Love Wears a Mask

Love Wears a Mask

Chapter Three: Love Gives No Warning

Hermione ducked furtively behind a bush on the first green. She peered over her shoulder cautiously, searching for any sign that she was not alone. It was a clear night, and she was dressed in close-fitting black jeans and a tight black t-shirt with a V-neck. Her hair was pulled back in a low bun that glinted with faint undertones of brass and shimmering cinnamon in the light of the crescent moon, and she wore a black headband, just for effect. She was attempting to sneak out to the fourth green. Being out on the course past midnight was against the rules of the club, and Hermione's parents would have her skin if they found out that she had stealthily crept out of her room at the resort, but she knew she had to complete her essay on the relationship between the early morning summer sky and the variables of arithmancy, and she had no hope of doing so without more data. She'd noticed that afternoon that the fourth green provided a perfect view of the sector of the heavens she wished to see, and it had a conveniently placed copse of trees, perfect for hiding should anyone happen upon her late-night sojourn.

She had heard a rustling behind her scant moments before, and thus had sought the concealing shelter of the leafy, full-branched bush. Peering through the foliage, however, she was able to see nothing unusual, so she crept slowly from her hiding place and made her way surreptitiously toward the fourth hole.

She still was unable to avoid the distinct sentiment that she was being followed, and despite her attempts to curb her obstreperous sixth sense, the impression became so overwhelming that she slid once again into a clump of bushes, maneuvering agilely through the flora. She sat up slowly, bright eyes darting and searching for any sign of her follower, and her outstretched hand encountered something-someone. Hermione opened her mouth to scream, but felt a hand press itself against her soft, full lips before the cry could be uttered.

"It's me," whispered a familiar, husky voice. "Don't scream, Candy." The strong hand fell away from her lips, and she caught her breath, feeling her heart pounding as though a drum inside her chest. She turned to see him sitting beside her. Ocard, the boy who just that evening had taken her by surprise and then left her standing, alone and bereft, on the dance floor. She had dismissed the incident as best she could and decided to turn her mind to studying as much as was possible while she was here in Southern California. But here he was again, apparently following her while on her midnight studying session. Oops, she thought blithely. I appear to be in a somewhat unfortunate position. How to explain my presence here amidst the bushes?

They sat in silence for a long, heated moment, eyes locked together, before she grew nervous and curious enough to break the spell of the silence. Suave, she reminded herself. She put on her coolest expression.

"Why are you following me at this late hour of the night, Ocard?"

He looked somewhat startled that she had broken the spell of the silence, but he replied smoothly to her probing query, "It isn't safe for anyone to be out here alone. I saw you leaving the hotel and I felt it was my duty to follow you, to ensure your safety."

Hermione's eyes grew wide as she noticed, barely sticking out of his pocket-could it be, a wand? She attempted to appear innocent and unobtrusive. "What is that?" she questioned with all the naïveté she could muster, as Ocard's eyes followed hers to his pocket. She could almost hear him gasp inwardly with dismayed realization.

"Oh, this?" he asked. If she hadn't known better, she would have bought his hasty assumption of nonchalancy in a moment. As it stood, she nearly did believe him. However, he drew it out and it was, without a doubt, a wand.

She looked at him, extremely curious as to how he intended to explain this accidental disclosure, and their eyes met with a jolt. He really did have extraordinarily gorgeous eyes, like twin pools of liquid mercury. She could feel herself begin to drown in those orbs of molten silver-

"It's a stick I found on the way here, Candy. I thought it odd that it was so smooth, so I picked it up for later examination." Was he lying? No, he couldn't be. Or did he say.... Hermione couldn't think clearly so near to him. She shook her head quickly, trying to clear it, and then lifted her hand gently to her forehead.

"Are you all right," asked Ocard, his voice husky with concern. His brow furrowed in an extremely attractive way, and he placed his smooth hand against her baby-soft cheek. She caught her breath, feeling her throat constrict in an agonizing blow of fervor.

"You feel just fine," he murmured. He took her hand from her forehead and brought it down, clasping it in his own. She stared up at him, forgetting her resolve to act self-assured, as she felt his strong grasp entwine her slender fingers in his. Somehow, he was suddenly very close, and she could smell the faint, subtle scent of cinnamon-

Footsteps sounded on the trimmed grass outside the stand of bushes. Hermione and Ocard both hit the ground, the moment shattered. She felt her face pressed tightly against his shoulder. They could hear the low murmur of voices and occasional snatches of words. A cold, cultured British voice was speaking, and Hermione caught the words "in the bushes...can't...the light would be too visible...the bidding of the Master...unable to perform tonight...." After a little while, there was a moment of silence, a series of popping noises, and then the sound of footsteps receding. A few more moments passed, and all was quiet.

Hermione turned her head to look at Ocard. His fair skin had gone pale, and he did not look at all well to her concerned eyes.

"O-Ocard?" she whispered. He shook his head quickly.

"I'm fine. I told you it wasn't safe out here, Candy." He peered over the top of the bushes and, seeing no one, helped her up from the ground.

They stole back to the hotel in complete silence, neither willing to be the first to speak. When they reached the door by which they would enter and part, Hermione took in a deep breath and gathered her courage to speak. "Ocard-" He shook his head and raised a finger, placing it gently on her lips, and then leaned forward a scant inch. His lips brushed hers lightly, scarcely touching, and then he backed away towards the hotel door. He left as suddenly as he had on the dance floor, leaving her once again to stand, stunned, and wonder if the entire episode had been but a dream.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews! They make me feel fulfilled as an author, and I think that's very important to let you know. Please tell me what you think.