“21-year-old witch seeking skilled ballroom dancer to partner for competition in late December. Possibility of winning 10,000 galleons – prize will be split evenly if won. Owl Ginevra at 175 Sage Lane, outside of Hogsmeade.”

Ginny Weasley beamed happily at her best friend and flat mate, Blaise Zabini, as he read the ad aloud from the paper.

He looked up at her with skeptical eyes.

“Gin, love, don’t you think you should know how to dance before you enter a contest?” he asked, just to wind her up, as he smirked at her.

“Blaise,” she growled. “We’ve been through this before – I can dance. Sure, maybe not anything more formal than the Charleston, but it’s a Latin Ballroom competition – which implies that the dancing I do down at La Rosa Negra counts. So, we combine what I do with what whatever the bloke who I partner does, and it’ll be great. Now, quit being a bloody downer, Zabini!”

“Alright, alright, down girl, heel, stay,” he snickered, grabbing the last piece of toast from her plate and heading into the bathroom for one last glance in the mirror before he had to leave.

“Blaise!” she cried, and he ignored her. “I was actually going to eat that, you know,” she added, grumbling.

“Sorry,” he said, turning his head and smiling at her in a quite unapologetic way, “but, Gin, I’m a growing boy!”

Ginny sighed. She enjoyed living with Blaise the majority of the time, as he would be honest about things, particularly about how she looked, instead of hemming and hawing his way through a conversation like the majority of her female friends did. And he was a guy, meaning that he understood the majority of the male psyche, and could help her out there.

But sometimes, it felt like she acquired yet another brother, which brought the count to eight, as Harry Potter was an honorary brother as well.

He constantly wheedled his way back into her good graces, stole food off of her plate, mocked her, and was far too overprotective of her, as if her not-so-large stature implied that she couldn’t take care of herself properly, although he, along with the rest of her brothers, knew first-hand that she could, indeed, look after herself. They’d all been on the receiving end of one hex or another often enough to know that by heart.

Her musings were cute short as he ran past her to the door, muttering about being late for work, throwing in a harried, “Bye, Gin,” for good measure, before scurrying out the door. Before the door could even close and lock itself properly, she heard the faint, “Pop!” which meant that he had, obviously, apparated away. Do to some threats that she had received during the war, she and Harry, who was taking a rare hour off from searching diligently for Voldemort (she shuddered as she forced herself to think the name), had cast an anti-apparation (and, of course, anti-disapparation) charm on the entire flat.

A sad smile crossed her face as she thought of Harry James Potter, the wizard who had saved the world at the cost of his own life. Will, not his life, per say, he was as alive as he had ever been, but his soul – as melancholy as his life had been since, well, since forever, with the deaths of many of his friends and mentors, including Sirius Black, Cedric Diggory, Albus Dumbledore, Neville Longbottom, Colin Creevey, and Cho Chang, all of which he felt were his own fault, for not killing Voldemort sooner, and the hardships of the Great War, it had only gotten worse since he had killed Tom Marvolo Riddle – Lord Voldemort.

Although he believed he carried the culpability for all of the causalities of the war, he had never before been the one to strike the final blow. He was a noble soul, the most noble of them all, and although he knew that he himself had done the right thing and had, in fact, saved billions of people world wide, he still could not get over the fact that he had actually murdered this – this thing, for Voldemort had not been a man for many years, in cold blood.

Ginny recalled the brief look of triumph that had immediately crossed the face of the Boy-Who-Still-Lived, the look that was instantly changed to one of anguish, horror, shame, and despair. In killing another being, no matter how awful they were, he had murdered his own soul.
With a sigh, Ginny pushed these thoughts from her mind as she stood and placed the dirty dishes from that morning’s breakfast on the counter.

“Purgare,” she muttered, pointing her wand at them, then placed the now clean dishes into the cabinet. Whenever Blaise was home, he would insist upon washing the dishes in the muggle dishwasher they had had installed the previous year.

“Ginny,” he had pleased, his big blue eyes wide, “Don’t you want to be open minded about other cultures? Don’t you want to explore the whole world around you?”

He kept giving here his best puppy-god eyes, and within minutes, she had given him half of the money necessary for the machine.

Of course, she had discovered after the fact that the reason he was so keen on buying the hunk of junk was because his latest girlfriend that that muggles were just the cutest little things since footie pajamas, and, of course, she was just thrilled when her “ickle Blaise” had bought the machine. And, of course, she was less than thrilled when she discovered that Blaise lived with another woman, and would not listen to Blaise’s argument that Ginny was really more of a guy, except that she had boobs. Go figure.

After that humiliation, Blaise refused to admit the real reason why he had wanted the machine, and insisted that they use it regularly.

She shook her head at his stubbornness, but couldn’t help but grin as she thought fondly on her best friend.

------

A gentle tapping on the glass woke her.

She had decided to take a quick lie-down after she’d gotten out of her shower, just a moment’s rest before doing her makeup, and had fallen asleep. She jumped up guiltily, and glanced at the clock on the wall. She’d been out for a whole hour and a half, and she chuckled uneasily. She’d have to make up another batch of dreamless sleep potion, no wonder she was up half the night.

The tapping returned, and she remembered why she’d woken up in the first place. She ran over to the window and let the owl in, crooning softly to it.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby, were you waiting long? You’re such a pretty thing! Who’s send you to deliver a letter for me?”

She removed the parchment from her leg, and got up to get the beautiful tawny owl some water, but it flew off the instant she had removed the scroll. She unrolled it, noting that it was expensive paper, and a picture fell out. She read the note first, and found that it was terse and to the point, stating:


G,

I am writing to invite you to be my partner in the dance competition. I have included a picture of my most recent dance, to show you that my skills are indeed satisfactory. Respond and we can set up a meeting.

-DM

Ginny was surprised that her ad had been answered so soon, and almost forgot about the picture. It fluttered to the floor beside her bed as she stood, and she reached for it. As her eyes took in the image, she broke into a wide smile. He was a wonderful ballroom dancer! The picture was taken from an angle were his face and hair were not visible, but that was no matter She hastily went to her desk and took out the finest parchment she owned, and scribbled a hasty note.

DM,

Your skills appear to be more than satisfactory, I am sure it would be a pleasure to dance with you. If you have no plans, we could have dinner tonight, as I am free.

-Gin


She ran to Blaise’s room, and found Fiyero, his owl, napping. She woke him gently, and explained the situation, before tying the scroll to his leg and sending him off through the open window.




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Author's Note - Hi, everyone. I promise you all, right here, that I will finish this fic (I'm notorious for not finishing any stories I write, so, I thought I'd go ahead and promise.)

Also, I wanted to mention that I've borrowed some things from Dirty Dancing : Havana Nights, so, don't kill me.

Please Review! ^.~