Disclaimer: Please allow me to state very clearly that the characters, places, canon events, and any other recognizable feature are not mine. They belong to J. K. Rowling and are not being used for profit or personal gain.



His blood was red. She had half expected it would be black, reflecting his choices in life, or perhaps Slytherin green or that elusive blue blood people spoke of (or was that a muggle belief? She wasn't certain). It should be different somehow, but it was red just like hers, just like her brother's, just like everyone else who was hurt or dying. She should leave him here, let him die alone. He was the enemy. He had killed people she loved.

She should leave him here and let him die and never think on it again. He groaned in pain and she couldn't help staring at the way the blood stained his platinum hair to a shade truer red than her own. Ginny sighed, knowing already what she had to do.

Because his blood was red . . .

In the end, she called up the last of the strength in her small frame and dragged him to safety, because his blood was red and she had seen more of that than anyone should in a thousand lifetimes. Later, she would wonder how she managed to move him so far without being noticed or collapsing from exhaustion or killing him by accident. Then, though, there was no time for thought, only action, and she moved him as gently as she could, half-carrying/half-dragging his much larger frame across charred ground through the rubble that was once the grand entrance hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She thought longingly of the hospital wing, but that was long gone, demolished in the first surprise attack along with the astronomy tower and large portions of the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor dormitories. The only areas relatively untouched were the walls and floor of the Great Hall (the roof was gone with the second attack) and the dungeons save, ironically, the corridor to the Slytherin common room. That corridor and, presumably, the common room as well were yet another pile of dust and rubble.

She made the way to Snape's private rooms, just off his office and classroom. The wards on the entrance were long since gone, this being one of the few secure places left in the castle. Depositing her charge on Snape's unmade bed, she took his wand and disappeared into the potions storeroom.

Upon her return, arms laden with jars and vials, she was surprised to see his eyes open. Liquid mercury gaze locked on her, he sneered and hissed. "Weasley."

"Malfoy," Ginny returned coolly, chin tilted at a defiant angle.

"Is this what the old fool has resorted to? Muggle-loving children for prison guards?"

"Professor Dumbledore is not a fool." She surprised herself when she was able to meet the cold glare of Lucius Malfoy, matching it with one of her own. She could see the strain of his effort to hide his pain. It was wearing down the last bit of his strength. Choosing to ignore the chills being in the same room with this man caused, Ginny crossed over, placing the various jars and vials on the bedside table. She was careful to keep his wand well out of reach. He gazed at the assorted potions and salves and closed his eyes.

"Let me die."

He opened his eyes again when she refused a response. He found her busily mixing the contents of two vials, sleeves rolled up and determination showing in the set of her jaw.

"Do you hear me girl? Your precious boy hero has won. You have no need to keep me prisoner. Let me die in peace."

"I've sent an owl to your wife," Ginny said, ignoring his demands (because a Malfoy did not plead). "I was going to reset the wards around the door until she comes for you, but my wand was destroyed and I won't use yours." She poured the rather vile concoction in his mouth, forcing him to either swallow it or strangle and sputter indignantly. He chose to swallow the potion, recognizing the taste and rather warm feel of it as some sort of anaesthetic. The girl certainly knew what she was doing, though he wasn't certain he wanted a Weasley saving him. "Now, even with the potion, this will probably hurt," she said before pouring another mixture over the worst of his wounds. He ground his teeth against the bubbling, burning pain. When he was able to look again, she was prodding gently at his abdomen and muttering to herself about needles and stitches and sticks for biting. He certainly didn't like the sound of that. It was positively barbaric.

"Let me die," he said again.

"No."

No. And rather stubbornly said, too. She had a fire in her, rather like his Narcissa. It was a somewhat unpleasant surprise. Now he was interested. Blast it all, a Malfoy should not be interested in anything to do with a Weasley. But Lucius couldn't help himself. "Why?" He grimaced at the realization that he was, in fact, having a conversation with a Weasley, and the bloody girl Weasley at that. Perhaps it was a side effect of the potion she had practically forced down his throat.

"Because I'm tired of watching people die and not doing anything about it," she said, her attention on threading the ominously large needle in her hand.

"Bloody saints, the lot of you."

"I'm not a saint, Mr. Malfoy. I'm just tired of all this. Now, this really is going to hurt. Would you like me to knock you out? I'm certain I could find something suitably heavy to bash you over the head with." For the first time in a very long while, Lucius Malfoy actually gaped in shock. Was this little muggle-loving weasel making a joke? At his expense? It was unheard of. It was inconceivable. It was actually rather endearing. Oh, dear Merlin, what had she given him? A Weasley was never endearing. Not to a Malfoy. Nothing was endearing to a Malfoy.

Of course, he reasoned, her mother was a very distant cousin of his father's (poor relations, they weren't often acknowledged). Perhaps that was it. Yes. She wasn't truly a Weasley. She was a very distant Malfoy relation. Oh, she was speaking again.

"Did you hear me, Mr. Malfoy? I said I am going to have to stitch you up now, or else you'll likely bleed to death all over Professor Snape's sheets. That would be terribly tragic, as then he wouldn't be able to kill you for it."

"Oh, just do get on with it."

"If you insist." Through the haze of pain, he managed to watch her face as she worked, closing up the gashes across his stomach. When she reached the rather nasty one on his upper thigh, he blacked out.


Ginny was almost finished resetting the bones in Mr. Malfoy's arms and left leg when someone threw open the door. She didn't bother to see who had come in. "If you've come to kill me, get on with it, but I hope you're talented with healing charms-he can be rather unpleasant and demanding. If you're here for him you'll just have to wait until I'm finished." The person didn't speak or make any move to stop her or come closer. Ginny brushed a rather stubborn lock of hair out of her face and tightened the last bandage before standing and stretching. Wiping her hands on a relatively clean and blood-free towel, she turned around and at last looked upon her silent company.

"Will he live?" Narcissa Malfoy was quite pretty, and she didn't seem at all snobbish at the moment, just very tired and, just perhaps, worried.

"Yes ma'am, I think so, as long as no infections set in and he doesn't get hit with any Unforgiveables any time soon." Ginny didn't move away as Mrs. Malfoy came closer, surveying her work.

"What is all this?" she asked, genuinely confused and curious about the bandages and sutures.

"Muggle medicine. My wand was broken in the battle." Mrs. Malfoy didn't ask about her husband's wand, only how Ginny had learned about 'this primitive muggle healing'. "Well, my Dad's always been a bit fascinated by muggles, and Mum finally decided it was a good skill to know after . . ." Ginny didn't finish. It still hurt too much to even think about what had happened to convince Molly Weasley her children needed to be armed and prepared for every possibility of this war.

"You do realize you saved his life?" Mrs. Malfoy wasn't looking at Ginny. Her gaze, unreadable, stayed on her husband's pale face.

"Yes."

"Why?"

She did look at Ginny then, and her ice blue eyes seemed to hold the younger woman's gaze as Ginny breathed her answer. "Because I could." Something passed between them then, unspoken and brief but strong al the same. Mrs. Malfoy nodded once, sharply.

"I half expected as much."

Whatever she had been about to say after that was lost when Snape came barreling into the room. His chest heaved as he took in the scene and pointed his wand at Mrs. Malfoy. "Move away from the girl, Narcissa." Ginny watched as she moved back a few steps and settled herself regally on the edge of the bed, absently stroking Mr. Malfoy's hand. "Miss Weasley, are you well? Has she harmed or threatened you in any way?"

"No, sir."

"Very well." He turned back to face Mrs. Malfoy fully, effectively ignoring Ginny now that he knew she was unharmed. "Why are you here? I thought you preferred not to soil your hands."

Mrs. Malfoy didn't answer, only looked down at her husband and sighed. She loves him, Ginny thought before answering Professor Snape's question herself. "Mrs. Malfoy has come because I sent her an owl telling her where she could find her husband."

Snape rounded on her, glaring now as if she were Harry. She had never had the full strength of that particular gaze focused on her before and she desperately hoped she never would again. "You. Did. What?"

Ginny swallowed hard and took a deep breath. She was the youngest Weasley. She had six older brothers and an overprotective mother. Her chin went up a notch. "I said, I sent her an owl." So her lips had trembled just a bit and perhaps the words had a bit of a quiver, but, really, she was rather proud of her response.

"Tell me, Miss Weasley, just why you thought that was the proper thing to do?"

Ginny's eyes narrowed. She had completed her studies two weeks ago. She wasn't his student anymore and she wasn't a child. "Well, Severus," she hissed, putting extra emphasis on his given name. She opened her mouth to continue when Draco Malfoy strolled into the room, breezed past his former head of house, and stood in front of his mother, wand drawn.

"Oh, Draco darling, finally you've come."

"I only just received your message, mother," he said, never taking his eyes off Snape. The young man was immaculately dressed with not even a scuff on his boots. Ginny realized with a start then that neither he nor his mother had been anywhere near the battlefield. She watched as he pulled an object wrapped in brown paper from within the folds of his robes and handed it to his mother behind him. Mrs. Malfoy unwrapped whatever the thing was and scooted closer to her husband. She was speaking again before Ginny managed to process the thoughts running rampant about her head. Portkey. Mrs. Malfoy had a portkey.

"STOP!" Snape roared as Mrs. Malfoy drew her wand and touched it lightly to the object.

It was more than obvious that Narcissa Malfoy was well aware of Severus Snape's dueling prowess. She froze and peeked around her son. Ginny realized then that while Draco was shielding his mother, she had positioned herself in front of her husband. "Please Severus," she said softly. "I know to pair of you have grown apart, but Lucius loved you as a brother once. If I don't take him home he will die." There was real emotion in her voice. "He saved your life once. You owe him this much." She sounded on the verge of tears.

Ginny watched in shock as her former professor backed down and nodded, just slightly. "Very well. Consider the debt paid in full."

"Thank you, Severus," Mrs. Malfoy whispered. Ginny jumped and shrieked in surprise as Snape fell to the floor, hit with a stunning spell from Draco while his attention had been on Narcissa.

"I am sorry Severus, truly," she said, "But you of all people should know that I will do whatever is required to protect what is mine." She paused and looked at Ginny thoughtfully before adding, "Draco, bring the girl," as she activated the portkey and she and her husband disappeared.

Draco started forward, reaching for her, but Ginny managed to side step him. He was between her and the door but not between her and the drawer where she had hidden his father's wand. Ginny dashed over, jerking the drawer open and grabbing the slender length of wood. She screamed as his hand closed over her elbow and tried to jerk away but she was no match for him, physically. Finally, he grabbed her wrists and glared at her. "Damn it, Weasley, stop that before you hurt yourself," he muttered, using his tie to bind her hands. Ginny froze as he stepped behind her and closed his arms around her body. She felt the cold bite of metal as he pressed something against her hand and activated a second portkey.

"I was just tired of watching people die," she whispered as Draco Malfoy tightened his hold on her, pressing her back against his body. A tear slipped down her cheek as she felt the familiar sickening, jerking sensation just behind her navel.

After depositing the girl in his bedroom, Draco sought out his mother. She was, unsurprisingly, overseeing the house elves as they settled his father into the large bed in the master suite. The young man had never seen her quite so out of sorts. Golden curls fell around her face, having escaped the tight upswept style she preferred, and there were dark circles under her eyes. He had been speaking to her for several moments, calling her name and even waving a hand in front of her face before she even noticed he was in the room.

"Oh, Draco dear. Where did you put the girl?"

"She's locked in my suite." His mother nodded absently, her focus on his father. The older man was far from impeccable. The shredded, blood drenched remnants of his robes had been disposed of, replaced by a crisp white night shirt which seemed in Draco's opinion utterly ridiculous and old-fashioned, as well as bloody uncomfortable. "Mother, why exactly did we need her? She's a Weasley, one of Potter's adoring fans."

At last Narcissa Malfoy focused on her son. "She saved your father's life, Draco. He would have died." Draco swallowed and paled noticeably. Narcissa waited and nodded slowly as realization dawned in his countenance. "The House of Malfoy owes her a life debt, which gives her a certain amount of power over all we are and all we have. I want to be sure she has no chance to abuse that." Her eyes softened as she glanced at her husband, tiny lines of worry creeping in around her eyes and mouth. "And she knows about muggle medicine." The last was nearly a whisper.

Oh.

Muggle medicine.

Draco did not curse aloud out of respect for his mother, but every swear word he had ever learned-as well as a few new phrases-circled through his mind. He had forgotten. Magical remedies could only harm his father who despite "popular" opinion wasn't really such a bad bloke. No matter what else he had been involved in, Lucius Malfoy always done whatever was necessary to protect what was his. It was a Malfoy trait. Draco's brow creased as he stared at his father. It was unsettling to see the man he had lived in awe of so . . . broken. This was the dark lord's fault. He had invented a particularly strong curse, sure to become an Unforgivable once the rest of their world learned of it, which effectively blocked all forms of magical healing. Charms, potions, even enchanted sleep . . . none of it would work and, in the most severe cases such as this one, could make matters worse. Of course he had tested it on his inner circle of advisors. It was a test of loyalty to the cause. Unconsciously, the boy rubbed lightly at his forearm.

"Draco, darling, have the servants prepare a suite for our guest. Somewhere close to the family quarters." His mother's voice snapped him out of ever-darkening thoughts. He nodded and left the room, straightening his robes and smoothing his hair in a nervous gesture he had picked up from his father.


Draco paused at his bedroom door, listening intently before pushing the heavy stained wood open very slowly. He was prepared for violent outbursts, escape attempts, or even an empty room. He was not prepared, however, for the sight of Ginny Weasley curled up in his favorite chair by the fireplace, fast asleep. He made sure the door was locked behind him and crossed the room slowly, wand out, wary of a trick. The firelight danced across the young woman's form, accenting the tangled mound of ghastly red hair and the various smudges of dirt and gore on her skin. Her robes were torn and dirty. He froze, staring at the most horrifying aspect, unaware his mouth had dropped open: a thin line of drool stretched from her mouth to the arm of the chair. He was contemplating the irritation of having to replace the chair (doubtless, the house elves could never get THAT out) when she jerked in her sleep and shifted, smacking her lips a few times and snoring . . . loudly. Well, this most certainly would not do.

"Weasley." He prodded her with his wand, speaking again when she mumbled incoherently and swatted it away. "Wake up, Weasley. Now." The 'now' was accompanied by a particularly forceful prod and the girl's eyes snapped open with a final snort. She made a squeaking noise and fell out of the chair, crawling backward into a rather expensive vase, which then toppled and shattered. Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "Nice work, Weasley. Destroy the big bad vase." He stepped around the chair and stared down at her. "That cost more than every possession your family has ever had, you know." Something sparked in her eyes, and he thought for a moment that she was going to strike out like some feral animal. To his immense relief, she simply struggled to her feet and glared.

"You won't get away with this. Someone will come for me."

"Oh? And are you quite certain of that?" He took a step forward and she backed away, eyes darting around the room.

"Y-Yes. I am."

"Perhaps I should show you something then."

"Stay back, Malfoy. Don't come any closer."

"Very well then, I'll leave this here." He tucked his wand away and produced an evening edition of the Daily Prophet from an inner pocket. Leaving the paper on the chair she had fallen out of not so long ago, he backed away several feet and stared at her expectantly. "Well, go on then. Despite your appearance, I do know you can read."

Ginny inched forward, staring at the headlines. No. It couldn't be true. She shook her head and reached out hesitantly, gingerly lifting the paper between thumb and forefinger as if afraid it might attack her. She trembled as she unfolded it and scanned the front page. Bits of headlines jumped out at her, phrases from articles wormed their way into her consciousness. "Potter comatose . . . Dumbledore missing-presumed dead . . . Weasley daughter suspected in Death Eater plot." What? No. And yet there it was, in black and white. The article told of her secret romance with Draco Malfoy (not bloody likely) and how her devotion to the Malfoy heir had drawn her to the 'dark side' . . . the reporter had even found out about her first year at Hogwarts, and Riddle's Diary. "Lies, all of it."

"Probably." Draco nodded, his expression bland. "The Prophet has never been known for accuracy in reporting. Still, there's a grain of truth there, you know. Potter has been in a coma since he destroyed Voldemort." The way he sneered at the name made Ginny wonder if the rumors about him not being a Death Eater really were true. "Dumbledore has not been seen. Neither has Snape. And you, my dear Miss Weasley, are to be a guest of the House of Malfoy . . . indefinitely."

"You will not keep me prisoner here." The paper ripped in half in her outraged grasp.

"Did I say you were a prisoner?" he asked, one golden brow arched. "I don't recall using that term. No, I believe I said you were a guest."

"Guests are invited and stay of their own free will."

"Why Miss Weasley, are you implying that my mother and I are impolite? Malfoys do not keep prisoners in their bedrooms." He had advanced a few steps while speaking and the girl seemed to realize how close he was just as he used the word 'bedrooms'.

"Don't touch me Malfoy!"

Draco felt genuine confusion. "Why on earth would I?"

"Oh come off it! I'm in your bedroom. You said yourself that no one can come rescue me. I'm not stupid."

"I'm not so certain. Have you seen yourself lately?" Ginny stared. "You're horrid red hair is tangled and matted to the side of your head, your clothes are dirty, your face is smudged, and you have sleep bogeys in your eye. So, I ask you again, why on earth would I want to touch you?"

Ginny gasped and moved in front of the full-length mirror by the wall. He was right. She blushed a bit.

"Don't do that. It clashes with your hair." She spun around, angry again. Ah, she was more fun than her brother. "Now, follow me. The house elves have prepared your rooms, and drawn a bath." He paused, glancing over his shoulder. "I daresay you need that."

"M-my rooms?"

"Of course. I told you that you are a guest. Certainly you won't be expected to share my quarters."

"But I thought you . . ."

Draco sighed and turned around to face her fully. "Really Weasley, get over yourself. Yes, you are rather nicely girl-shaped, but not at all my type. Further, it is not my habit to take unwilling partners to my bed." He turned around and walked out the doorway before adding, "Oh, and then there's the fact that you snore."

"What? How dare you! I do not!"

"Yes, you do. It's rather unpleasantly loud. You drool a bit as well."

A wordless cry of rage was the only warning the young man had and then she was on him, small fists digging into his ribs. It was all rather unpleasant. He understood, now, what it meant to have older brothers. She managed to grasp a lock of his hair and yank and he yelled and turned, scrabbling for a hold on her. When he succeeded in his endeavor, he managed to throw her over his shoulder. He winced when she landed a particularly vicious punch near his kidney but managed to keep silent and not drop her. The door across the wide hallway was open and he marched straight through and dumped his obscenity-screaming burden unceremoniously on the large bed. He hurried back out of the room and closed the door. His mother was completely mad to think that . . . that . . . creature could be of any benefit to them.

This new room-her room, apparently-was quite a surprise. She had expected the same décor as in Draco's room, and what little she had been able to make out of the dim hallway. The wood was all stained so dark as to be nearly black, but this room was definitely brighter, and decorated in blue. It wasn't Ravenclaw blue, exactly. This was bit darker for the most part, with touches of light blue and white and the slightest hint of silvery gray. She sat in the center of the bed and studied this new room. The bed curtains and coverlet were deep blue velvet and very soft. A matching sofa was near the fireplace, accented by two chairs in the lighter blue. There were built-in bookshelves on either side of the fireplace, filled with expensive leather bound volumes. She stood up and walked across the room, trailing her fingers over the couch and studying the expensive rugs covering the smooth stone floor.

Were she to guess, she would venture that the walls were stone, but they had been covered in dark wood paneling about waist-high. Above the paneling they were covered in silk of some light hue, though she couldn't decide exactly what color that was. Up close it was almost white, in the shadows silvery gray, and from a distance, the overall effect was the lightest of blues. There was a vanity table trimmed in white lace to one side of the bed, and a fainting couch in the dominant dark blue velvet on the other side. Ginny turned the knob on a door she expected to lead to a closet and hissed in surprise at what she found. It was a closet, certainly, but it was nearly as big as the bedroom. She had to step up to get into the room. There was a dressing area to the left, complete with silk screens and another, smaller vanity table and chair, both painted white in contrast to the dark wood everywhere else.

To the right another door beckoned. Behind that one was the most luxurious bathroom Ginny had ever seen. Three stone steps led down to a magically warmed stone floor. A blue marble tub large enough for several people took up the far end of the room. It was, surprisingly, sunken into the large platform three more steps led to. She didn't really know what she had expected-some claw-footed monstrosity perhaps, or maybe something large and brass and bowl-shaped. White double sinks were set in a blue marble counter top. There was an extremely modern looking toilet (thank goodness the Malfoys weren't too good for indoor plumbing) and a large shower stall in the corner.

Almost in spite of herself, Ginny was drawn to the tub. Sure enough it was full, and the wisps of steam coming off the surface of the water were scented with something sweet and vaguely floral. Staring at the tub, feeling the steam caress her face, Ginny realized just how sore and stiff and extremely dirty she was. She tugged at what was left of her robes and prepared to step into the tub.

"Is Missy Never ready for the bath now?"

Ginny shrieked and spun around, hands flying to cover as much of her body as possible. The tiny house elf who had spoken fell to its-er, her-knees and pulled on pointy ears. "Oh, Tipsy is sorry. Tipsy should have come earlier." The creature's blue eyes filled with tears. "Tipsy must be punished," she said, banging her head against the nearest wall.

"Oh, no don't! Please stop!" Ginny grabbed the house elf and restrained her from harming herself further. "You just startled me."

"Oh, Missy Never is too kind. Tipsy is being a bad house elf." Ginny studied the small creature. She was tiny, about half the size of the house elves at Hogwarts and, in comparison, rather cute . . . for a house elf. Her nose was small and pointed and her large eyes and pointed ears reminded Ginny of a small dog she had seen once-a terrier of some sort. Something other than the bluish tint of her skin seemed strange though, and it took a moment for it to register that the house elf was wearing clothes.

"Oh! You're wearing a dress. Clothes! You've been freed!"

"No! Tipsy is a good house elf! Tipsy not freed!" The small being began to cry again.

"Oh, please don't cry. I never meant to insult you. I've just never met a house elf who wore clothes but hadn't been freed."

"Tipsy is only half house elf. Tipsy's father was being a Cornish pixie." The house elf seemed to realize something and gasped before jumping out of Ginny's grasp. "Oh, Tipsy is so sorry. Tipsy forget." She backed away and offered Ginny a curtsey. "I is Tipsy. Miss Nissa is saying Tipsy is being new lady's elf for Missy Never."

"I don't understand. Who?"

"Missy Never, Tipsy is being worried, now. Has Missy Never bumped her noggin?" Tipsy propped tiny hands on her hips and tilted her head to one side, studying Ginny carefully.

"This can't be right. I can't be this Missy Never you keep going on about. My name is Ginny Weasley."

"Yes. Missy Never. Missy Never Moddy Wheezy. Tipsy is being your servant now." Tipsy beamed, and clapped her hands together. "Now, Missy Never must be getting in tub before she catches cold. Tipsy will be getting towels and soaps for washing."

Ginny climbed into the tub, hissing a bit as the hot water made contact with the various scrapes and scratches that had been her almost constant companions in the last few months. She was beginning to wonder if she really had just 'bumped her noggin' and this was all a bizarre hallucination. That would certainly explain the odd impulse that had driven her to help Lucius Malfoy in the first place. She leaned back and winced as she discovered more bruises and scrapes she hadn't known about. No, definitely not a hallucination. Hallucinations couldn't possibly be so uncomfortable.

Tipsy returned bearing a stack of soft, fluffy white towels and a basket of various bottles and jars. When Ginny managed a closer look, she was a bit startled to find some of the most expensive soaps, shampoos, and lotions to be had in the magical world. Considering where she was, that fact made her more than a little uneasy. "Missy Never just relax, Tipsy is taking care of everything else." The tiny elf placed the stack of towels on the counter and the basket on the edge of the tub. "Oh, poor Missy Never, all banged up." Tipsy made a clucking noise and touched a small blue fingertip to the surface of the water which began to bubble and swirl, massaging Ginny's aching muscles. "Close eyes," Tipsy instructed, pouring some sort of bath salts from a lovely crystal container.

Ginny sighed contentedly, forgetting everything but the feeling of the warm water and the lovely smells rising in the steam. "Oh, that is heavenly." She only jumped a little when Tipsy's tiny hands began to massage her scalp.

"Missy Never be nice and clean and all healed up for meeting with Miss Nissa." The servant's pleased words jerked Ginny back into the reality of her situation. Cinnamon eyes snapped open and she sat up straight, damp hair falling over freckled shoulders.

"Oh, yes, Tipsy wash back now, Missy Never."

Ginny jerked quickly, turning to face the creature perched next to the basket on the edge of the tub. "No. I can do it." Tipsy wrung tiny blue hands her eyes began to shine with tears. Ginny sighed. "Please don't be upset, Tipsy. I've just never had a house elf before. It's a bit much to take in." The elf's lips began to quiver and she was edging toward the nearest cabinet door. Ginny bit back a groan. "All right, yes, please wash my back now and then you can go find me some more suitable clothes for this meeting." Tipsy beamed and set to work, scrubbing Ginny to within an inch of her life. The young woman doubted she had been so clean since she was a toddler and at her mother's mercy in the bath.

Nearly an hour later, her red gold hair shone in the flickering candlelight. Tipsy had pulled part of it back and secured it with an onyx clasp while she sat at the dressing table wrapped in a fluffy robe. After her hair had been tamed to the servant's satisfaction, Ginny had found herself being helped into layers of gauzy underthings and laced into a Renaissance-style gown of black and white silk trimmed in gold. A lightweight black velvet cloak to ward off the chill of the shadowed hallways was added last of all.

As if on cue, a steady rapping came at the door nearly as soon as she was dressed. The house elf bounded over and tugged the large door open, bowing low as Draco was revealed in the shadowy hallway. His eyes narrowed as he studied her appearance before nodding sharply. "I suppose this will have to do. It's more than I expected at any rate. See to the tea things Tipsy. Mother is in the drawing room." After dismissing the servant he looked expectantly at Ginny.

"Well Weasley, what are you waiting for? Mother abhors being kept waiting. It shows a lack of breeding." Ginny didn't miss the insults his voice cast at her, but she was honestly too tired to care. She followed Draco out of the room and through a maze of dark hallways, neither of them saying a word. By the time they had reached the drawing room, Ginny was grateful for the cloak. She sat in the chair indicated and stared at her hands until Draco left the room.