The Masks They Wear

kumydabookworm

Rating: PG13
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 04/08/2005
Last Updated: 04/08/2005
Status: completed

Four people are not what they appear to be. How long will they keep up their masks in the battle between saving themselves or the Light? Or is Perfection not the thing the Light needs after all...One Shot

Chapters

1. The Masks They Wear

1. The Masks They Wear

A/N – This fic is inspired by a poem I wrote, which is posted in front of the story. Enjoy! - Kumy

b No one ever looks beyond a face

Seeing a smile plastered on like wallpaper

They turn away

Pretending, Ignoring the sight of the mask

Peeling away to reveal eyes crying for help

Hiding behind what people expect them to be

Behind the act, grasping desperately for

Respite as they drown in a Sea of Despair

Fingers clutching, grasping frantically

And still the mind denies what would break Perfection

Secretly wondering if no one notices, if they are alone

When in Reality, another actor struggles inches away

Yet no one reaches out farther than themselves

For that would make Reality unavoidable

Drowning to maintain the greatest Act in Life

To keep up the masks, the illusion of Perfection

When finally a face slips beneath the rising swells

Actors feign surprise as if they know not

The image of a mask peeling away, of crying eyes

As if they themselves do not struggle, do not drown

Or were never Inches away from the fallen’s now

Still Fingers /b

Kumy

Harry Potter

He was the Boy Who Lived…the only one who was expected to know what to do. Expected to be the one who saves the day. The one who could do the impossible. And he tried. So far, he had managed to fool everyone. But he didn’t know how long he could keep it up for. How long he could manage to hold up the mask that everyone believed in. That people were dying for in this war.

The problem was that the magical world needed something real to believe in. Not the “cause of the Light.” Something they could see, touch, hear and talk about. Something real to the senses. Because now, in this slaughter, believing wasn’t enough. When you were surrounded by gore and hate – you forgot what you believed in, what was right, what was wrong. All that existed in your head was what you could see and touch and feel. So the people needed something real to believe in. And he had been it.

Now it was his face people looked to for inspiration. The “strength”, the “compassion”, the “calm”…traits that his mask had – but that he himself had lost long ago. Along with his loved ones. Because he didn’t know where to turn for that strength now. Where to take it from. Before, it had been from the love he was given, the people he knew would always be there, but now there was nothing left.

The love he had thought was infinite had its limits…the loyalty transparent…the courage only there while someone else could take the fall. There was nothing left to believe in, to take heart from. Now he was the thing everyone else took heart from.

But where was he going to find something for him to believe in? How was he going to hold up the mask? He didn’t think he could continue to maintain Perfection – even on the surface – for every long. Humans weren’t meant to be perfect, and the act had gone on too long even with it lasting until now. He was getting tired. He was tired. So very, very tired.

Albus Dumbledore

He was the Protector of the Light. The all-knowing, the one the heroes looked to for guidance. And he used to have the answers. Light knows he wished he still did. But he didn’t. All he could do was hope that his guesses were right. That was all they were now, the guesses of an old man whose wisdom had run out.

People were looking to him to find the magic that would destroy the Dark Side. To have some trick hidden up his sleeve that would save them at the last moment. The best he could do was pretend he did. Pretend that he had not given up hope. But he didn’t have the answer, there was no trick. This was the end of the Last War. Though he tried to deny it to himself, he knew that the Dark might win at last.

There were things he had never heard about, emerging from the Dark Side. Strange magic. No matter how he used his tools, his books, the stars, his magic, he could not find the answers. Yet, it was to him everyone looked for the answers. If he did not give them, despair would fall in the magical world. Whatever was left of it.

He knew that The Boy Who Lived was struggling. Looking to him for answers. But he had no time, no effort, to help others when he himself was drowning. But he must keep up the mask, the illusion of all-knowing. Because his guesses could turn out right. He knew they may turn out wrong as well, but that was a possibility he could not afford to consider. There was no one else to turn to for answers, so he must create them. It was the only way.

Hermione Granger

She was supposed to know how to Heal anything. “The Greatest Healer since Saint Mungo,” they called her. But she didn’t know how to heal him. The only man who could find the secret the Dark Side was holding. The only man who could save them all. It was ironic, how the man she hated, she now would give anything to see healthy. How she would give anything to hear his sarcastic remarks. But she didn’t know how to bring him back. The problem was, she was the only one who could.

Draco Malfoy had been struck down by his own father when Lucius discovered the Betrayal of his only son and heir. The Heir to the Dark Lord was working for the Light. Lucius had been exterminated before he could reveal Draco’s secret, but now, if Draco couldn’t be revived, questions would begin to be asked. Draco’s disguise was not strong enough to survive the investigation, and he would be discovered.

The heartbreaking part of this tragedy was that Draco had been about to end the mission. He had been on the verge of discovering the secret that would pull down all the magic that the Dark Side was using to defeat the Light. Magic that had never been seen before. And unless Hermione could find a way to get around this spell, he never would. The Light would fall for the first time since the Dark Ages.

She had exhausted every resource. Yet she still could not find the spell that bound him…and without knowing the spell, she could not find an antidote. What scared her the most was that even Albus Dumbledore could not help her. He was not the All-Knowing wizard everyone believed he was. But she had her own problems and she did not have the time to break through his mask. She was having difficulties keeping up hers!

The fate of the Light hinged around Draco Malfoy…and everyone believed that she could save him. She was lost, and the mask that she disguised her fears and uncertainties with – the mask of Perfection – was about to be lost. There was no one left to turn to besides herself. And she was not the person people believed her to be.

Ginevra Weasley

She was the Angel. The girl who never did anything wrong. But no one really knew her. No one at all. She was holding the secret that would destroy the Dark Side. Yet she would tell no one. No one at all.

She loved Draco Malfoy. They had kept it secret for fear that if he was ever discovered, she would be in harm’s way. She knew that Hermione Granger was not the Healer everyone thought she was. That she could not save Draco. That Draco would die for the cause he held dearer than Life itself. Dearer than her.

Draco had never known she knew the secret. She had never told him. Because deep in her heart, she wanted the Light to be destroyed. So that Draco would stay loyal to her first, not the Light. So that she would be the only thing that mattered. To him, at least.

She supposed it wasn’t her that was saying these things. It was probably the tiny scrap of Voldemort’s soul that Tom Riddle had left behind in her. As a back-up plan. This scrap would eventually take over her soul or the soul of her progeny, passed down the bloodline like a poison. But this was another secret she held. She wanted Draco’s children, and she knew he would never let Voldemort get a chance at rebirth.

She couldn’t tell the difference between the Dark part of Voldemort’s soul and her own soul now. Draco had been the barrier of love between the two. With him gone, and probably never coming back, she didn’t know if she would ever get the chance to break free of the Dark Lord, and give The Boy Who Lived the secret to destroying the Dark Side.

She didn’t know how long she could keep up the illusion of the Angel… the perfect little girl, without drowning herself in her own Darkness. Because she refused to ask for help because it would break the act that was fooling everyone but her.

Two weeks later, she knew that she could not go on living. Because she knew that if she let the Dark Side win, the darkness in herself win, that Draco’s love would never be hers again. That he would never love her, because the woman he loved would be gone, drowned in the Act of Perfection.

She didn’t care what anyone thought of her once the mask had been broken. The Darkness was taking over and the only way to stop it was to end her life before it took control of her mind, her spirit. She quickly wrote down the secret she had been holding about how the death of Voldemort could only be achieved when the life-blood of the Boy Who Lived soaked the Dark Lord’s wand and made the Dark Lord vulnerable to the Killing Spell. She wrote about when the Boy Who Lived and the Dark Lord both died, the ancient magic would reverse itself, and the Dark would lose the strange powers that had given them victory time and time again.

Finally, she wrote about the love Draco and she had shared for many months. The masks that they both had held. And she wrote that the bond they shared, strengthened by months of spell work and love, would kill one of them as soon as the other died.

Then she took her wand in her hand. For Draco, was her last thought, as a green jet of light erased all the wrongs of her life and left her to begin again without masks in Death.

Albus Dumbledore

There was no mask left to be held. He had the answers, for the first time in many years. He called the Boy Who Lived to his office and shared the letter with him. Finally he could put away the mask, because he didn’t need to know any more. This knowledge was enough for the rest of his lifetime. And many generations afterward.

Harry Potter

At last, he knew from where to take his strength. At last, his mask could be destroyed. From the fact that the act he committed would end the War that took away everyone he loved. From the fact that the act he committed would join him with them in Death.

Hermione Granger

When Ginny’s letter was published in the newspaper, Draco Malfoy was already dead, joined with his love in the Afterlife. Finally, she could stop pretending to be someone she was not. She had handed in her resignation as Head Healer of the Ministry this morning. Because Ginny, in her very imperfection, had proven to her, that Perfection was not a necessity.

That, in fact, pretending Perfection, would be the thing that destroyed the good in people. She thanked Ginny for saving her before it was too late. For saving them all – everyone now knew that Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and countless others had pretended in order to spare the magical world from giving up hope. That they would have died to keep up the masks in order to save the Light from dying while there was still a chance, no matter how slim.

Now, the masks didn’t matter. And neither did Perfection. Because people knew that believing in Perfection was a path to destruction. Our very imperfections could lead to salvation.