much more interesting than Hogwarts."
Hermione thought for a moment before replying. "The uniforms, student body, and teaching approach were different, but the lessons taught always coincided with the same curriculum expected of all magical institutions."
"Who was your favorite teacher at the academy?"
"Mrs. Preston was quite lovely. She taught charms," Hermione said easily.
Had Riddle not held his prior speculations of her, he would have believed her answer entirely.
"That's—"
"Hermione? Is that you? You look absolutely radiant," a girl behind a gray cat mask exclaimed, cutting Riddle off. He frowned at the sudden intrusion as Hermione turned to face the girl before their table.
"Minerva," Hermione laughed, her eyes sparkling with a knowing Riddle didn't understand. Unbeknownst to him, the future Minerva McGonagall would have an animagus form to match her tabby cat mask.
"When I saw the mask I was sure it was you. Once Aviela shaped the mask, I took over to transform and decorate it. I'm sure she had you under the impression she did most of the work, right?" McGonagall asked. Riddle wouldn't doubt the Gryffindor for a moment that she had done most of the work, in fact, he was surprised someone like Aviela Goldstein had even made it into the Ravenclaw house among intelligent company. She was spotty at best when it came to being knowledgeable. As for Christopher, he was much smarter than his twin sister, but he had yet to seen to what extent. With Goldstein having joined the Knights I am sure there will be much more to be revealed about him with time.
Despite having joined the Knights of Walpurgis little more than a month ago, Riddle was already questioning the Ravenclaw's reasons for doing so. Tom Riddle was no fool; he knew Goldstein had an ulterior motive, as for what it was he couldn't say. It was clear that he had been fearful and friendless for the majority of his past years, but he quickly had adjusted to the new regime the new year had brought for him. Riddle surmised that the boy had grown tired of his dull life and was looking for excitement to round out his last year. Coming to the Knights, he made a good choice if he truly is looking for something more… uncommon. Regardless of Goldstein's reasons, he could tell that the boy feared him to some extent, and for Riddle, that was all the leverage he needed.
"You both did an excellent job. The mask is absolutely beautiful, thank you, and you look lovely as well, Minerva," Hermione smiled up at the girl who wore a red, cap-sleeved dress with a rounded neckline that cinched at the waist before flowing out to reach her mid-calves. It sparkled in the light, but other than that the dress was modest—even when paired with the pearl necklace sitting on her slender neck. The Gryffindor's hair was piled up in elegant curls atop her head with a decorative pearl veil encasing her bun.
He watched as Hermione stood and hugged Minerva in greeting. Riddle rolled his eyes under his mask. When attending social events, all women were the same. They talked about nothing of importance, hugged, laughed far too loud, and always parted with overly enthusiastic waves. Riddle rarely kept himself in the company of women for those very reasons—and because he knew how they could gossip.
He could not deny, he had a few acquaintances in the past, so to speak, but he never kept the women around for longer than necessary. At any given time he could find a female ready to do him a favor—sexual or otherwise—however, he had never been truly intimate with one. He had no desire. Riddle believed that intimacy and love was what made the human race so weak-willed and volatile. Love turns people into horridly cut paper dolls; easy to tear and ruin. Everyone wants to be a victim of circumstance.
Riddle scoffed at the thought of "true love." He believed the majority of intimacies and loves were only lies to be used to coerce and manipulate. The only time he saw intimacy as fitting was for the purpose of reproducing, seeing as it is within human nature to thrive and exist. For whom should be allowed to reproduce was an entirely different matter to him. It would be of no consequence to him if muggles and muggleborns ceased existing.
A blond-haired boy in a white wolf mask stood across the dance floor with his hands in his pockets, watching their table. Riddle observed the young man out of the corner of his eye. He wore a neatly pressed suit with a red bow tie resting at his throat. Even with dancers swaying past, his eyes never left them. Riddle followed the wolf's gaze; the figure watched Hermione silently, his eyes never breaking from her. Riddle found it odd considering that he was more than likely Minerva McGonagall's date for the evening.
The wolf's shrouded eyes met Riddle's. Their stares were locked-even as students milled and danced by, blocking the line of sight. Riddle raised his eyebrow inquisitively. He had made sure that all of his Knights revealed their masked identities for the night as to avoid confusion when his plan was put into action. Though he knew his glamour charm was in full effect, he could've sworn that the boy across the room could see right through his mask. Riddle never told his entourage about his disguise-save for Abraxas who had procured him the mask the week prior in an effort to further coerce him into attending the masquerade earlier on than planned. Abraxas had said Riddle could use a little livelihood, but he knew that the Malfoy heir only offered up the suggestion as a means to hopefully deter his plan of grandeur and glory. It didn't.
His mouth pressed into a hard line. The young man had yet to break his gaze with Riddle, almost challenging him to look away first. Riddle sneered: he never caught wind of Christopher Goldstein's planned disguise. At that revelation, Riddle leaned back in his chair and smirked at the Goldstein boy, the silver fang on his mask catching in the light, before turning his lowered gaze back to Hermione, staring at her in earnest. After a minute or so, he allowed his eyes to drift back to the wall where the wolf was. Goldstein was gone. Riddle had won his meaningless victory.
He turned back to see Minerva waving goodbye and Hermione taking her seat again.
"I'm so sorry. What were you saying before?" She looked genuine in her apologies.
"It's quite alright, Miss Sivad, the evening isn't entirely my own. Feel free to enjoy it with your friends if you so wish it," Riddle conceded as he adjusted his silver cufflinks.
"And leave you to yourself? If this is indeed… a date, then I wouldn't be so imprudent. If you won't tell me your name, perhaps you'll tell me a little about yourself." Hermione smiled at him nervously.
Riddle pondered her response for a moment. A date? Though his mind scoffed at the notion, by accepting the invitation as extended through Abraxas, he had, in fact, agreed to be her "date" for the evening.
"I am not quite as interesting as my mask may lead you to believe, Miss Sivad. I don't play quidditch, nor do I enjoy any particular shop in Hogsmeade. I rarely have outings with friends and would rather be by the fireplace reading. I can assure you, my life isn't quite so magnificent." Riddle was accustomed to others inquiring about his interests and personality, however, he never truly revealed himself to them. He settled with observable facts, nothing more.
"Quidditch has always been something I cared very little for—I don't particularly take kindly to heights. I enjoy Hogsmeade, but prefer the parchment shops and bookstores to all others. As for reading, I'd rather be doing that than almost any other thing," Hermione said in turn.
"You're afraid of heights?" Riddle raised an eyebrow, although hidden by his mask.
"Yes. It's not that unusual, you know," Hermione said defensively, her face flushing pink.
"Not entirely, I suppose." Riddle held up his arm, watching the cufflinks catch the moon and candlelight drifting throughout the room. "What if I challenged you to a broom race around Hogwarts?"
"I would have to politely decline your offer." Hermione crinkled her nose up at him.
"Do you even know how to ride a broom?" Riddle asked nonchalantly while not even looking in her direction.
"Of course I do. Every first year has mandatory lessons."
"So you even had to take lessons at Beauxbatons?" He studied her out of the corner of his eye.
"Yes, we did, and I am sure they aren't much different than the hellish Broom Flight classes taught here at Hogwarts," Hermione replied evenly.
"I suppose not," Riddle chortled. "Though I am not one to enjoy quidditch, I am an excellent broom racer. Perhaps it's best that we not wager a match, I would hate to embarrass my date for the evening." Riddle threw up his hand at the ghostly figure toting around a tray of drinks. The translucent man, dressed in Victorian era attire, nodded to him and floated by expertly, extending the tray to him. Riddle grasped a goblet, extending it to Hermione. Her eyes were narrowed slightly, but she took it from him. He took another for himself and waved his hand at the ghost, signaling that he was finished with his services. The Victorian specter let out a low "harrumph" at Riddle's arrogance before floating off again.
"You would challenge me to a race on the night of the ball? It would hardly be appropriate—especially in my evening attire." Hermione tilted her head back and drank from the goblet of spiced pumpkin juice.
"I am not one to forgo a challenge if I see room for one to be made." Riddle sipped on the drink lazily as he watched couples waltz on the dance floor. Some of the more uncoordinated students—particularly young men—frequently stepped on the toes of others, earning themselves harsh glancing from the more graceful patrons.
"How very Slytherin-esque of you." Hermione coughed and sat her glass down on the table, looking at him inquisitively.
"Taking jabs at my house, are you? I am wounded," Riddle said with heavy sarcasm. "And how observant of you, might I add. Are quick-witted judgments common in Ravenclaw, or just in you?" He immediately regretted letting his words fly out so unceremoniously. His mission was to discover more about her, not offend her before the night had barely begun. Normally he wouldn't mind getting a rise out of her, but tonight was one of his only chances to see past the barrier she put up for him daily. He calmly awaited her reply. She looked out at the dancers momentarily in thought before smirking darkly at him, her eyes slits behind her mask.
"Just me," she said before taking a long drink from her goblet. He laughed at her audacious response. Riddle couldn't help but wonder if the Sorting Hat had considered placing her in Slytherin.
Hermione turned away from the handsome, mysterious man sitting next to her and back to the ballroom. She watched the instruments play without musicians tending to them, the ghosts float throughout the room as they served and chatted up students, and the long table to the right of the room as it magically begun to fill itself full of hearty foods and colorful sweets. Her stomach growled and she felt embarrassed, but thankfully the young man next to her seemed not to notice.
She stood up and pushed her chair back in, careful not to snag the silky material of her dress. She turned back to her date.
"I am going to the buffet, would you like to join me?"
He seemed to be weighing the decision, before he finally nodded and stood.
They walked over to the long table that was covered in delectable fare and began to help themselves. Though Hermione was at ease with the masquerade, some sort of nervousness residing in her kept thrumming with every step she took. She didn't know if it was because of some shrouded insecurity or the man she walked beside, but either way, she settled for lighter foods. However, in a last minute decision, she snagged a slice of pumpkin bread.
As she walked back to their table, she notice that the snake-masked boy was already in his seat. How did he get back so fast?
"Hermione! There you are!" Aviela rang out clear over the music and chatter that filled the ballroom. Hermione halted in her steps and turned to face the direction of the voice. Hermione saw Aviela adorned in her petite, white mouse mask—just as she had said she would wear—and a sleek white dress with a purple sash at the waist. The front dipped low, but she was sure that, in Aviela's opinion, it wasn't low enough. In tow was a tall brunette boy with broad shoulders, sporting a mask that looked like the face of a German shepherd. Aviela pulled the boy along by his hand through the crowd. He didn't seem to mind it, a grin plastered on his flushed face.
"Aviela, I thought you'd never get here." Hermione smiled to her friend.
"Me either. It took a little long than expected, and I had a little bit of a delay." Aviela's eyes rolled over to the young man beside her. He seemed to be over-enthusiastic and stumbled slightly at their abrupt stop.
"So, er… who's your date?" Hermione tilted her head, studying the boy as though he were a different breed of human.
"This is Avrin Callahan, he's Gryffindor's quidditch captain," she winked, "but Avrin and his friends thought it would be a good idea to loosen up a bit before the masquerade." Aviela scowled slightly at him. The boy seemed oblivious to their conversation as he threw his hand up to the crowd, some of who cheered in return. Hermione assumed it was his quidditch mates.
"He's drunk?" Hermione looked at her with big eyes.
"Don't worry, I'll keep him on a tight leash." Aviela winked before turning back to Avrin with clear displeasure written on her face. "Come on Avrin, I'll grab you something to ease up the symptoms."
"More drinks?" He was very enthusiastic, indeed. Aviela huffed and threw Hermione an apologetic look over her shoulder. Hermione returned the look before going back to the table she had occupied.
She sat down beside the snake-masked stranger and began picking at her food, her appetite struggling. The young man next to her ate neatly, not even spilling a single crumb from his almost-empty plate.
"Are you feeling well, Miss Sivad?" He asked politely.
"I'm fine, I promise," she offered him an impish smile, "the masquerade is just very exciting. Thank you, for your concern."
He nodded in acknowledgment before departing the table with his empty plate in hand. He threw away his trash before striding across the dance floor, disappearing into the throng of students. Hermione returned to her food, opting for taking small bites. Although she had been excited for the masquerade to an extent, she found a foreboding and sense of dread taking its place with each tick on the grand clock hanging on the wall. The Roman numerals counted and she could hear its deep ticks underneath the ambiance, making her paranoia grow. She fought it by washing her worries down with another glass of pumpkin juice.
Riddle stalked away from the table and weaved through the dancing couples. Leaning against the furthest wall from him, he saw a figure dressed in fine robes, a silken vest, and a falcon mask.
Abraxas.
Riddle approached him with a nod and leaned up against the wall beside him, observing the students dancing, chatting, and laughing merrily. His face was impassive as his eyes skimmed the room. The only other time he had felt this nervous was on his first day at Hogwarts, after that, he knew the school would soon be wound around his finger easily. However, he wasn't feeling as assured at the moment. His eyes turned to Hermione.
She sat slumped over in her chair, a look similar to confusion written on her face as she picked at her dish. The moonlight drifted down upon her, illuminating her dress like a midnight river. He saw the wolf-masked boy watching her from nearby. Christopher Goldstein didn't trust Riddle to keep his word.
The Goldstein boy had only been with them for a short time, but he expected complete loyalty nonetheless. When the plan for the masquerade was discussed, he had watched Christopher closely. Though he knew the boy feared him to some end, he was unsure if he could keep quiet—even with legilimens to reassure him. One night after the Knights of Walpurgis adjourned, he approached Goldstein with an offer the golden-haired boy wouldn't refuse.
Riddle presented to him that if he kept quiet, stayed loyal, he would be guaranteed a higher ranking. Then Riddle's eyes turned deadly and he told Christopher that if he saw in his mind that he even dared to imagine a whisper of treason, he would make him and his sister regret the day they ever set foot into Hogwarts.
He suddenly felt a hand land heavily on his shoulder. Abraxas stood still in his gesture, saying nothing. Whether it was a sign of kinsman ship or question, Riddle didn't know, but neither did he care. His eyes hardened as they trailed up to the shimmering moon high above the room.
"Do it," Riddle commanded firmly, his voice almost inaudible against the various sounds carrying throughout the room.
Abraxas nodded from behind him, letting his wand slide out of his sleeve and into his palm as he vanished from the Great Hall.
Hermione had been sitting alone for nearly half an hour. Her date had yet to return. She grew restless watching the couples sashay by, wishing that her nerves were as light as the fog that wafted around them. She had been asked by a few masked boys to dance, but she politely declined, deciding to wait on the serpentine boy she came with. She looked down at her half-eaten food. It began to look more and more unappetizing by the second, so she stood up and took her plate to the nearest trash can.
When she turned around, she saw a large figure looming over the crowd. Her heart skipped a beat momentarily in slight fear until she saw him tripping over the toes of some of the students, while mumbling "sorry" from behind his brown bear mask. She immediately smiled and dashed across the room.
"Hagrid!" Hermione stood off to the side, waving at the half-giant.
"Hermione? Oof—sorry!" Hagrid bumped into another student, sending the girl's punch sloshing to the floor. The girl scowled from behind her flamingo mask before allowing another student who had brought their wand to successfully vanish the liquid from the floor and her shoes.
"You look fantastic," Hermione said to him as he neared, gesturing to his outfit. He wore a patched, brown dress jacket and corduroy pants. He looked awkward among the more impeccably dressed students, but she had always admired Hagrid's own handiwork when it came to clothing. She also saw the nervousness in his eyes and hoped her compliment would help to alleviate it.
"Yer lookin' wonderful yerself, Hermione," he said bashfully behind his mask. "I've been lookin' fer Christopher. I haven't seen 'im this evenin'."
"Come to think of it, I haven't seen him either. He said he was supposed to be here with his date. He never told me who, though."
"That's odd. I believe he was a' comin' with Minerva," Hagrid said, puzzled.
"Minerva?" Hermione's brow furrowed behind her mask. "When I saw her earlier she was alone." She wondered why Christopher hadn't told her he was attending the ball with Minerva.
"Well, perhaps they're on the floor dancin' now." Hagrid looked over the crowd, his eyes squinting.
"Let's go find out. Do you care to dance with me, Hagrid? I promise I'll try not to trip you with my terrible skills." She extended her hand out to the half-giant. His eyes gleamed apprehensively, debating on whether or not he should accept. "Come on, it'll be fun! Besides, we can't do any worse than Avrin Callahan." She jerked her head in the direction of the dance floor where Avrin danced a sloppy jitterbug to the swinging music. Aviela tried to keep up, but was clearly not enjoying herself.
Hagrid's laughter boomed as he extended his crooked elbow to her.
Once on the dance floor, the students nearby gave her and Hagrid a wide berth. A stomp on the foot from Hagrid would surely result in a broken toe. Hermione made quick work to avoid sliding her feet under his own when they lifted. She caught Aviela's eye from across the room as the blond girl mouthed a silent plea, wincing as the boy she danced with flailed madly, nearly smacking her with every move. Hermione stifled a laugh as she shook her head and shrugged at the girl.
Thankfully the music eventually slowed and the couples were back to waltzing or slow dancing awkwardly-depending on the person. Her small hand was placed in Hagrid's large one as they swayed back and forth. He seemed uncomfortable in his steps, but Hermione had known enough to lead them, and encouraged Hagrid to loosen his shoulders. The half-giant eventually smiled and allowed her to teach him. She laughed with him as they talked and danced. She had nearly forgotten about her own missing date.
A girl in a tabby cat mask danced by with a boy in a wolf mask. Christopher? Hermione tried to catch Minerva's gaze by waving her down, but the Gryffindor's eyes were locked on the boy before her, her cheeks flushed pink. She held up a finger, signaling to Hagrid to wait a moment, as she made way to interrupt the dance to see if the wolf-masked boy was indeed Christopher. As she began to ease between dancing couples, a tall figure stepped in front of her line of sight.
"Miss Sivad, I was afraid I had lost you for the evening. Please forgive me for my absence and rudeness. I lost track of the time talking to some acquaintances of mine," the serpent-masked boy bowed to her. She looked over his shoulder as she watched Minerva twirl away with the wolf.
"It's quite alright. I've been dancing with a friend of mine," she looked over her shoulder to Hagrid who stood awkwardly as the dancers flowed around him, waiting on his partner to return.
"Ah, yes. Well, I am sure he wouldn't mind if I stole you away for a few moments for a dance would he?" He smiled charmingly down at her, his eyes dark eyes boring into hers. A chill graced her exposed shoulders.
"I suppose not," she said slowly as she studied Hagrid. She turned back and faced the young man. He stood before her, his hand—which was resting palm up—was held out to her. She slid her hand into his and he whisked her away into the crowd. Though Hermione couldn't see, Hagrid watched her dance away with concern written on his face, hidden behind the bear mask he wore.
The enigmatic young man danced with an unexpected grace, his hand holding her firmly with ease as he led them throughout the crowd. Every few moments he would stop their foot work to twirl her effortlessly before pulling her back to him. Every time, the sheer bronze material would float out behind her in a circle, reminiscent to ribbons twirled by children at a summer festival.
"Your dance skills are impressive," she complimented as he twirled her again.
"So I've been told." He seemed distracted as he watched the crowd around them. "Have you been enjoying your evening, Miss Sivad?"
She mulled over his question. Had she been enjoying herself? The easy answer was "yes," but something felt off. She had barely spent time with Aviela and Minerva, and she hadn't gotten to dance with Christopher. However, she still had visited with Hagrid and she had a handsome date who didn't step on her toes, either; her evening was nothing to turn her nose up at. However, something inside of her felt as though it were about to burst out any moment. A shadow loomed over her head and, moreover, she felt troubled because she couldn't understand why.
"Miss Sivad?"
"I'm sorry," she blushed due to her wandering mind, "I've been having a wonderful time. Thank you for asking." She smiled at him.
A ghost with a tray swirled by with a set of goblets sitting atop its metallic surface. In one fluid movement, the young man twirled them around and secured a goblet from the specter, handing it to her as they halted dancing.
"To your wonderful time, Miss Sivad." He smiled to her, his dark eyes sparkling in the half-light. Her eyes narrowed slightly. He seems so familiar…
"To us," she held her goblet aloft and drank heartily, the liquid burning her throat as it went down.
She sat at a table, placing another empty goblet on its surface. She had never known apple cider to be so calming. She watched the blurry students on the dance floor move wildly in their animal masks. Some of the more rambunctious dancers had rolled their sleeves up, taken off their bow ties, and were dancing more closely to their dates—with goblets of their own still in hand. The chaperoning staff that walked about seemed to have no clue what to do about the ongoing situation. A laugh bubbled up from her lips as she leaned back lazily in her chair.
"Hermione, are you okay?" A tuxedoed wolf stood before her.
"Why wouldn't I be?" She waved him off with her hand as she sipped on the goblet she held in the other.
"Because you've had nearly four glasses of cider in the past hour."
"So what? It's just cider. It's pretty good, too. You should try some, wolf boy," she said, a slight slur in her words. The apple cider was pretty damn good, indeed; she had completely forgotten about her nerves. Hermione heard the young man behind the mask sigh heavily as he took the goblet from her and sat it on the far end of the table.
"Hey, I wasn't finished with that!" She sat up straighter and extended an arm in an attempt to secure the half-full goblet she had been working on from the edge of the table. The wolf immediately seized her wrist tightly. "Who do you think—?"
"Hermione, you need to get Aviela, Minnie, and Hagrid out of here," the voice said quietly from behind the mask.
"Wait—Chris, is that you?" Her eyes grew wide.
"Yes, and—" Christopher halted in his words as she reached and smacked him on the face, jostling his mask in the process.
"You prat! You promised me a dance, yet you've been avoiding me all evening," she spat at him. "Hagrid was looking for you also. What has been with you lately?"
Still taken aback from her physical outburst, he stammered as he spoke.
"I'm sorry—I've been busy with other acquaintances and…"
"Too busy to spend time with your friends?" She crossed her arms. She had no clue why she was so upset at him, but she still felt like he had deserved it for some reason.
"No, it's not like that, Hermione," he tried to explain, but he just sighed, pushing back his mask and revealing his face. His eyes harbored dark circles under them, and his face was pale. He looked exhausted. Her eyes immediately softened.
"Christopher… are you—"
"Hermione, listen to me, it's important. Please, can you do that for me?" He looked at her, his face serious. He didn't wait for her to respond as he grabbed both of her arms tightly. "I need you to get Aviela, Minerva, and Hagrid out of here."
"But why? We're all having a great time."
"Something isn't right, Hermione. I can't explain it to you right now—not here. The masquerade isn't safe anymore. I need you to go get them, then all of you need to go back to the common rooms. Convince them however you have to, please."
Hermione stared at him, her mouth hanging open slightly. His blurring face was pleading and he looked afraid. Christopher's eyes bore into hers as though they were trying to tell her something that his mouth couldn't say. She closed her mouth tightly and nodded to him in agreement if only to cease the haunting fear in his eyes.
"You need to go now. I saw Hagrid by the foyer, but you need to find Minerva and Aviela."
"Please, tell me what this is about, Christopher." She was almost begging him.
"I can't. Please, just trust me," he said in a quick, hushed tone as he looked around at the crowd, scanning the room for something or someone—a something or someone he didn't want to overhear them.
"Okay," she conceded. He immediately nodded and pulled his mask down, securing it to his face once more before disappearing into the crowd. Fear ran cold in her veins. She had known something wasn't right, and Christopher's actions had just proved it.
She stood, stumbling as she pushed in her chair. The room seemed to tilt with each step she took, but she fought the urge to sit down again. Her heartbeat fluttered quickly inside her chest and she felt lightheaded. The world turned around her, shifting with a groan that sounded like the hull of a ship settling on an uneasy ocean. Her hand rested on the side of her head, trying to dull the thrumming inside of it.
Hermione looked up at the bright light that shone brilliantly down upon her from the moon of the enchanted ceiling. She winced and averted her gaze as the intensity of it made her head throb even further. She looked down at her glowing, ivory skin and midnight colored dress that seemed to melt onto the floor around her in pools of silk. Between the low-rolling fogs, she saw the pearlescent floors sparkle with every speck of light that touched it.
A ghostly violin began crescendoing as it played a waltzing tune backed by a supportive orchestra. The partygoers in elaborate glittering gowns and pressed suits danced wildly—unfittingly—to the music. The tinkling laughter of a young female chimed in and the voice of young men chatting too-loudly drifted throughout the room. Goblets and glasses clinked together as they touched and each toe tapped on the dance floor was like a frenzied Morse code, sending a hidden message to her that she couldn't understand.
Hermione moved throughout the room, stumbling every few steps, until she stood in the throng of the party. The faces of a dozen animals swirled about her as they danced, tightly packed, on the floor. A white rabbit twirled a gowned mouse. Aviela? Hermione made a step toward the pair, but her path was cut off by a suited frog graciously bowing to his feline counterpart before whisking her away. Minerva? Hermione followed after them until she was blocked by a suited horse moving forward to embrace the peacock before him. Her eyes tried to follow them, but their movements were too fast, too erratic, and her glazed eyes couldn't keep up.
Despite the irregular movements of the animals, they seemed to float above the floor with each turnabout. A chill crept up her spine as she stole a glance at the wolf that waltzed by her. Christopher. She tried to get his attention, but when he turned his head, the mask held nothing but indefinite shadows where his eyes should have been. She huffed. She needed answers, not vague pleas. She tried to follow after him, but only found herself growing more anxious as the dancers around her seemed to move even faster. They moved so madly, it was as though they were becoming inhuman in their actions.
A pair of dancing gazelles bumped into her forcefully, sending her tumbling to the hard surface, partially shrouding her beneath the fog. Hermione's heart pounded as she scurried across the floor like a rat—dodging polished shoes and stomping heels. As she attempted to avoid a pair of legs on her right, a dancing duo slammed into her from the left, sending her sprawling to the floor once again.
Disoriented, Hermione struggled as she looked up; the light from above blinded her momentarily. Through the sashaying of long gowns and slender, black legs she saw a figure standing off the floor of the ballroom near the shadows. She focused on the observer as she tried calling out for help. She reached outward, only to have her hand crushed violently beneath the shoe of a stomping patron. Then with a grunt, she hefted herself forward despite the pain and crossed the room quickly; weaving herself in and out of the crowd the best she could while being tossed throughout the sea of wild things.
With a gasp Hermione broke through the horde of dancers and threw herself to the feet of the tall figure. She stood up shakily—stumbling before steadying herself—and looked up to face the serpent before her.
"Miss Sivad, are you all right?" She sighed, relieved to see a familiar face. He seemed to smile at her almost deviously, but she brushed it off as a trick of the light. Her feet felt heavy and her head too hot.
"Yeah, I'm fine, I think." She examined her reddening hand that a student had stepped on moments before, but it still fared better than her dress which now sported a few unforgiving tears. "Look, I need you help finding my friends. I… think they may be in trouble." She attempted to be careful in her words, heeding Christopher's plea.
He tilted his head, studying her with a smile that made her uneasy. He reached out to her, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear and took her hand, slowly pulling her closer to him.
"I am sure they are fine, Miss Sivad. In fact, I believe I just saw them leave through the door not but moments ago. Come, we'll find them together."
She nodded in relief. She felt queasy and was more than ready to leave the masquerade with her friends in tow. The mysterious young man pulled her hand with a firm grip, leading her from the Great Hall and into the foyer.
Her eyes scanned the halls, but she saw no sign of Minerva or Aviela. She allowed the serpent to lead her down a hallway. Before they turned down another corridor, Hermione was sure she had seen a tall figure in a bear mask standing near the door. Hagrid. She attempted throwing a hand up at him, but they were moving quickly and he didn't see her. The passageway he pulled her down was dim, yet she followed him like a sheep being herded by a shepherd.
"Where are we going?" She watched as the back of his head turned and he flashed a darkened grin at her, the fang on his mask catching the light, causing it to glint at her from the shadows. Before she could ask him again, she was yanked behind a tapestry and into a hidden corridor. She stumbled into him.
The mysterious young man held her hand, steadying her. He then took his other hand and ran his fingers down her palm, then past her arm, and to her shoulder, drawing circles lazily in her flesh.
"You look so beautiful tonight, Hermione. I couldn't help but steal you away for a moment," he said to her in a low voice that made gooseflesh rise upon her skin. He continued his ministrations, dragging his slender fingers across her skin tenderly. She felt dazed and raised her silver eyes to meet his. Half-lidded, his dark eyes watched her curiously, a small smirk resting upon his lips.
"Thank you, but I really should go." Her words slurred a she eased away from him. She needed to find Aviela and Minerva. Something about this night wasn't right. She felt lightheaded and confused. She felt drunk. Then it hit her. The drinks... Someone spiked the cider. That explained why the masquerade had begun to get out of hand. Hermione was surprised that she was still standing upright even after guzzling nearly four glasses of the alcohol-laced drink. She considered the situation. Had the staff done anything to stop it yet? Did they even know? Hermione needed to tell someone. She immediately felt concerned for Aviela and her previously already-drunken date. And if Minerva did something outlandish, she knew that the Gryffindor would be mortified and wouldn't forgive herself easily. She stepped toward the tapestry.
"Please, don't go. Not yet. I've been looking forward to this night. Spending just a moment with you would make it perfect," he said thickly.
"But I need to..."
"But, you don't have to." The alcohol thrummed in her blood with every word he spoke. She had nearly slipped out from beneath his fingers when he stepped toward her. In turn, Hermione stepped back, further and further until she felt the cold stone wall on her exposed back. She watched him with wide eyes, her breathing heavier than before, as he dipped his head low, slowly brushing his lips feather-light across her neck. Her breathing halted. She should've been in the common room with Aviela by now. She should've let her rational side take over. But instead she stood meer inches from the mysterious young man, feeling like they weren't nearly close enough. He brushed his lips against her neck again, his breath heating her skin. In that moment, she let all inhibitions go. She hadn't felt as carefree as she had standing in that corridor with the stranger who gave her his undivided attention. She had let her concerns and priorities take over until they often left her sick with worry. She had nearly forgotten what it was like to feel reckless and unbound by obligations, expectations, and promises. The last time she had felt such a way was when she had helped Harry form Dumbledore's Army and fought back against Dolores Umbridge in their fifth year. It was liberating, and in this corridor, she felt liberated once more. Christopher would be furious with her, but in that moment, she didn't give a damn. She deserved a good snogging after all the hell she had been put through.
The darkling pulled back and looked at her, his eyes glinting from behind his mask. His hands slowly reached up behind her head and pulled loose the black silken ribbons that held her bronze eagle mask in place. Withdrawing the mask from her face, he seemed to study her intently, his held cocking to the side.
Hermione's heart beat erratically and her senses heightened under his gaze. She couldn't tell if the spine-tingling feelings she felt was from fear, confusion, or the fact that she didn't mind the admirations of this stranger, but regardless she didn't mind it. He held the mask in one hand as he trailed a finger from the nape of her neck down to the exposed, milky flesh of her back before running it back up again. A sigh of contentment escaped her lips; she felt as though she were in a trance-like state. He dipped his head toward her, his breath serving to warm her already flushed face.
"Wait... What about your mask?" She halted him. He chuckled deeply.
"Ah, but that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?" The stranger let a hand slide around her waist as he gripped her tightly. Surprise? Their eyes met for a brief moment. Those dark eyes… I've seen them before tonight... Wait, it couldn't be... could it...?
Then he kissed her, and all thoughts were lost. His lips danced against hers like a breeze, moving gently, expertly. Though she had anticipated the gesture, her eyes were still opened wide in shock of his abruptness. She found herself responding to the stranger as her eyes closed and her hand slid up his chest. He deepened the kiss, causing the hair on her arms to rise and her face to warm. His hand moved from her waist, up her side, and across her arm, until his fingers came to rest on her neck and in the part of her hair that was falling from the once neatly coiled bun it was in. Everything in her tingled and warmed as he continued to kiss her. She heard the metallic sound that formed from her mask clattering to the stone floor, but she didn't care and instead she moved another arm up to rest on his sturdy shoulder.
She didn't see when his hand let go of the mask and reached into his pocket. She didn't see when he withdrew his wand and pointed it to her temple. She only heard the words "nunc somnis" whispered against her bruised lips before she felt herself go slack, and crumple slowly to the ground, his hand guiding her head.
She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't muster her voice. She saw the serpent mask of the mysterious man float down to the ground before her like it was weightless. The heat that had once been coursing through her veins turned to ice. Hermione's mind immediately went to her friends. She had failed them, and now she didn't know what would become of her. Confusion and fear crept into her, quickly replacing the stranger's charm that had once befuddled her mind. She fought the tiredness that settled into her bones as she turned to look up at him. His face was shrouded in the dark, but she could feel his eyes watching her before he walked away. Hermione then felt a pair of strong arms lift her up, cradling her close.
"Wait… tell them…" Hermione tried to stay awake, but as her arm fell off to the side, she felt herself being whisked away into the night. She succumbed to the darkness that plagued her.
Her dreams were vivid, weaving together a story of a girl who was on a mission. In her dream, the girl picked up the stranger's serpent mask and put it on. When she wore it, the mask granted her the ability to control a thousand whispering voices at once. She chose to silence them all.
A/N: I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter! I am hoping to get the next one up ASAP, but it could be until the end of the month, so just keep a lookout!
Feel free to review or message me if you have any questions, comments, suggestions, or advice! I always reply and take your opinions and thoughts into consideration. So don't be shy! Just make sure if you want a reply, that you review under an account so I can easily communicate with you!
Reviews, favorites, and follows are my bread and butter (and motivation), so feel free to tell me what you think of the story thus far!
REVIEWER SIDE NOTE:
I would like to especially thank reviewer, Someone's Charm, for their insight on my story. They put me in my place when it comes to story accuracy, and for the sake of staying true and admitting my screw-ups, I wanted to address that particular review.
Charm pointed out the geographical issue of Little Hangleton being near enough to Hogsmeade to see from a distance. I would like to apologize for more screw up there. Little Hangleton is in England while Hogsmeade and Hogwarts are located in Scotland. You definitely wouldn't be able to them within close distances of each other. I should've done more research, as it was a bit thrown in, however the town will serve a greater importance later in the story, so I wanted to include it. If I can eventually rework it somehow, I will, however I cannot do any immediate changes until I come up with the right way to do so.
Also, Charm pointed out a timeline error with McGonagall having not attended Hogwarts during Riddle's time (she actually attended in the 50s). I have to say, I actually intentionally put McGonagall in despite the date difference. I know a lot of you want to remain true to the book as best as possible, but I was a little stubborn due to Minerva being one of my favorite characters. I couldn't help but include her. I apologize if this has caused any frustrations or confusion.
Anywho, I am thankful that I have readers that are comfortable with pointing out flaws or mistakes-it makes me a better writer. I have to admit though, sometimes it can be difficult to keeping things accurate in a work that isn't originally your own, but I embrace the challenge!
Thanks again to Someone's Charm and to all other lovely reviewers! I hope to see you all soon!
Constant Vigilance!
-VS