the Malfoy Masque, part deux

[mirror_darkly]

Date: Twelfth Night! (January 6)
Location: Malfoy Manor, the 'Ballroom'
Characters Involved: those ready to dance!

Comments

Around 8:45-ish

[subtle_simmer]

((Continued from here.))

Musicians had again resumed their playing, as those who had completed their obligatory taste of cake - or chosen not to do so - were once again congregating near the dance area, expectantly.

Severus led Bellatrix to the dance floor with a confidence his adolescent self would never, ever have managed, nor even imagined he would ever be equal to accomplishing. His innate grace and many, many lessons grilled into him by his grandfather and even Narcissa, enabled him to move her gently into a sedate waltz without risk of the slightest embarrassment of his dancing skill.

Not that his heart was not racing faster than usual, but this was merely healthy fear and not the misery of adolescent, unrequited lust.

One would have to be a fool not to fear Bellatrix Lestrange and Severus was no fool!

Immensely grateful for the yards and yards of fabric of her dress which prevented anything like bodily closeness, he was still uncomfortably reminded of other times when she had been in physical proximity with him. Times when she had skillfully used his adolescent hormones and reluctant attraction as a tool by which to manipulate and ensnare him.

"You surprised me, there in the parlour," he said, offering a lazy false-smile as he peered down at her through his own mask, appearing for all the world a contented would-be suitor being graced with the attentions of the object of his affections. "Did you not wish to share in your brother-in-law's cake?"

Re: Around 8:45-ish

[la_morte_bella]

Even Bellatrix herself had been silently commending herself in her choice of costume. Rather, in the choice of her large dress, and the even larger underskirt. They might have easily been pressed down, but she would attempt no such thing. It was a plesant excuse to keep as far away from the miserable touch of Snape as one might.

She had agreed to dance, but touching him was another matter entirely.

"I have not a taste for sweet things." Bellatrix remarked coldly. There was an undeniable urge to be the one to lead in this dance. After all, she had always been the domineering one in their relationship. She would have liked for nothing more than to be pushing him around the dance floor. Submission was painful.

"But neither do you," she mentioned after a few moments. "Don't you prefer bitter?" The gentle upward curve of her lip would suggest at a smirk. If she was lucky, it would poke at him in just the right way to be bothered. It was, after all, the intention. She had seen the two parting in the parlour, and she knew Severus was aware.

The way in which the two of them were dancing would demonstrate very clearly that they weren't there for anything more than plesantries. The other witches and wizards that danced about them danced in the fashion of today's youth-- the woman tucked up under her man's chin, not even a space for a breath between them. Bellatrix and Snape, their touch was reluctant, her hand loosely curled around his own, the other resting on his arm to keep him almost exactly an arm's length from her.

"Who was he, little Severus?" She questioned. Her voice was entirely too soft, amiable for the purpose behind her questions. "What was it about you that chased him from this grand affair? Do you even know?"

Re: Around 8:45-ish

[subtle_simmer]

Severus snorted at her dig - if he preferred 'bitter', it was because that was all he had known the majority of his life - much of that in thanks to the woman now dancing with him! Not that she was remotely 'in his arms'. He was no more eager to have her held close to him than she was to be there. His hand rested very lightly at her waist, very proper, the picture-book image of the 'perfect' waltz posture - when one is performing the obligatory 'polite dance' with someone distasteful.

Precisely as they were.

"What could you possibly know of my preferences in such matters, dear Bella?" he asked with false endearment. "Long as we have known one another, it has hardly been a relationship to invite familiarity over minute particulars."

There was no warmth, even in dancing, as though she really were made of ice. The gloved hand in his did not reveal the warmth of flesh contained within it, nor did the multitudinous layers of her heavy gown permit any sense of natural body-heat to permeate where his other hand rested at her side.

Then again, Severus had always known she was a cold bitch.

Cold, but very intelligent - and very observant! He was always exceedingly careful not to react to anything she said or did, lest he betray a weakness which she would notice immediately and attempt to use against him. Nonetheless, that cool composure was somewhat harder to maintain when she asked her next question. He did not flinch, and he was certain the formal rigidity of his posture did not stiffen in surprise - but he might have blinked unnecessarily - a response he quickly sought to cover as feigning more surprise than he felt, raising one dark brow incredulously.

"'Little' Severus? Come, now, Bella - you can do better than that. Who was whom?" he asked with exaggerated surprise. "He? That man who was leaving just as you came upon me?"

He shrugged.

"No idea," he lied blithely, without the slightest fear of betrayal now, having gotten a grasp of his initial reaction. "I was trying to make it out - it seemed suspicious to be leaving so early in the night. I was attempting to engage him in conversation to catch the identity in voice or manner, but he left too quickly for my success."

Enough of the truth to avoid unnecessary fabrication, and now it was his turn to attempt to needle her.

"I suspect the present contingent of guests at this grand affair includes a great number of Aurors - the Ministry will want to have their hand in things, of course."

Let her think he suspected the mysterious individual to be an Auror - it might move her off the trail of truth.