The Mask of Zorro - HP FanFic
This is an entry to magickeyfiction's Halloween Fic Contest...read if you'd like!
Title - The Mask of Zorro
Rating - PG
Pairing(s) - Ron/Hermione with some hints at Harry/Ginny
Disclaimer - JK Rowling owns it all
Summary - Hermione hates Halloween, but will a masquerade ball change her determined mind?
The Mask of Zorro
A/U after end of HBP
I hate Halloween. I just do. It’s not a phobia or anything, I just hate it. And I’ve always hated it, so this isn’t anything new. That troll in first year wasn’t what ruined it for me; I’ve had something against it since I was a little girl. Maybe it’s my being a witch. Maybe I subconsciously hated the whole idea of witches and ghosts and goblins being bad, not good like I know they are.
Okay, so you’re probably thinking, “Maybe this is why I find Hermione Granger so damn annoying, because she thinks silly things like this and overdoes everything.” You’re wrong. I know, I always say that other people are wrong and that I’m right. Wrong again. Other people can be right, what they say can be true, but I’m telling you now that you are absolutely wrong about this. I am not overdoing my hatred of Halloween and I don’t say silly things; if you think it and you think it’s true and you stand for it, it’s not silly or trivial. But if you take those thoughts or ideas for granted, then it’s definitely not worth your time, and your time is a precious thing.
*
“Hermione, get a move on!” Ron called up the stairs as Harry sat on the couch of the common room, staring absentmindedly at the artwork on the walls. “No, we’re not going to wait for you!” Ron shouted back to something Hermione must’ve said. “We’re leaving in a…” Ron stopped cold. “You’re wearing…that?”
“Of course I am, Ronald,” Harry heard Hermione’s voice reply, and he got up off the couch to investigate. “I hate Halloween so I wasn’t going to go to this ball in a real costume, mind you.” Harry walked up beside Ron and nearly fell over; Hermione was standing before them in a most glorious dress modeled after those worn in the eighteenth century, only in flaming orange with black ties. Her hair was elegantly twisted up atop her head, adorned with little orange rosettes. He could hear her shifting her feet; the floor-length fabric made swishing noises if she moved the tiniest bit.
Harry looked at Ron, whose face was undeniably paler than usual. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Hermione,” he stammered.
“You’ve got to be kidding me if you think that’s an accurate costume either!” she retorted coldly, motioning to Ron’s costume with a black-gloved hand.
“Me? Why is it always me you pick on?” Ron shot back. “I am one-hundred-percent Zorro, Hermione, but Harry’s not even close to…what are you again?” Hermione placed her hands firmly on her hips and looked Harry up and down.
“I can see a very well-done Phantom of the Opera costume, Ronald, but on you…you’re a mass of black fabric with a mask and hat!” Hermione glared at Ron, that glare that Harry knew all-too-well as the look Ron dubbed the, “You’re starting to act like my mum, Hermione,” look.
“Fine then, if you’re so good with costumes, why don’t you fix it?” Ron stared her down, using his height to an advantage.
“I thought we were leaving,” Hermione said nonchalantly and walked towards the door, adjusting a black mask over her face as she went. Ron pivoted and stared after her, followed immediately by Harry.
“Who,” Ron breathed heavily, “does she think she is?” That wasn’t along the lines of what Harry was thinking, which was, “How the hell does she breathe in that thing?” but it wasn’t an altogether terrible question either.
“Ron, let it go,” Harry said forcibly, but Ron’s face was still contorted in displeasure. “I think you look the part.”
“Go to hell,” Ron snapped, his voice hinted with a bit of sarcasm, and swept out of the room just as Ginny appeared at the top of the stairs to the girls’ dormitories. Harry caught sight of her, her draping white Greek goddess costume fluttering about in a light breeze from the window and the ornaments on it glittering in the light.
“What was that all about?” Ginny questioned Harry, hurrying down the stairs and taking his arm. “Shouldn’t they be having fun? It’s their last Halloween at Hogwarts, after all.”
“Just because they should be having fun doesn’t mean they won’t be Ron and Hermione, and Ron and Hermione argue on a regular basis,” Harry said in response and Ginny nodded. “Let’s just hope they can ignore each other well enough at this dance; it’s a masquerade, after all.”
“Ooh, you’re right!” Ginny responded, positioning a white mask over her eyes and looking back to Harry. “Quite the dashing young Phantom, I see?” she joked, poking Harry in the chest.
“You call yourself a goddess?” Harry countered, sending Ginny into a fit of giggles. “Come on, we’re the last ones in the common room,” Harry stopped her laughter and the pair hurried out of the portrait of the Fat Lady and down the many flights of stairs to the Halloween Masquerade.
*
Upon entering the Great Hall, Ron was sure that he and Harry should’ve chosen more obscure costumes; nearly all of the male members of the Hogwarts family were dressed as various impersonations of Zorro and the Phantom of the Opera. Even little Professor Flitwick was garbed in black with a cape, mask, hat, and blade. Ron couldn’t even tell who else had copied his costume because of the masks.
Harry came up by his side. “We should’ve taken Hermione’s advice…”
“I told you to go to hell,” Ron responded coolly yet again. He really wasn’t in the mood to play nicely.
“Ronald!” Ginny’s voice squeaked. “You’re not the only one who has other people in the same costume. Get over yourself!” He really wanted to say, “Shut it, Ginny,” but a masked blonde girl in a provocative pirate’s costume came up to his arm and asked to dance. He grudgingly agreed and was whisked off to the dance floor where he knew he was sure to embarrass himself.
As he was dancing with the little blonde pirate, a flash of vibrant orange caught his eye. He cocked his head a little and could see what could only be Hermione dancing with another masked Phantom, much like Harry. Only this one was much skinnier with…white…blonde…hair…
So many things raced through his mind in that second, from “Does she know?” to “Who the hell does he think he is?” to “Does he know?” and “Harry’s going to freak when he finds out that Draco Malfoy is wearing the same costume he is to dance with his best friend.” None really got through to him and Ron’s face slowly began turning pale again.
“Zorro?” the little blonde pirate attempted to catch his attentions once again by using his costume name. “Hello?”
“Uh, thanks for dancing with me,” Ron replied, kissing the back of her hand and walking over to the side of the Great Hall; if ever he needed a buffet table, it was now; gorging yourself, he’d come to realize, worked to stop the pain of the world from bothering you, at least temporarily. He piled a plate high with chicken legs and took a seat at an abandoned table, digging into the food in front of him. Ron watched raptly as the dance ended and Hermione bade Malfoy a good evening before moving off to a table of refreshments.
Then a thought hit him full in the face and it felt nearly as painful as a bludger. If Hermione didn’t recognize Malfoy…but of course she did. But if she didn’t…but she would know him well enough. But what if she didn’t…
Ron readjusted his mask and left his plate of food, hurrying to catch up with Hermione while she was still not dancing. She’d just finished her drink when Ron caught up with her. Act cool. “Hey,” he said, acting like it was just a simple hello to a classmate.
“Hello,” Hermione replied somewhat happily. “Are you having fun?” she asked quizzically.
“I suppose so,” Ron said offhandedly. “I haven’t really danced much, but…”
“Well, come on then!” Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him out to the dance floor. This certainly wasn’t the Hermione he knew! They found their way to the group of couples dancing and Hermione placed her free hand on his shoulder, her other one tangled with his beside them. Ron set a tentative hand on her waist and before he knew it she’d whisked him off into the sea of dancers.
Ron did not pride himself in his dancing ability, but it seemed so natural, so perfect when the girl he was with was Hermione. The dance was a little quicker than Ron was used to, not that there was much to put it up against, but it was fun all the same, and soon he and Hermione were both out of breath. As the next dance was starting up, Hermione said breathlessly, “I love your costume!” Ron was sure she didn’t know it was him, now more than ever.
With Hermione, Ron danced the night away, happy for once to actually be dancing. The night was winding down when the band played a slower, more romantic tune. “One more dance?” Ron asked Hermione cautiously.
“Sure,” she replied softy, putting her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. Ron, in response, put his own long arms around Hermione, folding her into a gentle, romantic embrace. He saw Hermione close her eyes, calmly shifting her body along with his, and he took the time to admire her. She really had outdone herself, no matter how much she complained about Halloween. Not only did she look good, she looked absolutely stunning. Beautiful and stunning and ravishing and everything Ron had ever thought her to be.
About a minute into the dance, Ron whispered in her ear, “Let’s go outside.” Hermione seemed to wake from a trance but followed him across the Great Hall, out the door, and onto the grounds. Like at the Yule Ball three years earlier, there was a garden set up just beyond the doors, and Ron led Hermione down a few paths, slowing down from a quick pace to a slow walk. He heard her breathe in the sweet October air, the cold wind not seeming to bother her much.
Ron was very aware of her gloved hand on his own leather-clad one, the little fingers tight against his much larger ones. Looking down at her, he once again took in how beautiful she looked. Her hair was coming out of its up-do at the edges, little brunette tendrils working their way out of their places. He wanted to just reach down and touch it...
When he did, Hermione stopped walking and looked up at him. “Interested in my hair, are we Zorro?” she joked, a cute smile playing across her lips. Before Ron could put a good word in, she continued, “It’s all right. It’s coming out anyway. But I guess I shouldn’t undo it altogether; it took so long to put up!” Ron nodded, not aware to the pains a girl with hair like Hermione’s would go through to style it as she had, especially if they decided against using magic.
“It looks really nice,” Ron stated, sounding a little juvenile for his liking. They continued to walk, hands still entwined. A few more minutes passed and they’d come back around to the front of the castle. Hermione stopped and looked up at the turrets, sighing contentedly.
“Thanks for a great night, Zorro,” Hermione said to him, looking up into his masked face. Her own contorted into a sweet little smile. “You’ve got something on your face,” she laughed, reaching a little hand up to wipe something away from the corner of his mouth. Ron didn’t even think. That touch of her hand on his cheek sent him way over, sent him into a mindless infinite oblivion, a crazy haze of something unknown and beautiful before his eyes.
He kissed her. Their masks, which should’ve been a hindrance, did not make a difference in the slightest. Ron cradled her face between his hands, his lips covering hers, his own breath knocked out of him by the mere contact.
When he pulled away, he could see Hermione’s eyes shining behind the mask, her pure brown eyes glassy. They stood in silence for a few long moments, the very air around them anticipating what would go on next. Ron broke the stiff quiet and kissed Hermione’s cheek, then heading back up to the castle.
“Zorro!” Hermione called after him, and he turned around. “Come back here.” He obeyed her, moving closer to her with every step, stopping a foot before her. “I’ve just had the most amazing kiss of my life and I don’t even get to see who gave it to me? I’ll never mention it, I swear.” Ron took her small hands in his own and pulled her to him, kissing her once again, this time more quickly.
“Not right now, fair lady,” he replied, his voice sounding very chivalrous and gallant. “In time.” With that, he hurried up the steps into the castle, Hermione standing below him in the light spilling from the windows.
-Jewelles