A/N: Valentine's Day and Carnival fanfiction, people, as I've decided to make one out of two, otherwise I probably wouldn't have published either. Just a little piece for fun. I hope you enjoy, and, as always, please leave a review!
Now I'd like to continue on to some more serious issues. First of all, after reading some of the reviews I've gotten lately, I'd like to point out that I'm writing fanfiction. Yes, FANfiction. So basically I can write everything I like, unless it's incredibly out of character (still I could write it, I suppose), because it's MY take on the books and the characters. I'm not claiming to be, for example, the author of Harry Potter or of any other book for that matter (I'm hoping to publish an original novel one day, but that's a different story). So of course sometimes my fanfiction is not canon at all, as for some, they could be, or they could have been at one time. To resume the situation at hand, telling me my story is 'terribly inaccurate' or that the characters 'simply wouldn't do that' is useless. If you don't like fanfiction, don't read it; read the books we all love and that some of us are inspired by to write these little pieces we call fanfiction. Just please think a little, and read the story summary, I always specify my pairings there, why read a story if you hate the 'ship? That's all. Thanks for your understanding.
Having said that, secondly, i would like to thank my reviewers on Memento Mori: Electric-Blue-Monkey, Kimbi94, and xoxoNateJennyxoxo.
Third, I hope you all had a nice Valentine's Day, and I also hope you'll enjoy my fanfic!
Disclaimer: Anything you might recognise (characters, setting, etc.) is not mine, it all belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. etc. No copyright infringement intended.
This story is set after DH, somewhere between the actual ending and the epilogue. Ginny is not married to Harry yet, she's not even dating him currently.
Masquerade
Faces were hidden behind shimmering masks, laughs were obscured beneath colourful fans, long hair was covered with sheer veils. People were dancing, smiling, flirting all around. The big ballroom at the Ministry was filled with the Wizarding World's elite, and tonight was a night to represent themselves.
Everybody had come. Virtually everybody, from the Board of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to the famous Quidditch teams from all of England, Wales and Scotland, to the Ministry employees and the Minister of Magic himself. Among the crowd were many familiar faces, men, women and children, as well as many other magical creatures. Of course the guests were trying to hide their identity beneath exquisite costumes, yet, for the most part, they could be recognised quite easily.
For instance, that young witch dressed up as a Muggle punk rocker in the remote corner of the room was, naturally, Nymphadora Tonks. The gentleman next to her, elegantly clad in midnight-blue robes, certainly was Remus Lupin, although he was currently hiding his face beneath a mask that was painted with decidedly wolfish features. Ginny Weasley snorted. They had never been creative about costumes.
Turning around, she scanned the crowd again, looking for familiar faces behind the masks, the fancy clothing and the fans many of the women seemed to carry tonight. Many seemed familiar, but she only recognised a few other people before turning to the group standing behind her. They were all approximately her age, she could tell from their costumes and the way they held themselves, not quite like they belonged, more like they desperately tried to fit in. And, she had to admit, they did fit in quite nicely.
Their robes were elegantly cut, their disguises perfectly in place, so perfectly in fact that she failed to recognise anyone until they spoke. It was a girl in a long white Roman-style tunic, draped around her curvy body so as to enhance her grace. Her voice, combined with her hazel hair, made Ginny finally realise who she was. "Daphne Greengrass," she breathed.
At the sound of her voice, they all turned. Then the girl in the tunic smiled. "Yes," she answered, a hint of pride crossing her aristocratic face for a split second, "and, pray tell, who are you?"
"You may ask," Ginny grinned, "but I won't tell you. Not tonight."
Secretly she was quite proud of her costume, one she had been working on for an entire month before today's ball. Her father was the Minster of Magic, so of course his while family had t accompany him to the customary charity ball. Ginny's brothers hadn't been very excited at the idea, but Ginny and Ron's fiancée, Hermione, had been enchanted to hear it would be a masquerade. Nobody would recognise them. And so they had spent every evening of the last five weeks planning their costumes.
In the early planning stages, the girls had already agreed to keep their identities silent during the whole ball. Since Hermione wouldn't tell him what her costume would be, Ron had been furious at the whole idea, calling them stupid and ridiculous and reckless. However, Ginny and Hermione had only laughed at him, and closed the door again before he could catch a glimpse at the cloth, feathers, masks and scrolls of parchment covering the floor of Ginny's room at the Burrow.
For the masquerade, said Ginny was now dressed in a simple black dress that hugged her chest and waist tightly before flaring out at her hips and falling to the floor in seemingly endless cascades of black fabric. Her arms were bare, except for the shawl entirely made of fine black lace. To fit the dress, Ginny's hair had been dyed a dark shade of chocolate brown and her face had been whitened, highlighting her brown eyes and blood-red mouth dramatically. Overall, Ginny knew, she looked nothing like timid Ginny Weasley, the one who had once followed Harry Potter around like a helpless puppy. Tonight she was free. Tonight she was Lady Death.
Therefore, when Daphne asked her who she was, she was not willing to share her secret with her, or anybody else, for that matter. Ginny simply smiled dangerously, not the usual boyish grin everyone was used to, and replied: "Quite a pleasure to meet you. My name is Lady Death."
Daphne quickly took in the other girl's costume, her mouth twitching to show a small smile. "It suits you, whoever you may be."
"Thank you," Ginny answered, a short bow accompanying her words.
"She's right, you know," someone whispered into her right ear.
Ginny jumped. People coming up behind her soundlessly were not her forte.
"Who do you think you are, anyway?" she wanted to know, spinning around to face her assailant. Then a small sigh escaped her lips. "Oh," she whispered.
The man standing in front of her was of an imposing built. Although Ginny was by no means tiny herself, he was taller than her. His face bore a frown, as though he were trying to figure out where he had seen her before. 'No such luck,' she thought grimly before apologising to him.
"I'm really quite sorry. Nevertheless you should know that one does not creep up on Lady Death like that – unless one is ready to face the repercussions."
"Touché, milady," he replied swiftly. "Had I known you were gracing us with your presence tonight, I would have been more attentive. It was my fault for not suspecting you were someone so, ah, powerful."
"Indeed," she smirked," are you ready to face the consequences of disturbing Lady Death herself then?"
Waiting for her to continue, he simply inclined his head.
A smug grin was threatening to form on her lips, she barely managed to suppress it, answering: "Dance with me." It was not a request, it sounded like a command, and she had fully expected him to decline when she heard his answer.
"Your command is my pleasure, milady," he had said. Was he insane? Or maybe he was simply curious as to who she really was. In any case, she couldn't possibly deny him the dance now, after all it had been her to demand it. Merlin. She really attracted that kind of situations.
Gallantly he led her to the dance floor, and soon they were swirling around in perfect harmony with the music and the other dancers. She didn't know how to continue the conversation, so she simply continued to observe the guest over his shoulder.
After a while, though, he broke the comfortable silence between them by asking: "Recognised anyone?"
"Of course," she replied indignantly. "For instance, over there is Ron Weasley, dressed as an Irish leprechaun. And over there, do you see the two girls in violet saris? They are the Patil twins. And over there, the man dressed as Grindelwald is Ted Tonks. And those two over there..."
She would have continued for hours, had he not stopped her with a laugh. "Those two are the current Minister of Magic and his wife. Tell me, do you know everyone at this ball?" he asked, half serious, half playful.
She smiled. "Of course I don't know everyone." They twirled around another few times. Then she pointed to a girl dressed in a sombre Greek tunic who was holding a small wooden box to her chest. "Do you see Pandora over there? I haven't the slightest idea who she is."
She didn't tell her mysterious dance partner that it had been her who had chosen that particular costume for her friend, or that she knew quite well who was dressed as Pandora tonight, namely one Hermione Granger.
"You're right," he mused, "set aside yourself, I haven't seen many people I didn't recognise except her."
Triumph filled Ginny. They had done it.
Deciding to be bold this one time, she asked flirtatiously: "Then what do I look like?"
"Hmm..." he responded. "Hard to say, actually. You are a very beautiful Lady Death, obviously. Those dark shades suit you. They bring out the warm brown of your eyes. And you look more graceful than most in this dress."
Ginny, who had blushed considerably during his little speech, recovered enough to say: "You look quite handsome yourself."
That was certainly true. Although he was dressed in simple black robes, they were impeccably tailored and brought out his height and lean figure. His mask had to be magically fixed on his face, she thought, for it covered his face from the nose up beneath an intricate blue, black and grey pattern. The only holes in the stunning mask were destined for him to see, yet his eyes seemed more like part of the mask than anything else. Yes, he was handsome, she decided.
Abruptly the song ended, but Ginny didn't want to let him g so easily. Set on uncovering his true identity, she clung to him and pulled him even closer, putting her head on his shoulder. Ironically the next piece the band played was very slow and fitted her purpose exactly.
He was surprised when she pulled him closer, and even more surprised when she put her head on his shoulder. Then he shrugged. What did it matter? Then he resumed their dance.
"You're a very good dancer, you know," she said after a short while from where her face was still buried in his shoulder.
"I know," he replied, although the smirk that came onto his handsome features showed more amusement than actual arrogance.
Yet she commented on it. "And quite modest, too."
In response, he only laughed. Then, as if coming to a decision, he suddenly stopped spinning her around on the spot and turned them for the glass doors instead, those which lead to the Ministry gardens.
'Perfect,' she thought. Now she was going to find out who he was. To make him confess even faster, she etched as close to him as she could get, feeling his muscular built beneath the heavy black cloth. At her actions, she heard him breathe in sharply, for her whole body was now pressed against his quite comfortably. But he remained silent.
Then they had reached he gardens, and he stopped dancing, stepping back from her. Tonight, though, she was having none of that. She simply continued holding him close until he gave in and leaned into her embrace. She knew she was close to achieving her goal, but she had to press matters a little further.
"Mmm..." she sighed into his shoulder, catching a whiff of his scent. He smelled divine, masculine and wild but serene and sensual at the same time. She hadn't known that was possible. She sighed again, from sincere pleasure this time, and heard him chuckle.
That was when she lifted her head to look him in the eye.
"Something funny?" she asked, a soft smile playing in the corner of her lips. He looked down into her eyes.
"Not at all," he murmured.
She was so close, so very close, to her goal. He only needed a little more persuasion. Already sensing his discomfort, she ran her tongue over her lips quickly, but obviously enough.
Then it all seemed to happen very quickly. In retrospect, she had certainly gotten what she had wanted, but not quite the way she had wanted it.
"May I?" he breathed, his gaze fixed to her lips. For the second time that evening, she felt triumph and something akin to pride surge up inside her. She had done it. She, innocent little Ginny Weasley, was capable of it.
Ginny smiled again. Apparently that was all the invitation he needed. Her head was already turned upwards, towards him, so he simply had to bend down his head. Yet he suddenly stopped, at only a millimetre from her lips.
"Would you happen to have doubts already?" she whispered impishly, looking into his stormy grey eyes. Afterwards she didn't know what was happening to her. Lifting her arms, one got hold of his hair, the other sneaked around his neck. Then her mouth was on his.
At first, their kiss was very hesitant, timid, innocent even – if a kiss between a man and a woman can ever be described as innocent. The soft pressure of his lips on hers was the sweetest sin, and she didn't dare move any further. Growing bolder, he traced her lips with his tongue. She opened her mouth to him willingly, and then the kiss was suddenly far from innocent.
Their tongues were dancing, as they had danced only moments before on the dance floor. And like then, they seemed to fit perfectly, perfectly in sync and impeccably on time. She gasped at the feeling of it all. It seemed like his tongue was pouring liquid fire into her. Was a kiss supposed to feel like this? Should a kiss feel this magnificent?
At that moment, she didn't care about pretentions and what was supposed to be and what should not be. Her tongue was sliding along his, and then he moved on to caressing her lips with his tongue. Meanwhile, without breaking the kiss, Ginny tried to pull him even closer, as though that were humanly possible. Her hands were playing with his hair as his were sneaking along her shoulders and over her breastbone.
Finally she broke the kiss. He lifted her up, both still gasping, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. He held her there, so close to his body she could feel his heart hammering inside his chest. He had let his head sink on her shoulder, but she wasn't surprised when he started planting feathery kisses on her shoulder and neck, moving up to catch her earlobe between his teeth.
She nearly growled. His teeth on her earlobe were driving her crazy. Yet...
"We should stop," she gasped when he lowered his head to her neck again. That effectively stopped him from distracting her further.
"Ginny Weasley. Do you really think I would stop now?" His voice seemed to caress her skin as his lips and fingers did, until she registered his true meaning.
"Wait," she exclaimed, pulling back sharply, "you know who I am?" How was that possible? Nobody had recognised her so far, not a single person at this charity ball, and it had to be him, him, one of the rare persons whose identity she couldn't figure out, to unveil her secret.
"Yes." He sounded pretty self-satisfied. Then the mystery man tried to pull her closer again. To no avail. She was not moving from the spot.
Ginny knew she couldn't deny it. What was she supposed to do? She had just kissed a man whom she knew nothing of, whom she probably didn't even know at all. She was tempted to bury her face in her hands in shame, but this was neither the time nor the place. Instead, she steadily looked him into the eyes.
Internally, she was debating whether to run away or not when he abruptly put his hands on her hips and pulled her into another kiss.
It was nothing like that first kiss. Where the first one had been sweet and tender, this kiss was savage and all-consuming. Their tongues weren't dancing any longer, they were fighting, battling for dominance and strength while he held her captive against his body with his hands on her hips. In response to his stroking fingers, she raked her fingernails over his back, just lightly, but enough to make him shudder and break the kiss.
"Ginny," he whispered, and his voice sounded like the sweetest invite. "Please come with me."
Ginny knew she wouldn't be able to resist for a long time, his hands moving over her bare arms were distracting her immensely and is hot breath on her shoulder was very close to driving her crazy. Yet she knew she had to ask.
"First..." she said hesitantly, her voice still breathless from their kiss, "first tell me who you are."
He lifted his head from her shoulder. Ginny could see the hesitation plainly on his face, but then he seemed to come to a decision. Without speaking a word, he lifted the glamour charms that had hidden his true face for the entire evening. His black hair turned blonde, his mask vanished, and suddenly Ginny found a smirking Draco Malfoy in front of her.
"That's impossible," she breathed. Not him. Not here, not now, and not this way.
"Wait." He grasped her shoulders, holding her close. "I'm not asking you for anything. Come with me, nobody else needs to know. For all they know," he pointed to the ballroom, "you've disappeared with a handsome stranger, that's all there is to it. Come with me. I'm not asking for romance or anything after tonight, I'm just asking you to come with me."
Ginny simply stood there, amazed. Had he really just said that?
After a moment, she lifted her hand to his face, cupping his cheek in her palm. Then she turned her head up and her brown eyes met his stormy grey ones. She wondered how she had failed to recognise him, simply for the colour of his eyes, but then again, she had not paid much attention to him before tonight's events.
"No regrets," she told him, a smirk firmly in place on her face. Smirking as well, he bent down again to cover her lips with his. She sighed a little against his closed mouth, her tongue sneaking out to beg for an entrance he readily granted her. And somehow, their tongues were dancing again, a dance of their own, quite unlike the dances she'd known before, an exciting, a new dance that made her insides go up in flames. She nearly moaned when he began to run his hands up and down her sides, brushing her breasts ever so slightly. Of course he was doing it on purpose, just as she had kissed him for a purpose earlier, but she didn't care.
"Come," he repeated. She extended her hand, grasping his firmly. And then, in a swirl of gleaming colours, he Apparated them away.
A/N: Good? Bad? Indifferent? Please review! You know you can make my day just by writing a few words or lines...
Next year for Valentine's Day / Carnival I might write the story of this evening for Hermione. Hmm, we'll see about that.
Anna Scathach
Find last year's Valentine's Day fanfic, Love and Soul, on my profile.