The Ivory Tower

6

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6

BLAISE'S POV

The next few days were mind blowing for Blaise. It felt, at times, almost as if he were back with Draco, together, an item, a couple. He wasn't sure if they were or not. They certainly weren't faking whatever their relationship was, but Blaise wasn't sure if their relationship was that of two business partners conspiring, friendly, more than that, or simply an absence of hostility--a neutrality of sorts. He went along with it, tried not to think too deeply on it, and instead focused on getting Potter.

The plans for getting Potter were much harder than Blaise had thought. He knew, of course, about all of those obviously, horrendously Gryffindor qualities--so called bravery, stupidity, thick headedness, a hot temper when properly provoked, and an ability to be extremely passionate about things. There were also Potter's personal weaknesses, such as the quality of feeling the need to save everyone and of gullibility, the ability to be easily aroused, and, at times, too curious for his own good. Blaise knew he and Draco had had an effect on Potter already. Hoping that they had had a strong enough effect that Potter would not forget them no matter how much he tried, they used their knowledge of him to their advantage, and gradually, over a passing of time, inconspicuously and eagerly conspired a plan.

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HARRY'S POV

Harry had been trying as best he could for the past few days to keep his mind, for the most part, utterly blank. When he did not keep his mind blank, it inevitably went back to things--or rather, people, events, and places--that Harry wanted to forget. So instead, he focused on studies and Quidditch, or slept, most of the time. He found it easier to forget by exhausting himself, making it impossible to dream or not fall asleep immediately at the end of the day--or midnight, the beginning of the next day--but found that he did not get enough sleep, regardless of taking naps in the evenings and sleeping in the most he could on weekends.

There was no way to avoid a busy schedule, however, which kept him from sleeping in and getting the proper amount of hours of sleep. A busy schedule kept him able to focus his mind on certain tasks, making him too exhausted to do anything but sleep when he wasn't busy. Harry still did not get enough sleep, though. It was okay with him, as long as he avoided certain thoughts. These thoughts, when his mind wandered to them, caused him to be nervous, confused, angry, self-doubtful, and listless. It also made him, at times, suspicious of the intentions of everyone around him, or quite sweaty-palmed (which was the worst, really, because they would only get sweatier over time, and if he went to the bathroom to wash his hands and face to relax himself too many times a day, people became concerned, which he disliked even more).

Harry had no way to vent out this frustration, no activity or words he dared speak that would help him banish some pent up frustration, or the tension that made his muscles stiff. Come December 10, however, and Harry found out about a way in which he might at least forget his troubles for a little while. Due to the war battlefield seeming to be closing in on Hogwarts, Dumbledore and the rest of the staff had been discussing whether students should go home, or whether it would be safer at Hogwarts--because, some figured, if Dumbledore was around, would You-Know-Who dare attack Hogwarts?

Therefore, it was decided that a ball--whether it would be an early end-of-Hogwarts ball, or simply an early Christmas celebration--would be held on December 19. Harry took this to mean that, being in his Sixth Year now, he could have some jollies drinking at the ball, rather than dancing (partners were not required for this ball), so he could forget troubles, and perhaps even excuse himself early to go back to the common room and finally get some sleep.

Before Harry knew it, the time for the ball had come, and he was walking a few feet behind Hermione and Ron towards the ballroom. It was a very formal ball, really, because, in desperation to pretend all was normal, and because it was near Christmas, everyone decided to be very fancy, and people were wearing their best dress robes and other clothes--fashionable hats, scarves, and a few pair of charmed glass slippers, Cinderella style. What Harry thought quite frustrating, unnecessary, yet also having its benefits, was that this ball was a masquerade ball.

Harry and Ron had had quite a time figuring out what types of mask to wear. Did they have to go AS something, or just cover their faces? Did this ball have a theme? Were there rules against having no mask? Would there be a mask contest? Such questions were on their minds, as well as the one that had been necessary since Fred and George's leave, the question of "Should we spike the punch?"

In the end, Ron decided to wear, rather than a mask, a great, long, billowing red scarf that was so large that, bundled up around him properly, it covered half his face up to below his nose. Harry, not wanting to get more concern or make a big deal and have a hissy fit over the mask question, fashioned himself a mask with Hermione's help. It was quite an ingenious idea, really (and thus the idea was Hermione's, of course, and not Harry's). Wanting to simply have some fun and not be forced to dance or participate in such activities, but not wanting to be identified as a spoil sport or Boy Who Lived disappearing early from ballroom, Harry decided to go disguised. Hermione had helped him place on his head an illusion of sorts.

The illusion felt almost like a hat, really, as if fishnet was wrapped around his head, making it a bit stuffy, but tolerable. Harry could still see fine, and there was no physical mask, so he did not have to deal with any discomfort or troubles of masks falling off. The illusion was made in such a way that it made any person who looked at Harry's face see the reflection of his or her own face (or their feet, which happened when Dean tried to do a handstand for Ginny's approval and momentarily had his shoes in Harry's face). This way, Harry could remain unidentified the entire time, although his friends knew that the person wearing the black cloak and green dress robes with Snitch and broom socks was Harry.

At first, the ball was quite boring, involving introductory speeches, dancing, and a general gazing about in awe by everyone. The ballroom DID look quite spectacular, Harry had to admit, although he wasn't honestly very interested. Rich, deep purple hung in a swirl of floating cloth at the corners of the room, and the floor of the ballroom was enchanted to make it seem as if it changed color with each step one took. Great statues of marble depicted magical creatures and other ancient people and places of magical lore, and mist, scented, cool, and relaxing, floated in the air. Little lights, diamond, and circular in shape, flashed in patterns across the walls. The atmosphere was almost disco-like, so much so that Harry almost expected a silver disco ball on the ceiling, but there was a tinge of magic and enchantment that no muggle dance club could achieve. Most impressive of all, Harry thought, was the humongous crimson statue of a phoenix that stood to the left of the ballroom's entranceway, its great wings spread as if in flight, real flames seeming to lick at its tail feathers and sharp, steel hard talons. The statue held its head as if to prove the royalty and regality of its race, a sparkle of confidence and power glinting out at Harry from its wise gaze when he experimentally stared at it to see if it was Fawkes enchanted.

After what seemed eternity of standing around talking to people, being cajoled into dancing with random friends a bit, and discussing Quidditch with Seamus, Harry finally was free to rush over to the food area and gorge himself for a while. Afterward, plopping down on a seat, he sat down contentedly, watching the goings-on around him.

Hermione danced with Ron, a smile on her face, the mask that covered the upper half of it decorated a light blue, with gaudy feathers. Ron, although tall and clumsy, was managing to dance quite well, and Ginny danced a few feet away from them with the awkward but thoroughly fluffy feeling Dean, whose grin of sparkly teeth threatened the status of the Cheshire cat's. Lavender and Padma were identifiable by their high-pitched giggling, and a few Ravenclaw acquaintances could be seen huddling in a corner together. Hannah Abbot, wearing gruesomely bright hot-pink dress robes, was prancing around in a silly way, laughing, and sprinkling a shiny glitter atop everyone's heads. All except Ron, who, wanting to make his refusal blatantly obvious, stood on his tip toes and harrumphed when Hannah asked if he would lean down so she could even see the top of his head, in order to sprinkle glitter on it.

After a few drinks, and fast getting bored of watching, Harry felt it was a good time to leave. A warm tingling was boiling deep in his stomach, and he could still feel the satisfying yet alarming burn in his throat of the small cup of Fire Whiskey he'd gulped down (someone in the gardens had snatched a bottle). Waving a goodbye towards Ron and Hermione, not sure and not caring so much if they saw him, because he wasn't sure if they would insist he stay or not, Harry was soon out of the ballroom, his eyelids feeling heavy as soon as he began the long walk up stairway one of three up to the Gryffindor common room.

Eyes barely open, Harry stumbled his way up to the landing of staircase three on the journey back to the common room, his feet tripping over themselves and his hand groping in the air for something to hold on to. Reeling in exhaustion and a slightly drunk-caused wave of dizziness, Harry was forced to grip the top of the stairway banister with both hands, causing him to accidentally fling his wand away into the air. He turned blearily, rubbing his eyes. His balance regained, he tried tracking down his wand, which he had heard roll steadily once it landed on the floor, and then suddenly stop.

Harry found himself staring at, not only his wand, but also the owner of the hand that now held it. This person was, although not in the ballroom, still dressed up as if he was. What was a bit unusual was that, rather than wearing dress robes, he wore formal muggle attire. This consisted of a pair of very expensive looking black trousers, a white, collared dress shirt that, a few buttons undone, revealed more than just a glimpse of pale, smooth skin. Over this white shirt he wore a green vest, the edges just visible from underneath the black, collared, long sleeved overcoat he wore, the tails of which reached down about mid-thigh on the boy.

What was most amazing about this male individual was not so much the fancy dress as the mask upon his face. Colored a smoky gray, it covered the upper half of the boy's face, and part of his nose. Bursting from the edges of his mask, from the temples and forehead, were long, somehow curving icicles, which, although transparent like normal ice, were also strangely hued a light, pale aqua-green color. It made the boy appear to be some wild specimen, with glowing eyes, pale skin, and a mask that seemed to be part of him, and yet not. His head seemed as if it sprouted snakes, like Medusa, or devilish hair belonging to some other dark and fascinating demonic persona.

Behind that boy, lurking in the shadows in a way that made him almost invisible was another boy. His eyes blazing in all too much seriousness at Harry, his hair, tussled and unusually soft looking, fell to frame his face in a way that was utterly wild, yet somehow fascinating in its spirit and spontaneity. This boy wore simple clothes--a pair of dark brown trousers, a silk, button up black collared shirt. The only thing that seemed out of place was his Hogwarts tie, which although its stripes of silver and green went well with him and his colors, it blared out, simple cloth, amidst the jewelry that decked the boy and made him unable to be called simple. A silver earring sparkled visibly from his right ear, and Harry absently wondered if there was another on his left. Many a flash of silver shoe buckle or gold zipper of his calf-high boots, or vibrant colored studs from rings and a bracelet on his left wrist flashed at Harry's eyes, blinding him. Regardless of this glitzy, showing off of the strange manner of dress, Harry recognized this boy, who wore no mask, and whose stolid gaze was unmistakable. It was Blaise Zabini. Harry therefore came to the conclusion that the masked boy who, smirking, twiddled Harry's wand in hand and took such obvious delight in said act, was Draco Malfoy.

Burying his face in his hands, Harry scrunched up his eyes, shaking his head a bit to clear the light-headedness from himself. It worked, but only a little. Lifting up his head, not allowing himself to grimace or show any more weaknesses, Harry took a step forward, demanding, "What do you want? I know who you are."

Stepping forward from behind Draco, strong, long strides reaching Harry within four steps, Blaise leaned forward slightly, his breath hot on Harry's face, too close for comfort, but not close enough to be able to be accused of anything. Voice husky, Blaise murmured, "Indeed, for how expertly we have caused ourselves to be not only intellectually but also physically and tastefully...memorable..."

Harry found himself suddenly unable to stop the hitching of his breath, as, making all the weaknesses he had not realized he could so easily and unwillingly show obvious, there was a moment in which Blaise's gaze slid down to Harry's groin upon the mention of 'physically.' Harry realized Blaise's use of the word memorable was a hit upon the fact that however much he wanted to, he had been unable to totally repress thoughts of Blaise and Draco. What made Harry even more aware of the state of vulnerability he was suddenly in was the shiver, surely one of a fascinated and terribly wicked delight, that prickled up his spine as Blaise, reaching forward, pushed back the hood of his cloak from his head, and brushed a thumb gently against his cheek.

Then Draco murmured, "You shouldn't be so sure that you know who you are, regardless of thinking that knowing our identities is an advantage, because it isn't." Harry glanced down as Draco reached over and took Harry's hand in his. For a moment, all Harry could do was stare at their hands, fingers entwined, a ring with the Malfoy crest blaring out at Harry from Draco's finger, and the pleasure all too evident in Draco's eyes when Harry glanced at the other boy.

Harry found himself being led in the opposite direction of the common room. Blaise took advantage of his slightly drunken state and made the act a consensus on Harry's part by weaving a wandless spell with his eyes and his words. In a daze, doubts in the back of his mind, but it being too late to turn back, Harry walked steadily forward as they led him down the hallway, down through a secret doorway, his mask ripped off on the way down into a maze of tunnels, in which Harry was sure he would get lost in if he tried to escape.

Eventually they reached a small circular room, and pushing him forward with a sudden violent shove against his back, Draco exclaimed, "Welcome to the Slytherin boss' coven, Potter! This is where the greats, the geniuses, the intellectuals of the world of serpents and Salazar reside. Welcome, welcome." He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, as Blaise closed the door and, Harry realized, gaping, locked it firmly.

Uh-oh.