I'm on a Voila kick the last couple of days, lol. But this fic is based on the song 7 Minutes in Hell by Chrissy Constanza and Voila. Have a listen! I've always found this song really fun and sexy so hopefully this fic reflects that. Happy Reading!
7 Minutes in Hell
She looked around as she entered the crowded club. "Why did I let Pansy talk me into this?" She thought to herself. Through the heavily masked and costumed crowd, she found a seat at a booth in corner, removing her angel wings and setting them next to her. She waved Pansy over and then went to the bar to order drinks.
Seated next to her was a tall, platinum blonde man in a maroon suit with a black, face mask that covered the top half of his face. She knew exactly who he was, but she wasn't about to let him know that.
He turned and smirked at her as they both nursed their drinks. With a final shot of liquid courage he finally turned and spoke to her.
~~~~~~~~~~~
He took a moment to drink her in. Her brunettes curls were spilling down her white, form fitting, and very flattering, dress. She wore a silver, sparkling face mask that really only accentuated her brown eyes, instead of truly hiding her identity. She was radiant. That could be due to the glowing halo magically levitating over her head of course.
He knew exactly who she was, but he wasn't about to let her know that.
He downed the last of his firewhiskey and turned to face her. "Dance with me?"
She seemed to hesitate for a moment before accepting his hand and let herself be lead out to the dance floor.
The room was a kaleidoscope of color and movement, lit by flickering chandeliers and bursts of red and gold light. Bodies pressed together in the haze of sound, the bassline thrumming like a heartbeat underfoot. Masks obscured faces but did nothing to hide the way they moved—uninhibited, sensual, lost in the music.
She looked up at her partner as they began to dance. His mask shimmered in the dim light, but it was the intensity of his gaze that made her breath hitch. They moved in perfect harmony, a wordless conversation carried in every step, every brush of fingertips.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh, my God
Do angels ever fall this hard?
The devil's dancing in the dark
I kinda like it in his arms.
She felt the weight of the room pressing in on her, the blend of perfume, sweat, and magic as thick as the music that pounded through her veins. The anonymity of the mask was liberating, a shield that let her lose herself without consequence. She moved to the rhythm, her body swaying instinctively, her mind delighting in the sheer thrill of being seen but not recognized.
Her dress brushed her thighs as she spun, the silky fabric a whisper against her skin. His hand brushed hers and she looked up at him. His mask hid his face, but his eyes were sharp and intent, burning through the dim light. He danced like he knew her, like he'd done this before, like this wasn't some random moment in a crowded room.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Close your eyes
I'm gonna be your favorite vice
Forbidden from your paradise
You wanna take a little bite?
He had told himself he wouldn't look for her tonight. The mask was supposed to be a reprieve, a chance to blend into the crowd and forget the maddening pull of her presence. But even in the chaos of the masquerade, he found her like a compass drawn north, or rather, she found him.
Her movements were effortless, as if the music existed solely for her. He watched the way her dress swirled, catching the light like liquid fire. She wasn't trying to be seen, but he couldn't look away.
When he reached for her, it wasn't planned. His hand moved before his mind could stop it, his fingers brushing hers in a fleeting connection that made his breath hitch. She didn't pull away. Instead, she let him draw her close, and for a moment, the world around them blurred.
This is a mistake.
But if it was, it was one he didn't want to stop making.
~~~~~~~~~~~
They moved as if the music commanded them, their steps instinctual, a perfect rhythm. Her laughter, soft and breathless, carried over the pounding bass, igniting something reckless in him. His grip on her waist tightened—not possessive, but anchoring, grounding them both in the storm of the dancefloor.
Her pulse quickened, every step pulling her deeper into the moment. His hand was warm through the fabric of her dress, the steady pressure sending sparks skittering down her spine. It wasn't about names or faces—it was about this, the unspoken connection, the feeling of being utterly and completely alive.
~~~~~~~~~~~
How does she always do this to me?
Her scent, her touch, the way she moved like no one was watching—it was maddening. The mask might hide his face, but it couldn't protect him from the way she saw him, the way her gaze lingered on his like she could see straight through him. He knew the song would end soon, that this moment would slip through his fingers like smoke, but for now, he let himself fall into the spell she cast.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The song shifted, the tempo slowing to something darker, sultrier. Around them, couples drew closer, the lines between strangers blurring. But Hermione felt the weight of his gaze on her, grounding her amidst the chaos. His hand slid from her waist to her wrist, a silent invitation—or was it a challenge?
She hesitated. Not because she didn't want to follow him, but because she wasn't sure what came next.
"Trust me," he said, his voice low and just loud enough to be heard over the music. The sound of it curled through her, rough but steady, like gravel smoothed by water. She nodded before she could think better of it.
He led her off the dance floor, weaving through the crowd with ease, his grip firm but not forceful. The air grew cooler as they moved farther from the swaying bodies and pulsing lights. Hermione caught flashes of faces, masks of silver and gold, until the crowd thinned and the music became a distant hum.
~~~~~~~~~~
They stopped in an alcove draped with heavy velvet curtains. The shadows here were deeper, the only light coming from a flickering chandelier overhead. It was quieter, the muffled sounds of the ball creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere.
He turned to her but didn't let go of her wrist. She could feel the warmth of his hand against her skin, steady and sure, though his mask still concealed his expression. He was taller than she'd realized on the dance floor, his posture confident but not imposing.
"Why did you ask me to dance?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
He tilted his head, studying her through the mask. "Because you looked like you wanted to be danced with."
The words hit her like a spell. It was absurd—she barely knew him—but there was something in the way he said it, like he'd known her forever.
"And you?" she countered, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. "Why did you want to dance with me?"
He hesitated, his fingers flexing against her wrist as if searching for the answer in the pulse beneath his touch. "Because I couldn't help myself."
The space between them felt fragile, like a thread stretched taut. Hermione's free hand hovered near the edge of his mask, her fingers brushing the cool metal but not daring to lift it. She wondered if he would stop her, but he didn't move, his gaze locked on hers.
"Do I know you?" she asked softly, giving him a chance to confess.
"Does it matter?" His voice was quieter now, almost reverent.
Her hand dropped, her fingers curling at her side. It didn't matter. Not tonight. Not here.
"No," she admitted, stepping closer. "It doesn't."
She was so close now, her scent wrapping around him, the flicker of light catching in her hair. He wanted to tell her, to let her see him for who he was, but the risk was too great. For now, the mask gave him courage. The moment wasn't about who they were—it was about what they could be, if only for tonight.
She felt the pull again, the strange magnetism that had drawn her to him on the dance floor. Her heart raced, her mind battling with the thrill of the unknown. She could feel his breath now, warm and steady, and the question hung unspoken between them: Would either of them break the fragile spell?
The music swelled faintly in the background, a reminder that the masquerade would end eventually. But for now, in the shadows, time seemed to hold its breath.
The flickering chandelier cast long shadows over the alcove, its dim light illuminating the rich velvet curtains that separated them from the masquerade. Hermione leaned back against the wall, her heart pounding in rhythm with the muffled music. She knew exactly who the masked stranger was—she'd recognized him the moment he'd turned to speak to her at the bar. It was impossible not to.
But if he wanted to play this game, she would let him. For now.
Come my way
I think I know a little game
I think I know you wanna play
How 'bout a little twist of fate?
"Still haven't told me your name," she teased, tilting her head, the corner of her lips quirking upward. Her tone was light, almost daring, as if to test how far he'd take the charade.
"Neither have you," he countered smoothly, stepping closer. His voice was unmistakable—she'd heard it too many times not to know. But the mask gave him an air of confidence she hadn't expected, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was enjoying this as much as she was.
"Maybe I like the mystery," she said, her fingers tracing the edge of her own mask. "Makes it more exciting, don't you think?"
His laugh was low, almost a hum, and it sent a shiver down her spine. "So, you enjoy being pursued by strangers?" he asked, his tone teasing but edged with something more.
"Only when the stranger knows how to keep up," she replied, arching a brow. Her words were bolder than she intended, but the moment demanded it. She wouldn't let him win this little game so easily.
He closed the remaining distance between them, his hand brushing her waist with a confidence that made her breath hitch. She could feel the warmth of his touch even through the fabric of her dress, grounding her despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling in her chest.
"You're not as mysterious as you think," she said softly, her voice a whisper meant just for him.
He tilted his head, his mask catching the faint light as his lips quirked into a smirk. "Oh? Care to enlighten me?"
Her pulse quickened, but she refused to let it show. "I don't think you want me to," she said, her voice as steady as she could manage. "You're enjoying this too much."
His hand tightened just slightly on her waist, enough to send a jolt of awareness through her. "Maybe I am," he admitted, his voice dropping lower. "But so are you."
Close the door
Oh, drop your halo on the floor
No you don't need it anymore
I'll never leave you needing more
The air between them was electric, charged with unspoken truths and the weight of everything they weren't saying. Hermione felt her resolve wavering as his fingers slid up to her cheek, his touch feather-light but deliberate.
"You don't seem the type to take risks," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin.
"You don't know me as well as you think," she countered, tilting her chin slightly in challenge.
"Don't I?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost reverent.
Before she could respond, he closed the final space between them, his lips brushing hers with an intensity that stole her breath. The kiss was slow at first, careful, as if testing boundaries. But when she didn't pull away, it deepened, his hand sliding into her hair as he pressed her closer.
When you kiss me, I can feel fire within me
Heaven's got me burning
Yeah, you got me playing seven minutes in hell
Her hands found their way to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket. She felt his heart racing beneath her palm, matching the erratic rhythm of her own. The weight of who they were and the pretense they maintained melted away in the heat of the moment.
They broke apart slowly, their breaths mingling as the tension settled back between them. His forehead rested briefly against hers, and she felt his hand linger at her waist, as if reluctant to let go.
"Still don't want to tell me who you are?" she asked, her voice shaky but laced with amusement.
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his smirk returning. "What would be the fun in that?"
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "You're impossible."
"And you like it." he replied, his tone both playful and pointed.
The game wasn't over, not yet. They both knew who the other was, but neither was willing to break the spell. Not right then.
~~~~~~~~~
A couple hours passed. The hum of the masquerade wrapped around Hermione as she stepped back into the grand ballroom. The swell of music, laughter, and glittering light from enchanted chandeliers should have been disorienting, but her thoughts remained tethered to the alcove—and the kiss.
She moved through the crowd as if on autopilot, her hands smoothing her dress, her mask not hiding the way her lips still tingled. Around her, masked faces blurred into a sea of anonymity, and yet she could feel his gaze. He was still watching her.
She didn't need to see him to know where he was. It was a pull she couldn't explain, like gravity bending the space between them. Hermione turned her head slightly, her eyes scanning the crowd until—there. He stood by the edge of the ballroom, leaning casually against a column, his silver mask glinting in the light. The smirk she knew so well tugged at his lips, barely visible beneath the edges of the mask.
She arched an eyebrow at him, a silent challenge, before turning back toward the dance floor. Let him follow if he wanted. Let him come to her.
Touch me
Bringing me down to my knees
Love the taste of sinning
Yeah, you got me playing seven minutes in hell
It didn't take long. She barely had time to register the next song, a softer, slower melody, before his hand slid over hers. She glanced down as his fingers intertwined with hers, his touch familiar, steady, and completely infuriating.
"May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice low, teasing.
She turned to face him, tilting her head as if considering. "You've already stolen one tonight. What's another?"
He grinned and guided her to the floor, pulling her close. This time, there were no pretenses, no half-truths. His hand rested firmly at her waist, and she placed hers on his shoulder, her other hand still entwined with his.
They moved together as if they'd done this a hundred times before, their steps perfectly matched. The rest of the room faded into the background, the music a soft hum compared to the thundering of her heart.
"You knew it was me," he said after a moment, his voice barely audible over the music.
She smiled, not bothering to deny it. "And you knew it was me."
He chuckled, his breath warm against her ear. "I thought the masks were supposed to make this exciting."
"They did," she admitted, her voice softening. "But it was never really about the masks, was it?"
He shook his head, his expression turning serious, though the warmth in his eyes remained. "No. It wasn't."
Why do I feel heaven on your skin?
When I wanna be your eighth deadly sin?
They stopped moving, though the music carried on. Hermione's breath caught as he reached up, his fingers brushing the edge of her mask. For a moment, he hesitated, giving her the chance to stop him. But she didn't.
He lifted it away, revealing her flushed cheeks and wide, searching eyes. "There you are," he said softly, as if seeing her for the first time.
She smiled, her fingers reaching up to his mask. Her movements were slower, more deliberate, as she slid it off and let it fall to the floor. The face beneath it was one she knew so well, yet tonight, it felt different—new.
"Draco," she said, his name a quiet exhale.
He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. "Hermione, I've wanted to do this for so long," he admitted, his voice raw and honest.
Her heart clenched at his words, at the vulnerability in his tone. "So have I," she whispered.
This time, when he kissed her, it wasn't a game or a pretense. It was real, and it was everything.
When you kiss me, I can feel fire within me
Heaven's got me burning
Mm, you got me playing seven minutes in hell
Touch me
Bringing me down to my knees
Love the taste of sinning
Yeah, you've got me playing seven minutes in hell
The crowd around them burst into applause as the music swelled to a dramatic finale, but Hermione and Draco didn't notice. They stayed in their little world, their foreheads resting together as they caught their breath.
"What happens now?" she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.
He grinned, his hand sliding down to hold hers. "We leave the masks behind," he said simply.
She laughed softly, the sound warm and bright. "I think I can live with that."