"I was thinking I could be Hades." he said, his mouth twisting into a smirk. "You would be Persephone."
"I'd rather be Athena." she muttered, eyeing the seamstress with suspicion.
"Elle sera donc Perséphone." he grinned to the old woman, who now conjured ribbon around Hermione with her wand.
Hermione glared at him. She had to admit she couldn't help but be impressed he'd managed to orchestrate this whole trip alone - they'd arrived in Paris, to a cosy house in the wizarding area of the town. She'd been given a trunk full of clothes - all of which somehow fit - and a massive library. It was close enough to Versailles to apparate, and had a beautiful view of the skyline. Of course, the city looked vastly different from what she'd remembered seeing on pictures in the muggle world - but she could still see the magnificent serpentine silhouette of the river Seine twisting in the distance, and the glittering lights that flickered off the great windows of Notre-Dame.
She also had no idea how Tom had managed to pay for it, part of her suspected she wouldn't want to know, though she felt it had something to do with whoever he was meeting in this world.
Tom seemed to sense a need to justify himself at their Hades-Persephone dilemma. "It's a masked ball! And I need people to know we're going as… a team. They'll be far too many people attending to even try to keep track of you."
She winced at his words. "We really do need to work on the way you phrase things, don't we?"
He scowled. "What I mean is, I don't want you getting whisked away by some page or knight in shining armour. There will be dozens of people dressed as mythological figures - Hades and Persephone have always been a… well, together. It works, we'll keep it that way."
She considered him for a moment, her features changing into a slight smile.
"What?"
"Oh nothing," she murmured. "This is simply surreal, that's all." Her swift acceptance of events surprised her - she felt distinctly Luna-esque in how quickly she'd adapted. How strange. Only hours ago she'd been in Hogwarts, and yet now this felt like it was centuries ago. "And you still won't tell me who you're meeting? Or why?"
She could almost hear his brain furiously working, his jaw tensed - his worried expression was one she wore often.
"No."
"Why not, Riddle?"
He went over to the window and surveyed the Paris skyline. "Strange, isn't it? To think how quickly this'll change with time." He turned back to her. "I-Can't you just trust me, for once, Hermione?"
She opened her mouth to retort-
"I've got to go check some of the books in the library." he said. "Your dress should be ready soon, and a house-elf will come do your hair."
She narrowed her eyes, running a hand through the tangle of curls on her scalp. "I'll do my own hair."
.
.
.
He almost didn't recognise her. It was as though she had stepped out of a painting.
Her white muslin dress, though still somewhat dictated by the fashions of the time in its wide skirts and lace, looked as through it had been over-run by flowers and vines, twisting up the nape of her neck, to hold back her hair. Her mask was of gold, inter-woven with roses and carnations. She'd tucked her wand up her sleeve - you could never be too cautious.
And he, he wore black robes, with spiralling silver thread tracing intricate motifs over the velvet. His dark hair seemed curlier than usual, a wreath of various vines and gems woven around his head. His eyes seemed to shine more brightly - yet in the candlelight, she could not truly tell their colour. They seemed to shine scarlet for a moment. She couldn't help but think he looked worryingly beautiful.
Never trust a pretty face, her mother had told her. Her mother. Was she safe? Had her parents made it to Australia? What if the death eaters had-
"Shall we?" He asked, placing a mask of silver over his face. She nodded.
Taking her arm, they apparated to the hall of mirrors. The gallery shone with the light of a thousand candles, filled with people - some clearly witches and wizards despite their disguises - others, Muggle nobles and aristocrats. Some had chosen to dress up as servants - a few countesses had donned the apparel of flower sellers and gardeners - others characters from Greek mythology, she thought she spotted a dark-haired Poseidon in the distance, trailing blue silks and pretty pink shells in his wake. Then there were a few who had come as various flowers and trees - a gaggle of giggling girls dressed as budding roses, their dresses a vivid scarlet of pink hue, their hair held up by a thousand little flowers. There was a man with bright red hair trying to impress one of them - and for a moment she was reminded of Ron. What would he think of her sudden disappearance? She said she'd come back for Bill and Fleur's wedding, hadn't she?
"They say the King is hidden amongst the yew trees," Tom whispered in her ear, indicating a group of men clad in green, disguised very carefully as yews, which had emerged to the great excitement of much of the female population.
"I'm still angry at you, you know." she muttered back.
He seemed amused. "Ah well, we wouldn't quite be Hades and Persephone if you liked me that much, now would we?" he chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. He seemed to realise what he'd done rather quickly, and pulled back. "I-that is to say -" he started, but his voice was drowned out as the music began.
The Poseidon with the dark hair came over to them and offered his hand. "Une dance, demoiselle?"
Tom opened his mouth as if to say something, but it was to late, Hermione had already been whisked off by the stranger.
He eyed her sulkily, then caught sight of someone - his contact - and made his way over.
"Anglaise?" Poseidon asked.
"Er. Oui - en effet, j-je suis anglaise." she stammered. "Comment avez vous-"
"I'm English too." smiled her partner, "and if I'm not mistaken… you look as though you possess the gift of magic."
She tensed - struggling to remember what the International Statue of Secrecy had to say on such occasions. Was it valid in the 1740s? In 1740s France?
"It's only that I do too," said Poseidon with a quick smile, twirling her around "Hogwarts - as I'm guessing you must be too. Although I never forget a pretty face."
"Didn't you… er.. come here with anyone?" There was something unnervingly familiar about her dance partner, but she couldn't-
"Yes." he grinned, "She's over there dancing with Hades. He's yours, I believe?"
Indeed, there was Tom, gliding around the room with a stunningly beautiful, chestnut haired woman in his arms. She was disguised as Athena, a costume perhaps Hermione would have wanted to pick out had she been able to. They had now stopped and seemed to be in deep conversation. For some reason, it not only worried her - but angered her.
"I wouldn't quite call him 'mine'. Besides, aren't Poseidon and Athena supposed to be rivals?"
Poseidon laughed. "Yes, yes I suppose we are in a sense. She was adamant to come dressed the way she wanted this time, and who am I to refuse her? She's a spectacular woman."
"I can imagine. What do you think they're talking about?"
"Jealous?"
"No. Curious."
He smirked, "Oh, probably magical theories, no doubt you'll find out. My companion has set your little friend quite the problematic task, I'd say."
They danced for a while longer, and she was just about to ask for his name when a cool, ever so slightly angry sounding voice came-
"Mind if I cut in?"
Yes. Yes, I do mind.
Tom, or rather Hades stood before her, his eyes menacing under his shining mask.
The music stopped.
A different tune, slower, more melancholy, started up again.
"Would you do me the honour of the next dance, Persephone?" Hades whispered with a bow.
She looked pleadingly at Poseidon - he merely smiled, before taking the hand of one of the shepherdesses, and dancing away.
"Who was the woman?" she asked, as Tom and she began to sway.
"Athena? Oh just some polite-"
"Don't lie to me. I can always tell when you lie."
He couldn't help but smile a little. "I'm not sure. She's our contact of course."
"And you don't know who she is?" she asked with a twirl, urgency creeping into her voice. "Do you have any idea-"
"How dangerous it is? Yes, but I was desperate." He reached out to tuck a strand of hair which had fallen into her eyes.
She led him out to the grounds, through the gardens, past flowers and fountains, couples kissing and whispering in the dark.
Finally, they came to a secluded place - under a great oak tree, in the far eastern corner of the gardens.
She took off her mask, and conjured a few candles. "What on earth is going on? Why are you meeting with that woman? Why do you say you're 'desperate'?"
"My, my, Persephone," he grinned coyly, "I simply-"
She tore his mask off. A rather stunned looking Tom greeted her.
"Tell me."
"We're from different worlds." he murmured after a silence.
"Enough with the blood prejudice, Tom."
"No. Not that - we're from different universes."
She rolled her eyes. "We'd already established that."
"But when our worlds start to separate, when our timelines begin to differ-"
"You mean if. If our worlds start to differ, and that's-"
He grabbed her hands, and steadied her gaze with his. "No, Hermione. When our worlds differ. I don't know what I'm like in your world, but I've understood enough to know that not only have my goals not been accomplished, but I'm a person you're revolted by." His thumb began to draw small circles on her hand. "I will accomplish my goals. Properly." And I want you by my side. He began again. "When our worlds begin to differ too much, we won't be able to cross between them and… see each other." his voice a strangled whisper. "I'm simply trying to find a way around it. But all I've been given are half-answers and riddles."
"Maybe.. Maybe it's for the best." she muttered. I am after all, supposed to be trying to find ways to kill you.
He quirked an eyebrow. "Don't be ludicrous. Listen, Hermione, we-" He closed his eyes. "Is that really what you want?"
Silence.
"Granger? Look at me, and tell me that you really believe it would be for the best - never mind timelines, or duty. Tell me if you really believe it would be for the best if we - this, whatever this is - stopped."
And maybe she would have said yes. Yes - it is for the best. We need to say goodbye.
Maybe she would have disappeared, if it weren't for the fact that he'd then leant in, and kissed her.
A/N - (of course, normal disclaimer that this world most certainly does not belong to me - the characters are very much the wonderful J.K. Rowling's - I've just taken them out for a bit of a waltz) Otherwise tadaaaa! Cheesy-ness overload! The ball they're attending is the Bal des Ifs (the ball of the Yew Trees) given in February 1745, gorgeous party, I recommend it to any prospective time-travellers. No need for an invitation for that ball in particular, though you do need to present yourself with someone who is prepared to unmask themselves and reveal themselves to be a noble to one of the porters (they can't let anyone in - but most people they do, huzzah for that!) - or just apparate straight into la gallerie des glaces/the hall of mirrors.
Any feedback/review/criticism/cake recipes are greatly appreciated - so please do leave a note!
x Calliope