Hogwarts Ball - Concert and Dancing

[fi_admin]

Date: Saturday, 03 March, 2001
Time: 7:00pm
Location: Hogwarts
Rating: PG
Characters Involved: Anyone who wishes to attend

Comments

Re: 19:20

[silhouetteatrox]

Her hand was perched lightly in his, and she gave herself over to his control with such trust [oh, the deliciousness of satisfaction rising in his heart]; obviously Stella was not completely in the dark when it came to dancing.

Ciarán's style was more subtle than ostentatious, and the steps through which he led Stella were all very delicate and contained [just enough to show her off--a step step turn to flair the hem of her dress barely noticeably]. They didn't take up much room, despite his gentle maneuverings. Still, there was a certain edge to his dancing that cut through each movement, like a magnetic force that refused to let either of them drift off into daydreaming

"On which, than on the stars above, there hang more destinies."

He murmured his response in her ear while he had Stella turned so that she faced away from him. Her back lightly brushed against his chest, and he held both of her hands, so that her arms were crossed loosely over her front [helpless, not that she'd know it]. After he'd recited those two lines, however, he spun her out of the move casually, laughing everything off.

"You are too charming, my erstwhile professor. Is it any wonder you seduced my tender heart whilst I was young and innocent?" As always, jokes laced with truth. The quotation had suddenly made the conversation very interesting.

Re: 19:20

[prof_stargazer]

Stella, like most purebloods she knew, had been expected to learn to dance at a very early age - she could clearly recall waltzing around the kitchen with her brother, their mother critiquing every misstep. Now, though, she was not so focused on the steps (partially because her 4 - or was it 5? - flutes of champagne had quite suddenly caught up with her). It was much easier to just follow Ciarán, her feet almost instinctively reacting to his movements.

She could not remember a time in the past few years when she had felt so at ease and happy. Wars and rebuilding were not exactly conducive to joy and relaxation, let alone the shameless flirting she seemed to be engaged in at the moment. Though Stella was taking it all as harmless fun, her heart still skipped half a beat as she heard Ciarán's words in her ear, and felt his breath on her neck.

Just as quickly, though, she found herself spun back around and met by laughter. Having been brought back to Earth, she smiled at his comment.

"If I am too charming, then you are at least doubly so," Stella replied, her hand fluttering back to rest lightly on his shoulder. "And as I tend to leave the poetry out of class, I'm afraid that any seduction was happening in your imagination," she laughed. "But I will take that as a compliment."

Re: 19:20

[silhouetteatrox]

"Ah, but I learned my charms from the best. So you really should take that as a compliment." Better that than take overblown offence. Ciarán could not stand people who would not go with a tiny ridge of friction and ride out the joke to inappropriate heights. What fun was it if your partner would not follow you into the dark?

He liked it when she laughed, and flashed that top row of white teeth. Be my pet, teacher. The room was warm; he could feel the heat emanating from Stella's skin, and the scarlet tracings in her veins like heated wine. Still, he felt supremely cool, and looked it, though he held his partner closely.

"Where have you been in this past year, Stella? Haven't you grown yourself a family yet?"

Re: 19:20

[prof_stargazer]

Stella smiled softly and blushed (yet again!) at her dance partner's words.

"Really, Ciarán, I must find time to speak with you more often- you certainly do wonders for a girl's self-esteem!" Stella could not recall a time when she had received so many compliments in so short a span of time. Really, the evening just kept getting better! Her eyes betrayed the slight pang of sadness that accompanied Ciarán's next question, however.

"No, no family yet, much to my mother's dismay. She seems to be rather impatient." Allowing herself a small sigh, she quickly turned to the more enjoyable half of the inquiry. "After the end of the war I went to Greece- Ithaca, specifically. My mum is from there, and I have a great deal of family there still. I just needed to regroup a bit, I suppose. And Mediterranean breezes do seem to have a way of making everything more bearable." She smiled, fondly recalling all the times she had just sat out under the night sky, she and her telescope taking up nearly the whole of a small terrace of her grandmother's house. "After that, I came back to London in June, and school started in September! It seems to have gone terribly fast, I must say."

"And what about you, Mr. Malone? Where have your travels taken you this year?"

Re: 19:20

[silhouetteatrox]

"Move, move quick, you've got to move..." Ciarán could appreciate the irony of the lyrics being languidly delivered on stage, not merely because the song itself was not frenetic in pace. It seemed to be almost to its climax, with the sort of loud pushes of music obviously held back [straining slow and hard at the bands of cutting silk].

"I tend to do wonders for women in general." His words were casual, and almost offhand (as opposed to vulgar or lewd). It was just a gentle observation, no strings attached. Ciarán had somehow maneuvered them like honey into a slow but delicately complicated bit of footwork to go in time with the pulsing waves of guitar and thrusting drums. Their foreheads were nearly touching, although Ciarán's blinding eyes were directed downward, behind long lashes. Stella's arms were, out of necessity, draped over his shoulders.

"I moved to my home outside Milan at the end of the war, and more or less threw myself into my work. Sketches, design meetings; all terribly dramatic and typical of a prima donna artist." His hand moved noncommittally in its place at the base of Stella's back, as though to acknowledge his own silliness with a self-deprecating wave. He'd lace his fingers through the notches in her spine. Do you really want to talk?

He swiveled his eyes up to meet hers, wondering how he might taint that brown purity. Their lips were both parted, and her cheekbones stained red. How desperately boring this circling 'round and 'round was.

"But then, I've always loved Italy. It feels more home than here, at the moment. Strange, how that works."

Re: 19:20

[prof_stargazer]

At the moment, Stella was altogether unable to recall how her hands had ended up clasped together at the base of Ciarán's neck, or why her eyes seemed to be so close to his. Really, though, it was not an unpleasant place to be- it had been some time since she had danced like this, completely oblivious to what was happening around her. Presently, all she was aware of was Ciarán's voice, and his hands resting on her back. And very vaguely, her feet, lazily following whatever path her partner was setting.

"Many people escape into their work- myself included," she said, her thumbs unconsciously tracing light circles at the base of his neck. "It is very easy to become so focused that you lose track of the world around you." Stella smiled as Ciarán's eyes met her own - they were nearly the same height, due to her heels, and at the moment the two pools of pale blue were really the only thing she could see.

"I think any place can feel like home, if you love it enough," she said softly.

Re: 19:20

[silhouetteatrox]

This was one of his favorite parts. The intoxicating poison of the dance was such that the world narrowed and narrowed until his partners only saw him. It was only then that things became interesting. Her cute little ministrations at the back of his neck almost made him laugh. Go ahead; please me. I will please you until your mind ruptures and sifts away like ash. Pleasure or pain...either or. It didn't much matter to him what he was inflicting (besides, they so often coincided), so long as the Other begged with their eyes for him to make them leap over the edge. So long as they were powerless to him.

"For those of us fortunate enough to have work we adore, yes, I suppose that's true."

He followed suit on her back, the pad of each long fingertip a light pressure point through the irritating fabric of her ornate dress. She was staring at his eyes; he didn't mind. It was lovely--flattering, really. He was as a Siren.

Do you still talk? I hear your desires more strongly than your flittering, empty words.

"True. After we've left, we can never truly go back. All we have to anchor us to a place is love." His deep voice had been reduced to a whisper.

Re: 19:20

[prof_stargazer]

It was such an odd feeling to be in a crowd of people, yet to only be peripherally aware of them. Stella's current universe seemed to only include herself and the man whose arms were wrapped around her, whose whispered voice carried over the music and the din of a hundred conversations with such ease.

She had lost herself in a haze of champagne and dancing and music, and seemed to be relying on two very blue eyes as an anchor of some sort, to make sure she did not float away.

The spell of the music could not last forever, though, and Stella was physically startled as the ever-present sound of the band tapered off and was replaced with applause. She took a slight step back, though her hands remained loosely clasped around Ciarán's neck.

For the first time since they had begun dancing, she was utterly speechless, and just stood for a moment, still looking into his eyes and trying to gather herself back into reality.

Re: 19:20

[silhouetteatrox]

She was a darling specimen: who else had lasted so long through so much without losing the breathless goodness at the core of their soul? She was so ripe, ripe for the plucking, and he thought he could take her by the wrist and lead her gently away [to take that beautiful innocence away beneath silken waves and ashy excavations and gasped promises].

Instead, he just let her fall into his blue eyes, standing inappropriately closer and closer until his lips grazed hers.

It was not a kiss between friends. It was a kiss that might have come from a lover, or a kiss at least that might have come from the need burning behind her bosom. He deepened it, but there was nothing vulgar--just pure warmth, and intoxicating sensuality. A concentration meeting there, for a moment, till he was sure it would be too much for her.

And then--he stopped, and took away the love promise as quickly as he had offered it. With no words [just a chaste kiss to her forehead], he disentangled himself and drifted away into the shifting crowd.