The Dress Ball

The Dress Ball

At exactly 10:00 am on October 15, Thomas Leonard, the Harvard University Art Department's student aide and sometime secretary knocked on the door to Robert Langdon's office.

"There he is, like clockwork. Reliable Tom." Robert winked at the Senior art major as the boy opened the office door. "Come on in Tom. I'm just finishing up here with Hermione."

"Mail call, Professor Langdon," Tom shot a quick look at Hermione and smiled warmly. "Freshman?" Hermione nodded and extended her hand.

"Hermione Granger. Pleasure to meet you." Tom immediately noticed her warm, English accent. Compared to Tom's Boston drawl, Hermione's voice was silken and very sophisticated.

Tom extended his own hand, grasping Hermione's and shaking firmly. "You're from England?" Hermione nodded. "I'm Tom Leonard. I'm a Senior this year. I remember being in that chair my Freshman year, having Langdon scour my project proposals. Don't let the old man here scare you. Underneath all of that disciplinarian crap he's really a connoisseur of good clean fun. Oh, the stories I could tell you!" Tom smiled warmly, not noticing Robert's glare. "Seriously, welcome to the Department. If you need anything, just let me know."

"Thanks, Tom. I appreciate it."

"So, where did you go to school?" There was an awkward silence as Hermione and Robert exchanged glances. "They do have high school in England, right?"

"She just left Eton," Robert lied, knowing full-well that Eton was an all-boys' school, but it sounded good at the time. Robert remembered the same little white lie that his friend, Paolo Zabini, had told him when Paolo first arrived at Harvard ten years ago. Paolo and Hermione, in reality, had their schooling at the same institution -- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hermione Granger was a witch. And she was the cleverest one in her class. This made Robert Langdon even more proud, even more honored, that she had decided to study at Harvard under him. Why Hermione Granger would choose to leave England and study in America, and why she would choose a self-designed major of Art History, Religious Iconology, Occult Symbology and Literature, Robert would never know. All he knew was that, as the head of his department, Robert was responsible for ensuring Hermione a quality education.

Not only that, Robert was now responsible for helping Hermione keep her secret - a secret that, for the past two years, Robert had shared. Robert Langdon had lived forty-five years of his life not knowing in the slightest that he had magical abilities - that he himself was a wizard. Even two years later, he still had trouble wrapping his mind around the concept, and still cringed every time someone referred to him as such. Robert was grateful that his girlfriend, Nymphadora Tonks, was there to help guide Hermione magically - not that she really needed it.

"Eton," Tom mused, "classy broad. I have to keep my eye on you. Make sure none of those Adams House boys latch onto you."

"I'm sure I'll do just fine, thanks," Hermione grinned, "but I do appreciate the backup, Tom."

There was another awkward silence, now as Tom and Hermione stared momentarily and shyly at each other.

"Oh-kay now," Robert interrupted. "Tom, may I please have my mail?"

Tom shook his head as if snapping out of a reverie. "Oh, yeah. Mail. Here you go, professor. Sorry." He handed the stack to Robert. "I slit open most of it, like you asked, but there was one I couldn't budge open for some reason. Cool looking envelope, though, has a seal on it and everything. Never saw one of those before. I put it on the top for you."

Robert took the stack, set it on his desk, and picked up the top parcel. It was a bright red parchment envelope adorned with flowing, golden writing. The back of the envelope was sealed with a piece of melted wax, a crest imprinted in the glob. Robert recognized it immediately.

"Thanks, Tom," Robert hid his astonishment. Why would the Ministry of Magic send me a letter by Muggle Mail? "I'll figure out how to get this open. In the meantime, young man, I want your essay on Lichtenstein by tomorrow. Enough extensions, my man. Get on it."

Tom lifted his hands in an "okay, okay" gesture, and backed out of the room. "Bye, Hermione. See you around school." He slowly shut the door behind him, not before peeking once more at Hermione.

"He's sweet on you," Robert grinned. Hermione didn't answer. "He's a good kid, Tom. Really very intelligent. He could rival Ron Weasley at a game of chess." Still no answer. I was never good at matchmaking.

"Hermione?"

"Robert, do you know what that is?"

"No idea. I was just about to get my wand out of my desk to see if I could open it."

"Are you planning on being in London on 31 October?"

"In fact, yes," Robert said, "Tonks is going with me to a conference the week before, and we're staying over the weekend. Why?"

"You and Tonks have just been invited to the Couples' Fancy Dress Ball."

"The Couples' what?" Robert picked up the invitation, tapped it twice with his wand, and the seal cracked, allowing the envelope to be opened. Robert reached in and pulled out the card inside. He read it, and his eyes bulged. "Well, I'll be damned."

"Let me see," Hermione begged. Robert leaned over his desk and handed her the invitation.

Hemione read the invitation out loud.

YEARLY FANCY DRESS BALL

FOR COUPLES ONLY

SATURDAY, 31 OCTOBER

8:00 P.M.

BRINGHAMPTON HALL

DIAGON ALLEY

LONDON

RSVP BY 17 OCTOBER BY OWL POST

RULES ON REVERSE

Hermione flipped over the card. "Rules?" Robert looked up anxiously. From Hermione's rather odd expression, the rules certainly were strange. "Oh, great. A game. Just some other way for me to look like the idiot Muggle in front of a bunch of pureblood wizards."

"No, it's not that," Hermione said, "I think you'd be rather good at this game." She read the rules out loud.

COUPLES' FANCY DRESS BALL -- RULES OF THE GAME

1) YOUR FANCY DRESS MUST BE BASED ON A CHARACTER FROM MUGGLE LITERATURE.

2) THE OBJECT OF THE GAME IS TO FIND YOUR PARTNER, SO YOU MUST ARRIVE SEPARATELY, AND KEEP YOUR DISGUISES SECRET.

3) YOU MUST DRESS AS TO POSE A CHALLENGE TO YOUR PARTNER.

4) NO MASKS PERMITTED (PHANTOM OF THE OPERA DISGUISE THEREFORE IS NOT PERMITTED).

5) CONTEST IS NOT FOR PRIZES OR FOR GALLEONS. FOR DIVERSION ONLY.

"So," Robert smirked, "it's a costume contest, with your significant other being the top prize of the evening? So I guess that means Tonks and I have to each dress up as some character from a book, go separately, and..."

"Find each other, yes," Hermione sighed. "Oh, that can be so romantic. Imagine spotting her across the crowded ballroom - knowing that she's Tonks even though she's in disguise - by the curve of her chin, or the length of her fingers, or her step."

"Yeah, but Tonks is a Metamorphmagus. She has a one-up on me. How the heck am I going to find her? What am I going to do to keep her from finding me? I'm not the master of disguise you know."

Hermione's eyes immediately lit up. "I've been reading a lot of Muggle literature lately, seeing some movies." She fumbled in her school bag and retrieved an old tattered paperback book. She held the book up to Robert. He blanched slightly at the title.

"Him?" Robert was aghast. "You want me to go as him?"

"Wouldn't it be perfect?" Hermione grinned. "It's so not you! Tonks will never figure it out!" Her eyes widened. "I can enlist some family members to help with the accessories!"

The image in the mirror was utterly foreign. Robert Langdon didn't know if he was looking at a mirror or at an enlarged video screen. "Wow," Robert said slowly, "I don't even recognize myself." The person in the mirror was about twenty years younger than the image Robert had become accustomed to. No wrinkles. No crow's feet. This was thanks to a very temporary age-reversing potion Hermione had graciously brewed and provided for him before he and Tonks left for London. He patted his pocket to make sure he had the rest of the potion to take in four hours - if he remembered to - or even needed to by that time.

The rest of the disguise was plain Muggle technology and ingenuity.

Tonks had left for the Leaky Cauldron about two hours before, intending to prepare herself in a room there, and leave Robert to get into his costume in their plush Hotel Sofitel room. My God, Robert thought. It's not me. Everything that makes me physically me is totally buried in this getup, and it's kind of exciting.

The eyes that stared back at him were no longer liquid blue. The irises were pitch dark black - courtesy of a pair of costume contact lenses he picked up in New York two weeks ago. The girl at the costume shop told him that Lestat's eyes were a pale, white-blue, but Robert preferred these. His eyes gave off the illusion of dank nothingness and pure emptiness. Perfect.

Robert chuckled slightly as he recalled the last time he wore these particular contact lenses. After he purchased them, he could not help but test them out - to see their effect for himself. The guinea pigs Robert chose were the seventy-five students in his Symbology 214 class.

He strode into the small lecture hall, briefcase in hand, and dark ski sunglasses on his eyes.

"Rough night last night, eh, Professor?" Jim Tabor, a muscle-bound Rugby player, joked.

"Yeah," Robert said, "you could say that. I was up late preparing this lecture for today, trying to look, to search deep within, for," he paused for effect, "inspiration. By the way, everyone, I'll be out next week, and back after Halloween. Yes... Halloween...," he gave a false evil laugh, and then snapped back, "so, the TA's will be taking over lecture next Monday and Wednesday."

Robert placed his briefcase down and rummaged underneath the desk. He pulled out four large foamboard pictures of numerous symbols, and placed them around the room - two against the chalkboard, one on the floor against the front of his desk, and one on an easel. He turned to the class, sunglasses still covering his eyes.

"Can anyone tell me what these symbols are?"

Tabor piped up, stifling a yawn, "Well, that's pretty obvious. They're stars in circles, Professor Langdon."

"Very good, Tabor," Robert said, "simplistic, but correct. What I'd like to know from you, however, is what is the symbologic name for these... stars?"

"Pentagrams," Hermione Granger said from the front row. She gave him a slight wink, knowing full well what he was up to.

"Pentagrams, correct, Ms. Granger, as usual." Robert addressed the class again, "And what can you tell me about the Pentagram?"

Another student, Ty Davis, raised his hand.

"Mr. Davis?"

"They're like, black magic or something? Like those Goth chicks I've seen at Radcliffe. They wear necklaces with the... Pentagram...on...," Davis' sentence trailed off at the end. He obviously realized how stupid he sounded.

"Close, Davis," Robert gave another feigned evil chuckle, and lowered his voice ominously. "But there exists a group larger than those, as you say, Goth chicks, with whom the Pentagram is associated, isn't there, Mr. Davis?"

No one answered.

Robert, laughing inside, let out a false, deep, growl. "Anyone? Robert yelled, raising his hands heavenward. Does no one know the faithful followers of the mighty deity to whom this symbol belongs?"

Davis, as well as the other students, gaped at Langdon. He saw them lean into eachother, brows furrowed, beginning to whisper, obviously wondering what - or who -- the hell was possessing their normally even-tempered professor. This is going to be fun...

Davis raised his hand tentatively. When Robert acknowledged him he whispered, "S... S...Satanists?"

Robert let his shoulders go lax. He leaned over his desk, whipped off his sunglasses with a flourish, bulged his eyes wide, and stared hard at Davis. "Yes!"

Everyone in the first three rows of the lecture hall, with the exception of Hermione Granger, recoiled back in their seats at the sight of Robert's blackened irises. Davis screamed. Tabor, the Rugby player, leaned back so far that he fell out of his seat, crashing onto the tile floor below. Hermione merely smirked and shook her head.

"Now, that was cool," Robert laughed. He smiled wickedly, removed one of the contacts, and held it up. "Happy early Halloween, everyone. Now, let's get to work."

Returning to the present, Robert continued to evaluate his disguise. His skin, thanks to some well-placed stage makeup, was a waxy pale - but not overly white - and not garish like those Goth girls Ty Davis had mentioned. In fact, he did not look made up at all, only paler - slightly on the abnormal side, but not freakish. He could walk down the street and not turn heads - maybe. Robert's short, gray-streaked black hair had been replaced by a shoulder-length thick and flowing blonde hairpiece, which made his skin look even more ashen and his dark eyes pop out more dramatically.

For wardrobe, Hermione had picked out a deep purple crushed velvet shirt, a pair of low-hung black velvet pants, an overlarge, black leather belt, and a pair of slightly heeled boots. Not at all my style - my Harris Tweed's far from the rock star type, Robert thought, but it works in this case. Very in character. If I wasn't supposed to be this person, I'd look like a, what's that word Tonks uses? Poofter. He laughed slightly, still amazed at the transformation. Hermione had instructed Robert to leave the sleeves of the shirt unbuttoned, and leave it hanging out of the pants. The sleeve cuffs caressed his hands, hiding most of them, making him look leaner and thinner than his normal swimmer's body. Nice effect.

Robert pulled up his sleeves and reached down into his dopp kit. He pulled out and opened a small, brown envelope. He tipped it, allowing the contents to fall out onto the sink. After reading some instructions, he fastened the accessories in their proper places, stood back, and evaluated the effect, turning his head from one side to the other. Holy shit. Now, this is scary.

He leaned closer to the mirror, curling his lips back and bearing his newly-whitened, newly enhanced teeth. Where Robert's canines were, he had fastened two overlarge fangs. They felt huge in his mouth, and his tongue was drawn to them, feeling out the foreign objects in his mouth. He picked up the instruction sheet and read it the reverse side.

Robert:

I hope you used those whitening strips I gave you. Your teeth need to glow tonight. Enclosed are the appliances. My mum made these especially for you. She said it was good fun being able to use her cosmetic dentistry talent for some special effects, as opposed to just routine bonding and porcelain veneers. These won't fit perfectly as we didn't have time for her to take an impression, but with the cement I've sent along, they should stay in place for the night.

You can eat with these on, but try not to pull at them or push with your tongue or your fingers, or they may pop off. They'll feel funny for a while, but you'll get used to them. In fact, I'll lay you odds that once you set foot into the ballroom tonight, they'll feel second nature, from what Mrs. Weasley tells me about the Ball. They may also change your speech a bit, but again, once you enter the party that won't matter much.

Have a wonderful time. I hope you and Tonks find each other quickly, and that you find some part of your romance that never was there - or maybe was there all along. See you when you get back to Cambridge. Good luck.

Love from, Hermione

He set the letter back down on the vanity. What did she mean by it won't matter much? Second nature? Robert shrugged. He double checked his eyes, and made sure that he carried a vial of contact lens solution in his pocket. He checked his teeth and hair piece again, and stepped away from the mirror. I'll have some fun with this tonight. He looked at his watch, 7:45 pm.

"Ah crap," he said, "my watch." This guy wouldn't be caught dead wearing a Mickey Mouse watch - plus if it poked out, that would be a dead giveaway to Tonks. He removed the watch and set it on the entrance table. The last vestige of Langdon gone, Robert thought with a smirk. He slipped into his overcoat, put his hotel key in his breast pocket, and walked with a new stride toward the door. The character starts now.

He caught his image again in the hallway mirror and chuckled. "Just call me Lestat."

Robert arrived at the Leaky Cauldron at 8:00 pm sharp. He walked quickly through the front door, trying to avoid the gazes of those patrons seated within. From his last venture to London with Tonks, he recalled exactly how to reach Diagon Alley. He strode beside the long center table, darting for the rear of the pub. He pushed the door open, and was again outside. He reached up, and tapped the bricks in the sequential order Tonks had shown him. The bricks parted, creating an opening into Diagon Alley.

Robert had never seen Diagon Alley at night. Tonight was obviously special. All of the shops were open, and the street was busy with a hustle and bustle to rival Broadway at midday. Obviously, everyone was either going to the Ball, or was out to see the various costumes. Robert wasn't sure if he should hunker down within his overcoat or show off his disguise for the onlookers. He chose the former.

Bringhampton Hall was a large building made of what looked to Robert like Italian wedding cake icing. It was a foamy pink color, obviously made to house receptions or parties for wizard weddings. He pulled open the front door, and a house elf greeted him. "May I take your overcoat sir?"

Character. Character. Robert shed his coat with a slight air of impatience and handed it to the house elf. The elf handed him a small, golden ticket with the name "Lestat de Lioncourt - one overcoat" imprinted on it.

Wow, they act quickly here, Robert thought.

"Thank you Mr. Lestat, sir."

Robert saw a number of wizards and witches milling around the entrance hall, all in grand, beautiful and sweeping costumes. They were waiting in line in front of the main entrance to the party. Robert could see that on the other side of the queue there was a grand staircase leading downward. Great, Robert thought, they announce you. Wonderful. Just what I want, to be the center of attention. Oh wait. That's exactly what Lestat would want.

Robert stood at the end of the line. It didn't take long before the line dwindled down. He heard the announcer say, "Miss Jane Eyre," "Mr. Ebeneezer Scrooge," "Mr. James Bond," "Mr. Edward Fairfax Rochester," "Seňor Iago," "Mr. Hannibal Lechter," "Captain Wentworth," "Master Gene Forester," and "Madame Nurse Ratched," each meeting with applause when they reached the bottom of the staircase. When Robert approached the top of the staircase, he suddenly felt very self-conscious. His mouth went dry, and as he went to lick his lips, his tongue caught on the edge of one of the fangs. Confidence, this character exudes confidence.

"Name?" the herald asked.

"Monsieur Lestat de Lioncourt."

"Monsieur de Lioncourt, I will announce your name and you are to walk to the head table and pay your respects to our host." Without waiting for an answer, or even looking at Robert, the herald turned and announced, "Monsieur Lestat de Lioncourt!"

Robert walked down the steps slowly. Don't rush this. Maybe Tonks is here. Let her get a good look at you. The center of the steps was covered with a plush, red carpet, which extended off the bottom of the stairs directly to the head table. So this is the red carpet treatment, Robert joked inwardly. He stepped off the last stair and strode confidently toward the front, occasionally turning his head to look at the number of women standing on the right side of the aisle. Any one of them could have been Tonks. It was only a matter of time before Robert found her.

He approached the head table, and bowed to the host with a Lestat-like flourish. The host bowed in return, and leaned over to whisper to Robert. "I told you before, Robert, that I don't stand on ceremony, but I do appreciate the bow. Very nice touch. Very nice."

Albus Dumbledore was not in costume. "It's good to see you, Albus," Robert replied, not even asking how Dumbledore saw through the disguise. He knew already. It was Dumbledore - what explanation was needed? "Have you seen..."

"Nymphadora Tonks?" Albus winked. "Even if I had, Robert, I would not tell you. But I would imagine she is a vision of beauty tonight." Albus scanned Robert's disguise. "Interesting choice of a character for you, Robert. Quite the opposite of what you really are."

Robert looked down at his velveteen clothing. "It was Hermione Granger's idea."

"She's not the cleverest witch in her generation for no reason," Albus winked again. "However, Robert, be warned," Albus' demeanor darkened slightly, "this is a magical gathering, designed to bring out parts of couples' relationships that are, well, not always at the surface. You may, how should I say this, lose some of your inhibitions tonight once you find her. You will also find that your character will ingrain itself deeper within you as the night progresses."

My character will ingrain... Robert mulled that over for a moment, and felt a very strange sensation in the pit of his stomach - pure nerves. So, that's what Hermione meant by second nature.

Robert opened his mouth to speak, but before could say, "So, then will I become Lestat?" Albus interrupted him. "Ah, Lestat. Please excuse me. I have Jay Gatsby and Lolita to welcome. The men are gathering on that side right now, if you wish to watch. Otherwise, there are tables scattered throughout the hall. It is good to see you."

"And you, Albus. Thank you." Surprisingly, Robert's nerves and fear significantly dissipated when Albus addressed him as, "Lestat." He made a flourish of a bow again, turned on his heels, and walked toward the group of men standing on the left of the aisle. Robert edged his way in toward the front of the crowd, torn between watching the staircase and evaluating each of the women standing on the other side of the aisle. More names were called out.

"Mrs. Hester Prynne," "Ms. Thursday Next," "Prince Hamlet of Denmark," "Miss Scarlett O'Hara," "Ms. Phoebe Caufield," "Mr. Lennie Small," "Mr. Sherlock Holmes..."

None of the women standing along the aisle looked anything like Tonks. None of those just whose names were read did either. Robert knew he was looking for subtleties. The curve of a neck, the length of her fingers, the manner of her walk, a smile, the shape of her face - which she could probably change - or that small brown mole which lay just to the right of her solar....

There she is, Robert thought, his eyes widening. He saw her at the top of the stairs, the very last person to be introduced into the ball. She wore a frilly and somewhat sheer nightdress with a tight, empire-waisted bodice. The top of the dress pushed her breasts up ever so slightly, which sent a shockwave of desire through Robert, and drew his eyes right to the very feature which gave Tonks away - the mole. Yes, that's her. That's my Nymphadora.

Her hair was jet black, set in ringlets of curls, the majority of which were tied up in a neat bun at the top of her head, allowing only a few tendrils to caress her neck and shoulders. Her costume could have been any female character from the Edwardian time period, except, Robert noticed, there was a slight dribble of a red fluid set from the corner of her mouth, down her chin.

The herald announced, "And our final guest, Mrs. Mina Harker," and the hall erupted in applause. Mina Harker and Lestat. How appropriate. I wonder if that was Hermione's idea as well.

Everyone waited for Tonks to greet Dumbledore, and then, en masse, moved together across the aisle, mixing men and women, each beginning the hunt for their other half. Robert kept his eye fixed on Tonks. No, not Tonks tonight. Mina. He pushed his way through the crowd, heading straight for the head table - but then, he thought better of it. Let her come to me, he thought. His tongue again ran over his overlarge canines, but this time, instead of feeling immense and foreign, they began to feel natural - like part of him. Character ingrained...

Tonks was talking amongst a group of male characters near the head table. She seemed particularly interested in a tall, tanned, and rather dashing dark-haired man dressed in an impeccable Armani tuxedo. A slight bulge in the man's jacket told Robert that he was carrying a small pistol - likely, Robert thought, a Walther PPK. When Robert saw that the suitor was nursing a single-olive-laden Martini, he knew. Bond. James Bond. Nope, that's not me, Tonks. Very flattering that you think so, but not me. Now, won't your evening be shaken, and not stirred? But how to get her attention? Well, you only live twice, right?

Instead of approaching her, he merely walked slowly behind her, in a path parallel to her back. As he passed, he ensured that his arm made contact with the area of bare skin between her shoulder blades, allowing the softness of his velvet shirt to caress her. After he was beyond her, he turned slightly, slowly. She had whipped her head around and was now staring at him. Robert couldn't read the look on her face, but he thought it was definitely one of intrigue.

He looked away haughtily and walked toward a small, empty table in a corner. He plopped down in one of the large, plush armchairs. Robert allowed his elbow to lay on the arm rest, his two fingers pushing up against the right temple. Robert draped his other arm lazily over the left arm rest, and crossed his legs out in front of him, slouching deep in the chair. This was a sitting position Robert had often seen from his students during lectures, but one he did not often use. While it was slightly uncomfortable, it seemed to catch Tonks' attention. He did not take his eyes off of her. He knew that his black eyes would be eerie and strange enough to give her the, Robert called them, willies.

Maybe if I look away, she'll come over. Robert did just that. He pulled his left hand up, and nonchalantly inspected the fingernails on that hand. A Lestat move if I ever saw one. He turned his head and pulled the same fingers through his blonde locks. As he did so, he felt a strange sensation - pulling. Seeing that Tonks was still watching him, and not wanting to lose the air of confidence, Robert slowly repeated the process. My God, Robert thought. Character ingrains - not only emotionally but physically. Robert realized that his own hair had been replaced by the long tresses belonging to Lestat de Lioncourt. Yes, you are becoming Lestat.

Without his knowledge, Tonks had approached his table. He looked up, slightly startled.

"Is anyone sitting here?" she asked, pointing to the empty armchair.

"No," Robert said, standing up, "please, sit." Beyond the teeth, beyond the hair, Robert now noticed that his words were tinged with a heavy French Creole accent. Holy Moses. I can't control it. "I am Lestat de Lioncourt. You are Mina Harker, n'êtes-vous pas?"

"Yes," Tonks replied, "actually, my name is..."

Robert held up his hand. "Do not tell me, please," he smiled. "Have you yet found votre amour?"

"No," she said, looking around the room, "at least I don't think so. I've seen so many dressed like characters I would expect, but so far, none of them are him."

"So, that James Bond is not your lover?" Tonks shook her head. "Pity. You can tell me his name, no?" Robert blinked slightly at his own strange new speech pattern.

"It's Robert Langdon."

Yes, yes, yes, I was right!

"Ah," Robert said with a slight air of recognition, "yes. Langdon."

"Do you know Robert?"

"Oui, I do." Robert ran his hand through his hair again. "I have seen his name in the Daily Prophet beaucoup récemment, and I have met him." Tonks gave a disheartened sigh. "Well, perhaps I can help you find Monsieur Langdon, if you wish me to." Tonks nodded. "Allez avec moi," Robert stood, offering Tonks his hand. "Let us go upstairs where we can look down on the soiree and see if we can find your man."

She slipped her hand inside his and got to her feet. Robert noticed that his own hand was thinner, paler than usual. Since he applied no white make-up to his hands, he figured this was yet another step in the transformation. He wrapped her arm around the crook of his elbow, and led her up the staircase, and out onto the balcony. He guided her into another armchair, and he sat again in the one opposite.

Tonks peered over the hall side of the balcony and scanned the crowd. "I still don't see him. I would have thought he'd go as James Bond, or maybe Sherlock Holmes, knowing him, but neither of those men...," her voice trailed off and her eyes suddenly flashed. "So, how long has it been since you ... met Robert?"

"Quite a while now," Robert smirked. He leaned across the table, and scooped up Tonks' hand in his own two. He gently massaged the back of her hand, making small circles with his two thumbs. "Quite a long while." He raised her hand up so that the palm faced him. Leaning forward over the table, he placed a gentle kiss in the center of her hand. "En fait, I have known him all my life. Toute ma vie."

At Robert's touch, Tonks let out a soft moan. "Robert?"

He stopped his kisses momentarily and looked intently at Tonks. "Tonks." It was not a question, it was a statement. "Oui, il est moi," he smiled wickedly, returning to work on Tonks' hand.

"Merlin's Beard, Robert," Tonks exhaled, "you look amazing. You sound amazing. I would have never guessed..." another soft moan, "never guessed...unless you ran into me...unless you stared at me... that...you...were..."

"It was Hermione's idea," Robert mumbled.

"So was mine. But how did you know it was me?"

"Your mole. I would know it anywhere," Robert lifted his head, and their eyes made contact again. "Et vos yeux - your eyes, and your walk, and the curve of your hips, the curve of your...," Robert's eyes drifted slowly downward, "your breast." Jesus, they're beautiful. Robert felt a sudden hunger, a craving, a need like he had never felt in his entire life. He sprang from the chair, ran to the balcony opening, and drew the curtains shut quickly with a loud hiss.

He knelt down in front of Tonks' chair, leaned up, and kissed her with a passion and an ardor that he had ever experienced before - that he thought he never would experience. He found he could not stop his hands from touching her breast, her body. She felt intensely hot under his fingertips, her mouth steaming under his own lips. When he broke away, he swore he could see her pulse within a tracing of blue veins just underneath the skin of her chest, arms, and neck. He could almost hear her heart beating within his own ears. The need grew. Rational thought all but escaped Robert's brain.

"Robert, are you okay?" Tonks asked.

"I do not.... I don't know," Robert mumbled, pulling away from Tonks. The need was now becoming painful. "It hurts. I think, I think I...j'ai besoin de... vous... need...you."

Realization dawned on Tonks' face quickly, but she could not bring herself to say it. "You need...Lestat needs...my...my...blood."

Robert felt suddenly sick. She's right. The Vampire Lestat - blood. Christ, I don't think I can do this anymore. He picked up her hand, and began kissing it again, hoping that the feeling of her skin on his would make him forget the boiling desire. It had just the opposite effect. Having a major vein so close to his mouth, he had no choice but to seek it out. He tried with everything he had not to bite, not to clamp his mouth down over her wrist. He tore away from her, aghast, and breathing heavily. "Merde! Rien! I cannot...do it. We need to leave. We need to leave now." Now, I'm really frightened. Truly, honestly, scared out of my mind. What's happening to me? This French is driving me insane, not to mention...this hunger.

Robert sat on the balcony floor, panting, trying desperately to make sense of the feelings of guilt, fear, dread, confusion -- all combined with that damnable hunger. He stared wildly at Tonks, whose face only showed compassion and sympathy.

"Robert, it's okay." She lit from the chair and knelt beside him. She reached up and stroked his hair lovingly. "Really. You can't hurt me here. Anything you do here, it's only magic. It's only an illusion, fantasy. You really won't be drinking from me, nor I from you, but it will seem real. The connection we have will be real."

Robert continued to pant, stammering. "But, but, how? Why?"

"Don't you get it? Why do you think Hermione paired us up like this? So we can experience this kind - a different kind of intimacy. Dracula and Mina Harker would have been too obvious, just as Lestat and Jessie. Clever girl, eh?"

"So...so...," Robert's teeth were now chattering from the intense craving still building up within him, "we can play this out and neither of us will...I mean, I will not... hurt... kill..."

"Me?" Tonks exhaled, "No. No matter what you do, you won't hurt me. I promise."

"I'd rather leave. I can't do this, Tonks, I can't drink ..."

"Yes you can, and its Mina." Tonks raised her eyebrows and smirked seductively. "It's Mina, Monsieur de Lioncourt, Mrs. Harker to you." She stood, and held out her hand to help Robert off the floor. "It's only play."

Okay, sure. If its play you want, it's play you'll get, Robert thought. Instead of allowing her to pull him up, he took a firm hold of her wrist, startling her. As she looked at him wild-eyed, Robert gave her a steely, very Lestat-like glare. He pulled at her arm until she fell on top of him. He sat up so that she straddled his middle.

Still holding firm to her arm, he brought her hand again to his lips, kissing and ministering to each of the fingers, pulling each digit slowly, one at a time, through his mouth. At the end of her index finger, the last, he allowed the tip to graze one of the now permanently affixed canines, cutting the skin slightly.

Tonks, mesmerized by Robert's work on her fingers, gave a small yelp of pain.

"I thought I could not hurt you."

"Oh, it hurts, but it won't do any lasting damage. Pain's part of it."

He barely heard her. The index finger in Robert's mouth began to ooze. The liquid was warm, sweet, and tasted slightly of iron. To Robert, no, to Lestat, the taste was like ambrosia. It was delicious, it was nourishing his body, it was Tonks. Tonks at her purest. He wanted more. This pinprick could not supply enough.

He removed his mouth from around her finger, and moved it slowly downward, again toward her wrist. He kissed heartily at the tender flesh there, feeling and hearing her pulse throughout his entire body. He curled back his lips, and hovered for a moment.

"You can't hurt me, Robert. Trust me. Do it - Lestat, do it."

Trust me. Robert didn't need to hear that twice. He dove into her wrist, feeling his fangs penetrate the skin with a slight pop. Tonks gushed into his mouth, covering every inch of his tongue, teeth, and throat. This feels so real...how can this be fantasy? Robert swallowed constantly, relishing the flavor, the texture. Everything about this liquid that was Tonks -- he wanted inside him. As he drank, he heard and felt Tonks' pulse slow. I have to stop. His rational mind - or what was left of it - told him that if he went any longer he would kill her, although he trusted her assurances that no harm would come to her.

He pulled away from her wrist, and felt the warm fluid flow down the corners of his mouth and onto his chin. He had expected to see Tonks half unconscious, but she was wide awake. In fact, she was so awake that Robert sensed that she felt the same longing he did only moments ago - before he was satiated. Mina Harker - Mina Harker post transformation, that's it!

Before Robert could act, think, or speak, Tonks dove into him. She tore at his shirt, popping the top two buttons, and exposing the skin of his chest, neck and shoulders. My God, Robert thought. Tit for tat. Now it's her turn. Wordlessly, Tonks began performing the same sort of ministrations on Robert's chest that he did on her hand and wrist. She chewed on his skin with hot, passionate kisses, her lips and tongue exploring every inch of his upper body, leaving a trail across his subclavian vein, carotid artery and jugular vein. Going for the jugular - guess I was too tame. But how will she do it without...

Teeth. Tonks pulled back momentarily, and smiled hungrily. Where there were straight teeth only moments ago, now there were fangs - identical to those Robert wore. "Where did you get..."

Tonks leaned in close to Robert's ear and whispered, "Metamorphmagus, remember?"

Robert smiled and lay his head back, bearing his chest and neck further. Again, Tonks lunged at him. Without warning, Robert felt the skin between his neck and shoulder give under an intense pressure. With a crack, Robert heard and felt her teeth penetrate him, and he felt the blood ooze from the wound, filling with warmth around the site within Tonks' mouth. Although he could feel the very lifeblood drain out of him, the sensation was sheer ecstasy. Robert's eyes fluttered, and he inhaled deeply. Jesus, sweet Jesus, this is incredible. How can this not be real? He didn't want it to end. He felt his hands clutch and his feet curl over. He wanted to give Tonks everything he had - every part of him. He loved her and he wanted to love her forever - as long as he lived. If there was any doubt of that, it was now long gone.

As quickly as Robert stopped with Tonks, she removed her mouth from his chest, and sat back on her haunches. She raised her hand to her face, and wiped the excess blood from her lips and chin. Tonks and Robert stared at each other for a long while, saying nothing, not moving. She's frightened, too.

"Come here," Robert said, feeling sleepy and dreamy, "please."

Tonks crawled over to Robert and lay her head in the space between his shoulder and chest. Robert lifted her head and kissed her gently on the lips. Although the kiss would have normally escalated into something more passionate, both felt drained and tired, albeit warm, comfortable, and intimate. Robert ran his hand through his hair again, and noticed that the hairpiece slipped of easily. "Tonks?"

"Yeah, Robert."

"Look," he held up the blonde wig, "it came off. It was stuck to me - grew into me before, but now it came off." Robert lifted his hand to his mouth and pushed on one of the fangs. It popped off between his fingers. He reached around Tonks' head and removed the other. "The party must be over." Robert also noticed that his speech pattern had reverted back to his slight Bostonian accent.

"Well, probably just for us right now, the party's over. I'll bet there are tons more couples down there who haven't even found each other yet. Haven't learned to love each other all over again, or learned how to look at their love in a new light."

"Like we did?" Robert smiled, winding one of Tonks' curls around his tanned-again fingers.

"You could say that," Tonks yawned, and snuggled deeper into Robert's arms. "I think we've certainly experienced something..."

"Uniquely intimate?"

"Unique doesn't begin to describe it."

"But the way I see it, Tonks, at least, symbolically..."

Tonks groaned. "Lay off the professorial lectures for just one night, Langdon." She gave him a playful slap on the leg.

"Well, let me finish. Symbolically, you're part of me now, and I'm part of you. Blood is life. Our very identities. I mean, even though we didn't really drink..." Robert's eyes widened. The thought - the idea - hit him full on. Part of me. Part of you. He knew he had to act on it, and he had to act immediately. "Tonks?"

"S'up, Robert."

He leaned down, kissed her gently on the cheek, and whispered in her hear. "Will you... will you marry me, Tonks?"

Tonks sat up, turned around, and kissed Robert full on the lips - a searching, longing, wanting, kiss that lasted, in Robert's mind, for at least an hour. When they finally broke, Tonks' tear-filled eyes fluttered up to Robert's, and she gave an emotion-packed grin. "I thought you'd never ask."